Sistas

This is my sister. R1. Or Rebekah to the rest of the world. Or Boo to me. She's teeny; about five feet tall on a tall day.

I love her. Growing up we fought all the time. We are really alike. Except I'm tall. A whopping five feet four inches. In my family, that's practically gigantic. We're both bossy. Really really bossy. So we used to butt heads. A lot. Nobody likes to get bossed around; especially the boss. Now we get along really well because we have our own families to boss around. We can just call each other and complain about how everyone should pay better attention to the boss. In December she gave birth to this little chunk.

EV. One of the cutest little girls I know. You can be jealous.

This is my other sister, R2. Or Rachel to the rest of the world. Or Rachie Babe to me. She and I are less alike, but she and R1 are basically samesies. See the resemblance?

No? Here, try these.

Back to R2. She used to have a mole on her chin and she called it a Cheerio. How cute is that? She lives far away in a place I affectionately refer to as Hell. Or Phoenix. She seems to like it. She smiles. I hate it there. It's too hot. Kind of like ... hell. I digress. She and I didn't fight a lot growing up. She's easy going and pretty much did whatever I told her to do. She calls me Hen hen. I miss her and want her to move home. And when she comes home I want her to bring this little girl with her.

Lil. Love her. Her voice sounds like she's been sucking in helium all day. So when she's mad, it's really cute. Plus, her middle name is Darling. Seriously. You can't be mad at her.

This lovely lady

is Tara. She married my brother, Spud. Or Isaac to the rest of the world. Or Spud to me and my sisters. He lucked out. Tara is taller than all of us. She is also gorgeous, makes a killer loaf of bread, is fluent in French and has managed to put up with our family for nearly 7 years. When Spud farts, she laughs. They never fight. At least, to my knowledge. Spud and Tara are basically the nicest most easy going people this world has to offer. I think they really like each other. I know we really like her. She is pregnant with their fourth baby. I kind of hope she has a girl, because they have three boys, but they really make cute boys so I'll be happy if they have another. I don't feel too bad saying I hope they have a girl, though. Because we all need more drama, right?

Speaking of drama

This is LadyBug. My daughter, my daily dose of drama. She's enough girl for all of us.

This is my soon to be sister in law Sarah Jane.

She lives far far away in a place known as the Mother Country. Or England. She is originally from South Africa. Her parents have an amazing love story. They fell in love during apartheid, which wouldn't matter to anyone except that Sarah's dad is white and her mother is Indian. Falling in love was illegal. They are still married. And they are fabulous.

Sarah is hilarious and everything she says sounds super cute because she has an accent. She says "lovely" all the time and "done and dusted". She could probably say "poop" and we would still think it's cute.

These are the women in my family; my sisters and our daughters. I love them and I am blessed to have them.

Up on the Soap Box

Excuse me today as I step up onto my soapbox.

Ahem...

For the past few days I have seen a few things on Facebook that have made me burn with rage.
It all started because of this:

Families of slain Lakewood officers to sue for $182 million KOMO News - Breaking News, Sports, Traffic and Weather - Seattle, Washington Local & Regional

But what really got me fired up and not able to sleep well was this follow-up article. I should clarify by saying it wasn't the article itself that made me mad, although the overall tone of it did upset me somewhat. It was the comments that readers left that got me so hopping mad. In fairness, I could only read two or three before I had to close the webpage so maybe there were some nice ones on there, but I doubt it. Maybe it's petty and I'm being emotional but it ticked me off. The gyst of the article is that the four families of the fallen Lakewood Officers are suing the county for policy change. I would too, if I were in there shoes. Honestly, a third time felon was let out on bail and then he massacred their spouses. It was preventable and yet "the system" failed. Then the community is outraged. How dare these families sue for money! They are so selfish! Their spouses would be embarrassed! I went to two fund-raisers, don't they have enough money?! Are you KIDDING me Seattle? Seriously?

It makes me crazy when we judge each other. Not the kind of judging where "this is right and this is wrong" but the "you let your son have a pacifier?" kind. The kind of judging that doesn't do any good. The kind that only makes people feel horrible and belittled. The kind of judging where you really have no idea what someone is going through but feel the need to tell them they are wrong in what their decisions are. You know the kind of judgement. Unfortunately, we're all guilty of it . Passing that kind of judgement onto four families who are in a whirlwind of loss and tragedy is subhuman behavior. To tell a widow, who's husband was murdered while having coffee, simply because he wore a badge, that community support should be enough, to question her motives when you haven't talked to her, to say that her husband would be ashamed of her, to question her character and integrity and her support of the law enforcement community is completely out of line. And what good does it accomplish? Not one thing. Except that these poor widows, the victims, have been so bullied by the community that they decided to drop their lawsuit. This is what it's boiled down to Seattle? Bullying a grieving widow? Really? Are we happy  now?

As a woman who sends her husband off to work everyday and prays prays prays that he will come home and kiss me and read our kids a chapter from The Magic Treehouse series, I cannot even begin to fathom what the families of these officers must be experiencing. To lose a spouse in such a horrific manner is unspeakable. Even if I didn't agree with what the families decided to to, who am I to judge them so harshly? I haven't gone through what they've gone through. My kids want their dad to come home every night ... to have to tell them again, every single day, that he won't be coming home? I can't even go there.

I'm just so ashamed of the backlash these poor families have had to endure. I wish I did know them so I could take over a coffee cake and let them know we don't all feel that way. That they have my support, whether they sue or not. I did find it interesting that three of the families dropped the suit while the fourth chose to wait and think about the options. That fourth spouse? A man. God love men. They aren't swayed by emotions or worrying about hurting someones feelings. Good for him.

I'm getting down now. And if by some crazy chance any one of the Lakewood families reads this, you have support. A lot of it. We need policy change. We need to know our husbands are protected. If the only way to get the attention of our law makers is by making them pay out some money, so be it.

Ok, I'm really getting down now. I'm off.

Since it's Debt Free Friday ...

Next month I will be doing a workshop at a women's retreat on how we became debt free. I am super excited as I am passionate (to a fault) about getting out of, and remaining out of, debt. I have had a few friends ask me to sit down with them and iron out their spending plans, figure out how to pay all their bills and to start becoming debt free. I have loved that. There is something so fun in the challenge of trying to make someone else's finances work for them! This will be my first opportunity to speak to a group of people and I'm unsure how to approach it.

My question for you is ...

If you were going to go to a 40 minute workshop on becoming debt free, what sort of information would you want to hear? Would you want someone to show you how to make a budget?
Would you want to hear why you even should get out of debt?
Would you want to hear how other people got out of debt?
Would you want to hear about how to deal with credit companies? Or how to save money? Or how to remain out of debt?

Is there any information you wouldn't want to hear?

(Oh, and Debt Free Fridays are a Dave Ramsey thing. Listen to his radio program today to hear callers call in with their debt free stories. It will inspire you!)

Remember When Wednesday

Figuring out how to make a button is 100% beyond my skill level. I am trying though. If Officer Hottie weren't so irritated with me for having him reinstall Microsoft Money on the computer after I promised I'd try something else, and for spending a little bit too much money, and for letting him believe we had the money to spend, I'd ask for his help. But, for now, I'm ashamed and on my own, which means ... no button. I'm sure I'll get it eventually.

Anyway, that was a way too long way for me to say that I've decided on Remember When Wednesdays. I really have been having a great time writing about stuff from my childhood; my memories of Grandma, Mom, Dad, my brothers and sisters, and even the geese. It just gets me excited and gets my creative juices moving so I'm setting Wednesdays aside as an official day for me to reminisce. It won't all be old memories either; I may not dig very far back. I'm just going to write about whatever suits my fancy that day. It's my blog and I can do what I want. Right??

Dear Spud, remember when I told you I was going to run away? And you snitched. I was lying anyway.

In third grade we read the book, The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

I loved that book. It was full of adventure and naughtiness. If you haven't read it, it's about a brother and sister who run away from home (a perfectly functional home if I remember correctly) and go to New York city and live in a museum. They get money out of a fountain and live in the displays and try to find out if a statue the museum purchased is real or a fake. It was thrilling for me. I should read it again.

The part that really stuck out to me was not the fact that they ran away from home, but how they did it. They were super sneaky and that appealed to me so so much. They sat in the back seat of the school bus and when the bus parked in the bus barn, got off and headed out to New York. For days I pondered if I'd be able to do it. Not get off the bus, not get caught ... go live somewhere fancy. I knew there were plenty of fountains out there with enough cash to supply all my needs.

I decided I didn't have enough guts to actually run away from home. My parent's still ate pasta at the time and I wasn't willing to give that up. Still, I liked the idea of running away. So, I wrote my brother, Spud, a sweet little note and left it on his bed. It said something like,

"Dear Spud,
Tomorrow I am running away from home. I will get on the school bus and hide and not get off. Don't tell Mom and Dad. And if I die, tell Kory Hanson how much I liked him."

Or something like that.

Then I snickered and went into my room to listen to Milli Vanilli on the tape player.

And then my dad came in and asked me if I had something to tell him.

"Me?"
"Yes. You."
"Umm..."
"Are you unhappy here? Is everything OK at school? Has someone hurt you?"
"What?"
"Did Kory Hanson hurt your feelings?"
"What?"
"Why are you running away from home?"
"What?"
"G Ann (only giving you first initial and middle name. Sorry. Gotta protect the guilty and all) ... you wrote your brother a note telling him you were running away from home. WHY are you running away from home?"
"That? That's a joke."
"No, it isn't."
"Yeah, it is. I was reading this book, The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and that's part of the book. I thought it was funny. So I wanted to trick Spud."
Sigh. "That's not a nice trick. Your brother is very worried about you."
"Oh."

I'm pretty sure my parent's thought I needed therapy at that point. I can only imagine the conversation they had while psycho-analyzing the world in bed that night. Crazy daughter and her crazy ideas. That book learnin' ain't no good for her. Or something like that.
Thus ended my escapade as an elementary school escape artist. I don't know if Spud has forgiven me though. Actually, I'm sure if Spud remembered this incident, he would forgive me. He is a man now, after all. With three young boys and one child on the way. He has more important things to remember. Like keeping his own children from escaping his own home. I like to think that I just helped to prepare him for fatherhood. Right?

Anyone else have any running away/escape stories they feel like sharing??

The Life of a Police Wife

Last night I discovered that my new washer has a cool little "Delay Start" button. I was very excited. It's the little things, you know? So I set the washer to start around 6 a.m. I figured I would be awake and that it would give me a jump start on my chores for the day.

I woke up before 6 a.m. (Unhappy sigh) Having children has ruined my sleep habits forever. So I got up and started a pot of coffee. And my washer clicked on. And then I sighed a happy sigh. Because it's the little things, remember? But then I heard a racket in the washer. Clink clink CLANK. Ugh. My first thought was that Officer Hottie hadn't removed his belt buckle, or belt for that matter, from his jeans. I paused the cycle (another feature I love) opened the door and began sorting the sopping wet mess of clothing. I realized I was washing a shirt that had a little metal clasp thing-y. It was, of course, my shirt. Oh well. I shoved everything back into the washer, unpaused it, and settled back into bed with my coffee and Bible.

That shirt is so loud. It's going to wake the kids up. Ugh. I wish it were a belt buckle. Then it wouldn't be my own danged fault. Double ugh.

The racket woke the kids up. To their credit they stayed in bed until the first number on the clock was a seven. So it was quiet-ish for me, minus the noisy clothing in the washer, so I decided it was a good start to the morning after all. We had leftover waffles (thanks Baby!) so I started popping them in the toaster.

"MOM!" screams Snuggles. "LOOK!"

Oh. Well. Ok, then. That explains it. At least my guilt over wearing shirts with metal clasp thing-y's was erased.

The life of a police wife. Bet you didn't expect this much excitement, did ya?

I can scribble

Momma Fargo gave me this award today. Which made my day. Because honestly, Momma Fargo is awesome. Her blog has made me cry and pee my pants from laughing, all in the same minute. Sometimes it makes me cringe and sometimes I put her posts on my Facebook page. She's a police officer and I guess I just get her humor, you know, seeing how I live with the popo myself and all. If you haven't, or don't on a regular basis, you must, must read what she has to say. You will cry and pee your pants and cringe too.

These awards come with rules; rules that I don't follow very well. But I guess I'll do my version if you don't mind.

A few things about me that you probably don't know yet:

* Peppermint tea is my nightcap of choice. It calms my nerves, helps me to relax, and doesn't leave me with a headache in the morning.

* Officer Hottie and I paid off $27,000 in 14 months following Dave Ramsey's plan for getting out of debt. I am really proud of that; it just seemed that it wouldn't be possible living on one income. Being so in debt seemed more impossible though. We were drowning and barely making ends meet. But it was possible ... we did it. I will blog the details later. I hate debt. I am glad to be rid of it. Also, when we say "Dave Ramsey" people roll their eyes and leave the room. They hate him because of us. Whatever. We're debt freeeeeeee!

* I had an affair with Lindt Dark Chocoloate with Chili. I was never satisfied with Dove Dark Chocolate again. Don't judge me until you've walked in my shoes.

* My house is 1300 square feet. We have three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Our family has four boys and two girls. Our house is too small. And much too messy. Instead of making it larger we're going to Hawaii (in awhile). Instead of cleaning it I am blogging. (I said, don't judge me.)

* I have one single (as in, not a twin) brother, two twin brothers and two twin sisters. Yes, I can tell them all apart. No, I don't know how. I just do. I was supposed to be a triplet. My mom had an ultrasound that said there were three babies. When she went in the next time there was only me. My dad told everyone I ate them. He thought he was hilarious. My dad still thinks he's hilarious. So does the rest of my family. I'm feeling the need to call my therapist right about now ... and send the bill to Dad.


I would like to pass the Superior Scribbler Award along to OllieMom at I am Mama; Hear Me Roar. I went to high school with OllieMom so when she started her blog I thought I'd read it to be polite. Except now I check every day to see if there is a new post. If there is a new one,  I grab some kleenex because I know I'm in for it. Her writing skills are beyond and her content ... well, you just have to read it to understand.

Thanks for the award Momma Fargo!

Joy ... pure joy

This morning while checking my email I stopped by The Pioneer Woman's page. Then I screamed, wet myself, and did a happy dance while my children sat huddled in the corner terrified of the crazy woman they once called Mother.

This is what I saw ...

SEATTLE!
Saturday, April 17, 2010
5:00 pm
THIRD PLACE BOOKS
17171 Bothell Way N.E.
Lake Forest Park, WA 98155

Oh happy life. She'll be here the same day as Cop's Wives Club. Two wonderful things in one day. Not only that, but I know where that book store is. I could probably even know enough back roads to be able to avoid traffic. Maybe. But I'm making Officer Hottie drive just in case. I'm most excited by the fact that she won't be in actual downtown Seattle. Because I NEVER ever drive in Seattle. Not even near Seattle. It's busy. The roads are confusing. The hills are steep. It smells a little like salt, fish and urine. I can't even think about driving down there unless I have a passenger who can tell me when and where to turn. I prefer having a driver who will just do all the work for me. Thank you PW. I'm sure you had me in mind when you planned this.

Alison, please don't go into labor this day. Please don't make me choose. Did you hear me Baby K9? Come before or after. But not during.

I think it's settled. Now I'm off to daydream about my new BFF.