When belief trickles down

“I do NOT want to sing on stage. People will look at me and see me and maybe laugh.”

And she made sure she was not seen. At the close of VBS this summer, Tia positioned herself as far back on the stage as she possibly could so that no one would see her during the songs. She hid. We couldn’t catch a glimpse except for one moment when I thought I saw her little hand up in the air.

Fear.

 

She has always hated being on stage. Being in front of people has terrified her only slightly less than it terrifies her brothers. And when Tia, my stubborn, fierce, I-know-who-I-am-and-you-will-not-alter-me second born refuses to do something, it takes nothing short of an act of Congress to change her mind.

Scratch that – the grumpiest, stodgiest and stubbornest of all Congressman couldn’t get this child to do something she doesn’t want to do.

So imagine my utter shock when Tia came to me last week and asked if she could sing on stage at church.

Um…who is this child again?

She came with me to choir practice and sat confidently by my side. She can’t read well yet, so I found myself a bit tickled at the intensity with which she studied the music. No worries, though. She knows these songs.

All week, I waited for her to back out – to change her mind. Of all my children, she is the last one I would have ever suspected of stepping up on stage and singing in front of a group of people. I assured her she didn’t have to stand in front of a microphone and that seemed to be enough to satisfy any fears that still lingered.

And Sunday morning she proudly walked up in front of everyone, the youngest in the group. She didn’t even need to hold my hand. With a confidence and poise that took my breath away, she conquered fear and led. And I have never felt more proud.

I don’t think it’s any coincidence that my daughter took this step at the end of this month. I’ve spent the last 31 Days boldly believing that I, too, can do the things that intimidate me. I haven’t written 31 posts about the subject, because…well, that would have been terribly boring.

But I have adopted the attitude of believing I can and I have chosen to speak confidently – moreso than I usually do. I’ve written more on my book this month than I ever have in a single month before. I’ve taken steps in several areas to move past fear, past laziness, past the mountains that stand in my way so that I could feel more sure of where I’m headed.

It’s not that I ever really thought I couldn’t do any of these things. It’s simply that they seemed so hard and scary that I was content to drag my feet and…well, sit in the corner and hope things went my way.

But when I stopped allowing myself to be intimidated by the hard things I felt a renewed confidence in my own abilities. Could it be that such confidence has trickled down? Could it be that my willingness to embrace who God has made me and how I can use those gifts to bless others has impacted my children? I certainly wasn’t making any extra effort to live more boldly in front of them, but I did feel much more sure of myself because I made it a point to do so.

I chose to believe.

She chose to believe.

Is there anything more moving and beautiful than a child singing praise songs? A child who has turned from fear and walks in confidence?

I don’t want my children to be content to sit in a corner. I don’t want them to hide who they are out of fear of who might see. Each of my kids is so uniquely gifted and I want them to walk in full confidence of those gifts.

Who will teach them?

 

Who will teach your children?

Major Mom Fail – I may have ruined her for life

A few years ago, I had this little game I’d play with the kids. For those of you who have been around here awhile, you may remember it. I would put Landon’s sock monkey in all kinds of funny and strange places and Tia and Landon were convinced he was alive. They loved waking up or coming home and seeing where the monkey would be next.

IT was a fun game!

We haven’t played the game in awhile, so last night I thought I’d pull out the old “your toys might be alive and love to move around trick.” Tia has had her American Girl dolls set up like this for days.

“The Girls” have been celebrating McKenna’s 7th birthday. Obviously. And every day, Tia would walk in her room and then immediately run out to exclaim in wonder at the fact they were still partying. “They just really love to party, Mom.”

Our American Girl dolls are party girls. Awesome…

So last night, on a whim, I decided to pull the old trick out of my hat. After Tia went to sleep, I arranged the dolls in various party positions thinking she would wake up in the morning and laugh at the fact that they must have really been having fun through the night.

 

Around 5:00 this morning, I felt her standing over me. (Why do kids go all Children of the Corn in the middle of the night?!) She was breathing heavy and when I finally opened my eyes I saw her inches from my face. I almost karate chopped her.

“Mom!” she hissed. “I woke up and my dolls were all over my room. IT’S. SO. FREAKY!”

It took me a minute to register her words and to decipher them in my sleepy state. “What?” I asked.

“Marie Claire is sitting on top of the lamp, and Kit pulled a drawer of clothes out and McKenna is on top of the table and Cecile is waving at me on the dresser. I’m too scared to go back to my room.”

I was so out of it myself that I honestly could not figure out what she was talking about, so I sent her to sleep in the trundle in Landon’s room. About thirty minutes later, I heard Tia and Landon both screaming my name across the house.

“MooooOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!”

Tearing out of my room, I ran to them. Tia had turned every single light in the house on from our room to hers. I found her and Landon huddled under the covers.

“Why are you screaming my name?” I said, exasperated.

“We’re scared to get out of Landon’s bed in case the dolls might try to attack us.”

And then I remembered my little…um…joke.

So…I guess that backfired, huh?

For those of you interested, I will be teaching parenting classes in the near future. The first class? How to scare the crap out of your kids in one easy step.

My ears, they bleed

Alternately titled: Riding in cars with girls…

 

At least twice a week, Tia and I are in the car alone headed to gymnastics. I’d like to say this is a fun, relaxing girl time, but the truth is…it’s exhausting.

Girls talk a lot. I mean, I know that I am a girl and I’m quite certain I talked a lot as a kid (in fact, I distinctly remember my mom asking me to be quiet on occasion because her ears hurt. Hmph…), but I really wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the chatting. Half the time I don’t even understand what she is saying. Take, for example, this most recent conversation (which I can only remember pieces of because I’m not kidding she talks without breathing…)

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…(every new sentence begins with this phrase)”

Me: “What?”

Tia: “Riley has an older sister and she got her ears pierced and she said that it hurted really bad and her sister cried and her sister is eleven…and she cried.”

Me: *open mouth to respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…”

Me: *open mouth the respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “There’s this boy who is in my group and I think he likes me, but I don’t like him. I mean I do like him, but I only like him like…you know…like a boy. But not like a boyfriend. I don’t like anybody like a boyfriend, right mom?”

I don’t even attempt a response.

Tia: “I don’t know if I want to get my ears pierced. I mean, I kind of do want to get my ears pierced but I’m a little nervous. Does it hurt weally bad to get your ears pierced, Mom? Can I get my ears pierced, Mom?”

Me: *open mouth to respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…my friend in my class said she wears a bwa (bra). She’s six! Six year olds don’t wear bwas, right Mom? Can a six year old wear a bwa? Do I need to wear a bwa, Mom?”

I would really like to respond to this, but there simply isn’t time.

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…when I play soccer, I think I might be the star player, ’cause I think I’m pretty good at soccer. But I don’t know if I should be a professional soccer player when I grow up or a professional gymnastics girl. Maybe I should be both, right Mom? And a veteranian. I want to be a vet, ‘kay Mom?”

I manage to nod.

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…sometimes when I go to school I play with just the boys on the playground, but not usually. Only sometimes. Mostly I just play with the girls. Mom I smell centipedes. Do you smell centipedes?”

I…I just…I don’t…huh? Oh wait. She stopped talking. This is the question she wants me to answer?

Tia: “Mom. Mom!”

Me: “What?!”

Tia: “Did you hear me?”

Me: “I…uh…yes?”

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…”

And on and on it goes until we arrive. And I think she only manages to use an eighth of her daily allotted words because it starts all over again on the way home. So if you see me out in public and I look lost in a daze, just know I’m trying to process it all.

And I’m trying to figure out what the heck centipedes smell like…

This week

I have one girl sandwiched between two boys. This means that most days, she is more tomboy than princess, more frogs and snails than sugar and spice. I love that about her, but I must confess that every once in awhile, when she starts acting like…well, a girl, it kind of takes me by surprise and I find it to be breathtakingly adorable.

This week, two of my cousin’s daughters are staying with us while their parents take a much needed vacation. These are two girls that know exactly what it means to be girly and Tia? Well…she’s kind of eating it all up.

These two are pretty much joined at the hip. If I can’t find them they are either outside roller blading/roller skating, or they are in the bathroom fixing each other’s hair, which you would find hilarious, too, if you lived with Tia and had to suffer the angst of daily just getting her to brush her hair.

We spent some time Father’s Day morning at the beach where the sun shined beautifully, the breeze drifted lazily, the water glistened perfectly and the children all thought they were going to die of starvation. We left after an hour because it seemed we would have had to perform a burial at sea if we didn’t feed them rightthen!

How much do you love that face?!

 

We’ve made full use of the pool this week, both at my parent’s condo and at our house. So far they have swum multiple hours every day. This works in my favor because it means they’re worn out at the end of the day and go to sleep quickly.

Amen.

During the morning hours we are doing VBS, which also works out in my favor because it allows me to gather my remaining bits of sanity and ball it all back together for a few hours. When we were preparing for the girls I thought, I’m already outnumbered with the three kids – what’s two more?

Turns out two more is five.

Thankfully, these are two of the sweetest girls on planet Earth, which makes this whole experience a lot more fun and hilarious…and noisy. Three excited girls sounds like fifteen girls when they are gathered in one room.

Last night I took the three girls to an early VIP screening of Brave in 3D. Friends, you haven’t lived until you’ve sat behind three little girls watching a hilarious movie and hearing them roar with laughter. It was seriously the best, particularly listening to Tia because she has a super deep laugh and when she gets going, she cannot stop.

Loved the movie. Love these girls. I also, after seeing Brave, love Scotland. I’m trying to figure out how we could possibly work it out to move there…

We popped the lenses out of our 3D glasses and kept them because, as one of the girls informed me, "These are all the rage right now. They're super trendy." Well, I sure don't want to miss the newest rage...

My advice to you this week is two-fold – First, go see the movie Brave. It’s awesome and so, so funny. (Save yourself some money, though, and skip the 3D).

Second, spend some time with some little girls and see if you don’t find life to be a little more hilarious and a lot more pink. I dare you to spend ten minutes in the same room as three elementary age school girls and not crack up.

What are you up to this first official week of summer?

My no means no…except when it means yes

Do you believe in magic?

There’s this odd little phenomena that occurs in my house wherein the children use magic and sorcery to consistently get what they want from me. Firm in my resolve to not be swayed, I wake up each morning prepared to stand strong against their wily ways and not back down when I say “No.”

It usually takes about a half an hour to break me.

They’re really good at this magic.

My oldest usually breaks the barrier of my resolve first. “Mom, can I have pancakes for breakfast for the 52nd day in a row? Please?”

Me: “No, honey. We’re going to have eggs and fruit today and take a break from pancakes.”

Oldest: “What about cereal? Can I have cereal? Please?”

Me: “No. Just eggs and fruit today.”

Oldest: “Can I just have one pancake on the side with my eggs and fruit? Please? Just one? Please, Mom? If I make it myself? Please? Please? Please?”

This conversation happens before coffee, mind you and before I’ve actually registered that I’m awake.

Me: “Okay, that’s fine.”

See what happened there? He broke me. He got past my firm exterior with his trickery and got exactly what he wanted. Score one for the children.

My daughter uses a slightly different tactic to get me to do whatever it is she wants me to do. It’s strongly resembles guilt and she is really, really good at it.

The girl: “Mom, can you play Pretty, Pretty Princess with me? Please? Just one round?”

Me: “No, babe. I have so much to do today. Maybe we can play later.”

The girl (falling to the ground dramatically): “But Mom,” she wails. “I have no one to play with. There are no girls in this neighborhood and I have no friends and I miss my friends in St. Louis and I have nothing to do and now you won’t play with me.”

You can usually find me sitting on the floor playing Pretty, Pretty Princess or UNO shortly after this outburst.

She is skilled at her magic.

The youngest doesn’t usually have to say much. He just has to look at me with his baby blues, which sit just above the cutest smattering of freckles you have ever seen and I’m basically putty in his hands.

Me: “Landon, you didn’t eat your breakfast/lunch/dinner (the kid’s not much of an eater) so no snack for you today.”

Youngest: “Okay, Mom. I don’t want a snack.”

Thirty minutes later…

Youngest: “Mom, I’m hungry can I have a snack?”

Me: “No, babe. You didn’t eat your meal. You can’t have a snack, remember?”

Cue alligator tears and pitiful sobs. “But Mommy, I’m thstarving. Pwease? Pwease can I have a snack?”

Me, wavering: “No. But I saved your food from breakfast. If you finish it you can have a snack, okay?”

Youngest: “Can I just take 3 bites?”

Me: “No, you have to eat it all.”

Youngest: “5 bites? Pwease?” He blinks his eyes at me, which are brimmed with tears and sends me into some sort of hypnotic shock.

Me: “Alright. 5 bites.”

I get a -1 just for being such a pushover...

Ten minutes later he’s munching on Cheezits and I can’t tell that he’s eaten anything off his plate at all. He’s good at what he does.

Even the dog manages to get in on this game. She sits on my feet all day just staring at me. When I look away, her large fox ears perk up and when I turn to face her she pins them pack all pitiful-like and opens her eyes wide. Like a cartoon caricature. She does this over and over until I oblige and walk her and I swear as we make our way around the block I can hear her chuckling and mumbling “Sucker ,” under her breath.

My husband is, of course, generally immune to the magic of their ways. His conversations with the kids go like this: “Daddy, can I have a snack?”

“No.”

“Okay!” Skips away to play.

What the?!

The dog doesn’t even attempt to whittle him down with her magic ears and big eyes. She knows it’s to no avail.

Of course he is not always able to escape their magical prowess. When Landon asks him to play baseball, he does so without ever breaking eye contact. His eyes round and big, he stares directly at his dad and says in a voice dripping with honey, “Will you frow da baseball to me, Daddy? Pwease?” He doesn’t blink, he just stares.

Sometimes I find my husband outside in his suit and tie throwing the baseball to all three children and I take the moment to sit down on the couch, kick up my feet, close my eyes and chuckle softly.

“Sucker,” I think.

Do your kids use magic powers on you?

On guilt, conviction and Angelina Jolie

Ever have one of those days? You know, the kind of day that you text your husband at 3:45 and say something to the effect of, “I’m losing my mind. Tell me you’ll be home soon.” You probably follow up said text with a little yellow emoticon that looks something like this: 😛

I mean, this is a hypothetical example of the kind of text one MIGHT send, of course. *nervous laughter*

On one of those hypothetical days, your husband might reply, “6:00.” That’s it. Just some numbers. No sad faced emoticon to show how deeply he might commiserate with your impending breakdown. 🙁

I mean, if we want to take this “hypothetical” exchange of texts a step further,  you MIGHT reply with something like, “Ack! Um…okay.” Followed by another grimicing emoticon.

Really, how did any of us ever communicate without emoticons?!

If your husband is valiant and grand, he will likely respond with, “I will try to make it home earlier. I can be there by 5:15.”

To which you will (hypothetically) respond, “We’ll be alright. Don’t rush.” You will send this text while secretly hoping that he does, indeed, rush.

When your hypothetical husband walks through the hypothetical door at 4:45, you will hypothetically find him to be more handsome than ever he was before. He might as well be riding a hypothetical white horse and wearing a shield of valor.

So this may come as a bit of a surprise to you all, but this situation isn’t really hypothetical. That was my day today and my valiant husband actually DID walk through the door at 4:45 and promptly took the children to the park when he saw that desperate deer-caught-in-headlights look of mine that says, Sweet Jesus be near ’cause Mama’s gonna lose her mind.

After he announced the impending trip to the park, one of the children (who shall remain unnamed) (the one bearing the X-Chromosome) replied something to the effect of, “No thanks. I want to stay here with Mom.”

“Nope.” My response was immediate and firm. And maybe a little loud?

“Why?!” she cried, her face falling.

And before I could stop the words from spilling out of my mouth I replied, “Because Mommy needs a break from you guys. I need to be alone and I don’t want to be needed for a minimum of thirty minutes.”

And then her face fell and I immediately felt a flood of guilt because what a horrible thing to say. But of course I tried to brush off said guilt under the guise of my firm belief that “God does not operate out of guilt and therefore I will not operate in guilt either.”

But you know what umbrella God does operate under? Conviction. And there is a paper thin line between guilt and conviction that sometimes gets blurred and if we’re not tuned in to what’s happening around  us we may get the two confused. I could assume genuine conviction to be nothing more than self-imposed guilt and brush it off since, you know, I REFUSE TO OPERATE IN GUILT. Ah, but I can likewise so often mistake guilt as conviction, thereby indeed OPERATING IN GUILT without even really realizing it.

Today what I experienced was conviction, though I tried with all my might dismiss it as “Mommy Guilt.”

The thing is, the sentiment I expressed to my child was true. I DID need a break and there’s nothing wrong with that. My kids possessed an extra measure of neediness today and on top of my massive to-do list and a house that seemed to have thrown up over night I was feeling wildly overwhelmed and caged. I needed to breathe.

I just wish I wouldn’t have made her feel like she pushed me to that point. Because she didn’t. It’s just the nature of motherhood and I don’t ever want my children to feel as though they are too much for me to handle. I don’t want them thinking I need a break from them so much as maybe every once in awhile I just need some time to clear my head.

When they returned, I fed everyone dinner, then closed myself in my office to continue said alone time. But not for long. Tia walked in shortly after just needing to talk. For as much as I seemed to need some time to myself, she seemed to need time alone with me.

And so we sat and talked and I learned a few things about my daughter in the process. She wants to have six kids, but she only wants to carry three of them in her tummy. The other three she wants to adopt from Africa and Asia. She wants three girls and three boys and she wants the doctor to cut the babies out of her tummy because some time ago I told her how babies are born and she’s been horrified ever since.

We talked for an hour, we snuggled, we read a book and I realized that I didn’t really need that time alone after all. Because honestly? It feels really dang good to be needed.

So to recap:

– My husband is my knight in shining armor.

– Guilt and conviction look an awful lot alike so try not to mix them up.

– And I am apparently raising a tiny Angelina Jolie.

The End.

Daddy’s Little Girl

“He’s handsome,” she said, then cut her eyes up devilishly at him. Lee looked down in surprise, eyes wide and a crooked smile on his face.

“You think he’s handsome?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Tia giggled, her hand over her mouth and cheeks flushed red.

Lee looked back at the television where yet another Disney Channel show full of awkward, over-acting teenagers flitted on and off the screen like electric chihuahua’s. The blonde boy with the mop of hair barked his line while Tia looked on admiringly.

“So what makes him handsome?” Lee asked.

“His hair is handsome,” she answered shyly. Then she giggled again. Is there any sound more innocent than that of a girlish six year old giggle?

“Yeah? And what else?”

“Well,” Tia looked at the screen thoughtfully. “His clothes are handsome, too,” she said finally. “I like how his shirt is tucked in and he has nice pants.”

Read that last line with a lisp and don’t say the ‘r’s’ and you’ll have a pretty good sense at how cute that came out.

Lee looked up at me in amazement. “You girls just have an inate sense of fashion that links to looks don’t you?”

I shrugged. We’ve lived together almost twelve years now and he’s JUST now figuring that out?!

“Okay Tia,” Lee said, jumping up off the couch. “Come with me.” Tia ran back to the bedroom with her dad, laughing hysterically.

Lee plopped her on the middle of the bed and went to his closet. “I’m going to put some clothes on and come out,” he called. “And you tell me if I’m handsome.” Tia threw her head back and laughed with delight.

“Okay, Daddy,” she called back.

A few minutes later Lee emerged in a pair of loose fitted jeans with holes in the knees and a form fitting white shirt that shows off his muscular frame. He’s been working hard. Oy vey…he is handsome.

“Am I handsome now?” he asked. Tia cocked her head to the side and studied for a minute, then shook her head no.

“You have holes in your pants,” she said disapprovingly. “That is NOT handsome.”

Lee disappeared into the closet again and came out a minute later with another pair of jeans, this one without the holes. “What about this?” he asked and did a little turn. Tia looked him up and down, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I think you need to tuck your shirt in,” she said with narrow eyes. “And you need a belt.”

Lee obliged and turned to face his only daughter. “Now?” he asked.

“Fix your hair,” she commanded and he straightened his hair. She smiled slowly, her crystal blue eyes sparkling. She nodded with approval. “Now, Daddy,” she said with a laugh. “Now you are handsome.”

It took me an hour and a half to scrape Lee’s gooey frame off the carpet.

There’s nothing like a Daddy’s little girl, eh?

Do you have a Daddy’s girl living in your house? Are you yourself a Daddy’s girl?

I am.

Love you, Dad!

You give me fever

In eighth grade, three of my cousins came to live with us for a year. My cousin, Meagan, and I had always had a pretty unique, sisterly kind of bond even before she came to stay, so having her there for a year was like having a real sister for a time. We laughed, we fought, she took my clothes…

One thing Meagan and I always conspired to do together was try to get sick at the same time. If either one of us started to feel bad, we would drink out of the same cup, chew each other’s gum (I know, gross), cough in each other’s face in an attempt to both end up sick at the same time so we could stay home from school together.

It worked more times than it didn’t.

This is the part where you start to pity my mom.

One of the times we did this compeltely backfired when we both ended up with the nastiest case of strep throat imaginable. We were not enjoying our time off together. In fact, we kind of thought we were dying together.

We ran such high fevers that my mom had a mild freak out and we all trekked to the doctor, Meagan and I moaning the entire way there. Her fever was in the high 105’s, mine was in the 104’s. And we had done this to one another.

So maybe it’s a bit of cosmic payback that I have children who run fevers that settle in the rafters. I dunno, but last night as I cradled my daughter’s feverish body, her temp measured 105.5. Cue freaking out. Cold bath, cool rag on the forehead, medicine. All of it worked together to bring her fever down to…

103.5.

Not good enough. More medicine, another cold rag and a bit of prayer seemed to help. I laid down with her in bed, her little body all shaky and achy. “Mom,” she croaked. “I had a scary dream.”

“What was your dream?”

“I dreamed that I was dying.”

Cue double freak out. Poor, sweet baby girl.

We prayed and she quickly fell asleep. When I checked on her about an hour and a half later, the fever had broken. Of course she woke up at 3:00 hot again. She snuggled up next to me in bed and it felt like spooning a radiator. She talked in her sleep and I held her hot little hand. Together we weathered a long, fitful night.

This morning her fever is low and her eyes less glassy.

And this Mama, though exhausted, is quite relieved.

I also feel the need to apologize to my mom for giving her multiple heart attacks over the years when I spiked high fevers. So I guess this is where some of the grey hair comes from?

Anybody else have kids who like to run super high fevers?

So dainty and girly and…

The table was set to girly precision. Purples, pinks, greens and blues lit the room and danced around the table.

There is no greater thrill for the six year old girl than glass bowls, wrapped in ribbon and filled with candy.

The guests arrived all dressed to the nines. Skirts, dresses, hair bows and even a bit of glitter.

They smiled shyly as they each took a seat around the frilly table.

And at the head? The Birthday girl in a purple shirt, ribbon pinned proudly to her chest.

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

Cake was served immediately and each girl picked up her fork delicately.

The chatter was quiet and endlessly interrupted by delighted giggles.

And after the cake came the ice cream.

Of course.

You can’t have a decent ice cream party without it.

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

Colorful goblets filled with ice cream and topped with more sugar than should be legally allowed raised the decibel level of the room to a new level. High pitched voices joined in a cacophony of silly laughter and girlish banter.

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

They ate with gusto. Tiny mouths lined in chocolate, fingers sticky, eyes glazed in a sugary daze.

And yet, there they sat so prim, each in her seat with a grin on her face.

When the ice cream was served, the room quieted again as young ones concentrated on eating their delights.

Image couresy of Avodah Images

Then one spoke, breaking the silence.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said with a grin. “Or I’m gonna fart.”

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

Cue uncontrollable laughter. Hands clasped over mouths and feet kicking.

And the potty talk commenced as each enjoyed tossing in her own gem of a quote.

Little girls.

They’re so dainty and girly and…

**********************

I only got a few pictures of the awesome and girly ice cream party, but my friend Jenni graciously offered to photograph the whole event for me and she got some amazing shots.

I think you should check them out.

Then check out the rest of her site at Avodah Images because she is a spectacular photographer. I’ve heard her say more than once that when she’s looking through a lens she sees God Himself as the world comes into focus. I love her heart and her pictures.

You’ll love her too.

If you’re ever in Florida and want family pictures made, Jenni is definitely your girl. She knows how to capture that one special moment and forever immortalize it for you. What a gift.

 

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

 


Wordless Wednesday – Childhood

Dontcha just love it?!

I’m headed to Blissdom today and am giddy with delight. If you’re going to be there, look for me will you?

I’ll be the minivan mom with the pink hair standing in the corner.

Wanna be friends?