her daddy's girl

Daddy: "Reesie, what do you like better, baseball or basketball?"

Chica: "Umm...cheese ball."

Ok, so maybe she's more of her mama's girl.

in the past thirty-six hours...

1. Spoiling detox is well underway. Chica spent the past week with her grandparents who had some seriously pent up loving they lavished on our toddler. They did not hold back. Now we've returned to the real world, where bed time exists and our planet revolves around the sun instead of our nearly two year old. Since our plane touched down, many tantrums have been had. (And not just by my daughter.) Heaven help me.


2. I've turned into an Olympic junkie. So much for an early bedtime, the games are keeping me up until 11:00, night after awesome night. My observations:
*Apolo Ohno has very nice teeth.
*You know Lindsey Vonn is beautiful when, after skiing 90 miles an hour down a mountainside she still looks like a supermodel.
*What's the appeal of cross country skiing?
*Go Evan!!!
*U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

3. I attended a choir concert at a local high school and a dad asked me if I was a student. God bless him.

4. I've listened to this song about 30 times.

5. I lost all my senses and agreed Reese could ride in the sports car shopping cart at Kroger. It's been a rough couple of days and all we needed were a few things. I caved.

I immediately regretted that decision. I can barely steer a regular shopping cart, much less one with 12 feet of extra plastic attached to the front. By the time I finagled the thing into the store, and through the first aisle, Chica was yelling "I'm stuck!! I'm stuck!!"

No, you're strapped in.

A few patrons almost became roadkill. I contemplated running myself over and calling it a day.

6. To top off my driving self esteem, as I dragged the trash bin up the driveway and into the garage, Danny came running out the door. He had heard all the racket and assumed I had pulled the car in the garage and crashed it into the far wall.

I could carry on, but I'll cut the crazy off there. What's going on with you guys?

still here

It's one of those seasons bloggers. I'm not fond of the "b" word. (The one that rhymes with frizzy.)

Thinking through some stuff. Be back soon!

snowed in (for real!)

After teasing southern meteorologists everywhere, I've learned my lesson. Monday morning we woke up to real, mid-western like, sticky snow! Six inches of the stuff. School was cancelled for two days.

By the time I was out of bed, Dan had Big Girl layered up and ready to go play in it.

I grabbed the camera because I wasn't about to miss out on all the fun!

Dan went to work on Reese's snowman.

Along the way, he tweaked the design. The partial snowman became a snow seat for Chica.

After a quick picture of her on her throne, it was back to work.

Working...



working...



a real team effort. (Well except for me. I had to document of course!)





Annnd finished!

A few hours later he suffered a deadly, debilitating fall. Thank goodness. He would have been here until June.

ministry bubbles

Hi bloggers. I'm sorry I've neglected you, yet again. It's just been one of those weeks. A tough ministry week. Nothing new. If you've been in full time ministry for any length of time you know it's inevitable. Heck, if you work with people in any kind of job for any length of time, you know it's inevitable.

I was thinking about how to appropriately explain what happens when you get hurt in ministry. Ministry is kind of like playing with bubbles.

It's exciting. You find yourself doing things you didn't know you would do...

or could do. You get fired up. You're on a roll.

And then, without warning a little bit gets in your eyes.

It's just a tiny bit, but man does that tiny bit hurt. Stings, really.

You wonder if popping bubbles is even worth the risk of that kind of pain.

So you take a time out. You turn to One who is present and understands the pain. As you behold the One, the sting loses its edge.

With this new found sense of healing, you decide to get back in the game.

After all, the bubbles won't last forever.

The reward however, most certainly will.

a can of beans

Last week while dinner was cooking on the stove, Chica decided she wanted to help me empty the dishwasher. It always takes longer when she helps, but it makes her feel like big stuff. How can I resist? As she handed me a dish to put away I realized she's become much more efficient since she first started "helping." While we worked, I couldn't help but swell with pride seeing her shuffle across the floor and place the cookie sheet in the right drawer.

"She is such a smart child," I thought to myself.

What should I teach her next?

I wonder what age she could start doing laundry?

She is well on her way to becoming a productive, contributing member of society!

Just as I was writing her Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech, something caught my eye that stopped me mid-thought.

Perspective.

In the form of a can of green beans sitting in the utensil basket.