Tongue Tied

“And there were in the same country shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night…” He listened to the childish voice carefully read over the words of the familiar story. Snow fell gently outside the windows, making the dim morning light slightly darker. It was barely seven a.m., but he couldn’t blame the kids for waking up with shrieks and laughter before the sun had even risen. It was Christmas morning, after all. The lights on the Christmas tree twinkled as the little family sat snugly around the fire. He looked into the faces of each of his children, their hair still tousled from sleep, their little feet warmly clad in plush slippers. His eldest, now eight years old, diligently read from the Luke 2 passage, while his younger son and toddler daughter listened intently, their eyes shining in anticipation. For a moment, his heart wavered as he gazed at his children, a mingling of overwhelming love and thankfulness washing over him. How had he ever gone through a day without notic

A chill swept through her and her eyes shot open. The dark ceiling loomed above her. She stared at the dingy whiteness for a moment, trying to find her bearings. She lay still, not stirring the sheets on her bed, her mind racing. What had awakened her with such a jolt? Finally, she noticed she wasn ’t breathing and exhaled as she tried to relax. There had been a voice. A man. Saying her name. Had she dreamed that? A dog barked down the street, and she jumped at the noise, then rolled her eyes at herself. Forcing a calm she did not feel, she pulled the sheets to her chin and willed herself to close her eyes. She had been so jumpy since it happened. Almost three months had passed since the accident. Most of the time, she was just so grateful that she was still alive. Paralyzed, but not deceased. A better fate than some of the others on the bus that day. For the millionth time, she replayed the events in her head. The gentle rumble of the bus suddenly changing to screeching tires. People

Actually, less than a year, since I didn't purchase my camera till April. But I still managed to take thousands of photos this year. Here are some of my favorites. There are a lot. It may take your browser a minute to come to terms with my obnoxious need for so many photos. Believe it or not, I was able to narrow down a favorite. This one symbolizes so much of my year and makes me happy when I look at it, which is often since it's hanging on the wall in our room. Drumroll please..... Sappy, I know. But Love wins. All the time.

It's that time again, folks. The highlights of my year in various categories. This will be the new expanded category edition. With subcategories. Get ready to live. Media Movie: Inception Television/drama: Fringe Television/comedy: Community (Sorry, 30 Rock. You were a close second.) Song/Secular: "We'll Be a Dream" (We The Kings), "If It's Love" (Train) *(In related news, WORST secular songs this year that make me throw up in my mouth a little: "Need You Now" (Lady Antebellum) and "Teenage Dream" (Katy Perry) Gag.) Song/Sacred: "How He Loves" (David Crowder Band), "Oh, My Dear" (Tenth Avenue North), "Beloved" (Tenth Avenue North), "Healing Begins" (Tenth Avenue North) There could be a lot more in both song categories. It was a good music year for me. Band: You guessed it, Tenth Avenue North. B ook/Fiction: Her Daughter's Dream (Francine Rivers) Book/Non Fiction: True Humility (

In an effort to find the silver lining in what has been a tremendously trying few days in my motherhood career, I'm looking for the positives of being a stay at home mom. Which is hard to do when there are a lot of negatives screaming at your face. Like being dirt poor. Like feeling completely overwhelmed with homeschooling and sure that you are totally going to fail your kids big time and at the same time wanting to stick it to the stupid state laws that enforce that every child should learn exactly the same way because apparently those in charge of the public education system are flippin' geniuses. Like not being able to have a moment to yourself unless you turn cartoons on and are subsequently flooded with bad mother guilt. Like finding out your shampoo bottle suddenly contains only water. Or realizing that your housekeeping is near Hoarder's level chaos but knowing you can't take a day off school to get it done. What was I talking about? Right, silver lining. A few

The door of the bar rang out an annoying jingle announcing his arrival. The tinkling sound threatened to awaken the migraine he‘d been ignoring all night. He stamped the snow from his boots and bellied up to the bar. “Hey, there.” The bartender gave him a nod. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. Is it that time of year already?” Taking off his hat, he exhaled. “Yep. Busy season too.” “Take a load off. The usual?” The bartender was already filling a glass with his favorite drink. He gave a nod of thanks and accepted the frosty mug. “Rough night?” “You wouldn’t believe it. This storm coming through makes things ten times harder. Can’t take a snow day though. People expect my work to get done even if the post office closes.” “Guess you can’t exactly call off in your position, huh.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine the chaos? Not to mention the nagging I’d get from the misses.” “All over now though. What are your plans for vacation?” “We’re thinking somewhere tropical this year. Any ideas?” “I hear

Today was a rough day. Today, I felt yucky. Headache. Constant sneezing. Fatigue. LOTS of fatigue. So, I started late, but I still managed to take ten photos today. We did not do school today, since my body wanted to remain generally in the reclined position. Thing One took advantage of the freedom and played happily all day. First it was airplanes on Mom and Dad's bed: Then it was racing with Thing Two: Then he covered every inch of road space on his track rug with vehicles: Finally it was naptime. Blessed, blessed naptime: I tried to self medicate my illness: While Thing Two slept and Thing One watched cartoons, George and I kept the couch warm: I woke up when the tree came on: Finally, I took this. And boy, did it help me feel better. Wish I hadn't waited till 5 pm to take it. This is a familiar sight this week. Stupid writer's block: Thing One finished his day of no education with some Mario Kart: So, interesting day, huh. We're just wild and crazy here in my world.

I have writer's block. So. Annoying. I can't tell you how many posts I've started writing this week and scrapped. Nothing is coming out right. Where words usually seem to appear magically on the screen, lately I've struggled to form a few coherent sentences. I'm hoping it's on its way out though, since tomorrow is a double post day (Ten on the Tenth and Flash Fiction Friday). Not being able to write is too disconcerting. It makes me feel edgy and nervous with a side of frustration. I've filled the void with chocolate. This could become a problem.

“Remember when they were babies? All cute and soft.” “And they were quiet as long as we held them.” “Yeah…that was nice.” “Woah, watch out. Almost took a lego to the head there.” “It’s okay, I’ve got good reflexes.” “Remember when we could leave the house at nine to go see a movie?” “And not worry that we had to rush home because the babysitter was probably locked in the bathroom suffering post traumatic stress disorder. I should give Kaitlyn’s mother a call and see how she’s doing.” “I don’t think they’ll be taking our calls for awhile.” “Probably not. At least not until her hair grows back.” “Is there any milk left?” “Did you check the fridge?” “That was my first line of reasoning.” “Try the pantry.” “The pantry?” “Yeah.” “Why on earth would the milk be in the--hey, there it is.” “Told you. Has it gone bad?” “Eh, not quite room temperature. We’ll survive.” “There are clean sippy cups in the dishwasher.” “Do you smell that?” “Oh no. No, no, no, no! WHERE DOES POOPY GO?” “I think he’s

I'm becoming one of those girls. I might as well admit it. Get ready to judge me. No, not those girls. You have a dirty mind. But the truth may be worse. I'm becoming....crafty. In the past month, I have gone through about seventeen hot glue sticks and burned through the top layer of skin on all my major fingers. I've scoured my attic for old scrapbook paper and scissors and ribbon. I've spray painted so much that I'm afraid to light a match in my house. And I've loved every minute of it. I've never been crafty. I was okay at scrapbooking, but I stopped doing it shortly after we got married. I resigned myself to the fate of uncreative where arts and crafts are concerned. I went so far as to decide that stay at home moms who are good at crafting might as well don jumpers and wear sweaters with cats embroidered on them. I mock what I can't do. It helps me cope with failure. Then, suddenly, I started flirting with the idea of busting out my old neglected gl

He's three today. He looks exactly like my husband. He runs around on his tip toes and with his tongue hanging out. And he's a pretty solid child, so running on tip toes doesn't make his approach any quieter. He was a very fat baby. See below. He's happy 91% of the time. He squeals and shrieks when he's happy. He winks and raises his eyebrows when he's being mischievous. He sticks his bottom lip out when he's sad. He's expressive and theatrical. He knows how to work a room. Unlike his older brother, who cannot pull off a lie to save his life, this one can manipulate. He's the one I'll definitely have my eye on when he's a teenager. He also has many accents. English is like his second language, or third perhaps. Sometimes it's tinged with Italian, such as "It's a-really coooool -a." Sometimes it sounds a bit like New Jersey or Boston, since he says his r's like " ahhh's ". He comes into my room and sits on