<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471</id><updated>2011-09-16T07:19:21.362-07:00</updated><category term='Katie'/><category term='Titus'/><title type='text'>The Powells</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>64</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7303519384246967627</id><published>2011-09-08T19:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T19:51:27.336-07:00</updated><title type='text'>God's Provision</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, God reminded me how much He cares for me and the task He has given me.  I struggle with feelings of failure and inadequacy when it comes to training my children.  But I know my struggle is one of unbelief.  I am often convicted of my own sin as I attempt to train my kids to be faithful followers of Christ.  Teaching my kids their Bible stories has been one of the greatest faith-affirming blessings of mothering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I start our school day off with the boys (Titus, 6 yr. and Henry, 3 yr.) by reading their Bible story.  The day's lesson was on the twelve spies who went into Canaan.  Titus seemed very engaged when I described the faithless response of the 10 unfaithful spies and God's subsequent anger at the faithlessness of the Israelites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Now listen, boys, this is a very important lesson for you," my voice grew serious and intense.  Titus makes eye contact and gives me his full attention.  "You are going to have giants in your life, things you are going to be tempted to think are too difficult for you.  But you can be confident that the God who delivered the Israelites from Egypt and did all these miracles on their behalf will also give you the strength to overcome your giants.  It was wicked of Israel to doubt God's ability to give them all the blessings of the promised land.  Do not be faithless like Israel was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Titus and Kate usually respond very favorably and seriously when I explain to them why they will need some information for the future.  Often during Bible lessons, I do my best to help them see the spiritual applications of God's dealings with Israel, but I don't always get to see the kids use them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Bible we proceeded to Titus' phonics.  Half way through his page he began to get frustrated and I watched him give up.  I said, "Titus, this seems like a giant to you, but I promise you, God will give you the strength to overcome this.  God will provide you the ability to do what He has given you to do.  God has given you THIS work to do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Titus straightened up and completed the page with ease and confidence!   This is what Christ meant when He said we must be as little children to enter the kingdom of heaven.  Titus' belief in God's ability to provide for him is often humbling to me as I grumble and doubt whether I can defeat the giants in my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7303519384246967627?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7303519384246967627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7303519384246967627' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7303519384246967627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7303519384246967627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2011/09/gods-provision.html' title='God&apos;s Provision'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-1386904571213757170</id><published>2011-03-20T13:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T13:22:48.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Satan and Satin</title><content type='html'>&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;msg&amp;quot;}"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;Henry  asked who Satan is.  The kids and I were all in the kitchen making  fudge as I explained about Satan.  Katie asked, "So is that why that  there's a beautiful type of tape called Satan?  Because Satan was God's  most beautiful angel?"  It took me a minute, but I figured out she meant  satin.  She's been pronouncing satin in her books as Satan apparently.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-1386904571213757170?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/1386904571213757170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=1386904571213757170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1386904571213757170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1386904571213757170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2011/03/satan-and-satin.html' title='Satan and Satin'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-3986506981525056768</id><published>2011-03-20T13:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T13:10:06.945-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Titus's Gifting Plan</title><content type='html'>&lt;h6 class="uiStreamMessage" ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;msg&amp;quot;}"&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody"&gt;I  asked Titus what he was going to get Katie for Christmas.  Without  skipping a beat he answered, "A punchin'!"  With his finger in the air  as if he was having a eureka moment, he added, "I'm going to wake up  early and punch her."  Ah... I remember some gifts like that from my  brothers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-3986506981525056768?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/3986506981525056768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=3986506981525056768' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3986506981525056768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3986506981525056768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2011/03/tituss-gifting-plan.html' title='Titus&apos;s Gifting Plan'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4319616085874950397</id><published>2011-03-20T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T11:01:49.939-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Brotherly Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7FyjvbIi7yo/TYZA4UB38KI/AAAAAAAAAJk/nNGQcEqAMuw/s1600/March%2B2011%2B021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7FyjvbIi7yo/TYZA4UB38KI/AAAAAAAAAJk/nNGQcEqAMuw/s320/March%2B2011%2B021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586223723993100450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Henry and Titus were squabbling so I lectured Titus on the responsibilities of a big brother in regards to Henry.  I then talked to Henry about cooperating with Titus and told him not to make Titus' job harder by aggravating him.   Henry (3) interrupts me with, "Yeah, but sometimes he bes a jerk!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4319616085874950397?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4319616085874950397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4319616085874950397' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4319616085874950397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4319616085874950397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2011/03/brotherly-love.html' title='Brotherly Love'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7FyjvbIi7yo/TYZA4UB38KI/AAAAAAAAAJk/nNGQcEqAMuw/s72-c/March%2B2011%2B021.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4304373164732594860</id><published>2009-03-15T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T11:10:57.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Titus came in this afternoon from playing with the neighbor boy.  This boy has caused Katie and Titus some concern.  He doesn't believe in God, and they don't know how to process this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine Titus' little brow furrowed and his voice deep with intensity.&lt;br /&gt;"Mom, Josh says he hates God."&lt;br /&gt;"Are you and Katie hassling him about God?" I ask.&lt;br /&gt;"Josh says he hates God!"&lt;br /&gt;I'm at a loss and trust Matt will know how to handle this when he gets home.  He's the pastor after all.  He better have an answer for this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later I heard Titus saying to Katie, "I wonder what will happen to Josh.  Will the ground open up and swallow him?"&lt;br /&gt;His little hands, held flat together, open up to show the earth swallowing someone up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think he might be getting something from our morning Old Testament reading, even if it is from the King James.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4304373164732594860?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4304373164732594860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4304373164732594860' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4304373164732594860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4304373164732594860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2009/03/titus-came-in-this-afternoon-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-3161604698500288494</id><published>2009-02-02T12:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T12:55:44.001-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Titus Learns About Fighting the Devil</title><content type='html'>This morning at family devotions Titus began talking about how he was going to punch and kick Satan since Satan wants to destroy us.  I said, "Titus, God gave us different tools to fight Satan. &lt;br /&gt; God gave us the Bible.  To be a strong man of God, you have to know God's word."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Titus responded, "When I grow up I am going to get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pinchers&lt;/span&gt; (translate pliers) and pinch and pinch and pinch Satan until He is dead, and then I am going to cook him up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently this is what Titus heard in my explanation, "Titus, God gave us different tools to fight Satan.  Blah, blah, blah."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-3161604698500288494?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/3161604698500288494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=3161604698500288494' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3161604698500288494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3161604698500288494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2009/02/titus-learns-about-fighting-devil.html' title='Titus Learns About Fighting the Devil'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7738981886071444702</id><published>2009-01-24T08:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T08:56:59.213-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chasing After Other Gods</title><content type='html'>Matt is reading through the Bible during our morning family worship.  He is currently in Deuteronomy.  This morning, after Matt explained our Bible reading to the kids and me, Katie said, "The only reason I would chase after other Gods would be because when I got there, I would destroy them!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7738981886071444702?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7738981886071444702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7738981886071444702' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7738981886071444702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7738981886071444702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2009/01/chasing-after-other-gods.html' title='Chasing After Other Gods'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7732963330264357223</id><published>2009-01-16T21:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T21:42:05.786-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Henry's Walking</title><content type='html'>Henry is really, really, really excited he can walk.  See for yourself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-fe7bbcaff19b6d53" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v24.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dfe7bbcaff19b6d53%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331394418%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D161FD5A961B1A91CAB0318ACA80A1836C9C0E83F.5510EEFE43D5C235A9898B2FBA231E691F433D5A%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dfe7bbcaff19b6d53%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DXrw5fb5DJyWgGbG3Kir0uQyk7sM&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v24.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dfe7bbcaff19b6d53%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331394418%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D161FD5A961B1A91CAB0318ACA80A1836C9C0E83F.5510EEFE43D5C235A9898B2FBA231E691F433D5A%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dfe7bbcaff19b6d53%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DXrw5fb5DJyWgGbG3Kir0uQyk7sM&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7732963330264357223?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=fe7bbcaff19b6d53&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7732963330264357223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7732963330264357223' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7732963330264357223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7732963330264357223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2009/01/henrys-walking.html' title='Henry&apos;s Walking'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-6560329587049985808</id><published>2008-12-29T07:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T18:08:34.828-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Merry Christmas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVjvh2VEQYI/AAAAAAAAAIY/7d-Idt9guPw/s1600-h/christmas+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVjvh2VEQYI/AAAAAAAAAIY/7d-Idt9guPw/s320/christmas+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285237527517872514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent Christmas at Bud and Penny's this year.  Penny is great at decorating for holidays, but this year her home seemed especially nice.  As my sister said, "It's like being at a nice lodge for Christmas."  Her home was the epitome of a Colorado Christmas this year.  The pictures do not do it justice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My little sister Liz was with us this year which was a special treat for Katie and Titus.  She is great about playing with them. Plus, Liz got a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Wii&lt;/span&gt; for Christmas, so we got to play with it all Christmas day.  That was pretty awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some pictures from the celebrations:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkADb84epI/AAAAAAAAAIg/c347O_cTd8o/s1600-h/christmas+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkADb84epI/AAAAAAAAAIg/c347O_cTd8o/s320/christmas+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285255696738712210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Christmas Eve we gather at Bud and Penny's to open the gifts from the Powell family gift exchange.   At this moment I learned not to let your kids help wrap gifts.  When Liz was handed her gift, Titus jumped up and down yelling, "We got you an Iron Man movie!"  Liz feigned surprise for us, even though Titus jumped the gun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkDNYEWGVI/AAAAAAAAAIo/yULVBGwhO-0/s1600-h/christmas+009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkDNYEWGVI/AAAAAAAAAIo/yULVBGwhO-0/s320/christmas+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285259166029846866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As with all infants, the wrappings and boxes were Henry's favorite part of the evening.  He's trained his whole life for this moment.  He had the tearing and destruction skills necessary for unwrapping gifts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkE0uyBk3I/AAAAAAAAAIw/qQyDgHKE0OU/s1600-h/christmas+011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkE0uyBk3I/AAAAAAAAAIw/qQyDgHKE0OU/s320/christmas+011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285260941653545842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Katie is modeling her new Christmas pajamas from Grandma Penny.  She is also holding her new robot.  Earlier this month she declared girl toys were stupid and she would like more boy toys.  I remember feeling the same way when I would watch my older brothers playing with their remote control cars, boxing one another with boxing gloves, and playing their video games.  Baby dolls just lay around doing nothing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkF87xr8MI/AAAAAAAAAI4/C6tCedxVv4I/s1600-h/christmas+021.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkF87xr8MI/AAAAAAAAAI4/C6tCedxVv4I/s320/christmas+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285262182092370114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Titus is modeling his new superhero costume.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkGw3ozCdI/AAAAAAAAAJA/7hUhs8l8bew/s1600-h/christmas+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkGw3ozCdI/AAAAAAAAAJA/7hUhs8l8bew/s320/christmas+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285263074334542290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I don't remember what has Kate so tickled, but I do know that if Grandpa sits down, she always wants to hop in his lap, or be near him.  He's a very patient Grandpa and puts up with her smothering very well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkHYdI3KwI/AAAAAAAAAJI/Q1egSSv6cz8/s1600-h/christmas+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVkHYdI3KwI/AAAAAAAAAJI/Q1egSSv6cz8/s320/christmas+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285263754416040706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie recited her memory verses for the evening, and this was Titus' contribution:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-136674c536b1aee1" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v16.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D136674c536b1aee1%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331394418%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D778C0C83F648DEF66B3E8741ED95EA668476D4DE.20FBF288D10ECB3AEC00414DD391AB4F4775E546%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D136674c536b1aee1%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DJh5yeUDNqav4UuK_mUa7rMAQJ1I&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v16.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D136674c536b1aee1%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331394418%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D778C0C83F648DEF66B3E8741ED95EA668476D4DE.20FBF288D10ECB3AEC00414DD391AB4F4775E546%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D136674c536b1aee1%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DJh5yeUDNqav4UuK_mUa7rMAQJ1I&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-6560329587049985808?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=136674c536b1aee1&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/6560329587049985808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=6560329587049985808' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6560329587049985808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6560329587049985808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-2008.html' title='Christmas 2008'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SVjvh2VEQYI/AAAAAAAAAIY/7d-Idt9guPw/s72-c/christmas+002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-6119178161675922352</id><published>2008-12-16T13:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T18:09:19.094-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Freedom of Submission</title><content type='html'>I have seen people respond to the trouble rebellious women make by cutting off all privileges to women.  There are pastors who won't allow women Bible studies because the women can't be trusted not to subvert the church.  I have heard women say, "It's always the women who cause problems in a church."  The controlling husband won't allow his wife to have friends or get a driver's license for fear she might rebel against him.  I knew a man who would respond to his rebellious wife with, "Sit down and shut up!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I would like to contend that the answer to wicked women is not tighter controls and less freedom, but the truth of the gospel.  Neither Jesus nor the apostles treated women with suspicion or attempted to keep them out of theology discussions.  Rather, Jesus said Mary chose the better thing when she left the house work to sit at His feet in the role of a disciple.  Jesus Himself said it is good for women to engage in theology discussions.  Paul started a work in the book of Acts based on Lydia and the women who were meeting to pray together by a river side.  And both Aquila and Priscilla taught Apollo the doctrines of the faith.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am just as much a prophet, priest, and king as my husband and all the men in the church.  I am equal in standing before God with all the men around me.  But this does not mean I reject submission to my husband and the church elders.  Just as Christ was no less God when He submitted Himself to the Father and was sent, as Scripture tells us, so I can submit to my husband without feeling myself denigrated in my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;person hood&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In fact, I feel a wonderful freedom in my submission to my husband.  I think of it this way:  Matt and I have a fenced in back yard.  Before the fence, the children could not go outside without a parent with them.  They could only play in the yard under a close eye of a parent.  But now they can go outside and stretch their imaginations and legs to their heart's content.  So I am protected about by my submissive understanding.  Matt doesn't have to watch everything I do, because he trusts that I am hedged about from those who would destroy me (including my own self-destructive tendencies) by submission.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is one of the things I love about being in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;creedal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; church.  Our church, and I as a believer, can engage with those from a different perspective with confidence and freedom, because we are hedged about by our submission to the creeds.  I know when I am talking with someone who comes from a Reformed Baptist persuasion, for instance, that I need not be afraid of their opposing ideas.  My creeds, to which I am in submission, are firm on baptism.  I can have full and interesting discussions because I'm firmly submitted to the authority of my church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A rebellious woman is a great danger to her home (she tears it down with her own hands, Proverbs tells us,)  her church and to her society.  The greatest danger is to the woman herself, though.  As the child who rejects the fences that were placed about him for his good, the woman who rejects the God-ordained authorities He's fenced her about with is prey to the soul destroying sin of her own as well as the wolves who are looking for opportunities to steal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men value few things more than peace.  Early in our marriage, Matt and I came to a crossroad.  In my rebellion I was using the guilt card a lot and we were falling into a pattern of Matt abdicating authority out of guilt.  I was angry and he was becoming &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ambivalent&lt;/span&gt; as a result.  But God, in His mercy, called Matt to obedience.  Matt sat me down and called my sin sin and reasserted his authority in our home.  He was taking a chance.  He didn't know how I would respond.  I might respond with fights and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;resistance&lt;/span&gt;, possibly even divorce, and any chance at peace in our home would be lost.  There is no one in a better position to make Matt's life miserable than I.  Or God might soften my heart and I might repent, and then we could have the strong God-honoring marriage that is possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing for sure, we would have only had a facsimile of peace if he allowed the situation to remain as it was.  But God gives us what we don't deserve when we are His children.  And He spurred Matt on to do the right thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see around me so many men who took the other road when their marriage got to this point.  They chose their own peace over the good of the wife and the marriage.  When I think about what Matt did that day, I am overwhelmed with the risk he took for my sake.  He called me to repentance, not because he is a bully, but because he loved me enough to fight for our marriage and for my soul.  He hedged me about with protection when he stepped up and took the leadership of our home, and by extension he's hedged our children about, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peace is a wonderful thing, but real peace will never come at the cost of the truth.  Real peace is when we are reconciled to God through the gospel and then guilt no longer has power over us.  My favorite weapon against Matt was taken away from me when I was reconciled to God.  In rebelling against the God-ordained authority over me, I was rebelling against God as the Bible and the Heidelberg teaches us.  Joyous freedom comes when we are under the light and glorious yoke of Christ.  Freedom and peace are a wonderful thing but they do come at a cost.  Submission to my husband is a light and glorious yoke in comparison to the misery of the alternative.  He watched for my soul that day and facilitated reconciliation with him and with God&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Submission is my protection in my church and country, too.  Elders in a church are to watch for the souls of the people, the Bible tells us, and we are not to make their jobs difficult, but we are to submit to them recognizing God put them over us for our good.  I am thankful for the work of the police and the system of laws in place in our country.   As Dr. C.W. Powell says, "You never get what you think you are going to get when you act against the truth of Scripture."  The rebellious woman who beats her husband down does not get freedom, but is chained by her own sin and trapped in anger.  The person who leaves a church because he chafes against the authority of the pastor and elders does not get respect and freedom, but he loses respect and his exposed wickedness restricts his influence with others, and he becomes prey to the false teachers who will tickle his ears.  The criminal who lives outside of the law gets victimized by other criminals and has fewer avenues of activity than law-abiding citizens.  The criminal must constantly lie and watch over his shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the seeming paradox of the Scriptures that teaches us that we actually gain our life when we lose it.  I gained my marriage when I lost control of it.  This is what it means to live by faith.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-6119178161675922352?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/6119178161675922352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=6119178161675922352' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6119178161675922352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6119178161675922352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/12/freedom-of-submission.html' title='The Freedom of Submission'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5781311504820842700</id><published>2008-11-17T09:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T09:35:20.971-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning:  Graphic Material</title><content type='html'>Toward the end of the church service yesterday Titus, nervously wiggling, excused himself to go to the bathroom.  I waited to hear his calls which end every "big job."  Not hearing any for a suspicious amount of time, I checked in on the boy.  Poop smeared his leg and globs landed on his pants, the floor, and potty seat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I panic and call for him to not move.  After depositing Henry with a friend in the service, I gather my wits about me again.  As I'm tackling this mommy job and begin cleaning Titus up, he says, "Well, I won't make that mistake again."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5781311504820842700?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5781311504820842700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5781311504820842700' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5781311504820842700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5781311504820842700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/11/warning-graphic-material.html' title='Warning:  Graphic Material'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-1417197772055661181</id><published>2008-11-05T18:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T09:55:57.677-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Katie And Titus and Henry</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SRJeaAER-sI/AAAAAAAAAGA/AKR2Fnaehy0/s1600-h/October+017.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SRJeaAER-sI/AAAAAAAAAGA/AKR2Fnaehy0/s320/October+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265374715137096386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat down to upload our Reformation Day pictures (Halloween to some), but they have disappeared.  I hope to find them some day, but since I haven't posted pictures of the kids in forever, I'll share some more recent ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie and Titus love to crawl into the crib to relieve Henry's loneliness.  I'm not an advocate of extended crib or playpen use, but sometimes a mom has to get some things done.  Everyone appreciates it when I take the time for a shower, and they really like it when I make meals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SRJgTLJ9nVI/AAAAAAAAAGI/xxNbqXuZcc8/s1600-h/September+2008+001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SRJgTLJ9nVI/AAAAAAAAAGI/xxNbqXuZcc8/s320/September+2008+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265376796877888850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dogsat&lt;/span&gt; Matt's parents' dog, Maddie (they insist they didn't name the dog after their favorite son, but we know better.  Sorry to break it to you this way, brothers.) for two weeks this summer.  To our great satisfaction, even though Maddie is one of the best dogs we've ever known, Katie was glad to see her go.  This picture was taken within the first day or two of Maddie's visit while Katie still thought dogs were great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SRJhrzz3GVI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/UsHKHXZL-Do/s1600-h/September+2008+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SRJhrzz3GVI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/UsHKHXZL-Do/s320/September+2008+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265378319619529042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This was taken before Henry could crawl properly.  It wasn't until we went to my brother's house where they have carpeting that he got the hang of crawling.  In this picture he is scooting himself about our wood floors via army crawl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SSGs1U7v_kI/AAAAAAAAAGY/VnSFjT87jNU/s1600-h/September+2008+034.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SSGs1U7v_kI/AAAAAAAAAGY/VnSFjT87jNU/s320/September+2008+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269683071152553538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here's our first born son practicing his winner's pose while playing his uncle's wii (I totally want one of these.)  Titus is a chip off the old block and LOVES!!!! video games.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SSGu-T1S6xI/AAAAAAAAAGg/-oCA65N1in0/s1600-h/November+079.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SSGu-T1S6xI/AAAAAAAAAGg/-oCA65N1in0/s320/November+079.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269685424499125010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm throwing this picture in just because I love Henry's cool guy look.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-1417197772055661181?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/1417197772055661181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=1417197772055661181' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1417197772055661181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1417197772055661181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/11/katie-and-titus.html' title='Katie And Titus and Henry'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/SRJeaAER-sI/AAAAAAAAAGA/AKR2Fnaehy0/s72-c/October+017.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4262786888888111780</id><published>2008-10-16T12:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T12:42:04.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning about "on purpose"</title><content type='html'>"Titus, don't hit your sister!"&lt;br /&gt;"It was on accident."&lt;br /&gt;"No, it wasn't on accident."&lt;br /&gt;"What's it on, Mommy?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4262786888888111780?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4262786888888111780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4262786888888111780' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4262786888888111780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4262786888888111780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/10/learning-about-on-purpose.html' title='Learning about &quot;on purpose&quot;'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-1663231909991896914</id><published>2008-08-26T18:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T07:37:34.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Like An Oldest Child</title><content type='html'>Bud, Matt's dad, has mentioned how their oldest boy made sure he won all the games by changing the rules as the game progressed.  I don't remember this about my oldest brother, but he is six years older than I am and wouldn't have had to cheat to beat me at anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After breakfast the other morning, I got a glimpse of something similar to what Bud was talking about.   I hear Katie say to Titus, "Whoever eats their toast all gone wins!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie has only a crust left.  Titus looks at his plate and sees most of his piece still on his plate.  He looks away in resignation to losing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whoever fills up their cup first wins!"  Katie says as she is almost done filling her cup with water.  Titus looks over and I see the excitement of competition cross his face quickly followed with disappointment as the reality of his lack of chance dawns on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie is across the kitchen, but Titus is standing right next to me.  "Whoever," I say, "hugs their mommy first wins!"  I hug Titus and his face lights up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whoever sticks their bottom out first wins!"  Titus yells as he wears a mischievous smile and cocks his bottom out.  He's clearly the winner of the bum sticking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-1663231909991896914?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/1663231909991896914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=1663231909991896914' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1663231909991896914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1663231909991896914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/08/just-like-oldest-child.html' title='Just Like An Oldest Child'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-1506879049796694425</id><published>2008-06-26T07:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T08:21:56.207-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Katie says a funny thing</title><content type='html'>Katie, when talking to Titus about the goblins in his dream, said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And did he kill you with a hammer?&lt;br /&gt;And did he poke your eyes out?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Katie, why are you saying such violent things?" I ask her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For two reasons.  And I don't know what they are."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-1506879049796694425?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/1506879049796694425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=1506879049796694425' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1506879049796694425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1506879049796694425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/06/katie-says-funny-thing.html' title='Katie says a funny thing'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5530550872942335126</id><published>2008-01-30T16:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:23:56.170-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birth Announcement</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R6S4XgUTVDI/AAAAAAAAAFo/nqWiyAxoI98/s1600-h/January+2008+023.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R6S4XgUTVDI/AAAAAAAAAFo/nqWiyAxoI98/s320/January+2008+023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162453786825020466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Henry is finally here!  He's perfect, not a bruise or dent on him, just a little dry skin from being overcooked.  He was born at 10 a.m. Monday morning, so we avoided all the unpleasantness looming over our heads if he didn't come soon.  He weighed 8lb, 12oz at birth and measured 22" long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa Powell, for allowing us to so disrupt your home like that.  We are so grateful you were willing to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;accommodate&lt;/span&gt; us.  Your help through all of this was indispensable, and we appreciate the sacrifices you were willing to make for your grandson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is one person I need to thank, someone who made it possible for us to have the home birth we planned:  Thank you, Mr. Tow Truck Driver.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5530550872942335126?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5530550872942335126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5530550872942335126' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5530550872942335126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5530550872942335126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/01/birth-announcement.html' title='Birth Announcement'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R6S4XgUTVDI/AAAAAAAAAFo/nqWiyAxoI98/s72-c/January+2008+023.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-6418880012759090360</id><published>2008-01-24T11:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-27T12:26:22.640-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Comedy of Errors</title><content type='html'>I've felt like the tail-end of this pregnancy has been fraught with difficulties to the point of the ridiculous.  I posted on my late term cold, and now the cough from that cold tore a muscle or ligament in my back.  The pain from which sent us to the emergency room the other night hoping for some kind of relief.  It's funny how people go quicker when they find out you're a week over your due date, even though I was not in labor.  When we checked in at the emergency room desk, the attendant's manner went from bored/lazy to urgency as soon as he found out how far along I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it's just the maternity section, which is where we were sent, or maybe it's my poor observation skills, but I have yet to experience the health-care crisis.  I've had two babies at Memorial Hospital, and now this experience, and I've felt very well taken care of.  I can't say a lot about the doctor care because the majority of the care has been by the nurses, but the nurses have all been fabulous.  I have been admitted with and without insurance, and the care has been great in both instances.  I even preferred the care better without insurance because they involved us in more of the decisions.  Kudos to Memorial Hospital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To cut to the chase:  Still no Henry.  Thank you for all your prayers regarding the back injury.  The recovery has been steady, and I'm almost insensible of any pain anymore.  I'm not worried about going into labor anymore as far as the back/rib injury goes.  God has been more gracious than I deserve. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The midwife has scheduled us to come into town Monday, and she will begin trying some things that can induce labor.  Perhaps Henry will come tomorrow.  If not, the midwife is required by law (The Fascists!) to take me into a doctor's office and have tests done to assure the well-being of the baby.  Her experience has been that the doctor will give the baby the okay and send me home for another week.  So that's where we are at right now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a quick anecdote that's come of all this:&lt;br /&gt;Last night Titus was sitting next to me on the couch and went:  Cough. "Ouch!"  He did this a couple more times before I realized he was mocking me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-6418880012759090360?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/6418880012759090360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=6418880012759090360' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6418880012759090360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6418880012759090360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/01/comedy-of-errors.html' title='Comedy of Errors'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5196393791919867952</id><published>2008-01-18T02:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T02:20:15.348-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday School Confessions</title><content type='html'>Last Sunday I stayed home from church because of sickness.  Mom took responsibility for Katie at church while Titus stayed home with me.  Mom went to collect Katie from Sunday School, but class wasn't quite finished, so Mom excused herself.  But as she was leaving she heard Katie say, "That's my grandma.  She thinks everything I do is cute."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5196393791919867952?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5196393791919867952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5196393791919867952' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5196393791919867952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5196393791919867952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/01/sunday-school-confessions.html' title='Sunday School Confessions'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-3659281323957899963</id><published>2008-01-18T01:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T02:12:43.273-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Still No Henry</title><content type='html'>Pregnancy update:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   God, in His kindness to me, has not seen fit to deliver Henry to us yet.  My due date was the 15&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;, and under normal circumstances I would be anxious to get on with the delivery.  However, I have been hit with a severe cold, one that required me to lie still in a dark room for several days and practice deep relaxation to deal with the sinus pain.  I know God will give me the strength to face whatever He gives me to do, but from my human perspective I didn't know how I would face labor under the circumstances. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thank God every day for His gentle mercies.  Although being ill isn't fun (thanks, Adam), my mother was able to come stay with us several days ago and has been caring for my family and house.  She is nursing me back to health, and my family has very little disruption while mommy is incapacitated.    Thanks, Dad, for loaning Mom to us for so long.  She is such a blessing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-3659281323957899963?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/3659281323957899963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=3659281323957899963' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3659281323957899963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3659281323957899963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/01/still-no-henry.html' title='Still No Henry'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8679811928156290941</id><published>2008-01-07T09:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T09:13:23.739-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Clean Up</title><content type='html'>Some may notice that I took a few blogs off my "family &amp;amp; friends".  There is nothing to it than some clean-up.  The blogs I took off either had declared themselves inactive, hadn't updated for six months or more, or were just gone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8679811928156290941?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8679811928156290941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8679811928156290941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8679811928156290941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8679811928156290941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/01/clean-up.html' title='Clean Up'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-1814742558652979383</id><published>2008-01-02T17:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T17:40:33.459-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Titus Learns to Problem Solve</title><content type='html'>I listened to a lecture a while back on educating boys.  One of the recommendations the speaker made was to be slow to solve problems for your children.  He thought it important to allow their brains to develop problem solving skills without the parent circumventing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today Katie pulled peanuts out of the pantry--peanuts still in the shell.  Katie had the strength to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;de&lt;/span&gt;-shell the peanuts herself, but Titus hasn't developed the strength required in his hands yet, being just two.  Katie left a small pile of shells on the counter where she opened her nuts.  Titus brought me his first peanut when he resigned himself to his reality.  I opened it and went back to whatever I was doing.  Titus never came to me again to open his peanut.  Instead, when I brought my attention back to the kids, I found peanut shells all over the floor.  I watched Titus as he set a peanut on the floor and then crushed the shell with his foot, and then he retrieved the peanut from the debris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to my handy dandy Swivel Sweeper, easily operated by even two-year-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;olds&lt;/span&gt;, Titus enjoyed his peanuts, developed problem solving skills, and then got to clean up after his tasty treat.  I think I would have calmly cleaned up his mess even if I'd had to do it, but just in case I had trouble staying calm, I'm glad I have my Swivel Sweeper so we didn't have to find out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-1814742558652979383?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/1814742558652979383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=1814742558652979383' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1814742558652979383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/1814742558652979383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2008/01/learning.html' title='Titus Learns to Problem Solve'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-717829682791211014</id><published>2007-12-18T20:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-21T09:22:55.734-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Need To Try Harder</title><content type='html'>Katie said the following to me several nights ago, so I don't remember what facilitated it.  I enjoyed it, though and thought I'd share it.  I chuckle to myself every time I think about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mother, I'm very hard to please, and you need to try harder."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad was within hearing and proceeded to lecture her on why this was not an acceptable thing to say or even think.  I suppose this illustrates why the Bible and God-fearing parents are necessary.  Our hearts are born wicked, and left to themselves, they only get worse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-717829682791211014?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/717829682791211014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=717829682791211014' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/717829682791211014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/717829682791211014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-need-to-try-harder.html' title='I Need To Try Harder'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7837512708250306883</id><published>2007-12-18T19:10:00.002-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:23:56.639-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Ready For A Staged Christmas Picture</title><content type='html'>I finally did it.  I set aside everything for several hours to press collars, curl hair, and dress my kids up for our annual Christmas picture.  My favorite of all of the pictures to come of the endeavor was this one.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R2qPOy1S0vI/AAAAAAAAAFg/SbgxcFmIV-0/s1600-h/December+2007+005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R2qPOy1S0vI/AAAAAAAAAFg/SbgxcFmIV-0/s320/December+2007+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146083008550458098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R2iMDC1S0uI/AAAAAAAAAFU/jMm3-XkN0h8/s1600-h/December+2007+005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R2iMDC1S0uI/AAAAAAAAAFU/jMm3-XkN0h8/s320/December+2007+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145516558198690530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Titus doesn't have brothers to ridicule him yet, so he didn't know that wanting to try his sister's curlers on was inappropriate for a boy.  I'm sure he'll be glad when he's older that I shared this picture with you all.  But if you are fearing for his masculinity, I just asked him as he was laying in my arms and looking at me adoringly, "What are you thinking about, Little Man?"&lt;br /&gt;"Poop!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7837512708250306883?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7837512708250306883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7837512708250306883' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7837512708250306883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7837512708250306883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/12/getting-ready-for-staged-christmas.html' title='Getting Ready For A Staged Christmas Picture'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/R2qPOy1S0vI/AAAAAAAAAFg/SbgxcFmIV-0/s72-c/December+2007+005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7956646954105855681</id><published>2007-12-18T06:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T05:50:32.304-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Children and the Body of Christ</title><content type='html'>I referred to an article by Andree Seu of World Magazine some time ago.  In the article she says, &lt;a href="http://www.worldmag.com/articles/13339"&gt;"Delight covers a multitude of parenting shortcomings. You may be too strict or too lenient and still come out all right, if you delight in your children."&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of us will err on one side or another, either being too strict or too lenient.  Matt and I struggle, with greater and lesser success at times, against our tendency to be too lenient.  I don't want my child to be at the mercy of his passions because I was too lenient, but I also do not want my child to struggle with the complications that can come from an overly strict upbringing.  Because we are not infinite, omniscient, and because we are fallen, err we will, the struggle for balance will continue through this life.  I trust that the struggle is part of God's will for us as parents and for our children.  It is good because He is good and loves us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few weeks ago I heard of a friend's child being called spoiled.  I admire this friend's consistency and goals for her child, and so I puzzled over why someone would call her child spoiled.  Certainly if that child is spoiled, I shudder to think what they would think of my children.  This child has a delightful personality that I enjoy.  She is confident and happy and quick to engage others.  She is not sinless, and she is still very much in the training years, only a toddler.  I would not expect perfect performance from anyone in training, and I know her parents take training seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I puzzled over this reaction to such a child, I wondered if some people think children should only sit quietly in the corner and never disturb their own comfort.  I was not like this child with the big personality, considering everyone a friend.  I love to see this, because I know the pain of being in a group and shyness causing such discomfort.  I think it is a great strength and asset when a person isn't mindful of the risk of rejection and can really serve others with their personalities.  I would hate for this little one to be taught that she is not valued, especially among the community of believers God has placed her in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus opened his arms to the children and rebuked his disciples for trying to keep the children away.  It seems to me it would follow that children and their individual personalities ought to be embraced with open arms by the body of Christ on this earth.  When one calls a child spoiled because he has not been taught to only speak when spoken to and never disturb the peace and quiet of the adults, he probably would be happier in a community with no children.  I think they call them retirement communities.  I for one choose the noisy life of a healthy, growing church full of Christians in training, whatever the age.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7956646954105855681?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7956646954105855681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7956646954105855681' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7956646954105855681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7956646954105855681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/12/spoiled-children-or-selfish-adults.html' title='Children and the Body of Christ'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8988565546400964626</id><published>2007-12-01T08:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-01T08:56:57.071-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More Violence, Please</title><content type='html'>Netflix has a great feature called Watch Now making it possible to stream movies directly from their site.  I was choosing a cartoon for the kids to watch the other night, and I settled on a Hans Christian Anderson cartoon, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Emperor's New Clothes&lt;/span&gt;.  Kate and Titus loved his story &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Ugly Duckling&lt;/span&gt;, so I thought this would go over well, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little while later Katie came out and said, "That wasn't very interesting.  There was no violence.  I need more violence."&lt;br /&gt;"You need more violence?" I asked, trying to stifle the giggles.&lt;br /&gt;"Yes.  I need more violence."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8988565546400964626?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8988565546400964626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8988565546400964626' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8988565546400964626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8988565546400964626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/12/more-violence-please.html' title='More Violence, Please'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8909229535705580695</id><published>2007-11-14T13:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T13:57:38.093-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Katie Said The Following To Matt...</title><content type='html'>"I'm an artist.  Do you have any art related problems, Daddy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kids are awesome!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8909229535705580695?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8909229535705580695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8909229535705580695' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8909229535705580695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8909229535705580695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/11/katie-said-following-to-matt.html' title='Katie Said The Following To Matt...'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-3848985784730477269</id><published>2007-11-06T06:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-06T06:55:19.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Just A Figure Of Speech</title><content type='html'>Katie and Titus have colds.  One of the symptoms for Kate has been alternating body temperature.  I checked in on the kids before I went to bed, and Katie was still wide awake.  I offered to let her come into bed with me.  Matt came in to tuck us in, and Katie explained to us why she was so glad we let her sleep in our bed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kate:  I was getting prickly from being too hot in my bed.  I was sweating like a hot pig.&lt;br /&gt;Matt:  Sweating like a hot pig?&lt;br /&gt;Kate:  Sweating like a hot pig.&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Couldn't you just say sweating like a hot girl?&lt;br /&gt;Matt:  Yeah.  Pigs can't sweat.  That's why they wallow in the mud.&lt;br /&gt;Kate:  It's just a figure of speech, Dad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-3848985784730477269?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/3848985784730477269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=3848985784730477269' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3848985784730477269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3848985784730477269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/11/its-just-figure-of-speech.html' title='It&apos;s Just A Figure Of Speech'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4258395353673574393</id><published>2007-11-01T09:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:23:57.404-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Reformation Day Ever</title><content type='html'>We celebrated Reformation Day this year with an excellent service and fellowship at Grandpa Powell's church on Sunday, and then by exercising our freedom from religious tyranny by dressing our children up in costumes and collecting candy from neighbors last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RyoAdvNzxGI/AAAAAAAAAE8/kelQqoaHUvA/s1600-h/halloween+2007+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RyoAdvNzxGI/AAAAAAAAAE8/kelQqoaHUvA/s320/halloween+2007+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127911636605322338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Ryn-p_NzxDI/AAAAAAAAAEk/bFQdVogeEuw/s1600-h/halloween+2007+003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Ryn-p_NzxDI/AAAAAAAAAEk/bFQdVogeEuw/s320/halloween+2007+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127909648035464242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matt and I had a ball making these costumes.  Matt took great pride in fashioning his son's armor and Kate helped me with her bat costume.  She looks perfectly harmless in the light of day, but she scared young children in the dark of night.  A little boy, probably about two, stared her down and tried to scare her away, and she made a little bee cry and cling to her mommy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With delight in their eyes, they ran from house to house.  Katie rang the doorbell and flapped her bat wings until someone opened the door.  At the last several houses, though, she would tell our neighbors, "I'm a bat, but I can't flap my wings anymore because I'm tired."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one house, we passed a boy dressed in black wearing a monster mask.  Titus, taking his duty as a knight seriously, aimed his sword and chased after the monster.&lt;br /&gt;I called to him, "Titus, you can't kill the monster!"&lt;br /&gt;"Why, Mommy?  Scary monster."&lt;br /&gt;It was hard for him to abandon his duty so easily, and I was very proud of my brave little man.  This was always Kate's response to fear, too.  When her daddy or I would scare her, her first response would be to fight.  There would be obvious fear in her eyes, but she wouldn't hide.  I've always found that curious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a result of lots of candy and staying up too late, I had to read the kids two stories before they were settled down enough to peacefully stay in bed.  It was clear, stories or spankings.  Thankfully stories did the trick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RyoTZfNzxHI/AAAAAAAAAFE/KG6qYzcXW_w/s1600-h/halloween+2007+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RyoTZfNzxHI/AAAAAAAAAFE/KG6qYzcXW_w/s320/halloween+2007+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127932454311806066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Katie and Titus posing with our jack-o-lanterns.&lt;br /&gt;Katie grew the little pumpkins in her garden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RyoUCfNzxII/AAAAAAAAAFM/kjcAw4KfuGM/s1600-h/halloween+2007+015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RyoUCfNzxII/AAAAAAAAAFM/kjcAw4KfuGM/s320/halloween+2007+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127933158686442626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4258395353673574393?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4258395353673574393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4258395353673574393' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4258395353673574393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4258395353673574393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-reformation-day-ever.html' title='Best Reformation Day Ever'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RyoAdvNzxGI/AAAAAAAAAE8/kelQqoaHUvA/s72-c/halloween+2007+004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5005676214751569641</id><published>2007-10-27T09:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T17:13:18.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Church As A Mother</title><content type='html'>Matthew is preaching through John, and many of the sermons have been dealing with the nature of our communion with one another in the church.   At the same time, he just completed a Sunday School series on the sacraments, which of course teach a lot about the nature of our union with one another and our connection with the physical body of believers within our local church.  This has led me to contemplation on the church and my own experience growing up within its care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I began to see many correlations between my experience, the things Matt was teaching on, and the role a mother has in a family.  I was  a little worried to refer to the Church as mother because it smacked of Roman Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy to my ears.  Matt assured me, however, that it is perfectly well within our protestant heritage to refer to God as our Father and the Church as our mother.  Emboldened by this confirmation that the correlations were possibly legitimate, I've been trying to work out the analogy for myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is my husband's desire that we share breakfast together every day and immediately after, formally worship God together.  But I know that if I do not provide the order, we do not do this.  I know that if I just feed the kids as they get up, I grab a bite when I'm hungry and Matt fends for himself, our family devotions don't happen.  But if I am faithful to make a good breakfast, set the table, and make sure the kids are sitting down before we call Dad in, we have our devotions.  I've heard this described as the wife providing the skeletal structure and the husband the muscle power to the family activities.  I know men, married to unbelieving wives, who have a very hard time making it to church.  Of course they ought to overcome this, and do their duty, making sure their children are in church.  But I have a lot of sympathy for them, too.  I find it very empowering that Matt's job is made easier by my faithfulness to duty.  I know it is very hard for a man to provide both the structural needs of a family and the muscle power.  God did not create man to be alone.  While the skeleton of a body is hidden and often only gets attention if something is wrong, the skeleton is absolutely necessary for the body to function as God intended.  A man without a wife, or without a functioning wife, will be handicapped in ways a fully equipped man won't be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the church, when it is providing the faithful structure for the family of God, provides an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;indispensable&lt;/span&gt; function to the children of God.  This of course necessarily implies that the church knows the will of God for the family, making good doctrine (true knowledge of God through His revealed will) necessary.  Just as a mother ought to be setting the table with healthful, life-giving food, so the elders and pastor, charged with the setting of the table, ought to take the faithful preaching of the Word, seriously.  Isn't this the sign given to us as we partake of the Lord's Supper together?  The children are joined in unity as we all partake of the same Bread of Life, the Word, every Sunday.  Whether one's church holds to weekly, monthly, or quarterly communion, we are fed together from a common bread every Sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is within the structure the mother provides that the father's wishes for the education of his children happens.  If the father wills for his children to go to a traditional school, the mother must see that the children are awake, clothed and fed before she sends them off to the brick and mortar.  If the father wills that the children be schooled at home, it is the mother who must provide the structure for that as well.  So, as our Heidelberg teaches us on the fourth commandment, "God wills that the ministry of the Gospel and schools be maintained..."  The church's legitimate roll and duty is to provide the structure for God's children to be taught.  But she cannot teach anything she wants, she must follow the Father's Word for instruction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a child, and even now to a lesser extent, I would run to my mother first for comfort when I was hurt.  I see this in my own children.  Though Matt loves our children dearly, there is something unique God has instilled in us mothers that makes us especially good at nurture and comfort.  Katie and Titus want me when they are hurt.  This has been my experience with my mother, the Church.  I have found great comfort in the worship service and the fellowship of my brothers and sisters when the world is mean and hateful, or when I am hurting over a difficult circumstance in my life.  The greatest comfort and hope is in the promises of my dear heavenly Father, but there is real comfort in the church, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the same time, my response to my mother when I was in rebellion, especially in those &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-teen years when I thought she was naive and didn't know as much as I did about the world, I avoided her company.  I longed for the day when I could be out from under her authority and run my house the way I wanted to.  So too, this was my reaction to the Church when I was in rebellion against God in the form of rebellion against my husband.  Even though my presentation issue was anger at my husband, I found church very unpleasant and I couldn't wait to get out of there on Sundays.  I found no joy and comfort in the home the leadership had provided for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so thankful for both my godly earthly mother and for my spiritual mother.  It was within my spiritual mother's home where I felt loved and accepted during those awkward times as a youth when the public school kids, the world outside, thought I was weird and an oddity.  It was there that the older women took time to talk to me and counsel me in godliness.  It was there the pastor patiently taught me and indulged me as I tried to work out my world view.  The analogy could be drawn out in so many ways, but I think you get the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God gave us a great gift when He instituted the church.  Who am I to say I don't need her?  Would I know better than God?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5005676214751569641?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5005676214751569641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5005676214751569641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5005676214751569641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5005676214751569641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/church-as-mother.html' title='The Church As A Mother'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5682203830515300683</id><published>2007-10-26T09:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-27T09:24:58.355-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's In Our Genes</title><content type='html'>I was at a beautiful, big playground yesterday with Katie and Titus.  It had little kid climbing walls, bridges, multiple slides that wound and waved.  It had things I'd never seen before, but were remarkably fun.  I was twirling Katie on one of these, and a line of little girls soon formed to be next.  I stopped Kate's ride so the others could have a turn.  Katie wanted to go again, so I directed her to the back of the line.  She immediately entered into the discussion the girls were having about how hot they all were.  The girl just in front of her became her good friend just like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left Kate in line while I pushed Titus on the swing.  I looked up a few minutes later and Katie and the girl were sitting, in the midst of all these fun activities, visiting.  They sat there for at least thirty minutes chatting until they finally entered into an imaginative game running around on the bridges.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't this what we still do all grown up?  We girls get together to make cards, or scrapbook, or quilt, not because we can't do these things alone, but we need excuses to get together and chat.  I'm sure Matt is glad I have girlfriends who help meet the need to talk, because even though I have an unusually verbal husband, not even he could sustain the full burden of my chatting needs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5682203830515300683?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5682203830515300683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5682203830515300683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5682203830515300683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5682203830515300683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/its-in-our-genes.html' title='It&apos;s In Our Genes'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8808493489235996449</id><published>2007-10-25T20:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T20:53:41.459-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Girls Allowed</title><content type='html'>Did you watch &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Little Rascals &lt;/span&gt;growing up?  Remember the clubhouse that had a large, misspelled sign reading "No Girls Allowed!"  Apparently Titus has this strain already.  After praying with Titus before bed tonight, Matt turned to me and said, "Titus only prays for boys."&lt;br /&gt; "What?  What are you talking about?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"He never prays for girls.  He only prays 'God bless uncles, God bless Philip, God bless new baby.' He won't pray for girls."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8808493489235996449?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8808493489235996449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8808493489235996449' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8808493489235996449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8808493489235996449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/no-girls-allowed.html' title='No Girls Allowed'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8730076868931072812</id><published>2007-10-24T20:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-27T09:26:44.523-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Fun To Scare Children</title><content type='html'>I love to read to the kids.  I love to try to draw them into a story by lively reading.  I really enjoy it when an author can build tension well, and I can watch as my children tense and then delight in the release of the tension.  I guess I can get into the reading too much, though.  The other day we were reading &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Billy Goats Gruff  &lt;/span&gt;and I attempted to use the harsh voice the author had given to the Ogre.  Midway through the interaction of the Billy Goats with the Ogre Katie bursts my bubble by saying, "Mom, use your normal voice.  That voice is really creeping me out."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Undaunted, I tried to use a deep gravelly voice described for the evil woman figure in the book we were reading today, and Titus started covering his ears whenever I used the voice.  Not too many times and Titus couldn't stand it anymore.  With his hands over his ears, he begged me to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so hard for me to go back to the normal voice.  I'm like my father, I'm afraid, and will do almost anything for the reaction.  Somehow it's not quite so much fun to read the parts of bad guys without using the bad guy voice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8730076868931072812?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8730076868931072812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8730076868931072812' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8730076868931072812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8730076868931072812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/its-fun-to-scare-children.html' title='It&apos;s Fun To Scare Children'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-3136789814314134303</id><published>2007-10-24T06:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-24T06:56:05.728-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who Needs Parenting Books?</title><content type='html'>I wrote this post weeks ago and then Andree &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Seu&lt;/span&gt;, an essayist for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;World Magazine&lt;/span&gt; wrote an &lt;a href="http://www.worldmag.com/articles/13339"&gt;essay&lt;/a&gt; in the September 22&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; issue of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;World&lt;/span&gt; that said much of what I was thinking only much, much better.  I set this aside at that time, but enough time has passed since her essay that I thought I'd go ahead and post it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Years before I had children, a friend who already had one or two told me her husband didn't believe in reading parenting books. He thought they should just follow the Bible. I thought it was an odd thing at the time. I thought it should be more about finding biblical parenting books, but no books at all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matt and I read a parenting book together once as a spring board for discussion, but we didn't look to it as a formula for fool-proof parenting. I've dabbled in other books on my own and found helpful advice here and there. But it really has been in the course of learning more about God as a Father and the church as our mother that I have found the most satisfying answers to parenting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been studying Romans lately. In the course of this study and through Matt's patient instruction, I've been developing a fuller picture of God as our Father. Since most of my time and thought necessarily goes into parenting right now, I can't help but see applications everywhere in my daily life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul, in Romans, belabors the idea that the law only energizes sin and drives us away from God when we are under the obligations of the law. Yes, fulfillment of the law will gain us favor with God, but only if we can keep it perfectly. Since none of us ever can keep the law, the law only drives us away from God. Once Paul establishes the hopelessness of looking to the law to free us from the power and guilt of sin, he turns to the gospel. Now we are children, in a perpetual state of pleasing our Father because we partake of all the benefits of Christ. I still sin. I still fall way short of the glory of God, but I am ever under the loving eye of my Father. Now, I can be confident that all things that come into my life are not because God is displeased with me, but because He is pleased with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was reflecting on this and what this means for me as a parent, I realized that I had this exemplified for me as a child. Sure, my parents lost their tempers, but even at those times, I did not feel banished from their good graces.  One of my strongest impressions from childhood was that my dad delighted in me.  It seemed to me that he took every opportunity to take us kids with him, even if it was only to the hardware store.  He delighted in having us hanging about him in the garage (until he hurt himself, then we scattered) as he worked on cars.  He would take us for drives for no other reason than to have an excuse to spend time with us.  He showed amazing patience with our endless questions, and entertained us with stories from his own adventure-filled childhood.  He delighted in me, giving me a little taste of the delight my heavenly Father has for me.  For if my earthly father, being a fallen man, could love me so dearly, how much more must my heavenly Father?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall, I felt my parents were pleased with me as a child.  I never thought my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;disobedience&lt;/span&gt; would end my parents' delight in me. What was my response to this? Was my response to be flagrant in my disobedience because I couldn't lose my parents' favor? Absolutely not! "Shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound?" Romans 6:1&lt;br /&gt;Rather, my response is exactly what Paul, and the Heidelberg in its third part on the law, teaches us it will be. In response to this unmerited favor, I wanted to please my parents. I wanted to adopt their values and please them by being their child in deed. My question is this: If the Bible tells us that being under the requirements of the law as a means to favor only increases our anger and rebellion toward God, why would we expect it to have any other effect on our children? Ought we not love our children unconditionally and use the law only as a means of instructing them on how to love us (and really primarily God)? Our children, born into the covenant, baptized with the sign and seal, are assumed saved until they prove otherwise by their own rebellion. I want to treat Katie and Titus with the Gospel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The child of God can read Psalm 119 with a big Amen in his heart, while, as Paul teaches us in Romans, the unbeliever responds to the revelation of God's perfect nature in the Law with agitation and rebellion.  For now, Katie delights in who her Father is, and we rejoice to see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then, when Katie has sinned against me or her brother, my concern ought not to be with punishing her, or obtaining justice, but my concern ought to be primarily her good. I don't want her to be at the mercy of her passions, for that will bring her destruction and pain. Out of love for her, I ought to instruct her in what will bring her happiness and contentment. Matt and I have begun viewing spankings as a later tool to be used with Katie. We begin with instructing her in what the Bible says the end of her behavior is, and that we don't want these bad things to come upon her. When we do spank her, we do not present it as punishment for sin (her sins were punished in the person of Christ, just as mine were), but as our way of helping her remember the instruction she has been given.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-3136789814314134303?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/3136789814314134303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=3136789814314134303' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3136789814314134303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3136789814314134303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/who-needs-parenting-books.html' title='Who Needs Parenting Books?'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-6708951927958536873</id><published>2007-10-21T16:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T16:30:35.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The RCUS Did It  Before It Was Cool</title><content type='html'>I'm hearing a lot these days about the Patriarchy movement and the Family Integrated Church movements.  People, even some from denominations within the Reformed family, are discovering these revolutionary ideas.  I have friends who are making names for themselves touting the crazy ideas that men ought to be heads of their homes, their wives ought to be in submission and parents ought to take responsibility for the education of their children.  I am hearing them decry the modern day church's practice  of separating children and age groups from one another, with a group for every need: Singles groups, Young Couples groups, Young Couples with Children groups, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While these people are finding excitement in associating with these revolutionary groups, I have been privileged to be in a denomination whose taught these ideas before it was cool.   The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;RCUS&lt;/span&gt; has always been a champion of men being loving, sacrificial heads of their homes.  The pastors of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;RCUS&lt;/span&gt; taught me years ago that God intended children to learn to worship God corporately by the example of their parents, and that they were important, legitimate members of the congregation.  They taught that the younger people need to be with the older members of the church, and we impoverish our fellowship by removing the elderly to their own separate group.  But they didn't make a great show of it.  They didn't call themselves part of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;XY&lt;/span&gt; and Z movement.  They simply presented the Biblical doctrines and conformed to them.  They have been about the business of shepherding the flock God has given them and striving for faithfulness to the Word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thankful biblical ideas are getting greater attention.  I rejoice that God is opening hearts to see the importance of a more God-centered worship.  But the one thing that concerns me in some of these movements is when one defines themselves by their movement instead of by the fellowship of Jesus &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Christ&lt;/span&gt;.  The temptation can easily become to judge others Christianity and worthiness of fellowship on whether they practice courtship, or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;homeschool&lt;/span&gt;, etc.  Our fellowship can become defined no longer by the cross-centered Table which we share, but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;our movement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To give them due honor, I have been a member in two different OPC churches when I lived in communities without RCUS churches, and they too were committed to biblical, God centered worship.  I can't speak too highly of the two OPC congregations which nurtured me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-6708951927958536873?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/6708951927958536873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=6708951927958536873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6708951927958536873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6708951927958536873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/rcus-did-it-before-it-was-cool.html' title='The RCUS Did It  Before It Was Cool'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7136026169307667080</id><published>2007-10-01T12:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:23:58.451-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing With Dinosaurs</title><content type='html'>Katie and Titus do their fair share of bickering, but they do have moments  when they play like best friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RwFGlPIM8QI/AAAAAAAAADs/69i-POXRRWI/s1600-h/October+2007+001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RwFGlPIM8QI/AAAAAAAAADs/69i-POXRRWI/s320/October+2007+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116448257199632642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7136026169307667080?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7136026169307667080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7136026169307667080' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7136026169307667080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7136026169307667080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/playing-with-dinosaurs.html' title='Playing With Dinosaurs'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RwFGlPIM8QI/AAAAAAAAADs/69i-POXRRWI/s72-c/October+2007+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5526358396274436942</id><published>2007-10-01T12:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-01T12:08:34.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5526358396274436942?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5526358396274436942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5526358396274436942' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5526358396274436942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5526358396274436942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/10/playing.html' title='Playing'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5189712694316467778</id><published>2007-09-25T20:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T20:07:21.828-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Katie Knows What's Real</title><content type='html'>Katie was playing camping the other day, and when it got dark she was not ready to stop.  She collected our flashlights and little toy lantern and headed outside to continue her play.  She came in for a jacket and before Matt helped her back outside, he had this little exchange with her:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matt:  Watch out for the goblins out there.&lt;br /&gt;Katie:  Dad, there's no such thing as goblins.&lt;br /&gt;Matt:  Okay then, watch out for the ghosts.&lt;br /&gt;Katie:  Ghosts aren't real, Dad.&lt;br /&gt;Matt:  Watch out for the monsters.&lt;br /&gt;Katie:  Monsters aren't real.&lt;br /&gt;Matt:  Okay, watch out for the dragons, then.&lt;br /&gt;Katie:  Dad, dragons aren't in Limon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5189712694316467778?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5189712694316467778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5189712694316467778' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5189712694316467778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5189712694316467778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/09/katie-knows-whats-real.html' title='Katie Knows What&apos;s Real'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-2255772547787730561</id><published>2007-09-16T13:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-16T13:21:19.124-07:00</updated><title type='text'>He's All Boy</title><content type='html'>Titus is all about being a big boy.  He's very insulted if he thinks he's being treated like a baby.  Lately he wants to get in and out of the car by himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, in the church parking lot, Titus was standing on the threshold of the van.  He wouldn't allow me to help him down, but he wasn't sure about how to get down.  I was becoming impatient and about to violate his dignity by removing him from the van when a family with three girls drove up.  As they walked toward us I greeted the girls.  Titus puffed up and all fear left him as he bravely jumped down from the van.  Not being satisfied with that show of masculinity, he then jumped and hopped toward the church in a most manly sort of way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-2255772547787730561?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/2255772547787730561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=2255772547787730561' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/2255772547787730561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/2255772547787730561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/09/hes-all-boy.html' title='He&apos;s All Boy'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8585947061535246201</id><published>2007-09-07T12:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-07T12:35:06.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Death, Where Is Thy Sting?</title><content type='html'>We were in the "big city" yesterday for various errands, and Katie commented on how beautiful the city is.  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  Matt and I love the city.  This led us into a discussion about how we will be in a city when we are in heaven.  Of course we told her about the river running through the center, and that it will be more beautiful than any city we could even imagine.  Her daddy was waxing quite eloquent, and I found myself getting excited, too.  Her voice was rapturous as she said, "I can't wait to die and go to heaven!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This of course led into another discussion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8585947061535246201?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8585947061535246201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8585947061535246201' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8585947061535246201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8585947061535246201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/09/death-where-is-thy-sting.html' title='Death, Where Is Thy Sting?'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-9059463780504267258</id><published>2007-08-09T17:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T18:05:35.669-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Been Tagged</title><content type='html'>My good friend at &lt;a href="http://rugratsanddirtyrugs.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Rugrats&lt;/span&gt; and Dirty Rugs&lt;/a&gt; wants to be bored to death, so she has tagged me to do this meme.  I've taken a while to get to it due to vacation and other obligations, but now I'll take my turn.  Our good friend at &lt;a href="http://www.striving-to-be-better.blogspot.com/"&gt;Striving To Be Better&lt;/a&gt; has shamed me by responding to the meme tag promptly.  Here goes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  &lt;strong&gt;Who was your best friend?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyra Potter.  She was our pastor's daughter, and always got mad at me when I introduced her as such.  I was confused by her resistance to be known as the pastor's kid, but now that I'm a pastor's wife, I understand.  People really do treat you differently once they know you are related to clergy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  &lt;strong&gt;Did you play any sports?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Softball.  Being home schooled, I only had access to the city run sports.  I loved it, though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  &lt;strong&gt;What kind of car did you drive?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drove my parents' New Yorker until my dad rebuilt the engine of a 1974 Volvo for me.  I still miss that car and wonder where it is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  &lt;strong&gt;It's Friday night.  Where were you?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was usually with my best friend or with the small group of friends in our youth group.  I really feel like God blessed me with a good group of friends during the high school years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  &lt;strong&gt;Were you a party animal?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;It depends on what you mean.  I loved socializing, but I would never engage in anything illegal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  &lt;strong&gt;Were you considered a flirt?&lt;br /&gt;I don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  &lt;strong&gt;Were you in the band, orchestra, or choir?  &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not applicable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  &lt;strong&gt;Were you a nerd?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most definitely, but since there was no one to torment me about it, it never bothered me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  &lt;strong&gt;Were you ever suspended or expelled?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not applicable.  My parents didn't have the luxury of wiping their hands of me so easily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  &lt;strong&gt;Can you sing the fight song?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what that means.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11.  &lt;strong&gt;Who was your favorite teacher?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Besides my mother, obviously, Shannon Honaker was a woman in the church who always encouraged me to think about literature, politics, and religion in more mature ways.  I certainly think of her and her husband as real influences on my education. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.  &lt;strong&gt;What was your school mascot? &lt;/strong&gt;not applicable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.  &lt;strong&gt;Did you go to the prom?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It always seemed much ado about nothing.  I had no desire to go which was convenient because I also had no chance of going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14.  &lt;strong&gt;If you could go back, would you?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember those years with great fondness, but adulthood is still much more fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15.  &lt;strong&gt;What do you remember most about graduation?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember being greatly honored by all the people who came out for the ceremony and showed affection and support for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16.  &lt;strong&gt;Where were you on Senior Skip Day?&lt;/strong&gt; not applicable&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.  &lt;strong&gt;Did you have a job your Senior year?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I worked for my grandparents at their drycleaners.  I loved it.  Grandma would set challenges for me to press shirts faster and faster.  I remember it being fun working with my grandparents.  They would take me to dinner sometimes after work, and if I was there during lunch, they'd spring for the Taco Johns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18.  &lt;strong&gt;Where did you go most often for lunch?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at home, of course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19.  &lt;strong&gt;Have you gained weight since then?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yes.&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20.  &lt;strong&gt;What did you do after graduation?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took courses at the local junior college for a semester and then went to study in North Dakota under an accomplished author.  I then took a six month internship with Home School Legal Defense Association and was hired on after my internship was over.  This amazing adventure was brought to an end by the real adventure of my life, Matt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21.  &lt;strong&gt;What year did you graduate?&lt;/strong&gt; 1993&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22.  &lt;strong&gt;Who was your Senior prom date?&lt;/strong&gt; not applicable&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23.  &lt;strong&gt;Are you going/did you go to your 10 year reunion? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;not applicable&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was always puzzled by people declaring that high school is supposed to be the best time of your life.  While I didn't have traumatic experiences like most of my school educated friends, the rest of life was so much more fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-9059463780504267258?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/9059463780504267258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=9059463780504267258' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/9059463780504267258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/9059463780504267258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/08/ive-been-tagged.html' title='I&apos;ve Been Tagged'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5541921877289720140</id><published>2007-07-10T06:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T07:01:15.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sibling Relationships</title><content type='html'>I'm understanding my childhood better, at least my sibling relationships, as I watch Katie and Titus interact. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie cries and fusses, and Matt and I check to see what the hub bub is all about.  Titus has stumbled on something that upsets his sister.  It may be something as simple as a silly face, or it may be a loud, annoyingly repeated noise.  Titus is delighted with his ability to affect his sister so powerfully, and he beams from ear to ear as his sister cries for him to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother's advice to me so long ago rings in my ears, "Andrea, if you stop reacting, your brothers will stop." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What seemed like such an unjust suggestion so long ago makes perfect sense now.  Certainly Titus would probably have never repeated his antic if Katie had never given him such a satisfying reaction.  I can now see both sides.  Katie is feeling like she is being tormented mercilessly, while Titus has been given a temptation too great to resist.  I think I can finally forgive my brothers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5541921877289720140?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5541921877289720140/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5541921877289720140' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5541921877289720140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5541921877289720140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/07/sibling-relationships.html' title='Sibling Relationships'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-2259689737405981684</id><published>2007-07-06T02:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-06T10:07:13.001-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Sad Things</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sad Thing #1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  The other day I was putting Titus and myself down for our afternoon nap.  We read stories together first, and I was in the middle of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Poky Little Puppy &lt;/span&gt;when Matt popped his head in the room and asked if Kate could come in.&lt;br /&gt;"Of course!"&lt;br /&gt;Katie was whimpering.&lt;br /&gt;"What's wrong, Katie?"  I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"I want our house to be sparkly clean."&lt;br /&gt;"Oh Katie, mommy is having a hard time right now because the baby makes me so sick."&lt;br /&gt;"I know, but I want our house to be sparkly clean."&lt;br /&gt;"I'm trying, Kate.  It will get better."&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want people to think we don't want a clean house," Kate agonized.&lt;br /&gt;Well neither did I, but I didn't see her doing much to avoid that.  I mean, had she seen her own room?&lt;br /&gt;"I think," Katie said, " you should have someone else clean our house because you never can."&lt;br /&gt;I was having trouble with Katie's view of reality, but now was not the time to quibble.  I &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;was &lt;/span&gt;doing the dishes most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I think you should tell Daddy that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm afraid I wasn't able to set her heart at ease at that time, but she settled for snuggling in while we finished our story.  As you can imagine, when a social obligation forced me to get the house "sparkly clean" finally, I had a very appreciative family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sad Thing #2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;All of you who are horrified by our no pets policy (you and I know who you are, Lance,) will find this gratifying, supporting your judgment.  I'm aware of that, and I'm not too proud to admit when I'm wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went outside to check on the kids playing.  Katie is sitting in the sand hill with a twig from a tree.  She is pulling leaves off as she says:&lt;br /&gt;I can have a pet.&lt;br /&gt;I can't have a pet.&lt;br /&gt;I can have a pet.&lt;br /&gt;I can't have a pet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To add pathos to the whole thing, Katie's voice fell with sadness every time she said "I can't have a pet."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came and told Matt, and we discussed pet possibilities.  We LOVE our pet free lifestyle.  Oh the agony.  Will we deny ourselves and get Katie a pet?  It's looking more and more likely, I'm afraid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the mean time, she makes sad little attempts to satisfy her pet desire.  She's had jars of pet lady bugs, and now she is nurturing a pet ant in a jar.  Her care consists of stuffing the jar full of dirt and leaves until nothing more will fit inside and then leaving the jar out in the hot sun all day.  I think she's named the ant Esmeralda (a name she also has posed as a possibility for the new baby if she's a girl.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-2259689737405981684?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/2259689737405981684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=2259689737405981684' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/2259689737405981684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/2259689737405981684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/07/two-sad-things.html' title='Two Sad Things'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4344369729769590212</id><published>2007-06-19T06:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T06:45:36.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>God's Sovereignty</title><content type='html'>Last night we were driving home from dinner with friends and Katie starts singing in a happy, jaunty tune, "We won't die until it's God's time.  We won't die until it's God's time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First I thought, "How weird."  Then I thought, "How appropriate.  This should be our response to the idea that our days are in the hands of God.  This knowledge ought to lighten our hearts."  Out of the mouth of babes...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4344369729769590212?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4344369729769590212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4344369729769590212' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4344369729769590212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4344369729769590212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/06/gods-sovereignty.html' title='God&apos;s Sovereignty'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-6251322729614168395</id><published>2007-06-18T14:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T06:39:21.974-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning Sickness</title><content type='html'>I've been sleeping more than my fare share and nauseous to the point of debilitation.  I'm behind on everything, so blogging seems like something that can wait.  I will get back to it.  I feel like I haven't been seeing much of my kids lately because of all the sleeping, so I'm not stock-piling stories.  Mostly we've been reading and playing in bed together.  Nothing too cute, just sickly sweet.  So if it seems I've dropped off the face of the earth, I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am feeling much better now and having more good days than bad.  I'm looking forward to rejoining the living.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-6251322729614168395?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/6251322729614168395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=6251322729614168395' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6251322729614168395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6251322729614168395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/06/morning-sickness.html' title='Morning Sickness'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7282657480011995587</id><published>2007-05-20T05:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T05:55:30.392-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving Town</title><content type='html'>Matt is taking us with him to Synod this year in Kansas City, MO.  We'll be gone the rest of the week, so no blogging (not that I need such a good excuse to not blog. )  We'll be staying at &lt;a href="http://www.basswoodresort.com/cabins.html"&gt;this cool place&lt;/a&gt;, in the one room cabin, found by our friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7282657480011995587?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7282657480011995587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7282657480011995587' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7282657480011995587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7282657480011995587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/05/leaving-town.html' title='Leaving Town'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4142506782114718627</id><published>2007-05-19T19:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:23:59.785-08:00</updated><title type='text'>By Request: Pictures!</title><content type='html'>Aunt Barbara has requested more pictures of the kids, so here are a couple from today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-wqfmjMwI/AAAAAAAAAA8/PSfWAvoIyGU/s1600-h/May+2007+005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-wqfmjMwI/AAAAAAAAAA8/PSfWAvoIyGU/s320/May+2007+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066462349899281154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-xY_mjMxI/AAAAAAAAABE/vNedKsCieZo/s1600-h/May+2007+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-xY_mjMxI/AAAAAAAAABE/vNedKsCieZo/s320/May+2007+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066463148763198226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Titus will stay outside for ever if I let him water the plants with a small stream from the hose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-x7vmjMyI/AAAAAAAAABM/PhJNdgqYVf0/s1600-h/May+2007+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-x7vmjMyI/AAAAAAAAABM/PhJNdgqYVf0/s320/May+2007+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066463745763652386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie is pulling weeds in her garden.  Why is it that the kids' plants, planted with no regard to the directions on the back of the seed packet, do so much better than mine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are a few pics from Easter I meant to blog about, but I've missed that window.  I think they're too precious to keep for myself, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Owner/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-zLfmjMzI/AAAAAAAAABU/0rmBTnl88iU/s1600-h/easter+2007+016.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-zLfmjMzI/AAAAAAAAABU/0rmBTnl88iU/s320/easter+2007+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066465115858219826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-0RfmjM0I/AAAAAAAAABc/5gpz8XM0b60/s1600-h/easter+2007+019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-0RfmjM0I/AAAAAAAAABc/5gpz8XM0b60/s320/easter+2007+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066466318449062722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4142506782114718627?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4142506782114718627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4142506782114718627' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4142506782114718627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4142506782114718627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/05/by-request-pictures.html' title='By Request: Pictures!'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rk-wqfmjMwI/AAAAAAAAAA8/PSfWAvoIyGU/s72-c/May+2007+005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8552737550707407963</id><published>2007-05-19T14:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T05:56:22.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Growing Katie's Faith</title><content type='html'>Katie called me outside to show me something disgusting and frightening.  Upon examination I informed her it was a caterpillar that would turn into a butterfly some day.  The guts were squished out, however, and the top half was still moving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't know, mommy.  I thought it was something scary so I stepped on it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later she came bounding into the house and said, "Mom, I asked God to still make that caterpillar into a butterfly."  And back she went to play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon she came back in, distressed, "Mom, I didn't know it was a caterpillar."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was elbow deep in kitchen duties, so I said, "Go tell Daddy, Katie."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw Katie on Matt's lap and she was crying, Daddy comforting her, trying to explain God's sovereignty even in this.  While this was going on I went out the back door, and when I came in, there was a little green caterpillar climbing up the basement door just at eye level.  I took the bug to Katie and said, "Look what God sent for you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her eyes lit up and she bounded out the door to feed the little guy leaves.  I think God grew Kate's faith and mine a little bit today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8552737550707407963?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8552737550707407963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8552737550707407963' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8552737550707407963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8552737550707407963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/05/growing-katies-faith.html' title='Growing Katie&apos;s Faith'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-3206446013606930419</id><published>2007-05-19T12:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-19T19:01:14.932-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Arminianism.  The Mother of Feminism?</title><content type='html'>I heard an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Arminian&lt;/span&gt; Christian woman in an interview today defending her attack against Patriarchal teachings among some Christians.  She denied the idea that the man should have the final say in decisions with the woman obligated to obey.  Anyone who has read the Bible knows that God uses marriage as a picture of Christ and His church.  Because she doesn't believe that God coerces anyone, but allows them to ultimately decide for themselves, determining for themselves good and evil, she &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;envisions&lt;/span&gt; a marriage of mutual decision.  She actually referenced her belief in how God deals with humanity to explain how she interpreted the relationship of Christ and His church and finally the implications of that to marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Arminian&lt;/span&gt; church has rejected Federal Headship (the idea that Adam represented all those in him, and Christ represents all those in Him, with their actions affecting their respective members) this would necessarily impact our view of marriage.  An &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Arminian&lt;/span&gt; abhors the idea of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;coercion&lt;/span&gt;, believing it to be a violation of love.  While we (Reformed believers) believe &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;coercion&lt;/span&gt; to righteousness a great act of love.  If a husband, taught by his view of Christ's relationship to the church, believes marriage is two people equal in value and authority, why can't they mutually agree that she makes most the decisions he doesn't care about?  Why can't they agree that the wife should lead family worship?  Why can't they agree that he's best at work or tuned out in front of a video game instead of meddling in the business of raising the children?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This would play right into his natural desire to abrogate responsibility, and right into her fallen desire to control.  Certainly the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;suffragist (mother to modern Feminism)&lt;/span&gt; movements came out of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Arminian&lt;/span&gt; and liberal churches.  Feminism, therefore, is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Arminianism&lt;/span&gt; worked out practically.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-3206446013606930419?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/3206446013606930419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=3206446013606930419' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3206446013606930419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3206446013606930419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/05/arminianism-mother-of-feminism.html' title='Arminianism.  The Mother of Feminism?'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-541085653437992929</id><published>2007-05-18T14:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-19T14:39:52.533-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blessed Again</title><content type='html'>We received great news yesterday:  Matt and I are going to have another baby!  Katie is hoping for a girl, but she said it would be just fine if God gave her another brother.  Titus doesn't seem to have an opinion on the matter.  When I asked him if he wanted a brother or a sister he just made a goofy face and a sound effect like he was punched in the gut.  The unofficial due date is Jan. 12.  Which, incidentally, is Matt's birthday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-541085653437992929?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/541085653437992929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=541085653437992929' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/541085653437992929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/541085653437992929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/05/blessed-again.html' title='Blessed Again'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7589049133403256147</id><published>2007-05-01T13:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:24:00.103-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Katie Has A Pet!</title><content type='html'>I know, I know, you all were right. You all told me I would change my mind about pets when I had kids. As most of you know, Matt and I have been adamantly against pets. My friends have &lt;a href="http://rugratsanddirtyrugs.blogspot.com/2007/02/puppy-madness.html"&gt;pet stories&lt;/a&gt; to give you nightmares. I have enough poop and vomit to clean up without having an animal to add to it. I like my furniture and clothes sans hair, and don't get me started about the wet dog smell. It's been hard to stand against the heart tugs when I watch the kids fawn over &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;some one's&lt;/span&gt; adorable puppy, or when I saw how much joy both Titus and Katie had gorging Mom's dog, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Fozzy&lt;/span&gt;, with his own dog food. And it was too cute to see Titus puffed up with power when he realized he could yell at the cats to get off the furniture. But I stood strong and pushed those feelings deep down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even two weeks at my parents' with their two cats and a dog didn't melt this cold, hard heart. But I relented when a friend gave Katie the perfect pet. Katie loves this pet. I overheard her scolding Mary (her pet's name) saying, "How many times do I have to tell you not to run away?" She happily leads her pet by the leash all over the yard. Mary, the best pet ever, is a painted egg carton caterpillar!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RjjS9pCXRqI/AAAAAAAAAA0/AOm6aZpLpAU/s1600-h/Mud+and+Bugs+005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RjjS9pCXRqI/AAAAAAAAAA0/AOm6aZpLpAU/s320/Mud+and+Bugs+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060026137780373154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Katie holding Mary&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7589049133403256147?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7589049133403256147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7589049133403256147' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7589049133403256147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7589049133403256147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/05/katies-has-pet.html' title='Katie Has A Pet!'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RjjS9pCXRqI/AAAAAAAAAA0/AOm6aZpLpAU/s72-c/Mud+and+Bugs+005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8010008776890703868</id><published>2007-04-25T04:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-25T04:17:37.921-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We Always Knew It, But Now Science Does Too</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Foxnews&lt;/span&gt;.com had this story yesterday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,268081,00.html"&gt;&lt;span name="intelliTxt" id="intelliTXT"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Kids with religious parents are better behaved and adjusted than other children, according to a new study that is the first to look at the effects of religion on young child development."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can look at my religious training as a child and know it had an effect on my behavior.  It certainly challenged me from a young age to be better than my naturally self-centered self.  Even if it wasn't the Christian ideals that brought better behavior, we know that one-on-one time with parents is important to a child's sense of security and self-confidence, and religious training required personal time and attention from both my parents.  Whether I was well-behaved and well-adjusted as a child will have to be attested to by others, but I am very grateful for the effects of religion on my childhood.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8010008776890703868?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8010008776890703868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8010008776890703868' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8010008776890703868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8010008776890703868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/04/we-always-knew-it-but-now-science-does.html' title='We Always Knew It, But Now Science Does Too'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-505805542489616657</id><published>2007-04-25T03:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-25T03:56:42.803-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Woman In Training</title><content type='html'>The kids and I went with Matt to his last service of the day this past Sunday, mainly because I wanted some of his time after being away so long.  Matt and I were talking on the way home when Katie started to loudly proclaim, "I have you a question, Daddy.  I have you a question."&lt;br /&gt;    "Don't interrupt, Katie, Mommy and I are talking."&lt;br /&gt;    "But Daddy, talking is how you show someone you love them.  I don't know if you love me."&lt;br /&gt;    Matt turns to me and says, "I blame this on you.  You've been teaching her to manipulate me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    I have a vague recollection of talking with Kate about this, but I swear it was not with the intention of giving her tools for manipulation.  This sure illustrates  how quick we are at the youngest of ages to use principals of righteousness (i.e. a chief way we show another we love them is to communicate with them) to insist others must serve us.  Now that I think about it, Katie may have learned this from me in practice.  Her application does seem familiar somehow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-505805542489616657?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/505805542489616657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=505805542489616657' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/505805542489616657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/505805542489616657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/04/woman-in-training.html' title='A Woman In Training'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-6608085569411547977</id><published>2007-03-20T19:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T19:21:09.387-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mom and Hanneke, Do Not Read This</title><content type='html'>Titus and I have been ill since last week, so I have not been getting very much done.  Matt is away this evening. These two facts combined to produce a rare urge to clean like mad.  I cleaned the guest room, front room, and dining room unusually detailed, mopping and everything.  Katie came out of her bedroom and exclaimed, "Oh, Mom, it's so clean!  You are such a good cleaner!  I love it!  I love you, Mom.  I'm so happy you cleaned!"  This isn't even the half of it, mind you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is dancing and jumping around the dining room as she says this.  Titus is so caught up in the joy of clean that he is doing bottom spins on the floor and squealing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart sank.  I've been fooling myself into thinking that kids don't notice trivial little things like dusting and mopping.  They really only notice the love.  Boy was I wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-6608085569411547977?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/6608085569411547977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=6608085569411547977' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6608085569411547977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/6608085569411547977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/mom-and-hanneke-do-not-read-this.html' title='Mom and Hanneke, Do Not Read This'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8633356618170342442</id><published>2007-03-18T14:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:24:00.290-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Making Bat Food</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RgBYUinAQFI/AAAAAAAAAAk/ORSnHd-WxKE/s1600-h/backyard+play+3_07+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RgBYUinAQFI/AAAAAAAAAAk/ORSnHd-WxKE/s320/backyard+play+3_07+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044128692565983314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"It's hard making sand oatmeal.  It's going to be bat food because it has bugs in it."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie is obsessed with bats.  The kind of bats with wings that get caught in one's hair and scares one to death.  She prays every night that God will give her a big brown bat.  Every night I pray that God WON'T give her a big brown bat.&lt;br /&gt;Here she is enlisting Titus' help in preparing bat food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I killed a spider a while back she told me to take it to the bat she keeps in her closet so he can eat it.  (I made her a paper bat a while ago so she'd shut up about the bat already, and it hangs in her closet.)  I handled this order with one of my favorite parenting tools: lying.&lt;br /&gt;I told her I did and then flushed it down the toilet.  I hope she never reads these stories.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8633356618170342442?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8633356618170342442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8633356618170342442' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8633356618170342442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8633356618170342442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/making-bat-food.html' title='Making Bat Food'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RgBYUinAQFI/AAAAAAAAAAk/ORSnHd-WxKE/s72-c/backyard+play+3_07+004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-3148827111898351191</id><published>2007-03-18T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T18:44:57.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Remedy for Ear Aches</title><content type='html'>Titus kept me up much of the night last night with a relapse of a cold we had weeks ago.  Today he complained that his ear hurt, which looks like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"ouch"&lt;br /&gt;"ouch"&lt;br /&gt;point to ear&lt;br /&gt;He is not the master of the verbal his Dad or Katie were at his age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www2.blogger.com/www.amazon.com/Raise-Healthy-Child-Spite-Doctor/dp/0345342763/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-6123946-7233738?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;qid=1174238121&amp;amp;sr=8-1"&gt;Dr. I've Rejected the Medical &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Establishment&lt;/span&gt; and So Should You wrote a book called "&lt;b class="sans"&gt;How to Raise a Healthy Child in Spite of Your Doctor&lt;/b&gt;."&lt;/a&gt;  Matt hates the book, but I've found it very helpful (thanks, Mom).   He explains what symptoms give real cause for worry, and which can be safely treated at home with love and common sense.  It's great to know that I really don't need a doctor anymore unless something is broken or someone is bleeding from his eyeballs, otherwise I have everything I need in my pantry.  Okay, that's a gross &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;mis&lt;/span&gt;-representation of the book, but he does make the point that doctor visits should be very rare occurrences.  He believes most of children's doctor visits today are gratuitous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, his advice in the situation we find ourselves in is to warm olive oil and drop a drop in the ear.  I guess it's the air that causes pain to the infected ear.  It's worked like a dream for us every time, from when Katie is screaming in the middle of the night, to when Titus is casually pointing to his ear indicating discomfort, they calm down immediately and return to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-3148827111898351191?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/3148827111898351191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=3148827111898351191' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3148827111898351191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/3148827111898351191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/home-remedy-for-ear-aches.html' title='Home Remedy for Ear Aches'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-9120781050294743200</id><published>2007-03-18T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T18:14:58.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nature or Nurture?</title><content type='html'>I took Kate and Titus to a little girl's birthday party yesterday. Sitting outside visiting with another lady, I watched Titus play nearby.  He picked up a thin metal stake lying next to the family's gas grill, so I said, in the calm, in-control mommy tone I use when other's are watching,  "Titus, put that down, please."  Titus put it down and walked away from the object.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lady said, "Wow, an obedient boy."&lt;br /&gt;I was quite surprised myself.  As most of you know, with Katie it would have gone like this:&lt;br /&gt;"Kate, put that down please."&lt;br /&gt;"KATIE, PUT THAT DOWN!"&lt;br /&gt;"KATIE. PUT. THAT. DOWN!"&lt;br /&gt;At which point I would stomp over and pry the object from her tight fist, carry her away as she cried loudly.  My face hot and red the whole time as I tried not to make eye contact with the horrified, judging on-lookers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matt and I spent many conversations on what we were doing wrong.  What were we doing to cause Katie to be so angry?  She took so much more analyzing to understand why she would react the way she did.  Titus just doesn't care as passionately about anything (except nursing, apparently).  I turn a movie off.  He protests with a slight, complaining grunt, and I tell him he can watch it later.  He says, "Okay."  That's it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have hope Kate will outgrow this.  My brothers say I was just like that as a little girl (I remember having a lot of help, what with all the taunting), and I don't throw tantrums like that in public anymore.  Not in public.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-9120781050294743200?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/9120781050294743200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=9120781050294743200' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/9120781050294743200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/9120781050294743200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/nature-or-nurture.html' title='Nature or Nurture?'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-948931951895735442</id><published>2007-03-14T18:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:24:00.570-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Katie'/><title type='text'>Why One Needs A Theology Degree To Parent, Or Hurry Home, Matt</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rfin_UXYoyI/AAAAAAAAAAU/TtG3pzN9V0o/s1600-h/IMG_0182.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rfin_UXYoyI/AAAAAAAAAAU/TtG3pzN9V0o/s320/IMG_0182.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5041964489081660194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Deut&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. 6:7&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kate and Titus helped me in the yard today.&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Kate, do you know why we have weeds?  It's because of the fall.  God cursed Adam's labor because he rebelled against God.  So weeds are part of the curse that came on creation.&lt;br /&gt;Kate:  Oh.  So did God want to make better people?&lt;br /&gt;Me:  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Wha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;Kate: Did God want to make better people?&lt;br /&gt;Me:  But we aren't better people than Adam.  We are all children of Adam and have sin in our hearts.&lt;br /&gt;Kate:  I don't!  I prayed and asked God to change my heart!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point I would have sent her in to see her daddy, but he's on a business trip.  As it stands right now, Katie thinks she's sinless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-948931951895735442?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/948931951895735442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=948931951895735442' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/948931951895735442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/948931951895735442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/why-one-needs-theology-degree-to-parent.html' title='Why One Needs A Theology Degree To Parent, Or Hurry Home, Matt'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/Rfin_UXYoyI/AAAAAAAAAAU/TtG3pzN9V0o/s72-c/IMG_0182.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8539681895166014856</id><published>2007-03-14T18:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T18:42:04.223-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A First for Titus!</title><content type='html'>Titus slept through the night for the first time last night!  I put him in bed at 9:30 and he didn't wake up until 8 this morning.  Katie was up in the middle of the night, however,  and had to crawl into bed with me.  Some day I may get an uninterrupted night's sleep again.  I don't expect that to happen for many, many years yet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8539681895166014856?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8539681895166014856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8539681895166014856' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8539681895166014856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8539681895166014856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/first-for-titus.html' title='A First for Titus!'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7925895644258971284</id><published>2007-03-14T13:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T19:04:25.140-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why I Love the Order of Worship</title><content type='html'>Before God brought my family into the Reformed Church in the United States, I was a member of the wide, wide world of evangelicals.  I remember we would make fun of churches with a program, saying they were stifling the Holy Spirit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I was thinking about something a writing professor taught me years ago about good writing.  He said that any time the reader stumbles over the writing, the reader is distracted from the story.  The story is paramount, and the words merely serve the story.  Even if you believe you have written something in a clever or unique way, if it jars the reader away from the story, it's not good writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe the same holds true for the Order of Worship our churches use.  I am never jarred out of the Story at church.  I never have to adjust my thinking to a new situation.  I am so familiar with the Order that the content, our God and Savior, is all I have to think about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7925895644258971284?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7925895644258971284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7925895644258971284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7925895644258971284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7925895644258971284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/why-i-love-oder-of-worship.html' title='Why I Love the Order of Worship'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4079725540769357360</id><published>2007-03-08T11:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-08T12:00:48.403-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Importance of Feeding Children On Time</title><content type='html'>Matthew kindly watched the kids yesterday so I could have lunch with a friend.  The weather has turned warm after a long cold winter, and the kids are very happy to spend endless hours in the yard.  Titus and Katie spent most of the morning in our yard yesterday.  Driven by their hunger, they appeared inside the house again.  Matt made them &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;PBJ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; sandwiches and left them at the table while he returned to his computer, or the other woman, as I like to call it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the events as I understand them from Matt (correct me if I'm wrong, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Matt&lt;/span&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie runs into the office.&lt;br /&gt;"Titus threw up , Dad!"&lt;br /&gt;Matt finds Titus with his hands holding his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;PBJ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; on his lap and vomit covering his tummy and the sandwich.  It was obvious Titus had been eating grass.&lt;br /&gt;Katie informed us later that he had eaten a lot of leaves, grass, and flowers. I guess Titus didn't see a need to wait for a more formal dining experience when there were so many edible things lying about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matt, growing up in California, had the luxury of grazing on berries and fruits (and apparently the dog food) all day when he was a boy.  Poor Titus, growing up in Eastern Colorado, gets grass, leaves and flowers.  And we don't have any reason to keep dog food around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I had clothes covered in vomit (and poop, by the way) waiting for me, while my friend's kids had cleaned her whole house while she was gone.  Sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4079725540769357360?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4079725540769357360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4079725540769357360' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4079725540769357360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4079725540769357360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/importance-of-feeding-children-on-time.html' title='The Importance of Feeding Children On Time'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-7114081722454876099</id><published>2007-03-08T11:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T02:24:00.775-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Titus'/><title type='text'>Titus &amp; Tails</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RfBlXY1o_PI/AAAAAAAAAAM/236kpSoMavY/s1600-h/titus+%26+Tails+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RfBlXY1o_PI/AAAAAAAAAAM/236kpSoMavY/s320/titus+%26+Tails+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039639435506416882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Titus had no interest in books.  Katie was looking at books and pretending to read as soon as she became aware of them.  But Titus didn't seem interested in the least until...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0152167730/ref=sib_dp_pt/102-9059722-6930510#reader-link"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Tails&lt;/span&gt; by Matthew Van Fleet&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His uncle gave this to him for Christmas and he obsessed over it.  But it didn't stop there, it led to a love of all things books.  He now loves &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Where-Wild-Things-Maurice-Sendak/dp/0060254920/ref=pd_bbs_2/102-9059722-6930510?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1173382774&amp;sr=1-2"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Where the Wild Things Are&lt;/span&gt; by Maurice &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Sendak&lt;/span&gt;, too.&lt;/a&gt; Thanks, Tony.  He hasn't found his own "&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Briefing-Descent-into-Doris-Lessing/dp/1400077265/ref=sr_1_1/102-9059722-6930510?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1173382878&amp;amp;sr=1-1"&gt;creepy eye book&lt;/a&gt;," but we're hoping that it's only a matter of time before he does.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-7114081722454876099?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/7114081722454876099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=7114081722454876099' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7114081722454876099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/7114081722454876099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/titus-tails.html' title='Titus &amp; Tails'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UlpUD7GW1yo/RfBlXY1o_PI/AAAAAAAAAAM/236kpSoMavY/s72-c/titus+%26+Tails+002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-5140214952021113931</id><published>2007-03-06T19:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T19:27:17.249-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Settlers of Catan</title><content type='html'>Stop everything and buy &lt;a href="http://www.games-for-less.com/settlers-of-catan.asp"&gt;this game.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Matt bought this game for us last week.  It requires three to four players, and it is addictive.  We are scouring our schedules to find evenings free to devote to this.  Some of you have played Ra with us, and if you liked that, you will love Settlers.  Drop by for a game some time!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-5140214952021113931?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/5140214952021113931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=5140214952021113931' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5140214952021113931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/5140214952021113931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/settlers-of-catan.html' title='Settlers of Catan'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-8385636098100191755</id><published>2007-03-06T18:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T19:05:14.716-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Katie'/><title type='text'>Milton Freedom!</title><content type='html'>When Milton Friedman (an economist Matt admires) died in November,  Katie heard Matt and I talking about his death.  She asked who he was, and her daddy spoke of him in glowing terms. &lt;br /&gt;  Last week we were driving into Colorado Springs and I saw several hearses in a lot .&lt;br /&gt;  Me:  Look at all those hearses.&lt;br /&gt;  Katie:  What are hearses?&lt;br /&gt;  Matt:  Hearses are vehicles that take you to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cemetery&lt;/span&gt; after you die so your body can be buried.&lt;br /&gt;  Katie:  Is Milton Freedom in a hearse?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November, December, January, February, March!  5 months Kate stored that information away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-8385636098100191755?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/8385636098100191755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=8385636098100191755' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8385636098100191755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/8385636098100191755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/milton-freedom.html' title='Milton Freedom!'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752665951219451471.post-4316123723869818867</id><published>2007-03-06T18:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T18:22:17.966-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Here Goes Nothing</title><content type='html'>I love keeping up with friends and family through their personal blogs.  I love reading their funny kid stories, or updates on family outings, etc.  I've resisted starting my own because I feared I wouldn't have the time to keep up on it, and I didn't think I had anything to write about.  But I enjoy other blogs so much, I thought perhaps my friends and family would enjoy keeping up with our kids and life, too.  So here goes...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5752665951219451471-4316123723869818867?l=andreapowell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/feeds/4316123723869818867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5752665951219451471&amp;postID=4316123723869818867' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4316123723869818867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5752665951219451471/posts/default/4316123723869818867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreapowell.blogspot.com/2007/03/here-goes-nothing.html' title='Here Goes Nothing'/><author><name>Andrea Powell</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
