Home, Sick

Don't worry. It is what it means. I'm at home, and I'm sick. Although I saw a listing on the Internet for a small farm for $100,000 and it made me feel homesick for a home I've never had. So funny. I've always lived in the city until Bolivia. The farms jsut call to me. I'm such a nerd. I don't know why I want the country so badly lately.
So, I've got a low fever, a headache and my lungs ache. I've been holding it off all week but today it's hitting my like a ton of bricks. My eyes burn like I've been sitting next to a fire for hours. I wish I were.
I finally got "The Total Money Makeover" by Dave Ramsey and we've read through the first half of the book. I like it, but I'm kind of disappointed. It's AWESOME for people who are just starting out on learning to take control of their budget. I like the way he writes. His budget outline is easy to use and he is very aggressive about.
We re-balanced our budget this week and it was exciting. All of these 'sacrifices' we've made over the past 9 months are starting to pay off. And ironically, they don't even feel like sacrifices anymore. We're enjoying this simpler life much more than we ever enjoyed all of the stuff that was holding us down. Every day feels free and challenging. We are living simply because we choose to. We are actually past the point where we have to do it to make ends meet. It's still challenging us. We love it

Ok, so I'm going to go post those 5 posts that are sitting here, and some pictures of the kiddos. Come back later!

Bye, Bye Love

My couches are gone. It's bittersweet not because of them but of what they stood for to me.
I have this think about how my hosue looks, as I'm sure all housewives do. Did I just call myself that? Am I really? I think I'll save that for a future introspection.
So, Travis and I bought this groovy little 1918 bungalow in West Midtown about 4 years ago. Yes it was small and basically unliveable but we wouldn't want it any other way. Selah had just turned one and we were up to the challenge of turning this mess into our dream. Just half a mile from our church where I spent several hours a week planning events and such, it was perfect. Except for the fact that the previous owners hadn't seemed to clean it ONCE in the 8 years they lived there, smoking 2 packs a day, the floors were rotting and the bathtub was sinking into the crawlspace. We spent 2 weeks making it liveable and in we moved with plans to fix it up quickly.
Two months into our home we had our first 'marital issue'. Not bad to make it to our 3rd anniversary, but it was a big one. Ill tell you about it another time maybe. The point is that we had, well to be honest, AMAZING make-up sex. Yes, I did just say that. If shameless discussions of sex make you uncomfortable, you may not like my blog. It will come up since I presonally think it's one of the best things He gave us. Just a quick warning. So, God in his divine timing and amazing sense of humor supplied us with defective condoms and we immediately knew we would be pregnant and that it would be a boy named Jacob. We were and it was.
Along with #2 came Travis' loss of a job and many other things followed by a new job with him traveling and then our little Lucas. Busy, busy. So, here we are in a 2 bedroom little house with 3 kids and not much of anywhere for them to play. Now I get to my point...
We have a odd little front room when you walk in our front door. It was an open porch but Tweedledee and Tweedledum who did some construction on the house in the 80's (and also tried to burn it down for insurance money causing other issues we've had to deal with). So, Dee and Dumb slapped some panelling around the porch and some cheap linoleum tile over the porch floor and called it a room. The floor is slanted toward the outside of the house for rainwater to roll off still. Sheesh. I've called this my sitting room, although not much sitting is done there. Our house is quite seriously the ugliest on the block with cheap green vertical beach house siding and a green roof. An atrocious pitiful bit of a porch that looks like a captains lookout on a ship and stained peeling awnings that hang low knocking anyone taller than 5'4" on the head if they attempt to go out on said look out. I've been absolutely determined that the first think people see when they walk INTO the house is something that proves the exterior is lying about the Seibel's and that we actually do have taste and class. So the 'sitting room' held our gorgeous, vintage black couch set, a beautiful piano and a lovely coffee table. I didn't let the kids play there in case someone dropped by and got a glance in the door.
Well, we are homeschooling now and the kids are getting bigger and their things are pouring out of the little bedroom that holds bunk beds and crib. Something had to be done.
So, after several weeks of contemplating what is truly important to me, my children won. The only option for them to have a dedicated play space was for me to sacrifice my insistence on a pretty view through the front door. I posted my lovely vintage couches on Craigslist and they were gone within 2 hours. I was quite happy to get $325 for them, since we got them free and used them for 4 years. The kids spent the afternoon moving in trains and play kitchen. You'd think it was a holiday. It was so sweet to do together. And with the money I can buy shelves to organize and hopefully a table to do schooling in the new 'playroom'.
So now when you come to my front door the first thing you will see will be living and playing not sitting and pretty. And I'm happy with that. The kids are beside themselves. And shouldn't people see reality in my home? In the long run, this is who I am and my life is for my children.

Sweet Sixteen

We moved to Georgia four days before my sixteenth birthday. I had spent a total of hours since my 1oth birthday picturing a spectacular 16th bash, with me as the star of the night. You don't get that kind of attention often, being one of 10 children.
I woke that morning to my mother standing in my new room with a Sam's Club bucket of Gummy Worms, singing "Nobody loves me. Everybody hates me. I guess I'll go eat worms." Looking back, I wish I could have been more lighthearted and enjoyed the joke. It was a rare occasion that she came up with something so clever. As it was, I was devastated and shamed by the mocking of my shallow teenage angst. The day went on with unpacking, feeding kids and changing diapers.
Then there was the traditional birthday dinner. Now that was a big deal. The one time a year you were guaranteed to have mom and dad to yourself was your birthday dinner. We were allowed any meal we wanted from a real restaurant! All of us understood, of course that we were never to ask for anything more expensive than Applebee's. I never even had the nerve to ask for that before. In California I professed an insane attachment to a local Mexican restaurant , knowing that all three of us could most likely eat for under $10 total.
But being new to the area, I panicked. I had no idea what to do. I was miserable and pouting, completely PMSing and in an area where I had no idea which restaurant would most protect my parents wallets. I felt sick not knowing how to protect them. I begged Dad to take me anywhere. Just chose for me. I couldn't do it. I didn't know how.
That presented it's own problems. You see, my father isn't particularly extravagant unless it comes to special occasions with his children. I know in his heart he would have given anything to have had the money to give us every luxury. Everyone has a love language and his is unquestionably the giving of gifts. Anytime he was able to give us anything extra, even a $.05 Fire Ball, my favorite because it was cheapest of course, his eyes took on a shine, his head lifted a little higher and his chest swelled with bride. I know without a shadow of a doubt that my father loves to shower his children with gifts, he just wasn't able to very often.
He came home from work talking about all of these nice restaurants. Places I'd never seen anywhere but on TV. Restaurants where Japanese chefs throw food back and forth, or pasta is made to your order. My panic deepened as I saw the bill getting higher and higher. Once he decided he that he was going to spend there was no stopping him, regardless of whether it could be afforded or not.
So in my parental inversion I attempted to save my father from himself. I changed at least 6 times and finally decided that if I wore a tshirt and jeans, he wouldn't be able to take us somewhere like that. I mean, how many times had I seen people on TV get kicked out of fancy restaurants for being improperly dressed? He would take us somewhere nice, a step up from McDonald's. I was sure of it.
Yeah, not so much. We grove around for what felt like forever. He was in his Super-dad mood. The one that came up so infrequently you were afraid to breath too loudly for fear it would burst like the bubble that some how rests on a blade of grass without popping. You know it can only last so long, so you hold your breath... The irony is that I feel responsible for the Super-dad. I see this giddy, vulnerable little boy in his eyes and I simply can't bear to hurt his tender feelings. It always gets me. I can't take away his joy in giving, even when it's clear there's no money for it, or time, or whatever the sacrifice may be. He thrives on it. I play along. He deserves the joy. He needs to feel prosperous. It's who he is.
We finally pulled into the parking lot of a place called Dave and Busters, just in time for me to reach the point of complete hypoglycemic breakdown. I was shaking and emotional, as I always get at that point. I should have eaten a snack. I should have spoken up and said "let's just try this place close by." But I was silent. I wanted the bubble to last.
So, hungry and near tears due to low blood sugar, I follow my cheerful parents into the Dave and Busters where we are to dine. I felt immediately out of place standing next to all of the businessmen with their cocktails and cigarettes. Choosing from the menu was a nightmare. I'm already incredibly indecisive about choosing food somewhere new. What if I hate it and the money is wasted? Then there is the cost. I found the cheapest item on the menu in under 10 seconds, but I had to be trickier than that. If I chose the true cheapest then Dad would know I was worried, but something 75 cents more? Now that wouldn't be so obvious, and water to drink please. I prefer it, really I do.
After dinner there were the games. Ugh. He wanted so much for me to enjoy, and I couldn't disappoint. I wanted to have fun, I just couldn't. He spent just enough for us to play a few games. It's like Chuck E Cheese. You get tickets for prizes. I purposely went for games I thought would not give tickets. I didn't want him to decided we needed lots of tickets for some cheap ball or toy. We ended up with 10 tickets, I think.
So with our few little tickets we approached the prize counter. You'd thing we were homeless or something, the way Mr. Counter Clerk looked the 3 of us with our 10 measly tickets. His disdain couldn't be more obvious. We didn't come for more tickets. We didn't WANT more tickets. I just needed something small to put in my memory box with all of the other napkins and trinkets from past birthdays. We were able to get 3 logo's buttons and a forest green balloon that wasn't blown up. I was so relieved when we were done and could head home.
On the way home we stopped at the grocery store for milk or something. I don't remember what. I worked up the nerve to ask for an 88cent box of Lil Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes. No one had made me a cake, so I thought it would be fun to have one. When we got home, I stuck a candle in the middle of one and looked at it for awhile. I waited, thinking that someone would come up and have a little traditional celebration with me, even if it weren't a real cake. They all Sat in the living room watching TV.
So, in a clever little display of teenage drama I walked down into the middle of the room. I did the unthinkable. I stood square in front of the TV, blocking the family view of America's Funniest Home Videos and I sang my own birthday song.
"Happy Birthday to me.
I'm turning 16.
I'm going to eat a Christmas tree,
'Cause nobody made a cake for me."
Yeah, pathetic and cheesy but it felt great. Perfect way to end the day after waking up to the worm serenade, right?
Ok, so why the heck are you still reading this pathetic story? Go do something. I just hit a stopsign on memory lane. I think I'm going to take a detour for a few days. This blog is sounding too depressing and that's not really me.

Stunted Growth

It's pouring down rain. The windows are open and I'm soaking it all in. The sounds and smell of rain send me to a peaceful place where my heart aches for expression. Yet I continue to find myself guarded. I write posts all day long in my head. Letting myself de-stress by thinking how I will explain my day. Yet I have 5 posts here unpublished, because I never finished my thought. They sit.


Herein lies the problem. Just like dancing, I loved to write. I had lists of poems and stories that I was going to share with the world. I was more in love with a notebook and a ballpoint pen than any boy I ever crushed on. I could spend hours filling journals with the depths of my soul. Then, as with dancing, another move across country changed me.


We moved from Los Angeles, CA to Atlanta, GA the week of my sixteenth birthday. It was a good thing. I met the man who owns my heart that week. It's the first place that has ever felt like home.


Anyway, since giving up dancing, writing had taken up more and more of my time and I felt inspired constantly. I loved it. Then I met whats-her-name. We were so alike and so different. It was a bizarre friendship. I could fill pages full of intrigue from all of her lies and drama. I had better not. Just what pertains..


In her I saw how an imagination unchecked can ruin. It controled her, to the point where she really believes her lies are truth. Her dillusions of grandeur make herself her own biggest fan. It scared me. So many things about us uncannily similar, I didn't want any of that. I was terrified of letting my mind become equally as disillusioned.


The thing is, that God blesses people, and this girl had a phenomenal gift for manipulating words and moving peoples hearts and minds. She could wind a story around your head so tight that you didn't even know your own name, and you would give anything to her out of compassion for her dire straits.


She convinced Travis, my boyfriend at the time and now my husband, that I was sleeping with another guy. I was, in fact, very much a virgin at the time. She put bruises on her own arms and came with stories of her father beating her and throwing her across the room, breaking furniture. My parents let her move in with us to keep her safe. She used us, she lied to us. She hid a condom in the pocket of my jeans and left them on my parents bed, to what purpose I still don't know. When my poor father confronted me with it, I had never even SEEN a condom before. Good old homeschoolin' at work there.

Even in adulthood as a wife and mother, she continued her quest for fame. Every word out of her mouth was crafted for the stage of her own imagination, as if she was living life for the purpose of a dramatic and interesting autobiography worthy of a Quentin Terintino film. I think the poor girl watched "Walk The Line' one too many times and convinced herself that her divorce would lead to glorious ends. "In love with being in love." she says. Well, at best I think it could land her a spot on Jerry Springer.

Anyway, I spent 13 years believing she could change and giving her the benefit of the doubt. Last Christmas I was watching 'The Sixth Sense' on TV while Travis was out of town and the children slept. I'm always so upset at the part with the sick girl who's mother secretly poisoned her. Every time I've seen that I get ill. I can't imagine what kind type of delusions could bring a mother to do such a thing. And I wonder how none of those people at the funeral ever caught something off about such a mother. There must have been some sign. What would the signs be? I became increasingly uneasy as every sign that I could imagine seemed to describe her. It was a terrifying revelation.

And then, just a few days later, the final straw. She used my personal family trauma, involving my child, to get attention for herself. Purposefully making others think I was an unsafe mother. ME, unsafe, not her. She was the picture of motherhood, right? With her multiple infidelities, her selfish parenting, her nights out seeking her own stardom instead of being a mother and a wife. Her clear disdain and despising of anyone who considered staying at home with their children a life worth living.
Her attack on us was brutal, and stemmed from my several attempts to confront her regarding her recent deceptions, in which she denied all truth and contradicted herself in every sentence. It was the same old twisted type of work she did in her numerous attempts to separate Travis and I. Always wanting what is not hers. It's more romantic that way, I suppose. But now it was my children, and never, ever should she have dared. I've not spoken to her since, and have nothing to say. Life feels much healthier without her. It's been a godd almost-a-year.

Back to the point of my writing...
Over the years I became increasingly fearful of my own desire to write and dream turning me down a similar path. I gave up reading books like an alcoholic gives up booze, for fear of becoming like her. And slowly but surely, my notebook and pen become still. I feared a tainted hold on reality that would turn me into a self-absorbed, constant actor, speaking from imagination instead of truth. The potential is there, but I saw the demise and I want none of it.
So, I've rambled now and I doubt it makes any sense. The truth is, I feel empty without expression. Yet it doesn't come back as easily as I expected. Years of squelching makes it weak and I see that I am not a great writer. I'll never publish a thing. But that's Ok. I have no desire for the fame others seek. I want my thoughts released and my heart feels light when on paper. that is all, and it is enough. So, whether anyone reads or not, I will write.


PS: I've left out the name, but if you know who she is, oh well. I could care less. She weaves her tales. I'm just telling the truth. she shows her colors pretty quickly, so I'm really not concerned with defending my stance. You'll see, but please don't bother telling me about it. I don't care.

It's In The Can

I forgot to mention that on the way home from camping we stopped at Jaemor Farms for some produce. I bought a oressure cooker/canner about a month ago and last week bought a rediculous amount of canning jars off of craigslist. So I was itching for something to try it out. I bought a bushel of tomatoes, a ton of peaches and some pears. Did you know that a bushel is TWENTY FIVE POUNDS!! I had no idea until we started peeling them. Luckily, Selah thought that was the coolest thing on earth and peeled almost the whole 25 pounds by herself. It was a long exhasting day, but I was a pretty proud woman when I saw the stacks of jars on my counter.

I didn't intend to be canning to save money. My initial intent was to use the pressure cooker for cooking dry beans. We eat beans a good bit to save $$ and it gets old soaking them overnight and then cooking them for a few hours. In a crazy homeschool day I often forget to put them on in time and have to do something else in the end. The cooker will cook dry beans in under 45 minutes from dry. That's what I call cool beans. Dear God? Did you really intend for me to have such a tacky sense of humor?

Camping Pictures

Ok, I'm finally forcing myself to add some pictures. I tend to get too impatient to wait on the upload. So here they are. Notice no photos of the photogropher. Sorry.





Upon Arrival, Selah's first order of business was to beg me to take a picture of her 'sitting like a mermaid' on a big rock by our site. Interesting, since she's never seen the movie but I suppose she's seen the cover somewhere. So here is my little mermaid.








Afterward, she wanted a 'tall picture'.





She was very fucused on setting the tent right





In the meantime Jacob wanted to know why we hung a trashbag on the post.














Saturday morning we searched and searched till we found a perch to see the mountaintops.





We found a gorgeous field of flowers on the way.











Hot chocolate is a treat reserved for such special times as these. Sunday morning before packing up.






Lucas wanted some too, of course.





The only photo of me, a gift from my son.



My one regret from camping? Not enough pictures...

Escaping the City

There is something about mountain air that draws my heart. As we approached the mountains we rolled down the windows and I felt the weight of awe come over me as it always does. It's amazing. Every leaf, every bug. How can anyone look at all of this beauty and not feel the presence of a Creator? To believe that this world is a product of an accident is a shameful insult. The care and love put into every detail is astounding.

So, yes we went camping. We haven't been since my back injury (2 weeks before Jacob's birth in Dec. 2004) I finally felt that I could handle sleeping on the ground so off we went into the wild, all 5 of us. Gasp!!!

We packed the van up on Thursday evening. All the boyscout influence of my father and 6 brothers taught me to be prepared, or course. Travis works for a wonderful company that closes the office at 3:30 on Fridays to allow for more family time so there we were at the door, right on time. Selah with her magnifying glass and bug box, Jacob taking apart his very own flashlight and Lucas obediently respecting the nap time schedule.

Off we went to the most gorgeous camping site I've ever seen since Entre Rios in Bolivia. Sandy Bottoms in Rabun County. It's past Talula Gorge and Toccoa Falls. Seeing the children's faces at their first sight of mountains was like discovering their splendor for the first time myself. Yep, no doubt that their mine. We made the drive along river to the campsite with the windows down, soaking in nature.

Friday Night: Selah is Miss Serious as she helps Papi put up our tent. She's very concerned about getting the poles in correctly. Jacob is masterfully unpacking the camping crates without permission, desperate to find another flashlight since he's broke his first. Lucas runs around testing the borders of the campsite to see just how far it takes to get our attention and have a fun game of chase down the dirt road. Before dinner we walked the 12 yards to the edge of the river and helped them find stones to throw. Selah wanted to keep all of hers but Jacob was quite happy to test his throwing arm. We had chili for dinner over the campfire and afterwards I lost my "Mom of the Year" award when we discovered that the chocolate for the s'mores was still in the freezer at home. Travis wouldn't let me walk around to the other sites to beg a bar. Meanie. He hadn't camped before we were married so I guess he wasn't aware of the unspoken code of hospitality among campers. Oh well. Submissive wife that I am, I settled for roasted marshmallows on their own.

Saturday Morning: Lucas, snuggling in with me, is the first one up and ecstatic at finding himself out of a crib. He immediately runs to the other side of the tent to start attacking his brother and sister in their sleeping bags. After a good long game of tickle-tackle and general rough housing with mom and dad we set out to make biscuits, scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast. Yes, I do real food on camping trips I admit that I did breakdown and buy a camp stove for this trip but we didn't use it until Saturday night. After breakfast we set up hammocks for the kids while we cleaned up and packed a picnic for camping. We were waiting for Jesse and Reona to show up (the kids' godparents) with their Zoe so we drove down the mountain like traitors to Walmart for Chocolate and warmer PJs for the kids. Back we came and ate lunch since the others weren't there yet. They showed up and we quickly took off for a good hike to wear out the kids. Didn't work. Too much excitement to nap so Jesse and Travis took the older ones to the river next to the site and let them play around jumping in off of rocks. NOT something Mom would do, but they loved it.

Saturday evening I made fajitas and we put the kids to bed early, but not before the long awaited S'mores were made. Jacob couldn't help feeding the fire at every turn and at one point it was bigger than him. Must teach him how to pace himself... After the kids went down we adults played cards for awhile and relaxed next to the fire. The last time we had camped together was when only Selah was around. Now here they were with their own little munchkin and us with 3. Wow.

Sunday Morning: Jesse and Travis made the pancakes and sausage so I took some quiet time in the hammock. Not without several interruptions of 'Momma can I cuddle you?" Who could say no to that. I lay there looking at the sky through the trees, listening to the river rushing by a few feet away and felt thankful. So thankful I couldn't even think of words for a specific prayer. Just thankful for the blessing of being. Humbled by the honor of life as a wife/mother/friend to the most amazing people I know. Thankful that God chose me to be me. Oh, and that he made mountains and river.



My Spiritual Discovery for the Weekend:

I always find some sort of enlightenment through times away. As we spent every moment alone with our children I caught myself at one point about to say the typical "and God made all of this beauty and nature of Earth for us." That's what my parents always said, and many other parents that I know. I stopped for a second as reality hit. No He didn't. God made us last. He made plants and animals first. He made nature in all it's glory and WE are the afterthought. It was a humbling realization of how self centered we are and how we really do believe this universe revolves around us. It doesn't. Being stewards of His earth is an honor. Our disrespect for it is shameful. I felt small and helpless in a healthy way, I think. How lucky are we that he let us live here.


Photos to follow

Little House ... in the Ghetto

I'm turning 30 in a few months (gasp!!!) Contrary to everything I've ever heard of women dreading the 30-line, I'm very excited and looking forward to it! I just feel like life is better and so much more peaceful. I'm more excited about enjoying my 30's with my husband and children, than I was about turning 20! I'm on this 'Turning 31' kick, which I know is another year yet, but I'm working on myself . I'm basing it on the idea that I'm turning 31 NEXT year, so I'm focusing on personal growth using Proverbs 31 as a guide. I want to find the woman God wants me to be, in the little things. Those little things are proving very impactful.

So, my first step was being content. I prayed for a feeling of peace and contentment with where I am at. I'm tired of the constant urge to compare myself to others. Here's what happened that week (2 weeks ago)
The House. Three and a half years ago with only one child in tow, Travis and I decided to buy a house that was basically unliveable in Atlanta. We had plans already to do major amounts of work, but they came to a screaching halt 10 months later when I was in a severe car accident, Jacob was born and Travis lost his job. That was in interesting Christmas. So basically for many little reasons since then, Lucas being another, construction has proceeded at a snail's pace, if that.
I get so fed up with this tiny shoebox house that I want to burn it down sometimes. I think that's the only way my husband would leave it, and in the long run he is right. It's not easy having 3 kids in one bedroom, or floors that give you splinters constantly. And walls that have been 1/2 finished for 3years, 2 months and some-odd days... I get so overwhelmed and irritated that I panic over this stupid house. One day I was walking around trying to 'clean the house' which never looks clean to me with the paint splatters on the floor and such, and the verse "He who is faithful with little I will make master over much." It just started going through my head and I started dwelling on that. I figured it was better than wondering if a strategically placed mirror across the street would flash light into a Marta Bus drivers eyes causing them to run into the house. They would have to pay for the repairs, right? I've always felt a little chastised by that verse. Honestly I don't feel like I'm truly 'faithful' in anything other than the 'go forth and multiply. We seem to be doing well on that count. I get angry at my children and I yell too much. Sometimes I realize that I've spanked for something that would have done better with a time out, or I've put someone in time out and not followed through with making them stay. I' m constantly behind on housework, sewing, organizing. Whatever it is, you can be sure I'm behind.Anyway, the faithful part. I went to our one bathroom and was, well, going... and I looked around the room. Travis took a week off in February to redo the bathroom. With all of my hints and begging, I don't think it will be done before next February. I thought, "God! This house is so little!" And then it ran through my head again... "faithful in little".
Something switched in my head, or my heart, or both I guess. Here I've been pressuring Travis to get this room done, and the floors, and the kitchen, and build on. Do I deserve to be 'master' over it? Have I been faithful with this house as it is, being content in what I have? No, I have not. I have moments where I like the house, but I insist on constant change. I haven't just let it be and rested in what God has already blessed us with. I felt humbled immediately.
That was about a month ago, and the last month has been so different. I feel different. I don't care if my kids are on one room. I don't feel so embarrassed when people come by. We have what we have. And we are so incredibly blessed!
Ironically, Travis has just decided to relent and allow for hiring help instead of doing all of our construction and projects himself. Two months ago I would have been in a frenzy and already picking out every detail that I wanted done. I kinda feel like... "Let me know when you're ready and what I need to do. " I don't have to control it anymore, or push to get it done faster. I love my house.

Had A Good Day

I just love life right now. Every day with my children is amazing. The things that come out of their little minds are phenomenal. In a world where no one wears their hear on their sleeves anymore (only on their blogs, ahem) a child will speak from the pure innocence of their heart. They refresh me.


It was a beautiful day. Travis spent the morning outside with the kids working on the lawn. It was so great. Many times I mow the lawn because he doesn't have time, which is fine with me. I don't mind at all. For some reason I have an unexplainable fear of the edger, though. What is that? I've never used it. I'll hike that poor mower over the brick and stone walkway, angle it up a hill to where it is almost on it's side. I mean I'm a madwoman with that thing. But pull out that edger and I'll head inside to do the dishes, thank you very much. I should think about what that is about sometime. I'm always tracing my quirks to the roots. I'll tell ya when I find it.
We went out for the afternoon to do some errands and got completely sidetracked by a call to hang out at a friends house. So, off we went down the street with the whole crew, bearing homemade salsa and ginger dips as an offering for munching. We had a great time. The kids ran around like crazy. It was a good day. Makes me realize how blessed I am to be where I am.

So nothing monumental to report. Just happy all around.

Breathing Fresh Air

My husband wrote me this in an email: " I read your blog. For me it's like mentally smelling you and kissing you, among other things. I love your picture too. It is beautiful. You are the woman of my dreams, always uncovering dreams that I haven't even realized." What did I do to find such a man? I'm humbled by the knowledge that I am somehow deserving to be his wife.
I played dress up with my kids and our house became a castle with the coffee table turned on it's side for a stable. I was an honored servant of the queen. Should have done more schoolwork, but I marked it down as a field trip. It works for me.
My new neighbor (the grandma with the fence) left a 'Country Living' magazine in my mailbox with a post it note saying, "I was done reading this and thought you would enjoy it." I sat on the couch with the window open to listen to the rain, flipping the pages with a cup of coffee while children slept.
It was such a sweet day. I was a good mom. Sometimes we wonder if we are doing a good job. Today felt great.