Michelle McKinney Hammond
The Power of Femininity
April 17, 2008
Michelle McKinney Hammond
The Power of Femininity
April 15, 2008
I scooped her up and relished being in the ownership of such a charming adorable little individual when she informed me, “Beemoo’s a girl.”
“Oh, right. Good job! What is Janae?”
“Wanae a girl.” And then she continued, “Gamma a girl, Hannah a girl, Mommy a girl. Daddy a boy. Gampa a boy. Wevi a boy.”
“Wow! You are so good!” I affirmed excitedly. Just then her brother Landon breezed by. “What’s Landon?” I asked.
“Nannon a boy… No….” Her brow furrowed deeply in concentration. “No, he a dude.“
April 5, 2008
In my browsing around the blog world this evening, I happened upon this recipe. I plan to try it. 🙂
March 16, 2008
Reality strikes can be frightening, especially when you’re 200 miles away from home, in a bustling, crowded, unfamiliar city with heavy traffic and most of what you’ve known and all you’ve ever cared for were the country towns that didn’t even have a traffic light.
So there I was, trying to navigate through vehicles, hoping to have a chance to turn on to the correct crowded street as soon as I should happen to locate it when fact intercepted on the recesses of my overloaded cranium. “Britt, you have GOT to be the craziest person in the world!” And in crashed reality. I mean, really, exactly who in their right mind would undertake such a venture with little to no preparation time? With a sick feeling ever growing more acute in the pit of my stomach I calculated the extensiveness of this craziness.
Let’s just say I was trying not to freak out too bad here. I needed to keep hold of my cool, calm and collected composure because my mom was already worrying herself sick about me. It wasn’t helping that my sister had left part of her brain still sleeping on her pillow back home.
It was a moment of sheer desperation.
God, please don’t ask me what I’m doing, because I sure don’t know. Don’t tell me I’m crazy—I realize that, and can’t do much about it anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know where this is going, I don’t know how things will end up. All I know is that I’m at the end of my own resources, my rope is fraying and I’m pretty sure I’m going under. I thought You were the One putting me up to this anyway, and I jumped in feet first figuring You were going to catch me. I’m doing this for You. I want You to be glorified even if I manage to fall on my head. Please give me grace to accept and deal with the failure that’s sure to ensue.
Not the most saintly, spiritual, faith-filled prayer ever prayed. But that’s exactly how I felt, and since God knows my heart I figured it wouldn’t work very well to pretend I was full of confidence in this undertaking. I have to admit, it did help me feel a wee little tiny bit better.
Arriving at the first studio, the musicians I was playing for introduced me to the producer as Stephanie. We were off to a good start. For goodness sake, nobody can keep my name straight! “Um actually, I’m Brittney. Nice to meet you.”
A little over an hour later the producer deemed it a done and excellent deal while the musicians were complaining of facial muscle aches from smiling. They declared it was way better than they even expected and were thrilled with the outcome.
What? God, did you hear that? This is really done? This was actually a success? I mean, I believe in miracles and everything, but this was outstanding! Did this really happen?
The next studio was a little more challenging, with equipment that wasn’t as high-tech as the previous one and I’m pretty sure the ill-fitting, un-adjustable headphones put a few extra creases in my ears and a couple dents in my skull. I didn’t so much as have a sheet with chords to follow either and was playing strictly by ear. I had to do more retakes than at the previous studio but thanks to technology and the ability to edit and “punch in” (a producer term) I didn’t need to be there until midnight just for the first song.
It wasn’t long after 4 PM that we were walking out of that studio, with even some mandolin recording (cheers to the girl who can’t keep track of her sunglasses!) for three songs.
I was home before 9; having spent around 450 miles on the road, 4 ½ hours in studios, and dinner out thanks to Bud and Tom. My mind was reeling with the tangible evidence of God’s hand in my entire day—from holding the steering wheel, keeping me awake, to guiding my fingers on the keyboard.
The moral of the story is, never underestimate the outcome of crazy moments with God.
March 3, 2008
So as hard as I try, sometimes life gets a little dysfunctional and terribly disorganized. My own living space has become clutter central. Frankly, I hate that. So, what do I do when it all gets to be too much? Reorganize. I found a very helpful site and am looking forward to reclaiming my closet and life. 😀 www.LifeOrganizers.com. It has articles and tips covering every facet of life that needs organizing. Check it out. Hey, who wants to come raid my over-stuffed closet?
This past weekend Rachel Marie showed me the most adorably shabby online store. Whether you normally like dresses or not, these are going to crawl into your heart and seriously make you consider reconstructing your summer wardrobe. Check out www.ShabbyApple.com. I just found the inspiration to thin out my closet… So I can stuff it again!
And since this site deals with the girlie issues of the day, I can’t help but point out a helpful little site on beauty tips, hair care and make up. www.Beauty-Makeup-Guide.com. Don’t we just love being girls?