Sunshine

Photos by Alicia Packard 

Every night when I put her to bed Frankie asks me to sing "You Are My Sunshine".  And it occurs to me, that's about right.

One is Fun

A monster-sized cookie for a mammoth-sized pup

Agatha Violet: one year old
Weighs: 124.5 lbs.

Good at: "Sit", "Down", "Stay"

Not so good at: "Come"

Likes: peanut butter, being scratched behind the ears, chasing cats

Happy Birthday Aggie. I kind of like you.

Two is Too

Frances Amelia is 2!  This sweet little thing is growing like a weed.  Still quiet and shy as ever, and just as destructive too.

I gave her a new dolly while the other kids were at school so she'd have lots of time to play without having to share. That's what birthdays are all about.  Who knew a bald plastic baby was the answer to her dreams?  (Trick question.  I did.)

  After fish sticks and French fries--favorite Frankie fare, we made birthday cookies and opened presents from Grandi and Papa.  Then it was off to bed with extra hugs and lots of birthday kisses.

We didn't have a party because we had swine flu, and we didn't have a cake because Frankie hates cake.  But I think she still had a great day, and I had a great day with her.

Love you, love you Frankie girl.

Snuggling with Alice

Treats for my sweet- baking in the new apron Grandi made her.

A tea set!

Falling Short and Something New

"You have perfect eyebrows" said my aunt eight years ago.

"Huh, thanks" I replied.

Funny how since that day my brows have either been over-plucked or in desperate need of a good tweeze. Perfection, it seems, simply can not be maintained.

Likewise I am often told that I'm witty. Especially by you, you dear complimentary readers. Flattered I'm sure. Tonight when I plopped down in front of my trusty ol' desktop I did my best to come up with something clever. Something worthy of your loyal adulation. Oh boy did I try. I'm like the Michael Scott of half-assed bloggers. Honestly? I got nothin'.

So tonight instead of wit you'll get disclosure. I think it quite possible that the only person who'll find this even remotely interesting sleeps on the other side of the world in a steel railroad car. But...here it goes.

Every year I make several New Year's Resolutions then never tell anyone about them. That way, if I don't follow through nobody knows but me. Same goes for the plans I make for spring. I set lofty goals for spring--something to look forward to and motivate me through the dreary winter months. This year I've set the bar fairly high. It's only November and I'm scaring myself. I've decided to soldier-up and tell you what I've got cookin'. You can hold me to it.

This spring I will...
-give up my car and commute solely by bicycle or on foot. It's been over a year since I first set out to accomplish this goal, but I think I am finally ready. I was all set to give it a go in Columbus, but Nate begged me not to. (It's dangerous--there are no shoulders on the road) He rarely begs, and by rarely I mean I think that was the first time, so I thought it best to concede. It's more than a little intimidating, but I have my eye on a powerful bike that will get me where I want to go. I hope to be a lean green cycling machine with a couple months of practice. If nothing else I'll be a little less mushy by the time Nate comes home for R&R (always a plus!).

-keep two bee hives and sell honey at our local farmers market. Beekeeping is a lifelong dream of mine. I respect and admire the worker bee, and honey is magic. Last year for my birthday Nate enrolled me in a beekeeping short-course at CSU and I can't wait to put my new skills to good use.


-slaughter and clean a sheep, kill and pluck a chicken before eating it. If you think I'm up for this, you obviously missed me cleaning vomit out the carpet this afternoon. I was heaving so loudly that my sisters had to leave the house for fear of losing their own dinners. I have a weak gag reflex and dead animals is at the top of the list of guaranteed wretch triggers. Warm and squishy? Even better. But I take pride in being self-sufficient and I am not a vegetarian. I've decided it's hypocritcal to eat meat if I'm not willing to put it on my own plate. Plus, being able to properly gut an animal will certainly be a handy skill should any of my worst-case-scenarios actually come into play.

-plant and maintain two above-ground garden boxes in my backyard and eat homegrown produce all summer long. An elderly gentlemen in my neighborhood has already begun to assemble two 4x8x12 boxes for me and will have them finished by the end of next week. I'm thrilled to be back in the desert where I'll control each and every drop of water my plants are ever fed. Say no to mold!

-raise a goat, learn to make my own yogurt and cheese, and hopefully aquire a taste for goat milk. When Jensie was an infant we purchased goat milk from a local farm. One day Nate took a sip and spit it into the sink with a disgusted cry. I've never touched the stuff despite it's being a world-wide staple. I do know that I love goat cheese though and since I now have not one, but three, lactose-intolerant babies, I've decided to give goats another chance. I will name our goat Gertie. Nate says he might be able to stomach the milk of a goat named Gertie.

Three cheers for spring. Hip-hip hurrah! Hip-hip hurrah! Hip-hip hurrah!

The Legacy Continues

WHAT A BEEFCAKE.

That Smile

Called To Serve

It came!  It finally came!

Let's get this party started!

Which piece is yours Frankie?  "This one!"  (Whole cake).

I made her pose with that sealed envelope.

Wonder what it says...

Dear Sister Wilkinson,

"Oh my gosh I forgot to call Katie.  I have to call Katie. My friend Katie Wells."

JUST READ THE FREAKIN' LETTER ALREADY!  --Bonnie

"You have been called to serve in the New York, Rochester Mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints...and will serve as a guide in the Hill Cumorah Visitor's Center."

What's a Willi-Wilkie party without one of these?

We love you Amanda.

Book Club

Hey readers.  Heather and I are starting a long-distance book club. Wanna join?  Good.  'Cause I was hoping you would.  You'll need a g-mail account to participate in our online discussions.  We'll take turns selecting books and we are open to reading most anything--from bestsellers to classics.  No self-help books please! The person who chooses each month's book will also lead the discussion and should come up with a few questions to help get the ball rollin'. 

Club meetings will be held on the last Wednesday of every month at 7:00pm MST.  We'll be meeting on Monday November 30 (same time) this month though to give people a chance to travel and enjoy their Thanksgiving

Selections have been made for November and December, but we'd like to plan ahead for a few months in case of long library waiting-lists etc.  E-mail me at biglerfamily{at}gmail{dot}com with title suggestions or general questions, or Heather barwicks{at}gmail{dot}com.

Pick a book, any book--we want intelligent conversation but don't take ourselves too seriously.  Chelsea Handler and Shakespeare will both happily be considered.  You're welcome to suggest culturally specific or religious books, but keep in mind that our group members come from all different backgrounds and anything meant to befuddle or offend will not be accepted.

Whew.  Time to announce our first book, no?

Winner of the Booker Prize in 2000, this book has haunted me since I first read it 7 years ago.  Yesterday while perusing the books at DI, I found a paperback copy tucked behind several self-help books (guess they're good for something) and decided it was high time I reread this brilliant novel.  For reviews and a long sneak peek click HERE

I'll post my questions in about two weeks--I don't want to give too much away before everyone has had a chance to read the whole thing. 

December's book: The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay

Bookworms Unite!

Dear Jensie,

We ask ourselves "Who am I to be brilliant, talented, gorgeous, and fabulous?"

Actually, who are you not be?

~ Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love

 10 Things I Like About Me:

1.  Green eyes
   
2. Loud laugh
   
3. Thick brows
   
4. Mile-long legs
5. Dark brown hair
6. Rosy cheeks
7. Giant smile
8. Skinny toes
9. Shapely calves
10. Freckles
    

It is ok to know you are beautiful.

Love,
Mama                                           

                                                                   

This is Heather

She is my best friend. 

"What?  What's this?" you ask, "Two best friends?" 

Yep.  I am that lucky.  Heather and I met on a blind date.  Our husbands set us up.  Nate and Mr. B (Heather's special someone) were buddies in Iraq and each wrote letters home suggesting we ought to call each other.  It was love at first sight.  

 Did you know we spent a year without a year couch?  Heather did.  She spent nearly 365 days sprawled out on my floor while we pondered Post Secrets and snuck brownies from the kitchen after the kiddies had crashed.

When I was on bed-rest and blissed-out on Percocet, Heather set up camp in my living room.  Without so much as a "please" she packed in an air-mattress, a few week's worth of clothing, and her infant son, all just to cook, clean, and care for my young "orphaned" children. Just. 

Heather is sharp as a whip and and always wiling to psycho-analyze your... pshyche (obviously), which is handy since I need me some analysis from time to time.  She says I am "black and white", have to be right, am fiercely loyal, and a bit too emotional.  Which is exactly right.

The girl's a reader, a do-er, a mover and a shaker.  She goes from zero to expert in no time flat.  Want her to whip up something good in the kitchen?  You're in luck, 'cause she can.  Want her to recommend the latest and greatest Michael Kors accessory?  You're in luck, 'cause she can.  (It will probably look something like that mustard leather purse you've been eyeing for a while.)  Want her to answer your questions about verbal-apraxia?  You're in luck, 'cause her son's apraxic and she's the most well-informed, postive thinking, hardworking mother around.

Miss Heather's got sauce. Right now she's busy adding a little spice to the sweet swampy South, but she's promised to come visit someday come hell or highwater.  And guess what?  I can't wait.

Miss you Miss Heather.  And love you 'til I die.

From the Archives: A True Story

The Most Embarrassing Night of My Life

written for Ms. March's Sophomore English Class, 1997

"Love Shack, baby, Love Shack, that's where it's at..."

The music is blaring and the stomp has just started.  It's only nine o'clock and I've still got three hours of fun and dancing ahead of me.

On my left, Sherri's doing some weird seventies tootsie roll thing, and Jenny's trying her new funk move.

"Uh, not quite, " I say to her "better luck next time."

"Shut-up stupid.  Let's see you try."  She jokes.

I try the move twice, get it right, and laugh at her.  She just glares and goes back to trying to learn it.

The song changes into a new song that's about a train.  It has a great beat.  Strobe lights flash and everyone looks slightly disconnected as they pump up and down, in time with the music.

Mark walks by with some of his friends, laughing at something someone's said.  I start dancing a little faster, as he smiles and waves, showing off the new move I've just mastered.

The DJ is having a technical problem.  The music is stopped and everyone is beginning to mutter.  Jenny, Sherri, and I find a dark bush and sit down under it to chat.

Across the courtyard I catch Mark flash his pearly whites.  Wow, he's so hot!

Suddenly a red disco light pierces the darkness and a slow Celine Dion song begins.

"I dare you to ask Mark to dance," challenges Sherri.

"Fine," I reply trying to sound nonchalant.

I being to mosey on over his way, feeling totally confident and smiling broadly.  I'm half way across the courtyard when I hear a loud crack.  I'm not quite sure why I'm lying on the ground, but I think I have my foot caught in a hole.

Sherri is hurrying towards me and is attempting to pull me up.

"No!"  I cry much louder than intended.  "Don't move me.  It hurts."

I reach down towards my ankle, the source of the pain.  It's throbbing.  I can feel my pulse in it, I think.  It's already very swollen.  By fingering it, I guess it's about the size of a ripe nectarine.

Jenny takes off to find the supervisor, and I'm half crawling, half stumbling back to the bush, so that I'm out of everyone's way.  The grass I'm sitting on is cool, and I begin plucking it and lying long blades across my pulsing foot.  Ahhh, that feels great.

Jenny is running towards me with Coach Cardoso, and although I'm six feet tall, and he's about half my size, he's just scooped me off the ground like I'm a feather and is carrying me baby-style towards the street light.

"Excuse me.  Coming through!"  He's bellowing.

The crowd is scattering.  How am I ever going to live this down?

"Why me?" I think to myself.  I've never felt so humiliated.

He sets me under the light and I get the first good look at my ankle.  I was wrong.  It's about the size of a peach.  I look at the swollen green and blue lump and begin to cry.

Coach Cardoso is jogging away, murmuring encouraging words and something about an ice-pack.  He's gone.

"I'll go call your mom."  Sherri says, and takes off after the coach.

Jenny's just standing there helplessly.  I can tell she feels bad, but I know she can't do anything.  I've ruined everyone's night.

"Go dance,"  I say, "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"  Jenny asks.

"Yeah, I did just this for attention."  I try to joke.

She takes off to, and I'm left alone, wallowing in self pity.  This sucks.

I wait for an eternity, but now my dad is driving up in his white Toyota Tacoma with Sherri in the back.

He helps me into the car, and I buckle up. As I'm reaching to shut the door I don't notice my fingers and slam them in the heavy truck door.

I scream as a new set of tears wells up in my eyes.

Sucking on my aching fingers, I laugh at myself as we drive away.

What a night.

____________________________________________________________________________

Does anyone else find these "flash-backs" as painfully awkward as I do?  I mean, "Mark is so hot!" "...a new song about a train."  Oh gosh, it's hurts.

Also this essay reminds me a little of Bella Swan.  Right?  Which makes me think if only I'd applied myself(and Mark had sparkled) I'd be making millions by now writing books for lovesick teeny-boppers and lonely Army wives. 

Batty-Bat

Preschool tuition- worth it for the Bat Hat alone.

Costumes

She's done it again folks!

I've never made Halloween costumes before, but I'm so glad I didn't let that keep me from taking the plunge.  I didn't make Jensie's dress- we bought that on sale last year, but I did add the embellishments to her hat so that counts for something right?

Asher makes a great gnome and was pretty excited about his hat.  Miss Morgan, his preschool teacher, told me that he burst into an impromtu "I'm a gnome!" song in the middle of class yesterday.

Remember the hedgehog costume Pottery Barn Kids sold last year?  Yeah me too!  I never could find one on e-bay so I thought I'd just give it a shot.  It's freakin' adorable, and now thanks to Ashley, I've got plenty of pictures* to prove it. 

*I'll post a few more pics after the holiday.

Imagine Me...an Auntie

Looks like she's pretty sure...

Congratulations Seth and Em! 

This is Genevieve

She is my best friend.  And tonight I miss her (and her little tree frogs) like crazy.  Throughout Nate's last deployment she was my rock.  And honestly I'm kind of wondering if I can do this again without her shoulder to cry on.  It's hard knowing that if we'd met in the "civilian world" we'd probably still be neighbors (or at least live in the same state).  As it is, we may never live closer that a million miles away from each other again. 

"Miss Gen" as she's known around these here parts is exceptionally good at making people feel loved.  Her birthday shout-outs are the best.  Tonight, I decided it was her turn.

Miss Gen is crazy busy.  She lives in the middle of nowhere and drives hours everyday just to get somewhere (anywhere!).  She is enrolled in college courses--working toward a degree in business managment, currently taking real estate night classes, chauffer to her brilliant daughter Rhiannon (who attends private school far away from the middle of nowhere), full time mother to the infamous Abigail, and to top it all of...she's an Army Wife--that alone is a full time job. 

Despite her hectic schedule Miss Gen is wife to one lucky scientist and a devoted mother to the two most energetic whirl-wind girls on the planet.  Miss Gen is one of those moms who has the patience for Yo Gabba Gabba, is happy to crack open a book anytime--even if it's Strawberry Shortcakes (Strawba-ba-ba-ba-berry), is dishing out stickers for the latest art project, all while cooking up some SERIOUSLY delicious grub.  AND her house is spotless.  I don't know how she does it folks but someday I want to be just like her.

You'd think the arts-n-crafts, snuggle time with her hubby,those 3 course meals would keep her from finding to time to do much of anything else, but no.  The woman bakes pies.  PIES I tell you.  And gives them to me.  Free of charge.  

Occasionally she will admit to weakness--frustration, fatigue, anger, you know, something human.  But in the same sentence she'll offer to clean your house, adopt your cat, and care for your three screaming babies just because you told her you were having a bad day.

She gives great advice and will help you stick to your guns when you're trying to grow out a shaggy pixie cut.  (the perfect one she gave you in the first place).  Miss Gen's a great listener.  She'll never tell you you're being dumb when you call 12 times in the same day trying to deliberate a personal issue that she can't really help you with in the first place.  She just lets you know she'll support you whatever you have to do.

Oh yeah, and did I mention she's got mad skills as a writer?  Check it: MISS GEN'S PUBLISHED WORKS

I've never done a shout-out before.  It's kind of hard to know where to stop.  Gen, thanks for being there.  Always.  With your crazy jokes, your vicious gossip, your perfect eye-roll, and your pies.  (Your PIES, did I mention your pies?!) Love you.