The strangest thing happened this week...

...life continued to move on.

Sunday our neighborhood looked like this:

 And, yet, it pales in comparison to what our neighbors in Moore went through just a day later.

 Within hours our church went to work and this happened:

You know Andy means business when he busts out not one, but two giant white boards.

 Stay out of this man's way, he is on an organizational mission from God. He won't be stopped.

And somehow in the midst of this tragic season, precious, albeit it quite normal, things continued to happen.

Like field trips to Camp Dakani:

 (Sadly, this is the first time my child has ever held a fishing pole.) 

 And pre-k programs (that lasted no less than on hour, I might add):

 And last day of school celebrations;

It seemed strange for life to just continue on as if things were normal when just a few miles from us life is at a standstill. I'm still having a hard time reconciling it to myself. 

This is a messed up place we are living in. I've never been more thankful that it's not home.

My friend, Erin, found her wedding dress.

Perspective.

Throw Back Thursday; Creepy Doll Edition

In all fairness, it should probably be called creepy pre-adolesecnt edition. It's not the poor dolls fault.

I was one of those kids that played with dolls long past the appropriate doll playing ages. Tell me you know what I'm talking about here - you wouldn't ever tell your friends at school you still played with dolls but when you were home alone you snuck them out of the closet. You get it, right? Right?

Apparently, I was also the kind of kid that had professional studio pictures made with them. 

I came across these gems the other day and was equally appalled and nostalgic. This is me posing with my doll at an Olan Mills portrait session. Notice the doll's hand-smocked dress:

I'll have you know that our dolls did not go out in public wearing mass-produced generic doll clothes. Nosireebob. My sister's and my dolls had custom clothing and every year my mother made them Easter dresses to match ours. We also all had matching smocked night gowns. 

Now that I think about it, we were our own American Girl Company long before the American Girl Company even existed. We were groundbreaking.

This next picture is the nail in my preadolescent coffin. As you can see I am older. Much older. The doll is no longer a baby and we are back at Olan Mills to capture our new life stages.

I don't even want to take a guess at how old I am because we all know it's too old. However, I applaud my parents for not dressing me like a miniature adult normal kid and letting me hang on to my childhood as long as I possibly could. Or, perhaps, I just applaud them for taking all of this in stride, because goodness knows by this time they had to be just slightly concerned.

Either way, kudos to them.

Sadly, Mia has never really played with dolls but you better believe I will keep her childhood toys in her closet and pretend like I don't notice when she's 13 and drags out the Barbies. I will not, however, send her to the portrait studio with them. 

And, Mia, whenever you're angry with me, because you will be angry with me, and whenever you accuse me of being the worst mom ever, because you will no doubt, at some point accuse me of being the worst mom ever, I'm going to look you right in the eye and ask you one simple question, "Do you have portraits made with your dolls that will haunt you the rest of you life?"

Apology accepted.

If you ever see one of my kids in this store, you have my permission to drag them out by their hair.

Recently the CEO of Abercrombie &Fitch had this to say about his beloved company.  What. The. What?

I swear if my kids ever so much as glance behind those wooden blinds in the mall they are going to be wearing this until they are old enough to pay their own bills:

See ya, Kevin Durant jersey!

Because anything, anything, is better than this:

(Somehow this is advertising their clothing line)

And just when I was feeling pretty sure that I had about 6-7 more years until I needed to worry about talking to my kids about not dressing like a high-class hooker, Bode home home with this in his backpack:

Bode likes boobies and Lily. In that order. 

I am starting to realize that this is going to be an uphill battle. And I'm going to have to call in back-up on many occasions. Let's make a pact right now to be each other's back-up. Because it's all fun and games until somebody gets into a filthy lake in their Abercrombie jeans. 

Now, where were we?

The Thunder eked by to the next round of the play-offs.

 And this sweet girl had a piano recital.

 Mia has outgrown every single thing my mom made her for the summer.  Yaya originals are the only reason I'm upset about that. Brand-new never-been-worn Yaya clothes. It's a crime.

It looks like Mia wasn't a fan of the country/cowboy unit:

This Edmondite isn't going to put up with things like walking, and dust. 

Oh, the humanity!