And To All A Good Night

This elf is done. I wish I meant done shopping, baking, wrapping, and fixin'.
I mean "done" as in "stick a fork in me" done.
Pooped.
Spent.
Worn slap out.

In the past 12 days, we have been to Hogwarts and the Happiest Place on Earth. To finish things off, we went over the river and through the woods to Nana's house, too.
We had a blast. A hoot of a good time. One of the best vacations ever. (If not the best.)
I'm planning on boring you all later with retelling and pictures, but for now I am keeping it simple.

Happy Birthday, Jesus.
Merry Christmas, friends.

Is Anybody Cryin' Yet?

I know some of you have heard this phrase:

"Christmas Isn't Christmas Until _______ "
Then you fill in the blank with whatever signifies the start of the holiday season to you.

I've heard: "Christmas Isn't Christmas Until..."
... Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer plays on TV.
... I have a cup of hot chocolate.
... The tree is up.
... I buy the first present.
... The first Christmas card comes in the mail.


I have a few favorites of my own, but it requires changing up the wording a bit.
"Christmas Ain't Christmas Until..."
... Somebody cries.
... The cat eats and poops some tinsel.
... I start stressing about what to buy the "hard-to-buy-for" people.
... Starbucks hauls out the red cups.
... I say 2 bad words while hanging up the outdoor lights. (Or tell my husband where he can put those lights.)

What "officially" starts the Christmas season for you?

Driving 101 For Preteens

Two conversations I had with the boy last week...

Conversation #1 happened while we were driving to church. The speed limit in the area is 55 mph. I may or may not have been running a teensy bit late.
As we went around a corner, he said,
"I can feel the G-Forces."

Conversation #2 happened on the way to school. The speed limit in this area is 35 mph and 20 mph (school zone). I may or may not have had a few cars behind me.
As we rounded a curve, he said,
"Gosh. You have, like, 50 cars lined up behind you."

Not too long ago, I asked him who he wanted to teach him to drive when the time came... me or Dan/Daddy?
His response?

"Well... when it comes to rules and laws, I want you to teach me."
(smile.) (I won.)

But then he said,
"I want Daddy to teach me how to get out of a spin."

Great. Because all teen drivers need to know how to get out of a spin.
I need to remember to ask Mario Andretti (I mean, Dan/Daddy) how many "spins" he's actually had to get out of.

I am also accepting applications for a personal Driver's Ed teacher. We will be filling the position in 3 - 4 years. It seems as if his parents are unqualified.

It's The Most Anxious Time Of The Year

Why do the "happy" times in our lives cause stress?
I'm okay with the stressful times causing stress, but I am against the happy times causing stress. It's just wrong.
Confused yet?

I can think of more than a few occasions which are inherently good that make people act all crazy.
Like.... remodeling a house or a room. You are getting a brand new space! But, not before somebody nails their shirt to the floor and gets an ulcer about paint color.
Or.... a wedding. A beautiful happy event! But, somebody will be in knots about the drippy candles or the bride's best friend's haircut.
Or... vacation. Finally a chance to relax! But, somebody will lose their mind over what didn't get packed or whether or not the coffee pot was left on.

I am not, by the way, speaking from experience.
Yeah, right.

Dan/Daddy and I hung the Christmas lights outside the other day, and I threatened to pull the ladder out from under him.

Almost every Christmas, I am solely responsible for the decorating. Inside and out. I get help from my people when it comes to the tree if I provide hot chocolate and music. They will say it's because I'm a perfectionist.
They are partially right.

This past Sunday afternoon, Dan/Daddy tried to get off Santa's "not helpful" list and offered his assistance with the outside lights.
If you recall my Halloween lighting fiasco, you can figure out where this is headed.
When we moved this summer, we threw away our old ladder... it was falling apart. We haven't replaced it yet, so the short kitchen step-stool had to work.
It didn't.

Dan/Daddy is a very tall guy, but the place where I wanted the lights and garland to hang is a very very tall place.
He was standing on the step-stool, stretching as far as he could, hammering little hooks into the door frame, and asking me to hand him the cord.
I obviously did not hand him the cord in the manner he thought best.
He took that moment to let me know how unhappy he was that we hadn't taken the time to get our sad cheap pathetic selves to Lowe's to buy a new ladder.

That's when I considered yanking that short little ladder out from under him.
Kidding, people. Kidding.
I love my husband and would never consider bodily harming him.
I did, however, tell him exactly where he could put the light strand. And it wasn't anywhere near the door frame.



It's the hap-happiest season of all.

The Angel Went To GoodWill And Now I Am Confused

I am asking the approximately 7.5 of you who read this blog to answer a question.
I am puzzled , but that's not unusual. I am puzzled by something that's never entered my mind before, and it's all about Christmas decorations.
Blame Pinterest (again) if you want to.

I realize that home decorating styles change ALLTHETIME. What was popular last month is out of style today. It happens with wall colors and window treatments and furniture styles and Heaven help you if you have a piece of furniture from 1998... you better paint it fast to look like it came from Pottery Barn or Anthropologie.
A girl would have to knock off the local bank to keep up with the decorating times.

Is it the same for Christmas decorations? Are we all supposed to toss last year's classic red and green ribbon for this year's hottest blue garland?

I made the mistake of looking at HGTV's website.
They listed 12 different "styles" of Christmas decor. You just thought it was all about the red and green. They also listed White, Snowy White, Warm Green and White, Pink, Simple, Over the Top, and Gold.
And 4 more.

By the way, there wasn't one single giant inflatable yard Frosty on that list.
Nor any homemade angel clothespin ornaments made by a toddler.

So how do you all decorate for Christmas?
Do you stick to a theme? Do you use all the same colors? Do you have any collections? (Is that even ok anymore?)
I want to know if you change your decor with the trends. (I may want to borrow some money from you, too.)

Every year when we haul out the holly, I go through our ornaments and lights and other stuff to see what's broken. I glued the feet back onto 3 Rudolph characters yesterday. The Nutcrackers had a makeshift hospital on my kitchen counter. Poor guys.... moving all the time does not agree with them.

The saddest discovery I made was that our tree angel doesn't work anymore. We were trying to get her to light up when I realized... she is old. OLD. Older than my child. Maybe older than some of you. We bought her one of the first Christmases after we got married. That makes her somewhere between 15 and 18. That is old in tree angel years.
I'm amazed she lasted this long.
I put her in a bag of outgrown clothes I was taking to donate. Poor old girl.

So now I'm on the hunt for a new tree topper. Not because my style changed, but because I had to.
That's what I'm talking about.... Is it just me? Or are all of you hopping onto the latest Christmas trends?
And what do you do with all the stuff that's "out of style" now? Is it going to join my angel?

Help me out here, folks.
Do you have any giant yard inflatables?
What do you do with your children's precious handmade collections?
What is your Christmas decorating philosophy?

I may need to draw on all your knowledge in my quest for a new angel.

PS.... Here's the link for the HGTV article if you're interested:
http://www.bhg.com/christmas/indoor-decorating/christmas-decorating-styles/

PSS... If anyone has a pink tree, I want to see a picture.

Hark! The Angel's Name Is Not Harold

The angel's name is either Steve or Chelsea. Just ask my son.

We spent an unhealthy amount of time in the car over the Thanksgiving weekend, and we tried listening to Christmas music to brighten the mood.
In case you were wondering, listening to Christmas music turns a long car ride into a long car ride with Christmas music.
One of our choices was Josh Groban's Christmas CD. Have mercy can that man sing.
I have a friend who forbids her children from singing along when Groban is on. She calls it sacrilege. I think she's onto something.

In the chorus of Angels we Have Heard on High, I hear this from the backseat:

"Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria, Steve and Chelsea say-o!
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria, Steve and Chelsea say-o!"

Now the boy is a smart little cookie. Very smart. He also knows lots of songs and lyrics, so I turned around and laughed.... thinking he was joking.
He wasn't.

My argument was futile.
I said,
"That is NOT what he's singing. He's saying in excelsis Deo."
The boy said,
"He is saying STEVE AND CHELSEA, MOM."

So he kept singing about Steve and Chelsea. He even asked me if it was "Steve and Chelsea say-o" or "Steve and Chelsea hey-o"
He is, apparently, concerned about getting it right.
He gets that from me.
My mom loves to tell the story about how I SWORE the old Crystal Gayle song "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue?" was actually "Don't It Make My Brownies Good?"

A song about brownies must have made more sense to me than a song about eye color.
(Still does.)

So if you hear angels singing on high, it just may be Steve and Chelsea.

I Suppose That's Why They're Called "Slippers"

I took an unofficial poll of our families over Thanksgiving, and I asked them how they all felt about the crazy Target lady. I got mixed reviews. She is, apparently, very polarizing. Either you love her or hate her.
Me? I want to be her.
Those commercials crack me up. My favorite is the one where she's "training" for Black Friday... in her red workout suit and high heels. Cracks me up.
I think she's onto something with those shoes, because I discovered that "comfortable" shoes may not the best option for me.

My Facebook status from last night:

"A house isn't a home until momma falls down the stairs."

We spent our long Thanksgiving weekend with both families, eating until we could eat no more, and we drove home yesterday. 8 hours in pouring rain. I was happy to get some laundry started and to put on my bedroom slippers. The boy and I ate dinner in front of the TV; Dan/Daddy needed to go into work for a bit.

When he returned home, I heard the garage go up. My phone rang, and it was him... calling me from the garage. I answered the phone, but he didn't reply. I heard the garage go down. Then my phone rang again... and again it was him. I answered again and got no response.

At this point, I'm thinking several things:
1. My husband's sitting on his phone and it's calling me.
2. The downstairs door is locked and he can't get in.
3. The neighborhood cat has wandered into our garage again, and I need to help get him out.
4. My husband better not be prank calling me from the garage.

So I got up from my cozy spot and hurried to see what was going on.
The "hurrying" and the "slippers" did not make a good combination.
I made the first flight just fine, but then I rounded the corner and hit the top step of the 2nd flight.
The top step was all I ever saw. My feet - in their cozy slippers - flew right out in front of me, and I bounced the rest of the way down on my backside.
Every time I hit a step and bounced up again, I said a not-so-nice word.
3 or 4 bounces and bad words later, I landed at the bottom, Dan/Daddy came running in from the garage and the boy came down right behind me on the stairs.

I mumbled something about being ok, and the boy asked if he could laugh.
Dan/Daddy started fussing at me about being more careful and not wearing ratty bedroom slippers.
Can't you just feel the love?

They really were worried about me, but once they knew I was somewhat ok, they relaxed. Even I laughed. The boy reenacted the whole thing about 21 times.

In case you were wondering, it was #1. I rushed down the stairs and bruised my elbow, my left calf, my right butt cheek and my tailbone (again)...
All because my husband was sitting on his phone.

I may never answer his phone calls again, and he better buy me new slippers for Christmas.
I'll bet the crazy Target lady never falls down her steps.

Happy Food Memories To All

I was composing this post in my head as I grated 12 cups of cheddar cheese.
OK, it was more like 3 cups, but my arm felt like it was 12.
I'm not cooking a turkey, and I am not hosting 23 people, but I am providing an important part of the meal... an appetizer. You know, because we won't have enough food at lunch.
A cheese ball with crackers to be specific. A homemade cheese ball. Don't get all impressed... it's so simple.
Which got me to thinking.
A younger cousin of Dan/Daddy requested the cheese ball. Requested that I make it. I love her to pieces, and I am happy to oblige, but anyone could have made it. Her mom has the recipe; her aunt (my mom-in-law) makes them, too. But she requested mine.
I know for a fact, that my cream cheese/cheddar cheese/spices concoction tastes no better than theirs would.
There's something about a person contributing part of the meal that makes a memory.

I have vivid associations of food with certain people. And I know I'm not alone.

My mom makes the very same cheese ball at Christmas, and it doesn't feel like Christmas without it.
My Mamaw's macaroni and cheese... no family meal is complete without it.
I remember my cousins requesting my mom's hot Velveeta dip every New Year's Eve.
I remember craving my aunt's layered Mexican dip.
No one can make a hash brown casserole taste as good as my Granny could.
Any one of us can make those things, but there's something special about the same person making it.

I have always known food and memory were connected, but I never really thought about how certain foods tie us to memories of certain people.

Now I understand why my cousins begged for my mom to make the same dip.
So, Rachel, the cheese ball is in the fridge.
I'm honored you ask me to make it.

I hope you are all with the people you love over the next few days.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

Roll Tide and Rainy Headaches

Two very important things happened over the weekend:
1. The boy went to his first Alabama football game.



2. I'm getting a job at the Weather Channel predicting (with 82% accuracy) when rain is coming.

Just kidding. I'm not getting a job at the Weather Channel. I can, however, predict the rain. Actually, it's my head that predicts it. Actually it's my raging headache that predicts it.
It started Saturday afternoon, but I blamed it on the screaming and cheering at the game. By 4:00 a.m.-ish Sunday morning, I was ready to chop off my noggin to relieve the pain. By midnight-ish last night, I was hearing thunder and rain. I had an "ah ha" moment lying there in my bed. The headache always comes before the rain.
That sounds like something you could put on a t-shirt. Or a mug.

Anywho...
The football game was a roaring good time. Dan's parents were able to get the tickets for us all, so we met them there. I believe, at one point, the boy leaned in and said, "This is better than Christmas."

This boy LOVES Alabama football.



We lived in Alabama for about 12 years, but we never swore any allegiance to either of the two big rivals.... Alabama or Auburn.
We had church members who insisted we make a choice (Alabama or Auburn) or we couldn't partake in Communion. Well, it wasn't quite that bad. But, it's not far from it.
We were always able to take the neutral road. Dan/Daddy was a Florida State fan, and I was a Clemson fan. Easy.
When the boy came along, another football fanatic was born, but he didn't really have a favorite team.
Until... while we were living in California, he said,
"If I was born in Alabama, that will be my favorite team."
So the logical love of all things Crimson Tide began. When they won the National Championship a few years after that, he was a goner.
It also gives Dan/Daddy and me a chance to join forces, and we all root for the team that represents the state we love so much.
The boy would have filled out an application on Saturday if we had allowed it.



PS... I made sure he saw the soccer fields while we were there.

Making Cats Everywhere Happy

My Wednesday night conversation with the boy:

Me: Please come in here and feed Subway. (our cat)

The Boy: OK... (getting cat food out of the pantry)
What if cat food bags had tiny cat prizes in it like some cereal does?

Me: Hmmm. That sounds like a good idea. Cats would be picking out their food just for the prize.
Why don't you invent that and make your momma rich?

The Boy: Nope. Me and Subway will keep all the money.

It's a win/win situation for cats everywhere.
Remember, you saw it here first.

I'd Rather Be The Po-Po

I was about to title this post: Local Yokels
When I looked up the definition of "local yokel" on a few websites, I realized I am not...

local yokel:
1. Trucker slang for city police officer as in
"That town up ahead is crawling with local yokels."

(By the way, I call them the po-po.)

The definition I was looking for was:

local yokel:
2. a naive or gullible inhabitant of a rural area or small town

We've lived here 4 months now, and it still fells like we're settling in.
In an attempt to feel more like folks who know what's going on, we have been "touring" and "visiting" parts of the area.
I don't want to be a naive local.

We went hiking at a cave and park; it has been a beautiful Fall here in these parts...






On the day we were at the park, I made a decision to become a nature photographer. Not because I think my photographs are amazing, but because nature cannot talk back to me or complain.
Taking pictures of my people has become such a chore, a burden, and a pain in the patootie. And I only have two people! You brave souls out there with 4+ kids? You are in my picture-prayers.

The biggest complainer, sadly, happens to be the cutest person in the family. So I take a nerve pill and keep taking his picture.


We also took a short road trip to "Land Between The Lakes." It's a large national recreation area that covers parts of Tennessee and Kentucky. It is THE place to go for boating, camping, hunting, fishing, and summertime activities. Did you get that?
SUMMERtime activities.
This place shuts down from November to March.
Meaning we were the only people there besides two 88 year-old tour guides. And a sleepy park ranger. And a cook and a waitress at the ONLY place in town to eat.

They have a bison and elk prairie that is part of a project to reintroduce those species and their habitat back into the area. So cool. You pay $5 per car to drive through.
The sign that greets you at the entrance got me all excited...


Another sign said the current population was Elk:45, Bison:47
We saw absolutely nothing.
Not. One. Single. Thing.
Almost one hundred bison and elk were hiding. 2000 pound and 800 pound animals... hiding.
At least the views were nice.


As we were leaving the park area, we saw one more bison pasture, so we slowed way down and strained our eyes, and...
There they were.
Lounging around on a hill where I could see them for free.


So we three yokels are a little more local.
I would still rather be the po-po.

Chalkboard Confessions IV

First and foremost... a big shout out Happy Birthday to my mom!!!
She is someone I am so very thankful for every day. Enjoy your birthday, Mom!

Now.
You've heard that old saying...
"When the cat's away, the mice will play."
In our house, when the cat's away, the mice take his turn at 30 Days of Thankful.



So far, we are thankful for:
Food (written by the consumer of groceries)
The Cross
Coffee (written by the consumer of coffee)
Salvation
The time change (written by the tired me)
A great son and wife (not written by the dad/husband)

Dan/Daddy is out of town and the boy decided to fill in for him on his turn.
Apparently, we are great.

The 10

Here we go on a Tuesday morning.
Roots and Rings is the place to link up...


1. What’s your favorite television show for each day of the week?
Our TV is usually on cartoons or Animal Planet or The Discovery Channel. I hardly ever watch "grown up" TV, besides the news. Because of cable, I don't even really know what's on anymore.
Monday - Criminal Minds reruns
Tuesday - 19 Kids and Counting or Chopped
Wednesday - a new episode of Criminal Minds
Thursday - Criminal Minds reruns
Friday - Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives
Saturday - this time of year... College Football
Sunday - Sister Wives or CSI Miami
Y'all, seriously. My TV viewing habits are a bit embarrassing.

2. How many times do you wear your jeans before you watch them?
2-3? Depends on how baggy they get. That drives me nuts.

3. What is your favorite pasta shape?
The shape that the recipe calls for. I'm not being a smarty pants; I don't have a favorite.

4. Do you read newspapers?
Nope. Used to.

5. Do you sleep in socks?
Sometimes I start out in them, but I end up pulling them off.

6. Favorite genre of movies?
No favs here, either. I like them all... even action adventure sci fi stuff.

7. How do you feel about wrestling?
I feel that the kind on TV with the giant costumed men is RIDICULOUS.
The other kind is ok, but the outfits are RIDICULOUS.

8. Should men pluck their eyebrows?
If their eyebrows come around the corner before they do? Then, yes.

9. Do you have dimples?
Only in places where it's not cute.

10. Do you like to camp?
Yes, for a short time. I love my indoor potty and my shower and my bed.

A Momma's Confessions About Football

Did you hear a big ol' cheer? It was me.
Our football season is officially over.
(I am in no way referring to the sad Alabama/LSU game. We are still proud and loyal fans, and there was no cheering going on.)
I am talking about the boy's season of tackle football.

This year, he played on a team on the base. We made a 1 hour drive 3 times a week. Sometimes 4. Practice was 2 and a half hours each time. When they started in August, it was 102 degrees. At last weekend's games, it was 35 degrees.
Our days consisted of rushing home, slamming a snack, cramming in the homework, and then zooming to practice. Then it was rush home, cram in some dinner (or spend more money eating out), and then fall into bed. Usually late.
I am glad to see it end.

This was also a "trial season" for our athlete.
You see, the boy has always been a soccer player. He loves it, he says it's his favorite, and he's really good at it. But...
He always talks about playing football. ALWAYS.
He played one season of flag football, and he played once on a traveling team where we were all miserable. So he kept talking and talking and talking about playing again; he just never wanted to follow through with all that talk. This year, he finally decided to give it one more try. One more try to see if it was truly a sport he wanted to play.
He had a blast.
He loved it.
His momma, however, did not love it as much as he did.

(This is the part of this post where I vent my frustrations.)
I would rather watch football than watch my son play football.
It stresses me out.
Y'all have heard my theory on the need for all that padding and protection. I have 4 friends with kids playing football this year... All 4 of them were sidelined with injuries. One ended up in the hospital. As in... surgeries.

I do not enjoy watching ginormous kids tossing my son around.
He was the 3rd skinniest person on his team. He's not built like a football player at all.
But, he loved it.
I will never tell him what he can or cannot choose to play. I will always support him and take him to practice and cheer the loudest on any sideline.
But...
This is what happens to skinny soccer players when they get tackled on a football field.



That's the boy's hip 7 days after the hit and after the swelling finally went down.
He may be able to look me in the eye with his 100+ pound self, but he is still my little boy.
My little boy who never looked like that after a soccer game.

But he loved it.
Have I mentioned how much he loves it?
(He also loved the week his coaches made him sit out of tackling drills because of his injury. There's hope.)

So I will wait for another year to roll around to see if he's going to play again.
It is, after all, his decision.

His newest plan is to play soccer in the Spring and football in the Fall.

I may have to be checked out of the nut house to go watch his games.

30 Days of Thanks Is Taking Over The World

Unless you live under a rock or do not have access to Facebook, you have seen some form of the "30 Days of Thanks" floating around web-land.
It's a simple concept... You think of things to be thankful for and list them.
One for every day of the month.

I've seen some cute ideas on blogs.
I have a few friends listing their "thankful things" on Facebook.
I have one pal who made a little construction paper tree with "thankful leaves" attached.
My friend, J, has a blank list for her people to write on. (She has a lot of people.)

And then there's Pinterest.
Don't get me started.
I didn't linger for too long because I was sure to see a real tree with twinkly white lights transplanted into somebody's house... covered with handmade leaves sewn out of beautiful fabric... with each leaf bearing a thankful item hand-stitched into it.

Have I mentioned I have a love/hate relationship with Pinterest?

So we are being thankful this month, and we are using the chalkboard already on the wall. I'm crafty like that.

I let the boy go first, and so far the only thing on our wall is "food."
Well. You can't say we don't have our priorities straight around here.

What are y'all thankful for?

Happy November And 10

When Dan/Daddy first put his 'fro on last night, I laughed so hard I nearly choked to death on the Twizzler I was eating.
He looked like a middle-aged Napoleon Dynamite minus the awesome suit.

I went casual and wore my favorite hat.

The boy ran (dragging me behind) all over our new neighborhood and scored a VAST amount of sugar.
I was, however, a little disappointed by the low number of trick-or-treaters we had. We usually live on post wherever we are stationed, and I am accustomed to MASSES of costumed kiddos.
We are typically out of candy by 6:58 pm, and we have to turn off the lights and lock the doors and hope no one tears up the decor in a candy revolt.

Not here.
It was a little sad.
It's especially sad this morning when I look at all the candy I have left.

Dear Lord,
Please keep me from eating it all.
Amen.

Now. My pal over at Roots and Rings has pointed out a lack of participation in 10 on Tuesday. Well. Oops. That has been me. No excuses, just slackness.
Go join in if you have time...

1. What is your favorite month?
December. Love the cold and the holiday.

2. What is the best candy to get while trick or treating?
Anything chocolate

3. What kind of pen do you use?
A gel pen

4. You go to a new Italian restaurant, what is your go-to order?
Lasagna

5. If you could choose to have any celebrity’s hair, who’s would you choose?
Reese Witherspoon

6. What’s your favorite board game?
Is Boggle a board game? I heart Boggle.

7. Do you know how to play poker?
Nope. I wish I did, but I am hard to teach.

8. What do you think about Old Navy commercials?
Some of them crack me up. I like going into the store and seeing the plastic folks from the commercials.

9. What hurts worse- a stubbed toe or a paper cut?
A stubbed toe, initially. But, a paper cut is the injury that keeps on giving... like when you wash your hands or when you get ketchup in it.

10. What’s your favorite kind of pie?
Something warm... like apple or peach or cherry.

Have a great 11-1-11, people!

Don't Call Me If The End Times Come

Did y'all ever know someone who canned things? Someone who spent hours and days making sure they were ready for the winter with jars and jars of vegetables and pickles and jams?
I have aunts and grandmas and grandma-in-laws (and even friends) who do.
I vividly remember the smell in my house growing up when my mom made homemade pickles.
All those jars and lids and hot water baths... not to mention all the picking and washing and cutting and chopping.

Well that is not me.
I soooo admire the art of storing food, but I am content to ride off to the Mart and spend money on Smuckers.
Don't get me wrong... I LOVE the homemade stuff. It tastes better, and it probably has way less sugar and chemicals.

When we came home from the orchard a few weekends ago, I had a LOAD of apples, so I got the bright idea to make apple butter in the crock pot.
My sis-in-law has done it a thousand times, and the recipes are all over the internet.

Well.
20 apples and 2 days later, I had myself 2 whole jars.



Don't be jealous.
There are calluses on my hand from all that peeling.
I am happy I did it, and it IS yummy.
But my word. The labor and the payoff did not equal out.

I'll be rationing this stuff out like it's liquid gold. If you come over to our house for breakfast, do not expect to get free reign on the apple butter jar.
And, if the apocalypse is coming, you may want to find another place to stay.

Do You Have Your Costume Ready?

You only have a few days left to get that Halloween costume together.

Our cat?
She's going as a shower curtain.



I love that she thinks we can't see her.
She is a master of disguise.

All Things Apple

Two weekends ago, we were at a beautiful cabin in the mountains of Georgia.
I haven't blogged about it yet, because it has taken me some time to return to reality.

My brother and sis-in-law have the sweetest friends who own the most beautiful place in the Georgia mountains, and... they let our rowdy crew spend the weekend there.
(Minus Dan/Dadddy... he was working.)

The view of the river is unbelievable.
I didn't want to come home.



We had a whirlwind Saturday of picking apples and eating apple treats and shooting apples from an apple cannon.

When I say we all took a turn, I mean we all took several turns.






I actually just noticed the "apple cannon assistant's" face in this picture of me taking a shot. Hee hee. He looks worried. (He probably should be.)


After we picked some apples, we bought even more.



These two ate their weight in apples.


Later that day, we went hiking up the Amicalola Falls until I thought my legs were gonna detach themselves from my body in protest and dive off the mountain.

It was such a nice weekend, and as we like to say,
"A good time was had by all."
Truthfully, any time I get to spend getting love from this blue-lipped kiddo is a good time to me.

Chalkboard Confessions III

7 days later, I finally got a reply.

I'm not sure who "Me" is, but I have my suspicions. I don't watch all that crime TV for nothing.

Hey there mysterious "Me" person...
You sure are cute with your skinny purple self and your spiked up hair.
I love you, too.

Down On The Farm

Dan/Daddy's parents were here a few weekends ago, and we had a grand ol' time showing them around town. They were able to watch the boy play football on Saturday, and on Sunday we hauled them off to the Pumpkin Patch.



This place had tons of stuff to do. And they had snacks. My people were quick to vote this farm as "the best pumpkin patch we've ever been to!" It is all about the funnel cake.

We picked some punkins...


We took some funny pictures...
Well hello Farmer Dan!


Is your mama a llama?


Nope. My son is.
(This picture cracks me up.)


Guess what the farmer enticed the pigs with to get them to race? Oreos. Yep. I will run for an Oreo, too.


I am proud to report that our group completed the corn maze in record time. (It was all about the lure of funnel cake.)


Here's me. Doing my best "I am lost in the corn maze!" face.
Or maybe I just heard that the concession barn was all out of funnel cake.
Move over pigs, and pass me some of those Oreos.

Chalkboard Confessions II

Remember my chalkboard confession from a few weeks ago?
Something about a house on the beach and a raise?
I'm still waiting.

But it seems as if I've inspired someone.



"1 hundred dollars" is a lot to a 12 year-old. Well, "1 hundred dollars" is a lot to me, too.

Now that I know someone is actually paying attention in my house, I put this up...


It's been on there for 5 days already.
Stay tuned.

Black Cats, Doctor's Orders, Blood, and Costumes

In case you're wondering, I still haven't "re-done" the front porch, and the uncooperative pumpkin blew over in yesterday's wind.

So here's the latest information in our world:

1. Baby Kitty has a new home. Hallelujah. My sis-in-law's cousin (and her daughter) took her. We had formed quite the bond with her cute little self, so it was hard to see her go. And her name is officially "Foxy" now. How cute is that?

2. Dan/Daddy had a follow-up with the spine doc. Spine Doc is slowly allowing more and more activity, but he gave Dan/Daddy instructions yesterday that I am not too sure about. The doc said that one of the worst things Dan/Daddy can do at this point in his recovery is load or unload the dishwasher.
Really? Really? (I think I smell an over-paid rat here.)
Unloading the dishwasher, dear readers, is one of my least favorite things to do. It's also one of the (few) things Dan/Daddy does. (Go ahead and judge... the housework in this house is NOT equally divided. Now it will be even less so.)
I think there's some kind of "man conspiracy" going on.

3. When I am sitting in the car waiting to pick up the boy from school, I can hear the afternoon announcements on the intercom. Yesterday, this is what I heard:
"Could a custodian please come to the hall by the Music Room? We have a blood spill."
Mercy.
Middle School is a rough place. I know it could have been a nosebleed or a cut hand or any number of non-violent injuries. But, I am the mom of a 12 year-old boy... My mind just goes there.
What's High School gonna be like? Severed limbs?

4. I took the boy to look at Halloween costumes yesterday. For the first time in 10 years, he has no clue what he wants to be on October 31st. We thought walking around in the Halloween store would give him some ideas. Well. Let me just tell you. If you haven't been to a costume store in a while, get ready. It gave him more than ideas... it gave him an adult education. It gave me a headache.
When did Halloween turn into a Playboy Bunny fashion show?
It was one of those moments I pray and thank God for giving me a boy.
I will take fake teeth and scary masks any day over "Sexy Cinderella" and "Show Your Hiney Alice In Wonderland."

Can't we all just get back to the true meaning of the holiday?

Halloween Fail

I could be more positive and call this post:
"My First Attempt At Decorating For Fall"

But it was a failure in the worst possible sense.

Last week, I decided it was time to deck the halls for Halloween. Yes, I love Halloween. (And Jesus. Just in case you were wondering.)

I love love love decorating this time of year. I never felt my Fall decor was inferior before. Before the internet.
Thanks, Pinterest.
Have you seen them?
The handmade banners? The monogrammed pumpkins? The costumed kids sipping homemade cider? The lighted leaf garlands? The twinkling sparkly orange explosion of all things Halloweeny and Fall?
If Martha Stewart ever made you feel inadequate, then Pinterst will make you jump off your roof.

I should have just stopped looking, because when I pulled out my plastic plug-in pumpkins, the scarecrow with one leg, and raggedy dollar store garland... it got ugly.
I don't mean "ugly" in the sense of looking bad. I mean "ugly" like "I am throwing a grown-up temper tantrum on my front porch" ugly.

The boy was in charge of the lights in the bushes, and every time he got the cords just so, the neighborhood cat menagerie would tear through and pull it down. He was barefoot, and a swarm of mosquitoes decided to eat his feet.
While he was jumping up and down cursing at the bugs, the light cord and the cats, I was hanging decor on the front door. (I don't really think he said actual bad words. He probably just thought them. Like his momma.)

I was unwinding my twinkly orange lights and lush leaf foliage and trying to staple them up over the door. Every time I stapled, the force of the staple CUT the leaf garland. All I was doing was chopping up leaf garland into segments.
When I tried to attach the lights with the stapler, it started chopping up my light strand, too.
(Those light strands may work if one bulb is out, but they do not work in pieces.)
So I climbed down and found some tiny hooks to hold the lights. After what felt like HOURS of twisting and hanging, I managed to get the lights up and stepped back to admire my work.
The home we are renting has a beautiful glass door. It weighs 3 tons and slams with the force of a meteor hitting Earth. Not exaggerating.
Like a scene out of a horror movie, the door (which had been propped open) decided to close and take the corner of the light strand with it.
The 3 ton door shut hard, shattering 78 tiny bulbs at once, and a hail shower of orange glass rained down upon me.

I calmly walked into the garage, put on my shoes (because all great decorators do their work barefoot) and grabbed a giant black trash bag. I ripped down all the lights and picked up all the leaf garland segments and threw them in the bag.
I cleaned up the glass, cut my thumb on a shard, and vowed to never decorate for Halloween again.
My mosquito-bitten assistant had abandoned me at this point.
In a rage, I grabbed a plastic pumpkin and plugged it in. I was determined... We were AT LEAST gonna have one decoration.
Well, no.
We weren't.
The bulb in Mr. Plastic Pumpkin was burned out.

It took every bit of self-control I possess to NOT drop-kick that pumpkin and his grinning un-lit self across the street.

I just left him there on the porch.
I went inside, and I think I may have declared that God doesn't want us to decorate for Halloween.

I may try again, so stay tuned.
Or I may wait until Christmas, pull out my staple gun, and chop up some evergreen garland.

Even If It Was A Spider

My not-so-little boy was mowing the grass in the backyard this week when he walked under the clothes line and walked through a spiderweb.

Yes... I said "clothes line." The house where we live is a rental, and there is a line in the back yard for hanging clothes. I suppose the homeowners liked to line dry their clothes. When I was little, my momma used the one in our back yard.
Let me make a clear distinction at this point.
It's all I can do to get the clothes from the pile in the floor to the laundry room, washed, dried, folded, and put back up again.
If I had to use a clothes line, the first thing I'd hang would be myself.

Anyway, while cutting the grass, the boy tore right through a spider web. I didn't see him do it, but I'm sure it was a spectacle. He hates spiders. I also don't know too many people who enjoy waltzing through one of their webs. Ghiiisssh. It gives me the heebie jeebies.

When the boy called me over to show me the spider, it wasn't because he'd crashed her web or because she was unnaturally big or icky.
It was because she was already building it back.
Very cool.
We stood in the yard and watched her for a minute or two, and let me tell you... she was busy.
It was one of those times I don't ever want to blow right past.
For just a few minutes, my not-so-little boy was content to watch a spider. (Pardon me while I cry and flashback to when he was 4.)
We talked about how funny it is when people walk through spider webs.
We talked about how God designs the spider to just KNOW what to do. No one teaches her how to spin that web, and no one was there telling her to get up and spin it again because some gangly preteen ripped it up.
We talked about the gnats she was already wrapping up for dinner.
We talked about the giant fake spider we hang on our door every Halloween.

And then it was all over in a blink. I was back to watering the plants, and he was cranking up the mower again.

So when you come visit us, you won't find clothes hanging from our clothes line.
(You may find me.)
All we have hanging out there is one determined spider.
And I owe a tiny thanks to her for slowing down time for me and my not-so-little boy.

Updates, Updates, and Sports

I feel like a TV News Anchor. But I have less hair and not-as-white teeth.

Here's what you need to know:

1. Baby Kitty has a home! Well, she's still living with us, but she will soon be headed to her new and permanent home. My sis-in-law's cousin is taking her. She has a teenage daughter, so Baby Kitty will have 2 sweet mommas.
By the way, we haven't named her, which I suppose is good... her new mommas can do that. But we call her Baby, Boo Boo, BB, and Tank. (That last one is a hoot - it was my nephew's suggestion.)

2. Dan/Daddy is recovering well from his back surgery. I haven't gone into the gory details of how and why he came to need his spine operated on. He and the docs are not 100% certain what "event" caused the damage. It could even be an old gym injury. Let's just say he doesn't always make the wisest decisions when lifting things. Things like washing machines.

3. As for me and my foot... it has been determined that the "Great Sewing Machine Drop of 2008" is the culprit in the foot pain. So I let the podiatrist inject my foot with a veeeeery long needle. Which only made it swell and hurt worse for 2 days. Then the regular old pain came back. There's a follow-up appointment this week, so I may require another injection. Good times.

We interrupt this update to apologize for the geriatric turn our news stories seem to be taking. Granny and Pepaw are apparently one injury away from the AARP. Sorry.

4. The boy is full swing into football, and I have refrained from wrapping him in bubble wrap. So far.
I told him and Dan/Daddy there was nothing safe about a sport that required THAT MUCH padding, protection, and gear.
So far, he's proven to be a little Heisman contender... interceptions, touchdowns, great yardage.
Here he is (#55) on the sidelines sporting his pick socks. The team and coaches are all wearing pink for Breast Cancer Awareness this month. How dang cute are those socks?



I still wish he was playing soccer. Or the guitar.

And that's your recap for the last week or so.
I would make a terrible News Anchor.
Now, Weather Person? That's another story.

When Good Grandmas Go Bad

We have a rare blessing. Dan/Daddy and I still have 3 grandmothers living. I have one, and he has two; so many people our age have none... we are blessed.

One of Dan/Daddy's grandmas is a bit more "feisty" (we'll say) than the other.
She cracks us up. We all call her "Nonie."
She has those skills that so many people of her age and generation have:
1. She will tell you EXACTLY what she's thinking. Even if the rest of the room would not say it. Even if it's unpleasant. Even if it might be embarrassing.

and

2. She likes to repeat things. I don't mean repeating in the sense of telling the same story twice. I mean repeating in the sense of saying something 3,956 times. Even if the rest of the room would not say it. Even if it's unpleasant. Even if it might be embarrassing.
Most folks refer to it as "beating a dead horse." (not a pretty word picture)

For example, one of the first times I met her, Dan/Daddy and I were dating. (He tells me I should have run then, but that's another story for another day.) His mom had made some BBQ for dinner. Her mom (Nonie) declared,
"Hey! This BBQ is hot!"
It was spicy BBQ, but she felt like it was too spicy. So she began to tell us.
Over and over and over and over.
"This BBQ is hot."
"This sure is some hot BBQ."
"This is the hottest BBQ I have ever eaten."
"You sure did make some hot BBQ, Honey."
"Wow! This is hot BBQ."
You get the picture.

The hot BBQ incident happened over 15 years ago, so you can imagine how Nonie has honed her dead horse beating skills.

The only thing that Nonie adores more than repeating things is her grandson... Dan/Daddy. She ADORES him. I don't have the heart to tell her that he did not, in fact, hang the moon.
Anywho....

Dan/Daddy had his back surgery last week, and in all the times Nonie's called to check on him, I have told her he's doing great. He is, really.
It is a very slow recovery, and he isn't a fan of slow recoveries. He's been a good patient, but he's not the most obedient patient. He wants to be back to his old self a little faster than the doctor will allow.
It's just best if Nonie knows he's recovering. It is best if she DOESN'T know he's pushing himself a bit too hard too soon.

Well. The boy (my boy) took matters into his own hands last weekend and called Nonie up.
To "rat out" his dad. To get the thrill of knowing she's gonna begin to beat that dead horse again. Except this time, the "dead horse" is his slow-moving daddy.

Within 2 seconds of the boy calling Dan/Daddy's Nonie, the phone beeped with a text.
From Dan/Daddy to the boy.
"I am going to kill you."

Apparently Nonie had called him.
To rant and rave and scold him for not taking it easy.
Let the dead horse beating commence!

The boy thinks it's hysterical. (It is.)
Dan/Daddy thinks it's annoying, yet sweet. (It is.)

I can honestly say that even 5 years from now, when he's running a 5K or jumping out of an airplane, she will still be telling him to sit down.
"Don't you need to take it easy, Honey?"
"You better rest a bit."
"Your back isn't what it used to be."
"You need to sit down and rest."
"You better rest and sit down."

And the boy will be rolling in the floor, holding his sides, and laughing his hiney off.

So will I.

This Face

This is the smallish face that showed up on our doorstep (literally) this week.

She must have known that a bleeding heart softie lives here. (Make that 3 bleeding heart softies.)

I took her to the vet and spent a sad amount of money getting her checked out and treated for a respiratory infection. Then I spent some more money on de-worming meds and flea treatment because we don't have the heart to look at that face and tell it "no." That's probably what's wrong with the boy. Not worms... We can't say "no" to cute faces.

She barely weighs a pound, and the vet says she's probably about 6 weeks old.
We've known her for 3 days and we already love her to pieces.
The sad part of the story is we can't keep her. Our very overgrown and spoiled cat H-A-T-E-S her. Hate is a mild word.

We've spent 2 days on the phone and on the internet searching for rescue centers, no-kill shelters, pet foster homes, and humane societies.
No one can take any pets. NO one. And that includes several cities.
They are all so overfilled already, and they can't legally have any more.
It is heartbreaking... it makes me see why some people (mean heartless people, that is) just dump unwanted animals out like trash. They really don't have many options.

I am waiting to hear from 2 more rescue places, but the path ahead for baby kitty is unclear.
My mom is considering taking her, but she doesn't really want another pet. She also has 2 very spoiled and unfriendly cats already.

So for now, baby kitty is with us. Getting well and getting lots of snuggling.

In the words of Bob Barker...

"Have your pets spayed or neutered!"

Bring On The Artificial Pumpkin Flavoring

Since I last blogged...

Dan/Daddy had back surgery. Yes. BACK. As in cutting around the all-important spine.

We found a teensy tiny itty bitty baby kitten on our front porch on Tuesday. We are now giving her love, food, a warm bed, and very expensive medicine.
But mercy is she ever cute.

I went to the Podiatrist for some foot pain. Foot pain I now know is related to the great Sewing Machine Drop of 2008. Now I have nerve damage, and I have to get a shot. In my foot. Did I mention I hate needles?

All of these big life events are just pushing us along, and I need to stop and post some blogs.

On another note, I had my first Pumpkin Spice Latte of the season yesterday. Mmmmm.

It may take several more of those to get me through the rest of the month of September.

Croutons and Stuff

Here's what's on my mind, in case you wanted to know.
If you don't, then why are you reading this?

1. Why does a long weekend completely mess up my internal clock and calendar? Is it Tuesday? Is it Wednesday? Oh creature of habit and routine, I am.

2. Croutons are the best part of a salad.

3. I was doing some laundry. (Listen to the cheer from Dan/Daddy. He was about to have to build a bridge over the pile.) While doing the laundry, I found bullets in my washer. I can't help but wonder what would happen if they'd made it to the dryer.

4. Bullets in my washer are not uncommon. We were at my parents' house this Labor Day weekend, and the men folk went hunting.

5. The boy shot more doves than Dan/Daddy, and he has rubbed it in his father's face like nobody's business. Dan/Daddy has been gracious as the boy does the victory dance around him.

6. Our weather dropped from the range of "Satan's Domain" into the 60's over the weekend. There is hope.

7. The start of college football makes me happy. And it makes me want to decorate for Fall. Which makes me even happier. I am a simple girl.

And that is all I have for this Tuesday... I mean, Wednesday, update.

Chihuahuas In My Shirt

I'll start with a bit of a confession. Then I will get to the story.

I've been in a mood lately.
I know, I know... I have too much to be grateful for to be in a mood.
But I am. I blame the weather's inability to cool off. Ya'll. I am sick of hot.
I partly blame Pinterest.
If you haven't been there, then go at your own risk.
It is addictive, and it's been depressing me lately.

If you don't know, it's a "collective" site of all the things you love. And all the things other people love and deem "cool."

So I sit and click and gawk and oooh and ahh and slide further into the blahs.

It's bad enough that my house doesn't look like all the fabulouso bloggers' homes out there.
And I don't cook like the Pioneer Woman. (How much do you love her?)
And I can't tell you how to make an entire garden patio from soup cans. (Don't laugh.... someone has probably done it.)

I can't just see a neat idea and recreate it, a yummy recipe and make it, or a pretty room and admire it.
I have to start feeling icky because I am not all that I see.
Why do we do that to ourselves? (Am I alone here?)
Internet, be darned.

But I have to stop, get off the world-wide web, and look around me at the life I've been given. It is a blessed one. I get to be a part of some really cool stuff.

Like just a few days ago.
I was running errands and stopped at a traffic light. I glanced over to the car beside me where a rather large lady was holding the tiniest baby chihuahua I have ever seen.
Cute didn't do him justice.
(What I am about to say is true.)
While I was looking at the puppy and going all "awwwww...." over him,
the lady took him and pushed him down into her shirt.
Way down in between her very healthy chest parts. Way down.
Tucked him in, put her hands back on the wheel, and drove off.

My "awwww..." went to "ewww...." and I know the light was red long before I could go.
I have seen a lot, folks. Now I have seen a lot more.

Who needs fancy homes, amazing photography, and sinfully delicious food?
Not me, I say.

Just give me my humble home, my scrawny pantry, my stack of dirty clothes, and my cat's stinky litter box.
I will also take a chihuahua. A tiny one that I can poke down into my bra.
Now that is living the good life.

PS... Not everything on Pinterest is cool. Or polite. Or appropriate. We do live in a free - but sometimes twisted - country.

A Hurricane And A Sermon

My mind is busy this morning with thoughts about all my friends in NC, MD, VA, and the Washington DC area.
One of the nice things about the Army is how it brings so many people into your life.
I've met folks I would have never known if we were not a part of this crazy Army thing.
But having all these friends scattered all over the world makes my heart stretch more than I'd like. Places that were only places on a map before are now much more...
Because someone I call "friend" is living there.

I suppose it should be that way anyway.
Places and faces on the news and the map should be more than just places and faces.

(Is the theme song from "It's A Small World" going through your head yet? Good. Mine, too.)

The pastor on Sunday made a point about the love of God being Global.
Well, duh. Of course God's love is Global.
But is mine?
If I am honest, I kind of like my little bubble.
But, it shouldn't take a natural disaster to shake me out of it.

I get caught up in the laundry and homework and sport practices and laundry and bills and gas prices and groceries and laundry.
I can't SEE over the laundry. And everything else.

There's a song from a few years ago (Brandon Heath) that says exactly what I need to say.
(And it's much better than "It's A Small World.")

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity

Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the one's forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see

Praying for my East Coast pals today and praying for my own ability to SEE a little further.

Snacks... The Holiest of Concerns

Since moving to a new area, we've been church hopping. Or church shopping.
We've been to 4 or 5 different places looking for the place we fit in.

It's not easy and it's not fun and it's one of the 492 things I hate about moving.
It's become more of a chore since the boy hit Middle School age. We want him to have a Youth Group he can get involved in.
We also want him to continue in AWANAS. (Bible Clubs for kids and teens) He's been involved for 5 years already, and he's learned so much.

The problem is.... lots of churches don't continue AWANAS past the 5th grade. The material is out there, and some churches do go with it all the way into High School.

So we narrowed our search down to one church we liked that still had AWANAS for Middle and High School kids.
And a Youth Group.

We went for the second time on Sunday morning, and we took the boy back for AWANAS Sunday night.
When we got in the car, Dan/Daddy and I had a million questions...
"Did you like it?"
"Were they nice?"
"Was it fun?"
"Did you meet any new friends?"
"Do you think you would like to keep coming?"

He smiled and leaned back in the seat and said,
"They had snacks. Cookies and juice."

Something tells me we'll be back.

Chalkboard Confessions

One of the things I like in our new house is a partial chalkboard wall in the kitchen.
It's only a small wall section, but it's perfect for writing notes.
And drawing pictures of your cat.
And listing things we're out of.
And writing whatever is on my mind.

I like to call it "Chalkboard Confessions."

This is what I wrote back when we moved in.


There's sure to be more wisdom and wit where that came from.

So Now We Are Fans

We took a little quick trip down to the big city of Nashville this past weekend.
Now that we live so close, I imagine myself shopping - I mean, visiting - more often.

Anyway.... we went and saw ourselves a pro football game.

The Tennessee Titans vs. The Minnesota Vikings.

(These are football players, not ants.)



We had ourselves a good time.
Except for the ginormous blisters I got from hiking to and from our ridiculously expensive parking spot in Tibet. And from hiking back and forth to our seats up in the clouds.
Cute shoes? Yes. Long-range traveling shoes? Not so much.

Yes... that is outer space you see just 7 rows above us...


Look at the nachos in Dan/Daddy's hands. Now that's what I call dinner.



By the way, the Titans won.
So when my blisters heal, we may have to take in another game.

Day One

Well it's technically Day Four, but the picture was made on Day One.

Day One of Middle School.

The first day of my little boy's trek into the land of lockers,
changing classes,
remembering schedules,
figuring out 6 teachers instead of 1,
more choices at lunch (woo hoo!),
and
no recess.

He's not too jazzed about that last one. He said PE doesn't count.

So far, he's doing fine.
So far, I feel old.

The summer was too short, and it was too hot. (I know that's irrelevant, but ya'll. It's been hot.)

Don't misunderstand me... I do love some alone time, and he is a great student... he'll have a successful year, I am sure of it.
I am just not ready to have a kid who's halfway to Graduation.

The night before the real first day, he was lying on the couch with his head in my lap. We were talking about Middle School and him growing up and how I was not a fan of either when he said the words that this momma loves to hear,

"But I will always be your baby."

Yes, baby giraffe, you sure will.

Straight Teeth

One of the highlights of our short and stressful summer was the 8 hour round-trip journey to the Orthodontist.
The boy's treatment was almost done when we moved. Almost.
So instead of finding a new Orthodontist in our new town and paying those "new patient fees" all over again....
We decided to drive back to his Orthodontist while we were living with my parents. Crazy? Maybe. But the gas and frustration was still less costly than finding a new Orthodontist.

So.... My mom went with us, and we drove 4 hours to the appointment.
The very kind and patient staff at the Orthodontist's office knew our dilemma, so they worked late that afternoon to give us this...

A very happy braces-free boy.



The first stop we made on the way home was Walgreens... where we purchased Gummi Bears, Milk Duds, and Sugar Babies. He ate them all the way home.

Getting him to smile for the camera isn't quite the battle it was before.




Now if you will all join me in prayer that we don't lose the retainers.