New Project

Yesterday, Katie said: "Mommy, when we move, if there's an extra room, can we set it up just for sewing?"

I smiled.  "That's my dream home, Katie."

Not likely to happen any time soon, but we can have fun imagining it.

I have been avoiding teaching my daughters how to sew.  As always, it's the learning curve.  I didn't want to have to be patient for hours/days/weeks while they learned a new skill.  To force myself to do it, I gave Katie a quilt kit for Christmas.  The quilt is sized for a doll, and is meant to be hand sewn.  Smart cookie that she is, she did the first 3" line of stitching joining two patches and then asked to switch to the machine.  We had that quilt completed in a few hours.

She was not very diligent about maintaining a 1/4" seam, but it was just a doll quilt.

Jenny saw this and decided she wanted to make a quilt for the new baby.  We opted for red/white/blue, since we don't know the baby's gender and because I had a bunch of red/white/blue fabric on hand.  We finished cutting those squares yesterday and designing the layout.  I did have to go back and trim up all the squares to make them the same size.  Katie had helped, but cut 5" x 5" squares instead of 4" x 4".  And I have a plastic quilt block pattern which is 4 1/2" x 4 1/2" to have a 4" x 4" end product, but I did not realize that it was like that.  I cut a bunch of 4" wide fabric strips, and the girls used the pattern to cut them into "squares" but they were 4" x 4 1/2" instead.

This was MY learning curve, and I don't seem to mind those so much.

We then started sewing the patches into strips, making sure we got the design right.  Jenny picked up very quickly on the need to pay attention to which block came next.  After I did two strips, she decided she wanted to do the sewing.  So, I showed her how and (after Katie's sewing performance), stressed the need to keep the edge of the fabric aligned with the edge of the foot.  I even made her rip out one seam and do it again.  She did great.  After walking her through a few strips where I aligned the fabric and showed her exactly where to stitch, I let her do it by herself while I watched, and she demonstrated that she thoroughly understood what she was doing.  She finished all the remaining strips with minimal assistance.

I did have to re-thread the bobbin at one point.  And re-thread the needle after the thread broke.

And there was one point where Katie was showing her how to use the iron, and I was across the room cautioning, "You MUST be careful with the iron.  It will burn you.  I have a scar on my leg from being burnt by an iron 35 years ago.  Pay close attention!"  My words were immediately followed by "Ouch!" and Katie ordering her sister to put her hand under cold running water.  It's a pretty ugly burn, but she took it like a trooper.

After the doll quilt was finished last weekend, Katie decided that she wanted to make a quilt for her bed.  I am unhappy about the store-bought quilts they have.  They just have not held up in the wash and with normal childhood wear and tear (jumping on beds, being used as a tent, etc).  But finding the time...

But since Katie did such a great job on the doll quilt, I decided to go ahead and jump in with not just her quilt but three coordinating quilts for the three girls.  We went to the fabric store last week and bought enough to get started with a vague idea of a pattern.  This past week, we finalized our design, and yesterday we began to cut the shapes: each block is 9 pieces, but there are 2 different sized squares and a rectangle.  One square is large (10" x 10" when done) and we found three fabrics with the same pattern but different colors: light blue, lavender and pink.  Each quilt will have that large square be a different color, but the other colors will be in the block as well.  Each quilt will be unique, but they will all go together well.

We're using the Puss-in-the-Corner

I also got some great coupons in the mail this week (50% off!!), so we'll go back to the store after Mass today and see if they have enough of this gorgeous lavender paisley fabric that we want to use as a backing for all three quilts.  Katie can't wait to start piecing her blocks together.

I don't regret not doing this sooner.  I think the timing is perfect.  I'm pleased at how well both girls are sewing and their comprehension of the way the pattern goes together.  I'm enjoying how they are working well as a team and helping each other.  And since Katie's doll quilt was also my first quilt, I'm enjoying learning this with them.  I wasn't worried that it would be difficult (I tend to be undaunted with sewing projects even if I do spend quite a bit of time ripping seams and trying again).  But I was concerned that the project would be tedious and frustrating if their involvement required too much effort from me.  Instead, I am finding that the monotony of measuring, cutting and stitching is very pleasant when you have nice companions.

The Other, Other Orange Vegetable

Just tell them it's pumpkin, and they'll love it:

Holiday Left-Over Sweet Potato Cake

I served it warm and with a generous sprinkling of confectioner's sugar.

And it contains beer.  I accidentally put in 1 cup instead of 1/2 cup...just took a bit longer to bake.  Happily, we have beer on tap around here.  My husband loves it when I use the kegerator.

Not looking good...

...even for an optimist like me:

The Truly Dismal State of the Union

How They Took the News

Just in case you missed it, I am having a baby.  It's OK if you did miss it.  I am not offended.

In the comments of my January 2nd post, Elizabeth M asked if Billy knew I was pregnant when he predicted a new sibling this year.  Yes, we had told them, and it was a moment worth remembering.

When you have babies every couple of years with regularity, you start to expect babies every couple of years with regularity.  The baby I lost right before Bill deployed to Afghanistan, though unplanned, was not unexpected.  Mary was well over a year old at that point.  Since Bill's return two years ago, I've had two other miscarriages.  At some point, I began to expect loss instead of joy.

I sheltered my children from these losses as best I could.  This was a natural extension of sheltering myself from these losses.  I am a big fan of repressing pain and sorrow.  You'll not convince me that depression and crying are good for the soul.  My children knew of two of these losses.  One, immediately after the worst was over, and at that time, we mentioned the one from 2009. They were so devastated, I did not tell them about the last one.

And I definitely did not tell them I was pregnant with this baby for quite some time.  I wasn't sure how long to wait, but often things just work themselves out with time.

The first hurdle, in my mind, was getting past the 6 - 8 week mark.  Twice, the first indication that something was wrong was when I began to spot.  Somewhere around week 7, I began the process of getting a referral to the midwife group I wanted to use.  This should have taken, at most, a week.  It took more than four (because government-run health care is that good).  The next challenge was confirming a heartbeat.  With my second loss, I went to the midwives at around 10 weeks, but the baby was only 8 1/2 weeks in size with no heartbeat.  It was another 2 weeks before my body expelled the baby.  Even though I was over 11 weeks by the time I got an appointment with this child, I knew that there was still a possibility that the baby had already died.

The midwives have an ultrasound machine, but the woman who does their scans is only in on Tuesdays.  I knew that, but the first appointment they had with the midwives was on a Friday and they had this funny thing about scheduling first appointments with the ultrasound lady.  They didn't seem to care that that's all I cared about.  What's the point of doing that whole history thing and drawing blood and having a physical exam if you're not going to have a baby in the end?

So I went in on that Friday late afternoon, last appointment of the week, and gave blood and recited my medical history (having written my medical history prior to the appointment) and had my eyes, nose, ears and glands checked.  I had a breast exam, and then she felt my uterus and said the size matched my dates, so everything looked good.

Then she got the little sonogram machine that lets you hear the heartbeat.  She warned me it was still early (I knew), but she said let's try to hear one.  She tried and she tried and she tried.  And I might have been fine if she had stopped after a minute and said, "Well, these babies don't like to come out for these things, and it's still too early, so we'll bring you in for an ultrasound on Tuesday and see the baby then."  

But, no, that's not how it went.  "There it was!" she said, but then she lost it.  I didn't hear it.  She desperately wanted to give me that thread of hope, but the more she searched, the harder it became to maintain my composure.  She left me for a minute to get a newer machine, and it gave me time to dab at my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn off my brain.  "Don't think about anything!" I ordered myself.  She came back and after another agonizing minute or two said, "Can you hear that, in the background, that ticking?"  There was a ticking, like the second hand on a clock, faintly, which sounded most like some sort of static interference.  "That's the heartbeat," she insisted.  Riiiiight.

She was convinced, and my logical, intelligent brain reminded me that she is an expert and has heard thousands of heartbeats on these machines, so she knows what she's talking about.  My illogical, emotional side, though, decided that I would not tell the children, not yet.

Friday afternoon until Tuesday morning is a long time to wait for something important, but I managed to push my worries aside by simply not thinking about the baby as best I could.  That Tuesday morning, I left Fritz in charge so I could go to a "doctor's appointment."  On the drive there, I could feel my pulse and respiration increase as my anxiety fought to surface.

All was well.  The ultrasound lady showed me the healthy heartbeat, and she pushed my abdomen to try to get the baby to turn toward the wand.  We watched an arm lift a hand to the face.  And I fell in love, again.  I fell in love with this baby.  I fell in love with my husband who helped create this new life.  And I fell in love with God who gave me another precious gift.

I think I called my husband on the way home.

I know I called my sister, who had been praying so hard for me for weeks.

I called my kids and Katie answered.  I had her check in the fridge for lettuce and tomatoes for our Taco Tuesday dinner.  I told her I would stop quickly at the store, but that I had some good news to share when I got home.  I thought about telling the kids and wondered what they would think.  It's not a topic they nag me about - like going to Disney World.

By the time I got home, all the kids were eager to know what I had to tell them.  As I gestured for them to calm down, one asked, "Where were you, Mommy?"

"She had an ultrasound," said my nosy 13 year old son who is in the habit of studying my Google calendar.  If only he were as interested in charts of Latin verb conjugations.

"What's an ultrasound?" someone asked.

"It's when they look to see if there's a baby growing inside you," explained my suddenly too-smart-to-tolerate 13 year old son.  Apparently, he did not get the memo about how homeschooling shelters children from real life.

"And do you?" asked the children.

"Yes, I do," I answered.

And they cheered.  They cheered.

They could not have given me a better gift than this joy at knowing we are adding another member to the family.

I remember when I came home from the hospital with Billy.  Fritz enjoyed a rigid bedtime routine: bath, pajamas, brush teeth, story book, prayer, kiss goodnight.  After the disruption of mommy being away for a few days, I wanted to get back into it.  He needed me; he had missed me so much.  I sat him on my lap in his bedroom to read his book while Bill paced with the baby in the living room.  In our tiny condo, he could not prevent us from hearing the baby cry and fuss to be nursed.  Fritz was worried that I would leave him to go to the baby, and upset at the baby's presence in our home.  The book was all about loving a child all his life no matter what.  I started to sob, and all I could think was that I had ruined our perfect family.  "What have I done?" I wailed to myself.

What have I done?  I have multiplied the love.

Why I Love Religion, And Love Jesus || Spoken Word

Epiphany Gift

Bill bought me a new camera lens for the feast of the Epiphany.  This one is for portraits, and intentionally blurs backgrounds/foregrounds/sidegrounds.  This is great for the messy housekeeper who doesn't really want you to notice the fingerprints on the wall behind the person in the photo.  Or the dirty laundry nearby.  Or the cluttered kitchen counter.  The gingerbread houses were photographed with that lens.  Here are some family shots taken over several days where I practiced with the lens.  I have to admit that I really love it.

Communication Fail

Before dinner:

"Do you have your letter to the Bishop?"

grunt


After dinner: 

"Do you have your letter to the Bishop?"

grunt


In the driveway:

"Do you have your letter to the Bishop?"

grunt


Two minutes down the road:

"Did you sign the letter to the Bishop?"

"No - do you have the letter?"

"Wha-?  Didn't you get the letter off my desk?"

Noises, not grunting, more like anxious squawking.  A time for calm.

"I'll bring it when I pick you up.  You can sign it and give it to your teacher then."

He quiets.


Apparently, I have not mastered Communicating with Your Teenager.  Did I need to ask a fourth time?

Eye contact...need to make more eye contact.

Messy Mondays: Seven Lies about Homeschoolers

Lessons in Pop Culture

Fritz has a backpack for hiking that is 1" too big in the waist.  He's got 5 months until Philmont to grow into it.  At dinner the other evening, Bill mentioned his father's idea of feeding Twinkies to Fritz to put some weight on his skinny body. 

"What's a Twinkie?" asked Katie.  Most of the kids had blank looks as well.  Bill cast accusing eyes on me, as though I had deprived my children of some vital life experience.  What can I say?  Twinkies seem to be lunch box food.  We don't do lunch boxes.

When polled, NONE of my children could identify a Twinkie, not even my older boys.  So, we headed to the grocery store just to buy a package to have for dessert.  A box of 10 was over $3 - one other reason I rarely buy stuff like this.

Now they all know what a Twinkie is.  And three of the kids don't like them. 

Non-Scholars Beware

Uh, oh, kids.  Better do your research now or face having to go to the library for that paper due on Thursday.

America's favorite "source" for non-vetted information is going dark for 24 hours.

Pro-Life Ads to Air During the Superbowl

Randall Terry Campaign to Run Pro-Life Commercials During Superbowl Game

I know many people are uncomfortable with graphic images of abortion.  I know many people think that displaying the horror of abortion will not change hearts and minds.

I am uncomfortable with graphic images of abortion.  I don't like to see them.  I don't want my children to see them.

But I also don't like to see the photos of the Nazi death camps: the piles of bodies, emaciated to nothing; the naked men and women, shockingly still able to walk despite quite literally being nothing but skin and bones.  But I think everyone, at some point, must see these images.  A picture is worth a thousand words.  We must be horrified, or we risk becoming numb to the reality.

When I read Unplanned by Abby Johnson, I found it very interesting that in her first chapter she described her horror when she had to assist in an abortion by holding the ultrasound wand in place.  She had to watch the abortion so that the doctor would be sure to have a good image.  It is one thing to "assist" an abortion by shuffling paperwork in another room or by walking women to and from their cars.  It is quite another to witness an unborn child fighting for his life.  That event had her fleeing the clinic and seeking comfort with her enemies - the pro-lifers' office down the street who had been praying for her, specifically for her, for years.

Yet, by the last chapter, she seemed to argue that graphic images were not as effective as kind words and prayers.  Now, I am confident that the years of praying for her and reaching out to her were very instrumental in her conversion.  But it seems clear that witnessing that abortion was shockingly and immediately effective in changing her views.

Randall Terry is running for president only because TV can not edit a presidential candidate's ads.  These ads will be graphic, and I will be sure that my younger children are protected from viewing them if they air in our area.  However, I do support their airing.  I do think America needs to see what is happening, legally, every day in this country.

To view the ads, and to support their airing in additional cities, go to Terry for President. 

Motherhood as a Vocation

Thomas McDonald of the National Catholic Register wrote a nice piece called "Motherhood and the Call to Holiness".  I happen to be quoted in it, but it would have been good even without my input.

Better than "Yo, Dude"

Fritz has to write a letter to the bishop as one of his confirmation requirements.  The topic is: how my home life has influenced my religious formation.  I asked him if he had considered what he would write.

"Yeah.  I'm going to say that I'm homeschooled, so my mom's my teacher, and we have religion class every day."

"Hm.  Okay.  You know you're going to have to expand that to about 150 words?"

"Yeah..."

"Okay..."

"I know what the first four words will be: Dear Mr. Bishop, Sir:"

Well, at least he nailed politeness and respect.  Only 146 more words to go.

Gingerbread Houses

I am back-dating this post to January, because that is how old the pictures are.  The post really belongs with Christmas, and if I don't put it close to that time frame, I'll never find it in the archives.  Those who read me via a reader will probably see it.  Those who go straight to my blog probably won't, so I hope to do a summary post after I finally publish all these old photos, so my mom and others don't miss them.

The kids were given a free hand with their gingerbread houses.  I bought kits, because I did not have the energy to make them myself.  Bill assembled them one night, and then the next day we just let them go to town.  I think I know which belongs to whom; I definitely know three of them.

This one is Katie's house.  There is lots of activity.

 Please note the man burying his friend in the snow.  One shovelful left to go.

 I can not identify the owner of this house.  Fritz? Mary? Jenny?  Fritz was very apathetic to the whole project, so lack of skill is no indication of artist in his case.

 This house with the Star Wars battle scene is definitely Billy's.

 Note the figure impaled on the top of the Christmas tree.  Because nothing says "Christmas" quite like fantasy death and destruction.

 I don't even know who the good guys are.

 But I trust that St. Nicholas is offering an appropriate blessing to the right side.  The angel, though, has more important things to look after.

 Rooftop duel.  Never take a light saber to a blaster fight.

 Not sure who made this house.  If I had to guess, I would think this understated one was Fritz's and the really goopy one was Mary's.  I think Jenny did a gingerbread train.

And now for Peter's house.  Another one with lots of interesting things going on.  I think this one has a cop and robber theme.  Again, why such violent drama is included in what was supposed to be Christmas decorations is unknown.  I did mention that the kids were completely unsupervised on this project, right?

 When Peter showed me the house, I mistook the red icing going up the side as flames.  "The house is on fire?" I asked him.

"No, Mom," he said in that offended tone of a misunderstood artist.  "That's not fire.  That's blood."

Uh, Merry Christmas to you, too.

Establishing the Habit of Exercise

About five years ago, Bill had to leave for work by 530 am.  He usually didn't come home until 7 or 8 pm or later, and was frequently out-of-town.  I was 1 year post-partum with Peter, and Fritz was only 8.  We didn't own a treadmill or any other exercise equipment.  I was feeling the beginning effects of middle-aged, metabolism slow-down, and didn't feel that I had fully recovered, physically, from Peter's birth (in other words, I hadn't lost the baby weight or the baby bump).  I had been walking or running several times a week before Bill had started that job with long hours, and was unhappy and resentful that this seemed no longer possible.  It was easy to blame circumstances for the extra 10 pounds and lack of exercise.

Eventually, I grew tired of blaming everything but myself, so I brainstormed what to do about my situation.

Exercise tapes?  Little floor space, presence of whiny children, and not my style.
Joining a gym with babysitting? Too expensive, required hauling 5 kids in and out of car.
Buying a treadmill?  Too expensive, little floor space, presence of whiny children.

I wanted to hire a babysitter so I could continue to walk or run, but that seemed expensive and once the kids woke up and the day began, life's issues of school work and laundry and cooking always seemed more important.

Finally, what remained was the idea that I would have to walk or run early in the morning or late at night, whenever Bill was home.  I quickly opted for early in the morning.  For me, by the time it hit the kids' bedtime, I was exhausted myself.  The only exercise I wanted to do was the crawl from the kitchen sink to my bed.

So, this is where I started my habit of running in the morning, first-thing.  Back then, the alarm went off at 415 am and by 430 or so, I was outside pounding the streets, with my running partner - Greta, our dog, who was young and very high-energy.  It was not long before she knew what that alarm meant, and as soon as it went off would start hopping madly around the room wondering why I wasn't moving yet.  On the days I lacked personal motivation, I still managed to get up "for the dog."

*******

Greta is now over 6.  She doesn't like the heat, so in the summer, she dragged.  But once the weather got cooler, and especially now that we cracked down on the children giving her too much food so her weight is more within a normal range, her energy has picked up and she really enjoys running.  If I walk, she pulls on the lead, and I have to remind her to slow down.

But it has been years since the morning alarm has gotten her excited.  And it's not even at 415 anymore.  Now, it's 5 am before it goes off, and often it is 10 or 15 minutes before I get up.  Then I like to have a cup of coffee to gear myself up for the run.  The dog just stays in her sleeping area in our room until I get my shoes on.

Even then, I have sometimes had to say, "Come on!" before she gets up.

*******

This is the time of year when people resolve to give up bad habits and start good ones.  The thing is, it takes weeks to change our habits...not two or three weeks, either.  More like 6 or 8 or more.  Any plan for change has to account for this in order to be successful.  Based on my experience, here are the steps I think are necessary to develop an exercise regime that will be maintained and not discarded:

1. Schedule a time of day to exercise.  "Whenever I can" isn't going to work.  "During the baby's morning nap" might work, if the baby is a regular and sound sleeper, but think ahead to when he gives that up and what you will do.  Think about what time of day is best for you.  Experts say to not exercise close to bedtime, but if you are a night-owl, then working out at 8 pm might be fine.

2. Start small.  Sore muscles are a great excuse to skip the next day's workout.  If you aren't looking forward to exercising, you will be tempted to do anything else but it.  Better to establish the habit of an easy one mile walk every day first, and then take on the challenge of trying to run that distance - or to go farther - then to push yourself to run hard and fast, and give up in frustration.

3. Pick your workout wisely.  I love to walk.  I love to run, even if I am slow.  Biking hurts my tush.  I don't have a pool or easy access to one, and I really can't do much more than doggy paddle.  I'm not into group classes at the Y.  Sometimes I will bike, sometimes I will go to an exercise class.  Maybe some day I'll learn to swim well.  But for now, for me, a program that centers on walking and running is one that I like, so it is one that I will do.

4. Set a goal.  Back when I started running, I decided to run the Army 10 Miler.  I had never run farther than 6 miles before that (and that was many many years prior), so I found a training program (I like Hal Higdon) and I followed it.  I reminded myself often that I wouldn't be able to complete 10 miles for that race in 3 months, if I didn't run my scheduled 3 miles today.  I trained for nearly a year to do that race - first working on the 5k plan, then the 10k plan, then the 15k/10 mile plan.

And after that, I stopped running for a long time - months.  But that's ok.  I set another goal and got back out there when I started to miss it (and when I added 5 pounds). 

Don't tie exercise goals to weight loss goals.  You will be disappointed.  Your exercise goals should be performance goals.  If you struggle to do even one sit up, aim to do 25 in a row.  If you struggle to find the time and motivation to exercise daily, resolve to walk 30 miles a month - some days you might do none and others you might do 2 or 3.  Maybe you want to run a ten minute mile - or faster.  Maybe you just want to get to the gym 3 times a week on average.

5.  Make exercise something you look forward to doing.  This is easiest to accomplish if it is tied to something enjoyable: great conversations with a walking partner, an energetic playlist or interesting podcast on your iPod, a break from the kids.  Some people watch their favorite show while on a stationary bike.  Some people love a competitive game of tennis.

6. Reward yourself for good behavior.  If you stick with an exercise program for a certain period of time or accomplish a goal, give yourself permission to celebrate.  I usually take off a whole week after I've done an 8 week Hal Higdon training schedule or after a race.  One hot fudge sundae in honor of completing your first 5k won't add 2 inches to your thighs.  Smaller goals might only deserve a self-congratulatory pat on the back, but relish your success for a few days before moving on to the next challenge. 

7. Establish a form of accountability.  Whether it's your dog or your neighbor, having a workout partner keeps you motivated to get out the door.  Having a sister or a husband or a friend regularly ask you about your progress helps, too.  Signing up for a 5k, hiring a personal trainer, logging your exercise online in a public forum are other ways to keep you going or get you back on track when you have a bad week.

8. Expect curve-balls.  Your whole family gets the flu.  Your husband's work routine changes.  You get pregnant.  You can't be so tied to your training plan or to your goals that life's surprises completely derail your exercise routine.  You may need to take a week or two off, and you may need to decrease the intensity of a workout to deal with a temporary situation.  Other changes may require you to change your routine altogether.  Be committed to figuring out a new plan, whether temporary or permanent, rather than putting exercise on hold for the indefinite future.

*******

Exercise is a vital part of a healthy lifestyle that will keep you active well into old age.  If you are sedentary in your 30's and 40's, expect to remain sedentary in your 50's and 60's and beyond.  That's not what I want in life.  There's too much to do and see.

The Party's Over

Not only is it time to go back to work and school, the unseasonably (even for Savannah) warm weather has come to an abrupt end.  They are actually using terms like "wind chill" - and they really mean it.  Last night, at bedtime, the temperature in my house was 72 degrees...and this was with the heater off, as it has been off for about 2 weeks.  In fact, I almost put the A/C on the other evening so it would be comfortable for sleeping, but we managed to do without, thanks to ceiling fans in every bedroom.

This morning, it was 66 degrees, which I realize is higher than where some of you folks with thick winter blood normally set it, but I am just not that tough.  Plus, I'll never get the kids out of bed if it's that cold.  Outside, it is 33 degrees (yes, yes, above freezing - but 20 degrees colder than yesterday morning) with wind gusts making it feel like 14 (which is cold, by most standards).

I'm drinking a hot cup of coffee and contemplating my morning run, which just doesn't seem very appealing.

Resolutions and Predictions

On New Year's Eve, we gathered around the coffee table and I had everybody make one resolution and one prediction for the new year.  I wrote them all down, sealed them in an envelope, and we'll open it next year when we do the same thing.

Some of the resolutions were the standard fare: exercise more, eat healthier.  Some were fun: learn some magic tricks.  Some were challenging: be nicer.

With the predictions, nobody seems to feel a calling to be a seer.  Nobody wanted to guess the winner of the Superbowl or the presidential election - although Bill predicted that the winner would be somebody I, his wife, did not vote for.  Yes, well, we shall see.

Most of us stuck with likely to happen predictions: that the gingerbread houses would be smashed (we generally do that on January 6th), that we would move to a new home, that we would have to resume schoolwork.

Billy predicted that he would have a new brother or sister this year.  That's another likely prediction.  I'm due mid-June!

It will be an exciting year, I'm sure.

Recent pictures

Finally downloading pictures from the camera.

Mary wanted to help saute onions and peppers, but they hurt her eyes.  We took care of that.

Mary hamming it up for somebody - not me.

Bill gave me a flash diffuser for Christmas.  Here we experiment with its effects.  The first is with and the second is without the diffuser.

My husband makes scruffy look good.

I am glad he's back to shaven, though.  Ouch.