where'd my blog roll go?

If I spoke like Jones, that is what I would be asking.  Where'd my blog roll go?

I made some cosmetic changes (mostly I was sick of my old font) and in doing so, I somehow lost my list of blogs that I read!

I have added some, but am missing a lot.  Will add as I have time.  Please send me your blog address and, just for fun, your favorite blog! Help me rebuild, people.

Weekend

Saturday morning we discovered a new park not far from our neighborhood.  It was awesome! Jones had the best time.  I don't think he stopped moving for an hour straight.  Bless his heart, he was soaking wet with sweat, but wouldn't sit down for a break. We finally decided it was too hot, so moved the party indoors at Chick-fil-a.  That kid loves playing there.  And this mom loves their air conditioner!

Red-faced and full of sweat!

Cooling off at Chick-fil-a

After his nap, we took Jones to get his foot measured at the shoe store. I was hoping I could wait until start of fall to get some new school shoes, but his feet wouldn't let me. Big foot wears an 8 or 8.5!
He has never had real running shoes before (I tend to stick to Sun-sands sandals and Keds for school!). He is obsessed. He held them the whole car-ride home.

So proud!

Sunday was the kick off of mission fest at the church, where we focus on serving others over self.  As as part of this, the youth group served lunch to the congregation after church to help raise money for their mission trip next summer. They worked hard Saturday afternoon preparing food and the Methodist Men's group at the church smoked a Boston butt all night.  It was delicious! Each youth  was asked to bring a desert.  I made these mini deep dish fruit pizzas.  I got to be honest: I was proud of myself.  They were cute, yummy, and super easy! Another successful Pinterest find. 
You can find the recipe here:
http://bannerboutique.blogspot.com/2012/04/easiest-mini-deep-dish-fruit-pizzas.html

mini deep dish fruit pizzas

My parents came to church with us Sunday morning.  After lunch, while my dad stayed with Jones, my mom and I tried to desperately find something to wear to my cousin's wedding, which is NEXT weekend. We had minimal luck!

After nap, Jones and I tried to play outside, but it was entirely too hot for this mama, so we resorted to coloring Daddy a picture while he was at work.

His attention span is far too small to actually sit and color a full picture. I looked over and this is what he was doing while yelling "hat! hat! hat!"
Yes, he is wearing his running shoes with his PJs (that he picked out!).

Keeping it Real Friday

Hip hip hooray for Friday. And hip hip hooray for the Olympics. I can't wait to watch the opening ceremony tonight with Trey in our PJs while we feast on Dominos.  Nothing says "I love watching and admiring the finest athletes in the world" like a good pizza.

This KIRF is a bit different, as in I am not really writing it.  Instead I am sharing a blog post written by a blogger (and a tweeter and an author). I can't wait to get my hands on her book 7. Seems life - changing. I follow her tweets. And I really want to be her friend.

But that is not what this post is about....

What she has to say about the incredibly stupid , blown way-out-of-proportion, turned political propaganda  Chick-Fil-A drama is exactly how I feel.  A friend shared this on FB today, and I was so thankful she did.  I hadn't read Jen's blog today, so I was happy when I saw this posted - I wouldn't want to miss it.  She says what I would say if I wrote as beautifully as she.  I hate all of the senseless social media posts on both sides of the argument.  Those who say they hate gays, therefor will eat Chick-Fil-A every day. Really? Really? Don't get me started.  And those who say they will never eat there again because Chick-Fil-A is full of homophobic people. Really? Really?

Seems so dumb to me. So insignificant.

Since Jen Hatmaker writes better than I ever will, here she is, guest KIRF blogger, if you will:

In the Basement

by Jen Hatmaker on July 27th, 2012

I lived in Kansas from 8th-12th grade. In that time, I became well acquainted with Mr. Tornado and all his little friends: Siren, Tornado Watch, Basement, and False Alarm.

In April of my junior year, our house was hit by a tornado. The end of our street was flattened; we lost our fence and roof and trees. And evidently I lost my sense of security (21 years later, and I still have a tornado nightmare about once a month).

The most visceral memory of that day was crouching in the basement with my family and friend, Andrea, as we heard the tornado approaching. Everything started shaking, and the sound grew until it was deafening. I remember looking at my sister, both our mouths open, screaming, and we couldn’t hear each other. We were inside a train engine.

I’ll never forget hunkering down in the basement while the storm raged overhead.

This is precisely how I feel about the Chick-Fil-A debacle and all the other accouterments of the culture wars. I am so over it. I’m so over the fear mongering and hate propaganda. I’m over the political posturing and power plays. I’m over the finger pointing and name-calling. The storms are raging overhead, and let me tell you something:

I’m going to the basement.

This is obnoxious. So a business leader is no longer entitled to an opinion, even one that roughly half of America shares? Is that where we’re at? Now the mayors of Boston and Chicago and San Francisco are suggesting Chick-Fil-A be denied permits in their cities, and just like that, a hot-blooded difference in personal opinion – not lewd remarks, not discriminatory actions, not company policy – has turned into punitive legislation.

Mayor Bloomburg, also a supporter of gay rights, condemned the statements, saying “cities should not ask about political beliefs before issuing a permit.” Of course they shouldn’t. Where would it end? The CEO of the Phoenix Suns is gay; shall we all boycott their basketball games or deny their right to play in the public sphere? Is it time to quiz small-business owners on their positions on gun control, abortion, and immigration reform, and decide if their companies are “welcome in our cities”?

Because this will swing every way, you know. Perhaps Chick-Fil-A is banned in Boston, but we will also stand by if a Muslim business owner is banned from operating in Huntsville, Alabama? Mark Zuckerberg is an atheist; should Christians all delete their Facebook accounts? This affront to democracy is infinitely more dangerous than a CEO with an opinion, which, if you’ve ever paid attention, we are supposed to have the freedom to hold and express in this country without threat of commercial retribution.

Truett Cathy is a citizen; he has a right to an opinion. He gets to have that. He isn’t peddling theology…his currency is the Spicy Chicken Sandwich. There are certainly tens of thousands of gay folks who work for and patron CFA. No one has ever been asked to procure proof of their heterosexuality before dipping into their Polynesian sauce.

If you don’t like his personal policy, don’t eat there. Problem solved.

And lest you unfairly brand me as a mouthpiece for the right, I hate the culture wars on both sides of the party line. Christians, do you really think posting pithy statements on Facebook about “standing firm in our values” and “resisting the liberal media” is helping? The lines we draw in the sand do absolutely nothing except assure everyone else: YOU’RE OUT. When we turn to politics and power to legislate our brand of morality, we take the opposite approach of Jesus whose power was activated in the margins with the outcasts...humbly...peripherally.

I’m sick of the Jesus forwards and judgment. Sick of majoring on gay marriage. Enough, everyone. With every hate Tweet and finger jab and Bible bludgeon, you are telling my gay friends they are indeed unwelcome, unloved, unvalued, and uninvited. If your agenda is to battle homosexuality, how’s that going? How many gay folks read your Prop 8 yard sign, knocked on your door, and said, “Thank you for voicing your opinion to the neighbors in this manner. Would you kindly invite me in and teach me how to be straight? And do you have a Bible study I can join?”

When we resort to the same tactics being leveled at Truett Cathy, we sink to the least common denominator and – this is important – we make everything worse. How are these culture wars working out for us? Well, the church is losing around 50K folks a week, and the next generation downright refuses to come. The gay community is ostracized entirely (oh, they’ve gotten the message alright), and Christianity has turned into white noise.

Digging our heels in even harder is the problem, not the answer.

Love is, if you believe anything Jesus ever said or did.

Everyone is screaming and swearing at each other, pointing fingers and posting clichés on Pinterest. The storm is out of control. What happened to civil discourse? What happened to basic human respect? What happened to good men and women pulling up a seat at the table together and navigating differences with dignity and regard? What happened to listening? What happened to humility?

I'm done. I’m going to the basement, and I invite you to join me. Here is what we hate down in the basement:

We hate injustice.

We hate our own sin and pride and arrogance, and we grieve at how it has wounded, sliced, slashed, and humiliated.

We hate that 25,000 people will die today of hunger and we’re arguing gay marriage again.

We hate how the Gospel has been turned into a bludgeoning tool.

We hate pointless arguments that widen the gap and devalue real human people.

We hate abuse and violence and crowded orphanages and trafficked sixth-graders.


And it’s not all hate, lest you imagine the Basement Dwellers are a sorry lot indeed. We love some things down in the basement, too:

We love people. Because Jesus does. All of them.

We love grace, because it rescued all of us sinners.

We love healing and redemption, and we get to be a part of that every day, if we are brave enough to say yes.

We love that Jesus uses broken people, because that is our zip code and He chooses us anyway. Mercy is our only sane option.

We love the Body of Christ, when she isn’t being a bully or a tyrant or trying to take over the Oval Office and the Red Carpet. I swear, she can be beautiful.

We love Jesus, who was always in hot water with the religious folks for eating with sinners and offering scandalous grace not just to the leper but to the tax collector.

We love love, and we believe in its power.

If you are weary of the storm, come on downstairs. We’re going to get on with the business of loving people and battling real injustices and caring for the poor and loving Jesus. We’re going to go ahead and offer mercy to one another, even if it is viewed as “soft” or “cowardly” or “dangerous.” (But once I conquer all my own demons definitively, I’ll be happy to turn a critical eye on everyone else’s. Good?) We’re going to trust that Jesus is actually at work in this world like He said, and when he promised that “His kindness leads us to repentance,” we’re just going to believe Him.

Sure, the storm will rage on up there. But you can find refuge just down the stairs. We have a whole thing going on underground. Gay friends and family, you are welcome down here. Marginalized women, come on down. Isolated and confused by organized religion, afraid your questions aren’t welcomed? Join us. Activists and bleeding hearts, you are our heartbeat. Plain, old, ordinary sinners saved by grace, you belong here. Misfits, ragamuffins, and rebels, bring the party. Reformed legalists, you are my people. Pastors contending for God’s glory and people, help lead us. Dissenters, dreamers, visionaries, we need you.

Come on down to the basement. I ordered a Chick-Fil-A nugget platter.


You want to join me in the basement? You are loved down here. Kindly do not turn my comment feed into a culture war. I'm not here to argue issues, only the love of Jesus which has netted infinitely more converts than judgment. Tell me why you're retreating from the storm.

come on, U S of A

I bet you thought this was going to be an Olympic post of some sorts. If so, you are dead wrong. (although I, for one, can not wait to watch the opening ceremony Friday night.)

My country, land of the free, you have let me down.

This is not a political rant, though I do feel a bit less anxious posting this on a private blog.

Let me back up:

I was under the naive impression that I would have 12 weeks off with my newborn - 6 weeks paid, 6 weeks not.

On a whim,  I decided to call my HR lady at work to confirm such details.

I was wrong. Way wrong.

America provides ZERO paid maternity leave.  What? Did I miss something here? Have I been living under a rock my whole adult life? All I knew was that FMLA required that your job be secure for 12 weeks for a "family and medical emergency".  I just assumed since we, the honest taxpayers, pay for everything else for most of the American people - including health care and childbirth -  that we would get paid SOMETHING for maternity leave.

Ahem...

A few of my favorite things I learned from yesterday's phone call:

1. All prenatal visits and any illness due to pregnancy will be taken from those 12 weeks. (I hope to goodness I am not put on bed rest.)
   I responded with the simple question: "So every Dr. visit and ultrasound I have will be deducted from the time I have to recovery from childbirth and connecting with my newborn?"
   Her response: "Yes, but the simple solution would be to schedule your visits after working hours."
   Oh, right. Because I know a bunch of clinics open before 8 am and after 5 pm.  And on Saturdays, too, of course.
   Stupid.
   
2. She also informed me that the first 8  hours of labor and delivery will be deducted from my vacation time.
   What? Like I am on some tropical island somewhere with a fruity drink in hand? Whatev.
   
3. My "maternity leave", if you will, will be deducted from my major medical time off and I will be paid only for the amount of major medical that I have acquired. Which would be awesome if I have been here for 15 years already.
   Let's do the math here:
   I have been working since Nov. 16. You receive 8 hours of major medical per month. I have already taken one day for my Jones' surgery and two days for his strep throat.
   I have 40 hours. ONE WEEK. Add in the months until January and I will have two weeks. TWO.
   Let's all hope I don't break my leg before childbirth.

I told the nice lady that this was all just very, very sad.  She assured me it was not. Um...Yes.  I am telling you, woman, it is.  This is sad.

I realize you all probably already knew this about our system, and I bet you think I am dramatic. (hint: I am)

But I was clueless about all of this.

So I did a little research.

Did you know that there are only 4 countries in the world that have no national law mandating paid maternity leave? We are right up there with Papua New Guinea.

Apparently European countries have the most generous policy regarding maternity leave.  I have landed on Sweden, which provides generous parental leave: all working parents are entitled to 16 months paid leave per child, the cost being shared between employer and the state. Yes, that sounds about right.  I should move there.

I realize our countries are designed very differently and there is always good with bad. But this doesn't change my feelings about the matter.

I am feeling better about things today than I was yesterday. I know we will be fine.  I am thankful for a husband with a good job and that my job will, in fact, be waiting on me when I return to work. And the most important thing, regardless of whatever happens, is a healthy baby.  
But I can promise you I will not be going back to work until the very last minute of that 12 week period.

This is just all very sad. Do you agree?

And you know what I read when I get sad? I read about Beyonce. Which you can read about here.


Have you read about Beyonce? You should. Warning: there is profanity.  But it is about the funniest thing I have ever read on this here Internet.  And for whatever reason, it makes me feel better about my country and no paid maternity leave.

Thanks for listening to me vent, friends. 

God bless America. 

summer fun

 Sweet cousins having a fun Sunday afternoon at the pool.

Yes, my child is in Noelle Adams' "boat" float in the baby pool.  Always the comedian.
If he is not making me cry, he is making me laugh!

Hello 2nd trimester, how lovely of you to show up

Thank goodness.

Here is I am just shy of 13 weeks.

I am finally starting to feel good during the day. Hooray for the 2nd trimester.

My energy is still minimal. I haven't worked out in weeks. This afternoon after I put Jones to bed I pulled weeds for about 45 minutes and was spent. It's really kinda sad.

The pictures aren't pretty. I think it sums up how I feel.

What's a girl gotta do around here to get a tan? Clearly it's not accomplished by sitting behind a desk for 8 hours a day.

At any rate, here I am. Documenting.

I started thinking about Jones meeting baby. He loves Noelle Adams, or as he calls her: baby girl. He kisses her and tries to pick her up all of the time. Yesterday we looked over and he was brushing her hair. Cracks me up. I can't wait to see him as a big brother.

I am like 99.9% sure baby is a girl due to how drastically different I feel during this pregnancy than last. This means, obviously, that it's a boy. I never predict correctly.

I have a girls name picked out, I think. Trey is not so sure about the name I love.

We have somewhat decided on the boys middle name (or first, depending on the second name). We can not agree on another name. We decided not to talk about it again until we know for sure what the sex is.

Anyone got name ideas? That's stressful, that whole naming the kid thing.

Thankful

Its been a long weekend.

I haven't felt 100% the past couple of days and Trey had a Happening overnight meeting Friday-Saturday.

By Friday afternoon when I picked Jones up from school, I was in tears. I am sure it was just caught gas (lovely, I know) but I couldn't stand up straight from pain. Between that and my wild man, I was brought to tears.

My sweet mama, though she had 1,000 things to do Friday night to prepare for a dinner party, came over and fed jones, played with him and bathed him. She stayed until he was fast asleep.

So grateful for wonderful family only 30 minutes away.

I have never been able to sleep when treys not home. I know that's pathetic, but its true. I suppose it was a combination of not feeling well, stressful events that have occurred this week and being home alone that kept me up all night. Literally. I finally went to sleep at 5 am.

Jones woke up at 7:00. And he refused his afternoon nap.

Dear me.

When trey came home around 2:00, exhausted from sleeping on the floor at a church in Hattiesburg with high schoolers, he insisted that I go to bed.

He took jones to chick-fil-a to play and eat ice cream, though he was just as drained as me.

Sweet husband. Grateful.

He sent me these pictures of little man loving his treat.

Keeping it Real Friday

I pulled the plug.  I went private.  I even went private before inviting any readers.  Imagine the love I felt when I received emails from concerned (angry?) readers.  Love you, too, Nan.

There are situations and people in our lives that are out of our control and doing something simple, like making my blog private, will calm some of my anxiety.

I know that's pretty broad.

I love blogging and find it very therapeutic.  Hope you all stick it out with me. 

I was going to blog about the current state of our house - and I still will - but my sweet child changed that for me. 

Have you all been praying for me ever since I posted about my wild child? I gotta say, I think it's working.

sweet and innocent

He has been sweet for two days.  Sweeeet.  Busy and wild? Yes, but SWEET. 

Wednesday night after his bath, he said "I read bible, mama" and got his little storybook Bible.  He came back, sat in my lap, opened it up and said "Jesus loves me".

I almost died.

I mean, I almost checked his temperature first, for surely this isn't my child, but I seriously almost died of sweetness.

Then yesterday, after a super rough and emotional afternoon, he was seriously precious.  We dropped him off with my parents at chick-fil-a for a while to play while we went to test drive a car, so maybe I didn't witness his wildness on the play area.  But, only the way home he is adorable.  Kept saying "hold my hand, mama daddy".

So we literally all three held hands riding from Starkville to Columbus.  I am sure we looked special.

When we got home and it was time for his bath, I said "Jones, time to take a shower" (yes, he showers with Trey sometimes) "Go get your bath cloth" and he responded with "OK I will" and then did it, y'all. Seriously. No fights.

I almost cried.


After his bath he sat with me for.....wait for it....THIRTY MINUTES while we watched his favorite show Little Bear.  And he held my hand the whole time.


Trey had to remind me that he had to go to bed.  I rocked him forever.  He played with my hair.  I died again.

Seriously.  He is wild and sometimes drives me bananas, but moments and days like these make me melt.  I am going to make it through age two after all.



And here is one more real thing to keep us going through the weekend:

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking in anything." - James: 2-4

Hooray for the weekend, y'all.

Jones' latest trick

Jones is hilarious.  He has started faking being asleep. He thinks it is the greatest thing. 
We were videoing Jones for his Uncle Adam, who he calls Elmo. Hilarious.

this child

They say you just gotta laugh.  Even when you want to cry, find something to just laugh about.

So I am learning to laugh.  And trying not cry. 

Sometimes it is easier to laugh after the fact and after your child is peacefully asleep in his bed and after the mess of the day is cleaned up.

My child is wild.  I know he is two.  I know he is a boy.  But even so, he rivals any other two year old boy I have met.

Or my family have met. Or his teachers have met.

The kid is nonstop. And he is big and strong.

I am thankful we have an active, full of life, excited child. Really, I am. I don't mean to sound like I am complaining. I am not. I love being a mom of a boy.

But, oh dear me he is exhausting.

The truth is, I would pull my hair out if I stayed home with him all day, every day.  I don't love spending 7:15-5:30 M-F away from him, but I also don't think I would be able to stay home all day either.  He wasn't this wild when I stayed home full-time.  When I started work when he was 18 months he was still, relatively, manageable. 

I can see now why we had plans of him going to a mother's morning out program a few times a week if I were able to stay home - for a moment of sanity.

My parents are convinced I need to write down all the crazies this child puts us through. I already do that some here, but I want to do better.

That way, in a couple of years when he is calmer (hopefully????) and we are dealing with another 2 year old, I will know that I have been through it before and survived. And hopefully came out stronger. Or, if nothing else, I will remember where all of my gray hair came from.

Few Jones-ism that I don't want to forget.  And maybe some I do want to forget:

1) He wakes up ready to go.  There is no snuggling. No good morning loving. The minute you pick him up out of his crib, he says "Me walk." and he takes off. Running.  There is usually a 5-10 minute battle to change his diaper.  2 seconds is far too long for him to sit still.

2) He chases Sophie around the house and picks her up.  He throws her, kicks her, and loves on her way too hard.  She pretty much hates her life.

3) He still sits in a high chair to eat.  We have tried regular chair and booster seat.  He will not sit still.  Not even for a minute. We tried every day for a week straight.  I don't think we ate at all.  So for now, even at 34 lbs, he sits in a high chair.  When he finishes his meal, he dumps out all remaining food and milk either on his head or on Sophie, who is always underneath hoping for crumbs. We discipline for this every time with no luck. He throws his food, utensils, everything. Restaurants are nightmares.

4) He has broken two lamps in the past week.

5) Just last night he took off his diaper while I was getting his bath ready, ran to the living room, stood on the couch and tee-teed everywhere. He was very proud of himself.

6) He tells me to STAY anytime he wants to do something himself (which is always. for everything). He is very strong and can physically push me into another room.  Last night he locked me out of the room.

7) He still hits. I am at my wits end on this.  We have tried everything. Ignoring, spanking, time out. Nothing seems to work.  We try to be consistent, but we haven't found what clicks with him. Just the other day he hit me (on the face. hard) so I held both of his arms and told him we never, ever hit anyone.  He head-butted me. As hard as he could.  I am pretty sure I blacked out.

8) He doesn't really play with toys, he just holds them while he runs around. He will play ball, but only if he is moving at all times.  Maybe a future soccer star?

9) We had a church picnic the other night that was moved indoors due to rain.  In a matter of two minutes, my child managed to break away from me and Trey, push little old ladies out of line and grab handfuls of chips of the table. Then he ran to the stage, pushed over the microphone, jumped off the said stage and grabbed a poor kids hat.  All in 2 seconds flat.

10) He is the sweetest thing at bedtime.  Baths are exhausting.  Changing diapers and clothes are exhausting.  And sometimes getting him to his room is exhausting.   But sweet rocking time.  The minute you turn off his lamp and start rocking him, he lays his head down and lets me just rock and sing to him.  It is, very literally, the only time of the day that he is still.  Sometimes I rock him for way too long. Then he curls up in his bed and sleeps all night.  For that, I am very, very grateful.


I love this boy more than anything in this world.  There are times that I want to bottle him up at this age. He is so funny. So loving. But oh so busy, wild, strong - both in will and physically. 

I know he is not the first wild child. And I know he is not the first to go through terrible twos.

Someone give me words of inspiration.  I have heard three is worse.  Dear me, tell me this ain't so.

Old friends

I love old friends.

I especially love old camp friends. Some of my favorite memories were made working in Maine at an all girls camp. Trey and I both worked there several summers. Counselors from around the world became life long friends. Love it.

Jones brought gave everyone popsicles.  We get wild in Mississippi!

One of our favorites, Bret, and his precious wife came to visit this past weekend. We have seen each other once a year since 2005. Bret and his wife are both captains in the army and have spent most of that time overseas. We are so proud of him.

We were so happy to finally meet his wife and welcome them back to America after years away. And we were thrilled to show them around the deep south.

We had the best couple of days doing nothing but catching up and eating.

Love those two.

The Roller Derby Team was in the Cotton District. Too funny.

Wisecups

Dear old friends

Me and the hubs - my parents had Jones for the night so we could enjoy adult time. Thank you!

Keeping it real Friday

Poor baby #2. I can feel it happening already. I blogged throughout my pregnancy with Jones. Every detail. I don't think I have even mentioned this pregnancy expect for announcing.

Poor second child. Imagine my life--- I am the third. I should feel lucky to have a name. (I kid, mama)

I am trying to take pictures every week documenting my growing belly. I have taken three. Not bad.

Pinterest makes me feel like I need to have on cute clothes, a fancy chalkboard with cute writing to document my daily growth.

Not going to happen. Hair up and working out clothes on.

Don't be mistaken. I have not worked out. Unless you call eating and sleeping working out.


Can I get real? This pregnancy is totally different. I feel green. And fat. I never once felt sick with Jones. This go round I finally agreed to taking Zofran.

It's getting better. And not close to being bad. Not compared to some pregnancy nightmares I have heard.

For the first month or so the only thing that made me feel better was plain special k cracker chips. So I ate. And ate. Literally boxes a week. All day I ate those things.

Now I just eat. I eat all of the time.

I am pretty sure i had a bump at 6 weeks. I have gained almost seven pounds. That has to be some kind of record. At this rate, I will be huge by September.

It's also totally different from pregnancy #1 because now I have a full time job and a 2 year old. I didn't work when I was pregnant with Jones. I just kinda slept, cooked, ate and watched HGTV.

I know. That's so annoying. I am annoyed at myself.


Anyway, to document my growth:

7 weeks



8 weeks

10 weeks

Boo on strep

Jones has strep throat. It's just really not fun for anyone involve.


He has had a terrible cough for a couple of weeks now, but no other symptoms so I discarded it as a summer cold.


But over the weekend he started running fever, complained that his tummy hurts, had diarrhea, and his nose started running like crazy.


Sweet baby.


We snuggled a lot and watched way too much Little Bear, his new favorite, on nickjr.

And we got ice cream on the way to the pharmacy. Things are looking up!

Keeping it real Friday: let freedom ring

As of 9:30 this morning, the Skaggs no longer own a home in Hattiesburg.

Sweet freedom, indeed.

I haven't walked in that *@!* home in three years. Yet, month after month we shell out money to own it.

No longer, friends.

Now we will just shell out money to pay off the loan we have in order to pay off the house we sold since, you know, we practically gave them the home.

Minor details. Minor details.

Money stresses the poo out of me. Does it you?

I don't know why. We have had seasons of plenty and seasons of, well, not so plenty. Yet time after time God has shown up and provided for us.

This house is no different. 

God provides. And God will continue to provide. And praise God for providing.

That's me keeping it real.


Have a wonderful, free weekend.

Good grief y'all

Y'all, it's hot down here. Really hot.

I know it's Mississippi and Mississippi has hot summers, but this doesn't lighten that sting of the first heat wave of the season. Triple digits for a week straight. And then you calculate the humidity. Last week the heat index was 123. Um, no thanks.

Getting dressed everyday is pointless, no? Girls, I know you feel me. You shower, blow dry and straighten your hair only to walk outside to a humid sauna.

And don't get me started on the air conditioner situation. Our poor AC works overtime day in and day out, yet we came home to the thermostat set at 65 degrees, but the temperature inside was 82.

I need a snow cone. Tigers blood, please.

It's a good thing I adore this beloved state I live in. I can think of nowhere else I would rather live. But, dear goodness, I am quickly reminded of the joys of spending my college summers in Maine.

In the words of Tina Fey, I want to go to there.

I may just hibernate until fall, which is often a season of our imagination down here in the deep south.

What are your plans for the 4th?

Stay cool, my friends.

And when given the opportunity to eat a piece of frozen peanut butter banana pie, always do so. I may have two pieces tomorrow (one for me and one for the growing baby, of course).

IPhone picture dump

Post-nap summer snack in Mickey PJs

Helping out around the house.

Trying to escape this insane triple digit heat

Watering the plants - he does this almost every night.

My breakfast this morning at work.  Don't judge.