Instagram Rules for Moms

I used to think I was really cool and hip (obviously I'm not because nobody says "hip" any more) when I first started using Instagram.  I'm  a witty kind of girl and love posting goofy pictures.

Then I let Hope get an account.  And I learned that I was really not as cool or as funny as I thought I was.  And there are things moms shouldn't do on Instagram.  I thought I'd pass on my learnings to all you other moms out there so you don't have to be schooled by your child.

• Never, ever, under any circumstance, comment on your child's photo.  Even if they tell you to--don't--they will delete whatever you write.

• Always "like" their pic.  I don't know why, but I've been told that I am allowed to like stuff and it's a good thing.

• Never tag your child in one of your photos.  Again, she will have a serious conversation with you about the kinds of photos allowed.

• This goes along with the above--never post any pictures of your kids without prior approval.  For some reason, they don't like others seeing them in their fox jammies if the braid in their hair is flipped on the wrong side of their head. And NEVER make a collage of all the selfies that you find of them on your phone.  Just. Don't.

• Be prepared for them to tell you that "you sure do post a lot of pictures."  It won't be said in a mean tone, but the message that you're not "hip" will come through loud and clear.

• Never, ever comment on one of their friend's pics.  This is even worse than commenting on theirs. Even if you're saying something nice or funny. 

Hopefully, following these rules will keep you in good standing with your child.  Does your child have an Instagram?  What rules did I miss?  Please share them so I don't stumble upon them on my own.

Olympics vs. the Church

A few nights ago, I was watching the Olympics.  And even though I knew which events Team USA medaled in, I still found myself captivated. 

During one point, a snowboarder fell hard--cracking her helmet and not moving for a bit. There was a camera on the other competitors waiting at the bottom of the hill to see if she would beat their score.  While I never want to see someone hurt, I was moved by their reactions.   They immediately gasped and you could see genuine concern.  There was no "Good!  She's no longer in the running to beat me" thoughts going through their heads. 

And when she made it to the bottom of the hill, they were there to greet her and hug her and check to see if she was okay. 

And then a friend posted this story yesterday: http://www.canada.com/olympics/news/canadian-coach-replaces-russian-athletes-broken-ski-to-let-him-finish-race.

This is why I love the Olympics.  People from all different walks of life come together and the love of a sport binds them.  It creates a camaraderie--even in the midst of competition. 

It gives me hope.  If the love of a sport can do that, how much greater can the love of Jesus do it?

Smelly Things

Every so often, I pass my nightstand and get a whiff of something.  And every time, it makes me stop in my tracks. "What's that smell?   I don't remember having any potpourri over here--where is that coming from?" 

I do this EVERY single time.  It's crazy, because when I look down, I see my pretty little scented rice-bag thing (yes, I'm sure it has a nice name, but it's called the pretty rice-bag thing in my house).  I use it maybe once every 2 weeks or so, but the scent of it grabs me when I least expect it.  Don't ask me what the scent is (it's got all kinds of yummy herbs in it), but when I smell it, it makes me stop and take a breath and smile.

In the Bible, the Old Testament talks a lot about sacrifices being a pleasing aroma to God.  In the New Testament, it talks about how we, as Christians, are the aroma of Christ to those around us.  We've all opened up our fridge at some point (or our child's sports bag) and smelled the aroma of death.  And most likely, it repelled you--I know it does me.  The thought of others slamming the door or zipping the zipper back up on Christ, saddens me.  But I know it happens more than I'd like to admit. 

So, for today, I'm praying that I smell like my pretty little scented rice bag.  That when others pass me, they stop, breathe in, and smile--not because I look pretty on the outside, but because what's on the inside can't be contained.  And I'm praying that I'm not the shin guard that's been in the bottom of the soccer bag next to the dirty socks.  We've all got enough stinky stuff in our lives!

What's the worst thing you've ever smelled?  What's the best?  If you had to assign a scent to yourself, what would it be?

Just Nice

I've been running errands this morning and have been struck by how nice everyone has been.  From the bank, to the oil change place (where they didn't try to sell me several other services), to the drive thru where both people I interacted with smiled genuine smiles. 

Sounds silly, but they reminded me that I have a good life.   

It also made me wonder why I even noticed it.  Shouldn't it always be like this?  In a day when so many of us (yes--I'm just as guilty) complain, make passive aggressive remarks or boast on facebook, it's refreshing to interact with others who just seem glad to be alive. 

Makes me stop to wonder if others feel refreshed or beat-down after they leave an interaction with me. 

Food for thought...

Rough Edges

I finally started a project I've been wanting to do for the past year.  It's going to be a word wall for my house.  You've probably seen it on pinterest--I'm not originl--one of my favorite things to do is take something already done and personalize it.

I chose what I thought would be an easy word to start out with last night.  It was one of the thickest with the straightest lines--surely I could do it!  And what better word than "REAL" to begin with, right? 

I knew I wanted to use rough cedar for some of my boards.  Number one, I love the look of it (and have a bookcase Brian made for me out of it).  Number 2, who doesn't love the smell of fresh wood????  If you don't, you may not ever want to visit my house. 

In case y'all didn't know it, rough cedar is...well, rough.  Trying to paint straight lines on it isn't the easiest task.  The edges are rough and a little fuzzy-looking.  While I wasn't upset with the result, I spent the rest of the night trying to figure out how I could make the edges more sharp.  Could I use a sharpie?  Should I only use the smooth side of the cedar for the other boards (I have 12 total, 4 more of which are cedar--and one word is long).

But, I woke up this morning deciding to keep the rough edges.  I know it won't look professional, but I'm okay with that, because that's who I am and who my family is. 

We are not clean-edged kind of people.  We're a bit messy.  And no matter how beautiful the font is God uses on us, the material used will always add it's own personality--whether is a pine board painted red or turquoise or green, or just a rough cedar one.

So, when I finally finish this wall (which probably won't happen until summer) and you come to my house, be ready to see some rough edges.  That's who the Royals are. 

Waiting

Have you ever been stuck in an airport because of a delayed flight?  I have, but it was only a few hours.  My dad has been trying to get home from New York since yesterday morning and will be staying another night in St. Louis tonight--hopefully leaving tomorrow.

Even though I'm not waiting on a flight, I kinda feel like he must feel.  I know I have a destination and I'll get there eventually, but not the way I originally planned it.  I'm in that waiting phase of life, but not really sure what I'm waiting for.

I heard a great sermon today about waiting in the pit.  I don't feel like I am in a pit right now, but I'm also not on the mountain.  I'm in one of those in-between places.  Those places where I want to enjoy the things happening--not taking anything for granted, but not really sure if I should be doing something else instead of just sitting here.  Does that make any sense at all? 

And all this to say, I'm not pining for something to happen--I'm really fine where I am.  I'm not anxious to move on--mainly because life is so fast most days, I've learned to enjoy the slower days. 

But, there is this stirring inside.  This little feeling that I have telling me God's got something planned that's gonna blow my socks off.  That's how I first felt before Lovepacs started.  That's how I felt when Lovepacs moved into Frisco.  That's how I felt right before I found out I would be moving to our Frisco campus. 

It's that feeling that I'm gonna be starting over soon.  And while I've learned from past experience that it will be great, there's a little bit of fear inside me, too.  What if it's down a  totally different path than I'm on?  What if it's a rocky, overgrown path that I have to fight my way down?  What if it leads me to something hard? 

But in it all, I rest.  Some might call it lazy, but I enjoy the days I don't have to shower and get out of my jammies (I'm not sure my family enjoys them as much).  I'm learning to look around me and not just sit in my chair with my nose buried in a book or stay in my bed and sleep because I am so utterly exhausted.  To open my eyes and see the things I'm normally too busy to notice like the fact that my youngest has a ton of beautiful freckles and my oldest can now wear the same size shoe as me (and she just got several new pair of really cute ones!).  Or the fact that I really do admire my hubby--even while sitting at the dump with him.

I first this song on a summer mission project in college with CRU--never realized it was from U2--makes me love it even more as it's been running through my head all day: http://youtu.be/1XzHlySYR_Y

So I wait--not really patiently, but somewhat content.  But the stirring is still there...

I Faiiled on Day 2

Yep, I already failed.  ARGH!!!  I have not written 500 words except on January 1st.  While not a true new year's resolution, this was probably the shortest amount of time in history for someone to fail at something they plan to do. 

So, I'll try again.  I'd like to say I will go back and pick up the days I missed, but that kinda overwhelms me, so I'll just start today.  Hopefully I can get 500 words in, but I'm feeling a little empty-headed these days on stuff to write about.  Maybe that's my answer and I should just stop.

But deep inside of me, there's this desire to do more with my writing.  Even if I fail.  Even if I say things that have already been said by others.  Even if nobody reads what I write.