To my baby on her seventh

Dear Hannah,

I don't suppose you have even noticed that your birthday came and went without a letter from me here. What can I say? Such is the life of the youngest child. Time has gotten away from me the last month or so, but you have been ever present in my mind.


You have changed so much in the last year, little sis. You learned to ride your bike without training wheels. You started first grade, and went to school all. day. long, leaving me home by myself for the first time in 10 years. You began to assert your independence in so many ways.


And you began to pick your own clothes.

I have, for the most part, kept my mouth shut about your choices, even when I cringed as you left the house with brightly colored scarves around your neck and mismatched layered tees adorning your slim body. It was not until parent-teacher conference when your young, hip teacher exclaimed her delight at your keen fashion sense, that I began to wonder if I ought to have you picking out my clothes, too.

You've been trying to do that for a long time now anyway.


Hannah, of all the people in our family, you are probably the best sport. You are constantly dragged to baseball games or tae kwan do matches. You are outnumbered when it comes to movie picks, and are frequently forced to endure the war and action movies favored by your brothers. Week after week, and movie after movie, you cheerfully grab a coloring book and open it onto your lap - not wanting to be left out of the fun. It is your happy willingness to join in their games that melts my heart, even though I know you yearn for more girly companions a lot of the time.


The other day I was in the kitchen doing some baking. You had been helping me, and continued to keep me company with your chatter, even when the baking was through. I was washing the dishes, and I looked behind me to see you wiping the bar down with a wet towel. A smile on my face turned to a huge grin when I watched you grab the broom and start sweeping. You did this without any prompt on my part. It was such a big girl thing to do - to notice what needed to be done, and just do it.

I have no doubt this experience will never be repeated by your brothers, however.


All through our cleaning, you talked and talked, never once wanting to be anywhere else but by my side, and for a brief moment, I had a glimpse of what will be.

Of what has become, really.

No longer are you just the baby on the counter waiting to lick the spoon. Suddenly, and without warning, you have became my ally and companion in the kitchen. You have become my friend.

And sweets, I can't think of anything that I want more.

I love you deeper than you will ever know. There's a special place in my heart reserved solely for you.

You, the little baby who was sent to us quite on purpose when we were not looking. Tell me, what did we ever do without you?



I love you forever, little Chica.

♥Mama

A happy ending for our DMV fairy tale

I thought you all would like to know the end of the pretend, made up, and hypothetical story from yesterday.

Ahem.

Flash back to our fictional, imaginary heroine, who is beautiful, has flawless skin, and long, luxurious hair. She is so thin that models come seeking her advice on weight loss, and her mailbox is constantly full of love notes from the chiseled perfection that is Daniel Craig.

Admittedly, I might have gotten carried away with that last bit.

ANYway, upon noticing the smoking chimney staring her down, she immediately threw her car into reverse and drove around the block like the chicken that she is. After about ten minutes, she went back to the DMV with her husband's forged signature, and stood in what was now a very long line.

She, whoever she may be, is definitely not as brave as some of you fine people who would willingly forge their husband's signature while staring down the chain-smoking psychos of the DMV.

But our heroine was able to successfully register her new vehicle and is thrilled to finally have license plates.

She is mourning the loss of a gazillion billion dollars from her bank account, however.

And I feel certain that our heroine would choose to drown her sorrows in a diet coke from Sonic and a mini twix bar.

Who can waste calories on a Twinkie anyway? Especially with that delicious Daniel Craig just lying around . . .

The end.

Hypothetical fun on a Monday morning

Let's just say you get a new car. And, because you are not excited about handing over a gazillion billion dollars in sales tax to your local DMV, you wait until the last possible second to go in and register that car.

And let's just say, for imagination's sake, that upon entering the DMV, you gleefully notice there is no line. You eagerly hand over your 9,548 sheets of papers required by the local DMV.

All appears to be going well until the local DMV worker notices that your husband's signature is missing on one of the forms. You curse silently because you know that your husband is out of town for the week.

In this completely fictional situation, you would probably smile, take your piles of forms, and head out to your car. Because you are such a good person, you would then FedEx the documents to your husband's hotel, where he would sign his own name, and promptly FedEx them back the next day.

But let's just say, for argument's sake, that you are really good at signing your husband's name. So good, in fact, that he, himself, is unable to tell the difference between his own signature and your version.

Given this fact, hypothetically, you might wait out in your car, mentally allowing the ten minutes it would take for you to drive home and obtain the signature from your husband. You know, if he were actually there. You might decide to pass the time by calling your sister-in-law for a chat.

And let's just say that while you are sitting in the car chatting, not driving home for a signature from a husband who is not there, you look up to see the DMV worker who just helped you, coming out for his smoke break. He takes a few long, cancer-riddled puffs, looks your way, and notices you sitting there in your car.

Oh, frick.

In this type of alleged, hypothetical situation, do you:

a) Sit there in defiance and go back into the DMV with the signature magically obtained?

b) Give up, and go seek comfort in a Costco-sized box of Twinkies?

c) Drive around the parking lot like a coward before returning with the signature magically obtained?

d) Drive away and throw your shoe at the DMV door in protest, all while yelling obscenities and curses?

What would you do in this alleged situation, my friends?

Disclaimer: I'm not saying this was me or anyone I know. Definitely not me this morning. I have been sitting here at my desk, calmly thinking of solutions to potential problems such as this one.

I'm a problem solver, people. It's what I do.

This one's for you, Peter Skeever

On Tuesday of this week, our Crazy Uncle Pete (as is he affectionately called around here) was hit by a car while riding his bicycle to work. He went flying, landed on his head, and was knocked unconscious. The woman who hit him got out of her car, shrieked, and promptly drove away.

Yes, leaving him injured, unconscious, and alone. Not even sure if she had left him alive.

Thank heavens some witnesses to the accident called the ambulance, and Pete was rushed to a nearby hospital. He suffered a broken neck, broken back, sprained ankle, beat up face, and broken front tooth. He is not paralyzed, but will be recovering for MONTHS.

The person who did this has yet to come forward and own up to it.

Instead of focusing on the blinding rage I feel when I think about her cowardice, I am channeling my energy to well wishes for Pete and a little reminder for all you. My friends, when he landed on his head, his helmet split in two. Had he not been wearing one, well, I can't really even bring myself to think about what might have been.

The helmet literally. saved. his. life.

Please, please, please, wear your helmets. Make your kids wear their helmets. It only takes a minute, and can mean the different between being here today and not being here tomorrow. As a mother who has gotten a little lax herself when it comes to this, I can tell you, we will not be making that mistake again.

And hang in there, Pete. We're all praying for you here.

We heart these Idaho spuds of ours

Hello? Hello? Is there anybody out there?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Pink Floyd, I am not. But I am back and I've got lots to share with you.

Last week, we spent a lovely few days with this beautiful family:


My brother, Craig, and his family came for a little visit. His wife, Laura, is the sister I never got and always wanted. I LOVE her to pieces. She totally gets me. We stayed up until the wee hours chatting, pontificating, You Tubing, and cookie dough eating. Pretty much my four favorite things EVER.

We also took them to some of our favorite St. Louis sites. Like the new Five Guys restaurant, (which we love!), and which really isn't helping me any with the matter of my chubby thighs. They fell in love with it, too. And there's nothing like traveling all the way from Rexburg, Idaho to eat potatoes that are brought in from, yep, Rexburg, Idaho.

Only here in Missouri, we don't actually know how to spell "Rexburg," as you can see.

My children begged and pleaded to be kept home from school, and, good mother that I am, I used that as leverage to get them to do my bidding for an entire day. Nothing like a little motivation, eh?

Heh, heh. Suckers.

Of course, in the end, I let them stay home from school, and we had a blast at the science museum, the zoo, the park, and terrorizing the old people in our neighborhood.

Please come back soon, you Idaho spuds. It was so fun hanging out with you guys.

Plus, I could really use some leverage over these children around here. They seem to have lost their desire to do my bidding.

Stinkers.

Too tired to come up with a clever title

I am stopping my slightly manic cleaning frenzy to log on here and let you know that I may be absent from the blogosphere for the next few days. We have family coming to town (who we are absolutely excited to see) and, after two days of scrubbing every surface in our home, I think I am nearly ready for them.

Hope you all had a fabulous Easter and are not hungover on chocolate like I am. Curse those blasted Reeses peanut butter eggs.

Anyhoo, I promise to return later this week with stories and blogging galore.

Or at least a post or two.

Happy Monday, peeps.