1 Corinthians 13. (Motherhood Edition.)

If I speak with the tongues of toddlers and of Kindergarteners, but fail to tell them every single day how deep and wide and high my love is for them, I've become nothing but a noisy Mom and a towering grown up that's blocking their view of Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood.

If I have the gift of sleep training, and breast feeding, and toddler potty training, and know every single way to clean a house from top to bottom in under two hours but don't do it out of love- all I am is a well trained maid. 

And if I can fix homemade, scratch cooked meals that would make Paula Deen weep bitter tears of envy, and know all the mysteries of crayon stain removal and car seat regulations, and have faith so as to daily move the mountains of laundry that are set before me, but do it out of the desire to self promote on social media platforms at the expense and shame of other Moms and not love- I am nothing but a self righteous woman with a well fed stomach who lives in a spotless, diaperless, dirty laundry-less house that is completely void of all the warmth and sticky handprints and peanut butter and jelly smeared faces of love that childhood has to offer. 

And if I give all my hand me downs to the poor instead of consigning them to buy more, and if I give my body over to be burned empty of calories and lazered free of stretch marks, but lose my patience when my four year old wastes 7 minutes of my perfectly timed day because she wants to dress herself, I've gained nothing but an muffin top-less middle section and arms that are strong enough to push a 100 lb. double stroller but that are too weak to slow down and take each day's hurdles with grace and fortitude. 

Love is patient in grocery lines. 
Love is kind when other judge her parenting decisions. 
Love is not jealous when friends lose their baby weight before her.  
Love does not envy when other Mom's drive a nicer car than she does. 
Love does not brag about potty training or current reading levels or how many hours in a row her child sleeps at night. 
Love does not boast with narcissistic pictures of herself on social media. 
Love is not arrogant when someone compliments her children because love knows she can fall from that lofty perch faster than a two year old runs when they hear contraband candy wrappers being opened. 
Love does not act unbecomingly during a fight with her husband. She gives out grace by the bucketful because she knows grace covers a multitude of sins. 
Love does not seek her own way as the ONLY way; she sees both sides of the story. 
Love is not easily provoked when her kids trample the last of her patience as they dump out their Lego tub onto the living room rug only 3 minutes after it's just been picked up. Love does not keep a record of diapers changed or teeth flossed or who's turn it is to discipline a repeat offender. Love knows there's no room in her marriage for a tally count because marriage is a team effort. 
Love does not rejoice in "cute" toddler backtalk but in heartfelt prayer time. 

Love bears all things. All the late nights and early mornings and old fears and new worries. Love gladly shoulders the world for her children as they grow and strengthen themselves to be prepared to hold it up on their own. 

Love believes all things. She believes in the innocence of pretend tea parties and sword fights and praying for stuffed animals. She believes in the healing power of kisses and leaving cookies out for Santa and how a sandwich tastes better on a specifically colored plate. 

Love hopes all things. She hopes for fertile soil and seeds planted and nourishing rains of faith. She hopes for more vegetables to be eaten and fewer cavities found. She confidently expects all the sacrifices she's given here to pay off in eternity. 

Love endures all things. She endures the interrupted showers and worship services and phone calls to answer approximately 528 questions per day. She buckles seat belts and checks chest clips and make sure all the bad dreams have been banished. She endures the same episode of Little Einstines being played on repeat for three months in a row.

Love never fails. EVER. 

Because when she thinks she's got her kids sleeping through the night- they won't. And when she thinks she got potty training licked- she gets a soggy carseat liner to remind her that she hasn't. And just when she thinks she's got everything running smoothly- it won't. Roofs will need replacing and teeth will form cavities and kids will decide to fight over the most ridiculous items. (There's a single confiscated fake carrot sitting on top of her icebox to prove it.) Love will develop endurance within her like she's never had because failing herself, her family, and her faith is never an option. 

If there are feelings of pride, motherhood will do away with them immediately. If there are outfits that aren't stained with peanut butter or bacon grease, cooking meals for her family will do away with them soon. (Buy an apron now and save the heartache.) And if there is knowledge, staying home around three little ones will decimate it. Because motherhood takes away your ability to do mental math faster than you'd ever believe. 

For we may know some things, and we may be able to see some things coming, but when we learn to rely solely on Him for our strength, those partial things will finally be made complete.

Before I was a parent, I spoke like an expert. I thought I knew it all and could point out other's parenting errors with laser precision. But when I became a parent I put away my childish judgements quickly because I then knew how hard it was. 

After I became a Mom I understood how much work went into all the things that come when you've suddenly been put in charge of pointing someone else's soul to Heaven. The responsibility of raising arrows is one that I could have never anticipated the weight of. 

But there are three foundation stones that will keep any Mom sane on the crazy days, calm during the hectic ones and grateful through the messy ones. Build yourself up in Him. Live in faith that you're doing a good job even when you think you aren't, strengthen your hope knowing that even the darkest night will eventually dawn, and love your life even when you don't like some of the days. 

And know that the greatest and hardest and fiercest of these is love. 

Love like that and you'll be all set. 

And thanks for stopping by, ~Katie. 

I Like You, But We Can't Be Friends.

Ok, so here's the deal. I LIKE PEOPLE. 

Ask any visitor that's every come to our church or any person that's ever dropped off packages on our front porch or the gal who makes my coffee at Starbucks and they'll tell you "That gal likes people. A LOT." ::grin:: 

There are many worship services that end with my husband, Matt taking a kid or two to the car and waiting for me outside while I hang back in the foyer with the rest of them talking and catching up and telling anybody that looks new just exactly where the best local Mexican restaurant is located. (Shout out to Mariachi's in Gulf Breeze! I will love your fajitas and your cheese sauce and your chips until my dying day.) 

Anyway, I like people. All the people. All the visitors and telephone banking representatives and cashiers and bakery associates at our local Walmart. The kids and I make friends just about wherever we go. Maybe it's because we are such a gaggle of hooligans, maybe it's because we just love Jesus so much we can't help it- I'm not sure, but I do know that we love to love folks. 

But just because I love folks, doesn't mean I can be everyone's friend. I can't. 

Years ago, I watched as some friends of ours' marriage ended. They had been married only a short time longer than we had, and because of some doors in their pasts that hadn't stayed closed, infidelity crept in and slowly destroyed their union. It was hard and sad and infuriating and scary to watch happen. I thought to myself "That could've been us. They got married just before we did.".

Their marriage ended because of so many reasons, but the first crack in the dam was through their social media activity. There were connections kept that weakened their vows. Friendships online weakened the one between themselves. Virtual conversations took the place of the communication that should have been happening inside their home. They put more time, energy and effort into building online relationships and they allowed the reality of their own to disintegrate.

Watching a marriage fall apart is one of the hardest, but most convicting things I've ever seen. It brought into check my own priorities and made me realize that getting married is easy, but staying happily married is hard. It takes work and drive and dedication and sacrifice to make your union a lasting and joyful and healthy one. To choose one person to spend the rest of your life with, no matter what comes your way- is a decision based on a covenant you as a couple make with God, and you've got to make a decision to honor that covenant daily. 

I can honestly say that I am married to my best friend. Matt and I are way better together than we ever are apart. We are stronger, more confident, better equipped to face life when we are standing beside one another. And I don't ever want that to change. We've got too many inside jokes, for one thing. Yeah!  

And as much as the deck is stacked against lasting (and happy!) marriages, I am going to work to do everything I can to affair-proof my marriage. I decided that there was an easy step I could take to help safeguard myself from an attack like the one that had happened to our friends. I don't have connections to men on social media. I went through and deleted anyone who wasn't a direct relative of mine and sent them a message  explaining why. (Because rudeness isn't cool, either. Even now, if I get a request on a social media platform, I'll send a message to them explaining my stance on social media boundaries BECAUSE I LIKE PEOPLE.) 

I'm sure it seemed silly and sort of extreme, and maybe it still does, but what matters most to me is maintaining, and protecting, and encouraging growth within my marriage vows. My job is to engage with my husband first and foremost- and if there is an area lurking outside our union that may inhibit that bond, it's my job to seek it out, dig it up and eliminate it. If it were a real, actual thing, I WOULD BURN IT WITH FIRE and sprinkle the ashes around my rose bushes in our front yard. (Because I think I read somewhere that ash is good for the soil. Maybe?? I digress.)

My marriage is for keeps. And like it or not, whatever life throws at us, Matt is stuck with me until the very end. 

(And I may or may not move into his mansion once we get to heaven, too. ::wink::)

Finish Something.

That's my pep talk to myself today. 

After suffering with a 48 hour Bubonic Plague-like vomit virus, my house looks like a bomb went off. My dining room table has a halfway finished basket of clothes on top of it, approximately 13 items of clothing that happened to get folded yesterday, along with two opened and spilled boxes of PlayDoh supplies. (Thanks to my pushed-to-the-last-minute Mother's Day craft.)

My breakfast nook table isn't any better. Gulp. There are four semi-eaten, quickly congealing bowls of oatmeal perched atop it along with the other half of our Mother's Day project. My sink is overflowing, my countertops are barely visible and there is a pile of towels waiting to be washed that's as tall as I am. There are more clothes in the washer, more in the dryer and even more in the dirty laundry hampers. 

My poor husband, bless his heart, walked through our living room last night and declared it a disaster zone. We worked to pick up most of the insanity, but in a mere two hours this morning (Thanks in large part to very early wake times from ALL THREE of the kids.) our task appears to have been done in vain. 

There are toys and train tracks and tiny scraps of paper EVERYWHERE. Yay for patterned cutting scissors! (NOT.) There is not a single area of my house that is tidy. Clutter is like visual noise to me and the current state of things is driving me crazy and making me itch. It's overwhelming and over stimulating and I just threw up in my mouth a little. 

I wish was able to handle messes and piles and stacks of things, I really do. It's humbling because I realize that there are times God uses chaos to teach me to relax and rely on Him for contentment instead of seeking peace from a well vacuumed rug and neatly stacked bookshelves. SO I UNDERSTAND THE POOL OF HYPOCRISY I AM CURRENTLY STANDING KNEE DEEP IN. 

And it'd be easy for me to run around, putting out tiny fires of clutter all day and not really accomplish anything by 6pm tonight. I could huff and puff through my rooms, flitting from one incomplete chore to the next, starting all sorts of tasks but not finishing any them. But, if I really want to make progress, if I really want to get things done, I need to FINISH SOMETHING. Anything. 

Empty the dishwasher. Put the stacks of clothes away. Take out the recycling. File the mail. Clear off the breakfast nook table and wipe it down. Put the cast iron pans back into the oven for storage. Take out the bathroom trash and replace the liner. (Or, if you're like me- use an empty WalMart bag.::wink::) These are all chores that are waiting for me plus about 392 more. 

 I can walk into a room and see at least 7 chores like these that have been started and have been left incomplete. And, when things happen like 48 straight hours of projectile vomiting, your house is going to get turned upside down like mine is now. But when the dust settles and you are successfully digesting food again, you'll have your work cut out for you like I do today. But before you get flustered and frustrated and overwhelmed with all the things that need to be done, look around at what's almost done and FINISH SOMETHING. 

You'll feel like you've accomplishes something (AND YOU HAVE!) and that will push you on to finishing more and more and more. My motto for today will be to Finish Something, so that as I walk and work and worry about all the things I have to take care of today I'll remember that progress, no matter how small it may be, is still progress. 

Thanks for stopping by, y'all. 

Now I've got to go make up for the half hour I lost writing all this. I'll start in the kitchen! ('Cause that's where the coffee is.) ~Katie. 

PMS is A Liar.

I don't hate my husband's job, but PMS can make me feel like I do. 

 My husband has a fantastic job as a Project Manager (Way to go on your recent promotion, Boo!) with a nationally based HVAC company. He works hard. REALLY HARD. Like he-doesn't-see-the-kids-for-days-at-a-time some weeks kinda busy. It can really stink sometimes. However, the flip side is that, on some other weeks, he's able to hide at his desk answering phone calls and emails while listening to the screeches and screams and school noise work from home most days so our breakfasts and lunches and prenap time snuggles get to include him some, too. 

And y'all, most weeks I'm fine with his hectic schedule. I can roll with the punches and dig in deep to do the afternoons and evenings and suppers and bathtub water fights and teeth flossing and Bible reading and all the rest of our seemingly endless nighttime routine by myself. (How many times do I have to keep going into bedrooms before I turn into a zombie?? I do not know, but the current count is approximately 73.) I can survive it, mostly, with a can-do attitude and a few extra cups of coffee and not grumble too much. Bless.

BUT THERE IS ONE WEEK(ish) A MONTH WHEN I CAN NOT EVEN DEAL. Every late night is a personal attack. Every interrupted meal is a targeted insult. Every phone call from a job site wounds. The chip on my shoulder grows larger and my resentments build. I become moody and temperamental and extremely self centered. Gulp.

And it's not just my husband working late. PMS makes me believe that my kids are villains and my house is one step away from being declared a hazardous waste zone. I clean and scrub and still never feel like I accomplish anything. My pants are too tight and my fuse is too short. I storm through the days feeling irritable and vulnerable. I bark orders and pick fights over trivial things like forgotten coffee cups and misplaced marker caps and towels that don't get hung back on their hooks. I'm a 100% hot mess. And it ain't pretty, I'll admit it.

I can feel myself over reacting, and in the deepest part of my heart I know I'm wrong to do it, but the bigger, louder voice spoken by my hormones is sometimes too strong to withstand. So I snap! I harangue the kids and hassle my husband and hate myself while doing it. It's a vicious cycle of self pity and victimization and irritation and lost tempers and guilty consciences. 

Hormones are a beast, y'all. I've changed my lifestyle and eating habits and started taking some supplements that have helped me tackle these mood wrecking monsters TREMENDOUSLY. I feel better now than I ever have, but I still have to work to keep my guard up. PMS may try to convince me that I hate my life, but I've been given far too many blessings to allow myself to believe it. 

My husband is gearing up to face some long, tough days in the next week or so and it'll come just around the same time that I'll be looking to fight some long, tough days of my own. I'll survive by straight up coasting through some days, loosening the reigns of my clean freak/control freak nature, making tons of skinny chocolate and brewing loads of coffee. And I'll make myself go back and re-read this post to remind me that the world doesn't revolve around my monthly calendar.

PMS can make me feel like a victim BUT PMS IS A BIG, FAT LIAR. So there.

When I Burned A Lasagna For Jesus

It's true confession time, y'all. I was peeling potatoes just now for our church's Friend's Day potluck tomorrow afternoon (SHAMELESS PLUG, if you're in or around Gulf Breeze, Florida tomorrow morning around 9:30 and want to join us you definitely should. Our pew is huge and we would LOVE to shuffle down for you. My crew stations up in the back and we are the rowdiest bunch of kids and constantly shushing adults in the entire place. Come as you are- because you'll fit right in with me and my husband and our rowdy hoodlums.) when I remembered back about a decade ago when I brought one of my first casserole dishes to a Dinner-on-the-Grounds. 

It was a badly burned lasagna.  

I was a newlywed so y'all can cut me a little slack. I shopped and chopped and assembled my sweet little pasta dish and then somehow after what was probably like 2.5 hours in a 550° oven, it came out looking like one of those "This is your brain on drugs." commercials. Bless my heart, I was so crestfallen. I may have cried. Nothing takes the wind out of a new wife's sails faster than a charred casserole dish. True story. It's depressing.

I was broken hearted, but we were running behind so I shoved it into my Corningware insulated carrier and dashed out the door. We made it to the building and I placed my humble offering at the verrrrrrrrry end of the serving table while I prayed no one would see and connect me to the disasterous dish I was setting down. 

Bible class and worship ended and the meal began. I made my way through the line and when I finally got to my dish I saw that there had been a few brave, sweet souls that had taken a few scoops of my charcoaled cheese extravaganza. I breathed a little sigh of relief, and found a seat to eat...right next to someone with a blackened scoop of my lasagna on their plate. Criminals under interrogation have sweated less than I did through that meal. My victim did take one small bite and then just sort of pushed the rest to the edge of his plate. (I couldn't blame him. I took some, but it was more out of guilt and obligation. And it really was terrible.) 

As everybody cleaned up, I collected my nearly full pan of untouched lasagna and smuggled it out of that fellowship hall. I was the 007 of church potlucks that day, y'all. The next time a Dinner-on-the-Grounds rolled around, I tried again and was much more successful. Thank heavens. 

THANK HEAVENS.

Looking back, I'm glad I took a chance and burned that lasagna. I'm glad I took that leap out of my comfort zone and tried to do something that was new and hard for me. It took work, and loads more mistakes happened between then and now, but I believe who I am today is because of the effort I started to put forth back then. 

So if you're intimidated by something, let me encourage you with my humble and rocky and awful tasting beginnings. Go ahead! Burn a lasagna of your own! Bring a disgusting looking dish to a potluck. Sew some pathetic looking napkins. Plant tomatoes that die in a month. Paint your bedroom a horrible shade of green. Read a book with a terrible ending. Cut your hair. Cut your kid's hair. Cut up your credit cards. 

Just take a leap. Take a chance. TRY SOMETHING NEW. You'll look back at yourself in a decade or so and laugh and be an even better version of yourself. You'll absolutely screw things up but you'll be happier because of it. I promise. Or maybe that's just me. But I don't think so. ::wink::

Thanks for stopping by y'all, Katie. 

The Hamster Wheel

Because OH MY MERCY am I the only one who feels like they're trapped inside a rotating wheel of activity and insanity and laundry that's never ending?? 

My life is a hamster wheel. 

I wake up, jump on and start spinning. I keep the same routine with the same people in the same places every.single.day. 

My kids emerge from their rooms each morning bright eyed and optimistic for the start of a fresh new day. (Or NOT. There have been days that I've straight up sent my four year old back into her bed because I do not have the brain cells avaliable to battle first-thing-in-the-morning-meltdowns-for-no-reason. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT YOU FEEL THE NEED TO OPEN YOUR EYES AND IMMEDIATELY BURST INTO TEARS?? Please, tell me. These are answers I need to know. There will come a day when she will be a teenager who will want to sleep late and I WILL THEN REJOICE WITH THE ANGELS because my Josie is not a morning person. Bless.) 

We sit on the same couch and read from the same Bible and pray in the same way. We eat breakfast in the same kitchen and play with the same toys. Their squabbles are over the same situations (because there can only be one coveted train car in a mounding pile of railroad pieces) and the skirmishes occur in the same settings. There is a superior seat at our breakfast nook table and woe be unto the two kidlets who are unable to sit there during a meal. It's like the throne of McReynolds Manor and if you're not fortunate enough to reside on it you're nothing but a peasant and will have to kiss the ring and bow before that meal's reigning occupant. Sometimes, I hate that spot and no one sits in it. 

Our days continue on, with colorful interjections throughout OF COURSE, but mostly staying within that same hamster wheel of daily life. Breakfast is fixed, lessons are taught, messes are cleaned, laundry is rotated. The same toilet in the same bathroom gets disgusting (TWO YOUNG BOYS, y'all) so the same swishing and swiping happen before it's again compromised by bad aim and blind eyes.

 I sing the same songs to put one down for a nap and drink the same life giving afternoon coffee while watching the same episode of Wild Kratts with the same two bigger kids. (I have learned some stuff about the honey badger and the peregrine falcon. ASK ME ANYTHING.) We play the same games and build the same towers and put together the same puzzles. 

Then supper is fixed in the same kitchen and bites are bargained for with the same enthusiasm and dessert is the same prize for a meal well eaten. Shout out to three animal crackers for being the bribe my kids will willingly work for while eating the delicious and home cooked meal I prepare for them nightly. It feels so good to play second fiddle to a Sam's Club bear filled with bland, vanilla flavored cookies. 

I floss the same teeth and read more from the same Bible and pray with the same people before bedtimes. There are more of the same snuggles and songs and one-more-big-kisses given before we turn off the same lights and close the same doors for the (hopefully) last time that same day. 

And then, that day ends and another begins and the wheel starts all over again. The monotony of the life phase that I'm in can be exhausting, but there's part of me that's grateful for this hamster wheel running season I'm in. 

The wheel is work. 

The wheel is activity. 

The wheel is exercise and strength and growth. 

With each day that comes, I get a new opportunity to become stronger in my weaknesses. I get fresh chances to continue to work on the parts of myself that need attention. My impatience and short tempter and pride are all brought into check daily within this hamster wheel life that I'm living. I may lose my cool and become boastful and bark orders at the kids or my husband one day, but, BECAUSE OF THE WHEEL, I get to pick myself up, examine my flaws, and strengthen my resolve to do better before I jump back on the it the following morning. 

They're still going to fight. My husband will always have jobs and work obligations that unexpectedly keep him at the office late. They will spill the same chocolate milk and fight over the same Ninja Turtle umbrella while I work on refining those same character flaws that are triggered in these repetitious situations. 

I'm grateful for the continuing opportunities to grow and change and be better that this life is giving me. Living these same days over and over and over may feel monotonous at times (because they do), but it's through the diligent, consistent, constant effort that is afforded me during this monotony that I am able to face my sin and see my flaws and target my shortcomings with clarity that only repeating the same mistakes over and over and over again can give me. I'm able to really get down, dig out my sinfulness and work hard to eliminate it. I get so many repeat chances to do better because there is always going to be another opportunity to work on that same weak spot.

I get stronger everyday I run on my hamster wheel and I'm not anywhere close to being ready to jump off. I'm going to lace up my running shoes, y'all. (Figuratively, of course. I don't run. My cardio consists of taking my garbage cans to the road every week. Please don't judge.)

"Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." -Hebrews 12:1-3

"Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win." -Paul, 1 Corinthians 9:24

I'm Not Cool Anymore. (not even a little)

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm an early thirty-something homeschooling Mom with three rowdy kids up in mah house. I haven't watched cable television in YEARS. (Downton Abbey doesn't count because it's PBS. Obviously.) THERE WAS NO iPhone AROUND the last time I carried a purse that wasn't filled with diapers, wipes, stale animal crackers and 37 random broken crayons.

I went to the mall about month ago to buy jeans and left feeling like I'd visited another planet. SOMEONE ACTUALLY CALLED ME MA'AM. I've been immersed in growing babies and birthing babies and nursing babies and teaching babies so much lately that a lot of pop culture has passed me by. It's left me realizing there's a lot nowadays that I'm too old for. 

1- Trampolines. 

I had three not-at-all-tiny babies in three short years. Things have happened. Gravity is not my compadre anymore. Boom. Motherhood.

2- Less than three cups of coffee. 

I have a lot to do everyday. Jesus and coffee help me get it done. 

3- Sleeveless shirts. 

Awkward. Next.

4- Jump Roping. 

(See No. 1)

5- Movies that start after 9:30pm. 

Unless you want to watch me nap.

6- Technology. 

I own a MacBook Pro (I'm currently typing on it. Hypocrite, I know.) and I can operate approximately 1.7% of the things on it. My friend Cindy thinks I'm pathetic, and I probably am. WHAT IS THIS 'CLOUD' THEY SPEAK OF??

7- Spaghetti O's. 

I tried some of those last year and y'all- GROSS. What was 8 year old Katie thinking? Now Funyun's and chocolate milk out the jug- THAT IS A DIFFERENT STORY ALL TOGETHER. Manna from heaven.

8- Gossip. 

Seriously, nothing tears people apart and ruins friendships and isolates women faster than talking about other people. We are better than this y'all. DROP THE HABIT. I clung to it in my insecure 20's. I'm beginning my 30's with confidence in myself without dragging others down AND IT FEELS AWESOME.

9- Cheap cream cheese. 

We live on one income and I'm a master at budgeting. I can scrimp and save and stretch our grocery dollars like nobody's business. I am a store brand believer, but DO NOT EVER THINK FOR A SECOND that I'm not gonna buy Philly. Treat yo' self, y'all. 

10- Sun damage. 

A couple of summers ago I bought a gigantic, gaudy red sun hat. That thing has an SPF of 50, a 27" brim and I wear it EVERYWHERE. It's ugly and I don't.even.care. 

11- Jumping jacks. 

(See No. 1 and 4)

12- Giving up my Birkenstocks. 

Part of my newfound confidence is proudly wearing my decades old Birks with everything. Florida only gets like 2 months of too-cold-for-flip-flops weather and my Birks have never let me down. Hooray for rocking feet that look like baked potatoes! 

13- Hip slang.

Because what on Earth does 'on fleek' mean?? Why should my eyebrows aspire to attain this description? Someone, help me. I'm lost. I'm thisclose to opening a permanent Urban Dictonary tab on my Safari browser- IF I ONLY KNEW HOW. (see No. 6)

Y'all, I'm sure that I'll think of other things to add to this list but for now, HERE SHE IS. I'm officially uncool, unhip and completely out of sync. I'm about two weeks from perming my hair, teasing my bangs into a curly donut forehead crown, throwing on a denim jumper (hold on- I think those are back in style now. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE WORLD??!) and completely transitioning to the stereotypical homeschool Mom persona. 

Or maybe not. ::wink::

Whatever I decide, thanks for stopping by y'all. I'm gonna go pour myself some more coffee and get ready to start my day. I won't hit my 3 cup minimum today by just sitting around here typing. Be blessed and bless someone else!