An improvised closet

Jim and I live in a very old house. The original deed to the land dates from the 1880s (interestingly, verbage in the deed prohibits the sale of liquor on our property), and from the construction of the house, we assume it is from the same period.


While I love the history and charm of our nest, it is somewhat lacking in certain features. Closets, for example. Or, more accurately, closets in useful locations. We have a generous closet upstairs in our bedroom, as well as a decent-sized one for Evangeline. But with no hall closet for coats, gloves, hats, boots and the vacuum and other things we need daily, we're limited for space. 


Then we got creative. There are two doors leading into Evangeline's room and one of them is quite short. If Jim wears boots, he has to duck to clear the door. We don't use it that much, so we converted it into a closet.

First, we took a $4 suspension rod and adjusted it to fit the width of the doorway.

Then I took a $6 wire shelf from Goodwill and stacked it with canvas bins ($6 each) to store gloves, mittens, hats and scarves.

And there you have it, an improvised hall closet in 5 minutes for under $30. 

Thank you to our community’s secret Santas

On Sunday, I had the rare privilege of listening to Pastor Mayes’s sermon during church. 

I say rare, because a typical Sunday morning for me is not a peaceful time; instead, it’s a wrestling match. My daughter is skilled at many things, but sitting through church quietly is not one of them.

But last Sunday, I sang in choir and Jim got to corral our squirmy 14-month-old. What I took away most of all from the sermon was that as Christians, we’re called to meet our neighbors’ needs before our own wants.

It’s an area in which I often fail, especially at this time of year.

I enjoy picking out gifts for family and friends, imagining their faces as they tear open the wrapping paper and anticipating the joy they’ll receive from them. I’m also quite good at picking out odds and ends for myself during shopping excursions. If it’s on sale and I’ve been eyeing it for a while, it’s probably going to end up in my stocking.

What can I say? I’m my own Santa.

While I don’t believe this is completely reprehensible behavior, there is room for improvement.

Growing up, my parents instilled the importance of also giving to people we don’t know at Christmas time. We participated in Operation Christmas Child and similar programs. It’s a practice I want to model for Evangeline and her future little brother or sister. Although my children can’t comprehend it yet — Evangeline is too young and Little Kirk won’t be born until May — I continued the tradition this year on their behalf locally.

I’ve heard there are many secret Santas in our community, giving snow boots and grocery gift cards or helping to pay utility bills.

I understand their preference for anonymity, but sometimes I wish it was known who they are. It would be nice to thank them personally.

You know who you are, so consider this addressed to you: Thank you for helping to create a community of giving and of compassion, and for reminding me about putting my neighbors’ needs above my own wants.

Merry Christmas.

On the Lighter Side
Published December 21, 2011

Odds and Ends

Here's a brief description of my writing process.

 

I usually sit down to write my weekly column on Tuesday morning ... three hours before the paper goes to press. This might seem odd, considering I have a whole week to work on it, but most of the time, I've been incubating an idea for at least a week — or longer.

I always hated the writing process I learned in school: Write a topic, rough draft, proofread, second draft, proofread, final copy. Each step was meant to be written out, labeled neatly with which part of the process it was. 

For me, it was limiting and slow and I had so many ideas I couldn't wait for my partner to have the time to read my rough draft. 

It's no different now. I'm constantly turning over phrases and concepts in my mind. While I'm doing dishes, I'm composing an opening paragraph. When I fold towels, I'm thinking about how to tie in that lead to my conclusion. 

It's a process, all right, but it's my own. 

It's the same with this blog. I have a few drafts saved, parts of which may someday see the light of day. But most of the time, post drafts live in my head, where I access them without a computer. 

So before I forget them in the midst of celebrating Christ's birth with my nearest and dearest, here are a few pieces I've been meaning to share:

Jim and I both graduated from Concordia University, and at the risk of sounding like Andy from The Office, I don't talk about it too often. I love my alma mater. It's the place where my life began ... literally. It's where I made some of my best friends. It's where I discovered my calling in life as a journalist. It's where I learned what it meant to be a Lutheran. It's where I fell in love with the most honest, sincere and best man I've ever met. 

So naturally, I'm hoping Evangeline will have the chance to enroll at Concordia in 18 years. I shudder to think what college tuition will be like then, but God will provide. (Case in point: Private College 529 Plan.) 

In the meantime, I signed her up for Legacy Link, a program at Concordia for children or grandchildren of alumni. She'll receive age-appropriate CU gifts periodically, and will have on-campus opportunities as she gets older. 

It's not exactly the type of Christmas present you can wrap and put under the tree, but it's a gift that will keep on giving over the years.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, bar none. I try to practice an attitude of gratitude daily, yet having a day set aside specifically for it helps me refocus on the abundant blessings in my life. 

It's also a time to express thanks to people who put their lives in harm's way to defend our nation, both here and abroad. With many veterans and an active service member in both Jim's and my families, supporting the United States' Armed Forces is important to us. 

So the day after Thanksgiving, we participated in the Holiday Mail for Heroes program. Red Cross sponsors the holiday card drive every year. Participants write holiday cards to "Dear Service Member," wishing them a safe holiday and a sincere thank you for their service. Cards are mailed to service members serving overseas and at home, to families of service members and to veterans. 

A $3 box of Christmas cards from Target and a few pens were all we needed to express our gratitude and prayers for a safe return. Afterward, I bundled them up and mailed them. So simple. It's somewhat embarrassing, the small effort we put forth compared to what our correspondents sacrifice daily.

The deadline for submissions was Dec. 9, so I presume the cards are well on their way. I hope our messages (you can read part of my grandmother's in the photo above) let their recipients know how grateful we are to them. 

So, Thanksgiving was a month away and Christmas is quickly approaching. Jim and I are hosting it this year, with my mom, sisters and brother and some festive homemade pizzas. For once, I feel somewhat organized and prepared, with gifts (small but thoughtful) wrapped and ready for giving to family, friends and co-workers. The tree, with its cat-and-baby-deterrent system, is still standing and a few simple decorations have made it into the house. 

I'm a little neurotic about my household surfaces. To me, visual clutter creates mental clutter. Therefore, my countertops and tables are almost always clear of stacks of paper and knick-knacks. (My closets and drawers, on the other hand, are another story ...)

These photos illustrate about how crafty and decorate-y I get for Christmas. A glass hostess bowl filled with colorful bulbs, the silver candelabra we received as a wedding gift from German relatives, a strange little glass snowman, origin unknown, and a homemade Nativity wall-hanging, given as a gift for our first Christmas together in 2007. 

•••

Now I feel like I often do on Tuesday mornings after a writing frenzy: Relaxed, a little tired, mildly euphoric. That's not because I believe I've written the Best Thing Ever; it's a sense of satisfaction that comes from seeing a thought you've nurtured come to life. 

Online lives aren’t perfect

As usual, I’m behind the times with Internet trends. So when I mention the website Pinterest, I’m guessing it won’t be news to most of you who are inclined to spend time online.

It should come with a warning: Five Pinterest minutes are equivalent to 45 regular minutes — plan accordingly.

Essentially, it’s an online bulletin board where users “pin” interesting articles, crafts, recipes, home decorating ideas and organizing tips they find on other websites. Maybe it’s not geared solely toward women, but abundance of purse and shoes “pins” leads me to believe they’re the majority of users.

That’s perfectly fine with me. Bring on the cute baby pictures, the romantic wedding dresses, the cheesy hashbrown recipes — it’s like the world’s greatest women’s magazine. But free.

In my self-imposed restricted access to Pinterest (I know myself and I’ve got to set limits, otherwise Jim would never eat or have clean clothes), I’ve learned how to:

• Curl my hair with a sock;

• Tie a scarf in 24 different ways (did you know there was more than one method?);

• Store jewelry with silverware organizers;

• Create thoughtful and cute Christmas gifts;

• Make several varieties of easy Christmas cookies; and

• Economize on my grocery bill.

It’s not a social networking site in the model of Facebook or Twitter, but rather it’s a social catalog service. It demonstrates a shift in the use of the Internet from searching (like on Google or Amazon) to discovery, according to an article on techcrunch.com.

You can still enter search terms, like “easy Christmas cookie recipe,” but instead of getting results from the entire Internet, you get suggestions from other Pinterest users.

What that reminds me of is asking co-workers or family for recipes or household tips — something I regularly do — but on a much larger scale.

I have a feeling a lot of my sentences in the future will start with “I was on Pinterest and I found ...”

There’s definitely an abundance of information, both informative and entertaining, on Pinterest. But in addition to the time-sucking warning, I think maybe it should come with another one.

It’s this: You’re only seeing what they want you to see.

OK, that sounds a little “1984” but “they” refers to pinners, bloggers, website content writers ... frankly, people like me.

I’d rather put my best foot forward, whether it’s in person or online and so I tend to share the pretty moments of my life.

It’s the same on Pinterest. You’re not going to find pictures of burned Christmas cookies or messy houses because, well, we’re all rather familiar with it already.

The temptation is to believe that the creators of clever crafts and givers of generous gifts magically have it all figured out.

They don’t. Nobody does.

That’s what you have to keep in the back of your mind while scrolling through photos of beautifully decorated homes.

It probably took quite a bit of mess and chaos to get that way, and if it’s anything like my house, it won’t stay in its picture-perfect state for long.

On the Lighter Side

Published December 14, 2011

Not a mind reader, just a mom

Our cat/baby deterrent system

This is my newspaper column from Dec. 7. Apparently Facebook doesn't allow copy and pasting into notes anymore (ask me how I feel about that), so I'm posting it here instead. Enjoy!

To decorate or not to decorate ... that was the question last week as I debated the wisdom of putting up a full-size Christmas tree in a house with an active 14-month-old and two feisty cats.

I got a lot of feedback on it — advice, tips and tricks for managing holiday cheer without too many broken bulbs or bent tree limbs. Eventually, we settled on a rather unorthodox solution, but after almost a week, the tree is still standing.

I’m going to call it a win.

Jim had a train set he received from his father as a child. We’ve moved the plywood track every place we’ve lived in the past five years, yet I’d forgotten completely about it.

But Jim hadn’t, and now it’s standing guard at the base of our tree. It’s a surprisingly good deterrent for the cats. The clacking of metal wheels along the rails, combined with the threat of a sensitive tail meeting an unfortunate accident has kept them sufficiently wary of climbing the tree ... at least as long the train is running and we’re watching them.

As far as Evangeline, she’s content just to look at the lights. Granted, there’s nothing on the bottom third of the tree to tempt her, either.

I have gotten some flack in the past for writing (at least in one person’s opinion) too much about my daughter.

Apparently, there’s an anonymous person out there who feels my column should conform more to what he or she wants to read.

It would have helped if that person had the courage to sign his or her name ... I’m not a mind reader.

But columns like last week’s remind me why I write about my journey as a mother — because it reminds people of their own experiences.

Whether or not you are a parent or grandparent, you probably have some children in your life and can relate.

And if you don’t, I’m sure there have been events in your life, maybe a new job, relationship or pet, a move, graduation or achievement, that draw close parallels to the upheaval and joy I associate with being a mother.

I’m sure my experiences with Evangeline will not be unique, if viewed in the entirety of parenthood over all time. But viewed through the lens of my own personal experience, each day is extraordinary.

On the Lighter Side

Published December 7, 2011

An announcement

On a recent morning, I woke up 10 minutes before my alarm went off.
That, my friends, is a Very Good Sign.
It means, for the first time in quite a while, I'm rested.

You know the type of person who is always tired/overcommitted/crazy-busy ... and never lets you forget it?
I'm not going to be that person. A) Because it's slightly grating and B) I've got a very specific and wonderful reason for being tired: Geekling #2 will join our family in approximately 25 weeks.

It's definitely different the second time around. With E, I was relatively nausea-free and energized. This time ... not so much. It's nothing compared to what it could be, certainly, but I've definitely spent a few evenings in quiet and dignified misery.
On the plus side, I feel much more relaxed about the entire process. I have a general idea of what to expect and when, and while labor is not precisely a walk in the park, I know I can handle it.

Like a dutiful mother-to-be, I read every piece of material I was given while I was pregnant with E. Based on that, I planned to be in labor for at least 18 hours and at the hospital for a fair chunk of that time. So I figured an epidural would be welcome relief and included it in my birth plan.
Well.
From start to finish, I was in labor with E for 10 hours. We left our house around 2 a.m. and she was born shortly before 10 that morning. By the time I got the epidural at 9 a.m. (which took an hour to do, thank you very much), I was nearly ready to push. She was born less than an hour later.

So this time, I'm forgoing an epidural and opting for other pain-relief methods. I'm not Super Woman and I know how much it hurts. But getting the epidural was almost worse than labor and I'd really rather not repeat the experience.(Disclaimer: My intention isn't to malign epidurals. I know they work for many women. This was just my experience and shouldn't take the place of your doctor or midwife's advice and your own instincts.)

Aside from evening nausea and getting tired much more easily, life continues as usual. E grows more talkative every day and for the first time, she's cuddly: Leaning toward us for kisses and hugs, wrapping her arms around my neck, resting her head on her daddy's shoulder. What precipitated this, I have no idea, but I'm enjoying it tremendously.
I'll admit I've spent a couple of wakeful nights, imagining what life will be like with two children under two. I think I will probably never sleep again, is my prediction.
But if I never knew my capacity for love until I became a mother, I expect I'll be twice as amazed with two children to love and nurture.

Keeping a balance with technological ‘extras’

Does anyone else find it difficult to keep up with technology? I’ve got enough to keep me busy that checking out the latest iWhatever or social networking site isn’t at the top of my priorities. And while I know much of technology today is geared toward efficiency and streamlining daily life, sometimes keeping up with it just feels like a lot of extra work.

That’s why I treat it like I did extracurricular activities in high school.

I loved music, drama and speech, and to dedicate enough time to those pursuits, I didn’t go out for sports. (The fact that I have as much athletic ability as a sloth perhaps contributed to that decision.)

So for my online “extracurriculars,” I’ve chosen Facebook and Twitter, plus maintaining a blog. There are plenty of other sites I’d love to explore and I’d happily trade in my “dumbphone” for a smarter version, but there’s a balance to maintain — and it needs to come out in favor of my real life.

I’ve had an on-again, off-again relationship with Facebook since 2005. Six years ago, you had to have a .org or .edu e-mail address to sign up for the site, which was marketed solely to college students. Gradually it expanded to accommodate users after they graduated. Today, virtually anyone who wants can have an account.

After Evangeline was born, I realized it’s a great way to share her milestones with relatives who otherwise wouldn’t get to see them.

The Wisner News-Chronicle’s Facebook page is another way for those farther away to connect with their hometown. I upload our weekly photos — even the ones that don’t make it into the paper — and post news updates throughout the week. Currently, we have 756 “likes,” or people who subscribe to our page, but I’d like to see that number grow. You can check us out at www.facebook.com/wisner.news.chronicle.

I signed up for Twitter in August and I’ve been taking baby steps toward learning how it works. A friend of mine told me it takes about six months to really “get” Twitter and she’s absolutely right.

It’s worth it to learn, though, and here’s why:

We post excerpts of our lead news stories on our website, www.wpnews.com, under the Wisner News heading. I typically post a link to it on our Facebook page, but last week, I decided to try something new. I wrote a tweet highlighting one story, posted the link on Twitter, and waited. In less than three minutes, the story had over 25 hits. To put that in perspective, most of our stories get around 60 hits per week.

Keep in mind the Wisner News-Chronicle’s Twitter account is quite new and we only have about 15 followers. Even if that’s a modest result, I’m pleased with it, and I can’t wait to see what kind of response we’ll receive as we expand our use of Twitter.

If you want to join the conversation, our Twitter handle is @wisnernews.





Facebook, Twitter and the website are wonderful tools, but that’s exactly what they are — tools. The main event each week is tangible: Broadsheets containing stories and photos that chronicle what’s important to you. Your fingers may get a little inky after reading it, but that’s a small price to pay for being able to clip out an article about your child making the honor roll or a photo of the volleyball team’s excitement over winning subdistricts.


Try as you might, you just can’t put a website on your refrigerator.

Why grammar matters

(Or, why improperly used apostrophes make me twitch)

I judge people by their grammar.

Run-on sentences, improperly placed apostrophes, the incorrect use of their, they're and there, lack of capitalization and punctuation — they all make a little part of me shrivel up and die each time I see them.

Unfortunately, proofreading is part of my job at the newspaper and therefore, I'm about 75 percent shriveled up and dead (inside) every time we're finished with an issue.

•••

I'm not going to blame schools or teachers for the alarming decline in grammar. I'm not even going to blame texting or instant messaging.

No, I think most people just don't care about the rules of grammar. After all, if someone can get his point across without straining to remember archaic elementary school lessons, why bother? What difference does it really make if I write "Its sunny outside today" or "It's sunny outside today" — either way, you know you should probably slather on some SPF.

•••

I am not a great conversationalist. I'm about 50 times better on paper than in person and about 100 times more comfortable with written communication than oral. 

I would so much rather e-mail someone than talk on the phone.

So that's how I know proper grammar and correct spelling are extremely important. Whether you're trying to make a good first impression or communicate a point cogently, people are going to judge you by how you write.

It's not really any different than what happens when you communicate in person. What you're wearing, how you sound, how you gesture — all of these factors play into the impact your message has. 

When you communicate via the written word, you don't have any of that. If you encounter someone like me — and I'm truly sorry for this — she will be more likely to dismiss what you have to say if it's disfigured by bad grammar, no matter how valid your points may be.

•••

If you know me personally, you'll know I'm really not a jerk. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, bad grammar notwithstanding. I do know that bad grammar doesn't mean the writer is an unintelligent person. (The Captain, for instance, is not a stickler and yet I love him and respect his agile mind.) 

But I can't always control my initial reaction to bad grammar. It's part of who I am to appreciate a well-crafted sentence, and conversely, a badly-constructed one causes me intellectual pain.

•••

I realize writing this sort of thing exposes me to hyper-criticism and that's OK. If I walk the walk, I'll be vigilant about my own grammar and if I make a mistake, I'll appreciate the feedback. 

In the end, my goal is to be the most effective communicator I can be. It's not everyone's goal, though, and I'm learning to accept that.

If you find this entire subject distasteful and think I'm kind of a snob for harping on it so much, let this simple rule be your takeaway: When in doubt, don't use an apostrophe.

Just (don't) do it.

For an amazing chart that's funny, informative and slightly irreverent, go here:

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/apostrophe

Mission: Dinner table

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
I have fed my family too many meals quick on convenience and lacking in nutritional value.
I have eaten too many of said meals on my knees in front of a TV show.
I have allowed my kitchen table to serve as a catch-all for clutter instead of a place of conversation.
But I am truly sorry for my sins and sincerely repent of them. 
(And here's how I plan to do better ...)
•••
I don't mind cooking. Really, I don't. That hasn't always been true, but lately, throwing a meal together hasn't seemed as challenging. 
It's probably because Miss E is eating table food now. Before that, all I had to do was thaw a cube of pureed vegetables or fruit — believe it or not, I made most of her baby food — and feed it to her while the Captain's and my frozen pizza cooked in the oven.
But mushed-up lima beans and applesauce don't cut it for her anymore, especially with a few pearly whites peeking through. And I just can't justify feeding my baby the same junk I tend to eat ... which leads me to believe maybe I shouldn't be consuming it, either.
This normally would have been enough conviction for me to change my ways. On top of it, though, I spent last weekend cooking with my grandmother. Well, she cooked; I mostly watched. 
She's not a measurement kind of cook — a splash, a tad, a pinch is more her method — and everything ends up plentiful and delicious. If we lived in a fairy tale, I'd be tempted to believe she has magic pots. But really, it's practice and understanding how flavors work together. 
•••
So that's why on Monday night, instead of being sacked out on the couch, I was monitoring several bubbling pots on the stovetop. It wasn't anything fancy, just spaghetti and meat sauce with garlic bread and salad, but it was fresh, hot and homemade. 
When I told the Captain we were going to eat at the table, he was understandably surprised. It had been an embarrassingly long time since we'd done that. 
Supper didn't last overly long; both of us were tired from working all day and Miss E was extra grouchy from growing teeth. But it was a start toward a tradition I hope will continue for many years. Studies show children whose families sit down for a meal together tend to have healthier weights and lifestyle habits as they grow up. 
The only downside to cooking at home I can sum up in one word: Dishes. 

My two cents

I don’t mean to be insensitive.

I know each person has his or her own level of comfort and standards. Everyone’s measure of what is a livable income is different.

But lately, the discussion of personal income among local government employees has been a hot topic issue in my small town, which is by no means immune from the economic difficulties plaguing the nation.

•••

I certainly sympathize with the emotions associated with cuts in salary, hours and benefits. Two years ago, I was cut from being full-time to three-quarters time, a change that resulted in a significantly reduced salary. This fall, our health insurance was changed to a high-deductible plan, which increases our likelihood of hefty medical bills. Changes like these are a blow to your self-worth and it’s hard not to take them personally.

What I can’t sympathize with is the attitude of entitlement that seems to permeate the discussion. Quite frankly, you can’t live outside your means for years, only to complain when your salary is adjusted to better reflect the ability of the community that pays it.

I speak from a position of strength here as the wife of a church worker: When you work for a large group of people (a congregation or a community), you don’t do it for the money. You can make better money elsewhere, I can promise you. But you do it for the joy of serving — you simply must — or else you’ll buckle under the weight of dissatisfaction.

•••

I’m pretty conservative with my finances.

Here are my guidelines:

If you can’t afford it, don’t buy it.  

Pay your bills on time and in full.

Cushion your savings account for emergencies.

Set aside a tithe for your church.

Shop second-hand when possible.

Be grateful for what you have … there are many others who make do with much, much less.

•••

Above all, I believe in being a good steward of what God has given me and that’s why I *try* not to complain.

Do I get paid what I’m worth? No. Does the Captain get paid what he’s worth? No. But then, there’s more to a job than a paycheck.

Blow out a candle, make a wish ...

Today is my daughter’s first birthday. Since she couldn’t write a wish list, I helped her out:

• Teeth. Yes, she’s 12 months old and no, she doesn’t have any yet. People tell me the longer they take to come in, the healthier her teeth will be. In that case, I shouldn’t have to spend a dime on orthodontia for this girl.

• Stability. There’s nothing more comforting to a child (or adult) than knowing the basics will hold true each day. I want her to that her parents will always be there for her, that she will always be warm, full and safe, that she will always be loved.

• Independence. I write this with hesitation because I’m not sure I’m ready for it. But I know my daughter and she is nothing if not independent. Most of the time, she prefers to do things on her own — eat, drink, undress — all of which leads me to believe (hope) she’ll be easy to potty-train.

• Self-confidence. I tell my daughter every day that she is beautiful and special and beloved. I want her to know those things so instinctively that she never has to seek unhealthy attention to affirm herself.

• Contentment. I want her to be happy with what she has, whether it’s tangible (clothes, toys, books) or intangible (a relationship, career or salary). I’ve struggled with this my whole life and it’s a battle I’d like her not to have to fight. Like Paul, I want her to be content in every circumstance.

• Faith. I want my daughter to grow up to know Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. Faith is the bedrock of my life, the compass by which I navigate daily life. I want her to be a woman after God’s heart. No matter what negative things society says about people of faith, I want her to know that living a life pleasing to God is a worthy pursuit.  

Happy birthday, my sweet, funny, delightful girl!

A Mini dilemma

If I told you that the Captain and I never had any difficult financial decisions, I absolutely would be lying.

Don’t misunderstand: We live well within our means, own our home free and clear and live in a fairly affordable place. And though neither of our salaries are what you would call generous, we make do with what we have and stick a little into savings each month.

I know we’re blessed to have relative financial security, especially since we’re both under 30.

But to that point … three years ago, we purchased a Mini Cooper because it suited our needs at that stage of life. It is extremely fuel-efficient and what it lacks in seating capacity, it makes up for with style. (Frankly, when we bought it, we figured kids were at least five years in the future.)

Now, though, our needs are vastly different. Instead of tossing a duffel bag in the boot for a weekend, we now have to fit in a car seat, stroller, toys, board books, diapers, wipes, bottles and blankets — and, oh yes, the BABY! Because of the space the car seat takes up, the passenger (usually me) has to sit completely upright … not very much fun on car rides longer than 20 minutes.

Someday, I know we’ll have another little passenger to join us on adventures and I just can’t see it happening in the vehicle we have now. Our other car, a 1998 Chevy Malibu, has more room and runs well enough … for now. I’d like to say we could make it with one vehicle, but our work and civic responsibilities, plus the geography of where we live — everything’s spread out — makes that plan highly unlikely.

What I’m thinking is to sell the Mini, pay off that loan on it, then purchase a larger, used vehicle that’s a little more family- and budget-friendly. The Captain wants to avoid having any loans at all, and while I agree with him in principle, I just don’t think it’s going to happen. 

Here’s my blatant plea for advice: Does this sound like a feasible plan? If you’ve been in a similar situation, what did you do? If you’re older and wiser, what would you suggest to us?

(My back, achy and strained from sitting ever-so-properly for hours on end, thanks you!)

4:30 a.m. moments

As I changed E's diaper this morning, she looked up at me with this sweet little intelligent grin and asked (I'm serious) "What is it?" Even her eyes had a question in them. 

When, when, did this happen? When did my baby grow up and start talking (OK, I know she's not actually talking but is instead imitating sounds)? She started walking in August and now there's no stopping her — her two little feet can take her wherever she wants to go.

I love watching her grow up every day, I really do. There's nothing better than to see her "get" something — learning that if you drop something, it falls (physics), if you pound on the piano, it makes a sound (music), if you concentrate on the squiggly marks in a book, they mean something (reading). 

E has never been much of a cuddler, even from the very first days. There's usually too much to see and do for her to settle down for long — except when she's tired. Then, Mom makes a perfectly acceptable alternative to her crib. 

This morning at 4:30 a.m. I woke up to her cries. The funny thing is, I was already kind of restless and half-awake ... maybe I sensed she needed comfort. I walked into her room and picked up her thrashing body and cuddled her close to my chest. I settled us both on the couch and she wrapped her fingers around my hand. We dozed that way for awhile until she fell back asleep. I placed her back in her crib, smoothed back her soft hair and padded back to my bed. 

Those are the moments that make everything else — the diapers, the teething, the snot — worthwhile. Those are the moments where I'm reminded I will always be a mother, no matter how how grown up my baby becomes.

I might have a problem ...

I love to read. There's nothing better than a cozy autumn morning, snuggled up in a blanket, hot cup of coffee beside me, knowing I have a few minutes before my daughter and husband wake up to read a couple of chapters.

But ... books are expensive and I don't have all that much time to read, which makes checking out books from the library difficult. 

Fortunately, I've found an excellent solution: Thrifting books. At Goodwill or other second-hand stores, you can usually pick up a paperback for $1 and a hardcover book for $2.

For instance, this bounty of the written word cost $23:

Yes. For the retail price of one hard-cover novel, I got 17 books. (FYI: This wasn't all from the same place. But I have noticed that at nearly every store I've visited, there has been at least one copy of "The Nanny Diaries." Weird.)

The only problem now: Where to put them all.

Only the beginning

Now that my 26^th year of life has started, I’m tempted to sit back and take pride in the things I’ve accomplished in my years.

But I won’t.

How can I take credit for things that were gifts? God has given me talents, blessings and wonderful people to guide me — it’s thanks to these things and to His grace that I am who I am today.  

As I celebrate another birthday, I’m thankful for the years I have lived. I’m learning from past mistakes and I’m thankful for the perspective they bring. I’m not a perfect person and I never will be. But more and more each year, I’m learning to regard each person as a treasured child of God.

It changes everything.

•••

My daughter will celebrate her first birthday in a little under a month. Each day, she’s reminding me that up to now, parenting has been easy. Now that she’s mobile, she has the ability to act outside my wishes. The hard part is just beginning …

And as she grows up, it will be the Captain’s and my responsibility to shape her into a responsible, independent and thoughtful person.

No small order, that.

•••

We never really finish growing up. We learn more about ourselves every year. For instance, I never thought I’d love being a mother. I was so very wrong.

So that’s why, on the 26^th anniversary of my birth, I’m not resting on my laurels.

This is only the beginning. 

There was a little girl, who had a little curl ...

Last week, I shampooed my hair for the last time and it's because of this book:

I've had a love-hate (mostly hate) relationship with my curly hair ever since my mom had to chase me through the house, comb and "No-More-Tears" detangling spray in hand. Like a lot of other curly girls, all I wanted was straight, manageable, shiny hair. Instead, I had a literal mop of tight curls that defied taming:

Curls everywhere!

I had my share of awful haircuts over the years:

The Mullet

The Bubble

The Triangle

The Barely-There

My mom tried her best to make me see what a gift my curls were. Unfortunately, I didn't listen and dismissed her preference for "fluffy" hair as a mere maternal whim. I bought a flat iron in high school and learned how to blow out my hair. 

From high school ...

... to college — straight hair seemed worth the effort.

I picked up "Curly Girls" at a garage sale this May but didn't read it until I had scheduled a haircut last week. (I'm really bad about this. Last year I had my hair cut once — once! — and I wondered why it was so unmanageable. Duh.) The author, a salon owner in New York, tells curly girls to work with their hair, not against it. 

(This is pretty much what my mom told me 15 years ago.)

According to the book, I have what are called "Botticelli curls" — not as tight as corkscrew curls but more defined than wavy hair. For all types of curly hair, Lauren Massey suggests water and conditioner only, no shampoo, and air-drying your curls after shaping them while they're wet. 

I've kept up this regimen for a few days now and I've never been so consistently pleased with how my hair looks. My curls are defined and sturdy, yet still flexible and frizz-resistant. 

Caring for my curls this way doesn't seem to save more time, but it doesn't take longer than what I used to do. (Before, I was washing my hair about twice a week.) But it's worth it to treat my curls the way they deserve — finally allowing them the freedom to be in their natural shape. 

Curls the way they're meant to be — I knew it on the first day of kindergarten and I know it again now.