Q&A--Part One

Well, you'll be shocked.

I've decided to set a bedtime for myself. I know. Crazy. But this whole staying up till, AHEM, all hours of the night, AHEM, should probably end soon.

At least, that's what my husband is telling me. All the way from the Sandy Spot, at that.

Just who does he think he is? My husband, or something?

(I was just kidding, in case you didn't catch that. He's just worried I'll collapse in sheer exhaustion one of these days, and then sleep for a week straight or something. I say, Yeah. Well. That would certainly be crazy.)

Anyway, the bedtime... is in approximately two minutes and thirty seconds. I'd better type fast.

So, with no further ado, here's some questions and here's some answers.

I think the #1 question I get is about homeschooling... Were you homeschooled? Did you like it? Do you plan to homeschool your own children? The answers are yes, yes, and yes.

I was homeschooled from second grade through graduation. I did indeed love it. I honestly wouldn't trade it for anything. My parents took our schooling--the lifestyle of it, not just the academics--very seriously, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I wouldn't be who I am today if it were not for their decision to homeschool. Of course, homeschooling wasn't perfect in our home--we struggled to stay on track at times just as much as the next family, we tried out just about every curriculum under the sun, we sometimes got sidetracked following a movement or two (or three or four) before realizing that what God had for our family wasn't always the same as another family, and there was even a short time in my 10th grade year when I had an inkling of wanting to attend our church's small school--but all of that combined and included, it was one of the best aspects of my entire life. That said, John and I do plan to homeschool our children, but we definitely have come to a place when we can say we don't believe homeschooling to be the only biblical option for every family. For us, right now, we know that's the direction the Lord is leading us, and we look forward to schooling our little guys (and future ones!) here at home.

#2--Julianne asked where we got Troy's Elmo slippers. Babies 'R' Us, Julianne. I could wander around that store all day long. I mean, YEAH, there's about half a zillion totally unnecessary things in there, but goodness gracious, how I love looking at all of it. Seriously, do you have any idea how much I want to win some sort of major shopping spree in Babies 'R' Us, just to try out some of that nifty fun baby goodness??

#3--Several people have asked if I do blog design. Aaand, as a matter of fact, I sure do. I'm taking it slow at this point, but love, love, loving learning as I go. There's a little box in my sidebar with my recent projects and a link to my pricing list. Feel free to contact me if you're interested!

#4--I've received a number of comments and emails asking about tracking site traffic. I highly, HIGHLY recommend using some sort of tracker for the main purpose of being able to see if you're receiving hits from people or places you don't want on your site. I'd suggest setting up an account with Sitemeter or StatCounter, which are both free services. The first of those is a little easier to navigate, but it only tracks your most recent 100 visitors. If you have higher traffic StatCounter will track your most recent 500, with even more available for a small fee.

#5--The Mushrooms Thing. Okay, I was seriously just pulling something totally random out of the air with that one, peeps. But the truth is, NO, I do not like sauteed mushrooms. At all. I tried them once, and though I know I was highly biased due to never liking ANY mushrooms, I didn't like 'em. Not in a car, not on a train, not on a plane, I do not like them Sam I Am.

Sorry. Two year old in the house, remember?

And now, it is a full half hour past my bedtime. And I still have one other last thing to do before I can hit the hay. I still have about ten other questions still on the paper beside me, so this grand ol' question-y deal is not over yet, peeps.

To be continued...

The Status of The Table, Some Good Stuff, and Sauteed Mushrooms

So. Hi peeps.

I'm waiting for a few hundred recent pictures to finish burning to a CD for John (how do you say that? do the pictures burn? or does the CD burn?), and since it is making my computer go slooooooow--too slow to work my current design project--I'm just going to type away here.

It seems we all agree that SOMETHING needs to change on that entryway table. The one thing it seems everyone agrees on the most is that I need to move the pineapple. So I've given it a different place of honor. I think I do need to at least put something under the little lamp. I'm going to try a pretty doily. I'll let ya know what happens.

Today was an absolutely wonderful day. You know, I don't think I fully appreciate being with my local church until I haven't been able to be there for a while. Due to the boys having half a million piggy-back sicknesses lately, I've been away from church more than I've been there. It was awesome. I feel incredibly refreshed. I love the people, and the music, and the messages, and every other little thing about it. I love my church. Not that it's obvious or anything.

(No, no... it's not perfect, I know that. I mean, COME ON, that's established by the fact that I walk in the building every week. But, hey, sometimes I think it's purty close.)

During our prayer request time in Sunday School this morning, a couple shared about the harrowing week they've had--major family health issues, a relative's death, car trouble, and several other crazy things happening that are completely out of their control. They smiled weary smiles as they told us about it, sharing not only the hard things, but the fact that they've seen God's hand in their lives as never before. After the husband finished sharing the specific things to be praying about this coming week, his sweet wife added one last request, before offering up a few soft-spoken thoughts.

To paraphrase... she said she's realized this week how easy it is to merely "say" we're trusting the Lord when only a few things are going wrong at once. We think we can still control it all, at least to some extent. So we make our best attempt to fix it, change it, or simply just control it, often further messing it all up and ending up even more stressed thanks to our efforts. But when everything goes crazy, everything is up in the air, and we know, without a doubt, that we have absolutely no control anymore... that's when the true beauty of our God can shine through. Because we have to just give it all up. We have to just let Him work. Sometimes the Lord has to get us to that place of complete surrender before He can really put His glory on display.

"And then," she said. "There is just something so liberating about taking our hands out of it and saying, 'Lord, I don't know what You're doing, but I know you're doing a much better job of it than I can.'"

I've been "chewing" on those thoughts all day. Really chomping on 'em. So much in my life these days is out of my control, and yet I often find myself still trying to make it all work out on my own. Or getting frustrated. Or discouraged. Or completely and utterly stressed out, PEOPLE!! When I know--in my head, at least--that all God asks of me is to give it over to Him. Just put it in His hands. Why is that always so hard to do?

Follow that little tidbit with a Sunday School lesson about letting the light of Christ shine in our lives, and then a sermon about simply following and obeying Jesus without excuses or "half-way-obedience" and, whew... it was like a feast to this nearly-famished soul.

A good Sunday. A really good Sunday.

Oh, and real quick--since my picture CD is done and I need to head to bed--I'm going to be doing that Q&A post here shortly, so if you've had a question for me for a while, or you just thought of one, or you simply want to know if I like sauteed mushrooms, here's your chance. Ask away. I'll do my best to answer any and all.

Okay, on the mushrooms thing, I'll just tell ya--NO. I do not. 'Nuf said.

I clearly have some home decorating issues

After Christmas, John and I decided to get a new slipcover for our couch. Our couch was his grandmother's, and though we love the couch itself, the brown, orange, green and tan floral print just doesn't exactly match our taste. Maybe if we'd been living in the early 70's. But this is, you know, 2008.

So, to replace the khaki slipcover we've had, we bought a much nicer red one. (YAY! No more constant. tucking. in. of the old slipcover!!!!!)

But that meant the pillows didn't match. And we'd known for a while that our wall decor needed some serious help. And the living room needed some rearranging. And the curtains looked hideous with the new couch. And.... you get the picture.

In the course of a week, we'd been to every home interior store in the city. Our house finally looked a bit more "with it" and we felt real nifty.

Now, just to clarify--I am pretty much the world's worst person when it comes to things like, you know, fashion and interior decorating. I just don't "have an eye" for such things, as they say. But my mom does. So I just... copy her.

But at the end of the spur-of-the-moment redecorating, there was just one last little item I couldn't find. I needed something else for the top of this entry-way shelf.

It just looked bare in the middle there, dontcha think?

The space between the frame and the mini-lamp was not big enough to set a purse or something, but still too big to be left completely empty.

Even my mom agreed. Which is crucial, since I have no fashion and/or decorating sense.

I was thinking one of those little wooden troughs with some balls made from... whatever those natural ball things are. Twine or wood or something.

But one day recently, I was in a pretty little gift shop and spotted this:

How adorable is THAT?

And how much more perfect could it be for the times when I pass by it on my way to bed and I'm afraid of the boogie men coming to get me?

Exactly! Perfect.

I brought it home and set it on the entryway table.

I loved the look. Eh, except for one little thing. Those dog tags hanging on the mirror? The ones my Marine gave me before we were engaged? Sweet and all... but they kinda sorta didn't match the rest of the decor.

I did leave up my hospitality pineapple, given to me by a special friend in Hawaii. Because I love that.

Not that I don't love the dog tags, but, well, you know.

But the next day, I walked down the stairs (See? That's my stairway in the mirror) and wasn't sure I like the look. So I changed it around. I put the lamp in the middle.

But then I thought--does that look like too much height on the left side, and then a weird visual drop when your eye reaches the candle holder?

I just don't know.

So, nearly every day for the past several weeks, I've switched it. One way, then the other.

And I still just can't decide.

Yes, I know I'm a bit obsessive. But, peeps, I walk by this a zillion times a day. I want it to look right. I just can't decide which way IS right.

Which brings me to another point. Is EITHER way right? Maybe I should just move my pretty little candle holder and go back to the trough idea?

I should just ask my mom. But I forget when she's here. It's just when it's quiet and we're home, just us three--that's when I switch it a gazillion times.

Oh, and for effect, here's what it looks like if you're looking down the entryway, into the living room. The lamp really does match, even if the slight sheen gives it a strange appearance in pictures.

One more thing--those dog tags. I did with them what really SHOULD be done with a deployed guy's dog tags. See?

So I need some help here. What's your opinion on the whole entryway shelf thing?

Help a decorating-challenged girl out, peeps.

Header Design Giveaway Winner!

Thanks to trusty ol' random.org, we have a RANDOM winner for the giveaway.

(I'm really into the use of the word RANDOM lately. Can you tell? Like in this post. At least I use it in it's proper context, though, unlike my 17-year-old brother, who uses the word, um, randomly. If I say something odd--which is quite often, believe it or not--he'll just up and say, "Well, that was... random." Even if it wasn't. Which it sometimes is. But not always. So. Anyway. This is random.)

The winner is:

(Drumroll, as always)

Elizabeth at Finding Him Bigger!

I'll be emailing Elizabeth so we can get started on her new header.

To everyone else, thanks so much for playing along. Feel free to check out the affordable packages I offer if you'd like a new look for your blog!

And would you belive this--I didn't even enter one single solitary giveaway this week. Crazy, huh? No reason... I'm just blaming it on my scattered brain, as usual.

Random. Really random.

Okay, I rarely do memes. Rarely as in, NEVER.

But every time I see this one, I find myself wanting to do it. Because it’s usually called something like, “Seven Random Things About Me” or, “Five Strange Things About Me.”

And let’s face it, I’m pretty random and strange.

So when Heather at Home With Heather tagged me to do this meme, I decided, hey, why not?

I’m choosing the “Seven Random Things About Me” title, and going with it. So in no particular order and of no importance whatsoever...

1. I’ve (not) got rhythm. I’ve played the piano for years. I’ve been singing since I was a toddler. But my rhythm is SAD, people. Very sad. John, on the other hand, has not only perfect pitch, but perfect rhythm. I knew I married him for a reason.

2. As much as I love the idea of a nice, long, hot bubble bath, I have a hard time actually relaxing in the tub. The reason? I never feel like the tub is clean enough. Either it hasn’t been cleaned that week, or it’s freshly cleaned and I’m just sure there’s shower cleaner residue in my bath water. That tends to make the whole relaxation thing a little difficult.

3. I have a small, very light mole freckle on my right hand middle finger. When I was a little girl, I was so horribly embarrassed by it that I would hold my thumb over it when I’d raise my hand to ask a question. Just to, you know, not draw attention to it. For some reason, I’m not so sure that was the best way to accomplish such a goal.

4. My signature crazy face. Now THAT is random.

5. Doing too much blog-hopping overwhelms me and I end up quickly shutting my computer and pushing it far away from me. There are a LOT of people out there, peeps. A LOT. And for some reason, that overwhelms me in a huge way. I tend to read the same blogs most of the time, and have a hard time finding new ones without being freaked out by the sheer number of bloggers out there.

6. I am terribly cheap. Not frugal. CHEAP. A penny-pincher. A miser. I hate to spend money. I have a really hard time with the whole “ya get whatcha pay fer” idea. Instead of spending money on a quality item or two, I end up spending even more money on a bunch of cheap stuff. Good character quality, that one. Mmhmm.

7. I have virtually no brain since having kids. I don’t know exactly what happened to it. I have a few ideas, but… oh, wait, what were they again? I don’t remember. Just like I no longer remember all the random things I’ve always thought I’d use if I ever did this meme.

So there you have it. Seven random things you never wanted to know about me.

(I am, however, going to be answering some questions on Monday that have been coming in via email and comments lately. Some of you have been asking some of the same things, and I thought I’d just answer them all at once. So if you asked me something recently, look for the answer Monday. If I remember it, of course. Which may be hard, considering my lack of a brain and all.)

Now the "rules" state that you're supposed to tag seven other bloggers to do this meme. But most of the people I know have already done it. Ages ago.

(I know, I'm always the last to jump on the bandwagon. Please don't hold it against me.)

(If you haven't already done this, and you want to, consider yourself tagged. And let me know you did it, so I can go find out if you're as weird as I am.)

I'm changing the rules. Instead of tagging seven people, I'm "tagging" all of you to tell me ONE random thing about yourself in the comments. Hey, if I have to bare my random soul, you do too.

Why didn't someone tell me being a mom would involve this amount of, ahem, "number 2?"

It seems my toddler has discovered a new habit.

It's a lovely one, let me tell you.

Since I'm all about back story, here's the back story to today's episode.

After my mini-breakdown yesterday, I can't tell you how overjoyed I was that the fevers were gone, the boys were finally well, and we could go to church.

We actually made it out the door in plenty of time, with Troy singing "BIG KID NURSERY!!! YAY!!" in the back seat (you think he's been cooped up for two weeks? Nah.) and Merritt giggling and babbling. The morning was wonderful, and afterward we came home, ate lunch, and I put Troy down for a nap.

I heard him talking for a while in his bed, and I could tell he was having a hard time falling asleep. But after only, oh, and HOUR or so, he had drifted off. Merritt took a nap, I got some work done on the computer, and then started getting ready at about 4:50 for the 5:30 evening service. I figured if I was all ready to go, all I'd have to do was get the boys changed and dressed, and we'd probably even have time for me to make a stop at the Starbucks drive-thru to redeem that free coffee from yesterday's courteous barrista. My bestest friend was coming to stay the night, and she was due to arrive just in time to head out the door.

4:50pm--Merritt woke up from his nap. Changed, dressed and nursed for a whole two minutes. I guess he wasn't too hungry.

4:58pm--I heard Troy wake up. Perfect. I was ready, Merritt was ready. All I'd need to do was change Troy and we'd head out as soon as Bethany got here.

5:00pm--I walked into Troy's room. And I smelled it.

Then, through his tears, he held up his hands.

For the second time this week, he'd, uh, "dirtied" his diaper before he fell asleep, and then, for no reason known to man, decided to... I dunno? Check and see if the diaper was really full? I have no clue what the idea was behind this one.

So. I took a deep breath. I looked at the clock. 5:01pm. I looked at my nice skirt and black heels.

Kicking off the heels, I kicked in to mom-mode. Clothes and diaper came off. Bath water turned on. Crying Merritt was given a pacifier and toy. Troy was disciplined, comforted, talked to, and sat in the tub. The front door was answered. Crying baby was handed to my rescuer best friend. Troy was washed, rinsed, repeat... about five times. Taken out of the tub, dried, lotion applied. Dressed in clean clothes. Hair brushed. Sheets, blankets, pillow case, and stuffed animals tossed in the washer.

I slipped back into my heels. Took Troy downstairs. Actually said hello to Bethany. Grabbed my purse. Headed out the door.

Time? 5:12pm.

Hey, no Starbucks, but we made it to church on time. Purty good, in my opinion.

But with two kids in diapers right now, sicknesses and medicine that have a wonderful loosening effect on the bowels, total blow-outs at least once a day are common. I deal with enough of the, ahem, numero dos these days, without the additional let's-play-with-a-dirty-diaper episode. Fun times, peeps.

I don't think it's a great surprise that when I saw this a couple weeks ago I immediately put it into my shopping cart:

What? Oh, you're looking at the Minnie Mouse ears and the Elmo slippers? You mean that fashion statement isn't exactly the norm around your house?

I was actually talking about the shirt--the cutest and most crazy-true four bucks I ever spent. I think he should wear it every single day. Yessirree.

Giveaway time--win a free blog header!

Alrighty, peeps.

Today is the first day of the Great and Glorious Bloggy Giveaways Carnival. I wasn't originally planning on doing anything for it... and then I thought I might, because I have a feeling I'll see one or two giveaways this week I might want to enter, and I feel bad not offering something myself.... and then I thought, nah, I wouldn't, and then... here I am. Posting my giveaway. But, hey, what's a girl for but to change her mind?

So here's the deal.

I'm giving away a free custom blog header. I'll be designing a header for the winner and will match basic font colors and sidebars, as applicable.

To enter, just leave a comment on this entry. I'll close the giveaway at 8pm, Friday, April 25, and use my ultra-random drawing method to choose a winner. Okay, so maybe I'll use a slightly more reliable method, like good ol' random.org.

But, the point is, I'll have a winner for you Friday night.

Oh, and if you're here for the first time due to the giveaway carnival... (enter deep bow here)... Welcome to this little corner of the blogosphere, where you're sure to find a bit of fun, a bit of seriousness, a whole lotta crazy, and a whole lotta love for Jesus. Enjoy your stay!

My Jesus... He is real

Tonight, about an hour after putting the boys to bed, I heard Merritt begin to stir.

I sighed. This has been a week full of long, wakeful nights. The boys who are (now) typically good sleepers have been rather sick and have both been up more than usual. I waited a few minutes, hoping Merritt would settle himself back to sleep.

As his whimpers turned to cries, I knew I'd have to go check on him. I followed the sound--of what was turning into wailing--to his little bed and felt around for the pacifier. It was already in his mouth. I guess that wasn't going to help anything. So I leaned over him, gave him a soft kiss on the forehead, and rested my hand on his tummy.

He quieted down. Within seconds, he was asleep again.

All that little guy needed was the gentle touch of a loving hand. He knew he was cared for, and he could rest.

And let me tell you--I could sure relate.

It has been QUITE the week around here, peeps. The boys came down with a viral infection of some sort, giving them fevers, blisters in their throats (although not strep) and a terrible cough. Not to mention making them all-around cranky-monsters.

Combine this house-bound week with the week before, in which we were recovering from two months of absolute running around like a headless chicken, and we've been out of the house a grand total of twice in the past two weeks--to one mid-week service at church and to the doctor's office for the boys on Tuesday.

Well, unless you count trips to the mailbox or playing in the sandbox in the backyard. Which I do or don't, depending on the moment.

So by today, let's just say the three of us were getting pretty tired of being each others' sole company. We were in desperate need of a fresh face. Or four.

When Troy threw a temper tantrum before naptime, warranting a long, drawn-out period of discipline, I was close to my wit's end. Then, when Merritt wouldn't fall asleep for a nap, either, I was even closer to my wit's end. I had about a millimeter of wits left when Troy woke up thirty minutes into naptime, crying for no visible reason. And crying. And crying. Crying so much that he woke up the baby.

That was officially the end of my wits.

I loaded the boys in the car, and started driving. Just driving. No real destination in mind. I thought about heading south and showing up at my friend's door in San Diego. I thought of heading east and ending up at my parents'. I even had the fleeting thought of just going and going until I got to my in-law's house in Colorado.

The one place I just couldn't face again was home.

Because here's the deal... this whole being alone thing? It's hard. Really hard.

I ended up driving west as far as I could go, hoping the boys would fall asleep by the time we reached the beach. They were still awake when we got there, so I hopped on the freeway and headed north, while the boys still cried off and on... and I did too. Before I knew it, I was forty minutes from home, heading into my best friend's hometown.

Wiping my eyes, I reached for my cell phone. The fact that she was actually home on a Saturday afternoon was completely the Lord's doing.

You know, people say all the time that God reveals Himself more clearly during difficult times. And at the risk of sounding "super-spiritual," I'll tell you that it couldn't be more true.

The Lord has revealed Himself, His love, His reality to me, as never before.

Here's what Jesus looks like to me right now...

His goodness is allowing my best friend to be near, and be home. It's having songs play on the radio that He knows I need to hear. Walk by Faith by Jeremy Camp. Praise You In This Storm by Casting Crowns (which I heard for the first time today while driving). It's having the barrista in the Starbucks drive-thru give me a coupon for a free drink because apparently she decided I'd waited too long at the window. It's hearing another old song I haven't heard in several years, making me laugh. It's mornings when the boys sleep in and I can sit at His feet in the quiet, soaking Him up.

His love is my mom calling right at the moment I'm freaking out to tell me she loves me and she's praying for me. It's the arms of my best friend's mother around me, telling me it's okay that I didn't even have time to shower this morning, that she's been there and everything will be okay. It's when her dad and her boyfriend steal my keys and give my truck its first real wash since John left. It's when my neighbor or my dear friend brings me Starbucks out of the blue. It's my mother-in-love buying a plane ticket to fly out here to help me drive to her house this summer. It's sweet emails from so many of you, most of whom don't know me other than through the words posted here. It's cards several times a week from friends around the country.

His grace is our pastor sending a gift certificate for a car wash in town. It's my mom and brother being near our home on an errand and showing up on my doorstep with bags of groceries and their smiling faces. It's my dad watching the boys so I can go to a baby shower. It's two teen girls coming for a week or two each to help me this summer. It's boxes of goodies from friends and family... even from people I've never met in person. It's my mom or my cousin staying for the weekend, cleaning my house and doing my laundry. It's my best friend deciding she's going to come stay the night to help me with the boys.

His strength... oh, where would I begin with His strength? The thought of that incredible strength is just too much even for words. It overwhelms me and fills me and guides me moment by moment. It comforts me when I hear search helicopters over our neighborhood and I'm alone with two little ones. It enables me to take another step when I'm so tired I can hardly move. It even opens jars with tight lids.

His light... is my two boys' giggles. It's playing cars for hours on the floor. Spending even more hours in the backyard, tossing a ball with Troy while Merritt smiles in his walker. It's curling up on the couch with Troy when he can't sleep. It's watching Merritt learning to sit on his own. It's an unexpected phone call from John. It's watching the tide come in, or driving along the coast with the salty ocean breeze blowing my hair around my face. It's bringing scripture to mind I didn't realize I knew, just when I need it most.

My Lord is real. He is real, people. And He shows Himself to be real more and more every. single. day.

Okay. Here's the backstory.

So I wrote that lengthy, rambling, "I'm going to think deep thoughts"-y post.

And immediately after I hit "publish," I regretted it. Why is it I always do that when I'm not writing something chipper and witty? I dunno. But, so be it. That's how it always is. Oh well.

The next morning,

[Wait, let me say this--once again, please do not look at what time it was when that post was written. I've thought about changing the post times on some of these posts before I hit publish, but then I remember that wouldn't exactly be honest. So for the sake of honesty, I admit my late hours for the world to see.]

Was I saying something?

Oh yes, "the next morning..."

Well, the next morning I was talking on the phone to my mom as she was driving.

[Oh, and let me say this, too--if you've been reading her blog, or you've clicked over there from the thumbnail in my H&H Design box, and you use anything beside Internet Explorer on a PC, please don't think that was the way I intended that design to look. Ugh. I'm hitting my head on my desk coffee table due to my ridiculous inexperience and assumption that everything looks the same in all browsers. Last night I downloaded several other browsers on my other computer to check designs... and was horrified. But anyway. This is not the point of this post. There is already a whole post about this topic.]

So, now that we're back on the right path after chasing several rabbits... I was talking to my mom and she said she'd read that post, but hadn't had time to comment right then. (Who would? It takes ten years to scroll down to end.)

And then she laughed and said, You know that one part? What you said in the beginning about:

Combination of perfectionist and lackadaisical that I am, I would often
end up in tears when I saw the red circles around letters I'd written
sloppily.

Well, it turned out she imagined people reading this and thinking, "YIKES!! Homeschooling mom with red pen who expects perfection!!!!"

But for the record, peeps, let me tell you--that is not what my homeschooling mom is like. She did use a red pen sometimes, but she also used pink, and purple, and blue and green. And she put cute little stamps or stickers at the top of our pages that read, "Way to go!" or "Good Work!" or "100%!" or "Good try!"

And those times I'd end up in tears? This is about how it would go:

Mom: Okay, Ash, let's look over your penmanship work from yesterday.
Look at how great these capital cursive "G's" are! You did so good! I like the
way you start them out with that extra little curlicue there. So pretty. Now,
baby girl, let's look at the lower-case "g's". You started out nicely, and then,
see right here, you started getting a little sloppy with the tails. They really
shouldn't be quite as wide as the top of the "g." And see, they give you a
whole line to make those ten "g's," so you can take up the whole line,
instead of scrunching all the letters in the first inch. Here, let's try some
together on the end of the line. There you go. Good job, baby girl!

Me: [dramatically] Okay, Mommy. I'm sorry I'm such a terrible daughter. I
should have done this better. I'm sorry for ruining your life. [and then
the tears would start to flow. And flow. And flow.]

Poor Mom.

And to think, she kept homeschooling. And she's still at it... in her sixteenth year, even.

Now, given all that drama, is it any surprise to you that I talked constantly, a la Anne Shirley? Of course not.

Which is why my mom laughed even more and said, And then that other part? Where you said:

But now that I had someone [my new husband] who would listen to my
ongoing and endless ramblings about life and such, I rarely wrote much about it on paper anymore.

Oh, yeah, that part. What I intended to convey was the fact that now my poor new husband had NO CHOICE but to sit and listen to me for hours upon hours as I rambled on about everything and nothing, and so I didn't write in my journal as much.

What I did not intend to convey was the fact that my feelings had been suppressed for all of my sad and lonely existence, and that nobody, nobody (sniff, sniff) ever listened to me, and that my family had just ignored me for so long, forcing me to express all my deep and wonderful thoughts in paper journals, and that, glory be! NOW I was finally free to share my heart!

The truth is my poor family had spent probably three-fourths of their own waking lives listening to me go on, and on, and on, and on about everything under the sun. And the other truth? When John married me and whisked me a whole half hour away from them and took upon himself the weight of my constant, long-winded chatter, there was a bit of, "Whew... what is this? Quiet? Is THIS what quiet is like? Huh. Interesting." in my childhood home.

So, after our good laugh on the phone, I said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry I'm such a terrible daughter. I'm sorry for ruining your life..."

Okay, so not really. But we did laugh our heads off for a bit... another thing we've been doing since the drama-filled-days of third grade. We're quite the pair, oh yes we are.

Oh, and one more thing--if this seems totally off-the-wall and random and you are now even more certain that we are complete WACKS, be assurred. We are. But, hey, WE are totally cracking up right now, so just humor us and laugh along.

A Reason for Writing

When I was in second or third grade, my parents chose a penmanship curriculum called A Reason for Writing. It was supposed to be a great curriculum... combining the learning of good penmanship with a bit of fun and creativity.

At the end of each week, I would pull one of the pre-decorated and lined sheets of paper from the back of the book, color the illustration framing the lines and then write a personal letter to send to a friend or family member.

It should have been fun, but let me tell you... I hated that book. I just couldn't stand that curriculum. I dreaded doing it each day. Dreaded writing row after row of curly cursive letters, keeping them uniform and within the correct lines. Combination of perfectionist and lackadaisical that I am, I would often end up in tears when I saw the red circles around letters I'd written sloppily. I wanted it to be perfect, but I just hadn't really cared when actually completing the assignment.

But while forming an aversion to writing, I was actually discovering, in my free time, a love for writing. Real writing. Not the "cross your t's and dot your i's" kind of writing, but the art of putting words to a page. Of capturing an abstract thought and harnessing it into something another person might understand. Of having a concrete place to save all my imaginings, my fears, my joys, my craziness.

When I turned seven, a grandmother-like figure gave me my first diary. It was beige with little hearts on the cover and the pages numbered by the days of the year. Best of all, it had a lock and a key. At seven years old, nothing could be more nifty than that. After the party was over and my little friends were gone, I turned to April 1, put my Lisa Frank pencil to the paper... and unlocked a little bit of magic in my heart.

By the time I was nine, I'd begun my first "novel." My writing buddy, Nicole, had given me a thin three-ring-binder and a stack of paper after I'd read the first chapter of her "epic novel" and decided to start my own. Over the next couple years, I made it four whole chapters into my book, entitled Agarn Life. It was the story of the Agarn family (making up odd and outlandish names was also one of my hobbies) and their adventurous life on the prairie. I have absolutely no idea where that plot came from. It couldn't possibly have had anything to do with the Little House books I was pouring over. I don't remember much of the story line anymore, except for the fact that around eleven or twelve years old, I realized I'd better hurry this story along if I hoped to get it published sometime soon--as I was certain it would be--so I decided to do something drastic and kill off the family patriarch. He was trampled by cattle or something equally dramatic.

Over the next several years, I filled countless spiral notebooks with stories, wrote to dozens of pen-pals regularly, and faithfully wrote in my journal. During my particularly eventful and ridiculously drama-filled sixteenth year, I easily filled three entire journals in about six months.

In a girls' magazine I subscribed to during my teen years, I once read a short piece which called writing in a journal a "record of God's faithfulness." That little phrase stuck with me. Record of His faithfulness.

Is that what I was doing? I wrote in my letters and journals about my daily life, my ups and downs, my deepest thoughts and feelings. My stories were reflections of my imagination; often dreams written on paper. What was the point of any of it? Was it a "record" of anything, or just mindless words written by a young girl?

As I got a little older and the trail of my life rounded some unexpected corners, I continued to fill the pages of my journals and even still write short imaginative pieces. But soon most of the fictional stories were left, half-finished, in notebooks tucked in keepsake boxes. The pen-pals grew up and the letters became less frequent or moved to email instead. Even the journals into which I'd once poured my heart and soul were being opened less and less often. After a particularly difficult time during which I'd written page after page after page in my journal, only to later realize that, in fact, I'd not even been honest with myself in the folds of that little volume, I became less comfortable with putting my thoughts on paper. What was really the point anyway?

Soon I had a husband who was a quiet kind of guy and would listen to me ramble on and on and on for hours every evening. On the lines of my pretty little journal I'd write particularly meaningful scripture references, sometimes accompanied by a few brief thoughts. But now that I had someone who would listen to my ongoing and endless ramblings about life and such, I rarely wrote much about it on paper anymore.

Then I heard that some of those old pen pals and the girls who had read those sweet teen girls' magazines were actually still keeping in touch with each other--they'd all just moved online. I visited the online journaling site and saw names I recognized and quickly found old far-away friends.

And then, one night, while on the phone with my best girlfriend who was also perusing through the lists of mutual old friends...

I signed up.

A few days later, with great embarrassment, I told my mom that I'd started writing entries for these online friends to read. She told me it was called blogging. I told her no, it couldn't be blogging. Blogs were written by important people and were about current events or politics. This wasn't a blog. Couldn't be a blog.

But I soon discovered this was something I loved. As a bride of less than a year who was adjusting to my new life, I filled many a post with thoughts, emotions, stories, pictures, and quite a bit of craziness. It was, for the most part, just like my paper journals and the letters I used to write. Only this time I had more of an audience and actually received feedback each time I wrote a entry.

I was writing again. And suddenly one day I realized it felt like I'd come full circle. Just as the ebb and flow of my life had changed, so had the way I'd expressed my thoughts. I was back to square one. I'd fallen back in love with writing.

It didn't take long before I came to terms with the fact that I was, indeed, blogging. It was true. I had a blog, and I'd jumped in with both feet.

As probably almost every one of you can relate to, I was soon an addicted blogger, spending an utterly ridiculous amount of time on the computer. I can definitely say, "Been there done THAT!" Thus began the ongoing battle of keeping the proper balance between this thing we do called blogging and my high calling to real life as a wife and mama. I took breaks, returned to my blog, renewed my commitment to balance--several times. After a few years, I left the private online journaling community and made the move into the full-fledged, public blogosphere. Last summer I had an unfortunate experience which shocked me into remembering just how public this all is, had to move again, and finally landed. Right here.

Sometimes I wonder why on earth I'm doing this. I'm not a great writer. I don't remember all the rules of English. I don't "make" anything from what I write. Like most of us, I don't have hours of free time just waiting to be filled. I get overwhelmed at times, with either the fact that people I don't know actually read what I say, or the fact that my usual "voice" here on my blog doesn't always reflect what my heart wants to say. I get caught between having enough time to read other people's blogs and having time to write on my own. I find myself, once again, spending too much time on here and have to step back and reevaluate my priorities. I would be lying if I said I haven't come very, very close to ending this blog completely.

But then I remember. I can't not write. I can't stop putting my thoughts and my everyday life into the written word any more than I can stop talking to my family or stop living my life. God has given me a love for capturing those thoughts and dreams and, yes, even the craziness--harnessing them and finding just the right word to express them, whether for just myself to read, or for a group of friends I happen to call my bloggie peeps.

I've also found something interesting.

Just as my life has had many ups, downs, and sideways journeys, the thing I fell in love with at seven years old--writing--has mirrored every aspect of that. It has taken a journey of it's own in my life. Just as I can look back through my old journals and see what I was going through at that time and only fully understand the magnitude or the relative insignificance now, I scroll through the old posts here and in each of my old blogging homes and whisper to myself, Wow. Look at how that turned out. Look. Look at what God did. Remember where I was back then--even just a few weeks ago--and look at where we are now.

When friends in "real life" find out that I have a blog, they often ask why. Why do you blog?

I've heard people say that a Christian shouldn't blog unless it's to share Scripture or lay out the plan of salvation in each post. I've read posts where bloggers have criticized other bloggers for posting about life rather than posting more deep spiritual thoughts. I've questioned myself numerous times... why do I blog?

I blog for this reason: My creative Lord and Savior has given me a love of the written word, and I choose to use that love for the lifting up of His name. My regular, ordinary life is a daily testimony, through the good, the bad, the lovely and the not-so-lovely, of His work in the life of one of His children. I seek to honor Him in everything. Everything. Whether it is a post about His amazing power and strength to get me through a difficult time, or it's a silly picture of one of my boys, or it's a crazy anecdote about a completely wild day in our home--it is all part of the life He's given me, and it all reflects Him and His glory. His power and strength are amazing... He has made my boys hilarious and silly... He reveals Himself more real than ever, in a million little ways, when we have completely wild and adventurous day around here. He is in everything. So I give Him everything.

And that... that, is my reason for writing.

Look! A Family Picture! With all four of us!

Thanks a bunch to WalMart and Cisco Systems--almost an hour to see our guy via state-of-the-art video conference. I've never thought so seriously about jumping into a tv screen.

We have a winner!

Okie dokie, peeps. We have a winner for the Shutterfly photobook giveaway.

I used the highly technical method of writing names on little pieces of paper, shaking them up in my hand, looking around for something to put them in, realizing that my water cup might not be the greatest idea due to the fact that it was still moist and if the pieces of paper stuck to the sides it wouldn't exactly be random, so I used my wrist to open the drawer in the coffee table in front of me, dropped the papers in there, closed my eyes and grabbed one.

Technical is the way to go, you know.

And the winner is...

(I believe a drumroll would be appropriate here.)

Nicole from The Ink Well!

Yay! Nicole also happens to be one of my oldest and dearest friends, and I could show you all the scrapbook she made me on my thirteenth birthday, but I think I'll spare us both from the embarrassment due to the pictures it contains. I'm sure her album from Shutterfly will be much less embarrassing. Ahem.

Nicole, I'll email you the promo code and you can get started on your free album right away.

Thanks for playing along everyone!

A Giveaway! And, Hey! Free Money!!

I am not a scrapbooker. I admit it. I am in a family of avid scrapbookers, but, alas, I can not claim the title for myself. I may be an abnormality of society, but so be it.

I've tried. I have a Creative Memories tote chock full of supplies (albeit, most of them are several years old and quite out-dated). I've been to all the parties and been motivated a hundred times. But the truth is, it scares me to death, people. I am perfectionism epitomized when it come to craftiness (and most other areas of life, as it so happens), and the sheer open-ended-ness of being handed a stack of pictures, a book, some blank pages, a whole bunch of pretty paper and, oh goodness, all those buttons and ribbons and brads and the little metal hole thingies... it makes me break out in a cold sweat right now just thinking about it.

So when I heard of the term "digital scrapbooking," I was sold on the idea. Scrapbooking on the computer? Now that's something I can do. I admit I haven't even done much in that realm yet, but at least it's actually on my list of things I really want to do, as opposed to making me feel queasy every time I think of it.

I did, however, make one digital photobook a few months ago. Shutterfly offers a middle ground between a plain digital photo album and a full-fledged digital scrapbook, with lots of customizations and fun extras, but yet not enough to be overwhelming. I took advantage of this and made one for John for Christmas this past year--a photobook I titled "The Story of Us," filled with pictures from the days before we were anything to each other, all the way up until a few weeks before Christmas.

See? He liked it.

Now, Shutterfly, in association with David's Bridal, has offered me a promo-code for a 20 page, 8x8 photobook, an at least $30-$40 value, for free. How nifty is that? You are free to customize the book with several cover options, drag-and-drop photo placement, hundreds of background options and layouts, and even the "title" of your photobook on the hand-bound spine.

I can attest to the fact that these are extremely easy to make (it only took me three naptimes to make John's--and one of those was the day I filled the last page with pictures of Merritt after he was born and then ordered the album) and the quality was better than I even expected.

If you'd like to make your own photobook, just leave a comment in this entry telling me what you'd do with your album--would you make a baby book, showcase pictures of a vacation, make it a Mother's Day gift, or do you have something else in mind? Because the offer is only good until April 30th (your book must be completed and ordered on or by that date), I'll only leave this open until 8pm on Friday night (April 11) and post the winner that evening.

Now, the part about the FREE MONEY! (Woohoo!!)

You know that feeling of finding a twenty in the pocket of your jeans when you pull them out of the dryer? That's kinda what this is like.

Revolution Money Exchange, an completely free, up-and-coming money exchange service (and the one I'm using for my blog design customers) is giving away $25 to anyone who makes an account with them. SERIOUSLY. All you have to do is sign up, and, viola!, twenty-five buckaroos right in your account. You may have seen this other places in the blogosphere--because it is so awesome!--and be assured it is completely legitimate and very secure. It's really not too good to be true!

Who can say no to having cash tossed atcha?

All you have to do is click the little button here right there (if you click on the button here, from my site, and sign up, I'll also get $10 just for referring you... and then you can do the same from your blog. Are these people nuts?????) and sign up. Easy cheesy.

So, all I have to say today is FREE! FREE! FREE!

What fun free stuff is, huh?

The Many Adventures of Freddie Joe

Meet Freddie Joe:

Freddie Joe was a birthday gift given to a Certain Two-year-old by his Beloved seventeen-year-old Uncle. Freddie Joe was thus named upon the opening of the box containing him, when the Beloved Uncle said, "Hey, look, it's Freddie Joe!" And since everything the Beloved Uncle says is gospel truth in the life of the two-year-old, the little plastic fellow was promptly christened "Freddie Joe."

(Although in the common dialect, it's pronounced more like "Funny Doe.")

This occurrence might also provide some insight into the reason the two-year-old's vocabulary also includes phrases such as, "Sweet Dude!" And, "Peace out, homie."

Thank you, Beloved Uncle. We shall be eternally grateful.

Today Freddie Joe was taken to visit to King Merritt Will.

(Although in the common dialect, it's pronounced more like "Mer-nitt Wee-oh.")

The resident photo-journalist tagged along, as well. Actually, she was folding laundry as Freddie Joe was unfolding his adventures, and as any good photo-journalist would do, she grabbed her camera to catch the action as it happened.
King Mer-nitt Wee-oh gave his orders. "Go now, and find many sights as of yet unseen, Freddie Joe!"

(Which, in the common dialect, sounds a little more like, "Mm, gmm, aaaaaah, agh, eeee, oooh.")

So Freddie Joe ("Funny Doe") backed his fancy-schmancy car out of King Mer-nitt Wee-oh's court and headed off.

He was ready to see the world and find the sights unseen! He quickly zoomed over the patches of colored earth, with his driver all the while crying, "FffffUNNY Doe!! FfffUNNY Doe!"

All was well, but then...

Freddie Joe began to slip down the side of the hill. Oh no, Funny Doe!!

Down, down, down, d-o-o-o-w-w-w-n-n went Freddie Joe.

And our poor hero, Freddie Joe ("Funny Doe"), landed in a cave and met his untimely demise at the hands of the Great Grey Gracie-cat.

THE END

Oh, wait--hold that--this isn't the end...

Because once the story of Freddie Joe came to an end, the photo-journalist (aka, Mama) said to Freddie Joe's driver (aka, Troy), "Okay, let's come clean up the legos..."

The response: "Okay, A'leigh. Okay, A'leigh!"

AHEM.

You may be two. You may be a big boy now. You may even be the driver of the famed Freddie Joe.

But that's Mama to you, Buster.

Ready for the answer?

Wowsers. Nothing like giving actual permission to talk about a girl's age to bring people out of the woodwork, right?

So... are you ready?

Drumroll, please.

Because, you know, this is oh-so-important. Or not.

Two-two. Double Twos. Two short of Two dozen.

22. That's how old I am, peeps.

I know! The grey hairs are on their way. I'd better start sharpening my chess skills so I'm ready for the team when I head to my rest home.

But, peeps! I have to commend you on your sleuthing skills! You were racking your brains, searching the archives and reading the story to get clues. I know, it's not like I've exactly tried to hide my age, given that I'm not really at the age where it is necessary to hide it yet.

Although I sure wished I could hide it today at my dentist's office when the stand-in hygienist decided to lecture me on why I should have gone to college before getting married and having children. And said repeatedly that I was really too young to have a two year old and a five-month old. She told me about her daughter being accepted to Harvard and Berkley and about all her daughter wanted to "do with her life."

Then she asked if I "had a job" or if I was "just a stay-at-home-mom."

And, with my mouth wide open, long-handled tools moving around inside it and that suction-thingie hanging over my bottom lip... I laughed.

I made an attempt at saying something like, "I uh fuh-tie wom," and laughed a little more.

(That's, "I'm a full-time mom," for those who are dentist-chair-speak challenged.)

But then she said, "Oh, I see. So what do you do with your days?"

She had to take the funky mirror thing out of my mouth, I was laughing THAT hard.

Um, I don't know! What DO I do with my days? Oh, that's right!!! I just sit on the couch with a cup of tea and read sweet books all day long while soaking my feet in a warm water bath. Don't the rest of you domestic engineers do the same?

That was funny. It seriously was.

But, hey everyone, thanks so much for all your sweet birthday wishes. I had a great day. I got home Monday evening from a weekend trip to surprise my aunt on her 50th birthday. (Oh, and by the way, she's not the aunt who mixed up her age. This aunt really is 50. There's no hiding HER age, either, since I'm obviously in the mood for tossing out people's ages. If I don't already know yours, you'd better be careful what you tell me. You never know what I may say.) My brother drove home with me after that trip, and then we met my mom and another friend at Sea World Tuesday morning. (My firefighter daddy had to work. He didn't just up and decide he didn't like me anymore or anything.) So I spent my twenty-second birthday with Shamu and the dolphins and the bat rays. I'm quite serious, too. We actually "met" the killer whales when my mama took us to the Dine With Shamu experience for our midday meal. We had special reservations, along with a small group of other visitors, to eat in an exclusive area right there at the Shamu tank. We ate an incredibly wonderful lunch and talked to the killer whale trainers while two members of the Shamu family swam, played, jumped, and slid up onto the water covered platform right there, just feet from us. It was oodles and oodles of fun. We felt like we were in Free Willy or something. Which was nifty in and of itself, considering that my first (and probably only) actor crush was on the kid that played in that movie. The day was just grand.

I have a sun-burned scalp to prove it. And in a couple days, I'll have a constant reminder of my nifty-spifty day when my sun-burned scalp starts peeling in my uber-dark hair. Good times, good times.

And, just to keep it real around here, I did kinda lose it before I went to bed yesterday when my tiredness from a crazy week, wakeful kiddos and my missing-my-Marine emotions caught up with me. But my mama loved me anyway and hugged me when I cried a bit. Or a lot bit.

But I think I got an even better birthday present today when my mom and Zach watched the boys while I went to the dentist and then did a MAJOR grocery shopping trip all by myself. And then, while I was gone? My mom cleaned my kitchen. And did my laundry. And unpacked my bags from the trip. And put away clothes. And cleaned up Troy's room. And did a half a dozen other things to make my life absolutely a hundred times easier this week.

Purty awesome, if you ask me.

Then, this afternoon, my birthday present from John came in the mail. He sent me, from the Sandy Spot, these way-too-cool Croc sandals, in chocolate and pink. We kinda have an obsession with Crocs in our family, in case you hadn't noticed, given that nearly every picture of Troy shows him in one of his three pairs of 'em.

So I'm twenty-two now. Old. Old. Old. But I kinda have this feeling that I'll be doing a whole lot of growing up in this next year. Just a hunch I have.

Oh, and yeah! All you people who guessed 22--give yourselves a pat on the back. You are so very smart. And alllll of you... thanks for not saying I seemed, like, 65 or 15 or something. That would have been interesting.

A whole lotta years ago, I was causing my mama a whole lotta pain about now

Yes, it's true.

It's birthday city around here. Two birthdays in the span of five days is nothing, though. It takes both my hands and a foot to count the number of birthdays we have in our family in the month of March alone. There are lots, peeps.

But today? It's mine. Fun, huh?

I know, you are thinking it, so go ahead and say it.

So you're an April Fool's baby?

Yep. I sure am. My dad begged and pleaded and coaxed my mama to push me out before the clock struck twelve on April 1st, but I had a mind of my own. (Nothing's changed in that regard, in case you were wondering.)

He also watched the contraction-tracker-paper-thingy closely and faithfully let her know when a big one was on its way. She really appreciated that. Since, you know, she couldn't tell when the whopper contractions were on their way.

She also didn't call my dad to let him know she was in labor until she'd been at the hospital for three hours. He was in the Marine Corps at the time and she was afraid of his commanding officer. So she kept holding off, wanting to make sure she was really and truly in labor before calling him. As it turned out, she was.

I tell all of this as if I remember it, of course.

You think I don't? You're crazy. I was there, peeps. Of course I remember every bit of it. Just ask the people who have known me for most of these many years I've been around. Remembering things I wasn't exactly a part of is my specialty.

Speaking of things known and unknown... Hey, I have an idea!

In honor of not always knowing the full story, or even part of the story, we're going to have a test of YOUR knowledge, bloggie peeps.

Just how old do you think I am as of today?

Beware--guessing it might not be as easy as you think. People get it wrong all. the. time. Even my extended family wasn't sure of my real age when we were all together this past weekend. So, you know, if they couldn't even get it right...

(And--insert evil laugh here--my comments are still moderated, due to some recent issues with bloggie security... but this also protects us from the, ahem, CHEATING, of the people who know me in real life or of those who would read the comments first to get the answer. I'm not even going to let the comments through right away. Because, peeps, this is serious business, all this age-guessing. I mean, important stuff going on here at the H&H blog. Mmhmm.)

But at least I actually know how old I am--unlike a certain aunt of mine. For several years she thought she was a year older than she actually was. Imagine her surprise when, one birthday in her mid-thirties, everyone figured out that, lo and behold!, she was a whole year younger than she'd thought.

And that, my friends, is a memory I can actually claim as one of my own. I was there on the Birthday of My Aunt's Discovery and can say I remember it... unlike, you know, most of the first few paragraphs of this post. But what's memory for but to be improved upon the older we get, right?

Oh, and last, but certainly not least in this ramble, happy birthday to my mama, who gave me life this day. Now that I've had my own two bebes, I sometimes wonder if it's not the MOMS who deserve the celebration, because, whew, that's a whole lotta work. A lot of work.

So guess away, peeps. It shouldn't be that hard. I'm just feeling so mature today and am thus holding a completely ridiculous guessing game. Because that's what you do when you're old an mature, isn't it?

I thought so.