Keep smiling. Keep shining.

When I was in second grade, we sang “That’s What Friends Are For” in our music program. To this day, I still know all the words – and remember to pronounce “for sure” the way our teacher drilled into us: “for shoe-er.”

Anyway. I’ve been a little out of sorts this week.

On Friday, Smitty and I had a, well, I don’t know what to call it. It wasn’t a fight or even a disagreement. But we had a thing. And while we're not mad or anything, it left me feeling weird.

Then, on Saturday, I had dinner with friends of ours. Mark stayed home, because he had some flu or cold or something he didn’t want to pass on, so it was just the three of us and our kids. And for some reason, we didn’t have much to say to each other.

Normally, we talk each other’s ears off, trying to cram in all the latest from the weeks between visits. This time, though, it was awkward. And quiet.

And then there’s the fact that my friend Kevin really did go and move to stinking California. (Not that I actually think the Golden State smells bad. I’m just annoyed that it’s half a country away from here.)

Maybe all that is why I was so deeply touched when I read about 4tunate $4 Friends. [Okay, or maybe it's because I'm a big ol' sap. Whatev. I think it's great.] A group of my favorite bloggy girls have circled around Jen, also known as Quatro Mama, whose family has been going through some seriously hard times.

Jen is an amazing woman who is always giving to others. She recently raised more than $2,500 and gave away a laptop out of her own pocket to help support a March of Dimes campaign. I don’t know her personally, but it’s clear even to me that she is a sweet, funny, giving lady!

Recently, Jen’s family has had to deal with a lot of illness. Honestly, I can’t imagine taking care of quadruplets on a good day, much less on a less-good one.

Until midnight (tonight), Jen’s friends are collecting donations ($4 each. Get it? $4 Friends?) to fill her freezer, refrigerator and cupboards with food. ALL proceeds raised will go to that goal.

If you’d like to help out, you can donate through PayPal. Whether you can donate $4 or not, I hope you’ll join me in praying for Jen and her family.

And now I want to hear from you. When’s the last time a friend did something nice, something unexpected for you? OR, if you can’t think of something (yikes!), what’s your favorite way to help out or show your friends you care during a hard time?

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6 friends + 6 salsas = One great [early] Cinco de Mayo!

About a year and a half ago, I had an idea. I thought it would be fun to plan and teach salsa tasting classes, demonstrating the difference between peppers and spices and tomatoes.

Or, at the least, I’d learn how to make salsa myself.

I know you’re going to find this shocking, but I have to confess: I haven’t done either. But last Saturday, I did have a small salsa tasting party at my house!

It was so fun. I got six different types of salsa – four from restaurants, two from the store (although they were restaurant brands) – and put them in matching bowls. I numbered each bowl and put the name on the bottom.

I wish I’d taken time to get the other two salsas fresh from the restaurant, but since I didn’t, I had enough time to clean the house well enough. (I’m not going to say it was sparkling or anything, but if one didn’t look closely, it looked pretty good.)

Because Saturday was not technically Cinco de Mayo, I thought it would be fun (or funny) to call it an “Uno de Mayo” party. And then we could play Uno.

But we didn’t. It turns out tasting salsa and pigging out on eating tacos and talking and laughing takes up a lot of time.

We started by passing each bowl around the table and getting a “taste.” We varied in our exact method; some scooped just enough for one chip, while others scooped a whole spoonful onto the plate. But we waited to taste it at the same time. (You know, like communion at church.)

Then we had a little discussion. Mainly that consisted of guessing which restaurant it came from and Josh trying to use the word, “bouquet,” to describe each sauce.

I had two different types of chips to use, because – as was pointed out on Facebook – chips make all the difference when eating salsa. I bought a bag of big, sturdy, salty Tostitos, and one of the restaurants gave me two greasy bags of thin, crispy chips.

I know you’re just dying to know, so here are our results:

• Abuelo’s - Smoky (like BBQ, according to some), spicy and delicious.
• Margarita’s - Definitely the most recognizable. Sweet with a bit of a bite.
• On the Border - Awful! I really like On the Border’s salsa, but I bought it at the store instead of the restaurant. (I KNOW.) The jar stuff tasted like marinara sauce, and we all hated it. Except Brittany, who got to take the whole bowl of it home.
• Jose Pepper’s - Mmm, garden fresh! I’m not kidding. That’s exactly what one of my friends said after we tried it. This is my favorite, and I’m pretty sure my friends liked it as much as I did. Because it was ALL GONE before the night was over!
• Chili’s - Mild, a little tomatoe-y, but pretty good. Which is a good thing, since I got 32 ounces of the stuff, thanks to a little miscommunication (a.k.a. Server who couldn’t get my order right.).
• Chipotle (tomatillo green-chili, medium) - Salty and onion-y with a spicy aftertaste. Also, delicious. I’m glad we had some of this left, as it’s one of my favorites.

We spent a couple hours sitting around the dinner table, dipping and tasting and eating and laughing. But the best part of the evening was definitely when we moved into the living room to relax.

And I’m not just saying that because it’s when I put Annalyn to bed and we got to eat Beci’s peanut butter bars.

See, Josh and Brittany are fairly new friends, and Alan and Beci are brand-new friends. And they wanted to hear about a time in my life that I haven’t shared with many people. They let me ramble for over an hour, listening and asking questions and listening some more.

I don’t think I can call any of them “new friends” anymore. These four people (even Alan, who I swear didn’t say more than a dozen words the whole night) are friends.

So, before I start tearing up (which I may or may not have done during our heart-to-heart in the living room), let’s get back to the salsa.

Aside from the fresh salsas from Jose Pepper’s and Chipotle, my favorite salsa – and what I buy every couple of weeks – is Sam’s Choice medium salsa from Walmart.

Yeah, I’m high class like that.

Before I ask about your favorite salsa (you know I was going there, right?), I’m going to, AHEM, strongly suggest you check out my other site for a special salsa giveaway.

And now – what’s your favorite salsa?

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Embarrassing Stories, Funny Photos, a Carnival and Giveaways – now that’s a perfect Halloween!

Halloween 2007 came less than two weeks after we brought Annalyn home from the hospital. Those days are pretty blurry, but I’m pretty sure I spent that evening ignoring the knocks on the door (Hello, neighborhood kids. If the light’s off, keep on moving.) and checking on the teeny tiny baby sleeping in her crib.

Last year was much more exciting. My mom and I took Annalyn – in her ghetto kitty costume – to visit a couple people and then headed to their house for dinner and a movie (“It’s a Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”).

This year, I’ve been so excited that Halloween falls on a Saturday. That means we can take Annalyn to more than two houses for trick or treating and, more importantly, Mark can come with us.

I’ve bought a ladybug costume, borrowed an antenna headband, found some black tights and mapped out all the stops we want to make before going to my parents’ house for chili and the annual Charlie Brown movie. It’s going to be great.

At least . . . it’s supposed to be great. Mark told me yesterday that he might have to work on Saturday. And so I got a lesson in my own philosophy – give up on a perfect Halloween, Mary!

Seriously, do the holidays ever turn out like we hope? Like we plan? Like we expect?

Not in my world.

Back in the day when I could show a little leg. (Also known as college.)

Ah, the memories of hand-me-down clown costumes and face paint made of Mom's makeup.

Carving a pumpkin with my dad. I think something went awry between picture #1 and picture #2!

Take the Halloween Slumber Party of 1990. From the black hair dye that started on my friend Elizabeth’s hair and ended up staining my mother’s sparkling clean bathtub to my insensitive friends who insisted on watching “Carrie,” even though some girls (read: me) were too scared to even look at the television, that night did not go as planned.

But nothing beats the Big Halloween Party of 8th Grade.

My friend Mindy and I got all dressed up, stopped by my Granny’s house to get some candy and snap a picture, and then headed out to the country for a good ol’ barn dance.

Okay, so it wasn’t so much a barn dance as a real, live boy and girl party in a . . . barn. But the boys and girls mostly stayed on opposite sides of that barn, honest. And as it turns out, Mindy was the only one who showed up wearing flannel and overalls.

She was dressed as a hobo. I was dressed as a gypsy. And everyone else was dressed as awkward adolescents who did not dress up for Halloween.

We were mortified. We ran into our friend’s house and called Mindy’s mom. We begged her to bring us clothes to change into, and she was more than willing. Unfortunately, Mindy lived on Trick or Treating Central, so there was no getting out of the driveway.

Eventually, one of her neighbors took pity on us and drove out with two normal outfits. Finally, we could head back to the barn and stand next to the rest of the girls who were staring at the boys.

Have you ever had a costume catastrophe? A holiday mishap? A less than perfect Halloween? Tell us all about it – link up in the MckLinky, and leave a comment!

Need more motivation to comment? How about a giveaway? What’s that? You want more than that? Okay, how about three giveaways?

Click over to my new review/giveaway page for the details!

Link up your posts, check out the giveaway and comment! And remember – give up on a perfect Halloween. The results might just be spooktacular. Or, ah, bootiful?

Darn it. I went nearly 800 words without a cheesy Halloween pun. Sorry, friends. I just couldn’t help it. Happy Halloween!

April showers bring . . . May tornadoes?

Six years ago, Mark and I had just bought our first house. The week before we were scheduled to make the big move, three friends helped us move a few boxes into the house.

We’d gone to church that morning in Lawrence, our last Sunday at the church we’d just begun to love. Then we headed to lunch.

When we got out of the car at the restaurant, we were surprised at how cool it had gotten. We felt a little underdressed in our skirts and shorts, but we figured we’d sweat soon enough moving the boxes around.

After eating lunch and unloading the cars at our new house, we took a break in our unfurnished living room. And then Mark’s phone rang.

It was his brother, who lives 20 minutes away, calling about the tornado.

What tornado, we asked.

Mark could hear sirens in the background of his brother’s call, but it was quiet in our new neighborhood. After they hung up, we decided to see what we could find out. As one of our friends went out to the car to listen to the radio for news, Mark and I just looked at each other. And then around the house. And back at each other.

We had just bought a house without a basement. With big windows in every room. In Missouri.

We didn’t even know where the crawl space was yet. And honestly, I didn’t even know what a crawl space was!

After we found a news report on the radio, we learned that we were under a tornado warning. That’s the bad one – although that day, I wasn’t quite sure which is worse, the watch or the warning.

One of our friends, Julia, called her parents, who lived about 5 minutes away, to make sure they were in their basement. They assured her that they were fine and mentioned that we could all come over if we wanted.

After what in retrospect seems like a lot of pointless debate, we climbed into our three cars and followed Julia to her parents’ house.

Our caravan drove at a reasonable speed, following all traffic rules and noticing that yeah, maybe the sky did look a little green.

We pulled into Julia’s parents’ driveway, parked and walked up to the door. Her dad, Alan, welcomed us, and we followed him into the living room, where we gathered around the TV. With one eye on the meteorologist on screen, we asked Alan if he thought we should go to the basement.

He said, “We’ll know when it’s time.”

Poof! At that moment, the power went out. Our hearts dropped. And we headed to the stairs.

Single file, we jogged down the steep stairs, and Alan directed us to the most inner room of the basement. Before we were all crammed into that room, though . . .

Bam! The storm hit the house. My friend Stacy screamed. We all crouched to the floor.

And then it was quiet.

We stood up and looked at each other. And then we looked out into the main room of the basement. And saw a tree, sticking through the wall.

Holding hands, hugging arms, we filed back up the stairs and walked out the garage to see the damage.

Stepping outside, we surveyed the street. And that’s when I got a little teary-eyed. A little shaky. Branches and debris were everywhere. We could barely see our cars; they were covered in tree litter.

And a huge old tree across the street had been completely uprooted and tossed across the neighbors’ yard.

Tornado damage near our house

After we collected ourselves and had exclaimed and sniffled ourselves out, we decided to go see if our basement-less house was still standing. Just as slowly as we’d traveled away from our new house, we rushed back to it.

It was untouched. We found a few pieces of insulation in the yard (not sure where they came from), but our neighborhood had not been hit. Over the next few weeks, I would realize that the exact path we took to Julia’s parents’ house was the same one the tornado took, touching down one street over from the house we went to for safe shelter.

We spent the next couple of hours trying to drive to Julia’s house and, after being turned away by the police trying to direct traffic around the vast damage, trying to get back to her parents’ house. We finally gave up trying to drive in, parked the car and walked back into the neighborhood. Then we concentrated on calling our friends and family to assure them we were fine and to make sure they were, too.

Starting as an F1 and ending as an F4, our storm was part of a series of tornadoes that swept much of the country that May. We were so blessed to be kept safe. Many, many others were not so lucky. According to Wikipedia (yes, I know, shut up), a total of 86 tornadoes touched down in Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas and Tennessee, making May 4, 2003 one of the largest single-day outbreaks in history. Thirty-eight people were killed, and nearly 400 were injured by the tornadoes. Here’s one video, although you can find dozens more.

And that is why our next house will have a basement.

What’s the scariest storm you’ve survived?

Tag! You're it.

Last week, Rochelle tagged me to write a post about 8 Things. I’ve never actually been tagged before, so this was exciting. Really. I'm so easily excited. Anyway, in just a moment, I’ll start my listing (you know how I love lists!).

But first, I want to encourage you, ask you, beg you (!) to come back tomorrow. I know most people check out of the blog world and into real life on the weekends. I do, too, and I think that’s great. But tomorrow, I’m going to share with you some of the most touching posts I’ve read about this week’s Compassion trip to India, and I don’t want you to miss it.

And now . . . (drumroll, if you like) . . . The Lists of 8 Things.

8 things I'm looking forward to:

• Date night with Mark tomorrow. We’re finally using the movie passes I got for my birthday (in December)!
• Finishing Annalyn’s scrapbook in a couple weeks at my monthly crop with my friend, Christelle
• Smitty finishing her teaching program and moving back home
• Going to Columbia for a weekend getaway to celebrate our 10th anniversary
• Starting a new Bible study with our small group (We’re plowing through our current, church-mandated study now – I’ll just say that it’s not what we would have picked!)
• Vacation in Florida this summer
• Seeing Annalyn take her first steps
• Season 5 of So You Think You Can Dance

8 things I did yesterday (also known as Wednesday, because sometimes it takes me two days to finish a post):

• Ate a bagel for breakfast (Not donuts, thankyouverymuch, and that’s my point.)
• Sent several press releases to various newspapers across the country
• Went home for lunch to see Mark and Annalyn
• Talked to the CEO of our company about a new project
• Complained about the rain
• Watched reruns of Will & Grace instead of the President’s address
• Halfheartedly watched the American Idol results show (Why can’t they just say who’s kicked off and let us get on with our night?)
• Read a couple chapters of In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day (Already I can tell, this one is going to be life-changing.)

8 things I wish I could do:

• Lose weight
• Spend more time with Annalyn
• Dance
• Develop my photography skills
• Pay off our debt
• Go on a Compassion bloggers’ trip
• Sell our house
• Move to Nashville

8 TV shows I watch:

• How I Met Your Mother
• Chuck
• Castle
• American Idol
• NCIS
• Bones
• Grey’s Anatomy
• My Boys

And during the summer, I can add So You Think You Can Dance, Burn Notice and Psych. Is it a bad thing that I can come up with more than eight shows I watch but had a hard time thinking of eight things I did yesterday…?

8 bloggers I tagged:

• I’m not going to tag anyone, because I don’t want anyone to feel obligated.
• However, if it makes you feel special, then maybe I should tag you.
• I’ll start with Chelley, Mel, Busy and HM. Then I’ll add Amy, Brenda, Erin and Kimberly.
• And then I’ll feel guilty for not tagging every single one of my readers.
• So I’ll consider deleting this whole list.
• But then I’ll decide that I just want to get this post posted!
• So I’ll ask forgiveness from everyone – those who were tagged and are now annoyed, and those who were not tagged and are now sad.
• Then I’ll say that I think if you want to use this meme on your blog, just go for it, tagged or not!

The end. Please come back tomorrow.

The Noticer Project: some influential folks

The Noticer Project is a worldwide movement to "notice" the five most influential people in your life!

Noticing those five people can be as private (just a letter or email) or as public (posting to your Facebook page or blog) as you choose, but this grassroots movement is meant to encourage us to step outside our busy schedules and avoid waiting until a wedding, graduation or even a funeral to take notice of the special, influential people in our lives.

Not every person that you choose to "notice" has to be an old friend or family member. It might be that you choose to notice a Good Samaritan that changed your life or someone like Abraham Lincoln or Martin Luther King, whose sacrifice made a difference for you many years later. The important thing is that by noticing those who have made a difference for you, you not only acknowledge their contribution, but you may gain a new perspective on your own life.

For me, it’s too hard to decide who have been the most influential in my life. Well, that’s not true. It’s easy to name the top five: Mom, Dad, Mark, James and Rachael. But they’re certainly not the only ones who have made a difference in my life. And to be honest, while they’re the easiest ones to name, they’re probably the most difficult ones to describe in a paragraph or two.

So I’m going to look outside my family for my part of The Noticer Project. I’m going to tell you about five influential people in my life. Not the only influential people. And not necessarily the most and not in any particular order. Just five people who have made a difference in my life.

And by “five people,” of course I actually mean seven.

Amy Kanning was my Sunday school teacher in high school. She taught us, loved us and challenged us. I still remember some of her lessons – squirting toothpaste out of a tube to illustrate how you can’t take words back, making Valentines and holding them up for a Polaroid photo to remind us how much we are loved, and a heartbreaking talk about how sometimes if we don’t say the things we need to say, we won’t get a second chance.

I accepted Christ before high school. But He became real to me during those teenage years, and part of that is thanks to Amy’s teaching.

Dorothy Mullikin was my piano teacher from grade school until high school graduation. She saw in me a talent she deemed special and worth cultivating, and she never gave up on me. Even when I gave up on the piano. Even when I didn’t practice one minute between lessons. Dorothy took me to seminars, prepared me for contests and challenged me to learn more and better and faster.

You know how they say, “Never stop learning”? Well, for a time, I did. I left my days of music behind, burned out and disenchanted. But those things that Dorothy taught me and the love she showed me have never left my mind and heart, even if my fingers are a little rusty.

Brock and Julia were my Freshman Family Group leaders at the Baptist Student Union. They embraced their role as our leaders and mentors, even letting some of our group members jokingly call them “Mom” and “Dad.” I never did; I didn’t need new parents. But I did need them. I needed their knowledge, wisdom, accountability, leadership and so much more. We went through a lot in that group – both good and bad – but I credit making it through my freshman year, heck, my freshman WEEK, to those two juniors who chose to shepherd and love a group of freshmen. I may not have called them Mom and Dad, but they were my family away from home that year and for years afterward.

Carrie was one of my best friends my freshman year of college. She lived down the hall and was in the same university choir I was. She was also a cheerleader and the tiniest, cutest girl ever. She loved the Lord, loved to sing and struggled with figuring out what to be when she grew up. She went to Florida over spring break with some friends instead of going home to see her parents. The week after she got back, though, she drove home to see them. On her way, she was in an accident and died.

Loving and losing a friend like that taught me so much. That people my age could die. That life is short, fleeting, precious. That I shouldn’t blow off a friend just because I was spending time with another friend…the way I did the night before Carrie went home. That I should forgive myself for that. That nothing cements friendships like a tragedy. I miss Carrie. I wish we would have had more time together. But in just a few months, I learned a lot from her. And because of her, I am a different person.

Bob and Barb Archer were the leaders of our Adult Bible Fellowship class at church. And they were the leaders of the church plant that we were a part of following that class. The Archers are a couple that are so blessed and called by God to serve young married couples. They loved us, taught us, challenged us and helped us grow exponentially in our faith. I learned so much from them.

Like I said, these are just a few of the people who have changed me. I love them. I’m thankful for them. And I could never not notice the impact they’ve had on my life.

Who has influenced you?

All right, stop, collaborate and listen.

Our house is under an Emergency Laundry Warning today. In other words, nobody has clothes to wear. And that’s because I spent my entire weekend scrapbooking.

The good news is that I’m just about finished with Annalyn’s first year album (yes, only six months late). The bad news is that two out of the three of us are in winter wear today, despite the Weather Channel’s insistence that spring has sprung.

Laundry issues aside, I had a fantastic time scrapbooking with friends. Yes, I was productive and more importantly, yes, I took the opportunity to eat many, many tasty snacks. (And why not? Heather promised that she’d removed all the calories from both the tortilla rolls and the cookies.) But the best part of scrapping for 12 hours in a 24-hour period? Laughing my head off with my girlfriends.

Remember when I talked (whined, okay, maybe I whined) about how hard it is to make friends as an adult? Well, for me, one cure has been working part-time at a scrapbooking store. The girls I met there made working that second job enjoyable and even now that some of us no longer work there, they’re still sweet friends who I enjoy so much.

Actually, it’s possible I enjoyed them a little too much. Because I’m not sure I would have stopped my cutting and gluing to bust a rhyme with anyone else. But on Saturday morning, Debbie, Melanie and Heather got quite the treat when Vanilla Ice blared out of the iPod speakers. I couldn’t help it. They all talked a good game about knowing their 90s white rap, but when the time came, my funny friends became shy.

So what could I do? I had to help them out. Or show them up. Or…okay…crack them up! And I don’t mean in a “we’re-laughing-with-you” sort of way, either. No, my dear friends were most certainly laughing AT me. But that’s okay – I was laughing at me, too.

We laughed a lot more that day. From our husbands’ driving habits to early-morning malt beverage to the virtues of canned chili, we talked and laughed about everything under the sun.

By the time I got home Saturday night, I was exhausted. I told Mark that I felt like I’d worked all day. Because I’d already informed him that Annalyn’s album was almost completely finished, he said, “Well, you did work all day.”

Yep, I sure did. Rapping’s harder than it looks!

How was your weekend?

One is silver, and the other is gold.

My dear old friend, Elise, came all the way from Ohio for my wedding.
Here we are - after the hair, before the makeup.

Last year, I came across a square photo with a thick white border from my 6th birthday party. When I looked at all those little faces, faces that grew into my classmates and friends, I recognized one little girl.

She was making a funny face, and that’s how I knew: Smitty was at that birthday party. We were friends even in kindergarten – even though neither one of us remembered it!

I do, however, remember Elise being my friend from an early age. We met playing t-ball, which is truly ironic, as neither of us is what you’d call the “athletic type.” In fact, I think it’s safe to say that we’re what Jim Gaffigan would call “indoorsy.”

Also ironic, given the number of years we spent in Camp Fire Girls, learning to roll sleeping bags and make dinner over a fire pit.

As the years have gone by, I’ve stayed close to some friends (Smitty) and lost touch with others (Elise). Funny. I don’t think you can ever predict in the moment who will be your forever friends and who are your friends for a moment in time. It’s just the way it goes, although I kick and scream and protest this passing of time and fading of friendships.

In the past couple of years, most of our “couple friends” have moved away: Katie and John to Virginia, Zac and Mandy to Minnesota, another couple to St. Louis, another couple about an hour away from our town.

Excuse me while I take a moment to consider if I should read something into this trend.

Nah.

Anyway, as part of my determination to get more involved in church this year, I’ve realized that we probably need to see about making some new friends. After all, being part of a Christian community is having people to do life with, in your town, in your everyday.

Can I be honest, though? I don’t really want to make new friends. Part of me can’t help thinking, “I don’t need more friends. I like my old friends. And I don’t have time for new ones. And…it’s hard!”

Making friends used to be easy, used to come naturally. You know, back when you became friends with whoever was around – in English class, in your dorm room, in the next entry-level cubicle.

But now? Now, it’s much more complicated. You have to factor in things like proximity (Because who has time to develop a friendship with someone who lives all the way out in the next suburb?), religious practices and beliefs (For example, will you drink a beer while watching football? And does poker count as the bad kind of gambling?), parenting style (I don’t care if you have kids yet or not, but do you frown disapprovingly when I let my daughter cry for five minutes – okay, 15 minutes – after I put her to bed?), and honestly, how many friends you already have (Because let’s be frank: I do not have the energy to compete for your attention. The cool kids can have you, if that’s your thing.).

Okay, so I jest. And if I’m getting hung up on things like this (which I may or may not, okay?), then clearly I may have the problem.

But the fact remains: making new friends as an adult is not easy.

That is why I am so glad to have met Josh and Britney. They joined our church and choir this past year, fresh from college and newly married. And freaking hilarious. These sweet kids – yep, I said it – are funny, smart and seemingly unfazed by the fact that I am cuh-razy.

I have talked about not showering (and therefore smelling like roadkill), I have told Josh that his outrageous piano-playin’ makes me want to puke out of jealousy, and I spontaneously (and embarrassingly) burst into tears in the middle of a light-hearted conversation with Britney.

And yet, as far as I can tell, Josh and Britney are our new friends. They even came for Easter lunch. With my family.

Yep, we skipped the get-to-know-you game night and went straight to family dinner.

New friends work for me. For more Works for Me Wednesday, visit We Are THAT Family.

Have you made any new friends lately? Do you think it’s harder now than it used to be?

It was a good tired.

The past three days have just been exhausting…and good. Very good.

I sang in the choir during each of our church’s five services during the weekend – one on Good Friday, one on Saturday night, three on Sunday morning.

For those of you keeping track, that’s two more days and three more services than a normal weekend.

By the time the preacher clock on the back wall of our sanctuary read 12:20 yesterday, I was TIRED. And please, to get the full effect, hear that just how I’m saying it: “TAHHHHRRRRD.”

And I’m not just talking about my feet. Although, they weren’t feeling good, I’ll tell you that. But thankfully, my choice to wear flats on Sunday paid off. Hey – when you’ve got cute skirt and heels and oh yeah, pain, on one hand and boring pants and um, less pain, on the other, what are YOU going to choose?

My voice was also feeling the strain of singing so much, as was my head. I felt like I’d plain sung my FACE off!

But the most overwhelming feeling I had was an emotional exhaustion. Going from singing serious, somber Good Friday songs to singing high-energy, shout-from-the-rooftops, clap your hands if you’re so inclined (and don’t be mistaken, I am almost NEVER so inclined) resurrection praises – well, that takes it out of a person!

It was a good tired, though. I reflected, I thanked, I praised, I cried, I sang, I laughed. And then we went home, ate a way-more-food-than-any-family-needs lunch with my parents and some new friends from church. And it was good.

(And then it was naptime. And that, also, was good.)

How was your Easter?

Next time won’t you sing with me?

Photo by jamie3529gq

All right, folks. It has been a little heavy this week, what with my FAIL as a nursery worker and the abandoned puppies. So let’s lighten it up a little. What say we play a game? Angie did this great ABC meme on her blog the other day, and I thought it would be a perfect way to round out this week. So here goes…

A - Age: I’m 30. Mentally and emotionally, though, I often hover somewhere between 14 and 19. And then there’s the contradicting fact that I was possibly born a middle-aged mom. I guess that makes me…30.

B - Bed Size: Queen, finally! Mark and I slept in a full-size bed for 9 years. Add in two overweight cats, and it was close quarters, so we were so very excited to get a new bed last fall!

C - Chore You Hate: Sweeping floors. I know I say that I’m giving up on perfect, but holding a broom brings out my perfectionist tendencies with a vengeance. Why is it so difficult to get every cat hair, dust bunny and Cheerio off my floor?! (Just so you know, my solution to this issue is to NOT SWEEP. Because that makes sense.)

D - Dad's Name: Tom. But his real name is James, like his father before him, my brother, my father-in-law and my brother-in-law. Out of all those men, my brother is the only one who goes by James. The rest were and are Keith, Jim and Brian. Weird, huh?

E - Essential Start Your Day Item: Can I say a chocolate donut? No? Okay, then, a shower. If I don’t take a shower first thing, I will lounge through the whole day until I have accomplished exactly nothing and look like I’ve got something against personal hygiene.

F - Favorite TV Show: This is a hard one! Current favorite is Chuck. Don’t make me say it again – you should be watching this show. All-time favorite is Gilmore Girls. Don’t mock it until you’ve tried it.

G - Gold or Silver: Do you think this refers to jewelry? My wedding rings are gold, but I like silver, too. I don’t know – I’m not much of a jewelry person. (Although I have been trying to accessorize more lately. Sunday was quite an experiment – it involved earrings, a bracelet and a scarf – cuh-razy!)

H - Height: 5’7”, but I used to be 5’8”. I’m not sure what happened…

I - Instruments You Play(ed): I play the piano. Not much lately, but I used to be pretty good.

I also played the bass clarinet in middle school. I wanted to play the saxophone, because that’s cool. But my parents couldn’t afford to buy one, so I had to play a school instrument. And that’s what the school had. Turns out it wasn’t too bad. Because I was the only one (big surprise, right?), I had to sit with the trombone section (boys) and compete against them for chairs. And because the trombone is considerably harder to play than the bass clarinet, I always got to be first chair. Take that, saxophones.

J - Job Title: Public Relations Specialist. Yes, it’s very special.

K - Kid(s): Annalyn, our feisty, stubborn, charming and adorable 17-month-old daughter. (And yes, I’m officially just calling her by her name on this blog. I can’t handle anything more complicated than that!)

L - Living Arrangement: Small, old, falling apart ranch with one bathroom and no basement. I’m not kidding about the falling apart – you can’t find one room in the house that doesn’t have something broken. But these days, I’m just thankful to have a house.

M - Mom's Name: Alice. She’s Allie to Annalyn and all my cousin’s kids.

N - Nicknames: My high school friends called me Mare Bear for a while. Smitty calls me Blondie. And my parents had the nerve to call me Herb as a child (it’s a long story).
O - Overnight Hospital Stays Other Than Birth: No, but that was one heck of a hospital stay!

P - Pet Peeve: Whistling, unless it’s done by my dad, Smitty or Triple. And then I can endure it.

Q - Quotes You Like: I don't know! Help me out! What's your favorite quote?

R - Right or Left-Handed: Right.

S - Siblings: One younger brother and a younger cousin who grew up with us.

T - Time You Wake Up: I set the alarm for 6:30 a.m. I usually get up about 6:50 a.m. Snooze is a wonderful and dangerous thing.

U - Ultimate Dessert: One of those crazy, 3,000-calorie Death by Chocolate cakes you can get at most restaurants. You know, the kind most people say is “too rich” and they “couldn’t possibly eat it all.” Mmmm-hmm.

V - Vegetable You Dislike: Carrots. If I try to eat them raw, without dip, I literally start to gag a little. And I keep chewing and chewing and chewing…and just can’t choke them down. It’s ugly.

W - Ways You Run Late: So many ways! I’m always late! I hate it, but it’s true. Please, no lectures about how it’s disrespectful and rude. I know. Okay?

X - X-rays You've Had: Lots of lung x-rays for bronchitis/flu-type stuff. It’s pretty much a yearly occurrence. Oh, I also had my spine x-rayed when I visited the chiropractor last year.

Y - Yummy Food You Make: I wish I could say some gourmet, homemade meal. But it seems like most people love my brownies. Made from a mix. A store-brand mix. What can I say? They ARE good!

Z - Zoo Animal: Monkeys and bears, I think. Although I loved seeing the giraffes up close last fall in Nashville.

How about you? Do you know your ABCs?

When it rains, it sure does pour!

There must be something special about March 21. Because we've gotten more invitations for social events that day than we have in the last month!

Chelley and Triple are coming down to visit for T's birthday that weekend, so that trumps everything. But we've also been invited to a friend's son's birthday party, we won tickets to a basketball tournament and we'd considered going to the Christian Book Expo in Dallas that weekend. (Major bummer when we decided we couldn't afford that!)

And did I mention I'm singing with choir and we're scheduled to work in the nursery that Sunday?

I think there's something else...another invitation that I'm forgetting...but seriously, isn't that enough?

I'm really looking forward to seeing Chelley and Triple in a couple weeks (and the murder mystery party for T's big day - fun!), so I don't mind missing the other activities at all. And I'll be honest, Mark is probably better off taking a friend to the basketball tournament anyway! But it's just weird.

Do you find that this happens to you? Do you go weeks without a social event and then BAM! have a bunch in a row or even on the same day? What's up with that?!

Carnival Week: Flashback Friday

Can I be honest with you all? I think I can. So I'm going to tell you - I didn't feel like blogging today. I'm in the midst of making some big changes around here, plus discovering all sorts of bloggy and Twitter goodness (thanks to Blissdom) - and I just don't know if I can bring the funny today. So, please, people, just bear with me as I regale you with a tale from the past for Flashback Friday.

Thirteen years ago, I dragged Smitty to prom. To be more specific, Mark and I dragged her and her date, along with a few other couples, to prom. She will probably say that it was not fun. But based on the 2 1/2 pictures I was able to find last night, I can tell you one thing: that girl looked beautiful.

And that's the same as fun, right?

Well, maybe not, but I can't say I looked quite as hot. Actually, my hair looked quite ridiculous. It involved a banana clip, and that's all I'm saying about that.

Coerced or not, I do believe Smitty had a good time, despite what she'll tell you today. And you wanna know why? Because of my sweet dance moves.

That's right, friends. I busted a move that Saturday night.

I'd like to think it was similar to Baby's final performance with Johnny. Or something equally dramatic and impressive.

More likely, it was like watching Ben Stiller try to salsa with Jennifer Aniston. (Is there anything funnier than Ben Stiller's bad dancing? Oh, I'm sure, but it's cracking me up this morning!)

Here's an infamous exchange from that night:

Smitty: Um, hey, where'd you learn to dance like that?
Mary: What? That? It's nothing.
Smitty: I've just never seen you dance like that.
Mary: Yeah, I've been practicing. In the mirror.

Insert hysterical, though supportive and loving, laughter here. What are friends for if they can't mock you mercilessly?

Not to worry. I showed HER just three years later. When I busted a move again, this time thanks to a last-minute dance lesson.

At my wedding reception, my quiet, laidback dad and I did the rumba to Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole singing, "Unforgettable." The normal rumba, people, not the sexy kind you see on Dancing with the Stars!

We're not from that kind of small town.

Anyway. Here are a couple pictures from that dance. To say that we surprised a few people would be an understatement. I'm pretty sure the whole place was shocked to see Shy Tom and Uptight Mary twirling around the floor.

It was good stuff.




Care to share your favorite dancing memory with us? Go on...we won't laugh too hard! For more Flashback Friday, visit My Tiny Kingdom.


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Oh yes, they call him the streak. (Don’t look, Ethel!)

Lisa lived down the hall from me in my freshman dorm. Since I didn’t get along with my roommate at first, I was a bit desperate eager to make other friends. Lisa and her roommate quickly became the girls I hung out with.

We shared many special moments together, watching the guys across the hall play video games, sharing slightly dirty jokes and quizzes we’d received via the Electronic Mail (It was quite the newfangled technology back then!), and watching less-than-uplifting movies late into the night.

Later there would be laughter and tears, dances and parties, dreams and hopes, weddings and funerals – but let’s be honest. Those first few weeks were all about shallow, silly, just-got-away-from-our-parents fun.

Lisa and I weren’t super close, but we were part of a close group. And aside from a few disagreements (I’m sorry, but nobody should be allowed to listen to Insane Clown Posse at full volume. Nobody.), we got along well. So when it came time to choose roommates for our sophomore year, it made sense that she and I would room together, sharing a bathroom with two of our other girlfriends.

As you probably know, living together is different than being friends with someone. You’ve got the sleeping arrangements (you want to go to bed how early?), the study habits (you want to study how often?), and the dating protocols (you want me to make myself scarce because why?). You get to know a person, and notice things you might not have noticed before.

Like this:

“Ummmm, Mary, when did you dye your hair?”
“Huh, what?”
“Your hair! You’ve got a blonde streak! Has that always been there?”
“Oh yeah, that. Yup, since the day I was born. You hadn’t noticed?”

It’s true. I have a blonde streak in my otherwise plain brown hair. I have a lot of hair, so sometimes – apparently my entire freshman year – the streak gets buried. It’s a birthmark, a sign that God was feeling a little creative that day. My mom has one and, strangely enough, so does my dad’s mom. So pretty much I was doomed destined to have one.

And Lisa had never noticed it.

It’s not her fault, and I’m not saying she didn’t pay attention. Lots of people realize after knowing me (and, you’d assume, seeing the back of my head) for a while that I’ve got a funny stripe of blonde.

Some would say this explains some of my more bizarre behavior. I don’t know about that. But it does make me unique.

What makes you unique? And does your unique quality always show? Or does it take a while for people to notice? And how much do you love Ray Stevens?

Isn’t it romantic?

Photo by disneymike

In honor of the most commercial romantic day of the year, we celebrated with roses and chocolate barbecue and brownies.

My friend – and Mark’s cousin – Kimi (yes, we are very small-town around here) had a baby two days before Christmas. I’ve been wanting to visit and see the little guy since then, but this weekend was the first one that worked for both of us. And since we’re both broke married ladies with kids, it was understood that a family/friend night would not be interfering with any grand romantic plans.

So it was that we packed up the kid, picked up some barbecue and headed to our friends’ house for our Valentine’s Day date. Let’s see how the night ranked:

Great food? Check.
Good company? Check.
Sick kids? Check.

Yeah…it turns out that all of us were sick in some form. Croup, bronchitis, cold, upper respiratory junk. Whatever you call it, we had it. So, we kept our distance – no hugging, no holding the adorable new baby – and visited for a couple hours.

After letting the kiddo roam our friends' entire baby-proofed house (with the exception of some apparently tasty sidewalk chalk), we went home, put her to bed, and watched a couple TV shows we’d taped last week. (Yes, “taped.” I have a VCR, and I’m not afraid to use it. Still.)

And then we went to bed early. To sleep. And cough. And snore. (Isn’t being sick together fun, honey?)

So that was my romantic weekend. What about yours? Did you do anything fun? (Keep it family friendly, please!) Or, if you dare, share your best or worst Valentine’s Day story in the comments.

Prayer request update

Good news! A few weeks ago, I asked you to pray for my friend Katie's husband. They went to a cancer specialist for tests and have gotten the test results back. Here’s what Katie had to say:

What a blessing! John just got the call from the Orthopaedic Oncologist at MD Anderson, and he actually said that pathology has no idea what it is...so...Praise the Lord! It isn't sarcoma! AND at least there is no definitive answer that it would be cancer. On the other hand, they aren't going to declare that it is not cancer. The good sign is that his chest x-ray and CT scan came back clear, so there is no evidence that anything has spread to his organs! Another answered prayer!

I believe it is an answer to prayer...that doctors may not ever be able to explain! Thanks so much for all of your prayers and support!

They will travel back to Houston for the specialist to remove the growth from her husband’s arm, and I’m sure at that point there may be more tests and monitoring. But for now, we are rejoicing that he does not have a rare form of cancer, as they’d originally been told.

Thank you for praying for my friends!

Send in the clowns

Working in an ad agency was one of the most fun, frustrating, exciting, and I’ll be honest, scary work experiences I’ve had. And when I “got out” three years ago, I could not have been happier.

Now don’t misunderstand. I am so thankful for my time in that place. I learned a TON about marketing and business in general, and I got the privilege of working with some extremely talented folks. I also improved my ping pong game from embarrassing to passable and managed to memorize the benefits of every specialty dog food on the market.

That's important stuff.

But by far the most valuable thing I took away from that job was the friendships I made. I’ve already told you a bit about Kevin. Daphne is the other friend I've kept from that time in my life, and she’s one of my very favorite people in the whole world.

Daphne is a talented writer and has a tender heart. She loves Saturday Night Live and all animals, from her big hound dogs to a baby rabbit she found in her backyard. She has the best curly hair I’ve ever seen, but the girl cannot accept a compliment to save her life.

Me: Hey, Daph, your hair looks great today!
Her: Pshaw! What-EV! I haven’t washed it in two days!
Me: Umm…okay…whatever works for you…

You could look at us and assume that we get along just because of the things we have in common – we’re both from small towns north of Kansas City, we were both in The Wizard of Oz our senior year of high school, we’re both grammar geeks, we both have one-year-old kiddos. I mean, for crying out loud, we were born just a few weeks apart!

But the truth is – she’s just a great person, and I love her to pieces. Daphne is one of the sweetest, funniest, most loyal friends I’ve ever had. And seriously, people, she cracks me up.

Happy birthday, Daphne!

We get by with a little help from our friends.

My friend, Katie, is offering FREE shipping

on any Mary Kay product ordered from her site

before Friday, January 23, 11:59 p.m. CST.

Katie is one of my best friends in the whole world. We met at church in the young marrieds Sunday school class about 5 years ago. She and her husband were assigned to our small group – lucky them.

Really, it was lucky us, because we got the chance to know this fun couple and be part of their lives.

We learned why they said they were from Kansas City, but had mysterious Southern accents. We learned that they’d been married as long as we had, even though Katie was – gasp! – the same age as my little brother. (And I thought I’d gotten married young!) We learned that they had hearts for outreach and ministry and their friends and each other. We learned that they each had a great sense of humor, even on the night we all ate the worst ribs ever…thanks to some mad grilling skillz. And we learned that they struggle with some of the same issues we do – dysfunctional families, imperfect marriage, struggling finances, the works.

Most importantly, we learned that this couple is what true church family means to us. They are friends of the heart. And we love them.

They moved halfway across the country two years ago, but thanks to the wonders of this Internet, we’ve stayed in touch, e-mailing everything from casual updates and funny stories to raging vents and heartfelt prayer requests.

On Sunday, I received the worst prayer request yet. Katie’s husband has been diagnosed with cancer.

"What? You want us to pose? You think we should hug?"
Our husbands have bonded through a love of beer and sarcasm...can you tell?

My dear friend is believing God through this situation – He is stronger than any cancer! But she’s understandably concerned about many things, from finding care for her three kids (ages 1, 3 and 4) while they’re in Houston to see a specialist to the unexpected expense of all this.

For the last year, Katie has been blessed by being able to contribute to her family’s finances by selling Mary Kay. Today, she’s like many of us and reluctant to ask for help. But she has asked me to help her with this one thing. She’s asked me to share with all my friends an offer of FREE SHIPPING on any Mary Kay product ordered from her website between now and this Friday, January 23.

I don’t actually use Mary Kay products but found a hands pampering set that I bought for my mom (nothing like having Mother’s Day covered in January!). So if you think you might be able to use anything Mary Kay and you can buy it this week, please visit my friend’s site.

Bearing one another’s burdens works for me. For more posts on what’s working today, visit Rocks in My Dryer.

There’s got to be a morning after

Photo by uncommonmuse.

When something bad happens, sleep becomes both an enemy and an escape. Climbing into bed after an emotionally draining day, I know that sleep will heal my body and my heart.

But often, I don’t want to go to sleep. Not yet. Not really. Because if I go to sleep, then I will have to wake up. And if I wake up, the world will be there. Waiting to pounce. Waiting to shout, “Nope! That wasn’t just a bad dream. It’s reality. It’s your life. This is happening.”

This is how I felt last night. Tired and knowing that the morning and the work week were growing ever closer. But unwilling to succumb to the escape and the healing, because what had happened yesterday was still going to be there when I woke up.

So I gave into my emotions, sobbing on Mark’s shoulder, getting up time and again to blow my nose, whimpering about the unfairness of it all. Knowing at the same time that I have no right to complain, because bad things happen to good people every single day. Knowing that, like my mother’s voice in my head still tells me, “Life isn’t fair, baby.”

Eventually, I had to go to sleep. And this morning, just like I knew it would, the world was waiting. But something had happened. Those few hours of sleep did refresh my soul, even if my body was regretting my childish refusal to go to bed on time.

And I remembered that God is still God. Who cares if the same heart-wrenching world is still here this morning? God is still here! And He’s still sovereign and merciful and good.

Last week, I started writing a post about going through the motions and lukewarm belief and standing outside the fire and how much I want to FEEL again.

The timing is interesting, because today I am most certainly feeling.

We found out yesterday that a good friend of ours has cancer. And I am feeling. Oh, how I’m feeling. But even though I went to bed afraid and angry last night, this morning is different. I’m still feeling. But I’m also believing. I’m believing God.

This post is linked to Blog Nosh Magazine’s first special-event carnival, which is sharing stories of hope this holiday season in support of the Tide Loads of Hope program, a mobile laundromat offering laundry services to families affected by disasters. Click on over for more stories of hope.

Oh yeah, and an update on our friend? After several weeks of treatment, including an extended stay in Houston, he is free and clear. In other words, he is healthy and God is good!

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We partied like it was 1993.

In years past, Mark and I have hosted several New Year’s Eve parties. Not the glamorous sort with flowing champagne, cocktail attire and live music. Although…

One year we had a champagne glass pyramid. Another year we convinced my brother to play Auld Lang Syne on my piano, which he did with his typical flair.

So, really, I guess we were just missing the fancy clothes. And when I think about the pantyhose and girdles and pointy shoes involved in that mess, I don’t believe I actually “miss” fancy clothes after all.

This year, we really kept a low profile. Between a 15-month-old baby, a family get-together scheduled for New Year’s Day, and Mark scheduled to work on both Wednesday and Friday, there wasn’t much we could do.

Until I decided to invite Chelley and Smitty to come over. (I invited Triple and Mad Dog, too, but they had made plans with Triple’s sister back when they thought we could head up north and go with them.)

It was then that a Very Special New Year’s Eve Girls Night was born. I bought People magazine and junk food and grabbed 13 Going on 30 out of the $5 bin. I pulled out the three semi-chick flicks I own (I rent movies, folks; I don’t buy them!), and covered many mini pretzels in white chocolate. I even put green sprinkles on them.

Sprinkles on the pretzels, not the movies.

And then Mark got off early. And Smitty brought over a movie. And Chelley suggested board games.

It was then that a Very Special New Year’s Eve, circa 1993, was born.

Just like Smitty and I did during our freshman year of high school, we all ate Cool Ranch Doritos, drank Mountain Dew and watched A Far Off Place.

We also played a torturous game of 90s Trivial Pursuit – It is harder than it sounds, people! Did I sleep through the 90s or what? – and several rounds of Taboo. Mark had the good grace to lose every game, as is only appropriate when you crash a VSNYEGN. And I showered my closest friends with much spit as I said repeatedly, “Shhh! There’s a BABY sleeping here!”
I know it doesn’t sound like it…but we really had a good time. It’s my educated opinion (based on years of junk food research) that you just can’t beat the combination of rot-your-teeth-sweet Mountain Dew and oh-so-ranchy Cool Ranch Doritos.

And A Far Off Place? Well, that one started as an inside joke and has now become a tradition we will repeat every New Year’s Eve.

Just kidding, Chelley.

It’s actually a 15-year-old sad and serious Disney movie starring Reese Witherspoon that Smitty and I watched back in the day. And though we finished the original movie marathon (that also included Jack the Bear, a realllly sad Danny Devito movie) feeling slightly depressed and confused about her mom’s taste in movies, we also latched on to a running gag in the film about cat food being confused for pate.

I don’t know. We were 14. It was funny then.

And okay, it was funny this time around, too.

But the best part of the whole thing was spending the evening with three of my favorite people – Mark, Smitty and Chelley. That, my friends, is how to ring in the New Year!

I know this question is coming about, oh, 8 days too late…but how did you celebrate New Year’s? What your favorite/craziest/funniest New Year’s memory?

It looks like we have some passionate people here.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’”

- Jack Kerouac

They were the cool kids. But somehow, we tricked them into being our friends.

At least that’s how it felt at first.

Mark and I bought our house in May 2003 and that fall, we got serious about church shopping. After choosing our church based on the latest Sunday morning start time (just kidding – but seriously, how great is an 11:15 service for two non-morning people without kids?), we were quickly invited to a Sunday school class.

I remember walking into the class the first time, the couple we sat with that day and some of my early impressions of the class and the people in it. But I don’t remember meeting Zac and Mandy. I remember noticing them - they were in leadership. (You know, in charge.) But I can't recall when - or how - exactly we became friends.

The day I do remember is the one that began to seal our hearts together: the day we decided to plant a church together.

From that day forward, we transitioned seamlessly from friends to family. Well, seamlessly except for a snoring incident during our fishing trip to Canada.

Mark and I were one of six couples – three in our twenties, three in their forties and fifties – that planted a church in a nearby community. That group of people was as tight as could be for a period of time, planning and praying, meeting and ministering. That period of time did not last forever, though. And while I still have bruises and scars from that time, I’m so very thankful that through it all, we only grew closer to Zac and Mandy.

We have spent hours in prayer and worship and Bible study and ministry. And we’ve cried together and shouldered each other’s burdens, growing all the while through the pain. But we’ve also laughed our heads off and come up with pages of inside jokes and favorite quotes. We’ve gone from “young marrieds” to not-as-young parents. We’ve gone through job changes, career changes, health problems, family issues and so much more. We know each other’s personalities and tendencies, we know the many ways we are so alike and we just laugh at the few ways we are different.

When we were in the midst of the church plant’s failure, Zac and Mandy were described – not favorably – by another church member as “passionate people.”

And they are. Oh, they are. But in a way that is only glorifying to God and inspiring to those around them. They live life with gusto, whether we’re discussing the ideal thermostat temperature, the winning characteristics of Dorothy Lynch salad dressing or God’s plan for our lives. I love that about them.

Zac and Mandy moved to another state this fall, and I miss them so much. But we got to spend Sunday evening with our friends, and I'm thankful for that time. I'm thankful for their friendship. And yes, for their passion. I love these passionate people.

What are you passionate about?