About two and one half years ago our daughter went into labor, seven hours away. Her dad and I hit the road quickly when the much anticipated phone call came announcing the barest hint of the big event. Jessica Ann has never been one to fiddle-faddle around and she was true to form that night. We were less than an hour away when our son-in-law

I read where mail carriers in Germany were being given lessons in dog psychology. By all accounts, this increased understanding of the canines on their routes has been quite successful, leading to a direct decrease in dog bites. I find that very interesting— the dog psychology part. Sometimes I try to get into Dixie Belle’s head. For instance, I’m convinced Dixie believes she

Emerson Ann's parents don't allow her to chew gum, mainly because she's prone to eating it instead of chewing it, but there are other problems that can befall a three-year-old chewing gum, too. Emerson's long blond hair comes to mind. Yes, it's probably wise not to allow her to chew gum, although everyone should have the pleasure of getting gum out of a little girl's

Some people are good at keeping secrets. My oldest sister is not one of them. The other day Cyndie announced that she’d already bought mine and Rhonda’s Christmas presents. Knowing her as I do, I removed myself from her vicinity as quickly as possible. Cyndie’s history of releasing the cat from the bag goes way back. Some of you may remember the story I told

I slid my phone in my purse, stepped inside the restaurant and scanned the room as casually as possible to see if I could spot anyone who looked like they were waiting to have lunch with me. No, that’s not my normal lunch date practice, but I needed a hint. It’d been a busy morning. I knew I was supposed to be at that restaurant,

“It’s okay, Keggie,” Emerson said. “I didn’t mean to!” I tried to maintain a stern look in the face of my granddaughter’s sweet as sugar upturned face. The Bellerina Czar was supposed to be taking her afternoon nap— or trying to, anyway. Her mother’s rules were clear. Even if she couldn’t fall asleep, Emerson knew she was supposed to stay in bed and look at

My man and I have this running joke. Whenever my laptop or desktop aren’t working, and I’ve tried everything I know of to fix ‘em, I threaten to take ‘em down to the lake bank and toss ‘em in—lock, stock, and modem. I’m never really tempted do make good on it, I just like hearing Phil say, “Now Shellie

The other morning, while simultaneously blow-drying my hair and doing lunges on my total gym, (What? Is that unusual?) I caught a televised segment of one of my favorite ministries during which one of my favorite Christian recording artists sang one of my favorite worship songs. Perhaps you’ve picked up on a theme already, but I’ll spell it out for anyone who may have been

My man and I just returned from Houston, TX where we spent the weekend keeping the Baby Beau Czar while his parents went to a wedding in NYC. And may I just report that his mommy, our darling daughter, the same child who would have given her right arm to go to New York as a teenager, spent the entire weekend texting and calling to

I don’t know if this holds true across the board but after extensive research, (meaning I text polled the girls in my immediate circle of family and friends), what I’m about to say holds true with our men. They’re notoriously vague about expressing their restaurant preferences. If we ask our men where they want to eat they’re most likely going to toss the question