So in the picture that I actually posted to the photo project page, my address appeared in this shot. But I removed it for blog purposes. It's not like some creepy stalker person couldn't find me if he wanted to. And, really, who am I kidding? I don't think most people out there stalk mommy bloggers with less than 150 followers. There's nothing particularly stalk-worthy about me.
And I'm okay with that.
But, still, I don't think it would be particularly difficult to find me without the numbers of my address if someone wanted to. So, I figured, it's probably best not to just hand out my precise location.
Anyway...this is where I live.
When I'm not at church. Or the pool. Or in my car. This is where the boys grow. This is where the unstalkworthy blogging happens. This is where Troy writes most of his sermons and where we're growing tomatoes and zucchini in an old plastic pool in the backyard. This is where we, more often than not, play music after dinner and sing and dance like a quartet of undignified street performers. This is where we laugh and cry and discipline and love. It's a rental but, since we've been in it for 3 and a half years, it feels like it's ours.
Except we get to call the landlord when the water heater goes out. That's sure a nice feature. I also started composing an email last week when Garrett screamed that our dishwasher was on fire. Smoke was billowing out and Troy and I thought for sure it was going to be deemed unusable ever again. So, armed with the fire extinguisher, we opened the appliance. I flipped open the laptop and began writing, "Today, while using the dishwasher, it began to smoke..." but before I could finish, Troy brought my attention to a plastic sippy cup which had fallen out off of the rack, landed on the heating mechanism and burned to a melted plastic crisp. So I stopped writing.
Yeah. This is where I live.