The Faith Of A Child, Part 3

If you have not yet read parts 1 & 2, you must start there. I think this story will touch your heart. Please go to Part 1.


I must admit that this post has caused the old leaky eyes to start. I hope you have enjoyed reading it half as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

I thought you might like to see the dresser that we received as an answer to Hannah's prayer. When we originally got it, it was missing a drawer. I like to do some wood-working, so I just pulled out the other drawer and was going to use it as a pattern.

Knowing that I would not be finished in the next 1-2 weeks, or maybe years, I decided I'd better come up with a 'temporary' solution. I cut a few boards to size and placed them in the empty socket left by the absent drawers. Hannah began using this space as a great place to store her shoes.





At this point, Hannah loves it just the way it is, so it looks like my 'temporary' solution is going to be permanent. This helps answer one of my prayers, in that it cleans up the area in our entry-way. Previously, all of Hannah's shoes could be found in the area where you see the roller skates. It looks so much better now.






This has been a huge learning experience and faith-building exercise for me. I hope you have found value in it, as well.

We can often find so much to learn from our little children if we simply take the time to watch, open our ears to listen, and trust in God to lead.


Sometimes God's leaders and lessons come from unlikely sources.

Are we ready to listen to Him and follow?


**If you liked this post, be sure to click the 'follow' tab to stay up-to-date on future blog posts.  Enjoy!**

The Faith Of A Child, part 2

If you have not read the first part of this story, please take the time to do so now. Otherwise, this one will make very little sense. Go to: http://lifewithrachael.blogspot.com/2009/08/faith-of-child.html.


After Hannah's move into her new bedroom, we realized she did not have a dresser for her new room. Hannah prayed to God in the sweetest way possible, and with total faith, after which she fell deep into a sweet sleep. Rachael was the one putting her to bed and told me about Hannah's prayer.

Being the adult that I am, I marvelled at her incredible faith, her seemingly unwavering belief in her God. I probably even envied it a little bit.

Then I began to worry some.

"What's going to happen when Hannah wakes up and she has no dresser?"

"What's going to happen when we go through the entire day tomorrow, and there is no dresser?"

"Will I be able to convince Hannah that God answered her prayer by Rachael and I spending our money to purchase one?"

"Will her faith be tested?"

I fell asleep thinking about how to explain to Hannah why she did not have a dresser sitting in her room when she woke up. With the incredible faith that she had, I thought she might actually be surprised that the dresser was NOT there.


I woke up Sunday morning and got the kids out of bed, and began to make breakfast. Yes, I made breakfast. I am in charge of Sunday mornings. While I have never professed to being a fine chef, I serve up a mean toasted Eggo waffle, or Quaker Oatmeal (the kind that you only have to add hot water to.) I sometimes mess up the oatmeal, but usually it comes out at least edible. As I was getting everything ready, I was trying to prepare mentally to help answer any of the doubts that Hannah was sure to express about there not being a dresser in her room.

I called to the kids that breakfast was ready. They dutifully came and sat down. We said grace and began to eat.

This was it.

This was when Hannah was going to start asking the questions.

She opened her mouth to talk.

I braced myself.

"Dad, can I have some milk, please?"

The entire breakfast went smoothly. There were no questions. There was only the normal conversational banter that comes whenever you have 3 kids in close proximity to food.

After breakfast, I headed off to take my shower after giving the kids their instructions to clear their spots and get ready for church.

"Whew, it looks like I'm not getting any hard questions this morning!"

Everyone got ready and we piled in the truck. Now, we live about 35 minutes from the church we go to. That's a long time. Plenty of opportunity for Hannah to ask the Hard Questions.

But there were no Hard Questions. There were no questions at all. By this time, I figured maybe Hannah had just forgotten about her prayer.

I think I may have just been underestimating the depth of her faith.

Sometimes when we as adults ask God for something, if He doesn't answer in the next 4 minutes, we figure he's just not listening, or Satan's attacking, or our spouse is living so unholy that God can't possibly answer our prayers. We sometimes forget about that whole In His Time thing.

We had a fairly uneventful ride to church. We always enjoy seeing the ocean, the sea lions, the beautiful reflection of the sun on the bay. We had our normal conversations. All was normal and nice.


We pulled up to the church.

We looked at the yard surrounding the church and saw a dresser.

I turned to Rachael and said,

"Look at what's in front of the church."

The kids did not see it at first.

Rachael said, "Oh My Goodness, Look at that!" in the exaggerated tone we parents use when we want to be absolutely sure our kids get our message.

Once they saw it, Rebecca said that Hannah needed a dresser. Hannah asked if she could have it.

Now why is there a dresser in front of the church. Why? Why indeed?

We've been going to this same church for almost 6 years. It's not like it is a normal place for people to dump furniture. In our entire time there, we've never seen a dresser there on Sunday morning. Or a couch. Or a bed. Or any other piece of furniture, for that matter.

I'm still not wanting to get my hopes up, so I answer Hannah's question as my adult version of watered-down faith has taught me to:

"I have no idea. We'll have to see what's going on with it."

I have no idea? I have no idea? Can I possibly be any more dense?


We walked into the church and talked with the pastor and the deacon. We asked them what was going on with the dresser. Neither had any idea. They said that someone had left it there sometime on Friday. They both expressed surprise at the fact that no one had taken it on Saturday. The neighborhood around the church is not terrible, but it's not the best. Apparently, things like the dresser don't usually sit around unclaimed for long.

I asked them what they were going to do with the dresser.

They answered.

"We don't know. We don't want it. Do you possibly want it?"

Thinking back to this now, I feel like bawling like a baby. I am prone to doing that at times. Especially when confronted face-to-face with the incredible goodness of God. I told Hannah. She did not even seem surprised. She did seem very grateful and happy.

After Hannah had asked for the dresser, I hoped that I might be able to somehow use the opportunity when she didn't get the dresser to help her learn a lesson about how God doesn't always answer our prayers like we think He might. Maybe a lesson on waiting on God. Or a lesson on never losing Faith.

I was hoping that Hannah's faith might be strenghened.

Instead, Hannah's faith was completely and totally fulfilled, and I was the one to learn the lesson.

When I began this post, I talked about how thankful I am for the influence Rachael has been on our kids. I believe that Rachael has played an instrumental part in helping develop the faith of our children. Life with Rachael is often full of blessings.

That night, as we got down to pray, I talked to Hannah about her prayer the night before and how amazing it was that God had answered it so suddenly and completely. She had the knowing look of a child that knew what was going to happen all along. I don't think she was nearly as amazed as I had been.

She got ready to pray.

I halfway-jokingly asked her if she'd mind asking God to give Daddy a Corvette.

She just looked at me and said, "Dad!" like it was crazy to ask for something like that.


I think she gets it.

She really gets it.

I'm working on it.


*Be sure to come back tomorrow for the final post and to see a picture of the dresser that Hannah's prayers brought.

The Faith of A Child

Life with Rachael has been very exciting.

Life with Rachael has been filled with adventure.

Life with Rachael has been filled with many incidents that are considerably funnier now than what they were when they happened.



While I try to be patient, I'd be giving Pinocchio a run for his money to say I'd never been seething in anger. I think I only actually seethed once, but I have been rather upset at times.

My love for Rachael has always been infinitely more powerful and deeper than any superficial frustration or even anger I may have had over some of the things that have happened.

There are many, many reasons to love Rachael. Tonight, I am going to tell you about at least one.

She is a great mother.

She has taught our children many wonderful things. She has taught them through her actions as well as her words. I believe she has demonstrated an incredibly deep faith in God that has been noticed by our children and manifested in their actions and attitudes.

She has also taught me. She has taught me how to love better and deeper than I ever could have without her. She has taught me how to better live out my Christianity. I think she's better at that than I am, but I'm working on it and I am eternally grateful to live with such a great embodiment of God's love.

We have been living in the same house in Salinas, CA for almost 6 years now. Up until recently, Hannah and Benjamin had shared a room. In addition to this, all three kids shared what we called our toy room. The toy room was a great idea in theory. The theory was that the kids could all go into a common area that would always be nice, clean, and orderly. They would play calmly, quietly, and considerately while listening to Mozart playing in the background. Their multiple intelligences would be stimulated and enhanced.

In practice, it turned out to be a catch-all for junk and toys from all three kids. It turned out to be a fight-magnet. It turned out to be just one and a half steps away from being classified as a junk yard. I am still looking for the ornery kids from the neighborhood that incessantly brought all of their trash and toys over to our house, snuck in the window in the middle of the night, and used our toy room as their own local refuse pit. At least, I'm sure that must have been what was going on, because a typical conversation went something like this:

"Rebecca, there's trash all over the floor. Can you please pick it up?"

"Umm, Dad, that's not mine. I think it's Hannah's."


"Hannah, there's trash all over the floor. Can you please pick it up?"

"Dad, that's Ben's, not mine."


"Ben, there's trash all over the floor. Can you please pick it up?"

"But, D-a-a-a-a-a-d. It's NOT mine!"


This same conversation was repeated when it came time to put the toys away as well. Except for one slight variation.

"Ok, if no one wants to pick up the toys, I'm going to just throw them away."

You could see the looks cross their faces. Each one trying to decide if they really cared about the toys in question. If no, they were more than happy to let me clean up the room for them. Even if they DID care about the toys, you could still see the hesitation, as they thought amongst themselves, "I wonder if _________ likes these toys too. If so, I can maybe wait awhile and they will take care of them for me."

The entire time, I'm staring at blank faces, wondering if I should have me kids checked for possible amnesia.

Most of the time, the amnesia seemed to clear right before the toys were thrown away. One of them would suddenly remember that the toys did belong to them and they'd rush to clean them up.

The plan had always been that when Hannah and Ben got older, we'd separate them, one would stay in the bedroom they currently shared, and the other would move into their own bedroom, and we'd no longer have a toy room.

That was a plan that came to fruition a few weeks ago. Hannah came to us to let us know that she was ready for the big move.


After a lot of hard work, mostly by Rachael, we were almost set.

That's when we discovered that Hannah would no longer have a dresser. She and Ben had always shared a dresser, but now they would be on opposite sides of the house. Ben would keep the dresser they had formerly shared, and now Hannah did not have one. We did not have the extra money to buy a new dresser and had not had time to go to yard sales that day, as our primary focus was on the big move.

The big move took place on a Saturday, not long ago. That night, we said prayers with Hannah. She prayed her normal sweet, innocent, regular prayer that she says every night. But, in addition, she said, "Dear God, can you please send me a dresser for me to use in my new room?"

She said this so sweetly, so innocently, with the absolute pure and beautiful faith that we as grown ups seem to somehow forget, or at least have a really hard time finding after a busy day of dodging bombardments from the devil. She prayed with total faith, total confidence in her God. Rachael was the one that actually prayed with her, but she told me about the prayer.

Now, me being the adult that I am, I knew there was no way God was going to magically reach down and place a dresser in Hannah's bedroom. When I went to sleep that night, I did not expect to wake up in the morning and find a dresser in her bedroom. I figured that God would probably only answer that prayer if I decided to take some money and use it to purchase a dresser for Hannah. In fact, I was mildly concerned that Hannah's faith might be challenged a bit if and when God did not answer her prayer. I did not want her to wake up, go though the day, and be surprised to find out she still did not have a dresser.

The next day did turn out to be quite a surprise. Come back tomorrow to find out what happened.

Click here for part 2!

InvisiTrav

We recently had an intruder in our house.



A criminal.



An absolutely deplorable man with nothing but evil intentions.

At first, he was not noticed or marked for the man he was. Eventually, though, his presence was too overbearing to pretend not to notice. He was bigger and brighter than the pink elephant in the room that we all so often fail to see. I know some people say we ignore this elephant, but I think sometimes we don't even see him. I wonder which is better?

Anyway, back to the story.



InvisiTrav had joined us.

*Now I should stop you right here and let you know that the end of this post will not make sense unless you have already read Rachael's Post, Nursing Under Cover, as well as my post, I Used To Hate Camping. So, if you have not read them, I encourage you to do so now. Failing to do so will cause you to get to the end of this post and be seen scratching your head. Don't say you were not warned.*

Fortunately, Rachael and I are true soulmates. Now, contrary to popular belief, that does not necessarily mean that you will never argue or fight. It does mean that even while you argue and fight your love never wavers, never falters, is never doubted. Soulmates truly are united in a way that transcends rational explanation.

One of the things I am most thankful for is that God allowed me to marry my soulmate.

Unfortunately for Rachael, my evil twin brother sometimes joins me in our arguments. When I thought about writing this blog post, I decided that my evil twin brother needed a name.


InvisiTrav was born.


After spending many, many years together as a married couple, and especially as soulmates, you get to the point where you can almost anticipate what the other is going to say or do. While this can be beneficial at times, it can also cause its share of problems if it goes unchecked.

I know InvisiTrav has entered the room when I see Rachael looking at me like I just really wronged her and I have no idea what I have done.

Now, most of you have never seen The Look that Rachael has when she is not happy, or is feeling slighted or hurt. It is painful to behold. Painful because you worry about what she is thinking and feeling. But even more painful because you know that your days may be numbered.
I had mentioned The Look to Rachael on many an occasion. She never seemed to really believe that it was as bad as I said. So I resorted to doing what any self-respecting husband would do. I took a picture of her in the act. Now, when she gives me The Look, I pull out the picture and show it to her.


She usually screams in fear.


Anyway, when I see this look, I immediately do two things.

1. I reflect upon our most recent conversation(s). Typically, upon reflection, I discover what I said or did that was probably a lot more mean-spirited than it should have been. In this case, my heart breaks for hurting Rachael, I shed a few tears, I apologize, she forgives, we hug and move on. One of the things I am thankful for is Rachael's forgiving heart and her love for me.

2. If I can not find anything I said or did that was mean-spirited, I ask myself if InvisiTrav may have entered the picture. InvisiTrav is an insidious, mean-spirited, destructive personality that tends to get me in a lot of trouble.

An InvisiTrav intrusion becomes apparent when I ask Rachael why she is SO mad at me.

"Well, you think that I'm just......(fill in the blanks)."

I answer, "But hon, I do not think that, and I did not say that."

"I know, but you thought it."

Now, the interesting thing about InvisiTrav's treachery, is that Rachael's responses to his dastardly deeds are just as real as if I had actually been the one responsible for them. Now, to be fair to Rachael, I have to say that she is probably somewhat influenced in her responses based on past times where I sometimes acted more like my evil twin brother than I would likely care to admit. So, while I may not have been mean to her this time, she remembers the last time we were in a similar circumstance and may assume I'm going to do the same thing this time.

As you can probably imagine, InvisiTrav is not a very welcome guy to either of us.

Rachael and I have now decided to band together against InvisiTrav and kick his sorry rear-end out of our marriage. I let him know that I can be plenty inconsiderate and mean without needing his help. He was sorry to go, but eventually seemed to understand.

I apologize if he sometimes breaks into your home and poses as Invisi________. (Fill in your name here.)

Occasionally, though, he likes to trespass into our home again. Most of the time, his visits are short-lived. We simply hold-fast to our 2nd ammendment rights and target-practice on him. On those few occasions that he does sneak past our defenses, I sometimes have to resort to going out to the garage.


And talking to the tent.


And pretending it's InvisiRach.

NOT The Luckiest Person On The Planet

I have only had my wallet stolen or lost or accidentally left behind one time in my entire life. Now, if you are like

The Man Purse recovered after the theft.

me, and you live with Rachael, this could seem exceptional. Without exaggerating, I would guess that Rachael has left her purse in a public place at least 25-30 times. I know most of you are sitting there right now thinking I'm exaggerating that number just for effect on my blog. I assure you I am not. Any of our close friends can vouch for this.

The amazing thing is that we have never lost one thing out of it. Ever.

In fact, we have had people go to some amazing lengths to ensure that it was returned safely. Please see Rachael's post, The Luckiest Person On The Planet.



I have never, ever, even one time left my wallet in a public place.

But of course, I am the one to have mine stolen.


I can remember the night well. Rachael and I were enjoying a peaceful, relaxing time shopping at Wal-Mart in Rocklin, CA. This was in our Pre-Kids life, so most evenings were peaceful and relaxing. All of you parents know what I'm talking about.

We were checking out at the cash register.

While in line, I noticed the Ice Cold, Tantalizingly Beautiful, Good-To-The-Last-Drop, Diet Cokes, placed so completely conspicuously close to me. Now, I have mastered avoiding a few temptations in life. Smoking- never have. Drinking- never have. (At least intentionally. That's another post, although it does not involve Rachael and so may never find it's way on this blog. We'll see.)

Diet Coke, though.

I still have a weakness.

I fought the good fight for at least 2.23 seconds before giving in. During that period of time, my face became contorted. Sweat began to pour. My hands began to shake.

I knew there was only one thing to help.

I grabbed a Diet Coke.


Now, I know that there are many people out there that think it is quite funny to play practical jokes on friends or strangers. Some will do almost anything as long as they get a good laugh. A certain memory of a bull-horn in Las Vegas comes to mind, but that again is another story.

I believe I fell victim to someone's practical joke that night in Wal-Mart so long ago.


As soon as I paid for the soda, I calmly twisted off the lid in a slow-motion manner. OK, OK, so I tore it off as quickly as I could.

I was so anticipating the first taste of Ice Cold Diet Coke. The first taste is always the best. It kind of primes your taste buds for the rest of Heaven's Nectar to follow.

Imagine my dismay, when instead of being able to take a nice refreshing drink, the soda spurted all over me and the floor.

Apparently, someone had thought it would be funny to shake an Ice Cold Diet Coke up and put it back in the cooler. I looked around the store. Many people were laughing. Many people diverted their eyes when I looked at them. I knew they couldn't all be guilty, but I was sure it had to be one of them.

After staring at everyone that so much as smiled in my direction, I was saddened to see that I was still not going to be able to drink my soda.

There was a fairly large pool of Not So Ice Cold Diet Coke on the floor.

Now, I may be a lot of things, but I try hard to not be inconsiderate. I did not want to take the chance of having someone slip in the mess that I had created. I asked the checker if they had any paper towels. They did not, but pointed me in the right direction.

At this point in my life, I had a rather large wallet that Rachael had given to me as a present. All of my friends called it my man-purse and seemed to gain a great deal of satisfaction out of laughing at me about it. I am not sure but I think they were all just jealous. I know someday, they'll all have one.

I know this, because I think someday I'm going to give each of them one for Christmas.

Whatever the case, this wallet was much too big to fit in my pocket, so I was keeping it in the small compartment section of the shopping cart.

I turned away from my cart and walked about 12-15 feet away to get some paper towels. I retrieved them and immediately walked back and worked on my mess. When I was finished, I threw the towels away and was ready to leave the store.

I looked down at my cart.

My wallet was gone.

I had literally only left the cart for about 20 seconds. In that small amount of time, some heinous creature, some human waste, some ectoplasmic speck of putrid vile, had stolen my wallet. OK, so I'm not even sure what an ectoplasmic speck is, but I'm sure it is a fitting description.

I looked over at Rachael, for she had been standing there the entire time. I was sure she had pulled out my wallet to make me think that someone had stolen it. However, she was standing there, hands where I could see them, face transfixed. She was in her Zone. Someone had brazenly stolen my wallet out of the shopping cart that she has standing about 3 feet from. They were just lucky that Rachael retreats to her Zones early, often, and for extended periods of time. While her Zone appears to be quite the incredible place to be, it did not prove conducive to apprehending the would-be thief that stole my wallet.

Now, normally, I would have been upset.

However, in this case, I noticed that they hadn't really taken anything of value.


I calmly reached down, picked up my Ice Cold Diet Coke, and finally was able to take my long-awaited first sip.



After spending most of the morning canceling all my credit cards and mourning my losses, I went back to the store the next day and found my wallet behind a row of bushes. Someone had stripped it clean and discarded it like an unwanted carcass, which was totally unbelievable, because it was really a great wallet. If my man-purse jealous friends had found it, I know they'd still be carrying it today.

Every single thing in the entire wallet was gone. I apparently do not have the luck that Rachael does. I keep trying to convince her that I need to rub her for good luck once in awhile, but she doesn't seem to see how that would help. I say it sure couldn't hurt.

**If you liked this post, be sure to click the 'follow' tab to stay current with future blog posts.  I hope you enjoy this site!   -The Poor Husband**

I Used To Hate Camping!

This is my memory of Rachael's post Nursing Under Cover.



I can remember it now, just as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

We're sitting in a nice restaurant. Everyone is hungry. Everyone is talking. Everyone looks like what you would expect to see when a family goes out to dinner.

Except Rachael.

The waiter comes over close to our tables, but always seems to hesitate and then head the other direction at the last minute. You can tell that he's just not quite sure of what to make of the spectacle now sitting before his eyes.

He looks around the room just to be sure that he's still in his restaurant.

Not at Yosemite.
Not at Yellowstone.
Not in the Great Outdoors.

And yet there is a tent sitting at his table waiting to be served. He looks around as if to say, 'Where did this tent come from? I'm pretty sure it wasn't here when I just walked out of the room to the kitchen."

It takes him a few minutes, but he finally realizes that the tent waiting to eat is actually a human being sitting at the table with a blanket pulled completely over their head. Kind of like an advanced form of whatever it was that Linus from Peanuts had.

And when I say advanced, I am speaking more in the sense that a horrible disease is called 'advanced' right before it debilitates you.


It's the first time he's ever met my wife, Rachael.


He tentatively approaches and hesitates before speaking to me.

"Is everything OK sir?"

At this point I can tell that he is considering the options for what is going on at his table. It appears that he has narrowed it down to three possibilities:

1. The person under the blanket is very, very afraid of food and the mere sight of it may make her scream.
2. The person under the blanket has some very raunchy breath and wants to ensure no one else has to suffer through their halitosis.
3. The person under the blanket is clearly clinically insane, and their insanity is quite advanced.

As I look into his eyes, I quickly realize he has opted for option number 3.


I try to ease his mind.


"It's OK. She's fine. She's just nursing."

The transition is quite fascinating to behold.

The waiter first appears to be relieved that he is not going to be attacked by a clinically insane, halitosis wielding mad-man that is afraid of food.

Then he realizes what he just heard.

"She's just nursing?"

He says this as if it is the first time in his life he has ever seen someone set up their own tent just so they could nurse their baby at a restaurant.

Really! He needs to get out more.
Meanwhile, I'm left to fend for myself as everyone in close proximity is slowly sliding away from me at the table.

Apparently, my fire-red embarrassed face is throwing off more heat than the air conditioning can handle.

At this point, I'm tempted to crawl into the tent with Rachael, just so I won't have to show my face. The only thing that stops me is thinking about the reaction of the waiter when he comes out to our table the next time and finds me missing. Of course, he will have his manager in tow:

"Um, sir, this is what I was telling you about. Uh Oh, it looks like we lost another one. I sincerely recommend that we remove this tent from the inside of our restaurant before it swallows any more of our patrons."


OK, OK, so that is probably not what would happen, but I have a hard time thinking when my head is on fire and beet red!

So, I do the one thing that I have tried hard to learn to do well.
I simply try my best to pretend that everything is fine.....


And then I start talking to a tent.


**If you enjoyed this post, be sure to click the 'follow' tab and check out the other stories for other family-friendly humorous material.  Hope you enjoy!   Click the 'share' button to share with your friends. Thanks! -The Poor Husband**

The Zone

This morning, I was forced to think about zones.

Now, there are certainly many good zones. In fact, most of you have probably heard a coach tell you or another to 'Get Into The Zone!'. When someone is 'In The Zone' they can use this to intensely concentrate on the task at hand.

In California, we have all had to 'Slow for the Cone Zone'. This is good, as it ensures the safety of all the Cal Trans workers that are leaning on their shovels. Plus, cars whizzing by too quickly have a tendency to wake them up, so we have all decided together to slow. My apologies to all the hard-working Cal Trans workers out there. I didn't mean to cast a bad light on both of you.

This morning, Rachael forced me to consider yet another zone.

The Rachael Zone.

Now, my morning routine is somewhat systematic. I wake, take a shower, do my hair, shave, use my Q-Tips, put on my deodorant, and then use the bathroom. I have developed this system, as I have timed other variations, and this one seems to be the most efficient. Anyway, this morning I was using my Q-Tips right as Rachael came in the bathroom and went about doing her important business. With quick calculations, I figured it would only be approximately 28.6 seconds until I was done with my Q-Tips and deodorant and would need to use the bathroom myself. I figured I'd be OK. Rachael would be finishing right as I was ready. My routine would be sacrosanct.

Then I glanced over at Rachael.

She was on the throne and in a zone.

Now zones are not necessarily an unusual thing for Rachael. She tends to find herself in one at least once a week, or day, or sometimes once an hour. Sometimes more often than that.

I can count on at least 2-3 zones each time we drive for a half an hour or so. Typically at dinner, I have to wake her up from her zone at least once.

And sometimes, we'll be having a conversation and the next thing I know Rachael is gone. I've timed it and she usually leaves us when she sits still for 22 seconds or more. This is a rough estimate and it can be heavily influenced by the amount of sleep she had the night before.

So, anyway, here I am putting on my deodorant. I look over at Rachael to see if she's finishing up. I see the classic tell-all signs of the Rachael Zone. I go through my checklist just to be sure.

Vacant eyes?
Check.

Slack Jaw?
Check.

Transfixed Gaze?
Check.

Utter oblivion.
Check and Double Check.

Right about now I know it's going to be necessary to do a serious intervention or plan on using another bathroom.

I opted for the intervention.

"Hon?"

Now, if you've never seen Rachael return from a zone, it really is a sight to behold. It seems that her consciousness returns from somewhere deep inside her. Her whole body shakes. Well, it's not so much a shake as it is a jerk, like someone does when they've been startled. A bewildered look comes across her face. She looks around with a look that says 'Where in the world am I and How did I get here?' The dawn of recognition then begins.


"Should I use the other bathroom?"

"No, I'm all done. I've been done."

"Ok. Just wanted to be sure."


One day, under similar circumstances, I decided to see just how long Rachael would remain in her Throne Zone. I calmly left the bathroom, used the other one, got dressed, and left for work.

Imagine my surprise when I returned home that night.

The kids were running and screaming all through the house.
There were cereal and lunch remains left on the table and all around the table on the floor.
The couch cushions were strewn about the living room.




So far, everything seemed pretty normal.

But then I went to use the bathroom....

Rachael was still there. She looked exactly the same as when I left her, except that her legs were even whiter than before. They were a ghost white. A porcelain white. An alabaster white. A white that said, "We have not received any blood for 10 1/2 hours. We are not only asleep. We are comatose."

Apparently, the toilet seat had cut off the circulation to her legs.

"Honey, are you OK?"

Rachael's body shook, her head turned, she seemed to wake up, and then she said, "Oh, are you leaving for work now?"


Being the kind and compassionate husband I am, I used the opportunity to pat Rachael on the knee once ever 30 seconds or so. That seemed to somehow enhance the tingles that were cascading up and down the nerves of Rachael's legs as the blood was trying to figure out which of the unused vessels to once again begin using. I was really curious to see how long it takes to completely restore proper circulation, so I continued this educational activity for about 15 minutes. After that, it seemed that all was well.

The funniest thing of all was the reaction I received each time I patted her again. She did not get angry as I had expected she might.

Her body shook.

Her head turned.

She looked around.

"Where am I?"




****Integrity Alert- This entire story is completely true up to the part where I left Rachael all day. That is just a good old-fashioned lie, designed to make you laugh. I hope it worked.

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