on my children's college fund...

>> Thursday, April 30, 2009

I started my junior year of academy at the age of 15. Since my family had only just returned from the mission field and wasn't exactly flush with cash for luxuries like boarding school, I got the education of helping to find my own sponsors.

Oh yes, and the education of working 25-30 hours each week on campus while taking the normal academic load 6 classes. It taught me to juggle my time skillfully, to synthesize the most important aspects in each class assignment, and to move quickly from one project to the next without sacrificing performance.

In college, both Marius and I had to find ways to pay for our own education. No college trust fund was forthcoming. No indulgences on daddy's credit card while squeaking by on the lowest academic output allowed.

Actually, we despised those kids. It was hard not to, when we were working 3 jobs and carrying 16 credits every semester, and they would hardly make it to class on time!

In addition, neither of us wanted to take loans if possible. So we were driven by sheer circumstances to learn how to manage our cash flow, allocate time resources, and maintain high enough grades to keep earning the scholarships we'd applied for - while still getting enough sleep and social interaction to qualify as "human".

Somewhere in there, we got what society calls an "education". By that, society means that we graduated with academic honors and were given a piece of paper awarding us a 4-year degree in something, while camera flashes whited out our goofy grins at the relief of it all.

But if you ask me, that piece of paper represents the smallest portion of the schooling we received. For us? The sweat we invested in making it happen - that was the real education. The truest and most valuable lessons were gained in the agony of finding a way to survive and reach the finish line.

This is why I don't believe in short-term educational institutions (unless they are attended in addition to a four-year university programme). Just about anybody can hack it for 6 weeks, or 3 months, or even 6 or 9 months. True grit, responsibility, and maturity is built over a few years.

This is also why we don't ever plan to pay for our kids' college. And no, that doesn't mean that we think college is optional. They're going. They just have to find a way to pay for it themselves. If Marius is still a pastor in 18 years, then they'll be getting a nice tuition subsidy from the church, and that'll be our contribution. But we want our kids to learn the values of work, money-management and perseverance.

The struggle IS the education.

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keeping a sense of humor...

>> Wednesday, April 29, 2009

As a homeschooled child who also plans to homeschool my own, I've learned that when you hold a high standard for your home life, you've just gotta have a sense of humor about other people. People make judgements. They don't get it. They think you're certifiable.

If you let it get to you, you'll be just as nuts as them. So sometimes you just gotta laugh.

Feel the same way? Have a giggle at some of these t-shirt and bib designs from a couple of very cool online stores (HodgePodge Ink, and 1844):

ON HOMESCHOOLING:




ON SABBATHKEEPING:

ON HEALTH:



ON DATING:

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conversations, part 2...

>> Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The conversation that wandered... also touched on finding a sense of being at ease within ourselves on this side of teenage angst.

When I watched my (almost 6 years younger) sister going through her teen years, I always felt that she was so much more comfortable in her own skin than I had been at the same age. Now I realize that we just reacted differently to the same pressures.

Under pressure to conform, she came across as rejecting all peer norms. In my eyes, that made her instantly "cool". I had always reacted to pressure the opposite way, by trying harder to fit in. But while both of us projected confidence to outside eyes, we both felt the same awkward jello-belly inside.

"What do you think gave you the sense of adult confidence that you have right now?" mom asked us.

"Finding our place in life through advanced education, and being loved by the outstanding men who are our husbands," we agreed wholeheartedly.

It's true, education brings confidence. Knowing that you are pursuing a career and ministering to others using your God-given gifts is a wonderfully settling feeling.

But being loved by a good man? That really tops it all. There's a sense of security and poise and centering in oneself that comes to a woman only by knowing she is loved in her marriage. That of all the women in the world, this man chose HER to grow old beside him.

The life journey of facing seemingly-insurmountable obstacles, going to God for wisdom, conquering side by side, and coming out still partners on the other end - brings a sense of dignity and stability and inner peace that fills up my woman's soul.

Especially as I look to the future of adding a child in our family, I get all mushy inside thinking about the journey I've experienced in the past 15 years. I could have had the exact same education and career, but without having Marius in my life I wouldn't have been the same woman.

Thanks God, for saying "No, sweetheart," to my teenage prayers over each different boy!

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conversations, part 1...

>> Monday, April 27, 2009

After a restful Sabbath afternoon at my parent's house (go ahead and read that to mean "after sleeping for 3 hours straight"), we all gravitated toward the living room and just hung out.

Somehow, we started talking about the five love languages (see Gary Chapman's book/website here), childhood memories, and the general process of growing up.

The conversation wandered from wishing we had better understood the concept of love languages as kids, to finding a sense of being at ease within ourselves on this side of teenage angst. As kids, my love language was distinctly and dominantly Quality Time. My sis expressed affection dually through Acts of Service and through Gift-giving. Mom shared the languages of Physical Touch and Quality Time.

That means that my sister spent countless hours drawing cards to give away, making/baking/cooking things for people, and running to fetch anything you asked. As a big sister, I have to admit I shamelessly exploited her eagerness to fetch - I never thought of it as her love language, just as the amazing perk of having a baby sister sitting around to do my bidding.

Me? I just wanted to sit and talk with people. Quality Time, baby, that's what it was all about. And mom? She wanted to hug. It meant we got a lot of affection whether we wanted it or not! (No, really, it was good for us...) But since mom and I shared the desire for Quality Time, we also spent hours together talking. And I never could understand why my sister didn't want to join us.

Mom often told me, "Your sister is very different than you, and you have to accept that you're not the same." But I wish I'd been able to know how we were different. I think we could have had a much stronger and closer relationship if we'd been able to speak each other's languages.

So with the impending generation, I'm hoping that we can teach our children not only to begin to understand themselves, but also to acknowledge and speak each other's love languages fluently.

It's a nice thought, anyway.

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on family conversations...

This weekend my sister and her husband came for the day. After church we all had lunch together at our parents' house. (Grillers and fries and icy fruit smoothies, mmmm!!!)

When our family gets together, it's like everyone goes a little off-kilter sometimes. We each have vastly different styles of humor and storytelling, and everyone's always trying to talk over each other. We're kind of like Italians, talking and laughing and sneaking sips from each other's drinks.

Except dad, of course. Like any good patriarch, he usually sits back quietly and watches the madness take on a life of its own. Until he has a story to tell. When dad tells a story, it's the only time the entire group shuts up to listen!

I couldn't help but think that if I were a child, I'd really enjoy being together with my whole family. Everything so full of life and spunk, even when things aren't going well or when everybody's broke. There's always good food, plenty of laughter, an adequate measure of controlled sibling rivalry and lots of love that keeps bringing us back together.

Yup, if I were my kid, I'd like family dinners.

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roller coaster week...

>> Friday, April 24, 2009

This week has been a crazy ride. By the way, if you don't like medical details, just stop reading now and wait a day or two for the next post, okay?

On Monday morning, I started having contractions. It felt like I was having uncontrollable hiccups inside my own abdomen. I sat on the chaise and literally watched my lower stomach jerk and quiver. It lasted about 10 hours.

The doctor said everything was fine.

On Tuesday morning, I felt feverish (although my temperature was lower than usual). Then I fainted on the way from the kitchen to the bedroom. Took about 10 minutes for the ocean surf to quit pounding in my ears and for my vision to clear up. We went to the doctor to check up on things.

The doctor said everything was fine.

On Wednesday I actually felt great. Went to get a massage and felt even better! By early evening, we made spontaneous plans with friends to go walking in the historic downtown square and have a Thai supper. In the parking lot, I realized something wasn't right. Hubby drove home fast, and blood was everywhere. We canceled our dinner and called the doctor. He said to stay home if the bleeding slowed or stopped. If it didn't, we should go to the ER - where they would most likely perform an automatic abortion.

Yeah, not exactly an option!

Mom and dad came over. I spent the evening worried and trying not to worry. Thursday morning, we were at the doctor's office when it opened.

"So where were you bleeding?" the doctor asked when he walked into the exam room.

"My nose," I shot back. "No, really!" Apparently lots of people will call in a panic, but they don't always specify whether the bleeding is directly related to the pregnancy.

After an exam, and hearing a strong healthy heartbeat on the Doppler - we came home in time to start work for the day. Doc says that it was likely a ruptured uterine blood vessel. Nice.

But needless to say, I'm very happy. Happy that it wasn't what I feared. Happy that my husband is so calm and supportive and protective. Thankful for parents who'll drop everything to offer comfort when I'm afraid.

Oh yes, and happy for the new white (and almost flat) summer sandals and the cute maternity tee with a stork and baby in rhinestones...

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on making assumptions...

>> Thursday, April 23, 2009

I've had lots of friends with difficult pregnancies. Somehow it never crossed my mind that I might join their club sometime in the distant future. I was always the healthy one in the family, rarely sick and never for more than a day or two.

I just took it for granted that I'd be one of those chicks who breezes through pregnancy while still going to the gym 5 days a week and doing "life as usual".

HAH.

So, if I believed in fate (or karma) you can guess what my next words might be. Since I don't believe in those things, I guess I'm just concluding that there's some very big lesson in compassion for those who don't feel as good as I do, or who's limitations are narrower than mine.

Some of you are chuckling right now. Go ahead. What can I say?

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on unexpected angels...

>> Monday, April 20, 2009

Nobody has ever brought us a meal when I've been sick. At least, not that I can remember.

Since we've been married, my husband has served as a pastor in four different churches. I've often sent pots of soup or loaves of bread or extra casseroles to members that were sick or grieving.

Until today, no one from our churches has ever done that for us.

Last Sabbath after church, a group of us were chatting and the subject of my pregnancy came up. I had to brag on my hubby - who has faithfully taken over jobs he never used to do, like cooking and laundry. We've always split the chores, but he's never had to cook much before. However, since my nausea is most acutely triggered by smells - like all the mixed scents of food billowing out of the refrigerator every time the door is opened - he's had to take control of the entire kitchen.

One woman in the group immediately offered to bring some food sometime this week. I told her that would be nice, but (and no offense to her) I didn't really think it would happen. Lots of people offer to do lots of things, but life often gets in the way of their good intentions. Besides, I'm a pastor's wife. I'm used to being the one helping other people - not the other way around.

Today, I got a Facebook message asking me if 6 PM tonight would be a good time for her to bring dinner. Would I please send her our address? I was really surprised, and excited (she's a fabulous cook, I already knew that).

This evening, she showed up at our door bearing a feast. Scalloped potatoes, roasted butternut squash, seasoned vegetarian chicken, greenbean salad, two kinds of homemade dips with pita and veggie sticks, sliced cucumbers in lemon juice and herbs, lentils, and homemade pumpkin bread for dessert. Food enough for two days at least - and Marius won't have to lift a finger!

Her act of service was so kind and undeserved. It really met my love language. I was so overwhelmed with thanks and appreciation that I really didn't know what to say.

Tonight I cried.

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basking in the un-glow...

>> Friday, April 17, 2009

They say pregnancy brings a glow. They say you get beautiful skin and thicker, more luxurious hair...

Yeah, I'd like to know who "they" are.

And where exactly are "they" getting their information?

Me? I've got no glow. Instead, I have acne. And hair so greasy that 10 hours after washing you'd think I'd bathed in an oil slick.

Oh yes, and an eczema-like patch of red flakies under my nose that drifts down over my upper lip. And no matter how much Neosporin/Hydrocortisone/Polysporin I rub on it - it ain't goin' away.

Talk about fun in buckets and spades. When you've just thinned out 2/3 of your wardrobe - staring at your almost-thirty-year-old yet eerily teenage-acne-face in the mirror just doesn't do much for the whole self-esteem and body image.

So I decided to go get my nails done today. I mean, a nice plain French manicure - at least when I go to church tomorrow I can look at my hands and think, "Thank goodness there's one part of me that doesn't look like something the cat dragged in!"

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gotta give some props...

>> Thursday, April 16, 2009

I always knew my husband was going to make a fantastic dad. After all, his biological clock started ticking loudly long before mine. Actually, mine never really kicked in at all - but that's not relevant to this post...

But I'd never given a moment's thought to the possibility that I might have a hard first trimester. So it had never occurred to me to really think about how he'd be during pregnancy. You see, I'm almost never sick. I always muscle through whatever's on my 'to do' list no matter how I feel. I'm great at "mind-over-matter".

Yeah, so much for all that.

Nausea kicked in at about 5 weeks, and ever since (I'm now at 12 weeks) I've been a mess. It takes every last shred of energy just to open my computer and get my work done.

We laugh about it when people ask "how are you doing?" We just say "Sarah's got nausea, and Marius has dishes, laundry, cooking, cleaning, and ironing!"

Last week Marius came home after a long and exhausting day and - yet again - started in on the housework. "Now you know what every single working woman in the world feels like!" I crowed. "We don't get to come home from the office and sit back - we just have to start our second full-time job."

He didn't think it was very funny.

But I have to applaud him, anyway. He's been so faithful at running for snacks when my tummy starts to empty out and I start randomly heaving. And he's great at midnight help when I can't sleep. And at giving tootsie rubs to help me relax.

This pregnancy has come at a rough time for him - lots of challenges at his church, I'm losing my job after the summer so our finances are getting slashed, his mom was just diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia - and the list goes on. He has had every reason to be too busy to make me feel pampered and loved, but he still does.

I'm really blessed.

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on finding out the news...

>> Friday, April 10, 2009

I suspected I was pregnant long before I knew.

My work requires (read that "required", now that I've had to alter a few things) a significant amount of international travel.

February 2009 took me to the UK. I was exhausted - and more than just my normally intense jetlag. I was hungry for weird things - I think I ate two packages of sliced cheese in a couple of days.

I suspected.

Then my husband joined me and we went to Romania (my first time back in 5 years) to visit his extended family for a week. The visits were splendid, but I felt rotten the entire time. Every smell was nauseous, even the best food tasted weird. And I just wanted to sleep!

Our last two days in Romania, we drove north to Suceava - where there are oodles of ancient monasteries. We checked into a great hotel, and Marius promptly got very very sick. For the next two days, I alternated between curling up in bed with nausea and nursing his fever as he burned up beside me.

We never left the room. Never saw a monastery. Drove 8 hours back to the airport 2 days later, and suffered through a succession of 4 miserable flights to get back home. It was the trip from hell that would not end...

We fell in bed around 4 AM Friday morning. By 10 AM we were at the doctor's office for a pregnancy test and exam.

Yup.

We met my parents for lunch half an hour after leaving the doc's office, to tell them.

They looked shocked. Then they cried.

And I've been sick in bed just about ever since. :)

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if i could speak freely...

Here's one of the posts that caused so much controversy on my other blog - this was written before I discovered I was pregnant::

This morning I was chatting with a girlfriend who had her first baby a couple weeks ago. Of course parenting came up, and we started sharing how we both hesitate to offer advice to others on how to raise their kids. As a new mom, she is rapidly leaving me behind on this.

Most parents don't like getting parenting tips from childless people. So I keep my mouth shut and mind my own beeswax, since there is that small but legitimate chance I might adjust my theories once I have kids. But I don't think so.

So I'm going to vent a little here. That's the whole point of a blog right? You can share what you wouldn't otherwise. A platform for all the free speech that bottles up inside you when you're in polite company.

Here goes folks. If I could speak freely about you and your kids, these are a few of the things I would say:

- there is no reason your normal, healthy 10-year-old can't sit through church. Period. George Washington taught himself logarithms at the age of 8. David Livingstone taught himself Latin at age 8, too. John Wesley's sister Kezziah could read the Bible fluently in Greek, Latin and Hebrew at age 8. All your kid has to do is sit still for 65 minutes. If your half-grown kid can't sit through church, it's not their fault. It's because you don't believe in your kid enough to make it happen. Or it's an excuse because you didn't really want to sit through church either. Shame on you.

- there's no reason you should expect any kind of remotely civilized behavior from your child at any age if you are feeding them unlimited candy.

- there's no reason you should expect any kind of remotely civilized behavior from your child at any age if you are letting them skip naps.

- there's no reason you should expect any kind of remotely civilized behavior from your child at any age if you are giving them no boundaries. Don't smack your kid for being cranky, crabby, hungry, self-centered or sleep-deprived. You have created your own monster. Deal with it.

- there is never any reason to haul off and hit or kick your child. Never. Not under any circumstances or in any situation. Period. Ever. Especially when you're mad. If you let them push you to the point of anger, that's your fault for not disciplining them earlier in the game. Don't blame your kid for going as far as you'll let them. That's not their problem - it's yours.

- there is never any reason to abuse your child. Spanking is okay. Hitting/kicking/pinching/slapping/smacking is not. Spanking is discipline. Everything else is abuse. Spanking is the calm, rational consequence when your child has exceeded a spank-worthy boundary. Reacting in anger is abuse. Spanking means 1)that any child old enough to walk was warned first - "If you do that, the consequence is a spanking!" 2)you take your child to a private place, 2)you calmly and firmly explain what they did wrong and why they are being disciplined, 3)you pray with them so they know that they are forgiven 4)you deliver the spank in a short decisive manner that leaves no bruises but is enough to make them apologetic instead of just more angry at you, 5)that you hug/hold/snuggle/rub the sore spot until the tears are dried and you have a happy, obedient, and affectionate child. Sound long and drawn out? Many times. But you're a parent - you don't get to bail out now. Long and drawn out is the name of the game. Unless you don't mind raising a holy terror.

- there is never any excuse for spanking your kid all the time. I see parents going around slapping their kids for every offense. Come on people. Spanks are for the very worst things. Defiance. Outright disobedience. Lying. That kind of thing. More often than not, little attitudes can be fixed with a tickle session and a hug.

- there is never any reason to drag your newborn baby out in crowded public places. I saw a family with a one-week-old baby eating out at Olive Garden at 9 PM. You have GOT to be crazy! That poor infant was wailing this weak little warble. Take your baby home, momma!

- there is no reason to take your child outside because they can't sit still in church. If they're fussy - unless they are ill (in which case you should never have brought them to church in the first place) - take them out, explain that "we sit still in church", deal with the appropriate discipline and bring them back in for the duration. Letting them go play when they fuss just programmes them to fuss so you'll take them out. They know they've won. They know you're not going to bring them back inside. And then you miss out on the best parts of every sermon or worship. Every time. If they can't manage to keep from screaming and fidgeting, there are things you can do. Get them a "quiet book" to keep 'em occupied. Practice their "sitting-still skills" every day at home to help train them.

- there is no reason your kid can't be polite when people say "hello". Shyness is not a legitimate excuse. If necessary, role play with them in the car before you arrive in public places. Practice what they are going to say to people who greet them. "And then you say, 'pleased to meet you' with a smile on your face, right?" Let them say it back to you. That way they can feel confident and prepared for the situation, instead of frozen in fear of what to say.

- there is no reason to beg your child to obey you. You are the parent. Set up the boundary and expect them to obey. They are far smarter than you give them credit. They know exactly how much they can manipulate before you snap. Besides, you give them a graduate course in it every time you aren't consistent. They'll only go as far as you let them. If your kid keeps pushing too far, go look in the mirror for the reason why. When you always have to beg and bargain with your kid to do something, you are handing over the parenting reigns and letting them run a dictatorship over you.

Yeah, yeah. The parents of monsters among you are getting your hackles up. But you see, this is what I don't understand. I know plenty of parents who have happy, well-behaved children - and they all implement some form of these concepts I just listed. Those are the readers nodding their heads in agreement with me.

You may shake your head at my theories... It's a free country, go right ahead. I'll be polite enough not to say "It figures" next time your kid pitches a public fit to your embarrassment and humiliation.

And this is what I can't figure out. I've done my share of being "Auntie" to dozens of children whom I love dearly. And with me, they may not be angels all the time - but they never act like they do at home. I think it's because of two things: they know I love them very much and we have plenty of hugs and tickles and healthy affectionate expression, and they know the boundaries. Clearly. Consistently. The same all the time.

And you know what? All that structure makes 'em happy. Safe. Secure. Loved.

Me? I'm just a random blogger who doesn't have kids yet. So what do I know?

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the ASAFTEI family vision

MISSION STATEMENT
"Faithfully representing God through edification and excellence in mind, body and spirit."



VISION STATEMENT
"You're an Asaftei - Stand Firm and Take Action."



FAMILY VALUES
A-uthenticity
S-erving
A-cting
F-aith
T-emperance
E-xcellence
I-ntegrity

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when do parents get to pat themselves on the back?

Taking a break from the political observations...

A few days ago my husband and I were reading together before falling asleep. Expecting our first child has inspired a series of evening literary sessions on everything from nausea remedies to birthing options to character formation. And a whole lot of reminiscing together about our own childhoods and how we want to shape our home environment as an expanded family.

"When do you think parents get to congratulate themselves on a job well done?" I asked him suddenly. He stopped to think about it.

I know a lot of parents who walked around pretty smug when their 16-year-old was perfectly behaved while everyone else's teens were giving them horrors. But most of those perfect adolescent angels went wild and crazy by the time they were 22. Broke their parents' hearts.

Then there's the parents who thought for sure that their teen was going to be a lifetime rebel. And lots of them have settled down into successful, intelligent, God-fearing adults.

So I think that when parents go all self-congratulatory over their perfect teen, sometimes they're jumping the gun. Wait until that quiet, composed kid gets a chance to make all their own decisions and see if they still seem so perfect.

On the other hand, to parents of kids who test the rules, kick the boundaries, and generally try to figure out everything for themselves - I'd say "Don't despair until they're out of college - they have a lot of growing up to do between now and then!"

Of course I'm not advocating teen rebellion. But I think that youth who are guided through the treacherous process of sorting out their choices and taking personal ownership of their spirituality and beliefs have a lot better chance at being healthy adults. Even if it means they have to test their childhood theories a bit in order to find that ownership and surrender.

But the real test? I think it's when your kids start to have their own kids. Do their little rebellions continue? Or do they buckle down to the business of shaping characters for the next generation? We all tend to be a little more comfortable excusing our faults and habits when we're only responsible for ourselves. But when we become responsible for another's life - that's when we show our true selves.

So parents, if you question your kid's sanity at times - just give it a few more years. Odds are, when they start on the road to parenthood, they'll be re-thinking every little indulgence they ever allowed themselves.

And if you're one of those blessed parents whose adult children choose to imitate the best of your parenting and give their babies as caring a childhood as you gave them - then you can breathe deep and sit back knowing that you truly did your job well.

(Mom & Dad, are you reading this? I hope you're reading this. You'd better be reading this!)

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mushbrain

What is it exactly that makes you so forgetful, clumsy, and randomly idiotic while pregnant?

Can't say I love that little part...

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curwhibbles?

Okay, you're sitting there thinking - this chick has three blogs, called CLUTCH, CURWHIBBLES and GODWOTTERY. Is she nuts?!?

Call it the curse of having been an English major in college. Ever since my teens, I've had an odd love affair with unique, outdated words. Studying literature only happened to increase it. (It seems to run in the family - just check out my sister's blog, called WHISTERPOOP!)

Want some definitions? Here you go:
GODWOTTERY: nonsense, balderdash
CURWHIBBLES: a thing-a-ma-jig. or a what-cha-ma-call-it

I was browsing around for a new name for this blog, and CURWHIBBLES just jumped out at me.

Pregnancy has this magical way of turning my head into spaghetti and I suddenly can't think of the names or words for anything. "Thing-a-ma-jig" and "whatcha-ma-callit" are suddenly standard words in my vocabulary.

Seems my once steel-trap brain has suddenly gone the way of, uh... shucks... what was that word again?

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why?

I've been thinking about adding another blog for a while. Well, about ever since I found out I was (surprise!) pregnant with our first child.

Once or twice, I've posted parenting-oriented topics on GODWOTTERY, and the storm of replies indicated that it might be better to put all my mommy-thoughts into one place: someplace else!

So I'm going to see if I can make this work.

Care to join me?

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THE CHARACTERS...

>> Thursday, April 9, 2009

THE HUBBY...
... is a pastor.

Born and raised in Romania, Marius is a family-lovin' European-American with a fantastic blend of old-world charm and new-world enthusiasm. (He won MY heart, anyway.)

Currently the senior pastor of two growing churches in the Greater Atlanta area, Marius is my favorite preacher. He's also gifted in teaching, listening, counseling, and affirmation.

He has a killer sense of style, a great eye for detail, fabulous taste in gifts, and a generous spirit. He loves our Little Man to distraction, too.

Most of all, he's that kind of guy who has the integrity to stand firm in what he believes no matter how people try to change his mind or intimidate his convictions.

And he always makes me laugh.


THE LITTLE MAN...
... is a sweetie-pie super-baby.

Yes, I'm biased. But he really is the cutest thing I've ever seen.

And when you add in that he started sleeping through the night at 7 weeks on his own, and that his days are usually filled with infectious grins and sleepy smiles - the case is closed. It's official - he steals everybody's hearts.

His favorite spot to nap is right on my chest, drooling all over me while I blog, little cherub lips parted in sweet baby breaths.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of man he will become. We don't care what it is, as long as he has a missionary's heart.

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