Big Shoes

Happy Father's Day, Chris!

I am constantly blown away by what an amazing father you are to Park and can hardly wait to see that same bond develop between you and our newest blessing. Thank you for being a teacher, encourager, provider, investor, role model and so much more.

I adore how you love to spend so much time with Park, constantly shaping the man he will become. Your example as his earthly father is giving him such a clear picture of the love his Heavenly Father has for him. You amaze me more every day.

We love you!

I Do

Six years ago today, Chris and I were standing before our friends and family, pledging our love and commitment to one another with two powerful words:

"I DO."

How could that many years have gone by when I still remember so clearly the feeling I had as the doors of the church opened and my dad escorted me down the long aisle to the man I could not wait to spend the rest of my life with? It is as if that day happened just yesterday or last week at the very most. And yet in six short years, so many memories have been created that it almost feels like we have already lived a lifetime together.

In the naivety of that blissful moment at the alter, we had no idea what "I Do" would actually look like. But, we were willing to stand by those words just the same.

In the first few years, "I Do" meant dreamy beach vacations, last minute romantic getaways, and talking into the wee hours of night. It meant buying and remodeling our first home, spending time with other couples, and dreaming about the children we would some day have. For Chris, it often meant helping me grade papers or putting together shelves for my classroom, and for me, it entailed 17 hours bus rides to youth camp and international mission trips to be involved in the calling on my husband's life.

In later years, "I Do" meant experiencing the joy of having our baby growing in my stomach, giving birth to our first child, and weathering the storm of my health issues that pounded us the year after his birth. It meant getting to see each other through the eyes of our child and appreciating each other as parents. It meant falling in love, all over again, but in a whole different way.

In recent years, "I Do" has meant building a house together, raising a toddler, and dreaming of expanding our family. It's meant seeing Chris grow into the leadership God has given Him and having a front row seat to the anointing that Jesus has placed on his life. It's meant basking in God's faithfulness to our family and standing firmly on His promises.

There was no way to comprehend that "I Do" would mean so many different things throughout so many different seasons of our marriage. Nor can we possibly fathom what it will look like for all that lies ahead of us.

And yet, I am every bit as willing to stand behind those words today as I was six years ago.

We Do, We Have, And We Will...

I love you, Chris. Happy anniversary!

Coexisting with the Natives

I've known for a while now that I am living among wild Indians, but I finally have proof. Uncivilized or not, these two boys have completely stolen my heart!

Used

When Chris asked me to speak at The Mix, in the back of my mind, I had hoped he would do the majority of writing the message. After all, he speaks almost weekly and has much more experience with communicating God's word to large groups of people.

After being married to him for almost six years, you would think I would have known how this would go down, though.

See, Chris loves to empower others to succeed. He is known for putting the ball in someone's court and allowing them to determine what to do with it. Although he is there to offer guidance and support, he is a firm believer in allowing people to grow and flourish in challenging opportunities. He thrives on seeing God develop strength and character in those underneath his leadership.

Not only did he NOT write my message, he also selected me to speak on an "open" week, where topic choice was entirely up to me. The only direction he gave me was, "Wait on God. He will lead you to the message He wants you to teach."

And so I waited.

And waited and waited and waited some more....

Until two weeks before I was slated to speak, I awoke in the middle of the night with an indescribable assurance that my message would be titled, "Used" and it would entail something about an unlikely leader. And as thankful as I was that God had given me a title, I had absolutely no idea of the content or direction He wanted me to pursue. Not to mention, who was the unlikely leader and what on earth did that have to do with used?

Twenty-five minutes is a long time to stand on a stage, staring blankly at 400 high school students, with nothing to communicate, but a title and an unnamed, unlikely leader. Amen?

Thankfully, God wasn't done with my message just yet. At Bible study a few days later, we were learning about God's Will. The lesson had absolutely nothing to do with him, but the speaker briefly mentioned, something about "The unlikely leader, Gideon."

I about jumped out of my seat as if God had shouted through a megaphone right into my ear.

Now, I wish I could say that my Old Testament knowledge is so vast that I immediately knew the exact story the Lord wanted me to communicate, but the only thing I could recall of Gideon was something to do with him blowing a horn. And I'm pretty sure I pictured him in some type of band, rocking out while tooting his solo.

Not exactly Biblically sound truth.

But when I reread his story in the Judges 6 and 7, it was crystal clear why God had pointed me to this man. Although Gideon was an unlikely leader, a man with some serious junk in his past, God used him to conquer more enemies than any other person in the entire Bible.

Now, don't get me wrong, it was a rocky road to submission. God reduced his army from 32,000 men to just 300. Gideon wasn't even 100% convinced or confident in his abilities, despite God assuring him of victory. In fact, he tested God repeatedly and questioned if he was even worthy to serve. He was scared and unsure God could use him in the battle.

But regardless, Gideon was WILLING to fight anyway.

When I think of the word willing, I think of a man named E. King Gill. As you know, I am an Aggie and A&M is a school rich in tradition. In 1922, one of the most famous of those traditions was born, the 12th man. An underdog Aggie football team was playing the nation’s top ranked team (and I feel the need to clarify that it was not U.T.) Because of injury after injury, the Aggies were forced to dig deep into their reserves.

Everyone begin to get nervous if they would even have enough players to finish the game. So, the head coach called Gill, a former team member, out of his seat in the stands. E. King Gill suited up and stood ready on the sidelines the rest of the game. Later, he was quoted as saying, “I wish I could say that I went in and ran for the winning touchdown, but I didn’t. I simply stood willing in case the team needed me.”

Because of Gill’s example, today the entire student body at A&M (known as the 12th man) stands the whole game to show their support and willingness to be called on if needed. Now, can you imagine the fear and doubt that must have been going through Gill’s mind as he waited on those sidelines? But, regardless, he stood willing.

As a Christ follower, I can be honest with God about my doubt. It’s OK to say, “Lord, I am afraid…But I am willing!.”; “I am unsure…But I am willing!”; “I am overwhelmed,…But I am willing!” If you are like me, you can take comfort in knowing that we don’t have to be 100% confident or convinced to be willing. In fact, nowhere in Scripture did I read that Gideon shouted, “YES! I am pumped my army has been reduced to nothing! What are we waiting for? Let’s go kick some serious tail!”

But you know what? He did it anyway.

Despite the fact that Gideon was slow to be convinced, he was both chosen by and dependent on God. He got over looking at his past defeats and personal insecurities and simply seized the opportunity to be used.

Gideon was slow to be convinced, but he ACTED on his convictions. Too many times I have been slow to be convinced, putting God off for this reason or that. But Jesus continues to ask me, will you ACT on your convictions? He continues to present me with brand new opportunities to be used on a daily basis. As unsure as he may have felt, Gideon went forward with what the Lord called him to do and the Lord honored his willingness.

God did (and continues to do!) the same thing for me.

*Thank you, Chris, for not robbing me of knowing more of God's faithfulness in this speaking opportunity. By offering nothing more than guidance and support, you allowed me to grow and flourish, being totally dependent on Him. Most of all, thank you for allowing me to practice what I preach.

Truly Once in a Lifetime

When my husband came home last Thursday night with three tickets to the NASCAR qualifying race the next day, I wasn't exactly turning cartwheels.

Now, Chris is by no means a NASCAR enthusiast, but after he attended a race last year with a friend, he has told me on multiple occasions that it is something everyone should experience at least one time in their life. Especially since Texas Motor Speedway is "close enough for us spit on it", his words, not mine. So, when these tickets were graciously donated to us by one of his co-workers, I reluctantly agreed to go with him and Park to see what all the fuss was about.

Now, I'm from small town Texas, where every business within a 100 mile radius shuts down for Friday night football. And I currently reside in the DFW Metroplex where Mama's (and Daddy's) BEG their babies to grow up to be Dallas Cowboys. Forget Doctors and Lawyers, and such. So, I'm no stranger to die hard, fanatical fans.

Or so I thought.

Upon driving into the facility, it was as if we had entered an entirely new dimension. One that might affectionately be dubbed, The Twilight Zone. Travel trailers, housing people who had navigated cross country to view advertisement laden vehicles endlessly circle a track, were parked in rows so long my jaw dropped. People, dressed from head to tow in color coded garments of support for their chosen driver, were waiting in forever long lines to buy MORE garments of support.

And others were dressed so scantily that I debated BUYING them garments of support just to cover them up. (Enter hand over Park's eyes.)

Spying 50+ port-a-potties as we walked through the field leading up to the raceway, I feared we had left civilization 5 miles back. Chris coerced me into continuing the journey by promises of real bathrooms, complete with soap dispensers, up ahead. So, I pressed on through the thick clouds of cigarette smoke, hoping to find some redeeming quality in the distance.

Finding our seats, we settled in just in time for the first car to rev up it's engine. Being that we were at the qualifying race, each car would take 1-2 laps around the track in hopes of achieving a fast enough time to secure a great starting point for the big race scheduled two days later. Don't I sound so schooled in the inner workings of NASCAR, folks?

When the first car took off at lightning speed, I felt my pulse begin to quicken and knees get weak. As it made it's way back around the track, the energy in that stadium was electric. Then I looked over and caught a glimpse of the excitement twinkling in Park's eyes. And I knew in that moment that things had taken a turn for the worse.

Somehow, I had (gulp) become an unlikely NASCAR fan.

Car after car raced around that track and we watched with baited breath. Could this driver find a way to shave a second off the time set before him? Could he keep control while taking those corners at such terrifying speed? Could we get another corn dog without endangering Park's college fund?

The suspense of it all just added to the excitement of the reckless abandonment. But, ultimately it is also what caused us to leave the event a little early.

Well, that coupled with the fact that after watching the 20th car go round, I wasn't quite as much a fan as I had originally believed. Park, on the other hand, was sold on the sport after getting to take his picture with Sparky. And it didn't hurt that he got to come back with Chris the next day to attend the Kid Fish at the NASCAR lake.




But, I must admit that all in all, hubby was right. Everyone should experience NASCAR once in their lifetime.

But Chris, because I've already gotten that chance, next time, let's opt to give my ticket to someone else who hasn't had the opportunity to do so.

Perhaps to someone who doesn't mind using a port-a-potty, let's say.

When Life Gives You Mud, Make a Mud Pie

Last night, as I hopped into the car with Sarah and Bridget to partake in our monthly Chili's date, Park and Chris were on the driveway waving goodbye and blowing me kisses. But before I could even get the door shut, I distinctly heard a cheery squeal from Park as he pumped his fist in the air and shouted, "Yesssss, Jussss the BOYS now!!"

Bridget cracked up.

I assured her that this was not a one time reaction, but rather the norm for when they get to have a special night together sans Mommy. And I have to say that it warms my heart to see how much Park loves his time with Daddy. There is no place he would rather be than right beside Chris, regardless of what they do together. Hanging on Daddy's every word and laughing at anything he says, I'm often reminded that their relationship is everything I've ever prayed it would be and more. Chris has far exceeded any expectations I had for the type of father I wanted for my children.

That being said, there are some things I've also come to NOT expect from their time of male bonding .

Cleanliness tops the list.

No baths will be taken. PERIOD. Vast amounts of dirt will be involved in most activities and mismatched clothing will be worn while partaking in such endeavors. Potties will not be necessary because the yard will be used for the majority of relief purposes. Muddy shoes will not be removed upon entering the house and unclean clothing will not make it to the hamper. Teeth will usually not get brushed before bedtime and pajamas will be optional.

Now, my dad was a daddy to girls. He was forced into being a clean man, held to those standards set by a mommy of girls. He became a man that learned to invest in the hygienic well being of his daughters when they were left in his care.

Not to mention he learned to fix a mean pigtail.

But, the truth is, I'm outnumbered. I live in a male dominated household, where my voice of reason is merely like spitting in the wind. Which, by coincidence, is also a pastime they enjoy together in my absence.

And just like my father learned to do, I have had to figure out how to somewhat conform. Coming to terms with the unwritten man law of filth, I've become a much happier wife and mommy. Released from the oppressiveness of allowing their dirt to define me, I've learned that boys will be boys and at best, my influence will cultivate a small need for a decent degree of cleanliness somewhere down the road.

I pray.

Because , truly, it's all about setting realistic expectations. Well, that and scrubbing Park down the next morning after a night of "JUSSSS THE BOYS!!!"

Call me conformed, but a little dirt seems like a small price to pay for the joy I get from seeing the love between my Park and his beloved daddy.

And a night out with precious girlfriends was just icing on my mud pie.

All in the Family

I've realized lately that God has placed extremely talented people in my life and I need to extend their wealth of knowledge to my "blogosphere" of influence. It's all about spreading the love, folks.

Which is definitely a better thing to share with you than the pink eye that Park is currently enduring. Yikes, poor baby. But, that is another story for another day that I will hopefully forget to tell.

First up, is my mother-in-law, known best on this blog as the creatively gifted Grandma who is gracious enough to host art classes for her grandchildren. However, that only highlights a small portion of her talent and it is time you see more of her Rustique Art designs. Feel free to check out her new blog and leave a sweet comment to make her feel welcome.

The next person I want to introduce is someone who also came from the above creative gene pool. My sister-in-law has just started a brand new cloth diaper blog and if you use them, are interested in learning to use them, or know some one who is, this is the place for you. I also should mention that her husband is our chiropractor and she is well versed in homeopathic medicine. If we ever have questions on natural healing or nutritional supplements, they are our "go to" people and would be happy to be yours, as well.

In line with "keeping it in the family", I thought I'd use this opportunity to disclose that my husband will be making a few appearances on my Holding Little Hands blog in the coming weeks as a guest contributor. He said the time has come to share "The Man's Point of View", which will consist of periodic posts that counter things I have written about him, impart financial wisdom, help with do-it-yourself projects, give insight into the teenage mind (based on his experiences as a youth pastor), share openly about fatherhood, and encourage woman in their faith, marriages, organization, and creativity. Even though I can't promise correct comma placement, I can tell you that you will be blessed by his heart.

And although this person is not technically a family member, we grew up together from the ripe old age of 6. Reigning from my own hometown and kindergarten class, my childhood friend Traci , who now resides in Houston, has grown an on-line business out of her God-given talent for making things beautiful. After becoming a stay-at-home mom to her precious son, Caven, Beady Queen was birthed as an outlet for her creativity. (And my accessories have never been the same since!) To follow more of her journey, you can find her blog here.

Last but certainly not least, I can't discuss creativity without mentioning our other family, Fellowship Church. Our senior pastor, Ed Young, has also started a new blog that I would love for you to check out. I'm confident in saying it will be full of insightful wisdom, funny stories, and spirit led discussion that will enhance your day.

So there you have it. Happy linking, friends!

I Am "Snow" Over It

All my life, I've wondered if my body temperature is several degrees lower than the average human.

When others around me are sweating, I am usually quite comfortable. Often when I crawl in bed, placing my cold feet on my husband's warm legs, he says that I am his own personal air conditioning unit. And although most folks wouldn't enjoy being pregnant in the stifling heat of a Texas summer, I actually found it quite refreshing to finally feel comfortable inside the frozen tundra of a movie theater.

No, I'm not expecting a call from the Polar Bear's Club anytime soon.

That being said, Friday brought about the opportunity to play in the snow. And I must admit that it was both beautiful and exciting because it was so out of the ordinary. But for those of you that live up North, I must ask a very important question.

HOW DO YOU NOT FREEZE TO DEATH ???

Chris and I played with Park, making a snowman and sliding down the hill in our backyard. We marched around the crunchy vast whiteness and had snow ball fights, while laughing until our sides hurt. And then the numbness in our hands and feet took over and we ran back inside to nurse our wounds every 15 minutes or so. It was the most painfully enjoyable experience, serving as a reminder of why our family won't be taking any ski trips in the near future.

We took a winter vacation to Colorado one year when I was a little girl and I begged my parents to never make me endure such misery again. To enjoy snow skiing, I think one needs a higher body temperature than that of a corpse, therefore eliminating me from ever qualifying for the Winter Olympics. Well, that and the fact that there is not even a minuscule glimpse of athletic ability in my freezing cold body.

And although hubby can hold his own in the athletic department, his inability to tolerate his feet being "trapped" in anything resembling confinement is a slight problem when trying to snow board. Or wear boots for that matter.

Although I'm not exactly certain where Chris' foot claustrophobia originated, after witnessing his painful attempts at putting Park's shoes on for the last two years, I'm convinced it is a very real problem. One that might require years of therapy before skiing is a possibility ever again.

So, between my negative zero body temperature and Chris' constrictive feet issues, for now, it looks like this weekend's Texas blizzard may be as close to "real" snow as sweet Park comes.

Although based on how much snow he ate, it is quite possible that those of you Northern folk who are tired of shoveling snow could use his services. .

Who knows, snow eating may even catch on as a sport in the Winter Games, easily enjoyed (possibly indoors) by cold, nonathletic competitors.

Or those with feet complications.

Hypothetical Sleep Issues MULTIPLIED

Events started happening last week that led me to believe I might have some reason for concern. Since that time I've worked diligently to remain in a state of denial, but I'm afraid the truth is rearing its ugly head more and more each night.

As much as I would love to disclose this disheartening information to you, I don't want to use this blog to point out any hypothetical sleep issues that Park may or may not have inherited from his father.

However, if Park were developing those hypothetical sleep issues, my night may have looked something like this.

11pm: Find Park sitting on the floor in his room, saying nothing and staring off into space. Return him to bed.

1 AM: Awaken to loud squeaking noises on the baby monitor. Arrive in Park's room just in time to see him standing on top of his rocking chair with his arms stretched out as if he is surfing. Hear him mumbling something about, "You have to move like this." Return him to bed.

4:30 AM: Awaken to an alarming crash on baby monitor. Bolt out of bed, sprint into Park's room to find that he is in his closet and has knocked down a box of diapers while intermittently speaking gibberish and asking not to wear his shoes anymore. Glance down at his bare feet before returning him to bed again.

5:45 AM: Awaken to husband standing next to the bed mumbling that he has to get Park. Wonder if you were so tired that you might have slept through son's cries. Hear Chris on the baby monitor telling Park that, "Daddy is here, you don't have to cry anymore." Become perplexed at how Chris' voice is crystal clear yet you are unable to hear even the slightest of whimpers. Stumble into son's room to find Park asleep in his bed and husband in the rocking chair, comforting a blanket. Return husband to bed while reminding yourself to enjoy the humor in this once you have GOTTEN SOME SLEEP ALREADY!

5:50 AM Endlessly toss and turn, plagued by the fear that you are the only sane person that lives in your house. Contemplate how one could live in your body for nine whole months and yet completely bypass all your DNA, taking 100% of his father's. Consider someday warning future daughter in law of all the sleepless nights she has ahead of her. Decide against it for fear you may have to live with BOTH of your crazy men for the rest of your sleepless life.

5:55 AM Jolt up in bed after thinking you hear Park say something you can't believe. Crank up the volume on baby monitor while straining your ear against it. Plain as day, hear Park repeat once again, "Target is in time out. Target is in time out."

5:56 AM Assured that son does, in fact, have at least 1% of your DNA, lean over to kiss sleeping husband's forehead before peacefully drifting off to sleep. Realize that even though they might keep you up all hours of the night, you're as crazy about your two guys as they are crazy.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Directionless No More

Realizing my reluctance to put him in a big boy bed, Park apparently decided to take matters into his own hands.

Literally.

And I’m not even referring to his attempt to strong arm me into the decision by scaling the four walls of his crib for well over 6 months now, either. Regardless of my appreciation of the craft he has developed for artfully getting in and out, this mommy still had every intention of holding firm on her initial decision to keep the baby bed in tact until closer to his third birthday.

Need I say that the stubborn gene runs rampant in our family?

A few mornings ago, Park greeted us bedside with a look of sheer excitement in his eyes. “I broke my bed, but that’s OK. Now I have a little bunk bed!” he exclaimed proudly.

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I shoved lovingly urged Chris out of bed to investigate what all the commotion was about. Turns out, Park had managed to remove the front rail of his crib.

Which might not have been so alarming if his crib was actually made to convert.

Now I’m not 100% sure how it happened, so I’d hate to point any fingers. But, I do seem to remember a certain someone re-assembling the crib when we moved here from our previous home, without so much as a glance toward the directions.

And after the crib was once again standing, that person’s wife might have pointed out that she did not remember the rail being quite so wobbly, to which she was immediately reassured by her husband that he had the situation under control.

Knowing all too well that I was not going to be excited about the dangling crib rail that inadvertently squashed my dreams of keeping up the illusion that my big boy was still a baby, Chris tried to be as inconspicuous as possible when reporting the results of his inspection.

“Babe, where might one look to locate directions for something they purchased, um... say, 2 years prior, perhaps? “

Well, my love, I’m so glad you asked.

I've established a binder where I house ALL directions to any items purchased that we may possibly need to refer to in the future. It is wonderful to be able to pull it out to find just about anything I wouldn’t ordinarily know how to locate. Ours is nothing fancy and is not overly organized, but it makes for an easy way to stay ahead of the “Where in the world did I put that?” game.

Unfortunately, I created that valuable little wealth of knowledge AFTER we purchased the crib. (Sure am glad I didn't point any fingers earlier, seeing as it is might be a tad bit difficult to consult directions that we no longer own, and all.)

Looks like our big boy will be sleeping in his "little bunk bed" indefinitely. Or at least until I have the heart to move him to his real bunk beds. Perhaps I'll wait until it is closer to his third birthday.

My Funny Valentine

Yesterday morning when Park woke up, Chris reminded him that it was a special day, Valentine's Day.

Park and I have been reading books for the last month, learning about what this fun holiday entails. We even made hundreds of crafty cards to mail to his cousins and grandparents just like Clifford and Emily Elizabeth did. Ok, so it was closer to ten, but if you have ever used scissors and glue with your 2-year-old, you will believe me when I say it felt more like hundreds.

Sadly, after all the work to get them out on time, they were returned to us for "lack of sufficient postage due to fluffy content". Who knew that puffiness would cost an extra 17 cents? I should have let Park squish them all like he originally tried to do. We are re-sending them, but wanted to post a picture for all you family members who didn't get yours yet.

So, as he came flying out into the living room, beaming from ear to ear, I was impressed with his enthusiasm for the "day of love". But, without a moment's notice, that smile suddenly turned to confusion.

"Where is my tree and why'd Santa not leave me any presents? I not like Valentine's Day!"

Sorry, Cupid, but your holiday seemed to be a bit of a let down for the boy.

He perked up a bit when he saw that Mommy and Daddy had come through with some small presents, namely a book called Big Boys Use the Potty. The good thing about being two is you're not familiar with a little term called ulterior motive, so the present was still a hit.

And so was my Mother-in-Law who hosted art class, so Chris and I could meet up for a special lunch date. What a treat! We exchanged love letters, which is a tradition in our household, and spent some time enjoying the quiet of a restaurant when only adults are present.

Upon picking up Park, he proudly showed off the craft he had made for me. That Grandma is one creative lady, folks. Here was his gift:



She also gave Park (and his cousins) the cutest little Bible I've ever seen. She had marked the verse about how he was God's Valentine. (John 3:16)

We went home to cook a special dinner for Daddy and Park waited impatiently to give Daddy his own love letter, which basically was everything he told me to write down and my own translation of it. It said things like, "I not like when you go to work," and "You take me to the pond?" So, I wrote things next to the phrases like, I love when we get to spend special time together and I'm very sad when you aren't around."

My love letter from Park, via Chris, was actually pretty similar, except it said:
Park pulls at Mommy's hair = "I want to hug you"
Park licks Mommy's face from chin to forehead = "I love to kiss you"
and so on and so forth......

And just in case she is unsure how to interpret "boy love", I've saved it for his future wife someday.

Park was so proud of himself when Chris and I made a big deal over all the special things he had done for us that he had a little change of heart by the end of the day.

"I love Valentine's Day. It's so FUN!"

I'm certain both Cupid and Park's future wife both breathed a sigh of relief.

Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?

Last week, after checking my voice mail, I received a hurried message from Chris. I could tell he was on speaker phone and there was quite a bit of joking going on in the background.

"Hey babe, it's me. I'm in a staff meeting right now and we are having a disagreement about some misplaced commas on a camp brochure. Will you call us back and settle the argument as soon as you can? In other words, I need your help in putting these fools to shame."

Well, at that point, there was no need to hear the question. Knowing my hubby all too well, this one was a no brainer. I immediately phoned back and without giving him time to even read the sentence to me, I confidently said, "The correct comma placement is opposite of wherever you think it should go."

Ouch. The cold, hard truth. Chris is guilty of committing Commacide, which I define as causing the untimely death of a meaningful sentence due to excessive comma overuse. And unfortunately, he is not a first time offender.

But I'd have to give him an A+ for confidence and tenacity.

He just wouldn't take no for an answer until the official reading of the question, but let's just say that it proved to be totally unnecessary as I had originally suspected. As my good natured hubby relayed his defeat, I heard spontaneous cheers erupt around the conference room and then the merciless razzing began.

Because if there is one place you can count on being called out, it's in a room full of pastors.

Which might explain Chris' need to prove his intellectual capabilities when he got home that night. Duped into watching Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?, he kicked my tail in every math and science question from here to 4th grade. In between giving me the "I'll be the one to help Park with all his homework" look and asking the TV if, "That's all you got?", hubby was busy rubbing my nose in my inability to pull from childhood knowledge. Just as he was about to take a victory lap around the living room, he challenged me to a final question on geography.

"What's the capitol of Pennsylvania?"

Big mistake, buddy. Don't mess with me on my states and capitals. Pops did a stellar job on drilling these into my head like nobody's business. Now if only we could figure out what happened in the multiplication table department. Obviously flashcards were not my love language.

"Harrisburg," I counter, but loose a little confidence when I hear the snorts coming from hub's direction across the couch.

"Harrisburg?? That's your final answer? Let me give you a hint, at least. It's long and it starts with the letter M," he manages to get out between belly laughs.

Searching my brain while eliminating choices orally, I say "OK-I know it can't be Montpelier because that's the capital of Vermont.... So, maybe..."

About this time I see the color drain from his cheeks and I start to smell the aroma of his defeat.

After letting loose with a victory dance that would put Beyonce to shame, I placed a comforting arm around hubby and attempted to help him recover some pride.

"Look on the bright side, Chris. Park's still 4 years away from kindergarten and yet we've already established a division of labor for helping him with schoolwork. Math and science are all you, but just leave history and English up to me."

Because according to laws made in our state's capital (which would be AUSTIN, sweet hubby) there can only be one Commacidal Maniac per household.

And we've already reached our quota.

Creative Expressions

Bare walls drive me nuts.

And although I do love art work, photographs are what tend to make our house feel much more like a home. We have so many photographs of Park throughout our home that I sometimes think he must get tired of looking at himself, especially since the playroom is bordering on being Park's Wall of Fame. But, at the risk of sounding obnoxious, I must admit I love them all.

Perhaps my favorite wall in the house is a combination of both photographs and art, but with a unique twist.

As a Mother's day gift for me, hubbby did a special photo shoot with Park this past Spring. He took him outside along our back fence, where he had placed a long stretch of poster board as a workspace for Park to create a finger painting masterpiece.

Armed with his camera, he snapped photo's of the entire process. After painting the paper for a while, 20-month-old Park began to lose interest and paint himself instead. Although it wasn't exactly what Chris had originally envisioned, Park's little body art ad lib ended up making the project turn out even better than expected.


After the painting dried, Chris cut out two squares from the artwork that would look the best framed alongside the photos depicting the process of creating them. And, here was the end result:

This is a relatively easy and inexpensive way to dress your walls, while documenting precious memories. It is also easy to adapt to interests and hobbies other than painting, as well as to different ages of children. Just snap pictures of your kiddos while in the process of doing something they enjoy and frame the photos alongside their creations.

And I've definitely decided it's better to be accused of having a Wall of Fame than a n*ked Wall of Shame.

For more Works for Me Wednesday links, you can click over to Rocks in My Dryer.

Choking Under Pressure

I've known for a while that I'm not great in a crisis.

Namely after Challi and I once fled the room when my Grandpa was choking on a meatball while eating spaghetti. Plain and simple, we panicked. There he was, gasping for air in a moment of need, and his only two granddaughters tucked tail and ran. Thankfully, my dad was there to step in with the Heimlich maneuver to save the day, but let's just say we made a strong case for chewing carefully when left alone with the sisters.

And I almost forgot the whole horrible incident until tonight. Of course, I should have known that what I lacked in emergency reaction, Chris would more than compensate.

Because my nose is so stuffy right now, closing my mouth to chew up food is pretty much equivalent to suffocation. So, after taking a bite of some pasta tonight, I found myself trapped between bouts of coughing and short gasps for air. But just as I was regaining control of the situation, I got pounced upon from behind, having the wind knocked out of me in the process.

Hearing what he believed to be uncontrollable choking, hubby leaped tall buildings in a single bound.

And before I knew it, he was beating me mercilessly across the back, causing pasta to spew across the kitchen with each whack. Unable to break the cycle of madness, the more he smacked me, the more I coughed, leaving me helpless to regain my breath long enough to scream, "For crying out loud, PLEASE STOP HITTING ME!"

Thankfully, a few seconds shy of having my ribs broken by an overzealous Heimlich attempt, I was able to sputter, "I'm NOT choking! I just can't breath because my nose is so stuffy."

I'm pretty sure I'll be sore tomorrow. I may even need to invest in some Bengay. And after witnessing the dramatic ordeal unfold, it's also quite possible that Park may need some therapy later on down the road. Poor little guy's eyes about bugged out of his head as he ran out of the room in horror.

Clearly, he came by his flight skills naturally.

But even though I was unnecessarily battered for a pseudo crisis, there's no doubt I can depend on my man in a moment of need. (Well at least my big man, anyway, but who am I to judge?)

Which is really comforting since spaghetti is on the menu for tomorrow.

Now, we just have to pray that Chris chews carefully.

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.

Marrying into the Sisterhood

Six years ago today my sister was sitting on a beach in Maui, honeymooning with her brand new hubby. As they sat, staring into a romantic sunset while feeling like the only two people on earth, each believed the serenity of that moment would last forever.

Until her cell phone began ringing off the hook.

I'm telling you, the nerve of some people! Barring an emergency, who on earth would call them repeatedly when everyone knew they were off enjoying their honeymoon?

Um, well, that would be me.

"Hey Challi, I'm sooooo glad you finally answered. No, no one is sick. Yes, yes, everything is OK. I'm sure. Yes, I know this is your honeymoon and that I called you on your "in case of emergency only" cell phone, without having an actually emergency to report. But, I wanted you to be the first person to know that we're engaged! Chris proposed!"

"He did WHAT?" she shrieked, "But he PROMISED he would wait until after I got home. Put him on the phone."

"HOW COULD YOU PROPOSE WHEN I'M A MILLION MILES AWAY???? YOU PROMISED TO WAIT. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???"

Welcome to the family, Chris.

There are certain rules of the sisterhood that you just can't break. And, apparently, rule number #1 is that all proposals must take place when sisters are within a 10 mile radius of one another. Anything further than that could cause unnecessary bodily harm to the fiance. Or at the very least, an earful from future sister-in-law. Especially if the most sentimental of the two sisters is the one that is millions of miles away, unable to share the joy in person.

Poor man.

Clearly he thought he'd covered all his bases. He had asked the father for daughter's hand in marriage. He had hugged the mother and promised he'd take care of baby daughter forever. He had included sister on ring selection and made her privy to proposal timeline. He had even made sure to plan out a very romantic proposal.

But, what he failed to anticipate was the excitement of actually holding the ring in his trembling hands and the hole it would burn in his pocket upon purchasing. Which in turn caused the bumping up of the asking and nullification of the "I'll wait to propose until after future sister-in-law returns from honeymoon" vow.

Thankfully for hubby, sisterhood rule #2 is if a fiance breaks rule #1 because of extreme excitement and desire to proclaim eternal love of baby sister to the world, said fiance is immediately released of any former promises made to honeymooning older sister and forgiven by her permanently.

Which is a really good thing considering that six years ago today, I said yes.

(Well, actually I said, "No Way! Are you serious??? NO WAY!!! Seriously?? Get out of here! REALLY??" To which he replied, "Is that a yes?", but let's just skip past that since it wasn't exactly the reaction I hoped I'd have to the greatest question my heart had ever been asked.)

Chris, I truly believed that I could never love you more than I did in that moment.

If I could go back to that point in time, knowing what I know today, I would have interrupted your wonderful speech that professed your undying love for me. You know, the one that neither of us can actually recall the details of because we were so excited. I would have knocked over those candles in an attempt to fall into your arms a few moments sooner.

I wouldn't have been able to wait for you to finish asking before screaming, "YES!!!"

"YES! YES! YES! A THOUSAND TIMES YES!"

So much has changed since that day six years ago, including the depth of my love for you. Although I can't see how I'll ever love you more than I do today, I'm 100% certain I will.

Oh, and I can't end this post without mentioning that according to sisterhood rule #3, if one interrupts the other's honeymoon with a phone call, the necessary penance is to publicly acknowledge said behavior 6 years later.

Happy Anniversary Challi and Rob! (give or take 2 days)

Come On Over, the Party is Just Getting Started

Approximately six years ago I had a wonderful idea to throw a surprise party for Chris' 23rd birthday.

Because I wanted it to keep it intimate, I only invited everyone he worked with, his entire family, my family, and all our closest friends.

Somehow anyone who lived within a hundred mile radius made the cut.

I believed this would be the perfect gift because there is nothing he enjoys more than being in the company of those he loves most, as well as perfect strangers. The man is a people person for crying out loud.

Well, hindsight's 20/20.

Everything went very smoothly up until the moment I saw the look of sheer horror in his eyes as he realized he had been tricked into attending a celebration of his life. He might be the only surprise party recipient in history to slip out on his own bash before the guests.

Although meticulous with every detail, I had failed to think through his disdain for anything being "all about him".

Which can be a small problem when you are the guest of honor.

Somehow, basking in the limelight has never come easy to my sweet husband. He loves to socialize, but resists being the center of attention. And as frustrating as that can be for a wife who ADORES birthday festivities, his humble spirit is actually one of the qualities I admire most.

I often marvel at God's creativity, simply by looking at all the unique qualities in Chris. Although athletic, hard-working, practical, organized, and aggressive, he is equally as artistic, creative, tender, inquisitive, and evangelical.

And were it not for his strong calling to the ministry, he also has the gifts to be a photographer, financial planner, carpenter, artist, architect, chef, or even a designer.

The man has some serious skills!

I especially love how all those characteristics have translated into one pretty amazing husband and father.

And as much as I would love to publicly celebrate hubs with a huge party on his birthday, five years of marriage has taught me not to repeat past mistakes.

So, Chris, since a surprise party is off limits, I thought I would go with something a little more subtle this year.

Think of it as a compromise.

Welcome to your very own "private" Happy Birthday Blog Party, where you aren't physically the center of attention, but your life is celebrated all the same. Even if it is by people who stumbled upon this blog by googling "toddler poop". I'm sure they are still really nice folks.

And although, technically, it is still a surprise party, this time you have permission to leave before the guests.

Happy Birthday, my love!

*As a rule of thumb, I don't usually post pictures of smelly fish on my blog, but I'm sacrificing for your birthday. If that isn't true love, I don't know what is. (And because I know you so well, I want to clarify that I was talking about my sacrifice and not your relationship with the fish:)

For the Family

For all of you people out there related to me that have been patiently (ha-ha) waiting to see Chris' message from this weekend, WAIT NO MORE. Although the church was generous enough to provide us with DVD's to pass on to his "Family Fan Club", I thought it would be faster and easier to let you know that it is posted online until Dec. 2.

Click here to go directly to it. Our Senior Pastor does an intro, so don't think I've sent you to the wrong link when you see him instead of Chris at first.

(And of course any non-family members reading this are welcome to view it, as well)

Extreme Husband: Landscape Edition

I read a magazine survey, recently, that said 95% of women wish their man would do more around the house. Apparently, the stereotypical male relies on his wife for the majority of things.

My hubby, on the other hand, takes self sufficiency to the extreme. Being waited on and catered to makes him nervous and uncomfortable. His motto tends to be, "Why would I want anyone else to do for me what I can do myself?"

And truthfully, there is not a lot he can't do. Cooking? Smack your lips kind of good. Cleaning? Not a nook or cranny left untouched. Organizing? To the point of arranging the canned goods in alphabetical order.

Honestly, he is so thorough and efficient at any and everything that it sometimes just gets on my nerves.

Upon arriving home from the honeymoon, I was determined to do everything I felt a "good wife" would do. And I am domestically challenged, so it was a true labor of love. I made beds, I cooked, I did dishes, and so on and so forth.

But, each day I would notice more strange happenings. For example, one morning, I noticed that the bedspread seemed straighter and smoother than when I first had made it. The next day, it seemed like the leftovers were seasoned better than my original creation. I began to fear I was losing it, imagining things to be different than they really were.

Until I discovered the truth.

Everything changed on day 20 of our marriage when I caught him in the act. He was secretly reloading the dishes I had put in the dishwasher an hour before.

The confrontation went down.

"Chris, if I didn't know better, I would think you are going behind me and re-doing all the housework I'm doing. If you are going to come behind me and re-do things, darling, I would just assume to not even do them in the first place."

"Britt, that would be so great. I really would love for you to just let me do this stuff, baby, and sneaking around behind you just takes too much energy and makes me feel dishonest."

My feelings were actually hurt for about .05 seconds before the reality of it all sunk in.

And then it was as if the pearly gates had just opened up and the angels were singing me a private concert. What a beautifully glorious day that was, when I realized I had just married my father, the kind of man who gets up early to make sure your car is warm and gas tank is full. And scrubs toilets better than June Cleaver. Could it really be possible that I could be both born into and married to the last two men on earth that thrive on housework?

Thank you, Mom, for giving me the gene of good taste.

And so, the marital roles were established and agreed upon. He did everything, and I fully appreciated and adored him.

Now fast forward, 5 years later.

I am a stay at home mom, so obviously things have shifted a tad. He still helps tremendously, but I have tried to step it up in the inside our house department. Although he still handles all bills, loves to cook, is the sole vacuum user, and does his share of deep cleaning, I try to limit his role to only taking full responsibility for the outdoor endeavors of home ownership.

And that's probably a good thing since I'm not even sure what those endeavors would be.

But needless to say, Chris is not the stereotypical man when it comes to the domestic skills side. So, imagine my shock when I arrived home from a week at Resort De Grandparents to find this:

Where was my husband and who was this impostor that had greeted me and Park in the driveway?

As it turned out, there was no time for dishes and laundry because the landscaping had received an unexpected Extreme Home Makeover. And when hubby tackles a task, he means BUSINESS. Entire flowerbeds were overhauled, dug out so deeply that we now have the option to someday bury ourselves in our own front yard.

No, sir, there is nothing halfway about my Chris.

Apparently, he took my tree post very seriously, considering our backyard has now been transformed into a full-fledged forest. He planted a total of 12 twigs trees or at least green leafy things that seem to aspire to be trees someday.

But my biggest bewilderment at this point are the cone-like items that are occupying our yard. Upon examining them closely, I have discovered that I indeed have no clue as to what they are, but they bear a terrifying resemblance to this:

Except they are around the neck of the smallest saplings I have ever seen, which hubby meticulously transported from the yards of his sweet parents. Do you see the striking similarity?

Apparently, in a moment of pure gardening selflessness, Chris decided to forgo things such as eating, sleeping and clean underwear to ensure that the people who live in our house in 2107 will not suffer the same treeless existence that we are.

What that magazine survey did not reveal was that the five percent of woman who don't need their man to do more around the house, actually need him to do less in the yard.

Hopefully, project "Landscape Overhaul" may distract him from reloading the dishwasher behind my back, but I'm not holding my breath.

Fashion Choices Expressed in This Post are NOT a Reflection of the Blogger, Herself

My husband has a problem and this time, I'm not even claiming it is a "hypothetical" issue. I constantly live in fear that the police could arrest him at any moment.

The fashion police, that is.

Now, if you have seen my handsome hubby out and about, you might think I'm blowing things out of proportion. But let me give you a little history behind this problem before you make any snap judgements, keeping in mind that Jesus commands us to speak the truth in love, and all.

It began in early 2001, (or at least that's when I became aware of the problem) with the ugliest camouflage pants ever known to man. To make matters worse, they seemed to make appearances at the most inappropriate times, including but not limited to church services, dinner at nice restaurants and even a wedding or two. So who could blame me if I "might have" thrown them out behind hubby's back upon returning from our honeymoon?

And so began the top secret mission of slowly weeding out his wardrobe.

So you can imagine my dismay when the same hideous camo pants of '01 reappeared in hubby's wardrobe as cut-off shorts in '03. Turns out, it took him 2 years to work up the nerve to reveal he had been on a little secret rescue mission of his own.

In contrast to the problem of sporting sub-par clothing while attending classy functions, he also suffers with the other extreme of fashion discernment (or lack there of, as the case may be).

Now, I'm no expert on yard work, but it seems to me that collared shirts and dress shoes might be a tad too much for mowing the lawn. Or when playing basketball, for that matter. Sadly, I am telling the truth. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried, folks.

And although my initial reaction was simply to do away with anything purchased before the marriage vows were exchanged, these last 5 years have taught me that I'm dealing with a much more severe situation than I originally assessed.

The problem is not that hubby has no style. It is that husband has no knowledge of when and where it is appropriate to display said style. So, even when the closet is fully stocked with articles of clothing I deem completely appropriate, they are often worn in a manner that makes me cringe and repeat to myself,

"My husband's fashion choices are not a reflection of me."

But a girl must draw the line when he passes his transgressions on to the next generation. As I sit and type this post, Chris and Park are currently down the street, playing in a large pile of dirt together, fully clothed in their Sunday best.

And, as I hear the sirens getting closer, I find myself repeating, "The fashion choices that my husband and son make are not a reflection of me."

But on the bright side, maybe the police will confiscate the camo shorts (and lock them up for good!)