Sisters

I truly have the world's best sisters. I know of a family where all the sisters are total drama queens and either hate each other or hate their parents. Half the family is estranged from one another and they act in mean and spiteful ways.

Then I think about my sisters and am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Shelley . . .
is freaking gorgeous.
is a wonderful confidante.
will do anything you need.
goes the extra mile when serving you.
spends time she doesn't have when a sister needs her.
is a master multi-tasker.
is fiercely devoted to family.
continually seeks to improve herself.
is a craft master and home improvement specialist.
gives of herself more than anyone I know, but doesn't realize it.

Jessica . . .
is freaking gorgeous.
is an excellent conversationalist.
is an incredible example of love and patience.
serves endlessly, far beyond most people's limits.
uses her resources more wisely than anyone else.
is an anchor of faithfulness.
makes me want to be a better person.
is well read and intelligent and interesting.
makes any gathering more fun and loving.
has a great appreciation of beauty.

Katie . . .
is freaking gorgeous.
is hardworking and diligent.
is more highly educated than any of the rest of us girls.
is devoted to the Lord.
always strives to do her best.
never gives up.
looks incredible in everything she wears.
wants to be of service and live a higher law.
is patient and long-suffering.
is hil-a-ri-ous .

Emma . . .
is freaking gorgeous.
is totally unique.
is intelligent and talented and generally otherwise amazing.
is sweet and loving and tender and caring.
loves her family intensely.
will do whatever she can for you.
pushes herself and pushes herself.
is one of the funniest people I know.
astounds me with her creativity.
is a kindred spirit that everyone loves.

Annie . . .
is freaking gorgeous.
is the total package.
gets it done and gets it done right.
is a go-getter.
is loyal and loving.
continually sets and achieves higher and higher goals.
works hard and plays hard and then works some more.
can hold her own wherever she goes and in whatever she attempts.
always keeps a good perspective.
is kind to everyone, whether they deserve it or not.

Each one of my sisters is incredible and loves me and serves me continually. I could not do without any one of them. They are all have beautiful voices, and I love singing with them. I love doing pretty much anything with them. And did I mention how beautiful they all are?

"I two!" she said with a smirk.

Grandpa's Girl


I'm so cute, and I know it.


Why are people singing to me? Make it stop!


I like to wear my swimming suit on top of my clothes.


Let's go play in the dirt!


Mmm. What is this tasty thing heretofore unknown to me?


It's soy ice cream!!

To Organize . . .

To Organize seems to always be on the top of my To Do list. Well, I suppose it's number two on the list after Declutter.

I was just having a conversation with my favourite Jessica about this. I shared with her my most recent organizing tool, and I hope that by sharing it with you, my three readers, that you will share a tip of your own with me.

I bought a narrow, yet long over-the-door canvas shoe organizer. It is narrow enough to fit on the tiny door of my minuscule coat closet. In it I have placed all my many scarves/gloves/hats, as well as Brent's scarves/gloves/hats, and his flags. No more do I have them all tumbling down upon me from the shelf. No more are they getting snagged and stretched out by hanging around the shoulders of a coat, smashed up against another coat. No more do I have to go through all of them to find the one I want.

I've also thought that next winter it will be helpful with Jenny. It is long enough that Jenny will be able to reach into the bottom row of pouches. I'm thinking that when she has wet mittens I'll use a clothes pin to hang them on the outside of her pocket until they dry, rather than having them shoved back in wet or laying around the house.

That's one bit of mess tamed.

Any suggestions for my bathroom drawer that has oodles of little tiny items?
How about for my many charging cords (cellphone, laptop, etc. etc.)?

Any tips for how to train a husband who is put-it-away-handicapped?

What is your "Duh! What didn't I think of that before?" organization tool or household hint?

I Need . . .

Tagged by Claire's blog.

Go to your favourite search engine and type "(your first name) needs", and post the first five things that come up.

Brent needs to examine his self-proclaimed godly status.
Brent needs direction.
Brent needs oiling. (what?)
Brent needs to examine his fixation with male homosexuality and ask himself why he finds it so threatening.
Brent needs to jam to some Neil Diamond.

Maren needs individuals or small business owners who are ready to discover who they really are and what makes them unique.
Maren needs to do more work laying out the Bush administration part of her argument.
Maren needs social interaction, but too much stimulation could cause her to withdraw.
Maren needs to see her work in full splendor.
Maren needs different partners for different reasons.

Jenny needs to find herself a baller.
Jenny needs a Wee by Mr. Jingles.
Jenny needs a road bike.
Jenny needs space!
Jenny needs your help.

James needs a hat petition.
James needs a celebrity profile.
James needs to work a miracle.
James needs an agent.
James needs special effects.

Loki needs to review his customer base.
Loki needs a home!
Loki needs a server.
Loki needs a new agent.
Loki needs cold temperatures to maintain his existence.

Okay, this probably entertained me much more than it did you, but try it yourself and you'll laugh at some of the stuff that comes up.

My Daughter Cannot Be Trusted

When Jenny wakes up from her nap, the first thing she does is poop in her diaper. Then she proceeds to play. She throws all her stuffed animals (she MUST sleep with pooh bear, funny bear, dollie, and elmo) out of the crib. Then follow her blankets. Then she likes to bang the crib on the wall for a bit or reach her skinny little arm out of the slats and see if she can grab a new toy to bring into the crib.

When all of these activities are over, she needs to be a little more creative in entertaining herself in the 60 seconds before I come in and get her. So she proceeds to undress herself. Remember the poopie diaper at the beginning of all of this? Yeah. That is why she cannot be trusted.

Yesterday the first signal I got that she was awake was her plaintive little voice saying "Not working! Not working!" I went in to find her with no socks and no pants. She had managed to unsnap the back of her turtleneck/onesie and shoved her arms out of the neck. She had that shirt down around her waist, but had not yet succeeded in unsnapping the crotch. I'm just glad I got there in time, this time.

Oh Poor Me

I just need to complain for a minute. Brent got a new job (yea!) after four months of being home all day. I'm not complaining about the employment. I'm complaining about the toddler now that her daddy is missing all day long. She is more than twice as whiney as usual, and there is no one but me to deal with it.

I have a stabbing pain in my sacrum that makes me limp when I walk and cry out in pain whenever I switch positions too quickly.

I woke up seven times last night. I hardly slept at all. Consequently, I'm tired and will have another hard day dealing with toddler whines.

Brent had a large package delivered recently that was full of styrofoam. Jenny has had much fun playing in it. Consequently, I have styrofoam all over my house now, the distribution of which has been greatly aided by Lucifer (a.k.a. Loki) as he likes to bat the peanuts down the stairs. My back hurts too much to get on the floor and pick the mess up.

I've hit that stage in pregnancy when you start to feel like a whale. I don't think I'm all that huge yet; I'm barely 26 weeks. But everything is getting harder to do, such as: put on my shoes, get on the floor, get off the floor, get in and out of the car, pick up my daughter, clean my house, stand long enough to cook dinner, etc.

However, despite my "poor me" attitude, I recognize that I am extraordinarily blessed. I know of a woman who is 38 weeks pregnant with her second child, and her husband has barely recognized the pregnancy. He has depression and anxiety and is an alcoholic. He is giving her no support whatsoever. Can you imagine?

I know another woman who is in late pregnancy whose husband works 48 hour shifts in a town 2 hours away. She's a little concerned about him being able to make it to the birth.

Then there's one more girl I know who is also pregnant, and the father of her child left her two months ago. Then a couple of weeks ago he met a girl on a cruise and they're getting married next month.

AAACK! I'm so glad I married the right person at the right time. I am saved all that stress and unhappiness. I have a man that is ecstatic to be a father again, that loves playing with his little girl, and that is totally supportive of my pregnancy and birthing plans. His new office is about 10 minutes away from home, and he can get here whenever I need him.

I am surrounded by loving and supportive family.

My little girl is as gorgeous, talented, and intelligent as children can come.

I have a nice home in a nice neighborhood.

My husband has a good job that enables me to be home with my children.

Suddenly my little set of trials is feeling very insignificant and I'm feeling guilty for even mentioning them. I guess I whine as much as Jenny does.

A Memory

I was recently reminded of an event in my youth that I wanted to write down before I forget it forever.

When I was a big kid/young teenager (not sure exactly) I was sitting in church between my dad and my brother, Matt. We were sitting on the front row of the chapel overflow, so most of the congregation was in front of us, but there were three or so rows of people sitting behind.

Matt was being a typical brother, poking me and whatnot. I had my legs crossed and was swinging the top leg, letting my slip-on shoe dangle from my toe. Matt grabbed my side to tickle me, my leg reflexively shot out, and my shoe went straight up in the air, rising at least ten feet. My father didn't miss a beat; he stood up, caught the shoe, sat back down, and handed it to me. It couldn't have been choreographed more perfectly.

Immediately the woman sitting directly behind us started cracking up, but no one else had seen it.