The Snowman

If you've read my blog before, you know that I'm all about taking pictures. My camera has a name, for goodness sake. Not just any name, but the name of a famous Jane Austen character.

That's right next door to sacred.

So - of course - I had to take Bingley outside to snap pictures of Sunshine playing in our first snow of the year. That girl loooves snow. And since she's a girlie-girl, she played nice and sweetly in it. There were NO snowball fights, for which I was thankful. I grew up with two older brothers who only saw snow as another weapon in the great sibling war. Maybe that's just how boys think.

My daughter is refreshingly different, thank goodness. Here's Sunshine making one of many snow angels:

And smiling for the camera:

We had such good, clean fun in the cold.

After we'd played outside in the 25-degree weather for quite awhile, Sunshine asked me to help her build a snowman. My hands were already half-frozen and I was ready to head inside.

"Next time," I promised her. "And Daddy can help."

Sure enough, two days later, Sunshine was back outside in the snow. This time with her dad. They worked for nearly an hour before stepping inside for hot drinks. Sunshine immediately ran to my side and tugged on my hand.

"Come see our snowman." She sounded so proud.

Just look at that happy, innocent snow face. He's cute, don't you think? I thought so too.

Until I noticed the army of headless snowmen behind him.

C.R. swears that "army" is really just a snow fort, but I'm not so sure. Either way, I'm guessing that his influence turned innocent snow fun into a snow war.

Or maybe my sweet little girl isn't so very different from the boys after all.

Thanksgiving Panic

I'm starting to panic. And - much like my camera and my car - my panic is lucky enough to have it's own formal name: Thanksgiving Dinner.

Alright, make that two names.

The point is that I'm freaking out.

I'm hosting the big Thanksgiving meal at my house this year. With all of my in-laws...well, all of 'em but the smart one. When I volunteered, I wasn't worried; I figured it was no big deal because I'd hosted my own extended family for the last two years. I was in charge of the really important things, like cleaning my house and making the table look pretty. Meanwhile, my mom took care of the little details, like the turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, and apple pie.

My critical contribution to the meal was a cranberry jello salad.

But I just realized that this year I'm not only hosting the meal; I'm in charge of it. And since I can't cram turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing into a gelatin mold (at least not edibly), I'm panicking.

AHHHH!!!!

Did I mention that I'm not the most accomplished cook on the planet? Or maybe you came to that conclusion on your own.

Don't get me wrong. I do ordinary, everyday meals just fine. It's the fancy stuff that trips me up. I've never cooked a turkey in my life...or made turkey gravy for that matter (unless you count the stuff out of an envelope and I wouldn't). Good grief. Whose brilliant idea was it to put me in charge of Thanksgiving dinner for a slew of people?!

Oh, yeah. Mine.

I thought it would be nice to take the pressure off my sweet and super busy mother-in-law this year by offering to host the meal. I'm not even sure my husband had all of the words out of his mouth before she started exclaiming, "YES, YES!!" She could've been jumping up and down and high-fiving C.R.'s grandma on the other end of the phone for all I know. I just know that she's kind enough to appreciate the offer and not expect perfection.

Still, here's the thing: I'm a recovering perfectionist.

Who doesn't do entertaining well. At all. I'm fidgety just thinking about it.

And I have in-laws who've been blessed with the gift of hospitality. They love to entertain. Not in a snobby Martha Stewart sorta way, but in a homey, gracious, bless-your-heart-right-out kinda way.

They're totally varsity.

And I can't even warm a bench for the junior varsity.

I know that many of you dear bloggy friends are wonderful cooks and know how to entertain with the best of 'em. Please, please help. Recipes...advice...a beautifully cooked turkey and all the trimmings in a shipping box addressed to my house and sent same-day delivery...any little thing would be appreciated.

I'm begging you.

And I promise that my in-laws will thank you for it.

Majesty

I glanced out my kitchen window this evening and froze. Then I made a quick dash to the bedroom for Bingley.

Er, that would be my camera.

There, just beyond the neighbors' fence, was one of the most incredible sunsets I've ever seen. This was my exact view (without any color saturation or Photoshop special effects):

Alright, when I looked out my window, the text wasn't there in the sky. But it may as well have been. Tonight, I saw the heavens declare the glory of God - strong and fearsome and stunningly beautiful.

Praise Him.

The Race

My husband recently finished his first marathon.

During that race, two things struck me.

First, my husband is healthy enough to complete a 26.2-mile race. Just a few years ago, C.R. could barely get out of bed each morning as he struggled through chemotherapy. I'm so thankful that he now has the stamina to run a marathon and even - sorta - enjoy it!

Second, my life is like a race, one that God has marked out for me. And I'm to run it with guts and passion, no matter where the path leads or what obstacles get in my way.

Check out one of C.R.'s fellow marathoners:

This man completed the entire marathon - using just his hands and arms to propel him - in well under four hours. He refused to let anything stand in the way of finishing well and he was beaming when he crossed the finish line.

I want to beam at my finish line too.