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The one where Calgon takes me away

June 22, 2011 by Kelli

I actually just had to consult with Professor Google on what exactly Calgon is. It’s body fragrance…who knew?! I always assumed it was some sort of lotion for muscle pain similar to IcyHot or Bengay.

I was way off.

Yesterday was a rough day. I’ll mercifully spare you the details, but it was a knot in your stomach crazy kind of day. I really want my house to be the house that all my children’s friends come to. I like knowing who is here and what they’re saying and doing. But on knot in your stomach crazy kind of days…it’s just harder. The noise is louder. The work feels like work. The kids weren’t bad ( not all of them, anyway – there’s always one trouble maker), but I was tired and didn’t feel well and overwhelmed and the day felt long.

But today?

Today I am on a plane to sunny Northern California where I have the privilege of sitting in the presence of my dear friend Wendy for five whole days. Wendy and I met when we were both newlyweds living in the Dallas, Texas area. I will never forget our first phone conversation. Lee had come home from a Bible study the night before and told me about this wonderful guy he met whose wife sounded very similar to me.

“She likes to drink tea!” Lee exclaimed. My sweet new husband who was still baffled by my girly love of tea parties.

The next morning the phone rang. “I hear you like to take tea,” she said, her voice all warm and buttery and laced with smile. And that was the beginning of one of the dearest friendships of my life.

Wendy and I have only lived in the same town for just under two years but our hearts were knit tight together through God’s grace..and through our love for writing, tea and wifedom (that should totally be a word). We spent countless hours those Dallas years talking about our passion for writing and teaching and speaking and learning and loving and growing. And we drank a lot of tea.

I get to soak up my dear friend for almost an entire week and my soul soars at the thought. I also get to spend some time alone, releasing the characters in my head. They’re up there, churning and begging to get out. Sometimes I’m afraid of it, though. I’m scared of the story and of letting the characters down. Because the story in my head is beautiful and what if I mess it up? What if the trip from my head to my fingertips tarnishes the story and the people?

What if I fail?

These are my honest fears. I love writing, but I’m sometimes unsure of whether or not I have the gift to pull off the massive story I long to tell. Realistically, I know I’m not the best writer out there. I think it’s my lack of inner angst that holds me back…

Whatever the case, I know I’m not the best, but I also know that I have a story to share and I know I have the ability to tell it. I just really want to tell it well. This desire is why it’s taken me ten years to complete this book. I really don’t want to screw this up!

So I will write with full abandon this week. I will let go and try really hard not to go back and judge my work along the way. That’s a terrible, terrible habit. One should never edit her own work before she’s even finished it. Stephen King said so himself and given the fact that his book is the most inspirational book on writing I’ve ever read, I’m going to submit myself to Mr. King’s urgings and plow forward without looking back. My soul will rest in friendship (have I mentioned that one of my very dearest friends from here in town is joining us on this writer’s weekend away? How blessed am I!) and in solitude and in the joy that comes from allowing God to use my gifts and talents to His glory, because that is my deepest desire.

And when I return I will bid adieu to my home and embark on a new adventure. It is exciting, this tiny little life I lead.

I’ll be back this week. I have a something fun and special to share with you on Friday. Stay tuned.

Filed Under: faith, Life, Novel, Random, summer fun, Travel, writing Tagged With: Calgon Take Me Away, getting away, Mom's on vacation, Stephen King On Writing, the craft of writing

Happy Bulleted Monday

June 20, 2011 by Kelli

Alternately titled: My Super Lame Post

– I have nothing ground breaking to say today. I probably shouldn’t even be posting. But I’m a blogging junkie so I feel the need to subject you to all kinds of random. I’m compelled.

– I’m sorry.

– I’ve gotten two solid nights sleep in a row. Break out the bubbly! I may or may not have taken a tiny little sleep aid to help make that happen. It became quickly apparent that if I didn’t do something to get more sleep I was not going to be emotionally capable of handling the move out of the house.

– Speaking of the move, we packed our first POD this weekend. The walls of my home are echoing now. And I am walking through my days singing this song on a continuous loop: 01 Sentimental Journey That’s me singing, by the way. It was recorded at a gig I sang at last January. And I can’t get the song out of my head, folks. I AM on a sentimental journey. I look at my empty house and I see my life. I remember walking through the front door with the weight of a newborn in my arms and the rush of new mom emotions in my heart. I see my kids first teetering little steps, I hear baby cries and giggles, I see toddlers sipping hot chocolate for the first time, I hear first words spoken and I watch the progression of my life as a Mom. I see our life so clearly for the last eight years in this sweet little house.

– Or maybe I’m just seeing ghosts…I dunno.

– In two days I’m getting on a plane bound for Northern California where I will spend the rest of the week working on my novel in solitude, catching up with sweet friends in the evening and soaking up some perspective as I step away from it all. The timing couldn’t be worse, but the trip was planned months before the closing of our house was and I can’t help think that God needs to get me by myself for awhile. Probably to get me off that sentimental train. So maybe the timing is just right.

– I’m getting my hair fixed today. I say fixed for a reason. It’s painfully crazy right now. Think two toned straw…that’s what’s on top of my head.

– A bulleted post leads to random, boring facts you never knew you wanted, doesn’t it?

– Father’s Day was yesterday. I hope that didn’t come as a surprise to any of you. Can I just tell you how blessed I am? I am surrounded by amazing fathers: My dad, my father-in-law and my husband. I have so much respect for these three men that sometimes I feel like I might burst. They are wise, funny, loving and precious and I’m beyond grateful for each one.

– I hear Landon stirring in the next room, which can only mean one thing: My quiet morning is about to implode. He wakes up sure that the world itself is going to come to an end unless he gets a drink immediately. There is wailing and weeping and whining galore until that sippy cup hits his lips, at which point he turns from devil child back to an angel.

– Apple juice has magic powers.

– I took the kids to the Botanical Gardens last Friday. It was a ton of fun and I got great pictures…until the sky turned green and melted into an ugly storm while the kids and I were trapped inside a glass encased building with Sloan huddled on my lap praying fervently for the second coming of Christ.

– I told Tia how babies get out of a Mommy’s tummy a couple of weeks ago. Her reaction was priceless. I’ll share the full story soon.

– This is the part of the post when I quit subjecting you to the random that is floating through my muddied brain. I’m off to fill that ever important cup of juice and begin yet another day of packing up my earthly possessions. Fun.

– I can’t think of a clever way to end this post I’m just going to leave you with this to start your week off right:

You’re welcome.

Filed Under: Family, Life, Random Tagged With: bullet points, Jim Gaffigan Hot Pocket, Mom is crazy, random blog, Sentimental Journey

A Wisp of a Girl

June 16, 2011 by Kelli

I see her clearly – a wisp of a girl. Thirteen. Awkward. All knees and elbows, teetering between innocence and angst. She is loved well, but a certain enemy awaits. She doesn’t know it and isn’t prepared for it. And she falls.

“You’re fat,” someone says to her. The wisp of a girl, without an ounce of fat on her body, laughs. Then she wonders.

I see her clearly – a wisp of a girl. She’s looking at a magazine and for the first time notices shape. Long, tall, thin. Is that perfection? She studies the mirror and her eyes cloud. She knows the Truth. She’s heard it a lot.

Fearfully.

Wonderfully.

Image.

God.

Made.

Like the whisper of wind through tall grasses, these words float across her heart. But this time, another wind, less gentle, rough like that of a tornado tears through her.

Ugly.

Fat.

Not perfect.

And she believes it, the wisp of a girl.

I see her very clearly – a wisp of a girl. She is older now, having grown through the awkwardness that defines junior high. She is beautiful, but she doesn’t think so. Though she has been loved well, there are misguided comments from those who just don’t know better. The hormonal teenage boy whose image of perfection is more skewed that her own. “You’re not super skinny,” he says, and he’s right. The wisp of a girl has developed a muscular physique – strong, lean…she’s not the waif that defined beauty in her generation.

The wisp of a girl also replays the voice of her coach over and over, like a broken record. “You sound like a cow when you run.” It was a comment made in passing – lighthearted and teasing. But despite all that she knows to be true:

Fearfully.

Wonderfully.

Image.

God.

Made.

She believes the other voices – the louder voices. Not perfect. Not skinny. Cow.

I see her, the wisp of a girl. She is allowing herself to be defined by the louder voices now. The sound of the wind in the grasses is almost totally snuffed out. In it she hears words like disordered and dangerous. The wisp of a girl is getting lost. Does she hide this shame or wear it as a badge for attention? She doesn’t know. If she advertises, someone might take the shame away from her. So she tries to keep it hidden. But she’s never been good at keeping secrets and before long the wisp of a girl is in a counselor’s office. Tears. Shame. Frustration.

The wisp of a girl.

I see her now, the wisp of a girl. She’s away from home, away from accountability, away. College. In the quiet of night, the tornado rips through her mind and her heart and she can’t seem to shake the destruction it causes. She’s gotten better at hiding it, this wisp of a girl. But the devil isn’t gone completely. He’s still there, waiting. Comparing. And the wisp of a girl, still small, wants only to be smaller still.

This wisp of a girl is so loved, so poured into, that a new beast begins to take over. Guilt. Now more than ever, she knows the Truth.

Fearfully.

Wonderfully.

Image.

God.

Made.

She knows this, and she believes it. But…

I see her now, the wisp of a girl who’s grown into a woman. She’s in a white dress and standing at the end of the aisle is a man who loves her completely. He loves her perfectly. He thinks she is beautiful – fearfully, wonderfully beautiful. Perfect. And she knows it, but she doubts. She doesn’t know why, but she still doubts. The tornado is strong still. And the inner torment brings even greater shame.

Until…

The wisp of a girl cries out to Jesus. It’s not the first time she’s done so, but it’s the first time she’s felt total and complete surrender and, for the first time, the tender whispers drown out the tornado of lies. In one brief moment, the girl is healed.

Miraculous.

Sometimes I still see her, that wisp of a girl. I stand before the mirror and look closely and the tornado winds swirl. I’m not who she was, but she is who I am today. The doubts like to surface every once in awhile, reminding me of the wisp of a girl who was so innocent, so naive, so fooled. But the healing experienced that day years ago is the constant that keeps me going. The whispers are louder and greater and Truth reigns leaving me to rest in healing.

I watch her now, my wisp of a girl. Innocent, beautiful, lovely and perfect. In the stillness of the night, I whisper prayers over her, for her. In the silent black, I whisper my prayers like the wind across tall grasses, a hedge of protection that I hope keeps the voices of dissent away from her heart. Protection. Love. Truth.

Fearfully.

Wonderfully.

God.

Image.

Made.

These are the things I want my wisp of a girl to know and embrace.

Filed Under: faith, Motherhood Tagged With: faith, Motherhood

I’m ankle deep in these today

June 15, 2011 by Kelli

Wish me luck.

Filed Under: Life Tagged With: losing my mind, moving, packing

Living Life: Practicality vs. Wisdom

June 14, 2011 by Kelli

There’s a certain thing that happens when you become a parent. It happens in different degrees and forms for everyone, but we all experience this phenomena:

We become practical.

It’s just natural for a certain amount of practicality to set in once that bundle of joy lands on your doorstep. Suddenly life takes on a whole new meaning. That money you used to spend on late night Sonic runs now gets applied to diapers or formula or a set of plastic keys for your little one to rattle. And you forget what it was like to dash out for a snack at 11:00 at night anyway because, you know, practically speaking it’s not wise to leave the baby home unattended.

Practicality.

Where life was once an adventure, now you have to think about jobs and income and houses and schools. You have to consider how your decisions will affect not only yourself or your spouse, but also your child or children.

Practicality.

Some people are very good at remaining spontaneous, even with children in tow. Have you heard about the family that is driving around the world, living nomadically, raising their children on the road? They’ve been on the road for 11 years, all four of their children born in a different country. I don’t desire that life, but I envy their courage. What they’re doing isn’t practical, but it’s pretty dang cool.

Or this family, whom Lee met recently on an airplane. After adopting a little girl from China, they felt a strong prompting from the Lord to return to their daughter’s birth country and open up an orphanage for special needs children. So they went. They packed up their three young children, sold all their possessions and went.

“What organization did you go with?” Lee asked.

“No one,” came the astonishing reply. “We just asked the Lord to provide and He has.” Through charitable donations, they have raised enough to build a five story building where they currently house 34 children with various special needs from cleft palates to cerebral palsey. And they’ve never asked for a cent.

That’s not practical. But it’s pretty dang spectacular.

I used to fancy myself a bit of an adventurer. I didn’t think twice about hopping on a plane as a 20 year old and exploring the former Soviet Union on my own. I didn’t flinch when I spent 36 hours on a train to Prague by myself, half the time trapped with a horny Iraqi German (I know…). I relished walking the streets of London by myself.

When Lee and I went to Europe last year, I once again found my adventurous roots. I loved not having a plan, living in the moment, exploring, living.

But I’ve felt trapped in practicality for awhile. This isn’t a bad thing, in some regards. Obviously parenthood requires a certain amount of practicality. We have to provide for our children. We have to give them stability and they do need a certain amount of material possessions to feel secure. Of course, our Western world children (as I’m sure yours as well) have far more than they need for security and stability, but as a parent I want to give them good things. Just as I know the Lord wants to give me good things.

But I’m a little tired of feeling held back by practicality. Because there’s a very fine line between practicality and fear. And I think that sometimes?

I blur that line.

I’m not going to act on passion because I tell myself it wouldn’t be practical for my family. But really, I’m just too scared to try it. I’m not going to follow a dream because it would be terribly impractical to do so. ‘Fraidy Cat! As a couple, Lee and I always talk about all the cool things that we’d like to do with the kids and expose them to, but most of them seem too lofty and impractical to really pursue.

We’re scared.

What will people think? What if it takes us out of our comfort zone? What if we fail? What if it requires us to leave all that we know? Where is the practicality in that?

Here’s the thing: I don’t think God calls us to be practical. I think He calls us to be wise. We are not to live in fear. “Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you for I am your God.” Isaiah 41:10. We are called to wisdom, not practicality. Men are called to provide for their families, and that will look differently for everyone. For some, that means a stable job in a good home where they can minister to, and meet the needs of, those in their local community. For others still, that means selling all you have and leaving.

One of those scenarios is practical, one is not. But for the two men who are guiding and leading their families according to God’s calling placed in their hearts – both are wise.

Does that make sense?

So Lee and I together are working on, and learning, to let go of the shackles of practicality.

Walk in faith.

Live in wisdom.

Cry out to Jesus.

Do not be afraid.

That last one’s a doozy.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Lee, Motherhood Tagged With: faith, living by faith, Motherhood, practicality

When Daddy Explains

June 12, 2011 by Kelli

I was on the phone last week, pacing the driveway. It was a beautiful day and the kids were all napping or resting. I just needed some air. As I spoke with my friend, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned in time to see Sloan marching by with a twelve foot ladder tucked snuggly under his arm. He didn’t even glance my way as he walked past, his face cool and nonchalant. As if carrying around a ladder was normal.

I swear, if that kid had a stuffed tiger I would be living with Calvin and Hobbes.

“Um…I think I should probably hang up,” I said to my friend as Sloan set the ladder down next to the corner of the house and popped it open. He looked up at the roof, his hand shading his eyes slightly. I managed to reach him just as he stepped on the third rung, the ladder wobbling precariously on the slanted driveway.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked, grabbing hold of the base of the ladder.

“Oh, hey Mom,” Sloan said, still playing cool. “I’m checking out the bird’s nest up here.”

I looked up and sure enough, there was a nest just underneath the roof.

“Can I?” he asked, looking down at me with his penetrating blue eyes. Then he grinned. Stinker.

“Yes,” I replied. “Be careful.”

So up he climbed to the top rung and he peered over the side of the nest.

“There’s a baby bird in there!” he screeched. Seriously screeched. My ears are still ringing. “It’s so cute! Aw, Mom come see the baby bird!”

So we switched places and I climbed the ladder with him holding it steady. Inside the nest was a tiny, newly hatched baby, it’s beak pointed upward, waiting for nourishment.

“Can I see it again?” Sloan yelled, shaking the ladder for effect. Nice.

He climbed back up and looked in again. “This is so freakin’ cool!” he yelled again. To which I reminded him that I was only a few feet below and he didn’t need to scream. Then he reached for the bird.

“Don’t touch it,” I cautioned. “If the Mama bird comes back and smells you on her baby, she’ll leave him and he’ll die.”

With one last look and a wave, we pulled the ladder back down and headed on with our day.

Fast forward to this afternoon when we’re driving home from church. Sloan pipes up from the backseat. “Hey Mom. I don’t care if it dies, so when we get home can I get the ladder out and pick up the baby bird and keep it? I’ll get it worms and I’ll take care of it. Can I raise the baby bird?”

“No,” I said. “It’s Mama would be sad. And we really don’t know how to raise a baby bird. It’s better if we leave it alone.”

“But I can take good care of it,” came the anticipated protest.

“Hey Buddy,” Lee said, glancing into the mirror. “You don’t need to try and raise that baby bird.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Lee said, and he paused. “It would be like a bear coming to our house and seeing you and saying ‘I want to take that little boy home and raise him.’ Bears don’t know how to raise little boys. That bear wouldn’t know how to feed you – he’d probably just give you raw meat or raw fish, like he eats. And if he tried to hug you or give you a kiss, he’d probably claw you to death or bite off your nose with his sharp teeth. Bear’s aren’t meant to take care of little boys just like little boys aren’t meant to take care of baby birds.”

This is the part where I begin clutching my sides, I’m laughing so hard.

“And bee’s should take care of bee’s, wight?” Tia chimes in.

“Right,” Lee replies. “Bears take care of bears, bee’s take care of bee’s, bird’s take care of bird’s–”

“And people take care of people!” Sloan interrupts.

“That’s right!” Lee pumps his fist in the air. “Homosapiens take care of Homosapiens.”

And THAT, folks, is what happens when Daddy decides to explain.

The End.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Lee, Sloan Tagged With: Dad's say the darndest things, Kids, Lee

Good Morning to You

June 10, 2011 by Kelli

He crawled up in bed next to me and laid his head on my pillow. I rolled over, caught in that fuzzy state between dreams and reality. His soft cheek pressed up against mine, satiny skin dotted with freckles.

I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him close, breathing in deep the smell of little boy. Summer is in his hair – dirt, sunscreen and sweat. My eyes have yet to open but I feel his eyes on me, his breath smelling of apple juice. I squeeze him close and I hear his mouth stretch into a smile. His tiny little arm wraps around me and he returns the early morning squeeze.

Pure bliss.

“Good morning, buddy,” I say, finally forcing my heavy lids to part. He looks up at me with wide, crystal blue eyes and his tiny little bow tie mouth leans in for a kiss. It’s delicious and precious.

“I’m glad to see you,” I whisper in his ear. “How are you this morning?”

There is a quiet pause as his warm little body snuggles close to mine. Then he giggles – magic.

“I jus’ fawted.”

*sigh*

So how was your morning?

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Kids do the darndest things, Landon, Life Tagged With: Funny things kids say, Life, little boys, Motherhood

The one where I can’t move my neck

June 9, 2011 by Kelli

I never fancied myself much of a worrier. In general I don’t get too worked up over things. I may have a brief moment or so, when worry starts to overtake me, but I don’t usually dwell on it and, therefore, haven’t had to suffer many side effects of worrying.

Until recently, when cicadas began falling from the sky in droves and we got a contract on our house.

This process of moving out of our house has proven to be more stressful than I thought. I didn’t realize I was stressing out about it until the last few days when my stomach tied itself in a knot and my head began to pound. Yesterday, my neck began tightening up. I believe it happened sometime during my conversation with a storage facility. We are beyond blessed to have been able to sell our house for almost what we asked for it. But…

We don’t have another house to go to as of now. So we’re storing our stuff and staying at my parents apartment until we figured some things out. Another huge blessing! So I don’t know why my body is shutting down on me. My brain is fried, my neck literally will not turn and despite being wickedly tired I cannot sleep as I think of all the things I need to do during this rather bumpy transition.

What do we do with the dog?

What do I do about the mail?

You mean we need a new furnace?

How much will it cost to move twice?

Where do we store the piano?

You mean we need a new roof?

On top of those questions, I am also beginning to mourn leaving this house. I am a sap – a sentimental, emotional sap. Those who know me well know that, while I love a good adventure, change has never been my strong suit. This house is our first house. It’s the place we brought all our babies home to. It’s where first steps, first words and a mountain of other firsts occurred.

It’s home.

This neighborhood is wonderful. There are kids galore, all of whom are my children’s ages. I think of the little girl next door who taps on our back door every day to play. Sometimes (or a lot of times) it annoyed me, but she and Tia are the exact same age and I’m sad that they will no longer have each other as instant playmates.

I’m just kind of sad. And stressed out.

I know that this too shall pass. This flux of not knowing what comes next will be short lived. I’m not worried about the future. I know we’ll find a new house to make memories in and a new neighborhood with friends to meet. But it’s the interim that has, apparently, seized the muscles in my neck and chosen not to let go.

So on we go, marching forward to June 30 when we will say goodbye to the place where we became a family of five. What does God have next? We simply don’t know. I hope, for my sake, His plan includes some muscle relaxers and a massage…

And now, random pictures that have nothing to do with this post, but I just got some great shots yesterday and want to post them.

Filed Under: Life Tagged With: faith, Kids, moving, stress, worry

My Montreal Post

June 6, 2011 by Kelli

What if you and your kids could all enjoy movie night together?

It’s a scene that is familiar to all moms. You sit down on the couch with your young ones, excited to enjoy a little downtime together. You flip on the TV and begin channel surfing, looking for the perfect program to all enjoy together. Given the night, you can flip through all 562 channels and not find a single appropriate program.

Because, let’s face it, we can only watch America’s Funniest Home Videos so much before our brains start to melt. Am I right?

If, on the off chance, you happen to catch an evening where there are one or two reasonable shows on for your young children, you will likely find yourself scrambling for the remote at some point during the commercial while screeching at your bewildered children to close their eyes. Whether it be an advertisement for a scary movie or a Hardees commercial, little is safe on TV these days.

That’s why I’m ~~happy~~ thrilled to announce a new movie coming out August 6 as part of Walmart and P&G’s series of family friendly movies.

Want to read more and see my interview with Christine Baransky? Head over to 5 Minutes for Mom and check it out!

Filed Under: Motherhood, the boob tube Tagged With: Family Movie Night, Motherhood, P&G, television, Walmart, Where is Simon Miller?

One more year

June 6, 2011 by Kelli

I am officially one more year older as of Saturday. I am 29.

Stop laughing.

I have to tell my children that because the two youngest can’t say their “Th” sound, which means “Th” sounds like “F” so when they say my age they place me well into a decade that I’m not prepared to enter.

When I was a 19 year old college girl, I began dating a boy who was, at the time, a senior. One night as we sat in his apartment, I asked him how old he was. “23,” he replied. And I almost had a heart attack because OMG 23 was so old.

One year after marrying my husband, we headed over to the home of a couple who was one life phase ahead of us. They had three young kids, a big house and were everything we thought we wanted to be. It was my birthday. “How old are you today?” they asked.

“23,” I replied. And they laughed. “Do you remember 23, babe?” she asked her husband.

“Barely,” he replied and I laughed along with them but for a different reason because OMG 23 felt so old.

Shortly thereafter I began having children. And I waddled around, 25 and knocked up. Feeling so old. Despite the fact, however, that I looked to be no older than a teenager in a very precarious position.

Then I hit 29 (where I have remained) and I finally felt at peace with my age. When you have three children and you’re under thirty, you tend to get a look or two. It’s a look of pity and wonderment. Three kids already, huh? I got asked more than once. So 29 felt right…it felt good.

So I stopped there. Mentally, anyway. The truth is, I’m only in my early thirties. I’m two whole years away from my mid-thirties so there’s really no need to acknowledge the thirties at all, in my opinion.

And there sure as heck isn’t any reason to tell my kids my age. Because if I do, then whenever they’re asked how old mommy is, their reply will be, “Mommy if fowty-fwee.”

And h@#^ no I’m not. I’m nowhere near the 4-number. I can’t be because OMG forty is so old.

Stop laughing.

Obviously, age is just a number and it’s all relative. Forty really isn’t that old, but in my mind, it seems old. I remember my parents turning forty, for cryin’ out loud. But whatever. The older you get, the younger old looks…right, Dad?

But I’m a long way from the 4 number so there’s no need to worry about that anyway. Moving on…

So the number may not be my favorite thing but, I have to say, that in my 29-ish years of life the greatest accomplishment I’ve had by far are these three:

I still feel like that little 19 year old girl floating on the cloud of youth (just the fact that I am compelled to refer to anyone under the age of 25 as “little” or “kid” is evidence of my age…) but I will gladly grow older because each year brings new joys, new blessings and the chance to watch those sweet kids grow.

I’ll take that in exchange for a few new wrinkles. But just a few!

Just please, don’t ask them to say my real age until we’ve had a little time to work with a speech therapist. Deal?

Stop. Laughing!