Sweaty Saturday

Sam is now on the Track team. What's with all the athletic hobbies? Sweating is something I do my best to avoid. Now I have a daughter who willing seeks activities to bring it on. Why would you run when you can casually stroll the isles at Target? I'm confused.

This is the line up before the mile and a half jog. Can you tell these girls are freezing? Mr. Coach is giving them the run-down. I didn't hear his exact words, but I think he said something like this, "Listen up. I know these outfits are not attractive, but you look waaayyy better than those boys who drive the bobsled. Run your guts out and make sure you smile to look pretty."
This is Sam running around through Lap 3. Each time she passed, I tried to yell something positive, like, "Pretend you're running from your sisters. Run, run, run!"

When I asked her why she runs, she replied, "because I like it." Good enough. Bring on the sweat. Just don't hug me.

First Lady

Kellie became a First Lady today. Edith Wilson, wife to Woodrow Wilson. She has spent weeks preparing a report and speech. Today was performance time. She sparkled. I lose sleep worrying about this girl of mine, when it comes to school. Learning, memorizing and retaining are all big hills to climb for her. She perseveres. She works hard. I work hard. We seem to climb those hills together. Today she made all the work worth it. Edith would be proud.

Snowflakes

Snow. In. Texas. It sounds like a double negative. Who knew that we would move to an extremely southern city in the country, and wind up feeling like we still lived in it's center.
The snow arrived during my ranting and raving to get homework finished. All school work was abandoned.

No matter where you live or how often you see it fall, snowflakes just feel magical. Even after everyone has showered and dressed in pajamas. They ran down the street with arms extended and faces held into the sky. Yup. Definitely magical.
This is the best of both worlds. We enjoy the snow, but don't have to shovel it! And within the week, we'll be wearing short sleeves. Too good not to brag about.

Pin While You Watch

Here's a project for you to accomplish while you watch the Olympics. I used the tutorial found here, I just changed it up a bit.

This will keep your hands busy while you watch a certain speed skater in a tight outfit whose name resembles Oh-No. Just sayin'.

A Day Of Reverence

Are you familiar with this scripture found in 3 John 1:4? " I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth." Well, guess what? Truth was dropped off at my house today and I let my children eat it:

This is a day of deep reverence for the joy that can be found in a cookie. After eating 20 Thin Mints, truth can be found in there as well. I thought about making everyone bow before the boxes, but decided against it. We offered a prayer of thanksgiving instead. Calories and fat grams are a mighty thing to be grateful for. The more you eat, the wiser you become. I'm serious. It's an old Chinese proverb. So is this one--Happiness is always covered in chocolate.

Violin Lessons

I sat through violin lessons last night. As each girl played, I tried to gather a tally in my head for how many lessons I have sat through. I couldn't wrap my head around an exact number, I just know that I have been listening to little girls play the violin for more than 6 years.

I started to wonder last night, what exactly I've learned through all these lessons. What, if anything, has this violin trek taught me? So far, this is what I've got:

• I have now worked with 3 girls to master Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I have listened to it for so long, I somehow think I deserve a medal. A twinkling star medal.
• I pay money, good money, to wage battle with certain children to practice. When you take a step back and look at it, I'm giving someone else a tuition check so that I can go home and listen to moaning, wailing and a serious amount of gnashing teeth. Makes total sense.
• In 20 years, aren't my girls going to turn to their own children and say, "I wish I would have practiced more."? Isn't that what we all do? My mom told me that I would be sad when I grew up that I didn't practice the piano more. And you know what? She was right. So, if that's true, aren't my kids going to grow up and say the same thing? Why do I torture myself and everyone around us with daily practice? Maybe because I simply want the satisfaction in 20 years of saying, "I told you so."
• Every now and then, there is a glimmer of a moment, that one of my girls will play and I am mesmerized. In that moment, the strings will ring magic. Those little bits of time seem to erase all the other unwanted whining and fighting.
  

Last night I realized that my girls always sound better when the teacher plays right along with them. When they can't seem to catch the right rhythm or play the notes correctly, the teacher picks up his violin to guide them as he plays. Their music sounds sweeter when combined with his.

Life just may be one big violin lesson. We complain, we argue and we practice. Over and over and over again. But when we can't seem to find our rhythm or we stumble and lose our way, our Teacher joins our side. And when we listen to Him, and heed His words, our music will bring life to our soul.

Lesson learned.

XOXO

Happy Heart Day.
From my funny valentines to yours.

Delicious Letters

Do you know what the yummiest letters of the alphabet are?
The answer is on their shirts.



And yes, I made the shirts.
Why, oh why, must I be so awesome?

I Am The Original Idiot

I thought you might enjoy a few scenes from my life as of late. Pick your favorite and then offer advice. I'm drowning in stupidity over here.

Here is my kitchen sink. The one I told you about here. This is the chip. The white enamel paint slowly wears off every time I swipe it with the dish cloth. Other than replacing the sink (or moving), I'm not quite sure how to fix it. And no, paint is not an option. Somehow I'm sure that I'm to blame for this. After all, I gave birth the the girl who did the chipping and the other girl who did the painting.
Remember this stain? I took your advice and tried to clean it with your recommended solutions. Although, I put my foot down when it comes to purchasing liquor. Even if it's only for 'cleaning purposes', if I know there is something in this house that will dull the pain of doing homework with my kids, I just might be too tempted.

The new cleaners I purchased did nothing. Nada. The stain just got more soapy. I sprayed on so much stuff that I had to drag my carpet cleaner from the garage just so I could soak it all up. In the end, the ginormous stain remained. So I stared at it long and hard, waiting for revelation. So, you know what I did? I poured Clorox on it. Oh, yes I did. Now the stain is smaller and lighter with a lovely bleached, yellow ring around it. I figured that I would rather look at bleach yellow instead of deep, smeared purple. Now, every time I walk by and look at the stain, it simply reminds me that I'm an idiot.

This girl (the big one) is sick. Can you tell? The school called and told me she had thrown up. In their exact words, "she looks really, really green". When I picked her up, she showed me the vomit in her hair. She showered and slept for a couple of hours. The next day I kept her home for good measure. Did she rest and recuperate? Uh, why yes. I took her to lunch and the craft store. While there, she wandered off and decorated herself. Oh, she's definitely sick.

Go ahead now. Offer advice. It better not involve paint, Clorox or vomit. I'm serious.

Enough

I know you won't believe it, but I'm writing this while the Superbowl goes unwatched. Todd and the girls are watching America's Funniest Home Videos. No football. It hasn't even occurred to me to turn it on. I wrote about last year's Superbowl reminding me of the Bachelor here. We're just not football kinda people. I'm an award show kinda people. Give me the Oscars or Grammys, and I'm curled up by the TV ready to be spiritually fed.

The one thing that has been on mind my as of late, is this word: Enough. It's been swimming around in my brain with my thoughts weaving in and out of it. I just don't feel like my enough is Enough. Does that make sense? The best I have to give doesn't feel like the best that should be given. Are you with me?

I think that we have times where we ebb and flow out of this state. We have short seasons of feeling like we've got it all together. But then we slide into a season where our enough just simply isn't Enough. No matter our effort. Today I'm in that season. It's where my thoughts are.

Years ago I found this in a magazine:I ripped it out and taped it on my fridge. Now it sits on my master cork board next to my master calendar. I have had it so long, it's worn, and it even ripped down the middle and I had to tape it back together. Year after year, this simple quote remains my constant. Women change the world everyday.

Maybe as I look at what amounts to being Enough, I've set my sights on the wrong horizons. Maybe being Enough is all about changing the world I'm standing in. Not in monumental sweeps, but in small acts of devotion. Everyday I take care of a family and all that entails. Everyday I offer the best I have at that moment to serve the Lord. Everyday I try to make the best choices possible. I may not always succeed, but I try.

All that I do only amounts to small, simple, invisible acts. But combined, they change the world. Not the world at large, but this world. The one where I am surrounded by the people I love. This world, that is messy and chaotic and hard work. And when I step back and look at it, maybe, just maybe, it's Enough.

I00 Days

Today was the 100th day of school. Lots of hoopla and celebration. Which, if you think about it, is only for the teachers. All the mothers are only thinking, "now it's just a downward countdown to summer." Boo hoo. I thought about counting the days that are left. My insides started to quiver and I felt a tear form in my eye, so I refrained. Tomorrow I'll regain my composure. Then I give a quiet cheer-- "Hip, hip, hooray. We've survived 100 days."

Love Is In The Details

Someone who loves me, bought me this cupcake.
The smell of the frosting makes my heart stop.

I'm almost positive that this is the smell in heaven.

Home Alone

Last night, Todd, Addie and I had a Great To Be 8 fireside at the church. Sam and Makell were given the option to go. Of course they chose to stay home. I am always slightly on edge when any of my kids are left unattended. Not because I fear for their safety. I fear for what will happen while I'm gone.

Upon returning home, we found this:In case you can't decipher what it is, I'll fill you in. It's Plankton. Not the kind from the sea, but the character on Sponge Bob. He is a giant sugar cookie covered in frosting and sprinkles. I wasn't allowed to eat him or throw him away.

After about 10 minutes, Sam and Makell offered a confession. They chipped the sink. After frosting cookies, Sam hurled the knife to the sink. It missed and chipped off a large piece on the edge. Makell proudly showed me how she found a can of oil-based, high gloss paint, and used it to camouflage the chip. Upon further examination, I discovered that she also used her artistic license to paint several other parts of the sink. Did I mention oil-based and high gloss? And the color isn't a good match. Honestly.

I stared at my sink this morning and wondered aloud if my kids are normal. Is there any other mother out there that has had her sink painted? By a ten year old? I fear the answer. I think I'll drown my sorrows in a cookie. One that looks like Plankton.