Mosaic Momma

Photo credit: blog.worldlabel.com Labels... We are surrounded by them. We are defined by them. And, truthfully, we even rely on them.  I posted awhile back about how we can allow labels and our own sense of perceived ability can stop us from taking a step of faith or trying something new and potentially scary -- because honestly, we're afraid to fail. That's not the type of label I'm talking about here...well, sorta. But, I'll explain...I promise. Imagine a shelf stocked with row upon row of steel cans with all the labels removed and no other identifying marks. Now imagine that in order to eat, you HAD to pick one of the cans off of the shelf -- and that can, and that can alone would be your sole meal option. No trading, no bartering, no givebacks. As a fervent loather of fish and most aquatic offerings, I would be horrified to open a can of anchovies. Ewwwh...or imagine pate or pickled brussel sprouts (no offense if you like any of the above...I just don'

It started about the 7th grade. Just when I thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse for me as a freaked out junior higher -- they did. I had spent the first several weeks (maybe months) of seventh grade with constant stomach aches and twistings (I was probably halfway to an ulcer in retrospect) as I tried to navigate the overwhelming world of changing classes, trying to keep afloat in my Algebra class (how did I even test into that thing?), dressing in front of other girls in P.E., and figuring out why all my elementary school friends had seemingly changed into these baffling creatures over the short summer. Just when I seemed to settle into some sort of rhythm and felt more comfortable in my new location, I started to feel uncomfortable in my very own skin. I was a late bloomer. Without going into needless detail and information, let's just say I became a "woman" this year -- much later than most of my friends. And with that ginormous shift in

At this stage of my life -- 4 rambunctious children under the age of 9, our small "bungalow," the joys of making a life on one income (by choice so don't feel too bad for me) -- it's hard to get some quality alone time. Actually, I should qualify that....quality alone time in my house. Women's retreats....great alone time. Flight to Branson without the family...alone time galore. But there's something about being the momma of the house that makes it virtually impossible to disappear to do something (read, blog, go to the bathroom) without somebody coming to look for me. I know I'm not the only one who literally has to lock the door to keep little people from constantly coming in and interrupting. So, instead, I get to hear constant manuevering of the door handle and pounding against the hollow door and repeated, "Mom! Mom? Moooommmmm....are you in there?" As if I popped out my bedroom window screen and snuck out to the backyard to hide ou

I had no idea what was in store for me yesterday. At 8:10 a.m., I found myself picking up a friend of a very close friend --  someone with whom I've probably chatted for about 10 minutes total face time with some Facebook back and forth here and there -- in our faded-blue-painted '98 Corolla with the intent of driving down to Westminster for a blog conference called, Blog Sugar . I was a touch irritated because I forgot my cute grey ruffled sweater that matched so nicely with my outfit (I just knew all the girls at the conference would be dressed amazingly). In addition, I was a bit mystified and yes, a little nervous about what I had signed myself up for because truthfully, I really didn't know. My friend, Lori, a talented photographer and owner of SnapCandy Photography , and I connected a few different times at a mutual friend's events -- finding that we both have a lot in common. We both have 4 kids, enjoying being creative and would readily admit we're