cabell st collective...

I'll be honest, I struggle with the ordinary. 

I love having a little excitement in life, and I've learned that I function best when I have something to look forward to or something I'm currently working on.  I'm made in the image of a masterful Creator, and I've discovered how much I, too, love to create.

I thrive off of having something "extra" going-- a project, a performance, a service opportunity, an outlet of some kind.  Sometimes it's pouring myself into this blog, sometimes it's renovating old houses or putting together a special song for our church's worship team.  

But thought I'd share my latest one with you guys...  Cabell St Collective!

I've pulled together some willing musicians from around our church to form a band and perform a gig at the coffee house in our downtown!

Our band is Cabell St Collective and we'll be performing lots of fun, popular cover songs...  songs from Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran, the Head and the Heart, and even Uptown Funk.  It's going to be SO fun!

I can't tell you how excited I am for this!  Not just to show off how well our little group sounds, (they sound great!) but I'm just as excited to bring this to our downtown. I'm committed to helping our little downtown thrive, and I want more people to see the beauty of the CITY.

Cabell St (pronounced "CAA-bull") is a street in my neighborhood next to downtown, and many locals have false mental associations of the street that would include crime and poverty and brown bodies, but what they don't see is the BEAUTY of God's image on full display here-- rich relationships and long-term community between neighbors, diversity in race and class, generosity and friendliness.  Cabell Street, and our neighborhood, IS beautiful, and while the locals might be wondering, "What good could possibly come from Cabell Street?", I'm so proud we put it in our name to declare that there's LOTS of good coming from Cabell Street!

So if you're in town or near by, I invite you to come out Saturday, November 14th!  Grab a nice dinner downtown and then walk over to the White Hart for drinks and the show at 8pm.  We'll be performing two sets of songs with a break in between, about an hour or so worth of music.  Sing your heart out with us or get to know someone new.

See you downtown!

see ya outside...

The weather is finally warming up and there's nothing better after school for my two than having a park and community center teeming with kids right across the street.

Jameson's first time in the big kid swing

Caroline's new trick

the 'hood is changing me...

This place is changing me.  I'm feeling it now.

Moving downtown to our beautifully diverse neighborhood last summer felt so "scary" at the time.  I knew our family was changing internally to feel more at home in a diverse, urban culture, but it was one thing to believe what I believed, to care about what I cared about, and another thing for us to come and SETTLE in a neighborhood perceived by locals as "the 'hood."

"You shouldn't live there," well-meaning people in our church would tell us.

So it was with great trepidation I left a place and a lifestyle in which I was very comfortable to come to a place where I initially was not.  (We even kept our former house as a rental just in the event we wanted to move back.)

It hasn't even been a year, and I'm not sure I'll ever go back to suburbia.

The other night, our family ventured to our former side of town to visit a local pizza place and ice cream store we used to frequent often.  It's in a well-to-do section of town, and we absolutely love the family that owns the restaurant.  It was well worth the drive to see them again, and we enjoyed our visit there, but Marc and I looked at each other across the table and said,

"This feels so different now."

It's weird.  Really weird.  What was so comfortable and so "us" was now feeling not "us," you know?  I don't know that we could even put our finger on exactly why.  I mean, it wasn't just the apparent lack of racial diversity-- there was one other "token" black guy there besides Jameson in a sea of peachy-pink faces, but I think it had more to do with the lack of economic diversity and historic charm that felt more strange than anything.

Everyone seemed to look alike.  Everything just seemed to be, a little um, bland and boring.

(And in walks our family.... ha ha!)

I guess living in a historic section of town where each of the houses are just as unique and different as much as the people are has impacted me.  I always thought of myself as wanting to "fit in" to be accepted.  I always thought I'd be the suburban mom driving kids to and from soccer practice.  I thought moving "up" looked like moving to new and "safe."

Maybe my daughter's alopecia began this long process of breaking the status quo's in my heart.  It was gut-wrenching watching my daughter's hair began falling out.  It wasn't the "look" I wanted for my family at the time.

But how beautiful is it to look back and see the Lord's work in our lives since that first night we discovered a clump of her hair in our hands.  Being different is beautiful.  If it took losing a head of hair to begin such a long-term heart transformation, I'd do it all over again.

I look out my window and see men and women walking up the street to the bus stop to get anywhere.  We have the densest population in the city, and one of the poorest, and no grocery store within miles.   Families living on my street made it through the winter huddled in one bedroom WITH ONLY A SPACE HEATER.  People in my neighborhood work like crazy-- two and three jobs, day and night-- and still struggle to make ends meet financially.

You might be tempted to think I have something to offer them.  That by moving here, I could be a blessing to such a place as this "hood."

Maybe I can, and I do somehow hope to be, but the real change is happening to me.  Sure, it's great that my son isn't the only one that looks like him now.  But this place is changing me.

Maybe it looks like I have all the "stuff," but I'm just as poor and broken as the person next to me.  Living among a mix of cultures helps me better question and understand my own.  Issues like healthcare and immigration become more about real people than political topics.  The world looks very different from this street than it did before in my suburban neighborhood.

I never would have guessed the journey the Lord would take us on.. but my life feels SO much richer now than ever.

The 'hood is changing me.

Caroline's trip to Dr. Cabell's...

Hi! This is Caroline.
               
This is Dr. Cabell's house. I am at Point of Honor. Dr. Cabell is a DOCTOR. Dr. stands for doctor! He was a doctor of Patrick Henry. "Wow! Is this history?" OF COURSE! Right now is 2014-2015! This was 1815. "Yessssss! Now I understand!"

This is a tour lady. I don't know her name.
She was in the house. She was helpful to us. There was this girl in the room and the tour lady was talking about the curtains in the room. The girl said when there was a pause, "Those must be rare curtains!" "They are!" The tour lady said. HaHa! Wasn't that funny?

This is the dining room. (In the house) Do you see the tea cups and tea pourer?  And chairs and table and carpet? "Yes," Well, The tea set is purplish pink, right? "Right," Don't you like it, Althea? "YES! The tea set part is my favorite." Yes. Mine too.
I'm talking about the fireplace. Doesn't it look pretty? "Mmm-Hmm." I kinda wish that the fireplace had a fire in it. Don't you? "Yeah. What about the next picture?" Well....

The mirror is GORGEOUS. The background is the wall! They had the same things we have to paint the walls and designed as we do now. (Well, maybe not the exact same stuff)   "Did you realize the eagle on the mirror?" No! I did not see that, Althea! I wanted to talk about something else and you let me! Thank you! "Welcome." I spy an eagle. Do you see it?

The clock looks amazing. The clock is on top of the piano!  I love it!

Dr. Cabell has the best house in the Downtown Lynchburg. Don't you think so, Althea? "Zzzzzz!" WAKE UP! BLOG! DID YOU FORGET? "What?" Althea! You fell asleep! "Oops." Look right here. Don't you think so, Althea? "Yup."

I took a picture of this floor because its JUST LIKE ME AND JAMESON'S FLOOR in our room!  Dr. Cabell's house was built in 1815.  My house was built in 1851. Hmmmmmm. "Ah!" What? What! "Never mind." 

I love this flower picture on a plate.  If you can't see, The flowers are red. 

When I took the picture of this, the tour lady in there said, "I've never had someone take a picture of that. Thank you!" Then everyone turned to me, Althea. "Why?" Don't know. They liked it, I guess!

Now, they didn't have kitchens in their houses back then. They had to go to a open house OUTSIDE to make their food. "WHAT?" Yes!

I got pumpkins painted on my face. Can you see the pumpkins on my cheeks? If you can't see, the pumpkins are like real looking pumpkins.

Well, we went to the place where you get your face painted at the Festival on Cabell St. and I asked for pumpkins. She asked, "On both cheeks?" and I said, "Yes, please!" Great, Althea, huh? "Yup!"

Bye, guys! I'll be happy to post another blog!

white mama at the black salon and beyond...

Y'all.  You'd never believe it, but this white mama might be able to learn a thing or two after all.

 Fourth hair cut today, and there were miraculously NO tears, NO screams, and NO attempts to hit me or the stylist.

(Can I just get a high five?  Thank you.)

And no, it wasn't the mound of crackers and the toy violin bow in his hands that made the difference.  (though those didn't hurt, I'm sure)  And it wasn't even the fact that I took him to a different barbershop this time.

Wanna know what saved me?

Some EXCELLENT advice from a woman who owns a black beauty supply shop here in town.

You won't believe how we found this lady.

One Sunday after church-- of course, the day when Jameson's hair was ESPECIALLY dry and "nappy"-- a black woman approached our table at the restaurant and kindly told us we needed to go see this lady.  Like, she was pointing us to the Yoda for black hair care, I suppose...

Honestly, it was hard to not take her comments personally at first.  Even though I knew this woman's intentions were to be nothing but helpful to our family, it still felt like she was telling me I didn't know what I was doing.

Well... she's right.  And I just needed to get over myself.

We need help.  (As transracial parents, we'll forever need help, and for a whole lot more than hair!) Marc and I decided to track down this infamous woman, and we are so, SO glad we did.  She couldn't have been any more helpful and encouraging to us, understanding what type of look I was wanting and showing us exactly which products to use in his hair and in what order (kinky hair is a process to care for!).  She was nothing short of a godsend!

So you wanna know how I've been messing up as the white mama at the black salon?

I've been naively taking Jameson into the salon with dry, tangled up hair, fully expecting the stylist to wet, detangle it and prepare it for cutting.  Yeah, that's a meltdown waiting to happen.  Who knew that if I took the time to wash, detangle, condition, and brush/pick out his hair at home right before heading out the door, we'd have NO problems at all.
Not even a whimper.

Brilliant!

The little casanova himself...

You know, our move downtown to a diverse neighborhood has been everything I'd hoped it would thus far.

Honestly, since Jameson came into our lives, it just amazes me how much more comfortable and "at home" I feel with and around African American culture.  I am surprised at how "out of place" I feel when there are little to no black folks around.  I can't believe I'm becoming fairly comfortable talking about race now, either, because in white culture, we're just supposed to ignore the topic altogether.  Who am I??  :)

I love how God is maturing and transforming me through transracial adoption.

It makes this little white mama's heart SO happy to see my son playing with other children that look like HIM.  From the outside, that may not seem like a big deal, but when you're the minority-- in your country, in your city, in your church, and especially in your own FAMILY-- it's a big deal.

 A few of you have asked about Caroline's transition to a diverse neighborhood.

"Mom, I've noticed that there are a lot more chocolate skinned people downtown than in our old neighborhood," she observed from the car one day shortly after we moved.

"You're right, Caroline!  There ARE.  That's one of the things we love about downtown.  It's got people with chocolate skin," as I pointed to someone walking on the street, "and people with light skin," I pointed to another person out the window, "and all different colors in between.  Downtown looks more like God's family, which is made up of all different kinds and colors of people."

"Yeah," she said.  "It's so great."

The move has really been just as good for Caroline as it has for Jameson.

I love seeing her make friends with the girls in our neighborhood.

Jameson has the benefit of being around his own culture.

Caroline (and Marc and I) have the benefit of entering into relationships with people who, in some ways, are different from us.  What a blessing to have a bigger perspective than that of your own.

God has beautifully designed us all in His image.

He is at work in bigger ways than I ever imagined.

And I consider myself so privileged to join this crazy journey called transracial parenting.

settling...

Everyone's asking if I feel "settled" into our new place.

I don't know quite how to answer that question.

Does feeling settled mean all of the boxes are unpacked?  The boxes are unpacked.  (Sure, there may be piles of mess in almost every room, but hey.  The boxes are unpacked.)

Does settled mean all our stuff has a place to go and pictures are all hung on the wall?  Well then, no.  We're definitely not settled in that sense yet.  I'm reminding myself it's a slow process.

Here's one wall with pictures hung next to the front door.

Are we settled in the sense that we're living a more normal life, able to find what we need, and back to our usual activities?  Ehhhh, we're getting there.

Caroline eating in the dining room.

Does my house feel home-y to me yet?  Mmmmm, not yet.

Is it at a point where I'm comfortable leaving it alone for awhile?  Nope.  I've still got several projects going right now.  But we're getting closer and closer every day.



Maybe the "are we settled" question is meant more in the metaphoric sense.  '

Do I feel like this is home?

It's still WAY too surreal.  I stand in the front yard and stare at the 1851 architecture.  This is mine?  I mean, obviously I live here now.  But it's another thing to get used to thinking of it as my own.


Does it feel right to turn left out of the church parking lot instead of right?

No.  That's still weird.  Feels like we should be coming from the way we always used to come.

Am I used to the bumpy, brick-paved streets and the sounds of trains?

You know, last night was the first time I heard a train and felt calmed by the sound instead of jolted.  I guess what "they" say is true- you do get used to it.

Does being settled mean we're staying in and cuddling up?  Because no, we're not.  We've moved to a paradise of recreation, culture, and activity!  We're taking it all in and exploring all that's surrounding us-- in the evenings we're biking the trails, playing at the parks, spending WAY too much on the great dining around us, enjoying the children's museum we can WALK to, shopping at the famers' market, and getting to know our new neighbors.

In a way, this kind of living feels more like we're on vacation!




So no, I don't feel settled yet.  I'm sure the students coming back next month will help us get into the rhythm of a semester and a more normal life will kick in.

But am I loving it?  100% YES! 

Many locals have never even ventured to this neighborhood.  They don't know what they're missing!  (By the way, there are two beautiful houses for sale on our block, by the way, if anyone's interested in joining us!)   

We are loving this place.  We love the house, and I think right now, we are loving our neighborhood even more.

It's a great fit for our family.  For so many reasons.

We may not yet feel completely settled,
but everyday it's feeling a little more and more like HOME.

it's a beautiful day in the 'hood...

Oh man, I'm loving the reactions I get from locals when I tell them we've moved downtown.

"Oh...?" they seem confused. Like, Why would you do THAT?  "What street?" they ask.

Maybe they're expecting me to call out one of the presidential street names where there are million dollar homes and plenty of gentrification.  Maybe then it might help to justify such a stupid decision to move our family there.

Half-anticipating and half-dreading their response, I tell them.  I know it's not going to gain me any popularity, so I'm already trying to smooth over the awkwardness that I know I'm often creating.

"Mmmm," they respond, usually keeping their thoughts to themselves.  They're probably thinking what a good friend of mine was bold enough to say:  "Oh wow, yeah, that's really the hood!"

Yep, that's the stereotype of my neighborhood.  But here's what's funny-- people will call it the "hood" all day long, and yet, when asked, it's almost like no one has ever been there!

It seems like there's quite a gap between people's perceptions verses the reality of an actual place.

Everyone that's come to our house (oooo, that's even dared to drive in.... ha ha!) is pleasantly surprised at what they see.  A beautiful, quiet historic neighborhood.  It's great!  We love it.  I feel completely safe.

It raises the question: what is it specifically that makes a place "the hood"?

Is it drugs?  Outright fighting on the streets?

Statistically, there are no more drugs in my current neighborhood than there were in my predominantly white one.  I heard fights through the open windows of my white neighborhood, too.  For crying out loud, I'm sure my family of four contributed our own arguing into the mix... ha!

So far, in just a week or so of this "hood" I live in, we've met all of our neighbors, which didn't happen in six years at our former one.

Is it the presence of black people or black culture that makes a place a "hood"?  Is it the presence of the poor?  Yes, my neighborhood has all of that, too.  When you visit, you will likely see someone walking home on the side of the road or a group of guys playing basketball at the park across the street.

What makes a place a "hood"?  Might the term "the hood" reveal something more about our hearts, about our fears, about our prejudices than that which we're describing?

Might it say less about the actual place itself than it does about US?

Might it reveal our own false perceptions and inabilities to see beauty and the glory of God on display in environments different from our own?

As with most of cities in this country, our downtown had its hay-day decades ago.  Businesses were thriving, and huge, beautiful homes were occupied around this cultural hub of the city.  But you know the story- when the wealthy white people began retreating to the suburbs, businesses quickly followed them, largely abandoning our downtowns, leaving many of the poor and elderly still there.  Large, beautiful historic buildings sat empty for years waiting for someone to invest in them again.

And in recent years, we are seeing downtown revitalizations happening all across the country.  People are coming BACK to the city. (though I'm not sure I'm a complete fan of gentrification because of how it pushes out the poor)

Around our little city of Lynchburg, many of the locals hardly see downtown as desirable.

They can't see what a treasure they have!

But there is new life.  Things are happening and the city is pouring in money.  Southern Living recently featured downtown Lynchburg in an article, calling it your "next great neighborhood."

This won't be the same place ten years from now.

For a small city, it's a real downtown, with beautiful old colonial brick buildings and churches with steeples that soar into the sky.   It's got dining and shopping, and a city market as its hub.

It sits along the beautiful James river.

It's a place where trains blow their horns and go clackety clack down the tracks.

It is home to an amazing system of walking/biking trails.

Eight miles of paved trails!

I can't believe my children get to grow up with all of this practically in their backyard.  Our home is a short 3 blocks away from accessing the trails.

Like all places, downtown is also a place filled with real brokenness, too.  A place screaming with potential, but a one in need nevertheless.

I still deeply love our house in the suburbs, but there's something so beautiful about returning to the city.

About believing in a place that others in the past have abandoned.

About finding beauty in the old and broken, and working to restore, transform, and revitalize.

Afterall, that's what Christ did to our hearts... he brought life to what was once dead.

That's what Christ does in our lives... he is always working in us, investing in very needy people, transforming us to be more like Him.

And that's what Christ will do in the future... as all of creation groans for redemption, one day He will bring a new heaven and a new earth to this very place.  Every square inch of this earth belongs to Him, and one day, even the most dusty, uninhabitated, abandoned building will be revitalized unlike anything we have ever seen.  (Doesn't that add a measure of excitement to all the current downtown renovations, my fellow Lynchburgers?  It's a small picture of future glory!)

In the Bible, heaven is spoken of as a CITY.  A new Jerusalem.  With rivers of wine.

Here's another important aspect we moved to the city FOR that sadly, caused most others to move AWAY:

It's a place that looks more like God himself.

Collectively, we are made in God's image. God created us in many shades and skin tones to reflect HIM.

We lose this beauty when we primarily live life with only those that look like us.

To see color, to embrace color, is to see and embrace the image of God himself.

It's important for Christians to do the difficult work of realigning our hearts to love what God himself loves.  We've got to reevaluate our stereotypes and fears to bring them in line with the Gospel.  Because of Christ, believers can see beauty in things, in places, and in people that the world around us simply cannot.

That doesn't mean everyone is called to pack up and leave the suburbs.  But some, like our family, are.

There's so much to love about our city.  There's so much to love about your city, too.

Call it the "hood."  I don't care.

I'm so excited to call it home.

transitions...

Moving is a crazy thing, you guys.  It feels anything but natural.  And it's toil.  Pure, unadulterated TOIL.

At least this was only an across-town move for us.  And thankfully we'd been preparing for a bit of a downsize by learning up on minimalism.  (I'm sure this will be another blog post in the future...)

So when it came to the actual move, things went relatively smooth.  Marc's mom and niece came into town to help us, and we collected quite a crew of helpers that we couldn't have done it without.  (So, so thankful!)  I felt like we were out of one house and into the next one by the end of the day.  Sure, it was a mess, but I felt like we were surviving pretty well.

What I didn't realize was just how difficult this move would be on my sweet girl.  

I guess I was a little naive since it wasn't going to affect her school or her church.  Those things wouldn't change. But since the timing of the move happened less than a week from kindergarten ending, it turned out to be one too many transitions for Caroline.

We moved during a school day (Thursday), so she literally left one home in the morning, and came "home" to another one that afternoon.  Though it was "exciting," over the next few days I watched my little girl crumble to pieces.  

She wasn't sleeping well in a new place.  (Who does?)  But suddenly she was acting out with an intense temper, lashing out at us in alarming rates.  Who IS this child?! Marc and I wondered.  Caroline has always been a strong-willed child, but this was beyond anything we'd seen before.  Nevertheless, we figured school was soon ending, the house would soon be in order, and I was hoping we could just brace ourselves and get through it.

But things continued to spiral down.  

It all hit me as I was driving her to school one morning, and Caroline was upset that she didn't have time to fix her wig to wear to school.  But instead of typical five-year-old disappointment, things quickly escalated to hysteria.  The girl couldn't even catch her breath.

"MOMMY, I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!  

I HATE SCHOOL!  (she's never uttered that a day in her life, mind you...)

MOMMY, I'M UGLY!  MOMMY, I'M NOT BEAUTIFUL!

MOMMY, I'M SO UGLY!

I WANT HAIR!!!!!!!!"

Ugh.  Dagger through the heart. 

I didn't know what to say.  I tried saying the things that any loving mama would say in the moment.  But honestly, when it comes to alopecia and your daughter being BALD, there is no script of what to say. 

But fortunately, this meltdown had nothing to do with hair.  And I knew it.

This had everything to do with a girl crying out to me in desperation as everything in her world was being ripped out from underneath her.

She couldn't stop whining long enough to listen.  Her hysterical shrieking trumped any bit of compassion I was trying to introduce into this conversation.  If I opened my mouth to say a word, she simply screamed louder.

So in my own desperation while I'm driving, I began praying out loud.  "God, Caroline and I are having a really rough time right now," I started out, trying to talk over the "I'm so ugly! I'm so ugly! I'm so ugly!" being chanted at full volume from the back seat.  Regardless, I continued calling out to the Lord for help.  

By the time we pulled into school, Caroline's eyes were bloodshot and she had screamed herself almost to complete exhaustion.  We said our goodbyes, she shut the door, and I couldn't hold it in any longer.  I burst into tears, continuing to watch my little girl as she walked down the sidewalk towards school.  I can't stand watching her hurt like this, God.  And she's not letting me love her.  Please wrap Your arms around her today, God, I prayed in that moment.

All of a sudden, I saw her being intercepted by an older middle school student that Caroline really loves and admires.  I watched the girl lean down to give Caroline a hug, and I saw a relieved smile appear on her face.  Thank you, God.  She needed that.

I felt so rattled.  Being a mama is so, so hard.  I called my big sister and one of my best friends, who both knew exactly how to calm me down and help me understand what was happening in my daughter's world.  When I got home, I emailed her teacher to give her a heads' up about the morning.  She graciously understood and quickly set-up an opportunity for Caroline's art teacher (who also is bald with alopecia, remember?) to come have some one-on-one downtime with Caroline that morning.  How nice is that?  

I also decided to spend the day unpacking Caroline's room.  She needed more than just a bed set up.  The least thing I could give this girl was a place where she could have some measure of stability and normalcy in her life.  

This was Caroline's room to start with.

 And by the end of the school day, it looked like this!

(Okay, I'll admit, I'm rather proud of our idea to make a custom headboard that inserts into the fireplace!  All it took was a piece of plywood, some padding, $10 worth of fabric, and a staple gun and wah-lah!   Now I get the fun job of decorating her mantel!)

 Bookcase with books and toys ALL MOVED IN.  (hurray!)

 And sure enough.

This gal came home, and things felt a little calmer.  She was calmer.  She loved her room.  She began playing and crafting and creating once again.

I snapped this picture the other day of her crafting at her desk, which looks out this window...

 ...onto this upstairs sleeper porch.  Aaaaahh, so nice...










It was a lesson to me about transitions.

That day, I needed to put the boxes down.  My little girl needed me more than the chaotic house did.  I took both kids to the playground across the street.  We got ice cream off the ice cream truck.  We played more.  I loved a little harder and a little more intentionally.

And talk about tears.

Later that same night,
I found this little note laying on my bed.

catch up...

Is anybody still out there?  Why, hello again!  It's been too long.

So much has happened since I last posted.

First of all, we've MOVED!  Hurray!!

(more on that later... and pictures, I promise!)

Aaaaand, Marc and I celebrated our 15th anniversary on June 5th!  Woohoo!!!







There's so much to catch up on, but first, allow me to finish sharing pics from our annual RUF Summer Conference trip to Florida with our college students!  (Uh, nope, my kid is not a ham.  I don't have a CLUE where she got this from... ahem...)

This was a surprisingly GREAT Summer Conference!  I say surprisingly because with only two girls and a huge load of guys (minus the two students photo-bombing in the back of the picture above... ha!), I honestly didn't know if the group dynamics would be as great as we usually have. (I like how Jameson couldn't get off his phone call to smile for the picture.)

But especially during small group time, it was amazing to watch our group opening up to and being transparent with one another.  (Even the guys!  So impressed.)  You can pray that God would continue to use that conference in the students' lives this summer and in the year to come.

On a family note, I was able to pull Caroline out of school for the week so that our family could come to the conference, and it just so happened to be Caroline's weekend to take home the class bear, Smokey.

So Smokey got a free trip to the beach!

And not just a trip to the beach, but Smokey even got a chance to come on stage and take a picture up front with the ENTIRE conference!!!!  Smokey's a rock star!!!  (That was a fun picture to put in the class scrapbook.)  ha!


More posts soon!