Waiting on Baby...

The changing table is in place, cloth diapers are organized, and the bassinet is in it's spot by the bed, little blue blankets folded and waiting for someone to warm. Now all we need is a baby. And after nearly 10 months of waiting, we are so ready for this little one to come!

When we went to the ultrasound, we were planning on being surprised. But alas, while showing us a few final images of baby B, my husband and I both saw a little too much. We knew right away we were having a boy. But we left the ultrasound room, still planning on being surprised. Stopping in the hall, we turned to one another and both said that we knew what it was. Laughing, we shared that it had to be a boy and wanting to be certain at this point, as opposed to 99% sure, we knocked on the door to the ultrasound room, and a surprised technician greeted us. We asked her to confirm our suspicions and she very sweetly told us we were having a boy. Then, she urged us to come back into the room so she could take some more pictures just for fun.

So once we knew our "it" was actually a "he", all we had to do (aside from completely overhauling our bedroom to accommodate a pint sized person) was choose a name. Easier said than done this time around. We tossed around a few ideas, but nothing had that special something. And then one day my husband suggested a name and I immediately agreed. But what about that surprise we had been hoping for in waiting to find out the baby's gender? So right away, we decided we would keep the name to ourselves and tell our family and friends once the little guy made his grand entrance. This is driving our families crazy and there has been much guessing. More than once, they've asked one of our kids what the name is. Like we would tell those two rug rats, hehe.

Everyday, people check in on me to see if anything is happening, but alas, this baby seems quite comfortable where he is. I think he hears all the commotion in our little house and has decided to stay put where it's a little more peaceful ;) Though little does he know there are two pairs of tiny arms just itching to show him love. I have much to be thankful for and look forward to the next phase in our lives!

Book Review: Mine Is The Night

The story:


Stepping from a battered coach on a rainy April eve, newly widowed Elisabeth Kerr must begin again, without husband or title, property or fortune. She is unafraid of work and gifted with a needle, but how will she stitch together the tattered remnants of her life? And who will mend her heart, torn asunder by betrayal and deception?


Elisabeth has not come to Selkirk alone. Her mother-in-law, Marjory Kerr, is a woman undone, having buried her husband, her sons, and any promise of grandchildren. Dependent upon a distant cousin with meager resources, Marjory dreads the future almost as much as she regrets the past. Yet joy still comes knocking, and hope is often found in unexpected places.


Then a worthy hero steps forward, rekindling a spark of hope. Will he risk his reputation to defend two women labeled as traitors to the Crown? Or will a wealthy beauty, untainted by scandal, capture his affections?


The heartrending journey of the Kerr women comes to a glorious finish in Mine Is the Night, a sparkling gem of redemption and restoration set in eighteenth-century Scotland. 


My thoughts:


There are few authors who spin a tale as delightful as Liz Curtis Higgs does time and time again. After reading Here Burns My Candle, I was eagerly anticipating the sequel to the Kerr family story. And Mine is the Night does not disappoint! Laced with the colorful details of 18th century Scotland, Mrs. Higgs weaves a story richer in colorful details than any tartan plaid. As with every story written by Liz, her painstaking research comes through so effortlessly, that the reader is whisked away to another time and place. With cozy fireplaces, delectable Scottish fare and heartwarming characters, Mine is the Night is the perfect autumn read. 

      ~Joanne

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1950's Etiquette from Emily Post

My dad and I have a mutual bond: geeky humor. He picked up a copy of Etiquette by Emily Post at a yard sale and we've had fun thumbing through it. While the values hidden in these now humorous cautions are worth considering, times have drastically changed. So just for fun...

Hospitality at College: When Wrong Clothes Spell Failure

If the college should happen to be in a warm climate, naturally foulard dresses or cotton prints would take the place of the warm woolens. But at a college that is, let's say, snow-bound for many months, it is important that the clothes be warm and that heavy gloves, low-heeled shoes, and galoshes be included. Nothing could be more unappealing to a boy that a girl in such unsuitable clothes that she can take no part in any outdoor sports. High-heeled evening slippers in which to walk on frozen snow, and thin fluffy clothes when the thermometer is zero, will not impress any boy as alluring, but will make him wish he hadn't handicapped himself with such a nuisance.

A Few don'ts for Debutantes

Don't think that because you have a pretty face, you need neither brains nor manners. Don't think that you can be rude to anyone and escape being disliked for it. Whispering and giggling are always rude. Everything that shows lack of courtesy toward others is rude.


If you would be thought likable, don't nudge or paw or finger people. Don't hold hands or walk-arm-about-waist in public. Don't allow anyone to paw you. Petting is cheap--and pawing common. Don't hang on anyone for support, unless necessary! Don't walk across a ballroom floor swinging your arms. Don't talk or laugh loudly enough to attract attention, and on no account force yourself to laugh. Nothing is flatter than laughter that is lacking in mirth. If you laugh only because there is something irresistibly funny, the chances are that your laugh will be irresistible too. In the same way, a smile should be spontaneous, because you feel happy, and pleasant. Nothing has less allure than a mechanical grimace, as though you were trying to imitate a toothpaste advertisement. 


Say that to a roomful of today's teens. Hehe. Wait, do I hear crickets chirping?

Adventures In Country Living: Homemade Soap

I decided to make soap. From scratch. And it sounded like a really good idea. A fun, simple activity that shouldn't be too hard to screw up. I watched a video on making soap that seemed easy enough. After watching it a few more times, I was confident. If they could do it, I could do it. Simple as that, right?

The first thing I had to do was order the lye from a soap making company. It came in really intimidating containers with hazard warnings all over it. I knew it was caustic which meant it would burn if I got it on my skin. Not intimidating in the slightest *cough*. Insert cheesy Christmas apron and bright blue rubber gloves. I was certain I could handle this without a trip to the ER.

So once I got all the rest of my various oils, fragrances, and other necessities like molds, spoons, pot, etc., I was ready to go. I timed my soap making adventure to take place during the kids' naps so no harm would befall them, and once they were snoozing away, I set up all the supplies outside so I wouldn't breathe the fumes.

I was ready to go.

All my ingredients were carefully weighed (not measured) and all that was left to do was snap on my rubber gloves and face the dreaded container of lye. After a mini pep talk and a few heart palpitations, I opened the lid and poured it into the bowl. Add the lye to the water only, not the other way around. I kept repeating this to myself as I went through the motions. Immediately, as expected, the pot steamed as the lye heated up the water in a cloud of funky smelling solution. And of course I think I got some on my rubber gloves.

Why is it that once you get in a position where you can't touch anything, every surface on your body starts itching? I sort of wiggled and tried to psych myself out of the crazies as I stirred the mixture, thankful for my rubber gloves. I don't know if it actually happened or if it was just a result of being over neurotic, but I was certain that a drop of lye got on my skin. In a moment of sheer panic, I poured white vinegar on it (as the video instructed) and hurried inside to rinse it all off. My husband, who was sort of poking around, seemed slightly worried for my health and sanity. Once I assured him that I was a highly trained professional and the incident required no medical attention, he seemed only more worried. He may have hovered after this point.

Back outside, I added the rest of the ingredients, coconut and olive oil, to name a few. This is a good point to mention that the video highly recommended using an immersion blender. Well I didn't have an immersion blender and thinking that I would just do it the "old fashioned way", figured it wouldn't really matter. If our ancestors could do it without an immersion blender, so could I. Stirring with a wooden spoon would just take longer. That's OK, I thought, I've got plenty of time.

Fast forward an hour and a half. I'm still standing there with my stupid snowman apron, stupid blue gloves and stupid wooden spoon...waiting for the famous "tracing" to occur--the point when the mixture has thickened properly. It was here that I learned that talking to a pot of soap and begging it to trace will not actually make it happen. Eventually my soap sort of traced (shhh, don't tell) and I decided to call it good enough. I dumped in pumpkin pie spice, yummy fall fragrances and some oats for exfoliation, stirred it together, and poured the mixture into my well-greased mold to set. After that, I cut it and left it to cure for several weeks.

Of course since tracing didn't actually occur, my mixture was still quite warm and down the road, when we used the first bar, I realized the oats had sort of cooked. Lovely. Just the effect I was going for. So now, I have a lifetimes supply of apple and oatmeal scented soap that is rather homely. But honestly, it works quite well. So if you know me, don't be surprised when you get a bar at Christmas. And when you discover my mushy oat mistake, please just smile and pretend like you didn't read this.

Farewell, Television...

So we have officially gone five months without a TV in our home. Well, the TV is still there but its not hooked up to anything except our trusty VCR.

Now, rewind five months….

As my husband and I discussed the pros and cons of having television, we realized this would mean no more American Idol. No more Top Chef or HGTV or Outdoor Channel. No more…cartoons. GASP! What would we do without a TV? Well, we decided, we’d save a lot of money each month. We did the math, in four years it would be several thousand dollars. I can’t think of a single hour that I've spent watching TV that changed my life. I can’t get a single one of those hours back. And if I reached the end of my life and was given the opportunity to have all that time back, I would take it in a heartbeat.

I remember sitting there watching one of my favorite shows and thinking, what am I doing? If there had been a mirror right there, know what I would have seen? Me, sitting on the couch without moving, staring at the box across from me. Wow. Impressive.

We saw this as our chance. Not only to unplug, but to spend more time as a family. More time getting real stuff done and living life instead of watching others do it. 

Our routine has been to let the kids watch about ½ an hour a day, while missing some days all together. No TV, no problem. We’ve got plenty of good videos for the kids and the library provides extra variety. Plus, there's just way too many fun things to fill up a kid's day than cartoons. Now when the kids go down to bed at eight, instead of one of us plopping on the couch and choosing something off the DVR, my husband and I turn to each other and one of us always asks, “What do you want to do tonight?”

And we hang out.

We talk. Sometimes we both have projects to keep us busy. Sometimes we watch a movie. My new favorite thing we do is read aloud to each other. I love falling asleep to the sound of my husband reading to me from one of his books, or better yet, his Bible. And the other night, I read a couple pages from Thunder Dog and my husband laid there, listening to the real life account of escapees in a stairwell in the World Trade Center.

Of course we could have been watching Lady Gaga do something life-changing on American Idol…tempting, but I think we’ll stick with what we’ve got!

The Pages of My Journal

I keep a journal. I've kept one for as long as I can remember...all the way back to that little book with the gold colored lock and tiny key I kept hidden away in my room when I was a girl.

I've saved every journal I've ever filled. Now, the one sitting on my dresser contains memories from my first son's birth and then my daughter's and everything in between. I've taped memories inside: ticket stubs from a special date with my husband, the little greeting card that came with a gift of flowers from an illness, tracings of my son's feet and hands when he sat with me one night, watching me scribble away. With a broken heart, I've torn pages out of my journal and watched days best forgotten scatter like the wind. It is a record of my life. The good moments. The everyday memories that I couldn't risk forgetting. The not so good.

Every so often, I flip back through my journal and remember where the adventures of life began. I did just this last night. And each time, it nearly takes my breath away. I am once again awed by God's steadfastness in every area of my life. My journal has been a journey of faith. Through ups and downs, I continually see the same thing repeated; God is in control. And each time I scribble that phrase, or its many variations, I know--I believe--that pages and pages down the road of life, I will flip back and think to myself, Yes, He certainly was!

Character Quality: Meek

In the age of pop culture where spunky go-getters are incredibly popular, I am still a fan of the meek woman. I think many of us when confronted with that odd little word have the simple reaction of substituting the "M" for a "W."

But there is a great difference between a woman who is weak and one who is meek. Allow me to explain.

You're looking at the very pretty Hattie Morahan who plays Elinor Dashwood in the BBC series Sense and Sensibility. I know, you've heard it from me before but its one of my favorite movies. This is why...

Elinor was meek.

The bible calls those who are meek blessed. (Matthew 5)

It does not say passive.
It does not say pitiful.
It does not say doormat

It says blessed.

In Sense and Sensibility. Elinor Dashwood loved a man. Her sister Marianne also loved a man. Both sisters loved and lost. Yet one embraced the realization with meekness and a humble spirit, no doubt relying on the truth that her fate was in the hands of the One who created her. The other stitched her heart to her sleeve, parading her distress for all to see and feel and was so self-consumed with her own misery, that she forgot anyone else existed in the world.

It isn't until the end of the story that Marianne speaks to her older sister about her regrets of her relationship with the wretched Mr. Willoubhy whom she nearly married.

Elinor asks, "Do you compare your conduct to his?"

Marianne replies, "No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with yours."

There is something attractive about a woman who is meek. Though she is not loud in her ways, she accomplishes much. She is a safe haven for the hurting. A glow to those who are lost. A warmth of understanding and maturity. Wise words come from her lips and sound council can be found in her friendship.

Because she does not live in fear. She stands fast in the promises of God:

"LORD, You have heard the desire of the humble; You will prepare their heart; You will cause Your ear to hear, To do justice to the fatherless and the opressed..." (Psalms 10)

Photo credit: Sense and Sensibility (BBC), 2008