Happy Birthday Hilary!!!

My baby is 19 today. One more year, and the teen years will officially end. For both of us. I guess we'll have to start acting like grown ups soon.

I love everything about you, Hilary-how beautiful you are both inside and out,

your silliness,

your loving care with Ethan,

forever finding ways to keep us entertained.

You aren't afraid of challenges,

and love making us laugh.

You inspire others to be there best,

and never forget to laugh.

How did we get such a wonderful daughter?

Our family just wouldn't be the same without you.

Happy Birthday Hilary, wish we were with you!

Signs That You Are In Korea

You know you are in Korea when:
you have Bulgogi Bimbob for lunch


Nights look like this:


You see buildings and people everywhere


You share the streets with cars,

Your blog has mysterious Korean characters showing at the top:



Home looks like this:


And you get to spend time with Lauren & Christopher

And Derek too!

Happy Birthday To Me!

Wow, what a long flight it was from San Francisco to Seoul. We were served 3 meals. I'm trying to take lots of pictures. At the moment, this was the best birthday photo. After traveling for 24 hours, with no sleep, I looked rather spent in. Prior to our trip, I slept for about an hour and a half after a very busy day. I needed way more sleep than I did in my previous post.

Off to take a nap. Here's one more of the birthday in Christopher and Lauren's lovely studio apartment where we are staying. They are giving up their bed to sleep on the floor. Is that amazing or what?

I Need Sleep

Tick tock, tick tock, counting down of the clock. In less than 5 hours, I have to wake up. I am supposed to board a plane that will take me halfway around the world. It doesn't seem real or even possible, but ready or not, here I come.

I feel like I'm forgetting so many things, leaving too many things unfinished. Five minutes into the flight, I most likely will remember what all I've forgotten. It feels uneasy.

I almost started to cry in the store tonight. Even though I am so very excited to see my kids in 2 countries, an overwhelming sadness of the ones I'm leaving behind hit me. What if we never come home? What if....I think the 4 1/2 hours of sleep I had last night is catching up to me.

I'm also uneasy about leaving someone else in my kitchen. This is where I am most at home. It's like letting someone else wear your shoes and socks. It is just weird. Especially since there is no time for her to get acclimated to.....well, to my way of doing things. I was serious when I told you I was a food nazi. Very serious. Ask any of my family members. It's one thing to let others help out in my kitchen, it's something completely different letting them have full control. And I won't be there! It makes me scared.

I'm off to dreamland, the short version. Tomorrow is the real deal.

Hi, My Name Is Joanne. I'm A...

I'm a food nazi. I shamelessly admit it. Truthfully, I was a little ashamed last week. I hurt someone's feelings. I'm becoming more and more proficient in offending others, while protecting my gf food. I've done it 3 times in the past week-that I'm aware of. So I confess, I'm a food nazi. I will always be a food nazi.

When it comes to avoiding wheat gluten, I am over the top careful. Too frequently, Elisabeth gets sick from accidental ingestion of wheat gluten. Or barley. Or oats. Or Rye. She tries not to make it an issue. She doesn't want to be "one of those people" who constantly complains how easily cross-contamination happens or how sick she gets. She doesn't it to be an imposition on her friends and family, or make them uncomfortable. She doesn't want to trouble them. So I do it for her, happily. Sometimes it embarrasses her.

What does a food nazi look like? Let's just say, I view wheat gluten and her cohorts as the enemy. I do everything I can to keep them out of my home and away from my kitchen. So far, that has not been possible. When I see toast crumbs in the butter, or on the counter, I tend to freak out. I border on OCD.

When making a sandwich on wicked wheat bread, you commit a grand faux pas if you stick your knife in the mayo, spread it on a slice, then dip it back in the jar. You have just contaminated an entire jar of mayonnaise . If I didn't see it happen, and I use that mayo to make salad dressing, I inadvertently introduce gluten into what I believe is a gluten free meal. I am left wondering what made my daughter so sick, when I was so careful.

Sometimes it is preferable for others to NOT try to prepare gluten free food. When Sarabeth arrived in London, her new family knew she couldn't eat gluten. They very carefully prepared a soup recipe that they believed was gluten free. Before serving their lovely stew, a decision was made to thicken the soup. What ingredient was used? Flour. Good ol' gluten-stuffed wheat flour. So their careful attempt at making gluten free soup was sabotaged.

At Thanksgiving, one of Sarabeth's friends painstakingly attempted a gluten free dinner. She took Sarabeth shopping and had her oversee the preparations to make sure she had lots of gluten free food Sarabeth could eat. Gluten free turkey, stuffing, pie crust...she even thickened her gravy with cornstarch instead of flour. Right before serving the dinner, the host grabbed a dinner roll and dipped it into the gravy to taste for seasonings. And with that quick dunk, she contaminated the gravy with gluten, making it inedible for Sarabeth.

Unlike most 12 step programs, I'm not here to change. I feel it's my job to bring an awareness to others-and force them to change, when necessary. Believe me, it's necessary.

I'm Done

I was reading PW's blog regarding grammar and the use of "done" and "finished." She explained:

"it was drilled into me time and time again that while both 'done' and 'finished' meant 'brought to completion or accomplished,' DONE was used to describe things. FINISHED was used to describe people.

This is an overly simplified description of the rule, but in general, this is how I always understood it:

Correct: I am finally finished with my homework.
Incorrect: I am finally done with my homework."

PW wondered if this was an antiquated rule of grammar. I find it interesting that I've never heard of this rule. Not that this doesn't mean anything, it's just that I've been around longer than most. (Based on the fact that I'm older than the median age-way older.)

At the end of a day, I often say, "I'm done." While some would laugh and say, "Cakes are done, people are finished," I think I'm correct in this usage when I say "I'm done." As in, "Lord, if you don't take me out of the fire now, I'm gonna be burnt to a crisp. I'm done already."

Which makes me think of Jesus' last words on the cross, "It is finished." (That is, if he'd spoken in English.) I'm glad he said His task was truly finished, as opposed to "I'm done. Get me out of here."

Some Just Naturally Give

I was on the phone to my sister, Laurie. We had nearly 2 hours of catching up to do. While we were chatting, my nephew was busy evesdropping. Every few minutes he'd interject into our conversation until finally my sister asked, "will you just talk to Paul?"

Paul got on the phone. I inquired about school and asked how he enjoyed the cruise with his broken arm. After a few minutes, my sister got back on the phone. Paul went back to talking in the background.

"Hey mom! Has Aunt Joanne ever gone on a cruise?"
"No, Paul. She hasn't."
"Mom, we should take her on a cruise. Don't you think Aunt Joanne would like to go on a cruise?"

I hear my sister laugh.

"Yes, Paul. If we bought Aunt Joanne a ticket to go on a cruise, I'm sure she would absolutely love it. Now can you please go to bed so I can talk to my sister?"

I laughed too. My nephew has a heart of gold.

When Paul was 2, I stayed at my sister's home so I could meet his new baby brother. Laurie had some serious magnetic locks on everything in her house. Paul was a little houdini. The first day there, my sister was busy with the baby, and Paul wanted a drink. I filled his sippy cup with juice. He grinned and said, "Tank you."

Later in the day, after his dad came home, we were visiting in the living room. I watched Paul wander into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he appeared in the doorway. His chubby little hands were wrapped tightly around a glass of water. Somehow he had managed to climb up onto the counter, get a glass from the cupboard, and fill it halfway with water. He toddled in my direction, sloshing a bit of water with each step. I jumped out of the chair, to rescue both the glass and save him from completely soaking his shirt. He looked very pleased with himself as I took the cup.

His dad scolded him for climbing on the counter. But I looked beyond his disobedience. I saw a little boy with a generous spirit. This tall-for-his age two year old stood as a gentle giant: kind, thoughtful, & selfless. He was returning my earlier favor by offering me a refreshing drink.

Before going to bed, he needed a pull-up. Laurie was again busy with the baby, so Paul helped me find the diapers. I got a big hug before he went to bed. Early the next morning, I heard little footsteps upstairs. In hopes that I could be helpful to my sister, I hopped in the shower, so I'd be ready for the day. Within a few minutes, I heard tapping on the door. I poked my head out of the shower, "who is it?" No answer. I finished as fast as I could, knowing Paul must be waiting on the other side of the door.

Knock, knock, knock...I turned the shower off and quickly grabbed a towel. The tapping continued and then I heard a little voice, "open de door." I could tell his lips were pressed against the crack on the ground, where the floor and the door didn't quite meet. "Open de door, Aunt Doanne, open de door." His voice was urgent. Not quite dry, I pulled my clothes on and opened the door.

There stood Paul with his arms raised.

"Here you go." To my amazement, Paul held his gift up for me. Clutched in his hands was a pair underwear. My big girl panties that he must have found after foraying through my suitcase.

"Why thank-you Paul!" If I'd known of his generous offering, I wouldn't have bothered to dress so quickly. I could have opened the door wearing a towel and accepted his gift more readily. I hoped I didn't disappoint him since I was already dressed. I would never want to discourage this big-hearted boy.

I really should let Paul take me on that cruise. Afterall, it would encourage his kindness and give him great satisfaction.

The Countdown Begins

I was thinking of doing a 2 week countdown to our trip, or at least a 10 day one. This morning I decided to figure out what day I needed to start. Well, that would be a week ago. Or at the very least 2 days back. I now have 7 days, 17 hours, and 17 minutes until the plane takes off with me in it. (And at this moment those numbers really are the exact. I did NOT make them up.)

What this really means is: I won't be losing 15 lbs. before my departure. Which really means: I have nothing to pack, nothing to wear. Oh my word! How exciting this trip is going to be, it really and truly means I can take an almost empty suitcase and come back with lots of souvenirs. Either that or I'll be wearing the same two outfits the entire time I'm there-or going naked.

I am not going naked...not one single day. Aren't you glad to hear that?

Thank-you all who took my bathtub poll. Your answers confirmed my own thoughts on the subject. Consequently, I won't be having a bathroom remodel while I'm out of the country. Come on, nobody does that. Oh yes they do! My neighbors had a wall torn out, their kitchen completely remodeled, a bathroom, and I can't remember what else. While the destruction/construction was taking place, they spent 6 weeks in Australia. I kid you not. They came home to a completed house. How cool would that be?

I couldn't afford to do both anyway. But I can dream.

Speaking of dreams, I have a dream. In my dream, nobody is sick. I don't wake up to 4 urgent phone messages/texts or emails needing me to call/text/skype ASAP. I won't hear about an early morning ER visit from the dorm kid. Instead I'll hear all is well, she had a wonderful night studying, then sleeping, and getting an amazing grade on her test.

I won't hear that my Londoner needs surgery and wonder if it can wait until she gets home or if it will be done in a foreign country with a national health care system. Instead I will hear of her travels to Ireland & Scotland. I will meet up with her in a few weeks and see the sights with her, without worrying about things like surgery.

In my dream, there are no coughs or doctor visits that might prevent my mother-in-law from traveling. No fever, severe pain or trips to the emergency room because nobody can figure out what is causing it. Both Elisabeth's will wake up and forget what it feels like to be sick instead of not being able to remember a day when all was well.

If my dream goes well, we'll meet up with our Korean couple kids, and try new foods and hear them tell about their decisions about coming home.

I have not heard from my grandson or daughter this week. Not once. I sure hope that means not only that all is well, but that life is grand and good.

It's A Birthday

When I was 24, I became pregnant with my 3rd child. I had an instant connection with my unborn baby. I was my mom's third child. My mom was also my grandmother's third child. Being third is superb!

I like to believe the number 3 is special. (This is my mom, me, my dad, Christopher, Elisabeth & Christina. Dad is my age in this photo. See how white his hair is? Imagine me just the same.)


My number 3 child turns a magical age today.


She is 24-the same age I was when she arrived into this world.


Happy Birthday Elisabeth!

I Feel Like A New Person

I just took a shower! I know, it isn't usually something to celebrate, just one of those things you do whether you feel like it or not. Today it was heavenly-my first shower in 4 days. I know what you are thinking...WHAT? This is the same person who tells us she washes her hair EVERY SINGLE DAY and spends loads of time messing with it.

Last Thursday I spent 3 hours in the shower. The water was not running. I scraped every little bit of caulking from the seams and edges. I used 3 different tools, 3 cleaning products during those 3 hours. I think it was a record. I then waited 3 days for it to completely dry out before asking the man of the house to recaulk it. I asked him to please try to find the very best mold and mildew resistant caulking on the market. When he responded with, "they have caulking that resists mold?" I knew why I'd spent 3 long hours with blood, sweat, and tears.

In the meantime, I took glorious soaks in the bathtub. I'd forgotten how wonderful my skin feels submerged in silky softness. Memories of childhood danced in my head. I thought of my days as a young mom, when I only dreamed of a few moments of bathing in privacy. I would have given up anything to lounge leisurely in this lap of luxury.

On Saturday, my bath was quick. Ethan was here. I had quite a workout washing and rinsing my hair in the tub. That was the day I remembered the harried times of mothering young children and bathing as fast as humanly possible. It made me wonder...was Jesus ever able to bathe in private once he began his public ministry?

Can you just imagine him sneaking off to the river to bathe, only to find hoards of people following him? His job as a "mom" was way harder than any mom I know. He had so many children, always wanting something, demanding, pleading, begging. He had to steal away just to find time to pray, I can only presume how difficult it must have been to find a moment of private for daily things like go to the bathroom.

Gosh my life is easy.

All of this to say, would you buy a home that didn't have a bathtub? Why or why not? I've put a poll up in my sidebar and would love to hear your thoughts. Yes you. Thanks!

Monday Morning

Did anyone notice? A couple of posts back, I mentioned I felt like a million bucks ? I was having a good hair day. I complain a LOT about my hair, and when it looks nice, I often say nothing. Would it seem like bragging if I proclaimed, "I look fabulous today?" The more humble approach would be: "I'm having a GREAT hair day." Either way, I really should say it more often.

Growing up, back before it was stated in such terms, I rarely had a good hair day. I do remember the terms, "Day 1" and "Day 2" girls being thrown around. In case you missed it, a Day 1 girl was one whose hair tended to be oily. Her hair looked best the first day it was washed. (Nobody but nobody washed their hair every day.) A Day 2 girl had dry hair that reacted strongly to shampoo, straining every direction in search of moisture. By the second or even third day, it would finally calm down a bit-just in time to wash it again.

I had incredibly curly hair. It was during the 70's and afros were big then. Very big! I think the real reason for their popularity is because products didn't exist that could tame or smooth tight curls. It was easier to go with the natural bend of hair. The bigger the better, the more the merrier. The only problem was my blonde hair and light skin didn't fit in with the rest of my afro sporting friends.


Nevermind. I forgot, there were a few of us that stood out.

He Said That?

I was talking to my son a few weeks ago. In case you don't recall, he & his wife are teachers in Seoul, Korea. The children are very interested in the daily life of their Western Teachers. One of the third graders had an important question for Christopher.

Student: "Teacher, how long have you been married?"
Christopher: "Two and a half years."
Student: "Why no baby? It only takes 1 year after you are married, then you have
to have a baby."

Christopher had to stop and think about this one. Before he could answer, the student continued, "you don't want to be a father?"

Christopher: "Not today little one, not today."

Interesting

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Colorado. It's days like this, I dream up any excuse to run to the store-just so I can drive my car. I don't like shopping at Whole Foods much, but they carry items other grocers don't. It was the perfect place to stop while out on a leisurely drive.

I didn't get too far through the produce department, when an older woman approached me.

"It's amazing we can get eat at all, with the prices so high." I turned and smiled. Before I could respond, she pushed her cart closer.

"The few things I buy, I want to eat them up as soon as I get home. I get so hungry shopping. Then I don't have any left." She looked me up and down, as if sizing me up, then continued, "You'd think we'd all lose weight-but I can see that we don't." Ouch. I believe I was included in that comment.

"And look at tsyou!" I was beginning to feel a wee bit self conscious. "Tsyou are dressed like it was summer." Her thick accent caused me to wonder if she was from Jersey. "You know, it is steell winter. That is how you get the flu. It may be nice now, but in a couple of hours, it will be cold. You will see." I could only nod.

"Now look at me," she said, pointing to her black wool coat, and then to her bright orange sweater. "You see these?" She asked, tugging at the fabric of her fleece pants. "I stayed up late last night making them from an old piece of fabric I had laying around." Her black pants didn't look new, and had quite a bit of cat hair entwined in the material.

"I just did a little of this, and a bit of that." As I examined her clothing, I noticed the tangerine colored sweater was hand knit. I remarked how beautiful it was." She smiled.

"I made it myself, and this too." She pointed to what looked like a daffodil yellow silk blouse, peeking out at her neckline. "You know, the clothes these days, aiya, they are so cheap and thin." I noticed her look me up and down again. Although my top was a bright coral color, it could certainly be considered flimsy. It is one I usually pull on in the morning, when I'm working around the house. Normally I change before going out, but today I didn't. I had my hair cut and colored last night and in spite of my flimsy shirt, I felt like a million bucks. Funny how a good hair day can do that.

"Oh, and let me show you something else." She took off her hat, which wasn't quite the orange of her sweater, more of a cantaloupe color. She turned the hat over to reveal the inside. I looked, but wasn't sure what I was supposed to see. It was tannish and tattered looking. "You see? It is a beret. But I painted it." I realized the beige areas were merely the former color where the paint hadn't reached. The paint had caused the hat to be stiff, but it fit well upon her head, like a perfectly puffed beret.

She ran her fingers through her white hair, trying to smooth it down. "I quit coloring my hair because I look good in white hair, don't you think?" She set the beret atop her head. "People are always asking me what I do with my time. I am creating fashion...clothing out of nothing, beautiful clothing and fashion...if only I could market..." Her voice trailed off as if she was deep in thought. My guess is she often wondered how she could make money from her fashions-from- nothing, but hadn't come up with the means yet.

"And thiz jacket, it used to have a zipper. But I could not close it anymore, so I took it out. And you know those long coats, this was like that, so I just shortened it. And see how good it fits?"

She bent down to show me her shoes. I'd never seen anything quite like them. They looked a bit like sneakers on 4 inch platforms. "Theze had none of this," motioning to the laced area,"I painted all of thiz." I told her she was certainly doing an amazing job of transforming things into unique, one-of-a-kind fashion pieces.

"Yes, yes," and with that, she began pushing her cart down the aisle, "I'll be seeing you." She waved. I wasn't sure what to think of this little lady. I went back to my shopping.

A few aisles later, I heard her talking to the man at the meat counter. I busied myself reading labels. A moment later, she passed me. Her mouth was full. "You just missed it. Some tasty meat samples back there." She kept walking. It was then that I began to wonder. Whole foods usually has lots of samples throughout the store. This little lady most likely counts this as a meal, devouring every sample she can get. Her way of supplementing her food budget. She certainly was resourceful. I couldn't help but wondered what had drawn her to speak to me. Besides my foolishness of not dressing properly, I think it was the the bright shirt, and stylin' hair. I didn't fit in with the usual crunchy granola clientele of the Natural Grocer.

The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

Is it Friday already? How does that happen? It's Sunday, I blink. It's Wednesday, then Friday. I think back to when I was in elementary school. Gosh the days were long. They ran into weeks and months. The school year seemed endless and summer so far away.

I remember being 5 years old. Kindergarten. My very first teacher, Mrs. Preston was old, very old. It wasn't because I was so little either. Her face was adorned with soft wrinkles and creases formed at the edges of her mouth, when she smiled. Silver strands of hair were pulled back tightly, to form a perfectly round bun. Mrs. Preston would walk up and down the rows of desks, inspecting each child's work-usually a picture or drawing. Peering up at her through thick spectacles, her eyes seemed enormous, yet gentle. I knew my teacher must be a hundred years old.

My favorite part of the day was snack time. I don't really remember a snack, but I do recall bringing a nickel every day to purchase a carton of milk to drink. We stood in two straight lines, boys in one, girls in the other. We'd wait for the school janitor to come and open the milk machine. He was a large man who wore drab brown pants and a a shirt just as plain. Attached to his belt, he had the biggest set of keys I'd ever seen. He jingled when he walked down the long concrete corridors. The coins in his pocket clinked too.

I didn't usually see him as he twisted and turned the keys, but I could hear them. I did my best to follow the rule of standing perfectly still in a straight line. Being the second to the shortest in my class, only Doug was shorter, I could only see the back of the head in front of me. It was almost always a girl with long, silky hair-unlike my own that was short and curly.

The door would clank open and out wafted the scent of wet, cardboard milk cartons. I loved that smell. After handing over my nickel, I was given a red container of whole milk and a paper straw. I carried my straw carefully. If it was bumped or bent, it stayed pinched, making it nearly impossible to suck milk through it. Mrs. Preston did not allow for wastefulness. I was afraid to ask for a second one, if the first was ruined. I only did twice, when I'd received a defective one. On the occasions where I'd been careless, I did not. Instead, I'd push my straw as far down into the milk as it would go, tip the carton and suck as hard and fast as I could. It would have been improper and too crude to pick up the carton and drink from it.

I loved nearly everything about school that first year, even the very long walk home. There was only one exception-being picked to be the sunshine. Each morning, after saying the Pledge Of Allegiance, we sang 2 songs. The first was almost always a patriotic song. Then came Good Morning Sunshine. Before singing Mrs. Preston picked a child to stand in front of the class. She'd place a bright yellow sun, cut from construction paper, around the child's face. I was very shy and never, ever wanted to be the shining star, as every child stared and sang, "Good Morning little sunshine, how are you today..."

Each day I silently pray, "please God, let her pick someone else, don't let her see me," and I'd stare at the ground until she called a child's name. Most days, my prayer was answered. A few times God must not have heard me. As soon as the ring of paper was around my face, I could feel the warmth. I knew my face must be glowing red, as it felt on fire. I tried hard not to see the faces as the singing grew louder. The song seemed to last forever and before it was over, hot tears stung my eyes.

A moment that lasted a lifetime. And now a lifetime seems but a moment ago. I have flashbacks of those moments in Kindergarten where I sweat profusely. Nobody sings the Good Morning Little Sunshine Song, and others call them hot flashes, but the burning feels the same. Next year, I'll be 5 again, followed by a big round circle. I'll pretend it's the yellow sun and wear it for all to see.

Tuesday Truths

Ah, I needed an excuse to blog. So here it is: Ten Truths, but one is a Lie
(Answer at the end.)

1. One of my daughter's surprised me this week with this:

2. I want to get my belly button pierced.

3. I love temporary tatoos.

4. Another daughter surprised me with this a week ago:

5. I don't have a single tatoo.

6. I love temporary peircings.

7. I've wanted a tatoo since I was 16.

8. I had my ears double pierced, but it was so painful, I let the second holes close up.

9. Belly button piercing hurts, according to the one in the above photo.

10. I'm wearing red boots.

Christopher was right. I have NEVER wanted my belly pierced, not even once.


And these are my red boots. (Even though they look brown here.)

Lose Those Extra Pounds

With the national debt and out-of-control government spending sky-rocketing every day, I wonder how much money is wasted on research. I read an article today declaring, "Getting tonsils out tied to kids' weight gain." This research was gathered from 9 different studies spanning a 40 year period.

Scientists aren't sure why this happens, but believe that this surgery might be contributing to childhood obesity.

Really? The article reports a couple of theories as to why children have a greater-than-expected weight gain following a tonsillectomy. I have my own theory, not mentioned in the report.

Is it possible, that most-or at least the majority of children getting their tonsils out were sick a lot? When children are sick, have fevers/infection, and a painful, swollen throat, most likely they are not eating as much as they would when healthy. The weight gain is most likely a normal catching up from being ill.

Recently, my mother-in-law asked me about my favorite comfort food. I wasn't sure exactly what she meant. She mentioned that when her children were under the weather, she cooked them soft boiled eggs. She associates soft boiled eggs as especially comforting when her stomach is off.

I tried to remember if my mom prepared special food for me, when I was sick. I couldn't think of anything. I didn't get sick much. When I was sick, eating was the last thing on my mind. Quite possibly, my body needed a break from the digestion process in order to expend its energy attacking the invading germs. The best healing came not from comfort food, but from fasting.

I really shouldn't knock this kind of research. I should embrace their theory that states, "when children have enlarged tonsils, they're spending more energy (calories) to breathe. Once they're removed, breathing is easier and uses less calories." Weight gain would then ensue.

I had my tonsils out when I was 15.

That is the real reason I am overweight.

I wonder if I can get the government to fund a study to test this theory. Does expending more energy on breathing cause weight loss? I could begin running, or exercising, forcing me to gasp for air. I might lose weight. And I'd have asthma to thank for shedding those pounds.

If They Could Just Stay Little

I wish I had little kids. The news announced that tomorrow will be a snow day. I loved the glee & excitement a snow day produced on the faces of my children. Squeals of delight, laughter, and celebration always followed the "snow day" announcement. Typically, the kids had to wait until 6:00 a.m. to know whether or not they had a day off of school. Today, they announced it early for tomorrow. It wasn't because of anticipated snow as much as the subzero temperatures.

But I didn't get to experience the fun of sharing this exciting news with anyone. Instead, I get a text message from the college Hilary attends with the following:

"CSUPD is investigating an unspecified and currently unsubstantiated general threat to campus. As a precaution, please be vigilant when on campus today and report anything or anyone suspicious to CSUPD immediately by calling 911." 9:00a.m.

At 1:00 p.m., "CSUPD continues to work with the FBI to determine the validity of the threat made to campus earlier today. Law enforcement officials do not believe there is a present or imminent threat to campus at this time. However, CSUPD and the Public Safety Team remind you to always be vigilant about your surroundings and report anything suspicious by calling 911."

I used to think it was fun, watching my kids get older. I'm not so sure anymore.

Blessed

Blessed be the Lord,

Who daily loads us with benefits,


The God of our salvation!


Selah

Busy Day

I didn't realize I could move so fast in the morning. It's been awhile since I had to jump out of bed and be on my game. Guess who spent the night?


His trucks were stacked neatly.

He had a bubble bath in Gramma's tub.

Before going to bed, he realized he'd forgotten his baseball, bat, and glove. He called his mom to complain. She interpreted for me.

Bright and early, we went to Walmart today to buy a bat and ball.

Grandpa, who works from home, was on a conference call and needed it quiet, so it didn't take much for Ethan to talk me into Good Times for lunch.

Ethan watches a lot of baseball. He knows it takes an entire afternoon for the pros to play, so why would we cut ours short? He coerced his Aunt El to join our baseball team. No matter how many times she asked if she could take a turn batting, Ethan would only allow her be the catcher. She had to wear an imaginary catcher's mask and squat like a pro. It was important to Ethan that she keep that mask off the top of her head. Not that she ever pretended to move it, but he must have envisioned her acting like a real catcher. After every swing, Ethan gently reminded her by reaching over with his pincher fingers and sliding it down her face. The boy has quite the imagination.

I wish I'd been able to make a video of the entire scene. I laughed so hard. But once he places a cap on my head, I'm recruited and have to keep my game on. I'm not allowed to do anything else.

Hollywood

Took a stroll down Hollywood's Walk of Fame today.


Boy did we see some sights!


These pictures don't depict the crowds and craziness that we experienced.



My sister, Carolyn & I, enjoyed people watching.



After the walk, we planned to find the famous HOLLYWOOD sign.




While taking in the sights, Michael glanced across the street. Lo and behold, peeking out between the floors, there it stood.

Having a grand adventure!