Bill O'Reily and Me ... we're like distant cousins.

My husband and I are faithful O'Reilly fans. Or should I say my husband DVRs his show every night so that he never misses a thing. And you'd better not talk or interrupt Mr. O'Reilly during this time, or Beau will give you one of his infamous furrowed brow looks. He actually just finished his book and is an expert on Bill O'Reilly. Ask him any question and I'm sure he'll know the answer to it.

But, I digress ...

I do agree with most of what Bill O'Reilly says.

However ...

I was extremely distracted during the introduction of one of his regular commentators on Monday night's show. So distracted that I immediately picked up my computer and emailed him my thoughts.

Here's the email:

Bill,

My husband and I are faithful viewers of your show. On Monday night, I literally said, "Are you serious?" and "You've got to be kidding me," when Marina came on. Bill, I'm wondering if there are any language experts out there that might be more qualified for that segment, or is the only requirement that you have to wear low-cut blouses that show off your enormous breasts. Add to that, you have to be beautiful and speak with a foreign accent. Just wondering. Maybe you can get a handsome French guy who doesn't wear a shirt. I think I'd enjoy that better. Just my humble female opinion.

Too harsh?

I don't think so.

I wanted to post the video, which I did find, but after putting it up, realized the image on the video was of her in a bikini. Seriously?

Go here to check out her appearance on Monday night's show. Just one look at her website will make you ask yourself ... she's an expert on the origin of words?

I'm sorry, I can't hear anything you're saying or much less read anything on your website due to your barrage of distracting bikini pictures and the picture of you in your bikini top with a bottle of champagne trying to "teach" us the origin of the word "hangover."

Beau says that Bill really likes her and has her on his show all the time. Duh. No joke.

(insert eye-rolling here)

In fact, most of the regulars he has on the show are beautiful, blonde reporters ... Megyn Kelly, Monica Crowley, Lis Wiehl, Margaret Hoover, Martha MacCallum, Laura Ingraham (whom I love), and even sometimes, Ann Coulter. Hmmm ... Bill, Bill, Bill ... I'm not sure what to think about this and about you.

Now that I'm thinking about it ... the best-looking male guest he has as a regular on his show is Glenn Beck. Good grief.

If what's good for the goose is good for the gander, I think some of the segments would be a lot more appealing to his female audience if he had someone like Gerard Butler giving us his opinion on the condition of the economy. He could call it "P.S. I Love 300 Ugly Truths."

I might be able to pay better attention.

I am a living, breathing contradiction.

And, you thought it was just in my spiritual walk. 

WRONG. 

It's in every part of me.

Case in point ... my view after my short run last night. Yes, I did exercise. This picture is like one of those "What doesn't belong?" pictures.

Have you tried these truffles? The white chocolate ones are divine. Lindor truffles. Get some.

Reading about the different layers of muscles in your abs and how the bicycle exercise is the best one to work out all of them ... while eating a dark chocolate truffle. Hmmm ...

Now, for the bad news ... that's 73 calories per ball, people. I ate 2 and could have eaten 6.

I'm amazed at my discipline.

Just Another Day

This picture pretty much sums up my day. K Belle has never fully recovered from two weeks of away-camps. Fever. Cough. Headache. I'm pumping her full of vitamins. It would be a total bummer for her to be sick tomorrow, on her birthday. Boo.

Luau planned for Friday for her. It sure stinks that K Belle and Beau have their birthday in the same week. K Belle's before Beau's. We're usually short on cash and enthusiasm when we get to his day. Same is true for La Petite Belle's birthday and mine ... same week. How'd all that get arranged? Hmmm ... I'm gonna have to do some calculating.

In other news, La Petite Belle and I enjoyed some bonding time.

Despite the red, burning sensation, she enjoyed the experience, and the feel of her skin afterwards.

I first started a skin care regimen, at about 12, coached by my great aunt, a Mary Kay lady. I will never forget these words she said, "Every night that you don't take off your make-up or wash your face adds two years of age to your face." I've never missed a night so I must look two years younger than I actually am. (You thought I was actually going to tell you my age? Right.) I can't even sleep without washing my face. I will pass on my vast knowledge of skin care to my children: If it's burning, it's working.

Off to attempt to make old-fashioned Kool-Aid popsicles with La Petite Belle, with no trays or sticks. Now, this is gonna be interesting.

She's forever our girl.

Will I miss Paula Abdul if she's leaves American Idol? That was the question posed to me on the cover of my Entertainment Weekly, a magazine I never subscribed to or paid for, but continue to get. Why? Don't know.

Heck, yeah, I'll miss her.

I must say, she has been quite entertaining in her years on Idol.

Exhibit A:

Granted, the majority of the time, I can't understand a single thing she is trying to say and wonder if she can actually form a complete sentence, but that's part of her appeal. When the camera pans to her, and it's her turn to speak, I nervously watch and root for her to give some sort of insightful comment. When she makes it through her statement and I have comprehended everything she's said, I am relieved.

The relationship she has with Simon also adds a spark to the show. Who doesn't enjoy a little name-calling and eye-rolling among friends?

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C:

(Sorry, no appropriate video. Just imagine her fancy footwork.)

What we do without her choreographic skills, which come into play quite a bit on the show, even though this isn't So You Think You Can Dance? Those poor contestants are forced to do awkward side steps and maybe a stiff turn or two. Just let them sing, please.

Additionally, the show would not be the same without some shameless plug for her new song or album. I must say, Paula has still got it in the dance department.

So, please, Idol, don't let Paula go. I don't think Kara can offer us the same caliber of entertainment (although I do agree with almost everything she says).

I'm notorious for not taking before pictures.

So, you really won't be able to appreciate all our hard work.

K Belle wanted one black wall. Why? Don't know. I thought that it would look dark and ugly, but it turned out great!

Now, her furniture doesn't quite match the style, but it was my grandmother's when she was a little girl, so it stays. Antiques, baby.

Closer look ... her neon guitar clock.

Even closer ... her throw pillow is my favorite thing in the room.
Tie-back ornaments, which were Christmas ornaments we never used. They sparkle, by the way.
Yes, she still has her porcelain dolls and will keep them until she says they have to go. Right now, she's still a little girl and likes them.
New item ... rotating disco ball. Love it. And she will love it.
Her room would not be complete without the three guys ... unfortunately. I guess it could always be worse.
There they are above her keyboard, giving her inspiration for her music.
We surprise her today after noon.

And, I will definitely take before pictures when I start P90X on September 1st because I know there will be a demand for that.

We go together.

Beau and me.

We just go together.

When I get a can of mixed nuts, I pick all the almonds out. He picks out the pecans, cashews, and macadamia nuts. (I don't buy the ones with peanuts ... just the "fancy" nuts are good enough for this family.)

When I eat steak, I cut off all the fat. Beau eats it.

I'm afraid of biscuit cans. He pops them for me.

When we share fajitas, I eat all the chicken. He eats all the steak.

He always needs my help moving large objects, like furniture and refrigerators. Of course, I am always there, ready to offer my muscle, without a complaint (cough).

I know a lot of songs. He knows more and knows all the correct words.

I like to sleep late on Saturday morning. He cooks great pancakes and omelets. Pure joy!

When I can't remember something, I know he will ... every detail.

When I see he's about to lose his mind, I tell him to relax and offer my wise, calm counsel.

When we're working on some project, we feed off of each other's ideas. It's great. I work so much better with him than alone.

Point being ... we just go together. Although we're total opposites, we're exactly the same.

Would it be lame to say, "he completes me"? Uhhh ... yeah ... pretty much.

I love that man.

{Disclaimer: Don't think there are times that I don't want to give him a beat-down ... 'cause there are. We're by no means perfect. I'm sure likewise he'd like to muzzle me. But, honestly, we just enjoy each other's company and we know what ticks each other off (which we would never do purposefully ... never ... just to annoy ... absolutely not).}

Just a Glimpse

While lying in bed with La Petite Belle last night ...

La Petite Belle: "I love you, Mommy."

Me: "I love you too, baby."

La Petite Belle: "I'm sorry I disobeyed you today."

Me: "Oh, baby. I forgive you.'

And I kissed her on the forehead.

Just like that.

So simple. So sincere.

For just a moment, I caught a glimpse of my Father and me.

Was there any chance I would have not forgiven this little girl?

Not even for a second did I think ... "Well, I don't know if I can forgive you, Your sin's a pretty big one. And you know, you're just going to keep failing. In fact, I'm kind of getting tired of you asking forgiveness for the same things over and over. I think I'll hold on to this forgiveness. You're not worth it."

But, I put God in that box all the time.

I condemn myself.

He, on the other hand, doesn't condemn and remains faithful.

Not forgiving La Petite Belle was never an option. It was automatic. It's built into our character. Holding on to unforgivingness (weird word, I know, but it's the right one) and bitterness is not. It was never meant to be. 

My love for her is way too big.

His love for me is way too big.

Not forgiving is not even an option for Him.

Extreme Makeover: Bedroom Edition

K Belle's away at camp.

She officially becomes 12 next week and as a surprise birthday present, we decided to redecorate her bedroom while she's gone.

Here's a tiny taste of what you get when you pull your child's bed away from the wall.

She gets this from her father.

Like him, she tends to stuff, pile, and stack things. And keep EVERYTHING.

On the other hand, La Petite Belle and I are chunkers (not in reference to our body-type). I trash everything. In fact, remember my bathing suit incident. Well, needless to say, I think I trashed my bikini bottoms. So, once again, my suit is incomplete.

I will be quite busy getting her room ready by Thursday night. Pictures will follow.

Happy Tuesday!

** Thanks, Jodie for noticing my faux pas. Once I think I've finally got this perfection thing down, I lose again. **

Vick's VapoRub is equivalent to crack.

I have a tiny addiction.

Some nights before bed, my lips seem dry.

If this is the case, I apply Vick's VapoRub to my lips before bed. Just a tiny bit.

The instant I unscrew that little container and smell that menthol goodness, I feel immediate peace and calmness. I feel comforted. I feel good as James Brown would say.

Beau, of course, thinks I'm a total weirdo, but I'm not the one that is a freak about the tube of toothpaste being rolled up from the bottom nor do I tuck my undershirt into my underwear.

I have a theory of why this medicinal invention brings me to my happy place.

It's all due to my mom.

My mom is a nurse and has been for over 30 years and now teaches nursing. She was a very nurturing mother and took excellent care of me when I was sick. Excellent. The best.

When I'm sick, I still want her around. She's amazing in that area.

When I was young, I can remember, time after time after time, her rubbing Vick's VapoRub on my chest and a little under my nose when I had a cold or couldn't breathe (which was most of the time because of the deviated septum I caused by the breaking of my nose when I was a toddler ... another story).

There, that's why I love Vick's VapoRub. And, I don't care if it's weird.

However, I just read an article that states that Vick's rubbed on the nose or upper lip can be dangerous for children and cause respiratory problems. And, to make matters worse, the camphor can cause camphor poisoning, which kills liver cells, causing death if ingested.

You know how my mind works ... ninety to nothing.

So, I'm thinking in over twenty-something years of applying this camphor on my lips, could I have actually ingested some of it? And enough to poison myself just for the sake of comfort?

Nah. I'm sure my first three years of college killed more liver cells than that.

I'm thinking I will finish off this last container.

Just this last one. 

I promise I won't use it anymore after that.

I promise.

I'm really not high maintenance, despite what some people might say.

Last night, Beau and I had a date night. Girls come back today, so we had to get our last hoorah in. 

On our way home from work, I told Beau that I was perfectly content to order take-out and stay home. Beau is always adamantly opposed to not eating at a restaurant. I love eating at home. Go figure.

It's become all about comfort for me. (I know I'm showing my age.)

He says he doesn't like having to clean up the mess at home. Ummm ... wait ... who cleans up the mess? I'm fine with it.

He says he likes it when people serve him. Don't I know it.

We spent about 30 minutes trying to decide where we were going to go. I was not backing down from my no-Mexican stance (I had eaten chips & salsa for lunch).

Finally, we decided on The Bonefish Grill, a restaurant we had never been to.

Of course, I had to change my clothes and spend all kinds of effort trying to make myself look like a good date, when really I just wanted to put my pajamas on and eat Chinese out of one of those cute little boxes.

Well, let me just tell you, it was well worth the effort.

Everything from the salad to the dessert was delicious.

But, my favorite, the creme' brulee was divine.

After we ate this, Beau asked me if I wanted to order another one. I said no, but really wanted to. It's so hard being the disciplined one (cough).

The dessert in itself was well worth the dress, the heels, and the touched-up lipstick. (Oh, and the date too.)

Uh ... thanks ... I guess.

How would you take it if you were told you looked like Minnie Mouse today? Is that supposed to be a compliment?

How about some other Disney character, like Belle or Ariel? Who wouldn't love to look like any of those princesses? But, Minnie ... not so much.

You be the judge.

I just don't see it.

Must be the shirt. Not the shoes or ginormous mime gloves.

I guess I should just be thankful it wasn't Goofy.

Coed Sports ... Whose idea was that?

(I'm a little sweaty. It was 104 degrees with a heat index of 155.)

I had my first experience with coed sports last night as a sub for a four-on-four beach volleyball game.

Now, there was a time, over 20 years ago, where I was a pretty hard-core, kick-butt volleyball player. I'm not boasting. It's just the fact. Heck, I was honorable mention for all-state setter circa 1988. That's gotta count for something. Right?

Wrong.

Because last night, I wasn't able to exhibit any of my master setting skills, for that matter, any of my hitting skills at all, period.

Wanna know why?

The men.

The rule here is that a girl on the team only has to hit the ball two times in three plays. And our team (the men) took that literally.

I stood posed most of the time, ready to execute that perfect bump or set, only to be foiled by these two nameless men on our four-person team.

Let me just say, these men are quite competitive. Take my competitive nature and multiply by eight and you got it.

But, if they would have just let me ... just not jumped in front of me on almost every serve that was headed straight for me, then stood still when the ball was clearly theirs, then gazed at me with an evil eye because they thought I should have hit it.... I could have actually aided in a win.

Men ... they think they're so good.

I think I did pretty darn good seeing as I hadn't even picked up a volleyball in over 20 years.

So, if you only hit the ball, not counting your serve, about eight times in an entire two-game match, then the lose is not really your fault, is it?

Yeah, I might play again next week 'cause I'm that good.

Quiet

There was an actual time last night where I had quiet.

Total silence.

Nothing.

No one in the house.

Girls gone. Beau gone.

Just me.

Alone.

You know what?

I missed the noise.

I missed those little voices calling, "Mommy!"

I missed the music I hear every night from the girls' bedrooms.

I missed the giggling right before bed.

I missed just knowing my babies were home in their beds, tucked in, safe and sound.

Don't fret. They're at camp and I'm sure they're having a blast.

But, it just made me think of how many days, hours, minutes I have left with them before they're not in this house every night. 

And I don't hear their voices. 

And I don't know that they're tucked in, safe and sound.

I don't like that feeling.

I realized this week that two-thirds of K Belle's life here at home is over. Done. We're past half-way. We've got only about six years left here. Six very important years. My little curly-haired baby is growing up way too fast.

(Couldn't resist a picture. What a cutie!)

Time continues to be my enemy in every aspect of my life.

God, help me hold onto every minute, every second.

Undeserved

It's so hard for me.

Every day ... the same thing.

Trying to understand the incomprehensible.

Dumb, I know. It's just the way my mind continues to torment me. It just won't shut up.

The incomprehensible ... grace.

Grace received and so undeserved.

This grace ... "unmerited favor."  

Even more ... "enabling power sufficient for progression."

Wow.

That last meaning has to be read 2-3 times to get it. 

God giving us power to go on .... to move on ... to get past the things that are always pulling us backwards. God's daily presence pushing us to do what He created us to do and be in spite of ourselves.

Without grace, we have nothing.

I often compare myself to the Israelites. Despite the many times they turned their back on God, He continued to love them. He desired them. Despite their unfaithfulness, He remained and remains faithful. He refused to abandon them or let them go. And yet, still, they kept going around that same mountain. Just like me sometimes.

Now, there were consequences for the Israelites. There always is.

But, God's grace is always there in the midst of the pain of these consequences. He's the One that gets us through. The Only One who can.

On the days where I feel like I just can't go on, there's grace. His grace. His "unmerited favor."

I don't understand it no matter how much I try.

I just have to believe it. I just have to trust it. I just have to know it.

It's the only way I'll make it.

Just Another Day in Paradise

Snooze button is not of God.

La Petite Belle picking out own clothes = Little Orphan Annie

Eggo chocolate chip mini-muffin tops - only 12 seconds in microwave

Sharing one car means Mama Belle has impeccable skills at putting on mascara in a moving vehicle.

First cup of coffee at 9:00 a.m. is too late.

At 11:00 a.m., Mama Belle realizes she forgot to eat breakfast (which is a rarity).

Thank God for Bible Study!

Taped video, which will be shown for the next 4 weeks, with huge chunk of hair sticking out. Nice. My director doesn't notice these things.

Threatened to just go home instead of shopping with girls for next week's camp due to their bickering.

Said La Petite Belle's name at least 30 times during shopping experience.

Ran 3 miles. Guess that means that second bowl of ice cream is in order.

Dirty kitchen.

Laundry piled in their temporary home ... the living room chair. And another load to wash before bed.

Will be falling asleep on couch by 9:30 p.m.

This is all her father.

The girls are in a creative arts summer camp this week. They wanted to see all their past school and church performances. We came across this gem last night.

This video is of the out-takes to this. Don't think I promote burping on a regular basis ... only when it benefits the cause of Christ.

A star was born.

I knew this day would come.

(Thanks, Blogger. Love the flattering face image that you've chosen to freeze on. Thanks a lot.)

This boy that called was the same boy that asked my permission for K Belle to "hang out" with him as he was helping to run sound for a local church service. Awkward.

To which I said, "No. Sorry. She has plans."

Beau said, "I'm a sound engineer and I don't want her hanging around sound engineers." Go figure.

I'm not sure if she actually likes this boy or not. She laughs about it and says he's such a nerd, but she still "hangs out" with him. Hmmm ...

This child will be 12 this month. TWELVE, little dude. Ask me again in 3, maybe 4 years.

I'm your Huckleberry ... Finn.

No, Wyatt Earp did not say that exact phrase in "Tombstone." Just go with me.

When talking about fishing and famous fishermen, I can't think of a one. Only Huckleberry Finn comes to mind.

On the Fourth, we decided to go fishing ... not a common occurrence in our household.

When asked how they felt about the whole going-fishing thing, this was the daughters' reactions. Notice the difference. K Belle and I had similar feelings about this adventure.

Beau was a little iffy.

Me ... I'm along for the ride. Sun beating down on me, combined with smelly fish was not appealing. 

The worst part about fishing ... the bait.

Chicken livers? Really? Catfish eating chicken livers was an odd choice to me. It's like chickens eating cows. Weird.

The swinging of the chicken liver near my face was a little too much.

But, the kicker was when I was just standing there fishing, minding my own business, and one of these disgusting bloody chicken livers landed on my foot. The top of my foot was bare ... bare, I tell you.Let's just say, K Belle was a bit challenged with her casting at first. She was about 20 feet away. Yeah.

I did fear for my life every time La Petite Belle came near me with her fishing pole or got ready to cast out her line. She almost stabbed each of us about 3 times.

Doesn't it look like that she is wearing that barrel on her head?

It was HOT. La Petite Belle ended up with a bad heat rash and we were all a little pinker.

In the end, K Belle caught 4 fish and I caught 2. Beau and La Petite Belle ... none.

Here's my first one. What a beauty.

K Belle and I's secret ... shrimp as bait and not those nasty chicken livers. Actually, K Belle peeled the shrimp and said that her bait was "finely prepared." We kept telling her she didn't have to peel them. But since she caught the most fish, I guess she was right.

The way catfish look the best.

What a way to celebrate the Fourth ... fried fish, fried okra, and french fries. Nothing says "America" like fried food. (I did make a salad too ... umm ... ahem ... and a strawberry cake.)

Minus the heat, the bait, the stench, the flies, and the danger of the hook, a good time was had by all.

How much are you sick of hearing about Beau and me?

I know I am.

But, because I obviously can't read and my friend, Rachel, made me aware of this fact, I posted her "Meetings, Marriages, and Memories" post on June 6th, instead of July 6th.

This allows me the opportunity to just tell you more stuff about us. I know you're thrilled. More sappy stories.

You can read the whole how-we-got-together post here.

And, then, if you haven't got enough, scroll down to the previous post to see some of our wedding pictures.

So, in honor of Rachel's carnival ...

I will add in, as a bonus, the proposal story.

We had only been dating for 3 months.

I think it was actually our 3-month anniversary. Of course, I may be wrong, and I'm sure Beau will correct me because he has the memory of the person who had the best memory in history, whom I've not a clue who he/she is, but go with me. He even remembers what I was wearing the night he asked me out, but I don't. He is the king of remembering trivial facts ... getting off subject ... OK ... going on ...

Here's my memory of it.

We had this special date planned.

That night he did this romantic/creepy thing. He blindfolded me.

My initial reaction was wariness. But, he convinced me otherwise. He wanted everything to be a surprise. Little did he know I was calculating the direction of the car as he drove.

I knew where we were the whole time.

He took me to a nice restaurant in town. We had a romantic, candlelight dinner.

But, he had another place to take me and he put the blindfold back on me.

Because he caught on that I was a master of direction, he took alternate routes and made some crazy turns just to throw me off-course.

We arrived at our destination.

He took me out of the car and proceeded to guide me.

I could hear no sounds, except for the crunching of the leaves under my feet.

My thoughts were: Are we in the forest somewhere? Has he been fooling me this whole time and he's really an ax murderer and going to kill me? Couldn't be. No, Mama Belle (except I used my real name in my head), relax. He's probably just doing something uber-romantic. (He's the romantic one. I know you're surprised.)

He finally led me out of the leaves, to a harder surface, and stood me up on some type of pedestal thing.

I was standing in the middle of something called, "The Echo Chamber." It's a place near our park and planetarium, where you stand on the middle stoop, speak, and you hear your echo all around you. I didn't know this at the time.

He said, "I wanted you to be in a place where you could hear these words all around you."

He proceeded to tell me how much he loved me and didn't want to ever live without me and all that good stuff.

He then said, "You can take off your blindfold."

He was on one knee, with a tiny box opened to reveal a diamond ring, and asked that question that would change our lives forever ... "Will you marry me?"

I, of course, was quite stunned and shocked. It took me a while to catch my breath and stop giggling. I just kept saying, "Oh my gosh, I can't believe this. Are you crazy? Oh my gosh. I can't believe this."

After a minute, he said, "Well? Are you gonna answer me?"

I said, "Well, yes, of course."

Fifteen years ... I still just look at him sometime and say, "I'm so glad I married you."

I sure do love that man.

(No, he does not drink.)

Go here to read more sappy stories.

Still Crazy After All These Years

This was the early '90s, people. Don't judge or giggle.

Near-Christmas wedding, December 16th, 1994 - The whole wedding party. My how we've changed. The flower girl and ring-bearer are in their twenties. Yeah, think about that one.

Beau & I believe we haven't changed that much after all these years. You be the judge. Or maybe not. Yeah, just allow us to believe it.

Then ...

Now ... (ignore the robe)

Then ...

Now ... (despite this picture, I am not a giant)

Then ... (appropriate setting & sweet)

Now ... (awkward)

The day after the wedding ... amazed that I am married.

Beau preparing for our cruise.

All I can say is it just keeps getting better.

(I think this is him telling me he hates the sweater I am making him wear or me telling him to stop doing cheesy poses. Whatever. It does keep getting better.)

For more photos and reminiscing, go to Rachel's place here.

What a Charmer!

(one of our many out-takes)

I''m not sure where she gets it from. Her father and I are far from charming.

However, God created something a little unique in La Petite Belle.

At the dentist yesterday, K Belle and I waited patiently in the waiting room while La Petite Belle was getting her check-up.

K Belle and I giggled quite a bit, hearing La Petite Belle talk the poor dental assistant's ear off.

Let's just say, we could have been in and out of there in 20 minutes. But, instead, it was more like 40.

When I finally got called in to wait for the dentist to give me the results of her check-up, the dental assistant said that La Petite Belle just became her favorite patient of all-time.

I, of course, was a little surprised.

The dental assistant said that La Petite Belle asked her how old she was. After the assistant said her age ... I think it was in her 20s, La Petite Belle said, "Really? Because you look like a teenager. I love her."

This may have been part of her scheme to get more than one of those junky little toys from the tooth treasure box. I'm not sure. But, it worked. She got to pick four.

La Petite Belle also showed extreme interest in how to floss and asked the assistant to please demonstrate so that she could do it the right way at home. 

Hmmm ... really?

This is the same child that I have to tell to turn right back around and re-brush her teeth some days ... WITH TOOTHPASTE ... and not just use mouthwash to cover up the stink (Mama can tell the difference, you know.).

Now, she's a floss expert.

But, you know, I've come to realize this really is just who she is.

When she showed up at work in the afternoon, as I was getting off, she headed to my pregnant friend and co-worker's office. She walked in, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "So, how's the baby?"

So, there you have it.

She's just sweet. She's just charming. She's just honestly concerned about everyone.

I can remember even when she was very young that she would pray for all the people in the world that were sick or didn't know Jesus and that God would bless all people.

So, if you know her, and she hugs you every time she sees you, it's for real. She means it.

That's not to say, she might not turn it on a little stronger if you have chocolate or a box full of dollar store toys.

And, yes, I'm late for Rachel's carnival. But, go over anyway. I'll be posting my pics tomorrow.