before and after

I love a good before and after shot. I ran across this website the other day that shows celebrities before their photos were tweaked and after (click on portfolios). In other words, before they took 15 pounds off Kelly Clarkson and after. Personally, I prefer her with the poundage...because that's her. (Course, if it were me, I'd be lovin' me some photoshop).

It's one thing to take out a stray hair or a booger...but to cut out half of someone's behind? That is extreme. Speaking of extreme before and after shots, I have a few of my own. I am a believer in offering real help to the helpless. Of offering hope where there would otherwise be none. Of taking before and after shots that are meaningful and honest and life-changing.

So here we go, straight from the pile of Christmas casualties. This is Ariel before...
And here she is after.
See what a difference I made in her life? I did not change her body type. I did not give here a smaller nose. I gave her hair where there was no hair. I took away baldness, people.

And here's another one. Polly before....
And Polly after.
Tada! What a difference a head makes, huh? She looks happier in this one.

So here's to extreme before and after shots. And if you're having a particularly rough day, just think: at least your hair didn't fall off and you still have a head.

tripping over the awesomeness

I've always enjoyed taking pictures. I have several photo albums filled with photos of me and my middle and high school girl friends. In recent years, I have developed a love for photography as an art as well as a way to document life, especially once I got married and had a family of my own. One of the (many) benefits of marriage is that you get someone to notice in you the things you are passionate about and then they want to help you to develop that.

Just 2 months before our wedding in 2001, The Man gave me one of the best birthday gifts ever: a Pentax ZX-7 35mm SLR camera (that he paid for with piles of change, but that's another post). Of course, by the next year, everything was digital. But I didn't care...and 3 months and 13 rolls of film later, we were back from our honeymoon with lots of awesome photos to remember it by. Like this one taken in Bar Harbor, Maine:
The original print is not so hazy...but in taking a photo of a photo, some of the brilliance is lost in the transfer. Here's another one from our 35 mm. This one is the Old North Church in Boston:
Once the world turned digital, I got a little Nikon...and I do mean little: it was the Coolpix 2100, 2.0 megapixels. But it was fun to experiment, download to the computer and then edit away. Like this one of my friend Diane.

And another one like it.

The idea of taking a photo and seeing it instantly was so amazing to me...not to mention being able to download it and then do something awesome like blur the edges! Wow!

But truth be told, I know nothing real about photography. Seriously. No. Thing. I know the basic stuff that most people know like how to turn it on, set it to auto focus and click. And I know enough from experience that I usually hate indoor photos, I rarely use the flash and close up is almost always better than far away. I know I have somewhat of an eye for the artistic...at least what is artistic to me. But sometimes I feel as though my hands are tied in certain situations...like if I just knew a little bit, it could take me so much further.

Last year, The Man got me a new digital camera, like, a real one. The Nikon D80. It has 10.2 megapixels. I hardly know what that means, but doesn't it sound awesome? And then for Christmas, he also got me a Nikon Speedlight SB 800. In other words, a big 'ole flash.... because even though I don't like a flash and rarely use it, sometimes it has to be done. Both the camera and the flash are chalk full of awesomeness. So much awesomeness, they sort of negate any awesomeness I have on my own and I start to feel un-awesome in their presence. Because people see me with an awesome camera and a big 'ole flash and they think I can like, take pictures with it. I sort of feel like a 5 year old standing in my moms fancy black high heels. They're really cool and in style, but I'm tripping all over the place and I need my nose wiped.

I hope to grow into this camera and its flash. It is definitely fun to learn. I'm sure I could learn a lot more if I like, read the manuals. Meanwhile, I'll continue to play and maybe get a few lucky shots along the way.

time is moving everything faster...

It takes four years to get through high school. Four years for college. (Theoretically). Imagine the years between your freshman and senior year...forever. At least, that's how it seemed to me.

Four years sure aren't what they used to be.

I have been weepy. I think this is when it started. The girls and I had some friends over yesterday. My dear friend, Melissa and her 2 kids. Here they are with River.
Melissa and I were pregnant at the same time and our due dates were only one day apart. Needless to say, these three have spent a lot of time together over the past four years. I took this photo on a whim...they were playing silly on the floor. As soon as I took it, I remembered. I rushed downstairs and pulled this out.
There they are at what couldn't be more than a few months old. And it hit me anew how consistently the days move on despite my efforts to hold on. So here I am feeling impossibly sentimental. If I am weepy as they turn four, can you imagine when they go to kindergarten? Begin to drive? Go off to college? Get....married?

I long to hold on, to keep their old clothes, to document with photos, to be sure I am able to remember. But even now, only 4 years later, the day of their birth is a foggy blue...sharpened into focus only slightly by looking at photos of the day or re-reading journals written in those wee hours between feedings and heavy, new-mom sleep.

I want to enjoy, to celebrate, to look ahead with hopeful anticipation of the women the Lord has made them to be by watching the little girls they are today. And I do. And I am proud. But there is a cloud. It is small and not overwhelming...but it is there. And I have a sense that with each birthday, it will get a little bigger. I so don't want to be the hovering, over-protective mother. But I can't deny the pull that does indeed exist...between holding on and letting go.

So with that semi-depressing thought, Happy Birthday girls. May you live life to the hilt with adventure and delight...and may your counseling bill not be too high when you inevitably realize all the issues you have because of your crazy mother.

html idiot

It had to be done. For many reasons, it had to be done. The first of which being I felt like I was being screamed at every time I clicked on my blog because the template I was using has ALL CAPS in the title and well, I just don't know anything about anything to know how to change that. Except to change the whole template.

So there you have it.

Besides, it's a new day...a new year. Let's just be new.

Now back to the code...Anyone know how to change the drab gray background? Why didn't I major in graphic design? What good is any other profession anymore?

Y2K8

Remember Y2K? New Years Eve 1999. The Man and I were dating and were downtown at a party. I remember the countdown and being surprised that the lights didn't go out and nothing exploded at midnight. I walked to the window to look out at the city, and everything was as it had been. I think I was kind of disappointed after all the fanfare, the months of speculation, that there wasn't even a flicker. This was us in the wee hours of the new millennium.
Four years and one wedding later, there were 2 babies on the way by New Years Eve 2003. My due date wasn't until February 18, but the twins were ready to come and I was camped out in the hospital, waiting for their arrival.
I have no shame. Seriously, who does this? Nobody is holding a gun to my head. I am freely sharing this photo with the world. Why am I doing this? I must be crazy. Or alone on New Years Eve because my husband has to work. Yeah, that must be it.

The twins came 2 days later. And January 2 forever marked my before and after; the space in between 'just me' and 'mommy'; the day held by neither side.

And so I am a bit of a sentimental sap. Because now, New Year's Eve no longer just represents the last day of the year. It is the day before the day before our lives changed forever. So I guess our dramatic Y2K came a few years late...our world was tilted on its axis a bit and all sense of control was lost with that first cry. I can't remember life before them. I can't imagine life without them.

I apologize for any nightmares you may have as a result of the above photo. And as long as I'm documenting New Year's Eve's, here's another from earlier tonight to take your mind of the alien stomach. And yes, that is a banana peel on my mantle. And a baggie of cheerios. And Christmas garland with all the froofroo taken out because I've only half-way un-decorated...The Nester would not approve. So happy new year to you. Now I'm off to plan a birthday party for a couple of four year olds.

mr. clean

Here he is on Christmas day. Just a few hours earlier, he had opened his gifts...or should I say 'gift'. That's right. The dust buster was a hit. A HIT, I tell you.

After a brief tutorial, he was ready.

He dust busted the toys.

He dust busted the ottoman...see how fast he goes? Look at him bust that dust!

He dust busted up.

He dust busted down.

He dust busted the kitchen table...

...with a respectable pause just long enough to check out the truck that daddy conveniently placed half-opened within his reach.

And then later, when it was time to snuggle before bed, well...you get it. [Please ignore the fact that he still uses a bottle before he goes to bed. I know he is 18 months old. I know he is going to have buck teeth. I know, I KNOW. But...he's a baby. He's my baby, my last baby...because I will not be pregnant again. (Notice how I recently included pregnancy in a list that also included depression, starvation, and homelessness. I do not want to be pregnant again.) ok. Brackets and parenthesis are over.]

So much for trucks. That truck was purple, anyway. Meanwhile, in other Christmas present news, there were 2 very happy little twins on Christmas night.
No, she's not scared of it. Yes, she did sleep with it. No, it isn't soft. Yes, it is made of rubber. And yes, it was covered with a pink blanket to keep it warm in the night.

do you see what i see?

This is Baby Luke. Yes, I think we will call him Baby until he finds a girl and gets married and has babies of his own. And maybe even after that. This is a rotten photo...the lighting and such. But it had to be posted for all to see. DO YOU SEE? My son is playing with polly pocket clothes. And loving it. It's nothing new, really. This morning he was walking happily along in pink, plastic high heels. He does surprisingly well in them. He is the classic over-looked, under-bought-for 3rd child. Boy toys are limited in our house. Poor baby.

I am happy to report that an assortment of trains, trucks and tools are waiting under our tree for his masculine delight. And a pretend dust buster. He loves the dust buster.

the not-so-silent night

It would have been a silent, holy night...that is, until Joseph threw up and Mary got a fever.

The girls had their Christmas play at preschool yesterday. (I use the word 'play' very loosely in this context...imagine it to be a verb rather than a noun). It was fun to watch as long as you remember that the actors are not even as old as the baking soda in the back of my fridge...way too old for baking soda, not so old for people.

So even though the cast was young and inexperienced, all the nativity characters were accounted for: a too-tall-for-her-age Mary; a small, red-headed Joseph; a donkey who walked on his hind legs. I spent the first 3 minutes of the play trying to figure out why Joseph had construction paper ears and who is that red-headed kid supposed to be? Jesus? Then the teacher motioned for the donkey to crawl and the scene became much more familiar.

My girls were the angels and there were sheep and 3 wise men and an inn keeper (the only one with actual lines). As chaotic as it was, I felt myself relax and watch the story retold through these little ones. It was enjoyable. The girls even posed for a photo after the show in their intricately designed costumes with their friend, Julia.
It wasn't until we were sitting down after the performance, eating our cookies with red punch when I heard it, the words that historically send me into a tailspin of anxiety and a strong tendency to overuse hand sanitizer: Joseph just threw up over there...and Mary has a fever. I immediately put down my punch that had mysteriously begun to taste like bile flavored kool-aid. I looked at John: We gotta get outta here. Quick.

And that's just what we did.

fly to my rescue and crash through the wall

I had a new friend come over this morning. She's the best kind of new friend. She brought me a really large coffee. From Starbucks. And cinnamon rolls. She is a mom as well, but her kids are in middle school. She asked me a question and I found myself excited to answer her because it was a real question that required real, cohesive thought. And I began to share from my heart about things I have learned and am still learning...and what I was saying was profound and smart and vulnerable...but for some reason she was not nodding thoughtfully. Rather, she was smiling, almost laughing. Why, you ask?

Turns out she was distracted by my pacing from one needy child to the next. As I was talking, evidently I also pried open one mouth, pulled one baby from the dining room table (4 times), settled 3 arguments, dressed 2 polly pockets and took 147 steps while pacing the floor and I didn't even realize it until she opened her mouth and said these beautiful words:

"There's a reason why the laundry doesn't get done."

And it was nice for someone who's been there to recognize that which I already know...that I can work hard all day and still get nothing done. The only proof that I worked at all is my sore back, tired feet and, of course, piles of laundry...if that even makes any sense.

So here I am at 8:30 pm and it feels like midnight. Blinking takes effort. I'm tightly clinching my jaw as I type and I. can't. stop. This life is exhausting. And I'm not even sick or pregnant or depressed or dying of starvation or homeless. But I still need a hero. Good thing I've got one.

I've thrown myself headlong into Your arms -
I'm celebrating Your rescue.
Psalm 13:5 The Message

How life-giving it is to know I have someplace else to throw myself headlong into other than my bed. Besides, it isn't made and the sheets are dirty.

title quote from Chris Rice's I Need a Hero

sisterly love

o little town

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are little among the thousands of Judah, Yet out of you shall come forth to Me the One to be Ruler in Israel...And this One shall be peace.
Micah 5:2,5

It was last year about this time. I was driving and thinking, a rare moment alone in the car....trying to sort through the difference in my head between what was true and what was simply a product of my often over-active emotions. I was stuck in a dark place where the idea of the hope and joy of Christmas seemed to be an illusion at best. I had Christmas music on in the background and the second verse to this song struck me in particular.

How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is giv'n!
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heav'n.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

And in that moment alone in my car, the reality of Christmas and the hope of all believers seemed to connect for me like never before. Because there was a real day when a real baby was born in a real stable from a real woman. And He was a real human and a real King who came to bring real life. So I celebrate the day He was born to die so that I might have life. Not just life forever with Him, but life on this real day, in my car, in the midst of my emotional rut...He offers me the choice of death or life, conflict or peace, hope or despair. Without Christmas, there would be no choice...defeat would be my only option.

What a beautiful thing to celebrate the birth of a King who offers so much, who is so much...to remember that from that little town that wasn't even big enough to be included among the clans of Judah would come One who is called Peace.

As I continued to drive, it began to seem as though she was singing about me and not a little town called Bethlehem. Small, insignificant... yet among the sometimes dark streets of my soul shines His everlasting light. He chooses to be born in me, to reside in the manger of my heart so that life and peace are made available to me in limitless supply.

my day in pictures

These are the cinnamon rolls I made this morning with Alisa. I am considering it to be a trial run, as my mom and sister and I are planning to make them just before Christmas. Of course, I will be 15 pounds heavier by then, as this recipe makes 8 tins of rolls. While they were cooking, I took a few photos for some friends' Christmas card.
I think that was a good one. Then I headed over to my sister-in-laws house for her birthday. She's married to John's brother. Here they are in Spain on their wedding day 4 years ago.
John's mom and sister and I helped her decorate her house for Christmas. She mentioned she was so glad we enjoy decorating, because she certainly doesn't. I asked her what brings her joy to the same extent. And in her thick, Spanish accent, she answered me, "Studying. I love to study." I suppose that's why she's the university professor with 2 masters degrees and I'm the one with the cute house. And I guess when you love to study and don't care about decorating, then you also don't care when your husband builds a putting green in your backyard. Don't believe me?
There it is, baby. Green in all its glory. But back to my day. The girls had fun with their cousin, as always.
Then later, when we came home, we had carolers. We've never had carolers....some freshmen girls from the youth group. And it was great, albeit a bit strange to have people singing to me on my porch. But great. And they left these behind.
And, unfortunately, they're gonna be ON my behind. Along with 8 tins of cinnamon rolls. At least Santa will have some company.

all i want for Christmas

And so it begins. I went Christmas shopping yesterday and it kind of snowed. I mean, it was 40 degrees out so I have no idea how it happened. And you had to look really hard to actually see the snowflakes. But it did snow. I took that as a good sign. I had high hopes for my shopping outing. After all, expectations were extremely high...here is the request list I had to work from:

Twin B:
three dinosaurs
one farm
one dollhouse
a small boat

And shorter but no less complex...

Twin A:
three Diegos
rainbow hair

The rainbow hair is no joke. She tells me she wants her hair to be every color of the rainbow (with brown on the sides). Whatever happened to a pair of skates? A dolly? Two front teeth? Needless to say, Wal-Mart was fresh out of live dinosaurs.

a follow up

Attention everyone. I just received this important document via email from my sister. If it makes no sense to you, then read this. Regardless, I have to ask...which mask do you think is better? And though I know this photo offers incriminating evidence to the contrary, I do have a neck...for the record.

thankful in all things

They come into the world helpless to feed themselves, to clothe themselves, to control their own bladder. They are dependent on us for everything. And everything they have needed has been provided. It has been a tough road with twins and a baby (who is really not a baby anymore, but that's another post). It has been a challenging, exciting, blessed four years. And it is sweet, because at the ages they are now, they still think we know everything, can fix everything, can make everything better. I like that they think that.

But it is hard work knowing everything, fixing everything, making everything better. It's a thankless job in many ways. A great job, but a thankless one.

So when it comes time for them to verbalize to their preschool teacher what it is they are thankful for, I am tempted to take offense. But all I can do is shake my head and smile.

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