Friday, October 29, 2010

Numbers Revisited. A Nathan and Sarah Post Revisited.

I stand . . . er . . . sit corrected.

Concerning yesterday's post, several of you (very nicely) left comments saying that numbers could be every bit as wonderful as words and just as evocative. And then you left excellent examples to prove your point.

And I really do see what you’re saying; I just had never pictured it all that way before.

Although I suspect that some of us are born tuned in to numbers, and others are born tuned in to words, this “words girl” is going to try and give numbers a second chance. Because when you think about it, we’d have a really chaotic, unlivable world without the precise order that numbers provide.

If you think, for instance, about a zip code, which is so important in getting our mail delivered. Switching out those numbers for words would be just a wee bit ridiculous. And phone numbers? And ATM passwords? We’d be in a pretty pickle without a few digits to plug into those spaces.

So I hereby do forthwith go publicly on record saying that I, Rebecca Campbell Smith, am committed to developing a greater love and respect for the Numbers that appear in my life. I may never love them as much as words, but I am happy to admit that I am mistaken in underestimating their importance and yes, even their ability to create memories.

I just hope that Numbers will accept this apology in the spirit in which it was offered and will promise to take pity on me the next time I attempt to do a math problem!


Since Nathan is headed home for Thanksgiving in just a couple weeks (hooray!), I’m finding myself falling into Reminiscing Mom Mode. Because when a grown up guy named Nathan walks through the front door of our house who so closely resembles a little boy that I used to know--well, I just get a little sentimental, that’s all.

And with that in mind, I want to re-post something I wrote in 2006, when Nathan was a High School Senior and Sarah was in 5th grade. (She had relapsed in June of that year so it was a traumatic chapter of life, cancer-wise.)

Anyway, here’s the post (followed by pictures), replete with all the challenges and changes that raising children brings.

Thursday, October 5, 2006



That’s a long way away. And that’s where our son is going on a missions trip. In just three short weeks.

Am I just a tad bit nervous? Anxious? Afraid? Excited? Thrilled? Proud?


Is it possible he’s even old enough to go gallivanting around the world?


In my mind, he’s still a tousle-headed toddler, full of mischief and high spirits. Now it seems he’s turned into a tousle-headed teenager—but still full of mischief and high spirits.

I’m just not sure I’m ready for him to be as old as he is.

Two nights ago, we attended his last soccer game. At the end of the game, the annual rite of dumping the ice chest over the two seniors (Nathan being one of them) was performed, and then everyone cheered for them as they came off the field.

I took a dozen pictures and surreptitiously wiped away tears--tears that were brought on by the sight of a rapidly diminishing childhood taking place right before my eyes.

I thought, “If I get THIS emotional over a soccer game, I am going to be a major basket case at his High School graduation.

And when he goes to college. And when he gets married.

And when he flies to Ecuador.

I guess I’ve just been appreciating him more lately because I know he’ll be gone so soon. And lately, he’s given me even more to appreciate.

Last week I was lying on the couch, still fighting a fever and cough and looking pretty pitiful. Nathan came in, took one look at me and without a word, went and found a blanket and carefully spread it over me with his vintage boyish blend of love and awkwardness.

And then last Sunday night after our church service, I was still sick, on top of feeling stressed from too many challenges and too little rest. I slouched down at the kitchen table and was pondering my choices for a post-church repast when Nathan came in and beheld my weariness.

He said, “Can I make you something to eat, Mom?”

Well, I’ve always liked oatmeal as a soothing, comforting mini-meal so I made my Oatmeal Request. Off he trotted to the cupboard, microwave, and refrigerator, fixing it just the way I like it with some brown sugar stirred in, topped with French vanilla creamer and some yogurt. He placed the concoction in front of me and then looked at me worriedly inquiring, “Does it look okay, Mom?”

Of course all you mothers out there already know that I thought it was the most beautiful, the most delicious, the most impressive oatmeal that has ever been cooked by human hands.

Because my teenage son had volunteered to made it and had cooked it with love.

And its not just his oatmeal making that warms my heart. Last week toward the end of a soccer game, our young goalie allowed three or four goals to get by him in a short period of time. After the whistle blew and everyone was heading toward the bench, he remained standing forlornly by himself out in the field. When Nathan turned and saw him there, alone and discouraged, he went over, put a hand on his shoulder, and walked by his side back to the bench.

It was such a seemingly small thing to do but I told Nathan later, “If the day ever comes when you score thirty-five points in a basketball game, I will not be as proud of you then as I was when you took the time to encourage your soccer buddy.”

So many memories. So many things that make me proud. It just doesn’t seem possible that the toddler days are gone and the “spreading the wings” days have arrived.

And not just for Nathan.

I look at Sarah and see her growing and blossoming before my eyes. Her face has lost its little girl roundness and her body is taking on the contours of a young lady. Her cute hair, pre-teen clothes, instant messaging and long phone conversations have wrested her from the confines of childhood and set her on the cusp of a whole new chapter of life where she is starting to take those first small steps away from Mom, and dependence, and little girlhood.

But you know what?

Five years ago when she was diagnosed with Stage IV Neuroblastoma, no one thought that she would ever even get to this point. Her chances of surviving long enough to ever grace the years of pre-teen hood were miniscule. She had a cancer that few children survived longer than a year or two, at the very most.

So I rejoice in the passing of the years. I rejoice that she gets up every morning and rushes out the door to school. I rejoice when the phone rings and it’s for her. I rejoice when she has friends over and she goes to birthday parties and sleepovers. I rejoice in health and happiness and a growing up little girl.

But I also miss the days when I was everything to her, when she was a toddler and I was Super Mom, able to make her laugh and kiss away every owie. I also reminisce about the days when she was a cancer patient and I helped bear her pain, and brought her comfort the best way I could, all the while knowing that cancer was an owie no mommy could ever kiss away.

And so I sit here today, pondering a half-lived life and two half grown children.

Truthfully, I think the thing I fear the most at this point is that I will be wrenched from this precious, busy season of life and be transported unwillingly to an unthinkable place where Nathan has gone to college and Sarah has gone to heaven.

I know it’s probably a strange thing to be writing about, just one week after hearing that Sarah is back in remission after her relapse. Even though I rejoice in that wondrous news, the harsh statistics of Neuroblastoma survival are never far from my mind. I think about the fact that in a year or two, I could have an empty nest; I could go from where I am now to a place that I can’t even imagine.

And so when my son heads off to Ecuador, and when my daughter heads off to a friend’s house, I realize afresh that each goodbye is precious and each homecoming is priceless.

For right now though, they are both still very much here, very much full of noise and activity, very much in need of their mother to provide clean underwear, hugs, brownies, lunch money, advice, bedtime prayers and mashed potatoes.

With each happy, busy day that passes, I revel anew in the joyous challenges of motherhood; I revel in one of the dearest and most important callings of my lifetime.

And I know that a day will come when I will make a bowl of oatmeal and sit down to eat it with tears on my face, remembering a cool October night when a precious 17-year old teenager placed a fragrant bowl in front of me and asked, “Does this look okay, mom?”

Yes, sweet Nathan, it does.


You know I can’t possibly write about my children without including a few pictures; in fact, it is statistically improbable. (Hey! I just used a “number reference” in a sentence without breaking out in hives. I’m making progress!)

Picnik collage

This was taken at our Annual Decorating the Christmas Tree Pancake Dinner. Even though we always hold hands when we pray before a meal, Nathan and Sarah thought they’d be all dramatic about it. Love their faces.

DSC07306 IMG_1591-1

On the first day of Nathan’s senior year of High School; this is about what they looked like when the above post was written.




And lastly . . .

I can’t even look at this picture without tearing up. We were on our way from North Carolina to Florida to take Nathan to his first year of college. This picture is such a poignant summation of endings and beginnings. Those two had rarely been apart since the day Sarah was born and to know that good-bye was hanging in the air between them? Well, it just sort of does me in every time I look at it.


Thursday, October 28, 2010

179. 603.

A numbers post. What a unique idea!

I hate numbers. Never liked them before. Never will like them. Have no plans to ever, ever like them. Ever. Not to mention, never.

Numbers are boring. I mean, you write a number and nothing happens.


See? Did anything happen? Were you moved? Inspired? Entertained?

I think not.

Fifteen does not have the power to move anyone.

No way. No how.

On the other hand, let’s try this:

summer afternoon

Suddenly, you have been transported from wherever you are sitting right this moment to a summer afternoon memory from some long forgotten time and place.

Can a number do that for you? (All together now! “Nooooooo!”)

I guess I also hate numbers because numbers transmogrify themselves into math problems. And we all know that math problems are evil. Math problems have only one answer.

Well, maybe I should say they have two answers. The right answer. And the wrong answer.

And during the course of my life, I have always shown an amazing propensity for choosing the wrong answer. It’s a gift!

But with words?

No right answer. No wrong answer.

If I said, “What does the word ‘mayonnaise’ mean to you?, I could get seven thousand responses and all of them would be correct.

How can you not love that?

But if I were to ask you, “What does 5+7 equal?” and you don’t say “12” (um, it is 12, right?) then you are just so completely and absolutely wrong that it’s downright depressing.

So having said all that, why would I be writing a numbers post? It’s because I have a couple numbers to talk about.


The first number is 179. (Did anybody feel any wonderful emotion or any little “soul quiver” when you saw that number? I rest my case.)

I am talking about 179 because that, my Smithellaneous friend, is the number of comments generated by A Great Idea post. I have read every single comment and have smiled and nodded my head, and pondered and said, “Hmmmm,” more times than you can count.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to each one who jumped into the conversation and wrote about the place you live and the things you love about it. I feel like I know you all a lot better today than I did even a week ago and that is a wonderful feeling.

Before I knew that the post would get so many responses, I had said that I would tally everything up so we would know which state had the most readers. However, I got just a tad intimidated by that large number (see, there’s the number thing again) and figured it would take me until I turned 78 years old to get it all figured out. So scratch that idea.

However, from what I could ascertain as I was reading through everything, there seem to be an awful lot of readers from the St. Louis, MO area. Although I’m not quite sure why so many readers are from there, I do know that if I ever have a National Smithellaneous Readers Convention, I will most certainly go to St. Louis to do it!

So that’s all I have to say about 179.


And the 603?

As of today, that’s how many posts I have written for Smithellaneous since April 2009.

At first, I was all impressed with myself for having written that many posts. But it only took about 4.5 seconds (anyone at all moved by the 4.5 number? I didn’t think so) for me to realize that who I am really impressed by is all of you! Those of who you have read those posts! Those of you who have taken precious time out of your busy day to stop by this blog and actually read the words I have to say.

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you guys; I don’t take lightly the privilege you’ve given me in providing such a wonderful audience for my meanderings, and thoughts, and recipes, and essays, and humorous pieces and pictures. (Not to mention, all those Snowy Stories.)

So I will close this post about numbers with words--words of appreciation.

Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life—wherever you may live.


Smithellany . . .

1. Stefanie from (you guessed it!) St Louis left a comment asking how Snowy’s tail is doing since it was injured several weeks ago.

I am happy to report that Snowy is doing stupendously; you could never tell he’d had a problem with it..

2. Sarah made a cute video to a song that I posted here if you’d like to stop by and see it.

3. And speaking of Sarah (and Snowy) I ran across a couple pictures of them taken about a year ago. What a cute pair.

IMG_0133 IMG_0154


Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Fuzzy Pretzels! A “Shatter Your Self Esteem” Recipe! Guidelines for Smith Visitations! And Other Stuff!

Um. When I wrote “fuzzy pretzels" in the title, I didn’t actually mean to say that the pretzels themselves were fuzzy. I meant to say that the pictures of the pretzels were fuzzy. A little. Because I kind of took the pictures in a hurry and therefore didn’t do a whole lot of Pre Picture Pretzel Photo Planning.

But at any rate, look at these babies. Are they wondrous, or what?


When you put these three items together? Culinary heaven happens. Culinary heavenly happiness happens!


What’s that? You say you’d like the recipe?

Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the recipe is really pretty difficult. I don’t mean to insult you and your capacity for comprehending complexity or anything, but I really don’t want to frustrate you, my dear Smithellaneous reader, by giving you more than you can handle at any given time. I truly want you to leave this blog feeling good about yourself, not feeling like you are the worst cook on the planet just because you couldn’t handle a recipe that is so difficult not even Julia Child herself could master it.

What’s that?

You say you want to see the recipe anyway?

Well. (Sigh.) If you insist.

But don’t say I didn’t warn you and don’t come crying to me if your self esteem shatters all over the kitchen floor because you weren’t able to make this recipe work.

Are you ready? I mean--really, really ready? Well rested? Had your breakfast? Blood sugar up? Caffeine on board? House quiet so you can concentrate? Motivational CD playing in the background?

Okay. Here we go.

1. Heat oven to 240 degrees. (Have I lost you yet?)

2. Cover baking sheet with foil. (Are you still with me?)

3. Put one piece of candy on each pretzel. (Do I need to go slower?)

4. Bake for 4 minutes. (Oh, I just knew this was going to be too hard.)

5. Press half a pecan onto the candy and let it cool. (That’s it. I’ve changed my mind. I really don’t think it’s healthy for our relationship for me to burden with you these kinds of impossible assignments.)

So. Why don’t we just pretend like none of this has ever happened.



Whew! That was a close one!

Let’s move onto something happier. And simpler. And less challenging. Let’s move on to a picture of---hmmmm, let’s see--our kitchen table.

Yes, that’s it! Let’s look at our kitchen table!


Here are our paper napkins, folded into lovely, fan-like shapes!


And just why are we folding napkins and lighting candles for a Simple Smith Supper? It’s because we had dinner guests last night, that’s why!

Cindy (from California) and Chlorita (from Raleigh, NC) are friends who are on vacation in the area. Cindy has been a website friend for several years and is very active in writing to cancer kids and sending them little gifts and goodies along the way. (She is even sweet enough to send Nathan some goodies at college which is a good thing since, um, his own mother doesn’t do much in the way of goody-sending. But let’s not talk about that.)

At any rate, we had a lovely meal together and to make it even better, Cindy brought with her a homemade chocolate cake and the pretzel candies (and recipe) that were featured above. And although she didn’t exactly say this, I have come to my own little ol’ personal conclusion that chocolate nuggets like those, which are so dainty and petite-sized couldn’t possibly contain very many calories. I mean, the calories would just burst right out of the sides of the candy if there were a whole bunch of them lurking in there.

And so! I am happy to announce that I have deduced that each of those candies only contains three—yes, three!—calories! So enjoy! Without guilt!

And lastly (everyone breathes a sigh of relief, knowing I’m almost done), I would now like to make a brief comment/announcement/instructional sort of thing.

As you know, we live on the Outer Banks. (No surprise there, right?)

And as you also know, some of you occasionally come in this direction on vacation. (No surprise there, either.)

And occasionally, some of you may even inexplicably feel a brief, passing inclination to meet the Smith family on said visits. And you might wonder, “Would that be intrusive? Would it be rude for me to contact them? What, oh what, is the protocol for this dizzying dilemma?”

Well, here’s the deal. We are friendly folks. We enjoy meeting new people. And yes, we would even especially enjoy meeting members of our Smithellaneous family. But even if for some reason we knew that you were coming out here, the truth of the matter is that we would actually feel sort of intrusive about contacting you!

I mean, it seems just a wee bit egotistical to say, “Hmmm. Those Smithellaneous readers are going to be around next month; I bet they would just love to meet us.”

And so here’s the deal. If you’re ever out this way and would like to meet up? Shoot us an e-mail and we’ll do everything we can to make our schedules work so that we can meet you. (Contact info is at the top of the page.)

But we’ll leave it to you to do any initiating since a lot of people would probably love to come out here and vacation quietly without being stalked by the Smith Family. (The Smith Family Stalkers! Sort of like the Swiss Family Robinson. But not exactly.)

Anyway. Does that sound like a good plan? Good.

And now? Now I have about fifteen, 3-calories pretzel/Rollo candies that are calling my name. . .

(Final photo taken from the Internet by an actual Professional Pretzel Picture Taker.)


Tuesday, October 26, 2010


I have a cookbook which I absolutely love because every recipe can be made in twenty minutes.

No, you didn’t read that wrong. Meals! In twenty minutes! (Or if you’re a mite slower like I am, and are constantly stepping over a certain white dog while you cook, it might be more like twenty-five minutes.)

But still. By the time we drive to a restaurant, order, wait for the food, eat and drive home, at least 90 minutes will have passed. Plus we’ll end up paying three or four times as much for that meal as it costs to eat at home.

So to make a relatively inexpensive, home cooked, FAST meal and be eating it in twenty minutes? I’m sold.


Although I won’t be posting any of the recipes today, here are a few tips from the book about saving on cooking time.

1. Buy an extra set of metal measuring spoons and remove them from the ring. Store the individual spoons on a magnetic strip close to your spice cabinet. If you’re only using one or two spoons, why wash them all? Plus, they’re easy to grab in a hurry.

2. For a quick side dish, stir any of the following into a pan of cooked rice: Crumbled bacon and sour cream, grated Parmesan cheese, crushed pineapple and green pepper slices, Teriyaki sauce, chopped pimiento and chopped parsley, toasted slivered almonds and chopped cashews.

3. Keep three sets of measuring cups on hand; you can speed through recipes without having to wash and dry that same half cup measure multiple times.

4. Put a pot of water on to boil as soon as you walk through the door from work (before changing clothes or reading the mail) and you’ll be halfway to cooking pasta, steaming rice, or boiling potatoes when it’s time to start dinner.

And if you’re really in a hurry to get water boiling fast, divide the water between two pots and then combine them after they’ve boiled.

5. Don’t throw away leftover rice; freeze it for future use. Measure by 1 C increments into Ziploc bags and write the amount and date on the outside. Before sealing, fluff the rice with a fork to prevent clumping.

To use, remove rice from bag and out in a microwave safe bowl; microwave covered on high for 1 minute per cup. Fluff with fork and continue with recipe.

This method defrosts rice but doesn’t heat it through. If you want to heat it all the way, continue heating in microwave by one minute increments, checking each time.

Or you can put rice in a pan on the stove and heat it 2-3 minutes per cup. (Covered with just a little bit of water.)

So there you go! Some ideas to make your (and mine) limited cooking time go a little better.

If you go to Amazon or Ebay, you can get this book (used) for just $6 or $7, including shipping. I highly recommend it!


And on the subject of food, last night I was not in a real enthusiastic cooking mood and hadn’t been to the grocery store in a week; however, I knew that at some point in the evening, something fairly nutritious and vaguely delicious needed to appear on the kitchen table. So I scrounged morosely around in the freezer for a little while and found a box of fish sticks, which I try to keep on hand for those fairly infrequent “I don’t wanna cook” nights.

Then I discovered some macaroni and cheese that someone had brought to a meal at our house, leaving the leftovers behind. I had divided it up and frozen it for future use. (It's amazing how well mac and cheese freezes!)

My original idea was to bake the fish sticks and just put them on the table on a plate, and put the mac and cheese in its own bowl. But then! A teeny burst of inspiration made it's way through my non-excited-about-cooking-brain and I found a prettier way to present the evening’s repast: everything in one dish with the macaroni on bottom and the fish sticks on top--with a little parsley tossed over it all. It made it look a “real meal,” instead of a pretend meal!


I also made some oven bread and threw it into a white bowl, just to get it to the table in a hurry. But then I just couldn’t stand the sight of pale bread in a white bowl so I took an extra four seconds and grabbed a napkin to put in the bowl first. It made my color-lovin’ heart so happy to see what a big difference such a little thing made.

And it made my heart even happier when my sweet daughter noticed my efforts and said, “Mom, that sure looks pretty!” (Steve and Sarah are always very diligent to compliment even my most meager efforts—I am blessed.)


In non-cooking news, I am continuing to enjoy the “What I Love About Where I Live” entries. (Scroll down a few posts to find it--the title is "A Great Idea.")

If you haven’t chimed in yet, I’d love to hear from you. And if you haven’t scrolled through other peoples’ comments yet, I think you’d really enjoy taking a few minutes to do that. It’s fascinating to read where all our Smithellaneous Neighbors hail from.

Monday, October 25, 2010


A few weeks ago, I was talking with a dear friend who is also a pastor’s wife. She and her husband had just been to a minister’s conference where one of the featured speakers was a woman.  Who was gorgeous.  And exquisitely dressed.  And polished.  And a size four.

And my friend? She has struggled with her weight for much of her life and had just recently topped out at her heaviest weight ever.  Much to her dismay and distress.

She told me, “I was already hating myself when I got to the conference because of my weight and then a women gets up to speak who is bubbly and lovely and so very slim.   I left there feeling even worse than when I arrived. She was the very picture of perfection.”

Ahh. There’s the word.  Perfection.

Do you what word is a first cousin to perfection?  (You probably didn’t know words had first cousins, but they do.)  Perfection’s cousin is comparison.  Because when we see something or someone that appears perfect, we automatically compare ourselves. And because that person (or thing) is apparently perfect, it only stands to reason that we don’t measure up. We can’t measure up!  How can one measure up to something as impossible as perfection?

Pastor Steven Furtick from Charlotte, NC said, “There are NO perfect people...NO perfect jobs...NO perfect families...NO perfect churches. Only seemingly perfect people, jobs, families, and churches. This is important to remember because we can waste our time envying something that doesn’t really exist."

I struggle with this issue on several levels.

As A Pastor’s Wife:  I am very involved at our church with music, media production, some secretarial work, occasional teaching,  hosting many dozens of people for dinners, visiting parishioners, helping organize functions, etc.

But sometimes?  At the end of the day?  I start to think, “Well, this particular pastor’s wife directs a great choir and that particular pastor’s wife is very gifted at writing fabulous dramas, and this pastor’s wife has started a ministry to feed the homeless and that other pastor’s wife is in great demand as a speaker.  Maybe I should be doing all of those things so that I, too, can become the perfect pastor’s wife.

As A Blogger/Writer/Songwriter:  I’ve written songs since I was six, recorded twelve CD’s of original music, won Songwriting Grand Prize at the premier Christian songwriting event in the nation, traveled the country (with my family) full time for fifteen years singing, had a story published in Chicken Soup For the Soul, and am the author of two blogs, one of which has had close to 2 million hits.

However.  Recently I was glancing over some bio’s on a particular Christian website featuring different bloggers. This is what I read:   Amber has a degree in English/Creative Writing.   Shelly is a Senior Columnist and contributing writer.   Ruth recently wrote her first devotional book and became a licensed counselor.

Immediately I felt insecure and inferior and decidedly non-wonderful.  I thought, “I’ll never measure up.  I’ll never be as fabulous as them. Why do I even bother?” 

And to add insult to injury, the bio’s came complete with pictures of each of these women and of course they were perfectly put together, ultra stylish and uber cool.  Me?  I haven’t been ultra stylish and cool since, um, since . . . well, I don’t really think I ever have been cool. (Whatever cool is.)

Of course, I could go on and on.  And on.

I could write about dozens of categories where I am tempted to feel very much like I don’t measure up to some standard, or I don’t measure up to what someone else is doing.  Or saying.  Or writing.  Or how they’re dressing or doing their hair.  Or raising their child.  Or hosting their parties.  Or doing their job. Or even decorating their bathrooms or cooking their lasagna.

There are so many categories in which one can feel inferior!

But you know what?  Having lived forty-eight years now, having faced a few battles, and having earned a few gray hairs, I have pretty much decided that who I am right now is who I like.

I am such a long way from perfect that you can’t even believe it.   But I am also a long way from who I was twenty-three years ago, seventeen years ago, nine years ago, or one year ago.  I’m learning, and growing, and maturing, and stretching, and becoming more and more content with the non cool, non perfect person I am.

Yes, I have a lot of areas that need improvement.  And yes, I’ve squandered time and talent and opportunities along the way during my forty-eight years on the planet.  And yes, I could definitely be more accomplished in a lot of areas than I am right now.

But I’m no longer wasting my time shooting for perfection.  Or trying to be like this blogger or that pastor’s wife.  God only made one of me.  Billions have people have existed before me and so far as I know, NONE of them was Becky Campbell Smith.  Which makes me pretty wonderful, doesn’t it?  The only one, anywhere, exactly like me? And I’m living on this planet with the only one, anywhere, exactly like you?

That’s pretty cool, isn't it?  (In a sort of non cool way.)

So we’re in good company, you and I.  We’re both imperfect people on an imperfect planet.  We’ve both had the gift of life handed to us at birth and we’ve both been given a package of years in which to make something out of that gift.

Because in the end Zig Ziglar said it best, “Success is not measured by what you do compared to what others do; it is measured by what you do with the ability God gave you.” 

So here’s to success--yours and mine.  The success of understanding and celebrating that the only way to be happy in life is to compare ourselves with ourselves.  And no one else.

And realize that who we are is really pretty special.

Uniquely, incredibly, undeniably, (im)perfectly special.



Sunday, October 24, 2010

This Is Why I Am Thankful for Make Up

A couple years ago, we had our family portraits done and I asked Steve take “before and after” Pre-Portrait Pictures.



You know, sometimes I have envied guys because they can get up in the morning and shower and be ready for the day in the fraction of the time it takes most of us make up totin’ women.

On the other hand, sometimes I have felt sorry for guys because when they get up in the morning and look in the mirror? That’s basically as good as it gets!

Ladies, can you imagine?

I’m so happy that Maybelline and I are such good buddies!


By the way, I can't tell you how much I am enjoying reading all your entries about where you're from and why you love it. Some of you make me want to pack up my boxes and come live where you are. Thanks for taking the time to participate.

And it's not too late! If you haven't yet left a comment about where you're from and why you like it there, go ahead and jump on in there. This topic has provided a whopping 147 comments so far and from what I can tell, you all are enjoying reading each others comments as much as I'm enjoying reading yours!

Welcome to the Smithellaneous Neighborhood!