Happy {Music} Friday.....Nope. Not Today.

I figured that with yesterday's Shake It Off Battle, you've been "music'd out." I'll resume the whole regularly scheduled program thing next week. Maybe. If I feel like it.

Today, I wanted to talk about Kim Kardashian and her naked body being emblazoned across millions of copies of Paper magazine. If you haven't already seen this - count yourself lucky - I'm sure that you have at least caught wind of it being "a thing." 

Just a few thoughts.

I know a lot of women, friends, men, people in general have read some of my posts about princesses and how as women and very young girls, we are being fed a lie constantly. I've had serious strains in relationships over my views and I've had to defend myself on several occasions. And I am unapologetic 


Kim Kardashian catapulting to fame via sex video, broken relationships, lots of nude-ish photos, and the basic selling of her body non-stop is just a result of so many of us believing this lie - that our bodies (AKA Beauty) are the only thing we (women) have to offer the world. Everyone wants their shot of fame and how better to do that than (in true Kardashian fashion) get a reality show and sell every little bit of your life. Give it up, ladies.

Women aren't the only ones buying this lie. Obviously, guys are falling for it too. Even when asked why he married Kim, her husband didn't list off anything having to do with her character or her spirit or her mind. I think he basically just said "She was hot." Wow. Kim and Kanye, you deserve each other. Poor North. 

I'll be fair and admit that we can't see everything in their lives - both these folks are selling an image - it's just sad that this is generally to "go to" image that is being sold. Full frontal. No boundaries. No self-respect. 

So, let's take a moment and celebrate some true female greatness. 

Amelia Earhart. 
Mother Teresa
Marie Curie
Charlotte Bronte
You and Me?

There are more awesome women out there (but I'm sipping coffee as fast as I can and trying to get to the gym before 8am - not gonna happen). All of the women pictured above did THEIR thing. They didn't or don't seem to let cultural morays and taboos stand in their way.They don't care what MEN think of them and they certainly don't seem to listen to the critics. 

Kim Kardashian is actually doing all of the above as well....except my examples of feminine greatness don't appear to be selling their bodies. They pursued science, flight, literature, social justice, and motherhood. All really great and honorable things. They all did it with their clothes on (to my understanding) and they all held true to their beliefs and were unyielding (maybe Kim just believes in something much more superficial). 

These are a few of the women we should hold up to our young girls and boys as great examples. But they are not the ONLY great women. These females greats should be peppered in among the mass of strong, REAL women (friends and relatives) that our kids live life with daily. Like Ms. Britt who packs food bags and mentors young mothers still in high school. or Ms. Jessica and Ms. Melissa who are ministering to the people of the Czech Republic. or Ms. Radha who is partnering to revitalize a dying church. or Aunt Beth who stepped away from a career in writing and now home schools and raises her eight children. or Nana who feels like God has her in the classroom to serve kids of active duty servicemen and women. Or Ms. Heather who makes movies. Or Ms. Lyndie who basically sails the money ship of a cancer center. That's a lot of great women...and those are just off the top of my head.  

Our kids need to now what REAL WOMANHOOD looks like. Otherwise we will have girls who view themselves as a commodity and boys who do the same. 

And that is not acceptable.


The "Shake It Off" Battle

I mean, I wish this were a much more interesting battle. Like the Hiphopopotamus vs. the Rhymenoceros.

It's really just more of thought that came through my mind while driving and "Shake it Off" by Taylor Swift cam on the radio. My youngest loves it. Which is somewhat depressing.

Despite the really wacky video...it's a bit vacant. Ms. Swift talks about haters and players and fakers. She hints at her dating life (of course she does). She goes on to kind of tongue in check talk herself up. It's all very "girl power" - if indeed the entirety of a girl's power s seated in her ability to date a lot of guys, be successful, and shake it off  into the arms of a new flavor of the month when she sees her ex with someone new. Very empowering. She also says the  whole OMG thing- which I'm not a fan of. I think it shows a lack of breeding and vocabulary.

Aside: Ms. Swift, you've made millions off a writing songs, but your last two releases have used OMG as a complete "filler." Not cool. Say something meaningful.

It's {the song} is not so much something I want my youngest kiddo singing. However, it's catchy. Darn catchy.

When my oldest was this age, I was jamming to another "Shake it Off" - this one by Florence + The Machine. I remember her asking for it relentlessly. And I gave in without hesitation.

At the time, I thought the lyrics were maybe just a little too heavy for my then two-year-old. The song is about inner demons and having to wrestle with those things in our life that bring us down - whether is were an addiction or self doubt or {fill in the blank}.  While dance-able and catchy it kind of delves into some darker things.

Good 'ol Florence might not have dropped my Lord and Savior's name in vain, but she did say "H-E-L-L" at least once during the song. Still. Darn catchy.

Comparing the two, I think I'd still let my kiddo listen to Florence. I find her honest struggle with the dark times in life much more empowering and realistic and healthy than Ms. Swift's version of shake-it-off-able events.

But - without further ado - for your consideration....

Taylor Swift 

Florence + The Machine

What do you guys think? 

{Dislaimer: Florence + the Machine video DEFINITELY not winning in the child-friendly-video category.....T.Swift wins that one...well, except for the shaking bottoms}


Ma' Girls

I have two girls. Two really great and beautiful girls who enjoy a lot of different things. Building, play fighting, robots, princesses, drawing, painting, and dolls. They like a plethora of stuff and I like it that way.

As a girl who grew up feeling very conscious of her flaws and her "not girly-enoughness" I have had to fight myself at every turn to let my girls be who they are. I resist forcing a bow into their hair. I resist picking out every single outfit. I even resist holding them down while I attempt a ponytail.  I let them be who they are and explore who THEY are. In all their nappy-haired, mismatched glory.

I often lovingly {and jokingly} refer to them as looking "homeless." Please, understand, they look ANYTHING but homeless. They just aren't coiffed and polished. They are more muddy/torn knees and tangled hair in the eyes. It's definitely more Kirk Cobain in style and less Hello Kitty.

So, what am I even writing about?

If you've read my blog, you know that I have kind of a tense relationship with princesses. But please let me clarify that my problem is not with the idea of princesses. They are fairly innocuous, most girls pretend to be princesses, and I consider them just another role from the motley crew of characters that children choose to play act. My issue has mainly to do with the marketing of princesses. The MARKETING of princesses is not innocuous or innocent. It is very much targeted to make your kiddo believe certain "lies" hook, line, and sinker. Well, at least in my opinion.

One of the main lies that all kids are really being fed is what is "girly" and what is "boyish"? And believing this lie (or parents just going along with the marketing teams that are paid millions to keep your kids coming back for more) leads to our kids being pigeon-holed into a consumer identity at a pretty young age.

Now, do I think that boys and girls are categorically different? Yes.

But do I think that the only color options available to girls should be pinks and purples? No.

Do I think that my nephews should be able to play with kitchen toys and not be seen as "girly"? Yes.

Not only are my girls limited in the color palete of ANYTHING that they may want to purchase, they are also slowly being made into little billboards. We went shopping for shoes today and our options were bedazzled, pink, purple, glittered trash shoes. How are girls expected to PLAY in those? Not to mention that almost every shoe option sported some character's face.

I looked over at the boys' selection and what do you think I found? Functional shoes. Way less characters. It's almost like boys should have functional feet & bodies while girls' bodies and feet are more about how we adorn them or, better yet, how marketers can use those bodies to sell stuff.

Many of you may think that I'm overreacting or making a mountain out of a mole hill, but there are much smarter people than me out there making strong cases for how marketing to young children (especially to young girls) is having much larger implications - including the  over-sexualization of  our kids. KIDS.

For really great reads on the subject, The Packaging of Girlhood and Cinderella Ate My Daughter are very thorough.

Do my girls still wear pink. Yep. Do they still play "princess"? Ayup. Do they like bows? Absolutely loathe them. There is still a lot of "traditional girliness" in our midst, but we talk about it ALL the time. Every trip to the store, every commercial, every birthday party - we ask questions, we analyze, and we try to get our girls to see through the dollar signs.

It's gonna be a long road as we continue on this whole raising girls journey and we are certainly not perfect. But I'm really glad that I can reassure my girls that they are girly-enough and absolutely wonderful no matter what they are into wearing or doing.

{Since I know you are all probably curious, we left the store today with some classic Chucky T's - black for the eldest and pink for the little.They both got to pick what would be going on their body, as that is the new rule}

My eldest is also definitely outside "hiking" in our back yard as she wrestles large sticks away from our dog and gives a stirring rendition of "Let it Go."


Happy {Music} Friday

Lake Street Dive. 

These guys & gals are great and have certainly been around for a bit, but my hubs and I have been growing our vinyl collection and he surprised me with this gem last night. He knows how to speak to my heart.



It's Quitting Time

You workout five times a week.
You own your own business.
You home school.
You make everything from scratch.
You volunteer at your local non-profit.
You blog.
You are an integral member of your church.
A loving mother.
A smoking hot wife who keeps things spicy.
A loving daughter who remembers birthdays.
You work 40 hours a day.
You are the 'go-to' person in all your friends' lives.
You are always put together, well-groomed, and looking fabulous.
You cry at appropriate times.
You have social graces that are just exceptional.
You are awesome.

BUT you are also freakin' exhausted. Life is tiring and while you may be "nailing it" frontwards, backwards, and sideways; what you actually are feeling is you yourself continually being hammered on all sides. You, my friend, are not nailing it.

Still there is this ONE thing among all the clutter..that really excites you and breathes air into you. You know what I'm talking about. You live a fantasy life that centers around this ONE thing. Call it a dream or a vision or a goal...whatever. THIS is what you want. You would give your every waking moment over to it....were it not socially unacceptable to feed your young children "crustables" in front of the TV twice daily and then order take-out for dinner.

I am so tired of trying to be everything to everyone. Outside of showing up for my little family (in ways that have been previously decided by those few people I love), I really don't owe anyone a darn thing. I certainly don't need to feign appearances. I am who I am. And the same applies to you, my friend.


That's about it.

A confession...and maybe a bit of a wake-up call.

I am a decent cook. I do make lots from scratch, but wouldn't hesitate to live off of pizza, Jamaican take-out, and sushi were I not responsible for the health and well-being of two small humans.

I don't like fashion. I like looking at it, but when I have to translate it onto my body, I would rather scratch my eyes out and live in a paper sack.

I homeschool for now and it's a daily struggle for me to come to grips with whether or not I am doing the best thing for my kids.

I do workout - haven't lost an inch. I'm banking on some sort of glandular thing.

I'm also a bit of a hypochondriac.

I do have a little side business....but I stink at business and would frankly rather set myself on fire than have people think I'm trying to sell them something.

I don't volunteer. I really want to, but this season of life is pretty busy.

I write because I love it.

I'm not super involved in church....we just moved, so I think I get a pass on this one.

I stink as a mom and in all honesty, there is nothing about me that is HOT or spicy to the outside observer...and that's probably how it should be.

I am a loving daughter, but I fail at cards and gifts and remembering such things.


My people know I love them. My people (for the most part) know me. My people generally haven't any unrealistic expectations. It's generally just me or people who don't know me that put these ideas of who I should be onto my person.

Well, I'm done. I quit.

From this moment onward, I shall try very hard to just be me. To do what I'm called to do. To not feel pressured into more than I can handle or things that I don't believe in. Because it's not worth it....why would I give ANY of me or my time to something that I'm not REALLY excited by?

What about you? Do you find yourself in a place where you feel "thin"? It might be because you are simply stretching for the wrong things and the wrong reasons.


Less Words


I might have shown this to the hubs yesterday. And he might have laughed. 
Best to you all. 


Less Words


Best to all of you today, 


The Best Collards I Ever Made

So, if you know me, you know that "cooking" is not really my thing.

BAKING is my thing.

Preparing nightly dinners is one of the most frustrating things that I encounter on a regular basis.

Make it healthy.

Make a variety.

Make it palatable to my kids.

Make it palatable to my husband.

Cereal is not an acceptable dinner (or so I'm told).

I will pour my heart and soul into a pie, cobbler, loaf of bread, cake, baguette, cheese straws, cookies. I want everyone to taste the love and feel a bit of heart warming, down home goodness.

But with dinner my main goal is to get something on the plate that is passable in it's edibility.

Last Thursday, however, I made something TASTY. Without a recipe.


We had Rice, black-eyed peas, collards, and cornbread. It's a simple meal that sounds a little lackluster. But is full of nutritional goodness, it's hearty and filling, and it's a nice meatless alternative if you are watching your budget or just not a big meat person (like my four-year-old). The meal as a whole was very good. But the collards. Well, I wanted to eat the whole pot. THE WHOLE POT, PEOPLE!

Here's what I did.  (In Recipe Form)

Take a large sautee pan and throw two large strips of thick cut bacon into it. Render that bacon fat. Then throw in one white onion (chopped) and 2-3 garlic cloves minced. Cook until onion is translucent. De-glaze your pan with maybe 1/4-1/2 cup Red Wine Vinegar. Add in your washed and chopped collards. Make sure that collards get coated with all the goodness that is now happening since your deglazed with the vinegar. Last, take a cup of chicken stock and pour it in the mix. Keep over med-low heat and let it all cook down.

The best collards ever. My husband praised me and my kids still refuse to eat them. But if you are new to dark, bitter greens. This is a great way to prepare them.

You're welcome. (wink)


Happy {Music} Friday


This is just a snippet of a new favorite, St. Paul and The Broken Bones.
To listen to their full set, check out their full performance on KEXP

Happy Friday, 


Sleepless Nights

Last night was sleepless all around in our household.

It started at 12am when I woke up after having one of the most disturbing dreams ever.

A young Jeff Bridges was the long forgotten childhood arch-nemesis of my husband. My husband and I were trapped in a glass room (arch nemesis having found & kidnapped us in his now psychotic & sadistic adulthood). Good 'ol Jeff would walk past the glass and taunt us both (not physically harming us, but toying with us concerning my husband's inevitable death). I kept thinking, "Why aren't we trying to make a break for it?" However, in dream land I would then remember some vital piece of information that made our inevitable doom fairly sealed. Like airtight.

He was definitely wearing an eye patch and a white tux.
Tell me that is not scary beyond all reason? 

Somehow a blue ball (not unlike the one's that I throw in my dryer) came into play and was symbolic for something. At that point in this whole process I was just trying to wake myself up and could care less about the symbolism contained in my legitimately scary dream.

I'm a fan of Jeff Bridges....but he was fairly creepy.

Also, Hubs....if you have a crazy person from your past that I need to know about, can you go ahead and give me the heads up? And what does the blue ball mean? You got anything?

That being said, I did what every woman in my family does when she finds herself wide awake at night. I prayed for everyone that I know. For safety, clarity, etc.

I also got up and locked all the doors (or checked to make sure they were lock). I also discovered that the oven was still on from earlier in the evening and turned it off.

My fairly strange night time behavior caused my husband to be concerned and unfortunately, when he wakes up (more often than not) he will really struggle to get back to sleep.

So we sat sleepless.

Then the girls stirred.

And then we magically fell asleep (hours later), I got up early with the girls, and the hubs got to sleep in a bit.

Guh. Can it be possible to have a case of the Tuesdays?


A Case of the Mundays

Apparently, moving back to an amazing city where my husband has an amazing job and we had an amazing weekend and we have amazing friends DOES NOT mean that we are immune to a harsh "case of the Mundays."

If you're waiting for THAT THING that will make EVERYTHING BETTER. Or if you ascribe to the belief that when every external circumstance falls into place, you're life will finally be the sunset pony ride into the happily ever after unicorn rainbow land...well, this story goes out to you, all my homies.

Let's get a little background.

We've moved. It's been hard (as moving is), but it's been great as we have old friendships to enjoy, old favorite spots to introduce the girls to, and new favorites to explore together. Life at this moment seems full of endless possibility and hope. It's a good place to be.

My little fam enjoyed a weekend of shopping and visiting at TWO different and completely legitimate farmers' markets. It was one of those mornings (Saturday) where we bought that blueberry scone for the girls (even though they had already had breakfast) and we danced to the live music and we chatted and smiled with strangers. We acted like we weren't meeting strangers. We made friends with the local Ethiopian food vendor, Harigu (whose name I am probably butchering). We sat  in our backyard and pretended to be trees and listened to the hubs play the guitar. I mean, it was saccharine levels of annoyingly sweet family goodness.

So, I planned on taking my beautiful kiddos to the Ga Art museum. After such a great weekend, certainly my precious baby-smelling toddlers deserved a trip that (despite recent evidence contrary to the thought) they could totally handle. I went to sleep Sunday night just excited to wake up to the beauty that was my life. Oh, how pride (delusion) comes before the fall (reality).  

5:30 AM Monday. Wake to older daughter crying. Overhear husband calmly talking to her and starting the bath tub. Walk down the hall to check in. Wet bed. Not anything we can't handle. We do have plastic sheets. Strip bed, put linens in wash. Hear baby number two ask to get in the bath. Think nothing of it and go about my business.

5:50 AM Walk back to the bedroom to check on hubs. He's reading. Good morning hug. About to ask how he slept when "Mom! Dad! I pooped on the potty!" Give tremendous cheer and a "That a girl." "Mom! Dad! Clara ... in the bathtub." Can't make out what has happened. Husband and I head to bathroom to check.

Oh. "Clara POOPED in the bathtub." Gotcha. Too early. No coffee. Brain can't really process what I am looking at. Husband and I proceed to laugh hysterically while both daughters develop a growing concern that we have indeed lost our minds.

6 AM Finish cleaning girls' bathroom. Resign myself to not having a magazine clean house for the next 15 years and decide that a "lived in" house is much better.

6:15 Tub-pooper starts coughing. Bed wetter throws tantrum. Tub pooper not eating (her favorite thing). Bed wetter throws another tantrum. Tub pooper throws tantrum resulting in gross nose and more coughing.

Husband and I make telepathic executive decision that trip to museum shall be postponed indefinitely.

We all eat breakfast. Husband gets ready for work even though Tub pooper seems adamant that he not leave and demands a philosophical discussion of the merits of work and labor.

Bed Wetter and Tub Pooper begin begging to watch "Brave" which is apparently the "Make you feel better" movie in our house. I agree with this. I mean, I feel better that I have not been turned into a bear and/or am being chase by a separate angry bear.

7:30 Husband leaves for work - having not been convinced (by yours truly) that today is actually "Let Your Wife Go to the Office in Your Place" Day.

I immediately put on "Brave." Girls request all manner of stuffies, lovies, low-lighting, and momma cuddles.

So very thankful for a case of the Mundays, that life isn't perfect, and that we can laugh our way through it.

How's your Monday going?


Happy {Music} Friday

Because it's been a while and I like music. Here is some great stuff by Sigur Ros. 
My oldest reffers to it as "Beautiful Crying Music." True story.



Holy Moving Batman!


We moved. 

Across the country. 


If you are keeping count, that is 4 cross country moves in 5 years (I think). 

Let me caveat by stating that by no means is this the most moving that anybody has ever done. I know lots of wonderful people who have moved farther, more often, and to more exotic places in shorter amounts of time. 

But, I also know that when we have recounted our moves to people who know us they get this look on their faces that implies they think us to be either incredibly adventurous or incredibly certifiable. We happen to be both, thank you very much, don't try to stick us in a box and put a label on us. 

Oh wait. Boxes and labels. Holy Moving Batman. 

So, here is what happened: Hubster was offered a new job in Athens, GA...at our Alma Mater.

How and when and timing of the whole process is a much longer and interesting story and I will write about it later. 

But the relevant part to this particular post is that we are back in the town where we met, fell in love, and started married life. 

Which is really weird. 

I will take a brand new city any day. I'm a military brat and sad to say, it is much easier for me to just move onto another city...let relationships slowly drop off...re-invent myself...and well, move ON. 

But what happens when you have to move BACK. 

The expectations are different. Everything is different. Nothing is as clean or as new or as shiny. 

And your kind of sucked back into who you were five years ago...even though you've done a lot of growing up and have changed a ton. But all of those folks who lived life with you while you were changing and growing up and 'becoming' are in the other cities, the left behind cities....

and you're stuck. 

So, how to navigate it all? Without infringing on the lives of friends who have also moved on and gown up? How to navigate people having to re-get-to-know-you? How to feel freedom in who you are and to really be okay with it?


I have no answers. I really don't. And I'm generally a know-it-all.

I've walked around for the last two weeks in a complete fog. I'm going through the motions and not really registering or acknowledging any emotions or feelings. I think if I can make it through the day, then maybe tomorrow I will wake up and everything will feel settled and normal.

And that is exactly how it will happen.

But until then. I am in a fog. Second guessing every word spoken, wandering around aimless, trying to balance wanting to connect and not being needy.

How many times have you moved in the last 5 years? What's the hardest part of it?  


Happy {Music} Friday

Say what you want about Christina...but she's got Pipes. I love this songs by Great Big World featuring Ms. Aguilera.




Things my children do

Wake up at 5:30am every morning. Without Fail.
Eat raw bread dough (gross).
Throw 30 minute crying fits and then wipe their nose on my clean shirt.
Tell me adamantly that B-U-G spells "Insect."
Talk to me without end.
Drink MY bath water (don't ask).
Think that cups are also acceptable step stools.

Pray honestly.
Love me despite my flaws.
Tell me I am beautiful even when I haven't showered.
Sing songs to one another.
Tell ME bedtime stories.
Hug all the time.

They remind me constantly about the never stopping love of God....

and how I am in no way prepared to answer seemingly simple yet theologically complex questions.


For the Love of Sleep

For the past 18 days my children have been waking up obscenely early.

5am with a cup of coffee and some peace and quite is contemplative and respectable. 5am with toddlers is masochistic and unforgivable.

I find myself functioning in a two-hour fog while the girls run around screaming like coke-crazed-hyenas demanding their gummy vitamins, probiotics, and juice cups (I mean, their not demanding narcotics or anything, but my kids live for their daily supplements). Most days, I wring my hands at our family decision to make hot breakfast every day...as it actually has to be prepared. At this unspeakable hour, I would gladly give my children cocoa puffs for just a few more minutes of shut eye.

It helps that I happen to think they are cute. They look just like their dad.

I have no idea how in the world to fix this problem. I've tried keeping them up late, making them go to bed early, deleting naps, adding naps, noise machines, putting them back in their beds, bringing them into our bed, begging, pleading, bribing, weeping.

To. No. Avail.

I shall have to break them.

This week I shall be running my children into the ground physically and mentally. Like ponies. {disclaimer: I know nothing of ponies}

I shall take them for walks and runs whilst forcing them to do long division and sentence diagrams.

I will win.

They shall fall into bed every night being absolutely and positively spent. They shall sleep soundly until at least 6:30am - whereupon, I will gladly make them pancakes or oats...whichever my little ponies request.

For the love of Pete!


Little Girls and Comics

I was a fairly normal little girl.

I played with baby dolls and Barbie dolls. I even came up with an elaborate system of dismembering and organizing Barbie doll body parts so that I could "fashion" the perfect doll for whichever storyline Barbie found herself in that day. For example, an olympic gymnast can't have perma-bent arms. Back handsprings can't happen with bent arms. However, should Barbie decide to go dancing with Ken (obviously celebrating her gold medal win) she's gonna need bent arms for the waltz. It was all pretty obvious to me as a child, but my parents MIGHT have thought I was a sociopath.

Anyhow. I WAS normal.

My sister and I had a really awesome treehouse that my dad built. We played in it for hours on end and even camped out one night surviving a fairly vicious bat attack.

My sister and I went on make-believe adventures in 3 different secret locations in our neighborhood: "the circus" (a dilapidated park where we did back flips off of swings and were in constant danger of tetanus),  "paradise" (a wooded area with what I believe were large boulders and possibly a stream), and my personal favorite, "Lake Little" (a small field at the bottom or our hill where water collected after it rained. Yep, my sister and I would often picnic next to a puddle).

My sister and I even tied sheets together and climbed out of the third story window of our apartment building while my parents were throwing a dinner party...in a foreign country.
One of my favorite (and safer) past times was walking with my sister to the bookstore after school. She would peruse TIGER BEAT or TEEN BEAT or TEEN TIGER BEAT. I, however, loved ARCHIE comic books. I was also a fan of GARFIELD and often borrowed my sister's CALVIN & HOBBES.

So, I have a fondness for comics.

My husband. on the other hand, has a LOVE for comics. He loves them. He loves SCI-FI. He loves all things generally geek. And I love him for it.

He has introduced me to Joss Whedon (Firefly & Buffy & Dr. Horrible & Dollhouse & too many awesome accomplishments to really name), Star Trek: The Next Generation (although, my dad was a big fan when I was a kid and I would watch along...so, I really just rediscovered these when we got married), MMORPGs, amazing strategy board games that can last HOURS on end (I will never play Caylus again) and yes, comics.

{I am omitting the fact that my husband introduced me to my beloved Doctor. A mention of him will certainly just lead to the longest tangential aside in all of history and I kind of need to stay on track.}

In my adulted-ness, I realized how much fun these things were - almost as fun as dismembering Barbies. 

Looking back, I don't think I missed out on much as a little girl. I still had imaginary and fantastic adventures. But when we had kids - I wanted my daughters to enjoy these fantastic worlds and stories and imaginary play-lands that didn't necessarily involve Barbies or princesses. Barbies and princesses aren't all bad, but they can limit the imagination.

BUT, it's not like I'm going to introduce our children to Firefly or Dr. Who - space cowboys and time lords may be a bit out of their cognitive reach.

Enter Owly and "Mr. Kyle" at Gryphon Games & Comics here in town.

As soon as our big girl was able to sit down and hold a book and look through it, we walked to the comic shop. We perused some things and purchased a DC comic focused on the pets of superheroes...Super Pets. In the edition we purchased, Super Turtle rescues Streaky (Super Girl's cat) from the evil plottings of Ignatius Iguana (Lex Luther's pet lizard). It was good, but a little wordy for our (at that time) two-year-old.

On a subsequent visit to Gryphon our fave comic store employee and all-around-great-guy, Kyle, recommended Owly - a beautifully illustrated (no words) graphic novel featuring an owl, his pet worm, and his forest friends. It's a series. We own four of them. We're fans. Here's why:
  • It features animals...not people...so, you can avoid some of the more "adult" images that many adult comics and graphic novels contain. 
  • It focuses on basic kid stuff - facing your fears, making friends, good life lessons.
  • My kid can "read" it. Only once has my oldest daughter brought Owly to me and asked me to read it - every time since, she has sat down and narrated aloud to whoever was within earshot the story that the pictures were telling. It is an excellent pre-reading activity and gives my girl just a ton of confidence.
I write about this now because I'm listening to my sweet 3-year-old "reading" Owly to her one-year-old sister. It's pretty adorable. The phrase "And then suddenly," is being used about every other page.

Anyhow. It's a great series. I'm so glad that Andy Runton created it and that "Mr. Kyle" introduced us to it.

Thanks, Kyle. It sure beats teaching my girls how to dismember Barbies.

***I have not been paid or compensated in any way for this endorsement of 'Owly' or of Gryphon Games and Comics...or of Mr. Kyle. These are just all around great things, places, and people and I strongly encourage you to check them out. But don't check Kyle out...that would just be weird.


Happy {Music} Friday + a day


Love the Lumineers. 


That Which Shall Not Be Named

Do not call it breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

For if thou utterest such names to my children,

they shall throw thy own food at you

while spitting

and crying

and gnashing teeth.

They shall grovel

and flail

and throweth the grandest of all fits as to mimic a gran mal seizure.

They shall pusheth plates

and spilleth milk

without remorse.

Pure agony they know.

A biblical, Job-like despair they experience.

Do not name their food




It is snack

and only snack

in this house....

Everything else is seemingly

an abomination.


Less Words


So, get on board or get out of my way.


Plenty and Want

I have been lucky that for most of my life, I've experienced times of plenty.

Plenty of loved ones near (or the ones that I needed near).

Plenty of friends.

Plenty of passionate community.

Plenty of life giving activities nearby.

Plenty of food.

Plenty of hope.

Plenty of laughter.

And yes, in retrospect (and comparison) plenty of money.

I am currently in a time of want.

I am wanting my family. I am wanting a few very dear and wonderful and close friends to be nearer to me (I miss you L&M). I am wanting passionate community. I am wanting a city that inspires me and brings me LIFE. I am NOT wanting for food (don't send money, Mom). I am wanting hope. I am wanting laughter. I am not wanting so much for money, but it would be so nice to have a little wiggle room or the ability to buy my kid a bike...or the ability to take a vacation that is not entirely funded by our parents.

I don't like to admit that I am wanting. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. More so, I  fear that I will be judged as superficial by people who read this. I don't like being in perpetual want. I'm not particularly good at it. Right now, it certainly feels as though we are wanting for everything excepting health...and if you looked at our mental health, at times we would most definitely be wanting for that.

This is not to say, "Oh, woe is me!"

But to depserately approach the throne and cry, "Oh, Lord. You know my needs. I am still alive. I still draw breath. I have made it through these wanting and empty days. You've seen to it. Oh Father, thank you for sufficiency and for molding me and shaping me. I am glad you know what you're doing. I, however, have no idea what you are doing. No inkling. Not a clue. Please, walk me through this...and help me to kick the dust from my feet joyfully as soon as you call us to leave this season. But for now. I will walk. I will look for joy. I will look to you."


Mind. Blown.

I recommend everyone just take their computer, tablet, internet router, and chuck them out the window. (Or at least box them up for a few weeks)

Stepping away (maybe not completely, but way the heck back) from Facebook and Email and Pinterest and Hulu was incredibly liberating...like forgetting your cell phone at home while out on a quick errand.

Suddenly, the only things "demanding" my time and attention were my kids (and several loads of laundry & dishes).

When the world isn't constantly calling to you...telling you that it needs a piece of you....there is suddenly a very whole and patient and giving person looking back at you in the mirror.

Quite miraculously, there is more of you to go around.

Not to mention, when you actually DO take the time to come back to the internet and all it's "glories," you realized that it's pretty bland, boring, uninspiring, and well...banal.

You feel slightly more confident - seeing as you have eliminated the majority of outside voices telling you what you should be doing.

Your eyes adjust to day light and aren't so bloodshot. You sit a little taller in your seat. Your neck doesn't ache at the end of each day. Your body quite literally shed a few of it's freakish mid-existence, technology-induced mutations.


So, I come back to the land of the blog and implore you to close your computer, take the apps off your phones, stop looking like a mindless zombie to your kids, and LIVE.

I will continue to write - as I like to do it.

But, let me be at the bottom of your list...as I probably have nothing new to say and can promise you nothing overly entertaining.


My Mind is Working...

Overtime a bit lately. My mind is working overtime. All the time. Non-stop. Never-ending thoughts and questions and it is exhausting.

I meet with a group of women and we read books. The latest being Jen Hatmaker's "7." We are walking through seven months of taking something away in order to GAIN life. Real life. Real awesome life and freedom.  I like this book.

We are currently in our media month. Which means we take away media. I haven't posted on the blog due to this fast of sorts and I am likely to post much less during this month. The time away from my technology has been eye-opening and has revealed so much to both my husband and myself...and it's only been five days.

As, I have fled my computer (and namely, let's be honest, the internet), I have run to the WORD.

More, I have noticed a very real thirst to STUDY the word of God and not to just read through it. I reached out to a few folks that I know who study the Bible and they gave me some resources to aid in
my quest.

Because, see, as a woman...I have never been taught to STUDY the Bible. I have never been shown the steps or the process. I have been given reading guides. I have been offered the chance to learn from Beth Moore via DVD. I have been invited to countless topical groups. I have never once been pulled aside and walked through what actually individual studying of the word looks like.

So, these past five days, I have been ravenously reading the word, as well as reading books written to help me understand what my personal study should look like. I've been reading overviews and commentaries. I've really been having fun and more often then not, leaving feeling refreshed, uplifted, and completely TINY, miniscule, and undeserving of God's mere notice or affection.

It's a good feeling.

It's a feeling that has brought about a sort of righteous indignation....an anger. Why in the world is there not more out there for a THINKING woman?

Maybe there is and I have just not been pointed towards it. Maybe it's my fault for not knowing where to look. All of these are highly possible and likely.

But let's face it. If a young girl walks into a Christian bookstore, what is she to find? Not a single thing that teaches her the discipline of Bible study. (I totally admit that surely there is something, but it's nothing that she will automatically have offered to her by our current Christian culture).

You know what my life has looked like in Christian book titles that were thrust at me?

You're God's little Girl (Be Nice), You're God's Princess, Kiss Dating Good-Bye and (Whatever You Do) Don't Kiss, How to be God's Princess While You are Waiting on a Husband, How to Be a Godly Fiance, How to Be a Godly Wife, How to Pray for your Husband, How to Make Sure your Marriage Bed is Everything God Wants it to Be, How to Be a Godly Parent, How to be a Better Mom, How to Pray for Your Kids....


Almost every book ever recommended to me (as a woman) focuses on my role in someone else's life. Who I am to someone else.

And in all honesty, most of these books are books of the "self-help" persuasion that have been repackaged with a cross on the cover and a few Bible verses and quack science facts sprinkled at the beginning or end of each chapter.

What about who I am to God? Because, I'm pretty sure that if I am digging into His word and listening to His voice and focusing on KINGDOM issues instead of MY issues, that my big 'ol first world white girl issues will fade and my eyes will be opened to seeing what my Father sees.

And right now, I'm pretty turned-off by what I see.

I want my daughters to READ and STUDY the word. I want my family to be like a seminary. I want us to be able to discuss theology and deeper issues than "So, I should kiss dating good-bye, but then kiss it hello again when I find my husband?"

Does this make sense to ANYONE else? I need Jesus...not self-help. Because it is pretty darn transparent that I cannot help this self.

Is anyone else hungry? Hangry even?


Hot Yoga

I like to think of myself as fit. I like working out, but I certainly go through phases and am somewhat bipolar when it comes to a regime.

I love the results of exercise...endorphins are legal and oh-so-feel-good-drogas from our heavenly father. That's totally the scientific definition.

However, I also love surfing the internet and will find myself lost in a vortex of nothingness for hours on end. Buzzfeed quizzes are of the devil and (on a completely unrelated note) I know exactly which character I would be on every single NBC or FOX comedy. True story.

These two desires are a daily struggle. I would like to not have a pancake bottom...I would also like to watch my alter ego Liz Lemon win at life and eat hotdogs. She makes me feel normal. Blurgh.

I basically want all the things. But don't especially want to exert effort to get all the things (It sounds like terrible grammar, unless you get the reference).


I'm back on my "we need to get healthy" kick. I took a break after losing 15 lbs earlier this year. Well, with approximately 7 of those lbs finding their way back to my middle and a family beach trip approaching...motivation hath been found.

So, a good friend invited me to her Hot Yoga class.

I've always wanted to try hot yoga and have really been wanting to go to an actual class in general - as opposed to just using my extensive video collection.

Had I known what I was in for...I would have canceled, accepted my fate as an 'out of shape' person, and cut myself a second piece of pie.

First, have you ever left your house in yoga tights? Yeah...me neither. No one should ever have to see me in pants that tight. FYI I definitely layered a few long shirts as to hide any offending areas.

Secondly, it's  by definition HOT. Layering for modesty comes to be seen as an antiquated and downright quaint practice whilst melting away to nothing and posed like a dolphin. I did refrain from stripping down to my undergarments, but I'm not going to say that the thought didn't cross my mind (it was a women's only class after all).

Thirdly, you have to stare at yourself in a mirror. Which is actually a very freeing process. For one, I now realize that some people look really graceful in the practice of yoga. I am not one of those people.  Did I mention that I do a great impression of an ostrich suffering from vertigo?

Fourthly (is that even a word?), you will leave your 45 minute torture session class knowing your limitations, respecting what your body can do, and feeling a huge sense of empowerment.

Fifthly, classes like this create a sisterhood. During the class I never once got the feeling that anyone was watching me or judging me. We were all collectively struggling against gravity and our mindsets (you try telling your mind that it's okay to get in some of those poses). We certainly did not have time to concern ourselves with the woman in too tight pants breathing heavily as she quietly sobbed in child's pose.

Sixthly (yeah, I'm just inventing adverbs now), I was brought to a place of reckoning. It is the place in all worthy endeavors where we think, "This is happening. I'm pretty sure I should turn back now. All signs are telling me 'DO NOT CONTINUE,' but I think the end result is worth it. I really don't want to do this. There is no way out. This is happening."

My places of reckoning have been transformative: my first day teaching, the day Matt and I moved to a city across the country site unseen, the moments I gave birth to my daughters (and the several hours leading up to them), and Hot Yoga.

Giggle if you must, but once you have committed to downward-triangle-hike-your-leg-over-your-neck-and-breath-pose...there is no getting out of that situation gracefully. One must endure.

What are your reckoning moments? 


Throwing it Back

Doesn't look like any little girl I know.


Less Words


Lyric by Josh Ritter "Kathleen"
and print available at https://www.etsy.com/listing/89911310/typography-art-print-northern-lights-in


The Poop in Life

My three-year-old is hilarious.

I think to be fair, most three-year-old children are downright funny. They have this natural desire to perform for their parents. They state observations plainly without shame or even the slightest awareness of who their audience is. Unfiltered, innocent, hilarity.

Case in point:

The hubs and our 3yr-old are walking several feet in front of me (giving a piggyback ride to our youngest). We are in downtown Jackson, WY. It's the evening which means that the ski slopes are starting to empty and folks are looking for a good meal after a pleasantly exhausting day. We are on the look out for ice cream. Out of nowhere, my beautiful child inquires (as eardrum-splitting volume),
"Momma, do your boobies still have milk in them?"
 You can imagine my slight shock and disbelief.  Not quite believing my ears, I kindly ask her to repeat the question. Don't ask me WHY I thought she could have possibly said anything else.

Anyhow, this very LOUD "exchange" lead to several strange looks. My cheeks turned bright red and I immediately wrapped my arms across my chest as my loving husband proceeded to laugh as loudly as possible. Ice cream couldn't happen quickly enough.

My Big Girl is full of these one-liners.

She's been having a hard time using the potty lately. This results in us having to place her on the potty - commanding her not to leave until she has pooped. Lots of crying. Lots of holding it in. Lots of constipation.

Oh, and a new excuse for not pooping.
"Momma, Daddy, the poop is just not doing its best."
 True enough.

It made me think of all those times in life when you can try your darn-dest.  You can put forth every effort and positive thought. You can pray and seek and try and try and try. And sometimes, it just doesn't work out. Sometimes, we don't get our way.

Sometimes, the poop just isn't doing its best - even if you are.

I hope for you sake, reader, that today the poop is trying it's hardest.


Happy {Music} Friday

Hey All,
We are back from a 10-day long adventure. I'm not up to writing much, but who can resist a happy song.

 Happy Friday,


Happy {Music} Friday

"Let Her Go" was recorded by Passenger originally and they do it best, but this version by Jasmine Thompson is just hauntingly beautiful. Enjoy.



Traveling is Not for the Faint of Heart

The girls and I are currently visiting my folks in GA. Family is really about as good as you can get and having my momma, daddy, sis, bro-in-law, and nephews & niece around for an entire week is a special kind of sweetness.

Single-parenting and traveling alone with my own babies is another story. Still sweet, but it's a hard-hard-difficult thing that pretty much makes me feel pretty neutral about traveling and visits in general.

My kids are REALLY well-traveled for their ages and I feel as though we have an airplane routine that works for us. A lot of parents worry about the airplane routine...I never really worry about the plane. (1) It's a limited amount of time with an end in sight (about 3.5 hours). (2) A bag of Cheetos given to a zealous 3-year-old to share with her sister lasts approximately 4 hours. (3) No one is really caring about your parenting philosophy or judging too harshly at several thousand feet. Everyone just wants to get to the ground alive and with their ear drums fully functioning.

Best air travel advice I ever got: "You want the moon honey? With a cherry on top? It's yours. How 'bout some whipped cream with that?" For real, if it's not too outlandish a request and does pose an imminent threat to the other passengers, my babies get what they want on an airplane. As an aside: my children have received several hundreds of compliments from skeptical-turned-pleasantly surprised passengers.

So, what's HARD?

Well. Single parents are my heroes. It's hard being the only one parenting. Because let's face it, my relatives are going to spoil the snot out of my kids...which doesn't work so great for consistency or routine. Also, if you're flying on a plane, you're most likely gonna deal with a time change. If I multiply our "Spring Forward" experiences by THREE, my kids are living in a special kind of through-the-looking-glass-sleep-deprived-dementia. Also, poop.

The past three days have been so good, but so hard.

For one, I openly admit my husband is a much better parent than I am. I try, but he and my oldest can handle "conflict" (read: fits) much more effectively. When I am left to my own devices, my three year old and I end up crying piles of mess. Lack of sleep and consistency + three-year-old brain (minus daddy) and you have the perfect equation for EVERYTHING being a fight. As an example: I was yelled at today for making her bagel EXACTLY how she has liked it for forever.

If you ever want a crash course in patience and trying not to lose your stuff with your kids. Travel solo. After several thousand tears, you'll get the hang of it.

The time changes are harder. Namely, because I can't control time. I've talked to God about that job title and the possible extra responsibility - usually at 5am EST which is 3am MT, the kids having gone to bed mere hours earlier. God and I have decided that I couldn't handle the time/space continuum and that my efforts in bathing and drinking coffee would be better appreciated by the general public.

If you travel, just know it could result in your kids sleeping like champs or not sleeping at all. Again, roll with it and try your hardest to not have an emotional break down. You're gonna need coffee.


This one is tricky. Nothing magnifies to difficulties of travel like your potty-trained kid deciding to completely disregard all rules of basic society, biology...Leviticus. Expect there to be bowel trouble. If you expect the worse, then those mornings when you DON'T awake to poo-covered sheets & a traumatized kid will be icing on the cake, my friends.

Bottom Line:
Traveling is hard on your kids. It's for real hard on you. Do not engage in anger. It can't fix anything and it confuses your kids...who are already confused, struggling, and nervous (but have no way to talk about or express those emotions).

If you travel alone with your kids often, you are a hero and deserve a parade. Go'head with your bad self...and don't forget the Cheetos.


It can't come soon enough

As a mom (and hey, even as a plain 'ol person), I have always had to fight that nagging desire to speed things up or along. Basically pushing a fast forward button on life in hopes that I could get to the more fun and entertaining bits.

And then you get to the ripe old age of 33 and these things called hindsight and 20/20 and wisdom and thoughtfulness and mindfulness start to take root in your soul. The desire to fast forward starts to ebb as you live IN the moment.

Do not get me wrong. I still find myself wanting to fast forward our way out of X, Y, and Z and into a new season. BLABLABLA. The desire NEVER really leaves. For me it hasn't. It just seems to fade and then pop up at times.

Today I was once again "rotating" the girls' clothes. (Tangent: we have stashes of hand-me-downs that we change out for the seasons, as they grow, etc. I seriously think I have my children outfitted until they are both at least 5 or 6). Looking at little sleepers and dresses and booties, I couldn't believe that the time had gone by so quickly.

Nothing really slaps you in the face with your babies growing up like going through their clothes and seeing the physical change (I'm sure the development of reading skills or doing long division, moving out, getting married are just as striking, but we're not their yet).

I'm putting my baby in clothes that my big girl was JUST WEARING. It makes my heart ache.

This life is a vapor.

Oh how I pray that I soak in every fleeting moment, that I am a loving and compassionate person. That I am fun-loving and free spirited, and that I do all those cheesy things that most country-western songs written on this topic illustrate (I'm staring straight at you Lee Ann Womack).

So, stop reading this silly post and go do something. Something REALLY awesome.

Whether that be saving the day or hugging your kiddos.

Live it Well.


Sickness & Other Hard Things

The last few weeks have been rough ones for our little tribe.

We did get to go away to Jackson, WY for a few days, but it wasn't a happy-go-lucky type getaway. It was much more of a retreat, sabbatical, fleeing-the-current-situation-in-hopes-of-getting-some- perspective-and-making-a-plan-type thing.

The day before we left for our long weekend, I developed an earache and my throat was a bit sore. I didn't think anything of it. I started taken a few over the counter drogas that generally cut short whatever I am fighting and help to eliminate symptoms. Las drogas stemmed the tide and I hoped that I would be right as rain in a few days.

We came home and returned to our normal routines. I started cleaning. I had an AM energy spurt and wanted to take advantage. I was wiping down the kitchen and moved onto tackle the laundry room. I started wiping some lint of the walls.

Oh wait. That's not lint. It's mold. Mold. Dark mold. All over our walls.

So, I got the Clorox out and went to work. I went to other parts of the house that are poorly ventilated and looked for mold in those places as well. By the end of the day I was exhausted and angry.

The next morning, I woke up feeling worse and continually getting worse. Note to Self: Don't tackle the cleaning of mold until you know what kind of mold it is and are perfectly healthy and taking the appropriate precautions.

The sickness lasted another week. A lump in my throat developed and made it difficult to swallow and eat. We took samples of the mold and had them sent to labs. I finally decided that giving my body 2 weeks to fight off infection was sufficient and that a medical professional might know best. Yay antibiotics. Thank God for Penicillin as a reactive lymph node and several white spots in my throat were not gonna just leave of their own accord.

So, to recap.
Fear of Deadly Mold.
Lots of Anger about it.
Still Sick.
Fear of thinking sickness related to Deadly Mold.
Feeling Better.
Waiting on Lab Results from mold samples.



Radio Silence

I'm going quiet(er) for the next few days. My apologies.

A cold that has turned into an infection + a few other 'real' life fun times are demanding most of my attention...and I have two tots.

I hope to meet you again, fully-worded and raring to go on Monday.



...almost always and forevermore on a budget and with children.

The family and I took a jaunt up to Jackson, WY the weekend before last.

My husband had to be there a few days for work, so like the social pariah/leaches adventuresome girls that we are, the tots and I tagged along.

Full disclosure: we as a family do not do well apart. We need each other and cling to each other and notably long for any member of our little tribe who is absent at the moment. It's a precious and beautiful thing.

Jackson, WY is gorgeous. It's a little mountain ski-bum town snuggled away in the North-Eastern part of the state. It gets thousands of visitors in the winter and summer months - normally outdoor enthusiasts. Like any small town, boasting beautiful vistas and subsisting off of tourism dollars, it is RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE.

The hubs and I are well-traveled, but not as a result of having tons of money. We vacation in camp grounds and dive hotels. We maybe eat "out" once a day or not at all to conserve money, opting instead to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while enjoying the free cable in our hotel room.

We know our means, live within them, and don't expect to "have everything" simply because others might have more. We know where we stand in the pecking order. And while awesome vacations to Europe (or hey, even going to Jackson and being able to afford to ski for the day) would be nice, we're kind of okay with where we are.

A weekend away was thoroughly needed. Our part of Wyoming (and I use the term "our" loosely) is windy...the wind pretty much makes all outdoor play for adults and tots impossible. Jackson does not have said wind problem. It was as though we experienced true quite and silent for the first time in two years.

Our days were filled with happy girls running on sidewalks and playing in snow. We even splurged and went to the Children's Museum (I'm thoroughly convinced that all children's museums are not at all worth the money when you have 2 toddlers and are just visiting the town for a day or two). The girls had a great time and the adults enjoyed a few nights of serious talks and dreaming...

Good for the soul.

How do you vacation?


Happy {Music} Friday


I love me some Regina Spektor. 


Eleven Years

Eleven years ago today...

A very handsome, curly headed 19-year-old boy knocked on my apartment door.

I was expecting him. See, earlier that day we had talked about "needing to talk." Not just any talk - the DTR {Defining of The Relationship}.

We had been on a few dates and had been shamelessly "fake dating" for MONTHS before that.

Fake dating (as defined by Lydia): Hanging out a lot, always in groups, and chatting about anything and everything while obviously having a possible romantic interest in one another.  Fake dating also entails being absolutely terrified to make a move that would change the label of said relationship from "friend" to "dating" practicing self-discipline and wisdom in truly taking a step back and prayerfully considering whether this is a person you could marry.

Aside: Fake dating is what I, Ladies and Gents, will encourage my girls to do. 

That curly-headed, clean-shaven fella walked into my apartment.

We sat down and talked...just like we always had. It was EASY to talk because we had been friends for a while. 

Nothing too romantic or soppy was said. That's not our style.

And I won't share any particulars because they are pieces of sweetness that I have treasured in my heart for the last eleven beautiful years.

But I will divulge that the conversation ended with

"I want to pursue this."
"I would like that."

It's burned into my memory and forever will be. It was the moment my husband chose ME. It is the moment he chose to pursue ME...and he didn't have to do anything, but be wise enough to take his time in asking and brave enough to ask when he felt he needed to. {Go'head Hubs} 

Best. Gift. Ever. 


Less Words Wednesday


I've always liked being a little nut(s)


Dear Barnes & Noble:

Dear Barnes & Noble,

I've been shopping with you for years. I do love local "Mom & Pop" book shops, but as those are fading into the background of our society's cultural fabric, I have found my way to your front door on several occasions.

You have a killer kiddo section. I have killer kiddos.

It's a match made on a Tuesday afternoon when some poor soul has to don a Dr. Seuss costume and dance for the natives in heaven {cough}.

I've enjoyed coffee with you as I've perused your travel section and bargain-priced Dr. Who trinkets.

You've offered me comfort on a rainy day, solace when I need to clear my mind, and WiFi when I was a cheap college student who couldn't afford it.

But our relationship stops here.

I was once again wandering your aisles looking for some literary goodies as my husband chased my children after story time. I found my items, took my almost 4-year-old by the hand, and she helped me "check-out" as always.

My Big Girl is smart, independent, and she likes doing things by herself.

She's also observant.

Which comes into play when she innocently asked me "Momma, what are those girls doing?"

I could sense that something was off in her tone. I looked down and it smacked in the face.

Three naked women with their {there's no other word for it in this context} lady parts hanging out, hugging on one another and smiling seductively: Sport Illustrated: Swim Suit Edition

...at eye level with my three-year-old. The sexual objectification of over half the human population (which I have tried to shield her from) starring back at her- as I look on slack-jawed and enraged.

Thank you B&N for willfully assaulting the innocence of my child. You should be ashamed.

As a fairly obvious question: WHY?

Who is that display for?

Is it for the 3-year-old sized man who happens to want to grab a bit of soft-core-porn on his way out of the store?

Because as I see it. The "Swimsuit Edition" has become the "Birthday Suit Edition" and that filth needs to be burned put behind a screen on a high shelf in an area not frequented by children. 

As it was, I tried to flip it over...only to find an equally disgusting depiction of a woman. I then angrily muttered that there was "simply no escaping it."

To which your female employee embarrassingly hung her head and whispered, "No there isn't."

Just so you know, B&N, I responded to my daughter's question:

"Those girls are not honoring God and are showing us how little respect they have for themselves and other girls...like you."

And my response to your EXTREME lapse in basic judgement:

Sexual objectification is hurtful, detrimental, and damaging. See video below.

Until Never. Losing a customer.


Check out this great Ted talk by Caroline Heldman on the dangers of sexual objectification.