As we walked through the cosmetic aisles at Dillards today, I told Livia, “Yes, all these things can make you look prettier, but you don’t really need them.”

I don’t want my daughter to fight the same battle I fight: the Comparison Wars. I hate the fact that I compare myself to other women. I hate the internal dialogue that still exists despite the beautiful words that flow from my husband’s lips. I hate the way that I don’t practice what I preach.

You see, I absolutely believe that God created each of us in His image. And each one of us is stunning in her own unique fashion. I really do love it that some women are “larger-boned” and very womanly in their curves, and that others are slender with nary an extra ounce of fat. I am delighted when I see a woman with curly red hair who embraces it and doesn’t constantly complain that it isn’t blond and straight. I am oddly proud of the professional basketball player I saw on television yesterday who wore three inch heels despite being amazingly tall at 6 feet, 6 inches.

I want to shout from the rooftops: Women of the world, be PROUD of who you are!!!

But still the whisper creeps in, only audible to my own ears, only pressing on my own soul… It tells me that I need to wear trendier clothes, to lose fat and gain muscle, to buy undergarments that either give me more oomph or slim down the oomph I already have, and chiefly, to look very much like models in magazines and celebrities on tv.

Ugh.

God, give me strength to conquer the sin that tells me I’m not enough in the skin I’m in. I want to practice what I believe. I want Livia to be stronger than I am.

Babies truly can learn sign language. Yesterday I asked Livia if she was “done” with lunch; she then repeated me and signed “finished” with her little hands. It was awesome! I’m not sure if I was more excited about her saying “done” or about her signing it, but you combine the two and what you get is a happily freaked-out mama.

Then, this morning she said “all done” completely on her own, without prompting from me, and waved her hands around in the air again. When Jeremy left for work she squeezed her left fingers together in a wave. She waved once before about a month ago but hadn’t done it since, so I was thrilled to see her do it again.

We’re having Livia evaluated for her motor skills next week as she’s a little delayed in the pulling up/crawling arenas. She’s obviously one sharp cookie, though, and I’m grateful to see how bright her mind is. Her physical movement is coming along, however… This morning she stretched and reached out for a toy on the kitchen floor, then smacked her face on the linoleum when she lost her balance. She has a little pink welt as a thank-you for her efforts. No wonder she doesn’t want to move—look at the consequences! ;)

7:00:00 – Alarm clock alarms.
7:00:05 – Jeremy turns alarm off. I imagine we’ll skip the early service and catch the late one.
7:09:00 – Baby begins to babble across the hall.
7:09:05 – We’re going to the 8:15 afterall.

Would you like to own an entire set of Babysitter’s Club books? Or perhaps you’ve been looking for just the right console television for your family room. If so, run, don’t walk, to the Zion Church Rummage Sale at 9th & D Streets here in Lincoln. The sale runs Thursday and Friday, 9am – 3pm (or so).

Despite the fact that I need to clean out my own basement and thus shouldn’t be bringing home any more “treasures,” I still came home from the sale with a several children’s books (including a hardback copy of The Velveteen Rabbit), a toddler snowsuit and a large basket for holding Livia’s books in the living room. $6 total — not too shabby!

The bridesmaids were tired (pronounced “TI-ERD” for more emphasis). Saturday was one long day and we girls were worn out from strapless dresses and strappy dress shoes, cold wind and chilly temps, sunburn and warm temps, little hydration due to port-a-potty fears, and lots of high emotion, mostly love for our dear friend getting married. It was one long, beautiful day. And by day’s end we were in desperate need of a hot tub.

This is where grace comes into the picture. A particular family, dwelling on a particular acreage south of town, graciously opened up one particular hot tub to a particular group of wedding-weary girls. The hot water initially burned our frozen toes, then warmed our bodies and spirits—and we stayed in the glorious hot tub for much longer than originally intended. But the grace didn’t end there. This particular family came home while the seven of us girls, beet red from the toasty warmth, were pretty much causing the deck to be flooded. A moment later, our host came out to greet us and then offered us drinks. Let me reiterate: We were lounging in his hot tub, using the restroom in his house, and then he offers us beverages to make us more comfortable? What graciousness! I want to say, who does something like that? But obviously, I know exactly who. Our beloved pastor Stu.

There was another moment of gracious behavior this weekend that startled me somewhat. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this one, however—I’ve grown up with it all my life. Though the wedding ceremony and reception were completed by Saturday afternoon, the festivities continued long after Charity and Andy left for their honeymoon. And for the available bridesmaids (and their families) still in town Sunday night, my parents grilled a summer feast, and lovingly served it to us. By Sunday evening all traces of extroversion had vanished from my being and I was a (barely) walking/talking zombie. But God bless my folks who whipped up grilled chicken and asparagus, corn on the cob and baked potatoes, salad greens and, to top it all off, COFFEE ice cream for us. Like the hot tub, the food warmed our bodies and spirits.

Graciousness. Hospitality. Love shown through very tangible acts. Joy given when it required the giver to go out of their way, to reach out beyond selfishness. Stu and Kelli were probably exhausted from the day’s events—actually, I’m certain Kelli, the wedding coordinator, was absolutely worn out. And my parents had to have been tired from the long weekend. But still, GRACE. Isn’t that cool?

Our girl, she is MARRIED!

I’m gonna go put my feet up and rest a bit. It’s been a beautiful day. Praise God.

In honor of the the coming celebration this Saturday, I’d like to gather words of encouragement for Charity and Andy. Married folks, what advice did you receive as engaged folks/newlyweds that you really appreciate? OR what advice do you wish you had received?

One of the best things told to me came from Angie Arms who had gotten married three weeks before Jeremy and me. During our reception she came up to me and told me to freeze frame this moment… Take a deep breath, look around and remember what this moment looks like, she said. En route to her honeymoon, she and her husband Randy talked at length about the wedding ceremony and reception and their perceptions of the details that had occurred. I loved this advice and used it on June 13, 1998, to help Jeremy and I make even greater memories of our wedding day.

Dear Livia,

Happy first birthday! There are so many thoughts flitting around my brain that I almost don’t know where to begin this letter. But I’ll try to record coherent thoughts anyway. A few days ago I watched some old video clips of you. When you were 2.5 months old, you were trying valiantly to lift your head. You were laying on your stomach and grunting away, as though you were an Olympic competitor in weight-lifting. Your face and body were so teeny and helpless. You had something of a crewcut for a hairstyle—short and tight on the sides and back, long on the top. You were so small, so beautiful, so YOU. And yet, I could see just a faint whisper of your personality, a personality that is so evident today.

Today you are such a full little being. You have a joyful personality, sometimes mischievous and rascally, and other times open and wholeheartedly happy. You have become a hugger, a snuggler, a head-resting-on-my-shoulder kind of girl. And though your daddy likes my hair both long and short, I’m considering leaving it long just so your sweet baby fingers can wrap themselves in my locks. You and I have developed a beautiful mother-daughter bond. I love being your chief comforter. And even though I greatly cherish my sleep at night, I still enjoy those 5:30am feedings that come up when you’re sick. They’re a special moment for just you and I, rocking in the darkness, no words, just bottle slurps, and lots of love and warmth between our two bodies. Though you’ll always be our little girl, these baby moments won’t last forever, so we enjoy what we have right now. We can tell you’re already on your way to being a toddler. Sometimes you look like such a big kid already, sitting up tall in the grocery cart or highchair at a restaurant, attempting to walk with our help or playing in the church nursery, or simply talking on and on in your baby garble.

We celebrated your first birthday party with close friends and family one week before the big day. The party turned out to be one we’ll never forget. Despite my attempts to control the barbecue—from coordinating balloon colors to organizing platters of food to decorating pink cupcakes—I could not, no matter how hard I wanted to, control the weather. Under a beautiful sunny sky we all huddled at Antelope Park in 57 degree weather. The wind cut through layers of clothing and those without warm coats were fairly miserable. And yet, to their credit, all our friends and family members stayed to celebrate YOU! The only person in attendance not celebrating you was you. And why was that? You had been drugged by your mother. Some well-meaning doctor the day before prescribed pseudoephedrine for your cold—little did I know it would snow you over during your first birthday party! Poor thing, you were so tired you could hardly hold your head upright and would cry if anyone tried to talk to you. Fortunately, on your actual birthday we were able to present you with a piece of cake and you, in true one year old fashion, smeared it all over yourself. At any rate, you had a very memorable first birthday party.

One year old. One year equals a surprising success for your daddy and me. Somehow we stumbled through masses of dirty diapers, untold numbers of bottles and formula canisters, more zerberts and tickles than we can count. In the past few days you’ve been learned to drink milk from a sippy cup—and boy are we proud! We can’t wait to see what this next year holds. We love you soooo much, Livia Raine. What a blessing you are.

Much love,
Mama and Daddy

**The pink blanket photo was taken by “Uncle” Jason during your birthday party. The smiley face pic was snapped by “Auntie” Renae the day before you turned one. Thanks, friends, for sharing these pictures!

I was cleaning out our spice rack today and noticed some expiration dates from 2002. Does anyone know how long spices can truly sit on the shelf? Most of them look and smell just fine…