My husband is a wise man, and God has placed him as the head of our home, so I like to talk through difficult things with him. He gives me a perspective that’s often quite different from mine.
I am the middle child of five born to my parents in eight short years. Our house buzzed with activity, sibling rivalry, and noise. Stadiums full of noise.
I was down to the last few drops of my favorite liquid foundation. I wanted to make sure it was completely used up before I bought a new one because it’s pretty pricey.
My curiosity begs to understand life. My mind longs for logic. When I was a child, I asked a million questions. Why is the sky blue? Are all angels men?
Not because my black thumb suddenly turned green, but because my husband had ordered a heap of mulch and I was determined to not have a lame bare patch in the landscaped section of the house.
My friend Brad has a daughter named Elizabeth. When Elizabeth was one year old, Brad and his wife taught her some sign language. For the word please, they chose to have her rub her chest.
When I coached high school volleyball, one of the games we played in practice was called Queen of the Court, the goal of which is simple: gain and keep the lead.
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