Archives for January 2011

I laughed until I cried

I am eight years old and riding in the backseat of our silver Cougar on the way home from church.  It’s cold but we live in Wisconsin so that’s just par for the course.  My brother stares out the window memorizing every street sign and landmark we pass, as he was known for his astute observations when riding in cars.

I am watching my parents.  I’m seeing their interaction.  I don’t remember what they were talking about on this day – I’m not even sure I could hear them.  But I know they’re happy.  I know this because my dad laughs.

Clearly I, too, am astute in observation, yes?

The sound of my dad’s laugh always made my heart soar.  It was so delightful, so spontaneous.  When Dad laughed, I swore that two more stars popped up in the atmosphere.  It just seemed magical to hear him laugh out loud.

Mom followed suit, adding in her own cackle.  As we drove down the road, they laughed hysterically.  Though Brett and I didn’t have a clue what was funny, we joined in the merriment, because who can sit stoney faced when a delightful joke has been told?  We laughed all the way home, not because anything was spectacularly funny, but because the joy had spread and we bubbled over.

Last night, we went with the kids to a Family Night at the Magic House for Tia’s preschool.  As we drove home, Tia blessed us all with a meltdown of epic proportions.  Her name hadn’t been drawn in the raffle and the world as she knew it was coming to an end.  Couple that with the fact that she hadn’t had a nap that day and she was wickedly overstimulated and it seemed that life as this almost five year old knew it was devastated permanently.

For those who have been trapped in a car with a melting down four year old, you know the insanity that ensues.  It is as if the car will implode with every tear shed, every moan, every groan, every kick of the feet.  In perfect rhythm, Tia moaned.  A deep, gutteral sound that seemed to resonate from her toes and work it’s way out of her mouth like the rumble of motorboat that comes up on you from behind, then roars past.

And I was losing my mind.

I turned and in my sternest mom voice commanded her to stop crying.  Which, in case you’re wondering, commanding someone who’s crying out of control to stop is not effective.  That piece of parenting advice comes to you free of charge.

You’re welcome.

So I tried the next tactic.  I told her to keep crying, but just cry without making sound.

“Aaaaahhhhhhh.”  “Aaaaaaahhhhhh.”  “Aaaaaahhhhh…” came the reply.  Like a sonic wave it repeated over and over and I felt my brain begin the painful process of implosion.  So I resorted to what can only be reffered to as Stellar Parenting 101.

“Tia,” I said, my voice sharp – but loving…of course.  “Stop crying. Now.  Stop making sounds.”  And then, as the next words flowed from my mouth I tried to make them stop.  “Stop making sounds…from your throat.”

As soon as I said that, I heard how ridiculous it sounded.  Lee snorted, I buried my face in my coat and we both lost it.  Painful laughter.  The kind that makes your stomach hurt.  Tears flowing down our cheeks leaving a trail of joy and relief behind.  We laughed out loud, doubled over, clutching our sides.

And then…

Her crying stopped.  “Why are you laughing?” she demanded.  We couldn’t answer.  We were laughing too hard.  And anyway, it was only funny to us – she wouldn’t understand.

Stop making sounds from your throat?

We howled and cackled and every synonym for laughter that you can think of, we did it.  Before long, all three kids joined in.  They didn’t understand.  They didn’t know what was funny.  They just knew that laughter and joy were present.  My brain resolidified into a coherent, usable mass and once again the world was right.  Tia forgot why she was crying and chose laughter instead.

And that was the day we saved the world…one cackle at a time.


I had a wonderful experience at Blissdom this year.  I hope to tell you about it in bits and pieces through my posts.  I was challenged in my writing, in thinking outside the box in business and in expanding my use of multimedia.  Hopefully you will see the results of my time at Blissdom rather than have to read about them.



I’m here in lovely Opryland for the Blissdom conference this weekend.  I don’t feel like I can actually say I’m in Nashville because I’m pretty sure Opryland has its own zip code. 

Updating will be sparse until next week, which seems odd since I’m at a blogging conference, right?  But alas, I’m off to galavant (turns out I kind of know how to do that) and paint the Opryland red (which I’m not entirely sure I know how to do).

Have a great weekend everybody!



“Hey Mom,” he pipes up from the back seat of our (smokin’ hot) minivan.

“Yep?” I reply.

“How old do you think I have to be to be a rock star?”

“Uuuummm…I don’t know.  Maybe 25?”

His face falls.  “Oh.  I was hoping you would say 8.”

“Well, you can be a kid rock star if you want,” I say with a smile.

He thinks about it for a minute then responds, “Nah.  I think I’ll just be a Jedi Knight.”


We were driving up to the Holy Land Target and as I circle to find a parking lot, Sloan adjusts his hat.  “I’m sensing that there will be girls in here that will want to look at me.  My sensors tell me they’re going to like me.” 

Oh good grief…


A car drives by us one day and a teenager sits in the front seat talking on the phone.  She sees us and politely waves her hand.  As the car drives off Sloan says, “So. Hot.”

Whose kid is this anyway?!



Glossary of terms:







Landon walks in the room in a full out wail.  “Tia punched me,” he cries.  “Tia punched me in da ahmpit.”

Tia runs in with a look of defiance on her face.  “No I didn’t!” she says with a stomp of her foot.

“Yeth, she did,” Landon wails.

“No!  Wandon, I punched you in da chin.  Jeez.  Get it wight.”


As Tia stomped around the house in a huff, I gently reminded her that 5 year olds don’t throw temper tantrums when they don’t get their way.

“Well…I’n not five yet.  I’n still four so I guess dat’s good so I can still frow a temper tantrum.”




“When I drow up, tan I be a boy?”

“Nope.  God made you a girl and you will always be a girl.”

“But I don’t wanna be a dirl.”  Insert foot stomp here.


“Because.  Boys det to do wots of fun stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Wike go potty standing up and eat fish and play baseball and be Jedi Knights.”

“Well, going potty standing up is not all that special and you can eat fish too, you just choose not to because you don’t like it.  You also play baseball with daddy and the boys and if you want to be a Jedi Knight, I’m sure you could figure out how to do that.  But think of all the special things about being a girl, like wearing dresses and fun tights and curling your hair…”

“Well, I would do dose fings if I was a boy, too…”

“No.  You wouldn’t.  Trust me on this one.”



“Mom? Tan I wear shorts?”

Landon walks out of his room when he is supposed to be sleeping wearing nothing but socks.

“No, babe.  It’s 4 degrees out today.  You need to wear pants.”

“No!” His chin starts to tremble.  “I’n not going outside so pwease, wet me wear shorts.”

“Honey, I’m sorry, it’s just a little too cold.”

“Well…it’s not cold in Fworwida.”

“Okay, well when we live in Florida you can wear shorts in the winter but right now it’s too cold.”

A moment of silence.

“I tan wear shorts?”

I caved, he wore shorts the rest of the day.


In the grocery store, we walk down the cereal aisle when all of the sudden Landon breaks out in a rousing rendition of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”  When he’s finished, I smile and clap softly. 

“That was a good song.”

He sighs and grins.  “Yeah.  I’n woody dood at songs, wight?”

“Yep.  You’re pretty good.”

“Yeah.  I’n awesome.”

It appears he’s taking after his older brother.


Last weekend was a particularly rough sleeping weekend for my I-dont-need-sleep-its-for-the-birds third born.  Of course.  Because daddy was out of town.  At 2:30 one night after he had been up and down since 11:00, he walked in my room for the 15th time.  I had yet to sleep and I was reaching the point of melt down.

I shot up and broke the silence of the night.  “Landon, get your bottom back in your bed.”

He screamed and propelled himself into my bed where he huddled under the blankets for a minute.  I felt bad and, strangely, satisfied…

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I whispered.  “Mommy is really tired and I need you to go to sleep so I can sleep.”

A brief pause.  “Mommy, I wove you and fink your beautiful.”

He finally went to sleep next to me in bed.




She stood up on stage and spoke softly into the microphone.

“For you were called to freedom, brethren,” she said in a reverent voice.  And that was it.  She didn’t finish the verse but rather, stopped there.  Her point was to explain to us, her audience, that God calls us to freedom – financial freedom.  This was a business conference for something Lee and I were involved in and the focus was on building your business and dreaming about what you could do if you were financially free.  There were fancy boats on display and pictures of large, ornate houses were shown.  And the prevailing thought was that financial freedom was necessary to experience life to the full. 

I remember listening to this particular speaker and thinking that there had to be a little more.  It didn’t feel right and it didn’t seem to fit totally.

So I read the rest of the verse later when I got home.  It’s Galatians 5:13 and it reads “For you were called to freedom, brethren; only do not turn your freedom into an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.”

As I read, I realized this verse wasn’t speaking of financial freedom at all.  In fact, I don’t believe that God commands any believer to seek after financial freedom.  If anything, we are warned to be wary of wealth for it offers much greater temptation.

That is not to say, however, that wealth is a bad thing.  I think that wealth in the hands of people who know how to use it is powerful and blessed.  I know godly people who have a great deal of material wealth.  They don’t flaunt it, but instead they use it to love and serve others.  Their freedom isn’t money, or boats, or homes.  It’s impacting people, loving people, pointing people to the love and freedom that is in Christ.

For two years Lee and I juggled this idea of building business to create wealth.  We mulled the idea of creating wealth to “make a better life.”  Until, that is, we had our first child and suddenly the idea of leaving him several nights a week and several weekends a month didn’t seem worth it anymore.  What were we doing?  Why were we doing it?  Things weren’t adding up.

I tread on this topic lightly because I do not judge those who work for financial success.  Money is necessary.  It’s important.  We need it to live, to eat, to provide.  Money is a wonderful blessing.  But financial freedom, from what I’ve learned over the years, is not about gathering wealth so you can retire at 40 and take your children on a trip around the world.

One of the activities we were encouraged to do those many years ago was make a list of 100 dreams.  This was to be something that we placed out in front of us so that we could remember why we were working so hard.  We were working toward the freedom to make our dreams come true.

I found the list the other day when I was cleaning out the pit that we like to call home.  It made me smile, made me scratch my head and made me laugh out loud.  One of my hundred dreams was to have a gardener.  A Gardener!  I honestly don’t even know what I was thinking.  Why a gardener?  That was a head scratcher

I dreamed of taking a Grecian Cruise, owning a motor home (seriously?!) and having a home theater.  Apparently at one point Lee hijacked my list because I also had Go to the Final Four Championship Game, Go the the Superbowl (okay, that would be cool) and attending an NBA Championship game on my list.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t write those on my own.

It was fun to see a few of the things on my list were accomplished – buy a house, go to Italy, go to Switzerland, have a laptop.  By God’s grace, we have marked several dreams off our list inadvertantly.

I no longer equate the freedom I have in God with our finances.  In fact, now that I am no longer obssessed with gaining financial freedom, I feel much more free.  Lee and I both no longer agree that writing out a list of 100 dreams with the idea of asking God to bless that list is the right way to approach God or life.  In fact my list of dreams is drastically smaller than this original list.  My dreams are simply this:

– To live my life to the glory of God, honoring Him in every activity, every ambition, every desire, every dollar earned and spent.

– To honor and respect my husband. 

– To point my children to the Almighty and see them grow in wisdom, knowledge and stature.

I have been called to freedom – freedom to serve and love others with the resources I have been given.  I don’t always serve well and I don’t always love well.  I still get sucked into the rat race and I don’t always give freely from the abundance I’ve been given.  I still long to go on a Grecian Cruise and I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to travel the world…like, ever.  I believe in enjoying the financial blessings God has bestowed upon us, but only after giving back to Him first. 

Like any parent, I long to be able to provide good things for my children.  I want to be able to send them to college without the stress of loans, I want to give them the opportunity to see the world and the beauty of God’s creation.  I hope to do some of that while also teaching them to serve others and love people.  I long to show them what true freedom is and give them a foundation that sets them up for success in finances, missions, serving and loving.  I long to teach them how to serve God fully with the money they are blessed with.  I’m still learning that lesson myself…

I long to figure out why in the world I put “Have a Gardener” on my list of 100 dreams.

For you were called to freedom, brethren; only do not turn your freedom into an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.” Galations 5:13

What are your thoughts?

2011 Goal – I did it

When I was a senior in college, a fire ignited inside me.  It was a love for the written word that I didn’t really know was in me.  It was lit by a few professors who saw something I didn’t and urged me to think bigger.  It was fanned by a fiancee who made me believe the sky was the limit and had bigger dreams for me than I ever dared to dream for myself.  It burst into flame when a man I barely knew took me under his wing and made me his co-author

The fire dulled a bit when I had my first real taste of the publishing world and the challenges that come with pursuing publication.  I had a big break, and I will forever be grateful for it, but there were some roadblocks along the way that made me question whether or not I really had any talent as a writer.  Comments were made that caused me to wonder if, perhaps, I had set too lofty a goal in my endeavors toward authorship. 

Then I had a baby.  And another one.  And another one.  And I just figured the dream of being a writer was over for me.  Until I discovered blogging and met other fabulous writers and wondered if maybe, juuuust maybe, I should give the whole writer thing a second chance.

The end of last year brought some big encouragements my way.  I met people who, despite the fact that they barely knew me, believed in me.  Strangers urged me to write more.*  And I began to wonder and think and ponder and pray.  Still those doubts nagged in the back of my mind.  What if I fail?  What if I’m no good?  What if I’ve set up this expectation that I’m some kind of spectacular communicator of the written word when really I stink?

If any of you read the Christmas letter I sent out that was fraught with typos, you know idea of me being a stellar communicator is laughable…

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe it was time for me to give my own writing a second chance.  So I made a goal for 2011.  I decided that this would be the year I finish my novel.  The same novel that took birth my senior year of college.  The same novel that I spent a month in Ukraine researching when I was pregnant with Sloan.  The same novel that is so stuck in my head it’s difficult for me to even think about writing another story.

I revisited my novel last night.  I liked some of what I read and some of it made me want to roll on broken glass.  But the characters were there waiting for me.  They are still fresh in my mind and their stories are primed for completion.  The trip Lee and I took overseas last fall gave me mighty inspiration for the novel.  Pictures formed in my head that weren’t there before and storylines that once seemed lifeless took breath.

It’s in there.  And I have to get it out.  Do you think I can convince Lee to take me on another European vacation to further my inspiration? 

I don’t know if this book will be any good.  I hope I at least do the characters and the story justice.  The truth is, I know full well I’m not the greatest writer out there.  But I also know that I have a story to tell and if I don’t get it out of my head, I might well explode.  And think of the mess that would make!

Ba-dum Ching!

Yes, the story is there.  And today?  Today I picked it back up again.  Wish me luck.  I really, really do want to finish it.

*To those who have encouraged me over the years, both past and present, I can’t thank you enough.  Most of you have no idea how well timed your words of encouragement were to me.  I am exceedingly grateful to all who have offered words of affirmation when my heart needed it most.

(Incidentally, I do not in any way, shape or form write this post to garner more praise or encouragement or to try and toot my own horn.  I am simply processing the emotions that are swirling inside. Just wanted to make that clear!)

Snow Day – Take Three

We have a snow day today…again.  I’m trying not to complain.  I’m trying to have a good attitude and remember how magical and exciting snow days were when I was a kid.  I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that Lee left this morning for San Diego for the weekend.  I’m trying to ignore the fact that I should probably go shovel the driveway. 

In an effort to enjoy the day and soak up the chance to stay home and relax, we are doing a lot of this today:


We’re enjoying the beauty of the powdery snow.  While snow is not my favorite thing in the world, there is no denying it’s beautiful to look at.  We’ll probably go out and play at some point.


We’re watching TV…


In front of the fire.


We’re making funny faces every time mom pulls out the camera.


We’re eating Nutella pancakes for breakfast.




We’re singing praises along to Selah’s You Deliver Me.


Yessir…it’s going to be a mighty snow day.  Here’s to hoping that it only lasts one day, though…


It’s better this way


Alternately titled: Why I locked my three year old in his room.

It was 8:00 and I had just returned home from a rehearsal when I went back to my bathroom to brush my teeth and change into my fat pants comfy clothes.  It was then I heard the breathing.  Like a miniature Darth Vadar was standing at my hip.

“Landon, get back in bed.”

“I’m firsty,” he whined.  I gave him a sip of water and sent him to bed.  Then I turned on the bath tub to try and warm myself up.  When I turned around, he was there again, this time scaring the Bejeebus out of me.  I yelped and karate chopped the air because For the love of all things Holy must children sneak up on you like that!

“Landon, go to bed,” I said, this time with more force.  And you should know, it’s not easy to use such force with someone as cute as my third born.  His tiny face is framed by a mop of Bieber hair and Sweet Mercy I just want to chomp on his cheeks every time I see him.  He’s just yummy.

“Can I wear shorts?” he said, batting his little hypnotic eyes at me.

“Fine.  Change, then go to bed.”

Off he went and I settled in the tub.  Until I saw his eye peeking through the crack in the door.

“Landon, go to bed!”

He turned and shuffled off.

This routine went back and forth for almost an hour.  And this was a good night – for Landon anyway.  He caught me on an off night when I wasn’t ready for the fight.  Generally these nights end up with a slew of tears from him and a few from me.  But this night saw me unable to fight his antics.

The child will not stay in his bed.

To be fair, I let him take a longer nap than usual on this fateful day, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he changed outfits no less than six times, and took close to an hour and a half to go to sleep.

I finally did what any self respecting mother would do.  I closed the door.  The very door that I installed a door knob protector on a few weeks ago so he couldn’t open it back up.  In general I don’t like to do this and it is a last resort but here’s the deal: I would rather him be stuck in his room and finally have to give up the fight on his own than have him go to sleep with his last vision of me looking like the spawn of satan.  Because let me tell you…after you have spent an hour telling a child to go to bed, your patience is thin and life isn’t looking good for the child…no matter how cute he is.

It can get ugly.

So I lock him in his room.  This is a decision Lee and I came to together.  We simply weren’t getting through to him any other way.  Locking him in is a way to protect him and protect our own emotions.  Glory, Hallelujah!

I don’t lock the door at night often because Landon’s afraid of being stuck in a dark room.  Yes, I also removed the night light from his room and put it in the hallway because he was waking up at 3:00 in the morning and having parties with his stuffed animals like a teenager whose parents left town – sometimes for hours on end.  So generally it only takes a couple of short moments in his dark room to get him to settle down.  I am able to remain calm, he gets the idea.  Everybody wins.

Nap time is a different story.

When I make him take a nap, that is.  Because, you see, my third child is much like his mother.  Dang it.  (Not like my second born who, like her father, can sleep anytime, anywhere and seems to love the act of napping.)  I don’t need a lot of sleep to function and neither does Landon.  I gave up naps at an early age and Landon is following suit.  I don’t like this, of course, but payback’s a bleep, right?  I don’t like it because when he doesn’t nap, I don’t get the things accomplished that I need to get accomplished.  But, on the flip side, when he doesn’t nap he goes to bed at 7:00 or 7:30 with little to no fuss and he sleeps all night.

Kind of a nice trade off.

He will still take naps many days, but I’m not forcing it anymore unless it’s obvious he’s really tired.  I remember being forced to take a nap as a child and I hated it.  I swore I would never make my children sleep if they weren’t tired and my little mini-Bieber just isn’t tired most days.

He’ll probably nap today since he didn’t yesterday.  But alas, even though he didn’t sleep the locked door came in handy yet again when I made him stay in his room and play for a bit.

Of course he sat in there and used the bathroom in his pants, which was totally my fault since I locked him in.

*sigh*  I can’t win.

Do any of you have sleeping struggles with children?  Am I the only one?  Please, commiserate with me, will you?  Pull up a chair, grab a bottle of wine.  Let’s chat.  What?  It’s only 10:00am? 

Is it too early to drink?

I’m kidding!  I don’t drink this early in the morning.  No…I wait until 2:00 when the kids aren’t napping.

Again with the kidding…

Stones of Remembrance



This is a word that is following me around quite a bit lately.  I hear it, read it, think it and sleep it.  Intentional.  What does it mean to be intentional?

I went to Webster’s Dictionary to look for a clear defination of intentional.  Here’s what I learned: Webster’s Dictionary isn’t a lot of help.  Intentional is defined as “done by intention or design.”  Great.  Awesome.  Way to help. 

 So I looked up the word intend. 

“To direct the mind to.”

Much better.  This definition actually gave me something to think about.  Because to be intentional really does require thought.  It means I must direct my mind toward an action. It requires work and planning and it’s hard…

To live and live well, one must be intentional.  I forget that a lot.  Actually, it feels like I forget that every single day.  How often do I go to bed and run through the day and realize I went through the motions?  How often do I reflect on the day and see that I merely survived?

This is not intention.

Lee and I are blessed to have wonderful leaders and friends and supporters around us who are constantly encouraging us to be better.  Yesterday we spoke at length with many of these people about placing Stones of Remembrance out for our kids. 

Orchestrating moments in the kids lives that they can look back at and point to as a time when God was there. 

A time they remember. 

A time they felt loved.  

A time when they discovered who they were created to be.


When the Isrealites crossed the Jordan River into the promised land, Joshua commanded the twelve men whom he had appointed from the sons of Isreal and said to them, “Cross again to the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan, and each of you take up a stone on his shoulder…Let this be a sign among you, so that when your children ask later, saying, ‘What do these stones mean to you?’ then you sall say to them, ‘Because the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord;  when it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off.’ So these stones shall become a memorial to the sons of Isreal forever.”


I have to be intentional with my children.  I have to set out stones of remembrance for them.  Sometimes these things are easy – they naturally flow from the every day moments of life – as long as I’m paying attention, of course.  Like the day the tornado didn’t come through.  We were intentional in pointing Sloan to God’s answer that day.

But if I’m not planning ahead – if I’m not intentionally seeking ways to set up stones of remembrance – I will miss opportunities.

The same goes in every area of our lives.  Lee and I are being challenged in many different ways to be intentional in our giving.  We must intentionally stretch ourselves to give more.  We must be intentional in budgeting so that it is easier to make giving a priority.

We have to be intentional in our marriage.  We must be intentional in our careers, intentional in the way we spend our time, our moments.



Setting up stones of remembrance – this is my heart as a mother, as a wife, as a daughter and sister.  As a child of the Lord Most High.  Because someday I will look back and point my children and, hopefully, grandchildren to those stones…those moments.  And I will be able to tell them, “Look.  Look what the Lord Most High did for you.”


Tell me about it boys


Last night, Lee and I assumed our positions on the couch the jar of Nutella between us for a little relaxation in front of the television.  Since LOST went off the air, we just haven’t been able to get into another show.  We liked Glee for a little while, until it became an over-sexed after school special and we gave up on it.  I was into Grey’s Anatomy until it turned into a political commentary on all the hot button topics so I gave up on that one too.

It’s hard to find good TV…

So most of our television watching these days consists of channel surfing.  We do this for 20 minutes, get frustrated, flip off the TV then pile up in bed with our copies of FRIENDS, which we got for Christmas.  Now that was good TV!

Last night, however, we missed out on watching FRIENDS because Lee ended on the Syfy channel where Star Trek XXVVVII was playing.  I have to confess, I don’t get Star Trek.  I have never understood the fascination with it.  It’s campy and corny and the acting is bad and… Apparently I don’t have enough testosterone to get it.

So can someone explain it to me?  Because when I asked Lee to explain the fascination, his eyes widened and he looked at me as though I was a Cling On (seriously, I don’t even know if I spelled that right…) Klingon.

“It’s just awesome,” he exclaimed, flinging his hands up for emphasis.  “It’s so cool.”


Why again?

I watched for a few minutes as Captain Kirk (James Tiberius – I learned that much from the two minutes I watched) and the doctor (don’t remember his name) were placed on trial by the Cling On’s Klingons for the assassination of the Great High Chancellor, which, of course, Kirk and WhatsHisFace did not commit.  They were, in fact, trying to save the man’s purple blooded life.

And then I learned that Kirk’s son was killed by a Cling On Klingon.  Just typing all that info, I felt my estrogen levels drop a bit…

But alas, I grew bored pretty quickly.  I did find it fascinating that Kim Catrall of Sex in the City notoriety was on the good guy’s ship (The Enterprise?  Is that Star Trek or Star Wars?).  That was all I found really, really interesting though.  So tell me about it boys.  What’s the fascination?

I don’t want to leave out the women who enjoy Star Trek, either, so if there are any of you who are heavier on the estrogen that still enjoy watching the show, fill me in.  Help me understand.

Because I just don’t get it.

Lee didn’t come to bed until after the movie ended last night.  I wanted to ask him how it all turned out in the end.  Were Kirk and WhatsHisFace put to death or were they ultimately proven innocent?  But I just didn’t really care all that much and I was really tired so I smiled and mumbled May the Force be with you.

And may it also be with you.

Deep thoughts…


*random pictures will be interspersed throughout this most random of posts.  Consider yourselves forewarned…

When I was a kid, I thought for sure the term “Jay Walker” meant someone who walked across the street naked.  I think that stream of thought stemmed from the phrase “Nekkid as a Jay Bird,” which, being from a good southern family, I heard frequently.  But I remember vividly being told once that I was jay walking and getting quite upset because I was fully dressed. 

Sadly, I think I was 11 or 12 before I learned what jay walking really meant. 

As we walked into church last night, Sloan walked outside the pedestrian walkway.  “Hey everybody – look at me!” he called.  “I’m a Jay Walker!”

I blushed.  Because for some reason when I hear that term I can’t get the image of a defiant streaker crossing the street out of my head.


Sadly, I am already over the great winter of 2011.  Highs of 20 with wind chills in the single digits?  Over it.  Snow and ice?  Over it.  Frostbite after walking from my car to the back door?  Over it.

Lee told me yesterday that he was convicted about his attitude toward winter.  Well that makes one of us.  I suppose I should try to have a better attitude about these frigid months.  I mean, it’s not like I can do anything about it.  It is what it is and I might as well find the silver lining so here it is:

The Clementines are amazing right now.  They are fresh and sweet and…

Ah, forget it.  Sorry, but I can’t find a single redeeming quality to winter.  Bah Humbug.



Today I will go to a music practice to prepare for an upcoming event that I’m singing at and I’m more than a little bit excited about it.  Every year our church puts on a Girl’s Formal for the senior high girls.  They provide beautiful dresses for the girls and have people come in to do their hair and make up.  After everyone is sufficiently pampered and Princess-ified, the senior high boys escort the girls into the activity center where they are served a meal by candlelight.  For the evening the girls are treated like royalty and are reminded that they are special and beautiful and cherished and loved.  It’s such a sweet event and its something I wish I could have attended back when I was an angsty teenager…

This year’s dinner theme is set in World War II so they asked for a live band to play some of the classic standards from greats like Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra and so on…We will be singing songs like Ain’t Misbehaivin’, Blue Skies, Paper Moon and the ever amazing Georgia on my Mind.

Now I can’t skat like Queen Ella – I don’t even think I’ll try so as not to embarrass myself.  I’m supposed to be background music, not the elephant in the room.  But other than that, putting these songs together has been a dream come true and the fact that I get to sing them at such a unique event is even more fun.


I need a tan.  I need the sun to kiss my cheeks and mask the bags under my eyes.

That is all.



We’re about a quarter of the way through our massive jar of heaven Nutella.  We are finding many wonderful uses for Nutella, but none of them compete with the classic snack: Nutella on plain, white bread.  I ate a slice at 10:00 last night.  I can’t say I feel great about that decision but whatever…I took up running, again, so it’s all good.


Okay, there’s really no justification for eating a chocolate covered piece of bread right before bed.


I’m off to face another frigid day.  I believe the high is supposed to be 24 today, which is better than yesterday’s high of 19.  See?  Look at me being all positive and finding the silver lining.

So much for global warming, eh?