Where does this evil in me come from???

If you are an older sister you know that God gave you the power of manipulation...what?...that wasn't bestowed upon me by God?....for having to put up with her stealing my status as only girl in a family of boys???? Oh. Well......hmmm....I am manipulative when it comes to my sister. I LOVE and cherish every moment that her big, blue eyes with long, thick beautiful eyelashes (mine are short and thin), look at me with complete trust. Then something inside me flips a switch and I have the feeling of ultimate POWER!!!!!!!! 
Let me take you to a rather large private hospital room in Lincoln, NE.  The year was 2003 and my finances were low.  I was living in the hospital/long term acute care with my husband (my first husband) while he took his sweet time waking up from a coma.  I was bored.  I was broke.  I had had no reason to 'prune my bush' in months and my sister (who was know for her European hair growth) was visiting.
So on this cold winter's day when my sweet sister came to keep me company she looked at me and asked, as she often does, if I would wax her eyebrows.  (Of course, any chance she gives me to practice cosmetology on her is a chance I leap at. It's something I love to do and I can only wax my own eyebrows so far...believe me...I've taken it to the limit).  So after her brows were sculpted beyond perfection and me not so secretly relishing every flinch and rip of the wax I had the best idea EVER!
We are sisters.  We're both hairy.  We're both broke.  We're semi-alone in a hospital room and I have enough wax to wax something else.  Something major.
We (I) decided that she should be the waxee and, because I had waxing experience, I would be the waxer.  (She is such a logical thinker that it's really easy to persuade her that my way is really only the LOGICAL way to do things).  I don't remember what we moved in front of the door to lock it but we did make sure we wouldn't be barged in on.  Then, she bared her bikini line and I warmed up the wax strip.  I carefully pressed it on making sure to cover as much hair as I possibly could, we both took a deep breath and before she was ready, I yanked and ripped as hard as I could.  She doubled up in pain and let out a loud yelp.  I looked at the strip, doubled up too and let out a loud laugh.  The strip was completely bare!  No wax, no hair!!!  The wax had stuck to her pubic hair and that was rooted deep enough that it didn't budge. Not a single hair!
 After that, my mind goes blank.  I'm not sure how we removed the sticky hairy mess from her body.  Some things are best left forgotten...by me.  I'm sure she remembers it well.  A few years later when she came to visit me in Ft. Collins I took her to a salon called The Screaming Peach where she had a professional wax job....I heard her scream all the way in the lobby. I smiled to myself.

Don't worry, I know I'm not ugly

So, a friend brought to my attention that I might be a bit obsessed with people's ages.  Well, she didn't say "obsessed" but after a quick pause on the subject I'm sure I  am.  You see I was stricken with a condition that I have named "aging awareness" when I was 11.  10 has been my favorite number as long as I can remember.  I think it started because my brother's best friend growing up (who was soooo dreamy) wore the number 10 on his football jersey but I might have liked it before that.  No matter when I started to love the number 10.  When I was 10 years old, I loved being 10.  I was a magical number.  Then, like most 10 year old's (some kids die before they ever leave the age of 10) I had my 11th birthday and I was crushed.  My Dad remembers finding me hiding and crying on the floor that day.  When he asked me what was wrong I sobbed, "I *sob*don't*sob* want*sob* to*sob* grow*sob* uuuup".  Cut to me being 30.
What I didn't realize all these years is that I was afraid of losing my inner child, my carefree personality and my, crazy unique sense of humor.  Now that I'm technically an adult and I am may be crazier than ever, I have had time to focus on what is truly important:  My Looks. 
Of course, I have always known I was pretty (of course).  But it has only been in the last year or so that I have noticed that I don't look like me to me.  In my mind I have a more round face, much fewer freckles, no "fine" lines and where did this super long, pointy chin come from?!?!  I'm not saying I think I'm ugly (let's be serious) but it's kind of unsettling to see myself look like someone else to me.  You could compare it to the way you feel when you hear your own voice on an answering machine.  So, I have spent the last few days wondering why this scares me.  I'm not afraid to age.  I'm afraid of not knowing who I am.  I do realize that I'm basing who I am on how I look and I do know that's not who I really am, blah blah blah...
I remember both my parents having at least two completely different looks in my life.  My first memories of my Mom are of her with short, dark, straight hair, and a big smile on her thin face.  I can also think of my Mom with permed short hair and the same exact smile (only smaller due to, shall I say, fuller cheeks).  Now she is so tiny that she's almost a stranger when I hug her.  And when I look at her wedding picture, I wonder how it feels for her to look at herself that long ago.  I don't mean to be rude. Obviously after 40+ years of marriage she looks much different than she did on that day at 19 in 1967.  She is still beautiful and has the same beautiful, warm smile but she has, gulp, aged, albeit gracefully. The same goes for my dad, there are about three different ways he has looked over the years, each one adding a bit of, shall I say, wisdom to his look. 
I wish I knew how to accept this new faze of looks that I am coming into.  And no, for once in my life, I'm not asking my readers for reassurance that I'm just as beautiful as ever (which I know you all are dying to do once you finish reading this) however, it's only fun to fish for compliments when I'm being clever about it.  So, I guess I'll just go hide under the bed and cry for a while about how I don't want to grow up *sob*. Then after 10 years of looking like this I'll get use to it only to be slapped in the face by my 40's and I'll go through this whole process again.  Hey, it only took me 15 years to realize I don't need to worry about becoming a mature boring adult.

True beauty

Nadia's favorite movie is Disney's Beauty and the Beast.  She also thinks she has the cutest booty in the world.  She often sticks her butt out and looks over her shoulder at it to admire how cute it is.  The other day she combined the two and sang "tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Booty and the crack!"
She has also become quite smart in her old age.  The other day we had to pick up treats for her birthday party at school and although I didn't think she'd know the answer, I asked her if she knew how many kids were in her class.  She casually answered, "yes, all of them.".  Later the same day we were talking about death because I used the term 'over my dead body' then looked at their innocent little faces and said, "you guys are never going to die are you?  You're just too cute!"  To which Nadia replied, "Mommy, I will die after I've had all my birthdays."

Truly Human

Yesterday at church I gave Luka and Nadia each a $1 bill for offering.  Luka doesn't like paper money and refused to take his dollar so I gave Nadia both the dollars and gave Luka two quarters.  When it came time to give Nadia proudly put in her money, passed the plate to me where I placed my money and then held out the plate for Luka.  He looked at the plate blankly so I told him to put in his coins.  He held them to his chest.  I told him again and explained that the coins were for offering and didn't he see how Nadia and I gave our money?  He looked at me, looked at the coins and then quickly reached out, grabbed the box of crayons that was sitting on the pew and placed them in the offering plate!

Broken or just bruised?

Ever since daylight savings time ended I feel like I've been put in a cage called night.  I get only a few hours a day in the "yard" and I'm tricked in to thinking it's 9 o'clock when really it's only 6.  This last week was particularly difficult because all four of us caught some sort of flu.  When we weren't trapped in "night" we were trapped at home, inside, all day, in our tiny home that was filled with the smell of puke and/or poop continually.  Ugh.  After all this I'm feeling tired and a little depressed; looking forward to the holiday weekend and knowing it's going to be too short.
To help cheer me up and have some kid free time Brad rented the claymation Rudolph and Santa Comes to Town movies.We put it on in our room for the kids while we watched football.
After the movies were over I was putting the kids to bed and I told them I wasn't in the mood to mess around and they needed to get into their pj's and get into bed.  Nadia looked at me very seriously and asked if she could feel my funny bone.  I gave her my elbow and she felt around on it and asked to see my other arm.  I let her feel my other elbow and after a short examination she said, "I don't think you broke your funny bone.  Maybe it's just bruised."
Turns out the fastest cure for a bruised funny bone is a funny bone exam by an adorable 3 year old.

If you don't stop crying...

They say the key to good parenting is follow-through.  I've read many times that you should never give a child an empty threat.  Sometimes I wonder about old sayings and how literally we should take them, do expressions count as empty threats?  For example, we've all heard the "if you don't stop crying, I'll give you something to cry about!"expression. I personally always assumed that what was to follow was a major spanking.  After some thought, I decided; why a spanking?  There are many other ways to make a child cry, and besides, why do we need to express our anger and annoyance to our children physically?  Here are some spitball ideas I've come up with.
Situation: A child wakes up in the middle of the night from a bad dream.  Parent comforts child for a considerable amount of time but child won't quit crying.  Parent suspects child is just playing around now. Parent is really tired and has a long day so parent threatens, "if you don't stop crying, I'll give you something to cry about.".  Child doesn't quit crying.  Parent may take child's favorite doll and break off one leg. This may be repeated with as many limbs and/or dolls as needed. (if you have a boy, tearing wheels off trucks or cars might work too.)
Situation: while at a park child starts to scream and cry when it's time to go.  Parent explains that they cannot stay at the park all day and that they need to leave now.  Child throws herself on the ground and begins a tantrum.  Parent leans over and quietly says, "if you don't stop crying, I'll give you something to cry about.". Child does not quit crying and in fact begins crying louder.  Parent may then carry the child to the top of the highest slide and dangle the child upside down over the railing until the child is terrified.
Situation:  while shopping for groceries child decides she cannot live without the pack of colorful bic lighters at the checkout stand. Parent explains that lighters are not for children and besides, we don't always get a prize when we leave the store.  Child begins throwing a temper tantrum in the checkout line. Parent warns, "if you don't stop crying, I'll give you something to cry about.".  Child does not quit crying and begins throwing any item she can reach at the parent.  Parent may then grab the child's favorite candy, open it, and eat it slowly right in front of the child making sure to impress upon the child how wonderful the candy tastes.
Like I said, these are just suggestions and are not the only way to give a child something to cry about.  Play around with it and be creative! I've never tried any of these methods on my (or any other) children so if you decide to give it a try let me know how it works.

Columbus Day?

Should we call this day Columbus Day? Should it be Viking Day?  Should we even celebrate a day that represents an event that began the slaughter of many Native American people?  I don't know.
If you follow my genes, most of me didn't start off in this country, a tiny (teeny-tiny) part did.  I'm thankful for my life and I'm thankful for my life in America.