See.

It has been ridiculously cold lately.
With our car throwing up its hands in protest and refusing to start, there were a few days there where cabin fever was starting to set in.

All I could do was take pictures of the frost gathering on the inside of my windows.




(Brrr.)


Other favourite photos this week include:






The window sill.






Baby Rae's temporary tattoo, courtesy of her dad.

(She was asleep in his arms, and he had a pen in his hand.)










And D-hubby.
Not from this week, but I can't help but love it. It's so...him, even if it's just his feet. He said once that you can tell a lot about a person by what kind of shoes they wear. It was in response to me raising an eyebrow or three about how he always notices people's shoes.
He has been smoked by his finals these past couple weeks. They're almost oooover!
Only one more tomorrow, then we're outta here for the Christmas season.



Family, here we come.

Forty Forty.

As of Monday, I've started this program called the "40-40" that I heard about when I was a teenager:

20 minutes of scripture/gospel study,
10 minutes of pondering,
10 minutes of prayer,
Every day for 40 days.

In a perfect world, I would be perfect (...), and I wouldn't need a 'program' for motivation to consistently participate in a meaningful spiritual study, or need to write a blog post about it to make myself more accountable to the invisible "you" (Hi Mom!).

But I'm not, and I do.
It'll be a good habit-starter, anyways: a good kick in the pants.

I'm already feeling the difference it's making; my days just go....better.

So here's to the kickoff!
Ya-hoooo!

His Beard, My Secret.

This is THE Beard.

For the past couple months, D-Hubby has gotten in on a beard-growing contest with some other random guys (also known as wanna-be Yetties.) They've agreed not to shave it off until Christmas.
This is the point it's gotten to, the growth D-Hubby is currently sporting; the photo was taken just today after coming in from his early morning paper routes.

Last year, he tried to grow a little one, too.
I told him that if he didn't shave, neither would I.

I told him the same thing this year, but I didn't last long. My resolve to be hairy was far weaker than his this time around, and I threw in the towel and shaved me leggers just a couple weeks in.

They were still pretty hairy, though.
(...Recognition? Congratulations?...Anyone?...)

(...crickets...)

Anyways, I still make sure to razz him about it; I crinkle my nose each time he comes in to brag about the length of the hair growing out of his face, make sure he knows that I'll be grateful when it's gone, and roll my eyes when he takes proud picture after picture of it.

But.

Truth is, I have a secret:
My resistance is a little forced.
I actually LOVE facial hair on guys. And he does grow quite a handsome beard.
Either way, I think he's adorable and attractive.

So why the fuss?

I'm pretty sure that my love of a little facial hair comes from the same place inside me that loves a little Dr. Pepper now and then...and really wants dread-locks...and kind of wants to live at a coffee shop writing furious and depressingly inspired poetry all day.
It's the part of me that loves things that are just a little...what's the word....borderline? controversial?
I don't know. You get my drift.
And it's the part of me that gets greedier when fed.

Then there's the part of me that wants us both to be the best we can be. That's the part of me that loves being a mom and wife even though I have sometimes overwhelming responsibilities, that wants to be clean and neat and conservative, but deeply passionate about things that are good and uplifting, beautiful, creative and truly inspiring.
And that's the part that tries to encourage my hubby to be a clean-shaven hunk instead of sporting the sexy-scruffy look he's got going on.

He asked me the other day what really thought of the beard, with eyes big and sincere. I had to tell him. And now he knows my secret. But he also understands where I'm coming from as far as being so...torn.

I'm still not sure how long the beard will last. Right now it keeps his face from freezing off in the -30 degrees Celsius weather he braves in the morning.

So I'll continue to protest,
and he'll continue to understand,
and soon it will just be something we both secretly miss, just a little.