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.

Mommy's Good Old Days - 2nd Grade, or the Year I Found Out My Parents had Friends

This post is part 4 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth. Week four's assignment is age 7/2nd grade.

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Yes, until this time in my life, I believed that my parents were put on God's earth to serve my every need and make me endlessly joyful. Of course that didn't always happen, but it was their job, I thought. Somewhere in this blissful ignorance my parents decided to have a cookout.

Most of you are probably thinking, "what's the big deal, sister?" Our own children are 4 and 6 and have sat through countless cookouts with friends and family. But for some reason, be it the distance we lived from our church (those 13 miles were a vast wilderness to forge for the city folk), or my parent's arduous working hours, or a host of other, I-don't-know-so-I'll-come-up-with-some-excuse/reason, it is my perception that my parents were not social and did not have friends. My 7 year old brain computed that as completely normal. We 3 children were friends enough for them, I guessed.

This all changed when they announced we were having a cookout with some friends from church. Not attending a cookout, but having one. This was a new experience for me. What would this look like? Would I know who these "friends" even were?

Then the next big shock came: they were going to invite the Andersons. Wait. Did you say the Andersons? Like the parents of the boy in my class? You know them??? Once I recovered from the shock of finding out that my parent's social group blended into my own social group, I was able to get excited that kids my age would be coming over to play, even if they only had boys.

The cookout went splendidly, as I recall. I know there was more than one family there, but I only remember all of us kids playing in the backyard tree until after dark (which is one of the best things about your parents having friends over, I discovered, they let you play way past your normal bedtime).

It was a defining moment for me, to consider my parents as social beings who desired to connect with their peers as much as I did. Maybe Mom and Dad didn't just exist to serve me . . . no, that can't be right. I think I'll stick to my original conclusion.

Recent Etsy Finds

I never have to look far into Etsy to find something I like. Here are my recent purchases:

From Vintage and Glam, these little bird earrings caught my eye. I love how whimsical they are. I've been wearing them a lot this summer already.

This necklace and the following earrings are from Piper Blue. I LOVE these. Delicate and summer-y, these are perfect for a scoop neck t-shirt or a dress.

Piper Blue had many other pieces I liked, but this girl's gotta answer to her husband for all these purchases. So the next best thing is to add them to my favorite's list and hope he peruses the list before my birthday!

Check out both the sites. I'm sure you'll find something you like!

Mommy's Good Old Days - 1st Grade

This post is part 3 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth. Week three's assignment is 1st grade/6 years.

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I tried in vain to come up with a cheerful story from my 1st grade year. And maybe I did have an exceptional birthday or Christmas, but alas, that year is scarred forever in my memory because I did not like my 1st grade teacher.

Her name was Miss Broom, and although I'm fairly certain she was a kind person outside of the classroom, she was VERY stern and strict as a teacher. And now, as a mature adult, I understand the necessity of strictness in a classroom, especially at the time when most kids had only 1/2 day of kindergarten and first grade was their first foray into all-day school. But nonetheless, I felt like Miss Broom was out to get me and I was often out of her favor.

It all started so innocently. It was the first day of school and we were introduced to real desks with our names printed on them, full of wonderful textbooks that were so inviting to page through. The room was decorated brightly and cheerfully, just as you would expect any elementary classroom to look. There were pictures and books and a table full of learning toys that just begged us to stare longingly at them. And that is where I had my first encounter with Miss Broom.

She had just dismissed us to line up at the door to leave for the day. I had survived, unscathed up until this point, and although I was wary of her sternness, I had yet to provoke her anger. Until, that is, I passed the table with all the learning toys on it and my eye fell to the one toy I had been staring at all day.

It was a teal green plastic microscope with gigantic, bugged out eyes on the front. This was a toy meant to be played with, it was not a technical piece of machinery. And as we lined up to leave, with strict instructions to do so quietly, I slowed my pace as I passed the table and quietly mouthed, to no one in particular, "Wow. That is so cool!"

Well, nothing got by the strict eyes of Miss Broom, and she was quick to pull me out of the line and required me to stay after school to reprimand me. I was shocked. I had never been in trouble, and certainly not on the first day of school! I withstood my scolding and was released to get my things, the hallway already eerily silent. The other students were outside getting picked up by their parents, and I had to walk, shame-faced, out of the school on my own.

My brothers were waiting for me and I confessed through tears that I had to stay back for disobeying. They didn't think it was anything to get upset over and even told me to expect it for the whole year - Miss Broom's reputation proceeded her. But it ruined my first day of school.

The year went on and I ceased to be the only child reprimanded (luckily I did not have a nose-picking problem, for they were the lepers of the class), but I always felt Miss Broom had it out for me and I had forever tarnished my up-till-now flawless reputation.

Happy Birthday, Allison

To my baby, Alli, on her 4th birthday:

Sweetheart, I cannot believe that you are 4 years old! You still seem to be a toddling 18 month old in my mind. The years have gone too fast. You have grown up so quickly and are becoming quite the little lady, with your preference for dresses and all things princess. I love your willingness to share kisses and hugs and for saying you always want to be my baby. I love your friendship with your brother and how you often call to him for help before you call for me or Daddy. I love how you want to be around me and help me clean or cook or weed the garden. I know God has a perfect plan for your life, and I pray that you will always be sweet and submissive to His goals for you.

I love you, Missy Moo, have a glorious 4th birthday!

Mommy's Good Old Days - Preschool Memories

This post is part 2 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth. Week two's assignment is preschool/kindergarten years.

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I don't have many concrete memories of my preschool days. Mostly I just remember snippets of time, often jogged into my memory by old photographs.

I remember sitting on my knees on the couch looking out the front picture window waiting for my older brothers to get home from school with our faithful dog, Rufus, by my side.

I remember running around the back yard and swinging on the tire swing that hung from the box elder tree with my neighbors, Jeremy and Jenny and Trish.

I remember the long drive to church (a whopping 13 miles!) and how my mom used to make us sing choruses to keep us kids from fighting with each other.

I remember joyfully playing in my room - Barbies, teaching school to all my dolls and enjoying each and every stuffed animal I owned, even though I had many.

My brothers and I wading in a Kentucky creek with my grandma

But one solid memory, forever etched in my mind is the memory of my grandmother, Beaulah. My mom's own mother, she was my favorite person in the world. Loving and kind, always willing to have us over and make no-bake cookies with us, she embodied everything you expect in a grandmother. She lived just 4 or 5 blocks from school and I remember walking that distance

with my older brothers to hang out at her house after school when I was in kindergarten until our parents could pick us up.

She would often have us sleep over and although I only remember sleeping on her couch, the story is told that she would put the littlest one in the bathtub to sleep so we wouldn't roll off the bed. I only remember her living in a tiny, one bedroom apartment, but my mind seems to have memorized that home. She collected salt and pepper shakers and I would stand for what seemed like hours looking carefully at each individual set, even playing with some when she felt I would be trustworthy enough not to break them.

I remember her love for cats, Siamese cats to be specific. She had a porcelin lamp shaped like 2 Siamese cats with a small bulb in the back whose light only escaped through their oval eyes. I was both scared and intrigued by that lamp.

I remember celebrating Christmas Eve with her, in that miniscule place we would cram both my family and her son's family, all clammoring to have a moment of her attention. She didn't necessarily lavish us with gifts, especially compared to today's standards for Christmas, but she always seemed to pick out the best present for each of us. I was never disappointed from her gifts; she knew each of us well and reflected her knowledge in that way.

She worked at the hospital in town. My mom would bring us to visit her on many occasions and we would ride the slow elevator to the basement and walk down the long, green corridor to the laundry room to see her and she always took the time to stop and visit with us, and pose for a picture if my mom remembered the camera (and she usually did!). She would squeeze all of us around her and we would willingly smile, cherishing those stolen moments with her before she returned to her work.

My memories of my beloved Grandmother end before I graduated from Kindergarten, as she died of a heart attack just days after her 61st birthday. Of course as a child, your grandmother always seems old, and as I mourned her, I didn't fully realize how young she was to die. Now that I have children of my own, I understand better how young she really was, and what a tragic loss it was for my mother, as well it was for us.

When I think about my life as a preschooler, my memories may be snippets, but no memory is more precious than the few years I was honored to know my Grandma.

Mommy's Good Old Days

This post is part 1 in a 15 week series sponsored by Mommy's Piggy Tales that encourages women to record their youth. Week one's assignment is your birth/naming story.

"What an interesting/unusual/pretty name you have!" is usually the comments I hear from people when they first meet me. Sometimes they ask me to spell my name, sometimes they guess it's origin (French is a common query) and often they just tell me they have never met a "Donette" before. No matter what exclamation I hear, it is still the same. I cannot introduce myself without some comment about my name.

For years I *strongly disliked* (never say hated) my name. As a child, I was often called "donut" (it does not help that there are Hostess powdered "Donettes" out there), but I've heard "been-there-donette," "Darnit" and many other not-so-intelligent puns on my name. My parents still remind me of the times I begged them to change it. The most common name I longed for? Star. Yep, Star. Now that wouldn't have been mocked at all.

I wish I had some magical, epic tale about how my name came into being, but it is actually quite simple. My parents were looking through the baby name book after my birth and saw the name "Danette" and decided to change it to "Donette" because my dad's name is . . . you guessed it, Don. They, of course, thought it was beautiful and unique and perfect, even as I later questioned their sanity. The funny part of the story comes when they came to church the first Sunday after I was born and an older woman approached them and said, "Donette is my name!" My parents were shocked - here they imagined they were the only ones who could invent such a perfect namesake, and there was one all along sitting in the same sanctuary as they were. Oh well, she spelled hers with two n's, so it was unique enough to placate my parents.

I have encountered one other Donette over the years - while sitting in a waiting room before I met my college advisor and I wanted to ask if she had the same love/hate relationship with her name, but she just gave me a weird look after our name was called and went back to the advisor's office before I could speak.

Now I embrace my name. I joke that I should have changed it before I started college, as I could have taken on a new identity, but I'm glad I never did. It's a tribute to my dad, and to my parent's bravery in taking artistic license on a published name. I may have to spell it whenever I meet someone new and I may have to endure the questions, but it's my name, and I wouldn't be me without it, I think.

And as a tribute to the name, Dan and I chose it for the daughter we lost in pregnancy. I don't think I would have chosen it as her name had she lived, for I know too well the trials she would have endured, (petty as they really were), but as a simple way to embrace the name, honor my daughter and accept it as part of my legacy and now hers, too.

Stay Tuned

Starting Thursday, and going for the next 15 weeks (hopefully!) I will be participating in recording my youth with Mommy's Piggy Tales. This is a great site about parenting and memories that is encouraging participants to blog or vlog (that seems to be beyond my technical expertise!) stories from their childhood to share. The first week's topic will be my birth/naming story. This should be a lot of fun, and I'm excited to take the time to really think about my childhood and record those stories that are important to me. Hope you all stay tuned for the series!

The Cozy Corner - Max Edition

I knew this would happen. I knew that we would finish school before I had time to review all the books we read in our Kindergarten curriculum this year. So instead of giving up, I'm going to do a one sentence summary and one sentence review of the rest of the books (13 - yikes!), linking to Amazon in case you are interested in purchasing them.

Are you ready? Here goes nothin'!!

The Hundred Dresses by Eleanor Estes - a young girl gets caught up in making fun of a classmate who is obviously very poor yet claims to own 100 dresses and learns a valuable lesson about leadership and compassion.

Kids loved it, even though the protagonist was a girl, and afforded some great opportunities for discussion about how to treat others.

The Family Under the Bridge by Natale Savage Carlson - an old hobo befriends homeless children and selflessly helps them during the Christmas season.

Kids hated this one because the language was over their heads - better for older kids.

Dolphin Adventure by Wayne Grover - a true story about a diver who helps a wounded dolphin underwater. An exciting adventure!

My son ate this one up! He loves dolphins and this is written in pretty simple text, even though it is a chapter book and he hung on every word.

Mary on Horseback by Rosemary Wells - three true stories about a nurse who gave up a typical job to help the mountain people of Appalachia and thus founded the Frontier Nursing Service.

This was a tough one, also. Written in Appalachian dialect, most of the stories went way over the kids heads.

The Story of Doctor Doolittle by Hugh Lofting - come on, you all know this summary. He talks to animals and they go on a grand adventure to Africa.

What kid wouldn't like this story? My kids laughed and loved this book. It is a bit long, 156 pages, with only a few small pictures, so you might have to hold off with your little ones, but my 5 year old didn't struggle.

In Grandma's Attic by Arleta Richardson - my husband read this one to the kids and I eagerly listened while he recounted tales of a mischievous little girl and how she learned valuable lessons from all her mistakes. The stories are told from a grandmother to her granddaughter while she spends time at their house.

Lovely book. Sweet and funny and presented great opportunities to talk with the kids about disobedience, since most of the stories center around the grandmother's stubborn will.

The Light at Tern Rock by Julia L. Sauer - mixed reviews on this one. The story of a young boy who spends his Christmas stuck on a lonely island manning a lighthouse with his aunt.

My kids seemed to not care for this book, but the story was good, in my opinion and the lessons about attitude are priceless. Also, it is short (60 p.) with a decent number of pictures, so it ends up being a quick read. I'll probably keep this to read to them again this year.

The Story about Ping by Marjorie Flack and Kurt Wiese - ultra cute little story about a duck who disobeys and the consequences.

Kids loved this book, very easy level, even the 3 year old didn't get bored!

Five True Dog Stories by Margaret Davidson - the title explains it best . . . focus' on dog's amazing sense of smell, devotion, loyalty, etc . . .

So cute, kids were amazed by the dogs and we had a lot of fun with this book.

Twenty and Ten by Claire Huchet Bishop - a fictional account of a common story during WWII, it is about 20 French students who do their best to hide ten Jewish children from the Nazi's at their remote boarding school.

Great story, but might be a bit dark for small children. It speaks of death and starvation and torture (in an age-appropriate manner) but my son loved it. It sparked many conversations about the war. My 3 year old ignored us while we read this one, though!

The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne - lovely chapter-length stories about Pooh bear and his friends and adventures.

Hate to say it, but my kids had too much trouble following this book and all the different characters, and their mother had too much trouble trying to read it in the different voices (speech major that I was)! So we shelved this book about 1/3 of the way in for when they are a little older and can understand the adult humor.

Richard Scarry's Please and Thank You Book by . . . do I really have to tell you? If you haven't read one of Scarry's many books to your kids, go to the library now and get one! So cute and fun, this book tells how to behave politely using his famous characters.

This book was great and I think you could use it for much younger children, and as a reminder to older kids of what polite behavior should look like!

Are you still with me? One more to go!

A Grain of Rice by Helena Clare Pittman - the story of a poor Chinese boy who, when denied the hand of the princess in marriage, instead asks for a grain of rice, to be doubled every day for 100 days. You can guess what happens!

The math in this book was over my kid's heads, but they enjoyed the story, and it is a short book (65 p.) and the print is large, so it was a quick read.

Well, there you have it. A lot of books to read, but a great place to start if you are thinking about using Sonlight's curriculum or just looking for a fun book list for your kindergartner. Whew! I'm off to read something for myself!

Old Wrapping Paper and the Body of Christ

A few years ago on my son's birthday, he received a present from his grandparents wrapped in cowboy wrapping paper, I mean, vintage cowboy wrapping paper. My mother-in-law had saved this paper from when my husband was a little boy (5, maybe?) and his grandparents used it to wrap his birthday present. How cool is that?!

If you know me well (or not so well, possibly you've heard all the rumors) you would know that holding on to a piece of wrapping paper, however cute and sentimental it might be, for 27 or so odd years would be the last thing I could or would do. I just don't hang on to things for that long, truth be told, even a quarter of that long. I don't like clutter and so many of those sentimental pieces of paper get thrown away. (see here for an example)

By God's grace, I have a wonderful mother-in-law who was quite at ease with my teasing over the wrapping paper and we joked that if the world were made up of people like me, there would be no Smithsonian because I would have pitched every historical piece of paper I came across. What's this? The Constitution? I'm sure we have this saved on a computer somewhere - to the trash! And we joked that if the world were made up of people like my dear mom-in-law, we would be living on a spaceship while Wall.e was busy tidying up our planet for our return. There is a need for both of our personality types, to balance out each group.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about this, especially when the Holy Spirit is kind enough to bring my sinful pride to my attention. This is exactly how the body of Christ is made up. For some reason He has chosen to redeem all kinds of people and then place them in the same local body to work together to bring Him glory. If the local body were made up of people who think like me, there would be some serious deficiencies, I'm sure. And the same goes for other personality types.

But the rub occurs when we actually try to get along with people who think and/or act differently than we do. When we would rather just smile and nod and move along and never have to speak to that person again. That is when the gospel matters. That is when I have to remind myself that John 13:35 is true: "By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

This type of love doesn't come from steeling my will to put up with someone different than I. No, this love comes from Christ, from His sacrifice that implores us and enables us to love each other as He loves us. It isn't always easy, but ultimately I believe that it is possible, and I remind myself of this miraculous truth when I'm tempted with superiority.

Thank you, Father, for making each one of us unique and for loving us despite our pride and arrogance. Help me to love others as you have loved me and to further your gospel by this supernatural ability.

Pioneer Woman's Pizza

I spied this recipe the other day on my most-favorite website, The Pioneer Woman, and decided right there on the spot that I must try it. What could be better than caramelized onions on a pizza? So on my next outing to the grocery store, I picked me up some prosciutto and came home to make the pizza crust.

Now let me just tell you, the pizza crust is easy and delicious. I've been looking for a good recipe, and my only complaint is that you need to make it about 2 hours before you start the pizzas. But trust me, it was so good it was worth the wait.

The picture above shows the results of following the recipe exactly. Wow. She wasn't lying. That was one good pizza. But I will admit that because there is no sauce on the dough, it was just a *tad* dry for me. So I made it again last night, with a very thin layer of Sweet Baby Ray's sauce under the cheese and we liked it even more. So much that we didn't share it with the kids - they were content to eat corn dogs!

The star of this pizza is the caramelized onions, so if you really like them, do as I did and cut up 2 onions to throw on the pizza. More is better, right? And if prosciutto scares you or you just don't want to pay $6 a pkg, by all means use bacon or deli ham. Just use it sparingly, because the onions are what makes this pizza pop!

Now that I have finished my review, I'm off to see if Dan forgot his lunch of leftover pizza and to eat it if he did. It's even good cold.

On Reinstating Old Resolutions

I'm back on the wagon. Your comments from my last post helped put me there. Now I can't say that my family will never eat anything out of a box again (can we say "cereal'?) but I am resolved to quit buying the vast amounts of groceries from the middle of the store. I'm sticking to the fresh fruits and vegetable, fresh meat and dairy items. With a little bratwurst thrown in when the weather is warmer!

I was sizing up my pantry for all the things we shouldn't be eating when I noticed the box muffin mix. I checked my muffin recipes, and most call for 10-12 ingredients, whole ingredients like flour and fruit. Then I compared the box mix, which contained 25 ingredients, and only the first 3 or 4 could I even pronounce. That's disgusting!

So I need your help. What box mixes and the like have you replaced with homemade recipes?

Here's mine for the day:

Homemade "Cream of _____ Soup" recipe

2 c. non-fat dry milk crystals
3/4 c. cornstarch
1/4 c. Instant chicken bouillon
2 tbsp. dried onion flakes
1 tsp. dried thyme, crushed (optional)
1 tsp. dried basil, crushed
1 tsp. pepper

Add 1/3 c. of mix to 1 1/4 c. water and heat and whisk until thickened. Works great in casseroles!

How do you eat healthy?

Missy just reminded me this morning of a resolution I made about 2 years ago to eat more whole foods. It was shortly after my brother had a heart attack and I was convinced I was next, because, you know, (well maybe you don't) my family paid for the heart center at the local hospital.

And I did really well for some time. No more hydrogenated oils, I made more things at home from scratch and I felt like I was making at least a little bit of difference in my health.

And then came couponing. I have been actively couponing for about 6 months now, and I realize how much unhealthy food I have bought in the name of saving money. I mean, you can get some really amazing deals on prepared meals and jarred sauces and the like. But now I'm thinking I've exchanged good health for a buck.

So, my question is to you, my readers. How do you eat healthy on a budget?

The Cozy Corner

After finishing The Apple and the Arrow (and by "finishing" I mean "laboring through") I was excited to see a lighter, more kindergarten-friendly book on the list, My Father's Dragon.

This book is told from the perspective of a young boy, retelling his father's adventure on Wild Island, as he works to free the captive dragon that is a slave to all the island's animal inhabitants. The dragon is chained and forced to fly across a river to transport the lazy animals from one side of the island to another.

Now don't be fooled - this is not a "tug on your heart" kind of book. It is hilarious! The boy encounters tigers who are distracted by chewing gum, a rhinoceros too busy worrying about his dirty horn to guard the island, a vain lion, and a whole host of animals who are ready to do him harm, but are easily averted by simple means. Each chapter leads you through another adventure, told simply and with great humor. Both the kids loved it (even the 3 year old!).

The book is 87 pages long, with pencil sketches on about every other page, and the author is Ruth Stiles Gannett. Apparently this is a series, but since we have only read this one book, it is all I can comment on . . .

But my verdict is: buy it and read it and giggle with your kids!

Family Photo Shoot

Dan surprised me on Valentine's Day by suggesting a family photo shoot, with Dan as the main photographer! With the help of a remote, I think he did a fine job! Here are my favorites:

Don't his hands look rugged here? Pretty impressive for an insurance salesman!
Somewhere in the middle of the shoot I realized my lipstick was totally gone. And I realized why my mom always reminds me to put it on - I do look like death warmed over without it. Can we photoshop in some dark red lips here?

Is it too early to say this will be our Christmas picture next year?

Subtle Differences in the Sexes

Context: Elijah had a friend over to spend the night last night, and while they were furiously running around the house shooting at random villains, I overheard this conversation . . .

Alli: Ija, remember that you are the soldier and I am the princess that you rescue.

Elijah: Alli, we aren't playing that game. You can be part of our killing team!