Introducing our Cool Compassion Child.

The post below was written by Cool Dad over at Are We Still Cool? One of the first blogs I got hooked on - and still one of my favorite blogs to read - AWSC is written by two parents who have hearts for God, parenting, adventure and many other cool things.

Combining those passions, they came up with a plan to sponsor a child through Compassion - with their readers. I am excited to tell you that I have joined them in this project. Read more:

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A few weeks ago, we introduced the idea of getting a group of AWSC? Readers together to sponsor a child through Compassion International. I’m very pleased to announce that the idea has become a reality, and that we’ve now ‘met’ our sponsored a child!

We chose to select the child who has waited the longest to be sponsored. Upon signing up, we didn’t know anything about him - no name, picture, or where he was from. We all met him together when I made a video of myself opening his information packet and shared it with the CCP members. Now, we’d like you to meet him as well.

This is our Compassion child, Josué. He is a 6 year-old boy from Ecuador. We’re thankful to God that Josué was selected for us. We hope that the CCP will be a blessing in his life. We’re positive that he will be in ours.

If you’d like to participate in the Cool Compassion Project, it’s never too late to join! Just let us know.

Saturday Review: Ghosts of Girlfriends Past

When Mark and I took a day trip to Columbia, we took advantage of our baby-free time by catching an afternoon movie. Mark indulged me, and we saw the only chick flick playing: Ghosts of Girlfriends Past.

Usually when I write a movie review, I check out Metacritic.com to see what other critics have said. In addition to aggregating reviews from a couple dozen newspapers, magazines and websites, it also assigns a numeric value to each review to give the movies a rank from 0 to 100.

Ghosts of Girlfriends Past earned a 34, which is in the “Generally Negative Reviews” category.

Hmmm.

Well, here’s the thing. First of all, I like chick flicks. I enjoy romantic comedies. Second of all, I like to be entertained by movies, and that often (but not always, really!) means unrealistic situations that lead to unrealistic happy endings. Third, I went into this one with pretty low expectations.

And last but most important, I was so thrilled to have a day with Mark to celebrate our anniversary that everything seemed better than normal.

So, with all that said, I really enjoyed this movie. It was silly, cheesy, maybe even a little offensive – but you know what? It was fun. It was funny. It had Matthew McConaughey, playing . . . himself. And I liked it.

The basic premise is that Connor Mead, a celebrity photographer, is a playboy headed down the same path his late Uncle Wayne took through life. When he goes home for his younger brother’s wedding, he faces his first – and only – love and then just happens to be visited by several ghosts.
Like I said, McConaughey plays his usual slow-talking, charming man slut who surely has a heart of gold under those slick clothes and hard muscles. His childhood friend, first love and present-day romantic temptation is played by Jennifer Garner. She is sweet, she is cute, and I like her. Michael Douglas, as a Hugh Hefner-ish Uncle Wayne, is not sweet or cute. But he is really funny, playing his role with a wink and a sideways grin.

You’ve seen this story before – both the Christmas Carol story and the jerk guy turns into sweetheart for his woman story. But if you’re not opposed to seeing those stories combined into a cheese-fest, you might like this one, too.

But just to make sure you’re getting the full story, here are a few critic quotes:

• It's gone well past cloying to see Matthew McConaughey play a ''charming cad.'' (The more he pushes the charm, the more the cad shows through.) But even if you've tired of the star's oily cocoa-butter narcissism, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past offers a solution, of sorts: It casts him as a studly photographer who is such a smarmy, dislikable [jerk] that the film doesn't pretend you're supposed to like him. (Entertainment Weekly)
• I'm almost embarrassed to admit I found "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past" the season's first genuine guilty pleasure. . . Like McConaughey's love-'em-and-leave-'em photographer Connor Mead – who would qualify as self-parody if McConaughey weren't that already in real life – there's an almost irresistible cheesy charm to this unabashedly tacky spin on "A Christmas Carol." (New York Post)
• Ghosts can't make up its mind whether it wants to be a racy raunchfest or a sentimental celebration of soul mates. So it ends up being a sappy, sleazy hybrid. McConaughey reprises his cocky "player" persona to limited comic success. The lasting image after seeing it is his blindingly white teeth. The formulaic story evaporates faster than cotton candy, and it's often as cloyingly sweet and tacky. (USA Today)

Wow . . . poor Matthew McConaughey. These critics don’t like him. They really don’t like him! (Please read that in my best Sally Fields voice.)

Have you seen this movie? What did you think? Was it as bad as they say? Or did you, like me, laugh in spite of all the cheese and sleaze?

And THIS is why I should never throw anything away.

Last month, as I was flipping through one of the parenting magazines I get, I saw a great ad. I'm pretty sure it was advertising a washer and dryer, and it was two full pages. The left-hand page showed a woman's face and the words, "I think my laundry breeds on its own."

Looking at that ad, I thought, "I love that! I should tear it out and . . ." That's where I got stuck. I wasn't sure what to do with it. I just knew I liked it. Kind of wished I still had the giant bulletin board from my teenage bedroom.

For some reason, I don't think Mark would go for that. Maybe if I could find a locker somewhere?

Today, Kelly is hosting a carnival called Show Us Where You Live, and this week's topic is playrooms, bonus rooms and/or laundry rooms. Annalyn's room is sometimes used as a play room (although, so is the living room), but I didn't think about it in time to take pictures. So, the laundry room it is.

Of course, our laundry room is also known as our garage, so I had this brilliant idea. I could scan that ad and use it as a beautiful graphic for this post! Aha!

Too bad that in my half-hearted attempt to prevent further cluttering of my house, I've committed to throwing away magazines the second I finish reading them.

Hmm.

Guess that means I have to show you my "laundry room" now. Okay, here goes . . .

I'm not sure why we have three gallons of bleach on that shelf. Maybe it was on sale? Three gallons for the price of two? I'm not sure. The things you discover when taking photos of your house!

Also, you may notice that to the left of the washer is a big, cement sink. (Or is it concrete? I'm too lazy to look it up right now, so let the record reflect that I do know there's a difference, even if I can't remember what it is.) That's the sink that occasionally overflows, flooding the garage.

But back to the laundry. What's that? You're wondering where the laundry is? Aside from the large pile of t-shirts on top of the dryer? Well, if you'll turn to your right, you'll see . . .

Here it is. It's not always quite so out of control. I promise! Sometimes (about every other week), Mark decides that it's time to fold up our clothes, and I decide to put Annalyn's clothes back into her closet. And it's all clean and tidy. But normally, here's what you'll find in our laundry area . . .

And that's all the laundry room I can show you today. Because, really, the rest of it looks a whole lot like a garage. We'll save that for another day!

What kind of laundry room do you have? Check out others, along with fun playrooms and bonus rooms, at Kelly's Korner.

Things I Love Thursday: My Laptop

My laptop is enormous. It is second-hand, used. And in case you didn’t catch on when I said it’s enormous, it’s also heavier than a small child.

But I love my computer.

When we got married back in the dark ages, we convinced Mark’s parents to buy us a computer for our wedding gift. After all, I was still in school and Mark was thinking about going back to school, so we needed a computer. Sure, the school of which I speak did have computer labs. But come on, they were all the way on campus! And I was cool enough (read: married, so, not really cool after all) to live a couple miles south of campus. Clearly, we needed our own computer.

And so, we all piled in the car and drove to the Circuit City. I’m pretty sure the desktop we went home with was a pretty decent one. After all, it lasted almost eight years. Eight years that included five moves and one ill-advised upgrade by Mark’s brother.

Two years ago, though, I decided we really needed a new computer. Blame it on the pregnancy hormones of the time or the baby brain ever since, but I cannot for the life of me remember why I decided this. I think it had to do with working from home and childcare options and a few other things directly related to the job that decided to let me go at a most inopportune time.

No matter. What matters is that as we were discussing our options for this purchase, two things happened: Mark remembered that he knows a guy. And I got hit by a car.

First, the guy. Mark has delivered packages and freight to businesses for several years now, and it seems like he always “knows a guy.” Sometimes that guy can sell us cheap tires, sometimes he can fix our plumbing, sometimes he can adopt the puppy that can no longer live in our home. And sometimes, that guy sells gently used corporate computers.

Second, the car accident. One day after work, I stopped at the library to return some books. And as I backed out of my parking space, another car hit mine. Not hard, but it was a little scary. We exchanged info, several weeks of frustrating phone calls ensued, and we ended up with a nice little check.

A check that just happened to cover the cost of a gently used laptop from that guy.

Before we dumped (donated? I can’t remember.) the old computer, our good friend Jeremy was kind enough to retrieve our hard drive and save it to a disk. Or something. All I know for sure is that all my old files are on my new-to-me laptop, along with billions of pictures of the cutest kiddo we know, all my iTunes and a couple videos, and lots of versions of my resume.

What else could a girl want?

My computer has been a lifesaver. When Annalyn came home from the hospital, we were told not to take her outside for six more weeks. Mark was already working evenings at that point, so once he left for work each day, I was stuck. Stuck at home, with this baby that I didn’t know what to do with, all alone. If I hadn’t had my computer as a lifeline, I might have gone a little crazy. Crazier. Whatever.

And since then, my computer has allowed me a creative outlet with this blog, a social network of amazing people I’d never have met without it, a way to watch more TV than any one person needs, and a place to store my precious photos.

I’m really not sure what I’d do without it. And that’s why I’m so glad Mark has agreed that it should go on vacation with us. (I was so afraid to ask, you all. I just knew he’d laugh at me for not being able to leave it at home, but seriously! I need it!!)

For more things that are loved, visit Diaper Diaries. And tell me – do you love your computer? Would you take it along on vacation, or am I nuts? (Wait. Don’t answer that last one…)

Good night. (and good luck?)

As I’ve mentioned a time or twenty, Annalyn is a feisty little girl. She’s got attitude. She’s a character, that one.

Okay, so all her little habits and quirks are probably completely normal toddler behavior. But still, they drive me straight up the wall.

And on Monday night, we had a terrible evening together. There was crying and yelling and more crying. She got upset, too.

After she went to bed, I just felt awful. Had I told her I loved her? Yes. But would she remember? Or would she only remember how we fought over dinner and how I didn’t let her eat pudding or play with my digital camera or pee in the bathtub?

I know it’s just one day, but it was certainly not my finest parenting moment.

Last night, however, was different.

I picked her up at the babysitter’s house, and other than a stealthy escape up the stairs, she was very sweet. (Sometimes she throws a big old hissy fit when I tell her it’s time to go home. It’s heartwarming, really.)

We drove from there to the library and checked out some board books for her (and a novel for me). She loved the first book I handed her and carried it all the way to the car. And she chatted with the librarian who had to renew my library card, telling her that “No,” she doesn’t like to read books and “No,” she’s not a silly girl.

On the way home, she entertained herself in the car, talking to her favorite thing in the whole world these days: her shoes. Apparently, they have a lot to talk about, my daughter and her shoes, despite the fact that they’re rarely separated. (She even sleeps in them sometimes. I know that’s weird – and smelly – but it’s way easier than fighting over it.)

Once we got to the house, she waited for me to “buck-uh” – or, unbuckle her, as we put it in grown-up English. We went inside and read four of her five new library books – even the long one about Jesus.

Then, because I was about to die of hunger (thanks to a half-hearted attempt at healthy eating), I grabbed a slice of cheese from the fridge. Of course, my little shadow wasn’t about to let me eat the whole thing by myself. So we shared some cheese.

As I opened the fridge to get a second slice of cheese, she said, “Milk!” I love that she’s such a good milk drinker – and it’s so smart that she knows it comes from the fridge. I mean, Mark has tried to explain that it actually comes from cows, but that concept may be a little over her head at this point.

I decided, Hey, why not try something new? So I poured her milk into a regular sippy cup. Annalyn is a champ at drinking with a straw, but not so hot at regular sippies. And really, after a couple days of trying way back when she was, ahem, one, I gave up and figured straws are good enough for government work.

But last night, we gave the sippy cup the old college try. And it wasn’t half bad. There was a lot of spilled milk, of course. But we didn’t cry over it. No, in typical OCD style, we mopped it up with a towel. And by that, I mean, we mopped and dabbed and wiped each little drop.

We’re a little crazy like that, my kid and me.

After this sippy cup adventure, I realized it was actually time for dinner. So I fixed Annalyn her favorite “nuggies” – chicken nuggets. And the only vegetable she’ll eat these days – green beans.
That kid – the one who hardly eats anything non-carby these days – ate her whole dinner! She even ate most her pineapple and drank some more milk. (And, P.S., she got a little ticked when I tried to give her the straw cup. Nope, only sippy cups for my girl. Until tomorrow. Because seriously, that was one crazy mess.)

Pudding was, of course, the perfect way to end this peaceful for the most part meal. As we scraped the cup clean, Annalyn got upset because I told her it was all gone. So, as I got her bath ready, I let her go to town with the cup and spoon. I wish I’d taken a picture, because it was hilarious. Instead, I tried to hold her hands down and keep her from touching me on the way to the tub.

What? She was all gross!

Annalyn took a fun bath, playing with her duck (“Cack! Cack!”) and even standing up to get out when it was time.

I dried her off, lotioned her up, put a diaper on the bottom she’s recently discovered (oh, joy) and got her into her jammies. Then I combed her hair, kissed her little face and told her it was time for bed.

“Night-night. Bye-bye.”

Just like that.

Was it luck? My awesome parenting skills? A full moon? Doesn't matter. Perfect nights with my sweet girl work for me, although I have no idea how it happened or when another one will occur. For more stuff that works, head over to We Are THAT Family!

Me, Myself & Lies: Week 1 Recap

We ARE loved! How would our thoughts change if we really believed that?

Week One of Me, Myself & Lies introduced the idea of a thought closet. We compared our thought closet to God’s, considered what it is that we meditate on, and discussed ways to replace those negative thoughts and meditations with ones that are true and God-honoring.

A few points that we pulled from the chapter:

• Our words have influence, but only God’s words have power.
• Who I am and what I struggle with are not the same thing.
• Calling yourself negative names is a sin and hurts God.
• The truth is always gracious and authoritative. Likewise, to be like Christ is to be full of grace and truth.

A few questions that we considered:

• What is something in my thought closet that reminds me of God’s wonders and His word?
• How have you experienced Jesus’ gracious words or His truth and authority?
• What “I am” statement has been in your thought closet the longest? Is it true? Does it belong? Should you keep it?

Another issue we discussed was God’s love. We wondered . . . if we truly understood and accepted how great, how deep, how amazing God’s love for us is, would we still think so negatively about ourselves?

Finally, we decided as a group to commit to memorizing a Bible verse while we’re going through this study. We chose Philippians 4:8: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

And . . . aha! I found it! I kept thinking that I knew a song based on this Scripture, and I found it. George Rowe sings “Think About That,” and the chorus is mostly this verse. Not a bad song to get stuck in my head . . . or to have as the soundtrack to my thought closet!

One last housekeeping item: If you’d like the answers for each chapter’s listening guide, you can get them on the Lifeway site.

Now, what do you think about this thought closet analogy? What does your closet look like? Do you think it lines up with God’s thoughts for you, or is it way off? (Mine sure is!)

Please, join the discussion in the comments. I can’t wait to hear what you think and what God is showing you through this study.

Because That 70s Show is the best place to get advice.

This weekend, Mark and I had a long heart-to-heart about some decisions we have to make. No, about some decisions that I have to make.

Really, we weren't even debating whether or not I should do something, but rather how much it was going to hurt to do the right thing. And how much more potential hurt doing this right thing would open me up to.

I know I'm being vague, but I think you can help me with my question anyway.

As our conversation was winding down, Mark said that it comes down to the sage wisdom of That 70s Show, where apparently a character shared these words: It's better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all.

I don't know. I mean, sure, in theory that's all well and good. But when it's my heart being pummeled and crushed - over and over and over - then it's a little harder to try again. To put myself out there. To be brave.

So, I'm wondering what you think. Do you think it's best to take risks every time, even though you know you might end up disappointed and hurt? Or is it smarter to play it safe and not let your heart get involved?

Saturday Review: Recent rentals

I’ve rented three movies lately, so for today’s review post, I’m going to go short and sweet. Well, short and honest. That’s better anyway, right?

First, Valkyrie. When I looked up other reviews of this movie, to see what the “real” critics thought about it, I started doubting myself. But then, as I looked deeper (not, keeping it real, not too deep), I realized that I’m not alone in my reaction to this movie.

See, I’m not opposed to historical films. I like learning things. And crazy he might be, but Tom Cruise has been known to make exciting movies while looking, well, not ugly. Okay?

But I left this movie feeling like I did after I watched The Good Shepherd. I was so looking forward to that movie. I mean, it was about the CIA (Yay! Spies!) and it starred Matt Damon (remember the Bourne movies? Yay! Spies!). But danged if that movie wasn’t the most boring thing ever!

Same thing with Valkyrie. It was about a secret plot to assassinate Hitler (Yay! Secret, spying soldiers!) and stars Tom Cruise (Hello, Mission Impossible? You know . . . a little movie series about . . . spies!). But wow . . . this movie was dark and slow and depressing as all get out!

Wait, what was I saying about keeping this brief? Okay, here it is: I didn’t like Valkyrie at all.

Next, we rented New in Town. This city girl goes to small town and falls in love flick stars Renee Zelleweger and Harry Connick, Jr.

*sigh* I do like Harry Connick, Jr. Mainly for his music. But he’s a little bit cute, too. Mark disagrees; he’s holding a grudge based on what must have been an excellent performance in Copycat.

Anyway. The movie.

New in Town is rated PG, and I wondered what kind of chick flick could have the same rating as Shrek. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s a typical romantic comedy – girl meets boy, they bicker, they fall in love, they face insurmountable disaster, everything works out. (Oh . . . sorry . . . did that spoil it for you? I’m going to assume no, because I’m going to assume you’ve seen a chick flick before.)

It’s also a typical Renee Zelleweger movie, where she’s squinty and cutesy and awkward.

But the heavy-handed moral of the story and the supporting characters were very nice. The small-town folk mention being Christians, everyone is friendly (except that pesky big city girl!), and anything PG-13-ish like language or sex is kept to an absolute minimum. It really seemed old-fashioned.

And you know what? I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Was this an excellent film? No. Do I love Renee Zelleweger? No. But is it a cute, fun movie that’s worth a dollar? Yeah, I think so.

Lastly, I rented He’s Just Not That Into You. I don’t know, you guys. Maybe I was in a grumpy mood. But I did not love this movie.

As a married woman, it was depressing and discouraging. As a woman with two single best friends, it was depressing and discouraging.

And then there’s the fact that the movie had about 34 main characters, and I could only make myself like about 2 ½ of them.

There you have it. I don’t have anything else to say about this one. Sorry. I’ve heard that several other people whose opinions I value did enjoy it. But I, for one, am just not that into it.

I’ll try to like the next movie I rent, just for you all. Okay?

This is your blog. This is your blog on writer's block. Any questions?

I once had a friend named Ben. Ben was a funny guy. And Ben had this theory. He believed every lame, boring, unfunny story could be salvaged by ending with one statement.

“And then I found five dollars.”

Sometimes, that is totally true. Think about it. You’ll be telling a story, and perhaps it seemed important or interesting when you started but now you’re about 40 percent through and you’ve realized that it’s not that great and you can’t even remember what the point of the story was supposed to be and everyone’s looking at you with those blank stares except for that one guy who just peeked at his watch as if he’s got somewhere more important to be but no, really, this is a good story, I swear, if only you could remember what came next and now you’re starting to sweat so you say:

“And then I found five dollars.”

Oh, look at their faces now. So interested. Satisfied. Entertained. Impressed, even.

You should try it sometime.

This completely lame-o blog post is courtesy of a prompt found on Plinky.com, a site chock full of quirky questions and whose tagline is, “Because sometimes you need a push.”

Yes, despite the two-inch-thick folder of blog ideas I currently have in my planner and the list of post topics specifically lined up for June, when I stared at the computer just now, I came up empty. I got nothin’. And so, a little visit to our friend Plinky was in order.

And I kid you not, this was the first (okay, the fourth, but the rest of this is all true) question I saw: “What would you be excited to find on the ground right now?”

Clearly, I’d like to find five dollars on the ground right now. Because that’s the only thing saving this post now.

Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you head over to Plinky and pick a question, any question. Come back here and then answer it in the comments. It’ll be fun! Yeah!

(Side note: I suggest including the question with your comment, but I suppose if you wanted to really throw us for a loop you could leave it out. It’s up to you.)

Oooh, look! I think that’s a five dollar bill over there . . .

Here comes the sun (do-do-doo-do)…

On Sunday, it was scorching hot around here. (Sorry to my Southern friends. By “scorching,” I mean mid-90s. But that’s hot for June in Missouri!) But on Monday, relief arrived in the form of 72 degrees and a mild breeze.

Yesterday’s air held about 110 percent humidity; the day was gray and oppressive. By Saturday, we’ll be back to sunshine and perfect temps.

The thing about bad weather, the thing that I try to remember, is that without it, we wouldn’t really appreciate the good weather. If we didn’t have to suffer through heavy humidity or brutal cold or pouring rain, we wouldn’t know just how good we have it on the days when the sun shines, the breeze blows and the temperature is just right.

Yeah, yeah, I hear you: Are you seriously talking about the weather? For a whole blog post?

Nope, just working my way up to a good, old-fashioned analogy.

I’ve seen several conversations around the blogosphere lately about which stages of childhood are the hardest, the most difficult, the most irritating, the most exhausting. Is it colicky crying infancy? Is it the terrible twos or the torturous threes? What about 6-year-old girls or 11-year-old boys?

My parenting resume is only 20 months long, so I realize I’m nowhere near an expert. So, please, please know that my thoughts are based only on my limited experience.

But it seems to me that if it wasn’t for the difficult stages of childhood, we wouldn’t appreciate the good times nearly as much.

A couple months ago, Annalyn learned how to be naughty overnight. Like a switch was flipped or something. She learned to say NO, she realized the power she holds over us with this thing called free will, she decided that all the things off limits (the stereo, the stove, the computer) were the most interesting things in the house.

She became . . . a toddler.

She also gave up eating good meals – stopped eating pretty much all veggies (which she previously loved and ate by the cup), started craving crackers (which encompasses anything crunchy and carby).

And did I mention the sleeping issues? The waking up in the middle of the night, sometimes to play, sometimes to scream, sometimes to eat (because, oh yeah, she only wanted crackers the day before)? Yes, there were sleeping issues.

And I can’t forget to mention that my darling, brilliant daughter is Still. Not. Walking. And while it’s not her fault that I’m now dealing with doctors and specialists and programs and therapists and red tape and phone tag, well, it just ices the New Toddler Cake.

It’s been a rough few weeks.

But on Sunday, we caught a glimpse of the sun. After feeding Annalyn three Oreos (double stuffed, of course) for breakfast, we had the sweetest, cutest, most fun day ever.

I’m sure it had nothing to do with the cookies. Nuthin’ at all. (Please, don't everyone rush out to nominate me for Mother of the Year.)

So, we survived another difficult phase, and now the sweet moments seem just that much sweeter.

Things like this:

Or this, when she actually DID eat a good dinner:

And sometimes, even the ornery looks cute:

Now, don’t get me wrong. I fully anticipate that I’ll be howling again in a week, in a month, in a day – whenever the next difficult stage arrives. But until then, I’m treasuring these good times.

You might even say that life is so bright, she's gotta wear shades . . .

What's your favorite stage of childhood? When are they the cutest, the most fun, the best ever?