real me

the real me is not the one who is kind and beautiful when i have time to prepare myself to be;

the real me is the ugly snarl that escapes my mouth when Daniel does or says something i don't like.

please don't call me 'mom'  (of course i didn't hear that he was talking to JD)

i hate the budget  (wow, just wow)

thanks for slamming the door in my face (do you really think he did?)

quit looking through my texts without telling me. leave my phone alone. (feel the love)



the real me is not the girl who gives hugs and hands kleenex and comforts during the tragedies that have happened this month;

the real me is what comes out

beating heart

shaking hands

angry thoughts

dark looks

when i am at my weakest point, tried by people and circumstances that continually frustrate me.



the real me is what is inside my heart, not what i carefully choose to let out of my heart.

i wanna think that i can control myself, and in a way, i can, if i control my heart. 

but when things happen out of my control,

when people are human and fail,

when people are mean and hurt,

when people are unthinking  and jab a deep knife deeper

that little heart squeeze that happens reveals whats really inside, and it's not pretty.



i am humbled that God still loves me, that He still gives so much grace to my weak little ugly broken heart, that He doesn't give up, that He shows me my sin, that He gives

new days

and new weeks

and new months

and new years.


thankful. . .

that He loves the real me enough to die

that He loves the real me enough to use the broken pieces of my life

that He loves the real me enough to reveal my pride and weakness

that He loves the real me enough to give me eternity and hope and a future.



He's kinda amazing like that.

june is. . .

Starbucks and Eat Pray Love with Mommy

Ballet Lessons {attempted twirl}

June is. . .learning to overcome fake shyness

June is Watermelon Pineapple Tropical Sno.

No, I didn't choose the flavors.

Yes, he loved his choice.

Yes, that is an awful lot of  red dye #40.

June is floating in the pool.

June is hundreds of dollars in pool chemicals.

June is said pool filter's bearing going out and pool motor threatening neighborhood peace.

June is $269 new filter on it's way. (shipping $12 just in case you wanted to know)

June is Daniel musing over the cost of ripping out said pool and buying a family pass to aquatic center.

June is Miss Kamie time.

{Not staged, both sound asleep}

Place: Mom and Dad's  -   Time: midnight

Also real time, unstaged, 12:00am, Cambria feeding lettuce to her pet bunny.

It lives at Mom and Dad's.  They threaten to send it home with us each time.

How can we deprive the child of this sweet pet?

Yes, we do feel guilty.

No, Daniel won't relent on his no-pets-until-acreage-policy.

Yes, it is pathetic to watch the pet-deprived child carry a snail around for an hour.

 

June is waking JD up by reading the Seuss-esque I am Not Going to Get Up Today

and then bringing the kids breakfast in bed.

Oh, the intrigue and grown up aura of eating in bed.

{Before you say what an unselfish mom I am, please note that this very easy

idea resulted in my kids staying happily in their rooms with books and strawberries

until 10 am. Signed,  unselfishmom   Selfish Mom}

 Father's Day idea inspired a month in advance by Clubhouse Jr.

(my kids love that magazine)

DAD pizza bagels.

So where are the photos of me?

Well the little people who take pictures of me snap shots like this:

and worse,

this



Since I must live in the kitchen, I stayed there for my own snap shot of. . . myself.

Happy June!

another little (BOY) at this house!

Oh so exciting today to find out that our little #4 is a healthy growing baby boy. . .

JD:  "He will be my next brother."

I tore my eyes away from that amazing technology to look at my six year old's earnest face. . .

Oh you are so right my son. . .

Cambria:

*long pause*

"Rats."

Both of of cracked up.

She was over her disappointment in about two minutes when she saw her newest brother trying to suck his thumb.

I am not blind to the miracle of this tiny life. . . ten perfect fingers, five of them grabbing at one little foot and five balled into a fist rubbing at his perfectly formed eyes. 

just a tiny dusting of hair. . .

perfect little beating heart

{not the way the sonographer and Daniel were describing it:  oh, the atrium.  yes, and there are the four chambers.  look at those ventricles.  very nice.  Me: It's okay, right??}


And contrary to Jacob and Cambria's suggestions, his name will not be Arthur Alexander, Alexander Arthur, plain Arthur or plain Alexander.

Sorry guys.

You can name your own children however you wish, but this one's ours.


I am humbled at the goodness of God, and the beautiful gifts He has given to us.

So thankful.

So blessed.

Not whole.

Not healed.

But thankful and blessed.

Lookin' Fine : (healing is so complicated)

Have I reached the point where it would be more honoring to not mention Gabe?

I'm mulling this over as I remember a conversation this week. . .

Super relaxing atmosphere

long awaited spa stuff

a stranger

Is this your first pregnancy?

no, it is our fourth

Sarah Machlachlan sings about the arms of the angels and I close my eyes thinking about mine. . .

chatter about dogs and gardens and the South where she's from and Charleston weddings and big front porches and this awful heat and

What are the ages of your kids?

i wondered if you'd ask

I was so so tempted to lie.  "6, 4 and 18 months." 

It's not quite a lie.

I'll never see her again, and I'm okay right now and to say "we lost our third child, our son, our Gabe" and then go on doesn't do justice to his life and the loss and the hole  and I think that healing is a gift but it's such a complicated one.

Gently I acknowledge my Jacob Daniel and my Cambria and my Gabe and then I say that he isn't here anymore and that I miss him so much. . .  and I cringe that my pregnancy and our happy kicking unborn  #4 can easily look like a replacement and how do I explain that we are going to love our little #4 for all of it's number fourness and not because this new little person is filling that Gabe-shaped hole?

The expected words.

I'm so sorry.

That would be awful.

But I don't look awful and my eyes aren't red rimmed and I am healthy and tanned and able to carry on a conversation and my sanity doesn't tell the whole story and there isn't time.

And it isn't the place.

And I wonder if that was betrayal and I wonder if my Gabe would have been more honored if I would have kept my mouth shut.

Should I hold up a sign that says I put makeup on but that doesn't mean my life is okay!

I'm pregnant but I'm not replacing my son!

Gabe died and I can say that without screaming but that doesn't mean it's okay!

I think of the odd experience of stumbling across our story being discussed in a forum on The Bump. . . 
then a link to our blog. . .

then all the comments:

so awful

couldn't imagine

i'm crying

our baby girl is exactly his age

my husband is a firefighter too, oh my

horrible

and then

i read her current posts, she is pregnant and they look like they are doing fine.


Everything looks fine.

Isn't that what everyone wants for us? For anyone who suffers?  For the answer to pain?

Oh please, just look fine.

Would your cancer please go into remission and could you please just wear a super cute wig so I can focus on how well you are coping?

Could you please at least pretend you have a job or some leads or a promising interview and can we all just pretend that you are able to make all of those house payments because it's so scary to think that you are unemployed. . .

Can we talk about how great of a guy you are going to find someday even though your dates to black tie weddings are girlfriends or brothers or guy friends who had mercy on you and your nights are lonely and your career  isn't as fulfilling as it looks on the outside?

Your son is in jail? Let me pause while I try and swallow all of my shock! Oh, well, I'm sure you're finding great attorneys and I'm sure your son will never do that again and besides he was always a great kid and I don't want to even think about how ashamed and humiliated and hurt you are so can we please talk about something happier?

Can you please look fine?

For a while you can't and the pain is just too raw and too deep and everyone knows it's not fine and you're not fine.

Your mail carrier is busy and you wear your darkest sunglasses and you see the hushed whispers and your soul needs the hard squeezing hugs.

But at some point. . . you begin to look fine.

So then what?

Sorry, I don't know.

I'm learning.

Begging God for grace.

Reluctant to spill out the story of my son's short little life if the treasure part can't be communicated.

Cringing at the many times in my life when I've been the one with the answers and the God is sovereign spiel and the trite responses and it might have been being the salt of the earth  and a light to the world but a clump of salt tastes pretty bad and no one wants a million candlepower flashlight shining in their eyes when all they can see is darkness.

Knowing I'm not the only one thinking this stuff.

A little afraid of lookin' fine over here.

May 19, 2011

{Jacob Daniel looking at photos of his little brother Gabe on our front porch}

because i love weddings. . .

It's not every day that you attend a wedding where the congregation sings worship songs

Your Grace is Enough

Holy is the Lord God Almighty

Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone)

and then the bride and groom exit to Reliant K's This is the Best Thing.

Daniel leaned over to me during the ceremony and said this is the most eclectic combination of guests I've ever seen at a wedding.

True that.

So obvious that the bride and groom love people and Jesus and are not locked into associating with any one personality or background or race or denomination.  It was kind of a calico meets Gucci meets dreadlocks meets headcoverings meets tattoos kind of ensemble.

Maybe a little bit what Heaven is going to look like. . .?


I took some snapshots of little things I loved about the reception:

Chalkboard painted directional sign!

I wonder how many gallons of lemonade they made? They were carrying it out in five gallon buckets!

I loved the turquoise table and all of the yellow sugar cookies.

How nice to have a quiet area to suck your thumb!

Entry to the backyard reception held at the home of the wedding photographers. . .

I wonder if this works??

The white lights were strung from cables stretched tight in the trees.  I know because I sat and rubbernecked studied how they set it up.  Can you see all of the chandeliers?  Gorgeous.

{Dinner}
Bread
Cinnamon Butter
Fresh Cucumber Salad
Roasted Potatoes
Green Beans
Herbed Lemon Chicken
And yes, this is in black and white so that my lobster skin doesn't show.  One day without sunscreen. . .

The typewriter?  It worked.  Messages to the bride and groom from the guests.  So fun.

Father Daughter dance. . . so Cinderella-esque. . . until suddenly. . .

BAM

I like to move it move it - I like to move it move it

(you know, the penguins in Madagascar? )

Most hilarious father daughter dance ever.

Another moment I loved:  Adam and Nicole asked for their best man and maid of honor to stand with them while they cut the cake.

because they were so special

That and so they would be really close so that the bride and groom could

turn sharply and smash cake in their unsuspecting faces.

Special Schmecial.

Cambria trying to cozy up to the flower girls.  Check out Miss Tulle.  Cutest flower girl dresses EVER.  They were long versions of the super popular tutus, secured with neck ribbons. You can sort of see a tiny peek of a huge flower in the front center of the dress. Oh. my. word. cuteness.

I loved part of Nicole's vows. . .I want to suffer with you too. . .

It is a joy to see lives united that realize that life is joy and pain all mixed together.

Happy ever-after, Nicole & Adam. . .

books = bowling

I seriously underestimated the space needed to write 100 book titles.  I may need to improvise. . .


I love our small town summers;

the summer reading program at our library just expanded to adults (free gourmet coffee!!)

last night we took the kids to a first Friday event . . .an outdoor movie {Happy Feet} downtown. . .

the fountain down by the river (where I can sit and read while the kids run and splash.)


Today we are headed off to a wedding of a longtime friend marrying her "Captain Awesome" (That's what she calls him. It cracks me up.)  They met while she was working at an orphanage in China and he was a pilot for the mission she was with. (I think.)  At any rate, this will be a really fun wedding and I just can't wait. Plus, since the bride is actually my younger sisters friend (I think I just got a sympathy invite) that means we get a whole bunch of Aunt E and Miss Kamie time today.  Oh, and Bronz too. 

Daniel (for a change) knows no one at this wedding.

His text to Bronz:  Hey wanna go to a wedding tomorrow where we don't know a single person??

You sense the sarcasm, I'm sure.

My Starbucks is calling loudly. . .

Happy Weekend!



Postscript:

JD-isms for the week:

Examining his owies:  Mom, hurt is surrounding me.  I feel like hurt *rushes* to me.

Discussing the Model T:  Mom, do you *know* Henry Ford?

On his sore back:  No, Mom, it's not bruised.  I think one of the bones in my spine is out of stock.

Metal Folding Chair Re-Make

Is it just me or are these really cute?

I love them.

I now need a lime green, an aqua, sunshine yellow, strawberry red. . . summer!!!

And they're indestructible!

I only used one can of Krylon spray paint per chair, except for the orange one. . . but I think I had a defective can of paint on coat #1.

Back to Craigslist to search for more chairs. . . . .

Thanks Dave!

I always call my van our Dave Ramsey van. . . and every time Daniel hears me say that he says, "No, when I pay cash for my 2500 HD Chevy Crew Cab, that will be my Dave Ramsey vehicle."

Well, his Dave Ramsey truck is sitting in our driveway and there are two pretty happy boys at this house.



{And if Jacob looks a little groggy, it's because he is. . . he woke up to see his daddy's new ride.}

My new friend Jess and I had a spray painting day yesterday. . . my projects were the ugly metal folding chairs.  I haven't taken a picture yet of what I did with them but I think they are super cute and I need about seven more.  Ugly folding chairs anyone???

On a cold and rainy Saturday my kids and Loren's do a double take as they pass a {real} umm. . . REAL??? Ronald McDonald?  I love their body language in this photo.  They are so shocked.

However, they warmed up quickly and soon became quite chatty, even informing Ronald that they were homeschooled. . . (love how they can work that into any conversation at the most random times).

Coming tomorrow: 

Metal folding chair reveal.

The Case of the Blinking Cursor Disease

So much going on here.

I could write ten pages about any one topic right now.

I sit and stare at the lap top screen.

blink

blink

blink


I sat and stared at the screen as we made huge changes to our summer,

stepping back,

stepping down,

stepping away.

Huge changes for two very {type a} people.

No words for so much change.


Feeling all of these little kicks and punches and inside somersaults. . . daring to hope and dream and searching and finding some amazing names and {endless} debate over perfect spellings and meanings. . .

But no words.


One year mark of our little man's Jesus-meeting;

It was as beautiful as a day like that could be, filled with

family

friends

support

love

sunshine

barbecue

lots of ice cream

trampoline

pool

little orange japanese lanterns. . .

strange, strange peace.

But no words.


Someday soon, again there will be words.

For now I think a blinking cursor kind of defines who I am.

Blink

blink

blink.

God. . . still not sure what You are doing.

blink

blink

blink

God, I trust Your heart.

blink

blink

blink

. . . .

I'll be back soon.

May

Nothing quite like watching one child read to another!

End of Awana year!

I stapled her last patch on cuz I couldn't find a needle and thread.  Confession time. 

Aww. . . my little Sparky.

Hi, my name is Earl. Or maybe Fred.

Calling Aunt E (imaginarily) to see "what she's wearing to the ball. . ."

California - Greek Pitas. . . Delish.

12-14 whole wheat pitas
1 bag of Dole 7-Lettuce Mix
1 pint grape tomatoes, quartered
2 cucumbers, peeled and sliced
1 container of feta cheese
1/3 cup Trader Joe's Cilantro Dressing

Mix salad ingredients and stuff into pitas.

My kids devoured these. . . quite the hit. 

Cambria brought this Clubhouse Jr. magazine to me and asked to make this recipe. . . too cute.  She couldn't wait for me to buy the ingredients.  She decorated everyone's pancakes this morning.  Overheard: "Whew!  This is hard work!"

So proud.

A ton going on in my heart as the days march on toward a year since our little man was here. . . this song ministered to my heart tonight and I'm sharing it here for the many others who ask "why me, God?"

gravel

Almost May.

One more day.

As I pick up crayons

finish Kindergarten with my JD

help Cambria learn to use scissors properly {cut fabric scraps, not hair}

answer texts from my crazy-hard-worker husband

wonder if the little flutters in my stomach are for real. .  .

I have this little edge on my heart, and at the weirdest times I will think of

gravel.


gravel in our hospital parking lot.

why is there even gravel there?

maybe it isn't gravel, maybe they are landscaping rocks.

i wonder about the insignificance of my wondering.

my heart wants to remember.

tears push at my eyelids at the oddest times as i remember. . .

the floor.

where i sank.

legs unable to hold me

weren't there chairs everywhere i went?

all of these odd memories of looking up at people from the floor.

the doorjamb of the trauma room.

where i grasped at straws and watched

frozen in unbelief

as everyone tried everything.

i think it's grey. and cold. and plastic. and probably imprinted with fingernail prints.

the floor.

again.

sitting there, numb and shocked, my voice not sounding like mine.

i can't call my mom.

i can't call and tell her.

if i call and tell her, it will be real.

Handing my baby to a nurse to take away wasn't real enough?

gravel.

again.

outside.

air.

mom.

you need to sit down

it's really bad.

gabe is with Jesus.

I kept saying that.  So weird.  I'd never even used that phrase before.  I see myself, standing on the sidewalk in my pajamas, saying in this odd high pitched voice to the neighbors. . .

he's with God he's with God he's with God

awful awful refrain.

with God with God with God with God.

not with me with me with me with me.

gravel.

mom.

no i don't know, mom.

there wasn't anything wrong.

i know i know i know

i don't knowwwwwwww what happened.

my babyyyyy.

gravel.

maybe i could throw the rocks.

or kick them.

or just lay down on them and die.

this isn't happening to me.

this is a nightmare.

but it wasn't.

I straighten my stack of current books on the stand next to my favorite huge chair where I'm curling up late at night to read. . .

Strengthsfinder

Choosing Gratitude

When Your Child is Hurting. . .

I remember the stacks of thank you notes I kept there to write with him snuggled in my lap. . . such a loved little man.  So many fire truck outfits.  So many tiny jeans.  Newborn infant boy clothing has come a long way.  I grin, thinking of his uber hip jeans and his little grey hoodie and his dark dark hair and his super gorgeous self and then I cry.

tears that bottle up now. . .

it's not quite so raw. . .

i can hold it together if i go out.

actually i can hold it together for a long time.

i am making it.

there really is healing.

i do have hope, hope i didn't know even existed.

but still, always that missing piece to our crazy family puzzle,

that little ache that knows he would be saying daddy and mamma.

that incomplete heart,

the break

the edge

the frayed parts of it. . .

remember the reality of our loss and then i know why. . .

why my heart twists

and why I think of odd things like

floors

and

gravel

while I'm washing pink plastic cups

and folding grass stained jeans

I think of gravel. . .

probably because my heart knows there should be sippy cups with little trucks on them next to the pink plastic cups

and jeans that don't have grass stains next to the ones that do.


Ahh, my littlest man. . .

you are so loved,

every moment,

my heart doesn't forget you,

little man.

I wish your jeans could be in the laundry too.

wish i didn't know about broken hearts

wish you didn't have a grave

wish there weren't weird corners of ER entrances with rocks and gravel

wish you would have been here to have ice cream when your big brother finished Kindergarten. . .

wish you could have snuggled in with all of us this morning and enjoyed our Saturday morning at home

and pancakes

and syrup

and that you would have needed your sticky pudgy hands wiped.

love you, buddy.

Mommy.

(unproductive)

Could I just go to bed and pull the covers over my head and sleep until next year?

I wish I didn't have to face all of the decisions stacking up around me, everywhere I turn another dilemma facing my weak and weary heart. . .

Yes.

Sleeping until next year is a good option.

Oh.

I guess I can't.

Someone sprayed water all over the bathroom from the balloon pump. (I know because my socks are wet.)

{direct cleanup}

Morning spent with a precious girl. . . sorting out life over Starbucks and tissues.

{JD:  why do girls cry? 
 me:  girls cry when they are sorting things out.
JD:  wow
me:  the sooner you figure that out the better you will be able to deal with women.
JD:  huh
me:  the best you can do is pat them on the back, say "I'm sorry" and walk away and give them some space.
JD: [ l o n g silence. . . .] one more thing you could do is hand them Kleenex, mom.}

I cut out Cambria's Easter dress today (nothing like waiting until the last possible moment) and as I sat down to sew, discovered that the pressure foot to my machine is missing.

{search sewing area. search sewing cupboard. search whole house. decide to run and buy a new one. remember i don't have the van today. give up. pack Easter dress away.}

Found out this afternoon that Daniel would be home tonight.

{prepare man-friendly meal}

Discover that his floor hockey night starts an hour earlier than I thought.

{forget man-friendly meal. he sees my frustration. he stays to eat with us. he's way late. i pout. i fail. i stink at flexibility.}

Watch my Jacob Daniel (current occupation aspiration: architect) spend the entire afternoon building a house and furniture with cardboard, popsicle sticks and a mini glue gun.

{euphoric child. mess everywhere}


All the while, underneath, lurks constant strain and constant worry.  I am so afraid.  I am not strong.  I am so fearful. 

I know what miscarriage is.

We've walked that {more private} road.

Each little twinge. . . I wonder. . . is my little punkin. . . okay? Please, just be okay.  Please, let me make it to twenty-five weeks.  Please, let there be a heartbeat.

I told my mom today that I would like to be attached to a Doppler.  She laughed, because we both know that wouldn't really solve anything.

I hope for a future with our fourth child, my fifth pregnancy. 

I hope for hope.

I feel lost.

I feel . . . a lack of motivation.

I feel. . . unproductive.

I feel. . . like sleeping for a year.

Did I already say that?


"I have labored to no purpose;  I have spent my strength in vain and for nothing." {Isaiah 49:4}

{unproductive}

God said:

It is too small a thing for you to be my servant

I will also make you a light

I will. . . restore. . .

I will. . . keep you. . .

[I will] say to the captives 'Come out'

and to those in the darkness 'Be free'

Though a [mother may forget her child] I will not forget you!

See, I have engraved you on the palms of My Hands.

[from Isaiah 49]

Only God gives such amazing hope to the unproductive.

Pajama Partaa

invitations. . . little sleeping bags. . . *with pillows*


Am I the only person who gets overwhelmed by the amazing parties people have for their children?

The bloggers only make it worse.

Seriously, handmade favors for each child?

Beautiful photography covering each moment?

Never mind the amount of $$$$$$$ spent on exquisite little treats and extras.

I love parties, in fact, I live and breathe them.

However, my imitation Pottery Barn style would probably be scoffed at by the PB designers and I don't have time to create tiny nightgowns made out of vintage sheets (snatched up at antique stores on my free Saturdays). . . although those would make great favors for a pj party.

Our favors were bead necklaces ($2 total) and a bucket of lipglosses ($1). Just call it Hayley-free-embarrassingly-cheap style.

The reason I'm writing this is not to complain about finances, but to point out that really . . . who cares if your parties aren't perfect or you don't have a real fondue pot?  Seriously? Just have fun.

Little people are the absolute easiest guests EVER.

They are thrilled with the ordinary.

So our pj party.

Ordinary mommas  living on regular streets driving regular vehicles wearing J. Crew via Goodwill - - - be inspired.

We colored.

We played beauty shop.  ($1 spray misters filled with water = drenched little heads + tons of fun)

We ate "fondue." Actually Cheez Whiz.  + snow peas + carrot sticks + pretzels + mini hot dogs.

Daniel built us a little fire and we traipsed out in the back yard to roast pink marshmallows. . . {hilarious side note. . . as he instructs 8 little girls to stick their roasters in the fire, he was unprepared for their prompt obedience.  About 8 little marshmallows instantly lit on fire and then 8 little sticks zoomed up and then he's like "oh, oh, oh, don't wave it around!" Definitely new experience. . . fire + firefighter + instruction = normal. Adding 8 little girls at a slumber party = not normal.

Another side note. . . if you take eight little girls outside in the dark, four flashlights are not enough.  I wouldn't have made it if Sarah, one of the moms, hadn't had pity on me and stayed to help.

The girls talked constantly.  Why does this still surprise me?

They also had a very hard time going to sleep. I put on some quiet bluesy jazz for them to drift off with and I guess I didn't know the CD very well because it only intensified the giggles and wiggles. Daniel: "That CD is not working."

We had a midnight snack run, too. . . I looked at the three little girls sitting on chairs in our kitchen, eating by the glow of the water dispenser light on the refigerator and I thought. . . wow. . . I have so looked forward to this stage of life. . . seeing my kids and their friends happy in our home. . . {if this makes no sense to you it is probably because your toddler children never *bit* their friends}

On a whim I grabbed Rhodes frozen cinnamon rolls at WalMart and my breakfasts for overnight guests will never be the same.  They were totally amazing.  I have made homemade rolls since I was eleven. . . but if you can buy the exact same thing for $3 and put it together in two minutes then I say, retire the rolling pin.

It was truly a blast.

It is also true that I drank a ton of coffee the next day.

Pajama Party. . . <---------- here. . .





Remember that great quote "If Mamma says there's a pink elephant on the roof, there's a pink elephant on the roof"?
No?
Your mom didn't say that?



Animals waiting on the porch swing to greet our small guests. . . (note the snake, courtesy of JD)



I went to the library right before the party to check out "Bedtime for Frances" which is ALWAYS there, but of course,
the night I wanted it *really bad* it wasn't.  So we settled for some other cute ones. . .
like "Llama Llama Misses Mamma" (I thought that might come in handy.)



before we were married and Daniel was living here alone, he saw this humongous mirror sticking out of a dumpster behind a hospital where he was waiting after running a call.  He drove back later, off duty, and loaded it into his tiny ranger (I just laugh thinking about it).  That mirror was the most honkingly heavy mirror I have ever seen in my life.  It graced our newlywed dining room for . . . . an embarrassingly long time.  It was like living in a house of mirrors.  Eventually we Daniel cut it up and so we have all of these cool mirrors in our basement. I brought one up and leaned it against the wall for the beauty shop.




My mom gives these little fur families to the kids.  they adore them.  we made them a treehouse home
on a cakeplate next to a plant that I'm desperately trying to keep alive. I thought it added to the decor.



I love to change everything up in my house when we have parties.  I brought a lamp down from upstairs
and pushed the table next to the chalkboard wall to make a buffet. . .
that way I had room to drag in one of the overstuffed chairs from the living room and
create a puzzle-putting-together area in the dining room.



Yes, here is the hidden Wal-Mart advertisement.  They're paying me for this.  *I wish*
Organic cotton pjs $5!!!
The tutu was a birthday gift, but it was only $5 too.
I know because I went and bought one for my niece.
(Sorry Deeann, now I made your gift sound cheap.  Sorry Edith, I also made it sound like I got a very un-sacrificial gift for Kamie.)



Oh my. I can't believe {once upon a time} I told God I wanted to be a mom to just boys.



{*practicing the hostess part* "hi, thank you for coming to my party. here is a necklace for you. . .
Mom, what if everyone wants pink?"}



this is an extremely original game. . . musical necklaces. when you don't have enough little chairs, improvise.

{my fondue assembling assistant the lovely ms Kaylin. . .}



{endless beauty-shop-ness}





this just cracks me up




don't all girls love looking at catalogs and magazines??

 

Breakfast. . . Rhodes Cinnamon Rolls with {pink} frosting