My goal was to finish the scrapbook about Annalyn’s first year by her first birthday party. I wanted to put the scrapbook on display, so people could enjoy photos of her and remember how tiny she used to be.

That didn’t happen.

I did end up finishing the album the next month, though, and I am so glad. It’s not just about how cute the layouts are {although, they are}. It’s because it’s no longer sitting on my to-do list, mocking me.

{What? Your to-do list doesn’t mock you? Because mine is a snarky little punk!}

However, you know what IS on my to-do list? Besides file old bills, write to my Compassion child and for the love, clean the bathtub? Finish Annalyn’s albums.

See, I have scrapbooks for each of Annalyn’s first two years. And they’re both semi-finished. For her first year, I slapped the gajillions of pictures I took onto pages like scrapbooking was going out of style (and don’t you even tell me that!), not taking time to journal or add embellishments or, honestly, even make sure all the page protectors were the same size (they’re not).

And so these projects that I so badly wanted to have finished by now are not.

It’s too late for me (I’m kidding. It’s never too late to start or finish a scrapbooking project.), but perhaps we can save YOU.

Do you have boxes of photos, waiting to be organized and enjoyed? Do they mock you? Are you overwhelmed by the thought of finding time or knowing where to start? My friend Jessica has the perfect solution for you.

As a new mom who works full-time, writes The Mom Creative blog and loves to scrapbook, Jessica Turner’s life is a constant juggling act. After not finding any baby scrapbooking resources she loved and with a commitment to completing her son’s first-year album while he was still a baby, she developed Don’t Blink: Scrapbooking Your Baby’s First Year.

Finding time to scrapbook amidst milestones and diaper changes can be a challenge, but it is possible! In the self-paced class Don’t Blink: Scrapbooking Your Baby’s First Year, you’ll receive tips, tricks and inspiration to complete your baby’s first year album – while he or she is still a baby. And don’t worry; if your baby is walking and talking, Don’t Blink will still inspire you to complete his album before he graduates from high school.

After taking Don’t Blink, I know you’ll be inspired to create dozens of layouts for your baby’s scrapbook. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the amount of pictures you have taken and the layouts you could make, you’ll have the tools needed to create a scrapbook that will be cherished for years by your child. AND, you will be able to get it done during naptimes, at night and whenever else you can squeeze in 15 to 30 minutes to scrapbook!

Here’s my favorite part: Jessica has been sweet enough to give us a coupon code for the class AND two free classes for me to give away!

Coupon Code: For a 20% discount for Don’t Blink, use the code blogblink at checkout.

Giveaway: To enter the giveaway for one of two free classes (in other words, two people will win this class), tell me in the comments if you like to scrapbook and what’s kept you from finishing your albums.

For additional entries, subscribe to Giving Up on Perfect, follow me on Twitter or join my Facebook page – and then tell me about it in a separate comment. I’ll draw a winner after midnight (CST) on Friday, July 2.

This post will be linked to We Are THAT Family’s Works for Me Wednesday, because scrapbooking my baby’s first year works for me. 

Disclaimer: The coupon code only applies to the Don’t Blink self-paced class; coupon does not apply towards other self-paced projects, workshops or gift certificates. Good for one time use, per student. Expires December 20, 2010, at 10 p.m. PST. Cannot be combined with any other offer. Coupon must be entered in the “Promo Code” box during checkout and press “apply” button; discount will be applied immediately. Not applicable towards previous purchases. Other terms and restrictions may apply.

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Yesterday was our nursery day. We serve once a month, wiping noses and rolling balls with an occasionally rowdy and always cute group of 12-18 month olds.

I don’t love doing it, but I don’t mind. Mark is not nearly as fond of it, but that could be partly because I usually put him on Kleenex duty. (Hey, as the lead teacher, I’m on diaper duty. So he really shouldn’t complain.)

This week, though, we lucked out. Well, I say “we,” but I really mean ME. Mark was down and out with the flu for a couple days (although after literally [yes, literally] sleeping for 24 hours, he seems to be on the mend), so I was on my own.

And we had NO kids in the nursery. It was weird. I had everything ready; I even got there early. The sign-up sheet was outside the door, the attendance sheet was ready, the Kleenex box was full. I even had pieces of masking tape torn off for labeling bags and sippy cups.

But no kids. So after waiting for about 20 minutes, I got to sneak into church. I’m so glad I did.

Our youth group went to the Philippines for a mission trip, and they talked to our congregation this Sunday about what they saw and what they learned.

Two high school kids talked about what God taught them during the trip, they showed a video of their time in Manila (including some pretty good dancing for Baptist kids), and then the youth pastor spoke.

He said he wanted to address the elephant in the room.

The kids and adult leaders had just walked across the platform up front, holding what they called cardboard testimonies. One side of their posters said things like “Eyes closed” and “God provides some things,” while the flip side said, “Eyes opened” and “God provides everything.”

Our pastor said he knew what we were thinking: How long will this last? How long until they go back to normal?

He said he was concerned for all of them, himself included, that the passion they felt would fade. And he said after reading in Deuteronomy (I don’t know where; I didn’t have my Bible on hand since I had planned to be in the nursery.), he realized the reason we all have trouble sustaining the fire we feel during a mountaintop experience.

We worship the experience, instead of the GOD of the experience.

Wow.

The testimonies of the kids and the video and the cardboard made me cry. I couldn’t seem to stop my right eye from leaking the whole morning. But that statement right there?

Well, it just about did me in. Because it applies to a very specific part of my life, and I hadn’t realized until that moment that as I’ve tried to process and deal with and recover from what happened, I’ve been worshipping the experience.

I’ll talk more about that tomorrow. But for now, I’m wondering if you’ve had this happen in your life. Have you ever had an amazing experience with God, really heard from Him or seen Him work – only to realize later that you had begun worshipping the experience and not God?

Have you worshipped the experience instead of the God of the experience?

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I was born in Kansas. When I was four years old, my family moved to Missouri. After graduating from high school, I branched out on my own for college. In Missouri. Then I briefly moved to Kansas for graduate school. And then moved back to Missouri.

Clearly, I’m from the Midwest.

And yet, in my heart of hearts, I consider myself a Southern girl.

I know, I know! It doesn’t make sense, and my truly Southern friends are no doubt rolling their eyes and blessing my heart right now.

But here’s the thing: half my family is from the South! And I’m not talking about a 1/32 type of ancestry. My mom was born in southern Georgia (and I am well aware that’s “suth’n Jawjah,” for the record) and only moved north because my granddad was stationed at Fort Leavenworth.

So between my own mother, my grandparents and all oour extended family, I feel well-versed and immersed enough in Southern culture to claim it as my own. Just a little. Can you all (AHEM. Y’all?) give me that?

No? You want more evidence? Fine. Twist my arm. Here are 10 reasons I consider myself Southern:

1. Grits: I not only know what grits are, I like them. And I’ll take it a step further: I’m even particular about how I take them. (Lots of butter and salt, please! And believe it or not, keep your cheese to yourself.)
2. Talkin’: Phrases like “conniption fit,” “catty-wampus,” “bless her heart,” “come sit a spell,” “gooder’n snuff,” “ornery” and “her people” don’t confuse or amuse me. I simply know exactly what they mean.
3. Good times: I have been known a time or twenty to shout, “Don’t look, Ethel!” or “He’s everywhere! He’s everywhere!” Furthermore, I don’t think it’s weird at all to sing about sitting up with the dead, and I know exactly which Mississippi church had a squirrel go berserk. Because in my family, we do love our Ray Stevens. I have two VHS tapes to prove it.
4. Good food: While I may never (and I mean NEVER) enjoy the taste of fried okra, collard greens and pecan (“pee-kan,” of course) pie, I am well aware of their many virtues and wouldn’t dream of actually turning up my nose at these delicacies.
5. Funeral food: When someone dies, I immediately pull a casserole dish out of the cupboard. Because if there’s something worse than grieving, it’s doing it on an empty stomach.
6. The sweeter, the better: As I have mentioned, I like sweet tea – and I like it reallll sweet.
7. Suppertime: If you invite me over for dinner, I might ask you to clarify. Because in my world, that could mean lunch or supper, and I want to make sure I’m there for the right meal. (Because if you haven’t noticed, half of this list seems to be about food in one way or another. And I’m afraid that’s just about right.)
8. Timberrr! One of my favorite things about my job – and I’m not exaggerating – is the group of pine trees surrounding the back door of our building. Unless someone’s sitting on the back porch smoking, I get a whiff of those pines and am immediately transported to the many vacations we took to see “our people” in Georgia.
9. Yes, ma’am: I might be sarcastic, I might be forthright, and I might be snarky. But I know how to mind my manners, thankyouverymuch. Now, northern friends, please do not get upset with me. I’m not saying you’re rude. I’m just saying that I was directed more than once as a child to say “yes, sir” and write another thank you note. 
10. Pop culture (and I don’t mean Coke): I’m a big fan of Designing Women, Steel Magnolias, Alabama (the band) and the Savannah series by Denise Hildreth.

What? That last one doesn’t mean anything? Well, I could tell you about how easily I slip into a Southern drawl when crossing the Mason-Dixie line. Or how I am familiar with Piggly Wiggly stores or often hear my family refer to Driving Miss Daisy. I guess I could mention how, as a freshman, I impressed the drama teacher with my flawless (if I do say so myself) reading of a play’s dialogue filled with Southern dialect.

But really, what it comes down to is this: My family is from the South. And I love them. They are all sorts of crazy, but the truth is, I’m just like them. If that makes me crazy, so be it. If that makes me Southern, well then, I guess that just proves my point.

Where are you {and your people} from? What region do you most identify with?

For more posts about being Southern, check out these fine ladies:

• The Other Mama – Top 5 Reasons I Love Alabama
• Robin at Pensieve – Song of the South
• We Are THAT Family – My Guide to Country Vernacular
• Ronda Rich – How to Know You Have Southern Blood
• Sweet & Southern Life – You Know You’re From North Carolina If…

And for more Southern fun, here are two more sites:

• A Yankee Test (I scored “45% Dixie. Barely a Yankee.”)
• Southern Slang from About.com

P.S. I’m linking up to OhAmanda’s Top Ten Tuesday.

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Seriously. This heat is ridiculous. And I live in the middle of the country. I’m not in the actual South. I’m not gasping for air in the dry heat of the desert or the sopping wet humidity of the coast.

No. I’m just a girl in Missouri who’s dying of heat!

I told Mark today that this heat makes me mad. He said that’s dumb. Why get mad about something you can’t change? As one who just might have an issue with road rage, I’m not sure HE is the one who should be dispensing that advice.

But when he asked why I would be mad about the weather, I informed him that there is No. Reason. why I should be sweating at 7:45 in the morning. Or on the short walk from my car to my office. Or sitting in my chair at my desk.

I mean, really.

I didn’t think today’s post should only include my whining complaints about the day’s temperature, so I did a quick search for songs about heat. I don’t know what I thought that would add to the conversation.

Aside from Nelly’s logic that a warm room necessarily means one should shed her clothes, the song best fitting my state of mind was Glenn Frey’s The Heat is On.

Tell me can you feel it. Tell me can you feel it. Tell me can you feel it.

No, really. Tell me that you can feel this heat. Don’t be like my co-worker who said she wasn’t warm at all yesterday. For just a moment, I considered throwing my [sweaty] shoe at her.

Then I realized that was just the heat rage speaking.

Here’s the crazy part: it’s just June! It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better.

And I know it can be worse. The hottest I’ve been is a toss-up between Disney World in August (family vacation) and Las Vegas in July (convention for work). Oh yeah, there was also Tampa in July (convention for work).

How hot is it where you live? What’s the hottest you’ve ever been?

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