::: play that funky music :::

It was my kind of night, this one. It was the kind of night where you wish sleep were optional, and you wish daylight would just be an extension of nighttime and not a wake-up call from the world of responsibilities. It was the kind of night you have when you've been snowed in, but you had time to prepare, or when there's a big thunderstorm and the lights go out, but your husband can somehow still magically play the electric guitar. I guess you could say it was a voluntary snow-in, without the snow.

It was just the four of us, Bo and Sweetheart and The Baby and me. I'd taken Monet to spend the night at a friend's and had told Sweetheart how to make cheesy potatoes, asking her to give it a shot while I was gone. Daddy would be home to help, I told her, but it was pretty simple, and I assured her she could do it on her own.

When I returned, the house smelled like cheesy potatoes, and the girls were busy giggling and running and jumping excitedly. Sweetheart had made the cheesy potatoes with barely any help; she'd done everything but chop the onions, which Pop had done for her.

Bo showed Sweetheart and The Baby a video he'd been given recently of the first public performance of a worship song he wrote, and then a video of songwriter/pianist Ken Medema creating an improvised song into which he wove Bo's worship chorus. The girls were awed. So was I.

We sat together at the dinner table, Sweetheart's potatoes, my homemade dill pickles, hot ham and cheese paninis that The Baby and I made together, and joined hands. Together we sang Bo's chorus, the girls proudly declaring each word:

"Breathe out, breathe in and be filled.
Breathe out, breathe in and be filled.
Breathe out, breathe in and be filled with the Spirit of God."

And the singing just kept on all through the night. Earlier in the week, I had shown The Baby this video of The Cactus Cuties performing the National Anthem, and she was riveted. She sings constantly already, but this spurred her on even more.

So at the dinner table, she treated us to her own rendition of Amazing Grace. Five times. And then again after dinner as Bo played along on Monet's electric guitar and The Baby stood on the arm of the loveseat, arms spread wide, head thrown back, eyes closed and eyebrows raised, belting it out. SANGin' it, I tell you.

And still the singing didn't stop. Bo started playing riffs from Men at Work, and then it progressed to other 80's songs, and I just couldn't help it. I had to pull out the iPod Touch and look up lyrics, singing along to "You're the Biggest Part of Me" and "The Breakup Song" and "I Won't Hold You Back Now." Bo even talked me into singing "Brass in Pocket" by The Pretenders because he's pretty convinced that I sound like Chrissie Hynde when I sing. Why couldn't he think I sound like Karin Bergquist? She has an Ohio song, too, you know.

We even got into some of the one-hit-wonders, like Sheriff's "When I'm with You" and The Call's "I Still Believe" and Eric Carmen's "Change of Heart." And we couldn't let the night go by without singing "She Blinded Me with Science."

And then, after midnight rolled around, it was time for bed for the girls. Bo and I surfed over to Hulu and watched Jim and Pam's wedding, which had to be one of The Best Office episodes ever. I've watched that YouTube video of the incredibly fun wedding processional over and over, and I've cried every time I've watched the bride dance down the aisle. Kudos to The Office writers for working this into the show.

And now Bo is snoring, and I'm sitting here filled up and joyful. And tired.

Hey. Go dance and sing a little bit. It's good for you.

::: and the winner... :::

...of the book Find Your Strongest Life by Marcus Buckingham goes to...

GRACE!

The Baby was involved in an emotional breakdown when it was time to draw names, so Bo did the honors.

Congratulations, Grace. I really believe this book will serve you well. E-mail me with the address you want me to send it to!

::: runnin' down a dream :::

Our friend Rob will be running the Chicago Marathon this coming Sunday. Running the marathon has long been one of Rob's dreams. When he found that he was unable to register for the marathon, that registration was full, God showed him a better plan than Rob could have imagined. Click on "donate" to read about God's solution and Rob's response, and then pray for Rob as he prepares for Sunday's run.

::: thank you, Lord, for giving me a second chance :::

Our son Houdin is at discipleship training in Pennsylvania to prepare for his eight-month trip to Guinea Bissau, Africa in December. We spent the weekend with him at the discipleship center located in the middle of an impoverished neighborhood. He introduced us to some of the neighborhood kids who come to do gymnastics and play soccer in their big yard. We walked the streets to some of the local take-out places, passing condemned houses, broken glass and half-full bottles wrapped in brown paper laying on the sidewalks.

On Sunday morning, we stepped through the big red doors of a small Baptist church in the neighborhood. Our family of six plus Grace doubled the size of the congregation--beautiful black women in cream dresses and Sunday hats with huge matching bows; ushers standing at the door, all of them female, black-suited and white-gloved and serious about their posts; a gorgeous young woman and her squeezable baby seated alone in a pew; two men in the front row, one older, one younger, sharing their testimonies, thanking God for another chance to thank God; a man in an electric wheelchair seated in the back whose cell phone went off just before Communion, and the choir of three, two vocalists and one pianist, belting out more sound than our whole home congregation does on a Sunday morning. And there we were, being embraced warmly, welcomed. During one song, when the congregants were shouting out, "That's RIGHT!" and "Mmmhmmm!" and "You TELL it!", Sweetheart leaned over to me and said, with delighted wide-eyes, "WE should come to a church like THIS!"

And then, before the service started in earnest, all of the children were called to the front, everyone under 19, and all hands were joined, a circle formed, while the preacher kept the weekly tradition of praying for the children. Only a handful there, including that huggable baby dressed in pink and chocolate brown, and I wondered where the youth were, the ones who play soccer and do gymnastics in the yard of the discipleship center, and the ones who leave their bottles laying on the sidewalk, and I wondered how they could get them in here to pray for them every Sunday morning. How we could get them in there. How it happens that a Baptist church within walking distance of everywhere in that neighborhood is overflowing with women and just dotted with men.

It came time for greetings, and we were absolutely folded into the arms of every person there, literally embraced and welcomed, every single one of us. And The Baby, who had never been to a Baptist church and last year vehemently discouraged us from having Rejoice in our home because he was black, was enveloped by the women in the cream dresses and hats and matching bows and the bold singers and the large preacher and the woman with the baby and the men in the front row. All of us were.

And we sang, too. We SANG. I don't mean we just stood and politely followed along with the hymnal. I mean we SANG. Loudly and joyfully and beautifully, with hands raised and tears on cheeks and confidence in our voices.

After the singing, and the preaching, and the hugging, and the Communion, we filed out of our pews, nodding and smiling, but I had to just have one more hug. I'd been eyeing that baby all morning long, so I asked the mom if I could hold her for a minute. Taking that chubby little girl into my arms, I was so overwhelmed with love. I kissed her beautiful head and kissed her soft, chubby cheeks, and teased the mom that I was just going to be off now, with that baby in my arms. What a blessed baby she is, that one, to have a church family like that, to have a mom who dresses her in chocolate and pink and takes her through those big red doors for huge helpings of love.

::: book review and giveaway: find your strongest life: what the happiest and most successful women do differently :::

Are you a frenzied woman?
Has your life become a juggling act, requiring you to keep everything in the air, barely allowing each aspect to register on your fingers before the next one comes flying at you?
Are you unclear about which direction your life should take?
Are you constantly struggling to "find the balance" in your life?

It's no surprise. According to the book Find Your Strongest Life: What the Happiest and Most Successful Women Do Differently by Marcus Buckingham from Thomas Nelson Publishers, though both men and women suffer under life's pressures, women suffer more.

In Buckingham's book, he shares that:

• As men and women age, men become more satisfied as women become less satisfied with every aspect of their lives;
• An extra hour of free time doubles a man's feelings of relaxation, but it does nothing for a woman's;
• Contrary to popular belief, women are not better at multitasking than men and that your IQ actually drops ten points when multitasking;
• Women, in general, have become less happy over the last forty years than men, in spite of increased availability of education, better jobs, better pay and more freedoms. 

So what can be done?

Buckingham suggests that finding balance is not the answer, that we should be tipping the scales toward ourselves in certain areas of our lives. He tells us that we are not taking advantage of our strong moments, that our lives should not to drain and exhaust us, but fill us up. By offering the Strong Life Test, Buckingham helps the reader to focus on the areas of her life that bring her the most strength based on her Leading and Supporting Roles, to trust her own judgment about what fills her up, and, maybe more importantly, to determine what exhausts us, even in our relationships, and what we should do with those aspects.

This is not a book I would typically choose to read, but from the first few pages, I was drawn in and compelled to read more. Some of the book seemed to delve into an overly-strong self-importance, but Buckingham reminds the reader that it's impossible to give effectively to those we love if we're drained by life.

While a large portion of the book seems to be tailored to the professional woman, especially working mothers, including the online Strong Life Test, Find Your Strongest Life offers plenty of suggestions for women from all walks of life, and even includes chapters titled Tactics for Stronger Relationships and Tactics for Stronger Kids.

If you believe you need to find a balance, don't have a direction, or feel unhappy with the role you're playing in your own life, pick up Find Your Strongest Life and discover the role you were born to play.

Leave a comment in the comment field to win my review copy, underlining and all, of Find Your Strongest Life by Marcus Buckingham. A winner will be chosen at random on Friday, October 9th. 

::: who's gonna drive me home tonight? :::

Van = Dead
Reason = Transmission
Yesterday's trip to return the rental car = Not So Bad Anyway

On the way home, we decided to make stop somewhere new, wander around with our mouths agape, and spend the three-hour drive home trading all kinds of ideas.

I've now experienced IKEA.

The ideas were cool, and there were a few things I found that I kinda wanted, and a couple that I really wanted, but most of it was stuff I could do without. And I couldn't help feeling like I was simply shopping at a very large, very trendy Wal*Mart. Everything was made in China or Indonesia or Taiwan, even though the "face" of the place was Sweden, so I'm not sure how I feel about that. But I loved the free Wi-Fi, and I did buy a few dishtowels for .49 each and a pillow form for a thrift-store pillow cover. Bo actually spent more money than I, picking up a set of mixing bowls for the chocolate factory at a whopping $3.99 for a grand total of $7.85.

We're going to be doing a few more home improvement projects and I can see how some of the IKEA stuff could really help. I love their super-long, cut-to-fit curtains and all of the coolio-schmoolio ways you can hang them. Curtains I definitely need, and since I don't sew, it helps to find a place that has them in all lengths with no sewing required. Sad, huh? Still, there it is.

The van shall not return to us. I spent part of the morning drooling over the '10 Odysseys, even taking ten minutes to "build my own," which I pretty much tricked out except for the ski racks, the bike racks and the factory tent which was so incredibly factory, dude.

Now, if I could just come up with that $41K, I could give the dealer a jingle and say, "Let's roll, buddy."

Consumerism. It's what's for breakfast.

::: sometimes the system goes on the blink and the whole thing turns out wrong :::

Man, I'm pretty doggone frustrated right now.

I mean, I'd like to spend a few paragraphs telling you about our great trip to see Houdin at the discipleship center, but I can't. I just can't.

Instead, I'm thinking about my rotten luck.

We were given a van to test drive, a kind gesture from a friend. A nice van. A 2002 Town and Country. And while it has a lot of miles and a few little issues, it's a better vehicle than anything we currently have.

After a couple of weeks of test driving it, we told our friend that, yes, we would buy the van. He gave us the title and the extra keys. On Friday, I paid $150 for the title transfer and plates and had new tires put on to the tune of $450.

In less than 24 hours, the thing was dead on the side of the road. Apparent transmission failure. It was 7 A.M., we were three hours from home, halfway there to see Houdin's presentation, with three sleeping kids in the car. One minute, we're cruising along, admiring the scenery, making good time. The next minute, bam. Car no worky.

I could say that I'm so glad we were at a place where we could pull over. I could say that I'm glad I packed extra gloves and coats and that I had enough money in the checking account to get a tow truck.

But I don't want to say those things. I want to say:

Dang.

I didn't renew my AAA.
I spent $250 on a tow truck.
I spent $80 on a rental car.
We missed Houdin's presentation.
The car dealership that the tow company recommended for repair was closed.
We have to drive back with the rental (because the only rental place available didn't do one-ways) in five hours, just seven hours after returning home from the trip.
Nothing seemed to go well.
Everything seemed to be stinky.
I'm in a bad mood, and I don't know what to do about it.
I think God's out to get me.

Where I had just made some financial progress and was in the position to pay some of my debts, I am now in the hole by $500. More if we have to fix this vehicle. Like $2,000 more. And we haven't even paid for the vehicle yet.

Man.

So I'll try to settle down, and then I'll write about the rest of the weekend which, unfortunately, seemed to be true to the theme of "stinky."

But we got to see Houdin and Grace. And the hugs from them were sweet.

Goodnight. I'll try not to go much further into debt while I sleep. If I can help it.

::: october :::

The green elm with the one great bough of gold
Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, –
The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white,
Harebell and scabious and tormentil,
That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun,
Bow down to; and the wind travels too light
To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern;
The gossamers wander at their own will.
At heavier steps than birds' the squirrels scold.
The rich scene has grown fresh again and new
As Spring and to the touch is not more cool
Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might
As happy be as earth is beautiful,
Were I some other or with earth could turn
In alternation of violet and rose,
Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due,
And gorse that has no time not to be gay.
But if this be not happiness, – who knows?
Some day I shall think this a happy day,
And this mood by the name of melancholy
Shall no more blackened and obscured be.

by Edward Thomas (1878 – 1917)

::: oh, the lord's been good to me, and so i thank the lord :::

On Thursday morning, I stomped loudly into the girls' newly painted bedroom, stopped for a second to admire my work (again) and then hollered, "It's time to get up!"

And you know what? They did it.

Because the night before, I had threatened them with the gravest of punishments. I would attempt to wake them once. Just. Once. And if they failed to haul their fannies from their beds, I would let them sleep.

Harsh, huh?

Well, yeah, there's a little more to the story.

See, they'd been looking forward to meeting a new friend. We were going to spend the day making applesauce with Jill and her almost-ten-year-old daughter Miss-E, and we were to meet them at early-o'clock in the morning. And that required going to sleep instead of giggling. And that required serious threats. If they didn't tumble out of bed on my first attempt, they would sleep, and they would miss going to the orchard to meet with Jill and Miss-E.

So when I hollered, they responded. The Baby hopped up like a Pop Tart out of a toaster, and I only had to tell her to change clothes twice, given that it was 33 degrees and she was wearing shorts and sandals.

The drive was gorgeous, with a heavy fog filling all of the nooks and crannies of this sleepy 8,000 horse town.

It was delightful to spend the day with Jill, sharing lifestories like we were long-lost sisters, listening to the contented silence of little girls engrossed in Polly Pocket play. It was such a different and pleasant experience to spend the day in the kitchen with another woman, one who was competent and self-motivated, who was not shy to dive in and do what needed done. It was forever surprising to turn from a task only to turn back and see Jill finishing it, having picked up where I left off. When it came time for us to kick it into high gear so I could get to the evening's parent/teacher conference, I was sorry that the day was ending. I wish I could have someone like Jill around to keep me company in the kitchen every day.

We stopped long enough to harvest some basil, which Jill vigilantly plucked, washed, spun and stuffed into freezer bags and to enjoy a lunch of romaine salad, fettuccine with Alfredo sauce and fresh-pressed cider from the orchard.

When all was said and done, we had thirty-tree and a half quarts of cortland/grimes golden applesauce standing proudly on the wooden butcher block. When each one popped, Jill would say, "thank you!", a trick she'd passed on from the generation before her to her own children.

You know how they say that chopping wood warms you twice? Well, the same can be said for canning with a friend; first from the steaming heat of the water-bath canner, and the second time when you enjoy that yummy food and remember the day you shared with your canning buddy.

::: i am (one of) the runner-up champion(s), my friend :::

Woohoo! I'm so happy to announce that my daughters' bedroom makeover project was runner-up in the My Sister's Farmhouse 30-Day Mini-Makeover contest! The first prize went to Sarah, whose fabulous faux-bricks look like the real thing. There were two other runners-up as well; Lisa, who revamped some lovely lamps, and Carol, who mastered a makeover of her living room.

Thanks, Rechelle, for a fun motivator to getting a major project done--and under budget, too!

::: a million miles in a thousand years winner :::

This morning, I printed out the responses for the new Donald Miller Book and had The Baby choose one at random. And she chose...

Truevyne! 

Congrats, dear True! E-mail me at todayslessons AT gmail DOT come with your address and I'll whisk it on its way. I wish I had a copy of the book for each of you!

::: you are the apple of my eye; forever you'll stay in my heart :::

Yesterday morning, I met with blogfriend Jill at a wonderful orchard in our county. This orchard has the best apple cider ever, fresh pressed and unpasteurized. Jill and I were to meet at the orchard market between 8 and 8:30 to buy apples for applesauce which we were going to make together in my kitchen! I was so excited to finally formally meet Jill and her daughter E and spend some time together. Sweetheart, The Baby and I piled into the van and drove through the foggy backroads to the orchard. Of course, I had to stop and capture a few beautiful scenes along the way, and then a few more when we got to the colorful orchard market.

And then we headed home to fill the house with chattering and the smell of fresh applesauce. I'll write about that tomorrow. For now, Monet, Sweetheart, The Baby and I are heading to the local college to see a performance of Romeo and Juliet.

::: book review and giveaway: a million miles in a thousand years: what i learned while editing my life :::

When I was a child, during those moments of intense drama, I was certain there were cameras hidden in my home, recording each moment, storing them up for the time when editing would take place and I would be the star of an after-school pre-teen melodrama. It never occurred to me that long periods of my life would be dull and uninteresting to an audience. And that is what Donald Miller and I had in common.

Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz, is thrust into an interesting situation in his latest memoir, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life, when he receives a call from a director and cinematographer who are eager to turn his years-old memoir, Blue Like Jazz, into an independent film. As Don, Steve and Ben meet to begin fictionalizing Don's story, Don comes to the realization that his life has stalled and isn't as screenworthy as he would like it to be, so he sets out to inject more intentionality into his existence. 


Miller's honesty and transparency, his acknowledgment that he is fallible, is both heartbreaking and endearing. Miller's confusion, suffering and tenderness of spirit, his King-David-like crying out to God in the depths of his disappointment, and his actions, imbued with a strong desire to create a better story and dotted with humor, made for an interesting memoir.

As an added surprise, Don's book spoke to me as a writer as he learns for himself and teaches his readers about story, protagonists, antagonists, and inciting incidents. 

But his book also spoke to me as one who is Written by the One who wants to make a better story of my life, "the One who knows a better story."


If you enjoy the works of writer Anne Lamott, or if you're feeling that your real life needs a bit of editing, or if you'd like to delve into the mind of Don the Writer, then you'll be right at home peddling A Million Miles in a Thousand Years along with Donald Miller.

For your chance to win a free copy of this new book, leave a comment in the comment field. One reader will be chosen at random on Friday, October 2nd to receive a complimentary copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.  Leave your comment today for your chance to win!

::: oh no, i see a spider web and it's me in the middle :::

Since the girls are home again, and Monet is at school, we're back to our regular (what's that?) schedule with small chores, breakfast and Ambleside in the morning. We also began using Teaching Textbooks CDs on the computer for Sweetheart (age 10) and I've ordered Math U See for The Baby (who desperately needs a new pseudonym--any suggestions?) and am looking forward to getting started with that. The girls are also working on Explode the Code and Getty-Dubay handwriting. Sweetheart is continuing her work with Wordly Wise and some map reading workbooks.

On the brick-and-mortar school front regarding Monet...::sigh::. Another day, another argument. I received an e-mail from his history teacher saying that Monet is "doing well" on his tests but he's not turning in his homework. I have a simple explanation for that; he's not doing it. We have a major discussion about this every.single.night. Do any of you have any suggestions for motivating a teen to do his homework, or should we just back off and let him deal with whatever consequences that come with his actions (or lack of)? I do not want to sacrifice my relationship with my son over homework, yet I want him to gain discipline and get the most of this amazing education he's been given the opportunity to receive.

This week is going to be quite a busy one. Cleaning for a houseconcert on Friday night, soccer game tomorrow night, going to a play on Wednesday evening, making applesauce with Jill on Thursday, parent/teacher conferences on Thursday evening (and another soccer game), Shakespeare play on Friday morning, houseconcert Friday night, and then travel to PA for an open house for Houdin's training at the discipleship center on Saturday morning, before the rooster crows. I'm feeling more and more that I'm beginning to stretch myself too thin again with things like picking up the soccer sandwiches and houseconcerts and parent/teacher conferences. My doggone tomatoes are rotting on the vines, dangit, because I've been too flippin' busy to get them picked and processed.

For tomorrow: look for a review of the soon-to-be-released newest book by Donald Miller, including the chance to win a copy.

::: the things i need :::

As I was perusing the web for a specific item I was hoping existed so that I could buy it as a Christmas gift (it exists, but I can't tell you what it is lest the recipient find out), I found a bunch of stuff I didn't even know I needed, but now I'm pretty sure I won't be able to live without them. All of these amazing unitaskers can be found at Improvements.

The description for this ketchup holder says that it can also be used for lotions and shampoos, reducing the amount of movement needed for those with arthritis. You even get two for one money!

I'm forever trying to clumsily scoop ends and pieces of vegetables off of my butcher block. Can you believe it's one of the big reasons I don't like chopping vegetables? How lame is that? Now, with the Food Scrap Catcher,  I can chop with abandon. It even comes with a handy scraper/brush.

We don't have an icemaker in our fridge, and, for some reason, can never manage to get one hooked up, and I love ice. Love it, love it, love it. So, I figure I can put aside $2 every time I buy a bag of ice and within ten years, I'll be able to afford one of these dealios and forever feed my ice needs. N-iiiiice.

I don't think I need to explain the need for this one. Or do I? It closes that annoying gap between your stove and countertop so that all the crud doesn't get in that crack.

We make pizzas and throw them directly onto the pizza stone in the bottom of the oven. Trouble is, all that cornmeal from the bottom of the crust lays on the bottom of the oven and burns, making all of the fire alarms go crazy and ending our pizza-making fun. Just slide this baby out, shake off the cornmeal outside, and on we go. Spiffy.

This...this...THIS just makes me want to buy more houseplants and scatter them all over my house. The description says you can also use this hose with a 38 foot reach to "fill aquariums, clean recycling bins, or even wash the dog with ease."

When we built our house, we put the laundry room on the second floor, along with all of the bedrooms. It makes laundry a breeze, really. I take the clothes out of the drier, carry them to my bedroom next door and sort them on my bed. The problem is finding someplace to hang the clothes while I'm finishing the job. One or two of these babies, the Insta-Hanger Picture Perfect Clothes Storage System, would have me covered and be a nice addition to my decor in the process.

There are a few more things over there that I didn't know I needed, but these were the in the top ten of what I definitely need now. I can do without the Bedfan, the Bed Made EZ and the Bat Dog Costume, but I pretty much need that Insta-Hanger Picture Perfect Clothes Storage System.

::: the girls are back in town! :::

At first, I was afraid I wouldn't be ready with everything I wanted to accomplish by the time they got home, but it didn't matter anyway, because I was so busy looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother-in-law's car cresting the hill of the lane that I didn't get much done, anyway. Bo came home for an extended lunch, my dad, who the kids call "Pop" or "Papa," was asking about them every five minutes, and I was looking into the last details of their big surprise, a renovated room, a room with a few fresh coats of paint, beds that were brought back from the dead--or at least from the barn and livened up with a few coats of white--, a vase full of clear candy lollipops in room-matching color animal shapes, and a dish of chocolates from the chocolate factory where Bo works.

When I finally did hear the crunch of gravel, and that car finally did crest the hill of our lane, I could barely contain myself. Three weeks! It had been three weeks since I'd seen my little girls! While Pop and Bo made their way downstairs to greet them, I stayed in the house, in the kitchen, behind the door just waiting, waiting, waiting for my prey, and when The Baby giddily climbed the stairs and rounded the corner--RAWR!--out I jumped, with my arms opened wide. She flew into them and I lifted her high as we spun and laughed and hugged and giggled and interjected and punctuated it all with I-missed-yous and I-love-yous and it's-good-to-be-homes.

Then came Sweetheart, toting her heavy bag up the stairs, steadfast and faithful, and waiting for her to come to the top seemed a lifetime, but then there she was, also in my arms, laughing and hugging tightly. Oh, it was so good to see them again. So down we sat to look at their treasures and creations--The Baby's rock collection and garage sale finds (she's a thrifter, like her mama), Sweetheart's scrapbooks and photos, and The Baby's favorite find, a pink ("Yes! It's pink!" I thought as Grandmas pulled it from the bag) garage-saled lava lamp that survived the trip from Illinois to Ohio. Chatter and chatter, giggles and giggles, one girl talking over another, and then, it was time for Bo and I to reveal our surprise. Up the stairs they ran, and I hurried behind them, trying to get there in time to see the reaction. Would they like it? Would they be surprised?

They loved it so much they didn't want to leave it, and so, they didn't. A fashion show ensued, with me taking pictures of each outfit they donned, and then, after dinner, they asked me to cuddle with them in their room, so we turned off all of the lights, save the PINK lava lamp, and all climbed in to one freshly painted twin bed and cuddled and talked and cuddled and talked until I fell asleep.

This morning, when I peaked in on them, I found that The Baby's bed was empty.

I guess more cuddling was in order, as I found her curled up next to Sweetheart in the other bed.

I'm so glad they're home.

::: i'll be coming home :::

One of my favorite memories as a child is returning home from camp to find that my mother had lovingly redecorated my home, removing the beloved but outgrown Scooby Doo wallpaper, cleaning and organizing, and installing a new corkboard wall to see me into my teen years. The Baby and Sweetheart have spent the last three weeks away with their grandparents, aunts and uncles in far-off Illinois, and while they were gone, spurred on by this contest, Bo and I played remodeling fairies, painting, cleaning, organizing and redecorating. Using paint we already had, elements from around the house, some bed frames we'd had in storage that we put a fresh coat of paint on, a gallon of floor paint from Lowe's, an inexpensive area rug, some fun finds from My Favorite Thrift Store, and a whole lot of elbow grease, we spent those three weeks creating a new, cleaner, less cluttered environment for the girls. All said and done, the whole project cost less than $75. I'm expecting them to pull into the driveway with Grandma and Grandpa any minute. I can't wait to see what they think!