Can Anyone Explain This To Me?

I don’t understand it.

I’ve researched and compared.

I’ve tilted my head left.

I’ve tilted my head right.


So I’m turning to you, my trusted friends, to calm my nerves, to ease my soul.

Can someone, anyone, please explain to me the newest obsession with leggings that are uniquely patterned?

I’m talking about the leggings that are all the rage. And you are suppose to wear them in public around people. To a place like the mall, or to meet your husband for lunch or like to grab a drink with friends. I don’t want to grab a drink with friends wearing these:

Or even these:

Or not even these:

Not here nor there not anywhere, I will not wear them on a boat, I will not wear them with a goat.

Seriously though, can ANYONE give me a good argument for this legging nonsense that is taking over the suburbs and brainwashing all of the moms and women with ‘active lifestyles’, and multiple children. This movement that is somehow convincing normally trendy and sane women that leggings with cats on them is not just acceptable but “cute”.

I can’t even with this.

What do you think? Do you like this legging trend that is trying to infiltrate our homes and marriages? I’m just saying, if I came downstairs wearing pineapple print leggings that cost $55 my husband would actually say to me : WTF ?!

Comment below and tell me your thoughts.

P.S. I’m sorry if you own some.  We can still be friends, we just can’t have drinks while you wear them.  ❤️


How My Big 4-0 Went From A Bang to Fizzle

On my 39th birthday, I raised my glass and made a declaration, “I’m going to Vegas for my 40th!”
“Let’s do it!” They chanted.
“I’m in!” they yelled.
As the months went by, we contacted travel agents, picked dates and hotels. We were absolutely going to Vegas for my 40th birthday.
Then Christmas came and decisions needed to be made.  I really needed a new camera if I was going to take my photography seriously. I was forced to make a practical decision, a Canon over a Plane Ticket.
My husband is constantly trying to make my birthday special, so he promised to celebrate me… I hate celebrating me. Every year for 39 years I have absolutely hated my birthday. I have hated the attention, I do NOT like surprises ( DO. NOT.) and don’t like the moments of reflection that birthdays cause for me. My 30th sent me into a 6 month depression. I got a cake stand and a mud scraper for my front porch.  Nothing says your getting old like a mud scraper.
The weeks leading up to my big day, my man made plans and calls and surprised me… not with Vegas, but with Austin, to go see a Motown Band that I absolutely love. We made the reservations, my mom bought me a super cute black dress and OH! the Michael Kors heels I found on sale at Dillard’s, and I never go to Dillard’s.  It was meant to be.
Exactly one week before the big 4-0, Michael and I sat down to our Valentine’s day lunch and my phone buzzes, “HI, this is the nurse from Zac’s school…”
His lungs.
His chest.
He needs to be picked up.
I remained hopeful he would heal. My Bestie from Florida came to visit for a few days and kept me focused on fun, ushering in my new decade with an embrace.
And then Saturday night came, “Mom, I can’t breathe.”
One ER visit….then 5 hours later another….
and then this happened….
We canceled our reservations in time to get a refund and then hung out in the intermediate care unit crossing our fingers (and saying our prayers) that l would at least to get to sleep in my own bed for my birthday.
But instead, I kicked it old school and celebrated my 40th in the hospital where I celebrated my very birth.  My best friend brought me presents, my other super great friend brought me Nothing Bundt Cake, Zac was feeling better. My plans of embracing 40 were a bust, but I seriously didn’t even care anymore. I just wanted to sleep.
I did finally get my rest in my own bed. And OH! that nice long, glorious shower.  A new weekend was upon us, and a group of my homegirls were determined to not let my birthday slip by without a bang….so a bang it was.
Kidnapped at (nerf) gunpoint, I was taken to dinner and dancing and to sleepover.  Zac said, “Mom, you should wear your heels.”  So I did.
While I was gone my husband worked tirelessly to refinish my grandmother’s vanity for me and re-did our room! He said that wasn’t my present, but it was a beautiful gift. For my Big Birthday he wanted to buy me a tattoo…I so desperately wanted a tattoo, but I needed a laptop.  So yes, I went practical and got a new laptop instead.
Zac isn’t out of the woods, he’s missed so. much. school and we go to see the specialist next week.
As for me, I’m done celebrating this birthday and most likely every other one. Now that I’m 40 I know so much. It’s amazing what you learn, BANG, just like that. I know that I”m grateful we didn’t have plans to go to Vegas, because I may not have been there when Zac got sick. I know that birthdays just aren’t my thing, and I don’t have to pretend that they are. I also know that sometimes a fizzle is just practicality and practicality sometimes is what takes you the furthest in life. And you can go anywhere you want in Michael Kors heels.
What big “BANGS” in life have you had planned that just slowly fizzled?  Comment and share with me.

5 Reasons Why My Daughter & I Are Better Than The Gilmore Girls

Alyssa made me watch it. She said, “Mom, you have to binge Gilmore Girls with me. They. Are. Us. ”

I wasn’t too thrilled. I had tried the show before via reruns and couldn’t get into it. Over/Cheesy-Acting…and Stars Hollow…I mean really, who names a town Stars Hollow?!

But I watched. Episode 1, then 2 …then 15. I was hooked. It was horrible, yet so, so good.

And every moment of seamless conversation between Lorelai and Rory made me miss my Alyssa even more. And I missed her so much, because she was right… Gilmore Girls…


As I went on, and developed true emotional ties and family like love, I also developed family like dislike of some them. Surprisingly, I found myself really really hating–or rather STRONGLY DISLIKING–wait for it– LORELAI.

Saying I hated the mom was like saying I hated myself. I was dysfunctionally “ONE” with this show, seriously dysfunctional.

As I thought about my relationship with my daughter, I soon realized that we are so much better than the Gilmore Girls. Here are my 5 reasons why. It helps if you’ve seen the show, but even if you haven’t, I think you’ll be encouraged in your own relationships with your kids.

1. My daughter is not my entire purpose in life. Probably because I have 4 other children and a husband. But I think this is an important point to look at. It’s so great to have a close relationship with your kids, in fact, it’s one of the most fulfilling things in any mother’s life. But I don’t totally and completely depend on Alyssa for the purpose of my being. I see too many parents who put their kids at the foundation of their identity. ahem Lorelai.

2. As Rory grew up and moved away to college, Lorelai still wanted to know every intimate detail of Rory’s life. I absolutely want Alyssa to talk to me about things, in fact I want all of my kids to know that I am here for them in the most difficult of circumstances and just to chat about their favorite coffee shop. But I do not want to know when they are having sex or every intimate detail of their relationships. I want to speak truth and guide. I want to listen and be there when they can’t navigate on their own. I will ask questions but I absolutely refuse to invade their ability to make their own decisions and most importantly their own mistakes. I am a friend, but I am not their peer. At some point, I have to let go.

3. If Alyssa or my other children have a dream to go to specific college when they are 12, I won’t throw a temper tantrum if they change their mind at 18. In addition, if they take a break from college because they feel lost and confused at 19 I will not throw a temper tantrum and refuse to talk to them because they don’t do what I want or expect of them. Life is hard, even more so at those ages where you can’t legally buy beer. I had no clue what I was doing when I was 19 or 20 or 21. Hell, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing now. Alyssa, Cody, Zac, Karah & Kayla don’t need my emotional needs to cloud their judgment of their lives. I will err on the side of them finding their own way over me thinking I know what’s best (even though I probably do). My fears and failures aren’t their job to fix.

4. I am not so protective of my relationship with Alyssa, or any of my offspring, that I want to be the only adult in their lives they love and depend on. I encourage my kids to have other trusted adults in their lives they can talk to…especially about me. I’m not perfect(most days anyway) and sometimes they will struggle in their relationship with me. They need people they can talk to and get guidance from who aren’t so totally in love with them.

5. We have Jesus. This is really the most important reason. I know, I know, it was just a TV Show. But I hated how the Christian mother/daughter relationship in the show (Lane & Mrs. Kim) was so rigid and Pharisee-ical. It is so opposite of a real Christ-centered mother/daughter, parent/child relationship. Because we have Jesus, I can pray for my kids, and pray with them. I can lead them to a source of truth, not opinion or feeling. I can encourage them to become all that God created them to be, not all that I want them to be. When they don’t know where to college or who to marry or what to do with their future, we have a fearless, confident perspective that God will provide and He is Sovereign and everything will legitimately be okay.

Despite that I know we are better, I know we aren’t perfect. I know we are all just trying to do our best as moms. But I’m glad I found Lorelai & Rory.  I loved the Gilmore Girls. I loved how it brought me and Alyssa even closer. I love how it made me miss her and hug her tighter when I saw her. But I will say, most of all, I loved Kirk.

What did you love and hate about the Girls? Comment and let’s chat about it!

Strange, Strange Love & Hate Relationships

This morning as I was in the shower, and the water was washing over me I thought to myself…
My hair is really dirty.
Like really dirty. Like needs 2 washes with half a bottle of shampoo dirty.
I hate washing my hair.  Hate hate hate.  I don’t like the feeling of wet hair on my head, I don’t like drying it.  I don’t like the process it takes to “do” my hair.  I don’t like to take the time knowing that it will just be gross again in 24… 36… 48…. ok 72 hours.
In my deep self-awareness, and during the second wash I recognized the many normal things I just hate doing. And so of course,  there are not so normal things I love doing.
Here’s my lists:
Washing my hair (obviously)
Going to the pharmacy
Paying for dry cleaning
Buying toilet paper
Pumping gas
Working out
Painting my nails
Minecraft conversations
Cleaning small bathrooms
Sleeping too long, too late, too much
Doing research
Dry Shampoo
My hate list is longer than my love list, and I really had to put some effort into coming up with weird things I love.  I mean, SLEEP, come on–who doesn’t LOVE to sleep ALL the time (Like if I had a choice, alll of my free time would be sleeping).
Humans are filled with so many strange, strange loves and hates.  What are YOURS? Comment and tell me weird things you love and weird things you hate.

Disenchanted: High Expectations

chocolate chipI can’t eat a homemade chocolate chip cookie without craving watered down tropical punch Kool-Aid to go with it. Weird, I know. Cookies and Kool-Aid are actually time traveling devices that transport me back to 90 degree mornings outside on the front walkway of the church during the best week of my summer, Vacation Bible School. Every summer, at our small Lutheran church, the halls were transformed and the cookies were baked. I loved our little church. I went every single Sunday, well almost. I had a God-mother who took her title very seriously and expected us to show up, me with my panty hose and patent leather shoes. Church was a place where I belonged, even though most of the time I was the only kid in my class. My teacher still showed up every week, to teach, just me. I wasn’t ever combined with another class or made to feel like I wasn’t important enough to be taught.


After Sunday school I would walk over to the church building, where the women were scattered about in the kitchen, making coffee and serving cookies. The men were picking up chairs or standing waiting on their women. I would sit next to my grandmother, waiting for her to dig out a piece of gum for me, always making too much noise and gaining disapproving looks from everyone around. She would simply roll her eyes and make all the noise she wanted, even during prayer. I made sure to memorize all of the liturgies and “sayings’. I would flip through the hymnals and pretend that I could sing, and that I knew them all. I don’t ever remember saying that I didn’t want to go, or that I was ready to leave.

I loved church.

I still love church.

Church was such a safe place for me, away from the realities of my somewhat dysfunctional and painful life. Somehow, a midst all of it, Jesus found me there in that church . I was in Christmas plays, and read from the Bible on Sunday mornings. We went to banquets and dinners and celebrated holidays and grieved the dead.

Best friends were made at church, and those friends, somehow became family. Life happened at my little Lutheran church on the corner of that aging neighborhood. I found eternity at church, ministry was planted in my heart at that small church, the love of Christ became real there through people and family and experiences.

There is a part of me that feels like this is the intended definition, and maybe what I still search for. Or maybe it’s just a really great childhood memory that I relentless try to recreate. Whatever it is, it’s something. And I keep looking for it.  The countless churches I’ve tried and prayed about it and sought after all were missing it.  Even though ‘COMMUNITY’ was in the name of most of the churches, community is what lacked most. I give high fives to those that try to create and imitate, but it just can’t be forced.  It just can’t be programmed or designed or modeled.

That little church growing up really understood genuine love and concern.

Most churches miss that…

Our society misses that…

How do we fix it?! Ironically, the church is where it must start.

What is your favorite church community memory?  What are some things you see working in the church?