Hi everyone!

I've had a fun (and somewhat frightening) week. Do you remember my post from last week on the Quad City Moms Blog? It was called, How to be a Better Wife: Five Great Reminders from My Three Little Girls. Well, the day after it was published I was asked to talk about it on a local TV program, Paula Sands Live.  

Now wait just a minute! I'm sharing tips on how to be a better wife? Yep. My hubby got a chuckle out of that one. 

So here's the thing. I really debated about sharing this experience with you. I mean, is it just me, or does everyone hate to watch and listen to themselves on video? 

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something. I have wonderful blog readers. You guys have always been encouraging to me! 

So finally I thought, nah, get over yourself Sheri. Your friends will understand your nervous jitters. 

So I'm going to share it. It's about five minutes long. (Though it felt like five hours.) Just kidding. It was actually over before I knew what hit me. 

When you open the link, just click "next" on the right side directly under the video. Find the Sept 23rd program and click on it. My segment actually starts at about 8:20 on the counter if you'd like to skip the other stuff and get to me. :-)

Click here to watch me on PSL.

By the way, the whole experience was so much sweeter because a special friend of mine was able to come with me. She cheered me on, took a couple of pictures, and even helped me celebrate afterwards with a big 'ol Reese's Peanut Butter Cup malt. Well okay, I got the malt. She was a good girl and got a single scoop. 
(Thanks for everything, Brenda. You are the best!)

And thank you, for stopping by today. I'll see you next week!

Sheri

Hi everyone!

This week I'm sharing a post I wrote for the Quad City Moms Blog. It's called, How to Be a Better Wife: Five Great Reminders from my Three Little Girls.

So here's the deal. About ten years ago I made an eye-opening discovery ... someone had stolen my husband's heart! Well, it was actually three "someones." My three little girls. 

But guess what happened? I realized that when I started seeing my husband through my daughters' eyes, I became a much better wife.

I'd love for you to pop on over and read all about it. You can click right here: How to Be a Better Wife. 

See 'ya there! 

Sheri

Every day it’s the same thing. I pick up Emily from volleyball; she hops in the van, unzips her backpack and pulls out her iPhone.

“How was your day?”

She doesn't look up. “Fine.” Her thumbs are already flying, responding to a text.

I try to think of another question – something that’ll prompt more conversation.

“So … your biology test … how do you think you did?”

Her finger sweeps across the screen, skimming through Facebook. “I think I did okay.”

So there you have it. These are the kinds of heart-to-heart conversations I have with my fifteen-year-old when she’s looking at her phone.

I try not to take it personally. I know this is typical teenage behavior. I realize that her friends are important. But I am her mother - and if I’m sitting next to her - she should talk to me!

As long as I'm venting, there’s something else I've recently noticed. It happens each morning when I drop her off at school. It goes something like this:

“Bye Em, have a good day. I love ‘ya.”

“Bye Mom.”

For awhile I didn't notice. Then one morning it occurred to me. Whatever happened to “I love you too, Mom”? 

As I drove home I analyzed the situation. We’re weren't fighting. Our relationship was good. I finally concluded it must be a phase she’s going through. 

But phase or no phase – it bugged me. I mean, I spent twelve hours in labor with that girl. I changed her stinky diapers. I held her hand on that first scary day of preschool. I have loved, nurtured, protected, disciplined, and cherished her for nearly sixteen years. Now, when I drop her off at school with a word of encouragement and a simple, “I love you,” what do I get in return?  

“Bye Mom.”

I won’t lie. I've been tempted to do something drastic to get her attention. Like wait for just the right moment (when her friends walk by) and in a tone sweeter than a pack of pixie sticks proclaim,

“GOODBYE SWEETIE! HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY! MOMMA LOOOOVES YOU!”

But I don't want to embarrass her.

Not yet, anyway.

Last weekend Emily (and the rest of her high school) headed to camp for a two-day retreat. And listen to this. While at camp, all of the teenagers had to give up their phones.  

I figured the break would do her some good. Instead of texting, she’d actually talk to her friends. Maybe she'd even enjoy some time away from Facebook and Instagram. 

The morning she left for camp I received the following text:  

Hey mom, in case I give up my phone before I can text you … I love you and I’ll see you on Saturday.

Well now. Maybe that iPhone isn't so bad after all.

Normally I don’t notice real estate signs. After all, I’m not in the market for a new house. But the other day on my way home from the store a sign caught my eye. Actually, it was the smaller sign on top of the sign.

It said, “I’m gorgeous inside.”

My first thought? That must be one ugly house!

I couldn't resist. I made a sharp right turn, sending soup cans rolling across the back of the van. I cruised through the neighborhood and found the house. Turns out, I had totally misjudged it.

The house was nice. Maybe it lacked a little curb-appeal, but it certainly wasn't the dump I’d pictured. I wondered what it looked like inside. Was it really gorgeous? I imagined that cozy home pleading with potential buyers as they drove by. “Please, just give me a chance. You’d be surprised if you’d take a closer look.”

Suddenly, a strange thought went through my mind. What if people came with signs like that? 

We live in a world obsessed with physical appearance. I remember my adolescent years when I went through an awkward stage. Okay, I went through several awkward stages. I had my share of bad perms. I wore wire-framed glasses. My teeth were crooked. And I hated my freckles.

Back then, I didn't know what God had to say about judging ourselves (and others) by their appearance.

“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)

You've probably heard the expression, “beauty is more than what meets the eye.” I think that’s true. I’ve seen a lot of “beautiful” people who look gorgeous at first glance. Then, after a closer look they became very unattractive. A pretty face is nothing if you have an ugly heart.

Now that I’m 40-something and the mom of three girls, I want to remind them to focus more on their inner beauty. But it’s tough to teach a lesson that I’m still learning.

When I spot that occasional (gasp!) gray hair or when our bathroom light shines a little too brightly, revealing another wrinkle – I mean laugh line – I’m tempted to scream, “Somebody help me! I need more curb-appeal!”

But it’s easy for me to see the qualities that make my daughters beautiful. Compassion. Kindness. Creativity. Determination. A witty sense of humor. Curiosity. Courage.

I want my girls to understand what truly makes them beautiful. I want them to take pride in their accomplishments instead of their appearance. But most of all, I want to tell their future boyfriends this …

Take time to get to know her. She's more than her appearance. Look a little closer - you'll be surprised at what you see. Because she’s not only beautiful on the outside, she’s gorgeous on the inside. 

My husband smiled and shook the landlord’s hand. “We’ll take it.” I couldn't even fake a smile. I just hoped the next few months would fly by quickly.

“It’s not that bad,” Curt said during the car ride home.

“Not that bad? Didn't you notice that weird smell in the basement? And the house is so small. How are we going to squeeze a family of five into a place like that?”

“We’ll make it work.” Curt said, unshaken. “Remember, it’s only temporary.”

I exhaled a long, cleansing breath. Maybe he was right. It wasn't ideal, but we’d definitely seen worse. We just needed a place to stay while we built our new house.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll work on my attitude. I promise.”

Unfortunately, I broke that promise only two days after we moved in. It all started one morning when my oldest daughter wandered into the kitchen.

“Morning,” I said, setting a box of Apple Jacks on the table. “How’d you sleep?”

Emily rubbed her eyes. “Not good. Taylor wouldn't stop talking last night.”

I grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge. “You girls will have to get used to sharing a room.” 

Emily pulled open a drawer. “Where are the spoons?” She opened another drawer. All of a sudden she let out a sharp, piercing scream. I glanced up just as a little gray mouse leaped out of the drawer onto Emily’s chest. It raced down her pajamas and scurried off behind the stove.

Pale-faced and shaking, Emily couldn't hold back the tears. She flapped her hands in utter disgust.

Well great, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. Now I had another reason I didn't like the house. Unfortunately, that little gray mouse wasn't the only critter we’d encounter while staying at the rental house.   

One Sunday morning Taylor rushed into the living room. Her eyes wide, she insisted she’d caught a glimpse of something with a long, bushy tail. 

“Oh Taylor,” I said, “You probably saw a mouse. Dad needs to set another trap.”   

But Taylor persisted and Curt soon confirmed it. This time the problem was bigger than a mouse.

“What? A ground squirrel? Call animal control!” I paced the floor, trying to stay calm.

Curt took matters into his own hands. He grabbed a cardboard box and shoved a towel under the bedroom door. Then he and Madison went to work. The two older girls and I listened from the hallway. I had to admit, all the commotion was kind of exciting.

“There he is!” Madison yelled. We heard a scuffle and a thump; then the sound of my husband scrambling over a bed. For a moment, there was silence. The girls and I leaned in, listening. I pressed my ear against the door.

“Did you get him?” I yelled.

Suddenly Madison shrieked. “Over there Daddy! Get ‘em!”

And the excitement began again. Every time we thought they’d caught him, Madison shouted another command.

Finally, the door swung open. With wide smiles and chins held high, Curt and Madison presented the box. We peeked over the edge. Then we all cheered. 

Life settled down for a while after that. Though I tried not to complain, I still had days I broke my promise.

Then early one morning I woke to the sound of loud, crashing thunder. I tried to ignore it, but the howling winds shook the windows. Sheets of rain pounded the roof. I crawled out of bed and pulled back the curtain. Through dark shadows, I saw a massive oak tree bowing overtop the house.

“Curt,” I nudged him awake, “I think we should get the girls and go to the basement.” I flinched at the sound of a tree limb rolling across the roof.  

We gathered pillows, blankets and girls and headed to the basement. As we snuggled close, I realized that I didn’t care if the basement had a weird smell – or even if it had mice. I was just glad to have a basement.

After the storm, many people questioned whether a tornado had hit the area. The National Weather Service called it widespread, slow-moving, straight-line winds. Whatever it was, those winds had reached 95-miles-per-hour and left our area looking like a war zone.

Later that day we drove through several nearby neighborhoods. We couldn’t believe the damage. Traffic poles snapped in half. Huge trees uprooted – some of them on top of cars and homes. Thousands of people were without electricity for days – including us.

As we drove back, I thought about the many surprises we’d had at the rental house. Mice. Squirrels. Storms.

But the biggest surprise came after the storm. That’s when my attitude changed about the house. Instead of my usual negativity, I suddenly felt blessed.

Even now years later, I am thankful for that tiny rental house. It stood strong during those powerful storms and protected the people I love.