Spring = Motivation

I love Spring! As I was driving Trey to school this morning, I caught a whiff of the fresh cut grass as the landscapers at the park were making their first cut of the season, and I knew spring had finally arrived! And that can only mean two things...my allergies will also be in full bloom soon, and time to shave my legs and pull out the shorts.

The one downside to being married (luv ya hon) is having to share a closet. Our closet isn't very big to begin with, so every spring and fall I find myself doing the ol' wardrobe switch-a-roo. And every year I pull out my stack of shorts and sort them into piles of "still fit" and "don't-fit-anymore-but-someday-they-will". One pair in particular, has been my motivation for the past 3 years now. My sister gave me a pair of capris from Sundance that are adorable! The problem is, they ride low on the hip, and without that upper support to hold my junk in, everything just seems to come spilling out. And every fall as I pack them away, I vow to be able to fit into them by next spring. But the inevitable always happens...halloween candy, Thanksgiving pies, and Christmas. Of course, that's why New Years was invented by the healthclub industry, and I, like the millions of others who fall into their little trap, get on the band-wagon for about a month, and try to lose it all by spring. The way things were looking, I didn't think spring was ever going to get here, so I didn't feel the urgency to jump on that health-kick wagon until this week.

I don't know how I've been able to go through late night TV and never see the informercial for P90X. Heaven knows i've spent my fair share on knives that never dull, cleaners that smell like an orange grove, and exercise videos that promise a 'new me' in six weeks, so when Tary told me he was going to get this new exercise program, I was all for it. The treadmill was getting a little boring, and if He was going to buy it, He must be planning on using it. Finally, a work-out buddy!

Remember now, I had never heard of this program, much less seen it. I had no idea what it was about. When Tary brought it home I must admit, just looking at the cover and the 12 cd's, each guaranteed to make the next 90 days of your life a living *@?!, I was scared. It took us a month before we got up the courage to open it up and watch the first CD labeled, "How to Bring It". Then with a renewed determination, we promptly watched the first workout "Chest and Back". Wow! Just watching it made me tired, so it sat, unused, for another week.

Which brings me to motivating factor no. 2. Next week is my 25th anniversary. I've planned a little surprise get-away for me and the hubby. Enough said...you get the picture. Time to kick this flabby bootie into gear.

Normally, I'm one of those people who go into a cold lake, one inch at a time, so it doesn't hurt so bad, but I knew if I wanted fast results, I was going to have to jump in all at once. So I put in "Plyometrics", and first thing the instructor says is how this is the hardest workout. No turning back now. Ten minutes later, I thought I would pass out...and that was just the warm-up! Well, I jumped, kicked, squatted and lunged for the next 30 minutes. Don't be proud of me just yet, the workout was 52 minutes, I lasted through half of it before my face felt ready to explode. I didn't know how many shades of red my face made, but I discovered that night it can go all the way up the color palatte to crimson.

That was 3 days ago...today I've finally been able to walk up the stairs without the use of the handrail. When people at work would ask me what's wrong, all I had to say was P90X, and I would get sympathy. I really didn't know what I was getting in to...

...but now I do. And i've come to the conclusion...

...inch by inch is much more sinch. Besides, it's not warm enough yet to jump in any lake.

Silence of the Moths

So, a friend of mine (which shall remain anonymous, due to the sensitive nature of her feelings, and the embarrassing lack of kitchen hygiene) had a moth infestation a couple of months ago. Not the big, creepy, silence of the lambs kind of moths, just kinda cute, baby moths. They were small enough, and still slow enough, that she could catch them in her hands, and depending on her mood at the moment, either released them to freedom outside, or would drown them in the sink. The problem was, as soon as she got rid of one, two more would show up. Killing 10 in one day, 20 the next. What the heck! It's cold, aren't moths supposed to hibernate, or fly south for the winter? Where were they coming from?
Well, they obviously were coming from the kitchen. That's where all the captures and killings were taking place. Were they drawn to the paint color in the kitchen? Or the wonderful smells? (My friend is an excellent cook) Finally, she came to the conclusion that a moth must have laid her eggs somewhere in the kitchen, and her babies were now just hatching. A pretty gross thing to think about. In due time, they were all exterminated, and the kitchen became once more, a moth free zone.
Well, a couple of weeks ago, they returned. Slowly at first, just one or two, which quickly became again, 10 or 20. One day her daughter came to visit, and noticing the unusual choice of pets, asked my friend about them. When she told them how they wouldn't go away and kept coming back, her daughter, who was either wise or paid attention in science class, said "Mom, those aren't moths, those are weevils". What? She was sure her daughter was mistaken. Weevils are creepy little worm things that live in wheat and expired mac-n-cheese. Sometimes they unexpectedly appear in hot cocoa, making the drinker think they were marshmallows that didn't melt, until they realized that marshmallows don't crunch (yeah, really happened). But they don't fly around pretending to be moths. However, the very idea that they possibly could be, prompted my friend to do a little spring kitchen cleaning, starting with the cupboards.
She started with the bottom shelf where she stores her wheat and rice, all clear. No signs of life. Same with the pasta shelf and cookie and cracker shelf. She was feeling pretty confident by the time she got to the spice shelf. But since she was in the zone, she cleaned out, threw out, lined up and organized. Maybe the weevil scare was a blessing in disguise. Five shelves down, one to go. The baking shelf. Surely there would be no weevils among the powdered and brown sugars, the cocoa and chocolate chips. Marshmallows and nuts...what the crap?! What is in the nuts? WEEVILS! Gross! Creeping...slugging...sluffing...hatching...flying weevils!

Is your skin crawling yet? Mine was.

Needless to say, her top shelf is completely clean...of everything! No more weevils, no more moths, no more food.

P.S...Don't be asking me to bake you any chocolate chips cookies any time soon. I seem to be lacking a few key ingredients.

A first for everything.

Awhile back, I wrote a post about being alone and how there are just certain things I would never do. And if there's anything I've learned in my short 39 years, it's never say never (and always lie about your age).

Yesterday, my work sent me to a Communications and Collaborations seminar in downtown Salt Lake. I spent the morning at a table with complete strangers, learning to communicate and collaborate with them. When it was time for lunch, our instructor gave us an hour to fend for ourselves. I was hoping I could convince one of my new-found friends to get a bite to eat with me, but by the time I gathered up my things, went deep-purse diving for my keys and checked my messages, everyone had gone! I was left alone...doesn't anyone else dawdle anymore? What a predicament I found myself in.

So I left the safety of the hotel conference room, and made my way into the scary streets of downtown salt lake. I pulled into the second eating establishment I saw, Wendy's. (The first being McDonalds, need I say more). The drive-thru looked busy, so I went inside and ordered my chicken cranberry salad and rootbeer to go. As I was picking up my fork and napkins, I wondered how convenient it was actually going to be to eat a salad in the car without spilling it's contents down the front of me, and where would I go to eat without being noticed? Pioneer Park was just up the street, but a homeless person upon seeing my delicious salad might try to smash through my car window to get to it. The hotel parking lot was busy with people coming and going and I didn't want anyone thinking I was weird for eating in my car, wondering why not just take it in my room and eat it. (Alot can go through your mind in a few short seconds). So, I took a look around and noticed several other people sitting at their tables, eating alone and I thought, what the heck. There's a first for everything.

I picked a table as far away as I could get, and sat with my back towards the people, so no one could see my face and know my shame. I didn't even have a book or a newspaper to pretend to read while I ate. It was just me and my salad and the window in front of me. I would like to tell you how good it tasted, but I think I inhaled it too fast to enjoy it. I couldn't wait to get out of there. But by the time I finished, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I just ate alone. I survived. I didn't die from embarrasement. A big "L" did not mysteriously appear on my forehead. I was feeling such a boost of confidence by the time I picked up my trash and disposed of it, that I even snuck a glance at a fellow alone-eater and smiled at him. Nothing big and toothy (hint: never give a toothy smile immediately after eating a salad), just a slight smile and nod, as if to say, I've just joined the "Eating Alone Annonymous Club", I see your a member too.

Back at the hotel, I parked next to a car with one of the girls from my table, sitting there, all alone, eating. It's a shame we didn't think to talk about lunch arrangements before we had to eat, each in our aloneness. I guess we didn't learn much those first few hours of our communication class, like how to say "Hey, whatcha' doing for lunch? Want to go grab a bite with me?" We learned how to say that in the second half of our session. Go figure.

Needless to say, I got back to the hotel much earlier and found myself with time to waste. So I sat in my car and pretended to read a magazine, which was actually an old Kohls ad I found shoved under the seat. After a while, I remembered my new brave attitude and went inside with about 15 minutes of lunch to kill so I could sit in the room alone, and be totally OK with it. I had to visit the 'little girls room' anyway. While washing my hands in the sink, I glanced in the mirror, removing any stray pieces of lettuce and cranberries that always seem to get left behind, and noticed a slight bulge in my blouse. Now I'm not overly endowed by all means, and it wasn't until I arched my arms back did I notice that my middle button, the one strategically placed over the center of the bra, was not buttoned! What the crap! When did that happen? How long has it been that way? Have I been sitting in a classroom of people with my underwires exposed? Why didn't anyone tell me!

Oh yeah...I forgot. Communications class. Now I know why they're all there.

And as far as I'm concerned, they all flunked.

As for my unfortunate button incidence, I wish I could say there's a first for everything, (yes, it's happened before) and unfortunately, I'm sure it won't be my last.

And I thought the guy at Wendy's was smiling back at me to be nice.

One year older...and wiser too. Happy Birthday, to you!

March is a busy month for Birthdays. Monday, my sweet husband and I celebrated his 50th birthday. wow, that sounds old, and given the fact that he's been hobbling around on crutches and using a scooter to get around, I would say he's probably finally feeling his age. It's hard to party it up on a monday night when you have to get up at 5:30 the next morning, so we just went to dinner, nothing too exciting. Poor guy, I wanted to do something special for him for his big event, but life has been a little hectic lately and my party planning skills have been on the back burner for awhile. If I win the $10,000,000 from the publishers clearing house that I just entered, I promise I'll make it up to you sweetie. Just remember, "Forty is the old age of youth, Fifty the youth of old age".

Tomorrow is my sister Wendy's birthday. I won't reveal her age, not that 38 is old or anything to be ashamed about, but I know how sensitive some women are about that kind of thing. Not that she looks that old at all. Wendy is such an inspiration to me. She's up at 5 am several times a week, hitting the gym, and she looks great! Wendy has always been such a special sister, in a good type of special way. When she was little she couldn't say my name, so she would call me 'Hingy'. I'm not sure how she got that from Linda, but since I never had a nickname before, I thought it was cute.
Funny story about Wendy, not so long ago she was working at a tuxedo store. One day some groomsmen came in to be fitted for their tuxes. The brides brother was quite flamboyant and didn't hide his particular flare for fashion or taste for, um, anything. He was, let's just say, unforgettable, much to Wendy's demise. A few days later another one came in to be fitted for his tux. It was a few hours afterwards when the brides Mom and Dad came in so the Dad could be fitted for his tux. The Mom wanted to know who had already been there to be fitted, and Wendy told her about the brothers and the young man who had been there earlier that day. The brides mom told Wendy that the gentleman she helped earlier that day was actually going to be the Maid of Honor. He was the brides best friend, and a little light in the loafers, "if you know what I mean". Images of the flamboyant one came rushing into Wendy's mind, and before she could stop herself, the words "You should see the brides brother, he is SO GAY!" came tumbling out. It was like spilling milk. You can see it happening, but can't quite stop it before it's spilt and the damage is done. Even as she was saying the words she realized to whom she was saying them too. You see, the brides brother just happened to be the son of the brides Mom and Dad, who were standing there, stunned! Wendy was mortified, to say the least. If there was a hole available, she would have crawled into it and never come out. But alas, she took full responsibility of her actions, offered a silent prayer that she didn't just 'oust' the brother to his parents, and apologized profousely. They were very kind, they already knew, and in fact agreed that their son was 'so gay'.
Wendy quit that job shortly after. She now works with plumbers and construction workers...manly men, whom she can pretty much say anything too and they don't get offended. I hope they don't offend her either. And if they do, I hope she remembers her little slip of the tongue and cuts them some slack.
Ah Wendy, you make me laugh. Thanks for saying stupid things like me, and not being afraid to share them, so we can laugh at your expense.

Saturday is my Dad's birthday. To be honest, I'm not sure how old he'll be, but it doesn't really matter in his case. He'll always be young at heart. He's like Dick Clark, he just never ages. Although I'm not sure if he'll start hang-gliding soon, the last time he went he had 'A Close Encounter of the Dirt Kind' (old movie reference) meaning, he ate dirt, pushed up by his shoulder, which in turn dislocated, which in turn meant surgery. Don't worry, it hasn't slowed him down, much. He's back on his bike, taking advantage of the warm weather. He's been riding from Bountiful to Kaysville to my sister's house, finishing her basement for her. Several times a week he's up before the crack of dawn to work in the temple. He's a great example to me and I hope he never slows down. That will be a sad day, because that will be the day you become old.

So to my sweet Husband, my dear Dad, and my soul Sister, keep doing what you love! Whether it's playing ball, flying like a bird, or kick-boxing someones hiney, don't ever let anyone tell you it's time to give it up! As Oliver Wendall Holmes put it, "Men do not quit playing because they grow old, they grow old because they quit playing".

Chutes and Ladders anyone?

Happy Birthday! I love you all!

Julie, Julia and Linda

I watched the cutest movie last night. Julie & Julia. It was charming and sweet, like all Nora Ephron movies are (ex. You've got Mail and Sleepless in Seattle, my 2 most favorite movies).

If you haven't seen the movie, it's about a lady name Julie, who decides to challenge herself by cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook. 547 recipes in a years time, and blog about her experiences. It also gives us a glance at Julia Child's life, her marriage and how she got started in the cooking cuisine world.
I think I enjoyed it so much because I felt a connection to both of these women. I, like Julie, also have a blog, although I don't have nearly as many readers as she does. Probably due to the fact that she blogs about cooking, where I blog about, well, nothing. But that's beside the point, I still feel a kinship between the two of us and tell myself, that if Julie were to read my blog, she would find it refreshing, insightful, and would want to be my new best friend.

I, like Julia, also wrote a book. And although it wasn't a cookbook, it wasn't over 600 pages, and it didn't take me 8 years to write, my book was also rejected by the publishers. 10 rejections, to be exact, but unlike Julia's book, it will never go on to become a best seller and change the world as we know it. But that's ok. I knew when I submitted it, that it usually takes about 100 rejections before you get that one acceptance. So I wasn't expecting anything other than a "NO". But can I tell you how excited I was to get my first rejection letter! Sent to me personally, on letter head from Holiday House Publishers. It read:

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your book idea, but we do not find it suited to our present needs. The editors.

They didn't tell me it was horrible. They didn't tell me to give up. They didn't tell me to never submit anything to them again. I guess they just don't need a book about a bird who lost his chirp at the present time.

I have not given up hope. It's still a dream of mine to be a childrens book author. Unfortunately, I haven't written another book since. I used up all my creative juices. I am a One-Hitless-Wonder. I got no more to give. Nada. zip. zilch.

However, since Julia never gave up, neither will I. If my book never makes it to print and distributed to bookstores and libraries all over the country, changing the lives of little people everywhere, I will put it out for the whole WORLD to see! They may have squashed my story, but they haven't killed my dream. I'm a blogger! I'm self published! So here's to all future Julie's, Julia's and Linda's out there keeping their dreams alive!

The Bird Who Lost His Chirp

To my kids, who make fun of me
for not being able to whistle,
and are grateful that I'm not a bird

There once was a nest perched high in a tree
where Momma bird sang to her baby birds three.
"Good morning" she chirped, "are you ready to try,
for today is the day you'll all learn to fly."

"It's really not hard, you just spread your wings;
then give a big jump and let your voice sing!"
So they eagerly stood at the edge of the nest,
ready to see which one would fly the best.

Bobby bird stood so brave and tall,
his chest puffed out, not scared at all.
He took a breath in, then with wings spread wide,
he gave a chirp, then jumped off the side.

His wings fluttered fast, then caught a breeze,
the wind picked him up and he flew with ease.
Bonnie bird saw what her brother had done
and wanted to join him, it looked like fun.

So she hopped to the edge, put on a brave face,
then with a big swoosh she joined in the race.
She flapped her wings hard and took to the sky,
and in her best voice chirped, "Look, I can fly!"

Billy bird crept to the edge and looked down.
"The ground is so far" he thought with a frown.
"What if my wings don't work and I fall?
What if I can't learn how to fly at all?"

The other birds sang, "Come join in the fun!
It's really quite easy once you've begun"
So Billy tried hard to be more courageous,
his heart beating fast, he thought "this is outrageous!"

"I'm a bird, I can fly...it's what we do best!"
So with new found courage, he hopped from the nest.
He spread out his wings and shut his eyes tight,
then he fluttered and flapped with all of his might.

He soared in the sky like a well trained bird,
but when he opened his eyes something awful occurred!
Billy froze in mid-flight when he saw just how high
he had flown to the clouds, his heart gave a cry!

He opened his beak, tried to call to his Mom,
but no sound came out, and he dropped like a bomb.
He choked and sputtered, but nothing came out;
not a peep or a chirp, not even a shout.

He recovered his senses in just enough time,
he pulled from his nose dive and started to climb.
Once back in the nest his mother he found,
she held him close, now safe and sound.

"What happened?" she chirped, "you were doing so well,
then next thing I knew you just stopped, then you fell"
Billy tried to explain how his heart gave a fright
when he opened his eyes and saw such a sight.

But instead of the words he so wanted to say,
nothing came out, his voice frightened away.
His neck stretched, his eyes bulged, he started to shake
as he tried and he tried, but no peep could he make.

"That's all right", chirped his mom, "it'll all be OK,
your voice will turn up, just give it a day."
But his chirp didn't come back, in a day or a week,
a bird with no chirp? He felt like a freak.

The other birds laughed and made fun of him;
so he stayed far away and just sat on his limb.
He watched as the others sang all the day long,
knowing without a voice, he'd never belong.

So poor Billy bird spent his days all alone,
though his voice didn't improve, in flying he shone.
He spent the hours flying where no bird would go,
sailing higher and farther than those down below.

He thought it ironic what he once feared, now loves;
the world and its beauty he sees from above.
Then one day while Billy was high in the air,
he saw something wrong that made him despair.

Tubby the Tomcat, known by birds as 'The Beast',
was climbing a tree to find his next feast.
Billy watched from above as Tubby cat neared,
a nest with five babies and no mommy, he feared.

She left for a moment to find them some worms.
All alone in the tree...the thought made him squirm.
He was scared for their safety, so without a second thought,
he aimed for the woods, now forming a plot.

If he could rally the flock of birds from the trees,
they could gang up on Tubby in hopes that he flees.
But the minute he reached them he knew he was doomed,
with no voice to tell them, his hope turned to gloom.

He pointed and flapped, but they thought he was nuts,
he was acting a fool, and being a klutz.
They laughed and mocked and called him names,
and made him the joke of their mean little games.

But Billy could see what the others could not,
that sneaky old cat and the prize of his plot.
He was creeping up slowly, and was now very near,
Billy's anxious feelings had now turned to fear!

His neck stretched, his eyes bulged, he started to shake
as he tried with his might for his chirp to awake.
Then he turned once more to the birds and he cried,
"If you don't help me, those birdies will die!"

"Old Tubby is making his way to their nest,
their momma is gone, there's no time to rest!"
They sprang out their wings and took off in flight,
with Billy as leader, they were ready to fight.

They got to the tree just as Tubby reached top,
surrounded the nest and Billy yelled "Stop!"
Know I don't know if cats know bird talk,
but Tubby knew best just to turn and walk.

He sulked down the tree like a cat in defeat,
the birds all cheered, Billy found his tweet!
They all gathered round, waiting to hear
how Billy bird found his voice, loud and clear.

"I guess when I feared I couldn't stop the attack,
my chirp that was hiding, I scared it right back!"
No longer does Billy the Bird hide in shame;
he's now a big hero, they all praise his name.

And if he gets frightened and his chirp goes away,
the other birds know how to get it to stay,
a good game of hide and seek does the trick.
They jump out and scare him! It brings it back quick.

THE END!

I'm Back

You didn't even know I was gone did you. Actually, I haven't really been anywhere. Me and my
tush have pretty much taken up residence for the past 2 weeks on the couch as I've been living in Olympic Heaven. I love the Olympics. On any other saturday, flipping through channels, if I came across downhill skiing, curling, or even ice skating, I wouldn't give it a second glance. But put it on the tube with Bob Costas (who never seems to age) every 4 years, lead into the event with a great tear-jerking story, back it up with heart pumping music, and I'm hooked (except for the curling).

There's just something about Olympians that make me think:
a) These people are crazy
b) These people need to get a life
c) What is it about a little piece of gold plated medal that makes them devote and sacrifice their entire youth and early adulthood, not to mention a good chunk of their parents money?

I can't help but wonder what drives them. Is it the prospect of getting rich and famous? Having their picture appear on the cover of a Wheaties box? Could it really be just so they can say, 'I am the BEST at what I do in the whole wide world', at least for another 4 years.

I was watching the womens downhill skiing, and they interviewed Julia Mancuso after she lost an event. The interviewer thought maybe she had a off day because her ski-mate and close friend died while doing what he loved best, skiing. She told the reporters that his death really put things into perspective for her, "It's all about the skiing. That's the most important thing". Seriously? And to think all these years I've thought it was all about 'family' and the gospel, when really the secret of a happy life is 'skiing'.

I'm not sure how this post took a left turn for the worse. I sound like a cynic. Like an olympic pesimist, really i'm not. At least I didn't think so until I sounded it out, put it on paper, so to speak. I have issues. Am I jealous? Do I secretly envy people who are so focused on one thing, that their willing to practice at it for years on end and hours each day? Have I ever been that committed? Have I ever wanted anything that badly before?

Um, no.

Should I? I'm not a deep thinker, usually, but the olympics bring out the inner competitor in me, so I ask myself, ' Should I approach my life as if it were the Olympics'?

After all, isn't it the goal of all of us to 'get the gold', so to speak. (I'll be using alot of metaphors here, symbolism if you get my drift)

If there could only be 3 winners in these olympic games called life, would I be trying harder? Would I spend hours each week learning and practicing to be the best I could be at the temple training grounds? Would I be more willing to sacrifice my time, my money, give up any outside worldly distractions to accomplish my worthy goal? Would I be more committed...more focused...more determined if I could see the prize before me? Or would I just give up, knowing I'll never be good enough to make it to the highest medal platform?

I'm relieved life isn't really like the olympics. I'm glad I don't have to compete with others to get my gold, because competition turns people mean, and against each other. And besides, I would always fall short comparing myself to others. I'm glad we can help each other along the way, and encourage each other, so we can all be on the medal stand together, not by ourselves (how lonely would that be). I'm glad that we don't lose the gold by hundredths of a second, and when we fall short of our goals we won't have to wait for another 4 years to try again. I'm glad we have coaches who encourage us, who lead us, who helps us in our training and keeps us on the straight and narrow path that leads towards the gold.
I'm glad the one who judges us will be perfectly fair and just, and not nit-pick us if our foot (so to speak) doesn't completely rotate 3 1/2 times while spinning in the air and landing on thin blades and slippery ice. I'm glad the one who judges us is rooting for all of us to win the gold, and has the grace to overlook our flaws and mistakes. And I'm most grateful that we have a mediator who makes up the difference in our not-so-perfect performance and turns it into a perfect score. As long as we're trying to put in a gold medal performance, that's all they ask of us.

I hope to see you all on the 'gold medal platform'. I hope I'll be there too.

Until then, I guess I'll have to wait another 2 years till the summer Olympics come around.
(Too bad they don't have an event for synchronized sleeping, now that I could do!)

Friends and Family

I remember in high school, my friends and I skipped an assembly and headed to Marie Calendars down the street for breakfast, which was probably pie. We laughed and talked and stayed so long we ended up eating lunch there too, (probably more pie). Those were the days. We were seniors, we were invincible, we were best friends, and we thought we'd always stay as close as were back then.

We were also naive.

I still consider them my good friends, although we don't see each other nearly often enough. Those were the days when I would rather be with my friends than my own family. But times change.

Yesterday I went to Chili's with my best friends, we laughed, we talked, we cried and reminisced for 3 hours. Other than the waitress, no one wanted to leave. We try to get together for dinner for each of our birthdays. Tomorrow is my sister Susie's birthday. Did I mention the best friends I went to dinner with were my sisters? (yes, my mom and sister in law are my sisters too). My brother came too, sweet! Like I said, times change.

Susie was only 9 years old when I got married so I missed out on watching her grow up. I had to hear about the time when my parents heard noises in the middle of the night, and found Susie trying to walk through a locked door. She announced she was on her way to Kristin's house to play. I didn't even know she was a sleepwalker. I missed out on her "New Kids on the Block" groupie phase. I never actually witnessed the kissing of Jordan or Donnie on her poster, so I can't be certain if that rumor was true, or if a certain sibling was just getting even for some unresolved sibling rivalry issues.

I wasn't there when a certain young man moved up the street and quickly became her new best friend. Years later when that same young man asked Susie to marry him, I was the one caught off guard, afterall, I thought they were just good friends.

Susie has been more like a big sister to my girls, and Chelsea looks more like her than me. She's only 12 years older than Chelsea and has always enjoyed the title of "The Favorite Aunt". She's always been the designated babysitter, and even after she was married, the girls loved to have sleepovers with Susie and Chad. After Susie had kids of her own, Chelsea became their babysitter.

Susie has always been such a happy, optimistic person. She is always making us laugh. With her tender heart and pre-disposition to leaky tearducts (in other words, inherited cryer gene) I always wondered how she could do her job without constantly losing it. Susie is a nurse and works in the NIC-U with pre-mature or sickly babies. But it's her tender heart and compassion that makes her so good at what she does. And even if she's worked a 12 hour shift all night, I've never seen her cranky or grouchy or moody. She's always been our little 'Susie Sunshine'...

...but then again, what do I know. I haven't lived with her since she was 9 years old.

Happy Birthday Sus! I love you!