Seasonal

Some true love
I know a few of you NEVER click on links,
but you just HAVE to get here and watch this ever so inspirational video.
It’s about a hometown autistic hero.
I just loved it.
Thanks Rachael.
God blesses us all when he creates these special kids.
Humanity has never looked so loveable.
Happy Valentine’s Day.

Making Memories in the Winter of Our Lives
On Sunday night, LG and I had “the talk”.
You know the one.
What are we doing?
Is it worth it?
When is this supposed to get better or just plain easier?
Let’s just say we’ve had a rough couple of months.
And leave it at that.
After much discussion and a few tears, I turned to LG and said,
“You know in about 25 years when we’ve quit worrying about money and careers
and having no time to ourselves, and all of our kids are gone,
we are going to look back at this time and wish we could come back.”
LG replied, “Yeah right. I don’t think so.”
And then God made a miracle happen to show LG that I was right.
I’m always right.
God made it snow.
Really snow.
Building snowman kind of snow.
It’s the first time since we’ve lived in Tennessee.
And we made memories.
The kind that can only happen in the winter of our lives.
The kind that are so good, you will forget how cold it was.
And only remember love and warmth.
Yes, the kind that you will long for in about 25 years.

We had to get dad to help.
The second ball was too heavy for us to lift.
I forgot how much stronger men are made.
And I am the fortunate one to be married to a man
that not only can lift, but will gently apply a clown nose as well.
This is our plain guy.
With a stick something.
(Is that a cigarette?)
I guess we’ve been among the Southern tobacco industry too long.

It’s definitely a Tennessee thing.


A cucumber nose.

No nose.

Snow muchacho.


The cross dresser.


Snow Poppins.
Your Coldness.

Clown Man.
Or bad Toupee Guy.


Merry Winter.
Make some memories.

Pimpin out Santa
Hello from me.
I’ve been hibernating.
And, oh, it is so nice to have control over my blog instead of letting it control me.
It’s all about me and if I don’t want to blog I don’t have to.
Here is something I would have blogged in December,
if I felt like writing or blogging or waiting for my archaic technology to load a photo.
I need a reformat.
Well, anyhow.
You know the economy is bad when…
1- Santa is being paid to stand on a street corner.
2- His suit is looking pretty shabby, right down to his rug beard.
3-I was in my car contemplating what I could buy at the pawn shop for the kids for Christmas.
4- After photographing in a hurry, I told LG that this year for Christmas, we each got $5 and had to spend it on each other at the corner pawn shop.
We wouldn’t want Santa to go without a job at Christmas, would we?

The summer of their lives.
Yep, it feels like the sun is setting.

They are growing so fast.

I am so glad that I let them play in the water hose as much as they wanted.

Mom’s advice for the day is to enjoy the summer of their lives.

Oh, and take swim lessons in the fall.
The weather is perfect.

The classes are smaller.

And the pool isn’t crowded.

Be aware:
when the summer meets the fall,
moms can get sentimental
and emotional.

And they may post a whole lot of pictures of their kids.

It was red.

It was red. It was perfect. And the story goes something like this:

The anticipation of Mother’s Day was slowly putting my husband over the edge. How the man ever buys a satisfactory gift for me with all that intense pressure, I will never know.

On Saturday morning I chuckled inside as he begrudgingly announced that he had some business to tend to and would be home shortly. As he dragged himself out the door, I hollered out, for the twentieth time that week, my short list of things that he could buy for me. I try to help him out like that. That’s what mothers are supposed to do and I wouldn’t want to shirk my responsibility so close to the holiday, would I?

Less than ten minutes later, he walked in with a good size box under arm. It was all wrapped up. What in the world? He confessed; he had gone to work to pick up the gift that he had really purchased several weeks back. He had been acting worried for two weeks just to increase the surprise.

I gasped for air. Had he really bought me a gift two weeks in advance? I must be getting more special by the minute. Or was I just better looking when I was 8 months pregnant with number three? He never buys Christmas gifts until Christmas Eve; he learned quickly to put off the torture as long as possible. Wow. I couldn’t have been more speechless if I had won the Grammy for mothering.

I was in a trance. I sat and I unwrapped. I felt like the luckiest mother alive. And let’s keep this between me and you, I was taking my time because I was a bit worried about what he may have picked out all on his own. Ideas were flowing freely into my skeptical brain. What if it was horrid? How would I play it off? The worry lasted for just a second. The picture on the box stole away all of my spousal anxiety and mistrust.

My jaw dropped. If the box was correct, he had purchased my coveted Kitchen Aid mixer. I can’t even tell you how many times it was on the long list of gifts to buy! It was the gift at the bottom for another day when we had more funding. It was a gift of such magnitude that it was never on the list that I typically yelled to him while he stomped out the door. How could he have remembered?

When I started to tear up, it was a little more emotion than he was ready for. He quickly explained, “I hope this gift lasts you for the next three years because you probably won’t be getting anything else for a while.” We would all become law school orphans soon enough.

The gift couldn’t have been any more phenomenal. Except maybe if it was a new couch. That is still on the long list. I tore into the box; I couldn’t wait to make some homemade rolls; I would finally be free of the torturous duty of kneading. I made a vow, the man would never hear me complain again.

But, wait! What color is that? It’s not the same as the picture on the box? It’s not the plain old white model. Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. My eyes did not deceive me. My man had given me the moon and the stars just as promised in those old fairytales. My new mixer was a mixer with a purpose; it made a statement as grand as mine.

My new mixer was the color of my personality. My new mixer was my favorite color that I had never dared to declare. It was red. It was perfect. It was the color that I always described like this, “I don’t have a favorite color. I love them all. How could anyone declare a favorite color? All of the colors are beautiful in their own way. Oh, if I had to choose one? Well, I really do love the color red. It would be at the top of my list.”

I am sure that LG has given me great Mother’s Day gifts over the last ten years, but I can’t for the life of me, think of one. How could he top perfection? And not because it was from the long list, but because it was red. He had chosen my favorite color. And it was beautiful. And if his 8 month pregnant wife wasn’t beautiful, you could have never convinced her of it. Her husband had reached perfection in the gift giving department. And he did it just for her.

And I am now proud to exclaim my favorite color. When people ask, “What’s your favorite color?” I proudly reply. “It’s red. My husband chose it for me. It was a mixer. It was red. It was perfect.”

Now honey, don’t be getting any crazy ideas. A red couch would simply not do the trick for my upcoming birthday. Please keep the couch at the bottom of the long list and don’t EVER try to pick me out a couch, o.k.? Really, I want a say in the couch department. I am serious.

Oh, and I love you. And, I love red. And, I love my red mixer. But, I won’t love a red couch. Got that?

I will be submitting this to Scribbit’s September Write Away Contest. Just for fun. And as my way of saying thanks for the topic.

Flooding, no problem

“I love water”, she says.

At five, she obviouslly doesn’t understand the negative impact of a flood.

I think that that she thinks that her weather jacket is just a snazzy costume.

Thanks to the WBIR TV and The Weather Channel for this wonderful service provided at our Back to School First Night Celebration (which I can’t find a single thing about online, sorry)

My girls enjoyed the free celebration on the evening of the first day of school. No free food was there, but lots and lots of giveaway and a really retro boy band that I will post about later.

Sophia and Abigail were pooped out from a whole long day at school and they had no desire to pretend work for the weather channel, but prefered to stand in line for the big blow up slide.

It would have been nice to see what the teleprompter actually said, don’t you think?