I’d like to cordially invite you all over for a visit. I washed all the windows and I don’t think they’ll be this clean for another 12 months. I need someone to appreciate them while they’re sparkling.




We’re still on the hunt for a new church. Church hunting is one of my least favorite activities. We found a church we loved almost instantly after moving here. We had several good months there but unfortunately, there was a nasty split and we found ourselves without a church. We tend to be on the more conservative side but we’re open to visiting more modern churches. The church we picked this week was the most modern of the modern. On their many tv screens they had the following announcement- “if our worship gets too loud, please use the complimentary earplugs.” I knew right then it wasn’t going to be our usual conservative Baptist service. That’s when they cranked up the ol’ smoke machines and the band bounced out onto the stage and the lights started flashing. I expected disco balls to lower from the ceiling. 

Annabelle LOVED it. She was clapping and dancing like a born and raised Pentecostal. For most of the service I didn’t have to remind her to be quiet. No one could hear themselves think, let alone hear her comments about the “fun church.” I’m not putting down how others worship God, but we prefer a more subtle approach. 



On Saturday we took the first of five foster care classes. I always said I’d NEVER do foster care. I didn’t want to fall in love with a child only to hand them back. I’ve always wanted to adopt and planned on staying in that lane. However, within the last year or so I had a change of heart. We have space, we have all the baby stuff and we have some extra love we can give. Until we’re able to have another baby of our own I couldn’t come up with a good reason why we shouldn’t help out. That doesn’t mean I won’t cry when I get overwhelmed, but that happens anyway. After hemming and hawing and lots of delaying, we finally signed up for the certification classes. Normally I don’t like to be out of the house before 8:30 on a Saturday morning but there we were, out of the house at 8:25 going to a foster care class I never envisioned myself going to. 


After the class we picked AB up and played miniature golf. 

It was Sesame’s first time golfing and her form was much like mine before I went to golf camp. 
Yes, golf camp. I didn’t go because I wanted to be the next Big Thing in golf. I went because when Grandpa retired he helped design a golf course for inner-city children. The first summer the course was done they held their inaugural week-long golf camp so Daniel, Andrew and I all went. I wasn’t a great golfer. My swing to actually hitting the ball ratio was something like 557 to 2. I’m sure I still hold the record for worse golfer ever to appear on their green. But that didn’t stop me from sharing my wealth of knowledge with Christopher and AB. I made sure they both knew how to hold the club and applauded my hole in one. It did take me 7 tries to get the ball into one hole but who’s counting?