During the planning of this ministry trip, we were offered a 3 day vacation in Myrtle Beach, SC. It was an amazing offer, both in the generosity of the offerers, and in the providence of God giving us a vacation we asked for in secret...

We arrived at our beachfront hotel this afternoon, and after we got settled, we got some Mexican food and then hit Walmart, for a few groceries. By the time we got out of there, it was dark outside. Everybody had been really excited about seeing the beach, and so we walked down there in the dark, although it's pretty lit from the hotel, and the moon of course.

This is a whole new thing, doing something with just the 5 of us. We were pretty much the only people out there. We stood there watching the waves come in. Later, we found some roses that someone had left on the shore, and Toby wanted to bring one home.

As we were walking back to the resort, Toby was really lagging behind and I was waiting for him. There was this... flash of a moment when I saw him, with his little Crocs on the wrong feet and his guitar shirt, holding a rose and brushing the sand with his free hand. Just a flash of gratefulness that hurt... for my miracle babies and the beauty of living the life that we live together. I am so, so grateful.

Tomorrow, I am going to soak up the moments... and post some pictures.

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Part six

Part seven

Part eight

Part nine

Something happened today. I know you’re probably thinking, well, things happen everyday, Jenny. Ain’t it the truth? Still, something really happened today.

I got off work, picked up Lil Hank, and went on home and just as we was sitting down to eat our mac-n-cheese, there’s a knock on the door. I had a pretty good idea who it was, and he wasn’t welcome. I had been trying to send him subtle signals to get hisself lost, but he wasn’t picking up on them. Evidently the dozen shredded up roses on the porch hadn’t give him a clue. I never said Hank Jr, was smart, neither.

I didn’t even get up from the table. “Go on and get your mangy butt off my porch, Hank Jr!”

There was a little pause, and then he cleared his throat and knocked again, real easy-like. I felt flames come shootin out my ears. “I swear to the Good Lord, Hank Jr., you knock on that door again and you are gonna live to regret it!” I yelled out as I was shovelin a little more mac-n-cheese in Lil Hank’s wide open mouth. Again, there was a little break and then he cleared his fool throat again.

Well, that did it. I shoved back from the table hard. “Watch Lil Hank.” I told Jimmy, who was just eating his food real quiet and nervous. I went in the living room and picked a good solid lookin shotgun and waited for it. Sure enough, that son of a gun knocked again.

I threw open the door and held up the shotgun, only to feel like I had got shot my own self.

The most beautiful man I had ever seen was standing on my front porch. Standing on my front porch, in a suit, with his hands up in the air and his beautiful blue eyes full of shock. Standing on my front porch with a shotgun staring him in the well-shaped kisser.

We settled here into the guest apartment in Nashville last night... If you are a long-term blog stalker, then you know we lived here in these apartments for a couple months in April 2008. So it's nice to be back with the Thunder School crew, and I love Nashville.

So anyways. We got here, got settled, then went and ate at Subway and came back for baths and bedtime. I do not see anything in that sentence that would preclude mass panic and hysteria. Even now, it eludes me.

The storm began at Subway, and by storm, I mean Toby-is-trying-to-drive-me-to-drink type behavior. The very, very quiet Indian family that runs the place and sits in most of the booths along with their offspring, all quietly watching the UN and Ahmadinejad spewing vitriol, was concerned about the behavior of the child. I tell you what, I was concerned myself. Sometimes I wish I was one of those Walmart mamas and I could just haul off and smack a kid or two. (Disclaimer: I don't really wish that)

Anyways. We dragged him out of there by the arm, and then dragged him through a bath, in which he showed his masculinity and strength by teaching his sister how to completely soak the floor outside the tub. (Where was his mother? you're asking... I was gathering PJs. Don't judge) then out of the tub and he is not putting on his pjs because he is jumping off all the couches in his Spidey undies and making heroic statements and such. Finally, as in 1000 years later, I had them all in the bedroom they were sharing.

Now, if you are a grandma type, you are probably saying, "Spank that child! One good whuppin would fix him for life. When I had kids, I made them toe the line. Kids these days are just animals. Animals! With their ipods and their underwear sticking out of their pants and I remember when gas was a nickel!" and so on.

Let me assure you. I spank the child. More than I am comfortable with. I ground, and I remove privileges. EVERY day. I have learned from the Google that 3 years old is hard. In fact, from my mommyblogger research, it seems most of us mommys are caught off guard, expecting nirvana to start right after the "Terrible Twos" end. Sheesh.

So, anyways. Hours and multiple spankings later, when I thought maybe they had accidentally fallen asleep, the MOG calls me in a sotto voice. Never a good sign.

The room, and the two remaining children in it (R2 had been moved to the couch hours back after the persecution broke him) were covered in blue marker. Read that again. The room was covered. As in the entire hardwood floor had been assaulted, as well as the walls and the beds, and the people.

We just stood there in horror. There were no words. Once the initial panic lifted, we found the marker, which was dry-erase, and set to scrubbing the floor and the walls with any cleaning product we could find, to little avail. I asked the Google and found out rubbing alcohol is the key, so we attacked and scrubbed, all the while muttering threats at the small blue boy sitting cheerily in his bed.

The good news is, alcohol takes marker off pretty much anything. The bad news is, it does not take marker off of humans, and neither does baths, or soap, water and washcloth scrubbing. The Smurfs will just have to wait it out.

We slept in a basement last night. When we turned off the lights, it was the blackest black I have ever not seen. It rocked. We slept (all 5 of us) until 9:30 (8:30 central) which is unheard of... it was great.

Last night the MOG and I rocked it Radiant Unplugged style. It was just me and him and an acoustic guitar, and mikes of course. It's weird, because we've led a couple times in the last 10 years with just us, but this was a real throwback to our early days. No, I mean early. This felt like our 16 year old selves leading Youth For Christ.

Only not as rough... I'd like to think we sound a heck of a lot better than our 16 year old selves. We look better too. I am starting to notice that a lot of people look better as they get older... we get softer and clearer somehow.

Anyway, it was really fun. Teamwork is our thing, but it's usually a team of 7 or 8, so a team of just the 2 of us was good... refreshing. Not that I want to throw out the band, just that it was nice to have that marital ministry moment. MMM, if you will.

In a moment, we leave for Nashville. It's only 2 hours away, and I have been promised enchiladas. We shall see.

My plan was to get up in the morning an hour or so before we had to leave the hotel, and write a quick blog with my peaceful children gathered around my feet in their matching sailor suits. As the birds and friendly domestic animals gathered outside the Quality Inn window, I would write a pithy and interesting entry.

That didn't happen.

The MOG and I and our sticky and relatively calm children are en route to Cleveland TN, where he will be leading worship (I will be singng with him, because of Childcare Fairies) and then he'll be preaching and such. Tomorrow night, we'll be in nashville, where he will be teaching at a ministry school and leading worship. We have about three days in Nashville, which is great.

We drove about 4 hours or so yesterday and we have 7 hours today. Everybody is pretty happy, save the ocassional outbursts because Brynn sings the Dora song all wrong and such. This is a bit of a test tour for the wee ones. I hope they rock it.

The MOG is in need of a potty break pretty desperately right now, and the iPod starts playing ocean waves. You cant pay for that kinda comedy.

We leave momentarily for our family trip. We'll be driving, and the MOG will be preaching in various cities and leading worship sometimes, I think. Maybe you wonder what I will be doing. Allow me to remind you.

Also, don't forget the disgruntled preteen who, despite frantic repeated signing of "school" and "bus" is being held here, with his family, against his will.

I had valiant intentions, and in reality, all of the clothes in all the house are clean, because I did laundry at midnight and again since 8. Now I have to assimilate all this laundry into suitcases somehow. It was a lot easier to pack for just me and the MOG... how many socks do three little people need for 12 days and such. Ay caramba. I started getting pretty stressed about how much there was to get done, so I decided it was a good time to blog. I have alternative logic, don't judge.

The MOG and I have taken alternate approaches to the urgency of the hour. I have opted for the screeching-like-a-fishwife approach, followed by the nervous breakdown on the couch and to-heck-with-it-all option. He has spent the morning on the porch, coming in for coffee refills and mild rebukes to whoever is writhing and screaming on the floor in his direct path.

He is working, so don't fire off any hate mail. He keeps assuring me, "I am almost done with this correspondence and then I am going to kick into gear." I, being a fishwife, scoff. Still, I know at some point he will be done with work, and come in and question the efficacy of my mental breakdown policy.

I'll tell you more about this "tour" and the route tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy the cuteness. They weren't coached on what to say, this is just what they came up with. :)

Oh, and if you want to give financially toward this trip, follow this link to see Richy's video update and the Donate button!

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Part six

Part seven

Part eight

Life is getting a little complicated, what with Hank Jr. being out of jail and all. I mean, he probably won’t stay out too long, but in the meantime I gotta deal with him just about every waking minute.

Well, not just my waking minutes, I guess. Last night he drove over here and played music in the yard. He don’t play a instrument, he just drove his truck up in the yard and opened the windows. Bout scared the life outta me and the baby, all that noise outta nowhere. He musta been pretty drunk. He sang out there for a good half hour before the cops came and got him… neighbors musta called. I didn’t, because even though I yelled at him several times to scat, I thought it was pretty sweet, what with the singing and all.

Tell you what, though. When it got to Hank’s mama through the grapevine, she was mad as a wet hen. Blamed me. I wasn’t surprised. I mean, if I am the ONLY one to blame for getting pregnant couple years back, then I guess I can be to blame for some drunken idiot driving up into my yard and singing all night long.

Today I got up early, like 8, 8:30 and got ready for work and when I get to Family Dollar, who do you think is sittin there in his old truck? Hank Jr., that’s who.

“Does your mama know you’re here, Hank Jr.?” I asked him.

He got all defensive and macho.”Now, listen here, uh, Jenny,” he says. “My mama, she uh, she don’t tell me what to do.”

I turned around and walked into the store. His mama don’t tell him what to do. I and everybody else in this town know that’s a lie. Me and Hank Jr. would probably be married if it wasn’t for him obeyin his mama, and I don’t have any more to say about that.

I got a good little amount of money saved up, for our trip, but I did a little research and found out that Mama’s soap opera is on some kinda filming break, and those episodes I been watching are from last year. Now, I gotta tell you, that worries me a little. I have a feeling that Mama ain’t one to stay put when ain’t nothing holding her down. Or when things, or people, are holding her down, for that matter. She just ain't one to stay put. I can only hope her amnesia's bad enough to keep her still for a little.

That Proverbs 31 chick has always gotten on my nerves. I mean, sure, sure, when I get to heaven maybe she'll be so great and I'll be like, Oh, I'm so sorry I dissed you on my blog! But this is not that day.

Her: Proverbs 31:13-29

Me:

13 She selects cotton, primarily, and Elmo underpants, and works with eager relatively cheerful hands, because the laundry room is in the basement, and if she can just get it over with, then she won’t have to hear, “I'm gonna look like a homeless man leading worship, or, where are my UNDEEEEEEEEZ I can't FIND them”.

14 She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar, because Wal-Mart is like, 15 miles away or something, and parking is a nightmare.

15 She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food iPhone games (while she snags another 15 minutes) for her family 
and portions for her servant girls. Wait just a darn minute….

16 She considers a chair and buys it at the thrift store; out of her savings she buys a Coke from Sonic.

17 She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks. Then she wakes up and thinks, MAN. I need to get to the Y, soon.

18 She sees that her trading is profitable, when she offers a broken ipod for her iphone and the 2 year old falls for it, and her lamp does not go out at night, because that is the time when she gets to read a novel without anybody sticking their diaper in her face and requesting a change.

19 In her hand she holds the wipes and grasps the elbow of the naked fugitive with her fingers.

20 She opens her futon to the poor and extends her beans and rice to the needy.

21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are indoors with the heater blasting. She does not go outdoors when it is cold.

22 She makes coverings for her bed; because all the comforters have been peed on, and she has to gather many, many baby blankets to cover the square footage. She is clothed in fine linen and purple, or denim and black with accents of snot and flour, generally.

23 Her husband is respected out on the porch, where he takes his seat among various angelic beings. His respectors yell at him through the window, “See me? See, see me? I’m a CALLIPILLAR ON THE WINDOW! SEE ME?”

24 She makes linen garments and chunks them, as her sewing is pretty weak, and supplies the merchants with donations of shoes that were a noble idea, but not her thing, really.

25 She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. (I didn’t change this one, I like it too much)

26 She speaks with wisdom a percentage of the time, for example, "If you run away from me at Wal-mart, then you will get smashed by a cart and probably bleed", and snark is usually on her tongue.

27 She watches over the affairs of her household, after she sprays the children with Off and pushes them out the back door, she watches the affairs of her household from the window and does not eat the bread of idleness, unless you count Facebook as idleness. Hey, shut it.

28 Her children arise and call her blessed at 6 o clock in the morning; her husband also, and he praises her: although his praise tends to be a little on the risqué side….

29 "Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all, or a couple at least. Good effort!"

If you hang around with us, in person or on the interwebs, you probably have heard about Avalon asking to record Richy's song. If you don't know who Avalon is, here's some info.

Over the summer, Christ For the Nations' worship band recorded YAH, (see that video here) and the day after their recording came out, we got the email from Avalon's rep. It's been recorded several other times, by Lee Campus Choir, Ian McIntosh, and Gilmar Britto (in Brazilian Portugese!) and I think in Spanish once or twice.

We love most if not all of the versions we've heard, especially the one in Portugese. It's super anointed.

I was really curious about what Avalon would do with it... as a professional cyberstalker, I found a clip a couple of weeks ago and listened, but I couldn't really tell what the track sounded like. Normally we get an advance copy, but this time we didn't. So last night our home group went late due to a rousing game of Cranium, and so we were awake at midnight when the CD launched on Itunes... yes, we bought our own song. We will make 9 cents, off ourselves. (actually, we spent 90 cents). It's GOOD! It's actually powerful and good and I am so happy about it. At the end they do a little spontaneous worship stuff that I really like.

Buy the Avalon version of You Are Holy here.

Inspiration did not strike over the weekend, as you can tell. Plus, I think I might love that "chapter" of my story more than any of the others. It just makes me happy.

In fact, I was not inspired to do much of anything this weekend. I hit these sober patches sometimes... and by sober, I do not mean alcohol-free.. I remain in an alcohol free state around the clock, with the exception of some spiked egg nog back in 99 or so, and some vodka I drank to try to stop labor back in 05... another story.

By sober, I just mean kinda quiet and reflective periods... maybe a little sad, without a clear sad-making reason. I can think "I am happy. I like my life today. I like pretty much everything." and still feel a little sad. So, I didn't do anything. I mean, besides make meals and hold little people and read books and set FAILED mousetraps and clean up a little... nothing terribly productive.

The thing is, when I feel like this, I really have to get a grip on it or I will just sink a little and have weeks of blah. So I need to force myself to move. I think I should go work out, and plan some kinda little-people outings, and such.

Don't worry about this... it's not anything terribly heavy. Just blah.

In other news, we are embarking on our first Family Tour next week. The MOG and I and the wee ones will be traveling, he preaching and we hanging out for about a week and a half. Should be exciting, and quite worthy blog-fodder. Stay tuned!

I know this is Thursday, but I didn't know that when I was writing the story. So this is Friday's blog early, and then you won't get another entry till Monday, unless inspiration strikes over the weekend.

This is part of an ongoing fictional story. Part 1 through whatever are over on the sidebar, if you need to start from the beginning.

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I planned on taking some time today to go on up to the library and use the internet to try to find out where Las Noches Apasionadas Del Amor Bajo Las Estrellas was filmed and all, and then Hank Jr. got out of jail and messed everything up.

Who’s Hank Jr., maybe you’re sayin. Nobody worth writing home about, should you ever go somewhere and write a letter home. Unless you wanted to write a letter about a no good two-timing louse who cheats at poker and just HAPPENS to be the father of my little Hank. I ain’t never gone anywhere, but if and when I do I will not be writing any letters about Hank Jr.

Me and Hank Jr. have been on and off again since I was about 13 years old. His daddy wasn’t named Hank, his name was Ed. Hank Jr. says his mama named him after Hank Williams, Jr. and if you knew Hank Jr’s mama, you’d know why Ed might notta had much say in the matter. Hank Jr. started sweet-talkin me back in junior high and ever since then he’s been like one of them stray cats that just keep coming around.

Anyways, he just got out of jail again and first thing he shows up at my doorstep. I let him in, because I never said I was smart. We sat on the couches and drank tea and he looked at little Hank wandering around.

“He’s a good lookin kid, huh?” Hank Jr. says.

“He is. Looks just like pictures of my daddy.” I tell him, settin the record straight. “And how was jail?”

“Well, heck, Jenny,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “Heck, Jenny.”

We sat there that way for a minute. “I saw Mama on TV.” I blurted out. “Me and Jimmy and Lil Hank are going off to Mexico to find her.”

Hank Jr. sat up real straight. “Jimmy’s going over the border?”

I could see the wheels turning in his weasely little head. “We ain’t taking any luggage over for your grandma’s friend or something, Hank Jr. You can just find some other sucker-“ I started.

“No, no,” Hank interrupts. “That ain’t it. I just need me a little vacation, what with jail bein kinda stressful and everything.”

I looked real hard at him. He looked suspicious, but that was pretty normal for him. His hair was long and sticking out from under his truck cap, and he had on a old flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. He’d bulked up a little in jail, I saw. I quit looking right about then. Last thing I needed was to be caught admiring Hank Jr.

“I uh, I been missing you.” He kinda choked out. My heart melted a little, but I held it back. He tried smiling at me, but it looked more like some kinda mutt with his jowls pulled back.

I knew I had to put a stop to this quick. I gathered up all my courage and said, sternly, “Fine. Fine, you can go with us. Just get on outta here before I change my mind.” And just like that, he was gone.

I just sat there wondering how the words comin down from my brain got all switched around on the way to my mouth. Good Lord.

Don't worry, my dear bloggerati, I used up all my righteous indignation yesterday. Today, I am chill.

The MOG has contracted the plague, and has taken to his sickbed. I usually like to poke a bit of fun at men when they are sick, and him especially, but I just had this and I know how bad it really feels. There was one time this morning, when I took the throat spray in there and he kinda gasped and stretched a feeble hand out from amidst the piled blankets.... but no, no joking until next week, when it passes.

I am feeling good. In fact, I gave serious thought to doing some laundry today.

This is how far that went.

That's all clean. I figure, by tonight, all the clothes in the house will be clean, maybe even folded and sorted. Then they will sit in folded piles and baskets in my room for days and days, and eventually they will either make it to their drawers (unlikely) or be recycled back into the Laundry Cave of Wonders, located in the basement next to the big spider and the burnt out florescent light. Then the magical Laundry Fairy will start all over again.

But for now, it's a rainy day in a quiet house and I should read a book. Adios.

The e-debate has been raging lately re: the President's speech to school kids, and evil, tyranny and socialism... I wasn't quick to sign on because, even if I think he might be a hack politically, the fact remains that he is the President, and I am an American. If I really thought he was going to call all the children to arms against their parents, then I would be concerned. Greatly concerned, actually. My first response would not be to send you an alarmed email, FYI.

I don't like Christian hysteria. It bugs me. When we pick some cause to boycott and gripe about, we have to handle it right or we just come off looking like judgmental ignoramus-es (ignorami?)

(Disclaimer: if you are one of the more-than-one friends who sent me emails and/or facebook requests, I am not talking about you, specifically)

It's just... there are causes that are worth fighting for. I believe in causes. I want to see the ending of abortion, and I believe peaceful protest and behind-the-scenes work to change legislation and most of all, fervent prayer and obedience are keys to that. I do not believe standing on the side of the road holding giant pictures of mangled fetuses is a good way. In fact, I think it hurts us.

Christianity is logical. It makes sense. Our arguments even make sense, if you do the research. So why do we resort to dramatics and shock appeal and emotion so much? Do you understand what I mean?

If we felt like the President was going to make a speech that was harmful to our children, first of all, let's find out what is in the speech and then make that determination. Then, lets do what non-believers might do. Call school officials and find out about alternative activities, or keep your child home, if what he is saying is actually harmful to your child. Or, get crazy and talk to your child ahead of time. Tell them what they're going to hear, and what people with our worldview believe, in contrast. Because if what you're afraid of is your child hearing a viewpoint that is different from yours, you might as well lock them in your basement right now.

Next time you feel like panicking, do a little Google work. Don't read opinions, read the bills or the speeches that you are afraid of. If you don't understand them, then study. There is no reason we should be afraid to learn!

Can we reason, folks? Do your children have the ability to assimilate information and process it based on what they know to be true? If they don't, you have more trouble on your hands than just them learning about "tolerance" from the leader of the free world.

Anyway, all he did was talk about working hard at school, and "earning" your destiny, not expecting easy rewards or quick riches, but applying yourself and working for your dreams. It was actually pretty good. Unlike the healthcare bill, but that's another day.

I am feeling pretty much like a human today, and not in a wretched-oh-the-humanity way. I feel more like a nearly-drowned-but-not-that-bad kind of human.

So here's what happened. I went to that wedding on Saturday, last Saturday, that is. I was feeling out-0f-sync and irritable. Then R2 got diagnosed with strep on Monday. I had a sore throat for days, but I was so not going to the doctor because come on, grown-ups don't get strep throat.

By Friday, it wasn't getting better so we googled a walk-in clinic since I am one of 46 million Americans without health insurance, since I choose to spend money on other things, and don't particularly want the government to use me for their statistics about the poor uninsured poor.

Anyways. I went to the urgent care place and paid my $75 and sat down to wait. There were about 10 of us in there, half for physical therapy and the rest just there to mingle our germs. I watched some discrimination in action towards a Spanish speaking guy who didn't understand the clerk... if I had felt like myself, I could have asked the questions... it isn't that hard to ask if he's there for the doctor and is this his first time... sheesh. Sometimes it really bugs me when English speaking people are so disrespectful to people who speak their native language AND some English. Wow, there's soapboxes everywhere today!!

Finally I got back to the room so I could wait some more, in a different place, and then after 6 or 7 years the doctor came in. Folks. This guy had to be 85 years old. I realized after a moment's shock, that I was being all ageist on him and decided to chill. If he wants to keep practicing, good for him... I bet retiring is hard on doctors who love what they do. He was skeptical, though, of my having strep. "Your son was diagnosed with strep, and now you think you have it. Or do you have psychological strep?" he asks me. I don't like being doubted, but he was practicing medicine before the President was born, so he's entitled to some skepticism.

He looked in my ears and down my throat, which looked perfectly fine to him. He listened to my lungs with the stethoscope held tightly in his shaky hands. Lungs are clear as a bell... only one of 10 patients coming in here with a sore throat actually have strep, he warns me.

Lucky for me, the Google told me that I definitely had strep, and was minutes away from contracting rheumatic fever. I love the Google. So the doc expressed a couple more kinda reproving thoughts, about me thinking I had strep, and then he hobbled out. I'm no ageist. I will scoff at anyone of any age who doubts me and what I know to be true of my burning throat and my Google knowledge.

So the nurse came in and took the swab, and I gagged a lot like a little wuss, and then after about 1 minute the doctor came back in and told me I had strep throat. Drugs were prescribed, and then I went victoriously to CVS where I waited some more, feeling like I had gargled razor blades and my head was underwater and such, and then I took my drugs and went home and laid in bed for 3 days moaning and weeping and reading Facebook. The hubs took care of the little people and brought me tea. Today has been the first day that I felt like standing up, and it's a good thing, because the MOG was out of clean socks.

75 dollars and 2 hours later, strep throat is confirmed. It was an interesting appointment, and if I didn't wish I was dead, I would tell you all about it. (note: I do not really wish I was dead. I just wish I was asleep.)

Maybe when the antibiotics kick in I will tell the story. Until then, I bid you adieu as the MOG has the wee ones corralled and I should really sleep

Some of you read my hub-sands blog- over at http://radiantworshipblog.blogspot.com/. He updates on a revelation-based basis, but back in January he started a media-fast of sorts. When he started, he offered to trade me my ghetto-phone for his rock-n-roll iPhone. The offer was retracted before I ever got anything in writing.

Lucky for me, he's a spiritual sort and has decided he wants to simplify his life, and just use a phone for, you know, calling people and texting them. This puts me in the happy posish of inheriting the ol iPhone. Especially awesome because it just got a glitch and Apple replaced it. So it's the old school one, but brand new and über cool.

I haven't had a chance to really geek out about it yet, since I've been busy registering it and syncing it and whatnot. But I am about to hit the App Store like a hurricane. (again, no offense if you had trees downed by Ike). Oh, and I need to find a sparkly and/or animal print case.

If you have no idea what I just said, I got a new phone. It is cool. I still won't answer if you call. I will probably answer if you text.

In light of yesterday's post, certain people married to me have suggested that I am like a rock star that disses their fans. I read back through about a hundred times, and I can see where maybe you could have thought that, if you are particularly sensitive like a little weenie baby. Tomorrow, I will issue a retraction to that statement.

No, but seriously. You gotta hear my heart. I'm just in a God-place in my life, and under tons of grace to not be homesick for the people I love so much, and the great nation of Texas. So there you go.

In other news, Hannah is doing vocal exercises in her room. Oh, wait, now she's in here. Awesome. They are in the process of recording her EP downstairs, which is harder than it sounds with all the crazy children running around and smashing their heads into table corners and collapsing and screaming down AC vents.

In other, other news, I bought a spaghetti squash and I am off to Google something cool for me to do with it. Not like origami or something, I just mean a cool recipe. If that doesn't work out, then maybe origami.

Last night we had a home group here... it was really refreshing. I love having people in our house, and several people ate soup and cornbread, too, which was great. There is something very satisfying about feeding people. The meeting ran till about 11, which is kinda how we roll.

Toby was put to bed at 7:45 and wreaked havoc and reveled in lawlessness until probably 10:30. He ran around his room, put all the shoes in his sister's crib, jumped on bubble wrap, got spanked a couple of times, drew all over his door and his person with a dry erase marker and then when I refused to bathe him, he did it himself. And I quote, "I jist put the nakins in the potty and I jist wash myself!" Ugh. The smell of e-coli was no doubt, soothing, so then he fell asleep.

Life is good. It's confusing good, because it seems like I should miss everyone in Texas more, or that I should want to be there- and I do, sometimes. Ultimately, though, I feel such contentment and so much in-the-right-place-ness. So that's strange for me.

In other news, I am kinda getting over how ugly my kitchen is and just cooking anyway. I found a recipe for biscuits made with mayonnaise (and I don't DO mayonnaise) and they are so easy and fluffy and great- and then today I baked chicken and it came out perfect! Now, the concern is, we are moving into the cold months here. Last winter I stayed inside all winter and baked, and gained weight. I am still hanging on to that weight, and will I be adding more due to snow-mandated-cookie-baking? Concerning. Mmm. Cookies.