MOVING DAY!!

I am very excited to announce MY SITE HAS MOVED!!! Please update your information and come visit me over at the new place.

You may click HERE or go to www.angslaughter.com

I hope to see you very soon!

Duck Hurling at Nap Time

The Jeb Man got into a little trouble at school recently. The boy hates nap time. He refuses to nap anywhere other than at home in his own bed. I knew he wasn't napping at school, but his teachers assured me he was staying quietly on his nap mat.

That all changed yesterday.

His teacher met me at the door and told me he had some "issues" at nap time. Apparently, not only did he refuse to stay on his nap mat, but he also hurled his duck at other sleeping children, trying to wake them up so they could play. (I mean, it was a good plan...)

I. Was. Mortified.

I videoed part of his confessional to send to his daddy. It's pretty cute, but ends awkwardly. I guess that's how we roll.



I should have known this duck was going to be nothing but trouble.

Me in a swanky spa equals awkward

I apologize for my elusiveness over the last few days. As I mentioned, we were on a mini, no-child, no-snow vacay in Dallas over the weekend with friends. And it was amazingly fun. We went lots of places and did lots of things, but the one I want to share here, of course, makes fun of me.

On our last day, our husbands suggested Kate and I get a manicure at the Nordstrom spa. Now to many of you who regularly get manicures, that might not sound like a big deal. But I never. get. manicures. Ever. Plus, I'm a little weird about strangers touching me. (Don't try to psychoanalyze. Just roll with it.) Even so, Matt gave me no choice, and off we went to Nordstrom.

When we arrived, they immediately separated Kate and me and placed us into tiny, private, spa rooms, complete with dim lighting and Celtic, chanty, spa music. The separation threw me. I wanted to panic, but kept silently chanting, "Play it cool, Ang. Pretend you do this all the time. Just another day at the spa. Just another day at the spa." Then the nice lady had me lay down in a reclining chair (awkward), covered me with white blankets (so awkward), then said, "Ok, just close your eyes and relax," as she placed a warm towel over my face (oh, dear Lord).

Add "loss of vision" to my list of possibly causes for breakdown. Cue full-on panic.

(As a side note, I looked up the definition for panic attack. It is as follows: "an intense attack of anxiety characterized by feelings of impending doom and trembling, sweating, pounding heart, and other physical symptoms." Check. Check. Check. Check, and check.)

After a few minutes of the woman massaging my hands with seventeen different lotions, then putting them in the hot wax gloves, I realized some of my anxiety had dwindled, and I was actually sort of enjoying the experience. And then a few brief moments later, I was overcome with the question.... "Who in the heck do I think I am?" I mean there I was, lying in a chair, covered in lightly scented spa towels, while a perfectly nice woman with extremely strong hands was massaging me as though I were Cleopatra or English royalty. At that point, I was thankful for the towel over my face because I could not help but laugh at myself.

When it was all over and we met up with the boys, I showed Matt my fabulous nails and told him about the whole thing. He, knowing me the way he does, gave me a hug and laughed. Hard. And when I told him how ridiculous I felt about having someone take care of me that way, he said, "That's exactly what you deserve. I wish we could do it more often."

I love that he feels that way, and a part of me wishes I could, too. And I don't think it's just me. I mean, I know lots of women who frequent the spa often, and I think that's great. But I know just as many who never think to treat themselves and who, most likely, just like me, believe the $45 spent on them alone just isn't worth the money. But you know what? It was worth it. Even though I had to fight through my weird, irrational anxiety stuff, I had 45 minutes that, for the first time in who knows how long, was all about me. It's rare. It's precious. But I think it's ok.

What about you? Do you treat yourself enough?

Look beyond the mirror pose...

Matt and I outran the snow with a couple of dear friends to spend the weekend in Dallas. I am reduced to blogging from my iPhone, but I had to share my deal of the century.

I had one shopping goal in mind--I needed a new camel colored coat and found this little number at Macy's. Original price: $380.00. (Yikes!) Sale price: less than $100.00 (Yay!)

What do you think? I know. I know. I need to work on my mirror posing.

Life according to the iPhone

The following documents life this past week according to my iPhone.

The girls picked out some super cute shoes at Target. (I would totally wear them if they were my size.)

A few nights ago, the girls walked into the living room before bed and announced (ever so proudly), "Same panties. Same jammies. Same snuggies!"

This. Never. Happens. Estella Dru fell asleep while watching tv on the couch. Miracle of miracles. Must have been the comfort of the snuggie that lulled her to sleep.

This happens every single morning. Faulkner the cat has bed-making radar, and the moment I begin, he jumps onto the bed and doesn't move until I drag him off. Hence, the lump. Some days I just make it over the top of him.

This is a video capturing part of Jeb's nightly routine. He sits on the counter top, drinks a little chocolate milk, then stands up, counts to ten, and jumps to me. Recently, he's been counting in Spanish and can usually get to five without a problem. This night, though... not so much.

Do you tweet?

Do you Twitter? Or is it, do you tweet? Either way... do you?

I'll be honest. I love Twitter. When Matt first told me about it (years ago), I laughed and told him it sounded ridiculous to me. Who needed Twitter when we lived in a Facebook world? I have officially eaten my words.

Here are some of my recent tweets....

Kids playing hide-n-go-seek. Dru hid under blanket. When Belle found her she tried meowing to throw her off--the old pretend-to-be-a-cat trick.

Wldnt let girls watch Wiz of Oz. Snuck arnd & did it anyway. Now begging to sleep with us. Belle: I shoulda believed u abt the monkeys, Mom.

Instead of hitting Dru again, a tactic that wasn't working, Jeb reached down and calmly unbuckled her seatbelt. Pure genius.

Wonder how long before Jeb realizes he really isn't controlling the Wii, but Daddy is doing it all behind him. Twill be a sad, sad day.

Spell check always wants to change "Ang" to "Nag." My husband finds this funny.

Jeb just pointed to a bottle of Tums and yelled, "Candy!" Thanks, Grandpa.

When exiting ladies room in Fville Jason's Deli, hang a right. Straight will take you into men's room. & you will feel stupid. I'm guessing.

Guy just got on treadmill nxt to me wearing orange prison clothes. Trying to play it cool. Pretend to text. Just pretend to text.

So do you Twitter? Why or why not? Are you a loyal Facebooker? I'd love to hear.

A hero of mine

I grew up in an area where not much respect was afforded to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Maybe none at all.

In college, one of my favorite courses was on the American civil rights movement. I think it was then that my admiration of the man began and now runs deep.

To anyone who is dreaming or has ever dreamed a dream much bigger than themselves--a dream that will undoubtedly place them in the path of detractors and enemies but fearlessly chases after it anyway.... Martin Luther King, Jr. led your way.

This is Dr. King's Alabama police mugshot on February 22, 1956. I love the look on his face. There he sat, arrested, humiliated, no doubt being treated shamelessly by the Alabama authorities... but the look on his face is one of determination. Resolve. As though he's thinking, "The work I'm doing is so far above you and your inability to understand it. Do and say what you will. It will not slow me."

To the man who understood his calling and ran headlong to embrace it, no matter the cost, you are a hero of mine.

(You can go here and see some pictures from our 2009 Spring Break when we visited the Lorriane Hotel where Dr. King was assassinated.)

Pulling from the archives: Cupcake family tree

I stole these pictures from a post I did in 2009. I got the idea from this cookbook...
...and made a family tree out of cupcakes to celebrate Matt's grandmother's birthday.

I made an easy box mix for the cupcakes, tinted some icing with food coloring for a nice skin color, and used melting chocolate dyed with a little food coloring for the hair. It would have been much better to use mini M&Ms for different eye colors, but since I couldn't find any anywhere, I went with tube icing. The noses are jelly beans, and the mouths are Starbursts. You really just have to play with it all to get it work the way you like. (The cookbook gives MUCH better instructions than I can here. It's got some amazing ideas if you like to play with cupcakes. A great buy.)

I painted a tree on a large piece of white cardboard and placed 'everyone' in their proper places on the family tree. Here it is... Gran and Grandpa's legacy... in cupcake form.



Gran and Grandpa. (I love Gran's glasses.)

Pat and Sarah's family. (Owen is my favorite.)

I got a little carried away with Sarah's hair. Sorry, Sarah.

Gigi and G-Pops.

Jeb eating his cupcake self. Look how little he was.

Our family. Pretty sure I captured Matt perfectly.

This project was time consuming, but so worth it and very fun to watch everyone eat their cupcake selves. I think this would be fun to do for a little girl party and make a different cupcake for each little girl in her likeness. Maybe someday....

Random Friday

1.) My house is a wreck. If you came over, I wouldn't consider opening the door. Because I would lose friends. And respect.

2.) Yesterday when I put Jeb in the car, he said, "I no watch iCarwy." (The girls' iCarly dvd was in the dvd player.) I was thrilled. Yes! He wants a tough, boy movie. I started looking for Thomas or Diego when he said, "Hey Mama. You got Barbie?"

3.) I really want to make this. Doesn't meant that I will.

4.) Still working on book number two. I have put Matt is charge of deciding who to talk to/what to do/where to go in efforts to get number one published. It is brutally hard to get published, just in case you were wondering. One of the agents I really like posted her stats from last year. Out of 10,000 unsolicited queries (people like me who have not been referred) she received in 2010, she took on NONE of them. That's 0 out of 10,000. It's going to be hard. But not impossible.

5.) Last year at this time I was falling out of my size 2 jeans. I was sick and about to find out that life was seriously going to change. (Ahhhh, to go back to those few months of bliss when I was tiny and dying but had no idea. Sigh.) But I was falling out of my size 2s. I still have those size 2s. And that is all I will say about that.

6.) Matt has Fatbooth on his iPhone. I am sure it is politically incorrect and insensitive on so many levels. I apologize in advance. But I haven't been feeling so great this morning, so in an effort to make me smile, he sent me this picture with the caption, "Do I look bloated?" Ummm, "bloated" is not the word I would choose.

7.) We are still working on my new site. It's going to be clean and simple and I am so excited about it. One of my favorite features will be that I will have the ability to comment on a comment left by a reader. I love that and can't wait to get it up and running.

A few of my favorite things....

I love Christmas. Of course, we celebrate Baby Jesus. But also at Christmas.... I get stuff. Really cool stuff. Once-a-year-kind of stuff. I wait for Christmas like a kid. I. Love. Christmas.

I shared one of my favorite things here. (My husband couldn't have done better.) But I have a few more favorites worth sharing... in no certain order.

This is another one from Matt. (I'm telling you... he was on his game.)A CHI Ultra straightening iron. A lifesaver for me and this naturally wavy/frizzy/yuck hair. I had a CHI ultra, but sadly, it died on me last summer. Ever since I have been using a regular CHI. They are great, too, but simply don't heat up enough to give me the look I need. Plus... it's pink. Perfection. By the way, we picked this up at Ulta. They usually have great deals in the store, and if you sign up for their mailing list, they send you even better ones.

Another one of my favorite gifts came from Matt's mom. I have been needing some tall, brown boots, and she surprised me with these on Christmas morning.

I could not love them more. They are called Nicole 'Buster', and you can get them for a decent price over at Amazon. My favorite story about these boots.... Estella Dru and I were in Market Place, and she looked at me and said, "Mama, I just cannot stop starin' at your boots. Those things are rockin' hot, Girl." And they sort of are.

Another gift from Gigi which has been SO great is this little zip bag from Fossil.

I always hated pulling out my diabetes testing things at restaurant tables in the little black medical-like, hospital-ish bag I was using. This bag is the perfect size to hold all my testing stuff, and it's so stinkin' cute. If you have a diabetic friend, this would make the. perfect. gift. Here's a link.

Did you get a "favorite thing" for Christmas?

She's looking to me.

I'll be honest. We are strict parents. We aren't trying to raise "free spirits." (I've read the Bible front-to-back and have yet find that passage--"Thou shall raise thy children to be free spirited, and thou shall discipline rarely while meeting their every desire.") We are trying to raise well-behaved, disciplined children, grounded in faith, and who realize they are part of a big world that does not revolve around their every want and desire. Because it doesn't.

And I make no apologies.

That said, my kids are loved. Crazy loved. And they know it. Some days, yeah, I wish I could give them their way more or give in to their selfish little wills because I love them and want to make them so happy. But it's because I love them so much that I rarely give in. I realize to some that seems over-the- top, but ultimately, I'm raising my children for the glory of One. If I don't obey what I know in my heart to be the calling He has for me and for the lives of my children, I will have failed myself and the three most precious gifts He has ever given me.

But some days, being the parent gets frustrating. Saying "no", correcting behaviors constantly.... It's disheartening... and just plain hard. There are times I want to lock myself in the closet and just cry. Some days I think, "Grandma would know what to say... or do." But Grandma isn't here. It's me. It's my responsibility to be the best mother I can be. Still, sometimes being a Mommy is a lonely place.

Then yesterday, after a trying day with the Slaughter Sisters, I opened up my jewelry box and found a note from Estella Dru. It read simply, "I love you, Mommy." And this was the picture attached.

I realize it probably was not intended, but the emotion in her little eyes in this picture brought me to tears. It's as if she is looking to me with all the admiration in the world. Me. The one who tells her to stay in her seat, pick up her room five times a day, stop doing this, stop doing that, spanks her bootie when she needs it, assures her that while her friends may be "doing" it, make no mistake, she will not. Me. She's looking to me.

I find that miraculous.

I'll be the first to admit, I mess up as a parent all the time. ALL the time. But I believe that if we're more committed to raising our kids according to what the Lord calls us to and not this messed-up, self-loving world, our rewards will be immeasurable. Yesterday, for me, it was a note from my daughter. And it was priceless.

Snow Day=Snow Outing=Train Wreck

Yay! SNOW DAY!!

I prayed it here. I am quite certain. All me. My prayers. You're welcome.

The excitement in my house this morning was fever pitch. Every Slaughter kid was chomping at the bit to go outside. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew the outing would maybe last two, possibly three minutes. They are their mother's children. We don't do cold.

But Daddy came to their rescue, even with my warnings that, "This will not end well."

We bundled them up, a process that took approximately 35 minutes, opened the door, and out they went. Three steps later, two of them lay crying flat on their backs, having fallen on the ice. They recovered without much drama and ran into the yard.

Estella Dru got the brilliant idea to slide down the slide that was covered in snow and a little ice. I knew it wasn't wise, but before I could protest, she was being catapulted into the middle of the yard. It sort of reminded me of an old cartoon. Unbelievable, but happening before my very eyes. Though she was in tears, apparently it looked like so much fun that Jeb wanted to try. I barely caught him before he plunged to his death off an icy rung of the ladder leading up to the slide.

At this point, I called for Matt and told him this was his disaster. I was going in. I couldn't watch.

Less than a minute later, Jeb had a melt down. (No pun intended.) He was screaming and shaking and, for all intents and purposes, dying of pain. When I ran in to see what happened, bracing myself to see blood or a broken bone, Matt informed me he had taken off his gloves and touched the snow. Yes, I'm serious. Snow-touching took him down. Jeb was holding his little red hand out to me, screaming, "Mama, help! Pwease!"

Train. Wreck.

Matt rushes (yes, rushes) him into the tub to get warm when Estella Dru comes to the door crying. She was cold, too, and still reeling from her slide ordeal. I sent her to the tub. Belle wasn't far behind. 35 minutes of getting ready for maybe four minutes of unadulterated outside fun.

I let Matt deal with the snow drama, and went to gather up some snow of my own for snow ice cream. I'm sure there is some crazy delicious, sophisticated way to make snow ice cream, but around here we do it the was Grandma did it. Milk, sugar, and vanilla. No measuring. Just pouring until it looks right. And that's how I'll always do it.


Even with all the craziness, I love having them home with me for a 'surprise' snow day. Oh, and by the way, Jeb has recovered nicely and learned his lesson about the snow. When I handed him his snow ice cream, he told me, "I use spoon, Mama. Don't touch dat snow. It hurt."

Brilliant, Son. Yeah, use the spoon.

A "Snowed In" Snack

We aren't really "snowed in" today. (Dang it.) But I had planned on making these this morning to take to some sweet people who have been wonderful to us lately. And then I thought... what a great "snowed in" snack.

Someone very precious to me used to make these, and I'm so glad I thought of them after all these years. Here's what you do....

Place around a cup and a 1/2 of creamy peanut butter into a plastic baggie, squish it down to one corner, and cut a hole in that corner.

Fill the inside of Bugles chips with the peanut butter from the bag. (Some of the chips are more "open" than others. Don't force it. Just use the "open" ones and save the rest to snack on later.

I didn't count how many I made. I just filled until I got tired of filling. You can do the same.

Next, crush about a cup of pecans. And I mean crush. You want them almost powdery. Set aside. You'll need them in a minute.

Now you need to get some melting chocolate. I already had some chocolate chips, so I added the bag of chips, plus around a tablespoon of shortening to the bowl and used a double boiler system to melt. (The shortening just makes it more smoother and manageable. It's not a necessity.) You can use any sort of melting chocolate you have on hand.

Once your chocolate is melted, dip only the end of the chip into the chocolate, sealing off the peanut butter end. Before the chocolate begins to set up, sprinkle on your pecans.

Let them set up. (I put mine in the garage for about thirty minutes, and that's all it took. It's cold out there!) And that's it. Serve away.

WARNING: We made these at Christmas, and they went fast. Lightening fast. They may be slightly addictive, so if you're on a New Year's Diet, prepare yourself to resist.

And then watch yourself eat the whole batch.

Mortifying Mommy Moment Memory

My sweet Estella Dru slammed her little finger in a door at the end of school yesterday. And not the front of the door, but the back... like by the hinges. It doesn't look nearly as bad as it sounds, and nothing was broken... except for her sweet little heart.

She walked in the door with the biggest tears in her eyes and asked me to hold her. She wasn't really complaining, but she wouldn't let me let her go for the longest time. Is there anything worse than when your kids are hurting?

The whole incident reminded me of my ALL-TIME-WORST Mommy moment. I'm going to share it, but I warn you... you will never think of me the same. You may even be tempted to call DHS. But let me assure you, the guilt and shame I've carried all these years has been punishment enough.

Let the confessional begin...

When Belle was two, we were at Matt's mom's (Gigi's) house. When it was time to leave, Belle decided she wanted to stay and tried to escape into Gigi's room. I told her we had to go and that she needed to come to Mommy. Being the obedient child she was, she burst into tears and ran into Gigi's room again. I brought her out, sat her down, kicking and screaming, and shut the door to the room.

At that moment, the child let out a blood curdling scream. I assumed that is was because I shut the door, and so I popped her little bottom, made her look at me, and said, "You do not pitch fits, Belle."

And that's right about the time that I noticed three of her little fingers were caught in the back of the COMPLETELY CLOSED door. If you're not following me, let me clarify. I. Spanked. My. Child. While. Her. Fingers. Were. Being. Crushed. Inside. A. Closed. Door.

Thank God they didn't break. I honestly don't know if I could have forgiven myself. She recovered quickly, but I didn't. It was definitely one of my darkest mommy days.

But maybe my biggest mistake was confessing the whole thing to Belle not so long ago. That child forgets nothing. So yesterday when I was holding E Dru, Belle came in, looked at her sister's finger, and said, "Hey, Mama. Remember when...."

"Yes, Belle!"

"She made the purdiest corpse I ever seen."

Mouth filters. Don't you wish everyone had one? You know what I mean, right? The invisible device that only lets appropriate words flow out of an individual's mouth and keeps the inappropriate, ill-thought, offensive words in.

I think sometimes my filter filters too much. I'm crazy non-confrontational. I will nearly kill myself to avoid having "words" with someone. It has to get extremely ugly and/or involve someone I love for me to put myself out there with my words. I almost took out a 4-year-old once on the Chick-fil-a play area. (Don't mess with my kids, Punk Toddler Who Hits or Punk Toddler Who Hits' Non-observant Parent.)

So since my filter works so well, I thought I might take the opportunity here today to share some real examples of non-filtered comments I've received lately and how I actually responded versus how I would have responded without a properly functioning filter. Observe.

Example 1: To the lady who never fails to say to me, "When are you gonna cut that boy's hair?" each and every time she sees me with Jeb.

What I said: "Ha ha. Yeah, he probably needs one."

What I might have said without my filter: "Seriously? Were the trimmers on like .2 when you sheered off your poor kid's hair? How many people stop you in the mall and tell you how gorgeous your kid is? (As I point to Jeb...) See that kid? Potty trained at 25 months. Could sleep till noon every day. Counts to five in Spanish. (Thanks, Dora.) As absolutely as adorable as they come. Plus he can HEAR YOU. And asking me that question is just straight rude. Stop it."

(Ok, so that was a little intense, but please see the above statement about unfiltered statements involving my kids. I get all mama bear freaky.)

Example 2 (related to Example 1): To the lady at the Target check-out who referred to Jeb as a 'pretty little princess'.

What I said: "Oh. Yes. Yes she is."

What I might have said without my filter: "Really? A collared shirt and tie beneath a black Aerosmith t-shirt? That wasn't a tip for ya'? What about the cargo khakis and hightop Converse? Still? Still not with me?"

Example 3: To the person who continually brings up her "housekeeper" in conversations with me. (P.S. This person is NOT a blog reader, so I'm safe.)

What I say: "Oh, yeah... I so know what you mean. I like my fan blades dusted, too."

What I might say without my filter: "Ok, so you know I don't have a housekeeper right? I'm a stay-at-home mom. A proud stay-at-home mom who willingly makes sacrifices. I keep my own house. I sort of suck at it. I would love to have someone do it for me, but the thought of paying someone on our budget is laughable. If you want to loan me your awesome housekeeper, please send her my way. Here's my address. Otherwise... not cool."

Example 4: To the person who recently made an excessive amount of fun of my non-existent math skills.

What I said/What I might have said without my filter: "I'm sorry? Can you name all the American presidents in order? No. You can't. And guess what else? You can't spell president either. Yeah, I made a D- in 9th grade algebra and barely passed it in college, but I have YET to use it as an adult. How's your spelling deficiencies working out for you in the real world? Oh yes. I just went there."

(Ok, so that last one was to Matt. In extreme love, of course. He had it coming ok???!!)

Example 5: To the sweet little old man who said to me after Grandma's funeral, "She made the purdiest corpse I ever seen."

What I said: (Big hug.) "Thank you. She did, didn't she?"

What I might have said without my filter. (Big hug.) "Thank you. But that might be the creepiest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Has anyone made a non-filtered statement to you lately? Please do share.

Tico.

I swore I wouldn't share this with anyone, and here I am about to blog about it. I'm a sucker for a funny story.

It happened the week before Christmas. My house was a wreck. The kids were a wreck. I was the biggest wreck. No make up. Still in pajama pants and a sweat shirt. Scary. So very scary.

I had just taken Jeb to the potty when the doorbell rang. I wanted to ignore it, but I have frosted glass on the front door. Whoever it was must have already spotted the girls who were being much too loud in the living room. I had no choice. I left Jeb to finish his big boy business and went to answer the door.

Half way there, I remembered how hideous I looked. Again, I wanted to ignore the door, but by this time, the girls were screaming, "Mama! Somebody's at the door!" at 989 decibels.

Really? Thanks, girls.

So I swallowed my pride and opened the door to find a delivery guy standing there with a package. I tried to play it cool and made a pitiful excuse for my scary appearance and my disaster of a house. By this time the girls are standing on either side of me in their crazy-hair, 1/2 pjs 1/2 normal clothes, orphan-like state, staring at the poor guy like they haven't seen another human being in months, drooling at the package in his hand. If he wasn't terrified at that point, he should have been.

I signed the little thingy as fast as I could, handed it back to him, and... this is when it really goes downhill... I handed it back to him and said, "Tico."

Tico. Never heard that word? Oh, maybe because it's not really a word. It's a character on Dora the Explorer. Explanation: When Belle was teeny tiny, she LOVED Dora. And for some reason, her word for "thank you" was "tico." She said "tico" for years, and it just stuck with us. So from time to time, instead of "thank you" we say, "tico." But. Not. To. Strangers. Delivering. Packages.

The poor man did a double take at me after the word came out of my mouth. I wanted to turn back time and somehow reel it back in, but it was too late. I started to at least attempt an explanation when Jeb came running out the bathroom, thinking someone he knew was there. He busted out of the front door at the guy and stopped dead in his tracks. Dead in his COMPLETELY NAKED tracks. Oh yes. My son was fresh off the potty with not a stitch on.

The guy just laughed, but I'm pretty sure it was a desperate attempt not to scream. I told him, "bye," but what I really wanted to say was, "It's ok to run."

I scooped Jeb up, escaped back into the house as fast as I could, and locked the door behind us. If delivery people have a little black book where they flag people as "crazy," make no mistake... I have been flagged.

And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, as I was putting Jeb's pants back on, he looked at me and smiles, then says, "Mommy, you a printhess." I gave him a big hug. I totally needed to hear that I was a princess. I told him, "thank you" and then, from the couch, I hear Belle say, "He means your crown."

My what?

I feel on top of my head and pull off a plastic, purple, feathery, bejeweled tiara. I barely remembered when Jeb put it there while I was talking on the phone earlier that morning. Awwwwwwe. Some.

And here's what I told God.... "God, If I were a prideful person, I would totally understand that lesson. Maybe learn from it even. But since I'm NOT... I'm pretty sure You just needed the laugh."

But I guess if there IS a moral to be found to my story it would be... even when I look like a mess to the world, I'm still a princess to my son. That's a pretty big honor. Maybe the biggest. Tico, Jeb. Tico.

Go get your candy canes.

Last year, I really wanted to make THESE for Valentine's Day.

BUT...

I waited too late after Christmas and couldn't find any mini candy canes ANYWHERE. Sigh.

So this is ME, telling YOU... go find some Christmas candy on super sale, and grab up some baby candy canes. I've already got mine and will be making these adorable suckers for Valentine's Day. Make them with me!

Hello, 2011.

I am trying to get back into the groove of things after the long break. Anyone else know the feeling?

My girlies and Matt went back to school/work today. While I thought I would enjoy getting our routine back... just me and Jeb... I miss them.

I have a lot of things on my plate. Good things. This blog being one of them. I hope to improve its look, not to mention content, in 2011. (Last month, I had the highest number of visits and views I've ever had. THANK YOU. Sincerely. THANK YOU.)

2010, for me, was a year of crazy, insane changes and revelations. (Some of those revelations I haven't spoken about yet but hope to be able to very soon.) The story God wrote for me in 2010 is one that I couldn't have written in the pages of a novel. Who would have guessed a year that began with me discovering I had Type 1 diabetes--a year that began with me feeling so broken I couldn't imagine healing finding me--would prove to be one of the most amazing years of my life. I can't imagine what He can do in 2011, but He can do something even bigger. And I'm trusting Him for it. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve the air He gives me to breathe, but I'm trusting Him for bigger things. Every time I think He must be done with me, He moves in a way that leaves me with my jaw dropped.

But since this is a time of discussions about resolutions and goals, I will share one. Sorry. It's pretty generic.

In 2011, I want to..... get in great shape. (See? I told you. Generic.)

In June, Matt and I will have been married 10 years. (Crazy, I know.) We are planning a vacation to a beach somewhere. (He's being fairly shady about the whole thing. I'm going to have to do some serious sneaking to get to the bottom of it.) Anyway... we have decided to work hard and see how close we can get to our ten-years-ago-"honeymoon"-bodies. I told him it's not quite fair. I'm the one who's carried three children. But it will be fun to put in the time and effort and see how we've done in June.

I also wanted to post my favorite picture from 2010. And wouldn't you know it? It's a grainy shot from an iPhone, I think. This was taken just as Matt and I got off the plane from our mission trip to Brazil--one of the most life-changing events from my 2010. Seeing these girls for the first time in over a week... wow. It's a take-my-breath-away moment.

Do you have a take-your-breath-away moment from 2010? Or a New Year's Resolution you'd like to share? I would love to read about it.