Mark Gilroy Communications - The Bad Hair Day Book: Pick Me Ups For When Life Gets Tangled

2006 by Thinkpen Design, LLC

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Editorial development by Mark Gilroy Communications
Managing editor: Jessica Inman

For a list of acknowledgements, see page 220.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible,
New Century Version, 1987, 1988, 1991 by Word Publishing, Dallas, Texas 75039.
Used by permission.

Scriptures marked NKJV are taken from The New King James Version.
1979, 1980, 1982, Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation,
1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.,
Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

Designed by Thinkpen Design, LLC, Fayetteville, Arkansas

ISBN 978-1-4041-0375-7

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Life is inherently messy.
But out of the messiness
comes great things.

MARGARET WHEATLY

Okay, gang, lets get moving. Were running late and I want to get there intime. Everyone to the car, now!

Uh-oh. Where did I put the keys to the van?

Yep, life gets tangled up. Just read I Lost My Sanity on the Road to Phoenix and youll know youre not alone!

But even in the midst of lifes complications, it is possible to keep your act togetherand maybe even smile. It would help, of course, if you could find the keys to the car.

GIVE YOUR WORRIES TO THE LORD,
AND HE WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU.

PSALM 55:22

Perfect is never doing
anything wrong
which means never
doing anything at all.

STEPHEN MANES

I failed Motherhood 101 one day when I failed to use fabric softener. I always use itexcept when I run out or have no idea where it is, as was the case when unpacked moving boxes filled our new house in Phoenix.

It had been a hard move from Atlanta. I dont recommend a family driving two cars and four children cross-country even during the best of times. This wasnt.

The next two days blurred as I
followed Jims car. Our biggest
excitement was watching
flashing blue lights approach.
Im not giving you a ticket,
maam, the officer drawled.
I know you were just trying to
keep up with your husband.

Near the end of the process of adopting one of my students, my husbands job transfer suddenly materialized. Dont worry, our case manager assured us, well transfer custody from Georgia to Arizona, and you can take her with you as you leave town. But all the paperwork in the world couldnt make our highway journey a cakewalk.

On weekend trial visits to our home, the tiny sixth grader had seemed as meek and passive as she was in my class. Now, cooped up in a car, loudly demanding her choice of music, I barely recognized her.

She often forgot her new status and raised her hand to speak. Mrs. McGuireoops, MomI have to get a bathing suit. The next minute it was a pair of name-brand shoes that she had to get immediately. Her dreams of being adopted had included fantasies of the perfect family, which meant getting anything you wanted.

Halfway across Texas, my husband complained, Honey, I feel awful.

I felt his headhe had a raging fever.

I feel bad too, echoed our eleven-year-old diabetic son. Testing revealed John was approaching diabetic coma.

Later that night, we cajoled a doctor into coming to the motel. Flu, he pronounced over Jim. Maam, your husband needs bed rest and lots of fluidsget to Phoenix as quickly as you can. And watch your boy closely. Be sure he gets exercise and the right foods.

The next two days blurred as I followed Jims car. Our biggest excitement was watching flashing blue lights approach. Im not giving you a ticket, maam, the officer drawled. I know you were just trying to keep up with your husband.

Jim winked at me and whispered, I was just trying to get out of your way. He was right. I was the one with the lead foot.

He drove slowly after that, slumped over the wheel, hazy eyes attempting focus. At each pit stop, he slept in the back seat until I returned with whatever flu food I could scrounge.

Run around and around the car, I commanded John, and eat every last bite of your food. Clay and Melissa, our two youngest, scrunched down in the seat, arguing who would have to ride with Dad next. It hadnt even occurred to me to wonder if Id packed fabric softener.

We arrived in the Valley of the Sun during a fierce storm. I would have been more appreciative if Id known we wouldnt see rain again for nearly a year.

Jim collapsed at the motel, dutifully sipping another Sprite. Martha wondered what kind of family they had given her to when I hollered, Lets get out of here. Daddy needs some quiet.

I drove carefully, squinting at street signs and blinded by headlights reflected in the slick streets, until I located a large mall. As we spiraled around in the parking garage, I prayed Id quickly find a theatre. Lucky meI found it before the movie ended.

Our second day in the motel, Jim awoke and pronounced himself cured. We drove on.

His new job had promised less travel and more family time, so it seemed like a cruel joke when he was sent out of town for days immediately after our arrival. Poor guy.

Meanwhile, the children and I unpacked and settled into our new neighborhood. I quickly located a diabetic specialist, found a grocery store, and stocked the pantry with essentials. When I attacked the mountain of dirty clothes, I realized Id forgotten fabric softener on my shopping list.

The something was Marthas
new training bra, firmly and
cruelly pinned to her sweater
by static electricity.

When Jim returned home he said, Ive looked up addresses of nearby churches. Why dont we go to a different one each service until we find one we like, one with a good youth program for the kids?

We liked the friendly people at the churches we attended Sunday morning and Sunday night, but all four children felt intimidated going into their individual classes. We insisted, believing this would help them connect quickly with new Christian friends.

Wednesday night we were in a mad rush getting ready to attend midweek classes at a third church, which met in a school. Where are my jeans? Clay called.

Theyre still in the washer, I hollered back.

Where is my white sweater? Martha asked.

In the dryer, I replied.

We hurried to the car, found the school, but arrived a little late. The children seemed anxious, What if they dont like us? Everyone makes fun of our accents.

Jim and I encouraged them, Just be yourselves. Youll do fine. But at this point, the kids had experienced about all the new they could handle, especially Martha.

We had trouble locating everyones classes, scattered around the large facility. Younger ones first, we reasoned. At last we found Marthas room and then, finally, our own.