Prayer Request

Hurray!

I have an interview this Friday for a paid, part-time student internship position at Spectrolab. Brent and I are praying really, REALLY hard that I get this job. It is well paying, it's in my field, it is reasonably close to home, I would be authorized to work up to 40 hours during the summer, and they're looking for interns who will stay with the company after graduation. Plus, the job sounds stinkin' fun.

So please pray that they accept me! The only reason that Brent and I prayerfully decided that I needed to look for part time work is that we're realizing at the end of each month, between his paycheck and our bills, we're barely breaking even, if that. Me having a job would give us more flexibility, would allow us to pay off what we owe for car repairs (I was recently in my first accident :(...I wasn't hurt though) and pay the cat deposit that we owe to our landlord...every time I see her I'm afraid she's going to inquire after the $500 pet deposit, the due date for which she has graciously delayed indefinitely. One peep from her and my little furry purring friend gets shipped off to my parents' home...if they agree to keep him.

So pray with us, if you think of it! :)

A Typical Evening in the Tyler Home...Or Not

It's 5:45 pm. I'm in the kitchen preparing an onion-tomato-avacado salsa for the salmon I would soon be grilling in time for Brent to get home from work around 6:30. I'm finished peeling the avacado, so I gather the peels into my hands and swing around to throw the scraps in the trash. As I swing, the crown of my head gets powerfully jammed into the corner of my open cupboard above the counter. My body jolts backward from the force, I scrunch my eyes and hold my head in pain as I think with frustration about how often I have injured myself in my own kitchen with knives, hot dishes, hot oil, open cupboards. I take a brake from holding my head to slam the cupboard door closed in disgust, and then go back to reeling in pain. (Yes, you would have long been laughing if you had been watching me.) After twenty seconds, the pain isn't gone and I determine to walk the fifteen feet to my bathroom mirror to take pride in the goose egg I am sure I just trophied my head with. As I walk, my body tingles and it's hard to keep my eyes open. I approach the mirror, cradle my head in my hands once more, and just as I start to lift my eyes up to survey the damage, I feel a splash on my foot. Curious, I look to see what had caused that splashing sensation on my foot. Blood. I glance up in the mirror and it is confirmed; a thick pool of blood is streaming down my forehead. I stagger over to my linen closet and grab a tissue, find my phone and call my husband, still in his office at work. I'm panicking at this point, my heart's racing, and I gasp into the phone, "Babe, I hit my head, and I'm bleeding." 

"Ok, how did you hit your head?"

I described the situation to him quickly.

"Ok, lay down, put pressure on it, I'll be home soon. I'm leaving now." The phone clicks off.

I lay down on the hardwood floor of the bathroom and use the wall to put pressure on the tissue on my head wound. 

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So apparently when Brent got my phone call, one of his fellow employees had been in a conversation with him. When Brent got off the phone, he told the guy, "I gotta go. My wife's on the ground in our home with her head bleeding," as he walked out the door. Brent didn't even give the guy a chance to respond to the news. He just left. Later Brent and I had a good laugh about what must have been going through the poor guy's head about our situation that night.

When Brent got off the phone with me, I tried calling both of my parents because for some reason my heart was still really racing, I was really scared, and I wanted to be on the phone with someone. Unfortunately, neither of them answered their phones. It just so happened that as I was trying to get through to my parents, Brent was trying to get ahold of me again. When I wasn't picking up, he got more scared for me, to the point where he ran across a street to his company parking lot against a red light, with cars coming at him. Later we had a good laugh about that scenario too. Finally when I gave up trying to get through to my parents, Brent got ahold of me, and we talked the entirety of his five minute drive home.

We quickly determined that I was fine. We both remembered that above your scull there is a lot of blood, so even if you have a very small cut, it bleeds a lot and for a long time. We understood that since the blood was falling down my head and not streaming out, that I was ok. Finally my heart went back to normal and our conversation went back to its normal flirty style. As Brent rushed through the gate of our complex, he asked me if I thought I was going to need mouth-to-mouth. I believed so. :)

So Brent examined my wound...if you can call it a wound. For all the blood, all I have to show for it is a tiny prick-looking thing and a slight bump. By the time Brent arrived, I had stopped bleeding and after a shower I looked as though nothing had happened to me. 

Brent used the occasion as an excuse for me not to be in the kitchen any more that night, and sweetly set about trying to pamper me because of my "trauma." He got us pizza, a movie and dessert from a little bakery he found near the pizza place. It was fun.

So I'm ok. The whole situation has given us both a lot of laughs. 

You know you're a homemaker....

...when this is the most influential article in your week.

Oh, the frustration and space I now save. Thank you Martha Stewart.