The badass

Wow– to look at our blog for the past three days, you’d think all we talk about is food! And Brian didn’t even mention the banana bread I baked yesterday 😉

I just wanted to share a humorous incident that keeps making me giggle. I have prior approval from my dear, sweet husband to post this.

We were in the bathroom this weekend both getting ready. I was applying my mascara as Brian was admiring himself in the mirror. He spoke the following words: “I (pause) am a badass.”

That, in and of itself, is not the humorous portion of this story. Living with each other and loving each other has created very healthy self-esteems in the Lundin household, so much so that commentary such as this is somewhat commonplace.

No, no– the humor here lies in what immediately followed his remarks. For not two seconds later, the badass accidentally rammed his hand into the bathroom wall and let out a wail that a passerby would not only have assuredly heard outside, but would also have undoubtedly determined that I beat my husband.

(I do not. His pride does it for me 😉 )

I fell forward on the counter laughing, smearing mascara first across my face, and then the mirror. I wanted to check on my husband– to make sure the injury was not life threatening– but I could not. Belly against the granite countertop, face against the mirror, I laughed until my stomach hurt. Only then was I able to recover and see how the badass had fared…

Thank God– Brian was laughing, too!


I’ve mentioned my Missional Community through the Women’s Development Program before. They are dedicated, intelligent, beautiful, loving, and crazy. And they have invaded my life in the best way possible.


We group text a lot. We’ve had some group texts that I’ve had to edit on my phone because other eyes should never see them. We share our trial and triumphs, our needs and nuttiness.

Yesterday, we had another epic group text fest. I was home taking my temperature every half hour, so I got to participate at a level that I am not able to while teaching. What I loved most about it was that we went from the girls praying about my health, to dessert recipes, to hair stylists, to Super Bowl parties. It was wonderful and random and perfect– a lot like our group 🙂


These pictures are from our Winter Retreat in December. The second one speaks for itself.

These women invaded my life, but most importantly, they invaded my heart.

How epic is this battle?

I love my husband, but he can be frustrating. One major frustration is that he claims he doesn’t hear me. I haven’t had any luck finding one of these in stores, but I’ll keep looking…

old time ear trumpets

But seriously, he’s too young to be losing his hearing. Personally, I think he’s distracted. He’s a perpetual multi-tasker. That’s nice for him, getting multiple things done at once, but nothing is getting his full attention… not even me. I often direct my anger at this member of our family when I can’t get his attention…


…though he insists he’s still listening. Tonight as he played on his iPhone while waiting for the movie to begin, I not-so-subtly asked when date night was. On date night, Brian’s phone is not invited. Don’t think he got the hint.

I keep hearing from other wives that their men develop selective hearing throughout marriage. I am hoping this is not the case, though Brian tends to hear all comments about food and technology and sex. Interesting. 


I guess I’m wondering if this is something we can work out, or if this is a battle we will fight until the end.



“A verb is a word, it’s an action word. If you do it, you can do it. If you do it, it’s a verb.”

It’s stuck in my head. At home. So, I keep rapping it– over and over.

It’s a silly verb rap I play for my kids. I think it’s hilarious– two awkward white kids rapping about verbs all over a city park. In teacher world– it’s great. It gets the kids up and dancing and then for the rest of the year, whenever I ask what a verb is, they rap out their answer. It’s genius 😉

But, as my dear husband has discovered, these catchy tunes get stuck in my head. Then, he is serenaded by them. Lucky husband. So, Brian googles “verb rap,” and my “verbalicious” friends pop up. He watches.

He hates it.

I don’t know why I was surprised, but I was. I’m entertained by it— amused by it. It helps me in class and my kids like it– we all win! But I guess that in the real world, it’s strange… odd.. and maybe a little lame. So, I ‘m glad that I’m in my world.

I live in a world with laughter and giggles and hugs. I live in a world with grammar and writing and reading. I live in a world where I’ll do whatever it takes to keep a child from tuning me out– including embarassing myself for the sake of a grammar concept. But I also live in a world where I have a captive audience that, for some reason, likes it when I rap. I think Brian doesn’t know what he’s missing 😉


I’m not a “technical” person. I’m proficient with basic technologies, and in teacher circles I am much more esteemed than I deserve, but I am truly not a “technical” person.

I am, however, an editor. My husband, the writer, knows this. So, when he has a super important paper for work, no matter how much technical-jargon-gobblety-goop is in there, he still trusts that the editor can edit. She tries.

The truth is, I can edit this stuff. It’s not enjoyable like prose or a short story, but it’s doable. So, on nights like tonight when my husband brings me really important gobblety-goop, I get to work.

I make him sit close to me so I can verify if these crazy word combinations are some form of a technical noun, whether or not that strange noun can be made plural or act on other strange sounding nouns, and if they can do so with inappropriate sounding verbs. Usually, they can. But I enjoy mocking the jargon. I have hand motions and strange intonations for certain terms. It makes the event far more interesting, I assure you.

I also do voices– no matter that there are no characters. Doesn’t stop my head from having strange voices… but no matter. Yes, I do voices while reading the technical mumbo-jumbo. Brian laughs or rolls his eyes. He knows how painful this stuff is to trudge through– he does it for a living.

And tonight, while flailing my arms and doing crazy voices, I somehow managed to both edit a paper and make my husband really happy. It’s like I was created this way or something 😉

Unless you know

I didn’t write about this earlier in the week because I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate or not. However, Brian showed me this article today and I realized that this HAD to be my post.

So, Tuesday afternoon, I’m walking towards my classroom. A woman I’ve had maybe two interactions with before walks towards me. With her hands on her hips she says (and I quote), “Well, if I wasn’t sure before, I am now! The other women and I were talking and I just KNEW you were pregnant.”

(Insert screeching record noise and gasps here.)

Yup. She said that. Nope. I’m not pregnant.

I smiled graciously. “No,” I replied, “I’m not, but we’re talking about it.” I managed to get that out as her hand reached towards my stomach. 

This is not the first time this has happened to me. I’m not a skinny girl. But I was feeling particularly cute that day (up until that point) and I still have NO IDEA what made her so sure. Guess the marriage gut is showing, but seriously, lady? Seriously?! 

This is like Ladies 101. It’s basic. You don’t say anything unless you know for sure. And I don’t usually say anything unless the pregnant person references her own current state of pregnancy. Even then I feel awkward about it.

The woman didn’t skip a beat. She kept talking, though the topic had changed. In fact, I got to listen to her talk for a good ten minutes. I smiled and nodded a lot. I wanted out of there, but I stayed.

This woman had no realization of her incredible blunder. The reason I know not to do something so inconsiderate is because I have the mother I have. She taught me not only this social norm, but also that other people don’t need to see my bra straps and that a thank you card should never thank someone generically for “their kind gift.” But apparently there was no one like my mom with her infinite wisdom in this lady’s life. I just pray she does not victimize other poor women with muffin tops.

No, this woman did not intentionally harm me and she probably didn’t even realize she could have. I understand that. And it probably helps that this has happened to me before– twice in Turkey. And there the humiliation was perpetuated by the fact that the Turkish women who made these inquiries did not accept my response (in Turkish) and would repeat themselves, and touch my tummy and mimic holding a baby. “No baby!” I shouted at one of them in frustration.

But this time was different. The old Lindsey would have taken this really personally. She probably would have skipped a few meals. She would have told all of her girlfriends in an effort to receive obligatory praise and compliments. She would have called her mommy and said bad things about this woman. She would have replayed the event over and over in her head and avoided the woman at all costs thereafter.

I didn’t do any of that. Instead, I told Brian and my close teacher friend at school. Brian was wonderful about it. And actually, I think he has a bigger role in this than I realized at the time. I’m not freaking out about this because this careless comment didn’t ruin me. I’m pretty accepting of myself and I think that’s a relatively recent development. Like, within married-time recent.

Brian tells me that I am beautiful every day. Every day. He literally never misses. And he usually says it multiple times in multiple ways. And I don’t receive his compliments well about half the time, but that never never stops him. I realized this week that his words have sunk in. I am beautiful. My husband tells me so and I believe him.

Brian saved telling me about this article until today. He wanted to be a safe distance from the “incident.” I laughed out loud. It’s wonderful. The graphic is my favorite part. Please people, unless you know FOR SURE, keep your mouth shut!

A rose by any other name

I was joking with two teachers about names today. We were making both of their names sound a little ghetto. A little street. Tough. You know, because that’s so necessary where we teach… 😉

Anyways, at one point, they turned to me. They toyed with my first name. It didn’t work. No matter what you emphasized or how you said it, I didn’t sound like a thug. Nope. Sad.

Then they turned to my last name.

My last name still seems new to me. And in my new workplace, they only know my new name. I’m getting used to it. I can tell because I’ve only slipped up once when speaking about myself in the third person (something I do often in the classroom). Don’t judge– it’s effective for think-alouds.

So they said it. Then they said it again. And you know what? My last name really didn’t sound ghetto at all. Nope. Not in the least.

Then suddenly, one of them turned to me and said that my last name was cool. I smiled. I thought about it. You know what? My name– first or last– will never sound ghetto or tough or anything even close to that realm. But as for the cool part, I would definitely have to agree 🙂


Yup. You read that right. Gangstaville. That’s what the car became for about 45 of the most hilarious minutes of my life tonight.

We’re driving to Oklahoma right now. Brian has a fraternity alumni meeting thing tomorrow, so we’re making the trek.

We were having this intense doctrine discussion when we stopped at a QuikTrip (QT for you veterans out there). We did our customary drink purchasing and got back in the car… but something had changed while we were gone. This was no longer a scholarly, intellectual den of theology. No no. It was Gangstaville.

I believe it stemmed from me busting one of my crazy awesome dance moves in the passenger seat, but somehow we ended up on the Coolio Pandora station. We squealed with delight with every song change due to a mutual love for 80’s and 90’s hip hop. Okay– I was the one squealing, but Brian was doing whatever the manly equivalent of that is.

Here’s the thing about me: I love to dance. I love it. I don’t have moves or groove or mojo or even rhythm– I just like to shake it. One of my favorite places to show off these moves is the car. It’s great! Think about it– all of your awesome moves are limited to half of your body, thus doubling the awesomeness of what is happening with your upper body. Car dancing– try it. Anyways, that’s what I was doing. Brian was driving, we were both singing, and I was doubly awesome car dancing my face off.

Here’s the other thing about me: I know some lyrics. And sometimes it shocks people when they find out which songs I know the lyrics to. I’ll never forget the time I was driving to the Renaissance Festival with some friends and Gangsta’s Paradise came on. The jaws of my sweet Dripping Springs friends dropped when I flawlessly delivered every word. Didn’t they remember I grew up in Dallas?

Brian’s jaw didn’t drop tonight. I think he knows at this point that I am full of surprises. So, he got to see the car dancing, rapping version of his very white wife tonight, and I dare say he was a fan 😉

Market Days

I got up much earlier than someone who went to a show last night should, and drove out to Wimberley to join my parents at Market Days. My parents have a booth where they sell “vintage and collectibles,” which also includes odds, ends, and anything that someone may want to buy. My mom’s resale passion is the vintage kitchen stuff, my dad’s is tools/outdoor equipment.

It was a great day. I hadn’t seen my mom since last month’s Market Days. In fact, I haven’t done much other that school and church activities since then. We shouldn’t go that long without seeing each other.

My mom is one of my most favorite people. I love talking to her and laughing with her. We did a lot of both today. I didn’t sell very many items of my own, but that’s not why I go out there. I go out there to sit next to my mom and spend a day by her side. I’m blessed to have a mom I’m proud to claim and love to be around.

One of the best parts of the booth is filling it. Mom and I love a trip to Goodwill. She’s also a garage sale pro– it’s kind of amazing. Last summer we even went on a “trash tour” where we went all over Texas and Oklahoma looking for treasure. We think of it that way– our findings are our treasures. I haven’t been treasure hunting since school started and I miss it.

I found a treasure to bring home today– it’s the blue tin in the picture where I appear excited. I am, in fact, excited about it. It’s a Blue Magic Krispy Kan– it has a special top that keeps contents crispy. I really just wanted it for its color– a personal favorite. My husband was not as excited when I brought it home. “What is that for?” he asked. It’s for awesomeness. Duh.

I talked about Brian a ton today. Turns out I’m a fan, or something. It causes me to ramble and brag. Moms like to hear those things, though. She’s got a happy daughter who is well take care of– turns out moms like that sort of thing. And Scripture tells us that our speech is an overflow of our hearts– looks like I’ve got a lot of Brian in mine 🙂

I’ve included some photos from around the booth so readers can have an idea of what we do out there. These are only a couple of items out of hundreds. There’s also a pic of me and Mom– fellow treasure hunter and best friend.

The lunch tray

I think I overcame something today.

I have this devastating tale. It was the first day of 6th grade. I had the plaid pleated skirt, knee high socks, and I was rocking them.

It happened in the lunch room. I was returning my tray and someone else (who obviously didn’t care about my pleated skirt and knee high socks) spilled chocolate milk. They didn’t clean it up. I slipped on it. My tray and all accoutrements went sailing across the length of the room. All eyes turned back to see the source of the disturbance. They saw me– the source– face down on the ground, with pleated skirt across back and panties in full view.

My poor mother had to make every lunch for me to carry to school until the day I graduated from high school. This was a traumatizing event.

Tonight, my dinner was delivered on a lunch tray– and it was delightful! My dinner, pictured below, was not your typical school lunch, though it was delivered on a lunch tray. One of those corn dogs is wild pork– best corn dog ever!

There will be things in life that are tough. There will be things that traumatize us. But we can’t let those things hold us back. If they had, I wouldn’t have enjoyed these amazing corndogs at Frank. And that would’ve turned trama to tragedy.