Breaking Drought

Like most of the Midwest, we've been in a drought. The only good thing about a drought is fewer mosquitoes.

Yesterday, the crunchy yellow grass that Zoe refuses to walk on ("L'il Tenderfoot") received a refreshing drink, like Niagara Falls. It was crazy. Parts of my city are now without power due to lightning. I was in the grocery store when the sirens went off, but for some reason, I was not alarmed.

Well, I was on a mission--a mission to bring home my daughter's favorite kind of yogurt cereal bar, the one I couldn't remember.

Background info: I bought a certain brand one week and she loved them. The next week, I tried to repeat this Great Act Of Motherliness for my beloved daughter, but I couldn't remember the brand and brought another brand home by mistake.

So yesterday, I texted her during the sirens and storm, "What was that original brand of yogurt bar I got you that you liked?"

She replied, "Idk. [I don't know.] haha."

I failed to see the humor, but I was, as I said, on a mission.

So I looked some more while people around me rushed to the front of the store to look outside and the employees were using mops to push water back out of the entry.

Whatever. I had bars to find.

So I texted her again about it, and she said, "Whichever is OK. I liked the 2nd one better, anyway."

Oh no. This meant I had to then go back to the aisle and retrieve the 2nd one.

So I sent one more text, and again, she replied with a bunch of "ha ha's."

I thought, "What is wrong with her. Why is my yogurt bar search so funny."

Later last night, she told me that when the storm began, she was sure I'd be "freaking out" worrying about her, so she texted me right away, "Hey, I'm at Heather's. There's a big storm comin!"

And apparently, my reply was, "What was that original brand of yogurt bar I got you that you liked?"

Then she replied with "Don't worry. I'm staying inside. Are you guys inside?"

And that's when I said, "Oh no. What was that 2nd brand?"

And THAT's when I got, "Hahahahaha."

If this conversation seems convoluted ... um, yes.

I NEVER saw any of her storm texts.

I'm just glad we all survived the big storm. I would hate to have my last words to my daughter be: "Hey, did you know it's waining?" (Trying to be cute.) Yes, she knew.

Texting

The other day, my youngest daughter texted me: "Ashley wants to go with us shopping for the senior ball dress. Is that OK?"

Because I was in a hurry, I replied, "Y."

At home she asked me, "Why did you say 'why?'to my question about Ashley?"

"I didn't say 'why,'" I said. "I said 'yes.'"

"No, 'y' is short for 'why.'"

"Then what is short for 'yes?'"

"'Yes' is short for 'yes.'"

"Well," I said, "that is kind of lame. You guys need to make a shortcut for 'yes.'"

"Y."

I'm not sure if she asked "why" or agreed, "Yes, we should."

Communicating with teenagers is tricky. Do you agree? "Y" or "N!"

Birfdays. Some Are Special.

Here she is, the baby of the family. Born November 7, 1992. It was snowing that day. That's one of my clearest memories. I remember lying there waiting, head on my pillow turned to the left, watching the beautiful snow fall so silently, changing the world. It made me feel cocooned and excited, anticipating the little one who would come into our world that day and change our lives forever.

She is the light of my life.

And every mom knows, they cannot possibly know or understand how much we love them, at least until they hold their own little one who will transform their lives and hearts forever. I hope I'm around to see that miracle.

Love you, Kristin Brynn. Happy 18th.

PS: In that top left picture where she is smiling? She is 3 weeks old and pottying her pants at that very moment. I had to completely change her clothes before leaving the studio.

Friday's Fave Five & Flashback Friday

Facebook status updated at 8:21 am: Volcanic magma + glacial melt water + giant ash cloud bringing much of the world to a standstill = LOST. Is Charles Widmore behind this? Could Frank Lapidus fly through this? Is John Locke the ash cloud?



1. Hyacinths. I honestly didn't know how aromatic they are. They are also Diane's favorite flower. I took this picture. Proud of myself.


2. Jorge and I on the Greenway trail, riding bikes like we're young or something. Proud of myself.



3. Day 3 of "Wear a Skirt to Work All Week." I decided to tackle this goal because I was pretty sure I would succeed at wearing 5 skirts in a row if I really tried. I made it. This skirt is white eyelet. Proud of myself for not caving into capris or something.



4. Diane with a little visitor. She was a nurse in the neo-natal intensive care unit at this very hospital for years. I did not cry when I took these pics. Proud of me for holding it together. Diane has always been a sender of cards and loves to receive them. Her room is decorated with them. If you would like to send her a card, her address is:

Diane Ross
c/o Ball Memorial Hospital
2401 University Avenue Rm #5211
Muncie, IN 47303




5. Girls Group (GG) at the hospital. We've had some long hours with Diane there, precious, every one. Proud of these friends.


Even these two.





Linda asks us to reach back into the flashback files for memories of childhood activities, lessons, etc.

I took piano lessons for a couple of years when I was little, about 7 years old. I had a mean, sarcastic teacher, so I hated it. I did like to practice, however.

Flash forward to third child, a girl, who took to the piano. I made sure I found her a nice teacher, but she plays beautifully by ear, bringing me to tears often. Guess which child inherits the piano?

The Lamest Mom There

The lamest team mom there. That's how I felt after Saturday's cross country (XC) meet.

Why?

First of all, my camera was set on some weird setting that I needed for Oneighty. I forgot to reset it to normal befor XC. So ALL of the pics are blurry.

Secondly, behold the complete and utter photography incompetence:













Yes, I actually had a prime place "in the chute," standing there waiting for her, anticipating the best pic ever (for me). I saw a girl running all by herself in our uniform, and I said to myself, "I hope she comes through alone. But this girl is a blonde, so I know it's not her." The runner came closer, and I realized it was my girl, and so I scrambled to get the pic, holding the camera up to my face to discover it had automatically shut off! By the time I got it turned back on, she was completely across the finish line, and I wanted to punch myself in the face after stomping the camera to death. Fantasy.

I hope you can learn something from me, the mom feeling weird in the parental smack-talk T-shirt with zero photography skilz. I'm not sure what that lesson would be though, except "Don't be me." In fact, strive to become the "Anti-Lid." It's what all the competent team moms do.

Weekend Update: Embarrassing T-Shirts, Julie & Julia

Good Last Day of August to you.

I hope you had an enjoyable weekend.

Saturday morning I went to my 2nd-ever cross country meet which I found out is abbreviated by all the cool people as "XC."

My daughter has just started "XC" this year, after giving up many years of dance. So since our son never participated in this sport, I'm still learning so much about it.

Like, there is no regular, obvious way to follow them because, well, it's cross country, not cross asphalt. So they run around cornfields and into woods and around schools and through crowds of screaming parents at various points en route to the "chute" which is not a slide as in "Chutes and Ladders" at all, but the finish lane.

And, all parents of all teams at invitationals wear T-shirts with pithy, sassy sayings on the backs of them, like, and I quote:

XC Parents Need:
No bleachers or chairs, only comfortable shoes.
No announcers, only coaches screaming out splits.
No shelter from rain or shine, only a poncho or umbrella.
No popcorn or hotdogs, only a snack in our pocket.
No cheerleaders or mascots, only a loud voice.
No time outs, only a straight 5k.
And, at the end of the chute, all we need are our runners.

Yes, Jorge and I actually wore shirts with this manifesto on Saturday and will be expected to wear them every Saturday through October. Not to mention that I ordered a size too big for myself, so I'm wearing a frump shirt with all that wise-crackin' talk on the back. I would like to amend mine to say:

Some XC parents need:
Lawn chairs, because we are older than you young parents in skinny jeans, not that we're bitter.
To know what the "split" is that the coach is screaming out. Some of us thought those were things you did in cheerleading.
Shelter because rain makes us cranky.
More than a "snack in our pocket" which should instead say "pockets" because there isn't one giant universal parent pocket, but that's nit picking.
Also, I would like a hot dog, thank you.

I do appreciate that there are not time-outs, though. Time outs are torture, as I remember from our son's sports.

Once again, my intrepid daughter was thrilled that she did not come in last place and that she beat her own time by a few seconds. I always knew she was awesome, and now she has proven it to the universe. She is awesome and very cute, but she doesn't like for me to say those things, so let's just pretend I told you, "My kid is totally average in every respect. More accurately, she is merely one teenager in a nebulous cloud of teenagers."

Saturday night, I went with three friends to see "Julie and Julia," which was a great little entertaining movie, even though, as you know, I cannot cook. J & J contains both funny and sweet moments, but it wouldn't be "Lid the Prude" talking about the movie unless I mentioned that there were also a few bad words and overly sexy scenes in an otherwise pleasant little diversion. I'm sorry, but you just don't need the images of sex and Julia Child within five minutes of each other in any context.

However, Bloggers, this is a movie about blogging among other themes, and I think you will enjoy it. From the time Julie creates her blog to getting her first comments to getting bigger recognition, you will relate and/or fantasize. When tension grows between her husband her because of blogging, you will relate. When she worries about not having a post for her readers, you'll understand her anxiety. When she realizes the narcissistic nature of blogging, you will recognize that truth once again and laugh.

My friends often leaned forward in their seats to see my reactions to the blogging parts of the movie, and I'm sure the row behind us behind us wondered what I must have done to inspire this group action.

This is the first time I've seen blogging featured in a movie. It made me think a lot about why I do this and why you do this and how long it will last for all of us.

Here's a good article on Julie Powell and how her blog "The Julie and Julia Project" inadvertently made her famous, and since I didn't give a true plot synopsis, here is the trailer:



Have a great Monday! Bon appetit!

Cleanin' up the Fish Flakes and First Day of School

Loose ends--who can stand 'em?

Blister yesterday: sorry for the photo. I realize some of you read your blogs early in the a.m., and my blister was a bit too much for you with the delicate early morning stomachs. But it was all I had to post. Seriously. Maybe it's time to consider hiatus when all you have to post is a giant bubbly blister. Anyway, I did a "surgical procedure" on it and ran yesterday afternoon. I'm like a legendary Olympian or something, staying focused, strong, and pushing through the pain. Of a toe blister.

Re-decorating the boss's office: I did not use real paint, although some of you were sweet to worry. I am not crazy. My boss is a man who notices when his paper clips have been moved on his desk, so throwing a Jolly Rancher wrapper on his floor might have pushed him over the edge, let alone painting a wall. By the way--that green? That's the real color of the walls. Our office is wild on color. The wall directly behind me is orange.

Hate Mail: Turns out it wasn't a joke but written as a response from a local person to my newspaper column. I spoke with him personally about it, and he still hates me, but I did try to apologize for being so hate-able, which apparently made me all the more hate-able. Shrug. It's out of my hands now. But you were lovely to surround me like a pack of elephants protecting one from a lion. Some of you elephants had fangs! I felt the love.

What else?

Oh yes, the Sweetness drove herself to school for the first time yesterday; that's why she's holding keys in these pics. She had a pretty good day and didn't starve before lunch like she thought she would, which was her main concern. The apple didn't fall far ....



Despite school starting, I'm dragging out summer as long as I can by enjoying this as often as possible:



And by using Hawaiian Tropic Sunscreen 4 as body lotion. I know it's weird. I know that. But I just want to smell the coconuts, to make the summer linger upon my skin where a tan does not.

How are you making summer last?

Another Submission for the "I Know You Think I Make This Stuff Up" Category

This morning at 4:42AM, I awoke to sirens blaring, strobe lights flashing, and the direction from my husband, "Let's get out--Let's go!"

The hotel fire alarm had been ... detonated, and I was like a hamster trapped in a plastic ball, scurrying like mad but really going nowhere because it took a couple of seconds to remember where in the world I was.

Then I said, "Where's Kristin?!" over the sensory torture because even in the bright blinking lights, I couldn't see her. So I turned again to pull her out of bed, when

our foreheads conked.

We scrambled outside the hotel, where I realized that I was in a long (to the knees) striped nightshirt instead of what I ALWAYS wear to sleep in in hotels because I'm afraid I'll have to go out in the event of a fire and people will see me--exercise pants and a t-shirt.

Except this ONE time in my entire life, of course.

So Jorge ran back in the room (we had a first floor room which had a door to the outside) and brought back my shorts, purse, and Kristin's glasses because the poor thing can't see worth squat on her own.

We waited for a while and were told it was a false alarm. Somehow the phone system in the hotel is connected to the alarm system, and when the phones shorted out, the alarm went off. I'm just glad the sprinklers didn't go off, too. Then I would've been a wet hamster in horizontal stripes.

So we all reentered our rooms and tried to go back to sleep. That is when I realized that my head, where I beat it against Kristin's head like laundry on a river rock, was throbbing.

I went back to sleep for about an hour, and then it was no use to keep trying.

Thus began our day. It's a bummer to realize you've probably had the most exciting event of your day by 4:45AM.

But later we went on a hike in Smoky Mountain National Park to see Laurel Falls and the thing that everyone on the trail but me wants to see: bears.

Yes, I am afraid of bears. And alligators. I have said more than once, "I wish they were dead." Meaning bears and alligators.

Sorry, nature lovers.

Where was I. Oh yes, I wish they were dead.

So, of course, immediately, when we approached the beginning of the trail, a family randomly volunteered to ME, not Jorge or Kristin, "There are lots of bears out there today. We saw triplets and twins and ...."

I stopped listening because I started composing a blog post in my head: "Oh yes, it's another 'I Know You Think I Make This Stuff Up' moment."

But I am not making this up; they pinpointed me to report all of their sightings to in detail.

So I rehearsed again with Jorge what to do if a bear jumps out in front of you on a path and yells, "Turf Warrrr!"

All along the trek, I watched every peripheral movement and listened for rustling, crackling branches.

But I needn't have because three times, we came up on a group of people looking up into the hills, pointing, and telling us we just missed the bears.

I did see a doe and nursing fawn, which is more my speed.

By the end of the hike, I can't believe this, but I was actually a little disappointed that we didn't see the bears. I mean, it's quite a let down to be on five-alarm high alert for just a doe, fawn and tiny little lizard.

But I did end up getting a picture of A bear, which I will post upon my return home.

Home--where if fire alarms go off, it's for a good reason, like I have set it at night and then forgot to turn it off when I open the door for Zoe one last time.

Have you ever had an alarm go off in a hotel or similar situation before?

Coming to You from Sevierville, TN

Sunday, 7:35 pm

Hi, Y'all.

I'm in Sevierville (near Gatlinburng) for a couple of days for my daughter's national dance competition.

We arrived last night (in the new CRV, no less, very smooth ride, ahhh) and began our adventure this morning with Jorge and Kristin enjoying a morning run while I slept in, which is the first time I've done that in ... days. Ha. Just kidding. I rarely sleep in because I'm more of a morning person than a late night one. So it felt really weird, like a sin or something.

For relaxation pleasure, I brought a plethora of magazines and one novel because I had big plans for the pool, which materialized due to an additional plethora of Tennessee sunshine. I was in non-office heaven.

A couple hours later a restaurant, Kristin, sitting across from me, said, "Mom, how did you get all of those mosquito bites or hives or whatever?"

Looking down, I saw that I appeared to have leprosy.

It took me a second to figure out what was going on. I had used, for the first time, a spray-on sunscreen which turned out not to be a good idea because in spraying my shoulders, I didn't realize that the fine mist I was feeling was actually not fine at all, and indeed left white spots all over me the size of peas. Perhaps there is a river around here in which I can go dip 7 times or something.

You wouldn't think it would be all that noticeable, but during the checkout at a CVS, the cashier asked me, and I quote: "Now how did you get that funky sunburn?"

Nice.

This afternoon, I sat on the 2nd floor balcony of the hotel trying to write my column for the paper which will be printed July 4, with the ground-level pool to my left and the foothills of the Smokies to my right. It would have been quite picturesque except helicopter tours kept flying overhead which reminded me of giant bumblebees because they were yellow and black and "buzzed" menacingly. So I gave up and came in here.

Right now I'm in the lobby where I'm allowed 15 minutes on this computer, but so far, since no one else is around, I have broken that law already. Apparently, with sleeping in and hogging time on the computer, I am having a wild first day of vacation.

This hotel is supposed to have an antebellum feel. Directly to my left are large portraits of Clark Gable and Vivienne Leigh as Rhett and Scarlett beside an old-timey hutch filled with GWTW memorabilia, plus two glass-encased large sets of Rhett and Scarlett dolls on each side of the hutch, about 24" tall each. Very kitschy.

The two ladies behind the desk are having a LENGTHY and boisterous discussion about whether "swapped" is a real word. They have spelled it about 6 times, used it in different sentences, decided "changed out" sounds classier, and then revisited the whole conundrum again. I just want to yell out, "Yes. Yes it IS a word. It is the past tense of 'swap.' Please use it without further consternation and/or discussion." But then I would just be a rude Yankee, and there's no need for that because they are lovely women. Just really vocabulary-conscious lovely women. Like the bumblebee helicopters, buzzing around me.

The highlight of today, though, was eating at The Islamorada Fish Company restaurant, situated smack dab in the middle of a 130,000 sq. ft. Pro Bass megalo-store complete with stuffed (taxidermied?) wild animals, indoor waterfalls and a 13,00 gallon aquarium. Sounds strange, I know, but when I get home, I'll post pics, and you will see that it is stranger than you thought.

Since we're here with friends whose daughter is also dancing, we are planning a wild game of Farkle tonight, so if I don't post early in the morning, you know the partying just got out of hand here tonight at "Tara."

When Your Baby Gets Her Driver's License, You Might Feel Like This

When Kristin was born, Katie was 6, and Jordan was 3 1/2. When Jorge brought the kids up to see the baby and me, we videotaped the meeting. At one point, Katie looked down at the foot of the hospital bed, and upon seeing a set of car keys warned us, "Better not let her get those keys!" We laughed, of course, at thought of Tiny Helpless doing anything but sleeping and eating.


Guess what. Tiny Helpless got her driver's license yesterday, and today ... she finally got a hold of those keys!

Really, people. Why is time doing this to me??

Here is a short video of her driving away by herself for the first time tonight, on Jorge's and my 24th wedding anniversary, a night almost a quarter of a century ago when we never could have imagined this moment in time.

Just think: twenty-four years ago at this very moment, we were standing at an altar; tonight we stood on our front porch and watched our third and last child drive away. Because we have been through this twice before, we understand the significance of this moment.

The beginning of the vid is a little shaky and seems to be a video of no movement for a few seconds, but I couldn't get it to edit. You will, though, see her back up and take off, dragging my heart behind her like a tin can on a bridal getaway car. Do not worry; the flower bed survived the back-up, although it looked a little dicey from the porch. And please note the turn signal out of the driveway. My girl follows rules.

Dad and I are so proud of you, Kristin Brynn!

And Jorge--thank you for this wonderful life and these wonderful children whom you have fathered so well. I love you more each year!






PS: She made it home. How many times will I say that in the next few years?

Last Day and How to Get a Good Picture from Your Teenager

Last day of 10th grade, June 3, 2006

How many times have I picked up this child after school? It seems I have picked her up countless times, yet I can't remember all of the different grades, how she looked when she came out--her expressions, her style at that moment in life, etc. It's a blur. So today, I decided to document the last day of her sophomore year.

I knew she wouldn't be happy about my snapping a picture or five. I decided I would care about her happiness another time.

So here she comes out in the rain in the white jacket before she sees the camera.

The camera has now been spotted.

There was some whining and flinging of drama hands, kinda like jazz hands, only expressing angst instead of pizazz.











"But if you want this car to get rolling out of this parking lot one final time to begin your summer, you'd better smile right, Missy."

Ta and da. Nice picture for Mom.

Real reason for picture: Next year she will be driving herself to and from school. Another era ends. Sigh. I love my girl.

Quick 30 x 5 Update and Pink Floyd Cramer is at it Again

Woo! Monday! What's your mindset this beautiful (and cold, if you're near me) Monday morning? Are you still committed to the project, or are you like the cat in yesterday's video? Do I have to come to your house and hold you up on the treadmill and coax you to walk while your limbs go limp and you roll your head under your body so that your shoulders are what's on the treadmill?

I'm happy to report that I'm still in, 100%.

REMINDER: You and me, Baby, and over 70 others--We committed to two weeks, and that will end Thursday, upon which I will post another Mr. Linky, and you will write a post for that day about this experience and link up so that we can all come visit you and you can visit us. Because we are committed, and I just mis-typed that with three t's, which probably shows the depth of my fear that you will not link up this Thursday, and I will have to go join the cat in the video in a basement far away from here out of shame.

Don't make me give my power to the cat.

So if you did not move all weekend, so what. You're back in with a vengeance today. Just move. I don't care if you march in place 30 minutes today; just move. I'm going to strongly encourage you--please hear me--do NOT let this Monday pass without moving for 30 minutes. That's all I'm going to say at this point. Because I'm going to come around checking up on you randomly today and tomorrow. Subliminal last thought: Don't make me give my power to the cat.


Pink Floyd Cramer Is At It Again

So remember this post about my daughter, aka Pink Floyd Cramer, the piano player?

Well, the other day, as I was busy with the usual household goings on, I became gradually aware of a sweetly haunting melody coming from the living room. Dropping my dish towel, I walked hypnotically to the music.

"That melody ... it's gut-wrenchingly familiar ... it makes me feel young, but sad. Sad, but young. Sad, but happy ... what is it? What is it?"

And then I recognized the opening "cross-over" bars: Bohemian Rhapsody. Queen's magnum opus. 1975. I was 13.

So now Pink Floyd Cramer has taught herself one of the most poignantly affective melodies ever written. Well, at least to top the Billboard 100.

And not only is it beautiful, but for me, as it wafts through the air on mercurial (pun!) wings, nostalgia is riding shotgun. Double whammy.

Plus, my adorable kid is playing it. Triple emotional whammy.

Anyway, another day, Katie, the older sister of Pink Floyd, and Pink and I were driving around, when the girls started singing BR, very loud and very proud of knowing all the lyrics and harmonies etc.

And then the AMR (Alarmed Mom Response) went off in me as the lyrics sank in anew: "Mama, just killed a man, put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead...." Ooh, bad Mom vibes--don't wanna hear my kids singing those words!

So I said, "Can't you change the lyrics a little bit and make them less ... violent?"

Only a mom would say this. The lyrics didn't bother me when I was a teenager.
anyway, I just hated to hear my kids singing about pulling a trigger and killing someone. And then making a confession to "Mama," of all people.

So without missing a beat, Katie bursts out singing: "Mama, I just baked a flan."

Where that came from, I do not know.

Well, she did spend a lot of time at my side when she was little. That might explain it.

So then we proceeded to massacre BR by changing lyrics. So here are the originals vs. ours. And I've also included a 30-sec version of the ballad, which doesn't really do Freddie Mercury's teeth justice, but oh well.

The Queen Version:

Mama, just killed a man,
Put a gun against his head,
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead.
Mama, life had just begun,
But now I've gone and thrown it all away-
Mama ooo,
Didn't mean to make you cry
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow
Carry on, carry on.

The 2nd Cup Mom Version:

Mama, just baked a flan
I Was gonna bake some bread
Baked a caramel flan instead
Mama, when will it be done?
I think I should’ve made a crème brulee,
Mama ooo,
Didn’t mean to make it dry
It was tough to find vanilla beans at Walmart
They were gone; they were gone.

Now isn't that a GREAT improvement? Perhaps next we'll take on Rod Stewart. Or Neil Diamond.

Newspaper Column 3.21.09

This newspaper column is a re-write of a piece I did for Internet Cafe. The newspaper audience is broader and less homogeneous, so I edited it appropriately. And at the time of the Internet Cafe piece, my child had not yet accumulated 6,000 text messages in one month!

It's Official: My Baby is Smart

Oh, yes, I know your baby is smart. Every day I read how cute and smart your little babies are, and I totally believe you and rejoice with you, even though I think some of you use the E*Trade baby video techniques to "sharpen up" your kids, shall we say, a bit for your blogs. So yeah, your baby is smart, but I'd like to submit to you that your baby is so smart because he/she has had the Baby Einstein advantage.

What did my baby have?

Well, an older brother and sister, mainly. And sometimes their lessons were, shall we say, offbeat. Perhaps that is why in this pic, when everyone is looking one way at the National Honor Society induction, my baby is looking off the beaten path.



And sometimes, she gets a little distracted.



But that doesn't mean she's not smart. Every day she gets letters from colleges who want us to throw our money at them her to grace their campus with her presence and aptitudes. Even the US Army and Marines want her, but then, I still get recruiting mail from them, too. Perhaps there is some great deal for a high school girl graduate and her middle aged mom to join together. I'll let you know in a couple of years.

Can you imagine?

So anyway, her daddy was traveling and had to miss the induction. But here I am pinning her and hugging her, two of my favorite past times. That is, sometimes, if I let her mercilessly stick me with a pin, she will relent and let me give her a one-second hug. It's a pretty good trade-off, I think.






Oh my Baby. You are so sweet and cute. I could not love you one bit more. You will always have a very special place in my heart. Some time, like in the year 2040, you may actually like to read those words. Until then, I know you hate it.

Oh well.

I'll probably have to pay for these pics and that mush at the end, but it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

Just wait until she sees that I wrote about her texting in my newspaper column this week: 6,000 messages.

No. Lie.

She can't help it. Smart girls have lots of words they need to use.

Love you, Kristin!