On Your First Birthday

Joshua, today is your first birthday. How is that possible? It seems like there is no way a year could have passed since I first laid eyes on you, but I have checked and rechecked and re-rechecked the calendar and apparently it's true. I still have trouble believing it but I guess the calendar wouldn't lie... it is from Chick-Fil-A, after all.

As this day has been approaching, I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say to you. I thought of telling you the story of everything that happened, but you already know it - you lived it. I thought about imparting some deep wisdom to you, telling you the secrets of life that would help you as you grow. But it turns out I don't know that many life secrets and some things you just have to find out for yourself. So I thought for a while longer and decided I would tell you some things that I learned over this year, things that only you could have taught me. 

See, I am not what you call a "researcher" or a "planner" or "someone who is ever ready for anything more than five minutes ahead of time." I leave that to the more sophisticated people around me (who are constantly texting me to ask if I am running late yet again). And I wasn't worried about being prepared for parenthood. I might be a last-minute person but I do good work in that last minute and I knew everything would work out fine if I stuck to my tried-and-true method. 

Imagine my surprise when I found out that the last minute to plan had arrived much faster than I expected. I think that was the hardest part of finding out you would be early - I was just starting to wrap my mind around the fact that I would be a parent. It still seemed surreal. And then suddenly I was going to be a parent in a matter of hours. I remember from the moment the doctor told me you would be born it was as if I was watching my life unfold on a giant screen, like I was aware of what was happening but so sure it couldn't be real. I even told your dad that, moments before you were born - "Maybe this is just a dream," I said. He assured me it wasn't and offered to pinch me to prove it but I declined. Don't let him pinch you, either. 

And then you were there. Less than two hours had passed since we had found out how sick you were and how much you were struggling, and there you were. You didn't cry, because your little lungs didn't work very well yet. The doctors had told me not to expect you to cry because of how early you were but that was the only thing I knew about babies - they cried when they were born. I was sure you would cry. I kept asking your dad why you weren't, and finally concluded that the doctors had done something to prevent you from crying so you wouldn't be upset. What can I say; I was on a lotttt of drugs, man. But I remember every moment after that with vivid detail. Dad got permission to snap a picture of you and show it to me. He watched them work on you and Dr. Manar took a minute to explain what was happening, and then he came over to explain it to me. I heard the words but they still didn't seem real. Dr. Manar brought you to me and said I could give you a kiss. I did, right on your little nose. And then they took you to the 2nd floor, where we would spend the majority of the next four months. 

So my plan not to plan didn't exactly work out, but, really, no amount of planning could have prepared me for this. And I think that is the biggest thing I have learned through this last year: Plans fall apart. Nothing is perfect. God's plan is different from my plan and His plan is the one you want, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. For all of my lack of preparation, I still like to be in control. I like to know what's going to happen and what my role will be. When you arrived, I didn't have any training. I never took a class. I didn't know how often to change your diaper. I had to learn on the job. But even if you had been born two weeks late, that would have still been true (although the diapers might have been easier to use - yours were reaaaaally small). That's what parenting is: swearing your kid will never watch television and then five years down the road having the Disney Channel schedule memorized and sighing in relief when it's time for Mickey Mouse. 

I discovered that no matter how hectic things got, I could handle it. Some days were a lot harder and some days were pretty easy. But for you I could do anything. I could learn medical terms and ask questions even when I was afraid and accept help from people that I had never met before. You were a pretty solid motivation for putting my own doubts aside and working hard for you, to make sure you had everything. 

I learned just because something isn't the best, that doesn't make it the worst, either. There is a whole world of in-between where things can just be okay. I tend to work in areas of black or white, never grey, but you showed me that when it comes to parenting, especially parenting a NICU kid, grey is pretty much your life. 

You taught me that it's okay to question God. That it doesn't make me less of a Christian, mother, or person. That God not only understands our pain but feels it right along with us. There were days when I opened my mouth to pray and nothing would come out. I was too mad, sad, plaid, whatever, to form any words. And I wondered if that meant I wasn't as much of a Christian as I thought it was. But that's not how it works. God knows my fears and doubts before I do and asking Him questions is okay. 

I found out that there really is a silver lining to every bad situation. You made for a pretty spectacular silver lining. I could (and still can) sit and just watch you for hours, silently cheering every time you moved your little hand or peered up at me with one eye. It was those moments, the tiniest victories, that filled my heart with joy and love for you. You helped me make friends with other parents who had kids just like you, kids who struggled and lived in a world of doctors and specialists and medicine, kids who I now get to see grow and play and who I am so excited for when they accomplish something. The parents became a part of our family as we grew together and rooted for each others' children, taking genuine delight in every good update. These are the people who are in the "club," who know the frustration and anxiety of being a NICU parent. 

You showed me that a total stranger can show the biggest kindness. You helped me see that I was surrounded by friends and family who love me and would do anything to help. You revealed the amazing skills of the NICU nurses, whose kindness and patience with both of us made all the difference in the world to me. I learned that no matter how bad things got, I was never alone. Someone was always praying for you, even someone who had never met you and never will. It is the people who prayed on your behalf, who dropped off gift cards and hugs, who sat in the waiting room for hours and hours - these are the ones who I will never forget, because they made it possible for me to find the strength to continue even when things seemed too tough. When I think of how your grandparents drove overnight in a storm to see you, how your other grandparents stopped by nearly every day to check on you, how your aunts stayed up late to talk to me all night and how your uncles volunteered to help us move and prepare for you to come home, I know without a doubt that our little family is loved so, so much. 

Joshua, you made me a mother. You changed me from someone who thought she understood what unconditional love meant to someone who knows exactly what it is. You have filled the last year with love and laughter and joy and smiles. Yes, there were sad moments, but I wouldn't trade a single one of them. You have taught me so much in only a year and I hope that I can teach you something during your lifetime to repay the favor. Daddy and I love you so much and we are so grateful to know you. Here's to the next year of life lessons from our favorite micro-preemie. 

The Question Game

As you have heard before, I went to the illustrious Berry College (LETS GO VIKES) for two years. Since there isn't much to do at Berry besides count deer and go to church, we had to find other ways to entertain ourselves. So my friends Marcy Jo and BFF Jen invented a game for us to play. I actually can't remember who came up with the game but it definitely wasn't me so it's gotta be one of those two.

We called our game the Question Game. It's exactly what it sounds like: One of us asks a question and we all answer. Not complicated. It's like a really tame version of Truth or Dare without the dare. We played it pretty much every time we went out to dinner. Marcy Jo always had awesome, deep questions that made us search our souls. Jen's questions were always exciting and fun. My questions were along the lines of, "If you could be a cloud, would you be a fluffy cloud or a REALLY fluffy cloud?" Real thought-provoking stuff. But it was fun and we enjoyed our game so much that we still play it when we get together (hint hint, Marcy Jo!). We even have a book that has questions in it for when we get lazy. We are SERIOUS about our fun.

It had been a while since the last time I got to play the question game, so a couple of weeks ago I explained it to Daniel and asked if he wanted to play. It was easy for me - I cheated and used the questions I'd been asking Marcy Jo and BFF Jen for the last eight years. Daniel played very well in spite of the many physics questions he asked me before realizing that was a dead end.

Then one of us - I can't remember who - asked what was by far the most interesting question of the night: If we could change what had happened over the last few months, would we?

I thought I knew the answer to that one. I was ready to say yes, absolutely, of course I would change it, no question about it.

But as I thought about it more, I realized that wasn't true. I wouldn't change it. I hated it. But I wouldn't change it.

I believe God has a plan. I have always believed that. But over these last few months, I started to wonder how this could be part of any plan. Why did it happen to us? Why did we have to stay for so long? Why did God allow our baby to go through so much?

I still don't know the complete answers to any of those questions. But I still believe things happen for a reason. I believe in God's plan and while I might never understand why things happened the way they did, I know it was part of a purpose. Jeremiah 29:11 says, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' says the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans for a hope and a future.'" Hebrews 11:1 says, "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."

Those two verses really say it all. God has a plan. I have faith in His plans. That doesn't mean I can comprehend them or that I even like them. I wanted to make the plans myself; I wanted to tell God how things would go and then let Him make it so. But faith doesn't work that way. True faith is understanding that you probably won't ever understand, but the only things you have to know are that Jesus died on the cross for you and God has a plan for a hope and a future for you.

The funny thing about this whole experience is that I never thought Joshua would die. It crossed my mind and it freaked me out, but at the end of the day I knew he would live. I realize now that that is how I kept my faith. Even when I couldn't pray, even when I thought God had abandoned us, He was still giving me peace and comfort without me knowing it. He was faithful to us. Joshua is home. He took a long and winding road to get there but he made it. And I can't look back on this experience and think it was coincidence or bad luck or anything other than God's sovereignty being shown through these struggles.

And now, I wait. I have waited a lot for the last few months but this time it's different. Now I am waiting to see how God uses what happened to us to reach other people, to show that He is still God even when things are bad.

So here's the deal: Jesus died on the cross for you and for me. God sent His son to take sin from us so we could worship with Him forever. If you don't know that Jesus is your Savior, don't wait any longer. Talk to a pastor, talk to a friend, talk to me if you want. God has incredible plans in store for you - don't miss out on them.

Where was God?

Yesterday our nation watched a terrible tragedy unfold. There is no situation in which watching a gunman open fire on a school would be easy. But to hear that the victims were young children and people dedicated to educating those children makes it worse. It sharpens the hurt that much more.

As a Christian, whenever I think of tragedy, I think of the story of Job. That is the quintessential Bible story to talk about sorrow and hardship. The story is of a man named Job and his family. We know a few things about Job: He has 7 sons, 3 daughters, a wife, and lots of livestock. The livestock is the best-behaved group in the bunch. Job is described as a righteous man who prays fervently for his family to turn back to God every day.

One day, Satan goes to God and tells Him that Job is only so faithful because he has such a cozy life. He's well-off, has a huge family, and never wants for anything. If he had none of this, Satan argues, Job would turn away from God just like everyone else. God tells Satan he's wrong - he can take away any of Job's things and Job will remain faithful.

So Satan does it. Job literally loses everything. His children are tragically killed. All of his livestock dies. His health deteriorates. His friends turn away from him and his wife tells him to give up. Job has nothing. And he mourns. He grieves and cries for days, talking with God and trying to make sense of his life now.

But there is one line in the book of Job that stands out, that seems almost confusing considering the circumstances. Verse 21 in chapter 1 of Job is when Job says these simple but powerful words: "The Lord has given, and The Lord has taken away. May the name of The Lord be praised."

May the name of The Lord be praised. I have to be honest and say that might not have been my first reaction in these circumstances. When I read this story growing up, that part made me mad. I was angry on Job's behalf - how could God allow this?

As I re-read these verses today in light of the Connecticut tragedy, however, a different perspective came to mind. That verse isn't giving a suggestion of how Job should react. It's not a commandment. It's a direct quote from Job. He lost everything and still remembered who his Creator was.

Job was a wise man. He realized something that very few of us understand: Nothing is ours. It's all God's. Every last thing. Our homes. Our friends. Our children. We may not like it and we may not understand it. But it's true.

Since yesterday, many of us have asked "Where was God?" I can only think of one answer. God is right where He has always been: waiting for His people to return to Him and welcoming those who already have. God called those children home where there is no suffering, no sorrow, no senseless murders. We mourn them and we pray for the families who mourn them. But they aren't lost. They're perfect now. May the name of The Lord be praised.

Everything I never knew about babies

Daniel has a general knowledge of just about everything. The Bible, history, mechanics, television - he knows a lot.

I, on the other hand, live my life in a land where unicorns and Pop Tarts reign supreme. Sure, I don't know who my Senator is (I totally do), but I can find you pictures of six cute cats in thirty seconds or less.

So it didn't surprise me to find out that I didn't know a ton about babies, either. When my nephew was born, I discovered all sorts of things. I would share them with you, but I don't want to be on DFACS' radar before my baby is even born. Let's just say I didn't know much about babies. Daniel knows a lot about them, so our kid still has a good chance of eating every day and going to school and whatever else children do.

I am still learning about babies. I have, however, learned some interesting things about pregnancy. These revelations aren't "scientific" or "medical" or "useful" but if I had realized just how true they were, I would have prepared myself more for them. You want to know what they are, don't you. Come onnnn. Say yes. Say it. Say it say it say it say it say it.

Okay, I'm just going to pretend you said it. Here we go!

1) Pregnancy makes you stupid.  You may not know this, but I totally have a super power: I can remember anything. Birthdays? Check. Anniversaries? Done. Random facts about guns and the history of guns? I'm on FIRE.

But not anymore. Now I'm stupid. Stupid is a harsh word. But I cannot think of another way to describe my brain when I am at the post office, trying my hardest to remember my address and telling the nice USPS lady that I could just drive down the street and look at my mailbox really quick. My mom gave me a notebook to write things down so I would remember them. I have no idea where it is. Sorry, Mom. I teach children's church at my church and called at least 3 kids by the wrong name last week. They kind of just went with it. They also wear name tags, by the way.

So be ye warned, potentially pregnant ladies. It is serious business. Get a notebook. And Velcro it to your shirt.

2) Lettuce is the enemy. McDonald's is my friend. I can no longer eat lettuce. Not sure why lettuce specifically has given me that lovely feeling that I am about to barf at any moment. But it does. I avoided Taco Bell for a while because of all the lettuce. I avoided Taco Bell. Then Daniel pointed out that I should just get my taco without lettuce. I told you he was smart.

McDonald's, on the other hand, is my new best friend. I do not go to McDonald's. Ever. Before these last few months I had gone to McDonald's maybe 5 times in the last ten years. I don't like it. But now I love it. I kind of want to marry it. Except I'm already married. But I think Daniel would let me bring McDonald's into our marriage. He likes it, too. We could all be so happy together.

Ahem. Anyway. McDonald's is awesome.

3) Everyone and their mother has a medical degree. Apparently. I had heard that people were incredibly rude and nosy to pregnant women. Not on purpose, of course (I hope), but it was still an issue. And maybe I didn't believe it was that bad. I'm here to tell you - it is that bad.

Random strangers have told me which veggies to eat, to lose weight, to make sure I take a swimming class so my baby will know how to swim. Yeah. That last one really confused me, too. The Quizno's lady keeps telling me horror stories about parents dropping babies or forgetting to feed them. And once a child at Babies R Us asked if I was pregnant. I mean, yes, I am. But we all know you don't ask. Never too early to learn, right, Johnny? Oh, stop crying; I didn't pinch you that hard.

Believe it or not, strangers are the easiest ones to deal with. I can get all Southern on them and say something polite that on the surface makes me sound so gracious but that really means they have .2 seconds to back. the heck. up. before I go crazy ninja on them. It's the people that I see on a regular basis that really drive me nuts. I have had people email me about how much I am hurting my baby by drinking Diet Coke. One person told me that my highlights have likely damaged my baby forever.

If you are one of those people... sorry. It's better you know this now. We're still friends. It's cool. But how about we all abide by this one rule, m'kay? If you don't have some kind of medical training or degree, I don't want to hear it. 

**There is obviously the exception of other pregnant women and/or mothers that I am friends with. Please give me all of your advice and I will make you a cake. HELP ME.**

The rest of you, go use that eager, helping spirit to build a house for the poor or donate some toys for Christmas. Learn to weave baskets, take up knitting, apply to clown school and buy a red nose - just no. more. advice. My own mother-in-law is actually a real live nurse and I have yet to hear from her about all the terrible things I am doing during my pregnancy. So rest assured that I have medical staff on hand who are measuring my Diet Coke intake by the ounce.

This post seems mean now. Maybe I shouldn't post it. Eh, who I am kidding. But here - have six cute kittens to make you happy again.

The Awkward Bathroom Encounter

Yesterday, I was at church for a meeting. I was participating and laughing - oh, the laughing - when suddenly I realized I had to... you know. 

I had no choice. It was time for The Awkward Bathroom Encounter.

Women, you have all endured this. You find the bathroom and realize with some horror that it is for one person at a time only. And the door is shut. And as hard as you try to see if the light is on under the door or listen for any sounds while also keeping an eye on the hallway because if your pastor sees you crouching by a bathroom door he will report you and then you won't be able to go back to your meeting, you just can't tell for sure. So what can you do but knock?

But this isn't just any knock. This is the most stressful knock in the history of time. What if someone is already in there?

For me, that's the worst feeling. I don't want anyone to think I am rushing them, like WHY HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE BATHROOM FOR THREE MINUTES DO YOU HAVE A MEDICAL EMERGENCY OR WHAT. I am merely gathering information - if someone is in this bathroom, I will move on to the next one. All women learn this around the same time they master the art of the ninja kick in order to flush the toilet. And yet I think all women also fear hearing a voice from the other side of the door, saying the dreaded words we hate: "Someone's in here right now."

ABORT, ABORT. MISSION FAILURE.

It's not easy being a girl. All men have to do is walk into the restroom and give a manly nod because no man's bathroom is for only one person at a time, and if it is it will be available in .23 seconds since that is all the time they need. Men. 

In case you are not as familiar with this process, I have broken it down for you, step by step, in the list below. Enjoy:

The Plucky Procrastinator's Guide to The Awkward Bathroom Encounter:

1) Realize you have to make a sacrifice to the porcelain throne soon. Ignore it because you don't have to go that bad and you can wait.

2) 30 seconds later, realize you cannot wait one more millisecond or this will be first grade in Mrs. Bishop's class all over again.

3) Locate nearest bathroom. If in school, you're in luck! Most of those are multiple stalls. If you're at church or K-Mart, prepare yourself. 

4) Investigate thoroughly. Is the door shut because someone is on the other side or because the door is heavy and always swings shut?

5) It's because someone is on the other side. Duh. 

6) Stand straight, take a deep breath, and knock a solid three times. No more, no less. 

7) If no one answers, hooray! Open the door slowly, like you might if you were diffusing a door bomb while on roller skates. 

8) If "someone's in here," proceed to verbally vomit all over them with your apologies and explanations. 

9) Run away to the next bathroom, praying the first person didn't recognize your voice, doesn't have a child in your class, and is not leaving the bathroom any time soon.

10) Blog about it. 

Awkward Encounter-ers, form a line to the left. 

We Remember

Did you know that when God forgives our sins, He not only forgives them, but erases them forever? Isaiah 43:25 says, "I, I am he, who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins." So not only are we forgiven, but God's grace stretches far enough to completely eradicate our sin, as though it never happened.

I want to be able to forgive this way. I want to truly forgive and forget and move on.

But I can't.

I can forgive, and even move on for the most part. But I can't always forget. I am only human. That doesn't mean I sit at home dwelling on the wrong things people have done to me, or that every time I do think of it that it even affects me. But because I can remember, because this occurrence in my life made such a lasting impression, I can never truly erase that wrong. Not like God can.

When I was a junior in college, I was taking anti-depressants and seeing a therapist. It was a really difficult year. One of my roommates went through my make-up bag to borrow something one day. My medicine was in there, and when she found it she stole it from me, looked it up on her computer to see what it was, and proceeded to tell every single person on our hallway that I was crazy and I would probably try to kill myself one day, so they better watch out for me. After that, no one would look at me. No one would be friends with me. This girl had ruined my entire year at college in a matter of hours.

It took me a long time to forgive her. Eventually I did. But what she did affected me for years. I lived in fear that someone else would find out and react the same way. When I met Daniel, it took me months to even tell him about that experience, and even then I told him while preparing myself for him to break up with me, because I knew he would think I was crazy, too. And writing this now worries me just as much that the parents of a child I teach at church will see this and want their child pulled from my class as a result. Ridiculous. And yet I have managed to forgive this girl (through God's grace alone) and live my life normally for the most part. It's only when I hear certain words, see people that remind me of her, pass through the GSU campus when I'm downtown that those memories come back to me.

I think tragedy works the same way. On this day, September 11th, many people wish they could forget. Not even to forgive, but just to move on. To get on with their lives as they know they could if they could only stop remembering. If a song on the radio commemorating those who died in the towers didn't bring them to tears. If every time they see a picture of the New York skyline it didn't evoke an emotion that is inexplicable, even to themselves. If they could just erase all of these memories from their heads, they could go on with their lives and not look back.

But they can't.

So what does that mean for these people? Are they stuck forever in this never-ending cycle of trying so hard to move on and almost succeeding, only to be stopped at the last second by something seemingly trivial, like a picture or a Facebook status?

No.

I think the key here is not the ability to move on from a tragedy, but to accept it as something that will always affect you. That sounds ominous but it doesn't have to be. If the effect is that you now look at time spent with your family with a greater appreciation because you know life is short, that's a good thing. If you strive to perform your very best at work because you have seen that the ability to complete a job in a time of crisis is critical, that's a good thing. If you wake up extra-early to do your quiet time because you realized that these times of crisis would pale in comparison to a world without Jesus, that's a good thing.

The bad things are there, too. They will always be there. You can't forget them because it's impossible. But maybe you can learn to accept them, to understand that while you will eventually get to the point where you don't even know that September 11th has come and gone, you will always remember those moments on that day because they have changed you.

Remembering the events of one of the most terrible days in history and struggling with those memories doesn't mean you haven't moved on or that you never will. It means that though it may be hard, you're a different person now. Someone who has seen the worst kind of history in the making. Someone who will never forget and who maybe doesn't want to because of the lessons you learned.

In my case, though my experience was nowhere near the scale of September 11th, it can still be a struggle when I think of that roommate. But every day I am freer from the binds of my fears and memories as I learn to accept them and give them to God. Only He can give me the ability to stop giving that experience power over me. That was a little thing and it has taken me several years. For a bigger thing, it could take even longer. But that doesn't mean you are weak or don't trust God. It means that you are human, that adjustments take time, and that every year it will get a little easier to accept what happened as you approach this day and these memories.

So on this day, September 11th, we do not forget. We can't. But along with remembering the horror, we can remember the lessons we learned, the life changes we have made, and the blessings that have come in spite of the sorrow. We can remember that grieving isn't a science and that it can take time, and that it isn't a failure when we struggle. We can remember that we serve a holy God who does not judge us for our struggles, but asks to take them on Himself to help us through the difficult times. We remember 9/11, and we move on, carrying our memories with us.

Spot the Savior

My family is not big on traditions (unless you count avoiding Monopoly like the plague), except at Christmas. We have a very specific way of doing things at Christmastime. One such tradition has forever remained a special place in my heart, glowing like a little cartoon flame and filling me with untold joy. That tradition is the one where we sing a song together read the Christmas story tell each other how much we love each other mercilessly mock other people's Christmas lights. 

There are only a few rules:

1) No blue lights. They are ugly. If you have blue lights and you are reading this... sorry. But heed my words.

2) No big lights and small lights mixed in on the same bush/tree/door. Pick a side, people.

3) All bush lights must cover the visible part of the bush - not just the top, one side, or the bottom.

4) Symmetry is key. If you have one half of the porch lit up but the other half is drooping into the yard because your dog enjoys the thrill of being shocked by Christmas lights, that is major points off.

5) Don't put too many blow-up creatures in your yard. Especially if they have nothing to do with Christmas. That is my mom's favorite rule.

The final element of the evening is counting how many Saviors/nativity scenes we can spot. Our record is around 8, I think, and that was after 10 neighborhoods and several crying sessions from everyone.

So last night Daniel and I continued the tradition. The results are below.

We'll start with the good ones*:

*Some of the good ones may break one of the rules above. This is because Daniel is new to the game and liked some things that I would have burned down. He'll learn soon.

Okay, enough of that. On to the good stuff:

SANTA IS DOWN! REPEAT, SANTA IS DOWN!

That is a flamingo. Stuffed with lights.

Even with no neck, Rudolph was determined to shine brightly for the kiddies.

Spongebob. Apparently we weren't the only ones who didn't care for him.

AHHHH MY EYES

"Gee, Carol, you wanna put all the lights up this year?"
"No, Jim - let's just shine a big one on the house. That'll look just as good."

These people even have blow-up items on their porch. They are very dedicated... to the crap in their yard.

These next few are from the same house. A house that had so many Christmas lights I thought I might spontaneously develop epilepsy and have a seizure if nothing more than for the sake of doing anything but staring at the yard with my mouth open.

And, so, friends, that brings us to the real event of the evening: Spotting the Savior. We spotted two real ones and one Woodstock one from Peanuts, so we're calling it 2.5.

Woodstock Jesus is a little washed out.

So there you have it. The good, the bad, and the holy. I do hope you enjoyed the tour of Christmas lights this year, and be sure to join us after the new year for a special edition of Christmas Lights: The Post-Christmas Droop.

Merry Christmas!!

Pa-wum pum pum pum

You may have noticed the color changes to my blog. This is a result of too much free time combined with a spark of creativity one afternoon. I don't know if I like it... expect to see it change a lot. If you don't like change... I can't help you. Now back to your regularly scheduled content:

My little brother was adorable when he was a little boy. He had little chubby legs and little chubby arms and did everything I told him to - who couldn't love that?

Please, no more pictures. You're embarrassing me.

He also couldn't say his Rs until he was about 8 years old. It was the cutest thing you ever heard. He called me Kwisten for years. This was made even cuter by the fact that his last name is Flerl - or, in Steven's words, Fwuh. When he was in kindergarten, he was given a solo in our church's Christmas play - The Little Drummer Boy. I promise you have never seen anything as cute as my baby brother, walking down the aisle with a plastic drum and singing "Shawuh I pway fuh you, pa-wum-pum-pum-pum, me and my dwum." I still think of him when I hear that song on the radio. Usually I text him. He usually ignores me, but I know he's just embarrassed at his talent.

Seriously, stop texting me every time you hear that song.

So the other day when I heard the song come on, I thought, "YAY - I can text Steven I can sing along!" I was enjoying listening to the drummer boy's tale when suddenly, out of nowhere - it became a rock song. Whaaaaaaa? What is the electric guitar doing in the middle of the drummer boy's song? Did I switch stations by accident? WHO AUTHORIZED THIS? But 104.7 either didn't hear my cries or didn't care, so I was forced to listen to the fake little drummer boy sing his song. Woe.

I have since heard three different versions of The Little Drummer Boy. None of them are as good as the original. I've also heard Silent Night, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and Joy to the World - none of them close to the original. I'm no musician, but I'm just going to put something out there: You can't. improve. a Christmas carol. You can't. It is a Christmas carol. It is by definition already awesome. There is no need for the electric guitar, the crazy drum beat, the sudden key changes (I am talking to YOU, Mac Powell) - it's already good.

I probably sound like an old lady right now, but seeing as I am almost 25 I've decided to take my old-lady stand. Leave the Christmas carols alone. 

If you want to improve something, how about figuring out how to get rid of that girl who announces each and every song after it's played. You're bopping along, thinking about the great song you just heard, when suddenly you hear "Casting Crowns - While You Were Sleeping." Thanks, Voice on 104.7. Is this really what you wanted to be when you grew up? The Voice on the Fish who states the obvious? If that was indeed your goal, then congratulations. If not, stop interrupting Christmas music to inform me that I am listening to Christmas music.

Ahem. So. My brother couldn't say his Rs. The next time you hear The Little Drummer Boy (the REAL version), be sure to sing it the right way: Pa-wum-pum-pum-pum.

D-D-D-Daniel!

As most of you know, I am married to the one and only Daniel. He's a swell guy. In marrying him I went against the rules: I married an outsider. Yes, it's true. He's from Michigan. What can I say, he's really handsome.

Plus, being from Michigan gives me such gems as "laig" and "flegg." What, you might wonder, are those words? Guess. Go on. Yep - it's "leg" and "flag"!! He says them all crazy! I love it. My favorite is when he is playing a video game and says, "Oh, crap," except it comes out as "Ooh, cray-ap" with the accent. I. Love. It. One of the first times we were talking he mentioned the cuch. Due to my complete lack of tact I asked what in the world he was talking about. He said, "You know - the cuch. It sits in your living room... often next to a chair." Ohhhhhhhhhhh - COUCH. See? It's fabulous. The next time you see him ask him to say flag. You will be glad you did.

Speaking of the first time we met, I was thinking earlier about how it was only by the grace of God that we ever progressed past our first meeting. Immediately upon meeting Daniel, my mother determined he was The One for me (she's psychic!), and told me I just had to meet him. I came up with a plan: Look awesome, act awesome, basically just be awesome. Of course, anyone who knows of me and my imminent awkwardness is already seeing trouble on the horizon.

Anyone who knows me also knows I am always, always, aaaalways running late for church. It's my superpower. So I spent that Sunday morning getting dressed up in my finest, trying to tame the beast that is my hair and wearing my fancy deodorant, and pulled into church right on time. A miracle, right? Except I was supposed to teach Sunday School that morning, meaning that I needed to be there early... so I was STILL late. Dang it. My plans were being foiled. But I still had time to casually stop by the Sunday School classroom and act totally surprised to find Daniel there, introduce myself, and be on my merry way.

I was walking very quickly - okay, I was running. Sorry, church folk - through the atrium to get to the Sunday School classroom when who did appear in my path but... Daniel. Ooh, cray-ap. I was still running when we locked eyes. And then whatever shred of coolness I had left me. I could feel my hair getting frizzy from the heat. I was panting from the sprint into the church. I was running out of time: I just had to go for it. I proceeded to take a deep breath and say/yell, "Hi-my-name-is-Kristen-my-parents-teach-our-Sunday-School-class-I-wanted-to-say-hi-but-I'm-running-late-I-have-to-go-bye," as fast as humanly possible, and then turned around and ran up the stairs. Smooth.

But miraculously (and I do mean miraculously, because if I'm awkward alone, you should see our powers combined), we managed to actually talk for real, this time at a normal pace and with no hair-splosions, and you know the rest of that story. (We got married and are living happily ever after, in case you don't know.) I'm super-duper glad I met Daniel, and that he didn't call the crazy police after I shouted at him in a hallway. He is the love of my life and I'd marry him again any time, anywhere!

As long as he keeps saying "flegg," that is.

Our first picture!!!