love at first sip

It was December of 2002. We met in a Starbucks in NYC, the city that never sleeps. (Perhaps because of you...?) I didn't expect you would have such an affect on me. But now, I find myself looking for you after every Halloween...anticipating your return.

You are chocolate. You are coffee. You are peppermint. You are a cup of Christmas; a walk through an evergreen forest; a rich, minty reminder that life is good. In the midst of a hectic shopping experience, one sip of you and...clarity. Other drinks aspire to be like you because you are perfect.

You are also nearly half of my recommended daily caloric intake.

This has been an unfortunate discovery.

as requested

Here is the new cut. This photo was taken today by our awesome friend Alisa. Just so you know, the long part in the front was originally a lot longer. I made her cut more off. The back is pretty short. I know I don't look too bothered here...that is because the man is standing in front of me just out of the shot. And he makes me happy.

a bit of a rant

Dear Girl Who Cut My Hair For The First Time Today,

I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you sprayed me in the face with the hair wash thing...it happens, I suppose. And the mermaid that was tattood on your arm didn't even phase me. But when I specifically said that I part my hair on the left, I did not secretly mean I part it on the right. And when I told you I don't like long layers in the front, I did not secretly mean I really wanted long layers in the front.

And, while I'm at it, my husband is a youth pastor. It is his full time job. He doesn't just do it on Sundays. It is not a hobby. It is not a leisure past-time. He does not work at a high school as a teacher during the week. He gets paid to be a youth pastor. Full time. Yes, it is his only job.

Maybe you were having a bad day. I understand that. Maybe you just broke up with your boyfriend or your cat ran away or your mom has cancer or you had a sprained ankle or I look like the girl you hated in high school. I know any one of those things could be true. My heart understands that. But my hair does not. That is why I won't be seeing you again.

Emily
_____________________________________________________________

Dear Girl Who Has Cut My Hair For The Past Five Years (aka Kelly),

I miss you. I am sorry I couldn't be patient and wait til you had an opening in December. I will wait next time. You are worth it. You are wonderful and worth it and I love you.

Emily

'cause you got personality

I recently took a test to see what my personality is. That's right, I just don't know...I can't decide. I need a test to tell me. One of the questions was if I am sometimes accused of being too indecisive or too rigid. And I vacillated...hmmm, I don't know. I guess it depends on the situation. Well, then again....Then I grew a brain and clicked yes, I am sometimes accused of being too indecisive.

Another question asked if I feel comfortable leaving my options open or after having made a decision. Um, are you kidding me? You mean there are people who would actually rather leave their options open than make a decision? Because I know I took a long time to decide whether or not I was indecisive, but I sure felt better after having made the decision. A lot better. Maybe that's why I worry so much about making decisions sometimes...because it HAS to be made or I can't rest.

Perhaps the most difficult question: I am mainly interested in human relationships or in things other than human relationships. I automatically clicked human relationships. And my test results reflect that. Lately, though, I have been wondering...which am I: people-oriented or task-oriented? In my head I'm people-oriented. But in my reality, I tend to focus on the tasks of the day rather than the (little) people by whom I am (constantly) surrounded. I don't know if its a coping mechanism or a personality trait, but sometimes I would rather windex the bathroom mirror than sit and chat with my 3 year olds. Then again, maybe it would say more about me if I actually windexed the entire mirror. But when I start to windex, I see the toilet needs to be cleaned, and the floor, and...then none of it is done completely, but all of it has been started. I think genuinely task-oriented people are organized and methodical and never leave a job undone. And that is not me.

I suppose I'm neither task-oriented nor people-oriented. I'm just dis-oriented. And I guess that is ok with me (I think...) Enough about me...what about you?

a moment

I love to watch her loosen up...even better when I have a camera handy.

wake me up before you go-go

I apologize in advance for the song that is now inevitably running through your head from the title quote. At first you might be thinking "oh yea! what a great song..." Trust me when I say by the time you finish this post, you will already be sick of it...especially when you realize those are the only words you remember.

So it is 4 am. I don't like being awake at this hour. But one of my children comes into our bedroom nearly every night these days and this time, I can't get back to sleep. She likes to snuggle. I guess I don't give her enough attention during the day or something so in order to get her needs met, she comes in the night. And it is getting very old. Although I think she may be nighttime potty training herself, which could be a perk of these disruptions.

She has been potty trained during the day for quite a while but she still wears pull-ups at night. Tonight during her usual nighttime sojourn, she told me she needed to go. So she got up from the bed and headed to the bathroom. I noticed her pull-up was dry which meant she hadn't gone until now (I know, obvious right? Give me a break, it's 4 am).

Her twin has not come quite so far and, for those of you who know me well, you know that the almost 4 year old who still refuses to number 2 in the potty has taken me to places I'd rather not go. I am open to any suggestions. But please don't be offended if I roll my eyes and say "HAHAHA" really loud and sarcastic like because we've. already. tried. that. As well as every possible version of that. But I will make an attempt to be gracious toward you for your considerations.

I hope it has worn off for you and that you have forgotten the tune by now. If you are like me, however, it may help to check this out simply to have words to go along with this terribly annoying melody. And if you were not yet born in 1984 or at least not old enough to know this song, please enjoy the peace and quiet that is in your head.

home

When my grandmother died, I remember my dad kept her old, worn out sneakers. Even as a young girl, I never questioned why he would do that. Looking at those shoes, even I saw her. They represented something to him, something more than what they were. I saw it, too. I suppose I come by it honestly...this habit of attaching sentimental importance to objects with no intrinsic value.

In my recent visits to my parents house, I have found myself looking around nostalgically, discovering with new eyes those things that capture memories for me...ordinary objects holding extraordinary worth.

It's the silver pot with black handles and copper bottom that she cooks the potatoes in. It is the upright piano they surprised me with in the 4th grade because my teacher told them that my octave and a half keyboard (that I could easily tuck under my arm) was too small.
It is my dad's brown office crammed full with inspired ideas and good intentions...with the rows of presidential biographies and stacks of un-hung picture frames lining the walls. It's the way her towels smell straight from the dryer. It's the white pillow cases with pink flowers. It's the VCR that is 20 years old and, while it still works, is always flashing a digital, green 12:00 because Mom isn't quite sure how to set it. And the smell of Pine-sol, Comet and lemon fresh Dawn will forever remind me of her and home and, for reasons I can't explain, peace.

And so I wonder what will it be for my children? What memories are they even now attaching to the stuff of our house and the cleaning products I choose to use?

There is a tree that stands tall in our front yard. In the summer, it nearly hides the house from the street and I have threatened more than once to have it removed. But it is a beautiful tree, especially this time of year. Here is a glimpse of it's yellowing leaves as seen through their bedroom window.Will this tree be a memory for them? Maybe. It would be great if it were the apron I wore while making cookies every afternoon or the Bible on my bedside table. I'm sure not...certainly it will be something more like the piles of laundry they had to step over every time they came into my bedroom. Regardless of what will come to represent home to them, the most important thing to me is that they know that they have a place where they belong.

Even if the thing that reminds them of that is a pair of my old, worn out sneakers.

mind over clutter

I just filled an entire empty yard sale bin with trash. From my car. And I don't mean the kind of trash you can sell. I'm talking wrappers, napkins (both used and unused), junk mail, graham crackers, two fast food cups half full with water and a perfectly good swim diaper...but, well...it's November. And that is just the stuff I threw away. No need to go into detail about all the toys, DVDs and 47 pink and purple sweaters I brought back into the house.

There is unfortunately a direct correlation between the state of my car and the state of my mind. So it felt good to finally purge my car of clutter. My mind is another matter. I tried to open my mailbox with my key remote yesterday. And I was confused when it didn't work. I explained to the girls in my Bible study this morning why I left my coat in my car but how I wished I didn't and was going on and on until one amused member pointed out that my coat was hanging on the back of my chair. And so it was.

My family and I are wanting to be intentional this holiday season about keeping things simple, joyful, peaceful, fun. But I have been stressing already. Why? I want to make sure things are simple, joyful, peaceful...you get it. So my mind is filled with plans and recipes and what to pack when we go to my parents for Thanksgiving and whether we should just get a fake tree and how to get my almost-four-year-old to relax and poop on the potty already and how much more laundry could there possibly be? A great example of how one anxious thought can become a really bad day. No wonder my mind is cluttered.

But in the midst of it all, there is One who is reminding me that HE IS and I am not. That His yoke is easy and His burden is light. What a relief. So come, let us adore Him.

another november birthday

Growing up shopping with my sister, if I would see a shirt or a pair of shoes I thought I liked, I would test it out by holding it up for her to see in order to get her reaction. If it was favorable, I liked it. If it was not, I suddenly saw the merchandise from a new perspective...namely, hers. And being nearly 4 years her junior, hers seemed to be the only one that mattered. If I am completely honest, it still is to a certain degree.

If you ask her about it, she will undoubtedly roll her eyes and disclaim her good taste as simply having distinct opinions about her...opinions. Maybe that is actually the thing I admire: she knows what she likes and what she dislikes. No apologies. No explanation required. I think that says something about her personality, and probably mine as well.

Her birthday was last week. She is the most fun person to shop for. My goal is always to choose something that won't end up in her yard sale pile (she's an addict too...where do you think I got it?) This year, I decided to forgo housewares and fashion and went with books instead: a Southern Living recipe book and Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. You can't go wrong with food and culture, right?

And by the way...it is 5:15 am. My son is interpreting nighttime as time-to-get-up-and-play time. He's asleep now. I, however, am not.

my addiction (part 3)

I know you've been waiting with baited breath. I know you wish you had been able to come. I know you've been wondering if I am one of those people who exaggerates and blows things out of proportion just to be funny. Let me assure you, I am not.
This was the book section. See the plastic bin on the bottom right? There were 5 of those which were also filled with books. There were 4 boxes filled with sermon tapes by various speakers. There was a section just for lamps. There was a small but respectable area for things that have red in them. See...
I'll spare you the rest of the yard sale photos. Suffice it to say, there was a little something for everyone. And I am proud to announce a breakthrough. It could have been due to my lack of time but I choose to believe I have changed. Because I only took one bin...ONE BIN, people.

And I felt free. I know it sounds stupid and that maybe I'm making it up to make a good point...but truth is, I really did enjoy the day more with less of my stuff there. It was kind of nice to be able to say I don't know how much that is...ask the lady in the jean jacket.

And then I sat back in my seat and drank my hot and delicious coffee....guess I've got another addiction to work on.

my addiction (part 2)

Something is seriously wrong with me.

Context: John's mom has been bitten by the de-clutter bug and, against her better judgment (as well as that of my father-in-law) has decided to have a yard sale. And when Sherry has a yard sale, she really rolls out the red carpet (albeit stained and slightly faded). There are lamps. There are desks. There are more place mats than any human would need in lifetime. And the books....oh, the many books she has to sell! And though he is ever the voice of reason and frowns upon having "strangers in the driveway, looking through windows and rummaging through stuff", my father-in-law always comes through in the end and makes awesome signs...guiding the masses, leading them to the junk mecca of the Triad.

But she couldn't do it alone. She needed help to place, to price, to collect money, to clean up afterward. And being the loving and willing daughter-in-law, I offered to be at her disposal for the better part of the weekend. So it would seem that I would be able to keep my focus, to show up to help, to be available. But I am more than just a loving and willing daughter-in-law.

I am an addict.

It is not possible for me to show up empty handed at this open air market, this antique road show, this carport store with multiple tables filled with trash and treasures. And so I prepare to load up my car yet again, with bins filled with outgrown clothes and worn out knick knacks...items I could have sold in any one of the previous 3 sales I've recently been a part of, but for whatever reason, haven't declared themselves as useless to me until now.

But it isn't just the $48 I will most likely earn. It is the excitement of waking up while it is still dark, of sipping hot coffee in the brisk November morning, of hanging out with John's mom and sister and watching as people haul away our junk for us while we get paid. Granted, the amount we make will never compensate for the number of hours we put in to this small production. But add to that the thrill of the sell and the satisfaction of knowing my attic is a little less bulging and I think I come out on top.

Even so, this is the last yard sale I will ever have. Absolutely, never, ever again. It's not worth it.

(Sale is this Saturday! Please come! You won't be sorry! It will be so worth it!)

celebrating her

I met her at my sister's wedding. I was the maid of honor and she was the guest book attendant. I was immediately drawn to her and by nights end, we had agreed to be roommates. She was a year older than me so, by age alone she was automatically cool. She already had a year of college behind her which somehow gave me confidence by association going into my freshman year.

She was fun and funny, playful and vivacious, blond and gorgeous. She was dramatic, jealous, passionate and, by the standards of our small Bible college in South Carolina, she could be downright scandalous.

It was little things that bonded us at first: we wore the same size shoes and could share clothes and both had an unnatural love for our favorite musicals, often acting them out for one another in our small, girly decorated dorm room...entertainment we resorted to as we had no car between us, nothing within walking distance of campus and we weren't allowed to have TVs. But we shared a lot more than just a room during those years in college. We shared dreams and drama, heartache and heart breaks as well as a love for the Lord.

As the years have passed, we have graduated and grown up. I have watched as she remained fiercely loyal to those she loved, even if she had been hurt by them. She has taught me to play more, laugh harder and not take myself so seriously. She is beautifully human.

These days we only get to see each other about once a year. Two years ago we went to New York and ate pizza in Brooklyn and saw Wicked on Broadway. Last year she came here for a weekend (with me and my 3 kids...not exactly a walk down 5th Avenue, but still). We keep in touch fairly regularly and always pick up where we left off no matter how long its been. She continues to always always have better stories than anyone I know. For example, strange woman asks her "Will you take a picture of my mom and I for me?" Sure. No big deal...unless strange woman is Queen Latifah. Or accidentally walking in on another woman in an unlocked bathroom stall...again, no big deal. Unless, of course that other woman is Cindy Crawford (or was it Brooke Shields?). True stories...they're always true stories.

She is one of my favorite people and today is her birthday. We've been together on her birthday for the last few years...but not this one. She is on her end of the country and I am on mine. She celebrates with friends I may one day meet but will never know. It is right that she has people there, I have people here, and that our lives have continued. But I miss her. And I am sad that she is no longer a part of my everyday. But I am thankful for her influence, her heart, and her hilarious take on life.

Happy birthday, friend.

something about the bride

We just returned from an out of town wedding where the man was the best man. We know the groom pretty well, but we've only met the bride once. Regardless of who you know best, when you're at a wedding, you don't take photos of the groom, really...not unless he's standing next to the bride. She is somewhat of a shy girl and I get the feeling she isn't crazy about being in the spotlight. But I couldn't resist taking photos whenever she was in my line of sight. I just love bride photos and today was no exception.

She had taken a moment to rest her legs after the ceremony.

I also like photos that tell a story.

It's kind of blurry, but it says always a bridesmaid...doesn't it?

the princesses and the pea