Stuck

I’m stuck. I’ll be 46 in three days, and I don’t know who I am anymore. Not really, anyway. Sometimes it’s a lonely feeling. Other times, rationality slaps me in the face and tells me there are likely – very likely – other middle-aged moms out there who also don’t know what they want to be when they grow up.

I haven’t always lacked career aspirations. I mean, when I was four, no one could tell me I wasn’t going to be a vet someday. Surprisingly, this vet phase lasted until I was 12. That was the year I had Miss Hall for 7th grade English. She sparked in me a love for literature as we tackled an abridged version of Les Miserables, and her preposition song led me to a love of grammar…and the dire need to police it. At the end of the year, we submitted a “novel” for our final project, and just like that, I was hooked on writing.

Mr. Roper solidified my love of English and teaching my junior and senior years, and so in the fall of 1990 when I began college, I declared my major loudly and definitively: English Education. I was going to change the world through Macbeth and gerund phrases. Really, I was. I wanted to teach inner city, and I was going to teach a la Louanne Johnson from Dangerous Minds. Yes, I would transform my own “Gangsta’s Paradise.”

The problem was I was 21 when I secured my first teaching job at Meadowcreek High School. I guess the 21 years weren’t so much the issue as the fact that I looked 12 and didn’t really know at the time how to command the authority I needed to handle the rough and tough halls and classrooms of what many still affectionately call Ghettocreek High School. I didn’t change the world. I didn’t even change five overcrowded classrooms of teenagers. I just prayed for sanity and strength and clung desperately to that prayer for two long years.

It wasn’t hard to get a job in the business world after my teaching stint. Good communication skills go a long way. I thrived in the business environment and enjoyed it. But then I held my first baby in my arms, and though I tried to go back to work, depositing my daughter at my cousin’s daycare every day gutted me.

With my sweet baby in my arms, I bid the office farewell and began the “career” I have enjoyed so much for the last 19 years: Mom. Sure, this path has been varied. I have been Homeschool Mom, Chef Mom, Taxi Mom, Banker Mom, Nurse Mom, Party Planner Mom, Psychologist Mom. And I’ve had a few detours: I taught second grade for a disastrous year, and if there were any direct sales opportunities, I took them or at least considered them seriously. Those also all ended disastrously. Direct Saleswoman I am not. But Mom – especially Homeschool Mom – has been my title, my identity. And it’s not like I’m ever going to stop being Mom; the title will be the same, the role very different. Kind of like taking an ER doctor from Manhattan and plopping him in a country hospital in the middle of Kansas.

You see, they – my kids, the ones who have been my job, my life for the past 19 years – are starting to leave. Alex, my oldest is in her second semester at college in Florida. Michael will graduate from homeschool this year. Jacob went to public school this year for 11th grade, so next year will end in Pomp and Circumstance for him as well. My “baby” Audrey is finishing up her last year of homeschool and will begin high school at public school next year.

When I think about being at home every day next year for seven hours with only a height challenged Corgi and a grouchy, geriatric cat for company, my heart starts palpitating, and I break out in a sweat. What in the world am I going to do with myself? Eat bon bons and watch soap operas? Honestly? I’m not entirely sure what bon bons are. And I haven’t watched a soap since I was four, and I sat on the couch keeping my grandmother company. Unless you count my Melrose Place phase…
I’ve thrown around the idea of getting a job, but that brings me full circle to the fact that I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

So…I’ve decided to take next year off. Take the 12 months to figure out who I am outside of Mom. Discover my interests, my passions, my talents. Get out there and explore a little, try new things, maybe learn how to be something other than a mediocre cook. (Dare I even admit that 19 years of being Mom never elevated me beyond mediocre cook status?)

Who knows? Maybe by the time my 47th birthday rolls around, I’ll have a renewed identity and a clear path before me.

Or not.

But hopefully I will at least have enjoyed some amazing adventures along the way. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll encourage some other folks to take the journey with me.

My Story

September 17. September 23. Two ordinary dates in past years. But not in 2018. I suppose if I am to tell my story, I must also mention February 22, a date already significant since both Mark and I celebrate our birthdays on this day. In 2018, though, it is the day my daughter gifted me an Ancestry DNA kit. Honestly, I had few expectations when I spit into the little tube that was provided, sealed the envelope, and slipped it into the mailbox. And those few expectations were met when the first results I received were limited to 3^rd and 4^th cousin matches. Oh, I tried to make some sense out of those connections, but with no knowledge of any surnames, it proved a difficult, if not impossible, task. So I abandoned my results, simply satisfied with the additional information the test gave me about my heritage. Having grown up knowing my biological mother was Vietnamese, it was indeed fascinating to discover the other half of my heritage was comprised of English, Welsh, and other northwestern European roots.

And so life marched on. Another homeschool year finished well, my daughter graduated, summer began and ended, I dropped my first child off at college, and a new school year began. Amidst homework, soccer games, and Mom Taxi duty, there it was: September 17. Just an ordinary day. I sat down to check my email and mindlessly began deleting junk mail. Out of habit, I started to click Delete on an email from Ancestry.com, which I assumed was simply like the almost daily emails I receive from them: Only $59 for an Ancestry kit. (Why do I need ANOTHER Ancestry kit??) Hurry before this promotion ends! But then I saw “You have a first cousin match” in the subject line. First cousin? I know how to make sense of a first cousin! Heart pounding, I clicked the message and read the first words among many that I would exchange with my new cousin, Julie.

My existence was a surprise to Julie, and while she recovered from the shock, I did some sleuthing. I’m not saying my family labeled my activities over the next 10 hours or so obsessive…but I’m not denying it either. I googled, stalked Facebook profiles, and searched White Pages and Ancestry. My oldest daughter may or may not have called me creepy on a couple of occasions, but my research (that sounds so much better than stalking, doesn’t it?) paid off. It really didn’t take me long to identify my father James Hall, his ex-wife, their two daughters and son (my half-sisters and half-brother), and another half-brother with the most recent wife. I also discovered that, sadly, my father passed away in 1996.

All the while I continued to grow my relationship with my cousin through emails, texts, and phone calls. We really connected, and she was kind enough to regale me with tales of the Hall family. And that was enough for me, honestly – at least for the moment, though I do hope to connect with my father’s family at some point. As for my mother, I sincerely believed I would never uncover details about her; I don't know why, but I assumed she returned to Vietnam following my birth and adoption. But on a whim, I googled “California adoption records,” and this search led me to Find My Family, an adoption registry that connects birth families who register with adoptees who register. I had seen this registry before but did not have enough information to register. Now I had a paternal name. So I registered but still had zero expectations that anything would come of it.

I think it was Thursday I registered with Find My Family, and because of my low expectations, I didn’t give the site a second thought. That Saturday night as I settled into bed for the night, I checked my email. It was about 11:30. And there it was: an email from Judy at Find My Family. 

The email said, “I think your mom’s name is Tu Ngo.” 

“Natalie: your possible sister?” WHAT? I have a name for my mother? And I have a SISTER??

“Do you have more information?” My heart dropped. No. I registered with all the information I had…which was so much more information than I had ever possessed in all 45 years of my life. I did have a birth certificate number, though, so I gave that to her, then went to bed only to lie there all night plotting my strategy on how I was going to find my mother.

At some point during the night – or early morning hours – I fell asleep, only to awaken at 6:00. September 23. Again, I expected no updates, but my heart still thumped wildly against my chest as I opened my email. And there it was: another email from Judy. 

This email stated, “Tu [IS] your mother.” 

“Natalie [IS] your sister, and this is [Natalie's] possible Facebook profile [linked].” (Apparently other people are as adept at Facebook stalking as I am.) 

Judy also attached information about the brief marriage of my father James and mother Tu as well as Tu’s naturalization information. I studied that last bit of information with great curiosity because it noted that she was granted naturalization in Atlanta. How did my birth mother end up in Georgia where I spent so much of my adult life? I would learn the answer to this question later that day.

I went to church on that Sunday, wondering all along what I should do. I had found a phone number on White Pages for my mother. Should I call her? Was she even still alive? Would I give her a heart attack if she was alive? With Alex at college and Mark out of town, I texted them for their advice. They said I should call. Once I got home from church, heart pounding out of my chest, I dialed my mother’s phone number. The number was disconnected. Now what should I do? I texted Mark and Alex. We finally collectively decided I should Facebook message my sister, so I sat down and drafted a message in Word, and before I could rethink it a gazillion times, I copied and pasted it into a Facebook message and clicked Send. 

And then I sat there and waited. 

And looked at the computer screen. 

And waited.

Alex, I texted, what does it mean when there is a checkmark surrounded by an empty circle by my message? She said it meant my message had been delivered.

Are you sure? I thought the circle was supposed to be filled in. What if she didn’t get it? She assured me she would.

And I waited some more. And stared at the computer screen some more.

She accepted my message request!!!! I texted to Mark and Alex.

Oh my goodness! There are dots. She’s writing!

And then there it was: a reply from my sister. Although it’s her tale to tell, I know she was, to say the least, caught by surprise. Our mother had never told her about me, so the news sent her reeling a bit, but she still asked me when I would like to chat by phone. I, of course, replied, “Now!” In retrospect, I feel badly, realizing that for me, this had been 45 years in the making, whereas for her, my Facebook message a mere 60 minutes ago changed her life in an instant. But what a wonderful sister to meet my immediate demands and proceed with a phone call!

We chatted that first day, September 23, for over an hour and kept in close touch through texts and other phone calls in the days that followed. We both decided that it was not Natalie’s place to tell our mother about my contact, and we felt it would be best for me to write her a personal letter. Since our mother lives with Natalie, I was kept closely informed about the letter and therefore knew the day it arrived and was delivered to my mother. I wondered what would happen. Would she write? call? ignore it? My answer came the next day with a phone call. It was very nice talking to my mother. She thanked me profusely for finding her. I told her we would meet soon. As my trip to meet them drew near, my mother showed her nurturing side by calling me on two occasions to remind me to bring a sweater because the weather in Atlanta had turned chilly!

The day of my trip finally came and, as any of my friends on social media know, the Big Meet took place on October 30^th. Actually, I have a confession to make: my sister and I met alone on the night of October 29^th, so we could have some time, just the two of us. It was so extraordinary, yet so comfortable, meeting Natalie that first time. As we had kept in touch throughout the month of October, it was obvious we clicked and that we had a lot in common. “That nature vs. nurture is pretty fascinating,” we mentioned on a number of occasions as we uncovered bit by bit how alike we are. 

On October 30^th, I got to spend some one-on-one time with my mother to get to know her a bit as well. We chatted, went to lunch, strolled through the mall, and ate chocolate cake together!

What a blessing to meet and connect with my mother and sister! But there is more: I also got a brother-in-law, a niece, and two nephews in the new deal! Although I only had a day, it was such a pleasure getting to know my brother-in-law, niece, and one of my nephews. I can’t wait to meet the other nephew in a future visit. It’s all so crazy. I have brothers-in-law, nieces, and nephews by marriage, but none that aren’t the in-laws. Now I have my very own relatives! 

What’s even weirder is looking into my sister’s face and seeing myself. Because I never shared a resemblance with my parents, seeing myself in my own children has been fascinating for me. But now to see myself in two adults – my mother and sister – and have people tell us we look alike, well, that is so…intriguing? satisfying? As with much of this whole experience, I don’t always have the right words – or even words at all – to define the experience or what I’m feeling. I do know that I feel nothing but hope, anticipation, and joy in thinking about the future and growing my relationship with my new family.

Before I close this part of my story – which really is just the beginning – I would be remiss if I didn’t share some of the amazing geographical coincidences in our journey. Both Natalie and I were born in California, and both of us left California while still babies: Natalie went with our mother and her father to Idaho; I left with my adoptive parents to Canada, Switzerland, and finally Cote d’Ivoire. After two years in Idaho, Natalie and her family moved to Georgia to join one of our mother’s sisters who lived in the area. Georgia, then, is where Natalie grew up and still lives. I of course moved to Georgia to finish college in 1992, married Mark there, and we were there until we moved to Connecticut in 2010. Tracing the way our paths traversed and nearly collided on multiple occasions between 1992-2010 is nothing short of crazy. My mother and sister both owned houses across the street from each other and a quarter mile from an apartment complex where Mark and I lived with roommates right before we married. Additionally, Natalie lived in the same apartment complex as Mark. Although we were never in these same places at the same time, the time lapses are short, and in our discussions, we have recollected many times where we frequented the same shops, drove the same streets, and journeyed the same paths.

Over the last month, I have repeatedly questioned: Why did God allow our lives to cross so specifically, yet didn’t allow us to connect? The only answer I know and accept is that it is all in His timing. Whatever the past, whatever could have been, is irrelevant because the present is now, and we can make the most of all that is ahead of us. Best of all, no matter the timeline, I found my mother and little sister! My SISTER! I still can’t believe it! All my life I wished for a sister, so Natalie is truly a gift! While I couldn’t be a big sister to her all my life, I’m all about being there for her now. And as the September 23rds pass by in future years, I know we will continue to be a blessing to each other.

To read the Little Sister's perspective, click here. 

It's a pain in my...everywhere!

Before I was ever diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, I was very skeptical. We had a few friends who claimed they had Fibromyalgia, and I always told them, "It's all in your head. Just get over your whoa-is-me attitude, and you'll be fine." OK, so I never actually spoke those words to any of my friends, but I thought them. It's got to be God's sense of humor that I now suffer from the chronic syndrome I used to make fun of. I have to admit, though, that even as I have endured the many symptoms of Fibromyalgia, I have often wondered if these things aren't all in my head, a figment of my hypochondriac imagination.

That is until I read FibroWHYalgia by Susan E. Ingebretson. I'm thrilled to have come across this book because I finally feel validated. I am almost relieved to know that the things I have felt have not just been my overactive imagination, that I'm not, in fact, going crazy.

Not only do I feel validated, but I feel almost a comraderie with Ms. Ingebretson...she's someone who understands what it feels like to wake up almost every morning feeling like you've been pavement for a dozen mac trucks during the night; she knows about missing out on getting down on the floor to play with the kids because you know that when you try to get up again, you will feel like your body is going to break in a million pieces; how carrying a purse or camera slung over your shoulder for an hour can give you neck, back, and shoulder pain for weeks after; she knows what it's like to try to open those blasted save-the-planet smaller caps that top water bottles; she would probably even understand how a haircut can help alleviate headaches because just the weight of hair can cause pain; she understands why I'm cold all the time and why I have to change seats in church if anyone around me is wearing perfume.

These are all things I experience from day-to-day, usually with no rhyme or reason. I joke that I have a Pain of the Week - some joint or area of my body that hurts for no apparent reason, and the pain comes and then leaves very abruptly, also for no apparent reason. I truly, honestly thought I was somehow conjuring these pains up from my mind. It's good to know there are other people out there like me!

Ms. Ingebretson offers some great tips for fibrofolk, as she calls us, to work toward wellness. Of course, the two main areas she focuses on are nutrition and exercise. I'm grateful that I am already well down the road toward good nutrition and exercise: after all of my previous reading and documentary viewing, I have been eating a lot more healthfully, and I have been faithfully achieving my 10,000 steps per day. So hopefully I begin to see some positive changes in my health.

In the meantime, I desperately want my children to be healthier. They don't know this yet, but we are about to embark on a study of nutrition for science! I'm going to use Michael Pollan's kid version of The Omnivore's Dilemma and throw in lots of other fun science things like studies of food chains, cows, plants, dirt, and anatomy. Maybe I'll at least plant a seed (pun intended)!

Photo Scavenger Hunt, Vol. IX

1. Decay (old/abandoned)
When I saw the parenthetical explanation of this prompt, I immediately thought of the buildings I often drive by. I have been itching to photograph them, but in my drive-bys, I either don't have my camera, or it is just too stinkin' cold to exit the car. But Sunday was sunny, the temp bearable, and I knew I'd be driving by to pick Michael up from a bday party.




Alex came along, and she even willingly let me take some pictures. She obviously is not old or abandoned, but I grab the photos when I can!




2. In the Kitchen
When I saw the suggestion for this prompt to do a self-portrait, I almost choked on my Starbucks sweet iced tea. Unless there is a cake to bake or a mess to clean up, the kitchen is not really my domain but my husband's. He does the cooking for our family.

Of course, since he is often gone, I am forced into the kitchen...more often than I want and definitely against my will. I do have a responsibility, though. At least I assume when I birthed these children, I signed some sort of unwritten document stating that I would keep them fed.

It's not that I don't know how to cook. I do. Sort of. There is just a huge gap between my husband's skills and my own.

He cooks gourmet. I have no problem whatsoever with dumping the contents of a box into a pan.

He can make something extraordinary out of whatever is on hand.

I have to follow a recipe right down to every teaspoon and dash.

He finds cooking relaxing and claims it as a hobby. Cooking stresses me out.

He will whip up a 6-course meal just for him because it was something he felt like eating. I will throw some Rice Krispies and milk in a bowl and call it dinner just to avoid actually cooking something.

3. & 4. Groups of 3 & "Me" Time


AFAQ (Anticipated Frequently Asked Questions)
Are you wearing glasses in these photos? Because I don't remember seeing glasses in any other photos of you.
Yes. I decided to give you the real me. And when I am watching TV, reading, or working on the computer, I wear glasses or I get a killer headache.

Why do you have theater chairs in your living room? Most people put a couch or sofa in their living room.
Yes, well...we had a nice little theater set-up in our house in Georgia. We do not have a nice little theater set-up here. AND we came to CT with one less couch than we had in GA because our second couch had been abused enough by wiggly, jelly-smeared children that it seemed wiser to leave it behind. They are very comfortable and even have a cupholder. Maybe I'll start a trend.

Is that plastic I see on one of the theater chairs? What are you, an old granny or something?
There are actually 4 theater chairs, and yes, 3 of the 4 still have the plastic on the "foot" part. We thought it prudent since we put our dirty feet on them! The plastic got ripped on one of them, so off it came.

What's with that blanket? What are you, an old granny or something?
I am cold. Always cold. Especially here in the Arctic.

Are you trying to strangle that cat?
I assure you, no animals were harmed in the making of this post. I shot that middle shot 3 times, and she was none too happy with being jostled about as I re-set everything.

5. Things that make you go hmmmm...
I am pulling from the archives for this one. A couple of years ago, we vacationed with some friends in Panama City Beach. We were out one evening playing mini-golf, and I noticed this sign over a motel right down the street. It was too funny to leave alone, and of course the kids all thought it was the funniest thing ever.

Blogging Friends

One of the things I love about blogging is all of the online friends I have made. True, I have a few wonderful friends who blog AND whom I have met, like Tisha. There is also one blog friend, Linda, whom I had the blessed opportunity of meeting face-to-face last summer. There are so many others I would love to meet like Amy, Crossview, and Annie just to name a few.

Melissa at Love and Life and Christine at Our Family of Four are two more lovely, creative women I would love to meet. And it just so happens that they both honored me with an award. Melissa bestowed upon me the Seven Facts Award, and Christine awarded me the Versatile Blogger Award.

Now here's the funny thing: both awards require the same thing from me. And the same thing as the Stylish Blog Award which Arby awarded me back in December (he and his wife are two others I would love to meet in person). I am supposed to list 7 random facts about me and then forward the award on.

You know as I do that once I start listing random things about me, I don't stop (remember I went all the way to #10 when I accepted the Stylish Blog Award?). So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to ask you to just take a look at my 10 random facts from that acceptance speech. PLUS, did you know there is an About Me tab at the top of this blog? Guess what? There are 100--I said ONE HUNDRED--random facts about me there. (Yes, I obviously have too much time on my hands. Either that, or I'm way too stuck on myself.)

And if, after just hearing me request that you read one hundred and ten facts about me, you do not see that there is just a little Crazy mixed in, here's a bonus random fact:

*I ALWAYS make my bed. Every day. Always. On the very off chance the bed is not made by bedtime, I will make it and wait 5-10 minutes before I pull the covers down to get in.*

As for passing the award on, I am not going to pressure anyone in that way. If you would like to list some quirky, fun random facts about yourself, let me know in the comments so I can get to know you a little better.

But here's where I AM going to pressure you a little: Visit Melissa and Christine. They are fun to get to know. Christine is a mom and creative in all she does...her photography especially. She also enjoys quilting, and I have no doubt her quilts are beautiful. Melissa is fun, creative, and loving. Her photos are stunning as well, and you might even catch a few of her "baby" - a dachsund named Baxter.

Thank you, ladies, for my award!

Good to Wow: Red Edition, Edited

So I've got the red lipstick on. I figured out the timer. I successfully took a picture of myself. It's been a great week.

Though I'm probably not brave enough to actually wear the red lipstick out anywere.

Anyway, here is the SOOC shot I posted on Monday:


And here is the new and improved me:



To edit, I took the following steps:
1. First I adjusted in RAW. I cropped the photo and then, since Ashley taught us about noise last week, I focused on noise reduction. To do so, I zoomed 100% in on the photo so I could properly see the effect of the action and get it just right. I had a difficult time with my hair. I reduced the noise, but then it made my hair blurry. Later, I sharpened my hair, created a layer mask, and brushed the sharpening off everything but my hair. That made my hair noisy again. Grr!! Anyway, I think I just messed with it too much; sometimes you should just leave stuff alone. Moving on...

2. Next I opened it up and ran a high pass filter and set it to a soft light blend mode, left at 100% opacity.

3. Last, I ran Coffeeshop's Perfect Portrait. I hid all layers but white whites (which I painted over the whites of my eyes), eye define, skin smoothing, and vignette.

That is how I edited it. Now I want to share some tips for using your timer for self-portraits. I got several comments on my SOOC shots concerning focus when using your timer. It is difficult to focus properly when you shoot self-portraits because, well, you aren't in front of the camera to set the focus!

(Disclaimer: This is amateur advice; there may be a far easier way to do this!)

The most important thing I can say is that you need to use manual focus. If your camera is like mine, you arm the timer by pushing down on the shutter. If you are using Auto-Focus, your camera will want to re-focus every single time you press the shutter to start the timer.

Secondly, you will need a stand-in to help with your focus. I used my daughter for part of the time because she is about my height, so I just sat her down where I knew I would be sitting, focused, armed the timer, and then shoved her out of the way (gently, of course). But I don't think I need to tell you that daughters tire of being stand-ins. So you need another option. We happen to have two tripods, which worked beautifully since I could adjust the height of the tripod and set it down right where I would be...Voila! A very skinny, metal me. Then I could just focus on the tripod and move it out of the way as I took my seat. Again, it is so much easier if you use manual focus because you don't have to keep re-positioning your stand-in so you can re-focus until you get the shot right.

One final tip: get a remote! My sweet husband ordered one from Amazon for me, and I just received it yesterday. Haven't used it yet with my timer, but I know it will make things so much easier. And it was cheap (I think he picked it up for somewhere around $5.00).

So, anyway, that's my editing, and those are my tips. And there I am for the whole world to see. Did I mention I hate pictures of me? I was fun to edit, however!

Good to Wow: Red Edition, SOOC

Guess what I FINALLY learned to do this week?

Use my camera's timer!

It's really not complicated at all; I just have never taken the time to read the manual to discover which button to push, but...and here's a shameless plug:

Tomorrow I am launching the new photo challenge I am hosting, Lyrical Photographs, and I needed some self-portraits. As I was working on that, I figured why not slap on some RED lipstick? So here's my SOOC.

Yes, that is me. I don't like pictures of me, but there it is.

Photography, Blogging, and a Little Narcissism Thrown in for Good Measure

When I first started "Treasured Chapters" in 2007, it was solely a place for recording the events of our daily lives, however mundane those may be. Over the years, I think I have stayed true to that purpose, though I have occasionally strayed by offering recipes, answering various memes with exciting random facts about me, and rising to the challenge of various photo assignments.

You may have noticed I've been taking on more photo challenges lately. Photography has, for me, become a blossoming obsession interest as of late. I've always loved taking pictures and have photos stretching back to my yesteryears. My yesteryears of course always involved an instamatic Kodak or Canon. And if memory serves, I believe I got in just late enough to escape ever owning the Kodak with the rotating cube flash.

Back then, pictures were always posed, and you had 24 or 36 shots to get it right or you were just out of luck. Then there was the endless waiting for the pictures to be developed to see if you actually did get that shot right in 24 or 36 shots.

Digital photography is certainly a lot more user-friendly and, in my opinion, so much more fun. I only wish I had had a digital camera 11 years ago so that all of our children's days from the start could be stored on a memory card. (Then I wouldn't also have the stack of non-digital and yet unfinished scrapbooks waiting for me.)

When Alex was born, we had our first "real" camera--a Minolta--though we used it on Auto as if it was one of those instamatics. But the feeling of the camera in our hands made us imagine we were "real" photographers. We still have it:



Think it'd fetch anything on eBay?

Sometime after Jacob was born, we purchased our first digital camera, a Nikon D40 or 50--I can't remember. And that opened up this whole new world. I began taking 100s and 100s of pictures.

I was even more thrilled to get my Nikon D90 as well as a 300mm zoom lens, which is great for photographing picture-weary children from a distance so they don't even know they are in the spotlight. I've had hours of fun taking pictures and editing those pictures, and I think I have improved some during the couple of years we have owned the camera. I mean, this is the first picture I ever posted on my blog:



Granted it's of a hole in the ground, but if I were to take that today, I would focus on something a little more interesting like the lines of the wire thingys on the bottom of the hole (I built a house and put in a pool, for goodness' sake; I know those wire thingys have a name, but I can't think of it right now.).

So, yes, I've become a better photographer (and in this context, I define that term as "anyone who takes a picture"), but I hope that my learning curve will be a little steeper in 2011. I'm off to a fairly good start: A week ago, I turned the little dial atop my Nikon from Auto Mode to Manual Mode. {Gasp!} And I can't believe how much fun it is.

I have also enrolled in a little online photography class at Proud Photography. In addition, I devour photography blogs and am particularly inspired by Ashley at Ramblings and Photos, Katie at Katie Lloyd Photography, Beth at I Should Be Folding Laundry, and Darcy at Life with My 3 Boybarians. They offer tutorials, challenges, and gorgeous photos. Digital Photography School has also become a favorite webstop for me.

Someday. Someday, I would love to get my degree in photography, although the thousands of dollars online universities want you to shell out for such a degree is rather steep just to pursue a hobby, but we'll see. What I love about photography is that you not only preserve precious memories, but having the photo mindset really opens your eyes to the astounding beauty, color, and interest in this marvelous world God created.

So, while Treasured Chapters has served me very well in recording the special moments in the life of the P- family, it will inevitably morph into something a little bit different this year. I hope you'll stay. While my tedious details of our homeschooling hours, my whining about the cold, and my obsessing about chocolate have been riveting to be sure, I hope you will appreciate the fact that I will include more--and hopefully better--photos along the way. Which means there will now be more of a focus on me, but doesn't the Me Factor characterize much of the blogosphere anyway?

Of course, writing will always be my first love, and I always like to include some writing to go along with my photos where possible. But you might start seeing more of me just playing with photos. Bear with me! Or not. Your choice obviously!

On a final note, I'm going to throw myself right out there. Tomorrow I will give you details about a monthly photo challenge I am starting. I know...I'm getting all fancy and stuff with things like Linky tools. And I say I am throwing myself out there because, quite possibly, not a single person will link up. But even if it's just me participating, it's going to be a lot of fun (for me anyway). So...details coming tomorrow...stay tuned!

Accepting

Arby at Boarding in Bedlam just gave me the Stylish Blog Award. To accept, I have to list 7 random facts about me and then pass it on.

Honestly, I'm not sure why I was given the award because

1. I am very stylishly challenged. I am not a sharp dresser. I don't do anything much with my hair. I usually put on a little make-up, but I most likely apply it incorrectly.

2. I do not like shopping (have I mentioned that before), a fact which plays a pivotal role in the fact that I am not very fashionable. You would think I would be fashionable because my idea of clothes shopping is to find something I like on a mannequin and buy it, and mannequins are usually pretty stylish, right? Problem is, the cheap stuff usually isn't what they dress the cute little mannequin in, so my husband helps me shop for clothes. He has much more patience than I do when it comes to digging through clothes racks looking for a good deal.

3. Besides lacking fashion sense, I am exceptionally mediocre at a lot of things. I can bake and cook, but you'd never find me on The Food Network. I can write, but I will likely never have a #1 bestseller (although my name is on obsolete GRE and SAT Study Guides). I can snap a picture, but I don't think I'll be asked to photograph any weddings any time soon. I can scrap a page of photos, but I'm not particularly crafty. I play volleyball, but I'm no longer as awesome as I was back in the day. I'm OK with this mediocrity, though, because I do my best in what I do, and that is really the important thing. Plus, I am exceedingly happy with my life just the way it is. Of course there is a list

4. I love lists.

5. of things at which I would love to become exceptionally exceptional: photography, writing, and cooking would top that list.

6. One of my favorite shows on TV right now is A&E's Hoarders. I realize that is a strange show to be hooked on, but the psychology behind all of the lives mercilessly dragged across the TV screen fascinates me.

7. If I had it to do over again, I would probably major in psychology instead of English. That or history. History fascinates me now that I have decided there is some value in knowing the past in order to make the present and future more bright.

8. Although I should not be admitting this since I have a little side business that depends upon my stellar teaching English skills, I do not favor "classic" novels/tales/books over your average Clancy/Ludlum/Grisham thriller. I find many of them tedious. Like Moby Dick. I have tried several times to read the book about the whale, but it simply bores me to tears. To Kill a Mockingbird is an exception; it is one of my favorite books.

9. If I had 3 wishes, they would be 1) a guarantee that my children will come to know, love, and grow in Christ, 2) to become a better mother, and 3) 6 never-ending plane tickets to anywhere we want to go whenever we want to get there (accommodations would be nice as well).

10. I do not like uneven numbers. When I turn the volume on the radio up, it must be set at even number intervals. Actually, the 5s are OK for radio volume too. I could have done 8 random things about myself to make this list even, but if I'm going to have 8, I may as well have 10 which is a much more rounded number than 8. And since I enjoy talking about myself, this works out quite well. Of course the fact that I like talking about myself could be #11, but then I would have to go to 15, and, well, I know there is just so much of this you can take.

So that is me in 10 random facts. I'm accepting of me. I'm accepting this award. And...I'm passing it on to: Days of Our Lives, Cheeky Cocoa Beans, and Down a Red Dirt Lane (just keepin' my Georgia peeps together!).

Pierced

There was nothing I wanted more at the age of 13 than to have my ears pierced. But my parents wouldn't budge. The magical age was 16. Three more years. I couldn't understand. It's not like I was requesting a beer or that the devil be tatooed on my arm. My best friends had had theirs pierced for years. Plus, it was African custom: all baby girls got their ears pierced. I think the order of operation was clip the umbilical cord, pierce the ears, then bathe, feed, and swaddle. But not with my folks. And they did get asked by a couple of Africans about it. I'm sure the Africans would just shake their heads and say, "Those strange missionaries. How is everyone to know she is a girl if her ears are not pierced?"

Despite the fact that my parents were firm in their stance, I begged and pleaded and cajoled. And I finally got my way. Sort of. We made a deal. If I practiced the piano for a half hour every day of summer vacation, I could get my ears pierced. I wasn't a willing piano student, so practicing every day for a half hour was torture, but I did it.

Kolo, one of the African doctors, did the honors, and he followed the same procedure he would for any African baby. He used a suture needle and threaded a strand of suture thread right through my ear lobe. I wore the tied off thread for the obligatory 6 weeks. It may have looked strange, but it sure was easy to care for since there were no diamonds or earring backs to dodge when cleaning. The only danger was snagging the loop on a brush or comb. And there I was, 3 years earlier than planned, a proud earring wearer.

Later on a furlough to the U.S. and in a fit of rebelliousness, I put 4 more holes in my ears. I still remember that night sitting in my little California apartment room, the Beastie Boys playing softly beside me so as not to attract the attention of my parents. One by one, I pushed the sharp point of a stud earring through my lobes so that I ended up with 4 on my left ear and 2 on my right. Thankfully, I escaped infection. And, surprisingly, I hid all of my piercings from my parents with my long hair. Later, of course, I wizened up and realized that one doesn't need that many extra holes in one's head, so I let them all grow back except for two in my left ear and the solitary beginning one on the right.

Now I have a whole new generation of little girls. While I wouldn't want to punch their ears full of holes at this tender age, I have no Age Sixteen rule either. In fact, when Alex was 3 I had her ears pierced. However, they got infected, I think due to the fact that I was cheap and didn't select the pricier 14k studs. I was working at the kids' preschool then, and spending an hour cleaning up an infected ear every morning was tough on both of us, so I took them out.

Since then, every time we pass a Claire's, I've asked her, "Do you want to get your ears pierced today?" She's always said no, although the Princess, if in earshot, has replied with a resounding "YES!! I do!" Despite Alex's resistance, when her BFF Grace expressed a desire to get her ears pierced, I suggested we have a Girls' Day Out and go together for the piercing. She agreed.

The day finally came yesterday, and we all met in a Claire's crowded with Christmas shoppers. Grace and Alex went first. Both of them turned down the suggestion that the Claire's teddy bear sit in their laps for comfort during the piercing as well as the soothing lollipop after, both ideas denied with a politeness but a slight eye roll just in case anyone would question the maturity of these very grown-up 10-year-olds.

The Princess, however, was more than willing to give the Claire's teddy bear a seat during the procedure.

And I elected to have two Claire's employees accomplish her piercing simultaneously, one on each ear. I was worried that otherwise Audrey might decide one was enough, thank you very much, and we'd be leaving the store with a lopsided princess. She shed a few big, huge crocodile tears after both earrings were secure, but it was nothing that the promised lollipop couldn't fix.

Both girls enjoyed coming home to show off their new ears. Of course, as beautiful as their sisters look, the boys would never admit it with a compliment. However, Daddy's compliments more than made up for silly brothers' neglect.

See? I can act my age.

I'm in my mid, almost upper-30s. I look young. And I'm not bragging. That's not a compliment to me when someone tells me I look like a teenager because usually what a person means by that is, I don't take you seriously because you look like a teenager.

I act old, though. I don't play, really play, with my kids as much as I should. I don't do a lot of fun, spontaneous things anymore. And I always require my 6-7 hours of sleep.

But this weekend was Thanksgiving. Which means there was a Black Friday following the feasting. Which means that tradition dictates I throw the Old Lady Act out for a day or, rather, a night. It is on this, the nation's biggest shopping day, that I venture out with my husband in the middle of the night. We check things off our list, and we enjoy each other's company minus the little people.

This year was a bit different because some stores threw off our normal early-morning schedule by opening at midnight rather than at 4am. Toys R Us was that store. And I don't know why we always try to do Toys R Us. We are not serious enough shoppers to stand for hours in a line out in the freezing cold, so we never get there early enough to get the doorbuster deals. Then, after we have chosen the items we do want, when we see the check-out line that circles the gigantic store at least once, we always put the items back and leave empty-handed. But every year, there we are at Toys R Us. And this year, there we were. Only earlier.

Even though they opened at midnight, the other stores we wanted to visit didn't open until early morning, and, try as we might to be completely young, we did decide we wanted at least a couple of hours of sleep. So we went to bed at 9:30. And I lay there wide-eyed for at least two hours like I usually do, solving the world's problems. (Oftentimes I write blog posts in my head while I'm lying there, but obviously there was no head-blogging going on, or this post would have been written a bit earlier). Just as I had fallen into deep sleep, the alarm went off.

We were out the door by 1:30 and off to Toys R Us. The parking lot should have been our first clue that we were once again going to leave empty-handed, but there we were with 3 and 1/2 hours before another store would open, so in we went. And sure enough, the really good deals I wanted were gone, and the line was already winding around the store, in and out of the aisles. We left. But not before running into some good friends whom we would encounter several times during the night/morning.

With a couple of hours to kill, we decided to head to the mall. We had no idea there would be anything open in the mall, but there were cars in the parking lot, so we decided to follow the crowd. (As a side note, following the crowd can backfire on you. One Christmas, we were on the road and saw a McDonald's that looked open. We pulled up behind several cars in the drive-thru, finally got up to the speaker-order-thingy, and tried to place our order. No one there. It was closed. I wonder if we were on candid camera that day.) Anyway.

Our early morning escapade ended up being worth it because we cleaned up at the Disney Store in the mall. All items that weren't on our list, but the deals were too good to pass up. After the Disney Store, we got to go on our date. To the Waffle House. Because we're a class act.

So to cut down the length of my tale, I'll summarize by saying that we also got some great deals at Kohl's, Target, and Wal-Mart. If you've never been to Wal-Mart on Black Friday, it really is a must-experience. At least once. If you have a shopping cart, it's like Rush Hour traffic. Seriously. You can't move. It's a little easier without a cart. Sort of like being a motorcycle in Rush Hour traffic; you can weave in and out a bit. So I stood on the edge of the traffic jam with the shopping cart, and, using the cell phone, guided Mark to a couple of end caps I could see from my vantage point, which contained various items I can't name here because occasionally my daughter reads this.

And that was it. The end of another Black Friday. See? Sometimes I can be young. Ish. And, no, I'm not going to 'fess up to an afternoon nap because that would just make me sound old.

In Which She First Develops a Bad Taste in Her Mouth for the Tooth Doctor

Brought to you by the question the dental hygienist posed yesterday during my torture cleaning:

"So, did something traumatic happen to you that caused you to feel this way about dentists?"

I told her this story, though you may understand it better since I do not have fingers and various devices protruding from my mouth:


Growing up as a missionary kid, I never had the opportunity to get to know my relatives very well because I only saw them every four years when we would come back to the States for a year's furlough. Because we furloughed in California where my maternal relatives lived, I spent more time with them. During weekly visits to my grandmother's and holidays spent sitting at the kids' table with my cousins, I established at least a surface relationship with most of my mom's family.

The rare visits with my dad's family in Georgia were the special ones, though. There was something so comfortable and friendly about my grandparents' house in the small, southern town, a striking contrast to the noise, smog, and busyness of Los Angeles. Rincon was a town where everyone knew your name. I would go down to the post office with my grandfather, and the postmaster would greet him, "Good morning, Mr. Mac! Oh, and this must be your granddaughter." Obviously, he had been sharing his excitement about our visit.

I loved their house too. Outside was the ever-present smell of pine trees with a passing whiff of the paper mill in nearby Savannah. Not that paper mills give off a pleasant smell, but the odor always reminded me of Rincon, and that was a pleasant feeling. Inside there was the delicious aroma of fresh cornbread mixed with whatever meat dish would grace the table for dinner.

As weird as it sounds, one of my favorite things at my grandparents' house was in their bathroom. It was on their bathroom counter where I would always find the two plastic figurines. Or at least I thought they were figurines. They delighted me because they were a plump grandma with rosy cheeks and wire-frame spectacles, and an equally plump and jolly grandpa. And they stood there, cheerily, on the counter. I was even more delighted when I discovered the truth about these figurines. They were actually containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth at night. And you can believe I crept into their bathroom many a night to sneak a peek at their teeth lying in the recesses of their respective Grandma and Grandpa Figurines.

I had many a discussion with my parents about these fun containers that held Grandma and Grandpa's teeth. I told my parents I wanted to one day have false teeth and a similar container in which to store them. At three-years-old, I had no idea of the prophetic nature of my grand desires. In fact, even as I spoke of my lofty teeth ambitions, my teeth were rotting in my mouth.

As a baby and young toddler, my parents had allowed me to fall asleep with my bottle, and the bottle contained a formula which contained sugar. Apparently, sucking on a bottle of sugar all night is bad for your teeth. So by the time I was four years old, all of my front teeth were rotten.

It was time for the dentist. And I honestly have mostly fond memories of this dentist's office. It took up the 3rd floor of an office building overlooking one of Los Angeles's freeways. I enjoyed sitting in the chair watching the cars go by. Seeing cars as numerous as one finds in L.A. was always culture shock for me. They always gave me a new weiner dog toothbrush. This was a toothbrush in a clear tube, and on either end was one end of the dog. A real dental treasure for a 4-year-old. Finally, they had a treasure chest to beat the band. It was in the shape of an actual treasure chest and was full of such a variety of treasures from which to choose, it was overwhelming.

Despite my adoration for this dentist, I inevitably had to undergo The Extraction. All of my front teeth came out. And I can only assume my x-rays showed no signs of any permanent teeth making their appearance any time soon, so rather than put me on a liquid diet for two years, I got temporary false teeth.

You would think, given my grand aspirations of one day sporting a good set of false teeth, I would have been elated. However, after the False Teeth Installation, I was presented with the harsh reality that I had just been given a set of false teeth that were attached to my mouth. No removing my teeth at bedtime. No putting them in a cute little jar beside the sink. These were no fun at all. With this realization, I was happy to find out that I would only have these false teeth until my permanent teeth emerged.

And with this experience, I learned several things. One, the Tooth Fairy knows that a whole mouthful of extracted teeth is worth way more than a quarter; I can still picture the lovely beaded flower necklace that came with the quarter. Secondly, not all false teeth are as cool as Grandma and Grandpa's. And third, the dentist is not a fun place to be.

For more "Things I Learned", visit Musings of a Housewife.

Coming Clean About Chocolate

As mature, wise, grown-up moms, we spend a lot of time teaching our children how to be polite, pleasant, kind little people. One of the lessons we spend the most time on is Sharing. You know what? Sometimes I don't like to share! For example, when it comes to chocolate I DON'T WANT TO SHARE.

I found the answer to my practice-what-you-preach-dilemma. And, while I probably would not choose this over a Snickers bar, it is one of my favorite kinds.

Because when I want a piece, I don't have to

sneak into the pantry under the guise of planning tonight's dinner,

slyly shove a piece in my pocket,

tiptoe to my room,

lock the door,

and wolf it down

all the while ignoring the incessant banging on my door.

NOT that I've ever done that.

Nope. With this chocolate, I can

take the whole bag out of the pantry and set it on the counter,

make all the noise I want opening the bag,

take out a piece,

make all the noise I want unwrapping it,

savor every little morsel,

and help myself to seconds

all the while standing in my kitchen ignoring the Chaos around me.

Why? Because none of the kids likes Ghiradelli Dark Chocolate Squares with Raspberry Filling.

The Gratitude of a Hypochondriac

I'm a hypochondriac. It doesn't help that I know so many people my age who are receiving all kinds of sinister diagnoses. And it doesn't help that the last time I went to the doctor, she told me that since I'm adopted, I "should just assume I have everything because it's better to be safe than sorry." Clearly, she does not know me. Although you'd think she'd have an inkling since I'm in there all the time with a new bump for her to check.

Setting aside all the worries that come with being a hypochondriac, I thought I would get into the thankful spirit of this season: Today I am thankful that mammograms are not half as bad as I have heard.

That's it. No more details.

You are welcome.

You Capture - Whatever You Want

Many times, both in my classroom teaching and in my home teaching, I have given my students/kids the assignment of writing "whatever about whatever you want." There are always those students who get giddy at the thought of filling a paper with words on their choice of topic. Then there are those who meet your eyes with a blank stare.

Because I'm such a professional when it comes to this pho-tography stuff, I am the latter kind of student. Last week's You Capture assignment was to photograph "anything you want."

Blank stare.

I racked my brain (which hurt). If I was to photograph anything I want, it would likely be the kids. But that would be too predictable. I thought about putting more of my town in photos. In fact, yesterday as I drove back from co-op, I passed "The Dam Store" and "The Dam Bar" (we live near, um, a dam), and I thought pictures of those signs would add some quirkiness to photos of the lake. But I did the lake last week. Plus going to the lake would be a lot of work.

I don't actively seek extra work.

I've heard tell that in some photography classes, they give you an assignment called "From the Bench" where you sit on a bench and take photos from that bench without getting up. I actually did go to the park yesterday, but I was too busy yapping it up with the other moms to take pictures. So of course I am, today, taking the lazy way out:

(Drumroll please) I now present to you "From My Chair."

This is my chair:

There is usually a cat on my chair. She thinks the chair is hers. She is sorely mistaken.

A bookcase tells a lot about a person. These are books I have used in my role as Teacher.

These are gardening books. Since I can't keep a plant alive to save my life, I'm not sure what they're doing there. Oh, OK, I do know, but that is a story for another day.

The kids like to play this:

While sitting here. These are African chairs. They are surprisingly comfortable. Of course, the grown-up size of these are even more comfortable, but these aren't bad. Really.

And, yes, there is still Halloween candy being sorted by little fingers in my family room. Did you see it behind the African chairs? Here is another pile. Wasn't Halloween a week ago? What kind of mom allows her kids to still have all this candy lying around anyway?

Although I prefer a clean coffee tabletop, it usually isn't. Somehow my coffee tabletop has turned into a catch-all, an arts & crafts table, and a Lego workshop. Always with the Legos. Honestly, the whole house is pretty much a Lego workshop. At least one would assume that to be true since they are EVERYWHERE. These particular pieces of Lego art happen to be from the kids' AWANA tonight. They had to create Bible scenes with Legos.

On the left we have the Garden of Eden. In the middle is Jesus in the manger. And on the right is the lame man being lowered through the roof for Jesus' healing.

Behind the couch which the coffee table serves is this wall:

The arched window looks in on the ktichen. We built this house, and that brick accent wall as well as the wrought iron railing you see on the top right both have stories too long to tell here. That sweet baby? That's the Princess. I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with her when we moved in here; those were her first professional pictures. (And her last since shortly after that we purchased our new-fangled camera, and I got this silly idea in my head that I am some sort of professional.)

And finally, one thing I love about my chair is that I have a wonderful place in the morning for my quiet time. Just me, a hot cup of tea, and the Word. (Well, and lots of interruptions from little people if I don't get up early enough. Like that has ever happened. The sleeping in late, that is.)

You Capture - Technology

Recently, my daughter asked me if I was alive before television was invented. I feigned offense but only half-heartedly because I remember asking my mother the same question. OK, so I did point out that, "I'm not that old" with mock indignation. Honestly, it is astounding to consider the advancement of technology in my lifetime. I mean, I made it through school and college leafing through musty Encyclopedias and wading through the old card-file system at the library. And I either wrote--literally--all of my papers or plunk, plunk, plunked them out on a typewriter. And, boy, was I a mean typist!

Being the education lover that I am, I occasionally long for a re-do. Can you imagine doing school with the WHOLE world right there at your fingertips? Perhaps that's why I homeschool, to live a whole other academic life vicariously through my children.

Certainly technology has opened so many possibilities. It does, however, also draw a two-edged sword--the information world is so very vast, it is easy to get lost. And spend A LOT of time getting lost. I have to be very careful I don't spend too much time on the computer. It is so easy to sit down "just to check email" and, an hour later, find myself checking out the very latest in homeschool science curriculum. There are two culprits that suck the time right out of my day when I'm on the computer:

Facebook



and Blog World.

Of course, a close second time waster is the TV, but I make it a policy not to have it on during the day. Trying to teach school whilst catching up on the latest soap is not all that conducive to learning.

20 points if you can guess this show:


Make that 5 points. That was too easy. I was going to hit you with this next photo, but couldn't pass up the frame with Kramer in it.

OK, 20 points if you can guess the episode. Not that you win a prize or anything.

There is one piece of technology that does not distract me: the phone. I have a strong aversion to the phone. I don't know if this is because of my college job as one of those annoying people who interrupts you during your dinner to tell you that you will be receiving a free gift in the mail if you just sign up for something. Or perhaps it's the fact that, even if the children are on the far side of the house when I pick up the phone and dial the number, as soon as the other party picks up, I'm like a magnet. Or maybe I'm just shallow and tire of the small talk that has to take place at the beginning of every phone call.

Whatever the case, if you called my cellphone, you would likely get my voice mail which says something along the lines of, I am not answering because I usually forget to take the cellphone with me. And don't bother to leave a message because I rarely check.

I don't text either. In fact, I'm a texting dork. And of course I have no interest in owning an iPhone or any device of equal caliber. So on the off-chance that I am required to text someone, I still do the ol' 4-4, 3-3, 5-5-5, 5-5-5, 6-6-6. (20 more points if you can figure out what that spells).

So I guess you could say I have a love/hate relationship with technology. But I guess that's probably how most people feel...you love your computer until it crashes or freezes. Then not so much.

For more technologically inspired photos, visit I Should Be Folding Laundry.

Hats That Don't Fit

I wear a few hats around here: the Mommy Hat, the Wife Hat, the Teacher Hat, the Friend Hat. And I've worn lots of other hats over the years. Today I've put on a few hats that don't fit so well.

This morning I found myself in the 3s and 4s room at Sunday School. Alone because my husband was at home in bed (I'll get to that in a moment). I was in the 3s and 4s room by myself because I made a rash deal with a friend. We'll be on vacation on Sunday in a couple of weeks (if my husband is not still in bed, but like I said, I'll get to that in a moment) when we are supposed to be teaching our K-2nd grade class. Since I'm such a great volunteer, I decided to get a replacement instead of leaving the leaders hanging. So I traded weeks with a friend whose gifts obviously differ from mine greatly.

I know I've mentioned before that I am not a little kid person. I've never felt more strongly about this than I did this morning. There were only 9 of them. I've had 27 high school students in one class before. I even had one high school student who came in sporting his house arrest ankle thingy. But these were 3 and 4-year-olds.

It took a good 15 mintues to get them all sitting at their little mini-table. Once I would get two of them sitting and turn to round up the other 7, the two would escape. I finally got them all seated and tried the ol' "Let me see your listening ears" thing that works beautifully with my kindergarteners. Blank stares. And lots of fidgets. And noise. I passed out paper to dutifully complete the Bible lesson. They were supposed to draw stick figure disciples, but before the words "stick" and "figures" could escape my mouth, most of them had already scribbled all over the paper. I tried in vain to get them to flip the paper over for the stick figures. More scribbles. I told the Bible story very loudly to myself. Then broke out the Goldfish. Magic. Quiet for a few minutes.

Until the potty breaks began. I sent the first one in to the bathroom. A few minutes passed, and then I heard, "Will you help meee???!" I went in to the bathroom. "Can you wipe me?" "Can't you wipe yourself?" I asked, while my head voice said, Please, oh please, can't you wipe yourself?? "But it's poo-poo!" Oh. No. Not. Poo. Poo.

OK, confession time. In my whole life, I have only ever changed one poo poo diaper that was not my own kids'. With other people's kids, I don't do poo poo. I can't do poo poo. PLEASE don't make me do poo poo. It was indeed poo poo. I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, tried to only look well enough to wipe and went in.

I made it. Then the same kid came up to me a little later on. "I have a booger." Are you kidding me??! I handed her a Kleenex. She stared at me blankly. I wiped her nose.

NOW do you see why I chose to go into secondary education? Please, please don't ever make me wear the 3s and 4s hat again.

The other hat I tried to squeeze into today is that of the Real Wife. You know, the wife that provides healthy meals everyday for her family? My husband is in bed. Flat out due to a herniated disk which has almost completely debilitated him. If you'll remember, he's the cook in the family. Really, I can cook, and I do cook when he's traveling. But to provide meals for him too? Well, mac and cheese just doesn't cut it for him. It's a little intimidating to cook for him. There I said it. There's nothing else about my sweet, wonderful husband that intimidates me but that.

So I've been planning meals for the week, always thinking in the back of my head that his brother may show up for dinner tomorrow night. Which is even more intimidating. I may cook gourmet pizza a la Little Caesars just to get out of it. I'm hoping and praying his back feels better soon so that I can hang the Real Wife Hat up. And so we can go on our planned Florida vacation. Oh, and so he's not in so much pain anymore either.

Movies & Awards...cuz those two go together, right?

DeeDee at Fiddledeedee needs some help with movie choices and offered a movie meme. I love movies. However, I discovered I can't remember the names of movies; I had to google keywords I remembered and actors' names to generate the list of movie titles below.

It was a lot of work.

But here they are. Perhaps I'll add more to the list as names come to me.


The Movie Meme: (please list up to at least 3 per genre)
Favorite Comedy Film:
Fletch and Fletch Lives
Dumb and Dumber
The Wedding Singer
Just Friends (Ryan Reynolds)
Meet the Fockers 1 and 2
50 First Dates (Reese Witherspoon)
Gods Must be Crazy 1 & 2

Favorite Romance Film:
The Princess Bride
Just Like Heaven (Reese Witherspoon)
Some Kind of Wonderful
When Harry Met Sally

Favorite Sci-Fi Movie:
**I'm not a big sci-fi movie buff, but I must have a thing for Will Smith because here goes:**
Independence Day
Men in Black
**And speaking of Will Smith, I still get FREAKED OUT when I think about the Dark Seekers in I Am Legend**

Favorite Animated Movie:
Shrek 1, 2, 3
Cars
Toy Story 1 & 2

Favorite Disaster Movie:
Armageddon
Deep Impact
Twister
(Note: Knowing with Nicolas Cage looks great, but it's dumb!)
**OK, and war is disastrous, right? The mini-series Band of Brothers is AWESOME!!**

Favorite Christmas Movie:
Elf (our Christmas tradition)
National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
Four Christmases (Reese Witherspoon, Vince Vaughan)

Favorite Horror Movie:
**Not a big fan of horror movies...life is stressful enough! **
Nightmare on Elm Street 1
Nightmare on Elm Street 2
Nightmare on Elm Street 3
The 3 Hannibal movies (beginning with Silence of the Lambs)

Movies With Music:
**Don't hate me...I hate musicals. And I know this will make you totally incredulous: never seen Grease! I know, that's an American icon or something, but I was living in Africa when it was big. I was blissfully ignorant. So...I'm going to go with movies with the best soundtrack:**
Top Gun
Footloose
The Lost Boys
Flashdance (thanks for the reminder, Crossview!)

Favorite Book to Movie:
The Notebook
The Chronicles of Narnia series
The Jason Bourne series
**And...I haven't seen this yet, but it's on our Blockbuster queue, and I know I'll love it because the kids and I have been listening to it on tape, and I was thinking, Wow! This would make a great movie! and I looked it up, and there it was!!....**
Indian in the Cupboard

Favorite Classic:
To Kill a Mockingbird
Romeo & Juliet
Pride and Prejudice

Favorite Chick Flick:
Some Kind of Wonderful
When Harry Met Sally
Legally Blonde
Clueless
Sweet Home Alabama

Movie You Could Watch Ad Nauseum:
Twister
Breakfast Club
**Used to also be Top Gun, but then Tommy boy got so weird and all, that it's left a bad taste in my mouth.**

Worst Movie of All Time:
My sincerest apologies...
Forrest Gump
Napoleon Dynamite

**Conclusions: I didn't know it, but I am a HUGE Reese Witherspoon fan! And...I did know this: I'm totally stuck in the '80s!!**


Oh, and while I'm here, I have to give a shout-out to TeacherMommy at Diapers and Dragons. She awarded me with the Queen of Allll Things award. (Thanks, TeacherMommy!)

Here are the rules:
1. List 7 things that make you awesome.
2. Pass the award onto 7 bloggers that you love.
3. Tag those bloggers to let them know they are now Queens too (and link back to the Queen who tagged you).


So, here's how I'm playing:
1. I was narcissistic enough on one of my You Capture assignments, so I shall defer to that post.

2. I am not tagging anyone because, well, I'm too lazy. However, I will say that all two of my fans are Queens in my eyes (well, except for Arby; he's definitely not a queen). So...if you want the award, just take it!

3. Link me, don't link me...

You Capture - Me

This is me. Just me.

These are the things that make me who I am.

I grew up in Africa.

I miss the simplicity of Africa.

I've known my husband since I was in third grade.

We met at missionary boarding school.

I love my husband more than anything in the world.

He is my best friend.

I love God.

I try to be more like Him everyday.

Sometimes Many times I fail miserably.

He loves me anyway.

I am adopted.

My parents used to tell me they were lucky because they got to choose me.

If I could have chosen my children, I would not have done it as perfectly

as God did in placing them in my life.

I love my kids more than anything in the world.

They delight me,

frustrate me,

love me,

get frustrated with me.

They tug at my heartstrings.

Always.

I don't care about jewelry.

I don't like to shop.

I own just a few pairs of shoes.

I always take on more than I have time for.

I love to scrapbook, but I am hopelessly behind.

I love homeschooling my children.

I am addicted to curriculum.

I love books.

And writing.

And chocolate.

That is me. Just me.

Those are the things that make me who I am.