Life is Ood.
I picked up a shopping cart full of rugs at Ikea yesterday. When we bought our house it was recently--through mortal means--vacated by an avid smoker (Fiona.) To rid our precious double-wide of any stench, we ripped out all the carpets and exposed the hard wood. Back in that day I equally hated vacuuming and sweeping. Now, because I rarely get to, I could vacuum all day. Especially because between me, Chup and Ralph, we shed a lot of hair. We could make and sell afghans with all the hair I sweep up daily.
The rugs help.
But I realized last night it could be worse.
Chup's passport expired and because of lack-of-use it also disappeared. We found out that when you renew a passport it expedites the process if you have your old one on hand. He looked for days in his room, in his shop, called his parents. And prayed. One night while he was in his office going through documents a name popped into his head "Dashane Denae" said the voice. As it turns out, that name has nothing to do with finding his passport, but for a couple of days we thought it might.
Last night the passport was found. I was in bed thinking about the slightly used Vanilla Cola C.O Bigelow lip shine I found on the road during the Fourth of July parade and how MD told me it would give me scabies and also how it's been a month and I still don't have scabies but I still shine my lips with it from time to time. Chup jumped up and down with it in his hands. He was so pleased that he snuggled up with me to share a hug-o-relief. After, I opened his passport to view his picture taken sometime in his blossoming youth.
The dude had MASSIVE hair.
I just assumed that Chup was always on the receding side. I've seen photos of his wavy, galaxy, girlie-loving hair before, but this picture was beyond. I guess he let his hair grow to the point where a dramatic flip of the head would get the hair out of his face and make the ladies go crazy. He also said that once he cut his locks to be a short-sheared missionary his head continued to flip out of habit.
But all I could think about was the blessing of not having to sweep up all that hair every, single, day, of: my life.
To show my gratitude for this hairy sacrifice, I got up and went to my special drawer where I keep all things me. In a little white envelope at the bottom of stacks of papers I retrieved my passport. I returned to the bed and resumed the snuggle. And skipping through the foreign stamps I opened up the last page, and made our passport pictures kiss.
