Monday, August 26, 2013

So long, farewell.

Telling the stories of life is a good thing.  It's the cake & ice cream of sensory thought.  It's a commitment to the collective. It's comprehensive to the timeline of you. It's the not forgetting with fervor for the collected memory of now.  Stories are worth it.  Pictures captured, too. For 5 1/2 years, I have authored my life and the life of my family.  This space has been a place where a whole lotta happy has folded in with a sprinkling of what the heck just happened on any given day. In between the www of this address, my tears and my smiles have made more of me.  

Thank you to all of you who have had this blog bookmarked over the years.  Writing is for me, moreover, for the memoir of my family.  But, my stories exist for you, too.  It is my hope that my journey of words has made you laugh, encouraged you and perhaps, even made you feel like you weren't the only one two-steppin' with a little cray-cray in this life we've all been given to rock out.  

2013 has been my year to {connect}.  I have worked this year on connections quite differently than my 2012 Year of Rhythm.  I am pushing myself in new ways. Priorities are continually assessed as well as my motives for why I do just what I do. To do all of this internal grade-carding, I needed a break from story at least in the public sense.  My words needed space inside my quiet journals; they needed to harvest in my heart where they most belonged.  The hiatus from this space has been so productive.  I have gained so much insight on pace and family and faith, too. It was just what I needed to catapult me into a new space for my cake & ice cream.  Sure hope you have your spoons ready.  

Without further ado, I give you my new place! This newly designed blog is where you can find me from here on out.  It has bells. It has whistles. It has avenues in which I will travel to be more effective in organization.  It has great upgraded user-friendly ways for me to connect with you and for you to connect with me as well.  Simply put, this new blog is a scratch off my 2013 {connect} bucket list.  I do hope you will re-set your k.Mac bookmark to this new address.  If you aren't following my blog in any specific format, there are options to follow me on bloglovin' as well as subscribing to my blog to receive posts via email.  My cake is audaciously iced and I'm all kinds of excited for the fresh scoops of Neapolitan I have ready to share with you.  


.mac :)

Sunday, June 16, 2013

There's a story.

I've waited all day to give life to these words.  Physically, my fingers spent most of my early morning alone with the weight of this image in their possession. Before the rest of my house awoke from their slumber, I spent my minutes magically staring into the end result of Mom behind the lens.  There's not one corner of this photograph that my eyes have not poured over.  Invested in the outcome of then, I have taken such delight in this captured treasure.

Time and schedules have a way of moving.  Don't they though?  And, by mid-morning, my physical presence was procured away in proximity from this image focused onto film.  But, my mind held a steadfast clamp on this scene above.  Today I searched all about him.  Today I remembered and reminded myself of the he who he is.  I settled into my Dad and stayed right by him all day.

There's a story.  And, I want to tell it.  For this story is everything the man my Dad is to me.  This story sits inside this photograph rich and content as if it has no desire to leave this hallowed space & time.  But, telling it is where the beauty of my Dad begins.  

The setting was around Thanksgiving as I am wearing my Indian headdress freshly fashioned from Mrs. Carlton's 1980 Kindergarten class.  {a special thank you to Jason Lemming who secretly cut for me during craft time as I was left handed before the world of Crayola thought of inventing left handed scissors}  My brother and I are standing in chairs.  We always stood in chairs when Dad was in the kitchen cooking.  The brown bucket is the same bucket we used to wash our dogs, Pete and Muffin.  The fresh flowers in the vase were a normalcy in our home.  Dad made sure that Mom had fresh flowers in her kitchen.  They were never the custom ordered flower shop variety, but more the ones found in the local grocery store.  He would arrange them always just for her.  The kitchen.  It used to be  the carport.  My Dad's 2 hands alone transformed it into a more useful space for our family.  He worked tirelessly after long hours at work and school to make this dream a reality for us.  The curtains were sewn by Mom.  They were the same curtains that hung in the Volkswagon bus that brought me home from a Colorado hospital 5 years prior.   His watch.  It hangs on the knob of the cabinet.  Free from pumpkin guts and water spills and cleverly placed for viewing sake; my Dad is adeptly skilled in resourceful maneuvers of the simplest things. 

My brother is to my left.  He's the one manning the wooden spoon with the big metal pot {insert loud banging here}.  I have no doubt music surrounds us in addition to the ad hoc orchestra-of-one to my left.  Possibly Jim Croce or Gordon Lightfoot.  Dan Folgeberg or John Prine.  

Then there's him.  A picture of absolute happiness.  You can feel it before you see it when your eyes take gaze.  He knows it too.  Suited in his white t-shirt and worn Levi jeans sans one pocket, peace & joy radiate from his face.  Pumpkin gutting and with us.  His face sends out signals as if to say everything in the world I need is right here.  In this kitchen.  

This image is so much a part of his DNA to me.  It is work and joy and love and doing and together.  It is cleverness and romance, resourcefulness and simplicity too.  It is laughter and living.  He embodies all that this reflection of light can withstand to hold.  The story of this image has seeped out of this hallowed one dimensional space and run rampant through me all day.  

Today I searched him. Even though physically we were not together on this 24 hour vigil set aside for Fathers, I settled into my Dad and stayed right beside him all day. He is light.  He is hope.  He is stronger than he realizes in the story of me.  

Thank you for your kindness and for making my socks feel just right on my little girl feet.  Thank you for my "apple or orange?" in the morning and for falling asleep on the floor by my bed reading me Cinderella. Thank you for telling me I would die if I ate the center of a donut and for showing me the power of a smile.  

Today I settled into you and stayed right beside you all day.

I love you, 

Wednesday, May 29, 2013


{image captured from our backyard right after a severe thunderstorm}

 In search of the epic, I have failed. The cliche and continual pursuit of the "like" button bereaves me. I am finding the more I pursue my word of the year, the more I find myself obscure.  Perplexed for a spell, I have felt a sadness for the pep rally of empty bleachers and unused megaphones.  I have lamented over the basketfuls of unspoken for party favors and the unclaimed cupcakes of me still freshly made and waiting.

But, then real & good decided to set in. They brought all that was needed to make this yearly commitment to myself worthy.  They offered me the gift freedom. Unaccounted for in all ways that matter not; present in all ways that matter most.  I shied away from the words on screen and dealt with the words of my heart.  I simply unplugged and underachieved in the world of accountability to the stranger who reads.

I've still kept my journals and posts.  I just found myself at peace with but one set of eyes looking them over.  Privacy has been a fit I have most enjoyed wearing.  For climbing inside myself has been beautiful & perplex. My thoughts-turned-words have deemed themselves precious.  My mind took the notion to wind around who I am and why I do.  My time at rest was really what it should be.  The rat race of me is slowly under construction.  And, it feels good.

As I creep slowly back into this space, I do so with hesitation.  Part fear & part fret of giving justice to just what my words mean to me exists within.  Their worth along with the images they are entrusted to hold a validity in my heart.  Their place in this world is not mandatory; their place in my life most definitely is.

So, see through me.
Obtain my image, but not my form.
For the details of each of us really are the real & the good.
My soul seeks it.

.mac :)

Thursday, May 2, 2013


Time weaves stories.  Stories with beginnings so boisterous you simply cannot wait for the middle to get here.  Time weaves people, too.  Intertwined like the threads of friendship bracelets made on the playground at recess.  Little fingers twirling colors as safety pins secure the start.  This precious and most beautiful soul you see here has been woven into the lives of so many. Woven by a Maker who loves her immensely.  I am honored to be counted a thread in the story of my sweet friend, Brooke.  
When I think of Brooke, I think of a strength peaceful & gentle.  My mind rests upon her smile.  She has the ability to listen with a heart fully intent on making yours stronger.  She has a kindness that so many people cannot even begin to muster.  When she loves you, she loves you forever.  
God crafted a woman rock solid in the foundation of Him.  Her storybook tells of a faithful soul in search of realness in people and in the hope of Him.  Her book covers chapters on love and on diligence.  On heartache and hiccups.  On giving and getting on, too.  And today, her life awaits the penmanship of a new chapter.  This chapter is entitled Stella Grace.  
My hands took great delight in writing the fabric prologue to Stella Grace's chapter.  Brooke chose crisp, bright colors for Stella Grace's nursery.  Colors that transcend vibrance and radiate a happy light.  I wanted this quilt to honor this sweet little girl's story of life.  The pursuit of her place in this world has had many twists and turns.  Not all the pieces seemed to fit at times.  The pursuit for her place in Brooke's arms never faltered through it all.  With that same sweet smile, Brooke rested in Him.  She held onto His hand of hope.  And, when that happens, pieces find a way of fitting together.  Even better, they create something spontaneously beautiful and magnificently profound.  In Him, through Him, Brooke and Russ await the birth of their Stella Grace.  
Through a friendship forged on some ferociously good times & unforgettable memories together, we have watched this miracle unfold.  Stella Grace is loved.  She is loved by an entire slew of sisters who have been in prayer and in praise of her makings.  She is loved by a Mama devoutly defined by the hope He provides.  She has a Daddy jonesin' to protect her from now until infinity.  And, she has a Creator who knows just how to weave.  Stories and people make beautiful things. He twirls all us together for a reason.  We cannot wait to meet you, Stella Grace Hardy.

.mac :)

I made cake.

Ineptness frequents me this time of year.  I find myself clinging to the intangible.  I struggle with the ordinary.  I whither within myself, too. Truth sneers into my heart leaving it ramshackled & rummaged to a state entirely out of proportion.  There are years I allow this incessant ineptness to completely break me.   Like a poor choice of a plastic spoon for ice cream thick & dense, I snap.  Popping off right at the base, I leave behind only the rigid white plastic shaft of myself as a reminder I was there.  Last year was one of those years.   Then there are years when the numbness includes me.  Gosh, I love the invite, too.  The numb years may be the best ones of the lot.  No huge shockwaves of memory.  No jigsaw puzzles valiantly assembled only to realize that out of 1,000 pieces, you only have 999.

This year I made cake.  I don't know why.  As best as I can see it, my hands are the vocal cords of my heart.  Gravitationally speaking, I had to.  My body pursued a movement busy & task oriented before my mind could offer up any stamp of approval. I operated with a quasi-level of consciousness.  I drifted in only to find myself so far outside the entire production.  Coconut oil replaced vegetable oil because its healthier for you we were out of vegetable oil. I semi-measured.  I didn't time its baking.  I just assembled with the intentions of completion, yet with little conviction of flavor or finished product.  To beat it all, I made coconut cake.  1 out of 4 members in our household like coconut cake.  

I made it the day before.  Anticipation of the dreaded 24 hour reminder always makes me antsy.  I'm never best at facing a train heading straight on.  Particularly, when I am reminded of how many of us stand on these railroad tracks.  This train will pass faster this year; you make cake.  At least my innards thought this to be a truth worth clinging to.  

The icing. I made homemade buttercream.  I felt the anguish welling wildly within me.  I knew all too well that real butter makes the best buttercream.  I used margarine.  The sugar crystalized pudding was a poignant reminder of my state. Runny.  Fragmented.  Grainy.  The color.  I couldn't remember her favorite.  I wanted to say it was green, but then I remember our home having a lot of blues.  Damnit, what was her favorite color?  I swelled ridiculously with mayhem; I had to leave the dripping concentration for reflection.  Moreover, to avoid the inevitable.  Tomorrow was the day.  And, I knew not her favorite color.  

One hour later, with my composure somewhat regained, I worked to create turquoise.  My over mixed human altered fat source margarine could now claim a color.  I sanctified my ineptness with smears of blue-green onto a cake half heartedly created.  Lumps pooled at its base; cracks of cake rejected its covering.  I am those cracks every year.  Every year.

A loss was before me.  The unwanted, unpopular coconut flavor found itself saturated with soups of the equal parts turquoise mixture.  I couldn't remember her favorite color.  Spontaneously charged with emotion, I bounded out to right this wrong. Grasping at whatever it took to visually create an outside unscathed by the damage already done internally, I would save this cake.  I tried to do this exact same thing 17 years ago.

With new bowlfuls of real butter infused frosting made, I moved to mask the disaster.  I smoothed and rounded the sides with purpose.  Placing the knife aptly so, my tears fell.  Alone in my kitchen, I grieved her.  I charged on with even more tenacity to cover and to conceal the cracks.  

I could do this.  
I could do this.  

I could not.
Tomorrow she would be gone 17 years.  Tomorrow I would grieve her all over again.  I would remember her smell.  I would feel through the hours each & every one.  I would wait for the rain, too.  Numbness did not send me an invitation this year.  Half heartedly this cake became.  Cracks, substitutions and corrections are my reminders.

1,000 999 pieces.
I made cake.


Saturday, April 13, 2013

4.4 = 8

He grows outside of me. Beyond my grasps and above my anticipations.  He is strong.  I can't decide whether it's more on the outside or within.  I like to think it's both.  His intensity continues to manifest in his passions.  And, with this, I smile wide where my cheeks tingle.  He is His.  Decided and appointed to the most glorious place on this day.  He will be home.  They tingle even more.  Eight years I have loved him; eight years he has made more of me.  His attentiveness to detail is precious to my soul.  His obedience and tender heart believe in the good.  He is a worker and a teacher.  He studies and seeks out knowledge.  He sets goals unafraid of the climb.  Loyalty and protection are his mainstays.  This young man will move the world for better.  He will right wrongs, and he will light fires.  A woman will be blessed one day by his devotion, moreover his unbelievable love.  I am his.  Eight years.  He grows outside of me.  

Happy new year of life, Eli Garrett.

Mama :)

{week 45: my 2 in 52}

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

{before the sun}

God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul.  I can feel their presence.  Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell. Rich with desires deep.  Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow.  Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center.  My insides are better because of their place in my world.

I woke up to 37 early.  Well before the sun and my alarm clock.  It was a resolute awakening from a slumber on the surface of me. No glitter pops or fancy heels were in my future.  No hoopty-hoops and holla-atchus either.  I woke with a clarity magnified by a sweet peace on my day of me.

His breathes were so sound and serene amid the wee hours.  I took the time to press in against him only to find warmth and my favorite spot for snuggling.  Right underneath his ear lobe and a little before his jaw line.  My nose knows the spot. Deep in a world of dreams, he was unbeknownst and  bothered none by my invasion of him.  I was careful to pull the covers close around his broad shoulders only to slide out from the bounds of the place I share with my husband.

Routine knows the way around a 37 year old.  They have an established history of friendship together you see.  It seems their camaraderie manifested oh about year 33.  Nighttime regimens like lip balm of the specific brand, wrinkle cream slathered, reading before bed, checking the weather and coffee pots programmed all fit right nicely with multi-vitamins, reading glasses, bi-weekly grocery trips, favorite fabric softeners and bill paying day. It was no surprise that I maneuvered with ease into my clothing and perfected my dental hygiene all in a bathroom of darkness.  Thirty-seven has a way of just knowing the proximity and placement of everything.

I sidled into a cold car and was off at an early pace.  On my agenda before full-on day break was a grocery store trip, a 4 gallon Weigel's milk stop along with a gasoline investment and a 3 mile run at that.  My morning was still and in motion.  My mind worked methodically and with a continuous melody too. 

And, behold, there were gifts. For me. Each one wrapped in kindness and given to me by strangers.  A lady dressed head-to-toe in a neon green public works uniform at Weigel's held the door for me as I left laden with 4 gallons of milk with just 2 hands for holding. A man lying flat on the floor still in full pursuit of hefty shelf stocking at Wal-Mart took the time to ask me if I needed any help once he spotted my quizzical look of wherethehellisthewheatgerm.  With a bright gladness, his tired eyes guided me to the next row over only reach to the back of the top shelf for me and place into my hands the desired product.  A multitude of goodmornings and howareyous.  Eye contact and smiles found me head on.  It's as if God was saying, "I love you, dear one.  Welcome into your 37th year on My calendar."  With each face I met, I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the simple goodness spread in a world capsizing all too quickly to hate and hurry.  

She was rushed.  I watched as her eyes met her watch at least 3 times in a matter of 2 minutes. In her son's hand was a carousel of bakery made cupcakes.  In hers, a box of Capri-Suns.  I knew today was just as much his as it was mine.  Beyond the wrinkled forehead and stress filled eyes, this Mama's heart knew that today he deserved to celebrate.  A mother's love will fight time and push around boundaries for their little one.  I knew the check-out line accumulated was not in her budget of minutes.  

It was as if I was outside of myself as I watched them from behind me.  Her foot tapping.  His happy transfixed gaze with pride filled eyes at each hexagon shaped sprinkle scattered atop the tiny cupcakes through the plastic container's view.  Her shift to and fro of the Capri-Sun cardboard box's weight. I operated on His time.  "Happy Birthday, man!"  I said.  His smile exploded from his face as if to say, "How did you know?"  Her smile was there briefly but faded quickly as she loitered on the noted boisterous basket of groceries I had in a procured state in front of them in line.  I reached out to pat him on the shoulder leaving my buggy ahead and abandoned for I, too, was in queue for the next active customer status.  

Today was his 8th birthday.  He loved Legos.  He couldn't wait as this was his last day of school before Spring Break.  They were watching a movie that afternoon in school and he was bringing cupcakes and Capri-Suns to celebrate his birthday with his classmates.  As his excitement filled my ear's space, I watched for an abbreviated moment as his Mama melted into his magical.  Her face forgot about time and for just a tiny bit, she remembered exactly why she was in this line.  For him.  Yes, for Him.

My heart catapulted out of my chest with joy for this little 8 year old boy and his Mama.  A Mama who was reminded of the good she has within, better yet, for the good she is giving out to the hands and feet she gave life to a mere 8 years ago on this day.  With a warm spacious energy, I found my hand on her shoulder congratulating her for the 8 year old masterpiece that belonged to her.  She thanked me kindly with a glow that only a mother can emit.  

With that, I moved ahead to my space in line and in my completely offhanded, energy driven "Meghan Fashion", I began to make the sound that trucks make when backing up.  


"In honor of one wonderful Mama and her birthday boy, I give you my space in line." I announced.  Relief filled in the wrinkled spaces of her forehead.  "Oh, thank you!  Are you sure?" immediately were the words expelled from her being.  I insisted.  The little boy never took his eyes of the hexagon shaped sprinkles.  The cashier actually had to use the scanner gun to ring them up as he asked to keep them in his hands.  

Off they went. 
Their day beginning before the sun.  

On my way home, I opted for the sunroof open.  It was crisp.  Quite the acute form of cold for the second official day of Spring.  I won't forget my hair whipping loosely in the wind that flapped downward into my interior console.  My sweatsuit felt warm and snuggly against my skin.  My fingers were tapping some off beat rhythm I had no recollection of. But, they tapped on just the same.  I could smell my moisturizer on my face as it wasn't even a full hour old from being applied.  Its smell wrapped over me.  It gave me a feeling of completeness I really can't explain.  
On a back road in our small rural sorta-new-to-us tiny town, I topped a hill, and He smiled at me. Tears streamlined down my soft cheeks of 37 as I opened yet another gift.  My car slowed to a stop.  I grabbed my phone and took the above picture as my heart had every right to open this one with each single paper tear.  

God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul.  I can feel their presence.  Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell. Rich with desires deep.  Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow.  Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center.  My insides are better because of their place in my world.

Yes, routine may know the way around a 37 year old.  But, it seems the older routine and I get, there is  another One we are beginning to know our way around.  The potential glow of the One who wakes before the sun is one I am proud to call friend.   Blessed are the ones able to give and to receive. Thank you, God, for my colors.  For Your stories, too. A new year of life I do declare.


Monday, March 18, 2013

{joy bomb}

I woke up on this particular morning only to smash-stomp down on two G.I. Joe men who had camped out on my bedside floor.  After my mumbling obscenities, all internally housed mind you, I stammered over to the not 1, but 3 laundry baskets full of tousled clean clothes in search for a hoodie sweatshirt. Mornings in our house of "we need to save money on our heat bill" are freakin' cold.  Whilst sifting for my favorite gray paint stained hoodie with the broken zipper {the one which I procured back in 1998 from my first year of teaching elementary school's end-of-the-school-year last chance at lost & found items}, I chided myself for not having a better toy management system implemented and running in our home.  Yes, much like visions of sugarplums dancing, amid my self rebuking, I envisioned the boys' toy room glossy and pressed into the pages of Pottery Barn Kids' magazine.  Yes, each boy had their signature color lounge chairs with their names crisply embroidered.  Ceiling to floor wall systems were in place complete with color coordinated buckets labeled in vinyl letters with each supply situated in its appropriate spot.  Toys were housed in huge willow & wicker baskets with chalk board name tags just so.  And, don't forget the rug and absolute out-of-your-Pinterest-world paint job.  For my visual readers, something like this.

Groveling in my pity of "I have no time, and that money should go towards our wonderful & quite hefty liberal arts private college loans instead", my eye caught a glimpse something atop my nightstand that most certainly did not belong.  Unbeknownst to me, I slept with a grenade 2 feet from my head.  I have no doubt it was Casey's doings.  He's into like shape grouping.  We worked on cylinders this particular week.  Guilty soldier.

Yes, my day was moving at a swift and remarkably happy pace thus far.  Ahem.  I fought back visions of a clean home sterile and void of all ridiculous noise making contraptions, Nerf guns, Hot Wheels cars, Legos under foot, and Army men too.  It wasn't until I was soundly through my 2nd full cup of coffee that my mindset was back to the quasi-stable camp of "They're 6 & 7 years old.  Deal with it, Meghan."

Every morning before we begin our school day, I have prayer time with each boy individually.  I keep a written journal of their verbal requests for prayer.  Once logged, I wrap my arms around them, and pray over them with the words from their heart.   
The grenade 2 feet away from my head & all night long was a joy bomb just waiting to explode.  Rupturing goodness and eternity from this day forward.  Casey McGill asked Jesus Christ to live in his heart during our prayer time this morning.  Through our family devotions, prayer time together and involvement in church, the Lord had been working on this little guy.  Casey felt it.  He understood the sacrifice Jesus made, the reasons why and the commitment.  I had the pleasure of leading my emotionally charged little lefty to the Lord. 
My internally packed oldest, the quiet observer and resolute one, had Jesus on his heart well before his little brother.  His path to salvation had been walked for longer.  Footprints had been repeated back & forth and back & forth again in his mind.  Eli needed time. He needed the space to soak Jesus in.  His comprehension was secure in Jesus' love & sacrifice, but his heart needed to catch up with the cause.  Two days after his younger brother's act of obedience, Eli Garrett accepted Jesus' invitation for forever.  I had the privilege to lead my son to a life in Heaven and a commitment to forever walk in His ways.
We celebrated as a family.  Hugs & high fives.  Long talks about the responsibility and joy that now resides in their place on this Earth.  Kenny even made sure to contact our pastor for guidance on moving forward with our sons' commitment to Christ. Kenny and I rejoice and have committed to the work in strengthening and supporting their walk as His forever.  We know in the 6 & 7 years of their life on this Earth little adversity has been thrown their way.  We understand their walk as His child will be constantly tested.  But, we know their decision on these respective days are nothing short of a joy bomb.  Heaven gained our boys.

As a mother, it is guaranteed you will have asylum type moments of  CAP LOCKED $%&*# when the job before you is garbled and the look book of child rearing is taunting and unattainable too.  No Pottery Barn Kids' organization wall unit can house the live out of the love you have been blessed to give life to. I love how God so frequently reminds me of this with G.I. Joes underfoot.  I love how He moves in & out of our conscience and into our material world.  He ties & binds it all. He reminds us that the journey is not meant for neat & clean.  It's meant for more.  Of yourself.  Of others.  Of Him.  And, He knows just when to the pull the pin on the joy bomb of our hearts for His forever.  

{week 46: my 2 in 52}

.mac :)

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

{start to finish}

Life is a collection of yesterdays.  And, all too often life's pace has a way of leaping us ahead of tomorrow and even already into next week or month sadly enough.  Prior to the purchase of a fancy camera or an iPhone, I took the time to document a day with the boys from start to finish here. With no words and just pictures, this 4 year old memory is one I cherish looking back on.  Now, with both the treasures of a fancy camera and an iPhone, I decided there really are no excuses for not capturing the heartbeat of our home on a daily basis more often.   No editing.  No fancy.  Life.  Real & right before us.  Happening.  It is my hope to manage memories a little more meaningful by using the gift of wicked awesome from one Mr. Steve Jobs.

I give you our 3.11.13 from start-to-finish:

{from left to right by rows}:
  • I began my day in prayer.  I was on Day 21 of my 40 day prayer challenge reading this book.  It talked about praying for the discernment of God's will for your life.  I liked that it spoke of your will being for His glory.  I long to be more unselfish in my walk. He is working on me in big ways here.
  • I then went to take the recycling to the garage.  Once there, I looked over to see my car freshly washed on Sunday afternoon by Kenny.  I stopped right then, snapped a picture and then thanked God for the sweet gift of a clean car from my husband.
  • Math time outside with basketball and chalk was just after spelling & writing time.  Hit 2-Solve 2 is our drill.  Eli and Casey both are blowing me away with their math skill comprehension.  They get it.  They love to show they get it.  Their accuracy and proficiency is a blessing and a joy for this teacher/mama.
  • Inside for carpet math.  Time & money.  Brother check and Mama monitor.  Challenges.  Quarter till.  Quarter after.  Half past.  1:07.  8:48.  Change back.  Rockstars.   
  • Casey Face helped me make sandwich bread pizza for lunch.  We made a community plate and pretended we were eating in a restaurant.
  • Two men delivered flowers to my doorstep.  I love getting flowers!
  • After lunch, Eli wanted to count money and give himself challenges all on his own. The power of self motivation is noted here.
  • We stopped to take an hour break from school so I could finish up some sewing.  I snapped this picture from my sewing studio window.  Eli is in camo gear with a muscle basketball shirt and combat helmet. Casey is from head-to-toe in Superman costume.  They are pretending they are in battle.  
  • I finished 2 Nantucketts during this 60 minute time span.
  • On the way to the post office, Eli brought his Harry Potter book he is reading independently.  He is on the 2nd book of the series.  At a red light, I snapped this picture of him laughing at something funny in the book.  
  • On the way home from the post office, it started raining.  
  • I received this image from my best friend.  It is of Jeremiah 29:11 that I sent to her in the mail.  She sent this picture to me thanking me for sending her encouragement and letting me know that OCD in her put it in a ziploc bag so it wouldn't get messed up as she planned to carry it in her purse with her at all times.  I stopped and thanked Him for her and the joy she brings my life when I received this text.
  • I'm wearing navy on my nails this week.  Had a little fun with my index finger and pinstripes. 
  • Upon returning home from the post office, I read with each boy for our reading time.  Snapped a picture of reading with Casey on his bed. It was sheet washing day, so we piled atop a naked bed and sprawled out to read.  He is mastering huge words.  His intonation is just the best.  He loves getting into  each character in the story.  Reading is becoming a joy with him.  I love that he has "b" snuggled up under him while reading.  This serves as a soft spot to this homeschooling Mama.  "B" wouldn't be in his classroom.  "B" makes everything possible to Casey.
  • I timed myself 3 different times during the day for 5 minute intervals to stop in our living room and fold laundry.  It stayed their until it all was folded by around 9:00 PM and then just moved into piles in each bedroom to be put away the next day.  I liked that I didn't let it overwhelm or consume me to finish.  Laundry is a priority.  It is not THE priority.  Love the image of Jack & Jill, our cats, piled up sleeping together in the recliner.
  • Evening time we began our monthly canvas project.  Art time brings out the best in my boys.  Their mood settles and lifts.  Teamwork beams out of them, too.  I love that they talk the entire time about their plans for the project bouncing ideas off one another
  • I joined them in painting working on some dreams I have for myself.  This mess serves as sweet reminder of what together looks like.  I left this mess just right where it was to go workout with Kenny. I enjoy this time together with him.  We endure.  We sweat. We are making the choice to make our bodies stronger.  
  • While monitoring Casey's bath, I drank a glass of wine and sat on closed toilet seat and talked with him.  I also sent this picture text to 3 of my girls in a group message toasting them to friendship.  I loved that I got 3 pictures back from each of them as a toast back.  Sometimes these sweet easys are the love that lifts us most.
  • I love the blueberry cheesecake candle burning in my living room.  It is my absolute favorite scent I sell.  I decided to snap a picture and spread the word on my k.Mac Facebook page about the upcoming sale of this scent.  Impromptu & all.
  • I snapped this picture in my socks and on the wet concrete of my back porch.  It was as if heaven was smiling down and saying, "I can hardly wait for you!"  After this, I came inside, finished folding laundry and watched The Biggest Loser with the entire family.  We then had our family devotion time where we finished our first devotion book together.  Prayers and boys to bed left time for Kenny and I to talk with sleepy eyes and in between yawns about our day in tidbit fashion.  I showered, lubed up with an excessive amount of wrinkle cream and then snuggled my guy until dreams found me.
Start to finish.  Life's yesterday. Thank you, Steve Jobs.

.mac :)

Friday, March 8, 2013


Look at me.  I'm in an overcoat and it's all cinched up.  You realize I know what's going through your mind. Clairvoyance and me are twisted sisters.  Where on Earth did she find that coat?  There ain't no telling what get up she's got on up under there.  How does Eli keep a straight face when he photographs his Mama every month?  Does Goodwill realize she could be like the blonde Target girl in the Christmas commercials from 2011 for their company?  She's is for real that out there.  I mean does she really get obsessive amounts of joy from good deals and donuts.  Scratch the donut part.  I said that. Not you. 
February was my month to divulge.  If you sit long enough on that 7 letter display, it can leave you feeling sneaky.  At least it did me when I sat down to decide my words of each month for 2013.  I hemmed and hawed over February.  My gut said, "Divulge is your word. It fits."  But, my social innards said, "Fool, what are you doing?  You know they already think you're a fruit loop for these monthly parades already."  I let them internally hash it out for a bit, and then, like The Rock, I decided to lay the smack down on good ole social innards.  My girl, Clairvoyance, tells me street-like and all the time,  "Haters gonna hate. Go on and do your thing. I'm out ahead of you, remember? I got you, Boo."

So, I'm divulging.

For those all new to this monthly-merry-round, go here to read about my new word for 2013. It'll be all the cliff notes you need.  Then you can go ahead and skip on over here to read about my word for January.  And, if you're feeling totally inspired and ready to shop Goodwill and completely up for re-vamping your life in a real kinda way bored and need some more things to divert your attention from the pile of work on your desk, the heaping dishes climbing out of your sink or that huge project you are excessively behind on, then by all means, go here to read all about my 2012.  
You've already scrolled down to see what's under my coat, haven't you?  Clairvoyance tells me all her secrets. Told you we were tight.  Consider yourself buh-usted.  Divulge means to make known.  I loved that in my dictionary it has this in parentheses (private or sensitive information). How many of us keep our own set of parentheses nearby and handy for the yucky parts of our lives?  Guilty.  I told you she tells me everything.

I give you my story board mission for February:
Romans 12:2---Game changer.  Clairvoyance tells me all the time. Your score card is in His hands.  Remember that.  My place & my face on this globe is for getting out the glory of Him.  Giving it in doses large.  And, moving out of my own way when my sour gets the best of me.  The mind is a powerful place.  Lots of room to let ugly set up camp if you aren't careful.  The camp counselors at Ugly Camp have dreadful uniforms, too.  They wear horns and carry pitch forks.  Poof.  BE GONE.  I am His.  Game changer.

Dump---I suck at a lot of things.  I am good at some too.  This month I chose to focus on not letting the not-so-nice parts of me control who I am.  I am noticing that the more I focus on what I can't do well, the more my heart holds unhappiness.  Moreover, the more my mind suffocates the goodness that I do possess.  And, before you know it, I am captive to myself.  Stuck in my own muck.  I'm wallering in it and completely coated in nothing hopeful, helpful or positive for myself or others.  February was my month to dump it.  Dump out the honesty of my yucky in so to speak. So, here I go. I'm flippin' the script on divulge.  I'm taking that sneaky connotation and knocking it down with the out & out truth.  Consider my parentheses exposed:

(                                                                             )
  • I am my biggest enemy.
  • I wrestle far too much with perfection.
  • I struggle with rest both inside and out.
  • I am stubborn with change.
  • I steal happiness from myself.
  • I second guess excessively.
  • I say sorry way too much and for unnecessary things.
  • I struggle with being confident in conflicts.
  • I am not a great listener.

There.  I dumped it to all 4 of you who read me.  And, better yet, I dumped it to God. He reads me by the way. And, He is rocking my socks off.  He slammed this doozy that follows into my prayer time this month out of no where:  

Your attitude exudes you eternally, Meg.  Your body will wrinkle.  Your health may fail.  Your circumstances will fluctuate. You will develop chin hairs that you must pluck incessantly. Your Mom did die. Your boobs will sag. Your money will come and go. Your children will grow up and move away.  But, your attitude is eternal.  In every phase of life.  With every circumstance.  Your attitude is your constant.  


Camp Ugly is now closed for renovations.  

Expect---good things.  Change comes about when we put our foot down on the fickle of us.  It's that deciding moment when we just stop the excuses of I can't exercise or I don't pray as much as I should or I can't save money like I need to or I wish I had more friends, but I don't or I want to be happy, but I'm just not.  We stop them.  All of the excuses.  We take stock in what our heart really desires, and then formulate a plan for change that best fits the goal. The solutions are never found if they're never really sought after, are they? The work put in has been uphill for me as I have begun this expectation shift.  But, without a doubt, I am seeing the good things.  My dumping along with my expecting is one helluva tag team combo slowly moving me towards a much needed mind makeover.  Fickle is easy.  It's safe & snug all surrounded with excuses.  Writing down my specific ever-excuses (the ones I have made forever on the things I say I want to change) and tackling them with a clear action plan is working for me in big and evident ways.

Express---if I felt it, I said it.  Too often I sit on my heart.  I either do one of two things:  
  1. I'm lazy and don't follow through on something tugging at me to share. 
  2. I worry about putting myself out there too much and what people might think.  

I sent text messages, made phone calls, put cards in the mail, looked people in faces.  I did all of this to swim the upstream of my heart's inhibitions.  Laziness and fear are my proverbial what has she got on under that coat.

Allow---God in on it all.  Like for real this time.  I have ugly cried on His shoulder, remember?  I will do it again if needed, too.  This month I placed myself in the passenger seat.  I turned over the keys and just buckled up.  I asked specific and big things of Him for myself and others.  I expect His answers will come.  And, I am allowing Him to do great things in me and in those others, too.  For Him.  I love how gentle and open the word allow leaves me feeling.  I told all my tricky.  I divulged my deep.  I blurted out my busting-at-the-seams happy to Him, too. I am allowing him in on it all.

Accommodate---my schedule and my work flow.  My family needs me.  I need them.  It was time I looked at ways to hone in on making more of my days for the benefit of all involved.  My days started earlier and my time became more regimented this month.  Quitting times were enforced and set times for work, play and school were maximized.  I realized this month that little times reserved for let down can do wonders to your mindset.  By reconfiguring how our day ran from start to finish, I not only accommodated more efficient work, but I also intensified my joys.

My mannequin story board for February:

My morale:
Random notes of the above:  
I like nail color  A LOT.   I know every name of the Insanity workout video crew and I pretend we all high five after every workout.  Butterfinger Blondies are da bomb.  I'm a hippy at heart.  I've missed writing hand written notes.  My boys are best friends.  A new water cup is a treat.  So are K-May Apple Fritter Donuts.  Talking for hours on the phone to a friend you haven't spoken to in 18 years totally rocks.  Kids have it all figured out.  Good books make good moves in you.

I give you my morals from February:
Everything is better...
when you live outside the shadows of you.
One of the most profound things I read this month came from my 6 year old.  In his free write journal about the human body, he wrote this:
1 life. 
 1 body
 He "givs" it.  
Noted, Casey Face.
Thank you, boy.

A sprinkled assortment of the Goodwill markdowns I found this month:
Leather full length jacket:  $9.99 1/2 off weekend 
Ralph Lauren seersucker shirt for Eli:  $1.99 1/2 off weekend
Gap boyfriend jeans:  $2.25 1/2 off weekend
Cream leather jacket:  $4.99 1/2 off weekend
Old Navy jacket WITH TAGS: $2.25 1/2 off weekend
Ralph Lauren khakis for Eli:  $1.99 1/2 off weekend

Um, read'em and weep {please note original tags still on along with the original price}:
Yes, this happens:
How'd I do this month?
Ensemble statistics:

coat:  $9.99 GW
leggings:  $5.00 Wal-Mart
sweater:  Limited brand $2.25 GW
leopard print tank:  $.25 GW
scarf:  surprise gift from Kenny {made by one of his sweet office ladies at school}:  FREE
boots:  $20.00 going out of business sale in Chattanooga 2011.


And, your thoughts, please?

Heck no.  
Seriously honest and ready for her best yet?
You bet. 

Gotta scoot.  
Me and my homegirl, Clair, are full-on looking into the crystal ball March of me.  She and I are becoming just so close.  I've even given her a nickname.  Clarity.  Twisted sisters for life.  

.mac :)

Wednesday, March 6, 2013


There are people out ahead of us.  We watch them.  Intently & with eyes steady, we see who they are.    We interpret their insides from the out hoping to find a little more of the who we want to be.  The ones before us teach oftentimes without even saying a word.  Eyes make individuals out of us all.

Observance occupies our souls like heartbeats.  Our emotions sidle in along the pump-thumping of what's before us too.  Senses soak in the sights procured; the us of us becomes rounded by our everywhere.

Stamped are we with the time given and the teachings too.  Lessons formal and unplanned.  The classroom of our journey never lets out for recess.  Who we see and how we see it presses in on the rhythm of our hearts.  Beats repeat as do the ones ahead of us.
Blessed are the ones who see love and grace.  Who watch intentional.  Who feel safe and encouraged.  The strength of their individual is imprinted and returned out for the next ones to come.  There are people out ahead of us.  We watch them.  Intently & with eyes steady, we see who they are.  We interpret their insides from the out hoping to find a little more of the who we want to be.  


{week 47: my 2 in 52}

Tuesday, March 5, 2013


{Butterfnger Blondies}

Who gets philosophical with desserts?  
I'll give you 3 guesses.

I've been thinking about layers.  They're pivotal.  Without a doubt, the one-atop-the-other is a fixture in life.  From a physical perspective, humans are comprised of an intricate collection of body system layers that work together to maintain life.  Learning a task comes in a layered progression too.  From watching a skill modeled, to guided practice and then finally independent trials, new information grows and gives birth to dendrites.  Knowledge is now appropriately allocated & freshly present in our brains.  Designers dig layering too.  The world of art thrives with the influence and placement of layers in compositions.  Beauty speaks to us in three dimensions.  And, this building notion runs rampant inside the mixing bowl as well.  Wooden spoons twirl roundabout while flour dusted recipe cards detail the progression of the caloric goodness to come.
Layers matter. They heed depth. They challenge perspective.  They increase stature and validate base.  Layers infuse texture into the world of one dimension. As humans, we are shaped by texture.  Molded by what we take in; melded by what we give out. Each year of life adds yet another coating to the beginnings of us.  
I long to to build upon my base. I want each layer sweeter than the next of me.  Sweetened by the who I send out from the wholeness of my story.  With my actions. With my thoughts.  Through my smile and in my eyes too.  I want it all rich.  I crave it for myself just as much as for the ones I scatter out to.  I remind myself often that the underneath is just as necessary as the on top & now.  It's there for a reason.  My job is to continue on working towards the delight of my 3D. 

Surely, you didn't need all 3 guesses now did you?

.mac :)

Butterfinger Blondies


1 cup butter
1 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 tsp vanilla
2 eggs
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp coarse sea salt
2 cups coarsely chopped Butterfinger Bars (approx 16 “Fun Size” bars) 


Preheat oven to 350°
Cream butter and sugars in mixing bowl.
Add the vanilla and eggs and mix until incorporated.
On low add your dry ingredients (flour, salt and baking soda) until just combined.
Stir in your chopped Butterfinger.
Spread in a 9×13 baking dish and bake for 25 minutes until center is JUST set.
Remove from oven and cool completely.

Preparation time: 5 minute(s)
Cooking time: 25 minute(s)




1/2 cup room temp butter (1 stick)
1/2 cup vegetable shortening
2 1/2 – 3 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup chopped Butterfinger Bars (approx 4 “Fun Size” bars)


Cream the butter and shortening together until smooth.
Add in you powdered sugar on low speed.  Turn speed up to medium and mix until smooth
Stir in your chopped Butterfinger. (I sprinkled mine on top rather than stirring them in!)
Spread on your cooled blondies
Preparation time: 5 minute(s)

Thursday, February 28, 2013


February 2013 will be held forever in my heart cupped hands.  God moved.  In me.  In my family.  In my boys.  He took these 28 days to shine.  It was a light so harvesty golden that I couldn't help but glean His glory. It was a light so simple & subtle that my eyes had to peer intently with a convicted precision to find it at times too.  And, finally, it was light like a flashlight unveiling the creaky floored attic of my insides.  Shining solely on the cobwebbed corners of my state.  With waft-like waves flailing, my hands had no choice but to physically knock down the evidence of complacency and neglect.  God moved.

My book for February was unofficially chosen by Kenny.  He came to me sometime in January with the idea that we read this book together.  We've never read the same book at the same time.  He had just recently finished In a Pit With a Lion on Snowy Day and wanted more of what Mark Batterson had to say.  I liked the idea of reading the same content at the same time, so I jumped on board.  I jumped on board is an understatement.
I want to speak to you in truth now.  I say you, but I know all too well it's just as much spoken as a resounding reminder for me regarding the cultivation of spirit and just exactly how God-awesome that is when you feel it.  Naysayers, beware.  This is for you too.  I speak it boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us.  The weary.  The misplaced.  The misconstrued. The skeptic. 
I began reading this book when my heart seemed fastened in a dark and clouded place.  Dark like my expressions filed under "h" for honest here.  Clouded like no solutions in sight.  This uninvited guest known as "WTH is happening to me" was present when my red puffy eyes first met the printed text of Mark Batterson.
God infused.  Timely.  Targeted for growth.  Nail on the head.  I heeded these words.  All of them.  I listened & leaned.  I began unraveling the many inconsistencies of me.  

And, it felt so good.  Like fresh colored play dough clean and smooth in my hands, I  began shaping.  Forming new objects of myself.  Shredding away the extraneous scraps that no longer needed attachment.  Re-thinking the design.  Experimenting with the supple smush of second chance.  That's called grace.  

Poignancy personified itself.  In my thinking. In my believing.  In my direction.  In my faith.  To the  weary, the misplaced, the misconstrued and the skeptical naysayers, I experienced a God interested in making me His on a more personal level and for a greater purpose. He came through with a resounding, "I need you. I need your heart, your energy and your gifts for things far more important than being pungently saturated in your puny imperfections of this world."   

This book was a catalysis.  Kenny's simultaneous-book-read request was too.  The church we have consistently been visiting for the past 18 months chimed right in as well.  Coincidence?  No.  Powerful in the presence of the poor in spirit is exactly more like it.  His timing is almighty and undeniable.  Naysayers beware.  Grace knows no bounds.  Hand over your heavy.  Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts.  My February is proof.  

Currently, I am reading this book as a follow up.  Kenny is taking the challenge right along side me.  I am overwhelmingly humbled and fervently grateful for Kenny's place in all of this.  I needed scooping up.  This isn't the first time.  This man comes through like clockwork.    
My prayer life is changing.  These prayers are specific.  They are abundant and resolute.  If you are on my list, I am giving you over to Him in high detail  

I can't wait to pray.  Did you hear me?  I CAN'T WAIT TO PRAY! It is my most favorite time of the day.  I fill up pages in my journal.  I talk out loud.  I cross off and re-write.  I accessorize my dreams with Him.  
I am seeking His face and His will like never before.  God knows me.  All of me.  And, just in case He doesn't, I am making it a point to tell Him more than I ever have.  In wait for big answers in my story book of requests to Him, I feel clear headed and hopeful.  But most of all, reliant.  I am learning more and more this walk is not meant for easy.  It's meant forever.  Moving with an eternal motive and saturation of His glory in this skin, that's what life is.  
Naysayers, beware. I speak boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us.  The weary.  The misplaced.  The misconstrued. The skeptic. Grace knows no bounds.  Hand over your heavy.  Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts.  My February is proof.  

.mac :)
Related Posts Widget for Blogs by LinkWithin

k.Mac Visitors