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Saturday, December 7, 2013

Don't Go

Perhaps I've shared before that my extended family is small. On most holidays or significant events, the go-to people in my family are my mom, dad, grandma, and grandpa. There is Rick's family and a few more relatives on my side (which I am not discounting), but from the very beginning, it's always been us four. I would be lying if I said I didn't sometimes resent the smallness, the siblings I never had. Maybe that's why I've always wanted lots of children...hmmmm...
So, it's really no wonder why when the rock of this little family, my grandma, has been given the ultimate trial of her life that I have been a complete wreck. The roller coaster that started a few weeks ago ended with disappointment last night as we learned about her cancer, the inability to treat, and all of the other details you find out when you're terminally ill.
When she was finished, I asked, "How long?" I don't know why I asked. Maybe because in the movies they ask. Maybe because that's what you're supposed to ask when you have untreatable carcinoma. "We didn't ask. We don't want to know," was my mom's answer. The relief I felt when she didn't have an answer. It was a dumb question, anyway.
So, now as I prepare to talk to my grandma for the very first time after this news, I can't find the words. I called last night and my grandpa's upbeat voice was too much to handle, so I gave GG the phone. I whispered things I wanted her to say. She talked to my grandpa, grandma, and mom. She said things like, "I love you," and, "Don't worry about anything." All things I want to say so desperately, but somehow can't. My words get caught in my throat and all I have to show for how I feel is tears. I want to be strong, but have reverted back to the 5 year old my grandma used to take to Steak and Eggs after shopping at Montgomery Wards. My 33 year old self really just wants to hug her and beg her not to go. Please don't go, Grandma...as if she would ever willingly deny that request. That's why I can't even go see her. I really don't think I could keep myself from such ridiculous requests. And does anyone who has to go really want someone begging them to stay? Wouldn't that just make the leaving so much harder?

As I've sat here for at least 15 minutes trying to find a way to transition to the positive, the moral, the inspiration, I've got nothing. At least right now. I've got no good way to sum up this post. 
It is what it is. Ending right in the awkward middle...

I'd end with where I see God, but I am frustrated and my eyes are swollen. 
I know He understands.


Sunday, November 10, 2013

This Is The Good Life

In the words of the famous poet, Timbaland, "It's been a long time, I shouldn'ta left you...without a dope beat to step to."  Yes, it's been some time since I've been away and there's no big reason why other than life.  I've been living it and boy have I been busy. Trust me, I don't think I have the market cornered on being busy, feeling stressed, and barely keeping up with the demands of everything/one around me. 
In the three or four months since my last post, my senses have become heightened to all of the people around me that are stressed and overwhelmed.  I hear people talk, I read facebook posts, I listen to my own inner voice and the constant message is loud and clear: How to keep up with the demands of raising a child, juggle a career, make time for yourself, and still be a good spouse/daughter/son/brother/grandchild...
I feel like it's what so many of us in the child raising stage of our life are going through.

And then, Rick and I went to the park with the girls this morning and I looked through the many shots I had captured...the images that so very well reflect this crazy, hectic stage of our lives and I thought to myself...
This is it.  This is the good life.  This is the best my life has ever been and why am I spending one second of it anxious, stressed, or overwhelmed.  Every second I give to feelings of angst denies me a moment of gratitude and being present and aware of the life that's happening now.

On Friday, we had our first official visit since the twins have been accepted into the First Steps Program.  The evaluator came and, as I kept the twins entertained in the playroom, asked Rick all kinds of questions about life and routines.  Very seriously, like he was in a therapy session, I heard the evlauator tell Rick he was going to ask some very personal questions.  I listened intently and heard him ask, "If you could change one thing about your life, what would you change?" Rick thought for a moment.  I was waiting on pins and needles to hear what he was going to say.
"I wouldn't change anything," he answered.

He wouldn't change anything.
And neither would I.

We are in the best parts of our lives, and by we, I mean all of us...you included.  We don't need to change anything.  We just need to stop letting the stresses of life deprive us from truly appreciating and celebrating each other.

So, today when we were at the park and I was busy trying to get the girls to look this way or that way, trying to get them to smile or hug each other, I realized I should stop stressing about what I wanted them to do and just capture what was real.

And now to the purpose of every post...

Today, I saw God in wind-blown hair, flowers in the midst of fallen leaves, sisters tripping in the grass, a Daddy who uses any means necessary to transport his little little rascals, and a Mommy's heart that didn't hear any nagging whispers of things to do or prepare for.


Monday, July 22, 2013

Dates With My Daughters- Part I

At the Farmer's Market on Saturday, a man walked up to me and the twins while we were waiting on Rick and Gabriella to make a choice at the beer cheese booth.  He commented how happy the twins looked, but then he looked at me and said, "You strike me as the type of mom who's never going to take moments with these girls for granted."  I must admit that I took this stranger's assessment as a compliment.  Maybe it's because I try so hard to appreciate every single second with my family and I was amazed that someone noticed.  Even more, it was almost like God had noticed...like he was giving me a thumb's up, telling me I'm on the right track.

This summer has been crazy.  I've taken a new position at school which comes with a whole new set of responsibilities and challenges.  I knew that when I interviewed for the position, so there's no surprise there.  The real surprise has come from the increase in my photography business.  Now, an official LLC (woot! woot!), I have more clients and inquiries than I ever thought would be possible.  Photography is becoming a full time job, but news flash, I already have one!  What I do at school has always, and will always take precedence over my photography as I feel like that's God's 1st plan for me.  However, I do feel like I've been given this extra gift of photography which finds me scrounging around for moments of time when my family is sleeping, so that I can fulfill my obligations and still be around to catch all those moments that man was referring to the other day. Bottom line, I stay tired and about 1 inch from going too far under the water.  I have a lot on my plate, as we all do.  Trust me, I don't think I have the market cornered on fatigue and sacrifice for my family.  If you are a loving parent, you're tired and you're making sacrifices too! I think we're all just holding on to those special, little moments/gifts in life that keep us going until the next one arrives.

Well, all that to say I had one of those keep-you-going-moments last night with Gabriella.  In an effort to never be a parent that shows favoritism to one of our children, Rick and I try to have special dates with each of the girls.  Personally, I see the short-term and long-term effects of parents who put a little more effort and interest into one sibling.  Reason it how you may, a child sees this extra interest as love.  Maybe I'll fail miserably, but my goal is for none of the girls to ever think one of the others is my favorite or loved more, but to each secretly think that she is.  Does that make sense?  I don't want any of them to look back and think I put more time or energy into their siblings, but I do want each of them to always hold a special feeling that they were most loved.  Maybe when I'm long gone, they'll all gather around a table and fight over who was my favorite, citing the special times I created with each of them as evidence.  No one will win.

Anywho, I plan on blogging about each of my dates with the girls and last night was Gabriella's turn.  Gabriella is dramatic.  She is a girly girl through and through.  So the perfect date for Gabriella: dinner at a fancy restaurant and a play.  

As we got ready, Gabriella wanted to use the "hot thing I can't touch" on her hair.  I have never curled her hair for fear of burning her, but with extra promises to be still, I gave it a go.  Gabriella looked in the mirror and flipped her hair back and forth.  Then, she wanted to put on make-up, so I got really crazy and tried to put mascara on her as she feigned attempts of looking up. I just knew I was going to get a big glob of black right in her pupil, but my hand was exceptionally steady for some reason.  She picked through my jewelry and finally settled on a pearl necklace.  The final touch was one squirt of perfume. 

On the way downtown, Gabriella asked me to turn the music up and she clapped to the beat of every song that played the entire way. 

At our pre-play dinner, we ate at a restaurant that I was sure would appeal to Gabriella.  With eclectic shabby-chic decor, it was the perfect place for a little girl to have dinner.  Gabriella ordered her own drink and meal using the words "May I," and "Please," after pretending to read the menu.  She held my hand while we waited and said, "Mommy, this is the best day ever."

As we made our way to see what would be her very 1st play, she stopped and talked to people along the way.  "I bet they're going to the play, too," my little Sherlock would whisper to me.  She would tell other little girls and their mothers they looked beautiful, and while she sat perfectly still through the entire play with her hands clasping each other, I kept looking at her thinking the exact same thing. She is beautiful. Not just on the outside, either.  Gabriella has a compassion for people, a love for people that is indescribable. She is genuine and sincere and truly cares.  She is wise.  Wiser than I will ever be at her young age of 3 and I am in awe as I ponder what greatness she will one day achieve.  Something perfectly suited and tailored to her unique spirit and love for others.

As we drove home in the dark, she cried.  After meeting one of the actresses who said she would play with Gabriella, I had "taken her away!"  When the tears finally subsided, as only our family would do, we stopped for french fries and made our way back home to a daddy who had taken the time to call the theatre and request that the main actor make a special fuss over Gabriella.

And long after midnight, as my family was fast asleep, I was wide awake with a smile on my face...with excitement and joy that still lingered from a perfect night.  How lucky am I that I get to do this 2 more times, with 2 more equally special, unique little girls.  AND, we can keep doing it...for a lifetime.

Look, I'm pretty good at analyzing myself.  I know where my faults are and I know what I need to work on.  But, that stranger, the man who came up to me and said he could tell I cherished each moment...

I do.

I really do.

And I hope you do, too.

I can't wait to share the memories I'll be making on my next 2 dates!


Friday, June 7, 2013

Who Cares

Yesterday, as we all decided to venture to Gabriella's dress rehearsal, breaking the "No small children rule," we were in our usual state of chaos.  It doesn't matter how early we start to get ready for something, we always end up late.  It was at the exact time we needed to leave (3:15) when Genevieve decided to spit up all over my dress...almost.  With my usually slow reflexes, I was surprisingly fast and caught it all in my hand.  Score!  

As we made our way to the rehearsal site, Gabriella informed me she had found a little white thread.  Turns out that little thread was part of a bigger thread connected to her tights.  The result:  a huge, gaping hole in her tights right in the middle of her leg.  With her hair only partially fixed (because I didn't have time to find the required bow) and the torn tights, I was afraid we might get dirty looks.  I could just hear the other dance moms. Look at that poor little girl.  Doesn't her mom know what dress-rehearsal means?

Rewind to Tuesday night.

After dinner, Rick and I took the girls for milkshakes.  Rick's allergies have been bothering him, so we ended up enjoying our milkshakes in the car at the park.  We rolled down the windows, sang along to Bob Seger's Night Moves, which may or may not have been appropriate lyrics, but he does sing, "Sweet Summertime," and that seemed to fit.  Marielle said, "Ma-ma," while Genevieve said, "Da-da!" We watched a man in a suit fly a remote control airplane and we slurped our shakes down to the very last thick drop.

Rewind to last Saturday.

With rain in the forecast, we ventured to the fair.  Gabriella wanted to ride a helicopter ride that went in the air.  I kept saying to Rick, "You know she will be afraid.  As soon as the ride starts, she's going to freak out.  Let's just eat and play games."  Sure enough, Gabriella walked right up to that helicopter, held firmly onto the wheel and soared through the sky, waving only briefly so she could keep that secure grip.  Marielle and Genevieve waved proudly at their big sister and I teared up...realizing what a hard time I have letting go.  Anywho, we ordered hotdogs, hamburgers, corndogs, 4 orders of french fries, 2 pickles and tried to win a cake or a doll to no avail.  We ended our fair trip playing BINGO, Rick getting every possible number he could and still NOT being able to win.  That deserved a prize in itself.  When we got home, we all went to bed.  It was 7:30.

Back to last night.

So there's Gabriella up on stage.  Her little family rooting her on.  Marielle and Genevieve loving the movement and music.  Rick steadying his hand on the video camera and me...jumping from row to row, trying to get the best shot in stage lighting, which by the way, is impossible.  The music played and I don't think Gabriella remembered one thing in the correct order.  When she was supposed to kick, she twisted.  When she was supposed to, "Upside, heel, upside down, heel," she was twisting!  All the while, the only thing I wanted to do was to stand in the chair and yell out to the audience that was only half paying attention, "Do you see that one?  The one with the hole in her tights not doing the routine that she was taught?!  She's mine! She's mine!"  Looking at my family in the back of the auditorium, I thought, They're mine.

And so who cares that Rick's car's engine blew up and it's going to cost $6200, so we have a ginormous paper-weight in our garage?
And who cares that our only car has a whole in the tire and we don't have time to get it fixed, so we just keep pumping more air into it?
And who cares that we've got a small amount of time and an even smaller budget to find a van so Rick isn't left here without a vehicle when I go back to school?
These are the things that weigh on my mind, but lately, in the midst of milkshakes, helicopters, failed BINGO attempts, and dress rehearsals...
I find myself thinking, "Who cares?"

Maybe I should, but I don't really. I've got other things on my mind!

I hope that you have already started seeing God in your summer and that He's helping you know when to say, "Who cares?"



Thursday, May 30, 2013

Mismatched Socks

Yesterday, as we were about to leave for a family trip to Target, Gabriella made a grand entrance into the foyer, announcing that she was ready to leave.  In a dress that was a tad too short, wool shoes that barely fit because they had seen their prime during colder months, and mismatched rockstar socks, she was surely a sight.  So proud of what she had put together, I couldn't help, but be proud too.  After all, she is getting better at dressing herself from head to toe...a clear sign that she is growing up.  Tear.

I must be honest, though.  For a second (ok, maybe longer), I thought about asking her to change.  Having this thought cross my mind made me check myself.  Why would I ask her to change?  What would be the purpose? At what point in our lives do we stop feeling confident in mismatched socks and out of season shoes?  At what point in our lives do we learn to care about what others view as acceptable or appropriate?  

For example, I have stayed away from public pools for a long time...since I had Gabriella.  For those of you that keep asking me to join you, now you know why.  :)  My fear is that someone might see that I have not been able to have three children and maintain my early 20s weight.  Shocker.  Why do I care?  Why does it matter?  Why can't I wear the things that make me self conscious with the same kind of pride that accompanies GG as she wears mismatched socks?  Ugh.  I wish I had that kind of confidence.  The kind of confidence a 3 year old has...

She'd never know that I want to be like her in that regard, though.  And I suppose if I'm being a good example of self-confidence and assurance, she never will.  It can just be our little secret...  hehehe 

I hate to think of the day when Gabriella starts matching her socks.  Until that day comes, I will gladly see God in odd, mismatched pairs that will adorn her feet and be a cause of her smile.


Saturday, May 11, 2013


When I came home yesterday, the girls were all down for a nap. Rick was going out to run some Mother's Day errands, so I was left to a quiet house.
What to do, what to do...
I could clean...nah.
I could exercise...nah.
My ways to irresponsibly use my time are limited these days, so I walked up to each door of the girls' rooms and listened.  I soon figured out I didn't need to press my ear against the door. What was going on was loud enough to hear if I just sat down right in the middle of the hallway.

From the twins' room, I heard the sweet rhythm of breathing. From Gabriella's room, I heard the clickety clack of her doll house toys and that precious little voice acting out the roles of the pretend family (the Griswolds).  For the longest time, I just listened...

What a treat, to listen and hear in return those remarkable moments of life.  They are proof.  Proof that life is real.

Yet, for some reason, we choose not to listen.  We allow ourselves to be distracted.  We allow ourselves to be so busy we don't give ourselves the opportunity to listen.  It's a privilege really, but do we treat it as such?
Instead of looking for God this Mother's Day weekend, perhaps I will try listening for Him.


Monday, April 22, 2013

Coming Home

What if after a long day of shopping or even a short grocery trip, you came home and everyone in your house rushed to greet you as you walked through the door?  What if they applauded your arrival?  What if they kissed you and hugged you?  How would it make you feel?

I've noticed that each day when I come home from school, everyone seems so excited. They make a point to make a big deal of my arrival.  Maybe it's because Gabriella wants a new Hide-and-Seek buddy.  Maybe it's because Rick is happy to see someone that doesn't cry or pout when they don't get their way.  Maybe it's because the twins are just happy to see anyone.  I don't know what it is, but when I come home my family makes me feel like they missed me.  Truly missed me.

And I try to do the same for Rick.  Whenever Rick returns from errands or driving around the block to get away from the madness (I'm only partially kidding), I, too, try to make a big deal that he's home!  I encourage the girls to run (or waddle) and greet him.  I make a point to tear myself away from the latest Real Housewives episode to let him know I am happy to see him.  I mean, isn't that what we all want...to know that there are people that truly love being in our presence.  That's a good feeling to receive, but it's an even better feeling to give to someone else.

Rick snapped this picture of GG and me at the park the other day.  As I'm thinking about the whole idea behind this post, this photo came to mind.

I love the thought of coming home.  I love knowing what's waiting for me when I get there.  I love that for all the people who could care less if I'm around, there are four that think I'm fabulous...and I think the same of them.  I'm excited to see them.  I hear the garage when Rick's coming home and I'm like a little dog wagging its tail and scraping at the door.  It's sad, really...
But it's not.

I love coming home...and I hope you do, too.

My challenge to you is this:
Tonight (or tomorrow if it's too late), make the people you love feel overwhelmed by your excitement that they have come home. 


Saturday, April 13, 2013


I've been trying to think of something significant to do with the walls in the girls' new playroom.  I don't just want to paint them.  I want to do something unique...something that means something.  There's just one problem, I am not artistic when it comes to drawing.  I feel pretty artistic when it comes to photography, but not with a pencil, crayon, marker, or paint brush.  It's just not my forte.


When something has meaning...
It stands out from the ordinary...
 Marked by a moment, thought, or feeling that is worthy...

I want the the things I do, the things I say, even the stuff that's on our walls to be

As I was staring at the playroom walls over spring break, a thought came to me.  What if we used the main wall in the playroom as a canvas for our hand prints.   Whenever something significant happens, let's mark the occasion by placing our painted hands on the wall.  Let's date it, and as time goes by, our wall will change.  Those little hands will start to grow and who knows...maybe there will be more hand prints one day.  A wall full of our hands.  I thought it was the perfect idea.

So, on April 7, 2013, we all painted our hands yellow.  There was paint everywhere!  It didn't take long to figure out that 1 year olds don't like to open their hands, spread their fingers, and let you have your way. As a matter of fact, neither do 3 year olds!  None the less, we got our canvas started.  Before I wrote anything on the wall, Rick and I had the following conversation:

Me: What is today's date?
Rick: April 7th
Me: Ok, so I don't mess this up: 3-7-13
Rick: No! It's 4-7-13!
Me: Oh yeah!  I'm so glad I didn't write that!

So, I carefully wrote the date that marked the last day of a fun-filled spring break.  We all looked at the wall, high-fived its appeasing aesthetic and left it to dry.  

A few hours later, I stopped to notice how nicely the paint was drying and I couldn't believe it.  

Right there, as plain as day...
the incorrect date that wouldn't happen for 10 more days:

After everything I did to make sure I did it right, I still did it wrong.  
In all of our celebrating...
In all of our finger-painting...
In all of the joy and chaos that defines who we are as a family...

I had written the wrong date.
But actually, I couldn't be happier that I did because now...

the very first (of hopefully many) finger-painted hands that will adorn our playroom wall have marked an occasion that instantly became even more significant.

I see God in the ways we fill our days, not the dates on which they happened.


Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Wanna Play Woo?

So Gabriella comes up to me the other day and in her sweetest voice asks, "Mommy, do you wanna play Woo?"  At first I was puzzled, couldn't remember a game called Woo. Then it came to me...

For the past couple of weeks, we have been getting used to our new house. We're finding ways to use our space and that includes running, jumping, spinning, etc.  We didn't have that much space before so it's kind of like going from a Smart car to a Suburban. Lots more room. One night after dance class, Gabriella asked me if I wanted to practice leaping with her. With our newfound room, I of course, said yes! Around the room we galloped and practiced leaps like gazelles. Each time I would leap, I would throw my arms up in the air and exclaim, "Wooooo! Wooooo!" When Gabriella wanted to play a game of Woo, this is what she wanted.

Tonight, we celebrated the twins turning 1. Is it even possible that we have survived this first year? It's been hard, but not as hard as every well-meaning woman who stopped me in the grocery while I was pregnant made it out to be. Sure, I've cried, been frustrated, felt tremendous pressure or fatigue, but maybe it hasn't seemed so bad because we've been playing Woo.  Maybe we didn't always call it that, but that's what we've been doing. 

When things are tough...when babies are crying, the phone is ringing, peas are boiling over on the stove, and GG is yelling, "I gotta go poo poo!" we start playing Woo. We throw our arms in the air and yell out, "Wooooo! Wooooo!"

Last night I was so tired. We were feeling the effects of a late birthday evening the night before, I had pictures to work on, lessons to plan, and a hubby that was falling asleep in the glider as I talked to him. GG came up to me and asked, "Mommy, wanna play Woo?" Really? Right now? When I am so incredibly tired. I mustered all the strength I had and said yes and we "Woo"ed all around this place! The twins were cracking up and it wasn't long before we all were. 

When I look back on this year...the twins' first year, sure I remember the tough spots, but whatstands out the most are those loving, exciting moments of Woo.

I hope you will consider playing. It's so much fun! And you know what...it won't be too long after you've started playing that you'll be sure to have visitor. I think someone once said that God loves a good ol' fashion game of Woo. (Actually, that's not true at all. No one ever said that, but it does have a nice ring to it, right?!)


Monday, March 18, 2013

It's the Walls

For real.  I almost forgot I had a blog.  Let's see, it's been 2 months since my last post and in those 2 months my family sold our house and moved into a new one!  Funny what life can bring.

As I've shared with people about the big move, everyone is so excited for us and, of course, asks for a description, or pictures.  While I am happy to oblige and appreciate the interest of others, here is what I really want to share about my new house, only I can't because if I went into this big shpill I would surely be looked at as crazy!

Our new home is an extension of us.  It's really like the 6th member of our family.  I could share with you details about flooring, square footage, and layout, but those aren't the things that personify this home.  
It's the walls.

If you think about your home...

There's something that all homes have in common and that is they have walls.  
Walls that are privy...
Privy to your joy
your tears
your worries
your hopes
your arguments
your frustrations
your celebrations

Your walls are there for it all.  Your home is there for it all.  Whether you realize it or not, your home starts to weave itself into your life, the memories you are making.  Maybe that's why I get so sentimental when I think about the places we've called home before and the place we call home now.  I know that when I look back on the special and ordinary occasions of life, I will remember where we lived.  Where we played.  Where we cooked.  Where we prayed.  Where we laughed. Where we played Hide-and-Seek.  Where we cried.  

Where we loved.

Where He resides.

So, no pictures for this post.  It doesn't really matter what it looks like.  

All that does matter is we're home.

Tonight, I saw God shining down on our new house as I came home.


Sunday, January 20, 2013

Some Things Never Get Old

Whenever I'm at home, my camera is usually within reach.  There is such power in living a moment, but then when you have the option to capture it...to keep it forever, well, I guess that's the reason I take so many photos of my family.  Although the day and time may be different...although the background might change...
some moments never get old.  
They are the moments that always seem worth capturing, no matter how many times they've been captured before.

As I was sorting through the pictures I've taken these week, I recognized these special moments that have a way of weaving themselves in day after day, year after year.


Seeing the candles on a cake that represent another year of life...
that never gets old.

Watching Gabriella discover something for the very first time...
that never gets old.

 Listening to Marielle squeal in delight...
that never gets old.

Looking into Genevieve's adoring eyes...
that never gets old.

What are the parts of your life that never get old?  The moments that mean as much on the 100th time as they did on the 1st.  These are the moments to look forward to and these are the moments to cherish.

This week, I have seen God in candles, discoveries, squeals, and eyes that never ever get old!


Saturday, January 12, 2013

I Cut My Toenails

I cut my toenails.
I know what you're thinking.
Who cares...
That's disgusting...
I can't even believe I'm going to share this, but you know what?  Rick said it was like sleeping with a bear.  He said I had claws.  
He told me to cut my toenails...
But then, two twins that shall remain nameless started to cry and poop out of their diapers and another nameless 3 year old started running around, jumping on the couch pretending she was a fairy.

Let's see, change diapers, keep fairy safe, or cut toenails...
These are (as insurance companies like to call them) the random acts of God that keep interfering with insignificant tasks getting done...
like toenails being cut.
Imagine yourself as a big jar with lots of marbles inside.  Each marble represents a little bit of the energy, love, time, etc. that you have to give to the other people in your life.  Rather, the energy, love, time, etc. that the people in your life require.  They need these things.

During the course of my day, many of my marbles are taken at school.  As a teacher, it is my responsibility to be what the students need.  Of course, educator falls into the category of roles, but so do many other things.  The problem is, my best days at school are the days where the most marbles have been taken.  After all, I have 24 students that are all vying for my marbles.
When I come home, I have 4 people waiting at the door for me.  They squeal with delight.  They hug me.  They kiss me.

take my marbles.

So by the end of my day, when there's one marble left that actually has my name on it, you can imagine the feeling of fatigue when someone runs by in a drive-by and snatches it away from me.  I want to run after the perpetrator yelling, "Give me back my last marble!!"  Do you think anyone in this house is going to give me back my marble, though?!  Notta chance.

On 99% of days, I don't mind giving everything I have to everyone else.  There are times, though, when I am overwhelmed.  There are times, though, when I'd like to keep all of my marbles (or cut my toenails) and I feel guilty because I think that someone needs me or needs something I can do. 

Moms, I think we are so busy giving our best to the most precious lives around us that it's easy to lose sight that we deserve our best, too.

Yes, God deserves my best.
Yes, my husband deserves my best.
Yes, my children deserve my best.
Yes, my family and in-laws deserve my best.
Yes, my friends deserve my best.
Yes, my students deserve my best.

BUT, I deserve my best, too.

So, sometimes, I'm going to save some of my best for myself...not give it all away.

Which is exactly what I did earlier in the week...I cut my toenails.

Now see, isn't that a sad, sad example of giving myself my best.  Ha!  I have to start somewhere, though.  

At least Rick will let me cuddle with him again!! hehehehehe

As I look for God in the time I spend with the people I love, I'm going to make sure I see Him in the time I spend with myself!