pink nostalgia

w for the win

This is what our backyard looked like Saturday night when J was waiting for Alex and me to get home from a birthday party and snow cones.  He knows those lights make my heart smile.

This is what the back of our chimney looked like after our friend Jeremy custom-made me a wooden W and after I painted and crackled it and after J came outside carrying a screwdriver, level, and screws and after Alex followed behind him carrying the step ladder, ruler, and pencil.  He knows that I love his motivation on my crafty home projects.

And this is what it looked like the next morning after church when J beckoned me to the back porch just to gaze.  He knows I'm prone to tears on Sundays.

Yay.

P.S. Just in case, the W stands for Wells.  : )

sprouts

I'm a big believer in planting spiritual seeds.  You don't know which experiences or conversations or moments will stick with people and become meaningful to them.  You don't know, and may never know, what will take root and grow and further someone's walk with Christ.

So the idea is to keep at it and not get discouraged if you don't see immediate results.  It's one of those invisible things where you won't know until you know, and you may never know.  ; )

My hope for inviting the Wells boys to church was the same as my plan for family dinners: establish the habit, do it together as a family, and ultimately create a space of safety, acceptance, openness, and love.

And ultimately ultimately, foster our relationships with Christ.

We pray together.  J talks to the boys about Jesus.  There was a magical truck moment about two years ago when all three of them sang "The Proof of Your Love" by for King & Country.  Adding church was a natural progression.

So I shopped for churches.  I found one that I love that I also thought the boys would like.  I invited Jason.  He invited the boys.  The four of us have been together a handful of times.

If we're keeping up with the metaphor, this is when all the seeds are planted.  Each invite.  Each prayer.  Each song.  Each mention. 

Seeds.  Seeds.  Seeds.  Seeds.

And then you just wait.  (And hope.  And pray.)

Two Sundays ago, the pastor mentioned that there are Bibles in the back of the sanctuary free for anyone who wants one.  Last Sunday, we stopped on our way out of church to chat with a friend.  As we were wrapping up and leaving the sanctuary, Alex stopped J and I and said, "Can I...mumble mumble mumble..."

I leaned down and said, "What was that, babe?"

He pointed and said, "Can I get a Bible?"

Be still my pounding heart!  Of course you can!!

He carried that thing proudly out to the truck and opened it as soon as he buckled his seat belt.

Then last night, the boys and I were eating dinner at the table.  J doesn't like dinner music, but I do, and since he was gone, I had a praise and worship Pandora station playing in the background.  E and I had this snippet:

E: Are you about to cry?
me: What?
E: Last time we heard this song at church, you cried.
me: Ohhhh.  No, I'm not going to cry, but yeah, this is a good one.  I really like the line, "Our hearts will cry/these bones will sing."

Then we talked a little about all of creation praising God because He's THAT good.  Then:

E: I thought about singing on Sunday...

Be still my pounding heart!  Of course you can!!

Seeds, seeds, seeds, sprouts.  : )

mom's modified chicken and rice

I have nostalgic memories, although likely skewed by age and time, of this casserole that my mom used to make.  I remember us eating it a lot, it being hard to eat because of the chicken bones in it*, and the bacon being a little weird (and in whole strips!).  Yet oddly, I had the strangest craving to make it.

*It's the weirdest thing when people leave bones in casseroles but even worse when they're left in soup/stew/gumbo!  If all you have is a bowl and a spoon, what are you supposed to do with the chicken bones??

So I asked my mom for the recipe and then promptly asked her about fourteen questions pertaining to said recipe.  Then I decided to make lots of changes.

I mean, is there anything better than a recipe makeover??  Yes!!  There are LOTS of better things!  But this is fun anyway!

Here's the starting point.

 

"Chioce Choice pieces of chickne chicken"?  "Bake slowly"? 

A few extra steps makes this recipes a lot lot better.  : )

1. Bake the bacon first.  Line a cookie sheet with foil, a wire rack, and 8 slices of bacon.  Bake at 400 for 15-18 minutes.  Once the bacon is cool enough to handle, dab with paper towels and chop into big 1" pieces.

2. The baking dish is specifically a glass 9x13.

3. Use 3/4 pounds chicken breasts chopped into small chunks and seasoned liberally with grill seasoning.

4. Mix the rice with the two liquids.

5. Trade the cream of chicken for cream of mushroom.

6. Trade the one can of water with one can of milk. 

7. Bake at 350 for 1 1/2 hours.

Ahh.  Much tastier, and no steak knife required.  : )

the. cutest. [shaving] thing.

Can I just tell you?  This was the cutest thing.

Out of 26 photos, I narrowed it down to 12.  I couldn't cut more than that.

By way of background, E has been wanting to shave since...at least this long ago.  J said he could shave once he turned 14.  We got him a razor (and I made a razor cake) for his birthday.  Then J so casually says, "I'm going to go shave," and gives E the nod.

This one is so good.  He looks like such a proud MAN.

I love how they kept checking in on each other.

I wish you could've felt the vibe in the room.  It was excitement, but it was Wells boys' excitement, which is more like...contained wonder.  Like if they show their full hand they might explode, so it just beams right under the surface.

This one.

It's too bad firsts only happen once.  Now I have to wait five years for Alex's turn!

how to: razor birthday cake

Last Christmas, it came to be that Ethen wanted to start shaving his face.  His peach fuzz was noticeably darker (and noticeably dark), AND...wait for it...he had chin hairs.  Three of them.

Jason begrudgingly agreed to let him shave - once he turned fourteen years old, approximately seven months later.

Fast-forward seven months to J and I brainstorming a shape for E's birthday cake.*

Jason said, "Do you think it would be mean or funny to make him a cake in the shape of a razor?"

Uhhh, hilarious.  So long as you let him shave.

E had a light bulb moment when he opened the razor.  "It looks just like the cake!" 

And J did let him shave.  : )

 

*Our other birthday cakes: Alex's army tank, Ethen's baseball stadium, J's motorcycle, Alex's army fort, and J's plain Jane.

better than a morning cup of coffee

It really has nothing to do with coffee.  : )

J and I take lots of selfies to send to each other...

 

...but selfies together are rare.  In fact, I'm gonna say I can count on one hand the number of times J has initiated the couple's-selfie.

 

Yep, that's them, and I haven't initiated many more.  I scrapped the first pic here.

Exhibit 4: One day last week, we were walking out the door on our way to work, and he stops me in the kitchen and says, "C'mere."  [See above bottom right.]  I don't know what prompted it, but I have learned to never look a gift selfie in the mouth! 

They're not his favorite, so he told me not to post them anywhere, BUT HE DIDN'T SAY I COULDN'T SCRAPBOOK THEM!  Ha!!  Semantics!!

I lifted this page from lapepitabonita, and her title was "coffee" (because her page was about coffee), so I just kept it.  It looked so pretty on the page.  Plus, sometimes I just like to be cheeky.  : o  But if you need there to be a meaningful connection, it's that it gives me butterflies when J initiates photos, and that butterfly-ish feeling is better than a morning cup of coffee.  Boom, full circle.

The second cheeky-ness is that I rarely drink morning coffee.  : )

So hey!  There's another meaningful connection!  Couple's selfies and morning coffee are both enigmas!

I've had that background paper for at least...I'm gonna say 8 years. 

And that is the story of why I never throw scrap supplies away.  : )

gingerwit: the case of the sock

My red-headed friend who wishes to remain anonymous for fear of reader retaliation felt so strongly about the events below that she insisted on writing a blog post about it.  It's out of my hands.  I'm sorry.

 

Sock.

Noun

    1. Archaic: a low shoe or slipper

    2. A knitted or woven covering for the foot usually worn under shoes and extending above the ankle and sometimes to the knee

    3. A shoe worn by actors in Greek and Roman comedy

 

Picture this…a sweet Georgia peach (that’s me!) transplanted into the HUGE state of Texas by her Army husband. I started a new job in this new land. Ninety-nine percent of my new fellow co-workers did not speak to me or bother to acknowledge my presence. It was a lonely place. At the end of my first week of work, a petite blonde sweetly asked me to lunch. WHAT?!?!?! Someone talked to me AND was OK with being seen in public with me…WINNER! The cherry on top of this delicious ice cream sundae is that this petite blonde seemed to be totally normal. Or so I thought...

 

For our first lunch together, Angela and I went to Chipotle (GMO-free heaven). Yes, I said Angela. Angela Ezzell. Pink Nostalgia Angela. As we walked out of the office headed to lunch, I had my first glimpse of her weirdness. Angela was holding her cellphone (Iphone 5, white, no case) and pulled open her purse to put it away. Sounds normal, right? Instead of tossing her cellphone in her purse haphazardly or putting it in a cellphone-sized inner pocket, Angela pulled out a (…wait for it…wait for it…) SOCK. I averted my eyes and ignored this transgression. I mean, really, who was I to be picky? This was the ONLY person who wanted to voluntarily talk to me at work. If I ever wanted to appear socially normal or desirable in my new work environment, it was proper form to pretend I never saw it. Never saw it.

 

We had a great lunch full of all the normal pleasantries exchanged for two new acquaintances. One lunch turned into two, three…now too many to count. After realizing Angela appreciated and respected my love of sarcasm…I knew now was the time. We were heading out to lunch again. Again she pulled out the sock and placed her phone inside. She casually put it back in her purse. I finally asked, “Um, did you just put your phone in a sock?” She smiled and said, “Yes.” I further pressed, “Um, why did you put your phone in a sock?”

 

I had pondered this question after seeing her sock trick on numerous occasions:

    • Did she have a rubber allergy? Most cases contain some form of rubber…maybe she would break out in hives?

    • Had she fallen on hard times financially? Those Otterboxes are wicked expensive…I acknowledge that and can appreciate (maybe) a budget-friendly sock.

    • Had she recently broken her last case and was waiting for her personalized case to arrive in the mail? (I’m from the South…if it ain’t breathing, we monogram it.)

    • Had she grown up in the moonshining hills of West Virginia where people put all valuables in socks and then bury them?

 

Back to Angela’s response: “I don’t like cases. They’re too bulky. This sock (an athletic crew sock – picture a GoldToe sock, but pink) protects my phone. It protects the screen and the thickness of the sock protects it from falls.” As my mouth continues to gape, she continues with, “AND, if I ever pull the sock out upside down by accident, the heel catches the phone so it doesn’t fall out. It’s like it’s designed for phone-carrying.” She smirks and appears to be proud of herself. I admire that. Let your freak flag fly and own it. Oh, she OWNS it.

 

I asked if others know of her ‘sock.’ They do. I asked if they find it odd. They do. One day J (you know, Angela’s boo) was doing laundry and he threw some socks in her lap and said, “Can you put your cellphone cases up?” LOVE IT! I’ll occasionally talk to Angela about her sock. I’ll occasionally, and obnoxiously, bring up her sock in mixed company. From my informal polling, most, if not all, are on my side of the fence regarding Angela’s sock…a total freak flag. She defends it with a strong fervor. She has repeatedly come to me and said she went to lunch/dinner/etc with so and so and they think the sock was a GREAT idea. Lies, all lies.

 

Now you will never look at Angela or socks in the same light. You’re welcome.