When I said to share...this is not what I intended.

When I taught my children to share, I must have forgotten to specify that that rule of sharing does not apply to the flu.

Yes. Bless their hearts. They have graciously shared their flu with their mom.

Lucky me.

And after all I did for them.

But wow. Have you heard of Tamiflu? The last time I had the flu, it lasted for 9 days and I lost 16 pounds. I was in the bed for 4 days straight. It was seriously bad.

This time, with the Tamiflu, I am feeling better after 2 days in bed. Which is a good thing considering we are leaving tomorrow and it will take something a heck of a lot bigger than a virus to keep me off that ship. I might consider staying home if I'm...oh maybe if someone official declares me *dead*...maybe. Otherwise, I'm going. LOL!

Seriously. I am starting to feel better and the boys are getting back to health too. What could have been extremely dreadful has been avoided. I am so grateful.

Tamiflu. If you start to get the flu--it started with fever and chills for all of us--don't hesitate. It's $100 well spent, if you ask me.


PS Tina's Cover-Girlie

Did you see the newest Simple Scrapbooks yet? That beautiful smiling cover-girlie belongs to Tina Cockburn! This issue is going with me to Jamaica in a few days...I'm using great restraint to not read it until we leave, don't you think? LOL!

Love the Simple.


Reading this just made me shiver. Can you imagine how powerful that was?

In other news, please pray for my boys. They both have the flu. I can deal with the flu but of course, the fever comes with seizures for Jules. Not exactly the way we wanted to celebrate birthday #12, ya know.

Such is life.


More than Mud!

We took a field trip with our home school group today out to Mud Puddle Pottery for a class in using clay. What a delightful place!

Mud Puddle Pottery Studio


The formerly recessive shoe gene is dominating!

The countdown is on--10.5 days to embarkation! I think most of all right now I'm just looking forward to the uninterupted sleep. Yes, I know that's just terrible...

I think this dress from Nordstom (I've gotten hooked on their $5 flat-rate shipping) is positively sheek - I wish it wasn't strapless. I'm infatuated with embroidered things lately.

I'm in full-on class mode right now, which is why I haven't posted any scrapbook-ish things lately. I made a set of sympathy cards for Joal today (by request) but forgot to take pictures of them. (He has had need of several sympathy cards lately...not a good thing to need nor an easy thing to make.) At one point, I was really close to asking him to just go buy some at the card store...I get so critical of myself and my art when it comes to sharing with non-family and/or people I don't really know. There's a certain level of what's the word...nakedness, maybe...that comes with sharing something you make with your hands. When you send some gentle creation forth into the wild blue...not knowing how it will be can certainly bring forth a hint of nervousness. I managed to get through it...but boy, Hallmark almost got some $$ out of me on those.

I'm so ready for this cruise. I am manicured, pedicured (yes, I did...for the first time in my life!), and have a new hair-do (super short perm). If it's true that a woman needs more shoes on vacation than any other time of the year, I'm certainly good to go with 3 pairs of flip-flops (all sparkly and beaded, perfect for looking slendid on the deck), 3 pairs of heels for evenings...(red patent, blue and black), 1 pair of silver flats for the formal evening and 2 pairs of casual shoes (slides and walking shoes--because someone's husband thinks he's going to convince her to actually walk on this trip--ha! Good luck with that one, buddy. Walk to the upper deck, maybe.). I haven't bought/had this many pairs of shoes in the past three years combined...not sure what's up with that.

The red shoes I confess I really didn't need, per se, but there they were, all red and shiney and calling my name. And they were on sale. (That's good, right.) I haven't worn red heels in ages...but I like these. Maybe next time, we'll go a little bolder in the red shoe department. Yes?

OK probably not.

Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. :)

As a girl who grew up mostly in the 80's, you can imagine my astonishment when I ran across something like these in Khol's! I had no idea that Jelly shoes had made a return trip to popularity--disgusting sweat-mongers that they are. :) Frankly, I think this is proof that little girls know nothing of good fashion. :)

I like how the description says "glittery uppers for extra sparkle"..cause heaven knows you must have as much sparkle as possible on your uppers. LOL!
Ah yes, the lovely 80s fashion rewind...
Well, things to do...things to pack.
Happy Wednesday, everyone!


That painting...and something about six degrees

Desperation will make you do crazy things, but sometimes crazy gets lucky! You should know that I NEVER forward anything to my whole email collection but I was absolutely in need...So a few days ago I sent out this urgent email to all my local friends, acquaintances and basically anybody who's email address I've ever had, who live in the middle part of my state:

Hi all. I never send anything to my entire local address book but I hope you will understand just this once I hope you can help, even though perhaps it's a long-shot.

A week or so ago I was waiting to check out at Hobby Lobby in Franklin when I noticed the painting that the woman in front of my was holding. It was a beautiful multi-colored heart done in oil with the words to John 3:16 scribed around the outline of the heart. My simple description probably doesn't sound very impressive but I tell you, it was absolutely stunning. The use of multiple colors inside the heart and the way the words of that sacred verse just grabbed me.

I was taken with it - so much so that even though I never talk to strangers in line like that - I simply had to ask her if she had painted it. She said she was not the artist, but that she had had it framed. She said it was painted by a local Brentwood artist name Holly Rogers (at least I think that's what she said, I was distracted by trying to check out by this time). She volunteered to give this artist my name and number if I was interested. I wrote down my name, phone and email and gave it to her.

It's been a week and I haven't heard from this artist. I know - I should probably be more patient but I'm not. I have done every google search I can come up with to find a Brentwood oil-painter artist named Holly (Holle, Hollye, etc) and I'm not having any luck. So, if any of this sounds familiar to anyone you may know...I sure would appreciate some help. Forward this to anyone you know that you think might be able to point me in the right direction.

Remember, I'm not even positive that Holly Rogers is the name she said. I was distracted by the check out person, the boys and the painting...I'm just hoping that someone knows something.

With great appreciation,

So I sent out my email and prayed. And guess what. One of the moms from pre-k saw the painting on display at the Y and got the artisits name for me. It is Holly Rhodes and the painting is up for auction in a benefit for the YMCA.

So with that information, I found out that this artist also does work for
And a version of the heart is shown on their website.

Yes, it's true.
The web is a small small world!


More Brad Paisly magic - "It Did"

A single red rose and a table for two
a nice chardonnay and an ocean view
ships coming in and stars coming out
we sat and we talked until the place closed down
then we took a long walk
down on the beach

Her and that white dress and her bare feet
we stopped and we watched that light house light
I pulled her close and i held on tight and I said to myself
it doesn’t get better than this
no it doesn’t get better than this

And it did, it did, oh it did.

Fast forward to that next spring
we were looking for a preacher
Picking out rings
Family coming in and friends coming out
To that little white church on the outskirts of town
Me in that tux fighting butterflies
Tears of joy in my mamma’s eyes
Her daddy walking her down the aisle
He lifted that veil and I saw that smile
and I said to myself
it doesn’t get better than this

no it doesn’t get better than this
But it did, it did, oh it did

Just when I start thinking its as good as it can get
This crazy life does something just to let me know
I haven’t seen anything yet

Nine months later nearly to the day
There we were flying down the interstate
Car weaving in, car weaving out
Through traffic running every red light in town
Delivery room and the doctor comes in
I’m right beside her she’s squeezing my hand
One more push and a baby cries
Sweet little angel with his mama’s eyes
And I said to myself it doesn’t get better than this
no it doesn’t get better than this

But it did, it did, oh it did
Yes, it did.

From Fifth Gear


It's a Blizzard...Tennessee-style.

It's a Blizzard...Tennessee-style..even though that's kinda like calling an aquarium the ocean. It's OK to laugh at the southern reaction to a dozen snowflakes. We over-react to snow because we get so little of it. I call it the hopeful over-reaction. We always hope for more than we got the last time, deprived snow souls that we are.

A good snow day does us good. It makes us slow down and take a day off. It gives the schooled kids an unexpected break from school. It gives grocery stores a boost because we panic and make the "it-might-snow-I-must-report-to-the-mothership-for-milk-eggs-and-bread" run to the nearest Publix or Kroger.

It slows life. It gives good ol' boys with big ol' trucks extra chances to rescue wayward "foreign job" cars that don't weigh enough to keep them on the slippery roads, not that many of our little snowflakes ever really stick to asphalt. It gives reporters the chance to go to the park in the winter and create a little Rockwell-ian film of families having a snowball fight - nevermind that it takes 4 minutes to scrape together enough snow to actually make a snowball worthy of throwing. It brings out the child in all of us - even those who have maybe forgotten how to play.

Snow turns everything beautiful, even if it's just for the better part of one morning. Everything the glitter fairy has been up all night throwing a party! It makes the muddy chaos of a well-loved backyard look positively majestic and the dirty up-turned Tonka dumptrucks look almost artful. It's pure snow magic, I tell ya. It's call for a celebration of all things winter! Mittens, magic and mocha with marshmellows, of course. (Oh, that's good. I gotta write that down.) :)

And the best part of the snow is the awesome photos. Pull out the camera baby and dump the Christmas images off the card. We have to take snow pictures. At least 300. Because you never know...we might not get any more snow this year and these may have to last me. Finally, now I can use a few of the three gazillion snow embellishements I've been hoarding!

Snow for this southern girl is a special thing, whether she's 6 or almost 36. See, I forget alot of stuff, but I don't forget snow. Every major snow of my life is etched on my brain. (Of course, it helps that I can count them all on one hand.) It came a similarly "major" snow in Texarkana in 1978 (back in the day when I was still an only child). I know because I was 6 and I spent the whole day riding on a magical tin cookie sheet (sorry mom) down the hill in the yard with my father, who also remembers that day well. Unfortunately, perhaps he remembers it for mostly different reasons. He remembers stepping off the porch onto the yard, thinking his big boot would surely crush through that snow to something solid, only to find out in a split-second that the snow was actually a sheet of surprisingly solid ice. This occured to him, right about the time his backside met the sheet of ice and he started s-l-i-d-i-n-g rather precariously down the slightly sloped yard, towards the mailbox. Of course, the first time was an accident but the next three million times we did it on the cookie sheet on purpose!

Southern snow. It's a wonderful thing!


Forgive me, Lord when I complain...

When I find myself wrapped up and swallowed by the difficulty of living with a child who is not--and likely never will be--whole, I tend to wallow in the muck of self-pity and disappointment. I get cynical. I question. I doubt. I allow some measure of dispair to take root in my soul, even though I know that this is not my burden to carry alone. I've mourned the loss of how things should have been with this child from the very day of his birth. There have been times when I felt "over it". Or at least as over it as I can be. And yet still, some days, the tenticles of struggle reclaims me. The hurt of motherhood. The disappointment in acknowledging the chasm that exists between what I want for him and what he will be able to achieve. The brokeness of his body that places limits on him that even my unwavering belief in him can not erace, no matter how I try. I know it's wrong to wallow and something I should find repentance for more often. I know in my heart that the God of the universe made Julian just the way he is for just the parents he has. At least, I know that on good days. On days that don't feel so good, perhaps they are not-so-good because I have lost sight of that.

The path to a downward spiral is not a slow one for me. It's more like a super-tall, super-steep, super-shiney slide at the park. Once I sit my backside on the crest and scootch off the flat part, the ride to the very bottom is fast and furious. I've been there many times and it's an ugly, dark place. I get there fast and stay there too long. Those are days that I have allowed to be stolen from me and I find that to be a disgrace. Dis-grace. {a place where grace does not abound}

And in the midst of my disgrace, the still small voice of the Savior speaks to my soul, through the gentle beautiful words of a blog, no less--the blog of a woman who is sharing her heart's story on becoming the mother of another broken child--a child more broken than mine, if our brokeness has quantitation.

And suddenly, I can't help myself. The looking inward selfishness becomes focused and I feel I must cry for her. And I cling to her hope when says "but my Jesus is the same." (I've taken up this phrase. It has many uses.) Why does becoming a mother so often bring so much sorrow and hurt? Why? Because in the sorrow, we see our need for the strength and peace of the Savior. Brokeness magnifies need and the only One who can meet that deep need for beautiful grace. The utter disgrace sounds the alarm for the giver of grace to meet his daughters right square in the muck of their brokeness and dis-gracefullness.

from Psalm 147

Praise the Lord!
It is good to sing praises to our God; it is good and pleasant to
praise him. The Lord rebuilds Jerusalem; he brings back the captured

He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their

He counts the stars and names each one.

Our Lord is great and very powerful. There is no limit to what he
knows. The Lord defends the humble, but he throws the wicked to the

Sing praises to the Lord; praise our God with
harps. He fills the sky with clouds and sends rain to the
earth and makes grass grow on the hills. He gives food to
cattle and to the little birds that call.

He is not impressed with the strength of a horse or with human
might. The Lord is pleased with those who respect him, with those who
trust his love.

Lord, let me trust your love today.

Angie's Blog


simple things that bring me smiles...

I'm a pretty simple girl.

I like simple things--

  • Like when my husband goes out of his way to be a good friend to his good friend.
  • Like why my little boy says "moma, your hair tickles my face."
  • Like when the dress for this year's cruise is 5 sizes smaller than the dress worn at the last cruise and it fits like a glove!
  • Like when Tammy emails me to say that there is new Scenic Route awaiting.
  • Like ice-cold Diet Coke from a quart Mason jar.
  • Like Stickles...on anything!
  • Like finding a great idea in a very old magazine.
  • Like jars of buttons all in a row!
  • Like finding the perfect pair of shoes for $10.
  • Like Julian's dinner table declaration of "moma, you are an excellent chef."
  • Like a friend who came to my rescue in the "camera ordeal".
  • Like the Daffodils that have begun to pop their bold green foliage from the still-cold winter ground in front of my window, promising that spring is well on it's way.
  • Like the little boy who wants to be made into a taco before he can sleep. Three times a night.

Yep. Simple things.


PSA: Back door guests

There is no law that says I must answer if a stranger rings my doorbell. Right? Right. Hence, when I am home alone or alone with 2 children, I do not usually answer the door unless the bell-ringer is one of 6 kinds of people:

1 - someone I know, like my neighbors
2 - a FedEx delivery person, with appropriately labelled truck and uniform
3 - a UPS delivery person, with appropriately labelled truck and uniform
4 - a USPS delivery person, with appropriately labelled little truck and uniform
5 - a repair person that I have called and am expecting
6 - someone in a uniform, bearing a warrant (maybe) lol!

If you don't meet one of these six criteria, your bell-ringing and knocking may very well go unanswered, no matter how incessant you may be. As a home-owner, that is my right. I don't like answering the door to people I don't know. Period. It makes me uncomfortable. It creeps me out. Seriously. It gives people too much information. My sweet husband would be happy to live with our front inner door open to let the sunshine in...but I am not that free. Salesmen, political candidates or poll-takers, real estate people, religious witnesses-- you do not have top-secret clearance and I'm (not really) sorry if that disappoints you.

It's possible that I might make an exception if there's a van in my driveway that bears the Publisher's Clearing House logo and the person ringing the doorbell is holding one of those oversized checks, flowers and a tv camera. Maybe. If you look trustworthy and respectable. And the check is really really astronomically large. Otherwise. No.

It's my house.
I get to decide who I let in.

And don't go thinking that you are special enough to use the back door. No way. No how. So sorry. If you don't meet the aforementioned criteria, and you come to my back door, you dang well better be ready for a confrontation mommy-style. If I am choosing not to open my front door to you *because I don't know you*, you can be sure that I don't want to see you peering in my back door or talking to my children in the back yard. You are on private property--private property that you have no right to be intruding upon. Don't even think about coming to my back door unless you know my children's names and unless you have earned the right to be called a back-door friend. If there is any doubt...don't.

So there.

(It's a good thing I don't own a piece of heavy artillery today.)

---Why is the spell-check not working today?---


How I Got Started

Ironically enough, on the day that I finally decide to go back to basic and shed the un-used excess...the 2Peas blog writing prompt is to write about how you got started in this craft.

It'a very funny story.
You can read it here.

Starting Over Sale

I'm starting over.
Where scrapbooking is concerned.
Selling stuff cheap.
Check it out at SBA.

The Dress

This is the dress I chose for the cruise.