1. Go ahead, there’s some leftover birthday cake in the kitchen. Please eat it so that it’ll stop screaming to me from inside its little plastic box.

2. The urge to clean: I keep hoping I’ll get that soon!

3. Don’t worry, God’s got this…whatever “this” may be! (Reminder to self...)

4. I have not yet eaten all my calories for the day. So I can, like, splurge on a carrot stick or something. Whee.

5. Pretty much have decided that trying to lose weight when battling PCOS sucks no matter how positively I try to paint it, no matter how I try to call it a “lifestyle change” or gear myself up for what basically amounts to a long period of self-sacrifice — wash, rinse, repeat. I hate the process. Hate it. But I want the result. So there’s no choice but to suck it up and carry on.

6. May the Lord richly bless all the poor souls who journey down this diet path with me, whether they volunteer or are inadvertently dragged along. For I am hungry and cranky and my last nerve is continually exposed.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to chatting with my friends in Uganda, tomorrow my plans include grocery shopping for YUMMY DIET FOOD and Sunday, I want to enjoy church and hopefully come outta there with a better attitude than the one I have tonight! LOL!

Find fun Friday Fill-ins here!

And since I can stretch a dollar til’ it screams, I wasn’t going to buy one until I found a REALLY deep discount. If it had to wait, so be it.

So, here is what we got, complete with tons of trains, tracks, bridges and other accessories (only a few are shown in this pic) AND a storage bench –

All for $30. Thirty dollars! I was floored. Thank you, Lord!

For right now, it’s still in the living room, but by the weekend, will be in Jonah’s room.

So he has all these cool trains, all this fun stuff to play with, but what has he latched on to?

Two little wooden signs.

They are suddenly his best friends. He carries them everywhere. He tries to pick up other things while still holding onto them.

I had to pry them out of his tight little fists to put him to bed last night. He was not happy about that, but I knew I wouldn’t be happy if he rolled over onto one in the night and it woke him up.

The first thing he did this morning was go find his signs. He tried to eat breakfast while holding them.

It’s about as bad as the kid who plays with the box instead of the toy inside…

Oh well. Whatever makes him happy!

When I was pregnant with my first child, Zach, I made a statement that came back to haunt me. It was in response to the outpouring of unsolicited advice I received from experienced parents.

Parents who’ve been around the block a few times tend to offer a lot of advice to newbies: “Put a hat on that baby—it’s cold outside! Don’t let him suck his thumb—it’ll make him buck-toothed. And make sure you enjoy every minute because time flies!”

I’ll admit I’ve been guilty of saying that last sentence to new moms myself.

One thing they told me was how much I’d need regular breaks away from my kids to keep my sanity. I honestly felt mortified when I heard that—and I openly disagreed with them. After struggling with infertility for seven years, I couldn’t imagine I’d ever want to be apart from my delightful little blessings.

Granted, my kids are delightful. But now that I’ve been in the trenches a while, I get it. Nothing resets a mom’s Happy Meter like a date night with the husband, a ladies’ night out, or a weekend trip away. So, needless to say, I have eaten the words I uttered in ignorance.

That experience makes me reluctant to share what’s on my mind this week. Because here I go again, talking about uncharted parenting territory, acting like I know what I’m talking about. I’m afraid that I’ll soon be asking someone to pass the honey mustard to help me choke this statement back down.

But I’m going to say it anyway: I really don’t think the teenage years are going to be as awful as everyone has warned me.

It’s hard to believe, but my oldest son turns 14 tomorrow. So we already have one year of adolescence under our belts. And parenting my way through it was not scary at all. Now, I think that’s largely because Zach is a pretty awesome kid. I’m not going to say he’s perfect, because he’s not—no child, or parent for that matter, is perfect. He has his faults. We all do. But overall, I am just so proud of him, so thankful for the man I’m seeing emerge from the boy I’ve loved so dearly. I look at him sometimes and know that God must really love me, to have given me a kid like him.

Everyone said that teenagers are moody. Mine’s a little moody—but I’m worse than that even without PMS. They said he’d be sarcastic, that he’d talk back. Yeah—I’m afraid that trait got passed down on my DNA and pretty much reared its ugly head in each of my kids as soon as they started speaking.

Which, if you’re reading this, Zach Apted, is not an excuse for that behavior. We all need to work on controlling what comes out of our mouths.

I’m sure we’ll be facing new challenges once he’s able to drive, and works away from home. Just the thought of those things makes my heart sink a little. I guess that extra freedom could bring with it the terrible battles everyone says I should brace myself for?

Maybe it’s my naivety speaking, but I just don’t think the teenage years have to be a nightmare for any of us. Zach even has great friends, people that are likable and kind. He does his chores, and helps with his baby brother, and when I told him about a group of Ugandan orphans, the first thing he wanted to do was send all of his money to them. And then he brainstormed for days about other ways to help them out. That kid truly has a heart of gold.

So does it have to tarnish? Is it truly inevitable that the teenage years are turbulent and full of strife? I’m just not believing that it has to be that way.

No one ever told me that I’d enjoy my older kids as much as I do. So I plan to continue on, optimistically, hoping for the best. I might have to eat my words again someday, but don’t pass the honey mustard just yet.

(Can you tell I’m procrastinating on a project?) LOL

But first, a pic from my files, because what fun is a blog post without pictures?

That’s my cutie-pie Zach when he was about two. I am still in denial that he is >THIS< close to turning 14!

Now, on to the questions…

1. How did you cope with your biggest heartache?

By writing about it, and by talking with (and looking for opportunities to help) others experiencing the same.

2. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital?

It’s been so long, I don’t remember. I’m thinking it might actually be my grandmother, who passed away in August 2010!

3. How many jobs have you held in your life? How many of those were part of your chosen career field?

I am not up to counting how many jobs I’ve had — but there are a lot! Starting with Dairy Queen at age 16, to now, freelance writing from home and also doing face painting and cake decorating for birthday parties. My chosen career field was graphic design, and I do still use my art degree to some extent. But I only held two “official” graphic arts positions — one as a graphic artist in an in-house agency in Kissimmee, Florida and the other as an art director at a small sign company in Georgia.

4. How did you discover Saturday 9?

By searching Google for Saturday-themed memes.

5. If you could take the train from anywhere to anywhere, where would ‘anywhere’ be?

From here to San Francisco for a little vacation.

6. When was the first time you cooked for someone else?

I remember cooking for my family when I was about nine or ten. I remember the stove top being at chest level as I did so!

7. What is the worst beverage you’ve ever tasted?

Ooh, just one? I can’t decide on just one. Weak coffee or tea. Mint tea. Malta. That cucumber-flavored Thai version of Coke that they serve at the World of Coca-Cola in Atlanta.

8. Is there anything in life you are “certain” about? Firm in your beliefs? Strong in your convictions?

There are so many things I’m certain about. God loves us all. He has a plan for my life and works all things together for my ultimate good. Salvation comes through belief in Christ. Caring for orphans and widows is everyone’s responsibility. Liberal political policies that appear to help ultimately cause more harm than good. And I should probably just stop because I’m an opinionated ol’ girl and feel quite certain about a whole lotta things!

9. Do you know anyone who has as very unusual pet?

Yes, several. More power to ‘em! Nothing in the rodent/insect/reptile/amphibian categories will ever be called a pet in my house. (Sorry, kids — I just can’t do it!)

How ’bout we close with another picture of my cutie from that day at the park?

1. It’s time to get another bottle of the pink stuff. Jonah has an ear infection.

2. Praise the Lord anyhow! … and don’t forget the gratitude!

3. I’m trying to fight off a touch of what my boys have been sick with this week. Blah.

4. “Didn’t realize that Nerf was also one of ancient China’s gifts to the world!”, that was the last funny comment I received.

5. Please send money to help the dear orphans and pastor at Blood of Jesus ministries in Uganda.

6. I hope my sons continue to enjoy homeschooling, cause I’m in it for the long haul.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to relaxing with the family and nursing my little guy back to health, tomorrow my plans include catching up on work and Sunday, I want to go to church, then celebrate the World’s Most Awesome Teenager’s 14th Birthday with our family!

For more Friday Fill-ins, click here.

Such as the little bottle of “sho-shun” that was on mama’s nightstand.

She left me on her bed — SILLY MAMA! — and went into the bathroom one morning.

I believe she thought I was still asleep. HA!!!

I immediately stripped off my pajamas, then grabbed the lotion.

I love pouring things. I love splashing in the things I’ve poured, and rubbing my body with them.

(I wonder if I put the cap back on, if she won’t notice?)

(Nah. This particular mess is pretty obvious.)

And once again, I am SOOOO cute that mama could only laugh at me, and strip the bed.

Twenty one years ago today, I stood before a handful of friends and family in a little church and said, “I do” to the man of my dreams.

Except, he wasn’t exactly the man of my dreams. That guy I fantasized about for so long was a filthy rich businessman with a professional athlete’s physique. The guy I thought I wanted would give me everything I ever desired. He would spoil me and take me on fancy vacations and bring me roses and bottles of fine wine. He’d hire me a maid and a nanny, and buy me a new car every year.

For the longest time, that is what I thought I wanted.

And then came Donnie, a quiet, boyish-looking artist with a thin, lanky body and barely a penny to his name. We met in the way so many couples do—at college, through a mutual friend—and I only wanted to be friends. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that as an artist, I could never be in a relationship with another artist. I knew myself well enough to know that such a pairing could never work out. Two creative people would be too competitive, and couldn’t possibly be compatible. It would be disastrous. I just knew it.

Because I was twenty years old, and I knew everything.

Boy, was I stupid.

I almost let him go. After college, and a brief time dating, Donnie went overseas with the navy and I pursued my career in advertising at an agency in Florida. I’d gotten over the notion that two artists couldn’t get along—in a very short time, Donnie had become my best friend, the easiest person in the world to talk to. I loved discussing art with him, and religion, and every single topic that was supposed to be difficult just flowed between us in harmonious conversation.

He’d already declared his love for me, and I cared for him deeply. But how could I be sure he really was “The One”? Wasn’t I supposed to hold out for that man of my dreams? If I worked in the corporate world long enough, would he come along, sweep me off my feet and be the Prince Charming I’d dreamed about since childhood?

Though it was long-distance—and this was before email, Facebook and international cell phones—my relationship with Donnie continued to grow, along with my confusion. He told me point-blank that divorce was not in his vocabulary—if I married him, it was for life. Instead of reassuring, I found that terrifying. I mean, this was 1990, not 1770. If marriage didn’t work out, you split up. How could you make such a huge decision and not provide yourself a way out? That didn’t make sense to me.

It does now, but back then, it scared me so much that we nearly broke up. I still remember that night on the phone, him in Scotland and me in Florida, the pain in his voice as he said he couldn’t keep waiting forever for me to make up my mind about marrying him. And I’ll never forget the pain in my heart as I wept my way through a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream and finally knew that maybe Mr. Right didn’t         always show up packaged like a girl expects.

After a couple of decades together, I’m so glad it didn’t. God knew that Donnie was everything I truly needed and wanted in a man. I didn’t need material wealth; I needed wealth of character, compassion and integrity. I didn’t need someone to whisk me off my feet; I needed someone to plant them, finally, on truly solid ground. I didn’t need gifts of roses and fancy vacations; I needed someone who’d build a home with me so happy that I’d never need to go away. Sometimes I look at him, and our beautiful children and it takes my breath away that I get to experience something as precious as this life we’ve built together.

This girl’s fairy tale came true. And we’re living happily ever after.

When Dad put away the Christmas stockings, he left all the goodies on the dining room sideboard.

Silly Daddy.

Doesn’t he know I’ve become a pro at unwrapping candy?

Even complicated Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups! NUMMY!

If you look closely, you’ll see I reached the candy by dragging over a plastic bin to climb upon. I usually use my chair, but mom and dad had it shut up in the laundry room after I pulled this stunt too many times in one day:

So I’m a little OCD about wanting to wash my hands all day long. Is that so wrong?

The other day, I got in trouble for brushing my teeth! How crazy is that?

I think maybe it was the fact that I was IN the sink, with my pajamas on, that made Mom do that, “Oh, Jonah, NO!” thing she exclaims quite often…

Oh well. As I said, Stuff Happens when you’re two. But Mom says it’s OK, because I’m so darn cute!

1. Discussions about politics are already getting old. And it’s only January.
2. And yet I still feel compelled to say that this time next year, I hope we get to wish the Obama administration a hearty goodbye.
3. I think it’s time for me to have a couple of days alone.
4. Because having some refreshing downtime alone always puts a smile on my face.
5. Maybe sometime I’ll get to visit Uganda and the sweet orphans at Blood of Jesus Ministries.
6. God alone gives me strength.
7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to (I have no clue), tomorrow my plans include things yet to be determined and Sunday, I want to figure out what the heck I’m doing!

For more Friday Fill-ins, click here.

Not to start the New Year off on a downer, but I just read the first blog post I made in 2011 and realized how poorly I did at meeting the goals I set for myself 12 months ago. Someone once said that New Year Resolutions were just a “to-do” list for the first week of January. I’m not sure I even made it a whole week on some of these goals.

I didn’t lose 50 pounds—I did lose ten pounds, a couple of times, but found them again the moment I fell off the dieting wagon. I did not start any new book manuscripts, nor did I follow a successful writer friend’s advice and directly contact the editors of a couple of national magazines and convince them to publish my work.

I meant to do that one. I really did.

I didn’t work on my sons’ scrapbooks at least once a month. Actually, I don’t think I even glanced at the darn things all year long. For the past few years, the only scrapbooking I’ve done happens on a few frantic evenings in late December, when I rush to create photo calendars for the grandmothers and aunts in the family.

My eldest son, Zach, will be 14 in a few weeks. I am still scrapbooking his kindergarten Christmas play, if that gives you any indication of how far behind I am on that project.

I did not plan monthly menus and stick to them while grocery shopping, nor did I fully master couponing. My bank account wishes that I had. But I didn’t.

And forget that comment about embracing the FlyLady.net’s cleaning routines to get my house in order. If anything, it is even more chaotic than it was a year ago, and being disorganized is biting me now in the most painful way.

However, not everything was a totally epic failure. I’d say my spiritual life is about as healthy as it was this time last year, neither greatly improving as I’d hoped, but not deteriorating, either.

I didn’t keep any weight off, but I exercised more than I have before, and had a better attitude about fitness in general. While exercise didn’t become a routine part of every day, we joined a pool over the summer and will likely do that again. So my commitment to exercise more often was at least partially fulfilled.

I don’t know if I was a more patient teacher with my kids during our homeschooling time—I guess you’d have to ask them that question. I’d like to think I’m continually improving in this regard, but I am not convinced that I’m where I need to be yet. I won’t be happy until my patience level falls somewhere between Mother Teresa and June Cleaver.

Speaking of the Cleavers, I can say that I kept my commitment to make my husband a higher priority, and I hope that he noticed. I think he did. I know that I feel closer to him than I did a year ago, and I hope that he feels the same way, too.

I am not giving up on my poor house, either. Before I sat down to write this, I worked on a new daily schedule and created a weekly checklist for our FlyLady chores. Doing so actually sparked the idea for this column. So I’m hopeful that 2012 will bring improvement in that regard.

Of course, I’m always hopeful in January—and I refuse to believe that past failures have to influence what I choose to accomplish this year. Actually, I find that’s the real value in creating New Year Resolutions—the power is not so much in defining the goals, but in looking back a year later and examining yourself to see how well you met them, or attempted to, and how life has or hasn’t improved because of your actions.

I don’t need a new list of resolutions—every item on last year’s list is still worth pursuing and fulfilling. It might take a few years to meet all these goals, but that’s OK—it’s my list. I’ll accomplish it in my time.