Apparently, Warmth is Out

Has anyone else noticed a disturbing trend in fashion this winter?

Regardless of what store I visit, there are no appropriate clothing options in sight. And by appropriate, I mean shirts with actual sleeves.

After trying on a few of the short sleeve ensembles from various racks, I could stand it no longer. Baffled by the lack of warm attire being offered to the general public, I finally resorted to questioning a teenage sales clerk about the issue.

Without batting an eye, she answered me with, "Oh, long sleeves are so last season. We only carry the newest trends here."

Now I realize that I live in Texas, but is she for real? Who knew that warmth could go out of style?

Perhaps this should have been my first clue that I am not Forever 21, no matter how much I shop there. In my old age, I favor practical over cutting edge. And call me old fashioned, but I need sleeves in January.

It is just who I am, a cold blooded American.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Well, that and to keep from shivering as I slipped off the trendy tank top I had tried on in a moment of weakness. As I hung the symbol of youth back on the rack, I made a 31 -year-old executive decision.

I'll be waiting to buy winter clothes until sleeves make a come back.

Until then, I see a lot of scarves in my wardrobe future. Apparently, they are the hot item of the season, anyway.

And with all the freezing cold outfits being sold out there, I'm convinced that something HOT has become more of a necessity than an accessory.

Either way, in the innocence of his youth, Park has totally bought into the trend.

The Grinch That Stole Daylight AGAIN

Last year around this same time of year, I posted this to vent my frustration with Mr. Daylight Saving Time.

Considering I feel the same disgust this year, I figured re-posting it might make me feel better.

It does.

Thanks for the therapy, Internet.

And thanks to the blogger out there whose post entitled "Can Someone Please Tell My Children the Time Changed" , for confirming to me that I'm not alone in my irritation:)

Deceptively Delicious "Aunt" Bites

*Pledge: I solemnly vow that this post will neither ask you to puree anything, nor shall it call for ingredients that lead you on a wild goose chase throughout your local grocery store.

If you are a mom, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know when I say getting children to eat their vegetables is an ongoing battle war. And being the mom of a toddler has it's particular challenges considering the things they like today are often the same things they thumb their nose at tomorrow. Never mind that you just spent 20 minutes valuable hours of your life cooking it. Time you will never get back. EVER.

But I'm not bitter or anything.

My little man is famous for declaring he wants scrambled eggs, only to balk at them after they are cooked. I'm not sure what it is about those pesky little eggs, but apparently the idea of them is more appealing than the reality.

Which unfortunately is the same way I feel about exercising, but that's another post in and of itself.

Recently my mom gave me the Deceptively Delicious cookbook. And that is such a fabulous concept and all, but let's just be real for a minute. A person who considers it a good week if she cooks two meals for her family is not very likely to spend large quantities of time pureeing endless amount of vegetables, to then sneak into recipes that she can't even decipher the ingredients for.

Especially if that unnamed person is the same girl who had to call her sister from the grocery store in tears a few years back when she could not find the "brown onions" that her recipe required. For the record, I still think that cook book should have been more specific in clarifying that "brown onions" was a directive, NOT an ingredient.

That said, cooking meals can be a bit of a whip in and of themselves, but throw in creating nutritious snack foods and it is just more than any mother should have to bear.

All in all, I have to say that my son is a pretty good eater. He likes relatively healthy things and give or take a few chicken nuggets, he gets a decent range of nutritional value for the most part. However, the thing in particular that currently makes me the most crazy is trying to work vegetables into his diet. It's like my husband trying to convince me that my car is not a trash can.

It's just not practical.

So when I remembered an age old favorite snack from my childhood, I began to feel somewhat hopeful. Setting my expectations fairly low, my goal was simply to bring the horse to the water and see if he would drink. As it turned out, my little horse not only drank, but lapped up the entire river. In laymen terms, Park was a big fan of the "ants on a log" that my mom used to fix me, which is simply a stick of celery covered in peanut butter with raisins on top.

He ate 4 full "logs" before declaring that he was all done because "the fire ants bit my tongue, Mommy!"

Which then reminded me of a little girl my mom once taught years ago, who when asked which aunt would be picking her up from school that day replied, "Well, I'm not sure, but I know she's not the ant that bites me."

All that to say, I hope you find success in adding this deliciously nutritious snack to your repertoire of weapons when fighting the vegetable war. To ensure victory, perhaps you should consider calling them "Non-biting Aunts on a Log" when introducing them to your children.

The Big Picture

Getting to Bible study today proved to be challenging once again. It poured down rain, thus making traffic completely horrendous.

As I crawled through the parking lot named Highway 114, I called Bridget to see if she was making better progress than me. I felt a tad bit relieved to know she was no closer than I was since I assumed they would not start without her. Mainly because she was teaching the class and all.

Moments before arriving at the church, Chris called to tell me there was no electrical power on the entire campus. Childcare building included. And as much as I wanted to cry, at least I didn't.

But you would have never known it judging from the number the rain had done on my mascara by the time I entered the building.

However, Fellowship Church is nothing if not diligent at getting God's message out. Not to be deterred by something as insignificant as electricity, they had already set up makeshift childcare rooms in the main building, complete with tubs of blocks and handwritten name tags. The generator and large windows provided just enough light to minister to the overactive group of children, desperately excited by all the controlled chaos.

(May the Lord draw near to the hearts of those preschool volunteers.)

And although Bridget had to teach with no mic or slides in the middle of a large walkway, she did a beautiful job of conveying truth about God's will for our lives.

She started by talking about past experiences in seeking God's direction in specific situations, anxiously begging God to spell it out with a burning bush. She spoke openly about frustrations and discouragement she has encountered when those answers did not come in the manner or time frame she desired.

I'm not sure about you, but I can relate to those same frustrations and feelings of anxiety. Times in my life when the gravity of the situation pressed in on me as I sat, frantically waiting for God to give me clarity.

Upon graduating college, which city should I move to? Job should I take? Church should I attend? How will I know if he is the man I should marry? The house we should buy? The timing for having children?

So many questions, so little direction. Or so it seemed in the moment.

But the truth that I've come to rely on was summed up so eloquently as God spoke through Bridget. Although there are many seemingly unknowns, we have already been given the big picture by Jesus in John 6:40. "For its is my Father's will that all who see His Son and believe in him should have eternal life- that I should raise them at the last day."

When we put our specific struggles against the backdrop of the big picture, fuzzy details suddenly are illuminated by the light. For example, will this job put me in a place where I can know Him more, still allowing me time and flexibility to serve in my church? Will this new position allow me to make His name known? Does this man I'm dating foster my ability to know Christ more intimately, encouraging me to seek Him first?

There is freedom in knowing that many times, God's will grants me choices in the specifics, allowing me to do a variety of things as long as they line up against His big picture. I don't have to spend my life agonizing over choices that may very well glorify Him equally.

Sometimes I make His will so complicated that I suffer an analysis of paralysis, painstakingly bogged down in the details. In reality, many times God is telling me the same thing he told Moses after hearing him tell the people to stand where they were and watch the Lord rescue them.

"Why are you crying out to me? Tell the people to get moving!"- Exodus 14:15

(Those of you that know my husband well will not be surprised to know that this is one of his favorite verses in Scripture.)

Another truth in my own life that is disheartening to own up to is that I spend so much time treating God as my own personal GPS navigator, that I forget to foster the relationship. Where, God? Oh, no answer yet? OK, well I'll check in later. What should I do, God? Nothing still? OK, I'll drop in tomorrow.

God doesn't want me to discover His will as much as He wants me to discover HIM. It's not so much about a destination as it is about a relationship. He wants me to hunger to know Him intimately, to desire more of Him in every area of my life. To crave His presence because of my love for His truth, His passion, His wisdom, His deliverance.

To take it all in, so that I can pour it out on others.

And when I seek His face and share his grace, the answers that previously eluded me simply fall into place. (I'm seeing a cheesy bumper sticker business in my future if I don't get off the rhyming kick very soon)

The details in getting to class today may not have been easy, but it was well worth the trouble in light of the big picture.

(Thanks for bringing it today, Bridget!)

Rollin' On (well, minus the rolls)

Today I drove to a special grocery store across town with one purpose in mind; buy some killer rolls.

We are having some precious young couples over for dinner tomorrow night that we are very much looking forward to catching up with. And nothing complements good conversation like good rolls. Except maybe the to-die-for ice cream dessert that I stole from my mom's repertoire. (*recipe disclosed at the end of this post)

Having already bought the ingredients for the rest of the meal yesterday, I made a trip specifically to obtain the buttery goodness that this particular store is known for baking. With Park in tow, we perused the aisles until we secured the treasure, navigated our way through the express line, and somehow made it back to the car without even pinching off a single bite. Even though I wanted to REALLY badly.

Thank goodness Park talked some sense into me.

After running a few more errands, we pulled into our garage, ready to unload our bags. But while digging in the trunk, I made a very sad realization. One that left my rumbling tummy feeling even more empty and defeated. What should have been two bags had somehow turned into just one.

And I highly doubt our guests will be interested in eating a package of Diego underwear.

I am still not quite certain how I managed to leave the grocery store without the ONE item I went there to purchase. Especially since I vividly remember walking up to the register, paying for my rolls and exiting the building. However, the whole putting them in the car details are a little sketchy. So, what exactly happened between the store and the parking lot is a mystery that, most likely, will never be solved.

Although I highly suspect it had something to do with the little distraction holding my hand, who was determined to play chicken with every car we came in contact with.

Or perhaps the Mommy brain that I inherited after his birth.

Either way, there will be no rolls tomorrow night. Unless of course you count the ones I plan on adding to my tummy from all the dessert I'll be inhaling. Because like I've always said, nothing goes better with good conversation than killer ice cream .

*KILLER ICE CREAM DESSERT RECIPE
Melt one cup of chocolate chips in a large bowl in the microwave
Add 1/3 cup of peanut butter to chocolate mixture
Add 3 cups of Rice Crispy Cereal and stir thoroughly
In a separate pan (I use a large casserole dish),
spread 1 gallon of semi-thawed vanilla ice cream
Evenly distribute the chocolate/PB/Rice Crispy mixture
over the ice cream, cover in tin foil, and freeze overnight

Prepare yourself for wanting to eat the entire pan in one sitting!

(Not like my sister and I have ever done this, or anything, though. However, I hear the key is to eat with a minuscule fork straight from the pan. By doing so, it somehow negates all the calories you would otherwise be getting. Mom, only you can attest to the fact that Challi and I wholeheartedly believe in this theory.)

One Foot in the Grave and Another on the Chandelier

Being healthy is something you often take for granted until you are sick.

We are blessed with very little illness in our household. We typically follow a high fruits and vegetable, low sugar diet. Well, minus an occasional plate of cookies that Sarah and Bridget sometimes force down my throat are kind enough to bake me. And Chris has been known to throw down some serious ice cream. However, that said, you won't find much sugary goodness in our pantry on a regular basis.

But before you peg us as the picture of self control, I must confess that we don't buy it because we know we would eat it if it was there.

In a matter of minutes.

So, more for our immune systems than our waistlines, we try to maintain a lifestyle that aids in keeping us as infrequent visitors of our doctor's office. Combine that with Chris' ability to ward off any pending illness by simply sleeping for 10 hours straight, and now you understand why he has not taken any medication since I have known him.

Not even a Tylenol, folks.

So, when he came down with a high fever and deep congestion last Sunday, I was certain that with a little rest he would be well by the next day. And even after Monday came and went, I was not yet concerned. Tuesday rolled around and I started to think this bug was the real deal, but changed my mind when he felt much better on Wednesday and Thursday. However, after finding my high energy hubby passed out on the couch at 1 in the afternoon on Friday, I took matters into my own hands.

Between Chris' mystery fever and Park's nagging cough that he hasn't quite been able to shake, I decided it was time to call in the big guns. I squeezed them both in for last minute appointments with our General Family Practitioner. And when Chris asked me to drive, I suddenly feared he might be on his way to meet Jesus. In almost 6 years of marriage, Chris has only been my passenger once.

And that was in a parking lot.

The man was some kind of sick. Following Flu tests and talk of walking pneumonia, I was relieved that the final diagnosis was a severe case of bronchitis gone bad, coupled with some sheet rock inhalation that happened while he was remodeling his office. Poor Park ended up with this:

And his very first round of antibiotics due to some fluid getting in his right lung. Turns out that pesky little cough with no other symptoms was a tad more serious than I gave it credit for.

With Chris half dead and me run down, we were thrilled to find that the medicine in Park's breathing treatment "may cause hyper behavior". And because Park is Park, that basically should have read "will cause toddler to hang from chandelier and require zero sleep, all while singing at the top of his fluid filled lungs for hours on end."

Which in turn had me contemplating a call the doctor's office to see if I could get a hit of that breathing treatment myself, just to survive the weekend.

But on the up side, we discovered that Park seems to have his dad's eye for photography. While we were all sidetracked by silly things like listening to the Dr.'s diagnosis, Park was evidently busy seeing the artistic value in the experience. I found these picture on my camera as proof:

Thankfully, everyone is FINALLY on the mend and at least for today, I'm not taking our good health for granted. I'm also not taking for granted the fact I have a girl's night out planned with Sunni and Keri later in the week. I'm in need of some good laughs and great conversation.

And even though Sunni has an excellent voice and a blog named "The Flying Mum", I feel pretty confident that neither of them will be singing at the top of their lungs while swinging from the chandelier.

And that will be a welcome change.

But then again, that WOULD make for some good laughs and great conversation.

I'm Going to "Excel" Next Year

I must confess that Christmas cards beat me down.

Now, I love the whole idea behind them and adore receiving them, but somehow it is this activity that threatens to steal my joy each year. Upon conducting a scientific evaluation of why this seemingly mindless task creates so much annual stress, Chris has come to a definitive conclusion.

"This area of your life is screaming for organization."

Upon conducting my own evaluation, I decided those who are not directly responsible for addressing mass quantities of Christmas love should tread lightly when proposing change to the system of the one who's in the trenches of the insect-laden licking.

Just in case, let's say, "that area" of my life isn't the only thing that can scream.

But, after hours of struggling through scraps of return labels that may or may not have been torn off Christmas cards I received last year, I've come to the realization that no, in fact, this does not constitute having an "address book". Nor do the 10 random pages of scribbled addresses that were left over from my baby shower 2 1/2 years ago. Or the desperate search through my saved emails where I vaguely remember Betty Lou sending me her new address after moving to Youwon'trememberitnextChristmasville.

If you think I'm exagertaing, check out Exibit A.


After soaking up the infuriatingly correct words of hubby, I'm starting to realize that piecing together my Christmas card list should not be equivalent to a scavenger hunt.

Although I do love a good scavenger hunt.

Time to reclaim my sanity with a new system of peace, love, and goodwill to men. This is the last year I will rely on my ancient ways because I'm throwing caution to the wind and joining the ranks of the 21st century with a little thing called an Excel spreadsheet.

Doing his part, sweet Chris has volunteered to turn my scraps of chaos into a beautifully groomed, alphabetized, well-oiled machine. Come December of '08, I'll simply add any new Christmas card recipients because, of course, I'll have already updated the list throughout the year as people have moved.

Because I'm organized like that.

Although I have not technically used this new creation just yet, let's just think of this as a What WILL Work for Me Wednesday post. With a few quick keystrokes I'll have a master address book that I will print to labels, which in turn, I'll peel and stick to my Christmas card envelopes.

And with that unnecessary stress eliminated, you'll find me singing Joy to the World with a clear conscience.

Click Rocks in My Dryer to find more WFMW ideas.

The Grinch That Stole Daylight

Oh, my dearest Mr. Fall Daylight Saving Time, where do I even begin?

I feel like we have tried to accommodate you in every way possible. We open our home and allow you inside each year, no questions asked. Our clocks bow down to your every wish and command. We even overlooked your tardiness when you decided to arrive late this year.

Yet it seems you have become downright underhanded, sneaky and greedy. Your name implies that you are wholeheartedly devoted to saving our time, marketing yourself in a manner that suggests we will "gain" an extra hour of sleep upon your arrival.

However, in stark contrast, your reality steals hours of outside play and special evening walks from our family.

But even that just wasn't enough for you.

This year, you have taken it a step further by robbing us of beloved sleep, as well. Since your arrival, Park's semi-reasonable 7:45 am wake up time has morphed into an unbearable, middle of the night 6:15 am.

I hold you fully responsible for this disruption. And despite my futile efforts to black out his windows and cling to the darkness, it's as if you penetrate his very being and he is unmistakeably aware of your unwelcome presence.

And if Hubby wasn't such a morning person, willing and able to play in the wee hours of dark thirty, I'm not so certain I wouldn't just sell our clocks and forget I've ever met you.

At least until Spring.

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do

My Dearest TARGET,

I went to hang out with you again today and left disgusted. As much as I love spending time with you, it kills my soul to subject myself to your return policy. Without a receipt, you refuse to give me store credit or even allow me to find items of equal value. Instead, I must buy ONE item from the same department as the item I return and it must be equal or over that value.

Are you kidding me?

You know me. I am the type of person who will eat the wrong order just to avoid a confrontation. I will answer to the wrong name to avoid embarrassing someone. But, you my friend, have pushed me to the limit. I can no longer sit back and allow you to hurt innocent people.

I've finally had enough. Call me a tattle-tale, but someone had to take a stand. Tonight, I called your "parents" to complain. I've talked until I'm blue in the face and explained things in the most diplomatic of ways. And still, the ridiculous policy stands in the way of our relationship.

With a sad heart, we must once again part ways. It is over. I can no longer tolerate your lack of indifference to my buying power.

Yes, it is true I have broken up with you in the past.

We always seem to get back together. The problem seems to lie in your persuasive merchandise and chic clothing. So maybe "break up" was too strong a phrase.

Maybe we can just take a break.