Identity

I’m a Newsweek girl. Have been since… oh, I don’t know. Forever, I guess. I remember being really young and paging through the glossy magazine in search of photographs that would elicit a chill--either from the sheer beauty and truth they encapsulated or from the juxtaposition of the unexpected, like a child’s body floating facedown in a calm pool, white shift fanned out in a soft cloud. Can’t say I like those images, but they do have the power to show me the depth of my naiveté. It’s ponderous, I think.

Yesterday my mail bundle contained a fresh copy of Newsweek, and I (procrastinator that I am) promptly sat down and devoured it cover to cover. Back cover to front cover, of course. It’s the only way to read Newsweek--all the light, artsy articles are in the back, with the political and international hard-hitting sob stories near the front (I like to ease my way in). One of the final (first for me) articles was called “Generation Diva: How our obsession with beauty is changing our kids.” I was hooked after the first paragraph:

There's a scene in "Toddlers & Tiaras," the TLC reality series, where 2-year-old Marleigh is perched in front of a mirror, smothering her face with blush and lipstick. She giggles as her mother attempts to hold the squealing toddler still, lathering her legs with self-tanner. "Marleigh loves to get tan," her mom says, as the girl presses her face against the mirror.

Are you kidding me? I don’t have a daughter, but come on, that’s just not right. Jessica Bennett, the author of “Generation Diva”, goes on to catalog spa days for five-year-olds, laser hair removal instead of shaving, and Botox for girls barely out of training bras. In one staggering statistic she claims that by the time your ten-year-old daughter is fifty, she’ll have spent “nearly $300,000 on just her hair and face.” That’s no typo, there are five zeros in that staggering figure.

I’ll admit I was hyperventilating a bit at this point in the article, though what Jessica revealed next came as no big surprise: we’re priming our girls to be perpetually dissatisfied with themselves. More so, we're creating an entire generation whose identity is tied up in what they look like. I am nothing more than the sum of my clear skin, pouty lips, slender hips… Sigh.

Oh, it breaks my heart for a million different reasons. And yet, this morning I hopped on my computer, checked both of my email accounts, my blogger profile, and my Facebook pages (both personal and public), and felt a little stab of discontent when nothing interesting was going on. No emails from fans, agent, or publisher. Nothing new and noteworthy. Sigh. And all at once it struck me that right now my identity, my entire identity, is hopelessly wrapped up in my writing career. Part of this is because I have a book releasing in a couple weeks (things always get a little crazy around a book release), but I don't like the feeling all the same. I don't like believing that the worth of my existence is tied to my success (or lack thereof) as a writer. How is that any different from some poor tween believing that her beauty lies in the shade of her highlighted hair?

Yuck. The things we do to ourselves.

Anyway, I have a question for you today. What do you base your identity on? Where do you find your affirmation? I realize that this answer can change from day to day, but take a moment to ponder where you're at right now. And then remind yourself: I am so much more than this. I am not what I look like. I am not an extension of my job. I am not simply a wife/mother/daughter/sister or husband/father/son/brother. I am not just a friend of so-and-so. I am not what I do. I am not what I don't do. I am not always who you think I am...

But I am created for a purpose. I am significant. And I am beloved of God.

Have an awesome weekend, Beloved.

Spring!

While I am thrilled to death about Summer Snow being nominated for a Christy Award, I can say in all honestly that I am equally excited about a lovely little green thing I found growing in my garden on Saturday: the first tulip. Glory be, praise the Lord, and hip-hip-hooray! Spring is in the air. Finally. It's been a long winter.

It was nearly 70 degrees here on Saturday, and I used the opportunity to stir up my special triple-ingredient soil booster. Organic compost, manure, and peat moss have proved to be the perfect combination for our rich, heavy soil, and the timing this year was downright serendipitous. Twenty-four hours after hoeing the fertilizer into all my flowerbeds, it rained. And this was no piddly, little rain. We're talking thunder, lightning, torrential downpours, and the perfect, capping rainbow at the end of it all. Did I mention I love spring?

Anyway, here's hoping that spring is in the air wherever you are! Take my word for it, a little (or, in my case, a lot of) dirt under your fingernails is better therapy than an hour with the most expensive shrink.

Concert!

I love, love, love a good concert. Unfortunately, my concert attendance is sporadic at best. But this weekend I got to see three of my new favorite artists in one of my favorite venues: First Avenue in downtown Minneapolis. My favorite (hmmm... I think that word might be losing it's power in this post) concert of all time (Our Lady Peace with Blacklab) was there, and even the theft of my car the night before the concert couldn't dampen the sheer awesomeness of it. (BTW, the cops did find my car abandoned on the side of the road in some shady Saint Paul neighborhood. The windows were smashed, the steering column was shredded, and my sweet, little vehicle was thoroughly violated by a bunch of thugs who used it for a drug run.)

Anyhoo, the concert this weekend was fabulous (and no cars got stolen). A great time was had by all. Check out this amazing trio of talented artists. You won't be disappointed!



Lenka
Bright, fun pop music reminiscient of Bjorn. But listen carefully, her candy-coated lyrics contain subtle doses of irony. I love sarcasm served up sweet.


Justin Nozuka
Folksy-rock that reminds me of Jack Johnson with a little more kick. It took me a while to get into his sound, and I'm still a bit on the fence... It's good. Not great.


Missy Higgins
Soulful, acoustic, lyrical and poetic. She's my favorite of the bunch because of her clear, powerful voice that breaks at just the right times. Her breathing is part of the music. Know what I mean?

Zumba!

In light of my post on Wednesday, the irony of my blog topic today is not lost on me. While the majority of the world struggles to scrape together a scant meal a day, I have to sign up for a silly (albeit ridiculously fun) exercise class to work off the results of too many carne asada tacos (yum) and my weekly supply of hazelnut creme lattes. Sigh. But though I'm passionate about many things, I only have one story to tell--my own. And it includes Zumba. (Wait a sec, I'm an author... I have lots of stories to tell... But hey, you know what I mean.)

Anyhoo, I had to blog about my newest "Get Fit" experience because it was one of the strangest hours of my life... I've done aerobics, yoga, swimming, Pilates, water aerobics, strength training, core training, cross-training, you name it, but this was the first time I've ever heard the words, "Shake your moneymakers," in a workout. Shake your moneymakers indeed.

For those of you who don't know, Zumba "fuses hypnotic Latin rhythms and easy to follow moves to create a dynamic fitness program that will blow you away." Blow me away indeed. Though I contest the assertion that the moves are easy to follow. Ha. I was so tangled up I nearly fell on my face more than once. But my lovely instructor told me that my hips would loosen up with subsequent work-outs. Ah, so if I continue to "shake it" my shimmy might actually start to resemble the svelte weaves and twirls of one of those gorgeous Latinas? Doubtful.

All the same, I'm going to keep trying. I can't remember the last time I sweat like that. Or laughed like that. When the one hour class was over, I couldn't tell if my abs ached from all the twisty hip moves or from laughing at myself. My perma-grin probably threw off the instructor, but she was kind enough to avoid looking at my pathetic attempts at the salsa, meringue, and various hip-hop moves. Unfortunately, my fellow classmates couldn't avoid my flinging arms and obvious missteps. Hopefully they'll forgive me for coming back.

Post-Convention

Just got back from a convention in Chicago and I'm feeling the spiritual and emotional effects of an overwhelming weekend. Don't get me wrong, The Power of With was awesome. But it makes me want to do things... As if I don't already have enough things to do. That's the problem with being a visionary (thank you Grip-Birkman personality assessment for illuminating exactly what makes me tick)--you dream big dreams. I feel singularly burdened to transform my community. But I'll get over it. Or at least I'll digest it into manageable pieces and make small changes to my own life before I unleash myself on my community. Watch out, small town U.S.A., she's armed and passionate (which is, consequently, more dangerous than being simply dangerous).

Anyway, the convention was a mosaic of seemingly unrelated experiences that I'm still processing. A few highlights:

1. Visiting my agent on Michigan Ave. It was a miserably rainy day, but that didn't lessen my pure enjoyment of her fourth floor offices overlooking the lake. Hardwood, floor to ceiling bookshelves, enormous windows... Need I say more? The music drifting down the hall from the violin maker's studio made the whole experience feel almost scripted. I could definitely write a bestseller here.


2. Hearing Doug Pagitt speak. He's hilarious, insightful, and brimming with ideas that make my head spin. Would love to visit him at Solomon's Porch in Minneapolis and talk community over a cup of coffee.


3. Spending time with Deon and Alyssa, our associate pastor and his wife. I only have one word to describe this couple: awesome.


4. Going for lunch with various friends from Tyndale. I love this publishing house (and the people in it). It's good to be reminded that it takes a village to raise a child--I mean, publish a book. Who am I kidding? It's practically the same thing.


5. Having dozens of different conversations with people from all over North America who share the same passions as me. Constituents from CRWRC (Christian Reformed World Relief Committee), Home Missions, Communities First, DRS (Disaster Response Services), and congregations large and small made this conference feel like a family reunion. I love people.

Well, thanks for letting me process. It's been helpful. I think I am going to start small--with chocolate chip cookies for our new neighbors. They'll be coming out of the oven in about 20 minutes. In the neighborhood? Stop on by... :)

Cancelled

So after all the hoopla and melodrama of making the decision to get Lasik surgery, I've changed my mind. Yup, you read that right, the surgery is off. I cancelled it five minutes ago and I have to admit, I feel pretty good about it. Crazy, eh?

I suppose the biggest reason for my change of heart is the shift in perspective that happens when a much agonized over decision becomes a reality instead of merely a possibility. When I was only thinking about Lasik, the idea of removing a thin cross-section of my cornea wasn't alarming. But when I had the surgery date scheduled, it seemed more like an amputation to me. When I was only thinking about Lasik, the 95% success rate sounded high. But when I had a surgery date scheduled, I suddenly realized that I could be one of the 5%. Could I live with halos? Eye pain? Chronic dry eye syndrome? Poor night vision? Would I be happy if the surgery was only a little successful? What if I still had to wear glasses (albeit, with much thinner lenses)? What if my eyes regressed and I ended up back in glasses after 3, 4, or 5 years anyway?

Okay, so I'm probably a little nuts. A little over-analytical. But I know now that I can't do it, no matter how good it sounds. Maybe I need more time to think about it. Or maybe I'll sport contacts and trendy glasses for the rest of my life. Either way, I'm feeling pretty grateful right now for the gift of vision. Even if it comes packaged with wire frames and fat bottles of overpriced contact solution.

12 days and counting...

Well, it's booked. The big chicken took the big plunge. And it's in less than two weeks! I'll let you know if my eyeballs fall out...

Back on track...

It's been almost three weeks since we first discovered the clogged pipes in our basement, and our lives are finally starting to return to normal. What a nightmare. At least it's almost over.

We still don't have the bathroom vanity and sink restored to their proper place in the downstairs bathroom, and last night a strong north wind blew sewer gases all through our house. I freaked. Aaron was gone to a meeting and my kids were asleep... I called my mom and cried like a baby. But, apparently, all I had to do was plug the pipe. The nice man from the city gas department who came to check things out was very kind to me--might have had something to do with my mascara-streaked face and desperate air.

Any-hoo, the final pieces are being put into place today. Grout between the bathroom tiles, baseboards and moldings, doors and furniture properly aligned. Praise the Lord. I like my life ordered and the chaos of this last month has been hard on me.

Thankfully, in one week Aaron and I are leaving the madness to attend a conference in Chicago! Hooray! I can't wait to get away for a while, even if it's more or less a "work trip." The hotel is beautiful, the company will be great, and I get to spend a few nights away from the headache and decision-making of life in our sweet but aged house. Did I mention no kids? ;)

Have a fantastic Wednesday!

P.S. This is the hotel we're staying at, NOT our basement. :)

Mold!

Aye caramba, it only gets worse. Our basement water problem has evolved into a biomedical hazard. Apparently our headaches, fatigue, flu-like symptoms, short-term memory loss, general malaise, and my son's perpetually runny nose can all be attributed to the nasty mold behind the baseboards of our rotting basement. Ewwww. Sick, sick, sick.

Okay, as you already know, I skew towards the melodramatic, but all the same, get a load of these:

Yes, that black stuff at the bottom of the wall is MOLD. Gross. And the second photo highlights the nasty gooey-ness of our subfloor. You can't imagine the stink. Anyway, I probably won't be blogging for a while as there is even more to do in the Baart house than we originally thought. Sigh. Oh well, at least my house smells like bleach now.

I'll leave you with a photo of me all decked out in my working grubbies. The flour sack around my mouth and nose is so that I don't pass out from the fumes. I swear, if you look really close you can actually see the bleachy goodness wafting through the air... Ooh, and take a good look at the bottom picture--I'll post updates as we re-finish the entire basement. From flooring to fixtures, it's getting a total makeover.

It's raining...

It's pouring. Both literally and figuratively. Northwest Iowa is experiencing a rare February event--a soft, winter rainstorm. It's lovely, actually. I couldn't be happier. This morning, as I dug my milk gallon out of a melting snowbank (yes, you read that right--more on that later), I admired the warm wetness and the sound of the birds in the trees. It feels like spring to me, but I know that the real thaw is still weeks (hopefully not months) away. Sigh. I'm not complaining; I'm just wishing that it was April.

But I said it's raining literally and figuratively. Remember I posted last week about our basement? Well, it's official: everything needs to go. We have a contractor coming tomorrow to rip up the laminate and sub-floor, as well as the entire bathroom. Oh, it's a mess. But it gets worse. On Saturday (when Aaron and I were taking a little break from a one-day conference that we were both participating in), we came home to find a pink puddle on the floor in front of our refrigerator. I figured it was just spilled juice from the boys, but when I opened the freezer to make sure everything was okay, a melty mudslide of popsicles, thawed berries, and oozing packages of wrapped meats slid out. Gross. We threw away more groceries than I care to tally, then checked and double-checked the refrigerator. It seemed okay. Well, a few hours later we came home to find the refrigerator tepid at best, and proceeded to junk more spoiled food. Right now I have essential items stuffed in a snowbank just outside of our back door. I feel like a pioneer woman trudging down the steps in my robe to dig my son's amoxicillin from its little snow-cave. As much as I love the rain, it isn't helping my outdoor refrigerator situation... Argh.

I'm not the type to over-spiritualize things, but I have to admit that I'm feeling a bit attacked these days. But for some incomprehensible reason, it's not getting me down. Usually I'm not so cheerful in the face of even the slightest inconvenience to my normal smooth-sailing routine. Hmmm. Makes me wonder what secret store of optimism my subconscious is feeding on and if I can bottle this happy-go-lucky-ness for later use. Maybe I could sell it and make enough to re-do our basement and replace our refrigerator. Any buyers? :) It could be my rainy day fund...

15 Random Things

My post is a big cheat today. Someone on Facebook tagged me in a note about 25 random things about yourself. It's a busy week, so I'm going to post my list here--Minus ten things so you don't get bored to tears.

1. I will read anything I can get my hands on, including soup cans, shampoo bottles, and appliance instructions in any language. I was a Spanish minor in college and love finding lingual connections between languages.
2. I would love a big family--4 or more kids.
3. My favorite sound in the morning is my coffee perking.
4. I like my showers so hot that I look like a burn victim when I get out.
5. My middle name should be Grace. Not because it's true; because it would be ironic.
6. I like a peanut butter and pickle sandwich about once a year, pregnant or not.
7. I still bite my fingernails after twenty years of trying to quit.
8. I think men who do dishes are sexy (I'm talking about you, Aar).
9. My hair is long because when I was a little girl my daddy always said it was pretty. Now my husband does and I can't bring myself to cut it.
10. My favorite movies are in French. I love subtitles. And I'd love to watch Pan's Labyrinth (I know, it's in Spanish) but I can't bring myself to do it because I HATE scary movies.
11. I worked on a dairy as a ranch hand for several years. For inexplicable reasons, most people don't believe this about me...
12. I have a crush on Obama. And Jon Stewart.
13. I have TMJ (my jaw locks occasionally) and once when my jaw locked for several days I had to go to a maxillofacial surgeon. After trying for 1/2 an hour to unlock my jaw, he finally said, "Hold really still. I'm going to put my tongue in your mouth now." He meant thumb, but I laughed so hard he had to leave the room. He didn't come back for about 10 minutes.
14. I hum when I eat and have to try very hard not to do it in public. Mmm-mmm. So good. I really like food.
15. I had four different majors in college before settling on English, Spanish, ESL (English as a Second Language) and Secondary Education. The four discarded choices were: Veterinary Medicine, Political Science, Law, and Journalism.

Flooding & Finances

On Saturday morning our basement flooded. We live in the "old" part of our small town, a beautiful neighborhood with big trees, miles of sidewalks, and lovely houses dating back to the early 20th century. Our little two-story was built in the 40s, and while we love the hardwood floors, big windows, and quaint design, some things are, well, old. Like the pipes. This is the fourth time we've had water in our basement and the third time our pipes have been roto-rootered. But this is the first time we endured raw sewage beneath our floors and the the first time we'll have to make use of our homeowner's insurance. Sigh.

Before you get horrible pictures of standing water, drenched carpet, and thousands of dollars damage, you should know that though it was a mess, our basement is ideally designed for this sort of catastrophe. The basement floor is laminate (not carpet) and it's suspended a few inches above the cement on a sub-floor. The water just flowed beneath it. All we'll have to do is peel back the laminate, clean, assess the damage, and, if necessary, lay new laminate. I'm remarkably calm about the whole thing. It's so unlike me.

It's also very unlike me to be so nonchalant about the financial crisis (dare I say recession?) facing our country. And yet, I'm cool with it. Of course I don't want my husband to get fired. I don't want my friends to face hard times. I certainly don't want to lose my house or watch our entire country tank. But I can't help secretly cheering for all the things that this sort of financial environment unwittingly promotes. Like frugal living. A return to simplicity. Less travel, more family time. Less consumerism, more self-sufficiency. It means nights around the table playing cards with friends instead of weekends throwing money at restaurants, movies, and entertainment. It means reading more books, turning off the lights, and snuggling in bed at night because the heat is turned a few degrees lower than normal. I'm okay with all that.

It also means less individualism, and that probably excites me most of all. This society ranks the rights of the individual above all else, and if things start to change, we simply won't be able to live like that anymore. On Saturday, when our basement fiasco was in full swing, Aaron stopped by my brother's house to ask if he could borrow a tool. As soon as Andrew, my brother, realized what was happening, he laced up his boots and went up to his elbows in the basement muck. Four and a half hours later, he was still there, wrestling with the roto-rooter and cracking jokes amidst the unbearable stench. I love that. And I wonder what this country will look like six months or a year from now--if we'll step up to the challenge with as much selfless optimism as Andrew displayed when he was crouched in our basement. He helped, no questions asked.

What will we do? Share a meal? Give away clothes that don't fit us anymore and furniture that we don't need? Save pennies in a jar and use them for something other than a new toy? Trade babysitting with our friends instead of spending $5 an hour on a babysitter? Downsize our gas-guzzling SUV and embrace something more financially and environmentally responsible? I think the possibilities are endless. And I think this crisis has the potential to be utterly transforming. I hope so.

Look-Alike

I had a weird experience today. I saw an ad on MSN for an article about little, everyday things you can do to improve your life. Since I'm gettin' fit, I took a moment to peruse the article, skimming the headlines and digging deeper into anything that looked interesting. Advice like "Talk to Strangers" and "Work-Out for One Minute a Day" made me smile. They weren't kidding when they said little things.

But when I clicked to the next bit of advice, I missed the headline entirely. There, smiling at me from my computer screen was my look-alike.


No, not her. He-he-he! ;)



Her.

Maybe I'm crazy. You know how sometimes you hear your own voice on an answering machine or a videotape, and you're shocked that the person speaking is actually you? I had that strange, out of body feeling looking at this woman. Does she look like me? I asked my hubby and he thinks so. Hmmm. I realize we're hardly twins, but there is a definite resemblance. I'd like to meet her on the street someday...

Anyway, how about you? Do you have a look alike? Have you ever met her (or him)? What about a celebrity look alike? Aaron has always told me that I remind him of Jenna Elfman. Remember Dharma & Greg? I don't get the connection, but it's pretty strong to him. Maybe I just need colored contacts. I've always wanted to be a brown-eyed girl! :)

Get Fit, Niki

I have good genes. Or, at least I have slender genes. Never mind the cancer, high blood pressure, heart disease, and bad eyesight in my gene pool. Those things are pretty crummy. But the slim perk is nice--I am and always have had a pretty average build that I've never really had to work at. Until now. My mom always warned me that when I turned 30 everything would start to go downhill. I'm discovering that she meant that in more ways than one.

Although I inherited a fast metabolism, I've always tried to be active and eat well. After all, my body is a temple, right? But these days, activity for me translates into chasing my boys (I clock hours every day quite literally doing exactly that), and eating well means two big slices of supreme pizza when what I really want is three. Eh, not bad. I figured I was doing pretty good for myself.

And then came Get Fit, Iowa. Does your state have a program like this? Basically, the idea is that for 90 days you focus on living healthy, eating well, and starting a good exercise routine--one that works for your lifestyle and schedule. You can form a team of up to ten people, and then spend three months encouraging each other on toward your personal goals and possibly earning cash prizes for most activity or most weight lost. Sounds pretty good. Until you step on that nasty little scale with the magic fat-o-meter. Last week I weighed in, and discovered that while my weight was exactly what I thought it would be, my body-fat percentage was a little higher than the 17% I sported in high school. Ugh. Apparently chasing my kids and eating almost anything I want isn't quite cutting it.

So, here I am, busy mother of two, writing books every spare second I can scrounge, and working on the Articles of Incorporation and IRS Section 501 (c) (3) papers for our growing nonprofit in the spare time of my spare time. When's a girl supposed to do the treadmill thing? Since I have absolutely no illusions about my workout routine being as blissful as this young woman obviously finds hers, I'm left to realistically consider my possibilities.

And those possiblities are... um... I don't know. Help! What do you do to stay in shape? My once a week yoga class is bliss, but it's not cutting it. I am in serious need of advice from all you buff babes out there. I know you're sitting on a goldmine of awesome ideas... Don't leave me hanging. And please don't make me beg. ;)

My Dream Job

I always thought my dream job was writing books. Bah! Books-shmooks. This is my real dream job:

SYDNEY — Position: Island caretaker. Duties: Lazing around Australia's Great Barrier Reef for six months. Salary: $105,000.

Unemployed, take heart — the aforementioned job ad is for real. Billing it the "Best Job in the World," the tourism department in Australia's Queensland state on Tuesday said it was seeking one lucky person to spend half a year relaxing on Hamilton Island, part of the country's Whitsunday Islands, while promoting the island on a blog.

The "island caretaker" will be expected to stroll the white sands, soak up the sun, snorkel the reef, "maybe clean the pool" — and report to a global audience via weekly blogs, photo diaries and video updates.

I could do that! Better yet, I'd be good at that. Can I stroll white sands? Check. Soak up the sun? Check. Snorkel the reef? Hey, I love snorkeling! And what's this about reporting to a global audience? I do that every week! Okay, so my audience is made up of five of you (hello, my peeps!)--I'd be willing to expand my horizons. ;)

Life's too short, methinks. Of course I love my husband, my kids, my real job (hopefully my muse hasn't left me because I just dissed her), my sweet community, my extended family, etc., but I'd love to do something crazy. Like go on Survivor, live in a foreign country long enough to learn the language, go back to school for art or photography or journalism or politics or law, take off on an extended mission trip to the farthest corner of the earth... Or apply for a job as a beach bum. I love life, and I can't help sorta liking the idea of reincarnation. Can't I have another go-round? There's so much I want to do.

How 'bout you? Are you in your dream job? If not, what would your dream job be? Maybe they'd take a group of us and we could all spend six months soaking up the sun... Email your resumes to nicolebaart@yahoo.com!

A few of my favorite things...

Cuddling my precious, adorable, perfect, darling new nephew.

Enjoying the newest Thursday Next book (thank you, Jasper Fforde).

Bailey's in my coffee. But not before 10am, of course. ;)

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Not really. Just making sure you're still reading. (BTW, this is the funniest photo I've ever seen.)

Vacations! Florida, here we come! Okay, not for over three months, but I have to have something to look forward to...

Writing weird, random posts. Happy Monday!

Lasik?

I have had glasses since I was in fourth grade. You really should see those early pictures of a be-spectacled me, but since I try to retain a little self-respect, I won't be posting them. Suffice it to say my second pair of glasses (around 6th grade) were thick-rimmed (to hide the coke-bottle sized lenses) and tinted blue on the top and pink on the bottom (to give a make-up effect? I'm not really sure...). Anyway, at some point I couldn't stand being four-eyed anymore and entered the torturous world of "hard" contact lenses. The technical term is gas permeables, but we're real here, let's call them what they are: hellish chips of jagged glass that you poke into your poor, unsuspecting eyes on a daily basis. I carried Visine in my jeans pocket, my purse, my backpack, my car... And even then I should have bought stock in the company the way I went through their drops. Halfway through high school I had finally had enough. My parents ponied up the dough for disposables and I thought I had been reborn--this time, with good eyes.

Fast forward fourteen years or so... I don't know if you know anything about eye prescriptions, but I still wear disposable contacts for the almost legally blind. My prescription for both eyes is -8.0 with allowances for a massive astigmatism. The contacts work okay, but these days my eyes are so dry and sore that I can only wear them for a portion of my day. When I can't wear my contacts, I'm back to being four-eyed, and though my glasses are arguably rather cute I still get headaches because my vision is so limited and glasses can't allow for astigmatism. What's a girl to do?

Get Lasik surgery. Get Lasik surgery? Really? Ever since I heard of laser eye correction, I've wanted it. And now, nearly two decades after I got my first pair of glasses, I'm seriously considering it. Aaron and I have been saving for a while and the time is now. Now? Okay, I'll admit it, I'm a big, fat chicken. These are my eyes after all, and even though they're a K-car when they should be a Benz, they work and I love 'em.

I'm scared. What if I go through with the surgery and the laser slips, zapping my eyes into jelly? What if they overcorrect or undercorrect and I end up still needing glasses? What if twenty years from now they discover that people who underwent Lasik eye surgery will eventually have their eyeballs fall out of their heads? It could happen, you know. This is a fairly new surgery yet. Argh! The hideous possibilities are endless.

So, any advice? Have you done it? Do you know anyone who has? Did their eyeballs fall out? I'd love to hear what you have to say!

What I'm Listening to...

I tend to be a little (okay, a lot) dramatic, but I am wildly in love with Missy Higgins new CD, On a Clear Night. Thanks to i-Tunes Genius, this Australian singer/songwriter is a new, and very welcome addition to my playlist. The album is mostly acoustic with a folksy, blues-like feel, and Missy's smoky vocals are stunning. She reminds me in some ways of Ingrid Michaelson or maybe Colbie Caillat, though she's a bit more off the beaten path than Colbie's popular, mainstream tunes.

Anyway, just thought I'd share. I love being introduced to a new artist--thought you might, too.

From one of my favorite songs: Forgive Me

oh, my God
how you make it hard
not to pick the apple
pick the apple
and how I long to give it back
and I was on shaky land
lost and not sure
I opened my hand
and she held it like sinking sand

but all, all, all of my light is for you
home, home's anywhere you are too
so take this one fallen man on his knees
saying please, forgive me

Vanity, Vanity

I am so not photogenic. In fact, quite the opposite. If someone brings out a camera anywhere near me, I cringe and can't stop myself from pulling my famous photo-face (think pained, slightly constipated half-smile--if you're lucky you'll catch my eye twitching). Don't know what made me that way, but I'm blaming the "scared of pictures" gene on my dad. Handsome man, for sure, but even more petrified of cameras than me. And that's saying something.

Anyway, I've been in an ongoing conversation for the last few months with a couple of author friends about many different aspects of publishing. A hot topic we keep coming back to is why people buy (or don't buy) books. What sells? Cover? Title? Name power? Topic? Writing? One of these lovely ladies noted that her publicist has chosen a particular image for her, a hook that will hopefully brand her and help sell her books. Hmmm, me thinks. Do I have an image? Do I want one?

If I did have an image, I suppose it would be the harried, newish mom. At least, that's me at my most raw. Or maybe I could be branded as a philanthropist, a passionate young woman co-heading a growing non-profit. The small town girl next door? The got-it-all-together pastor's wife? The truth is, I'm all of those things. And none of them. Funny how that works.

An image, at it's most literal, is exactly that: a picture, a representation. I've been noticing lately the amazing photos that most authors have gracing their websites and the backs of their books. Check out my friend Lisa McKay's site (she's so pretty!), or Tosca Lee (granted, she is a professional model so the gorgeous part is a given), or even Travis Thrasher (love the different looks he can pull off). Have you ever read a Brandilynn Collins book? I haven't, but I'd know her picture anywhere--her over-the-shoulder, wide-eyed gaze is a brand in and of itself. And the truth is, there is something really cool about all of their pictures, beyond the obvious aesthetic appeal: when I look at a well done portrait, I feel like I know the subject. Cliched as it sounds, a little piece of that person is preserved in an artful rendering.

So all of this begs the question: Am I, photo-phobic that I am, capable of taking a truly revealing shot? Get your mind out of the gutter, I don't mean revealing that way. :) I mean, could someone photograph me in such a way that a person picking up one of my books, or finding my site on the web, could feel an instant connection with me? A sense of commonality? A feeling of, I want to know what she has to say? Because I can relate to her, or she intrigues me, or I like the spark in her eye... whatever. Fill in the blank.

Welcome to my personal experiment.

I have a very dear friend who happens to be one of the most talented photographers I've ever met. Amazingly enough, so far she only takes pictures of her kids. But the images she has gracing the walls in her home rival that of any professional studio. Since she's interested in seeing where the Lord is leading in this area of her life, I put myself in her very capable hands for a morning of fieldwork. We packed the kids in her mini-van, put on a video, pacified them with snacks, and then drove around our community and shot a ba-jillion photos. When the rugrats got sick of that, we drove through McDonalds and went home. Then she proceeded to do my make-up, hang a black sheet over her banister, and snap at least a ka-trillion more photos with five children screaming in the background. She should be sainted. Not only for putting up with all those kids, but also for being patient with me. A typical conversation:

"Smile, Nik."

"I can't."

"Come on..."

*Sickly half-smile*

"A real smile."

"That was a real smile!"

"Uh, okay then, give me a fake one."

I know, I'm pathetic. But my friend, like I said, is very talented. She managed to capture some pretty cool photos. Unedited, shot on my camera, and downloaded for your perusal. What do you think? Do you feel like any of these portraits capture a bit of who I am? Does it matter what an author looks like? Or, more accurately, what their author photo looks like? More to the point: Is it all just vanity? A selfish preening in the hope that someone will find us interesting, attractive, compelling, handsome...? Or do we all long in some way for people to see us as we truly are? Oooo, now we're getting deep. Are my musings going overboard? Do I sound too much like Carrie Bradshaw? Will this post ever end??? :)

Liberia (the second)

Okay, so I could forego all the book talk and spend the rest of my life blogging about Liberia. But I won't. At least, not now. Maybe after I go you'll see a definite change in subject matter around here. Until then, this will be my last Liberia post. Thought you might like to know what One Body, One Hope actually does.

Abide in the Vine

This is the church we support. Robert Bimba is the pastor and our original contact (we met in Ethiopia). We now provide quarterly food aid for the church and basically help out in any way we can (from paying surgical costs when someone gets sick to buying Bibles for church members). When Aaron was in Monrovia he led a pastor's conference for 120 Liberian pastors.

Christ Our Hope Orphanage

I call this our orphanage, but it's not. We just provide monthly sponsorship for the 54 kids here. Immanuel and Fatu Bimba run the orphanage and the children couldn't ask for more loving "parents."

Rice Farm

Through CHAP (Community of Hope Agricultrual Project) we were able to help Abide in the Vine secure over 30 acres for a rice farm. The very first head of rice was harvested when Aaron was overseas. After the photo was taken, they cut the stalk and gave it to Aaron. We're having it framed.

Lifewater Liberia Compound

While in country, Aaron and the rest of the team helped finish (or almost finish) a Lifewater Liberia compound. LL digs wells in Liberia and through mutual contacts and friends we became excited about their ministry.

Well, that's it in a nutshell. If you're interested in getting involved, we have a website (One Body, One Hope) that is in desperate need of updates, or you can simply email me. We are currently looking for people to sponsor the incredible teachers at the Christian school our kids attend. These selfless people are all Liberian nationals and university grads who are dedicated to making a difference in their country. I could not admire them more. Anyway, I'd better get back to writing. But I'll leave you with one last photo. This young man has stolen my heart.