And a bag of chips.

All that glowing skin

the gorgeous smiles

the perfect figures.

It's a shame, really.

Too bad they are sweet, smart, funny and terrific athletes to boot.

But enough about us.

Surrounded

Bo asked me last Friday night if he could stay up all night and write. I said "Yes, but only if you are writing. You can't do anything else. Go for it."

One and a half hours later he produced this, and declared he was going to sleep.

Saturday night the request was repeated, and the result was a completely different type of story, which I will have to scan and post. Illustrations, you know.

Let's just say that the nut doesn't fall far from the tree.

Totally my favorite thing he's written so far.

Love my guys.

Three Years Ago Today

I wrote this.

And I, finding it, am astounded by the grace of God. By seasons of Him. By the grace of being able to remember.

I've been looking for faith. Looking for hope, and finding nothing. Seriously, HOW many times do I have to go through this in my life before I no longer search in futility and just go straight to Him? Maybe it's because half the time I don't recognize that I'm looking for something to satisfy me.

He is faith.

He is hope.

He satisfies my hunger and thirst.

He is all.

Let all those other chips fall where they may.

Well-Rounded

Emma is not a girl to be put in a box. She is neither "girly girl" nor "tomboy." She loves her dresses, but has no compunction about getting disgustingly and appallingly filthy in them. She likes to clean with me, and yet her room is usually a big mess. She is very opinionated, and brutally honest at times. (example: "Mama, how come you don't wear a two piece bathing suit? Oh, wait. I think I know....{painful silence between us}") She moves very s l o w l y. She's usually about 3 feet behind me anytime we are walking. She's the last one in the car, but that is usually because she is finger painting in the mist on the windows. Bill says her nickname must be "hurry up" 'cause we say that to her all the time. She's a good shopper. She got this fantastic little sewing machine for three dollars. She has now made a pillow for Kirsten, a pillow for Hedgie, and a purse for Mrs Ray. Bo's got big business plans for her...make a bunch of stuff, sell it on the internet... you know the routine.

She isn't usually very chatty. It's hard to get a word in edgewise with this one in constant attendance, but when we are alone, she hits a train of thought, and plows through it, full speed ahead. Her progression of thought is very logical, quite mature. She just has a hard time spitting it out. Literally. One time I counted how many times she repeated"Um..Mama...one time..." before she actually told me the thing she wanted to tell me.
14.
Four.teen.
Deep breath.
Patience.
We are working on thinking through the whole sentence in her head and THEN saying it. She could not say her R's for a long time and we would try and try to correct her to no avail. Then one day she heard herself on a video. She looked at me and said "Why do I sound so weiwd?" I said "It's because you say weiwd not weird. Hear the difference?" She was silent for a while thinking about it, and then began correcting herself.

I digress, because obviously, I'm nutsy-cookoo about her, and because I rarely take the opportunity to think about who she is. I would never try to label her as a certain type. Honestly, I don't think anyone could. She follows, she leads, she thinks, she plans, she plays, she pretends, she dresses up, she clings, she goes her own way, she's brave, she's shy, she wants to go to Paris.

She loves.

My heart swells with gratitude for who she is.

She plays gamecube in a pinafore.