At the beginning of the month my Grams drove up from her winter home in Yuma to celebrate Kennedy’s birthday with us.  While she was here, she caught a little glimpse of my interactions with Cassidy.  Or, in other words,  Cassidy’s general refusal to listen.  Always trying to help, Grams pulled Cassidy aside and told her that instead of disobeying, she should politely say, “yes, Mom,” when she is asked to do something.  Come bedtime that evening, I told Cass to go get her pajamas on and brush her teeth.  Almost instantly Cass started in on the feet dragging and whining I’ve come to expect, but Gram would have none of it.

“Cassidy,” she said, “what did I tell you to say when Mom asks you to do something?”

Knowing she’d been caught, Cassidy offered up a sheepish, “yes, Mom,” before turning on her heels and heading down the hall.

Not able to produce a response like that on my own, I promptly begged Grams to stay the whole weekend.  The month.  Forever, even.  But alas, her visit came to an end in the blink of an eye.  Still, I clung tightly to the novelty of Grams’ method for as long as it lasted.

Which, as it turned out, wasn’t long.

But just as the effect was wearing off, lo and behold Cassidy received an envelope in the mail.  Inside?

Tee hee.

Isn’t Grams the cutest thing ever?

I think so, too.

And yes, I’m totally keeping that little Mickey says card in my back pocket.

You might remember that {not so} little project I’ve been hard at work on.  My second labor of love.  My book.

The good news is that I’m finished.  Sort of.  The first draft is complete; It’s been sent off to my agent.  And so now I just wait.  I’ll probably be waiting for awhile, really, which is not an easy thing to do.  Because–you see–as I swept my characters away with heartache and tears, joy and little victories, I came to love them.  Really, truly love them.  Which wasn’t something I thought possible after writing the first book.  I was under the mistaken impression that after having poured so much heart and soul into that first family that loving a second, equally, was a task too overwhelming to take on.

Not so.

I’m dying to tell you about them.  I’m dying for you to read their story and empathize with their plights.  But it’ll have to wait, for now.

In the meantime, I wanted to show you proof that really I’ve done what I say I’ve done.

And.

And I do this thing.  I’ve done it for both of my books now and I imagine I’ll probably do it again for the third.  I pick a theme song.  Somewhere deep in the chambers of me I like to let myself imagine that one day my stories will come to life on the big screen, and were that lofty hope ever to be realized I imagine sitting in a dark, crowded theater and watching with everybody else as the scenes I’ve dreamed up play out in living color.  For this book, here’s the song.

Are you familiar with the She Speaks Conference?

Not just another blogging conference, She Speaks goes beyond PR platforms and brand awareness and SEO effectiveness.  In a sea of conferences that strive to yell out and be heard, She Speaks whispers to the heart of a woman, gently focusing her on that which God has called her to do.  In my case, that is to write.  To {hopefully} move you–stir you, unsettle you, affect you–with nothing but the words and the tools He’s given me.

I’ve long wanted to attend She Speaks.  There have been obstacles in the past–namely scheduling conflicts and significant cost.  A couple of days ago an opportunity opened up.  The woman who best captures a story in just six little words (as determined by the She Reads team) will win a scholarship to attend She Speaks in North Carolina this coming July.  I’m hoping that woman will be me.  And I’m hoping these words get me there:

Wrote a little.  Grew a lot.

That’s it.  Those are my six words.  My story.  True as true can be, but far from The End.  The rest is still unwritten.  But, hopefully, not for long.

This morning I wrote half this post before Jeff and I loaded the family into the van and drove to church, where I listened to a message that fit like the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle.  Tell your story, he said, and then we prayed and went out into the wide open world.  Another chance not just to be, but to do.  To tell.

I want to tell the story in my heart.  I want to tell it well, that it might change someone.  Somewhere.   I want to grow more.  Be more.  And maybe, just maybe, She Speaks is part of that plan for me.  It sure seems to fit.

You might remember how, just before Christmas, I posted this.

Well, now that Christmas has come and gone I think it’s high time for an update.  Don’t you?

Mowgli arrived to great fanfare on January 29th.  Jeff and I picked him up from the airport (yes, airport) at right around ten o’clock that night.  The kids were all tucked into their beds when we got home, none the wiser that Mowgli was making his debut with us that very night.  You can imagine, then, the hoopla that commenced the next morning when, one by one,  they awoke to find our tiny little furball of a dog scurrying around the kitchen floor.

He was an instant hit.  Loved by all.

He’s been here for nearly a month now and he’s fitting right in.

The only thing that could make him a better pet would be had he arrived house-trained.  Because, um, the house-training is exhausting.  Ex-haus-ting.

But, that aside, he’s a breeze.  Not to mention adorable as all get out.

See for yourself…

Yeah, so, remember how back in July Jeff and I made like HGTV and made-over our master bedroom?  And you remember how I promised that pictures were forthcoming?  And then, you remember how I never produced aforementioned pictures?  Yeah.  That.

Well…

Here’s the thing.  I wasn’t ready to post pictures because I was in need of the pièce de résistance: a floor lamp from Z Gallerie that I had. to. have.  Only, I never got it because it was WAY too expensive and I just couldn’t bring myself to lay down that much cash for a stinkin’ lamp.  Pièce de résistance or not.

However.

I did find a substitute lamp on clearance at Pier 1.  It pales in comparison to the one I had my heart set on, but this, my friends, is something I’ve gotten used to considering that my pocketbook can never keep up with my heart’s desires.  Sigh.

I know what you’re saying.  You want pictures.  Am I right or am I right?

I’m right.  I’m {almost} always right.  Don’t fret; pictures are coming.  But I need to give you a breakdown as to why the master’s quarters were in desperate need of a fix-me-up.  Not that you’ll really need an explanation once you see the pictures.  But it’s my blog and I’m explaining anyway.

We had this house built from the ground up six years ago.  During construction we lived in a rental house.  A rental house with really, really white walls.  During the year of white-wall living, I came to despise white walls and so the very first thing we did when we got the keys to this house was paint.  We painted almost every room.  We went bold in some rooms while playing it safe in others.  As it turned out, the bold choices proved to be hideous.  Only, it took some time for me to realize the misfortune.

In the master bedroom, I was going for terra cotta.  I loved the color at first.  But not for long.  I think the color faded.  Or mellowed.  Or something.  Something hideous.  Because before long, I took a good long look at our walls and realized that they’d turned to porange, which just so happens to be a very unbecoming hue that falls somewhere between pink and orange on the color wheel.  Thinking back on it now, I want to say that our walls looked as though someone ate spaghetti for dinner, a vanilla milkshake for dessert, and then promptly vomited on our walls.

I think you’ll agree.

I apologize for the lousy pictures.  I know I took some before shots, but for the life of me I cannot find them.  So I had to zoink these ones from my Shutterfly account.  Hopefully you get the gist.

The gist being vomit-colored porange walls.

Let’s move on to bigger and better things though, shall we?

Here are the after shots:

See that floor lamp?  It’s okay.  But this is the one that would have made my heart soar:

Isn’t it gorgeous?!  Given the $400 price tag it ought to be.

So there you have it.  My bedroom makeover post, albeit a bit overdue.

I absolutely big pink puffy heart my new bedroom.  Just walking through the door lowers my stress level.  And that, after all, is what a bedroom is for, right? ;)

So give it to me straight.  How’d we do?

Four or five months ago Torri emerged from the depths of Facebook long enough to deliver a report on the latest cute thing her baby brother said.

It was an unusual occurrence.

Not unusual that Jayce was saying something cute.  Unusual that Torri could pry herself away from her news feed long enough to report on it.  You can bet that means it was a really cute thing he said.

It really was.

I can’t say what it was that sparked the wheels of his adorable little mind to start turning but something got him to thinking.  And wishing, apparently.

He walked up to Torri and tapped her on the shoulder.  She turned to him and he let out a deep, shoulder-drooping, head-hanging sigh.  “Torri,” he said, “I want a dog or a cat.  I’ve been wishing for one every day.”

Tell me that doesn’t break your heart.  It surely broke Torri’s.  And when she told me, it broke mine in two.

So I talked to Jeff.  And we started thinking.

And thinking.

And thinking a little bit more.

We once had a dog, you see.  Sadly, it didn’t end well.  Which made the whole to dog or not to dog thing a tad more complicated than just your average DoWeReallyWantToDoThis dilemma.

I’m happy to report, though, that a decision has been reached.  In no short order, I might add.

Both Torri and Kennedy helped us in choosing our pick of the litter.  But Jayce and Cassidy are none the wiser.  Not until Christmas morning, that is.  When they open their stockings each of them will find a picture of the newest addition to our family.

He’s a chocolate schnoodle.

We will love him and pet him and call him Mowgli.

The hard part now is waiting until the end of January when he’ll be old enough to come home to us.

He’s adorable.  Don’t you think?

We can’t wait.

And the best part?  Jayce can stop wishing.

PS.  Ten points if you can identify the inspiration for the name we chose. ;)

I have a tendency–a bad habit, some might say.

I make blanket statements.  All the time.  Oops, there I go again.

Sometimes, these blanket statements of mine are ridiculously accurate.  Like when I tell my children to listen to me because I’m always right.

Other times, I’m a little off.  Like back in the day when I used to tell my mom, “I’ll never make my kids have a curfew.”

I’m about to make another of those bold blanket statements, my friends.  Right here on the blog, where my digital footprint will remain forever.  But I doubt I’ll ever regret this one.

Here goes:

My family recently had our portraits taken by {easily} the best photographer in Tucson.  I might even go so far as to say that she’s the best photographer this side of the Mississippi.  Oh what the heck, in all the world.  Blanket statements, remember?

Her name is Ashlie.  The things she does with a camera are Uh-mazing.  For reals.

I’ve been stalking admiring her photography blog from afar for a couple of years now.  And finally, this past March, I was able to snag one of her hard-to-come-by photo sessions.

I thought I’d share some of my favorites from that session with you now.

I’m not really the kind of person to say I told you so.  Oh wait.  Yes, I am exactly that kind of person.

Best. Photographer. Ever.

Ashlie posted some different ones on her blog.

*I did not receive free services or products.  I just genuinely love her work so I’m sharing with you.

Thirteen years ago I had a date with my bitty newborn Kennedy and my Gram.  There was a big new James Cameron movie out and I was dying to see it.  So I sat in a dark theater on a weekday afternoon and breastfed my baby until she fell asleep.  And then I relaxed and watched Jack and Rose fall in love on the big screen.  Truth be told, I fell a little in love with the both of them, too.

Fast forward to present day.  Jeff and I came home from a date night a month or so ago to find our favorite babysitter (that she is also my daughter is completely irrelevant) reclined in our leather chair–her eyes glued to the Irish dance scene of, you guessed it, Titanic.  She’s been smitten (read: obsessed) ever since.  I’ve lost count as to how many times she’s watched the movie over the course of the last month.  In fact, just talking about it makes her tear up.  Hormones, ugh.

Nevertheless, my heart jumped when an invitation to the media preview of a new Titanic exhibition arrived in my email inbox a couple of weeks ago.  Suffice it to say that I didn’t hesitate to mark my calendar.

I was super stealth-like and kept my plans under wraps, managing to hold my tongue all the way up to the day of the event.  As I dropped Torri at the bus stop that morning I casually asked if she had any tests that day, to which she (fortunately) replied that she did not.  Score!

Because she wasn’t expecting me to pick her up early from school that day, she kind of freaked a little when she got called to the office.  And I might have been just a tad mean by playing on her fears, confirming that there had indeed been an accident, an accident that killed over 1500 people in 1912.

It took some time to explain the real reason I’d picked her up.  But once she understood she was THRILLED, to put it lightly.  Especially when we arrived in downtown Tucson at the Rialto building and she saw this:

We went inside and were given a “boarding pass”.  The boarding pass was a replica of what the real passengers of Titanic were given prior to boarding.  Our versions had the name of one of Titanic’s passengers, his or her class (1st, 2nd, or 3rd), as well as some tidbits about his or her life/reason for travel.  Before we began our tour, we also received an audio device that allowed us to listen to recorded narrations at select points throughout the exhibition.

The experience is set up so as to send participants on a chronological journey that begins with the excitement of first witnessing the sheer magnificence of Titanic and ends with her tragic undoing.  Along the way, guests see various artifacts that were actually recovered from the wreck site.  Among them, we saw: tools, leather wallets, women’s trinket boxes and make-up cases, a hairbrush, and post cards, plus many more items.  There were also re-creations of first and third class cabins, and even an iceberg that we could touch.

As you make your way through the exhibition, you are immersed in the experience through sounds that take you back in time to that fateful trip.  On the walls, you read the touching stories of passengers young and old–the details of which elicit emotions that range from shock to sadness.

Both Torri and I were thoroughly captivated by what we experienced that day.  While Titanic’s story is, above all, a tragedy, our visit to this exhibition left us oddly hopeful.  The final walk-through of the experience highlights amazing stories of human sacrifice and perseverance–a truly moving tribute.

Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition is now open for a limited engagement in Tucson.  The price of admission for adults is $22 but there are various discounts available for students, military, children and seniors.

Full Disclosure: I was invited to attend a media preview of Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition and was granted complimentary admittance to the exhibition.  As always, all opinions expressed in this post are truly genuine.

I had 2 goals for the week.

1. Write 4,000 words
2. Score tickets to the Kris Allen studio performance put on by 92.9 The Mountain

I’m nearing my first goal.  Hopefully by week’s end I’ll have it in the bag.

My second goal though?  Check.

I was the lucky 11th caller on the radio this morning and I won myself a space on the guest list.  Nevermind that Jeff was the 1st and 7th caller.  And I may or may not have been number 4, too.

You might remember how I saw Taylor Hicks in Studio C last year.  This was the same thing.  Only better.  Because, um, well, Kris Allen.

My thoughts were consumed by the Twilight books when his season of  American Idol was airing.  And every time he came on screen all I could think was that Edward (Rob Pattinson) had been miscast in the movies.  Because, um, well, Kris Allen.  Kris Allen.

He’s got the Edward vibe going on if you ask me.  And if you’ve not read the books then you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about.  But if you have, can’t you see it?  It’s there.  I swear it is.  I mean, clearly, the producers really missed the boat by not beating down my door and paying my Mister millions of dollars to play the part.  Not that I’d have let them have him.  Wouldn’t want all those crazed teeny boppers fawning over him and all that.  But Kris Allen?  He totally should have been Edward.  He’s plenty accustomed to the fawning already.

Speaking of fawning.  Kris Allen was gracious enough to take pictures with each and every one of the guests at Studio C this afternoon.  Jeff and I included.  I’m fairly certain I had some star struck, goofy look on my face so don’t count on me posting it.  But know it exists.

Anyway, I’m busy getting dolled up for a midweek date night.  As part of my prize I won two tickets to tonight’s concert as well.  And since Jeff is as big a fan as I (minus the Edward part) he’s pretty excited too.  It’s not every year night we get to go on a concert date.

Especially to, um, Kris Allen. {insert dreamy sigh here}.

*Yes I am aware that Kris Allen was born in 1985.  Shh.  Just let me enjoy the moment, m’kay? ;)

Remember this?  The possibility of us packing up and moving on?  It’s been resolved.

Long story short: the resolution is that we’re staying put, which is both a good and bad thing.

Good because we’re comfortable here.

Good because we don’t have to mess with selling the house and hiring a mover and house-hunting all over again.

Good because we’re West coast, laid-back lifestyle kinda peeps, and we come from western states.  While our family isn’t here here, they’re within a day’s drive.  And more than anything else I would have missed spending every Thanksgiving and Christmas with my Grams and Gramps.

Good because we have our favorites here: favorite restaurants, favorite movie theater.  Favorite place to sit and sip a glass of wine while we watch the monsoon roll in from the mountains.

Good because we know the schools.  We know our neighbors.  We know not to expect the mail to be delivered before 2 pm.  Ever.

Good because we built this home and made it just so.  Oh and the desert sunsets.  Here in Arizona we’ve got the market cornered on sunsets.

The resolution, though, isn’t all good.  Good and bad, remember?

Bad because I was craving a new adventure.

Bad because we ohsoverybadly wanted to be close to the ocean again.

Bad because had the move worked out we’d have freed up vacation time and money to go somewhere other than Orlando.

Did I mention the potential move was to Orlando?

I don’t have to tell you how I feel about Orlando.  Well, not Orlando exactly.  It’s what’s in Orlando.

But alas.  There is no Orlando.

Here we are.  Here we stay.

{For now}.