Feigned Sincerity

Overheard While Homeschooling Teenagers

2023-03-16T13:10:00.002-05:00

"This is stupid."

[multiple times a day from both parties...we're working on that.]

"Is 'integumentary' spelled with a 'j'?"

[No. No, it is not.]

"I need to do my math in here [the kitchen] because math makes me sad and the sadness may kill my daisies."

[Sound logic.]

"But singing HELPS me do the math."

[Not according to your grades, it doesn't.]

"Mom, you gave me the key, not the quiz."

[Again, multiple times a week.]

"Oohh! I got that one right on accident! I didn't know what it meant, so I just said, 'No.'"

[The math gods smiled on him, apparently.]

"Can we order pizza for lunch?"

[Almost daily.]

"Can we skip this chapter? It's hard."

[Er, that's a nope.]

"I can too do math like this [hanging off his bed with the book on the floor]... the blood rushing to my brain helps me think."

[I'll just pull him back onto the bed once he passes out.]

"Is it time for lunch, yet? My brain is hungry."

[It was only 10am.]

"Can I quit for the day since Dad got home early?"

[Again, no.]

"I'ma need another cup of tea to get through science."

[happy to oblige]

"I love homeschool because you'll still grade my algebra even if it's covered in dorito dust."

[Yes, but I'm not happy about it.]

"It's raining. Can we take today off to just sit and read and drink tea?"

[That's a yes, from me.]

"I like geometry in math class because it's so much easier."

[I'm not about to burst her 7th grade bubble.]

"What class is this for?" [taking out the trash]

[dowhatmomsayswithoutcomplaining101]

How to Be Happy

2023-02-09T11:38:00.001-06:00

John 13:1-17 Now before the feast of the passover, when Jesus knew that his hour was come that he should depart out of this world unto the Father, having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end. And supper being ended, the devil having now put into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray him; Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God; He riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and took a towel, and girded himself. After that he poureth water into a bason, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded. Then cometh he to Simon Peter: and Peter saith unto him, Lord, dost thou wash my feet Jesus answered and said unto him, What I do thou knowest not now; but thou shalt know hereafter. Peter saith unto him, Thou shalt never wash my feet. Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me. Simon Peter saith unto him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head. Jesus saith to him, He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit: and ye are clean, but not all. For he knew who should betray him; therefore said he, Ye are not all clean. So after he had washed their feet, and had taken his garments, and was set down again, he said unto them, Know ye what I have done to you? Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well; for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you. Verily, verily, I say unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord; neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them.

This passage came up in our church ladies' group recently, and a friend said, "I have heart it (washing another one's feet) explained as an act done humbly, in service and often."

I thought about this and added that in a wealthier household, this would have been the job of the servants, a demeaning task for a master and definitely not for a guest.

In this case, there aren't servants mentioned...the disciples were MEANT to have made preparations for the Passover meal. All the preparations... maybe even hiring a servant or two to attend the gathering.

My imagination fills in these twelve arrogant men refusing to be the one who began washing everyone's feet, though it should have been done as soon as they entered the upper room. The water is there, the towel is there, the FEET are there, but no one makes a move, each thinking in his heart as he looks askance at the filthy feet of the man next to him, There is NO WAY I'm washing HIS feet!

Now the meal is OVER. They would rather eat dirty, something all their mamas had taught them was shameful, and still not one humbles himself enough to just do this one thing that needed to be done, that had been neglected, that no one else wanted to do. They're all too busy playing "quien es mas macho" to actually be Christ-like.

And then Jesus takes the cloth and the water and kneels in front of whom? Whose feet did He wash first? Judas Iscariot is still in the room...maybe it's him...maybe it's that one disciple who has a good heart, but man, he always smells like a goat. We see by the time He gets to Peter, the awkwardness in the room is enough that Peter bursts out, "Lord, dost Thou wash MY feet?" Peter exudes humility...but I see this as pride as well...Peter is speaking up where others do not. He's saying, "Jesus, these morons let You, of all people, wash their feet, but I know better!" He even tries to tell Jesus how to do the job right once He replies that this washing is necessary to enter the Kingdom.

No, Peter, not the whole body, just the feet...because it's not about the cleanliness, it's about the humility.

Serve each other humbly.

Go to each other to point out the "dirt" in each other's lives with utmost humility.

Do the jobs no one else wants to do humbly.

Don't ask for permission (so as to receive acknowledgement for the job), just quietly serve.

Do for others what no one bothered do for you without spite and bitterness.

Just serve each other and be humble.

Jesus says this the way to find happiness.

Trust His Heart

2023-02-02T15:31:00.001-06:00

Reading today in Matthew 16... Jesus makes a statement to the disciples saying to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees. They are confused, thinking that He is reprimanding them because they forgot to pack bread for their journey. In verse 9, Jesus explains, Do ye not understand neither remember the five leaves of the five thousand, and how many baskets ye took up? The disciples were afraid that they wouldn't have anything to eat and that Jesus would be disappointed in them for not preparing.

A minor note on this passage: Jesus was trying to warn the disciples of a spiritual danger they needed to be aware of. He had spiritual knowledge they needed, but they were so worried about the temporal things, they weren't able to grasp the message. That brings their wrong thinking back around... they were worried about what to eat and maybe getting into trouble BECAUSE they had forgotten Who Jesus was and what He can do.

Jesus tells them to remember how He had provided for them in the past. And not just in a generic, every day manner... MIRACULOUSLY!

This principle has helped me get through periods of discouragement and fear: I try to remember how God has answered prayer and spoken to my heart in the past. My little notebook in which I write down verses God used in my Bible reading and note down answered prayers is a treasure to me! I frequently read through it and find myself thanking and praising God for taking care of me in the past!

This is how we get through hard times when the devil's lies seem to be so reasonable...we remember God. Who He is. What He's done. What He can do.

Lamentations 3

2023-01-26T15:30:00.000-06:00

We had Ladies' Bible Study recently, and the lesson mentioned Lamentations 3. I decided to go over it my devotions the next morning, and the whole chapter just fit over me like a glove.

We're familiar with the middle portion of the chapter, verses 22-26: "It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, Because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: Great is thy faithfulness. The LORD is my portion, saith my soul; Therefore will I hope in him. The LORD is good unto them that wait for him, To the soul that seeketh him. It is good that a man should both hope and quietly Wait for the salvation of the LORD."

But how did Jeremiah get to that point? When I read the chapter from the beginning, I felt like Jeremiah had stolen from my own thoughts and feelings over the last few years: "He hath builded against me, And compassed me with gall and travail. He hath set me in dark places, As they that be dead of old. He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out: He hath made my chain heavy. Also when I cry and shout, He shutteth out my prayer. He hath inclosed my ways with hewn stone, He hath made my paths crooked." (vs. 5-9)

So in those first twenty verses, Jeremiah very eloquently tells us exactly how frustrated he feels, how alone, and just stuck! That's exactly where I was for so long... frustrated with God's seeming inactivity towards wrong; feeling alone in my plight to stand up for right; angry at the sin of others, and impatient for God to deal with wickedness.

But in the next section, beginning with verse 21, he says, "This I recall to my mind, Therefore have I hope." He's saying, "Wait. Remember Who God is? You DO have hope. " And in those famous verses following, he reminds himself and us that God is merciful and faithful and unchanging and compassionate. He shows us that the reason we're cast down and discouraged is because we have forgotten God's nature; we've misunderstood His faithfulness; we've negated His omniscience. I wish I had realized this sooner. How much heartache would have been avoided if I'd just remembered Who. God. Is.

Then, Jeremiah gives us an action to take in verses 40-57: "Let us search and try our ways, And turn again to the LORD. Let us lift up our heart with our hands Unto God in the heavens." He recognizes that his maligning God as unjust, unwilling to hear his prayer or be available to help, was sin. He not only asks God for forgiveness, but he asks God to show him any other infractions, any other sin he has allowed in his life. I remembering coming to this point, being ashamed that I had ascribed to an holy God the sinful, human tendencies of dishonesty, infidelity, elitism, injustice. I had accused God of being the very things I saw and despised in the sinfulness around me. Just as Jeremiah does in these following verses, I felt shameful and disheartened. But, introspection isn't our only course of action.

Jeremiah goes on to tell us to lift our hands to the God of heaven, and in the last section of this chapter, he does just that, praising God for His mercy and faithfulness and righteousness. He praises God that sin will be revealed, wrong will be made right, the damaged will be made whole.

I praise God that He gave us the whole picture in this chapter! While we are going through uncertainty and hurt, we can be comforted that we are not alone, there are others who have felt the same, and God has given us a path through it all.

Pause

2023-01-16T09:56:00.007-06:00

Psalm 27:13-14 I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.

Why does God ask us to wait? Over and over in His Word, we see His admonition to wait on Him. We can look back on our own lives and see times, maybe days, weeks, or whole years, He put us in a place of waiting. We know from His Word that He loves us and wants only good for us. (Jer. 29:11, Ps. 84:11) So why does He so often just stop the progress, make us wait?

Psalm 27:14 commands, “Wait on the Lord:” How? “...be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart:” The strengthening is necessary. It’s the strengthening that is the goal. But it can only come when we wait with courage. Have faith, take a breath, pause; He will strengthen your heart.

My family tree has a fault of being somewhat reactionary. Okay, so maybe more match-struck-in-a-gas-filled-room reactionary. I can relate to David’s quick reaction to Nathan’s story in II Samuel 12. Quick to identify injustice and act out against it. Often to our detriment. Rarely is that reflexive thought or action the proper one, the biblical one. My dad has learned and tried to teach me to, as he phrases it, practice the pause. Before reacting, before shouting, just pause. Evaluate. Take a breath. Consider. Wait. Never make an important decision when you’re tired, sick, or angry. Just. Wait. Most of the time, in that pause, however long, I am able to find perspective, to see my own wrong thinking, to hear a voice of reason, to see God’s hand, to remember His goodness, to glimpse His plan. This gives me courage. And I am strengthened.

I encourage you, with your children, with your spouse, with your own heart attitudes, practice the pause today. Wait on the Lord before reacting, before allowing ill-feelings to fester, before snapping, before judging, wait. Allow for His will, His hand, His leading, His perspective, His strengthening. However long it takes. Wait. Trust. Have courage. He will strengthen your heart.

Wounded

2018-09-13T21:50:00.000-05:00

Some wounds heal quickly.

If it's mentioned again, you wave your hand with a 'Don't even think about it.' You scrunch your brow, straining to even remember.

Maybe because the cut was so shallow, it didn't even register. Or perhaps the one who hurt you is so loved, the shallow prick is overlooked, understood.

But some wounds last. They leave a pain so deep it cant't be ignored. Only avoided. Much like a deep bruise that throbs every time it's touched. Even a light brush against its edges brings pain. No time can heal it. It is always there.

These are the hurts that are revisited when sleep alludes. Events rehearsed. Possible outcomes played out. Causes and motives speculated.

You shake your head, rub trembling hands over your face, attempting to physically remove these thoughts, this old hurt.

Maybe even that late-night exploration is too painful. Maybe you don't even dare allow the hurt to be exposed in the still, dark, lonely hours. When the bandages of time and distraction begin to slip aside, threatening to expose the pain to the chill air, you quickly wind it tightly again, packing down the memories, wrapping the wound in your chosen distraction of entertainment, to-do lists, future plans, affirmations. Hide it away with physical effort.

Time has past. You're older now. Surely that pain will begin to subside. Surely you'll eventually find the strength necessary to probe that wound; clear out the festering hurt; anoint it with the balm of maturity, clarity, discernment.

Surely, the pain will go away?

Wordless Wednesday ~ Happy Camper

2018-07-25T05:00:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ Get a Vaccine, They Said

2018-07-18T17:30:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ Strike a Pose

2018-07-04T05:00:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ Dads' Day

2018-06-20T05:30:00.000-05:00

To Elevate the Soul

2018-03-19T15:19:00.001-05:00

Unearthed

2017-11-28T22:46:00.003-06:00

Digging my hands into the soil, turning it and sifting it as I pull it up to the surface. While the spring is warm at the part of my hair and the back of my neck, it is still cool in the soil. The spring on the surface is fresh and growing. But the soil underneath is cold, clotted together, crusted. As my hands thresh the dirt, it gives way. Worms break through here and there. A twig that was long buried, wintering under the topsoil snaps suddenly. My fingers claw deeper, tearing, breaking, pulling. Until they find something. Hard. Worn smooth. Cool on my fingertips, cooler than the damp soil in which it is buried. It is a heart. I bring it unwilling to the surface, into the sun. My fingers rub off the dirt caked onto the exterior. Spring catches the depths and it gleams in my palm. My thumb rubs at the dirt again, revealing letters, somewhat scratched and worn away by time, by reality. But the words carved into the heart are still readable. It says, My Love.

Sound.

2017-11-25T11:49:00.000-06:00

Listen.
Stop speaking, thinking, planning, preening, swiping, humming, clicking, working, liking, mumbling.
Just listen.

Listen.
Listen to the sound your daughter's footsteps make across the floor.
Listen to the swooshing and grrrroooning your son makes for his toy space ships.
Listen to the murmurs and noises they make in their sleep.

Listen.
Turn off the music, the radio, the worry, the fear, the list, the hurry, the rush.

Listen.
Take note. The slight lilt on the end of each word that says your little girl is still little.
The sigh in your son's voice that says he needs a hug more than a harsh word.
The tremble in the voice that says there's a reason not just an excuse.

Listen. Hear the beneath. Listen under the surface.
Hear the reason behind the voice. Hear the question under the flippancy. Hear the love wrapped in the complement. Hear the need disguised in the joke.

Listen. Hear. Close your eyes and listen. Or you'll miss it. How his voice changes when he talks about her. That she needs you to make her feel safe. That she appreciates you. How much he really loves you. How much she needs you.

You'll miss the opportunity be the person who gets him through, talks him down, builds him up.
You'll lose the chance to create a memory, store away a smile, strengthen a bond.
You'll fail to extend a hand, be a friend, make an impact, change a heart, heal a hurt.
You'll not learn, grow, understand.

Listen. Hear. Intelligently. Thoughtfully. Carefully. Not just to background noise. Not just until the talking stops. Not just to create your reply. Not just to add your thoughts.

Listen.

A Good Day

2017-11-13T13:41:00.001-06:00

One of the college upperclassmen in my advanced grammar class told me that he overheard a freshman girl saying she had a nightmare that I gave her a C on a paper because she misplaced a comma. This has made me so happy, I can hardly put into words my joy. I told the freshman class this morning that most teachers get joy out of their students finally understanding a concept or going on to serve God or become a great teacher or preacher, but I find so much joy in being the fodder for my students' nightmares. Truly, my cup overfloweth.

I was just exuberant when this student relayed this to me; he asked if I were being sarcastic, and I replied that no, seriously, the joy that filled me upon hearing this was absolutely genuine. The girl came to the library after lunch and told me that yes, it was her, and started to revise by saying the nightmare aspect was in her having received a C, but I stopped her mid-sentence and begged her not to ruin my happiness. I choose to believe it was I, not the grade, who caused her terror.

Finally I have found fulfillment in my career. After fifteen years of working in the library full time and almost eight years of teaching, I feel satisfied at what I've accomplished. It's a good day.

Tidbits

2017-09-15T09:25:00.001-05:00

A few highlights from my reading of late...

"A sense of duty pursues us ever. It is omnipresent, like the Deity. If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, duty performed or duty violated is still with us, for our happiness or our misery. If we say the darkness shall cover us, in the darkness as in the light our obligations are yet with us." ~Daniel Webster

"Have you ever really sought God, or have you only given a languid cry to Him after a twinge of moral neuralgia?" ~Oswald Chambers

"In the 17th century, magpies were nicknamed 'pie-maggots.'" ~Unknown

"Light may seem at times to be an impertinent intruder, but it is always beneficial in the end." ~J. Gresham Machen

"From wondering I came gradually to believing." ~Hannah Whitall Smith

"A growlery is a place you like to retire to when you're unwell or in a bad mood. It was coined by Charles Dickens in Bleak House." ~Unknown

"It is not a question of black or white or right or wrong, of being in communion or out of communion; but a question of God taking us by a way which in the meantime we do not understand." ~Oswald Chambers

Eleven

2017-08-16T20:08:00.003-05:00

Cowboy turned eleven today. Eleven. One more than ten. Two less than teen.

This doesn't fit into our big-party-every-five-years-plan, but I wanted him to feel special today just the same. So we started out the day with a gift... every hour. Just something small he could open at the top of every hour.

Then he opened the couple gifts from his sweet baby sister. (nerf bullets and hand grips - yes, you read that right)

Then we picked up Nick's bestest buddy from down the street and headed to Zao Island for some go-kart racing and arcade games. Picnic lunch and tire swings and self-declared climbing park at Valplayso. Finished off the afternoon with a water balloon fight.

When Cowboy's daddy got home, we went out to eat then back home for his "birthday pie" and ice cream and Ninjago cookies from The Frosted Apron. Gifts from Mom and Dad (above) and Facetime with Nana and Papa.

All in all a fun-filled day.

Someone said, "Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn't know you had and dealing with fears you didn't know existed."

This little boy, who made me mom and who is turning 11 today, has taught me and is still teaching me this.

I never knew I'd worry whether or not someone has good eating habits or is wearing clean socks.

I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd wonder at what age a normal boy goes through a growth spurt.

It never bothered me before if some random little boy needed a haircut or said excuse me to adults.

I never before thought I'd google the side effects of Fifths Disease or whether or not a kid can get MRSA from not cleaning his glasses but I have.

I never wondered before how to instill in a boy the qualities of a good friend.

I at one time thought that all Legos were the same... how young and naive I was!

But the real fear is that he won't ever know what was in my heart each and every time I looked at him. He won't realize the potential I saw in him. He won't know how strongly I believed in him. He won't know how much I loved him.

I just hope that one day, when he's watching his own son run around Valplayso or zipping around a go-kart track with him, he'll suddenly realize all of this. And he'll understand.

I hope I'm around to see that day.

Happy birthday, my Cowboy.

Forget the Elephant

2016-08-19T21:39:00.001-05:00

God answers my prayers… safety for my husband during a bad storm. Wisdom for dealing with the kids. Protection for my brother and his family during a recent hurricane.

All of these things He provided. And I am thankful. Not even a little ungrateful. I don’t take for granted that my husband drives a thousand miles a week safely or that my son is ten and has yet to break a bone. I am so thankful for these things and so many more.

But sometimes, and a lot lately, it seems like I’m thanking God for these daily benefits, but still nodding to the pile of unanswered prayers in the corner.

“Remember those medical bills insurance didn’t cover, Lord? Yeah, thank you that those tests were negative, but, um, the bill still needs paid.”

“Er, uh, Lord? Thank you for protecting our home when our neighbor’s house was destroyed by fire, but, um, the basement is leaking, and we don’t exactly have the money to fix it.”

“Yeah, Father, thanks for all these little things, but LOOK AT THAT ENORMOUS PILE OVER THERE!”

This is how I’ve felt lately.

But then today, God refocused my attention. It’s almost as if I could feel Him gently nudging my attention away from that huge pile of problems He hasn’t taken care of yet. Like I have to do to Cowboy when we walk into any room containing a tv… hand on each temple and a gentle push.

My daughter got saved today.

My little girl woke up with an entire beam on her shoulder, forget the chip. After some quality time with Daddy, she was more ready for the day. I heard her in the bathroom talking to herself… “Happyfacehappyfacehappyface!” She and her happy face walked into the kitchen and sat at the counter.

“Feel better?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m going to have a GOOD day!” she replied, with proper inflection.

And then she broke down in sobs.

Juju Bean crying because she’s sorry is not a new thing. She’s tender-hearted and hates to have any kind of hurt between her and anyone else. So she often comes to either her Daddy or I and hugs us tightly, crying over her attitude or disobedience or just because she feels badly that we’re having a bad day.

So I walked around the counter and put my arms around her and asked why she was crying.

“I don’t wanna be a sinner!” she hiccoughed.

My husband and I spent a few minutes talking to her and she prayed. I believe she was genuinely saved. The prayers and the teaching and the training don’t stop of course. But this was huge.

But this wasn’t part of my pile of unanswered prayers in the corner. It had gotten shoved aside by bills and looming deadlines and holes in mufflers and leaky basements and new brakes.

Half hour later, I watched my baby girl hop out of the car and skip down the path and I could almost hear the Lord whisper, “This is the prayer I answered. This is more important than anything else in that pile.”

And as I walked into work, I thanked Him, shamed for allowing this present world to pull my attention away from a God Who is able to do above all that I ask or think.

That pile in the corner is still there. But somehow, it’s not so enormous. I will lay my head down tonight, at peace and truly thankful.

Our Parents' Grief

2016-04-12T10:23:00.003-05:00

We all gasp when we hear of a young person’s death. A child dies of a rare cancer. A promising college athlete shot and killed for no reason at all. We hang our heads and blink back the tears at a “life cut short.” But when it’s an elderly life that passes, we shrug our shoulders and say things like “they lived a good life” or “it was his time.” And we wonder why anyone mourns. It’s a natural part of life for the old to die.

I remember as a teenager being puzzled when my grandmother seemed to be depressed because a ninety-something year old neighbor passed away. I felt badly for her and bought her flowers and went to her house to spend some extra time with her. But I couldn’t understand why the death of this elderly friend would affect her so.

My own parents now are far from “elderly,” but more and more their family and friends are fading. In the past year, they lost a few friends and the last of my dad’s three brothers went home to heaven. They keep me updated on other friends who are ailing – one with cancer, one with heart failure, one with, well, just old age. But now, in my own middle age, I don’t wonder at their grief. I’m not puzzled by their sadness. I’m beginning to understand.

They’re seeing their lives fade, not just in body, but in reality. Everything they counted precious is fading away. The memories they cherished will be forever gone from the earth. No one will ever again breathe in the scent of freshly washed towels, close her eyes, and feel her mother’s caress. No one will ever catch a whiff of perfume and remember his first girlfriend and that exhilaration he felt when she was near. No one else will feel his father’s hand ruffle his hair as he stands in a ballpark remembering his first game, sixty years ago.

These people shared those same memories. As a child, you heard the stories, the old tales, the family history. But the man in that casket experienced those stories with your mom. You know the story of dad spending the night in the ditch covered in a mattress, waiting for the bombs to stop falling. But that friend, that old man he sits and talks to for hours – he was there next to him. He knew the same fear at the sound of the siren; he had the same thoughts of home and family and future, lying there in the muck, being eaten by mosquitoes. He knew the same ecstatic relief of climbing out, whole.

That brother was just your uncle, a distant figure who faded in and out of your childhood. But to your mom, he’s the one who taught her to ride her bike. He took the fall for her when she broke their mom’s favorite lamp. He introduced her to poetry and café lattes and the music that narrated her youth. He’s there in all her favorite childhood memories and all her darkest ones as well.

And now, these people, these links to the past, these sharers of heartaches, are leaving them. The only person who shares that cherished memory, that old heartache, that childhood fear is gone. Forever. This isn’t just a reminder of their own frailty, of their own mortality. It’s a reminder that in thirty years, fifty years, a hundred years, no one is going to remember those sacred feelings. Few men live in the memories of generations to come. And he is beginning to realize that he will be one of the forgotten.

So, don’t sigh with exasperation when your sibling calls and says Dad’s down because some friend or distant relative passed. Don’t tell him he ‘shouldn’t take it so hard’ or that ‘it’s just part of life.’ Stop your busyness for just a bit and listen to his stories. Laugh at those old memories. Let her cry as she tells you, once again, about the first time she saw him, about when he came home from overseas, about buying their first house. Listen and remember with her and assure him that you will remember.

Wordless Wednesday ~ A Young Gentleman

2016-02-10T19:09:00.000-06:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ Princess Peanut

2015-01-28T19:08:00.000-06:00

Wordless Wednesdays ~ Princesses Take Selfies

2015-01-07T19:07:00.000-06:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ Wrapped

2014-12-31T19:04:00.000-06:00

Wordless Wednesdays ~ Generationally Speaking

2014-12-24T19:02:00.000-06:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ Much Screaming

2014-12-17T19:00:00.000-06:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ Knights and Such

2014-12-10T18:57:00.000-06:00