Blogging? What's that? Something I used to do when I had free time, you say?

Things are Cr-AZY around the Vanderhouse right now. Granted, we knew that once I got back from a work trip to Arizona, life was going to pick up, but I don't think I realized how much. With exactly two weeks from the time my flight arrived to the day my car would pull out of Raleigh, there wasn't a toooon of time to do what needed to be done, but there was enough. Right?

Wrong. Panic is beginning to set in just a wee bit. Our truck arrives Tuesday (a week from today), and I still need to pack up the guest closet, the bathrooms and the kitchen. And we need to go through the bazillion piles of stuff sitting around looking for a home.

All that would be fine and dandy, except that I seem to have created a harmful environment around me. Case in points:

1) About two weeks ago, I made the mistake of wearing heels to work for the first time in a while. This was a mistake because A) I did it on a day I had to get blood drawn so I was weak and B) because regardless of my blood levels, I tend to be on the clumsy side. Put two and two together (or is it three and three here?) and the picture you'll see is me falling out of my car after leaving the doctor's office. The initial scratch wasn't so bad - it was the bruise that covered my entire calf a few days later that freaked me out. Coupled with the post-travel massage I got, and the bruise had turned black a week later. That REALLY freaked me out. Thankfully, I seem to be rebounding, slowly but surely.

2) Speaking of rebounding from car "accidents", I wish my bumper rebounded as easily after it uhh, bumped, a telephone pole on Saturday. After the aforementioned travel last week, I rode w/ A up to the auto mechanics shop to pick up his truck. He turned my car over to me, and literally, within three seconds of sitting in the driver's seat for the first time in a week, I back up and into a telephone pole. In the parking lot of the mechanic's shop. Irony, you are a cruel mistress.

There was a lot of new bird poop on the back window that I was, unfortunately, focused on. When I stopped staring at the dung and got out to look at my bumper, I immediately burst into tears. Thankfully, my husband is a wonderful encourager and reminded me that it's just a car and hey - the back door still works.

3) Fast-forward to a few days later (aannnddd....now I have Alanis Morrisette in my head), and I'm in bed, trying to fall asleep and soothing my aching muscles. My legs were super-sore from yoga and zumba over the weekend, so I was laying in the middle of the bed on my stomach, with my legs stretched out like a frog behind me. Basically, I was hogging the bed - a role my husband normally plays. As he maneuvered into his spot, which was really close to my spot, somehow his elbow connected with my lip. I yelled. Blood appeared. Tears began. Did I mention I had been to the dentist that morning for some fillings and still had residual jaw pain on the SAME SIDE of my mouth?

After panicking, and rinsing my lip in a bunch of water, and getting a lot of hugs from A, I began to bawl. Big, fat tears for all the pain and frustrations and stress of the last few days and the next few weeks. I began to cry, not because my lip was that bad (although it was), but because once again, I am a mess in transition.

Although I have a history of being a bit of a clumsy, crazy mess, I thought I was growing past that phase of life. Ha. That phase is my life, I'm learning. The Lord is teaching me that this mess is me.

I can't grow so old, or move so far away, or become so mature as to not be a mess. It's what I am. It's what we all are. And while sometimes it's physically painful to be reminded of that fact, I'm learning that the most pain comes from learning that it's my spirit that is messed up. Those are the hurts that last. The bruises fade, the lips heal, hopefully the bumpers get fixed, but the mess of our hearts continues to flare up throughout our lifetime.

Thankfully, there is a cure for those of us who are a mess. It's called God's grace. His grace covers the fact that on my own, I am a mess. His grace enables the Father to look at me and see - not my screw-ups and my crazy emotions and my blunderings - but the perfect, graceful, flawless, beautiful life of Christ. So while I'm a mess in transition on this Earth, there is assurance that one day I will grow out of this phase, when I am given new life and a new body in heaven. Until then, I think I'm going to try to see these mishaps, not as wounds to my body and my stuff, but as reminders of the wound to my soul that Jesus has blessedly healed.

Remember when I started this blog, it was mostly stories of our mishaps and general craziness that is my life? It's been a while since I posted much about those kinds of things. Never fear - today restored my confidence in my klutzyness (how exactly is that word spelled?). Here goes:

1. After enjoying my lunch and a small bar of Hershey's Dark Chocolate (my sweet husband knows exactly what and when to get me little treats to care for me and stabilize my moods! ;), I was going to run to drop off a movie at Redbox. I happened to look down and see two dark brown spots on my pants. Right on my crotch, to be exact. Thankfully, I whipped out my new Tide pen and dabbed it on. Between me and A, we go through those things super-fast. To say the Vanderburgs are tidy people might be reaching a bit. Soy sauce, chocolate, milk, fruit juice....the Tide pen takes care of them all. After I finished trying to clean the chocolate off my pants, I snapped this picture with my phone and sent it to A.

My disciplined husband has been doing P90X faithfully for a month now. Each time he does it, he makes sure Ben is on the porch before starting, because Benny is a little bit...uh.....helpful.....anytime one of us is on the floor doing something that looks like it could be a fun game. He is both curious and overly playful.

The other night, I was cooking dinner while A was doing P90X stretching, so I left Benny in, figuring I could keep him out of A's way. I underestimated Ben's desire to be in the middle.of.everything. As soon as A got on the floor to do one of the exercises, Ben was there. I grabbed the camera to try and capture what it looks like when both of my boys do P90X together.

Exercise: Through Ben's eyes:

"Hey, wouldn't this be more effective if I provided a little toothy motivation?"

"You think you're flexible? Look at ME! I can stretch and balance at the same time!"

"I'll show you how to turn stretching into playtime!"

"No? Not helping?"

"You do your stretches. I'm going to sleep - what a workout."

*Blehhhh*

I had this grand idea to tell you about all the new stuff I'm getting right now: My camera arrived at home today, I'm waiting on some new earrings from Mom to come in, a movie ticket I bought for CHEAP should be here soon, and a great deal on my favorite perfume from No More Rack tells me I should have Cool Water in the mailbox veeerrry soon. So, I'm excited about the mailman and all the things he'll be bringing soon!

What I wish I could get brought to me? A MILKman with a new jug of milk. And a mental eraser.

I bought a new jug last night at the store, only to have it fall out of the back of my car in the parking lot at home, bust open immediately and spew milk all over my pants, socks and shoes.

It is in that vein that the "blehhhh" comes in: I was remembering that though I took off the milk-wet pants and socks as soon as I got inside the door, and although I put them in the washing machine I added neither water nor soap, so my pants and socks still have milk on them - only now - it's surely dry. Sour milk on my work clothes = blehhhhh.

What gets a "double blehhhhh"? Googling an image of a busted milk jug to be used on the blog ....There is no reason those words should have brought up a picture of a big-busted woman with her chest painted to look like a cow's udders. In fact, nevermind the Google picture - there is no reason to paint your bare chest to look like a cow's udders!!

I wish I had something witty to say, but I am so disgusted right now. All I can say to you, big-busted, heifer woman, is that that picture is udderly inappropriate. Oh, the things I go through for this blog...

;) That's all, folks. Happy February.

Well, it's a dusty day here in Montana. I wanted to say Oklahoma just now, for some reason, but no, I'm definitely in Montana. It may be because the dust is picking up and kicking up my allergies a lot at the moment, but it is otherwise gorgeous and very Montana-like here.

We got here around noon on Thursday after an early morning leaving RDU. As soon as we stepped out of the airport, it was a breath of fresh air. Literally. The air was cool and crisp and so clean. Big Sky country made an immediate good impression.

Since getting here, we've been in a pattern of early mornings, slooooow afternoons (complete with a nap for me today), and long nights of wandering around the rodeo. Although really interesting - especially the people watching - the days are long and generally slow and a bit boring. It's kind of weird - it feels like we have a lot of time to do nothing productive.

Today was the best day here, thus far. We went prairie dog hunting. It was great fun! Although I didn't actually shoot anything (not for lack of trying) I still had a good time. It was a bit frustrating, as I didn't have any time to really do my thing ;) First, one of the guys held the barrel of the gun for me and pointed it for me, even though he was not exactly helping. The second time I got the gun, they made me stop shooting because of fear that I'd hit one of the guys that was walking. The third time I got the gun, I fired off some shots and almost hit it. A rock, that is. I kept shooting and shooting, but unfortunately, wasn't actually aiming for a prairie dog. If it had been one, and he had run toward my bullets, he so would have been dead.

So anyways, we're at the rodeo now, waiting for some more opportune moments to capture and conversations to have!

Here's a link to the photos I've taken. Not great, I'm having a lot of camera trouble, plus, we have a professional photog with us, so my motivation is "notsomuch."

Hope everyone is enjoying their 4th of July weekend!

Yesterday was A’s last day as a Bruegger’s employee. I, for one, am thankful. Actually, make that “for two.” He’s pretty delighted to be done.

After four months of 3-4 mornings a week waking up at 4am, returning to a normal schedule will be absolutely wonderful for us. However, to commemorate the last three months of life as a Bruegger’s employee, here are my top three stories from there.

1) A’s standing at the cash register ringing up a lady with a little girl. He looks at the lady and says, “Aw….She looks just like you,” to which the lady replies, “It’s not my kid.” Classy, babe. You always know just what to say to make a girl feel good!
2) My husband has graduated from college, spent a year working on a Master’s of Education, and then earned his Master of Divinity a year and a half ago. Needless to say, working at Bruegger’s has been a humbling experience for him, what with his background and all. So anyways, one day he is talking to a collegiate-aged colleague of his and mentions that something at Brugger’s was “crazy.” She looked at him and said, “You want to see crazy, you should go to college! THAT”S crazy!” Ha.
3) This past week, A realized that an uncooked lump of pumpernickel dough looks a lot like poop. He twisted a lump of it around, spritzed it with a little water, and dropped it on the floor of the men’s bathroom – right next to a toilet. He then tried to make one of the employees clean up the bathroom, but when he refused, A went in there with him and picked the “poop” up in his bare hands. The kid flipped out.

So there you go, some of our favorite stories from Bruegger’s. It wasn’t a bad job, but just really hard on his body and on our schedule.

This week we’re in Florida for the Southern Baptist Convention, because I’ll be covering it for work. I’m kind of excited, because we get to spend the week together and do it in Florida! Fun times. We’ll be visiting my friend Jenn in St. Augustine tomorrow and then heading into Orlando. I’ll work Monday-Wednesday, Thursday we’ll hit up one of the Disney resorts (Any recommendations, from people that know us? We’ve both been before, but not together). Then Friday, we’ll start the journey home.

So pray for safe travels for us, if you think about it. Pray for the leaders of the SBC as big things (GCR) come to pass and new leaders come to play. If any of you will be around this week, I’d love to see you!

Last night, A and I were watching "Did You Hear About the Morgans?" It's a cutesy romantic comedy in which the main couple witnesses a murder and gets put into the Witness Protection Program.

After seeing this man murdered, they're informed they'll be protected by the U.S. government, and they're introduced to their protectors - Marshal Lasky and Marshal Henderson.

(Cue blond moment) I laughed and looked at A and said, "Ha! It's funny they named both of them Marshall!"

He looked at me and shook his head and said, "Babe. It's not their names. It's their title - U.S. Marshal...."

Right. I knew that.

I think it's been a while since I've had just obvious blond moments. Hopefully, they won't stick around for much longer, since I'm going to dye my hair dark very soon! We're heading to Florida for the Southern Baptist Convention next week, and after that, I'm going in to get acquainted with my dark side ;) There is a Mitchell's Salon school in Raleigh, so I'm going to take advantage of their $30 color and $8 haircut. If it looks horrible, blame it on a student!

I've had my hair dark a couple of times before, and I'm ready to do it again. Bored and needing change, you know? Plus, my hubby thought I was a brunette for the first 6 months he was pursuing me and he liked me dark, so we're full-steam ahead in the Vanderburg house!

Granted, we have only been married for a little over 7 months. I am by no means an expert on marriage, nor do I bring anything to the table that hasn't already been said by somebody, somewhere. However, a few encounters this weekend got me to thinking that maybe the kind of marriage A and I strive to have is maybe more unusual than I thought.

As we were visiting my parents' church in Maryville this weekend, the pastor who was preaching had everyone stand up and hug two people before he "preached hard words." I hugged the two people sitting next to me: my Mom, and then A. As my husband was giving me a big hug, a lady behind us said, "No fair! You get to hug her all the time" to which my dear hubby said, "And it's never enough."

She looked shocked for a second and then said she wished her husband had heard that. Is it really that novel of a concept that married people should want to touch and hug each other as much as possible? I adore my husband and we try to take any chance we can to hug one another.

The next day, my parents, A and I drove up to Gatlinburg for a delicious Italian lunch and some fudge :) As we were walking along the street, some man yelled out to us, "Hey! Are you guys married or happy?" Always quicker with the responses, A replied, "Both!" Again, another silence greeted us. Is it so surprising that people can be married AND happy with one another?

We believe marriage should look like the Bible portrays it: An amazing gift of the Lord. It is a spiritual union that brings two souls together for the glory of the Lord and the betterment of the husband and wife. Marriage is about our holiness - that is, becoming more like Jesus - than our happiness, and through marriage, we are brought into a deeper relationship with the Lord as we understand Him as our eternal Husband. Marriage is a portrayal of Jesus and the Church: Jesus loves His people desperately, with a sacrifical love, dying so that His people could become righteous. The Church, then, submits to Jesus, recognizing Him as the leader and the one who knows best.

My job, as the wife, then is to submit to and respect my husband as the church should submit to and respect Jesus Christ. I don't do it perfectly, or even well, sometimes. A's job, as the husband, is to love me sacrificially, and provisionally, leading me and discipling me. He doesn't do it perfectly, either. However, within our marriage, I have seen how A tries to love me in very tangible ways, such as leaving me notes in my lunch box (yes, I carry a lunch box), teaching me hard spiritual truths or doing other romantic things for me.

Last night was one such occasion of romance gone awry. After a long weekend in Maryville, we didn't really have any groceries, so rather than asking me to go to the store and shop and then make dinner, my sweet husband offered to make dinner for me!

Here goes!

This is the "main course" for our meal: Cheddarwurst brats with Dijonnaise and saurkraut. Tasty? Yes, surprisingly so. However, in the midst of cooking this, he left two eyes on on the stove. One was empty, the other had a pot lid sitting on it....

One of the eyes on. However, even after shutting off both eyes (and the running water in the sink which was just going....and going....and going....) we still noticed the apartment was getting smoky. We turned on 3 fans, opened the windows, sent Ben to the porch and fanned the smoke alarm as it got smokier and smokier. Then, we realized the smoke was billowing out of the oven, where A had forgotten about this:

Burned nachos. Burned. To. A. Crisp. They smoked foreeever. Literally, they're probably still smoking today! They were charred.

He had set a timer but when it went off, forgot it was for the brats AND the nachos...Oh well. Our eyes burned all night and Ben sneezed all night, but no biggie ;)

A typical Mother's Day when I was growing up included my Dad grilling steaks and us having a wonderful lunch feast. Maybe we'd rent a pontoon boat and go cruise the lake, lay in the sun, and swim till we were exhausted.

Yesterday it became apparent to me that I'm "not in Maryville anymore."

Granted, no kids for the Vanderburgs yet. So, I'm not a mother yet. I understand that. However, whenever that day comes, I hope my body gets treated differently than how it did yesterday.

We had been planning on doing a bike ride all week. Yesterday morning we woke up and hit the streets atop our two-wheeled death traps, hearts all a-flutter (Who am I kidding? My heart was all a-flutter at the thought of exercising. My sweet husband had already ridden the route 3 times this week, so he was fine).

So anyways, we hop on and off we go - down Capital (one of the busiest streets in Raleigh), cutting through the Hardee's parking lot, until we're on a road that is one long continuous up-hill climb. We detoured off that road and took a lovely little bike path that I will now call "The calm before the storm."

After the bike path was the final push, aka a really big hill. Ok, it wasn't that big, but for me, it was brutal. In fighting terms the trip was like this: jab, jab, jab, jab, jab, SUCKER PUNCH. Seriously.

The good news is that we were at the end, finally. We arrived at Starbucks, I downed some water, we read for a while, and when the gnawing hunger in my body finally got strong enough, we climbed back in the saddle. Fortunately, the return trip was a lot easier on my heart and lungs and legs, as it was mostly downhill. Unfortunately downhill=speed=jostling, which, to my already incredibly sore butt muscles/bones, was not so pleasant.

When we got home, I slaved over a hot stove for a long time and produced a delicious meal of chicken parmesan, parmesan asparagus, salad (not on the stove) and bruschetta. It was a lovely feast. A did clean up for me, since our dishwasher is broken and I hate hand-washing dishes.

You'd think it would be time for a rest after that, right? Nope. I then did a good old-fashioned butt-kicking kind of cleaning job - scrubbing toilets, bathtubs, floors, sweeping, shaking out rugs, vacuuming, organizing, etc. We have a friend of A's moving in with us today, so I wanted to make sure everything was spic and span for his arrival.

Thus, the brutal body day. I treated myself (after a horrible ending to The Amazing Race) to a hot bath and an early bedtime. *Bliss*

In all seriousness though, we may try to make the Sunday morning bike ride a regular thing. We tried the Saturday night service at our church and really liked it a lot, so we'll probably make Saturdays our day of rest and worship, thus enabling us to do more bike rides on Sundays. Since we want to be church planters, I think it will be really beneficial for us to be out in the community when most believers are in church - trying to form relationships with non-believers and getting me out of my legalistic mindset that "Sundays are for church and if you're not at church on Sunday mornings, you're a heathen." I apologize for thinking that. I repent.

Hope all of my lovely friends - mothers and mothers-to-be alike, had a fabulous day. Praise God for the gift mothers are, and I praise God that mothers are merely a reflection of the character of our heavenly Father.

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change." -James 1:17

It's a tough world out there, and even more painful when you have a 6'8'' husband who inflicts pain on both himself and others.

Last week I commented to A that for some reason, my left ankle has been hurting unexpectedly. It's not like I've been exercising (mono), so I had no idea how or why I had hurt it. I only knew that several mornings when I took our dog, Ben, out to the bathroom, it was tender and stiff to walk on.

After I mentioned this, A paused and looked thoughtful for a minute.

"I might be doing it to you," he said. "Which ankle is it?"

I told him it was my left ankle, also known as the one closest to him in bed. *Lightbulb*

"Sometimes you sleep crooked. Like, your body is far away, but your legs are stretched out close to me. I know I've accidentally kicked you a few times lately when your legs were there and I didn't know it." Apparently, I don't wake up or notice being assaulted in my sleep. That is not comforting news.

However, he also unwittingly inflicts pain on himself. Take last night for example. I was in the bedroom folding clothes and he was at our dining room table working on the budget when I heard him yell and start muttering. I went out to see what was the matter and found my beloved laying in the corner with his head cocked awkwardly against both walls - sitting still after he broke one of our dining room chairs. Geez, Fatty. Kidding :)

The chair just crumbled underneath him, and being that he's so tall, his already-prone-to-pain back and neck suffered some serious discomfort from his little tumble. I wanted to comfort him, but didn't know quite what to say. I thought about telling him how I used to fall out of chairs all the time, but it was never because they broke when I sat down. I was never heavy enough for that :)

So anyways, we're going to try and start working out together tonight to get our bodies in better shape. We've been busy and eating poorly and sickly, so it hasn't been a priority, at least for me. He has been more disciplined. Obviously, our bodies could use a little more beating up (of the intentional sort) so that A doesn't break any more chairs or break my ankle. We want to be better stewards of our body so that those who don't know the Lord won't be turned off at the vision of His temple before they ever hear word of His salvation.

Speaking of salvation, yesterday was Resurrection Day (also known as Easter), and it was a great one for the Vanderburgs. We both really enjoyed serving coffee together at some of the services at our church, listening to a great message about the Gospel (four words: Jesus in my place), and then celebrating with over 90 people who decided to get baptized in big tanks in the field. It was a blessing to be there and see how God worked and got the glory. Afterward, we enjoyed lunch/dinner at Cheesecake Factory (2-year tradition now!). All in all, a fabulous first Easter for the Vanderburgs :)

As many of you know, I happen to like alliteration. This is why you'll often see me using it in my blog titles. Fortunately for me, today's was a no-brainer (score!), especially considering that the three alliterated things are all about food (double score).

Sunday A and I went to the 12:30 service at our new church, The Summit. We were planning on attending a meeting afterward about a new campus closer to us, so I figured I'd make us some BLTs before heading over there.

I've started cooking with real bacon, instead of the pre-cooked stuff that I used to use. It's cheaper and tastes better, but cooking it has proven hazardous. The first time I tried to make some of the real bacon, I put it on a plate in the microwave and ended up starting a mini-fire on the plate (the paper towels did it, I think), and the plastic cracked down the middle. Yikes. So on Sunday, I cooked the bacon in the frying pan, as I have learned to do fairly well.

All was going great until I dropped a fresh piece into the hot pan and SHAZAM! Bacon grease came flying out - straight into my eye. I started screaming because it hurt so flipping bad. A came running over and instructed my to stand over the sink and hold my eye open. He began throwing water into my face (not exactly my eye) to try and flush it all out. For an ex-baseball player, his aim wasn't so hot with the water! Ha. I don't think I made it any easier because I kept squinting and spazzing. Long story short(er), I ended up with no serious injury, except to my make-up, which had to be redone. A told me later he immediately began thinking about what life without sight would be like for me - thank the Lord, that didn't happen that day.

Another food mishap happened today while I was eating lunch in the office. I was watching a highly intelligent show on the computer while I ate (who am I kidding? It was Cougar Town) with my headphones plugged in. I turned my head to sneeze, and the cord for my ear buds knocked over my open water bottle, spilling water all over my desk, my pants, the floor and my lunch. I effectively ruined the second half of my PB&J and chips. After cleaning it all up, I got in my car to treat myself to a Bojangles chicken biscuit (It's been SOO long!). I got there, ordered and pulled the car up to the window, only to realize I had left my wallet on my desk. Stink.

I turned around, went back to the office, grabbed my wallet and went back for a delicious biscuit. Nothing was stopping me once I got that idea in my head! It tasted SO good.

So. There you go - life as a Vanderburg entails so many food mishaps.

Hopefully, this only applies to me, not my husband. As of next week, A will be started manager training at Bruegger's, where he will have access to lots and lots of bagels. College friends - you know what sweet music to my ears that is! I ADORE bagels. The job is really an answer to prayer in so many ways, and we're thankful and excited about it! As his friend Billy told him - "If you're going to bagel, bagel to the glory of God!" I'm looking forward to the new relationships he'll make, the new things he'll learn and all the bagels he'll bring home to me ;)

I was pretty perky yesterday, although it was Monday. I had had a good time in the Word, a visit from my friends Courtney and Laura and new baby Gavin, and enjoyed the giggles from my trip to the store. Despite the good things, I did have a headache, but that's par for the course for me after a day in the office.

When I went to Wal-Mart for the weekly grocery-shopping trip, all was going well until the bread aisle. I was squatting down, looking for the price on the whole-grain tortillas I wanted to buy, when I suddenly felt a pile of bricks hit me on the top of my head.

Ok, ok, it wasn't bricks, but it sure as heck felt like it. An apparently impatient woman couldn't wait for me to move and reached up from behind me to grab a bag of tortillas. An apparently huge bag of tortillas. 200 to be exact.

So after it hit me, I just sat there and started to cry. She said "Sorry!" and ran off. Her daughter giggled at me from behind the end-cap.

After I got up, called A and cried, I went back to see exactly how much the 200 tortillas that hit me weighed.

4.6 pounds. Nearly 5 pounds of corn and oil combined that whacked me in the head. Wow-sers.

To say it hurt would be an understatement.

Why do these things happen to me? I thought being a Crane meant I was clumsy. I have more mishaps as a Vanderburg than I ever did before. Gracious. When I got home though, a sweet surprise awaited me.


The night we first met, creative little me told A I liked to eat tortillas like this - making them into a face first. It was only one of the many quirky and endearing things I do that won his heart ;) I'm so thankful for him, how he cares for me, and the little things he does that make life with him oh-so sweet, even when things are painful.

I just had to run out and go to the store for some much needed *supplies.* And chocolate. Chocolate is always necessary on "those days," especially when it's raining.

As I used the ladies room at the Food Lion/Food City/Food Mart/Food Whatever...I'm not really sure where I was at, a tiny old lady came into the bathroom, and before the door was even shut behind her, she was bellowing, "Is my blue scarf in there?" I said, "I'm sorry?" not even sure if she was talking to me - the lone patron in the bathroom. She was.

As I opened the stall door (need I even mention it was the handicapped stall - again - that I had chosen? I know, I'm a glutton for punishment) she charged in asking about her blue scarf. I had not seen it and I told her so, but she came into the stall with me anyways. Aw-Kward.

Anyways, on the ride home, I heard an interesting conversation between Ryan Seacrest and Bill Clinton. Clinton was talking about his wife, our Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton and her emphasis in the US on sustainable agriculture. In the former President's words: "Sustainable agriculture is so important. If Haiti had sustainable agriculture, they wouldn't be devastated after the hurricanes and such."

Hurricanes? I may be wrong, but I thought Haiti was dealing with the devastation from earthquakes...Hm.

Granted, perhaps I heard him wrong and he really was talking about the hurricanes that have hit over the years, but if so, I thought it was a poor analogy. I may just be nitpicking, as I am often wont to do, but it was a curious phrase, nonethless.

In other news, not much exciting going on for the Vanderburgs. We have both been off and on under the weather - fevery, exhausted, sore throats, etc. Yuck. So, it's been a calm week with us! Sorry for the lack of blogging fodder :)

As previously mentioned, we have date nights on Tuesdays. This month, we're seriously trying to attack our budget and be good stewards of our money, meaning we have none to eat out on. Never fear - Chick-Fil-A is here!

My in-laws gave us some gift cards for Christmas, so we used one for Chick-Fil-A last night. It was an experience, to say the least. As we pulled up, we noticed a lot of Valentine's Day decor - and I mean a lot. Except, included in the pink and red hearts and pink and white balloons was a healthy dose of black - for Valentine's Day....Bitterness? Not sure.

As we came inside the store, we saw guys standing around in tuxes, a table set up to make Valentines and a whole lot of commotion - including a harpist and an old lady reading children's stories.

Someone came over to tell us it was Family Night (it was Tuesday...right) but that they were also doing a special date night, thus the maître d's and the lady playing the harp in the dark section of the store. Don't worry about there not being any lights on though - candles set the scene for romance! Ha.

So there we sat, with our chicken sandwiches, candles and harp music. Lovely, right? It looked like the separation of family night and date night didn't last long though - soon enough, the lady reading stories asked for volunteers to sing and we were serenaded by a bunch of seven year olds singing Itsy Bitsy Spider, in between the musicians' 3 attempts at "Edelweiss."

It was a fun experience. A thought it was one of the best date nights yet - free food provided by the Vanderburgs and a whole lot of entertainment, provided by Chick-Fil-a and children. Here's a short clip to prove it all really happened. (Surprisingly, a video without Ben!) Please notice the bored looking father on the right side of the screen - staring off into la-la land while his daughter has a jolly good time with her balloon :)

Adulthood is no fun sometimes. Days that focus on health insurance, car insurance, finances and the like definitely damper my enthusiasm for "being a big kid." What did I know about what was to come when I was young, and fun and free? Ah....the good old days :)

Second grade soccer: This was the year I didn't want to be the goalie, so I took off my socks and cleats and sat in the goal in protest.

Winners at the TN Valley Fair! Shadow and I were Little Miss Muffett and the spider.

One year in the circus, circa 1992. Yes, I said one year. I was in the circus two years - secret's out. It was awesome :) (That is a flaming match in my mouth, by the way.)

Me and my brother - hotties, even at a young age. I don't understand why the modeling career never took off for us.

When life gets tough, the tough get going to clown skill. And you thought my skills were natural ;)