Loving rainy days and little wet dogs... :)

     I love rainy days!  It hasn't always been like this for me and I admit that if there are too many rainy days in a row, I might get a little tired of them. But on the whole, I prefer steady rain pouring down as opposed  to bright, sunny days.
    Part of that goes back (no, not to Twilight... ) but to my early twenties when I worked in the library at Hendrix College.  One grey, rainy day, I was walking across the campus with the librarian I worked for and I commented on how I hated gloomy, wet days.  She looked surprised and pointed out in a cheerful way that the color of the trees showed up so much better against a grey sky.  As I looked at the foliage around me, I realized that she had a point.

    Later, as a mom with supposedly just one kid I would get tired of the noise and the clutter in our home.   (Young kids are like potato chips, I soon realized; you never have just one because they attract other kids like magnets and each additional kid increases the noise factor exponentially...) When everything got to me, I would go walking and it seemed to me that rainy day walks brought more peace to me than sunny ones. Maybe because no one else was out walking in the rain. More likely because the curtain of rain around me was like an enclosure  of peace and solitude.  Eventually it reached the place where if I was unable to go out and walk in a light rain, I would feel put upon, like I had missed something special.
    Today I went out just to get the mail. Rain was pelting down around me but I had an umbrella; there was no lightening to frighten me and no mail to encumber me - the mail box was empty.  So I just headed down the street, reveling in my surroundings.  When I reached the end of the street, I turned around and soon found myself stopping near a vacant, wooded lot because I could actually hear the whoosh of the rain as it swept through the branches high above me.
    After a minute or so, I headed home and this time, the wind was suddenly so strong that I could see it sweeping gusts of rain towards me and I had to struggle to hang onto my umbrella.  My first thought was, "This is not such a good idea after all!"  But then, why I don't know - I felt invigorated and found myself laughing, loving even the fact that my slacks were getting soaked!

   I had left our little Pomeranian/Terrier mix in the yard because, after all, I had only planned to get the mail and go right back in the house.  Occasionally Buddie escapes the confines of our fence so as I walked away from the house, I looked back periodically to make sure he wasn't running after me until I was sure he hadn't been able to escape this time.
  As I returned to our house, I could hear the little fellow barking frantically and picked up my pace, worried that he had somehow gotten trapped trying to squeeze through the gate.  When I got near our yard, I could see him, standing in our "flower bed" where he had a clear view of both streets that intersect at our property.  He was yapping vigorously while peering nearsightedly into the rain - with each bark, his little body seemed to bounce off the ground.
   I had assumed (incorrectly) that when the rain started beating down, he would take shelter under our front porch.  Instead, however, he just stood guard like a little furry sentinel in the corner of our yard,watching for me to return and probably wishing with all his little heart that I would have enough sense to come in out of the rain:)
   As soon as he heard my voice, he quit barking and ran to the gate to meet me. Then, before I could get halfway up the sidewalk, he was already on the porch, shaking his soggy fur coat and looking at me like, "Don't you get it????  We need to be inside, as in inside the house!" His look plus the hyper dance he was doing in front of the door clearly spoke volumes:  as far as he was concerned, I had lost my ever-loving mind:)
   I let him in where he proceeded to run around looking more like  a soggy rat than a rat terrier blend, trying desperately to dry off.  He was miserable yet he could have been dry and safe on our front porch at any time, had he chosen to be. It wasn't that he didn't know where the front porch was, it was that he knew I was out there somewhere in the neighborhood and where I was, he wanted to be also.  Even if that meant getting soaked for no apparent reason.

   The J. B. Phillips Translation of Luke 9:23 goes like this:
   "If anyone wants to follow in my footsteps, he must give up all right to himself, carry his cross every day, and keep close behind me."

   Today I looked at Buddie with a mixture of exasperation and humor, thinking, "Silly dog!  Why didn't you just stay on the porch and wait for me instead of standing out in the pouring rain, watching for me and  getting soaked???"
   Then I thought about this verse and realized that maybe Buddie has  a better grasp of theology than I do...

   Loving rainy days combined with  theology lessons from little dogs who don't have enough sense to come in out of the pouring rain and who never give up trying to follow their master and/or looking for their master's return.

So speak and so act...

      I have been blessed to be able to attend Bible study this week - something I normally take for granted.   I'm not used to having to "parcel" out my limited energy and plan ahead for something as simple as a video lecture and small group discussion.  Clearly, I take a lot for granted.

     The title of the Beth Moore study that I was fortunate enough to attend is  Mercy Triumphs Over Judgement and it comes directly from a verse in James 2, a verse I had somehow overlooked even though I have read James many times in the course of my life.
     This week, I found a new novel by Randy Singer to my delight. He's a Christian lawyer and pastor and author - maybe an unlikely combination:-)  And his books have been compared to John Grisham's, with good reason.  He's won awards and I have yet to read any of his books where I didn't have to re-think some of my preconceived notions, of which I apparently have an abundance  :-(
    This time around, however, his novel  made me extremely uncomfortable and several times I wanted to walk away from it. Yet because I was already hooked on the characters, I couldn't. I  finished it last night and then, totally stunned, spent another hour going back and re-reading key chapters.
    In the middle of the novel, one character talks about how mercy triumphs over judgement. "For judgement will be merciless to one who has shown no mercy." It was a direct quote from James 2:13, from the Bible study I am working on.  And that did not strike me as a coincidence...
    The book, The Last Plea Bargain, deals with multiple issues, including the sticky one of  inmates who are on death row and who also  have conversion experiences.  I thought Singer's handling of this subject and all the others he introduced in the novel were fairly and deftly handled.
     But now, the novel has ended and I'm left with James 2:13:   "For judgement will be merciless to one who has shown no mercy.  Mercy triumphs over judgement.."

    For me, this doesn't play out on as grand a scale as it does for Singer's characters in his latest novel.  Their choices, when faced with this verse, are gut-wrenching to say the least.  Mine are much less adrenalin-laced and for that, I'm thankful.
   Basically, for me, this verse boils down to:  will I follow the Royal Law and love my neighbor as myself?  Or will I extend mercy to myself and exercise judgement when thinking of  and relating to others?
    Definitely something  I will be thinking about (and hopefully acting on)  in the days ahead as I continue through the workbook on James.
     So speak and so act, as those who are to be judged by the law of liberty.  James 2:12
   

This is how I see it...

 
 When our son was in preschool, he had problems with another child.  One day after school, as I was driving David home, he told me that he had reported this child to the teacher on the playground for something the kid said.
    I asked him what the teacher said and he replied earnestly, "She said that we all love each other at school."  Then he added in all seriousness, "But I don't think that's happened yet..."
    Indeed...
    Bullies have always been around.  You can find them in the Bible and in all the ensuing writings that span the centuries since  Goliath and Samson first made the Gideons of the world cringe.
    And every family has their stories of how someone in the family dealt with the neighborhood (or school) bully.  My adopted "father," Cecil, was born in 1918 and grew up on a farm in Hazen, Arkansas.  When he was in the first grade, three  older school boys grabbed  him after school and rolled him around in the grass until his clothes were stained.  By the time he got home, he was late for chores and headed for a "whipping" for making more work for his mamma.
   After several recurrences of this - getting rolled in the grass, coming home dirty and late, and getting corporal punishment, he finally told his dad what was happening.  His father told him that the next time those boys grabbed him, to "shinny up one like he was a tree" and "grab hold" of the big kid's ear with his teeth and hold on for dear life.   Cecil did that and after the big kid got through hopping around and yelling and finally managed to get Cecil detached from his ear, he said that those boys became his best friends.
   One other story that Cecil recounted concerned two teen-age boys who had been threatening each other until it had reached the point where they  had a court date to deal with the issue. Unfortunately, the visiting judge was late on the day court would be held so after the families gathered for basically nothing, the sheriff decided to take care of things.  He  drew a big circle in the dirt and then  told the boys to get inside  the circle and "go at it".  The boys fought it out and when they were finished, the sheriff asked them if they were satisfied. They said they were and left friends again.
   Whether those were sound psychological ways to deal with bullies, I don't know.  All I know is that they worked.
   Today there is a huge cry about making schools a "culture of love" where bullying is a thing of the past.  It sounds good.  But the bottom line is that bullies exist everywhere - in the office, in the family, in the neighborhood, in college offices, in the supermarket.  I've even encountered them at yard sales, of all places.  And honestly, even in churches, although not many in that setting thankfully.
   What I'm saying is that while it sounds nice to talk about eradicating bullying from schools and teaching everyone to love, it's not going to happen.  As long as bullies exist, bullying will exist.   Most people can be taught to love others (or at least pretend to accept others). Some, however,  cannot.
   And I guess what I'm really saying is that the tragedy that happened at Chardon High in Ohio yesterday is not the fault of the school and definitely not the fault of the victims. It's not even clear that bullying was involved in the shooting that occurred early Monday morning. But what if that was the reason?
    Bottom line:   bullying is never a justification for cold-blooded murder.
   Tonight, there are three families who are still coming to grips with the fact that they sent their sons to school for a normal day and now... they will never see those kids again here on earth.
   My sympathy is with those families. Completely.
  Yet, as I read comments posted by other members of our society, I see sympathy for the shooter and a desire to place blame on the schools for not teaching kids to "love" each other.
  I don't know why the shooter was enrolled in an  alternative school. But I know you don't get sent to alternative schools for being good.   And I don't know why he walked into the cafeteria yesterday and gunned down 5 teenagers who were just eating breakfast and minding their own business.
   But I know this: there is no justification for what he did.
   And the blame is his.
   Praying for Chardon High and for the families of the five victims.

Bending Low for Love...

     When I am sick, I go back to my favorite novel, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.  Suffice it to say that in the last week, I've watched the A & E version once (6 hours of it!) and am getting ready to re-watch it.  In addition to that, I have read 90% of the novel.  Bottom line: I've been sick....
     My antibiotic runs out tomorrow and I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon with my doctor.. again...  This time a week and a half ago, I had no idea that I would soon be coughing and hacking my way through life, taking antihistamines, antibiotics, vitamins, cough medicine, and also dragging tissue around with me like it was pure gold.
     Basically my priorities changed suddenly and my world narrowed dramatically.
     The hardest thing in all of this, honestly, has been to accept it and give thanks, without worrying where it all might lead.

     I'm an Olympic worrier.  When I have bronchitis that hangs on, I worry about it going into pneumonia (which has happened to me before).  While I'm normally not too enamored of my appearance, when I see my blood-shot eyes in the mirror and notice how red my face looks when I'm trying hard to cough and breathe at the same time, I have to wonder what my husband sees in me and I feel anxiety about that.  And when, after a particularly bad coughing fit, I find myself breathing hard as if I've been running a marathon, I wonder how long my body is going to keep on ticking...  Surely the warranty must be pretty dog-eared and faded by now...
     Yet the Bible says to give thanks in all things.  All things...
     And the Bible says that God works all things to our good if we love Him and are called according to His purpose.
     And the Bible says that it is appointed for us once to die and it goes on to say that even before we were born, He knew all of our days beforehand. In other words, our job is to trust Him and live for Him.  His job is to monitor our span of life and bring us safely Home when it is the right time.
    Meanwhile, there is a celestial love story going on.  One  that is far greater than the aristocratic Mr. Darcy, humbling himself beyond anyone's wildest dreams, forcing himself to go into the slums of London to hunt down a man he despises in order to use his own money to bribe that man into marrying a woman who is equally despicable.
    But, for the love of a woman, a woman who has actually spurned him in no uncertain terms, Mr. Darcy does all this and more.
    I love the irony in the novel  but I think the love story speaks to the depths of humanity.  Whether we admit it or not, most of us want someone to love us like that.  Someone who is infinitely desirable, far above us in life,  but who moves Heaven and earth, not just for anyone, but for us.
    This morning, when I was the sickest I've been throughout this week-long inconvenience of sinus drainage and such, I found myself going through the house, searching for lozenges or anything that would alleviate my ear and throat pain and as I went through the house, I found myself from time to time whispering, "Help me."
   And Someone did.
   I guess I'm just saying, there is a far greater love story, a universal one; in fact, an eternal one, that far eclipses the love story of Darcy and Elizabeth.
   When God sent His Son to win our souls, He literally moved Heaven and Earth to do it.
   And even when we are at our worst, this is something to be thankful for.

 
 

Pastor Yousef Nadarkhani

   
     Tonight a very courageous follower of  Isa Jesus  has been once again sentenced to die simply because He has accepted God's love, God's provision for His sin, and He wants to follow God no matter where it leads.
     Sometimes a person may sacrifice himself in order to try to gain something, to get something for his family or even for himself in life after death.
     This is not the case for Pastor Yousef.  He  is willing to sacrifice himself because he has already found something.   Something so precious that, although he wants to live for his family, still, he would rather die than give up what he has found.
     What has he already received  that is worth losing everything for?
      It is the very real love of God.
      Isa Jesus said that if anyone wanted to know if His words were from God or not, then simply listen to them and put them into practice. After doing this for a while,  a person will know for sure if His words are simply the teachings of man or if they are truly the teachings of God Himself.
     If they are just man's words, then they should not be followed. If they are God's teachings, then they should.
    In the New Testament, the Injil, the book of John, is a good place to start for anyone who would like to understand why Pastor Yousef, who loves life and who loves his family, still, cannot turn his back on a great and holy God who loves him deeply and has forgiven him completely.

cough medicine musings...

    Phil has had bronchitis for a week and I've had it since Thursday night.  I can't even begin to tell you some of the strange musings that have gone through my mind.  What I can tell you is that the Rich Mullin's song with the refrain, "Oh, we are not as strong as we think we are," is so true. (And I know he wasn't writing about bronchitis but still... we are not as strong as we think we are... and in our house this week, it just took one little bacteria to prove that to both Phil and I.)
   Both of us, unknown to the other, actually reached the place during the worst of the illness where we felt that we were not going to make it, literally.  We've both had pneumonia in the past but I don't remember feeling as hopeless as I have this time around with a lesser disease.  Maybe it's our age. Maybe it's that I actually felt hopeless before but  because of the passing of time, I've just forgotten how far I bottomed out back then.  At any rate, this time around, mortality seemed all too real to me and to Phil as well.
   I also thought about friends of ours who have chronic lung disease and in particular, about one person from our Sunday School class who died of lung cancer.  I remember when I told him that we were praying for healing and how he responded, "Well, that's on my list. But it's not very high on the list..."  He went on to say that when the doctor told him he had lung cancer that had metastasized, he responded with, "Well, I can get excited about Heaven...."  I remembered how he used to have to leave the Sunday School classroom when he'd have a coughing fit.. but how he kept coming whenever his health allowed.  I was impressed by his example. But I also realized this week that I'm not where he was.  The bottom line is that I would like to continue living on this earth for a while longer and I'd like for all my friends to do the same.
   But the main thing I realized was how fragile we are.  A week ago last Saturday, our lives were "normal" and if you had told either of us that within a few days, we'd both be coughing our guts out and wondering if we'd survive this relatively minor illness, we wouldn't have believed it. Neither of us would have believed it.  Yet, that is exactly what happened.  We are frail even though we are wonderfully made.
   I also realized that nothing is so humbling as disease.  Appearance??  Out the window...  The  least of my concerns.  Breathing quickly takes precedence over make-up and blow dryers.
   Intelligence?  Right behind make-up and blow dryers...  One night at 3 in the morning, I was sitting in the bathroom trying to cough without disturbing Phil and my blood-shot eyes focused on  a bag of "discreet bladder protection pads" that I had in a prominent place.  The bag was folded a little in on itself and honest to goodness, I read  this on the side of the bag:  "ladder protection" in all seriousness and sat there for about 30 seconds trying to figure out what it meant...  :-) It probably took me a full minute to realize that the "b" from "bladder" was missing...  Phil and I can laugh about it now but at the time, I wondered if I was not only losing my lung capacity but my mental capacity as well!  (Now I will never be able to look at that bag without thinking, "ladder protection"...)
   Niceness?  Also out the window... Right behind make-up, blow dryers and intelligence..  I had to bite my tongue to keep from biting Phil's head off (he was starting to feel better when I was hitting the throes of the bronchitis).  Nothing the guy did really pleased me although I managed to express my thanks anyway.  It wasn't until last night that I could really think about all the things he did for me: bringing me cranberry slushies from Sonic, heating up chicken soup for me, washing the clothes, and, perhaps the greatest sign of true love of all - the poor man actually sat down  and watched six hours (yes.. six! Hours!) of the A & E production of Pride and Prejudice with me.   Surely there is no greater love.. :)
   As I have started to come out of this (and hopefully will continue to improve) I realize I have much to be grateful for: being able to take a hot shower whenever I wanted to, being able to go to the clinic without any problems, having canned soup at my disposal, having a warm bed and central heat, not having to worry about being absent from a job, having a husband who was willing to care for me and who could actually say, "I love you"and sound like he meant it when I felt like a cross between Attila the Hun and Dracula... The list goes on and on.
   Well, I think I've shot my bolt of energy for the day...
    I'm not sure that there is any point to these cough medicine musings other than the fact that I am acutely aware today  that we are, truly, not as strong as we think we are.

 

Happy Valentine's!

 
 I love my husband and he loves me. Often, we look at each other and say, "I don't think anyone else could have lived with me this long and still be in love with me!"  We both have our idiosyncrasies and we know it.  Over the years, we have laughed together, prayed together, cried together, parented together,  worked together, celebrated together, and even gone out into the backyard to square off with water pistols when the tension was getting to us.  (Our neighbors loved that coping mechanism and got to the place where they would bring out the lawn chairs to watch:) As Valentine's Day rolls around, we have a lot of memories but for some reason, this one stands out, proving that not only do opposites attract, but that real marriages don't look like the stuff that goes on most hearts and flowers greeting cards...:)
      In June of 2008, our son was scheduled for an early ACT exam on a Saturday morning.  For the  two days before that, my husband had had increasing pain with an abscessed tooth. In fact, he had gone to the dentist and been placed on an antibiotic and a pain killer.  What none of us knew was that the antibiotic wasn't effective against the infection he had.  The pain killer masked the pain on Thursday so we thought he was getting better. But on Friday, the pain began to build until by 8:00 p.m., I was begging Phil to call the dentist and not wait until 1 in the morning, at which time I figured we'd have to make a run to the emergency room. He didn't want to bother the dentist, however, and said he could handle the pain. Famous last words:)
     At midnight, he was in agony and  sure enough, I soon found myself driving him up  University Avenue towards a local hospital. The weather was about to turn nasty and as we drove towards one very high  hill, I saw something I had never seen before - lighting came straight down in two columns from the sky to the top of that hill. It looked like two gigantic fluorescent tubes side-by-side.  I am terrified of lightening storms and tornadoes so you can imagine how I felt when I saw that.  At first, I was in shock, thinking, "Okay. Lightening doesn't do stuff like that. It must have been a trick of my imagination..."  But even so, I white-knuckled the steering wheel and began to silently pray that we would  get to the ER before Armageddon broke loose... Which, thankfully, we did.
   When we got to the ER, however, we discovered that A) the whole area was being remodeled and B) no one cared that we were there.  We found a book to sign but no one talked to us, questioned us, gave us the time of day, or even glanced our way.  For 45 minutes.    At that point, Phil, who was in excruciating pain, asked me to drive him to another hospital.  He knew from watching the t.v. in the lobby that a super cell storm was right over us, literally, but he was in so much pain, he didn't really think about it.
   Until I started driving us off the ER parking lot.  Before we even got to University Avenue, I was cringing over the steering wheel, my eyes barely positioned to see above it, babbling, "Oh, God! Help us!!  Please, help us!!!" All this while lightening lit up the entire area where we were about every 30 to 40 seconds.  I was no longer seeing a fluorescent light off in the distance, instead I felt I was sitting right smack dab in the middle of one and I was terrified.

Nighttime thunderstorm

    In the middle of my cringing, crying, and somewhat erratic driving, my husband spoke calmly but firmly.
    "Cathy, turn left onto University."
    "But.. but.. the hospital is the other way...  Oh God, pleeeassse don't let us die out here!!!"
    "Cathy, it's okay...  Just turn the car... left.. that's it.  And watch out for the divider in the middle of the high way.  Good. You missed it. You are doing fine. Now... Just ease into the far lane and... turn off at the first parking lot you see."
    "But you are in pain and..."  Lightening illuminated the interior of the car completely.  I shut my eyes and yelled.  Literally.  Momentarily.  When I opened them again, my foot was shaking against the gas peddle.  "But..but... can you drive??"
    Phil answered firmly.  "Yes, I can drive. I feel fine.  Just ease over into that furniture store parking lot. That's really good. You're doing good.  Now... watch out for the yellow parking space divider.  That's good. Now put it in park and put on the brake. Okay...  I'm going to count to three and then we're both going to jump out and run to the other side of the car so we can swap places. Ready? "
     He did and we did. But even though we ran like maniacs around the front of the vehicle, by the time we jumped into our respective places and slammed  the doors shut, we were both soaked to the skin with water running in rivulets off of us and literally pooling up on the floorboards.
    At that point, I curled up into a ball on my seat, trying to make myself as small a target as possible, with my face pressed against my knees and my hands covering my head.  As Phil  steered us down the road, I  alternated between crying, praying out loud and sneaking peeks at Phil to make sure  he was not being incapacitated by pain. Every so often, guilt would take precedence over  terror and  I  would blurt out how sorry I was that he was in pain and yet he was having to drive. Each time he assured me he was fine.
     I only looked at the road twice on that crazy ride home and both times I saw signs of flash flooding on the road ahead. The second time, we were still about a mile from our house and I could see the water was pretty deep just in front of us. I fearfully asked Phil if it was deep enough to cause our brakes to go out. He calmly told me that would not be a problem. (He also wisely refrained from telling me the water was deep enough to cause the engine to stall out on us and that if it did stall, there was nothing we could do - we'd just have to wait it out...).
    We finally got home about 2 in the morning, looking like water rats on a bad day.  We fell into bed but it took me a while to calm down before I could sleep. Phil, however, went to sleep right away. I'm sure he was exhausted but I was still seeing flashes of lightening every time I closed my eyes. I wondered if this was what it was like to have LSD go bad on you... If so, I was truly thankful I'd never touched the stuff.
   I woke up early the next morning to the sound of Phil softly saying, "Thank you, Jesus.  Praise God... Thank you."  Phil is pretty quiet and this is not typical for either of  us.  Especially in the morning.   I opened my blood-shot eyes and gave him a reptilian stare.  He was happy!  At 6 in the morning, after the worst night of my life, he was literally full of praise.
   When he saw that I was awake, he became animated.  "Cathy!  Do you realize that I have had no pain medicine for hours??? You know I didn't take any before we went to the hospital because I thought they would give me some.  And then they didn't do anything for me but  still,  I slept soundly from 2 in the morning until now!!! With no pain!!! Thank you, Lord,  for helping me!!"
    He told me his tooth was just beginning to hurt a little bit but that he'd had no pain from the time he started driving us home until  well after the alarm went off that morning.
    As he was lying there, filled with gratitude, I have to admit, I was lying there thinking that if he ever ignored my advice again and dragged me out at 1 in the morning for an ER run in the middle of a super cell storm, I would rearrange his innards.  Honestly, those were the exact words going through my mind.  Fortunately, I had enough self-control not to say them.  (If any person should have been so misguided as to ever put me on a pedestal, this story should take care of that mistake... :-)
    Phil began to experience some mild pain again before I left to take David to the school for his ACT test.  WE were both tired and had little to say to each other as we went through the drive-through to get caffeine - and lots of it...
   The only thing I really remember saying to David was that if his dad ever put me through another night like that, he, David,  would be short a parent.  The only thing I remember him saying was that he hated ACT tests and would be glad when this one was over.  As far as I can recall, the rest of the ride transpired in silence.
    Although Phil came through as a trooper and got us home through that super cell, no small feat with a gibbering wife practically curled up on the floor board, we were headed for round 2 as his pain continued to build that Saturday.  He still didn't want to bother the dentist  so this time  I went out to the car to run an errand and as soon as I got in the car, I called the dentist, babbled about our awful and unproductive experience the night before and asked the dentist to help us but not to let my husband know I had called him. I normally don't do anything behind my husband's back but I have to admit I was desperate not to repeat the scene from the night before.
   I hadn't made it to the store when my husband called me on my cell phone and said, "Dr. So-and-So is so nice!  Here it is late Saturday afternoon, his day off, and he called me just to check on me and see how I'm doing..."  He then  asked me to pick up a prescription the dentist had called in for him, which I was more than happy to do.  Later on that evening, I told him that our dentist truly was an awesome guy but that he'd also gotten a heads-up from me.
  I enjoy the atmosphere of  hearts and flowers  on  Valentine's day.  But I prefer  the real thing and it's been my experience that most of the advertising on this day has little, if anything, to do with the real warp and woof of married life.
  I love my husband.  He is truly, a steely-eyed missile man when it comes to  super cells and hysterical wives. He loves me too. I'm the one who knows when to call the dentist. Together, we make a great team.