May Wrap-up... The June Version

There was a point around the second week of May when I thought, "May doesn't seem to be as crazy this year as it has been in years past."

Then May bitch-slapped me for being cocky. She bitch-slapped me so hard that I haven't been able to finish a post about May until the third week of June.

So, here you go.

May.

There was my sister's wedding.

Followed by Shawn's 40th birthday party.

Somewhere along the way I printed the invitations for Elizabeth's birthday party three times. The first time I scheduled it the same night as "Hasting's Night" at the amusement park - just an extra 1,500 people expected at the park that night. So, then I rescheduled it. For a night during the week that the kids go on their annual trip to the lake with Shawn's parents and his aunt and uncle. (My mother-in-law caught this error - when we gave her her invitation! And, I told her, "I feel like I'm spinning a whole. bunch. of plates. And, they keep crashing to the ground!"

There was the week that Elizabeth was the snack helper at school. It happened to coincide with the Pre-K Luau. Her teacher "suggested" fruit kabobs, sugar cookies and little bottles of water for the Luau snacks.

I made these Hula boys and girls:

Cute, right?

It wasn't until a week later that I realized... I brought topless Hula girls to the Pre-K Luau. But, I didn't hear of any cookie scandals through the preschool grapevine - so, I think we skated by.

There were also Book Fair shifts. A weekend in the mountains with friends. (This was actually relaxing. Once we were there. But, up til then? Just more things on the to-do list.) End-of-school field day and class parties.

And, dance recital.

May wrapped with my mom and step-dad's annual family reunion trip. I think this was probably relaxing and wonderful. But, to be honest. I think I was too tired to be sure.

Coconut Mocha Coffee Completes Me

Remember how I love my Keurig? I do.

My sister introduced me to something that made it even better. Possible, you ask? Indeed, it turns out, it was.

It's called Coconut Mocha. I love it. She told me she had only ever seen it at Target.

She made me a to-go cup before I left for the airport.

Did I mention I love it?

So much so, I began texting about it the first morning I was home:

Off to Target I went. And, this was what I found of their Keurig coffee selections:

She tried to be helpful:

And, then. Then?! This:

Some people have fame and fortune. I have good Walmart karma. And, Coconut Mocha coffee. Win/Win!

(And, notice that it was still the only thing on my mind the next morning? I *heart* Coconut Mocha.)

My Sister Got Married this Weekend

She is adored.

And, so is he.

So, now.

Let the happily ever after begin.

Oh, wait.

I think it already has.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

-Robert A. Heinlein

I love you, Brandy. Your happiness has always been essential to my own.
I am, and will always be

Your adoring little sister -Ali

First World Problems

So, over the Christmas break, I was hanging out with my sister's sixteen-year-old step-daughter-to-be. (Is that a thing? Well, it's the best description I've got. Let's go with it.) And we started laughing about this website called First World Problems.

Some of our favorites:

• They wouldn't serve from the bar menu in the restaurant area, so I had to eat my turkey avocado wrap without appetizers like some sort of bronze age hunter gatherer.
• The seat heaters don't keep the pizza warm enough for the 10 minute ride home.
• I have no idea how to reheat my leftover omelette, so I guess I’ll just have to drive to the restaurant and order another one.
• 'Family Guy’ is on two different channels at the same time and I can’t figure which one has the most potential.
• I wish I hadn’t used all my pain pills for non-pain-related purposes.
• I have caviar stuck in my braces.
• The guy who cleans my yard barely seemed to be listening when I told him about all the stuff I got for Christmas.
• I’ve run out of obscure ethnic cuisines to impress my friends with.
• I have over 20,000 songs in my iTunes library. Why can I never find the one that exactly matches my mood of wistful melancholy?
• I can't wash my dirty hands because the water is freezing.
• My shoelaces are kinda short.

I mean, you can see why we love this site, right? But, now. When I'm bitching about something in my own head (it happens a lot), I've started following it with the words, "First World Problem!" Because, truth be told, it usually is.

And, then. My friend Kelly Rodgers posted some pictures from Nicaragua. Nicaragua, where she lives with her husband and three kids while they are on a two-year mission trip. Now, the Rodgers have done some amazing things with Teeth Savers International. But, these particular pictures were of Kelly and her girls handing out dresses made by Dress A Girl Around the World women. Little girls getting dresses - some of them, the only dress they may ever own.

And, as the mom to one sassy little dress wearer, well... you know.

Then there was this picture:

As I posted on Kelly's FB page, "That is just... a mother's face. We are all the same no matter the country." And, it crushes me to think that, had I merely been born in another place, I might not be able to give my precious girl a dress.

So, now. When I follow the thoughts in my head with "First World Problem," I'm just a little bit ashamed of myself.

No.

I'm a lot ashamed.

What's the Statute of Limitations on Suing a Pair of Skates?

She was just a little girl circa 1980. A little girl with new roller skates. She lived in a green house with a steep driveway. She fell on her face while trying to skate up the driveway. But, don't worry, she caught herself. With her front two teeth.* One was chipped. It got filed flat again.

Over the next thirty years, though, those teeth slowly... well... died. There was some cosmetic dentistry involved so she wouldn't look like this:

source

But, overall, she and her dead teeth got along quite well.

Until. Last week. And, the dentist said, while looking at her x-ray, "See this dark area? That could be where it's beginning to necrotize because your body is trying to reject that tooth."

Awesome.

[I'm tired of talking in the third person...]

So, I went to the endodontist (Fancy name for "Root Canal Doctor." I think they're smart to go with "Endodontist.") They performed a test wherein they applied what I can only assume was liquid nitrogen sprayed on a gauze to my front two teeth while asking, "Feel anything?" Nope. They pressed the same gauze to my "live" teeth. I sat up out of the chair it was so. freakin'. cold. I lied back; they applied the gauze to the dead teeth for.ever. while it sizzled. Nothing. They finished. I lowered my lip over my teeth. My teeth were TOO COLD FOR MY LIP TO TOUCH. I had to let my teeth warm up before I could lower my lip over them. Those are some dead teeth.

But, as the endodontist said, "Dead teeth do not necessarily mean infected teeth... We might just watch them... Call you back in in six months." Yay!

Then he did an exam. And, up on my gums where they hook to my lip. Hurt. Like a bruise. He said, "I take it back. You have to have a root canal." On Friday.

Or be the girl who one day just has a tooth fall out of my head.

I blame the roller skates.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*I asked my sister if she remembered the roller skating trauma.

She said, "Yeah. I think I dipped my toe in your puddle of blood in the driveway."

"Oh my gosh! On accident?!"

"No... Not really..."

So. So. SO. Disturbing.

Some Follow-Up

It has come to my attention through reader comments (read that as "smart alec friends") that some of my recent posts need some follow-up.

First. About the Disaster Kit picture. You might be led to believe by the sparkly streamers at the left edge of the picture that you are looking at Lulu's bike. Or scooter.

Au contraire mon frere. That's my bike.

Shawn bought it for me a few years ago. I added the streamers and the basket liner. Best. Bike. Ever.

Next. As for the Mellow Song List. Don't judge me by my copious amounts of Barry Manilow. I bought the entire album (I think it was discounted a whole 99¢ or something). And, if you don't put Barry Manilow in your "Mellow" playlist, I don't know where you put him. (But, of course I'm not talking about "Copacabana" or "American Bandstand," that would be crazy. Oh wait. I've said too much.)

Also, when we were little, I was going to marry Andy Gibb and my sister was going to marry Barry Manilow (solely because these were the first cassette tapes we ever owned circa 1980 - Christmas gifts from our cool, teenage cousin Mark. And, if your teenage cousin gives you The BeeGees and Barry Manilow then they are cool, my friend. Oh, yes. They. are. cool.) Well, as you know, my dreams died with Andy. But, Brandy and Barry. There's still hope. And, I figure, when the time comes, I should be a good sister-in-law and have his music in heavy rotation on my iPod.

Furthermore. As to the length of the list. Many of you marveled that I typed out 138 songs. My question: How slowly do you people type?

And, finally. My darling Lulu. My friend Lin pointed out that I had forgotten a couple of her most classic quotes. The situation has been rectified in the original post. But, just so you don't miss them:

"The rest of you can change into your sporty clothes. We're going to stay in our Fashion Clothes."

"Mommy. I know what an old-fashion car is. It's a Fashion Car. That's old."

Smart. Confident. And Fashionable. She's a Triple Threat. 

JOHN "CARTER"!!

I had a lot of things to tell you about our road trip across the state; how much fun we had with our family; a few pictures to show you; etc., etc., etc...

Then.

Someone else decided he would like to take center stage. The. day. after we left. Who should decide to arrive? My brother, Mike and sister-in-law, Heather's baby boy!

(My sister, Brandy, summed it up perfectly: "Can you even believe how Heather [cheated] you out of meeting Carter!?!" Seriously, Heather. I thought we were friends. ;)

Anyhoo.

Introducing...

John "Carter"

Ya'll? I know I'm biased. But, that is a beautiful baby.

Updates on Spanish, Exercise and Fascinators

There's not much to report around here.

In fact, there's so little going on that I took my obsession with the royal wedding to a whole new level and put a fascinator on my head.

Yeah. This is me taking a picture of myself and my
fascinator in the bathroom mirror. Don't judge me.

I like my fascinator. But, my sister probably said it best when she responded with, "London - yes. Amarillo - no." *sad*

I took a week off of Spanish. But, I'm back at it now. It's making me learn past and future tenses and it's just hard! *Imagine me stomping my feet and whining* I'm pretty sure that I almost told the Spanish-speaking housekeeper that I was going to "sell" her instead of "pay" her, too. I'm guessing she might not come back after that. Some people don't like human trafficking.

I've also begun acting like English is my second language. The greeter at Wal-Mart told me to "come back soon," and I had to think of the proper response because I knew it wasn't, "You, too." I asked the checker at Hobby Lobby, "Where is framing?" because I couldn't think of the pleasantries that should surround that statement.

In other news: I joined a gym. Even sweet Shawn agreed that I was probably asking more of my pants on Sunday then they were able to give. Sad. I guess I can't pretend that carpool pickup is exercise anymore. I haven't "officially" exercised now for four months. That's a third of a year. I should be ashamed. But, really. I hate exercise so much, I'm not.

However, getting out of shape has made my joints hurt. This is the beauty of my aging body: If my muscles aren't strong, my joints do all the work and they hurt. If I get up from sitting too long, I walk just like my 66-year-old dad. (Sorry, Dad, but it's true. My gross heels look like yours, too. Thanks for the DNA.) My hip hurts so badly at the moment that I think I had better get a Life Alert button. There's a chance I might fall and not be able to get up.

But, wait. Maybe I'll ditch exercise altogether and get a scooter! A scooter and a Life Alert button. And a fascinator. I'd be the hottest 37-year-old on the block!

These Women Are CRAZY

Not really. But, some of them read this blog and I thought I would freak 'em out for a second. Don't worry, girls, I rarely tell everything I know. You can pay me later...

So, I'm back from hanging out with Shawn's mom and aunts, and one cousin. Y'all, I'm hard pressed to come up with any reason to let twelve human beings come out of your body. But, when I see these eight sisters in one place; and how much they love each other; and how much they laugh... well, then? Then, I can understand. The love is multiplied exponentially. And the laughter? Let's just say I really wish I could bank some of that laughter.

Now, I'm getting the family ready to go to Corpus on Friday. I've begun moving on auto-pilot. I get up in the morning and get the kids to school because there is just no other option. I buy the things we need to pack for the trip because it needs to be done.

And, I'm so tired. I'm physically tired, but I'm also more tired of family drama than I could ever begin to put into words. My ex-brother-in-law will be at my brother's wedding of about 30 guests. And, to say that situation continues to be filled with drama would be the understatement of the year.

So, Shawn and I keep putting one foot in front of the other. We smile and laugh (instead of cry). We pray (instead of worrying how it will all play out). The Johnsons will do our damnedest to do what God would have us do in every situation. We'll look at our nieces' and our kids' faces if we start to lose our focus.

And, we pray. We pray. We pray.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words (in Therapy)

My childhood pictures keep appearing on Facebook (Brandy!). And, it has led me to a couple of conclusions about my girlhood.

#1. Evidently, the only way anyone could get a young me to look at the camera was by yelling, "Alison! BOO!"

It looks like it made my older sister, Brandy, a little nervous, too.

My mom on the other hand... quite pleased about people startling her toddler.

I actually added the next one to Facebook myself, with the comment,

"Holy $#!t! Do you see Grandma?!"

And, also?

#2. Someone should have stepped in and stopped all the neckwear!

WTH, people?! "Chippendale Dancer" and "Late Night at the Office" are not really "looks" we should be trying to achieve for our pre-teen daughters.

For all of the brilliant comments the following little beauty elicited, click here.

Forget the kids. This time I'm throwing the coins in my own therapy fund.

I ♥ New York (kinda)

Shawn had a meeting in New York. I got to go. Rocks to be me! He had a meeting. I had a spa appointment. I should probably feel guilty about that... I'll work on it. (We actually got to go to this particular meeting because Shawn is very good at what he does. But, he wouldn't like me bragging on him like that... so I won't... but, he is. ;)

He took me shopping because, well, because he's the greatest husband in the world. That, and he's tired of me buying my clothes at Target. Snob.

But, had we not been shopping, we wouldn't have ended up helping the nice man who was choosing between a silver and black watch for his wife (I was leaning toward silver). We also wouldn't have been there when his 20-year-old daughter's text came through saying, "silver! silver! silver!" And, I wouldn't have heard Shawn say, "Dude. You gotta go with silver now."

And, did I mention the man happened to be a Hasidic Jew? I have not stopped laughing that Shawn called him "Dude." Shawn's response is, "What? I'm sure he's heard the word 'Dude' before!" Yeah, but I'm just gonna go out on a limb and say that he's never been called "Dude." Can't. stop. laughing.

But, the highlight of the trip... the thing that made me shriek in the middle of the restaurant where we were having lunch... He TOOK. ME. TO. SEE. WICKED. I honestly didn't know how badly I wanted to see that show until I knew I was going.

The moment I stepped in the theater, I became the quintessential New York tourist. I was snapping pictures. I was buying souvenirs. I LOVED it.

And, the musical? O! M! G! Do not read any synopsis with spoilers - just see this show (there are travelling performances, too). I will never look at the Wizard of Oz the same way again. SO. GOOD.

Anyhoo. As quickly as we got there, we were headed home again (so, all you friends who live in the NY area just keep your scoldings to yourselves - xoxo).

But, I gotta say. There are a lot of people on that one, little ol', polluted, loud island. My sister would live and breathe New York every day of her life if you let her. Me? I prefer peace and quiet and some wide, open spaces. I think New York is a great place to visit. But, I'm always glad to be going home.

To each their own.

What I've been doing while I wasn't blogging

I know it's been long enough since I've checked in that some of you have started to worry that the reality of moving has finally sunk in and I've begun rocking myself in the corner. I haven't.

What I haven't been able to tell you is that Shawn moved me to a new city and then left town for ten days.

Rude.

I couldn't tell you because of the murderers and all... And, by the way, my fears were not alleviated by the fact that he took the time to reacquaint me with the handgun before he left. Awesome. He thinks he's moved me to a town of thieves and scoundrels.

But, I scored some really awesome roses out of the deal.

And, he's back now, being as helpful around the house and with the kids as ever. I can get back to blogging. Finally. Does he not know how his earning a living really interferes with what I want to do sometimes?! (His response would be: "Yeah. Turns out everyone in the family likes to eat.")

So, to catch you up:

Thursday, I traveled two hours to get my hair done. Excessive? If you think so, clearly you've never loved your hair colorist. That. And, it's Joyce who's taken care of me since I was fifteen. Sometimes you just have to travel two hours to get your hair done.

While I was there, I asked her to wax my eyebrows. Eyebrow maintenance has been very low on my list of priorities since moving. I just haven't been motivated to find "an eyebrow person." (I'm not sure how one gets oneself motivate to find "an eyebrow person," actually.) Joyce went to work and exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, girl! These eyebrows! No wonder you haven't made any friends up there!"

Rude.

And, right after she ripped the wax off she said, "That was probably like the first time!" Well, ummm, Joyce? I'm not sure what "first time" you're talking about, but,  no. No, it wasn't. At all.

I'm proud to announce that the last of the boxes are unpacked (well, except for the piles and piles and piles of boxes of china and crystal. Why, pray tell, do I own so much china and crystal? You would think I'm much fancier than I actually am. But, there's nowhere for it to go in this house, so, for now, it will stay in the boxes and I shall proclaim myself unpacked! And fancy...)

Back to the story: On Friday, I worked on actually decorating the house. My mom has a friend who is a decorator. And, if you think I'm too proud to take advantage of that relationship, you'd be wrong. That was slower going than I thought. And, of course I discovered that I needed to buy a few things because, well, duh.

Priscilla came to visit on Saturday. And, since she was here we asked her to babysit so we could go on a Date Night. We're awesome hosts like that. Seriously. We should write a book.

But, we all had fun while she visited. You would have thought by the kids' reactions that iCarly herself had come for a visit.

We all drove back to Lubbock together on Sunday. We had to clear some final things out of the house for closing (turns out the new owners don't want our broken armoir or ottoman, or all the miscellaneous crap that was hiding under said armoir and ottoman - weird). And, on Monday there was that shopping I told you had to be done for the new house...

But, anyway. We're back. The kids are back to school. I'm back to blogging. All is right with the world.

The house is a wreck. So, I'm off to get busy. A girl doesn't score roses around here for nothin', you know!



Also, for those of you who have been wondering, the divorce is final. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. I never want to experience anything like that again. as. long. as. I. live.

You Could Just Dream for Daughters Like Us

So, my sister's been getting divorced. (What?! No. Who knew? Ok. Shut up, there's a point here.) My mom was down visiting her last week. While there, they went out shopping. My mom saw a St. Francis of Assisi statue that was an exact replica, at the exact price, of one that she had talked herself out of buying here at home. As any good shopper would, she took this as a sign that she should come home and buy the statue for herself. But, she told my sister, if it wasn't in the shop at home anymore, she was going to send Brandy back to buy that one and ship it to her.

Later, when they returned home from shopping, Brandy came to my mom with money and said something to the effect of, "This holiday has been so crazy. Please take this and buy your St. Francis with it for your Christmas present. It will be one less thing I'll have worry about taking care of."

My mom thought it was fairly brilliant and funny and was recounting the story to us after she returned home.

I called my sister.

The next time I saw my mom I said, "My holidays are hectic and busy this year, too. So, I'm sending Brandy a check. Half that St. Francis is from me."

She laughed until she choked.

"Her children arise and call her blessed" indeed.

Moving Update: Peaceful

So. I must be coming across as such a basket case that people have begun praying for me. (Which is good. Because I am a basket case and I do need you to pray for me.)

But, people, I have felt the prayers. I awoke this morning, so overcome with sadness. Today would be filled with so many "lasts." And, Shawn didn't make that last flight home (although, the mediation was successful - can I have an "HALLELUJAH!"?), so he would miss the kids' last day at school. I was so overwhelmed that it felt like my arms were floating. That's about the time the first person told me they were praying for me.

The kids and I got in the car to drive to school. (Here's the part where I would like to be able to tell you that I lovingly herded them through our morning routine without shouting and snapping their heads off, but that would be a lie. I was stressed out, we were running late and I took it out on the innocents in my path. Parenting Fail. *clink clink - coins in the therapy fund.* I did apologize to them. *taking some coins out for a Starbucks*)

In the car, Elizabeth was holding her stuffed poodle and Spencer was holding his nutcracker. This is the conversation I overheard:

"Nutcracker, do you want to go on a date night?"

"No."

"Ok. Do you want to have a sleepover?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Come on. Let's go to my room."

Ok. That's just funny. I don't care who you are. That poodle is a Good Time Girl!

I smiled.

I got to school and there was a letter labeled "Ali Johnson" in Elizabeth's cubby. It was quite a few pages. I opened it and read:

"Oh! The Places You'll Go!

by the incomparable Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You're off to Great Places!

You're off and away!..."

It was the poem Oh! The Places You'll Go! with a note written at the end. I gulped and crammed it back into the envelope from which it had come. I gulped. I gulped. I blinked. I smiled and blurted out a goodbye to Elizabeth. I walked out and thought, "Who DID that?!" I went to the last page and saw the signature. I sought out my friend, Elizabeth's teacher from last year, Lindl and yelled at her for trying to make me cry on the last day of school.

We both laughed.

It was only moments ago that I finally felt like I would be able to read the note she added at the end of the poem without crying. It was so undeservedly kind. And, she asked me at the end if I needed to go potty (a reference to the little Ali that was in Elizabeth's pre-3 class last year. Every time Lindl asked, "Ali, do you need to go potty?" I thought, "Did she really just ask me that?" It took a good two weeks before I stopped being confused every single morning at drop-off).

I laughed.

The 1st graders had a Going-Away Party for Spence. They each told him something they liked about him or a memory they had of him. One little girl said she liked Spencer "because sometimes he really looked cute."

I smiled.

Then this happened on Twitter:

I laughed.

Our darling, sweet chaplain said a prayer specifically for our family during the Lessons and Carols service. It brought me peace.

Priscilla sat with me at Lessons and Carols. She reminded me that I accidentally groped her the other night and my finger got hung in her bra.

I laughed. hard.

It's so easy to be tough when the kids are around. If they saw me sad about this move, they would think, "Wait. What? You're taking us to a SAD place?!" So, I put on a smile. I say we're off on our new adventure. I tell them to tell the people who love us that we'll be back to visit! And, I ignore the ache in my chest.

But, now I'm sitting here alone. The kids are off playing with friends down the street. Movers are packing all around me. And, you. You are praying for my family and me.

There's still the ache in my chest. But, things keep making me smile and laugh.

I am at peace.

Sara Bareilles - I *heart* you

Keep drinking coffee, stare me down across the table
While I look outside
SO MANY THINGS I’D SAY IF ONLY I WERE ABLE
BUT I JUST KEEP QUIET AND COUNT THE CARS THAT PASS BY

YOU’VE GOT OPINIONS, MAN
WE’RE ALL ENTITLED TO ‘EM, BUT I NEVER ASKED
So let me thank you for your time, and try not to waste anymore of mine
And get out of here fast

I HATE TO BREAK IT TO YOU BABE, BUT I’M NOT DROWNING
THERE’S NO ONE HERE TO SAVE

WHO CARES IF YOU DISAGREE?
YOU ARE NOT ME
Who made you king of anything?
SO YOU DARE TELL ME WHO TO BE?
Who died and made you king of anything?

YOU SOUND SO INNOCENT, ALL FULL OF GOOD INTENT
SWEAR YOU KNOW BEST
BUT YOU EXPECT ME TO JUMP UP ON BOARD WITH YOU
AND RIDE OFF INTO YOUR DELUSIONAL SUNSET

I’M NOT THE ONE WHO’S LOST WITH NO DIRECTION
BUT YOU’LL NEVER SEE
You’re so busy making maps with my name on them in all caps
YOU GOT THE TALKING DOWN, JUST NOT THE LISTENING

WHO CARES IF YOU DISAGREE?
YOU ARE NOT ME
Who made you king of anything?
SO YOU DARE TELL ME WHO TO BE?
Who died and made you king of anything?

ALL MY LIFE I’VE TRIED TO MAKE EVERYBODY HAPPY
WHILE I JUST HURT AND HIDE
WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO TELL ME IT’S MY TURN TO DECIDE

WHO CARES IF YOU DISAGREE?
YOU ARE NOT ME
Who made you king of anything?
SO YOU DARE TELL ME WHO TO BE?
Who died and made you king of anything?

WHO CARES IF YOU DISAGREE?
YOU ARE NOT ME
Who made you king of anything?
SO YOU DARE TELL ME WHO TO BE?
Who died and made you king of anything?

Let me hold your crown, babe.



(It goes without saying that I'm not talking about Shawn here, right?! Love you, babe! :)

Life Debt

I was five. She was seven. We lived on the Marine Corp base in Quantico, Virginia. The buildings were each four stories tall with two apartments on each floor. But, they were built on a slope, so our first floor apartment was three stories up from the back alley/driveway.

The apartments on base had all been given a fresh coat of paint at the beginning of summer*. But, most of the screens had only been set back in place - not latched. Sadly, that fact was discovered when a little girl two buildings down from us fell out of her apartment window to the driveway below. She was in a body cast for the entire summer. I can still see her mom and her twin sister pulling her to the park in a red wagon with her casts propped on pillows.

Our mom told us to stay away from the windows until she and my dad had time to check the screens. As warnings often are with children, that particular one was met with our solemn agreement... and promptly forgotten.

The same day, a babysitter was watching us.** We went into our bedroom to play. Brandy sat down in the chair at the desk... in front of the window. I climbed up on the desk. I sat in front of her, facing her with my legs stretched out straight. I leaned against the screen of the open window. And, it popped out from behind me. (Even as I type this, my hands sweat.)

My brain remembers the next moments in slow motion. I fell out of the window. I felt my body sliding off of the desk. I felt my back pressed against the bricks on the outside of the building. With my head upside-down, I watched the screen fall three stories to the ground. I watched it bounce on the pavement below. And, I felt Brandy's hands holding my feet.

Her little seven-year-old brain knew she needed to grab my feet "or [I] would die." My little five-year-old brain thought, "I hope she's not mad at me, 'cause I really want her to pull me back in." And, then I felt myself sliding back across the desk as she pulled me in the window by my stocking feet.

We reacted to the events that had just transpired as any self-respecting child would - we tried to figure out how to keep ourselves out of trouble. After all, we had gone near the window when we'd been told not to. So, we ran down to the driveway, retrieved the screen and hid it in the garage. We swore to each other that we would never tell what had happened.

That lasted until our mom got home and Brandy sang like a canary. I guess her age advantage gave her enough perspective to realize the seriousness of what had happened. Me? I was just amazed we didn't get in trouble - even though the screen was bent! (We did get hugged a lot, though. ;)

Anyway, this week the kids in our Sunday School class informed me that I owe my sister a "Life Debt."

A life debt is a cultural phenomenon in which someone whose life is saved or spared by another becomes indebted or in some way connected to their savior. A life debt sometimes involves servitude, possibly until the indebted can return the favor. It may involve some spiritual or mystical connection between the two. -Wikipedia

Sorry, Bran. We're going to have to stick with the "spiritual or mystical connection." I've got way too much going on to add "servitude" to my list of responsibilities. Love you, though. And, thanks again for saving my life.

I don't know exactly what year this was, but it's probably

pretty close. At least those look like 1979 clothes!

P.S.  I have a seven-year-old. I firmly believe a seven-year-old could only react that quickly (and hold on to the feet in the socks instead of just coming away holding socks) with the help of an angel.

P.P.S.  I'm scared of heights. Or more specifically, I'm scared of falling from heights. Surprised?



*In varifying these facts with my mom, it seems my recollection of the time of year may be inaccurate. My mom seems to believe (and let's be honest, she was the adult in this situation - so, she's probably right) that this was all early fall. I remember warm weather and broken girls being pulled to the park in wagons. I thought it was summer. Please allow a little leniency for the recollections of a five-year-old.

**What a terrible babysitter!

But I know all the names of The Wiggles

Spencer: Is Barack Obama still the president?

Me: He is. You're so smart to know that. Do you know [Wait] the name [Do I know the name] of the Vice President? [Please, please, please let Spencer know the name of the Vice President.]

Spencer: No. What is it? [Damn! It's not Dick Cheney. That was the last guy. It's not Dick Cheney. I can't get the name "Dick Cheney" out of my head!]

Me: Ummm. Just a second. [dialing Brandy. I can tell Brandy I can't remember the Vice President's name and she won't give me too much grief. JOE BIDEN! I'm gonna hang up. No. I can't hang up. By now the call has surely come through on her phone already.]

Brandy: Hello?

Me: I was calling to admit to you that I couldn't remember the Vice President's name. But, I DO know it! It's Joe Biden.

Brandy: [I don't know what she said next. I couldn't understand her through her laughter.]

This Divorce is not my story to tell, but I DO have a story: Part I

[Warning: Anyone who chooses to believe I am sweet and innocent should NOT read the following post. Dearest In-laws, don't say I didn't warn you. And please don't scold me for my language at the next family holiday...]

I'm back from visiting my sister and nieces. She's getting divorced. That's not my story to tell.

What is my story is how appallingly people can behave in this traumatic situation. People who profess to be friends, people who profess to "love" us turn into the most judgmental assholes. They listen to one side of a story (without even requesting the other side); they pretend to even be able to know what went on behind closed doors; they believe themselves to be some kind of psychic who can know without question what someone feels/has felt in their heart; they give unsolicited advice; and they judge. Oh, how they judge.

Raise your hand if you have walked a mile in my sister's shoes. Oh? What? None of you?! Well, you're so busy judging her and telling her that she must not be in her right mind; that she must be "happy" and refuse to see it; that she just needs to choose to be happy because all that really matters is that her situation looks so perfect; that she is not doing what God wants her to do (by the way, this "holier than thou" attitude is my personal favorite) that I would have thought one of you knew every. single. detail of her situation - not just what you've been told of her situation; not just the "picture perfect" family that you saw spit-shined and smiling out in public. Hmmm. Weird. You would think to have come this far in life, you would have figured out that there are two sides to every story. But, no. You're probably right. Keep preachin' it, you judgmental pricks.

You know what, people. Fuck you. If you aren't here to be helpful, supportive, or, in the very least, loving, then leave. We do not want your opinion. We do not need your criticisms. The only person we will allow to judge our hearts is Almighty God Himself.

And, here's what I believe in my deepest heart: Would you ever, ever, ever, ever want your child to live in unhappiness? Don't we all want our children to live the lives of joy that we envisioned for them? Wouldn't we all be more angry with our children if they were too embarrassed to admit they made a mistake; too proud to break a promise than to live a life one iota less joyful than we have dreamed for them? Can you not imagine how much greater God's love is for us than our human love is for our own children?!

Nobody knows how to slog through this hell perfectly. Pretty much, everyone's just trying to survive.

So, get off your freakin' high horses, people. Know that there are two sides to every story, there is very private and personal pain for everyone involved. And, be loving even if you can't be supportive.

And, to those of you who have been loving - whether by a word, a hug, an email or even just smiling and keeping your mouth shut - please know that, for what it's worth, you have this sister's undying gratitude.

Surely it won't be as bad as "Big Daddy" or "Three Men and A Baby"

I'm going to see my sister and nieces this weekend. To say I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off would be an understatement. I'm trying to get myself together for a 7am flight in the morning, but I'm trying to leave the house and children in a state that won't cause Shawn's head to explode. Although he is being so sweet and supportive of this last minute trip, I want to make sure he's not so stressed out while I'm away that there's never a next time.

He'll be fine. He's a whiz at this Dad thing. It's just that we've never done this before. He's never been a single parent for more than an evening.

And, my early flight means he'll have to get the kids out the door to school on his own - and The Princess has hair that she insists isn't "done" unless it's in two french braids. :-/ I've already begun the propaganda that Daddy can just put it in one ponytail and that will be beautiful, too. I'm afraid that one ponytail will take Shawn roughly 30 minutes to an hour to complete.

And, yes. That is my biggest fear of leaving town. I would say that my kids have a pretty awesome dad. 

But, anyway, if you're one of my friends in real life, could you please take a picture of Elizabeth at school tomorrow so I can see the results of his labor?! For that matter, take a picture of both of my children - let's see if they even have on pants. (I kid! Kinda. ;)

Shawn's Saturday looks like this, though:

• 10am group violin lesson with Spence (parent attendance required)
• 1pm basketball practice (this also happens to be team picture day - so he'll have to remember to turn in an order form and check). Oh, did I mention our coach is going to be out of town so he asked Shawn and a couple of other dads to substitute?! (Is it mean that I'm about to start laughing?)
• Somewhere along the way, he needs to get the deposit for Spence's birthday party delivered.
• And, his parents and aunt & uncle are coming to town (this will actually be his saving grace as I have no doubt he will turn over all childcare duties to his mom and aunt the moment they walk in the door...)

Don't feel too sorry for him and that Saturday from hell. He has the babysitter lined up to take my place while I'm away (ummm... one minute while I REPHRASE THAT). Priscilla is going to fetch my car from the airport, pick the kids up at school, watch them Friday night while Shawn goes to some parties, watch Lulu on Saturday during violin and basketball and watch both kids Sunday night while Shawn picks me up from the airport and we go to a friend's party... (come to think of it, when I write it all out, maybe he should replace me with Pricilla...)

I was considerate enough to schedule the kids flu vaccinations for next weekend instead of 8am this Saturday morning, as was my original intention. I give and give.

My sister's wireless at her house hates me, so I probably won't check in tomorrow. We'll catch up on Monday (hopefully, with pictures of Lulu's hair)!

Brandy

[I've waited and waited for the perfect time to post this. But, sometimes "perfect" never comes along. So, here it is; because I need to make sure you know, Bran.  I love you -Al]

On this blog, I've told you about my dad, my mom - I've even given a shout-out to the babysitter.  So, it's time I tell you about my sister.  My Brandy.

Brandy and Shawn are my best friends.  They keep me in check, they keep me grounded, they keep me sane - they are my even keel.  (There's a little part of me that wonders if the two of them call each other at the end of the day to discuss what area of my mental health they need to work on reigning in next...)

Brandy is my sounding board.  When I must say something, or burst, it's Brandy that I call.  She's not scared to call me out if I'm being unreasonable, either.  But, most days, she just let's me get it off my chest and feel better.  She's calm.  She's sane.  She's smart.  She's kind.  She's a fabulous mother.  And she's got a great sense of humor.

But, mostly, there is no other person in this world who comes from exactly the same place as I; who learned the same lessons growing up, endured the same pains, enjoyed the same experiences, came to believe the same beliefs.  And has the exact same family members I do (right down to the "steps" and "halfs").

Since the day I was born, she's been my best friend.  She's the big sister whose bed I used to sneak into at night.  She's the one I clung to in the bathroom the day our parents got divorced.  She's the one from whom I borrowed (or snuck) clothes.  She's the one who told me in college to just have fun and "see where things went" with my best buddy, Shawn.  She was my matron of honor.  She's the one who taught me that my babies must be on a schedule (a lesson for which I will be eternally grateful).  She's one of my greatest champions.  She's also the one who tells me to stop being a bitch.

I grew up wanting to be Brandy. She was always so popular and she had a glorious mane of hair - that I just never could quite achieve. I've grown up now (at least that's what I tell people) and I try to be the best version of my own person.  But, I can't think of a much better compliment than for someone to tell me that I remind them of Brandy.  She's one of my heroes.

You didn't really think you'd get such a nice post without this, did you, Bran?

THE HAIR

Senior Year in High School

1989 - 1990

"I smile because you're my sister.  I laugh because there is nothing you can do about it."