Another year

If you were reading my blog this time last year, doesn't it seem impossible that a year has gone by already?

Actually, I have to thank you for hanging around after that spectacle I created last year surrounding my big milestone birthday. The 40-day countdown. All the celebrations I had for myself. Then the surprise party.

Oh, not to mention the little secret I was carrying around, too shocked to tell all my friends and family there was a perfectly good reason I wanted to puke all of the time.

It was nice to let this birthday quietly come and go. My husband was on another continent, so that left me home to have a nice birthday just doing what I do everyday... being a mom.

It all started when my alarm clock went off yesterday at 5 a.m. Whoa! That was early considering the alarm also had sounded at 11 p.m., 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. But fortunately, even though she has a loud scream, my alarm clock is cute and cuddly. And unlike most mornings when she can be lulled back to sleep, she apparently was excited to tell me happy birthday and couldn't wait to start the day.

Once I got out of the shower, I couldn't find the big kids. I have drilled into their little minds my love for birthdays, so I was afraid they might have pooled all of their piggy bank money and rode their bikes over to Target to buy me a gift. Instead, they all jumped out of their hiding places and sang "Happy Birthday".

They told me they would be more than happy to buy me ANY Wii game that I wanted as my gift. All I had to do was drive them over to the store so they could pick it out.

Then, it was time to rush through school so we could meet up with their friends at the Arboretum. Thankfully, their friends all come with moms who are my friends, and we all had a nice afternoon together.

After that we went to the kids' favorite restaurant, Go Roma. Actually, I don't mind Go Roma. I thought the food was great the first 16 times we went there. But after about 349 meals at their favorite restaurant, I can't say it would have been my No. 1 pick.

I ordered myself a little chocolate molten lava cake for dessert and a little dish of ice cream for the three big kids.

"You ARE going to share, aren't you Mom?"

Oh. Yeah. Of course I was planning to share. I cut the tiny little cake into four pieces and passed a bite to each person.

When we got home, the kids decided we should have a movie night. And guess what?! I could choose ANY movie I wanted to watch!

Well... as long as it wasn't that one or that one. Actually... as long as it was either this one or this one. I made my selection from the two choices I was given, and we all sat down to watch it together while I folded laundry.

By about 8 p.m., I was ready for bed. It had been a long day.

It might not have been a birthday filled with all of the things I would have chosen for myself. But I got to share everything we did with my four greatest gifts. And that was perfect.

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the midwife

When I was pregnant with our first child nine years ago, I assumed that anyone who had completed at least one year of medical school could probably deliver a baby.

I mean you see it all the time on TV. People have babies in the subway, in taxi cabs, on the sidewalk, in the woods. Some stranger who is walking by stops to help, and Mom and baby are fine.

So, I opened the book of HMO docs and randomly chose the female OB with the most normal-sounding name. I was really happy when at 41 weeks they sent me to the hospital, and I found out that my favorite of the four doctors who were part of that practice was the one on call.

But 24 hours later, I would wake up from a drug-induced sleep to the startling reality that delivering a baby isn't as simple as it sounds. Sometimes things go wrong. And sometimes, once things start going wrong, everything seems to go wrong.

I found out that delivering a baby can be highly risky to a mom and her newborn. The baby doesn't always want to move down that dark tunnel called the birth canal. And then it's no longer a matter of catching a baby, it's a surgical procedure.

And I found out that not all anesthesiologists are created equal, either. Most are probably trained to make sure the patient is completely numb BEFORE the doctor starts a C-Section. And I found out that it's even possibly to slice vital organs while performing what sounds like a simple surgery.

So, when God blessed us with our second child, I no longer cared about nice sounding names, pretty maternity suites that served cookies before bed or the gender of my doctor. Nope. A friend recommended her doctor who she described as "nearly a plastic surgeon" when it came to performing C-sections.

Thankfully, this older male doctor came equipped with a delightful sidekick. A midwife.

Doris, the midwife, was perfect in every way. She listened when a hormonal prego woman suddenly burst into tears. She would hold your hands and pray for you at each visit. She was there every step of the way, even if your baby was coming out "the sunroof", as she described it.

Doris was a cute, blonde, runner in her mid 30s when I met her. She didn't get married herself and have her first child until she was close to 40. And over the years, I have thought many times about some of the last words she said to me after I had my third child, my daughter, at the age of 36.

Doris asked me if we planned to have any more children. "I'm just too old," I said. Even then, I was labeled as "high-risk" and sent for Level 2 ultrasounds to make sure everything was going OK.

"You are not even CLOSE to being too old," Doris reassured me. In fact, Doris reassured me about everything all of the time.

"You can do it."

"It's going to be fine."

Those are the kind of words you expected to hear from Doris.

In the years since I had my daughter, Doris got married and moved away and started her own family. The older doctor who delivered my second son retired and was replaced by a younger doctor. And he hired a new midwife, who I will call B.

This younger doctor doesn't have the best bedside manner. I always feel nervous when I talk to him. I don't know why.

But for my third C-section, he cut an incision and sewed it up so beautifully that four years later, my scar is nearly invisible. What he lacks in personality, he makes up for in skill with a sharp instrument and sewing utensils. And I learned the hard way, that when you are having a C-section, a good surgeon is far more important than a nice personality.

So, when I found out I was pregnant, I called his office to make an appointment with B, the midwife. I told the receptionist I thought I was pregnant and gave her my birthdate: 4-21-69.

I assumed she would sound some sort of alarm and request that I come in for an exam immediately. Surely, she would put it all together that I was only a few weeks short of 40 and see the urgency in my case.

"B is in your local office on Tuesdays. Her next opening is in two weeks. How about April 21st?"

You want me to wait two weeks? April 21st? I gave it a moment's thought. I really didn't want to wait THREE weeks until the following Tuesday. My 40th birthday. How ironic.

Couldn't I come in just one day earlier. When I was still in my 30s?

So, there I sat in the waiting room for my 5 p.m. appointment on my 40th birthday.

I tried to keep my head low so the pregnant women sitting elbow-to-elbow in the crowded waiting room wouldn't notice me.

I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I was afraid that someone would see my fine lines and wrinkles and make an announcement to the packed room.

"What is SHE doing here?"

I buried my nose in my book, but I couldn't get myself to read a single word.

Finally, the nurse called me back. "Um. We don't have an exam room available yet, but since you have been a patient here for such a long time, we wanted you to come on back and give us a urine sample. You can just wait back here until the next room opens up."

Whew! I escaped the waiting room!

Finally, it was my turn in the exam room. And B came in to chat.

"Well, happy birthday!" she exclaimed.

My eyes were full of tears. I know it must be hard to understand. I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I know other people struggle with infertility. Or they don't get married until later in life. And they would trade spots with me in a heartbeat.

It wasn't that I was sad. Or upset. In fact, I was overcome with awe and wonder.

But at that early stage I was really struggling with fears about how I would handle being pregnant, how I would make it through a fourth C-section and all of the negative things I had read about "advanced maternal age".

I was really needing Doris more than anyone at that moment. I was wondering if they could give me her phone number. I kept replaying that conversation we had four years ago.

I started telling B what was on my mind.

"Let's just not worry about all of that," said B. She's a very nice woman, a few years younger than I am. She's attractive and likable and seems to do a good job. But she's definitely NOT Doris.

"Let's just take this a day at a time. Let's just focus on today. Your birthday. You don't need to look too far ahead. Let's not worry about the birth or what it's going to be like to have a baby."

Why not? I was thinking.

"Let's just make sure the baby is viable."

V-I-A-B-L-E?

Oh, I get it. I smiled and nodded. OK, sure. Let's just make sure.

I was cracking up on the inside. Oh, how Doris never in a million years would have said those words.

I'm just so happy that I know who is in control. It's not me. And it's not B. And He will get me through whatever comes my way.

And I really don't have to worry. And I CAN think ahead. And I can plan. And I can even listen to her make such comments and just laugh inside. And I can even do it without Doris. She was a big help, but I suddenly realized she wasn't the one who gives peace.

As I left the exam room, my chart must have exchanged hands a few more times.

"Happy birthday!" said another nurse.

"Happy birthday!" exclaimed the receptionist who made my next appointment.

It was a happy birthday. And it's been a happy 14 weeks so far.

surprised!

About five weeks ago, my friend, Julie, invited our family over for a cook-out. Julie is a busy woman, so I really didn't think anything of the fact that we had to make our dinner plans so far in advance.

This morning, I saw her husband at church and asked if he was ready for our family to come for the BBQ.

"Oh yeah. We're going to flip some burgers and hotdogs. It's going to be a great time," he said.

We rushed from church to my son's karate testing, which seemed to take all afternoon, and had just a few minutes to spare to get to Julie's house on time.

When we walked in, I was a bit confused. Why were 15 of my friends standing in Julie's living room yelling, "Surprise!"?

Wait! Were they all invited to the cook-out, too?

I looked at my husband and kids, seeking help for my confusion. "Well, we'll see you later, honey."

But what about the burgers and the hot dogs?

My brain was spinning. I looked at the 4-0 balloons. I looked at everyone staring at me and smiling. I saw my husband heading for the door. And now a beautiful birthday cake.

Honestly. I think that was the first real surprise party of my life. And I can't remember being that surprised by {almost} anything. Many of these women had already gone out of their way to celebrate ME on or around my actual birthday, which was about 12 days ago. I never, ever suspected they were scheming THIS!

WHAT a gift. My friends could not have planned a party that would have made me feel more special, more blessed and more loved.

They each gave me a funny card with advice for life in my 40s. Many of them came with a hilarious gift, such as Downy "Wrinkle Releaser", tweezers to remove all of my unwanted facial hairs and, of course, a tambourine decorated especially for me.

Once we made it through all the gag gifts, they each read a blessing. Let me just say that my love language is words of affirmation. And truly, there is no greater gift anyone can give me than kind words. I couldn't hold back my tears as they read their unbelievably sweet messages.

Then, they let me have my fun. We put on my favorite music and pretended to be rock stars.

What a great day! I am so blessed. So surprised. So thankful. (If you were there today, thank you from the bottom of my heart.)

And now, my friends, if this is how fun it is to be 40, I'm ready to get started!

you're the best person in the whole world

I've always been a bit of a birthday card snob. It just seems like the biggest scam in the world to pay $3.99 to buy a birthday card!

Over the years, I have tried to revolt against Hallmark and it's high-priced cards in many ways. I've made cards: I've done the computer-generated cards. I've rubber stamped. Heck, I've even drawn pictures and used stickers.

Then, I started going the route of buying something else for the same price (or less) than a greeting card and adding a personal message. I've given journals. Calendars. Little inspirational books.

But I have to admit that since the card companies started making those cards with the sound chips, I have no problem plunking down $5 for a greeting card. I have spent some good chunks of time standing in the card aisle lately listening to "Super Freak", "Brick House", "All Star", "I Feel Good" and the other famous songs they put inside those cards.

And I love it when I get one of those. Not only does it make me laugh, but it becomes a toy for my kids. They run around all day with it. Open. Close. Open. Close.

My hilarious friend, Caryl, got me one of the funniest sound chip cards I have ever heard. And truly, people, even though you can't get the full effect without hearing it, it would not be fair if I didn't share it with you here.

The card features Hoops&Yoyo, those little bunny-like creatures with the strange, slightly-demented voices.

The front of the card says, "You're the best person in the whole world! And we should know..."

"We searched every corner of the globe to prove it!"

When you open the card, you hear Hoops&Yoyo panting, as if they've been running.

"Hah, hah, hah (panting)... It's true. It's true. Yeah. We just got back. And you are the best.

"We went alphabetically. We just got back from Zimbabwe. Algeria, Angola, we went through all the aaaahs.

"We actually made it all the way through China. And you wouldn't believe. You wouldn't beeeelieeevee how many people are in China. There's a lot of people. LOOOOTTTS of people in China. We knocked on a lot of doors. And it's true. It's true. You are the best."

That's it. I'm sold. I love Hoops&Yoyo. They even have a blog.

a new decade

Oh, me. Oh, my.

I have certainly put a lot of pressure on myself to come up with something to say on my 40th birthday. I have whined. I have counted down. I have counted up. I have dreaded. Then I started looking forward to it. Now, finally, it's here!

Lots of people have been telling me that 40 is only a number. It's just another day. It's all in my head. Of course, most of these people are between the ages of 34 and 36. No one who is 38.5 or 39 have made these statements. =] And the 42-year-olds just laugh because they have moved on.

But I like milestones. I think God gave us a calendar and a clock for a reason, and that is to mark the passage of time. I like to reflect. Look ahead. And celebrate.

I've tried to come up with something inspirational to say today. Then, I went for motivational. How about nostalgic? Funny?

Oh, boy... so much pressure.

Mostly, I'm thankful. I am so blessed. I have a wonderful family, amazing friends and more blessings than I could ever imagine on my 40th birthday.

Whew! I think I'm going to need a wind-down period. How about another 40 days? (just kidding!)

a new perspective

Since I haven't written a post about my 40th birthday in, oh, four days or less, I thought I better give you all an update.

I think I might have scared a few of my almost-40-year-old friends into dreading their birthdays way more than is necessary. Since I started my 40 Days of 40 and also began planning some fun times for my actual birthday celebration, I've started really looking forward to my big day.

It's like I'm 7 again, and I'm helping my mom decide if we should play Pin the Tail on the Donkey or Musical Chairs. (Those were actually considered good parties back before we had Pump It Up, gymnastics parties and Libby Lu.)

And the 40 Days of 40 are going great because when I want something all I have to do is snap my fingers and say, "It IS my birthday, you know!" and then my family members do whatever I ask. (Well... Sometimes.... Actually, they are very nice to me on a regular basis.)

Up until a few weeks ago, I was thinking that if there was anything in life that I really wanted to do during which someone might announce my age, I should do it quickly. You know... like if I wanted to be on a game show, or maybe try out for a reality TV series, or if someone suddenly wanted to interview me on a talk show. That kind of thing. I would want them to announce me as a mom in her 30s.

But then my husband, who turned 40 in January -- and is now extremely wise in his years -- made a very good point, which changed my perspective completely.

He pointed out that it's better to be the youngest person in your category. For example, if I wanted to run a marathon or maybe participate in an Iron Woman competition. You know. Stuff like that. It would be better to be a young 40 going up against the 49-year-olds.

Plus I would rather have people say, "Wow! You look so good to be in your 40s!" Rather than, "You're in your 30s. Hmmm... I wouldn't have guessed."

I'm starting to really look forward to this new decade in my life. I think every decade so far has been better than the one before it. I'm looking forward to trying some new things... and of course some new shoes to go with it.

you say it's your birthday?...

It's my birthday, too, yeah!

That will officially be my theme song beginning tomorrow.

In case you hadn't noticed, I have been a little obsessed with my impending birthday. I know, I know... it's just a number. Your real age is in your mind. It's how you act. How you think.

But I'm just not ready to say good-bye to my 30s. I'm not ready to be a fully grown, middle-aged adult on her way to the other side of the hill of life.

So, my first idea was to let it quietly pass and hope no one noticed. Well, unless you read my blog. And then it's kind of hard to miss the 3,524 posts I've written about my upcoming birthday.

But, around everyone else, I was planning to be really quiet.

Seriously.

Stop laughing.

(I can hear you.)

Being the completely moderate person that I am, free of any ridiculous mood swings, I then came up with a new plan. We'll just call it the 40 days of 40.

That's right. Instead of counting down with dread the last days until my passage into middle age, I'm going to celebrate every last one of them. I'm going to have parties for myself, eat cake, buy gifts, eat chocolate, buy shoes, hang streamers, go out to dinner, have pedicures, dance and sing until I'm so tired of my darned birthday that I can't wait for it to be over.

How's that? That will show it. That will teach the calendar to taunt me. I'll show the fine lines. I'll teach the wrinkles a lesson. I'll stomp on the hill, plant a flag and tell it who's boss.

I'm turning 40, and it's going to be fun, darn it.

The 40 days of 40 begin March 13 and continue until my actual birthday on April 21.

So, you say it's YOUR birthday? Great! It's my birthday, too! Let's have a party!

Cupcakes, anyone?

old enough to be... WHAT?!?

A few months ago, I set up a booth selling Discovery Toys at a day-long conference. A nice man had a booth next to me for the pharmaceutical company that he represents.

The guy was probably in his 60's. He immediately struck up a conversation with me and we chatted most of the day.

I had invited one of the new consultants on my team to stop by to see how I set up my booth. This woman has been out of college a few years. She worked as a teacher and now stays home with her 1-year-old son.

After the woman left, the older man asked me, "Was that your daughter?"

"WHAT'S YOU TALKIN ABOUT WILLIS?!?" I answered in my head. Then I replied, "Ummm. No."

"Do you have children?" the man asked.

"Yes. They are EIGHT. SIX. AND F-O-U-R!" I answered.

Well, today I was working another booth and the same woman came to help. We were chatting about her mother-in-law. She explained that her husband's mother is very young to be a grandma. She's 40.

40.

For the record, I am NOT old enough to be this woman's mother. I am exactly 39 years, nine months and three weeks old.

Not 40.

top-secret pie recipe

When my husband and I were first married, I often tried to impress him with my baking ability. I would whip up some of my perfect chocolate chip cookies or double chocolate brownies.

When I really wanted to prove how much I loved him, I would show him with a cheesecake, a Tiramisu or maybe a decadent trifle.

At first, he would humor me by sampling half a slice. As the years went on, it shrank to a taste, and then came the claims that he wasn't hungry. Hmph! How could he hate my cooking?!?

But after a few years, I slowly started to catch on that his love was pie. Yep. Pie. Tangy, tart, fruity pie. Cherry pie. Apple pie.

Pie? Really?

If I were to eat a slice of cherry pie, I would give myself a point for adding to my daily dose of fruits and veggies. That doesn't even count as a dessert in my book.

But then I realized that I had been depriving him of his most loved dessert. All the birthday cakes, trifles and cookies didn't mean a lick to him. I better learn how to bake a pie!

This task seemed overwhelming at first. Roll the dough. Make the filling. Keep it from burning.

That is, until I came up with my top-secret, highly-confidential cherry pie recipe.

It was my husband's 40th birthday yesterday. He is OLD! Way old! Over the hill! Let's-have-a-mid-life-crisis-and-get-some-bifocals-to-celebrate kind of old!! Fortunately, he is way, way, WAY older than I am and has crossed this milestone a good four months before I will.

So, we celebrated with PIE! Here's the recipe:

1 package of pre-made pie crust (it is sold with two rolled up crusts in one box)
2 cans of cherry pie filling
1 tablespoon of sugar (I don't think he really likes the sugar, but I selfishly throw it on the top to try to make it less tart. Seriously, I can only go so far with this pie thing.)

Put one pie crust in the bottom of the pan. Dump in two cans of filling. Cut cute little heart shapes in the other crust. Put it on top. Sprinkle the sugar on the top crust. Bake at 425 for 30 minutes.


There you go. Pie.

I love you, birthday boy!!

the perils of a pedicure, the sequel

In today's edition of Fashion Friday, I will be featuring these adorable animal print flip flops. And as an extra special bonus, I am writing The Sequel to the Perils of Paraffin Wax.

This story actually began a few months ago when my friend, A Musing Mom, was celebrating her milestone-reaching, I-am-not-middle-age, and I-don't need-bifocals birthday. Just to make the point, she took us to play laser tag.

I gave A Musing a gift certificate to my favorite day spa, Simply Beautiful. I just casually mentioned that if she would rather not go by herself, I would be willing to make the sacrifice and tag along just to give her a little company. It's not like going to Simply Beautiful is No. 1 on my list of life's most relaxing moments or anything.

This was A Musing's second pedicure in her life, and I typically get about one a year, always as an excuse to get together with friends. So, being the spa experts that we are, we were completely prepared. Not long after we sat down, our nail specialists (is that what you call them?) said, "Were you planning to get your nails painted today."

We're both thinking, "Isn't that what a pedicure IS?!?!"

Then she mentions, "Did you bring any sandals?" Sandals? Well, it is January and the thick socks and boots might just smudge our newly painted nails.

Oh.

Hmm.

So here's what we learned last night about The Perils of a Pedicure.

1. If you plan to get a pedicure, you might have to sit for an hour or more in a massage chair with a hot wrap around your neck while soaking your feet in hot water. At times, someone will massage and scrub your feet leaving them feeling amazing. During this time, you will not be able to walk, so you will have to rely on the the Nail Specialist to bring you hot cups of tea to drink. You don't want to get too dehydrated.

2. You will have to choose from what seems like a hundred slight variations of colors ranging from black to hot pink to put on your toes. I have decided to go with the suggestion of Carrie, the wonderful Nail Specialist. Last time, she chose for me "My Private Jet", and you will just have to click here to find out where that got me. This time, the color she chose was called, "You Don't Know Jacques". I'm really not thinking that is sending quite the same motivational message for the year.

3. If you don't bring along any sandals, you will have to scoot through the parking lot in these paper-thin free flip flops they give you at the spa. Your little toe-sies will be freezing, so just to warm up, you will need to go to a restaurant that serves hot food.

4. When you hobble into the restaurant on your paper flip flops, you will try to act casual, hoping no one will notice. But they will. The very first person you encounter as you walk in the door will glare at your shoes, or lack thereof.

5. But never fear. The wait just might be an hour and a half and since the toes only need an hour to dry, you can put on your boots before being seated.

6. Once your feet are safe inside their nice warm shoes, they will start feeling so pampered, oiled, buffed and happy, that they won't want to walk. Your best bet is to put up your feet and order dessert.

Be careful out there. These spa treatments can be rough and come with many unadvertised hazards. Take your sandals. Pick your color wisely. Go in peace.

primordial goo and benjamin button

I joke around a lot here about my impending birthday... you know, my inevitable rush headfirst into middle age. It's rapidly approaching now, and it's causing me a lot of... reflection.

They say this will happen.

I can look back at the first 40 years of my life and realize that I probably have around 40 more, give or take a few decades. What have I accomplished? Does it really matter? Would the world be just the same if I had never been born?

These questions have been rattling around in my brain and have been amplified this weekend after ... seeing a movie. We've been visiting relatives in another state and they kindly agreed to watch the kids while we went on our annual trip to a movie theater to see something other than the latest kid flick.

We chose The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Has anyone seen this?

The plot is fascinating. Benjamin Button (played by Bratt Pitt) is born into the world as an old man. He's a little tiny baby, but he has all of the ailments of, say, a 90-year-old man. While the rest of the world grows a little older, day by day, Benjamin keeps getting younger.

The story is about finding true love. When he is a child (trapped in the body of an old man) he meets a real child (played by Cate Blanchett) who can see in his eyes that he is really very young. Their paths continue to cross until they both reach the midsection of their lives -- when they are about equal in age.

The movie is heartbreaking as the two later move in opposite directions on the age spectrum. He keeps getting younger. She keeps getting older. For nearly three hours they age.

And in the end, they both return to the place from which they came. Just as they once gained the ability to focus, crawl, walk, run, eat, talk, read, play the piano and dance, they slowly lose those skills one by one. Just as we all will.

The movie is supposed to show that despite their differences, these two found what really matters: true love. But it's depressing and agonizing that they can't fully enjoy their lives together at the beginning and end where one is old and one is young. In his effort to deal with the hopelessness, Benjamin travels. He moves around the world. He tries different jobs. He tries to experience as much as possible as he continues to grow younger.

And even though he aged in an opposite direction, his fate is the same as that of everyone else around him who has grown old and then died.

Is that all there is? Birth, play, work, fall in love, raise children, travel, get old, work Sudoku puzzles, die?

This movie had an even greater impression on me because only days earlier my grandmother had moved into a nursing home. This woman who has been part of my life as long as I have lived is now facing the end of her days. She's a strong woman and, even at 95, she could be here another decade or more. But her new home is, most likely, the last place she will live.

The few material possessions that she has left will be given away. She doesn't need much in her little room in the nursing home. And yet, she was so happy to be there. So happy to be in a warm room where nurses will take good care of her. And she didn't seem to care at all that none of her stuff would be coming with her.

"I hope you can find someone to give my things to," she would say. "And if you can't, give them to the Salvation Army."

She really seemed so happy. According to the movie, she also had found meaning here on Earth. She had found true love with my grandfather. They had spent their lives together until a few years ago when he died.

She has traveled and worked. Raised kids and made friends. But she believes there is more to her life than the places she has been and the things she has done. Unlike Benjamin Button, she has hope.

And then yesterday, we went to visit the Creation Museum, which is here in northwest Kentucky.

It presents two very different views on life.

The first is that the earth is millions of years old. At some point, an event occurred that brought life from primordial goo. Plants and animals evolved to become all of the life forms that we now see on the planet. The ability for females to become pregnant and give birth to intricate little creatures who somehow come out with the same genetic code as their parents is the result of this random event. Those babies grow old and then die and become dirt. And that's it.

The other view is that the earth was not created by a random act at all. God spoke. He created. He formed. He planned. He sent a savior.

We live. We have meaning. We have hope. There is a point. We have a future beyond the day we die.

Ahh, yes... I have been doing some reflecting as I face the midsection of my life. And, thankfully, the future is full of hope.

how's it lookin' out there?

How ya'll doin'?

We only have nine days left until Christmas, and I have taken procrastination to a whole new level. I officially have not purchased even one single Christmas gift.

This isn't that unusual for me. I typically don't start my Christmas shopping until the second week of December. In recent years, this has been because my toy selling deadline is usually around Dec. 12. I get pretty focused on wrapping up my business for the year and wait until then to start thinking about my own needs.

But this year, I'm really lacking motivation.

Maybe it's because I'm... you know... almost MIDDLE AGE! Like many people these days, I'm also wanting to de-emphasize the materialism that can surround Christmas. The faltering economy gives me a good excuse to make this happen.

It also has to do with the fact that my kids have absolutely everything they could possibly need in life. With both my husband and myself in the toy business for quite a few years, our kids have a LOT of toys.

Still, I really love the joy of Christmas morning and unwrapping gifts, whether you need them or not. And I truly believe that children learn through play, so it's good to get them things that are developmentally appropriate and just plain FUN. I'm just trying to find a way to do that without depleting the checking account and spoiling the kids rotten.

I'm curious how all of you are handing the Christmas gift exchange this year? Are you doing anything differently? And why?