Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Bling...
Bling. Every girl loves it. Every boy dreads the day when he has to let go of his hard earned money to buy it for a girl. Don't get me wrong. I think Jay was almost happy to spend a small fortune on a ring that just about guaranteed him that we'd get married. Wait, who am I kidding?!?!?!?! We were young and stupid and thought marriage seemed like a good idea. In retrospect we both realize that we fell for the three rings. Engagement ring, wedding ring, and finally, suffering. Hahahahaha!!
On an entirely different note, Layton told me the other day that his Spider Man bike had bling on it. Layton's version of bling....
On an entirely different note, Layton told me the other day that his Spider Man bike had bling on it. Layton's version of bling....
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
If Ella's Face Was Painted, What Did Layton Paint?...
Layton couldn't go with the flow and get his face painted like every other child at Art on the Square. He just had to be different and demand that the artist paint his arm. :) It was really adorable though.
Blast Off!!!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Egg on Her Face...
So maybe Ella doesn't really have egg on her face. It's just face paint. :) Art on the Square was earlier this month, and the little ones just couldn't wait to have their faces painted. The whole day was lovely. Live music, tons of art for sale, kids areas for making art, and yummy food. If you have never been to Art on the Square, I would highly recommend you go this coming year. I'll post some more pictures later. :) Until then....enjoy this....
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Answer...
What caused this look?
The eighth grade football players sit in the stadium while the seventh grade team plays. Toward the end of the game, the eighth grade team heads out of the stands and into the locker room. As they walked past Layton, he was captivated. He said, "Look it's real football players." It just about made his year to see them up close! :)
Saturday, September 17, 2011
He's Full of Spirit...Or Something Like It...
Layton is full of spirit and joy! He really is a pleasure to be around when he's not so hyped up that the whole room vibrates with his energy. At the football game to see Hadley play in the band, Layton got in front of the cheerleaders and tried to imitate some of their moves.
Maybe he has a future as a male cheerleader. Or maybe he'll grow out of this phase. Either way, I thought it was completely adorable. :)
Maybe he has a future as a male cheerleader. Or maybe he'll grow out of this phase. Either way, I thought it was completely adorable. :)
Friday, September 16, 2011
I Want to Be a Cheerleader....Wait, I Changed My Mind...
Hadley is in the band at the middle school. The band plays in the stands for the eighth grade football games and also plays during half-time on the field. They're gearing up to marching with their instruments, but for now they just walk out in one formation, play, and walk back off the field. That was a long enough preface.
I took Ella and Layton with me to watch her play at the first football game. The verdict is still out on whether or not I will let them go again. Ha! Anywhoodle, Ella said she wanted to be a cheerleader. She was fascinated with them and stood by the fence to watch.
I took Ella and Layton with me to watch her play at the first football game. The verdict is still out on whether or not I will let them go again. Ha! Anywhoodle, Ella said she wanted to be a cheerleader. She was fascinated with them and stood by the fence to watch.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Ella in Blurry Action...
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
What Is Different?...
Growing up. It's not pretty. It's not easy. No one ever grows up without scars. Emotional. Physical. Mental. We all carry these scars around with us everyday. My most obvious scar is the one over my right eye. I had a lovely set of stitches when I was five. Still to this day there is some debate about how I wound up going head first through a wicker table. I blacked out when I hit the table; memory doesn't start for me until a few moments later when I was crawling across the floor and became aware of the blood dripping from my face onto the hardwood floor. I vividly remember feeling the blood in my eye and watching it hit the floor with my other eye. My right thumb wears a huge scar from an unfortunate creamed corn incident. It's numb down one side because I damaged the nerves. There is also a scar on my elbow from a high school curling iron event. Yes, event. These scars are ones that have healed and the wounds are no longer painful.
It's the scars you can't see that hurt the most. The emotional and mental ones that never heal seem to burn and itch for ages. I find myself asking why. Why can't I just get over it? Why can I not let go of the pain? Why does it bother me so much decades later that a girl made fun of the ridiculous green and white sweater I wore in 7th grade? True, it was an ugly sweater that was an old one of my mother's, but it still bothers me that one person felt the need to call me out on it in front of others. She could have discreetly laughed at my 1983 sweater behind my back. Ha! Why do I still feel guilty for sticking my foot in my mouth at Bible study more than a year ago and making another woman cry? She isn't bothered by it and has told me repeatedly that I shouldn't let it bother me. But it does.
The root of the problem is me. It is my responsibility to forgive myself for the things I have done and let go of the past. It is my responsibility to forgive others for what I perceived as a slight.
I remember an English class I took in college where the class dissected a poem. It was a suicidal poem in nature. I don't remember the lines exactly, but it was something to the effect of:
Not good enough.
Not strong enough.
Not smart enough.
Not pretty enough.
I remember the professor asked if anyone had any thoughts about the author. I raised my hand and remarked that the author was selfish. The understood subject of each sentence is I. I am not good enough. I am not strong enough. I am not smart enough. The author made everything about her. I, I, I. Me, Me, Me.
That's how I feel about the way I carry hurt and guilt. It is selfish of me to be so very concerned with what I feel and felt. It is possible that some of the hurt I carry with me everyday is justified, but I should still let it go. Lugging around those emotions day after day isn't affecting the other party involved; it only makes me tired. I am beginning to realize how counter productive I have been. I am making changes in my life to help let go. As difficult as it is, I am letting go of the emotional cutters. I am taking responsibility for my emotions and relinquishing the guilt and pain.
What's different?
Me.
It's the scars you can't see that hurt the most. The emotional and mental ones that never heal seem to burn and itch for ages. I find myself asking why. Why can't I just get over it? Why can I not let go of the pain? Why does it bother me so much decades later that a girl made fun of the ridiculous green and white sweater I wore in 7th grade? True, it was an ugly sweater that was an old one of my mother's, but it still bothers me that one person felt the need to call me out on it in front of others. She could have discreetly laughed at my 1983 sweater behind my back. Ha! Why do I still feel guilty for sticking my foot in my mouth at Bible study more than a year ago and making another woman cry? She isn't bothered by it and has told me repeatedly that I shouldn't let it bother me. But it does.
The root of the problem is me. It is my responsibility to forgive myself for the things I have done and let go of the past. It is my responsibility to forgive others for what I perceived as a slight.
I remember an English class I took in college where the class dissected a poem. It was a suicidal poem in nature. I don't remember the lines exactly, but it was something to the effect of:
Not good enough.
Not strong enough.
Not smart enough.
Not pretty enough.
I remember the professor asked if anyone had any thoughts about the author. I raised my hand and remarked that the author was selfish. The understood subject of each sentence is I. I am not good enough. I am not strong enough. I am not smart enough. The author made everything about her. I, I, I. Me, Me, Me.
That's how I feel about the way I carry hurt and guilt. It is selfish of me to be so very concerned with what I feel and felt. It is possible that some of the hurt I carry with me everyday is justified, but I should still let it go. Lugging around those emotions day after day isn't affecting the other party involved; it only makes me tired. I am beginning to realize how counter productive I have been. I am making changes in my life to help let go. As difficult as it is, I am letting go of the emotional cutters. I am taking responsibility for my emotions and relinquishing the guilt and pain.
What's different?
Me.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
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