So you want your teenage girls to go to Bible School after she graduates?  I have the PERFECT ad to show her.  (you may need to blow it up a bit to see the fine print… nah.)

See more Wordless Wednesday posts at 5 Minutes for Mom.

Has our parliament lost their ever loving minds?  A COALITION?  Am I yelling?  That would be cause I’m MAD.  Did I not just VOTE?  (And was I not on the winning side?  *grin*)  What the bleepity- bleep-bleep do our politicians think they’re doing?  If you’re wanting to vent a little at your local newspaper or otherwise support your political party to OPPOSE the coalition - you can do so here:

Campaign Office

Breathing…… breathing….. BREATHING.

Doodle by Lee. The code for this doodle and other doodles you can use on your blog can be found at Doodles.

Mike and I had discussed sponsoring a child from World Vision for Christmas.  We’ve always wanted to do this, felt guilty when we see our friends’ sponsored child on their fridge, and have never really gotten around to it.  When we do think of it we ‘can’t’ afford it.  And when we can afford it, I suppose it doesn’t cross our minds.  So this time, we are going to do it.  You can hold me to that.

We looked up the difference between World Vision and Compassion International.  Both are excellent charities.  And we are going with World Vision to sponsor a child.  I looked up the children on Friday.  The websites are great: very easy to navigate, and easy to find a child to sponsor.  It wasn’t overwhelming at all.

On one hand.  On the other hand, there are so many emergency needs - kids dying of hunger, and all that.  So I wanted to give to the “Crisis Child Emergency” fund or something like that.  And you can pick the amount that you are going to pledge, and you can help whoever needs it most, as decided by the company.  that seems to make more sense to me:  why don’t we feed the ones in crisis instead of provide education for the teens in a healthy village?  Perfectly logical.

Did I mention it was late?  And I was tired?  And I had money in my paypal account?  Had being the operative word here.

So yesterday, after a huge fight discussion with Mike about why I changed our agreement, I stomped out went out for a coffee.  It occurrs to me that there may be merit in our original idea to sponsor a specific child and follow their lives, and show our love in other ways too.  Perhaps.

But now I’m torn.  Why can’t I get emotional and give all I have? Isn’t the state of my brothers and sisters across the world, worth a few tears?  But then today, when I go out to get some groceries for our week, why do I worry about money? Well, worry isn’t exactly the right term.  I am happy with the way I’m spending my money, but if I had it available to me in my Paypal account, I probably would have used it all up.  It doesn’t sound wise to me in the daylight.

So who do I like better?  The me who wants to give all I have?  Or the me who feels a little silly over my impulsive, emotional decision?

Not me!

You know how I posted that Mike and I had a “discussion” about my generous heart impulsive spending?  Well, truth be told, it was NOT me that you saw driving away with my tongue sticking out.  Of course not!  That would be rather impulsive, wouldn’t it?

Our week ended with a trip to see Santa Claus on Saturday.  Emma was bouncing up and down,  grinning from ear to ear on his lap, and MUCH too excited to answer his “What do want for Christmas, Emma?” question.  As Megan turned into a screaming frightened little waif for the first time EVER, Santa’s Helper - ahem - was trying to talk ME into forcing my child to sit with the strange man.  And I mean,

Excuse Me!  Does it GET stranger than Santa Claus?

You HAVE to know that I DID NOT, in all my maturity and wisdom, roll my eyes and walk away.  *nodding*

So the rest of today?  You would not have seen ME outside in a sleeveless shirt in the middle of winter, pushing THREE girls around on their bicycles.  And you wouldn’t have seen THEM without their jackets and mittens.  And it was me cheering, and running, and testing brakes, except when there was some crazy lady with her butt in the air and her hands on these teeny tiny bike pedals pushing little gum-booted feet up and down.  That woman only looked like me.

And as we were searching through the stored clothes, it was definitely not me you saw hiding the giant spider nest, and wacking the box on the floor hoping they’d fall out.  It was also not me who was flipping around trying to get the nasty things out of her hair, without the children noticing.