tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71105511293336319662024-02-21T04:18:11.013-08:00chance to feelmichelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-78128247151901015682013-08-30T03:16:00.001-07:002013-08-30T03:16:48.733-07:00mommer and diddy<div style="text-align: center;">
"Grandchildren are the crowning glory of the aged; parents are the pride of their children."</div>
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Proverbs 17:6</div>
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Last night my parents attended the USCvsNC football game in Williams Brice. I texted to be sure they were safe in that lightning and they replied, "Girl, we are in our hotel in the bed!" A picture was attached of my parents snuggled up and grinning like they didn't have sense. I don't know why, but I couldn't stop looking at it. It's funny how life does that to you sometimes. You have a moment and something allows you to see an entire lifetime all at once: a picture, a song, a smell...and tears are flowing before you can fully grasp it all coming in. </div>
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I could see their whole life in that sweet picture. And I couldn't help but think, they've done it. <br />well, they've almost done it--they have finished strong. Now my goodness, I hope they live another 50 years, but I am old enough to realize how short this life is. And I cherish my parents. I hope y'all aren't tired of hearing about it. </div>
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so, i'll try to be obsure, i'll try not to tell too much, but when i prayed this morning, i wrote a short letter to those two birds. about the 35 years that i saw in that picture...</div>
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stan and gail, </div>
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Mid-50s. Practically a lifetime lived together. My initial thoughts were all that has been difficult...the hurtful words said in anger, the heartache endured. the same as any family. first precious years. <br />early 20s. a baby. your baby. terminally ill. for years. i can't imagine the strain that put on your marriage now that i have a marriage of my own. raising two little girls. now that i share two little girls. whew. <br />30s. a heart attack. angioplasty. crazy nights at the dinner table. laughter... spankings. many well-deserved spankings. "the talk" before the spankings. defiance. disreguard. dirsrespect. disobedience. which brings me to the teenage years. teenage girls. i'll say it again: whew. tears. fits. living room theatrics. slamming doors. oh, the drama of it all. a car accident. boys. dates. proms. and then probably the most difficult years of all. <br />40s. college. hurt. open heart surgery. twice. unfortunately, i could go on and on about the pain we've endured, as i am sure many other families have, too. but i applaud you. you've stayed. together. </div>
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and i know why. because you have taught us why. over and over again. </div>
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"He that is in us, is greater than He that is in the world."</div>
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"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart."</div>
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"I discipline you becuase I love you, because in His own way, in tougher ways, God disciplines me and He will discipline you." </div>
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"We forgive each other, as many times as we have to, because He forgives us." </div>
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and so much more. </div>
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so that verse up at the top is right, i am proud. PROUD OF YOU. so, don't let me down now. finish all the way strong. together with Him and with each other. i know you will and i know that your greatest years are only ahead of you.</div>
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love, </div>
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your very healthy, God-fearing, big baby girl </div>
michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-19176638468646406282013-07-20T06:39:00.002-07:002013-07-20T06:39:54.844-07:00i think i have a problem...a pinterest problem. before i married my husband one day he asked me, <br />
"do you REALLY love me? (yes. SO much.) <br />
do you love me more than Zeva? (of course.) <br />
do you love me more than feather? (that's a completely different kind of love.) <br />
do you love me more than pinterest? (does that mean i have to give up pinterest?) <br />
<br />
i love pinterest more than any living thing should love any non-living thing.<br />
<br />
how do i know i have a problem? <br />
<ul>
<li>before i go to bed i pin a lil. </li>
<li>i wake up and wonder if anyone pinned anything i need to know about. </li>
<li>i set time limits for pinning...and (head hung in shame) i ALWAYS exceed those time limits. </li>
<li>lately i've discovered all of the music classroom pins available, so the new even better justification for pinning is professional development! that means when someone asks me i can say "please leave me be, i'm doing this for work." </li>
</ul>
i do, however, have some helpful pinning advice that all fellow pinner "addicts" might appreciate. <br />
<ul>
<li>waste the time to click every link. why? </li>
<ul>
<li>some of them aren't even there. </li>
<li>some that are there are are just a picture. no info. </li>
<li>just because it says "in the budget" doesn't mean it's in YOUR budget. </li>
<li>clothes and shoes for your "dream closet" can be especially expensive. not what i would ever pay. the fashion world has flipped their gourd. </li>
</ul>
<li>blogs are best. </li>
<ul>
<li>decorator blogs with one picture of a room you love are usually filled with other rooms you will love. </li>
<li>how to dress blogs are better than the pictures of just one outfit. and they usually share where every piece came from and about how much it cost them. </li>
<li>DIY blogs are awesome and (back to point number one, DIY has MANY different meaning. i could NEVER diy some of the things that other birds diy. just fyi.) </li>
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<li>change the description for YOU. </li>
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<li>how many times have you gone back through your own pins and thought, "why in the world did i pin this?" i have. </li>
<li>delete what they wrote and change the food description from "my family LOVED this" to "i should TRY this." i even have two food boards. one to try "whoa, yum?"and one that was successful "tried and true to my tastebuds"! </li>
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<li>clean it up. </li>
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<li>i spent a saturday recently looking through my pins. it prompted me to do two things:</li>
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<li>create new boards: i had so many home decor pins that i needed individual rooms and the aforementioned before and after food boards. (but careful--don't REPIN, just EDIT. that way they won't show up and tell on your reorganizing.) </li>
<li>delete. delete. delete. now that i know there are endless supplies of things, i am deleting outfits i would never truly be brave enough to wear, deleting recipes that have no ingredients my husband would love and deleting home decor because i liked one pillow on the bed that i will not take the time to track down or copy.</li>
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for now, that is all. <br /><br />
i have pinning to attend to! <br />
michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-91021116950986156582013-07-19T08:45:00.000-07:002013-07-19T09:03:13.791-07:00growing up, growing larger, growing old...i had a wonderful week at the beach with my parents. we laughed and talked about all sorts of things. i've always thought that my daddy was funny, the life of the party! but i realized this week that my sharp, intelligent wit comes directly from my mother.<br />
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with the pattern of the tide we drug our chairs in and out each day in order to stay at the "edge of the water." in between these relocations she had quite the witty knowledge to impart... about growing up, growing larger, and growing old. <br />
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here are my top 5 of her words of wisdom: <br />
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1. it is evident that some people are just seeing themselves for the first time down here. why do they feel the need to BEGIN an exercise regimen at the beach??<br />
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2. if your belly ring disappers when you sit down, you probably don't need one. (if you have a belly, nor should you wear a belly "shirt"). <br />
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3. check out that skinny bird. she looks about my age and she doesn't really look better than a bigger one. after 50 it all REALLY falls down. it doesn't matter much if you're thick or stick--old is old. <br />
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4. tattoos, tattoos everywhere. <br />
the old tattoos give us a scare. <br />
so young girls, i give this advice. <br />
before you tattoo, think it twice: <br />
how will this tattoo appear<br />
as age wears on, year after year? <br />
that thing will stretch and fade and fall. <br />
and won't look today's--at all. <br />
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5. between the internet and high school reunions, i have decided that i do not want to look like a duckbilled platypus or the joker. i'll stay away from those injections and out from under the knife. it will be enough for me and your daddy to grow old gracefully as the good Lord intended. <br />
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for more of gail's insight, stay tuned. michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-32665701833012173432013-07-12T13:13:00.000-07:002013-07-12T15:05:02.369-07:00your momma knows more than you think she doesLast week I was cleaning (and dancing "too big") to one of my FAVORITE artists, Usher. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit that, since the rest of this post is about faith in Jesus. While I'm blurting out the lyrics to "There Goes my Baby" I stop dramatically, drop the broom and put both hands out to the side to sing the bridge with feeling: <br />
"and it feels just like it's the first time every time we get together<br />
lovin you feels better tha-n, anything, everything, <br />
with all my heart, you don't need a ring"--WHAT? <br />
I stopped singing and thought, "Did he just say that?" I know I'm going to sound 70 years old at my ripe 33 but i genuinely thought, " This is what is wrong with the world. With young girls. I should know, because for years it was wrong was wrong with me." <br />
now, I'll admit that i overthink EVERYTHING (just ask my husband--or better yet my mother), so I overthunk this. You don't need a ring. He is actually saying that he loves her so much that he doesn't even have to prove it to her. That is absolutely ridiculous, for that is exactly what a man SHOULD do. prove it. But I kept singing (& dancing), and didn't think too much else about it. until...<br />
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A few days later, while pinning (the thing I love to do even more than cleaning) and I saw a picture that said this: <br />
Chivalry isn't dead, it just followed wherever being ladylike went. <br />
Yup. Girls are doing the proving these days. I wondered more specifically, "What are my girls going through? What are they having to deal with at school?" "What are their fears? I know how bad it was when i went to school, i can only imagine..." <br />
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Then yesterday, the straw that broke the camel's back was a tv show. a lifetime movie actually (wow, apparently this is also guilty pleasure's confession hour for me...) This movie had another focus but I kept noticing how it communicated that girls need to take the initiative in relationships. WRONG again.<br />
<br />
So, let's look at one of the greatest romances in the bible, Boaz and Ruth. I'll be quick to the point (finish rapping it and we'll move on together...): <br />
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1. Men like a challenge, not a sure, desperate female. <br />
Ruth didn't go after the man, she just put herself in front of him so that he could see her, and he did. Be noticible, and be yourself, but don't be obvious. (Ruth 2:1-3)<br />
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2. The RIGHT man is worth waiting for.<br />
There are only a few verses here so it seems like this was whirlwind romance: Ruth worked in the fields, Boaz spoke to her the first day and they were untited in love by Friday of that week. That was NOT how it went. Read closely, Ruth 2:23. That means she worked in those fields. Worked. For months. She probably didn't even see Boaz some days. She lived life and didn't FOCUS on the man. These verses are not about how God comforted her as she cried out to him at night to PLEASE let Boaz just look at her and smile the next day so that she knows that he knows... (you know you've thought it....) I had a huge problem with this growing up. I prayed for my husband to come. Which is great, but not if it's your FOCUS. Pray for your relationship with Jesus.<br />
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3. Your momma knows more than you think she does. <br />
Ruth took the advice of an older, and wiser, woman. How many times do we ask our friends what they think? How can they possibly have any more insight than we do--they're OUR age. Ask your momma, ask your grandma, ask someone grown at church that you trust. God will direct them to give the answer you need--even if it's not the answer you want. (Ruth 3:1-5) <br />
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4. Boaz PROVED that he could take care of her. Men of God are made to provide. How did he prove it? </div>
<ul>
<li>Instead of making more money for himself, Boaz gave her the best of what he had to offer (Ruth 2:8-9)</li>
<li>Instead of having them over to showboat, Boaz sent more than they needed home with her (Ruth 2:15)</li>
<li>Boaz watched her actions and learned that she wasn't after his money, she wanted a life with him (Ruth 2:10)</li>
<li>Instead of bragging to his friends about something that didn't even happen, Boaz protected her good reputation (Ruth 3:11-13)</li>
<li>Instead of giving up or making the girl feel like she had a choice to make, Boaz was willing to do difficult things to have Ruth as his wife. This one really blows my mind: Boaz told Ruth that he would marry her and that when she became pregnant they could give the child her dead's husband's last name instead of their own, so that particular family line could continue. Now that's giving. Men will do whatever noble thing needs to be done to have the wife they want. (Ruth 4:7-10) </li>
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So... I hate it for you, usher raymond, you've got it all wrong. We DO need a man to prove it. If you can't, if you won't and you'll just walk away, we better let you walk. We better not be fooled by your games. We better ask our momma what she thinks of you. We better wait on a good one. We better work hard ourselves. And we better focus on the only man we really need, Jesus. michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-64506324282050620212013-03-26T19:16:00.001-07:002013-07-12T15:10:47.998-07:00just an ordinary day...During the normal time that our kindergarten team has related arts, <br />
I had a planning time today. <br />
During this time there was a quiet knock on my door. <br />
<br />
"Come in!"<br />
Emerges: boy. kindergarten. 5 years old. grinning from ear to ear and with blonde bed head to boot. <br />
(I wish I had taken his picture because I am certain it would make this conversation eeeeven better. <br />
Perhaps I'll email his mother to see if that can be arranged.) <br />
"Hey!" he realizes, "You don't even gots no kids!" <br />
"you're right, i don't."<br />
"and whyyyyy not?" <br />
"well...(knowing i shouldn't bother, but trying to sieze the opportunity to impart some mathematical wisdom) how many kindergartens are there?" <br />
"huh?" <br />
"ma'am?" <br />
"ma'am"<br />
"count them: mrs. tyner..and..."<br />
"oh, um......3!" <br />
"yep, and there are 5 related arts."<br />
(Complete with visual using our hands.) <br />
"well, okay, " he admits, "i still don't get it." (it was worth a shot.) <br />
"that's alright." <br />
"hey! (random.) look at you up there gettin a kiss on your face! aw....you love him, don't you?" (referring to this year's christmas card on the wall above my desk.)<br />
"yes friend, i do. but, why are you here?" (let's cut to the chase and are you just killing time or did someone send you? you never know...)<br />
"ma'am?" <br />
"are you in art today? did you go to the bathroom?" (if you are a teacher you will understand the logic in these questions...art is across the hall and the bathroom could be a free pass to visit--oh, say-- ANYWHERE, a little before you return to class. especially if you were quick, you know, didn't waste time with that nonesense of hand washing. not that he did that, just sayin...)<br />
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"no, i ain't been. i might gotta go..." (hm....considering. whoops, now i've put the thought there.) <br />
"focus-are you in art, friend?" <br />
"no, PE." (far away, other end of school....5 year old...now i'm a slight concerned) <br />
"dear, why are you here, for real?" <br />
"check your email." <br />
"wha-?" <br />
"yeah, check your email. coach said, 'check your email!'" he proudly exclaims! <br />
"i will. thank you, thank you very much." <br />
"ok." (standing there, adorable, grinning. but.....not leaving. for you see, when you are 5, you must be told when a conversation is naturally over.)<br />
"is that all u need, just 'check my email'?"<br />
"yep." <br />
"okay, you can go back to coach in pe now." <br />
"oh, okay." <br />
walks away. sheepishly. looks back to grin one more time as he closes my door. <br />
what a bird. <br />
hilarious. <br />
welcome to my world.....michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-88785533251639656562012-10-24T18:57:00.000-07:002012-12-31T11:41:34.203-08:00the three of us are gathered here today...i didn't want a big "to do." chuck had spent the past few weeks making sure that i didn't and i'm grateful he cares enough to be sure, but i genuinely didn't. i didn't want to spend the money nor the planning time. so...<br />
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i left work at 12:15pm on my wedding day.<br />
i went home, chuck was asleep on the couch. knocked OUT.<br />
i took my time getting ready. he did too.<br />
we laughed about what to wear.<br />
mr: "baby, you're not gonna like WAY dress up are you?"<br />
mrs: "no sir"<br />
mr: "whew. that would just be too over the top, don't you think?"<br />
mrs. "yes. fo sho."<br />
i laughed to myself at how relieved he was. i guess miss big hair and 4 inch heels could have been percieved as liking to make a big deal - i really didn't want to. <br />
as i donned my favorite nine west sandals, "i gotta wear heels. i hate it for ya, handsome. i gotta."<br />
he just laughed and shook his head.<br />
dang, he looks good. he IS handsome. so much more, but i was focused on the handsome part.<br />
i took his picture. <br />
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we were ready. dressed for a friday night date night out, not our wedding. <br />
it was almost like we weren't doing anything at all.<br />
but there was an underlying feeling of not talking about it so that we wouldn't freak ourselves out.<br />
i kept being all giddy and repeating "we're doing this! we're really getting married!"<br />
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<br />
we drove to the courthouse and the same secretary-esque lady who let us apply for the license took our forms and $20 cash.<br />
we sat in the "mauve thrown up everywhere" waiting room. it was hear a pin drop silent. we giggled a lot. smiled real big at each other. it was like a dream. <br />
all we could hear in the background was her on the typewriter filling in our boxes...<br />
a few minutes later she popped up with a folder and said, "ok, y'all follow me."<br />
i realized walking down that hallway that i had absolutely no idea what to expect. <br />
(would this even be like a real wedding? where are we going? what is she going to say?)<br />
we walked down a short hallway, passed a fella raising his voice to his lawyer, a group of three men (judges?) standing together and then she interrupted the questions firing off in my mind with, "y'all come in here." <br />
we went into a room that was a conference room. for a split second i thought, "really?" i don't know what i expected, i had no expectation, but this wasn't it. it looked like a slightly better version of our current conference room at work. "aw, someone left thier bouquet!" she exclaimed. "look, i don't remember who it was. what was their name?" she was thinking out loud and sure enough, there was a plastic-ish bouquet on the bookshelf at the back. it dawned on me that people probably do some ridiclulous stuff in this room with her. people who have chosen not to have a wedding try to have a $20 wedding in this conference room. <br />
chuck and i just stood around not knowing what to do, where to stand. we had rings. i still didn't even know if she would say regular wedding stuff. i walked forward like i knew what to do. i like to pretend that i ALWAYS know what to do next, even (especially) when i don't. <br />
"where do we go?" chuck asked me "i dunno." i whispered. i didn't want HER to know i didn't know.<br />
"i usually marry people over here in the corner. come right here. and face each other. hold hands, now. how do you say this name, fawsee?"<br />
she practiced, got it right and said our given names, christen and jason, and i didn't even think to correct her.<br />
"y'all ready?"<br />
we nod.<br />
"do you have rings?"<br />
i hand them over.<br />
"oh good. okay, here we go..."<br />
<br />
then it happened. it hit us both. while we stood in a conference room in the anderson county courthouse...we looked into each others' eyes and realized fully what we were doing. and that it was exactly what we wanted. <br />
<br />
"the three of us are gathered here today to marry jason faasse and christen campbell."<br />
(three of us?! hilarious. jason and christen? or chuck and chrissy...ok, chrissy, focus.) <br />
do you, jason, take christen, to be your wife? do you promise to love her and be faithful to her for as long as you both shall live?"<br />
"i do."<br />
"and do you, christen, take jason, to be your husband? do you promise to love him and be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"<br />
"i do" (and i choked up.)<br />
i honestly can't remember what other vows were said, at least not exactly, i'm confident that "with this ring..." was in there somewhere. but as we said whatever those words were, i tried not to cry because i wanted to appear strong and sure, but i couldn't help it. standing there looking at the man God gave to me, i knew that however i said them wouldn't compare to how deeply they were rooted truthfully inside of me, but i wanted to try. i've never wanted anything on earth and been sure of anything like i am this man. this life.<br />
and while i looked at him, when he said them to me, in his quiet special way, i saw him fight back tears, too. and i knew, all over again, that he meant those words like i did. two people, with a lifetime of pain, who only want to make whatever time God blesses us with rich, full of Him, full of each other, full of LOVE, encouragement, forgiveness, trust, and just. plain. fun.<br />
she even said, "you may kiss the bride" and he did! and that was it.<br />
we thanked her and she shared that her son was getting married this year and she was having a hard time not being emotional and we were sweet. after that whole bouquet dabocle i had to comment, "boy, i'll bet people do some STUFF in this room." "oh yeah, absolutely." and she said a few other things...<br />
we walked out, hand in hand, grinning from ear to ear. <br />
and was so surreal.<br />
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we went to olive garden, simply bc we were starving and had recently seen an olive garden commercial. So we had been craving it ever since. then we went to walmart. </div>
walmart.<br />
walmart on my wedding day. <br />
(but i needed CDs for chorus!)<br />
and then, we went home, together, as husband and wife. mr. & mrs.<br />
what God has joined together, let no man put asunder. AMEN! <br />
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michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-55576573609856728492012-06-03T13:43:00.002-07:002014-06-15T06:16:24.538-07:00why wait.A preface for regular readers...
I emailed this story to a close friend recently and I realized that I wished that Gwen could've read my blog about herself. I know it was a part of my healing, but oh how I hope she knew just how much she meant to me.
And while both of my parents are a blessing, this story happens to be about my daddy. (girls and their daddies, the only thing worse is a momma's boy...hee hee hee.)
I want my daddy to know how I feel while he is still here...
Our story begins in 1979 (insert hippie theme song).
when my parents found out they were expecting, my father was so proud to think of having a son... he began to think of what he would name the one to carry on the campbells.
i was born, and my mother said something to the tune of, "well, it's a girl. u didn't think of any girl names, so you better think of some now." So, Christen Michelle was named from Suzanne Somer's Three's Company character, Chrissy Snow and the hit "Michelle" from the lesser well-known Beatles album Rubber Soul.
This is where our story gets a little complicated...
When I was born my small intestine was completely blocked, in masses, in several diff't places. In anderson they removed 3/4 of it... If i remember correctly, I went from born @ over 8lbs to 4lbs, in just weeks. They told my parents there was a great chance I wouldn't live. They moved me to Charleston. My mother, who was 20 at the time(wow) in a house with other mothers of ill children. My 21 year-old father swung shifts at Michelin and came as often as he could. When I think of being 32 today, I can't even imagine how their young hearts must have ached....
Over the next year I had 8 major operations & several minor procedures. They took the 1/4 of small intestine I had remaining, split it all the way down, lengthwise, (like cutting a hot dog weenie in half, except it's tubal) sewed those over to make two smaller tubes and then reattached them. So I have half the length and half the diameter of the average bear... I went home 4 days before my first birthday, for the first time. ever. My poor parents. The first everything (Easter, mothers day, fathers day, halloween, thanksgiving, Christmas) were spent in 9-D in charleston. They have often retold weeping all the 4 hours home, away from me, to spend Christmas with our family.
And now, the best part of this story...
Last week in sunday school my daddy explained how God completely changed his life with my illness. Its a story I've heard many times. And because it is so special, i could never hear it enough..
My dad prayed to receive Christ as a child & meant it. But lived like many Christian teenagers, half-heartedly, haphazardly. Then, one afternoon when he was there at the hospital, an intern was trying to start a new IV. He couldn't hold me still and get it. So he said, "hey, daddy, hold her."
"me?"
"yes, sir"
He said that while he held me down, firmly still, I looked up at him, asking him, "Why? Why daddy are you letting them do this to me?" He started to cry telling the story and couldn't look at me because he said I had the same big eyes that pleaded with him all those years ago. And that 21 year old half hearted believer heard God speak clearly, "that's how my Son looked at me, when He died for you." while that dr finished his work, Stan prayed begging God to spare me and promising Him that he would always live for Him and give me up to Him. No matter what. And he meant it.
While that story is heart wrenching, the very best part is that He has done it.
Always. Ever since. My entire life. What a blessing he is. He kept his promise. While he is on a pedestal, as an adult I have learned that my father is no saint, he has a temper; is quiet with his thoughts; emotions, almost to a fault. But he has fought the good fight and will finish the race. He has studied God's word daily my entire life, he made difficult decisions to love us with christ's love, to protect us from all sin that he could, he prayed over us & aloud with us. Many have told him, or us, that he was being too hard on us, but he wasn't. He was being obedient based on what he read. And he didn't back down, even when I was a smart aleck 14 year old, an over dramatic 16 year old, and a disobedient 18 year old. Our family has experienced some painful loss & never during the major trials of our life, did he turn his back on God. I did. As an adult. After my marriage failed, I walked away from God. I pretended like I didn't, but my heart was far from Him. How easy would it have been for my daddy to feel justified in thinking God let me go, so was his promise in vain? But he never did. What a testimony. I know he has influenced me & my sister, my brother in law, some of the men who suffered through the process of going out with me, people that he works with, and probably most of all, our wonderful Sunday school class. It is a joy to sit under him because he has never wavered in living what he teaches. he has even apologized any time he realized he taught them in error.
All too often we tell these stories to memorialize a believer. So today I'm going to tell this one so he can read it himself and know what his life has meant to me.
Thank you, Daddy, for every penny earned & spent on me, all the prayers I will never even know about, for being the kind of husband I now will settle for no less than, and most of all I thank you for-your life.michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-10205760353247100272012-04-06T06:45:00.003-07:002012-04-06T06:45:57.870-07:00this ain't no winniemy life has been changed. <br />
<br />
i don't mean to make light of it or to compare it to anything that has truly changed my life. but my mother and sister love Ree Drummond, the Pioneer woman. If you don't also love her, you will after this post. she is hilarious. <br />
<br />
back in december she posted, that i'll link at the bottom of this, and we thought-is it true? could it be? <br />
<br />
what am i referring to? women, brace yourself. this ain't no winnie. it's poo. the real kind. without telling too much, i'll just say that you all need to order this product. yesterday. <br />
<br />
you spray it in the toilet BEFORE you make the magic happen. you make said magic happen. you flush. all that is left is this nice, calm, sweet and floral scent. oh. my. word. i'm serious. <br />
<br />
i've always wondered why some people thought their stuff didn't stink--perhaps this is WHY!! <br />
<br />
(denise--you're welcome. washington just became sweeter for both of us! hee hee.) <br />
<br />
to my friends, i'm sorry that it took me this long. (aka forest fran kelly and renee...) <br />
<br />
check it out. my personal favorite is affectionately named "Crap Shooter." you're welcome. <br />
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here is what ree had to say: <br /><a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/homeandgarden/2011/12/i-apologize-in-advance/">http://thepioneerwoman.com/homeandgarden/2011/12/i-apologize-in-advance/</a><br />
<br />
here is where you order: <br />
<a href="http://poopourri.com/">http://poopourri.com/</a><br />michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-11366798105642443312012-03-11T13:19:00.003-07:002012-03-11T13:50:37.511-07:00in His imagemost monday nights i meet with an amazing group of teenage girls. this is what we're going to discuss this week...<br /><br />What is your favorite love story? think about it for just a few minutes. what's the best part? how much does he love her? does he rescue her? steal her away from someone who doesn't deserve her? women can just think about these for a minute and smile, and swoon and maybe even want to cry...<br /><br />God has written us the greatest love story of all.<br />let's start at the very beginning. a very good place to start... Genesis 1:27 tells us that we, men & women, were created in His image. Why was woman created, anyway? Eve was the last thing that God made. Was she an after-thought..? After all, God & Adam seemed to be having a pretty good thing going there. Things seemed perfect. But God is all knowing, and Genesis 2:18 says that "it was not good for man to be alone." God knew, that men NEEDED women. Wow...<br />what is the most beautiful place, most beautiful thing you've ever seen? the beach, the mountains, a butterfly... God made all of that, and yet something was missing. a woman.<br />women are relational to their very core. how do women most often define themselves, introduce themselves? i am thier daughter, her sister, thier friend, her best friend... and much more.<br /><br />so, if we are made in His image and we are relational, then God is too. God is not a man. I have grown up believing that God was male. Not because anyone told me that, not to anyone's fault at all, but God has been presented to me in a way that focused on His strength and power and might. it made me think at the very least i have felt that God is at least MORE man than He is woman. but He is not. man nor woman. just as God is strong like a man, i firmly believe, that God loves like women love. That is the gift of "His image" that He gave to us. Yes, Jesus loves me, for the bible tells me so: in psalm 24:5, luke 12:21, 1john 1:9,romans 5:11 and so many more. these clearly show us that our most important relationship of all is with Him.<br />the entire bible is a beautiful story of God's unconditional love for us. He made a way for us to have a relationship with Him, even though we don't deserve it, through the death burial and resurrection of His Son, Jesus Christ. Women, think about how badly you wanted a boyfriend, wanted a husband, longed for children (or still do...) The whole bible exists to tell you that God wants a loyal & loving relationship with you more than you want one from any man. Wrap your mind around that.<br />God loves you more than your daddy.<br />God loves you more than your momma.<br />God loves you more than your best friend.<br />God will always love you and want a relationship with you even more than your own husband and children.<br />When I take the time to really think about that, it is almost unbelievable.<br /><br />The bible is clear that God wants us to want Him, more than we want anything else. But we don't... We continue to do our own thing and wonder, "why....?" Mark 12:29-30 or Matthew 22:36-38 tell us the greatest commandment in all of the bible is to love Him. and in Jeremiah 31:3, even though we don't deserve it, He promises that He will love us with an everlasting love.<br /><br />What does every woman you know want more than anything else? True Love. Its why we read love stories and watch love stories. Why we cry when they finally get together in the end. why, because we want that kind of love.<br /><br />And He stands right here, every day, to give it us.michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-63119314293836089832012-03-04T19:41:00.006-08:002013-01-01T09:50:59.457-08:00because it's funnierbefore i begin today's tale of woe, i would like to publicly apologize to my mother. i have thought i wouldn't write this story, partly because she raised me to be a lady. and i like to think, overall, that she did a wonderful job. but this lil diddy is pure & simple bathroom humor. why? because the things that people DON'T like to talk about are WAY funnier than the norm. so, here goes nothin.<br />
<br />
this past saturday we had a beautiful concert at our local high school. before it began, i went in to the restroom. i giggled and shook my head because i remembered what happened the last time i was in there...<br />
picture it. it was christmastime. excitement was in the air. the evening of the 5th grade play. the kids were so excited. everyone was looking forward to the break and time with family. kids were nervously excited. i was so happy to have on a new outfit. (oh, wait-dear frequenters of this blog, i really don't shop that much, but now i'm remembering a pig-wranglin' outfit...) but anyway, this beautiful shrimp colored twin set had matching jewelry: a long, trendy necklace and "ear-bobs." the outfit notes will be important later, hold the phone.<br />
i can't remember why exactly, but my stomach wasn't feeling its finest (sorry, again, but i'm in this far-i'm obligated.) so, the need to go to the restroom was getting greater while i was making my third trip in from the car carrying a microphone stand, the programs, and the Boomwhackers in a large bucket. the need to "go" got so bad, in fact, that i realized i had begun to sweat (you know the feeling, the gotta go now but can't go yet feeling. ugh i can feel it now just describing it, it's oddly a lot like having a fever when you're really, really sick...) i dropped the large bucket outside the door and bolted in.<br />
i sat...<br />
i began...<br />
i breathed out...<br />
i noticed mud on my high heel...<br />
i leaned over to wipe it off...<br />
as i did, the next events all happened so fast that i hope you will read the next sentences as fast as you can, for that is how it was. ready? GO!<br />
<br />
my keys, which were in my lap, slid off into the bowl, automatic flush activated. i panicked. i screamed out loud, "CRAP!" (no pun intended at ALL) without hesitation i spun around, shoved my right hand into the bowl, reaching for my keys and catching the very end of my honda key. i held on for dear life while the automatic flusher worked against me, ooooooh! i was gonna lose 'em, i just knew it. i would have to find a ride home, and those keys with the lock things on them are like $100, right? or more? and it's almost christmas.... that thing felt as if it would NEVER stop flushing. finally, i jerked my keys free, straight up into the air, shook them off and...<br />
(slowly......) it was then that i realized that my brand new cashmere twin sweater sleeve was soaked in poo-infested h2O and that the long trendy necklace, now bouncing again on my upper stomach was also covered in and sprinkling me with, yup...crap water. p-yuck.<br />
how the Lord let me get through this whole ordeal without a soul entering that restroom i'll never know, but i am truly grateful. still shaking from the nerves of almost losing my keys, i got it together, rinsed off my sleeve, removed and rinsed off my necklace. i dried everything as best i could, i looked at myself in the mirror, shook my hair a little as if to shake the whole experience off of me, held my head high and walked out of the restoom, picked up the huge bucket, and starting saying "hello" to the families and friends...who will be the north pole star? hee hee...michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-57311979245555191402012-02-25T06:18:00.012-08:002012-03-04T19:22:44.021-08:002:20 for 77<em>Gwendolyn Anne Shirley Campbell</em> met her Lord and Savior this past Thursday night. Gwen was my grandmother. I could probably write a novel about all that I know about her life, and perhaps one day I will, but today I must celebrate a few major points.<br /><br /><strong><em>Gwen was spirited.</em></strong> She would do anything, especially for her grandchildren. When my sister and I were young we spent almost every friday night with her and pudgy. They would rearrange and roll over furniture, create makeshift costumes, cook anything we wanted, and we laughed. We laughed SO much. We laughed loud and hard, more than anything else. Those memories make me cry hard now, with joy. What wonderful times...<br /><br /><em><strong>Gwen was loyal and strong.</strong></em> Those memories of pudgy and gwen together, are few...for the love of her life died when I was 9 years old. Suddenly. It the first time I saw my daddy weep. It was a difficult time for our family. And this past Thursday night she was still wearing his rings. For 23 years we asked her if she was lonely, for 23 years men asked her out in vain, and for 23 years she gave us all the same answer with a twinkle in her eye, "He was the only one for me." What a testament to love... I think it's beautiful. I am no fool. I know that their love wasn't perfect, no earthly love is. But I have the capacity to love that way, and I'm grateful. I like to think that I got it from her. I hope that God gives me someone to be devoted to for a lifetime. She proved to me the value and fulfillment of such a love.<br /><br /><strong><em>Gwen was unapologetically, appropriately, a disciplinarian.</em></strong> I hope that Ethan doesn't mind, because his famous story is the best example of this one. Ethan is her 4th grandchild, the first boy. She kept him and his sister. One day, when he was elementary age, Gwen happened upon him hiding under her breakfast nook table pretending to smoke a cigarette. (No one in our family even smokes, he just is too much like me, and has moments of wild hairs he has to get out...) She placed one hand on the table, leaned down to look under at him and said, "Ethan, God can see you under there." His reponse is our family joke, "I ain't hiding from God, Gwen, I'm hiding from you!" HA! He was more afraid of her! He knew what we all knew-she expected our best. Our best for her and our best ultimately for our Lord, because of Jesus' sacrifice for us. She told us, she taught us, she lived it...and now we are all who we are, because of it. What a heritage.<br /><br /><strong><em>Gwen was loving.</em></strong> She loved her family. NO MATTER WHAT. She was the kind of matriarch that had a way of making each one of us feel special. She was short and small framed, but she held us, in her lap, regardless of our age (or our size!). It brought her so much joy to see us together: around the table every sunday, in the pool all summer long, at the foot of the tree each Christmas.... And the more the merrier. She was the kind of woman who would add another plate at the very last minute, who insisted there was always plenty of food, and would sit at the kid table so that our guest could sit at the "big table." I can see her sitting with us now, laughing, looking around. Proud as a peacock just to have us all together. Family was her life. She respected and even encouraged the differences in our personality, and she loved us all the same amount. And we all knew it. I knew it personally. She has listened to me for 10 years. I know I talk to much, but she never, once, looked irritated or annoyed. I know I repeated myself, but she just listened and let me. Supported me when no one else was. When I didn't deserve it. Treated me the same even when I was making blatant, horrible life choices. Telling me that everything, somehow, would be okay, even if it might not. If I knew anything, I knew love.<br />Even in her last days, her concern was not for herself, but for us. We each were blessed to have time alone with her, next to her. She said things to make sure that we were okay with what was happening... and every time we left her again, she said, "i love you. i love you SO much."<br /><br /><strong><em>Gwen was faithful.</em></strong> I will never, as long as I live, forget the evidence of her faith in her last days. The day in the hospital we had a wonderful time with her. She talked aloud to God in front of us. "Thank you for my life, Lord. I'm so blessed." She thanked him for her husband, for her children, for her wonderful family and she said, “I’m ready, Lord, I’m ready!” then she burst into song, “Praise ye the Lord, Halellujah! I’m singing y’all, I’m singing to my Lord!” which was a hoot, frankly, because even though she raised a room full of musicians, she couldn't carry a tune. The night before she died she told my daddy, "Hallelujah. All my children say Hallelujah!"<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Galatians 2:20</em> says it best...The life she lived in her body, she lived by faith in the Son of God,<a name="3"></a><a id="3" title="S Mt 4:3" href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/galatians/2-20.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-3" jquery1330183450273="31"></a> who loved her<a name="4"></a><a id="4" title="S Ro 8:37" href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/galatians/2-20.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-4" jquery1330183450273="32"></a> and gave himself for her.</div><br />Praise His Name!michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-63806474997501472612012-01-12T03:22:00.000-08:002012-01-12T03:59:57.378-08:00SOCK IT TO ME!i am so borderline ocd. genuinely what some call anal-retentive. my clothes are in color order in my closet (sleeveless, short sleeve, then long sleeve...), everything in a drawer is folded neatly, or stacked neatly...you get the drift. my daddy joking says that nobobdy has folded his "drawers" right since I left home. (hee hee hee, and if you don't know what "drawers" are, you "ain't from around here.")<br />back to the story--last night when i got in the bed i was FREEZING and although i hate to wear socks in the bed, i knew i was going to have to start off with them...<br /><br />so, in the dark, i reached for the first two white socks and put them on (i don't roll my socks up together because i don't want the stretchy to stretch out, another ridiculous habit...) i wiggled my toes, smiled, scooted back down in the bed and fell asleep...none the wiser........<br /><br />i woke up, let the dogs out and while i was sweeping the kitchen, i looked down for the first time. there they were. two different socks. both white, mind you, but 1 nike dri-fit sock and 1 cheap hanes sock. the nike dri-fit squeezes your feet for comfort. HOW DID I NOT KNOW?!?!<br />(picture coming soon)<br /><br />i couldn't believe it. perhaps there is a small lesson here for me to learn.<br /><br />i gotta get ready for work!michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-1250923669628927022011-12-30T06:55:00.000-08:002011-12-30T07:33:03.328-08:00wee wee wee, all the way home<div align="left">i'm a complex woman. (how's that for a loaded sentence, i can just hear the men laughing.)<br /><br />i can, and prefer to, do a lot of things for myself that i could let a man do--change my own tire, cut my own grass, and...sheetrock. i possess a strength that sometimes surprises even me.<br />however...i am sensitive in a way that is completely out of character for this outer strength i display. in short, i am a big ole cryin' baby. which brings me to today's tale:<br /><br />recently, i was spending time with my favorite person on earth. i knew that i was going to "pick up a pig" in a cattle trailer, but i dressed nice anyway. (i hadn't dressed nice in 2 days due to my vacation from work. you women are nodding who like to get gussied up...& i like for my man to like what he sees, which is also helped by the "nice" outfit.) back to the story.....i'm in an old pick-up truck with a large cattle trailer on the back. gussied up, comfortably between my only sunshine and his first cousin.<br /><br />we rode a lil ways, laughin & talkin. and then we pulled up to a farm where a very large pig was sitting in another cattle trailer. as we approached i could feel my insides gettin worked up. there he was. "wilbur." my chest got tight. i started breathing heavier. "some pig." i could feel the tears stinging behind my eyes, just wanting to be free. "don't do it" i told myself. i wanted to do that hard cry that i mentioned before in a certain post about bustin my tail at the farm bureau insurance office. but this time i felt for him, not for me. an even worse cry. as i watched that handsome, tall drink-ah-water tap that pig on the hiney to get him to walk over into our trailer i whispered aloud, "oh my goodness, oh my goodness." and then, with the inner strength that surprises, i said out loud, "get a grip, chrissy. you eat at little pigs barbeque once a week. by yourself. you clean your plate. you smile. you feel satisfied. this is life. the circle of life. stop it." and i did. i sucked it up. just like that.<br /><br />when the boys got back in the truck i said something really dumb and girly in a sad voice like, "aw....we're gonna eat him."<br /><br />they were none the wiser, never included for one split second in my intense inner struggle.<br /><br />and i will, eat wilbur. i'll just try not to think too much about it. </div>michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-71920396662005792772011-10-10T16:20:00.000-07:002011-10-10T17:45:41.034-07:00a short, but true, storyon my way to get my nails filled in after school (sigh...i should really give that up.....)<br />but anyways, on the way there i talked to my mother. i love my mother. the older i get the more i realize she is right (more about that some other day). she was cooking breakfast for supper, and said that she would wait for me but i insisted i would be fine.<br /><br />the guy who did my nails was painstakingly slow, but i wasn't complaining because i had no where to be and meticulous can easily be translated "beautiful nail" (yup, singular. if you've ever been, you know why that's funny.)<br /><br />so...sorry, momma. after all that talk of breakfast, i did wind up at the waffle house.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">all by myself.<br /><br />and it was glorious.<br /><br />on a monday evening. at the high top. just me and the staff and a few other patrons.<br />but the waiter, my waiter, looked like a model. i kid you not. he was the kind of cute that makes women not be able to make words. i coughed when he approached me because i had to in order to wipe the cheesy grin off my face. hilarious. i really felt like a 7th grader. i texted 2 of my friends (one of whom, will not be named, asked me to sneak and take his picture, LOL. what's more, i tried, but i felt horrible and couldn't go through with it.) And everytime he came over to talk to me, i was really in awe that this bird was working in the waffle house.<br /><br />and then, he opened his mouth.<br />again. and again. and again. (boy, sometimes less really IS more, i need to remember that.) while he tried to talk to me for the next 20+ minutes, i figured out WHY he was a waffle house employee. not that it's not a respectable job, i'm just sayin...surprising.<br /><br />but fortunately there was another thing there, from beginning to end, that was all that i dreamed it would be and more...my all star special: 2 eggs scrambled, grits, toast, 3 pieces of bacon and the waffle for "dessert." mmmmm......<br /><br />so i went back to dreaming over my food and the man i really would like to have in my life.<br /><br />the. end.</div>michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-59461288273150617752011-08-07T12:52:00.000-07:002011-08-07T13:33:59.216-07:00my very own steel magnolias<strong>truvy says, "Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it is marchin' across your face."</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638213572481224498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 286px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobmM8ZAysErM-vFZwbxJgCUq0srgjG022esUCU01GK3UriExpy5dnyuIazot6HzkXYYqJY7eEUx78D6-IfCUWI23jNKsC3MSadrybo_MrUba7GG2pzSbtZU_BzZ5lmoRRyDOabYgYIBIl/s320/eyes+closed.bmp" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>i feel like it is marchin across mine some days, but at least i have my own clairee, m'lynn, ouiser, shelby and truvy's to hold my hold while it does...<br /></div><br /><br /><div>recently a close friend of mine experienced a death. her daddy died. i'm close to her and her momma. we were sitting around the table, days after and she remarked, "what do people DO during times like this who don't have a church family...?" i thought about that for a minute. and it's true. God's people do tend to rise up in times of crisis. if you have a church family you know that you have an automatic, guaranteed support system, some vigilant workaholics. and they are sincere in thier desire to minister.<br /></div><br /><div>but i must admit, God gives families in all sorts of ways. i know that those same church people will fly to my aid when my daddy dies, but so will another group of ladies.<br /></div><br /><div>my friends.<br /></div><br /><div>in no particular order, but as soon as they can, i know, i KNOW that my core will come.<br /></div><br /><div>when i watched those church ladies, my friends, i saw <em>you</em> in thier eyes....<br /></div><br /><div><strong>claire and carrie</strong>, making sure that everyone had a place to sit or a napkin under thier drink.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><strong>fran and sarah</strong>, cleaning that kitchen just as hard as they could, washing dishes and mopping the floor. </div></div><br /><br /><div><strong>jo anne and barbara</strong>, collecting money and planning meals for the next week for the family. </div><br /><br /><div><strong>kelly and lisa</strong>, sitting in the living room telling the stories that make us howl with laughter through our tears.<br /><strong><br />ashley and renee</strong>, sitting next to me, in strength not saying a word, just being near.<br /></div><br /><div><strong>kim</strong>, hugging.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>and no doubt, there would be more...</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>thank you, girls. thank you for crying with me now, while i wait for mr. right, and discover, yet again, that wasn't him. thank you for encourging me not to give up on my dreams. thank you for writing me love notes and buying me housewarming gifts and for "hooting and hollering" when i was on that stage as teacher of the year. </div><br /><br /><div>thank you for being steel magnolias kind of friends. </div>michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-41212184973962498812011-06-29T06:46:00.000-07:002011-06-29T07:23:30.297-07:00man! i feel like a womanit's funny being a woman. to say our mind is complex is one of the grossest understatements one could make.<br />and the way we let ourselves worry...what a waste of time.<br />i like to lie to myself and announce to others aloud that i don't worry about things like "other women do." and i don't worry like many of my female family and friends do, but i do worry just plenty. for example...<br />a couple of weeks ago i was at my favorite asian-flavored nail salon getting a pedicure and a fill-in. the lady who sat in front of me asked me how i was doing, how school was going, if i was happy to almost be out for the summer ...and made lots of other small talk. and then it happened. (now keep in mind, i'm a frequent flyer in this establishment.)<br />"would you like eyebrow wax today?"<br />what?! an eyebrow wax!? i've never had my eyebrows waxed. i over-pluck them on my own occasionally and thank you very much. do i need my eyebrows waxed? oh my word, what must they look like for her to ask me that? maybe i DO need my eyebrows waxed....<br />so for what seemed like an hour (which was probably the next 5 minutes, tops) i worried myself to death about my eyebrows and kept non-chalantly trying to look around my suggestive "friend" to see my own reflection in the mirror behind her. it was really to far away for me to do an honest assessment...dang.<br />finally it was time for me to get up and wash my hands. i walked across the room breathing deeply awaiting the close-up view of these monsters...and just as i suspected. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623646793808172482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsDLUKZpMkL8pBxnbecA7luNNp5JKSb7EON79-hZXJaNAhObm0zk_JcwnjK2OCMBF4XWjN_l0etDUZA0WkCVtrN0EtJtOBfyiMIgl5Q0ieuY2pXKuSCGUtN0spDGJD5sk4SBghXw10-3-/s320/eye%255B1%255D.jpg" border="0" /> they were fine. thin and needing a FILL IN themselves at the very least.<br />good grief, charlie brown...all of the things i COULD have been thinking about during that time. should i get an ice cream or not when i leave here? what should wear to church this sunday morning?sometimes i wonder why i even vote... is oprah really retiring if she is going to have that whole network? won't that be more work for her? why couldn't i have been oprah? if i had that much money i would......michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-56725826077183038342011-05-03T17:11:00.000-07:002011-05-04T03:23:12.393-07:00sometimes those who ride high need to be knocked down a notch...<div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRW9Qhni5E-fx4nQTHWviWYtZ63iTJgKtnWu-9zRicra5Z4Pf0lG2Qf12xb1g2qRX-t2NSa5gHMAWFHslYeyWoqZI6iRFiL6lQ5kUaZ-x0SphRl9bbuHokDSPVjvxcCi9wgTfPcacMWrKG/s1600/DSCN3023.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602802764089501554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 222px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRW9Qhni5E-fx4nQTHWviWYtZ63iTJgKtnWu-9zRicra5Z4Pf0lG2Qf12xb1g2qRX-t2NSa5gHMAWFHslYeyWoqZI6iRFiL6lQ5kUaZ-x0SphRl9bbuHokDSPVjvxcCi9wgTfPcacMWrKG/s320/DSCN3023.JPG" border="0" /></a> To whom may care/be interested/or even be sinisterly, secretly happy about my mishap, here goes the story...<br /><br />i got the (left) 4-inch leopard print heel stuck in the sidewalk. thinking back it was the kind of occurance that seems like it's happening in slow motion...i was walking REAL BIG, like i do, (if you know me, you've seen it and i'm sorry...) and that tiny excuse for a foundation wedged itself in one of those on-purpose cracks in the sidewalk. my ankle rolled to the outside, all the way down until it touched the ground. i winced without making an audible sound and then as the ending of this one fluid motion i pushed against the tiny heel, forcing it all the way back upright. and i just knew someone had seen it. i knew there was no way he would miss it... <br /><div></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602802946331603698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 238px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtQuWNsGJbAc6zJoID62eCCw6RtkBo0mqhzN-tNalXyO001GA3aBelNycfIvr-06Y1R1apL7XyWsCAJE2rOY6aCf3vRoss25-pROGts36OaFTMfy8xWgNXUtNsI1cjqYNgJ23UyixNs1R/s320/DSCN3019.JPG" border="0" /> he? oh yeah, sorry...i was @ farm bureau @ the time of aforementioned mishap (which is another story involing a deer & the civic) and the claims assessor (who was cute and telling me all about his upcoming vacation to the jazz fest in new orleans) was walking back in didn't see a thing. i kid you not. not the heel stick, not the roll, not my left hand on the ground, not even the awkward wobble and quick steps forward to "right" myself. i wasn't even "caught."<br /><br />He opened the door for me and I, in severe pain, smiled real extra big and sat in the lobby thinking funny things so as not to shed a tear when i really wanted to do that girl thing of cry real hard, as hard as i could force tears out, and wail "ooooowwwwwwwww-wuh!" and then stop. abruptly. and wipe my tears while i laugh at how ridiculous the whole thing was. you know the cry.<br /><br />so now i'm @ home with an iced and elevated ankle and i'm contemplating which "outfit" i'll wear with my "fancy" flip flops tomorrow...<br /><br />i'm so vain. i probably think this post is about me.</div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602803264303706770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYTAifyMSOs4MD0w9woVHbOvVN1hc4r_o_OSTvOhQAkIyJcKEziG-EQEGKF7FO3p0Fad5oIP8txjrlmToBxhirFheUduG2bTw09TwlhboxseqS_5nLo9yj6SZKKnn-f3f51OnoSI8TjQs/s320/DSCN3027.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div>michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-73921819709127397212011-02-21T18:05:00.000-08:002011-02-21T18:22:13.394-08:00<div>i love pictures that look different. </div><div> </div><div>and i plan to get better at taking them, </div><div> </div><div>but for now i love to edit them..</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguajMhsH4YE4cryq4eZsJ6O_prlezSmyOBDxFvu86CrKAi3Leb7sICwN-iOKBjlvirWhiBc_6cobcNTZOo4eGRlrX72ZFPNHZsfZT5G7TLb2ocXUwNpi8W7jvwVv4XPEEtevLWUEnGKkvc/s1600/DSCN2562.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576332349332512306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguajMhsH4YE4cryq4eZsJ6O_prlezSmyOBDxFvu86CrKAi3Leb7sICwN-iOKBjlvirWhiBc_6cobcNTZOo4eGRlrX72ZFPNHZsfZT5G7TLb2ocXUwNpi8W7jvwVv4XPEEtevLWUEnGKkvc/s320/DSCN2562.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtr9NnW1Z4HJ5QaRJZbEqtRdqFgYJ90wl_XD0Ox2p0QGVmtDhrzcjXes9ACv75h_IIvrRMg_Cnp8zNud_vsDvCLp7kfj5cdH5kgyq-eHg-GFimezVnRuCd1UUvqBieNsjKJ8hi5PlfFmp/s1600/DSCN2561.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576332350944744066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtr9NnW1Z4HJ5QaRJZbEqtRdqFgYJ90wl_XD0Ox2p0QGVmtDhrzcjXes9ACv75h_IIvrRMg_Cnp8zNud_vsDvCLp7kfj5cdH5kgyq-eHg-GFimezVnRuCd1UUvqBieNsjKJ8hi5PlfFmp/s320/DSCN2561.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQ3JbdFKpAHRKKOPy7_ZhCWkn9dXARvkNUxWCVjNo7FpGH1oLPWwlqY2Il4BVXq4YoUYQwEonTv309cvxV43qJUiV6VY12oc2GzV8wMLS5PXOgn-eHBgF4PsVSOsl65K7TzRoOG0lDIGl/s1600/DSCN2469.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576332348737747778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 218px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQ3JbdFKpAHRKKOPy7_ZhCWkn9dXARvkNUxWCVjNo7FpGH1oLPWwlqY2Il4BVXq4YoUYQwEonTv309cvxV43qJUiV6VY12oc2GzV8wMLS5PXOgn-eHBgF4PsVSOsl65K7TzRoOG0lDIGl/s320/DSCN2469.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlaTdKjVzFUwWpN5Ai8hQxetEo5-Bta1GSg2QZhyphenhyphen7ctOt-__8OL9OuXq8MyNskwLhajk8NY9-vQIimuEQeTp3WtB9ScJVJS1jHS1uORulZhgede5ssGawvuAi5er4uTA5jSab_zOkW4HK/s1600/DSCN2421.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576332343323148322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlaTdKjVzFUwWpN5Ai8hQxetEo5-Bta1GSg2QZhyphenhyphen7ctOt-__8OL9OuXq8MyNskwLhajk8NY9-vQIimuEQeTp3WtB9ScJVJS1jHS1uORulZhgede5ssGawvuAi5er4uTA5jSab_zOkW4HK/s320/DSCN2421.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJkOAmPsoCSVB5SXZ3M9chyIrMz9TfzIfVG-AIuRov8TICMqXb40p4ZQPlyZCO2gn1wkaIKdj_3UcgGj7JTSFhvrSW0MpcdbvauzYi2BgdYl-ulPa_HEFYDrPNB7nvop-PaYar9zMZVPV/s1600/DSCN2447.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576332338009686130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 222px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJkOAmPsoCSVB5SXZ3M9chyIrMz9TfzIfVG-AIuRov8TICMqXb40p4ZQPlyZCO2gn1wkaIKdj_3UcgGj7JTSFhvrSW0MpcdbvauzYi2BgdYl-ulPa_HEFYDrPNB7nvop-PaYar9zMZVPV/s320/DSCN2447.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClG233AUvEt_PO7wcTkoRoPGudVK14DTtFP6aQmV9-tcjfEuTlCcTgXqtXpvC05wb6Ceyy-rSUU2dcqAiOzjY8hMxko6wbtNnF-ObEF41eNl7cQKsjT2WiHftFX6VM1aUHCKNkePo325L/s1600/DSCN2379.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576331325790994066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClG233AUvEt_PO7wcTkoRoPGudVK14DTtFP6aQmV9-tcjfEuTlCcTgXqtXpvC05wb6Ceyy-rSUU2dcqAiOzjY8hMxko6wbtNnF-ObEF41eNl7cQKsjT2WiHftFX6VM1aUHCKNkePo325L/s320/DSCN2379.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576330311136397650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 209px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPPYRczDZB3KC4iNImWuCMXpklk2587f8laz_Un1S1jecfDGqGT62rnmDYshl3vJH2iyLgjx9euQu5A9CDomlN9CmR7RAaPyJLd6aO1dv8AkJ7pGvyG0NxOXwkROam2FAW6qg7VQK3FDj/s320/DSCN2345.JPG" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576330707367099906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 292px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 231px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7X66OlO8VQWVDwhbdZOaFSLMHrw3qYDzd0ALljbc04ZjHsFBbLrJVcIgSbxVTzAHCs_onnRqNvpdsASF10cCi9tFFmdjw2cum9Fg-J0jeHCXOMSx_uaitQchbm-Nm1NWeolmlhQ_qqsu/s320/DSCN2367.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-23138802991637700392011-02-21T06:39:00.000-08:002011-02-21T07:05:10.771-08:00prone to wanderi love some new christian songs, contemporary, they're called.<br />and i could list some of them and how thier lyrics move me to tears...they do.<br /><br />and yet, after growing up in a southern baptist church, and returning to the very same one now as an adult, i must admit, the old hymns are what really get me.<br /><br />last night i was sitting beside my daddy, looking up at my sister (and others) leading in "come thou font of every blessing." i love that song, but some of the old hymns words are like the reading the king james version of the bible to me. too complicated initially, too much, require thought...<br /><br />but when you do listen to them, think on them. oh the truth in them...<br /><br />the verse that gets me every time is this,<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">oh to grace</div><br /><br /><div align="center">how great a debtor</div><br /><br /><div align="center">daily i'm constrained to be</div><br /><br /><div align="center">let thy goodness like a fetter</div><br /><br /><div align="center">bind my wand'ring heart to thee</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center">prone to wander, Lord, i feel it! </div><br /><br /><div align="center">prone to leave the God i love...</div><br /><br /><div align="center">here's my heart, oh, take and seal it. </div><br /><br /><div align="center">seal it for thy courts above.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">i could have written that. easily. i feel like i've spent my life begging God to help me, to help me stay close to Him. (And i've learned that He's given me what I need to stay, I just need to use it. To do it.) "prone to wander, Lord i feel it, prone to leave the God i love!" i do love him and i do still, sometimes, want to wander. i'm amazed after all he has taught me how i still sometimes want to go my own way. sometimes i consider it for a moment and sometimes for days i'll struggle with his lead...</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">but......there is nothing new under the sun...the writer of this hymn in...(hold on, whilst i google when it was written...) the 18th century was a pastor and hymnist?? Robert Robinson...a pastor? he wanted to run the wrong way in the 18th century, like i do today, in 2011? that is somewhat relieving.<br /></div><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">some other old hymns bring me to tears too...</div><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">-it is well with my soul: "my sin, not in part, but the whole. is nailed to the cross, and i bear it no more. praise the lord! praise the lord, oh my soul!" </div><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">-great is thy faithfulness: "thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not. as thou has been, thou forever wilt be." </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div>-blessed assurance : "Jesus is MINE, oh what a foretaste of glory divine! this is my story, this is my song. praising my saviour all the day long!"<br /><br /><br />-how great thou art: "and when i think, that God, His son not sparing, sent Him to die, i scarce can take it in. that on that cross, my burden gladly bearing, he bled and died to take away my sin, then sings my soul, my savior god to thee....how great thou art, how great thou art.................."<br /><br /><em></em><br /><em>what hymn gets you everytime? </em><br /><br />sing it today.<br /><br />sing it right now at your computer for Him.<br /><br />and sing it more often.michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-4184822230348773652011-02-14T17:52:00.001-08:002011-02-21T13:25:51.213-08:00a 31 year old's valentine's...<div>life can be painful.<br /><br />i am 31 years old. i am currently single. i love valentines day. i love ridiculous romantic displays and i love how much children say "i love you" to me at work, because i know that they mean it.<br /><br />i have made some stupid decisions. i have made some wonderful ones.<br />today, @ 31, i am the sum of those decisions. both good and bad.<br />and i am determined not to get in the way in of my life...what it can be.<br />and when i came home today to run with my lab, i felt painfully, excrutiatingly, sorry for myself.<br /><br />and then i went to my parents house. my intention was to give to them, i cleaned her house and cooked dinner for them and then my sweet father came home...<br />he made me feel special, made me feel small (in the best kind of way). he has always had a way of doing that. and today, as he so often does, he did it, without saying a word...i can't even type this without tears streaming down my face, but i suppose that's the best part. his card spoke of remembering a little girl who cut out construction paper hearts to make homemade valentines and how much he loved her...and how much he still does.<br /><br />and then my whirlwind of a nephew blew in. "CHRISSSSYYYY!!!!!!!!!" he yelled and then said, "here" cocked his head and said, "i love you." and we played for the next hour. he wore me OUT.<br /><br />so, with a 52 year old and a 2 year old who love me more than they can really put into words, my 31 year old valentine's day wasn't quite so sad after all...</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576257095682577330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDoS9GSModDkoWxnBbUSFXGZzc6zb0HCU5OhmHGCu6Jg2D7ET3qhMfr1bTs2EbrXtELR2I4YTj5vIx3yQKHd4D5M61S1Y-iDAS50BBn9EgiCSEkL8C_OgzcRfgFyudaBb_YAMntD-pPbfS/s320/DSCN2560.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div></div>michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-77343289823667296672011-02-08T18:07:00.000-08:002011-02-08T18:20:40.215-08:00hmmm....i've been reading about the crucifixtion. that's why He came. it blows my mind. so much about the bible, about Christ, i believe. i accept, even though i can't wrap my mind around it. what He endured for me is unfathomable. recently our youth pastor asked us how we would live every day if we had to watch the passion of the christ every morning before we started our day. that movie messed me UP. in the very best way. it was moving. i would live life differently...<br /><br />mark 14:65 says, "they blindfolded him and beat him with their fists."<br />beat him with thier fists.<br />beat. him.<br />i've never been beaten.<br />i've never even been hit once in a way that really hurt.<br />i can't imagine having the crap beat outta me, while i can't even see where or when it's coming.<br /><br />and another thing bothers me. pilate was a pawn.<br />there are things about God that are sometimes hard to swallow. he is no less God and because he is God he can do whatever he wants to.<br /><br />pilate seemed regretful @ releasing barrabas instead of Jesus, talking about "washing his hands" of the whole thing. the bible is clear that pliate thought christ was falsely arrested and he basically said to the crowd, more than once, "are you sure...?"<br />but...<br />pilate never made a profession of faith that was recorded. he was used and wasn't one of God's treasures. his chosen. this is hard for me. it doesn't seem fair. but life is not fair. God is not fair.<br />so i guess the only thing i can take from this is that God can do, God can use, whatever, whomever, He wants to. and i need to be focused on being grateful that he chose me. saved me. loves me. uses me.michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-43340463195415190682011-02-05T22:14:00.000-08:002011-02-07T16:56:56.566-08:00shakonohey!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWdR6LQWD86P2tocmPnDhCZ8a0LHdbUak_W0J7cmqXrgGTeJhkIpcgG6H5muzeaL08iCCizE7ZJUGjyfgXnmTIcLKQo54GZCswPEhkDqm-8An7Ui8FYA4m-F-QOa4p1oQpiqohtpI_bMb/s1600/Picture+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571115833727956194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWdR6LQWD86P2tocmPnDhCZ8a0LHdbUak_W0J7cmqXrgGTeJhkIpcgG6H5muzeaL08iCCizE7ZJUGjyfgXnmTIcLKQo54GZCswPEhkDqm-8An7Ui8FYA4m-F-QOa4p1oQpiqohtpI_bMb/s320/Picture+009.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreNg_m5cIRy7feTX56O1INf_eUQqI0hOpWsU_Jgi8ljMAqYQnlaq4ou5clYmVkdA59k4RUxV8PIXcG51KimCvDbNvskwTQUasbUZg-KrdIZXUH4eJx7xv6A1xverQcsFRgNKTPAQn0sbb/s1600/Picture+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571115511541165250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreNg_m5cIRy7feTX56O1INf_eUQqI0hOpWsU_Jgi8ljMAqYQnlaq4ou5clYmVkdA59k4RUxV8PIXcG51KimCvDbNvskwTQUasbUZg-KrdIZXUH4eJx7xv6A1xverQcsFRgNKTPAQn0sbb/s320/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div>this past fall we had a girls weekend. only the 3 of us. it was glorious.<br /><br /><br />on the way to our destination we joked about blogging about our trip.<br />i told them i would do it. (this was when we all had taken a facebook haitus.)<br /><br />so i started saving things that we thought were hilarious in the notepad on my blackberry.<br />(and don't you hate when others don't find something funny that you, at the time, busted a gut laughing at...?)<br /><br />lindsay said that she would blog too, but not really. like on paper. she would use a gluestick, literally "cut and paste" her photos in her blog. kinda like ole dolly. (there. that was one of the aforementioned funny things that we right nearly peed in our pants over.)<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571113678518457474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xNMXaMenJbHfBaBY9Fc2fRcApEILbldTkD6T4KLA1Qvm8Fb-983z68iE2SEcD2RwLxo-bznPpQfXbye0UxiUGciQPxqtNg_DpxPjVUb880LmBDH72rvHRC7gnp-kJmSEy5N4uCNaZGAq/s320/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" /><br />#1. ChickFilA 10:45. we had no comcept of time really because we were "winging" it on some of this trip. there were exactly three chicken minis left from breakfast, thank GOODNESS. however, after my sililoquy in the car on the WAY to chickfila about how glorious thier hashbrowns are and how they're better than anyone else's, lindsay got the last. dang....but she did save two for me. but none for mama. only we didn't even know mommer wanted one until she registered her complaint when got back in the car. we took a picture @ chick fil a... </div><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571114795440705186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4RpZVC-iD3BU0lgd1btio2K9LEjWYw01OOFre05gZSTnJZvj0XPDNPSOO0k78gc8NfEE36Sdk_zqbdA-wN5hSPkDg5VlRFM-o2PGo2mBoJ0Q_Dqut2Nskna7kEOMOTlDx_uEJUN8kvuZ/s320/Picture+005.jpg" border="0" />please note that i have on no makeup.<br /><br />#2. After being back in the car Gail said, "Chrissy, it's 11:43, put on your makeup."<br /><br />#3. outlet mall shopping on day 2. mom (in a back brace, not important, but she was.) child in a stroller. stroller front sign: peanut allergy. stroller rear sign: peanut allergy. child bookbag hanging from stroller: peanut allergy sign. wow spelled backwards is still wow.<br /><br />now i'm an elementary school teacher and i understand the severity of the peanut allergy.<br /><br />however, he was with her. were the signs that much trouble to take off? did she think that someone was going to grab him outta there and shove something peanutty down his trap? it was just really too much. sadly, i did not get a photo of that.<br /><br /><br />#4. rack room. late afternoon. one of us, who will remain anonymous, said, "y'all, i tried on some of them frye boots. they are so expensive. fine, they're $180. can you believe that? i told myself that when i lose 30 lbs, i've gonna buy 'em for myself. i think i'm safe."<br /><br />#5. i'm going to teach my mother to use a blinker if it KILLS me. "why won't they let me OVER?" "because they can't read your mind momma..." </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571112936772612882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xPTvwWb-rHFWwXo9wrtydw93hBIvVQL6tf-tHcUH8BluKd5JSzRUaUQuLOZcjNwLdjhAYNLUOh95L9qx13aajWGjoTPQTyGfn0sqwtH85xpGi72Yd_rmc7fxW0I6eobaf0_o36YlBMQN/s320/IMG00363-20101017-1330.jpg" border="0" /><br />#6. Disney store. (man, apparently all we did was shop!) weezie. is she cheap or thrifty? smart of over the top? upon our viewing of the halloween disney costumes my sister announced, "the pajama versions of most of these costumes are just as good as the $100 'official' costume. for real." i agreed with her. and then someone i bought a $21 red scarf at the gap. but it's a beauty and i knew i would "get a lotta wear out of it." (and now that it's feb i can say honestly that i did!)<br /></p><br /><p>women. who are related. we cover the gammut. (sp?) silly girls... </p></div></div>michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-28184072380593377672011-02-05T22:08:00.001-08:002011-02-05T22:13:47.416-08:00non dog loverspeople who don't like dogs or don't understand dogs act like they don't know anything about animals. this summer i spent a lot of time outside with zeva. and one morning i was reading and one of my neighbors made me really mad and really entertained simulataneously...<br /><br />he looked at zeva and looked away, looked, looked away...and while he was walking away he kept looking back over his shoulder at her. so i say to you dear neighbor, "first of all, you know there is an invisible fence between you and her. you watched us put the thing in the ground. you have seen her avoid it like the plague for weeks. but even if there wasn't a fence, do you not understand that your repeated nervous eye contact is like a challenge to her? whether she interprets it as a game or a threat, she is a LOT less likely to just walk the other way if you will just walk away and stop looking. seriously don't turn around, good grief.michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-47227525798036222472011-02-05T22:01:00.001-08:002011-02-05T22:06:52.316-08:00small town livinga few weeks ago i was at "the" ingles. i was feeling particularly haughty that day and was taking inventory of all that annoyed me:<br /><br />-this persnikity (sp) old broad taking the 2nd magazine off the rack. i'm sure she'd heard the research on how many people touched that first one...<br /><br />-the 16 year old who kept repeating loud enough to impress me, "i caint wait to git drunnnnnk tonight."<br /><br />-the percentage of overweight people who passed me by<br /><br />-and a woman who pinched the crap outta her misbehaving kid really got my insides going, but then...a wonderful thing happened.<br /><br />one of the bag boys was pushing the buggy for a sweet frail ole bird back to her car. he was asking her questions, making eye contact and appeared genuinely interested in what she had to share with him. he wasn't too busy while they walked to her trunk.<br /><br />sometimes small town living is more beautiful than anything else...michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110551129333631966.post-37459724957263045862011-02-05T15:10:00.000-08:002011-02-05T15:11:57.122-08:00inspiredmaemae inspired me to get back in the blogging game.<br />i have a lot to say.<br />i need to turn off my tv and read and write more.<br />lindsay r inspires me too...<br /><br />so i start, tonight, after my date.<br />not with a guy.<br />girls night out date.michelletonbellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838817577303791305noreply@blogger.com0