Frugal Friday...

While checking out the blog of a new blogging friend, Bahama Shores Mama, http://bahamashoresmama.blogspot.com/
I found yet another fun blogging game, and you know how I like blogging games. This one comes from a super cute decorating blog called The Shabby Nest.



It's a Frugal Friday Link Party and it's all about sharing frugal decorating ideas.
Well Frugal Decorating just happens to be my middle name (well, at least it was before I moved and fell into a slumpadinka, but I figure this link party is as good a time as any to WAKE UP).
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So here goes...

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This tale starts with a Once upon a time when my wonderfully generous sister gave me one of her flat irons for my hair. What does this have to do with decorating? Well I'll tell you. The only problem with my generous sister's generous gift is that, sadly, it put some lovely burn marks on my bathroom vanity.

So not pretty.

But now, thanks to Frugal Friday, I simply gathered a few items from my house and "presto, chango"

The ugly burn marks are gone (it looks cuter in person. I'm thinking if I don't get a new camera for my birthday I'm just gonna have to quit blogging. I'll just have to, that's all). And while I have you here, could you please tell me why I must have this bread box style thing-a-ma-jiggy protruding from my vanity instead of a second sink. Why?

If you look closely you can also see that I've started drawing diamonds on my bathroom wall as well. Time will tell if I'm going to follow through with this plan, I haven't quite decided.

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But here's how I did it.

No math equations or precise measuring will do for this girl (there's a reason I celebrated when I got a D- in geometry). And if there is any planning, organizing or shopping involved in my decorating, it will not get done. It just won't. So it is not unusual to find me working with things such as this shnazzy template made from an old pudding box when I get a creative hair.

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And if you're wondering if my madness really works here's a picture from my old house where I used the same technique.

Fancy.

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And bonus. There's another frugal tip to be found in this picture. If you don't want to mess with or spend money on molding for a chair rail, just paint one instead. That's what I did here and it worked great.

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To find more (and much better) frugal decorating tips go check out the party at The Shabby Nest. Or better yet, join it and showcase your own frugal finesse.

Forbidden love...

She needs a bath and a brush but the boys don't seem to mind.

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When I got miss Lily a year ago her previous owner told me that if we ever wanted the experience of breeding her she would wave the stud fee for us. After Rick and I talked about it we decided that might be fun. He and I both grew up where dogs run free and where finding a batch of illegitimate puppies under the shed or behind a bush was a regular occurrence. We both have fond memories of growing up with pups and thought (especially because miss Lily is an $800 Westie--of course I didn't pay that much for her and never would for a dog, but she's worth that just the same) what the heck, we should let the kids have the experience of raising puppies at least once in their lives. So we made the decision to not have her fixed, AND I'VE BEEN A NERVOUS WRECK EVER SINCE.
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I've been crazy worried that she will get out of our fenced yard and get herself knocked up by some neighborhood mutt. I've watched her diligently to make sure this wouldn't happen, but I never counted on a breach in the border from the other side. I never counted on an itty, bitty Chiuaua squeezing himself under the fence to court my miss Lily.
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But that's what happened, and even though I chased him off before he got very far into his act of love, I'm worried that it wasn't soon enough and that we're on our way to having a batch of little ChiWesties.
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I guess that goes to show you that you can't stop young love, as Jamie explained to me, "Mom maybe Lily just isn't in love with another Westie dog. Maybe she's just in love with the Chiuaua. She's allowed to be in love with whoever she wants and if she wants to marry a Chiuaua then she can."
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So there you have it.
Anyone interested in a ChiWestie?

Blue is for boys...

Tuesday May 26 ~

Something Blue

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Nine boys. That was my order, preferably one at a time (my sister had twin boys so I knew better than to ask for that). I can’t really say why I wanted to be the mother of nine boys, I’ve just always loved them. My baby dolls and my favorite foster babies were all boys. There’s just something about little boys that makes my heart smile.
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Because of this I thought my heart would burst with joy when I found out that my first-born would be a boy. A snakes, snails and puppy dog tails, blue wearing BOY!
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I knew that raising a boy would be a dream, and it has been, but what I didn’t even consider is that it would come with the bonus of having a wonderful young man when I was through.
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The man that my boy has grown into is a delight to me. He is a man of faith and integrity. He is a chivalrous man who respects women and always goes out of his way to tell me that I look pretty or that he enjoyed a meal that I prepared for him. He is a hard working, kindhearted man who gives help and service with or without being asked (he just surprised me with a clean kitchen when I came home last night). He is a man who will serve diligently for two years on his mission then continue to do God’s work throughout his life. He is a man who will make his future wife very happy and who will be a righteous, loving father.
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He is a man of God and I couldn’t want for anything more, except…
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A little over five years ago as I listened to an uplifting talk in church about the miracles experienced by a man while serving his mission, my heart became very full with the desire to raise another boy unto the Lord. I was very grateful for the boy I had been given, but I so badly wanted to help raise another of God’s faithful servants. As I whispered this desire the spirit overwhelmed me with joy. Of course having, many years before, resigned to the fact that I would never again have a boy, and knowing that Rick and I were quite done having children, I quickly dismissed the feeling as just a confirmation that the Lord appreciated my desire, but that it was not to be.
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How silly of me to suppose to know more than the Lord because some months later, even though I had not planned, and had even tried to prevent it, I became pregnant, with a BOY! My prayer had been answered, and now I pray that I will live up to what I had desired to do and raise this boy into the man of God that he was born to be.
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In the meantime, I sure am enjoying those snakes, snails, puppy dog tails, and the color blue again. My but boys are fun.
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P.S. Raising righteous daughters of God is every bit as important as raising righteous boys, and is a job that I take very seriously as well. This just happens to be a post about boys, that’s all.

How much do I love thee...

I grabbed this old picture off of my brother's facebook page tonight. I love this picture for so many reasons. A few of which are:
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1. It shows a little of the home that I grew up in that I LOVED
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2. It shows one of the many foster babies (sweet little Ashley) that shared our life, and that I LOVED
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3. It shows one of the many funkolicious 80's outfits (the wild print wrap around pants number that my sister Jillene is sporting) that I LOVED
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What a wonderful time of life that was. Thank you Chris for posting this picture. I'm glad you keep up with facebook because heaven knows I don't. I guess I just haven't caught the bug yet. So for all of you who have requested to be my friend, please know that I love you and that I sincerely apologize for being the lamest friend ever.
Maybe I'll get better at it someday.
Maybe.

Fuss free...

(he humors me when I ask to take a picture, but not without a little humor)

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I felt sad when I quickly snapped this picture of Landon this morning on his "special day". I felt sad at the store when I picked up the cake and the bouquet of balloons. I felt sad that he, my first born, refuses to walk with his class for graduation tonight. Sad that I won't be able to see him in his cap and gown, sad that I can't cheer and yell out his name from the packed stadium. So very, very sad.
But then I called my sister to share my woes and she said that if Landon doesn't care about it then why should I, and to just be grateful that I don't have to sit through a long, boring ceremony all night.
And you know,
I don't feel so sad anymore.
Thanks Larisa for always keeping it real.
And thank you Landon for seriously being the best kid in the world.
I'm proud of you with or without the pomp and circumstance.




Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Fixed fillings...

While settling in for our family night festivities, Waylon asked, “Mom do you have braces?”
“No I don’t.” I told him.
“Open your mouth and let me see.” He commanded.
I complied.
“Then what are those shiny things?”
“Those are my fillings.”
“Your feelings?” He asked with crinkled nose.
“Yes, I had little holes in my teeth so the dentist fixed them up with fillings.”
Thinking for a minute, he then asked,
“So if I say something really mean to you can the dentist fix your feelings?”
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Of course this cracked me up as I thought of how nice it would be if the dentist really could fix my hurt feelings.
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During the lesson portion of our family fun night we told the story of Daniel and the lion’s den. We’ve all heard this story many times before, but for some reason its message really struck me this time.


I thought that even as our God had all power over the lions that threatened Daniel’s life, he too has all power over the personal “lions” that stand ready to destroy each one of us. He is in control and he "hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions’ mouths” (Dan. 6:22), both for Daniel and for us. Even if it only be for an hour of peace when our burdens become too heavy, He shuts the lions’ mouths and helps us through.
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We are told in the story of Daniel that, “no manner of hurt was found upon him, because he believed in his God.” (Dan. 6:23). There is such power in this thought. Such hope to be found in the strength of our God.
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Now if Waylon does say something mean to me I’m covered. Because, though the dentist may not be able to fix my feelings, I know that my God, the Great Physician, stands ready to guide me through all manner of hurt if I come unto Him and simply ~

believe.

Borrowed talent...

Tuesday May 19:

Something Borrowed

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I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I LOVE BEING A GIRL. I love the pretty dresses, the sassy shoes, the cute bags, the hair, the make-up, the moisturizing products that promise me prolonged youth, and best of all, I love that I can still make my husband act like John Travolta in the last scene of Grease when I enter a room. Being a girl is awesome.
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With my love of all things girly, it may not surprise you to learn that as a youth I thought it might be fun to participate in a pageant. “Miss Teen America Jeanette” ahh, it has a nice ring to it don’t you think. Sadly I could never be a part of this fabulous feminine festival because, as near as I could tell, I HAD NO TALENT.
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I could have paraded around in a fancy dress and heels with ease and even a swimsuit wouldn’t have intimidate me (back then), but thinking of the cursed talent portion of the competition made me draw a blank every time. I couldn’t sing, dance, or twirl a baton. Thus there would be no pageantry for me. So, so sad.
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If only I could have borrowed a talent from one of my gifted friends, then maybe I’d be writing this from the top of Trump Towers right now. I mean just imagine what we could accomplish in life if we could borrow talents from each other.
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A case in point is my new fabulously adorable blog page. I love my new fabulously adorable blog. And I owe it all to my fabulously adorable and multi-talented friend, Mary Crabtree http://marymaryrc.blogspot.com/
Now there's a girl who should have been in pageants.

I borrowed Mary’s talent this week and ended up with the cutest blog page in all of blogdom.
(I also borrowed these pictures of her from her blog.)


This is us 100 years ago on Halloween. Mary is also very talented in all things Halloween.



And now I just found out that Mary made me a button too. My very own button! So much better than a tiara!
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Please feel free to “borrow” one of my cute new buttons by copying that there code found under my button on my sidebar and pasting it into a HTML/Java Script page element.
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Then come back to see me anytime. I love having you.
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Thank you, thank you, thank you Mary. I love my new blog and I love you too.
Now if only I could borrow your talents as a make-up artist every morning.

Boy would that come in handy.

Girlz Rule...

Longing
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The street sign, faded with time,
Is the first to greet me,
My childhood bus stop,
The entrance to my refuge.
I drive slowly,
Pointing out the homes of each long lost neighbor
Who, like I, have since moved on.
Then rounding the cul-de-sac I see it.
Its mature trees, long driveway,
And stained glass door beckon me
To come in and find you,
Sitting,
Waiting for me to come home.
Home from school, home from a date,
Home from this life
That I’ve lived far too long without you.
My mind knows,
It knows,
That this can never be.
But my heart promises to come back,
The next time I’m in town,
To this place,
The only place,
Where I can feel it beat
Like it did when you were here.
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Growing up on a long, dark cul-de-sac road next to the city canal brought with it some interesting adventures. Though it could most often be considered a childhood wonderland, the peeping toms, homeless bums, and passing strangers that occasionally graced our neighborhood made it feel down right scary sometimes.
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The peeping toms were especially frightening for my sister and me, leading us to always dress in our closet or the bathroom, and I believe that they are primarily responsible for my fear of being alone at night. Because of this I don’t get much sleep when Rick has to be gone for one reason or another. Which was the case last weekend.
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On Friday Rick and the boys headed out for a fun-filled father and sons campout, leaving all of us fair maidens home alone.



I had to snap a quick picture just before they drove away because I knew they wouldn't take any while they were gone. After taking this first picture I asked Landon if he could look a little more enthusiastic,
and here's what I got:

There, now that's better.

Waylon didn't have to fake it, he was sooo excited.

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Now don’t get me wrong, the girls and I love father and sons campouts because it means playtime for us, it’s just the sleeping part that gets me.
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When the boys are gone, we girls buy a bunch of junk food, chick flicks, and take-out then have ourselves a regular party. After dinner we spread our treats out onto the kitchen counter then load up cafeteria type trays with all that our hearts desire.

It’s a pig-a-palooza for all as we munch and watch "for girls only" movies late into the night. We have the best time and look forward to it every year.
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Of course the girls always fall asleep long before I do, leaving me alone to try to ignore all of the things that go bump in the night, until I finally crash around three or four in the morning from sheer exhaustion.
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I know I’m silly, but no peeping tom, homeless bum, or passing stranger is gonna catch me off guard I’ll tell you that much right now.
If one happens along I’ll be ready.
That’s right, I WILL BE READY!
Ready to do what?
Hmmm, I don’t rightly know.

Fabulously 50...

While attending church today, a good friend of mine generously complimented me by saying that my new hair do makes me look 20 years younger. I mistakenly said, "That means I'm only 29."
We laughed then headed out to our cars. Realizing my mistake I turned to her and said, "I mean 19. I'm only 19."
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"I was gonna say, you're not 49." She laughed.
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So now everyone who was within earshot of our conversation in the church lobby thinks that I am 49, but I'm thinking that's not such a bad thing.
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I've always wondered why when women lie about their age they make themselves younger. I think if we're going to lie we should make ourselves older. If I lie, claiming to be only 29, one may look at me and say, "My she hasn't aged very well at all." But if I lie and say that I'm turning 50 this year instead of 40, this might be viewed as quite impressive indeed.
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So scratch off all that I have said about becoming fabulous by forty because I am changing it to fabulous by fifty, seeing as how that'll be my age come August-- 50!
I look pretty good for 50 if I do say so myself.
Now my little wrinkles don't seem bad at all.
Man, I like being 50.
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Now for some girls that don't have to lie about their age because they are still fabulously young and beautiful.
As promised, here are some pictures of Paige and Marlee's cute new hair.


Paige got bangs and a few long layers.
Simply gorgeous.

And Marlee went for spunky, short and fun (of course now she wants to get some bold color added to make it even more spunky funky) no average hair will work for this girl.

So cute.

What fun we had at our late night hair-a-palooza. I love having daughters.

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Please excuse the blurry picture. If my hubs asks what I want for my 40, I mean 50th birthday tell him that I really want a new camera.

Pretty please with sugar on top.

Rowdy...

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.

~Benjamin Franklin

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Well this explains a lot. For although I am pretty good about the "early to rise" part, I, a self professed night owl of night owls, never ever go to bed early. I love staying up late and have missed the late night outings available only in the city.

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So when my good friend and hair dresser extraordinaire asked if my girls and I wanted to make our hair appointment for 8 pm I thought "heck yeah we do." You must understand that this town folds up and goes to bed by 9 so an appointment starting at 8 (and on a school night even) seemed so rowdy, so wild, so even better than the city (pathetic I know, but at this point I'll take what I can get). And you know, it really was better than the city.

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We went to my friend's adorable, deliciously girly salon located at the back of her house and had our own small town, "Steal Magnolias" moment. It was so fun visiting while being pampered and styled. In fact we were having so much fun that we didn't get home until nearly one o'clock in the a.m. --Rowdy!

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And even better still is that she only charged me $40 for a weave. Forty dollars for a weave! I do declare I never found such prices in the city.

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And so begins my journey back to being blonde (I'm taking baby steps to move away from the very dark). Rick is so happy (what can I say, the man loves me blonde) and I'm relieved that he is the only man I need to impress.

Because when this little four-year-old pictured behind me first saw my hair he said, and I quote,
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"Mom you used to not be the ugliest one in our family, but now you are."
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So precious.
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P.S. I'll show you Marlee and Paige's cute new cuts later. So fun.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Perfect Harmony...

It started with a duet gone wrong. My sister and I sat side by side on the squeaky piano bench, prepared to dazzle the audience at our semi-annual piano recital. Unfortunately we had not been blessed with the dazzle gene. The "wow factor", super performer gene had skipped over us, and the trembling hands, blank mind, "please don't make me do this" gene had settled in its place.

Duets in and of themselves are very difficult, but when you throw trembling hands, blank minds and utter terror into the mix, they can be nearly impossible to execute without moments of failure. Now those blessed with the performance gene can handle a few misplaced clanks ringing forth from their perfectly practiced piece without a hint of perspiration, but for the poor scaredy gene sap, a mistake of any kind equals bitter humiliation, the show up to school in your underwear kind of humiliation, of the "I will never play piano in public again" variety.

And thus began the demise of my career as a concert pianist. My sister and I destroyed our duet with jarring clunks and nervous laughter, then returned to our seats with heads hung low, vowing never to play in public again. Sadly I have kept that promise all of these years, rarely even playing for my own kinfolk.

Because of this I am quite enamored with anyone who will put their talents (perceived or real) on display for all to see. Certainly those with the performance gene are exciting to watch, but I think I get more of a thrill watching the scaredy people, like me, overcome and conquer (I so want to be more of an overcome and conquer kind of girl). I watch with stilled breath, praying that they get through their numbers without error, their wide-eyed looks of trepidation moving me literally to tears (my kids laugh at me because I tear up at any and all "display of talent" events).

Which is exactly what happened to me at Paige's recent show choir concert. It was a middle school extravaganza with young teens singing and dancing (SOLO!) to their hearts content. Of course, as always, I found myself drawn to those who were obviously socially awkward, who looked like they wanted to die, and my heart longed to give them a big squeeze in praise and thanksgiving of their brave efforts.

My heart hurt when I imagined that some of these kids would go home that night feeling dejected and down trodden, that they would likely stew for days, reliving every voice crack, flat note, and forgotten lyric over and over and over again. This thought led my dizzying mind to the sorrows of the plight of man, how we are all so fragile and easily injured by the cruelty of others (perceived or real). And I longed to find every man, woman and child in pain, give them a big squeeze and tell them to hang in there because everything would be alright.

I have always been sensitive to the pains of others, but as I see this earth life becoming increasingly difficult for people, I sometimes feel that my heart could break. Just yesterday as I witnessed a scuffle between the crossing guard and an elderly gentleman who had mistakenly driven over the crosswalk, I felt a pang in my chest for both of them. The look of distress and embarrassment on the man's face told that his day had probably been ruined and the evident anger that plagued the crossing guard dampened her spirit as well.

This experience made me think of how much power we each possess for good or for evil. We can literally make or break a person depending on how we behave. What a difference it would make if we each went through our days seeking to uplift and strengthen. A simple, "I think you're great" could change a person’s outlook and help to put a spring in their once heavy steps.

And with judgment, criticism, and general feelings of ill will obliterated from the earth, just think of how authentic and amazing we could become.

Heck, it might even be enough to make me play piano again.
And you know you all want to hear that.

A-mazing...

I am playing make believe today.
Yes I am.
I’m pretending to be a type A person. This isn’t easy seeing as how I am more of a type, well let’s say, um… Z, yes Z person.
You say there isn’t a type Z?
Well I beg to differ, and it looks something like this:

But today is different. Today I am a type A (at least that’s what I keep telling myself). I started my type A day by trying to pull my sick child out of bed to force her to school. “You’ve been sick too much.” I told her, adding, “You can’t miss anymore days.” And, “You’re going to fail the 8th grade!”

Of course after she coughed up a lung and her temperature revealed that she was indeed toxic, I turned today’s type A-ness toward the school, telling them that yes I know my child has missed way too much school, but she’s been freakishly sick this year and what the heck was I supposed to do about it? Seriously, What?
I’m still waiting to hear from the principal.

After this morning’s upset, I turned my new type A self loose on the house. It’s called mind over matter baby and my Miss Type A Britches loves to clean the house, yes she does (at least that’s what I keep telling myself). And guess what, the house is almost all clean now (type A people clean much faster than Zs. Who knew?).

So I decided to take a blogging break (oh wait, do type A people take blogging breaks? I know, I’ll go pencil it in my planner, then it will be legit.) After my blogging break I’ll make my bed, vacuum, and fold some laundry, then my type A cleaning will be done (do type A people blog atop their unmade beds in mid-afternoon? Do type A people even sit atop their beds at all? I think not. Type A people probably only use their beds for sleeping, making them promptly upon rising. I’ll have to work on that one.)

Upon completion of my type A housework, I will use my A-1 spectacularness to contemplate dinner long before the actual dinner hour. Yes, I will actually know what I am cooking and begin preparing it long before it is time to eat. And instead of throwing out the brown bananas that are sitting on my kitchen counter, I will make banana bread for our family night treat. That’s right, no one will be running to the Mobile gas station to pick out candy tonight. It will be homemade baked goodness for all.

Wow, type A people are awesome!
I would have pretended to be one sooner but Miss Z never wanted to play.
She can be such a baby sometimes.

Break a leg...

You've heard me boob, cry and complain about living in a small town (and that's just what I've said out loud, you should hear the griping that's gone on in my mind. Not pretty.) I even wrote a poem about it during the National Poetry Month challenge. Mind you I wrote this very fast without much thought or editing, but it went a little something like this:

Goodbye

I’m missing and have been since I left the city
To live the small town, country life.
I thought I could pack myself up
Right along with the books, linens, and fine china.
As if moving all of my worldly treasures
Would be enough to make me want to go,
But it wasn’t.
I dug in my heels and stayed behind.
Trying to live my new life without me has been hard,
Very hard.
Occasionally I go back to fetch myself,
And what fun we have.
Eating at our favorite restaurants,
Visiting the museums,
And shopping.
Oh the shoes!
We bond when we buy shoes,
And I believe that maybe this time
It will be enough to keep us together.
But I always go back to the country alone,
Empty.
Longing for myself is killing me,
Robbing me of joy.
It’s time for me to move on,
To dump myself for someone new.
Someone who will share this slow paced,
Simple life without complaint,
Someone who will fill my life with new breath
Instead of choking me with reminders of the old.
Yes, I’m dumping myself,
But we can still buy shoes together, okay?
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This experience has been hard to say the least. It's nearing three years now and I'm still not sure of where I stand or how I feel. But one thing I will say that I love about this town is its dedication to the performing arts. You've never seen so many talented people in one tiny place. The high school choir program alone is enough to take your breath away. What a gifted group of kids, and their director is amazing.



Marlee auditioned for next year's choir program and I'm pleased to announce that she made it into the woman's choir (which is exactly what she had hoped for) Hooray! In helping her prepare for her audition, I was surprised by how beautifully this girl can sing. She, like her mother, never sings for others to hear so I had no idea she was that good. I hope this choir experience will give her the confidence to use her talent from now on instead of being a scaredy boob like me.
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We also have the privilege of enjoying a fun children's theater here. Last weekend Paige, Easton and Jamie performed in the play "Annie".
Paige played Annette, a maid in daddy Warbucks staff,
Jamie played one of the orphan children
and Easton had a duel roll, playing an orphan and one of daddy Warbucks' servants.
This was our third time participating in one of these plays and the kids always have a great time doing it.

So maybe that's the answer. Maybe I need to become a performer to find my happy place here. There's a great theater program for grown-up people here too. Perhaps I'll just have to march my little self down and audition for it the next time around. Yeah, maybe I will.

Do you double dog dare me?

Getting BACK in shape...

For May's SPT challenge Lelly went back into the vault to an spt challenge she really loved.
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I remember it well not only because it was a fun one, but also because it was during that challenge that I became a brunette. Who knows maybe this time around I'll go back to being blonde. Hmmm...
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Tuesday, May 5~ something old
Tuesday, May 12~ something new
Tuesday, May 19~ something borrowed
Tuesday, May 26~ something blue
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Take it literally, take it figuratively, but by all means, make a commitment to complete all four challenges for the month of may!

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SOMETHING OLD

And here it is, something old. I'm not necessarily talking about my husband and myself. Though we might be considered old by some, we are still relatively young to others, and to ourselves, well, I don't think we'll ever feel completely grown up. But what is old in this picture is our backs and the pain they are giving us.
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My back is tweaked from my neck to my ribs and Rick's lower back is all messed up. He is absolutely miserable. It's hard for me to see my big, strong, hard working, independent man in so much pain and it is frustrating for him too. This is a man who never stops. Come rain, shine, barf, fever, chills, pneumonia, whatever... he's going to get the job done. And he's still working now even with his severe pain.
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Neither one of us wants to have to slow down because our bodies decide to get old and run down. This is my number one motivation for working out everyday. Sure I want a cut, ripped, toned body, and I dream of my own Valerie Bertinelli bikini moment, but what drives me most is that I know this is move it or loose it time. I have to fight to keep my body running well and with every year that passes it's only going to get harder.
In fact I feel myself growing older even as I sit here.
So if you'll excuse me, I'm off to work out.
Even though I HATE it with a fiery passion.

Freckle Power...

I took this picture of Easton's black eye a month or two ago. It was taken a few days after she got her shiner from slipping in the bathroom and hitting her eye on the corner of a cabinet door, so it doesn't really show how bad it was. But what it does show are all of her delicious freckles. I just love those freckles. So cute.
Easton loves her freckles too. She is such a strong, confident, amazing little girl. I really admire her sense of self worth. A couple of years ago she even wrote a poem about her freckles.
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Pick a freckle off a tree
Freckles will-a- fall on you
When the freckles fall on you
You will look-a- great- a- too.
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Easton is my little writer. She is so creative and imaginative. Her work keeps me smiling all of the time. And with April being National Poetry Month, I am proud to announce that Easton completed a poetry challenge given on the Writer's Digest poetry blog, Poetic Asides.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/
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The blog gave a poetry prompt for each day in the month of April and Easton completed all thirty poems (I only got to day 13).
I am so proud of her for her perseverance and for the fun poems that she wrote.
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Because of the large volume of poems that were posted during the challenge she won't receive her certificate of completion until July, but I couldn't wait until then to tell you what an amazing job she did. I'm sure she is the only one her age to take the challenge let alone complete it.
Way to go Easton.
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I wish I was more like her.
Then maybe I would have finished too.

Beware...

My years spent being terrified of taking the trash out after dark must have been a premonition, warning me that this night would come. Because there he stood, the vision of my childhood fears, blocking my path to the house. I waited, paralyzed, unsure of what to do. If he was someone I knew and I bolted I would feel like such a fool, but if he wasn’t…

As he stepped closer the moonlight confirmed it, I had never seen this man before and instinct told me not to wait for an introduction. With no other escape I ran down our street. My dream of living on acreage fighting against me as I stumbled through the darkness, trying to make my way to the nearest house.

Coming up behind me the stranger threw me to the ground, then laughed as he hovered over me, explaining that he always kept his victims alive for five days before he disposed of them. Five days! My head spun around his words as thoughts of what could happen in those five days sickened me. Still laughing, he moved in to bite me with his snarled tobacco stained teeth. I quickly turned my face, forcing him to...

Kiss me gently on the cheek. Huh? There could be only one explanation for why I suddenly had control over someone so evil. Forcing my eyes opened, I sat up in bed. Then, with heart pounding, did what I always do after a nightmare and got up to check the locks.

Approaching the living room my heart was calmed by the sight of my hero, my protector rising up to greet me.

And even though having him sleep in the house brings the occasional stray clump of fur,

if it means protection from a psycho killer who wants to torture me for five days,
I’ll take it.

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