Todd and I have learned so much about one another in these last couple of years.  Due to being pushed to our limits emotionally and physically we have seen what our other half is made of!  The thing that I find so interesting are the subjects we really differ on.

Specifically, where to live.

At first, when we moved to Texas over two years ago, I thought we’d end up settling down in the Lone Star State.  Todd was not a fan.  In his mind there were a few deterrents:  heat, dirt, lack of trees, dirt, rodeos, lack of family, and dirt…to name a few.   I was born in that dusty, hot, flat land and most of my family lives there…so I love it!  But it became clear that we would not be staying in Tejas, since after a year we already had moved straight back to Arkansas.

But not before I a little round trip through the deep south.  We took an RV and drove on over to Chattanooga, TN for a few days and that’s all it took for me to fall in love.  I immediately felt oneness with the isolation of the countryside, and the little communities tucked into a mountain crook.  It was fall-time so the colorful leaves were blowing all over the place and the air was crisp but not cold which just confirmed that I was where I was meant to be.

In earthly paradise.

At that time in our lives, specifically on that trip, Todd was too consumed with “how can I work remotely out here in the boonies when there is not even a satellite that reaches to this remote part of Earth” to enjoy anything.  Needless to say, our RV trip that was meant to last a month lasted three days due to the lack of internet and how Todd’s job required it, or something lame like that.

I kid.

Seriously though, Todd isn’t as fond of Southern TN as I am.  Not only because their college mascot is the Vols and the Razorbacks play them in football, but also because he just doesn’t like anything outside of Arkansas.  After our trek across the South, renting a house in Texas for six months and then moving into my parent’s house, I was completely sure that I really love and long to live in a discrete, out-of-the-way area of Central Arkansas versus in the smack-dab-middle of the city where we lived before.

You see, what I have failed to mention is that we owned a house in the Historic District of our town and we rented it out during our hiatus.  It’s a beautiful area actually, but that street is now full of rentals, duplexes, and older couples.  I don’t mind the older couples at all, in fact I really loved living next to one widow in particular, but the rentals drive me nutso.  It’s not a great street to raise a family due to all the college traffic, etc. etc.  Anyway, it’s not where I want to be forever.

Last year, I found this great house that is kind of out in the country compared to where we are now.  It’s literally 13 minutes from the shopping areas and restaurants, but it is sitting on 30 acres.  The house is perfect and awesome, but you actually do drive down a dirt road to get to it.  It’s at the foot of a small mountain, a creek runs through the front yard, it’s tucked into some trees and it’s just the right size for our family.  We went to look at it several times last year and really really liked it, but I could tell that Todd just was not 100% sold on it.

(Not that we could buy it anyway)  By the way, this is a “moral of the story” kind of tale, not a “they got the house they wanted” kind of story.  I just didn’t want to build up your hopes or anything!

As time went on, I just kept talking about all the wonderful things we could do out on that land:  fishing, hiking, farming and the like.  I was so excited about the privacy, seclusion, opportunity to invite people over and have big parties and holiday gatherings that I didn’t really ask Todd what he thought.  I just began praying that God would provide the money so that we could live there.

About 8 months later, I finally asked Todd, “Babe, do you even like that house in the country?”.  He took a big sigh and said, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Ang, but I really don’t want to live out in the country”.  I turned a whiter shade of pale and took a big gulp as we discussed what he likes.  Come to find out, Todd wanted to live in the city.  Not just IN the city, like in a suburban area of the city.  A *deep breath* neighborhood!

So here we are, back in our little historic district house…which I adore by the way and I’ve learned a valuable lesson.  Actually, two valuable lessons.

First:  always ask your husband where he wants to live before falling in love with a house in rural Central Arkansas.

Second:  never put yourself in a position to have high expectations over a situation unless it’s a realistic situation.

God did not honor my prayers for that country house.  Not because He isn’t a good God, but because I wasn’t asking for the right thing.  I didn’t stop to listen to what the people around me wanted…what God wanted.  And now I know.

A house was the last thing we needed, and need.  We had a house already for cryin’ out loud.  We needed to learn how to take care of the things we had already been given; house, kids, money, business.  Instead of always looking to the next best thing, it was time for us to be content…for me to be content…while God did some soul cleansing and some foundational work in our family.

Plus, if we’d purchased that house we would have lost it due to a lack of income.  The kids ended up going to public school which would have been such a hassle to have to drive 15 miles each day to get them there.  Numerous inconveniences came with having that “perfect” house, I just couldn’t see it until it was behind me.

Today, if you’re struggling with anxiety over something you want, be patient.  It’s hard.  Trust me, I know.  But it’s better to get the exact right thing after waiting a while than to go through seven wrong things, hardships, difficulties, and wounds to get to the one thing that’s been there all along and is the best thing for you.

In all things, be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Angie

Homemaker Chronicles

Yes, I am aware that after four years my blog has changed.  But don’t freak out…I did it on purpose.  It’s still me, Homemaker Chronicles Angie!

This is conceptual, but nevertheless what I did for the “cover” of  my book.

What does this cover make you think of?  Do you know what style of art that is?  Just polling…

(NOW, do you have an idea of what the book’s about?)

~Angie

Homemaker Chronicles

I took a deep breath and pressed hard on the arrow button to roll up my windows.

“That was intense,” I let the breath out out and stepped hard on the gas pedal.  My little blue car lurched forward.

Rounding the corner I caught a glimpse of a person in the middle of my lane.  I didn’t have time to think about what the person was doing.  I yanked the wheel hard to the right and closed my eyes with a prayer that I had done it in time to miss him, or her.  Knowing that I couldn’t.

Eyes still closed, I heard a loud whoosh of wind…squealing tires…jerking…stinging…metal breaking…crushing…crackling…the smell of burning rubber…cold coffee…cold air…pain…

…nothing.

A few seconds passed.

Silence.

Wind.

Numbness.

Nothing again.

As promised, here is another excerpt from my book… Bonus points to anyone who can guess what the story is about. HINT: it has nothing to do with Vampires. Your welcome.

COLLEGE WAS NOT AS atrocious as I had thought it would be. It felt like high school all over again; nervous about meeting people, anxious that I would do poorly in class, stressed about what to wear so that I would disappear in the crowd.

All of the professors did the same exact thing; hand out a syllabus, go over the syllabus, assign the first two chapters for reading, test over the chapters next week. Before the first day I had expected as much and had already skimmed over the first few pages in each textbook.

Dr. Bledsoe, my world history professor, was the only exception. He said that the “syllabus is overrated”, and assigned the movie Troy over the weekend in preparation for our first lesson. His black skin was quite visible underneath the rugged white t-shirt–a little inappropriate I thought. Now I could see why he was turning so many girls’ heads. His lower half was completely hidden by the baggy draw-string pants he wore each day. Thick dark braids hung from his head while a chain bearing a silver cross boasted from around his neck. Probably his contribution to keeping our christian school persona upheld. Nevertheless, it was obvious that this professor was green and needed to be found cool in the eyes of his students. Fine by me. I could use one cupcake class this semester.

As it turned out Sloan was in that class too. One of the few general ed classes she hadn’t taken yet. I had a sneaky suspicion that Dr. Bledsoe’s blasé approach to teaching had something to do with her and any other uniquely beautiful freshman. His lecture, chock full of the latest clichés and slang, had the class hooked.

Sloan was eating it up. Flirting with her eyes. Her body language. There was no doubt that she would be getting a good grade in that class, even if she never watched a single movie he assigned.

My favorite teacher was Dr. White, Intro to Art. A more seasoned professor, I could tell he took teaching seriously and his class would actually be a challenge. Donning a suit and tie each day, I’m sure he would have combed his hair neatly if he’d had any. His gold wire-framed glasses insinuated that he was very intelligent, the opposite of Dr. Bledsoe. The funny thing was that an art teacher might be expected to have some eccentric sides whereas the history teacher would normally be the serious intellectual. We had quite the paradox here, and no one else seemed to notice.

Overall the introductions into my new school all went well. I even talked to a few other students, something I never did at high school in S.D.. I made a conscious effort to be proactive about getting to know the students I sat next to in my classes. But as good as my intentions were in the classroom, the weeks rolled on and became more filled with school work. It was much more comfortable to be a recluse outside of class.

Preferring to study alone, I spent most of my free time at Zuma Beach just down the road from campus. The Pepperdine library was closer but as far as I was concerned, reserved specifically for rainy afternoons and group projects. Zuma was only ten minutes from campus, a drive my pitiful ‘97 Nissan Stanza could certainly handle. Plus, on the days I finished my work early I relaxed in the sun, waded in the water or sketched. I could say without guilt that the library didn’t offer such a plethora of activities.

This particular day seemed especially lonely; an extremely uncommon feeling for me. I knew that Sloan couldn’t care less about the beach unless it included swells of shirtless boys. It was already too cold for going shirtless which left the beaches void of surfers…unless they were die hard. Those would be fully clothed in wet suits and Sloan would not be satisfied with that. Clara would probably enjoy it with me but she was too busy rehearsing lines to have down time, and I didn’t have any other friends.

Maybe I should try to make more friends.

My mind wandered to the students in my classes while I listened to the waves crashing on the shore. I tied my wavy hair in a knot and laid back on the sand to stare up at the cloudless sky. It embarrassed me to think that I only knew a few names to go with all the faces I saw each day.

Lucas, in Writing Composition, might take studying seriously but I didn’t know if I would want him hanging out with me at the beach. He talked a lot during class (probably why I know his name) and he might cheapen it by talking the entire time rather than enjoying the beauty and studying. There was this “Emo” chick in my Biology class, maybe I could try to partner with her in our next lab assignment and see where that goes. Javier seemed like a nice guy; he always smiled at me in Art class, and I would not have to make a spectacle of myself since he sits right next to me. I could simply lean over and talk to him, undetected.

The sky began to darken as the sun prepared to say goodbye for the day. I huffed. The days were getting shorter, it was October already.

I TRIED TO TURN the knob to our apartment, but it was locked.

“That’s weird,” I said aloud. None of us had ever locked the door or felt the need.

I fumbled to find my keys I had dropped into my tote, not expecting to need them again until tomorrow afternoon for my drive to the beach. They were jingling at the very bottom. I twisted my elbow around the text books until the keys were in my grasp. The lock turned effortlessly and I flung the door open with my bare foot. Right as I stepped inside Sloan popped up from the rear-facing couch. Her hair was disheveled even more so than normal. The skin around her mouth was red; raw.

“Stay down Landon!” she grumbled through her teeth.

Before I could even comprehend what she was talking about Dr. Bledsoe emerged. He was trying to push his hair out of his face and put on his white t-shirt at the same time. I was frozen in my place. Front door wide open; mouth wide open.

Thankfully Sloan spoke first.

“Could you please not say anything about this…to anyone…ever?” I rigidly nodded my head and gave the zip my mouth shut sign.

Dr. Bledsoe, “Landon” as I now knew him, turned and kissed Sloan like he might never see her again. I pretended not to notice, grabbing my tote from the floor where I had dropped it unconsciously. Then he bolted past me and out the open door.

“Genius or not, I’m pretty sure you will ace that class,” I said as I walked into my room. I didn’t wait for her response, the door closed behind me and I fell prostrate onto my bed. My eyes were too tired to stay open. I laid there until I fell asleep, thinking about what I would say to Javier tomorrow.

~Angie
Homemaker Chronicles

I’m a little nervous about today’s post, and I’ll tell you why.  I’ve been working on something over the last year that is close to my heart.  The reasons why it means so much to me will remain undisclosed until I feel vulnerable enough to share.  For today, this is as open as I’d like to be.

I have a story to tell you.  It’s a love story much like the one I began writing (way back when) except completely fiction.  I thought I would give it a whirl here on my blog to see what you guys think.  Don’t be shy after you read these first few pages…leave me a comment.  K?

Sunsets are beyond beautiful in Malibu, California. The pink streaks filling the sky, the blue fading to black, the salty breeze that accompanies.  I watched from the steps of my new dorm complex as the orange ball in the sky sank further and further into the oceanic horizon.  I inclined the pencil in my hand to recreate an exact portrayal of the scene set before me; sea gulls gliding aimlessly, grass and reeds bowing in response to the forceful sea air, and the white tips of the waves appearing then disappearing with calming rhythms.

This can’t really be where I live.

It was much more amazing than the brochures and online pictures had given credit.  All of my senses were on overload taking this place in.  I rested my pencil on the sketch pad in my lap, my chin lifted to let the breeze flow over my shoulders and into my hair.  It mesmerized my mind.  For as long as I could remember the beach felt like a far off fantastical place that, if I was lucky enough, I would find myself living in for eternity.  My idea of heaven.

In South Dakota I had my fair share of beautiful settings.  The winters were gorgeous and the mountains were majestic.  It just wasn’t the beach.  Somewhere in my mind was the idea that my life would not really begin until I found myself lying in the sand with the ocean lulling me to sleep, skin soaking in ultra-violet warmth.

Now, here I am…making a way for myself.  Independent of my parent’s financial restraint that has always bound me.  Loosed from every bit of bitterness that once held me captive.  The steps to my new communal living quarters are my company now.  They were the only company I really wanted in the first place, but unfortunately Pepperdine University didn’t have solitary confinement housing.  Ultimately, I’m thankful for the evening of solitude, however long it might last.

The sun was gone by the time a car engine roaring into the parking lot below my venue notified me that alone time was over.  One of my suite mates had arrived.  I rolled my eyes and closed my sketch pad.  I was not anticipating sharing a bathroom, a living room, nor my life.  This was the only part of living in on-campus housing that I was afraid could ruin the whole college experience.  Compatibility with people in general was not my strong suit–never had been.

As an only child my existence was isolated, no competition for parental attention–not that I wanted it–and least of all, having to give up privacy to anyone other than those nosy parents.  I literally had all I could handle of those things, while choosing to keep a life less relational in high school.  Mingling with the outside world was inevitable though.  If I wanted to be anything other than a scientist stationed in Antarctica.  Which had actually made the top five list of my favorite professions.  Better judgement eventually took hold and I developed a healthier perspective on relationships.  I resolved to go with eventually becoming a lawyer.  Sealing my fate to forever be…interactive.  For now I would be working toward an undergraduate degree in Art and making friends with my suite-mates; of the latter I questioned the likelihood.

A deep sigh left my lungs.

In front of me, strolling up the walk in a slightly Tomboyish swagger, was a girl that looked like she couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old.

“Hey there roomie, you must be Ava,” she said in a gruff crackly voice.  A complete contradiction of her pixie figure.

“Hi,” I waved awkwardly, “and your name is…?”

“Sloan,” she answered with a striking smile.

“Nice to meet you Sloan.  How did you know…”

Sloan interrupted dropping her bag a few steps below where I sat, “Elimination.  I already know the other girls.  Except that Heather is dropping out–she’s pregnant and getting married to some doctor.  They’re moving off to Kansas, or something lame.  Can’t say that I blame her though…he’s a pretty hot old guy, and has a lot of money.”

“W-Wow,” was the only response I could come up with.

Her flawless features did catch me off-guard, but it was the fact that she mentioned marriage, pregnancy, and moving off all in the same sentence, about someone I didn’t even know.  I had all but quit listening.

“…we’ll have an extra room for storage, or parties, or if your boyfriend needs to crash…if you won’t share a bed with your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I nervously interjected.

“Oh, that reminds me, Clara should be here any minute…she’s our other roommate…you two will get along…she’s really quiet and conservative-ish.”

Sloan didn’t even stop to breathe between sentences.  If that’s what those were.  More like a series of erratic thoughts.

“Great,” I choked.

After that introduction, maybe the anxiety I’d had about sharing an apartment with three (now two) other girls for an entire year was warranted.  One consolation was that we each had our own room.  Not much different than the living situation I had just left.  Come to think of it, that part of living with controlling parents was quite tolerable.  At the very least, I could lock myself in my bedroom.

Sloan picked up her army green duffel bag and started up the steps to our apartment suite rising behind me.

“Need some help?” I stood, pressed my skirt down to touch below my ankles, and held my hand out.

“Thanks,” she smiled handing me a smaller bag.

She was even shorter than she looked while I was sitting down; three inches shorter than me.  Her spiky bleached hair made her seem a little taller, but her frame was petite.  A dead giveaway.

Petite person syndrome. I immediately labeled her in my mind.

Sloan talked non-stop while we made the short climb to our front door.  About what, I am not sure, but as soon as the door shut behind us there was a loud knock filling the room.  She actually stopped blabbering for a split second.

“It’s Clara!”

I jumped at the sudden increase in decibel level.  The door swung open and there stood a tall, thin, long curly haired, young woman.  The equal opposite of Sloan in stature.  Sloan picked her up in one swooping embrace.  They were giggling and squirming like puppies.

“I can’t do this,” I breathed to myself while looking away.

It was disturbing to see college women acting that way, but whatever.  Maybe that’s how all students act.  Once Clara was released, Sloan turned to face me.

“Clara, meet our newest addition…Ava.  Ava; Clara.”

That awkward wave escaped my hand again.  Clara walked over and wrapped her long arms all the way around my shoulders and squeezed until all the air was expelled from my lungs.

Am I being punished?

Clara let me go and stepped back to look me up and down.

“I love this bohemian look you have going on…the layers, the skirt and messy hair.  Very chic.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but from the looks of her perfectly matched shirt and shorts that hugged her body in all the strategic places, she knew a bit more about pairing clothes than me.

“Unintentional, but thanks,” I attempted to smile.

She seemed to not hear my response, turning to loop her arm through Sloan’s.  They breezed through the common room, catching up from their summer apart.  Listening to their girlish banter I started to soften a tiny bit at the cute gestures and the obvious sisterhood they shared.  It was fun to watch.  I admit.  They reminded me of what it must be like to have a sister.  Without thinking through it, and before I could stop the words from exiting my mouth, I extended an offer to my new roommates.

“Hey, you guys wanna get some sushi.  If you like sushi…” I trailed off.

My mouth was watering and I was nervous.  I was really not good at making friends.  It was easier to keep to myself.

“I should have guessed that you would like sushi, gypsy lady,” Sloan badgered.  “You’re probably vegan or something, aren’t you?”

“Ha, no.  Hate to ruin your perception, but there isn’t a food I don’t love…red meat and animal bi-products included.”

“As long as there is cooked food, I’m there,” Sloan said.

“I know of a great place downtown,” Clara added sweetly.  I could tell that Clara would have gone along with anything Sloan thought was okay.

AFTER WE ORDERED I struck up the conversation, trying to break out of my usual non-conversational mold.

“Clara, what’s your story?  How’d you get to Malibu?”

That’s all for today, folks.  Come back Friday if you want more…

~Angie

Homemaker Chronicles

“It’s not a trip to the zoo unless you lose your shoe”

That’s what I said to convince Adi-Ju, who’s now blue.

She was watching the chimps, acting like one too,

When her foot slipped between the bars and withdrew

The heel caught in an instant, off came the shoe

Down toward the ground and the chimp it flew

The curious chimp couldn’t help but view

A pink leather, size 10 landing in his slough

He leaned in and sniffed then exhaled with a coo

The smell was too stout,  for this was no perfume

The chimp tossed it aside, bound for curiosities anew

And Adi-Ju watched in horror with no twin for her shoe.

Trust me when I tell you

This story is true!

The Shoe

The Chimp

The chimp trying to escape the smelly shoe.

~Angie

Homemaker Chronicles

Last weekend we went to a hot air balloon festival in Hot Springs.  Well, first we watched the Razorbacks get trampled play, then we stayed for the balloons.

If you’ve never seen these, you should.  They stand three stories tall and have propane in the form of a flaming torch injected into their nylon bulb.  I really can’t wrap my mind around first, how they don’t go up in flames and second, why someone would want to ride in a wicker basket attached to an explosion waiting to happen.  It’s beyond me.

Frankly, I’d rather jump out of an airplane from thirty thousand feet.  Feels safer for some reason.

Here are some pics from our day.

Those guys that walk around with the toys listed at astronomical prices and that only work for about seven minutes duped us into purchasing three swords and two daggers.  Since the balloon festival boasts an after-dark “glow show” everything, including the toys, lit up.

I call it propaganda.  And it worked.

(I promise that we do not encourage impalement or decapitation, however it might appear)

Not shown in these pics:  The mass of people, literally hundreds that showed up on the Hot Springs tarmac, the countless corn dogs, funnel cakes, french fries, burgers, smoked ribs, and turkey legs that were being sold, and all the people smoking cigarettes.  Seriously, like everybody there was smoking except for our family and the couple sitting diagonally behind us.  Everyone else was, which essentially means that we all were…whether we liked it or not!

I wonder if there was a haze over the city of Hot Springs the next morning…

I was a little hazy the next morning!

My favorite part of the night was when the emcee announced that the glow was about to begin.  I never knew that hot air balloons could or would glow, did you?  They can actually twinkle burn! Not sure what that is?

Well, I was picturing individual lights attached to the outside of the balloon, cascading down in swirls or fans.  Illuminating yellow, blue and red against the backdrop of a midnight blue sky and twinkling like heavenly fireflies.  It sounded romantic and got us excited-as if we were about to see a circus performance.

We all rose to our feet with anticipation, watching the balloons in the distance, waiting anxiously for whatever a “glow” would look like as the announcer encouraged the pilots to prepare.  We counted down from ten and this is what we saw…

What was your favorite part??

~Angie

Homemaker Chronicles

Our family loves to read.  All of us.

Regan is currently reading Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

Caleb is reading the fourth book in a series called Molly Moon by Georgia Byng.  I can’t pry his nose out of a book for more than five minutes, unless of course it means he gets to play Zelda.

Titan reads various books brought home from school, the most recent being Bear’s lunch.

Before bed Todd reads a magic tree house book to Adia, Salem and Titan.  They are currently on Sunset of the Saber tooth, not in succession.

Salem’s favorite book is My Truck is Stuck by Kevin Lewis and Daniel Kirk and Farmer McPeepers and His Missing Milk Cows by Katy Duffield.

Adia’s favorite book is anything with an animal in it, preferably a kitten.

Todd isn’t into fiction at the moment, he currently reads countless articles on growing a business, interactive new media, ESPN.com, Yahoo news, and the like.

I am between books, just having finished The Day Before by Lisa Schroeder and about to begin The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.  I also read a few blogs and stay up to date on current event by glancing at the cover of the tabloids while waiting in line at the grocery store.

Did you hear about Brangelina BTW? Just kidding!  I usually roll my eyes after reading the headings then I feel sorry for the people plastered on the cover; the lack of privacy would drive me insane.

Back to the topic at hand.

It’s hard to find fiction that isn’t vulgar, dark, depressing or over the kids’ heads or too graphic for mine.  Then, Christian fiction is like reading books that The Candyman wrote about his favorite flavor of lollypop; totally unrealistic, perfect, sugar-coated lives.  Or the ones I’ve tried were.  Most Christian fiction books seem to be set in the past, when things were more conservative I guess.

Where is the realistic fiction that offers a sense of adventure and can be identified as modern without all the worldliness?

Here’s what I’m getting at.  What books are you reading?  What about your kids?

I am really hoping that somebody out there can offer me some suggestions.

Books the kids have read; and liked.

The Percy Jackson series

Inheritance Trilogy

American Girl books (Regan)

Magic Treehouse

Lots of classics (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Little House Series, A Series of Unfortunate Events, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, and on…)

I wonder what you guys have to say about Harry Potter and the Golden Compass.  Any thoughts?  I mean, I let my kids read other fantasy books, what makes these so controversial?  Is it because of the romanticizing of wizardry and witchcraft?

If so, how is that any different from enjoying Gandalf, or a magic book that warps you into a different time and place.  Or for that matter, a genie, a fairy godmother, or a wardrobe that takes you to a land where you are royalty?  I seriously want to get some feedback here.  I have wrestled with these things in the past and now I’m thinking about it again…maybe because of the Harry Potter movie or the questions that my kids come home with from school.

Recap:

1.  I need a list of great of fiction books for me and/or my kids to read.

2.  I want your opinion of middle-grade kids reading Harry Potter and the Golden Compass books.

thankyouverymuch!

~Angie

Homemaker Chronicles

I’m at a loss.  On one hand super heroes are surreal and majestic, on the other they are simply ordinary people that got a good hand.  I mean, I know real super heroes don’t exist (the radioactive spider bite, the alien from another planet trying to blend in, mutants in all shapes, sizes and abilities)  But what if they did?

Better yet, what if YOU were a super hero?

What if you were given the choice to decide on any ONE super quality and it was given to you in exchange for keeping humanity from harm, for saving lives and for protecting the innocent.

*Pause for effect*

What power would you choose to possess?  (Keep in mind that you can only have one power.)

Be wise and don’t hastily decide.  There should be a strategy to your choice.

For instance, let’s say you want the gift of flight.   As cool as it is, are you really going to be affective as a vigilante by defying gravity?   You can’t have speed and flight, keep in mind.

What about strength?  Is strength alone a quality that could keep yourself and someone else, even a group of people, from being harmed?  Or is it that having big muscles makes you look tough and so strength would be cool?

Think hard.  Consider the possibilities.  For, whatever you choose is of the utmost importance.  Well, not really.  I’m just curious as to what you consider makes a super hero super.

Leave me a comment with your choice and why, then come back to read the other ones.  I might even tell you mine.  Oh yes, I have thought long and hard…

~Angie

Homemaker Chronicles