Not Girly, but Feminine

I’m not a girly girl. I never have been, but for years I wanted to be one. I envied all things girly girl, but not anymore. Don’t think I hate girly girls. I don’t. Actually, if anything, I respect them. I don’t know how they do it with matching accessories, jewelry, and lipstick for every outfit. Their manicured hands and pedicured feet are lovely, and a sweet smell always encircles them. So many are incredibly sweet, and I’ve felt loved so many times because of their kindness and etiquette. I am absolutely serious when I say I can’t even imagine
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A Smattering of Sweets

In celebration of E’s 10th Birthday this past weekend, we had sweets for the first time in almost 9 weeks. Ethan wanted mint chocolate milkshakes, and Tyler wanted cake. We settled on both. Friday night we had family birthday time, a joyous celebration of sushi and milkshakes while watching Hook. Then Saturday, we had cake (a Texas Chocolate pan cake with fudge icing my mom made) with extended family and a few friends after all the guys took a man-trip to the NASCAR Hall of Fame. Martin wanted to go but needed a nap, so he stayed home with the
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Governed by the Memoir

I love a good memoir. They’re raw, funny, sad, and real-ish. I say real-ish because memoirs are given more creative liberty than autobiographies. No one actually remembers all of those conversations, and sometimes what we remember isn’t exactly what happened. However, memoirs are based on truth, or at least the truth according to the individual writing it or according to how the individual perceived it as truth. Sounds vague, right? But the thing I love about a memoir, not only me but we as Americans love, is that the memoir is the embodiment of experience. Here in America, we worship
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The Revolving Door

Being in-transit gives everyone the grumpy face. That’s all there is to it. When I lived in Florence, SC, my hometown and a small town of about 45,000 people, we Florentinians used to talk about how Florence was a revolving door type of town, especially for people aged 18-30. People came, stayed a season, and then left again. As a long-time member of the Florence community, the revolving door made things difficult. I always took forever to get to know someone, as I am often tongue-tied and awkward with new people. By the time I would start to really love
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I Don’t Want to Die When I’m 100

Do you remember ever believing everyone died when they reached 100? For a period in my life, I definitely thought everyone lived to be 100. I was reminded time and time again this week of how we often view life like children, as if we are all invincible with all the time in the world. In a funny way, I was reminded of how we think we’ll live so long when we’re young. I think most people have seen this video of the little girl who doesn’t want her brother to grow up. I avoided it on Facebook for a
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Respect Your Children – the fine line between passive parenting and giving grace

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Doesn’t the Bible say for children to obey and respect their parents? Yes, yes it does. Ephesians 6 to be exact. But Ephesians 6 also says, “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (ESV). For the longest time I had no clue what this meant, and while I’m sure I don’t completely understand it now, I do feel it makes more sense. When he was younger, E was an easy child. He never threw a temper tantrum, didn’t say ‘No’ to everything as a two-year-old,
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Let’s Be Honest – Grouchy Mom

I’ve been chewing on this quote from Kevin DeYoung’s book, Crazy Busy, for over a month now. “We go day after day, crazy month after crazy month: worried, upset, anxious, troubled, fussing, worked up. Every stain, every school project, every dirty sink, every surprise guest, every surge of responsibility becomes a cause of great panic. To paraphrase Titus 3:3, we live as slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in chaos and envy, hassled by others and hassling one another.” I am so guilty of this type of busyness. Every time E spills something, every time I have
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Bringing Up Bébé Book Review

I went into reading Bringing Up Bebe by Pamela Druckerman with high expectations. I’d read reviews, seen it on others’ book lists, and had friends suggest I read it. I actually wasn’t disappointed. Druckerman uses wit, good experience, and an honest approach – sharing struggles and shortcomings in her own parenting. The book explains the spoken and unspoken French parenting techniques she observed while living there with young children. She starts with pregnancy and goes through early elementary school. Druckerman bases her findings off 2 philosophers, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and Francoise Dolto, both highly-acclaimed by the French parents and psychologists. They both
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Let’s Be Honest – False Necessities

Every day, I feel as though I need a cup of coffee to survive. If I don’t have my cup of coffee, I have a pretty killer headache around lunchtime. I also pretty much compulsively check my Instagram feed daily. Sometimes, three times a day, but sometimes only once. I get really absorbed in reading a book, and I love either a dessert or a glass of wine after dinner (lately it’s been the glass of wine or some cheese). But these things won’t literally sustain me. They may make my day better, and I may rely on them for
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Morning Coffee

This morning I am mourning coffee. We’re not giving coffee up. That’s not the issue. I just finished the cup of coffee I started drinking at 7:30 a.m. The last few swallows were cold, and the coffee had been reheated once. It’s actually quite a miracle I only had to reheat it once. Twice is the norm these days. I’m mourning coffee because it’s not the ritualistic experience it used to be. I love a good cup of Larry’s Beans coffee either brewed and black or made in the french press and served with steamed milk. But it’s not just
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