Remembering September 12th

It was September 11th yesterday which brings out a storm of social media posts, articles, and broadcasts focused on remembering. The trending hashtags on Twitter were #neverforget, #remember911 and #WhereWereYou.

As I have for the past eighteen years, I thought of that morning that I stood inches from my TV screen as my two year old watched Blue's Clues on a different TV and my eight month old napped. I thought of the confusion, the sadness, the anxiety, and the pain of that day. I thought of the fear, of the rage, and of how the rumors swirled of what building would be hit next. I thought of the frantic phone calls to my husband who was in DC and the sickening busy signal buzzing in my ear time and time again. I thought of the ways I pleaded and bargained with God to bring my husband home. I thought of the moment I heard the garage door open and how I felt gratitude and guilt that my family was intact all at the same time.       

In the days, weeks, and months that followed that day, I remember that as each moment passed there became an increasingly stronger awareness that for Americans there would always be a sense of "before" and "after". Even when questions still abounded in our hearts and in our heads, even when we weren't exactly sure of who was responsible for this evil, even when we hadn't assessed all the damage and the actual numbers of lives lost, we knew that we would be irrevocably changed by this one bright, cloudless, spectacularly beautiful September day that in an hour's time became so shockingly dark.

My kids have heard the stories. They have seen images of the crumbling towers, the burning Pentagon, and the smoldering wreckage in Pennsylvania. They have heard of Americans jumping out of buildings. Of families clutching photos of loved ones and of the death of ordinary men and women just going about their ordinary days.

As I woke this morning there was a sense of relief that we had made it through that day again. At least for those of us whose families were unharmed that day, we could choose to go on from here and tuck that sadness away until the next year. But as I scrolled through social media today I noticed a different post. It urged us to remember September 12th.

It occurs to me that I do often think about the beauty that followed so closely on the heels of the brutality in those days and weeks and months after the tragedy, but I'm not sure I have accurately emphasized that to my children. And what a tragic mistake it is to leave out the details of September 12, 2001. Of September 13th or October 20th or December 1st or of any day in the weeks and even many months that came after September 11, 2001.

On September 12th the contractors who were finishing our basement pulled into my driveway flying an enormous American flag on the back of their truck. I was watching my two young nieces along with my little boys because their daycare at the State Department where my sister-in-law and brother-in-law worked was closed. I can picture so clearly those mens' fallen faces, the way we shook our heads in sadness at each other, and the way one of them leaned down to greet the children with a sweet smile and broken English.

I remember going to the local nursery to pick up something and how the woman behind the counter and I looked each other directly in the eyes. We said nothing but gave each other a sad, intentional smile. Later that week I went to Party City to buy supplies for Joe's third birthday which would be in a few weeks. At the cash register little yellow ribbons were sitting in a dish. I pinned one to my shirt and grabbed tightly to the hand of the employee to say thank you. In the days that followed we watched children play on the swingsets in the backyard and listened to the deafening silence of the skies above our houses, suddenly absent of the planes we were used to hearing coming from the airport only five miles from our neighborhood.

Those are not unique or new stories. But I'm afraid they are stories we forget to emphasize in our quest to make sure that the acts of that day are remembered. If I want my children to live in hope and faith then they absolutely have to know the ways that we lost those things and they have to know how hard we worked to find them again. They have to know how hardened our hearts were in those first hours. And they have to know how we went about softening them. They have to know that there was no way we could have done it by sitting scared and alone in our homes.

We pulled close to each other. We trudged through all of that sadness to find our hope again by loving strangers as well as friends. We smiled at each other. We slowed down in the grocery store check out line. We looked each other in the eye. We held each other's gazes. We were gentler and kinder. We loved each other so well.

Those of us who have faith in Jesus and have learned how He will bring beauty from the ashes, don't just magically feel it. We have to work hard and be intentional to find it.

The details of that horrific, historic morning of Tuesday, September 11th are worthy of our focus and our remembrance. As worthy are the memories of many, many Tuesdays that followed. We are required to share all of the stories - from the fall all the way through to the rising. Those Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Saturdays for weeks and months taught us that we could believe in the words of Psalm 27:13.

"I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living."

We saw the horror. We saw the pain. We saw the fear. We saw the grief.

But we saw hope and love and light and compassion and community. We saw a faith tested and a faith restored because we watched as the goodness of the Lord sprung up from the most horrific scenes we had ever witnessed.

I'll never forget September 11th. And I will never forget September 12th.

Field of Dreams: A Baseball Mom's Trip to the LLWS

I am one of those people who takes sports very seriously. Perhaps, too seriously. But to be honest, I have zero shame about it.

It is well known among my friends that my general well-being and outlook on life in the fall is completely dictated by the Texas Longhorns football team. If at all humanly possible, I will not miss a minute of any of the games my kids play. Sports are on my tv all day, every day. If I don't have a dog in the fight, I will pick a team. Futhermore, I will choose a random player on said team to be my favorite and cheer and pray for him as if I birthed him from my own body. Give me all your high school basketball games, your National championship games, your 7 game series, your Sunday at Wimbledon, and your 18th hole at the Masters. I'll take them all. I might be a complete weirdo about it, but I will own my weirdo-ness. My name is Jenn and I love the sports.

Of all of those many contests though, there is perhaps no sporting event that has grabbed a tighter hold on my heart than the Little League World Series. Every August I am glued to ESPN watching teams from eight regions of the United States and eight countries around the world compete in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. It is, in my opinion, the best sporting event in the history of history.

Of course, it might be because my three boys each played Little League along with travel baseball every year. It could be because my husband was coaching Little League with his high school buddies when I met him and continued to coach our boys over the years. And it could be due to the truth of the words of James Earl Jones to Kevin Costner in the movie, Field of Dreams:

"The only constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good and could be again."

I mean:

This year there was a little something extra added in to make the LLWS better than ever. For the first time in 25 years the team from Virginia represented the Southeast region at the LLWS. Even better, that team was made up of 13 boys from my VERY OWN LITTLE LEAGUE, Loudoun South. Friends of mine had kids on the team. Little brothers of some of my boys' teammates were taking the field on national tv. News helicopters flew over our town's practice field and reporters showed up at our local restaurants' watch parties.

So basically for most of the summer our little community has been pretty much like this:

So it was that along with my son, Joe, who was not due back to college for a few days, I decided it was time to knock an item off the bucket list. We donned our Loudoun South gear, buckled into the car, and took the four hour drive to Williamsport to watch our very own boys play in the US semi-final game last week.

As we walked into the gates and saw the field from the top of the hill, I kept my cool and remained calm about the whole thing:

If that photo doesn't accurately convey my feelings, just know that on the inside I was pretty much like this:

The grass was perfectly green and spectacularly manicured. Big and little kids alike were sliding down the hill beyond centerfield on pieces of cardboard. The boys from Japan were taking on the boys from Korea in the International Semi-final on the field below.

Again, you can see that I was totally nonchalant about it:

My heart raced and my eyes filled. It was absolutely delightful. We walked around and ran into some of our Loudoun South peeps, including a friend who was one of the assistant coaches. I hugged him like he was my long lost brother and asked how he could possibly be walking around like a regular guy even though he was now clearly a very famous and legendary baseball coach. Where in the world was his bodyguard?

We hit the gift shop where we bought a Southeast tshirt WITH THE NAME OF OUR VERY OWN TOWN ON IT.

Later we grabbed a hot dog and some M&Ms and wandered over to the media area where Joe, who is a broadcast journalism major, spotted one of his heroes, Major League Baseball analyst, Tim Kurkjian.

Then as luck would have it, we ran into a local DC news reporter who asked if we'd like to be interviewed about the community's excitement about the team. Joe was all in because he doesn't get nervous, but I was a little unsure. Then the reporter told me that he was stunned that Joe and I were mother and son. He had been sure that we were brother and sister.

After the reporter got over his COMPLETE SHOCK AND AWE he said, "Cool. We'll talk to Joe about playing for Loudoun South in the early days and then to you about the baseball mom perspective." 

At that point, I thought long and hard about it for about 3.5 seconds, threw my M&Ms and diet coke on the ground, sidled right on up next to the microphone, and was pretty much like this:

Despite my charm and stage presence, as it turns out Joe's interview was aired on the 11 o'clock news that night and mine was cut out.

Let's just say, I played more of a . . . um . . . supporting role. 

Hey Channel 9:

No big deal. We were here for the baseball, so we found our way to the stands and watched the rest of the International game. I put on my "throwback" Loudoun South baseball cap and proceeded to snap way more selfies than a grown woman should.

With a little help from some friends who spotted us and saved us some seats we ended up making our way to sit only a few rows behind our Loudoun South parents for the big game vs. Hawaii. I was thrilled to hug and congratulate some friends and listen to all the amazing stories of their experiences in Williamsport. The game didn't start out so great for us as we ended up down 8-2 pretty early, so some would have thought this would be a blow out. Our boys have no quit in them though and before we knew it they had clawed and fought their way back to tie it up.

Unfortunately, things started to get a little dicey again and our boys were down a few runs. At that point, Joe says to me, "Little Henson is warming up in the bullpen."

Little Henson is the little brother of a kid Joe had played Little League with about eight or nine years ago. I knew Little Henson when he was 3 or 4 years old playing in the dirt while his older brother was on the field. Now, he was about to pitch on prime time ESPN. When he trotted out to the mound Joe and I pretty much lost our minds.

This was a high pressure situation and I couldn't help but think of this kid as a mere toddler. Then that "toddler" went and pitched two scoreless innings. LIKE A BOSS. 

In the end our boys battled their little rear ends off, but ended up losing 12-8. They held their heads high and handled the loss with grace and hope for the next game. We hugged and high fived our friends good-bye. Joe drove us all the way home while I slept in the back seat since I had worn myself slap out by cheering and worrying about all those kids as if they were my very own flesh and blood. 

Without question, our day at the Little League World Series was one of the most fun experiences not only of this summer, but perhaps of any summer. I've been to Fenway Park where I watched Big Papi hit a homerun. I've watched the Washington Nationals from the fancy suites. And still, there is no venue I would rank above Lamade Stadium in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. It is truly a field of dreams.

A note to the boys of the 2019 Loudoun South Little League team:

At end of the day, it wasn't the beautiful field, the electric atmosphere, the bright lights, the famous reporters, or the Major Leaguers in the booth that made our day. Above all else, it was the thirteen of you.

You - with your big hearts and your big fight. You - with your humility and charm and perfect manners on tv in front of millions. You - with your support of each other, your fierce determination, and the ferocious way you went about your business.  You - who inspired our family to sit around the kitchen and remember stories of plays and errors and triumphs from the boys' days playing Little League. You - who made us shake our heads in wonder and smile and clap our hands in delight when we spotted you on tv.

It was you, boys. As the days of summer started to fade, I decided to bring the first Little Leaguer whose cleats I tied tight and whose basehits I cheered to one last ball game before he left for college. And it was you who gave us one of the most memorable and fun experiences that we have had together in the twenty years I have been his mama. Oh boy, did we have a day.

You lived out the dreams of so many right before our very eyes. Thank you for doing it so well. Welcome home, kiddos.

Photo Credit: George J Puskar

Baffled Behind the Plate: Things I Still Don't Get After 15 Years as a Baseball Mom

School is finally out here in Northern Virginia which means we've officially started Summer Travel Baseball around these parts. Summer baseball is similar to Spring baseball except that it involves significantly more sitting in traffic on I-95, more fast food, more sweating, and more overnights in Hampton Inns where I lie awake wondering if we might have embarked on a scientific breakthrough because it seems like my son is growing a new strain of bacteria in his cleats.

It occurred to me as I sat at the sixth game of the weekend at a field in Rocky Mount, North Carolina that this was my 15th summer of watching at least one of my kids on the diamond. You would think it would follow that I would be an expert in baseball knowledge. Surely, I've seen every game situation and strategy, every type of coach and umpire, every manner of fan, and every  level of ball player. There couldn't possibly be a single rule or circumstance surrounding the game that would confuse or surprise me at this point in my life, right?

Wrong.

At just about the same time as this thought entered my head, there was a call on the field that left me looking pretty much like this:

The good news is that I wasn't alone in my confusion. I'm not throwing anybody under the bus, but in my experience there can be an equal amount of bewilderment during certain situations in a baseball game by both moms and dads, and even coaches and umpires. (Don't tell anyone I said that.) Thankfully, there always seems to be at least someone who eventually figures it out or at least speaks forcefully enough to convince everyone. In general, I just nod my head and pretend I understood all along. But here's the thing about a whole bunch of rules and circumstances involving America's game:

So if you find yourself only a few seasons or fifteen seasons into being a spectator of this game and you still seem baffled at times, I'm here for you. I'm going to give you my most up to date list of things about baseball that I still don't understand and likely never will after 15 years of watching the game. They are things that have surprised me and confused me. They have left me shaking my head in wonder and sometimes just plain flat out frustrated me to no end. Some of these things have been explained to me over and over and I'm still in the dark.  Here goes.

READ THE REST HERE.

Moving Mountains

I have prayed so many prayers for you. Late at night, early in the morning, while I'm running, while I'm driving, while I'm drying my hair. I prayed each and every time you were sick whether with a stomach virus that landed you in the hospital or with a sore throat when you were away at basketball camp. I've prayed on each first day of school whether you were clinging to my leg with tears in your eyes or bounding out the door to pick up a friend with barely a wave good-bye. I've prayed when you've been on snowboards and on wakeboards, in airplanes and on ski boats. I've prayed for every tryout, every night out with your friends, every SAT test, and every single darn time you were at the foul line. So. many. prayers.

Most often I suppose I was praying for God to make the path easier. I wanted Him to get all the obstacles out of the way. I wanted Him to protect you from harm and help you get what you want. I have tried really hard to pray simply for His will to be done and for you to rise up to meet it, but generally I throw in what my will is for your life. You know, just in case the Creator of the Universe needs some ideas on how things should go down for you.

I suppose, in effect, I've asked Him to remove mountains. And I am certain He has done so a million times over. I'm sure that He has protected you from things I cannot even imagine - things that I never even knew to mention.

But what I have seen as I look back on your eighteen years is that so many times, He did not remove the mountains. He left them there - big and looming and seemingly impossible to climb.

But your God is so much wiser than your mama. When I prayed for Him to give you an easier path, He instead gave you courage and wisdom and confidence and faith. He left those mountains right there and then He let you figure out how to go up against them.

And you have figured it out. You've never backed down. You've changed your mind, set your path, and followed your heart, even when I winced and worried and fretted. Time and time again, in a zillion different ways, I've watched you stand right up against the mountain. You've found the way up and kept climbing. And often times you stared that mountain down. You've juked it and gone around it before anyone knew what was happening.

You've gone up against some pretty big mountains even when your mama was cowering in the corner saying, "Don't do it!". Thank goodness He made you braver than me.

So after a whirlwind of a senior year, we've arrived at graduation. We'll laugh and cheer and celebrate you and your friends and in two short months we'll send you off to Tennessee where you will start the new path God has for you, literally in the shadow of the mountains.

And your mama will continue to pray. I will pray that you will know that I am forever your biggest fan and that I believe in you - not only because I'm your mom, but because you have proven that facing a mountain is perhaps your favorite place to be. You are worthy of our faith in you.

But I know that there will be challenges, so I will pray that when you are far away and things seem hard and you feel alone that you will look up at the mountains in the backyard of your university. And that you will remember how many of them you have conquered already. And that you'll know that the sky above them is the same one that your mama sees and that the God who created them is the same One who has been there all along. And I hope that when you need to be brave that you'll be absolutely clear in knowing from whom your strength comes. And I pray that you will ask Him for it because He never has and never will fail you.

Keep climbin', kid. I love you to the mountaintops and back down again.

"I lift my eyes up to the mountains -

Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord.

the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip-

he who watches over you will not slumber."

-Psalm 121:1-3

Don't Fear the Final Inning

As I sit down with my laptop to write for NVTBL today, I'm watching the College Baseball Super Regional on TV. My Texas Longhorns have a three run lead, but the bad guys have bases loaded with one out.

So it follows that in addition to writing and watching, I am holding my breath and clinching my hands together and using all of my well honed jedi mind tricks to convince the baseball gods to extend my team's season by at least one more game.

I believe in the baseball world this is otherwise known as "DO NOT CHANGE YOUR SEAT. DO NOT GO TO THE RESTROOM. KEEP YOUR FEET, HANDS, TOES, FINGERS AND ALL OTHER BODY PARTS IN THE EXACT SAME POSITION OR ELSE YOU WILL RUIN THE MOJO AND THE BAD GUYS WILL WIN AND IT WILL BE ALL YOUR FAULT FOREVER MORE."

I will grant you that in the days when May turns to June and the end of the baseball season looms ominously and ever closer in the distance, it's possible that I take it a little far when it comes to my rituals, prayers and superstitions. And yet, I know that there are many fans in bleachers, in fold up chairs, and in stadium seats around the country who understand my specific brand of crazy.

Of course, we want to win because winning is indisputably more fun than is losing. But as I sit here feeling all of these familiar feelings of hope and uttering all of these oft-repeated pleas that maybe, just maybe this could not be the end for my team, I realize that in the last few weeks, this has been a universal feeling for parents at baseball diamonds all around the country. Whether it's Little League or NVTBL play offs or High School post-season play or the College World Series, countless moms and dads have held their collective breaths waiting and praying and hoping for their players to give them just one more day at the ballpark (or on the couch with the television tuned to the Longhorn Network, as the case may be.)

Because no matter if it's the parent of a "Little League-age-12 year old" or of a high school senior or even of a grown man playing in his last college game, for us parents, it's not as much about facing losing as it is about facing the possibility of that true, final inning.

READ THE REST HERE.

Monday Musings

Well, our weekend started off with the most beautiful Friday and Saturday that anyone had seen in a long while. I promise you it was as if everyone in my area was walking around on clouds, so happy were we that spring had sprung. It was pretty much like this everywhere you went.

Then Sunday came and when we walked outside we were all collectively like this.

Same thing for Monday, so let's just go back to Saturday. It was just Kyle and me at home for the weekend as Steve and Drew were away at a New Jersey baseball tournament.

We started Saturday morning greeting veterans arriving on an Honor Flight at Dulles Airport. We have participated in these amazing events where vets come to DC to tour the monuments a number of times over the years.

Every time we go Kyle always has the same instructions for me. He tells me to try not to cry my eyes out this time. And then reprimands me when I make comments like, "Oh my goodness, that man is the most adorable, cutest thing I've ever seen." He tells me to knock it off and will remind me before we go in, "Mom, these men are soldiers. They're warriors. You aren't allowed to call them adorable."

Good point, Son. Still, though. Adorable, right?

It really is a moving experience for everyone and it is very easy to attend. If you are in the DC area you can find the schedules for Honor Flights at both Dulles and Reagan Airports and simply show up twenty minutes before arrival to greet the vets. You even get your parking ticket validated. If you are in other areas, I believe you can welcome them home from their trips as well.

Later we went to get Kyle fitted for a tux because Prom is coming up. I snapped this picture as quickly as I could because 17 year old boys aren't big fans of their moms taking photos.

Then we went through McDonald's for lunch because hanging out with teenagers is equal parts disgusting and thrilling.

Saturday afternoon I spent a glorious few hours sitting on the deck in the sunshine reading this book while Kyle mowed the lawn for the first time this year. Later I had a very exciting evening which included a bubble bath, Grey's Anatomy on my ipad and the application of somewhere between five and eighty-four different facial masks, creams, serums, and magic potions promising to change the landscape of my entire face.

Dear Beauty Product Marketers: I do not know what hyaluronic acid is, but apparently I will buy it from you without question. Well done, Wizards.

Later that night, Mack and I watched The Greatest Showman. We loved it.

Sunday when I got home from church Kyle asked me if I wanted to watch the Celtics with him. Y'all I don't care about the Celtics or any professional basketball team. AT ALL. Not one bit. I didn't even know it was the playoffs. I was thinking that what I really wanted to do was to continue that really great novel I was reading, so you would think I would have said,

But then I realized MY TEENAGER ASKED ME TO HANG OUT WITH HIM - SORT OF, KIND OF, MAYBE NOT REALLY, BUT I THINK HE DID. So I was all,

So we watched the Celtics and the game went into overtime because basketball hates me.

So there it is. It was a weekend of hanging out on and off with my teenager when he wasn't with his buddies or playing basketball or Fort Nite and all I can tell you are just the facts, ma'am.

Which brings me to something I've been thinking about lately in regard to how my writing here has changed and how it will continue to change. I've been writing about my life for six years here at this blog. My writing, for the most part, has been about parenting. (Well, that and my never ending quest for the best lipstick and most stylish, yet comfortable boots.)

It was easier to post my thoughts about parenting young children - the trials, the frustrations, the everyday extraordinary ordinary moments. I wanted to share my faith and how it helped me navigate the confusion and the feeling that I had no idea what I was doing. I wanted to share to feel less alone and also to help other women feel less alone. To help us all to find ways to marvel in the mess of motherhood. To urge us to look for God's beauty and blessing in the seemingly boring moments of our everyday.

As our children grow, I feel much less ownership of the stories I would normally tell. Their stories are their stories. Even though that quote which says that having children is like having our hearts walking around outside of our bodies feels true, I have to remember feelings are not facts. God made each of my children a unique, whole individual - an actual human being separate from me with his own story to tell or not tell.

That doesn't mean that I don't want to write millions and millions of words about parenting teenagers and it doesn't mean that it isn't a valid and maybe even important thing to do. Because mamas of teenagers do need to feel less alone. They do need to know that they are not the only ones experiencing the fears and worries and struggles and triumphs and joys and pride that they are finding in their teens.

But it does mean that I am hyper-aware about what I share about my teenagers. Even if it is something so mundane and ordinary that I might think it would be no big deal to put it out here. I am aware that one of them might be fine with whatever I share and one might only be okay with a few things and one might just as soon I pretend he didn't exist outside of this house.

I honestly don't actually have any terribly difficult stories or deeply personal adolescent struggles to share here right now. I actually spend more time worrying about future difficulties than dealing with present ones. That tendency I have to "borrow grief" from the future might be the hardest part of this season. But if I was navigating a really hard, really delicate situation right now, I wouldn't tell you about it. Not yet anyway.

I will likely write chapters and chapters about this season and I may or may not publish those words some where when it feels appropriate. It might be that those thoughts would get a lot of views and comments and discussion happening here. And maybe my writing would mean a lot to people and that, frankly, would make me feel great and important and valuable. But what is crucial right now is that my people feel great and important and valuable. More important than the popularity of this space.

I will continue to navigate this season and share when I feel it's appropriate and approved. But for now, I'll remember the most important thing. A quote I heard in The Greatest Showman speaks this truth:

You don't need everyone to love you. Just a few good people.

This space is so meaningful to me. The people who read and comment and send me notes fill up my heart in ways I never could describe. But no matter how much I want to write and share and connect with people through my writing, it is these few good men living out these ordinary extraordinary days with me in my house who I truly need to love me. I am so grateful that they do.

Have a happy Monday, friends.

5 (or so) Friday Favorites: October 27, 2017

Happy Friday!

I have to say that for me this was an A+ week. The weather was spectacular - probably too warm for some, but I'm a fan of warm Octobers. I started off Sunday with a brunch with some of my favorite girlfriends who haven't been able to sit around a table for a long while together. We talked for hours and it was a great way to start the week. Monday we were able to sleep late because there was a teacher work day. On Wednesday I hopped in the car to take mid-week trek to State College, Pennsylvania to spend 24 hours with Joe, my freshman at Penn State University. I stayed right on campus at the beautiful Nittany Lion Inn and I learned how to make coffee in a Keurig like an honest to goodness grown-up. Unfortunately, however, when in Rome, I decided to eat like an 18 year old freshman boy. Yikes.

And I can't even tell you how many times I whispered thanks to God for leading my boy to that school. So many times, I'm pretty sure He was all, "Dude. Give it a rest. You're welcome already."

Later in the week, there was an answer to a prayer I've been praying for a long while. Trust and patience are hard for us, but when He comes through in just the way we hoped? Man, do I love it when that happens. I also had some long conversations with a friend or two that reminded me again of how faithful is a God who does not leave us alone and confused in the seasons of life when we feel we have exactly zero idea of what in the world is the right thing to do. This week I was so grateful for His presence and the way He has put people in my life to be His hands and feet and ears. My life is not remotely perfect. I have a boatload of worries as many of us at this stage of life do. Kelly Corrigan calls it the middle place - that place when we are caught between concern for our parents and our children, all the while trying to figure out what in the world is to become of us as each season continues to pummel us with change. I hate change. But God doesn't change. Ever. It's perhaps my favorite thing about Him.

It was a good one, friends and it's not because it was all ease and dance parties. It was because I chose to look for Him and He was right there giving me hope for each day. Anyway, here are some other random bits of happy from the week.

1. Kate's Hair Bow Nail Color

Go here. Right now. Read about Kate. Look at her sweet face and her pretty bow. Order this. That's all.

2. RX Bars

When I was doing the Whole30, I was always looking for something to have when I was away from home (which meant I was at a baseball field) and needed to eat, but couldn't find anything that was compliant. I read about these RX Bars and found some at Trader Joe's. I will tell you they're not easy on the teeth, but they are really yummy. Later, I read an article that said Whole30 was removing them from the compliant list because people were misusing them as a way to curb sugar addiction as opposed to being used as in an emergency situation when food is unavailable. And to that I say, "What part of "IF I HAVE TO EAT ONE MORE PIECE OF CAULIFLOWER I WILL HARM SOMEBODY." is not an emergency? Don't be such a jerk, man."

3. The Mothers by Brit Bennett

I know I mentioned that I bought Gabrielle Union's book last week, but I've read so many memoirs and non-fiction lately that I wanted to read a fiction book or two next. I've had this book on my list for a long time. Here's part of the synopsis from Amazon:

Set within a contemporary black community in Southern California, Brit Bennett's mesmerizing first novel is an emotionally perceptive story about community, love, and ambition. It begins with a secret.

"All good secrets have a taste before you tell them, and if we'd taken a moment to swish this one around our mouths, we might have noticed the sourness of an unripe secret, plucked too soon, stolen and passed around before its season."

The central character is a 17 year old girl who has just lost her mother to suicide and has started a secret relationship with the pastor's son. I'm only 30% in - thanks for that info, Kindle - and the characters are all people that feel so real that you want to sit down, have a chat, and get to know them better. I don't know which way the plot will turn next, but so far I'm a fan.

4. Dirty John Podcast

I know. This seems really "sketch" and also "sus". That's "sketchy" and "suspect" for you who might not have had the enlightening experience of driving a car full of teenagers around. This six episode true crime podcast is both of those things. It's not porn though, I promise. Think what we used to watch on Dateline/PrimeTime/20/20 every week. I heard about it on The PopCast with Knox and Jamie and decided to download it before I took my road trip to State College. I finished it on my way back. OH MY WORD. So creepy and so good.

5. Gap Luxe Tees

During part of the day while I was visiting Joe, he had to go record a sports podcast and for some reason I guess the hosts weren't looking to have someone's mom join them as a special guest. Whatever. Anyway, I took that opportunity to go to a few outlets near the university. These tees were 50% off and I bought them in two different colors. I actually went in to get a short sleeve tee to wear with these pajama pants because I am a weirdo who can only sleep in long pants and short sleeves. No shorts. No long sleeves. Anyway, these tees are so soft and fit so well that they can be worn for sleeping or for waking. Any time a piece of apparel can go from my bed to outside in the real world, I'm in.

6. Aldie General Store & Cafe

If you are in my area, I would suggest gathering up your girlfriends - or your husband and kids - and finding your way to this adorable Aldie General Store & Cafe right down Route 50 West. There is outdoor and indoor seating and the atmosphere is so fun and unique. (All I'm saying to my local peeps is this: It's not Panera. Yay! ) It has an amazing menu and the brunch was great. The sweet gal who took our order has a fabulous Australian accent, so be sure to ask her lots of questions so you can listen to it. Highly recommend this precious place.

That's all, folks. Have a wonderful weekend!