I've come to an understanding with myself.

I don't know about you, but I have conversations with myself pretty much daily ... no, make that hourly.

I think this is quite normal. And, I think the older you get, the more conversations you have because, when you're young, let's face it, you really don't know as much as you think you know.

God's been dealing with me on a lot of issues the past few years.

One of the issues I have struggled with is just simply loving myself. Loving who I am. Embracing what God has created me to be.

No, I'm not like this person, or that person. I can't do this or that. But, that's OK. It's simply because God never intended for me to be anyone else than who I am. So, I'm just gonna go with it.

Embracing that idea can be hard because I always seem to have other thoughts of what I should be.

So, as this dreaded birthday approaches tomorrow ... you know the one ... the one that makes you feel old, I embrace who I am.

It may not be good enough for some people around me, but darnit, I'm becoming quite content.

I feel more confident in my ability to tell off that idiot voice that I have going off in my head, always trying to put me down. To that voice inside my head: "Just shut up. I've had enough of you and I'm done."

Now this post is just starting to sound a little loony.

Going back to the way I feel about myself on the day before the day of my birth ... I feel good.

My goals this year:

1. I'm going to give myself way more credit than I usually do and stop being so hard on myself.

2. I will not allow outside factors and people affect the way I think about myself.

3. I will be content with who I am and finally reach that understanding that this 'ol body is probably about as good as it's gonna get. (I won't stop working at getting more fit, but let's be realistic here.)

4. Take the stuff God's been teaching me and pour that into my girls, allowing God to mold them into strong, confident women. I have so much more to say & do with them and so little time.

5. I will discover more of who Beau is, even after almost 16 years of marriage. And, hopefully I can become a little more interesting for him. (I'll have to work on that one.)

6. I will live life more.

7. I will be grateful for how blessed I really am.

Seven ... that's a good number. Let's stop there.

Now, let the birthday festivities begin ... tomorrow.

And, yes, I will eat cake & ice cream, just like the good 'ol days.

(Me in, as it states on the side of the picture, 1972)

Business and Beyond

Beau had to head to Houston for a business trip and I tagged along. Imagine my thrill at sitting for over hours, listening to guys talk about camera gear, and not understanding most of what they were saying because of their secret language of abbreviated numbers and letters. The three-hour drive to Houston was actually more enjoyable, especially when Beau and I settled a two-year argument over the lyrics of Michael Jackson's, "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." Yeah, I won.

The best part of the short trip was not strolling the Galleria and gazing into the windows of the shops designed for only the elite. Seriously, can anyone afford some of that stuff? I mean, Jimmy Choo's are nice and all, but I can get a knock-off of the same shoe at one of the discount stores for $12.99, called Jamie Chow.

Or the CoCo Mademoiselle that was delivered to my table after dinner (an early birthday present from Beau). Although this was quite fabulous.

Or purchasing these unique "Jesus bandaids" for my girls, after questioning whether they were sacreligious or not ... but, then realized, "Jesus heals. And, He's our healer. Right?" What a great reminder! I love them. I'm pretty sure La Petite Belle will have five cuts tomorrow that need to be covered.

Or this fabulous latte I ordered for breakfast from a little French Bistro (along with a delicious ham and cheese croissant and a bite of a cherry danish). Loved it.

But, the best part was meeting this lovely lady. And, when I say "lovely," it's an understatement. She's simply stunning and fun to boot. She's absolutely one of my favorite bloggers. She's the Hat Chick. I can't wait to get back to Houston to spend more time with her.

Meeting blogging friends can be a little nerve racking, but this one was easy-peasy.

Ain't that the truth.

"Every adult still has the need to be loved like a child." (not treated like a child, but loved) -Beth Moore

I read this little bit of wisdom a couple of weeks ago and it keeps resonating within me. I see it in my own life.

I often feel like I'm really just a little girl trapped in this grown-up body. That means I have to act like an adult in every way.

But, sometimes I just want to kick and scream and throw a fit. Sometimes I just want to eat candy until I get sick. Sometimes I don't want anybody to tell me what to do (actually that may be all the time). Sometimes I want to watch Saturday morning cartoons.

Sometimes I just want to sit in the lap of my granddaddy.

(Granddaddy and me, circa 1973 or 74)

Sometimes I just want my mommy to take care of me when I'm sick (she was so good at that).

But, most of all ... I want to know that I am loved all the time, no matter what.

Loved like a child.

You know the kind of love.

The love that makes you feel safe. The love that never makes you doubt whether you're loved or not. The love that makes you feel totally secure.

Did any of us ever doubt our parents' love when they held us or tucked us in at night?

Not at all.

I need that.

And, I'm just coming to the realization, at this older age, that my Heavenly Father is the only One who can give it to me. The. Only. One.

Hello. Why does it take me so long to get such simple things that I should already know? I always knew it. But knowing it, and feeling it are two totally different things. Totally different.

Even when you are old, I will be the same. Even when your hair has turned gray, I will take care of you. I made you and will take care of you. I will carry you and save you.

Isaiah 46:4

God definitely gave her to me for my own entertainment.

La Petite Belle: "What is dancing around the pole?"

Me: "What?"

La Petite Belle: "You know, the thing that they had today?"

Me: "You mean 'See You at the Pole'?"

La Petite: "Yes. I thought it was dancing around the pole."

Me: "No. That's something totally different."

She amuses me pretty much on a daily basis.

Oh, what will tomorrow bring?

The Old "Coop"

La Petite Belles' birthday is drawing closer and closer.

As long as she was preschooler, she's wanted a horse.

She asks for it over and over again. And, I explain over and over again the impossibility of this ever happening. I explain the cost issue, not only for the horse, but for the upkeep. She still doesn't get it six years later. Not. At. All.

Her request for this year ... a horse.

I say, for the one millionth time, "We cannot get a horse. We can't afford it, don't have a place for it, and can't pay for it to stay at a stable. It's time to pick something else that's realistic."

La Petite Belle: "OK, a tiny, baby horse."

Me: "Still not realistic."

La Petite Belle continues to belabor the point.

I say, "If you want a horse, you're just going to have to marry a farmer."

La Petite Belle wrinkles up her face and says, "I'm not gonna marry some old coop."

Me: "It's coot."

La Petite Belle: "Coot. Coop. I'm not gonna marry one."

The Wheels on the Bus

What a happy song! What a happy time when I sang this song over and over again with my little girls as they made up their own things that could happen on a bus "all through the town"!

But, as I think about the possibility of my oldest child riding the bus to high school next year, I cringe.

I think about my own experience on the bus in a younger, safer era, like the '70s ... um ... OK, so maybe it really wasn't that "safe" of an era when you think about it, but let's move on.

I don't remember there ever being an option not to ride the bus when I was younger. Private schools were few and far between and I was the only child of one hard-working single mom.

I still drive by the apartments we lived in and see the very spot in front of the row of mailboxes where I stood each morning in my Jordache-like jeans to get on that bus. I have fairly good memories of that bus. Really not many memories, except for the Journey songs that played over the speakers, so I guess that's a good thing.

What I do remember is how responsible I was at such a young age. In 2nd grade, I would be dropped off at that same spot in the afternoon, let myself into our apartment, fix myself cheese & peanut butter on saltines, do my homework, and watch Scooby Doo until my mom soon arrived home from work. She was a nurse and worked the 7-3 shift. Perfect hours so that she could be home with her daughter.

Then, as I got older (the '80s), the bus ride experiences just got worse. Junior high ... ugh. There was so much teasing, not so much with me, but with everyone. There were definite bullies who always seemed to sit at the back of the bus. Wonder why?

That poor bus driver. How was he supposed to know what was going on? And, that's what I think about for today. How can one person, driving a bus, monitor that many kids? They just can't. There's no way.

It always seemed like bad things went on on the bus. Even from me. I would sneak make-up onto the bus to wear to school because my mom wouldn't let me wear it. Yeah, a little rebellious, wouldn't you say? I got it good one day when she surprised me and picked me up early from school and I had make-up all over my face. I was dumb.

In 8th grade, I transferred to a private school that offered bus service. We lived quite a distance from the school, so it was extremely convenient.

I can remember lots of trouble to be gotten into on that bus too. In fact, I think, at that time, I was one of the ones sitting in the back of the bus. I didn't get into any trouble. But, low and behold, that was the one bus ride where one of the boys in the back mooned passers-by, sticking his naked booty out of the window. This was a Christian school, mind you. Some of the worst things happen at Christian schools. I'm here to testify to that.

If that kind of stuff goes on on a bus filled with little Christians, who's to say what can go on on a bus filled with little non-Christians? I just keep thinking about this video:

My dilemma is this: Wake up at the crack of dawn (because high school starts at 7:10 a.m., and lets out at 2:10 p.m.) and try to get K Belle to school on time. I'm not a fan of this idea.

OR

Let go of my death grip and let her ride the bus like most kids.

Still thinking. I definitely have time to think, seeing as this is like a year away. But, you know, Mama has to get her ducks in a row. Come on, my Louisiana peeps with kids who ride the bus, give me a shout-out.

Did you ride the bus?

Outside of the Box

That's what K Belle's teachers tend to say about her ... "She thinks outside of the box."

I had an interesting conversation with her teacher yesterday. I called, of course, to try and solve homework issues she's currently having and continues to have. Same issues we've been trying to solve since 4th grade ... the issue of actually getting the homework from the house to the teacher complete. It continues to be a struggle even in 8th grade.

You see, K Belle, is quite a smart little cookie. And, I don't say that just because I'm her mother and that's what mothers are supposed to say about their children. I say that in all sincerity and have had this thought confirmed through every one of her teachers.

She really doesn't struggle in any subjects. If she makes a bad grade, it's due to laziness, plain and simple. She gets pretty much everything.

So, as I'm ranting to the teacher about other consequences I can give to a child that already has too many consequences, she gives me a little more insight into this child of mine. You do know that a lot of the time the child that you know from home is not the same child at school, right? Having been a teacher myself, I am quite aware of this fact.

She proceeds to tell me that one of the reasons she loves having K Belle in her class is that she does "think outside the box" and brings new ideas and questions to a lot of discussions. She says she is not afraid to ask questions and express her thoughts.

This is a good thing. As long as the questions are legitimate ones that will lead her closer to the truth and not away.

The teacher starts to explain about a recent Bible lesson about Paul and Barnabus and how they were traveling and healing the sick. The people started to think that they were gods. Paul and Barnabus got so upset that the Bible says they ripped their clothes, mainly to show that they were human and it was only God that could heal.

To an 8th grade class, the idea of them ripping their clothes, of course, led to a lengthy discussion over why they would do that, and the possibility of them being the first streakers.

The teacher went on to explain the culture of that time and how the ripping of the clothes was something that was done to show great grief, sorrow, or pain. We do see it many times in Scripture.

After a few minutes, K Belle walked up to the teacher and said this, "You know how when Jesus was crucified the temple curtain or veil was ripped from top to bottom?"

Teacher: "Yes."

K Belle: "Do you think that has something to do with God's grief for His Son and for us?"

Wow.

I've been thinking about that parallel ever since the teacher mentioned it to me. I've never even thought of it that way. But, oh my. Certainly God was grieved and filled with sorrow not only for His only Son, but for us in knowing what we would have to endure in this life.

It was like He tore His clothes. And grieved.

The teacher said that K Belle may not have all of her Bible homework, but she comes up with stuff like this.

Ugh ... if we could only get this homework thing down. I wonder if Einstein's mother struggled with homework issues too.

God's call on this kid's life is so blatant that she'd have to be blind not to see it.

She's definitely one great kid.

No Rainbows, but One Cute Puppy.

As promised in yesterday's grouchy post, I am posting about "puppies and rainbows," except for the rainbow part and the "puppies" part is just one puppy.

Roxy Belle got her short do yesterday morning. This pup is uncontrollable when she knows she's headed to the pet spa. Yes, spa, not groomer. There's a difference.

I try to keep her calm in the vehicle, but she whimpers and barks with that high-pitched, ear-piercing bark. Geez.

And, she's all over the place ... up looking out the window, laying in the seat on her back, pacing back and forth in the front seat.

She continues to do this until finally she flies to the floor because I've turned a curve or put on the brakes. This happens several times throughout our trip. She's a glutton for punishment. If only she'd just listen to her mama and sit still. Just another one that wants to buck me.

Things that Drive Me Absolutely Up the Wall

Bad Attitudes - I've been having a lot of these lately. It would seem to be that I am a part of the very thing I can't stand ... a little hypocritical, wouldn't you say?. I'm normally a very cheery person, so I'm hating this about myself right now. Uck.

It's the very thing I correct my children about every day. Every. Day. You know ... the rolling of eyes, raising of the voice, stomping of the feet ... the same things I control myself from doing every day. Every. Day.

I'm trying to teach my children to control theirs too. Last night I muttered these words, "Even if you're mad or upset, I don't want to see that you are." I'm wondering if I'm teaching a good thing. Suppress that emotion, girl. Bury it. But, just don't let it out in public.

Dishonesty - In any form, I hate it. Hate is not even a strong enough word for how I feel about it. But, it's everywhere. If I'm not, again, training my children to always be honest with me, I'm dealing with it at the very places you'd think you wouldn't see such a thing. No one is immune to it. You will either be a victim of it or a perpetrator of it at some point in your life.

I'm a firm believer in telling the truth no matter what the cost. Because really that's all people want to hear anyway. I just have to work on my delivery. Said in love, truth can be healing.

Injustice - I have this thing about me. I hate when a wrong is being done and I can't do anything about it. I want to fix things. I want to make them better. I want everyone to have the same rights of everyone else.

But, problem is, it just doesn't happen. Do I give up? I just have to keep telling myself, "Mama Belle, life's not fair, no matter how bad you want it to be."

And, really, it's not. In the end, it comes down to how you deal with the injustice. How will I respond? As I've said in the past, God only holds me accountable for my actions, not the actions of others. That's a tall order because most of the time, I don't act, I react. And, that's never good.

Manipulation - You do realize that manipulation is just another form of dishonesty, right? Maneuvering a situation to your benefit. Deceiving. It makes my skin crawl.

Have we all manipulated? Probably, yes. I can honestly say that I've manipulated situations in the past, before I was a Christian, mostly by flipping my long, curly hair and batting my eyes. But, now that my looks are fading, manipulation is not even an option anymore. And, I would never try.

Have we all been manipulated? Probably, yes. But, it would take one smart cookie to manipulate me now. If you fancy yourself a manipulator, I'm already onto you.

OK, I've said my peace. Enough for one day.

I have a long list of other irritations, which I'm sure you'll hear about one of these days.

Ew ... this was a grouchy post. Tomorrow I'll post about how I love puppies and rainbows. Promise.

Does Disney turn good girls bad?

I've posted before about my disapproval of some of what television programming Disney puts on.

From glamourizing disrespecting teens, to loads of sorcery, to way too much lovey-dovey stuff for nine-year-olds and the like to be watching , there's a lot to disagree with.

Granted, Disney in general is pretty close to amazing in most of its endeavors. And, I do love a lot about Disney. Shoot ... if I could go to DisneyWorld tomorrow, I would.

But, when it comes to the content of a lot of their programming, I'm not always a fan.

What I'm most not a fan of is their music videos that are strategically placed throughout the day.

I'm trying to teach my girls about modesty and purity and the like, and then they see lots of booty-shaking, seductiveness, and lots of girls in the rain.

Rain. Lots of it.

What's up with the girls in the rain? Is that sexy and attractive?

All I know is when I get out of the shower, I tend to favor the likeness of a drowned rat. So, I guess I just don't get it. Come to think of it, I've never seen anyone look this good in the rain.

It is possible that mostly men are making these videos. (I am not on a men-hating kick this week. Promise. Two totally separate thoughts and posts. Promise.)

Look below. Don't you think this looks a little too old of a video for Selena Gomez? She's as cute as a button, but really, can't we just let her be a little more innocent? She's still a teenager, people. Stop forcing her to grow up so fast. And, enough with the rain.

She would have been just as cute in jeans and a t-shirt under an umbrella. (The song's a little melodramatic for me anyway. Being without you is like "A Year Without Rain"? OK, honey ... it's time to move on.)

Just last month, I had to bear watching Demi Lovato get soaked in her video, "Let the Rain Fall."

These, of course, are just a drop (no pun intended) in the bucket to most of the other videos that are turned out by Miley Cyrus. Even little Hilary Duff was ruined in her "Rain Fall Down" video.

And, should we even mention Lindsay Lohan?

So cute in her first Disney film, "The Parent Trap."

Yikes ... now after just several years of drug, alcohol, and plastic surgery addiction. Scary.

Um ... she's pretty much the poster child for child actors gone bad.

Looks like a pattern here.

Hey, Disney ... let the girls stay out of the rain, please.

I've worked with some pigs before but this one takes the cake.

She was not at all friendly and her scent was less than desirable to say the least.

One thing's for sure ... I cannot keep my eyes off of a pig's tail. It's hypnotizing ... swaying back and forth, back and forth.

I'm sworn to secrecy on the purpose of this mission.

She could have been used for the "oink, oink here, and oink, oink there" in a recorded "Christian" version of "Old MacDonald," or could be starring in our next sermon series, "Lipstick on a Pig - The Huge Cover-up" (Hey ... wait a minute ... that's a good one. If it looks like a pig and acts like a pig, it's a pig ... lipstick or not.), or maybe she's simply a few pork loins and some slabs of bacon ... Nah.

She's none of those.

"Labor" Day Moments

A hodge-podge of moments, involving K Belle (20 hours of labor) and La Petite Belle (22 hours ... and they say the second one's easier ... they lie.):

K Belle-

Beau and I headed out to an Italian restaurant to eat. I had no idea I was in labor. Eating lasagna rolls was one of the worst decisions EVER. One of the most horrifying scenes of my life ... contractions, body shaking (due to shock), and vomiting all at the same time. Not pretty. To this day, I am not a huge pasta fan.

Beau, after hours of labor and me asking for some pain medication: "Remember what we said? ... that we would wait 15 minutes after you asked, to let the endorphins kick in?" Me: (stink eye)

Beau, after I'd finally got that epidural, which numbed only one side of my body: "You do realize you just peed on the nurse?" Me: "Like I care right now."

La Petite Belle-

Nurse, at 4:00 a.m., after about eight hours of pitocin and cervidil, which induces labor and contractions: "Oh, honey ... you're not even at half a centimeter." Me: Incessant crying.

Doctor comes in at noon after all the inducing and says there are two choices: a C-section or go home (already over 2 weeks late). Beau: "What's the cost difference?" Me: Incessant crying and stink eye to Beau again. (I went home, by the way, for another week as a beached whale.)

Original due date: Sept. 16th; Birthdate: October 6th ... how's that for miscalculation?

Me, after failed epidural: "Is there anything else you can give me for pain?" Nurse: "If we give you anything else, you will die." (I'm quite drug-tolerant.)

In 22 hours of labor, a six-hour epidural is a joke.

Me, after almost two hours of pushing and the whole baby's-head-not-turning issue (for the second time ... same with K Belle), I went a little bi-polar: "I can't push anymore. I can't push anymore. (tears) ... I have to push. I have to push."

Doctor comes in after that almost two hours: "Let's get that baby out of you." Within 10 minutes, La Petite Belle was born. TEN MINUTES ... you'd think he could have come in sooner.

After La Petite Belle is delivered and the doctor hears her cry (the loudest cry anyone's ever heard), he says: "You sure you don't want me to put her back?"

And, I'd do it all again.

(OK. It's officially time to get to scanning. This is the youngest picture I have of them on the computer. I only have a combined total of about 10 years to scan. Should only take ... um ... forever.)

Men ... Ugh.

I read this statement and it has stuck with me for a few weeks now:

"Normal men never get too old to eye women."

No, I was not reading Cosmopolitan.

It was a statement in that Beth Moore book that's messin' with my brain right now. She is one smart cookie.

Um ... I think I already knew this statement was true. I mean, come on. We're not idiots. Women are pretty intuitive.

I would say that women are more in tune to men's brains than men are.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure of it.

Let's think about this for a minute.

If this statement is true, and I do believe it is, then who is the more powerful gender?

A woman has more power than she thinks.

Women are men's Achille's heel.

Remember the Garden of Eden? And, we could think of countless stories where men have given up quite a bit just to be with a woman.

Sometimes, I really feel sorry for men. They've got it tough. Really, they do. A Christian man battles his thoughts and mind constantly.

We can't be naive and believe that the statement is not true.

Beau and I have talked about this before.

Let's face it ... there are lots of beautiful women (and men) out there and, honestly, I can appreciate their beauty for a split second before I just want to move myself to another room away from them so that I'll look better. And, that's where it ends for me ... "She/he's attractive. Yay. Good for them." And, I am totally OK with Beau thinking the same.

But, that's where it has to end. And, that's where most men have the problem.

Maybe if men realized that women are really the ones in control, there would be a change in their thinking.

I know part of this is the way God created them. I get that. Women wouldn't want it any other way.

But, dang ... I definitely want my man to only have eyes for me.

He says he does.

And, I believe him.

Boy, do love this man. He's the best (said in my best Nacho Libre voice).

All titles I thought of for this post sounded too much like an old-school preacher's sermon on Hell and this post has no spiritual significance.

Remember how I went to Sephora this past weekend and that little twenty-something-year-old asked me about whether or not I used eye cream because, apparently, concealer is just not cuttin' it for the massive wrinkles I've got goin' on?

Well, I picked up a new fragrance while there.

Let me explain my logic here.

My signature fragrance and what I always have on hand is my wonderful CoCo Mademoiselle by Chanel. I love it. It's my favorite.

But, it costs over a hundred buckaroos.

And, frankly, I'm not willing to squander that fabulous fragrance on my everyday living. The CoCo is reserved for weekends and special occasions (not sure I can call it my "signature" fragrance if I limit it to these dates, but whatever). But, not work or home or errands.

To me, that's just foolish. It's a waste.

So, I typically buy a cheaper, less-good-smelling perfume for every day. I'm talkin' like no more than $50 a bottle. My last fragrance was Marc Jacobs Lola. Loved. But, wanted to see if I could find something in the forty-dollar range.

I did.

And, I really like it.

But, I'm kinda embarrassed to tell you what it is.

The fragrance is by Kat Von D ... you know ... the tattoo artist.

I do not watch LA Ink and really know nothing about her, except that she's a tattoo artist.

You know how I feel about tattoos. Not a fan.

But, I must say, she is quite beautiful. I think she'd be even more beautiful if she took those tattoos off her arm. See? More beautiful without such blatant tattoos.

But, hey, that's just my opinion.

Anyway, I bought her perfume.

She has two.

One called "Saint." One called "Sinner."

Guess which one smelled better?

Guess?

The "Sinner."

Of course.

The saint smelled like flowers and cotton to me. I don't want to smell like air freshener.

The "Sinner" smelled much better. There was a hint of spice ... patchouli, of course, which I've always liked.

So, I bought it and vowed to never tell anyone the name of it. Fail.

When I got home and opened the box, I saw this:

It's a big lighter-looking bottle covered in skulls.

Really?

A little overkill on the whole "sinner" theme.

I'm having to hide it from my children because I forbid them to have anything with skulls on them. When did skulls become fashionable? Especially for little girls' clothing and shoes? Come on, it's a skull. It's not cute even if you put a bow on it's head.

So, I'm spraying a ton of this "Sinner" all over me every morning to try to use it up quickly.

But, I am wondering ... why is the "sinner" the one that gets to smell good?

Can't "saints" have some spice too? Why's it gotta be flowers? Or worse, cotton?

Not all "saints" I know smell like flowers. Or cotton. Trust me.