December 10

Decorated cookies with Grandma.

December 9

This photo is from Thanksgiving, but I had to share it. Like uncle like niece!? :)

December 8

Ready to watch the Christmas specials.

December 7 - Gift Idea

My day was made the other night when we were at The Machine Shed and I came across this product: Beer BandsA few years ago, my mother-in-law received a gift of small colored plastic tabs that fit on your drinking glasses to differentiate between otherwise identical glasses. It was perfect for the weekends the whole family descends on the homestead and we have drinking glasses scattered throughout the house. It also cuts down on dishes, since we could drink out of the same glass all day.

My sister-in-law, Noelle, found these ingenious markers at Crate and Barrel, and a couple of years later, when I finally decided to get myself some, the workers at C&B had no idea what I was talking about. I've been looking for something similar ever since.

Fast forward to last week when I spotted these in the gift shop of a restaurant. Intended for beer bottles, because they stretch and give like a strong rubber band, they are perfect for drinking glasses, also. I snatched them up immediately.
Each package comes with 12 bands (2 were missing for this photo) all stamped "mine". Of course, after coming home and checking Amazon, I found them for a dollar or so cheaper than what I paid, but I'm supporting local business, right?! Here's the Amazon link if you think this would make a great gift, or perfect for a stocking stuffer!

December 6

Watching the snow (albeit flurries that didn't stick around too long).

December 5

Pink cheeks mean she's too cold to play outside anymore . . .

while this one's pink cheeks shows the fun is just getting started.

December 4

Nightly Advent reading.

December 3rd

Admiring a display of gingerbread houses at the Grand Geneva.

December 2nd

Doing school at the Grand Geneva.

December 1st

Inspired by my friend, I'm going to **attempt** to post a picture each day this month to remember our Christmas traditions. Here's December 1st - the Advent calendar is loaded and ready for the countdown to begin.

My "Crazy" Diet, part 2

I previously wrote about my nutrition plan, detailing what I have to eat every day. Besides the "do eat" list, there is also a "don't eat" list, much tougher to handle, I'll admit.

The #1 thing I thought I would struggle with the most? I cannot eat sugar. Well, it's not that I can't eat any sugar, just that I can't eat any sweets. You know what I mean: cakes, pies, cookies, doughnuts, ice cream, candy, sweetened breads, etc . . . I also stay away from natural sweeteners, like honey and maple syrup and all artificial sweeteners.

The main reason that my nutritionist is against sugar is that it is addictive. Like cocaine-quality addictive. I think most people know this. The more sugar you eat, the more your body craves it and the more damage you do to your endocrine system. Your body is forced to churn out insulin to keep you from going into a diabetic coma and it causes your blood sugar to fluctuate like a speeding car on a roller coaster. Besides the fact that sugar has a direct effect on triglycerides, part of what makes up cholesterol, and I'm trying to get those numbers down!

So no sweets includes sweetened drinks and fruit. Now granted, fruit is healthy, and this is just a partial ban since there will be a time I'll be allowed to eat a small amount of fruit, but since I am eating so many vegetables, she assures me that my body is getting all those anti-oxidants that fruit growers crow about.

I can't have milk, but I can eat cheese.

Probably harder than the sweets thing was the fact that I would have to give up caffeine and even de-caf drinks. Now I hadn't been addicted to caffeine for almost a year when I started this diet, but I do enjoy an occasional coffee and a trip to Starbucks is one of my favorite treats. But I'm committed, so I gave it all up.

The strangest thing on the list? Perfume and perfumed products. There are many sites on the Internet talking about how dangerous the chemicals are in our modern cleaning and bathing supplies, but Karen's issue is more about our adrenal glands constantly being stimulated by smells. Fragrance Free shampoo and conditioner, lotion, deodorant and soap have been easy - it's the hand soap and hair products that are hard, and I must admit I've not given up my Aveda Be Sleek hair straightener. I feel like a *little* fragrance doesn't hurt, right?!

That is the meat of what I've done without over the past 6 months, although there have been a few occasions that some sweet was too hard to resist. But for the most part, I have found that giving up sweets has been easier than I thought. Partly because there is so much I have to eat already, I don't have a lot of room for more and also because once I got the massive amounts of sugar out of my diet, I found I didn't crave it like before.

Next post I'll tell you about some of the benefits of this diet.

I found this blog, Practical Theology for Women a while back, and have always walked away from her posts blessed, and too often convicted. Today is no different.

She writes about wanting to see fruit in the lives of other believers too soon. She admits that too often we walk away from struggling friends because we give up on loving them the way Christ loves us.

"We Christians are an impatient lot. We insist on gathering grain before it grows. We want to see flowers before spring and fruit before fall. When a brother or sister is going through a tough time, we insist that the Spirit’s work be obvious. Unless they speak of their trials from a spiritual perspective, we tend to apply pressure more than we dispense grace. We rarely believe that life is hidden in the barren tree. Let a friend express his exasperation with a four-letter word, and immediately we’re more concerned with his language than with his agony."

Ouch. If you identify with that statement, let me encourage you to read the whole post and then glory in the great Gospel message of forgiveness without a timeline.

My "Crazy" Diet

Last May, I embarked on quite the dietary adventure. Burdened with the fear of heart problems creeping up on me in my 30's since that had happened to both of my brothers, and knowing that my cholesterol was already on the high side, I decided to consult a nutritionist. Not the same as a dietician, a nutritionist seeks to heal the body through food.

My in-laws introduced me to a nutritionist that they had been seeing for about a year, to much success. Her name is Karen Hurd. She is from North-Western Wisconsin, but many of her clients are from around the world. She is willing to do consultations over the phone, which was extremely helpful for me, being a busy, homeschooling mom.

I'll admit, I knew what I was getting myself in to. My mother and father-in-law had discussed their diet with me enough for me know what radical steps I was going to take if I embarked on this plan - and a nutritional plan is what this is. I called it a diet, but really it isn't a short-term fix, it is a lifelong decision to improve and maintain my health through my food choices.

So here is the bones of my nutritional plan:

I have to eat 7 vegetables a day

I must eat a palm size serving of an efficient protein at every meal (efficient proteins come from animals - beef, chicken, fish, seafood and eggs)

I drink 96 oz. of water a day

I eat a half-cup serving of beans at every meal (Karen is big on soluble fiber)

Here is my typical breakfast. I cook up an egg (this is an egg, tomato and goat cheese frittata), saute half of a bell pepper and onion with mushrooms and eat a half cup of refried beans. Does it look like a lot of food? It is! But it fills and satisfies me for hours, keeping my blood sugar level and giving my brain cells, as well as other cells, plenty of good protein to keep working.

I'm 5 months in, and even though it hasn't always been a bed of roses, I remain committed to this plan. Tomorrow (or soon, at least) I'll write about what I'm NOT allowed to eat.

Mommy's Good Old Days - Choosing a College

This post is part 15 in a 15 week series sponsored byMommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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I have really enjoyed linking up with Mommy's Piggy Tales to help motivate me to write down some of my childhood memories. Although the initial 15 posts are completed, I plan on sticking with this theme and revisiting some old photos and the memories that accompany them. Stay tuned for that!

My senior year was winding down and I knew that I had to make a decision about which college I was going to attend. It was a tradition at our school's graduation to announce where each graduate was attending college and their proclaimed major, and I had decided on neither. But one thing was for sure: I was NOT going to go to a strict Baptist college that would impose on my new found freedom.

My oldest brother had attended Maranatha Baptist Bible College in Watertown, WI and though I knew a fair amount of people there, it was the last place I wanted to go. My parents were big proponents of this particular school, because our old pastor was the president and many friends from my home town had moved up there to work for the school. It was only a 3 1/2 hour drive away, which made for easy weekends at home and it was so familiar it didn't feel like moving away at all.

Even though I could be described by most people as a "good girl," my heart was not interested in continuing in the legalism I felt I was reared in at my home church. I wasn't overtly rebellious, but I thought I knew what was best for me and I was confident in my own relationship with the Lord that I could handle attending a less strict school. My first pick was a Southern Baptist university in Missouri, a comfortable 8 hour drive away. I knew I would be rid of dress codes and rules about movies and the like at this school, all the while still attending a "safe" Christian school. My parents weren't crazy about the idea, but agreed to take me to a prospective student weekend.

We arrived on campus a few hours before the official events started and as we were discussing what we should do in the meantime, the girl whose room I was scheduled to stay in happened upon us. She volunteered to show me around while my parents went back to the hotel. They reluctantly left me alone to experience college first hand.

The events that occurred over the next 3 hours were divinely inspired by my sovereign Savior to show me His will, I believe. In those short hours alone with my guide and her friend, I heard about a potential sexual assault case against a male dorm supervisor, saw flippant posters for a Bible study to talk about the what the "hype" was with Jesus and heard about how to get around most of the rules the college had.

By the time we went to eat dinner, the scheduled events still hadn't begun, but I knew I was finished. I was sick to my stomach, physically and emotionally battling with the Holy Spirit as he spoke to my heart. I knew I was not strong enough for an environment like this. I knew I would be too weak to battle these types of issues. I knew where I was supposed to go, but I had to eat a lot of crow to admit it.

I tearfully apologized to my hosts (if only they knew how their conversation turned me away from their school!) and called my parents to come pick me up. We returned to the hotel and I admitted my struggle. I submitted to attending good ole MBBC and although the atmosphere there would be difficult for me in the coming years and a trial in different ways, I knew at that moment it was where I was supposed to be. And by God's grace, I made it through 5 years of ankle length skirts in sub-zero weather, draconian dating rules, and a bit of legalism, and by God's grace, I am a stronger believer because of it.

Mommy's Good Old Days - Senior Year

This post is part 14 in a 15 week series sponsored byMommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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I couldn't figure out how to condense my senior year into one blog post, since it was such an exciting and busy year. So many changes! So I decided to relive my last year of high school through pictures.

One morning in early February, my mom took an inordinate amount of interest in my outfit for school. She kept urging me to wear "something nice." I'm not sure why I wasn't more curious, but I wore one of my "nicer" outfits, just to appease her. By mid morning, I had figured it out. I was being inducted in the American Christian Honor Society. I was surprised to see both of my parents at school for the ceremony.

Boy, am I glad I wore a nice outfit!

Still surprised by the honor.

Slightly a late bloomer, I was the only senior in the group being honored.

As the end of my senior year approached, the calendar filled up quickly with exciting events. My Junior/Senior banquet (the Christian School version of prom - sans dancing) was the first. I wasn't dating anyone, but went with a friend of a friend and had a fun time, despite my "single" status.

The 8 Senior Girls

On the Sunday after banquet, it was a tradition to wear your dress to church. What fun to dress up again! I felt like a princess in this dress.

Shortly after banquet, our class was off on our senior trip to San Diego, CA! It was the most fun and exciting time in my life. We visited a guided missile cruiser, an old lighthouse, Sea World, watched the Cardinals play the Padres (and beat them!), plus hung out on the beach and shopped. The highlight of the trip was a beach cookout. We watched the sun set over the water and laughed and chased one another around the incoming tide while we waxed eloquent about how much we would miss one another. It was the last great hurrah before graduation.

The last day of school. I thought it would be cool to post it next to my first day of school picture, but I couldn't find that one.

Graduation morning. It was fixing to be a hot day the end of May, 1996. As mom started to prep for the party after the ceremony, my dad was shooting arrows at the possum in our back yard.

Our friend and classmate, Stephanie, moved away the summer before our senior year. She came back to see her classmates, some of us together since 1st grade, graduate. A couple of us traveled up to Wisconsin a few weeks later to see her graduate.

We did have boys in our graduating class, I just don't seem to have any pictures of them!

Graduation was the climax to the amazing, dramatic, roller-coaster adventure of high school. I was really lucky. We had a good class, my friends were responsible (for the most part!) and well-behaved, which kept me out of a lot of trouble, I'm sure. Even though most of us have gone our separate ways, I will always remember those years with a smile on my face and in my heart.

Mommy's Good Old Days - Junior Year

This post is part 13 in a 15 week series sponsored byMommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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My Junior year brought many new opportunities that I joyfully embraced. One stereotypical change was my ability to get a job. Although both my parents offered to get me a job with their companies, I, like most teenage girls, was more interested in working at . . . the MALL. So when I saw the local Sears was hiring, I applied and interviewed.

Dressed in one of my best church dresses (I knew how to make a good impression) I entered the store and asked to be directed to "Bob" the man who was going to interview me. I was led back into the storeroom, past all the pretty clothes and shoes and I sat down in front of a short, balding, skinny older man and he began to tell me about the job. No questions about why I would be a good fit for the company and such like I expected, just a short job description and an explanation of pay and when to start. And just like that, I was gainfully employed. Except I had to change out of my best Sunday dress into jeans and a tshirt because I was going to work in the storeroom. Definitely not as high-class of a job as I had imagined, but it was work, nonetheless.

Bob was gruff and coarse and kinda intimidated me, and the fact that we were working in a darkish warehouse made me more nervous. I was glad there were other girls my age back there with me, specifically Jamie and Wanda. The three of us became fast friends and Bob turned out to be the most gentle, kind, almost fatherly boss. He watched out for us and generally made work a more fun place to be.

I made many friends at Sears, all of them teens from local public schools. I learned a lot those years (probably some stuff my parents wish I hadn't) and I tried to be a "good Christian example." Most of all I learned that I could be in the world and not necessarily of it. I worked at Sears until my junior year in college, moving from the warehouse into the junior department and finishing off in shoes. I still have very fond memories of my time there, and most of the friends I made there stayed friends for years.

My junior year also found me doing more at our school with plays and musicals,even singing my first (and only) solo. I competed in dramatic prose and poetry and found I was quite comfortable performing, which ignited a love of the theater that influenced my decision for my college major

Probably the most exciting adventure of that year was going to Mexico with a friend and her family for their vacation, but those stories and pictures deserve a separate post altogether. You'll have to stay tuned for that one at a later time!

Mommy's Good Old Days - 10th Grade

This post is part 12 in a 15 week series sponsored byMommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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I'm afraid the time to sit, ponder and reminisce has been woefully lacking these past two weeks with school starting, so I'm a week behind and short on memories. Here's the two best things I remember about my sophomore year . . .

1. Because I started school as an almost-6-year-old, I was always the oldest in my class. Never thought too much about it, until I was 15 and in driver's ed with the class above me and then when I turned 16 just 2 months into my sophomore year. My friends were all still taking driver's ed (my small Christian school offered it, which was amazingly helpful and easy on all our parents) and I got my license.

My mom took me early to the DMV on my 16th birthday and I nervously took the written portion of the test and waited to be called for the driving portion. I think my hands were visibly shaking! When my name was called and the instructor and I started driving, I made sure to go about 5 mph below the speed limit, just to show him was a careful driver I was. We made it back to the office and he proudly told me that I had a perfect score. I was ecstatic! The best part was being able to prance (a little late) into homeroom smiling from ear to ear as my classmates eagerly rushed around me to see the new license. I still have the picture, but of course I couldn't find it for this post!!

2. My niece, KaraJo was born the spring of my sophomore year. You think I was excited about my brother getting married? I was on top of the roof about my prospective niece. My sister-in-law and brother had moved out of town and lived a good way off in the country, so on nights before her doctor's appointment, she would stay at our house and sleep in my bed so she could be close to her appointment the next morning. I would bed on the floor beside her and we would spend the time before we fell asleep talking about parenting and how much fun a baby would be. That was the closest thing to having a sister I ever experienced.

KaraJo Ann was born just a few weeks after my last grandparent died. I remember quoting "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away" and resting in that promise. What a joy to our family to get to welcome a new baby at such a sad time! I was on cloud nine with my new niece and I loved her from the moment we met. So strange that she is a senior this year and almost 18 years old!

Necessity is the Mother of Invention

For the past year, I have been using these letter cards to help teach Elijah to read. We use them to identify beginning and ending sounds, to form words, and for games. Each sheet contains 10 lowercase letters and 2 capital letters (this sheet already had a strip removed).

Perplexed on how best to arrange the cards after they had been torn apart at the perforations, I opted for bunching them together and securing them with a rubber band. Not unique and definitely not very user-friendly, you could usually find Elijah and me fumbling through the stack looking for the letter he needed to form each word.

While shopping at Target for school supplies almost a month ago, I stumbled across this blue, 5 row card holder in the $1 section that I thought would work perfectly for holding each letter as Elijah (and now Alli) learn to form words. So on school day #1, we pulled out those rubber-banded stacks of the alphabet and I eagerly grabbed my new card holder when it was time for Elijah to form vocabulary words. But we encountered a problem. The pockets were too deep to see the letter. I sighed, assuming it would be a worthless purchase until inspiration struck.

With the help of a black Sharpie, I turned the pocket holder into a place to store all the alphabet cards! Now we could separate all the letter cards, thus assuring that we would always have enough "T's" and "S's" for any word the kids had to form.
And since it is free standing, I can just set it up on the table or counter and both kids can pick out whichever letter they need, without my help! Then we fold it flat and it takes up almost no room on the bookshelf. Now you might call me simple, but this really made my day!
Alli had to help tear each letter apart, which resulted in a few misshapen cards, but she loved the responsibility and I loved having her help.

Not bad for a $1 Target find!

First Day of School

Monday, August 23rd, 2010. (Okay, so I'm a little behind in posting these!)

Alli is starting K-4, so she held up her age. The backpack is really just for show. She will probably only use it for our homeschool co-op every other week. But who could resist a purple butterfly backpack?
Elijah is starting 1st grade. And is still mastering the "don't squint while smiling" pose.
Ready for a great day!

Mommy's Good Old Days - Expanding my Borders

This post is part 11 in a 15 week series sponsored byMommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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By the time 9th grade rolled around, I was a full-time teenager. Life consisted in my mind only of friends and boys and clothes. I was outgrowing my homesickness that seemed to haunt my earlier childhood and I was ready to embrace every new and exciting experience that came my way.

One of the best things about being a teenager was our church's youth group. It was a large group and very active, so that meant I had more and more freedom to socialize with my friends than my brothers ever had growing up in the country. We had singspirations at least once a month after church (we would visit some one's house and eat and sing and have a short devotional), I went to Six Flags multiple times and even worked up the nerve to try the roller coasters. We had organized activities every month, but the most exciting part of youth group was the yearly trip we took in the summer.

Our church didn't go to one summer Bible camp every year without fail. In fact, I thought it was really cool that we would try different camps all around the country. So while we had a "winter weekend" every year in Wisconsin at Camp Joy, summers meant a new camp to try. I had a really bad camp experience much earlier in my life and I had decided that church camp was not for me. My parents never made me go, even though the prevailing attitude was that if your kid didn't go to Bible camp, there was something spiritually wrong with them or you or both. They understood my homesickness and never pushed the topic.

Well, about 9th grade I began to want to go to camp, and when the summer camp was in Colorado, I couldn't contain my excitement to attend. We left on a bus for something like a 24 hour drive to Denver and stayed at a hotel with a pool and rode the train to the top of Pike's Peak.
I had so much fun on that trip, seeing a new state that my parents had never visited. I felt so grown up! After sight-seeing in Denver for a day or two, we headed to a remote camp in the mountains. The camp was ours for the week. Our youth leaders did all the preaching and activities and fixed all the food. It remains one of my favorite memories of my time in the youth group.

I also managed to convince my parents that we needed a family vacation that didn't involve visiting old relatives. Since I was the only child at home now, my parents felt that we had enough extra money to take a trip. So we headed off to St. Louis for a long weekend. We did a lot of the tourist-y things, like visiting the Arch and taking a ride on a riverboat.
As we were walking downtown one afternoon, I spied a wax museum and begged my parents to take me on the tour. It was the middle of the afternoon and no one else was in the museum. So Dad paid for our tour and we began walking through the dark halls. We would turn a corner into a hallway that was pitch black and then it would open up to a scene (often historical in nature) of wax figures. I remember seeing Abraham Lincoln and marveling at how life-like the figures were. But the further we got into the museum, the more fearful I became, certain some crazed murderer was waiting for us around the next corner. The wax figures which were so intriguing to me in the beginning became like corpses and frightened me more and more as we passed each vignette. Tearfully I begged my parents to abandon the tour and take me out of the house of horrors. They complied (surely rolling their eyes behind my back) and once we were out in the light of day, my fears subsided and I realized how silly I was to be so scared. Silly, but still not brave enough to go back into the wax museum!

So even though I thought of myself as this brave, adventurous teenager, a few wax figurines proved how immature I still was!

Mommy's Good Old Days - Finding my Favorite Teacher

This post is part 10 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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I dreaded eighth grade. I had nightmares about eighth grade. I knew from the class above me that eighth grade meant having Mr. Campbell for THREE classes, and my class actually had him for THREE HOURS IN A ROW.

Mr. Campbell was that teacher that loved to intimidate you. And intimidate he did. He had the reputation for being scary mean and his classes were killers. Everyone warned you that he loved to fail students and he would require vast amounts of homework and projects and you'd be lucky if you made it to your eighth grade graduation after a year with him. And, like the silly teenager I was, I believed every story, even though my brother and new sister-in-law assured me that Mr. Campbell's bark was bigger than his bite. I entered the halls of my first day of eighth grade trembling.

My 8th grade school picture. My mom had recently told me that my bangs were too high. I didn't believe her - until this picture. See pictures of subsequent hair changes below.

Our class had the distinction of having Mr. Campbell teach us Bible, History and Science. I hadn't been in his classroom many times, but I recall the larger-than-life world poster framed on his wall, with intriguing army figurines adhered all over the continents. He was constantly in the middle of some big project for his room and currently there was a train track that was mounted almost near the ceiling that traveled a circuit around the classroom, even entering a tunnel made in the wall of a closet. And he had snakes. In cages. And he fed them mice in front of the class. You can imagine what a squeamish eighth grade girl thought of that!

My brothers, Kevin and Erik and my sister-in-law, Trena, pregnant with my niece. We are with my grandfather, who died weeks before Trena gave birth.

We entered his classroom with much fear and trepidation. I'm not sure I knew what to expect, but I figured it would be horrible. One hour with a difficult teacher was bad, but the time frame we had Mr. Campbell was outrageous. How would we survive?

As you might have guessed, I was completely wrong about Mr. Campbell. Our class loved him. He was a difficult teacher, with high standards and tough demands, but he was a gifted teacher who inspired us, joked and had fun with us and treated us like the semi-mature teenagers we thought we were. He was fair and outrageously funny, often devoting the entire 3 hour block with us to working on projects. We had more freedom in those classes as eighth graders than I would ever get in a classroom again until college. And I thrived in it. Gone were the days of sitting still in your seat while you listen to your teacher lecture, and in came freedom and exploration and understanding your subject so well that it was easy to retain the knowledge we gleaned.

Christmas 1992 - excitement over a walkman. . . remember those?

Being the silly girls my friends and I were, we often giggled and teased Mr. Campbell. He put up with it good-naturedly, and after we graduated from middle school, we even invited him to our party that one of my classmates hosted. He came with his wife and talked to us for a few minutes before going inside to visit with the parents. We huddled together and discussed the embarrassing idea that maybe Mr. Campbell thought we had a crush on him. I vividly remember thinking that I didn't want Mrs. Campbell (our choir director) to think we loved him, or something gross like that! So we called him outdoors and assured him that although he had become our favorite teacher, we were not in love with him. He laughed and said "good to know" and the subject was dropped.

The next year, newly minted as Freshman, we told the eighth graders what they were in for. We didn't spread the false rumors that he was a terrible teacher, we told them how great he was and what fun they would have and really talked him up. Unfortunately, most of the eighth graders never felt the same way about him as we had. I guess our class was a little bit special to Mr. Campbell and I've always appreciated the great year we had with him.

Mr. Campbell told all of us students that the day we graduated from high school, we were adults and could call him by his first name. Last year, at age 32, when I saw him and his wife at my parent's church was the first time I greeted him as "Mark."

Mommy's Good Old Days - 7th Grade

The year I turned 13 brought about many new and exciting changes. I felt like my world was finally opening, I shed the chains of elementary school and fully embraced my new life as a teenager. (All sarcasm and extreme drama intended.)

It would be a thrilling year of sleepovers with new classmates, first "real" crushes and entering the youth group, which was a watershed moment for most kids in our church. I found new self-confidence (read :: obnoxious pride) and in all my self-proclaimed maturity, I was probably more silly and immature than in years past. But, as most middle-schoolers are, I was sure I was the coolest 13 year old around and that the world was my doorstep.

But probably the most exciting thing about my 7th grade year was what happened the summer before - my brother got married!

Kevin was marrying his high school sweetheart, Trena, and I think I was as excited as they were! The summer was filled with showers and planning and I even got to search for apartments with them. But the best, most exciting part of my brother's wedding? I got to be a bridesmaid!

What 13 year old wouldn't have jumped at the chance to be in a wedding? I had never been a flower girl, a point of which caused much jealousy towards my flower-girl friends, and I loved the idea of participating in a wedding. So when my soon-to-be sister-in-law asked me, I didn't have to think twice about saying yes.

She chose hunter green bridesmaid's dresses, made of satin with "poofed" short sleeves and a bow in the back (think Laura Ashley - this was 1990). I was able to get my first pair of high heeled shoes (small pumps, really) and we had them dyed to match the dress perfectly. I practiced walking in those shoes around the house, certain I needed to get used to all the thin air my head now occupied. I'm sure I thought all eyes would be on me on their special day.

The day of the wedding came and I carried a single lily, draped ever-so-elegantly over my arm and adorned with pearls and taffeta down the aisle. I cried when my brother said his vows and dreamed of what a romantic moment like this would be for me someday. We celebrated at the reception afterwards and wished the happy couple off into newlywed bliss. It all seemed so perfect and romantic to me.

The only high that would top this one in my young life came a few years later when my first niece was born . . .

post-script: Kevin and Trena celebrate 20 years of marriage this month. Happy Anniversary, you guys! Yours was the first love story I saw first-hand and it swept me off my feet, too! Love you both!

I couldn't resist . . .

If you love all things Jane Austen, then please check out the Brookish Etsy Store. Have fun!

Mommy's Good Old Days - Desperately Wanting a Dog

This post is part 8 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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Sometime before my 6th grade year, our dog ran away. He was my brother's dog and Sam was always a runner. Out in the country, he would bolt every time the door opened and often mocked us as we chased him, coming just close enough to grab him before he ran off in the opposite direction. In the country, we didn't worry about him wandering too far, though, and there wasn't a lot of traffic to be concerned with, either.

After we moved to town, however, his running away became more of a problem. He would bolt into the street without looking both ways (stupid dog) and we were always fearful of him being picked up by the pound. Sam was a mixed breed, medium to medium small, but he still managed to climb the chain link fence or dig underneath to follow his call of the wild. And follow he did. Since he was never neutered, he was literally being driven crazy by all the females and found a way out whenever nature called.

Well, one fateful summer, while Erik was away at church camp, Sam ran away and never returned. I remember visiting the pound to look for him, without any luck. I mourned his loss, as did my brother, I am sure.

After a year or so passed, my parents were persuaded to get another dog; this time it would be my dog, and I was ecstatic. We started by calling the Humane Society, who would link us up to a family looking to get rid of their dog.

We got the first call. A black cocker spaniel a short distance away was needing a good home. I wasn't partial to any breed, so we jumped in the car and drove to the next town to meet the dog.

His name was Bud. (Remember the Budweiser dog from the commercials in the 90's?) And while I wasn't crazy about his name, I distinctly remember thinking it would be rude to the family to say I didn't want him, and ever-optimistic that we would bond instantly, we loaded him up into the car. I jumped into the backseat with him as my Dad got into the driver's seat. Bud decided he liked the front bench seat better, so he bounded over and turned back and placed his paws on the seat, facing me. Dad had started to back out of the driveway when I playfully scratched Bud behind his ears. The next thing I know, Bud yipped and bit at my face, then retreated. I screamed and my dad stopped and turned the lights on as a look of horror settled on his face. I touched my nose and instantly saw the bright red blood that stained my hands.

Obviously, we returned the dog to his owners. I was rushed to the hospital and cleaned up and given shots, even though the dog was up to date on his vaccinations. I had 2 long scratches down my nose and Bud had grabbed my upper lip, biting it and causing it to swell into an enormous lump.

I felt fine, and dad and I drove home. My mom was gone that night, and returned home after I was in bed. I remember her telling me she just about cried when she checked in on me that night and saw the extent of my cuts. We heard that Bud did the same to the next family that visited, so he was put down shortly thereafter.

The cuts weren't pretty, but by Monday the swelling had gone down considerably in my lip, and mom let me wear makeup to conceal the cuts to school on Monday. The following Friday was school pictures and while I still wore makeup, I can detect the long, thin scars on my nose. No one else could really notice, but I still had my 15 minutes of fame in the class for such an exciting story.

A few months passed and when my parents were certain I wasn't forever petrified of dogs, the talk about getting another one began. I was fairly certain Iwanted a puppy who would grow up loving me and would no longer be threatened with having my face bit off. Easter weekend came and my brother was coming home from college. I was so preoccupied with being excited to see him, I didn't think much about my parent's suspicious behavior.

They called me outside to tell me there was an Easter basket for me. When I went out into the front yard, my dad was holding a small, white, puffy little puppy that he had just picked up for me. I was ecstatic. She was adorable and cuddly and everything you could want in a puppy. I named her "Pebbles" and she became my obsession for years to come.

I got that same feeling of excitement and possibility when Dan and I adopted our current dog, Sadie. It may be trite, but there is something special about a kid and her dog and I will never forget the good years that Pebbles and I had together.

Alli

Mommy's Good Old Days - 5th Grade

This post is part 7 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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All settled into our new house, just blocks away from our church and school, I became quite social. My parents always allowed me to have friends for sleepovers, but living out in the country put a cramp on the frequency which I desired. Now living right in town allowed me to have friends over after school and on weeknights and even after church. My parents became more social, too. We started having more dinner companions, and even kept missionaries at our house. I might have missed our old house, but I loved our new place.

I remember being able to ride my bike to school. I loved this new freedom! But as my parents began to expect me to ride to school each day, I started to see it as a chore and began to miss the daily drive, even as it only took minutes to get there. My ever over-active imagination pictured a boogie man on every corner and I specifically remember being certain that a stranger was following me to school one morning. When I reported it to my parents, they rolled their eyes and assured me that no one was out to get me, but I wasn't convinced.

Our new house was across the street from a 20-acre park that our church owned and used for sports events for the school. I loved not having houses across from us and I loved being able to walk across the street to soccer and baseball games. There was also a small playground that my friends and I frequented and at the back of the park was a chain link fence that had been cut and a portion pulled back that made a perfect entrance to an overgrown area that bordered an old, abandoned rail road track. We often imagined outlaws lived in that area, and we spent hours exploring and often finding hidden treasures. Once, we actually did see some teenagers drive back there late at night and another car came to meet them. My parents were certain that there was a drug deal going on, so being the responsible neighborhood-watch kind of people that they were, called the police. They showed up, only after the offending vehicles had left and promised us they would patrol the area more heavily. This only heightened my fear that a boogie man was lurking in the shadows.

Around this time my mother started working for a ministry that had their offices at our church. I remember cherishing the ability to see my mom right after school and being able to roam the church halls with my best friend, Stephanie. Steph's dad was the business manager at the church and she spent most afternoons entertaining herself and her brother in the enormous, mostly empty church while she waited for him to be done with work. But before my mom's job change, I wasn't allowed to roam the halls with her, as students weren't typically allowed in the church. So when my mom became employed there, it opened up at least an hour of BFF time with Stephanie as we played in the nursery and snuck around the basement, finding secret passages I never new existed.

My 5th grade year was also the first year that my oldest brother, Kevin, was away at college. Even though we never got along at home, I missed him terribly and looked forward to his visiting on occasional weekends. My 5th grade teacher even commented on my report card that I spent a lot of time talking about my brother. This was a huge shock to my parents and to Kevin, I'm sure, and I'm still not sure what caused me to be so homesick for him, but it definitely marked a change in our relationship.

That period in my life is filled with very pleasant memories. Nothing huge and exciting happened that I can recall, but just positive changes that made my already comfortable life even more easy. God was very good to our family, providing blessings beyond what any of us deserved.

Mommy's Good Old Days - 4th grade

This post is part 6 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth.

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Just when life was in a routine and I was getting comfortable . . .

One night my parents called me into the kitchen. It seemed serious. They sat me down and told me they had something to talk to me about. I braced for the worst. Situations like this never turn out well.

In a very quiet, serious manner, my parents said, "Donette, we are thinking about moving into town. There is a house just 4 blocks from church and school and we are thinking of buying it."

My response? "If we move to town, you are going to have to start paying for water." You see, we lived in a little clump of houses (not exactly a subdivision) and had a well on our lot. The 5 closest neighbors used the water from our well and paid us monthly for the expense. It seemed like a position of power to my 9-year old brain, not considering that we incurred all expenses for the well when it wasn't working properly. Either way, it seemed like an advantage one should not give up indiscriminately.

After my parents assured me it was a sacrifice they were willing to make, I went on about my daily living not thinking much about it. Until the day to move finally arrived. For some reason, we were moving mid-week and my parents had the audacity to insist we were to go to school that day! Luckily for me, my sensitive stomach flared up just in time to stay home that day and miraculously was settled by the time we got into the new house! I got busy arranging my bedroom and unpacking all my belongings and generally acclimating myself to the new house. How exciting was that day!

Shortly thereafter I began to miss our old house, often dreaming that we had moved back. I loved our new place, but there is just something about the first house you lived in. I've driven back there just a few times in the 23 years since, but each time I am shocked at how small the yard is, or how tiny the house looks. I prefer to remember it as I have it in my memories.

Mommy's Good Old Days - 3rd Grade

This post is part 5 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth. Week five's assignment is age 8/3rd grade.

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Third grade was a year of changes for me. My oldest brother was beginning his senior year at the Christian school I attended and my other brother, who was to enter 7th grade and I were ceremoniously told that we would be homeschooled. What ?! Homeschooled?!

I guess I knew what homeschooling was, at least I don't remember it being explained to me, but in our large church, which ran the Christian school I attended, almost all of the kids I knew went to school with me. I couldn't imagine what it was going to be like to have to stay home everyday while my friends were at school.

My mom tried her best to make the school day as typical and normal as what my brother and I were used to. She made us dress for school (I even had to wear a skirt!) and we rearranged part of the kitchen to house our school books and papers. We started the day off with the Pledge of Allegiance and she told us to call her "Mrs. (insert maiden name here)" instead of "Mom". Needless to say, that lasted all of about 2 hours and we went back to calling her "mom" from then on. And we quit dressing up for school, although mom wouldn't let us do schoolwork in our pajamas.

The year went by quickly. I enjoyed the freedom that homeschooling provided, and I was usually done with my work by early after lunch. I played outside more and ran errands with my mom and stood silently by her side while strangers questioned why my brother and I weren't in school. Homeschooling, by no means a new trend in the late 80's, was still not as common as today, so most people assumed we were truant when they saw us in the grocery store at 10 AM.

I missed my friends that year, specifically my best friend Stephanie, but our friendship survived on seeing each other on Sunday and occasional sleepovers. My mom decided that homeschooling was not her calling in life and the next year my brother and I were enrolled again in our old school. I don't regret losing that year at my Christian school, except for missing out on an amazing teacher that all my classmates raved about. But overall, I enjoyed the experience of being homeschooled and I think it made me just a little bit more willing to try it with my own kids.