Friday, October 21, 2011


I am sitting here feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.  Presents staring them down, the desire to rip into them, but no...not just yet.  My "present" is my husband who is driving to our home for his first time from Ft. Polk, Louisiana where he just got back from a year long deployment.  He will be here in just one more hour!!! 

I am glad we live in a quiet neighborhood where the neighbors do NOT just hangout their windows waiting to see the business of everyone else.  Because, you see...I think my reaction to his pulling in the drive could easily be mistaken for an attack, although not violent at all! 

So much has happened during this deployment, the least of which was NOT the birth of our little Joshua while my husband was gone.  I can't imagine how it felt to be him; to miss out on Joshua's birth.  I am grateful beyond all measure to God above for bringing Steve home and bringing us together again.

Thank you ALL so much for your prayers, support, encouragement, etc. during this past year.  I don't know what we would have done without it.

Okay, I'm signing off for now...too excited to write anymore!  ;-)

Sunday, September 25, 2011


Soon, I won't miss you.  You'll be here with me.  Perhaps not every second of everyday, but most of them.

Soon, I will wake up in a slightly better mood just knowing that I won't face this day alone.

Soon, I'll make a better tasting pot of coffee because I will make more coffee.  Enough for two.  Because when I make coffee for one in a traditional brewer, it just never tastes quite as good.

Soon, I'll WANT to shower rather than just NEEDing to.  I'll want to put on makeup and do my hair because I know you'll come home and notice and appreciate it.  Even though if I didn't do any of those things you'd still tell me I'm beautiful. 

Soon, I'll feel a little more energized and motivated to be physically active because you inspire me to push myself just a little bit farther.  I see you do it, yet not demand, nor even ask me to.  I guess you bring out the part of me that wants to be my best self.

Soon, I'll be a better parent because you are such a good one.  And you'll be here.  That's how good you are--you just step right in and "do it."  I suppose I step right in and be a mommy in roughly the same way, but in NOT having to feel like I must be daddy too, perhaps I'll feel like being better at my half of the parenting.

Soon, I'll feel like cooking again.  REAL cooking--the kind I truly enjoy, but somehow never feel like doing when I am feeding myself, one mini-adult, one picky preschooler, and one toothless wonder-baby.  I can smell the Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic already.  It smells much better than Hamburger Helper, too.

Soon,  I will read more at night because I will find a sudden chunk of extra time.  At first, I'll wonder where it came from.  But then it will start to reveal itself.  A little chunk here when you clean up the dishes without being asked.  A little chunk there when you take the boys for a bike ride so mommy can have some quiet time.  Another chunk when you put them to bed and they squeal with delight because it's your real voice reading to them and not the wonderful recording we made of you one long year ago.

Soon, I won't feel the need to hover over my computer all night from the moment the little ones are asleep to the moment when I am so tired I simply can't stay awake any longer.  I won't feel the need to be next to it in case Skype rings, or you respond to my email immediately, or you happen to be on Facebook at the exact same time. 

Soon, I will feel whole again.  It is so hard to explain without sounding like I watched Jerry Maguire one too many times, but you truly do complete me. 

Soon, the boys will ask, "when will daddy be home?" And I will be able to answer, "in a couple of hours--when dinner is ready," and feel like a normal family.  There is something just so very unnatural in having to reply, "in a few months, after your birthday/Christmas/Easter/etc."

Soon, I will be able to hug you, to hold you.  It will seem surreal at first.  But give it awhile and I will probably be telling you to go take a shower because who wants to "hug a stink-bug!" 

Soon, I will be able to laugh hysterically at the silly and ridiculous things you do and say only in front of our little family.  And I will remember just how much I cherish those little quirks.

Soon, you will be home with us.  But so many more won't.  I can't forget that.  Ever.  I will forever be grateful to God above for bringing you safely back.  I will forever be grateful for sacrifice of those that didn't make it back.  I will forever think of and pray for peace and comfort for their families.  I will pray that peace prevails everywhere.  Soon.  By the grace of God, soon.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

A Drop in Temperature

I've always been a believer in the idea that we underestimate the individual senses that God gifted us with.  Take for instance, the sense of smell: blindfold me and wave a tester strip of Donna Karan's Cashmere Mist under my nose and I will immediately tell you that I wore that on my wedding day.  Bath and Body Works Sun-Ripened Raspberry?  St. Mary-of-the-Woods College, Freshman year, Le Fer Hall, 4th roommate Julie would spritz it in the air and let it fall on her.  Palmolive Lavender Dish washing liquid?  2003, Ft. Richardson, Alaska, Juneau Ave where we'd just moved into our home on post and I was 7 1/2 months pregnant with my first child.  The poignancy with which I can remember such things just proves to me how often we take our senses for granted.

I was reminded on Monday morning--Labor Day--just how much I take the sense of touch for granted.  The weather had gone from highs in the 100s on Saturday to highs in the 60s on Monday.  Drastic?  Just a bit perhaps.  But that tingly chill on my skin--not uncomfortably cold, but not warm enough to go without sleeves--brought back a flood of memories from my childhood of Fall and how much I loved it.  Yes, I know perfectly well that we are 3 weeks away from the actual season of Autumn, but that drop in temperature was all I needed to be transported back to the happiest season of my childhood.

I loved Fall!  I still do!  I sweat too much to love summer, and tire of the bitter cold enough to love winter.  That leaves Spring and Fall, but since the temps dropped rather than rose, I am favoring Fall a bit more than Spring.  ...ask me next April what I prefer and you're bound to get a different answer though!  ;)  

That sudden chill in the air brought me back to being a preteen in the country of south-central Illinois on a Friday afternoon.  I had worn my favorite new lavender sweater to school since it was finally cool enough to wear long sleeves.  Was the sweater a bit much?  Probably, but I didn't care.  My mom taught at the same school I attended so I always rode to and from with her, but on some days, especially when she needed to stay after for parent/teacher conferences or meetings or who knows what, I'd be allowed to ride the bus home.  I loved it, and not because I got to be around the other kids, for if anything, they were a nuisance to me.  I will be the first one to admit that I was awkwardly "old" for my age at that time of my life.  Constantly be around adults made me think and act more like them than my peers and so I was left in an awkward state.  No, I loved riding the bus because it would take us through the country, following closely to the path of the river, and the trees would be beginning their transition into the vibrant warm colors of the setting sun.  I was usually one of the last ones off the bus and I enjoyed the quiet ride for the last quarter of the trip so that could day dream peacefully about what the wonderful weather and long-sought after weekend would hold.  

I'd step off the bus into the perfect breeze as if it meant to greet me instantly.  The bus would take off behind me with a gentle roar of it's engine and I'd continue on to the front door, which we never used when I rode home with my mom.  Some strange-looking cat--one of many that just seem to accumulate on farms--would rub up against my leg in a friendly welcome and then bounce off as I approached the door, knowing full well it wasn't allowed inside.  Once that door was open I'd be hit with the smell of my mom's chili that she'd have started that morning in the slow-cooker so it would be ready when we got home.  Mom NEVER made chili when it was hot out, so the first pot of chili always seemed to be a right of passage into the cooler months ahead.  No one else was home, seeing as my dad drove a bus too at that time and was still out dropping off the school kids on his route.  It was okay though, I could take care of myself and truly, I enjoyed the solitude of being alone.  But with the weather the way it was who needed or wanted to be inside!  I'd drop my backpack in it's spot and head back out the front door.

My parents' have since screened in their front porch, but at that time it was open to the outdoors.  I'd usually flop down on wide concrete railing and gaze to the south at my favorite spots: Bob's Grove with it's tightly packed trees changing color and the ramshackle little barn surrounded by hay bales.  Or even more to the south, where lay Judy's house, a cornucopia of fun times and a place where as a younger child I'd ask to usher in Fall on the first day of September (because don't the "-ber" months mean Fall?!)by raiding her upstairs junk room for the paper bag of old costumes and Halloween makeup.  And since, I was going to dress up, so were her 3 younger kids, whom I'd later take on a wildflower-picking walk down their little country road.  I would sit there, on that railing, just remembering and smiling.  Then my dad would pull in the drive in his big yellow school bus, followed shortly by mom.  We'd sit down and enjoy the chili that had simmered all day and talk about the weekend.  Maybe a visit to or from a sibling of mine--all older and with their own families.  Maybe a craft show on Saturday.  Or maybe we'd make our own scarecrow out of some of dad's terribly worn work clothes.  Whatever it was, it didn't matter to me because I was on cloud nine taking in Fall and all it's glory.  I remember it all so clearly.

And I remember still.  

There is just something about the relief of a drop in temperature in September, that ushers in a flood of memories and, with it, a yearning for Fall.  For warm sweaters, hot cider, pumpkins and scarecrows, chili and crackers, hayrides and bonfires, wildflowers and warmly colored leaves, old Halloween costumes and popcorn popped on the stove. And for a little girl in a lavender sweater sitting on her front porch.


It was NEVER my intent to be absent from this passion of mine for so long.  Nearly 7 months without posting?!!?  Here is where I want to hang my head in shame and apologies, but I promised no apologies for what I write (or don't) so...I won't.  But I will say this:  not a single day has past since my last blog post that I haven't thought about writing.  I have had millions of inspiring thoughts and ideas, but finding the time to sit down and write them was the struggle.  In the time I've been absent, I've seen my baby grow more content...and bigger and older.  I've seen my Levi turn 4 and mature in his own unique ways.  And I've seen my oldest, my Zekers, turn 8 and become a 3rd grader which makes my jaw drop in shock every time I sit back and think on it.  I've moved from my parents' home in IL where they so graciously put up with me and my 3 cling-ons for 11 months, to our rental home in Clarksville, TN outside of Ft. Campbell, KY where Steve is going to be stationed when he returns home from Afghanistan.  I've welcomed my husband home for R&R and with tears in my eyes said goodbye yet again.  So much has happened that I cannot possibly fill you in on in one blog.  But thank you for reading again.  And if I seem to fall off the face of the earth again, give me a nudge...believe me...I need it sometimes!

Friday, February 18, 2011

MSM: Moms Supporting Moms

As I write this I am utterly exhausted.  I should lie down and sleep and plan on it, but I have been putting off writing this entry for 3 weeks now, in an attempt to try to get sleep and I can no longer put it off.

I don't even know where to begin, so I am just going to write as my heart guides me--if it fails to make as much sense as I hoped it would, my apologies.

Joshua is 3 weeks old today.  I love him with all my heart and think he is absolutely precious.  But he is not a "good" baby.  I won't lie, in the wee hours of the morning, I have sat or laid there in the dim light of a night-light crying and asking God why He is doing this to me.  Why am I the recipient of yet one more difficult baby when I already have so much on my plate?  ...forgive me...yes...I know there are others that have and are enduring much more than I with potentially "worse" babies, but I am being 100% honest with how I am feeling right is MY blog after all...  But I look around and see moms whose husbands are home everyday to help them out (not to mention possibly having other family around too) and they get the easiest baby in the world.  WHY?!  I am fortunate enough to be around lots of family and friends but NOTHING replaces having daddy there to help. 

Since his birth, we have had to deal with--and this is just what I can think of right now--a 12% drop in his weight due to the fact that I am physically incapable of producing enough breastmilk, the loss of one of my dearest friends at the age of 32, an ice storm that severed power/heat at our home for 3 days/nights forcing us to move in with my sister who had power/heat (thank heavens), no schedule/routine for the older boys which rendered them stir crazy, cranky, and hard to handle, a nasty bout of the baby blues, tummy issues for poor little Joshy and now a very stuffy nose, and to round it all out, he is a baby that is seeming more and more to NEVER want to be put down to sleep. 

If you think I am whiny and should shut up, then stop reading now--I could care less what you think at this point.  I am exhausted and every other day I feel like I am at the end of my rope.  I can only imagine what state I'd be in if I weren't living close to family right now.  Of course, then, maybe God would have taken pity on me and given me a better baby.  Again, in all honesty, I have wondered if THAT is why He is allowing all this to happen.

But let me cut to the ONE thing that I can't seem to outrun...breastfeeding.  It is a wonderful thing.  It is a natural thing.  It is the best possible food for your baby.  I know all that and I get all that.  BUT...let me say this now and let me make this PERFECTLY clear--A.) It is NOT a black or white issue wherein a woman either chooses to breastfeed or chooses NOT to breastfeed--there is a HUGE gray area full of women like me who wanted to nurse our babies and be their sole source of nutrition SO badly that we struggle with NOT being able to EVERYDAY of our lives.  ...and B.) Just because a woman breastfeeds does NOT make her a better mother than the women next to her that cannot or chooses not too, and anyone who thinks otherwise needs to come down of their high horse and live a day in the other woman's shoes and--more than anything--realize it is the amount of love given to that baby that really matters! 

I am not speaking to any one breastfeeding mom in particular--please know that.  Do I admit that I am jealous of the fact that you can nurse exclusively?  Yes, but I am not aiming my comments at you.  Rather I am speaking to the "breastfeeding establishment" who, whether they mean to or not, run formula-feeding moms into the ground by failing to realize that many may have nursed if given the proper POSITIVE support, or that some women TRULY cannot produce enough for their babies.  In my case, after giving birth to 3 children, I was finally told WHY I saw drastic weight loss in all three babies despite nursing exclusively and around the clock for the first week of each of their lives--I have hypoplastic breasts, which in my individual case basically means I only have milk glands on the outer half of each breast and even those are sparse.  Translation: I am lucky if I can physically produce HALF of what a baby of mine would need to thrive on.  But for those who still don't believe me, who still think that there is NEVER a situation in which a woman could not produce enough (meaning they just didn't work hard enough at it), what about the woman who was victim to breast cancer at a young age and had to have a double mastectomy?  I doubt you would make her feel as though she simply was not determined enough to make breastfeeding work, so why would you make anyone else who struggled with it feel that way? 

Do I think there is a real mess in how our government/big healthcare say they support breastfeeding but then "push" expensive formula?  Hell yes!  So I totally agree that all insurances should cover breastpumps for all moms (not just those of preemies in the NICU), and that there needs to be a real overhaul of how we TRULY and TANGIBLY support breastfeeding in our American society.  But hand-in-hand with that, there MUST be more information available to women about the options out there should they NOT be able to nurse exclusively.  Just in the last hour, I learned that the WHO (World Health Organization) ranked infant formula as the FOURTH best choice for infant feeding!  I knew breast was #1 but I had NO idea that formula was NOT the next best thing as most doctors say.  A friend told me she thinks goat's milk is #2, but was unsure of #3....I am on a hunt to find out now.  Mostly because I feel that that kind of information should be shared better to all new moms.  And what about milk-banks?  I only recently knew such a thing existed!  Perhaps those mamas who produce enough for small nations should be alerted too--I know a few who would probably gladly donate their extra milk.  And I on the opposite end would sure be interested in being on the receiving end, if there were one nearer to me than 2 hours away.  In the meantime, I will continue doing what I am doing as far as feeding--giving Joshua what breastmilk I can for as long as I can, but supplementing with formula.

My point is this: we need, as moms, to support each other.  Period.  No judgement.  No thinking you are better because you make different parenting choices.  No thinking "how could she?!" because she does something different than you.  Because you see, we ALL struggle.  We all need a shoulder to cry on.  We all need help sometime.  If I didn't have a newborn myself, and had a friend who did who was exclusively nursing and needed help, I would certainly offer to do anything else I could to be of assistance.  Even if her parenting choices were different than mine.  She is a mom.  The baby is a baby.  The love is there and help is needed.  Support is needed.  So support the fact that she loves that baby and is doing the best she can with what she was given.  You never know when you might need her help or support.

Sunday, February 13, 2011


JOSHUA THOMAS HUBER!!!  I know I am JUST 2 weeks and 2 days overdue on this online birth announcement, but I have been a BIT busy!

He was born at 8:03pm on Friday, January 28, 2011 and weighed in at 8lbs. 1 oz. and was 20 inches long. 

We think he is beautiful.  I know I should post pictures on here, but I haven't figured that out yet and honestly...this blog is about my writing, so I don't feel TOO bad about that.

I know this is short, but I am hoping to blog some more when I find the now-rarer-than-ever free moments and I would feel bad if I just sort of "skipped over" his birth.  Now I won't feel bad when I do blog.

Please keep us in your prayers as we still have 3/4 of a year to go on this deployment, a move to make to Ft. Campbell, KY, and life in general to get readjusted to.  Most moments, I couldn't be happier, but sometimes I do feel overwhelmed by a sense of "wow--will I EVER sleep again and feel like I lead a normal life?!"  Know that we appreciate all offers of help, all prayers, and all kind words!

He's crying...better go see what he needs...

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

When Our Babies Fall Down

As I sit down to right this, I know that I must hurry.  In approximately 20 minutes, Zeke will get off the bus--and since we live out in the country that means he is let off right at the end of our driveway with no going to the bus stop involved (a sweet deal really when you have another napping little one)--and our evening "chaos" will ensue.  Although, please know that while sometimes it is TRUE chaos given grumpy moods, bad days, general fatigue, usually what I refer to as chaos is simply the loudness and excitement that ensues once everyone is home from school or work.  But whether the chaos is good or bad, it leaves little time for me to write or have quiet time, so THAT is why I must hurry.

Oddly though, it is about Zeke getting off the bus that I want to write about for a bit.  You see, his Wednesday night Bible school teacher called to tell me she wasn't going to come in because the roads in her neck of the woods were still icy and being that Zeke is the only one in her class, she didn't feel it necessary for me to get out in the questionable weather just to bring him in.  I appreciate that more than you can know, but I digress.  The idea of it being icy provoked a thought since I hadn't been out of the house at all today: if it truly is icy, what if Zeke were to slip and fall on his way into the house?  Don't ask why that thought occurred to me, it just did.

Of course, if he did fall, he'd potentially be hurt, but hopefully nothing more than a scrape or bruise, but as I have found with MOST of my falls in life, it is my pride that is hurt the most.  If upon the realization that I've truly taken a dive I know I am not hurt, my first thought is, "GEESH!  I hope NO one saw that!"  ...but usually someone did.  And then I feel so graceful and cool as I try to pick myself up and move on.  But that is how I feel when I fall down.  When we see our kids fall, it hurts in a WHOLE new one and much deeper.  I imagined myself standing at the front door watching him take that last final (and rather large) step off the bus and then take off running towards me only to slip and fall.  As I stood there imagining in my flip-flops in the warmth of the house, I knew what I would do.  Screw the cold and potential falling hazards!  Screw what other people might think!  I'd run to him!  It is just that hard to see our babies fall down.

However, how many times in his 7 and half years on this earth has he fallen down and I haven't even known it?  Or haven't run to his aid or COULDN'T run to his aid? hard as it is to think many times I have I caused him to fall down?  Of course with that last question, I am not referring the literal act of falling down but to the emotional equivalent.

Everyday, as we venture out onto the heated, screened-in front porch to wait for the bus, I am in awe that my baby is even old enough to go to school.  As I see his bus approach and send him out the door and watch him walk confidently to the bus, I am in awe that he is even old enough to take those steps.  Wasn't he just a baby toddling around?!   He loves school (although is approaching that age where loving school is not necessarily cool so he won't always admit it) but he truly does love getting on the bus and riding the entire one mile to that place where his friends are and his teacher whom he really likes and school lunches which also really likes (I count myself VERY lucky in that department).  To that place where even through the occassion struggle he learns so much and enjoys learning it.  Even with his love of school though, each grade has come with some downsides too.  Those proverbial "fall-downs" that send him home heartbroken and sad.  Those days hurt.  They hurt alot.  Because I can't and didn't see what exactly happened and therefore can only offer the best hug and support I can from what he tells me.  I am just so grateful that he is a happy hearted little guy and resilient to those not so great moments.  Mommy--on the other hand--takes those moments a bit harder and therefore gets a whee bit sentimental.

It makes me work harder though at NOT being the cause of any more "fall-downs" than necessary.  You know those not-so-great mothering moments: when you lose your temper with one child because another one has driven you crazy, when you are in a generally bad mood--and for no fault of your child's--and take out your negative feelings on them anyway, or when you are just plain tired and feel alone and react negatively to a simple question from your child.  It's those moments when you see the light in your child's eyes dim away because of your own sharp and unnecessary words.  We ALL have those moments--don't let ANYONE tell you they don't.  But I guess the important thing in being a loving parent is to remember to embrace our child(ren) after we've made those mistakes and remind them of our love for them and how we acted wrongly. 

Well...I must cut this short.  Zeke is off the bus.  Levi is up from his nap.  Our evening "chaos" has begun and need to dive into it head first. 

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Going Part-Time

I have been conspicuously absent from my blog since Christmas.  Bet you didn't notice, did you?  ;-)

The truth is, LIFE happens and I am coming to terms with the fact that I am just simply not cut out to be a full-time blogger right now.  Thankfully, my "employer" is flexible and is perfectly okay with me going to a part-time position with little-to-no notice (with the emphasis on NO notice).  Perhaps my "employer's" easy-going attitude about my "work-ethic" is directly tied to my pay--which is nothing.  Perhaps.

At any rate, I'm okay with this.  Would I like to write more?  SURE!  But when the only time I have to do so in the quiet when I can think and focus are the same times of day during which I am the can guess what usually wins out.  That tends to happen when you are 9 months pregnant.

But I haven't just gone to part-time on my blog.  I did with Facebook as well and with NO REGRETS.  At this point, canceling my account was not an option if for no other reason than the ease and swiftness at which I can take a wonderfully candid photo with my iPhone, and immediately download it to FB on that same device, AND--if the timing is just perfect--Steve could log on from Afghanistan and see that photo immediately.  To me that time saver is SO much easier than having to take the candid shots with my camera, take the camera upstairs to my iMac, plug the camera in, download the photos to the hard drive, log onto my email, begin a new message, attach the said photos, and send them to Steve.  ...just typing the process wears me out.  But the ease of sharing photos isn't the only reason I LIKE Facebook.  It is a wonderful medium for keeping up with all the wonderful people the Lord has put in our path--and we have friends strung across all continents minus South America and Antarctica (the two penguins I requested a FB friendship with have yet to confirm me). 

The problem is, Facebook can be an addiction.  And it was/is for me.  I seriously equate it to alcohol.  The two are not inherently evil in their own rights, but it is in how we go about fashioning a "relationship" with them that things can go sour.  A glass of sweet red wine or a wonderfully coconut-y Pina-Colada on a beach can and often are enjoyed for what they are--a nice, delightful beverage.  But when a person happens to start down that road where they crave that beverage everyday, when they think they cannot get by without it, that problems start.  Facebook was my alcohol.  I was logging on NUMEROUS times a day and spending TOO much time just being nosy and reading past posts of friends so that I wouldn't miss out on ANYTHING going on in their lives.  It was truly an addiction.  I felt I would unintentionally hurt friends if I didn't log on and see their status and comment--whether that was a mundane status update or a life-changing one.  I would read posts from friends and be overcome with jealously at the stupidest things.  I would read other statuses and disagree with a specific ideology that person was taking and begin to think "less" of them.  All these negative "spirits" were shaken together in a dangerous cocktail that I willingly drank down everyday.  They caused me to feel horrible inside.  To think less of myself.  To doubt myself, my husband, my kids, my family, my friends.  I can't specifically pinpoint a moment in time, but at some point in the weeks since Christmas, it hit me...I RARELY ever logged off Facebook, and when I did, I was in a foul and horrible mood.  I needed to stop.

So...I weighed my options.  Just like I believe to be stupid for an alcoholic to think that every liquor store and bar be burned down so they don't have to address their problems, I believed that canceling my account or failing to log on EVER was not a reasonable solution. BUT...cutting way down on the amount of time I did spend on it was a good place to start.  If I needed to trim more fat later, I would.

The temptation still is there, don't get me wrong.  But I am managing it pretty well.  I can log on to answer a message or post--one that merits a REAL answer and not just my "wise" thoughts on the topic--and log right back off.  I can even get on to see how someone is doing--as in checking to see if a female friend due around the same time as I am has had her baby yet--and log right off.  Just today, when I logged on to answer a message, I happened to read a post on the home page that started to stir that negative cocktail again.  I was proud of myself--I simply clicked on the message I intended to reply to, typed and sent that reply, and logged off.  Ten minutes later, I was feeling better, whereas a month ago, ten minutes could have past and I would still have been on Facebook feeling horrible about myself for no real reason at all.  I guess that is my way of saying that I can walk by a bar and push the temptation to enter and drink aside.  And it feels good.

In the end, I just want to reiterate that I am still on there.  I still want to hear from friends and keep in touch.  Don't stop "talking" to me on Facebook if that is how we normally communicate.  Don't think I don't care about your good news and announcements if I don't respond with a comment--in all likelihood, I simply don't know of that good news yet or I would (this is where I have to have faith that TRUE friends will let me know via a phone call, visit, or email and if I still don't find out about it, I can't waste time being hurt).  Don't think I won't post pics of the baby soon after she/he is born and look forward to your comments (if you choose to comment...if you are even on Facebook).  Remember, I am still on Facebook...I am just going to a much more part-time postition on it.  And just like there are seasons of the year where part-time help is needed more (i.e., Christmas in the retail world), there are also times where I will WANT to be on Facebook more (i.e., announcing our newest addition to our family).  I just hope and pray this makes sense.

Now...if you'll excuse the TOTAL irony here...I am going to get off here and post a link to this newest blog entry on Facebook.