Henry’s First Easter

Get a load of the cuteness here. If you haven’t had your baby fix in a while, be prepared–you might find yourself begging to hold a strangers baby at the grocery store or something.

The first picture is of Henry and my Dad.



While looking through yesterday’s Easter pictures, I decided. It was time for the girl to get a hair cut.

See? A serious case of hairinthefaceitis.

She was very excited. So she put on her favorite dress.

Next, I steeled myself to cut that soft, golden hair without sniffling. She was braver.

Snip, sniff…snip…sniff…(actually, that’s only how it played out in my head. Unfortunately that is the only place that slow motion exists. In reality it was more like quick-snip-snip-in-the-three-golden-seconds-she-has-given-me-with-no-moving.)

I think she likes it…

So do I. Who is this little girl? Where did my baby go? All of a sudden she looks three years older. And darn cute.


He Never Saw It Coming

Once there was a fly, (or perhaps he was a bee)

who hummed a tune of summertime

as he buzzed from tree to tree.

He wasn’t paying attention,

just singing, “La la!” and “Whee!”

when all of a sudden

there came from behind

a car he did not see.


For Chrissie

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In case you’re wondering why you just spent fifteen seconds of your life looking at pictures of cups, please allow me to explain. I want your money. As my most recent blog post¬†here explains, I am fund-raising to dig a well for a community without clean water. The pictures above are currently on display in the Scandia Bakery in Stanwood, and thanks to Scandia and The Gallery by the Bay, 100% of the purchase price will go towards that well. If you are local, every donation comes with a framed picture. If you aren’t, then you get a print because I’m not mailing picture frames. Sorry. Please contact me for print sizes and selection.


Turning Coffee Into Water

Here’s an age-old question that sounds innocent, but is really just a sneaky way to weasel out of responsibility. Who is my neighbor? It’s not so unlike Am I my brother’s keeper? I think we ask these questions because we’re really just looking for someone to reassure our selfish tendencies. Here’s the simple answer. Your neighbor is anyone who has a need that you are aware of. Not necessarily someone who shares your neighborhood, social status, or geographic location.

If this is true, then one in six of your friends does not have access to clean water. How many people are in your immediate family or close circle of friends? Who is your one in six? Mine is my little sister. I can’t imagine her going all day with nothing better than murky, disease ridden water that was carried for miles before she could drink it. Allowing her to take the place in my head of some nameless, faceless person who I will never meet seems a little more effective to my heart response.

I hope you can allow this to challenge your perspective on the poor…the orphaned, widows, and the waterless. I hope you can balk for a tiny bit at the ridiculousness of picturing your best friend since high school with no clean water, and remind yourself that this is how Jesus wants us to understand His good neighbor gospel. I can almost hear the jingle, Like a good neighbor, (insert name here) is there!

I know. that was cheesy. Seriously catchy jingle. That’s probably why I have my insurance through State Farm. I feel like a sell-out all of a sudden…

Anyway, so right now I have a bunch of photos on display in Scandia Bakery in stanwood. If you are a local yokel, please go check them out. On display is a tea and coffee still life collection to illustrate the simple pleasure most of us enjoy every day. The prices start at a minimum suggested donation of $60 per piece, but please feel free to donate more. 100% of the profits will be used to dig a deep well in another country where coffee isn’t a possibility. Please contact me for reprints or different sizes. Who is your one in six?


recent faces

The Boy in his crib upon waking from a nap…

The Girl during cocoa time…

The Boy during finger painting time in the highchair…Bambi called, he wants his eyelashes back.

The Girl pausing for a rare second to have her picture taken. This just doesn’t happen.



Observation 1: I find it very disconcerting when I see a junior high kid driving a car. And then I think to myself, wait a minutethat little twerp is probably 16! Anyone else with me on this?

Observation 2: There’s a church in our town that advertises free meals one day a week. Where do they advertise? On the lawn of a Mexican restaurant. If that isn’t false advertising, I don’t know what is.



Me: Say something, and i’ll write it down.

Violet: No, i’ll write it down. ummmm Daddy, lookit that! This is a letter for Dad. Daddy can say, “I don’t want letters.” Daddy don’t like letters on he hands, he have a kitty in he hand. Daddy, can i have an elephant? I have an elephant in my house. He will say yes. He will say Yeeeessss. I want a little elephant and a big elephant, and want a name about… this elephant, no i want to name umm…Coco. Yeah. No, i want kids in our house. I have to hold the kids. I am big to hold kids. (…singing…) my favorite food is chocolate. Daddy, can we get an elephant, Dad? I writing a letter for Dad. This a letter. I hear Daddy! I hear him! ummm…Mama, what this? um, a piece of paper. No its just food. I want to put it in the bowl. Mamma, i have a bunch of owies on me. It’s right here and over there.¬† Daddy want Jesus in our house. I want to hold Jesus. I want to hold Jesus in my hands. Mama, where is Jesus. He’s over to He daddy and Mary. He went to He mom. Jesus is tired. He need to take a nap. Mama, what’s funny?


the art of the ripoff

Miles to the “Biggest Garage Sale In The World”: 18

Granola bars eaten: 1

Steps taken from the car to the sale and back: 7000

People carried: 1 and sometimes 2

Cash in my pocket: $1

Charge to get into the garage sale: $2


I don’t care if it’s being held in the fairgrounds. No one should have to pay to go to a garage sale. It’s probably actually illegal.



So, I just have to know. I realize this is a completely inappropriate question–and totally gross–but I feel like getting the answers to questions like this will give me a better idea of the kind of people my readers are. Let’s be real here people. Let’s be honest.

FYI: port a potties and outhouses do not count.

If I get 30 voters, I’ll blog about my answer to this poll…it involved high heels.


You pat my back, I’ll pat yours

One of the sweet thing about little kids, is watching them discover ways to show affection. I know this probably will forever brand me as a christian-bookstore-nerd but there’s a book out there somewhere about the five love languages that most of us use to express and receive love. I won’t tell you what they are, because if you don’t know, then you should really just read the book (or google it, I guess). Anyway, both of my chilluns love patting on the back or shoulder. When they were teeny, I would pat them to burp or soothe, and as they’ve grown older, it has evolved into a soft, rhythmic tapping while we cuddle.*

The best part? They pat back. True story, if you hold Henry (and he’s happy about it, you, and life in general) you will most certainly be the recipient of a couple solid back pats.

*To achieve the ideal “soft, rhythmic tapping” one must slightly cup a relaxed hand as though preparing to hold water. Next, place said hand–palm down–on the back, shoulder, shoulder blades, etc, of a tiny human. Begin to gently rotate back and forth at the wrist, keeping the wrist and lower palm in constant contact with patting surface whilst tapping fingers.


Sometimes, stories are like onions.

A year ago I posted a picture of my Easter egg about to hatch.

Unfortunately for my stretchmarks, I still had about a month to go. I don’t really have a point behind reposting this picture, except to remind you that Easter is coming!

Since Violet is almost three, this last year has been a beautiful rediscovery of our faith-based traditions and how to explain their meaning and origin to a two year-old. Easter is proving tougher than I first thought.

Here’s some questions I’ve had to answer:

What is “dead” like?

Where is Jesus’ body?

Why did they hurt him?

How did He come back to life?

Is my fish dead?


Can Jesus fly?

I feel strongly about teaching my children about the life of Jesus from a young age, and this tends to jump starts conversations I don’t always wish to have. In order to tell her that Easter is the celebration of when Jesus rose from the dead, we have to talk about what “dead” means, how someone get’s dead, why they hurt Jesus, why He let them, and how His death saved us from ultimate death in our sins. Which brings us to another layer in the onion of storytelling–sin. Where is the Easy Button already?

In other news, I can pretty much guarantee that if Violet thinks something is funny, Henry will too. Tonight right before bed, she was snorting through her nose and running back and forth between Henry and the mirror on the wall. Henry was completely doubled over with laughter–hysterical, knee-slapping, belly laughter. Of course, there’s pretty much no way to record such cuteness because they will immediately stop doing anything video-worthy the second I hit record. I need to pretty much just bug my house with hidden cameras but I hear that is expensive.




I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this on my blog before, but Henry is easily scared. He gets so scared that he will literally shake with fear and if he had retractable claws, they would all be out. AJ got a remote-control helicopter for a christmas present, and when he flies it around the house, I am afraid to say that my lion-hearted son cries, cowers, and demands to be held while keeping the menace of the sky under constant surveillance.

Other things that make him shake with fear? All rodents, birds, reptiles, and pretty much anything alive you could find at a pet store. I forget how scared he is until we stand still for a moment watching a mouse run frantically on a wheel. Eventually one of us will say something, or shift our weight and this will invariably cause Mr. Hank to jump out of his skin. Watching the parakeets is my favorite because they’ll all be just sitting there talking to each other and then all of a sudden one will jump to another branch and my poor kid will just about have a heart attack. Don’t judge, Violet thinks it’s funny too.


In which we laughed till we cried

Henry was sitting,

and playing with his toes,

when from way up above

came a gush like hose.

I supposed that he froze

by the squeal that arose

to break my repose

when water soaked his clothes.


It appears that the lid came off the water filter when AJ filled himself a glass of water and Henry was directly underneath him.


Oh the Horror

In her never-ending quest to find new ways to embarrass her mother in public, Violet made a profound discovery yesterday. If you are two, your fingers are still small enough to fit in the gaps between the glass shields that cover the fish all displayed on ice in the seafood department. That is how I turned around to find her yesterday, yelling “Mom! Looook!” while she “tickled” a two-foot headless fish.