Hooooow many times have I seen Annie? It must be a number in the hundreds. Add to that the number of times I've listened to or sung the music, seen the play...and, oh, yeah - there was that time I DIRECTED THE SHOW IN HIGH SCHOOL. Well, technically that was the sequel, but still, I was immersed in the story for like 4 straight months. So imagine my surprise when tonight, I'm just sitting here, minding my own business, being mom of the year by ordering pizza, cuddling up with the girls and having an Annie-watching pajama party - singing along with every single number and... what? Tears? What the...? Tonight, I saw a completely different story. See, there's this girl. An orphan. Let's call her...Annie. She's a pretty good kid, looks out for others, sings very sweetly. She's living in hell, but it's all she's ever known. She can imagine something better - she just doesn't know how to find it. She makes a couple of attempts at escape, but finds tha
I rolled over and looked at the clock. I expected it to be somewhere in the late 7s or early 8s...giving me plenty of time for a leisurely shower, a big cup of coffee and the Sunday circulars before heading to church. Almost eight years ago we joined the church we still attend, and this past Sunday marked the end of a chapter there. Even though my family was out of town and I had kind of a free pass to skip, I didn't want to miss the last Sunday we'd have there with our friends, who had served as beloved youth pastor (and beloved youth pastor's wife) since joining the church on that same Sunday, almost eight years ago. We'll see them again. A lot. So it wasn't so much that I felt like I couldn't miss being in the same building with them, although there was a twinge of that. It was baptism Sunday. I didn't want to miss the last baptisms he'd be performing up there. Eight years ago, I chose to be baptized at our church. I'd been sprinkled after c
It has been said that I am easily amused. Little things fascinate me. I like to know how things work. I like factory tours and behind-the-scenes stuff and those specials on Discovery Channel. I was definitely brought up this way: I remember my brother telling me about a conversation he'd recently had about "Jet Puffed Marshmallows." Topics covered were: What does "Jet-Puffed" mean? How big-a-jet are we talkin? What keeps the marshmallows from exploding when "jet puffed"? Several weeks ago, the girls and I caught an episode of the rarely aired Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. In that one episode, the inimitable Mr. R shed light on two very interesting processes when he visited a sleeping bag factory and a dollmaker's workshop. Have you ever thought about how a sleeping bag is assembled? Me neither, but now I know, and I am a better person for it. So here are a few jobs I would like to shadow for a day (or watch Mister Rogers shadow them), because ev
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Raindrops on Roses
Wiskers on Kitens
You know what I don't like...
When the dog bites
When the bee stings
corny cousins and their wives
Things I hate
when family lives in the path of destruction