Sleeps

Middle daughter's birthday is just around the corner. Only 18 more sleeps, you know.

We have been counting "sleeps" for over 250 sleeps. We started using the sleeps measurement system to measure time when oldest daughter was little, because she couldn't get the concept of tomorrow, or in 3 days, or on Sunday, etc.

250 sleeps ago- and after a gazillion "how many more sleeps till my birthday?"s, middle daughter was informed that her birthday would not be until after Easter happened. So, she has been looking for signs of Easter. And Easter is everywhere right now. So, she knows that the birthday is close at hand.

All along the way, middle daughter has been laying out her list of demands for the ultimate birthday party. Something new has been added to the list each day for over 250 days. And now we are down to 18. Whew.

Among her most important wishes: (bullets, please)

• Dora pinata
• butterfly cake
• Easter bunny cake
• sparkly hats
• Little Mermaid outfit
• Pink- and Pink ONLY- balloons
• her very own Easy Bake Oven (because it is beneath her to share the one oldest daughter got for Christmas)
• every Barbie thing that ever comes on television
• her own bag of Chex Mix- the big bag
• a cat
• a trampoline
• purses
• etc, etc, etc

Of course, there are many more items than what I have included on the list. Some, I have forgotten.

I love celebrating birthdays. My mom taught me how important they are. She always made sure that we felt special on our special day. It was pure magic.

I'm dusting off the wizard hat- or magic wand, I guess since wizards are usually men- I am excited to pump out a little magic for middle daughter's birthday. Because, I'm not totally sure, but I think she may have said something about wanting a little magic on her big day. And skittles.

Only 18 more sleeps...

Testimony

Waiting at a red light on the way to church today, I witnessed about 20 people congregated on the street corner. They were dressed in bathrobes- with bedsheets on their heads, secured with headbands.

One man, presumably a church pastor, shouldered a wooden cross with a wheel affixed to the bottom for easy transport. And gave direction to the congregation.

I watched as men and women gathered their small children and straightened their robes, readying themselves for a reenactment of Jesus Christ's walk with his cross through the city of Jerusalem on the way to Golgotha.

I assumed they were members of a congregation that meets just 1/2 mile west of where they stood, and further assumed they would make their way to their church building and there convene for their Sabbath Day services.

I pointed out the scene to my children. I wanted to be sure they saw what was taking place. That they could witness other Christians commemorating the miraculous event that took place nearly 2,000 years ago. That they would see the children with their families, participating in testifying of Jesus Christ.

In my religion, we don't focus on the cross as a symbol of our religion. Instead, we focus on his resurrection and the promise of new life as a result of his atonement and crucifixion- but I couldn't help but feel the spirit of their efforts. I was touched by their desire to declare their devotion to our Lord. I felt their innocent testimonies as followers of Christ and was grateful for the opportunity to add my testimony to theirs as I shared with my children my beliefs of my Savior, Jesus Christ.

I am blessed because he lived. And I am changed because he died.

As I talked with my children about the goodness of these people, I felt the lump in my throat and could not deny that each person who testifies of Christ, in whatever way they deem appropriate, can touch the life of another and that testimony cannot be disputed. My testimony of Jesus Christ was strengthened because of their efforts.

I look forward to attending the Easter Pageant with my family this coming week at the Mesa Temple grounds, where my children can further understand who this man, Jesus Christ, is.

what's in a name?

the phone rang this morning at 11:51.

on the other end of the line was a salesman.

from a carpet cleaning company.

he didn't call me steph.

we are having our carpets cleaned tomorrow.

wind

the wind has been whipping all day.

i love it.

whip, wind, whip.

and also i got a phone call from a salesperson.

he began by asking if he could talk to stephanie.

i told him he was talking to stephanie.

he said, "hi, steph."

and then proceeded with his sales pitch.

i was immediately turned off.

i don't love when people call me steph if they have only known me for 1.5 seconds.

but, i don't mind if you you call me steph once we are friends, ya know?

whip him, wind.

or not.

i didn't buy whatever he was selling.

because, how could i?

he called me steph.

Witness

Are you up for a buffalo story? Good. I thought so.

There's a palpable excitement that accompanies a Pioneer Handcart Trek. We felt it while waiting for our "family" to arrive. As our youth stepped off the buses, decked in their authentic pioneer costumes, the husband and I were anxious to meet our little crew. Once we were gathered and introduced, our family was allowed to familiarize ourselves with our handcart. The carts were loaded and the pulling began.

The trails we walked were forest service roads. They were rutty and rocky, but roads nonetheless. And we were grateful for roads. There was an occasional rise, but the first 3 miles was relatively easy and uneventful as we became acquainted with the rhythm of the cart.

Nearing the end of the third mile, a rider on horseback galloped up alongside us to warn us that there were hunters in the area. No sooner had we been warned than we heard a gunshot that punctuated the sounds of youth singing at the bars of their carts. We were invited to lay down our carts and move to a clearing where four men busied themselves, gutting a large buffalo.

We encouraged our family to gather around. There was a reverence in the air. A reverence for life, for the sacrifice of the great buffalo. As the other youth continued to leave the train of handcarts and stream into the clearing, gasps and exclamations dotted the air. Soon a gentleman stepped forward and began to share, in first person, the account of Ephraim Hanks as follows:

In the fall of 1856, Ephraim was staying at the home of a friend, about nineteen miles south of Salt Lake City. He had gone to bed but while he still lay wide awake in his bed, he heard a voice calling him by name and then saying, “The handcart people are in trouble and you are wanted; will you go and help them?” He turned toward the direction from which the sound had come and saw a man standing in the room. Without hesitation he answered, “Yes, I will go if I am called.” Then he turned to go to sleep, but had laid only a few minutes when the voice called a second time, repeating almost the same words as on the first occasion. His answer was the same as before. It was then repeated a third time. When Eph got up in the morning he said to his friend, “The handcart people are in trouble, and I have promised to go help them.” Then he hurried to Salt Lake and immediately left to help the immigrants.

He related the following, “The terrific storm which caused the immigrants so much suffering and loss overtook me near the South Pass, where I stopped for about three days with Reddick Allred, who had come out with provisions for the immigrants. One night as I was preparing to make a bed in the snow with the few articles that my pack animal carried for me, I thought how comfortable a buffalo robe would be on such an occasion, and also how I would relish a little buffalo meat for supper, and before lying down for the night I was instinctively led to ask the Lord to send me a buffalo. Now, I am a firm believer in the efficacy of prayer, for I have on many occasions asked the Lord for blessings which He in His mercy has bestowed upon me. But when after praying I looked around me and spied a buffalo within fifty yards of my camp, my surprise was complete; I had certainly not expected so immediate an answer to my prayer. However, I soon collected myself and was not at a loss what to do. Taking deliberate aim at the animal, my first shot brought him down; he made a few jumps only, and then rolled down into the very hollow where I was camped. I was soon busily engaged skinning my game, finishing which, I spread the hide on the snow and placed my bed upon it. I next prepared supper, eating tongue and other choice parts of the animal I had killed.

“Early the next morning I was on my way again, and soon reached what is known as the Ice Springs Bench. There I happened on a herd of buffalo and I killed one. I was impressed to do this, although I did not know why until a few hours later, but the thought occurred to my mind that the hand of the Lord was in it, as it was a rare thing to find buffalo herds around that place at this late part of the season. I skinned and dressed it, then cut up part of its meat in long strips and loaded it on my horses. Then I resumed my journey, and traveled on towards evening. I think the sun was about an hour high on the West when I spied something in the distance that looked like a black streak in the snow. As I got near it, I perceived it moved; then I was satisfied that this was the long looked for handcart company, led by Captain Edward Martin. I reached the ill-fated train just as the immigrants were camping for the night. The sight that met my gaze as I entered their camp can never be erased from my memory. The starved forms and haggard countenances of the poor sufferers, as they moved about slowly, shivering with cold, to prepare their scanty evening meal was enough to touch the stoutest heart. When they saw me coming, they hailed me with joy inexpressible, and when they further beheld the supply of fresh meat I brought into camp, their gratitude knew no bounds. Flocking around me, one would say, ‘Oh please, give me a small piece of meat.’ Another would exclaim, ‘My poor children are starving, do give me a little,’ and children with tears in their eyes would call out, ‘Give me some, give me some.’ At first I tried to wait on them and handed out the meat as they called for it; but finally I told them to help themselves. Five minutes later both my horses had been released of their extra burden- the meat was all gone, and the next few hours found the people in camp busily engaged in cooking and eating it, with thankful hearts.

“A prophecy had been made by one of the brethren that the company should feast on buffalo meat when their provisions might run short; my arrival in their camp, loaded with meat, was the beginning of the fulfillment of that prediction.”

After Ephraim arrived at camp, a woman walked by him, crying aloud. He followed her to Daniel Tyler’s wagon where she told of her husband being at the point of death. She asked Elder Tyler to come and administer to him. This good brother, tired and weary was he was, after pulling handcarts all day, had just retired for the night, and was a little reluctant in getting up, but he went with the woman. Ephraim went also and when they arrived at her tent they found the apparently lifeless form of her husband. On seeing him, Elder Tyler remarked, “I cannot administer to a dead man,” and he went back to bed. Ephraim Hanks went back to the camp and asked Elders Grant and Kimball and one or two others to help him. They warmed some water and washed the dying man from head to foot. Then Ephraim anointed him with consecrated oil over his whole body, after which they laid their hands on him and commanded him in the name of Jesus Christ to breathe and live. The effect was instantaneous. The man who was dead to all appearances immediately began to breathe, sat up in bed and began to sing a hymn. His wife, unable to control her feeling of joy and thankfulness ran through the camp exclaiming, “My husband was dead but now is alive, praise be the name of God. The man who brought the buffalo meat has healed him.”

When the account was concluded, we dispersed, without a sound and returned to our carts. I felt a tangible spirit surrounding the gathering. I teared up throughout the retelling- maybe because I have a cousin who is a descendant of Eprhraim Hanks- who is acutally named Ephraim Hanks-and this recounting connected with me on a personal level. Or maybe just because the story is amazing in and of itself and testifies of the love of God. Whatever the reason, I felt the spirit testify of the miracle of the buffalo.

And I was to feel the spirit testify of many more miracles throughout the remainder of the trek.

Numbers

photos courtesy of Sandi Nielson

The husband and I have recently returned from our Stake Youth Handcart Trek. It was a never-to-be-forgotten experience- one that I felt was tailored just for me. My testimony of Jesus Christ grew exponentially and my desire to follow him has strengthened. I would love to share all of it with you, but I know that would make for some monster-long posts. Instead I will highlight by numbers.

200 youth participated in the trek

15 families

16 handcarts

8 kids in our family (ours was the smallest family on the trek)

1 big brother in our family

4 girls in our family

5 boys in our family

350 pounds our kids pulled for four days

25 feet of rope to secure our belongings

1 buffalo gutted and skinned

400 feet in elevation up the mountain the women pulled the handcart on our own

500 infamous beef sticks consumed the first day

11 hours of pulling the handcart on day one

18 miles traveled the first day

2.5 hours of pulling in the pitch dark

3 tents our family set up at 9:30 pm

25 degree weather while setting up camp

2 members of our family who "died" during the night

1 member of our family with a terribly sore hamstring

3 miles pulling the handcart before we reached the valley

8 enjoyable pioneer games/ skills/ dances learned

3 stitches in the finger of our pioneer daughter

400 pioneer boots kicking up dust at the hoedown

10 foil blankets employed by our family during the night

1 Pony Express rider

8 activities that taught gospel principles

2 hours of solo time, spent reading scriptures, recording feelings, reflecting on the events of the trek and the changes taking place inside each individual

1,000's of tears shed when sharing tender feelings

1 mile pulled the last day

0 complaints from the husband who had a broken rib for the entire trek

100 families waiting to welcome their youth at the finish line

0 phones/ ipods/ cameras confiscated from our family

1,600 photos taken by the official trek photographer

11 strangers that came together as a family and were forever changed by this experience

3 hour drive home to discuss and bear testimony with the husband of the magnitude of the experience we shared

3 happy children, running with hugs for their pioneer parents

4 large blisters on the feet, lanced and bandaged

25 minutes spent in the shower in an attempt to wash off all the dirt

Pioneer Time

Won't you please excuse me for a few days whilst I go and trek around in the wilderness with a few 14-18 year olds? And a handcart.

I shall return with good stories full of humor and hopefully a little insight on life and the gospel- oh and those pioneers.

While I am gone, talk amongst yourselves. Visit some of my friends on my sidebar. They are all good people and should be able to fill in nicely while I am away.

getting acquainted

there are a few things you should know about me. but i won't get into that now, because i am always talking about myself. what i really want to say is that there are a few things i should know about you. because, since you are visiting this little space, i want to be a gracious and interested hostess.

and i am.

interested.

i want to know what you like. what you dislike. are you a generally happy person? do you brush your teeth first thing in the morning, or do you wait until right before you step out the door?

are you in love? do you have children? what's something most people don't know about you?

what's your opinion on the state of your carpet? do you have a favorite vegetable? favorite cement color?

there are so many things i don't know about you. and i'm dying to get to know you better.

come, sit a spell, swap howdies, and tell me a bit about you!

imagine i have a nice little tea set out for us to get better acquainted. we would have scones and biscotti. and muffins. we would share muffins. and a nice strawberry lemonade. because i don't drink tea and i don't have raspberry cordial. raspberry cordial can be a bit dangerous at tea- if you know what i mean. (think anne of green gables and diana.) do you like strawberry lemonade? i would have it all set up in the comment room so that we can be a little more comfortable. and you would feel at home telling me about yourself.

do excuse me. here i go again rambling on and on and not letting you get a word in edgewise!

have you read anne of green gables? seen the movie? please, tell me more.

it's so nice to meet you! i believe we may be kindred spirits.



ps- the happiest of st. patrick's days to you!

scales

the husband often employs a catchy little phrase in his daily ramblings that kinda baffles me. if you happen to talk to him, you may hear him preface a statement with, "on a scale of 1 to 10..."

for instance, he will say, "on a scale of 1 to 10, i am tired."

or, "on a scale of 1 to 10, it looks like rain." or "on a scale of 1 to 10, i love you."

etc.

etc.

etc.

this morning as the children were getting ready to leave for church, i was reminding them to gather their sunday bags and get a piece of gum. because, i let them chew a whole piece of gum (on any other day, just a half piece) after the sacrament has been passed. and just now, typing it out, i may have to rethink that one. gum is probably a little irreverent to be chewing during sacrament meeting. however, i do not allow them to blow bubbles. ok? and we no longer take little baggies of snacks to church, so it really is the only refreshment they receive. on a scale of 1 to 10, i think maybe it is ok afterall. as long as they are reverent chewers.

anyway, oldest daughter has a stash of bubble gum that she has been rationing. middle daughter wanted a piece of it to drop into her sunday bag. she begged and pleaded with oldest daughter to have a piece of the precious gum.

as i am in the bathroom, applying non-waterproof mascara (when will i ever learn to wear only waterproof mascara on the sabbath?) i hear this little exchange:

middle daughter: can i pleeeaaassse have a piece of your gum?
oldest daughter: on a scale of 1 to 10............(pause, pause, pause)............. no.

many thanks to the husband.

however, as i was jumping into the car, i noticed middle daughter with a little piece of pink bubble gum tucked securely in her fist.

on a scale of 1 to 10, oldest daughter really is a sharer.

Daily Classified

I used to have someone read this little blog who considered herself to be my biggest fan. Her own words. Not mine. And not that I minded at all. I found it very flattering. But I believe she no longer reads my blog. Which is kinda sad. To me. Probably not you. But, you know, it goes along with the whole losing a follower thing. It's emotional for me. I won't go into it. You're welcome.

So, I guess what I am getting at is that I am looking for a new Biggest Fan (BF). Everyone needs one. Do you have one? You should get one. They make you feel good. Unless they leave you.

I will rise above it. This is what I am going to do. I am going to give her a few days to declare herself. If I do not hear from her, I will open the position to whomever might possibly be interested. Fair, right?

And then, assuming she has fallen off the face of the earth, you may be awarded the position. No resume needed. Just a few rules:

1. You must declare that you would like to assume this position if original BF cannot be located.
2. A BF would logically be a follower, so accordingly, you should click on my followers gadget to let me know you are serious.
3. Once you have become a follower, you should never stop following me. Because why would you if you are the official BF of this blog? Besides, when I lose a follower, it hurts.
4. Maybe it might be nice if you link your blog to mine. And in the event that you have no blog, I can hook you up with a friend of mine who does vinyl lettering and I am pretty sure she could whip up something for you to stick on the back window of your car- like my blog address. And you could even do this if you have a blog. I'm pretty sure that's what official BFs do.
5. I will be sure to link to your blog on my sidebar. Wouldn't it be cool if I could come up with a button? And, again, in the event that you do not have a blog, I will get some vinyl art of you. Like a stick figure family of you and yours or something similar to stick on the back of my car. Again, if you do have a blog, we could probably work something out here, too.
6. You should probably work my blog into any conversation you have so that people would know you are the official biggest fan. We can work on conversational transitions, self-promotions and catch-phrases later. I have a few all ready to go. They come in handy in a pinch.
7. Comment on each and every post- so everyone will know that you are fulfilling your duties. And they can get to know the Biggest Fan.

I believe this just about covers it. However, I reserve the right to come up with any additional rules I deem appropriate. Because it is possible I may have missed something. Afterall, I'm pretty new at having to find a new Official Biggest Fan.

Current Biggest Fan: you have approximately three days to chime in. I hope you are still out there. And I hope you are ok.

Three days starts now...

Lists

A bunch of things I never knew I was going to love about being a mom:

****warning: this post contains excessive bullets

• 27 little first grader hugs as soon as I walk in to help in oldest daughter's classroom
• little slurpy sounds of a child enjoying their popsicle
• the awkward dance moves of a 4 year old girl
• sword fights with a superhero-focused son
• Barbie movies
• being crowded out of my cooking spot in order to accommodate one more stool
• folding warm tiny socks fresh out of the dryer
• running behind my children up the stairs while pinching their little delicious buns- can't help myself!
• trips to Disneyland that are more magical than ever
• planting a garden and listening to their daily report on what's growing and what is not
• eavesdropping on their make-believe
• watching the husband parent his children
• enjoying their delight in the canine
• loving when they tell me they are going to marry each other when they grow up
• cleaning up little shoes that seem to be getting bigger and bigger
• hearing, "thanks for the yummy dinner, Mom!" when I have pleased their palates.
• watching a little boy wash his hands on tiptoe
• hearing, "when I grow up I'm going to be..." multiple times a day
• being called Momma on extra special occasions
• artwork plastered all over the house
• the few minutes each night when I crawl up into their bed, snuggle close and have a little pillow talk with faces inches apart
• staying up late just to soak in the quiet house and the feeling of being "off duty"
• checking on them just before I go to bed to make sure they are alive and tucking their little blankets snuggly around them
• bicycle rides with little voices in deep conversation behind me in the bike trailer
• rocks in the dryer
• hearing, "I did it, Mom! I did it!" and being able to respond, "I knew you could!"
• sidewalk chalk art that magically appears as soon as old art is washed off the patio
• weed-y bouquets picked by delicate fingers and presented with a rubber band around the middle to hold them all in place
• little rings of dirt all around my yard where the rocks have been scooted away to accommodate the planting of un-popped kernels from the popcorn bowl in hopes of popcorn plants that will grow in their place- and not having the heart to ruin those dreams
• little fingers that are learning how to snap
• a perfectly-formed muddy hand print on my sliding glass door
• being asked to sing that song about Thomas and having no idea what song little son is talking about and then making up whatever comes to mind and little son is thrilled. And then being asked to sing it again.
• having my hair combed and nails painted by the tiniest of beauticians
• being instantly forgiven when I make a mistake
• road trips
• hearing little voices trying to articulate what is on their minds
• being told, "You're beautiful, Mom"- even when I haven't showered and I am still in my pj's at 3:00
• being amazed at the memory of a child. How do they remember those tiny details?
• giggling with my kiddos about silly things
• telling jokes at dinner time
• satisfaction of a day gone well

What do you love about being a parent- or a son or a daughter?

Vitamin C

I believe I live in paradise. Until July- and then it is possible that I may write a post that begins "I believe I live in hell..." But we are in March. And Arizona is paradise in March.

My flowers are beautiful, my grass is green, my garden is working on growing its yummy bounty, my fruit trees are shedding their blossoms and tucked beneath each delicate flower is a little fruit bud- peaches, plums, lemons and limes. Except the orange tree. It is our rebel. It has never produced for us. It is barren. I wonder if it feels sad.

People jump to judgment when a tree doesn't produce right away. I know what they are thinking, "Doesn't that tree know the plan? I guess it just doesn't want fruit." This can be hard on a little tree. What are the options for a barren orange tree?

In order for my family to enjoy the precious fruit of an orange tree, we must adopt all the oranges we get, since we are not able to have oranges on our own. Good thing orange adoption is easy. Not a lot of paperwork. And, get this, sometimes people just give us the oranges they don't want. It's shocking, but of course we accept them with open arms. Who wouldn't want an orange?

There are multitudes of orange orphans out there. Some fall right off their tree and society doesn't give them a chance- they just leave them there to rot. Admittedly, we have had a rotten orange or two at our house when we don't eat them fast enough. But we try to do our part and keep those bad oranges off the street.

Recently we purchased a juicer so that we can aid in orange rehabilitation and turn those fallen oranges into orange juice. And it is rewarding work. They have so much to give. And every time we juice those amber balls of juicy goodness, we know we have to help as much as we can. And we are committed to do our part.

We will continue to adopt oranges in the hopes that one day we will have our own.

And when we finally have our first little orange baby, it will always be paradise in Arizona.

The Giving Couch

**my family= the neighbors

Once there was a couch.
And it loved a little boy who had just graduated from college.
And everyday, the boy would come and gather her pillows and prop them behind his back when he played video games.
He would climb up on her cushions and sit and watch sports.
And when he was tired he would sleep on her cushions.
And the boy loved the couch... very much.
And the couch was happy.



But time went by.
And the boy got a job.
And the couch was often alone.
Until the boy met a girl.
And they would spend a lot of time together on the couch.
And the couch was happy.


One day the couch said, "Come boy, come and climb up on my cushions and watch sports and take a nap."
And the boy said, "I am too busy to take a nap. I want a wife. And I want children. And I want a house. Can you give me a house?"
"I have no house," said the couch, "but take my cushions and my pillows and make yourself a house. And then you will be happy."
And the couch was happy.


One day the boy married the girl.
And they moved the couch to their new house.
But it would not fit in the front room.
And so they moved it into their bedroom.
And the couch would wait for the boy to come and play.
But the boy was busy.
And he stayed away for a long time.
And the couch was happy, but not really.


And then one day the boy came back and walked by the couch
And the couch said, "Come boy, come and sit on my cushions and gather my pillows and play video games and be happy."
"I am too busy to play video games," said the boy. "I have a child now. And I have a wife."
And the couch said, "Come and sit with your child and read books to her and be happy."
And the boy sat on the couch and read books to his daughter.
And the couch was happy.


And the boy had some neighbors and they saw the couch in the boy's bedroom.
And sometimes they sat on the couch.
And the couch was happy.


One day the boy moved his family.
And the couch was placed in the family room.
And the children would race onto the couch and jump from its pillows and play and be happy.
And the couch was happy.


Until one day the couch said, "Come boy, come and sit on my cushions."
And the boy said, "I want leather. Can you give me leather?"
And the couch said, "I cannot give you leather. But take my cushions and prop up your head and enjoy my comfy seat."
And the boy said, "I will get some leather. And I will take you to the neighbors who have sat on you and you will stay in their loft. And you will be happy."
And the couch was moved to the neighbor's loft.
And the neighbors were happy.
And the couch was happy.
But he missed his boy.


But every so often the boy would come and visit the couch and sit on its cushions and watch a basketball game with his neighbor and watch his kids play in the loft and wear a blonde wig.
And the boy was happy.
And the couch was happy.


And the couch would watch the neighbor's children play.
And they would gather up her cushions.
And make forts.
And play and giggle and be happy.
And the couch was happy.


And the couch would say, "Come neighbors, climb up on my cushions and watch movies.
And read to your children.
And brush their hair and their teeth.
And be happy."
And the neighbors said, "We want leather. Can you give us leather?"
And the couch said, "I cannot give you leather. But take my pillows and enjoy their softness."
And the neighbors got leather.
And they were happy.
And the couch was in the garage.
And she was happy, but not really.





And one day the neighbors' newly married sister came and got the couch and took her off to her new home.
And the newly married sister was happy.
And the couch was happy.


And then one day a lot later, the newly married sister's mother-in-law took the couch to her new home.
And again, the couch was happy.


And then a lot of days later, the mother-in-law was moving into another house and could not fit the couch into her new home and gave the couch to a nice girl.
And the couch was happy.


And then one day a lot lot later, the neighbors created a blog.
And they advertised the sale of their oldest daughter's Girl Scout Cookie sale on their blog.
And a nice girl read the blog and ordered some cookies.
And the oldest daughter was happy.


And the neighbors hopped in their car.
And traveled a few miles to deliver the Girl Scout Cookies to the nice girl whom they had never met.
And when they walked into the nice girl's apartment,






they saw a couch.
And it looked like a couch they once had.
And the couch straightened herself up and said, "Come neighbors, come and climb up on my cushions and gather my pillows and make forts. And be happy."
"We are too busy to sit on your cushions and make forts in the nice girl's apartments. And our children need to get home and get some sleep. But, we will take your picture and blog about you and we will be happy."

And the couch was happy.




And so was the nice girl.

Our tickets for Wicked arrived in the mail.

I am suddenly feeling a whole lot better.

for now...

July's really not that far away.

I'm sick. I have been since yesterday. Pretty much on the couch for the past two days. My body aches. I will post something of significance when I can stand to sit up for longer than 30 seconds.

Happy Monday.