Lucky Girl

Multiple high priority projects demanding my attention at the day job.

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Desire to finally pour onto the page, a few of the story ideas now swarming around inside my head.

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The Wife, Mom, Daughter, Sister, Friend thing.

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Not enough hours in the day, resulting in subsequent overload and shut down.

Until I received this…

This is an email from Mr. Man.  Mr. Man works an incredibly busy job, where he barely has time to scratch his ass.  Often when I receive emails from him they are pretty cryptic, as he only has a nanosecond to type them.  Usually it drives me crazy, but this time...

Is this Motivation to help get me through the projects at work?

Motivation to remind me that I have what it takes to succeed?

A cheer reminding me that he loves me and I rock, thereby Motivating me to continue rocking?


I think I’m going with all of the above.


Don’t hate me because I was lucky enough to catch a man like this,

Mandy:)



The Trophy's in the Mail

In recent weeks, I’ve noticed a few acts of parenting posted by friends on Facebook that went above and beyond the call of duty.


One Mom and Dad stayed up into the wee hours of the morning to blow up a bazillion balloons for their son’s birthday. Once they had them all blown up, they snuck the lot into his room and upon waking the morning of his big day, he was greeted with an ocean of balloons.

Then during the rare snow storm we were recently hit with, a father got up in the middle of the night and built a snowman in the front yard. The next morning when his 5 year old daughter woke up and peeked out the window, she spied a snowman completely surrounding by foot prints. Her only explanation was that the snowman must have been dancing to celebrate the arrival of the snow.

As I smiled over these moments, it made me remember a story of when one set of MY parents had deserved a medal.

It happened when I was 13.

My parents had recently finalized their divorce and my Dad was dating a woman name Michelle who had two young girls.

In an attempt to bring us together and let everyone get to know each other, the adults had decided we were all going camping.

The first few days of the trip were wonderful. We kids were getting along well and having a great time.

Then it started to rain.

Having lived in the land the Rain calls home for over 4 years now, I understand that oftentimes, you can simply ignore the rain and refuse to allow it to ruin your fun, but this was not that type of rain. Unlike a mist or light sprinkle, easily tolerated, this rain was epic.

Think monsoon, rainforest, Noah and his Arch! It was a downpour guaranteed to soak you to the center of your soul in seconds.

Not long after this H2O with attitude descended, we were ushered into the biggest of the tents, while my parents secured the campsite. I think maybe they thought, given the strength of the onslaught, the storm would quickly blow itself out and we’d be able to resume our regularly scheduled program. Looking out the mesh windows, I had my serious doubts. I could see my parents rushing about, their faces set in annoyed determination as, without the slightest sign of letting up, the storm raged on.

As my parents worried about damage control, my mind focused on an entirely different dilemma. Besides the obvious possibility of being washed away, the rain had thrown a serious wrench into the evening’s entertainment. The three other kids sitting in the tent with me ranged between 6 and 9 in age, and they had been promised smores.

As anyone with children knows, once a promise such as this is made, the child can think of nothing but the ooey, gooey, melty, chocolate and marshmallow, wrapped in a blanket of crispy golden graham cracker to come.

“Oh sweetie, look! It’s a rainbow!”


“What? Is it time for smores?”


“Hey, how about we all go swimming?”


“And then we’ll eat smores?”


“Who wants to catch a chipmunk and take it home as a pet?”


“Can we name it Bob…. And feed it smores?”

Sitting in the tent my 13 year old self instinctively knew it now fell on me to keep everyone happy, entertained and focused on ANYTHING except the s-word.

Except it turned out further distraction was unnecessary.

As I sat wracking my brain for something fun for 4 children to do in an 8 x 8 water logged pop tent, the entrance flap folded back and revealed Michelle dressed head to toe in a yellow rain slicker and holding a scarcely cooked, slightly mushy smore.

My parents had promised smores, and not even high water was going to stop them!

As we watched, my Dad and Michelle ran back and forth between a barely burning fire and our sagging tent to deliver one soggy treat after another.

To this day, I have no idea how they kept the fire going?

This was just one instance of brilliance in parenting that I remember. Being lucky enough to have two sets of amazing parents, I could probably write a book!

So how about you guys? Had an especially brilliant parenting moment that you are proud of? Or do you remember something your parents did that was awesome? I LOVE hearing your stories!

Remember, sharing is SEXY!!!!

As Long as I'm Living....

Tonight, like many nights of late, Miss M called out in the dark. Her tearful voice full of fear called out to Mommy and Daddy to protect her from the monsters.

Shuffling into our room, hair tousled, eyes bleary, Miss M crawled into our bed to escape the terrors lurking behind her eyelids.

Gathering her into my lap, a bundle of blankets and softly hitching breath, I held her close. I whispered the nightmares wouldn’t get her, that Mommy and Daddy would make sure they couldn’t.

Despite her cries, I carried her across the hall to her room. Hysterical in my arms, frustrated and over tired, her despair broke my heart.  Sitting on the edge of her bed I rocked her. Back and forth, back and forth, I murmured soothing sounds.  Shushing and swaying I attempted to the drive the monsters away.

As I rocked, out of the dark a trembling voice whispered, “Mama, I want to go to the rocking chair.”

With a quiet affirmation I eased off of the bed and carried my life’s love to the chair in the corner of the room. The chair I'd spied in a random thrift store while still pregnant.  The chair I’d purchased on the spot, had the saleswoman wedge into the backseat of my car, and then spent hours painting the perfect shade of apple red.

Approaching that chair, Miss M’s tiny arms around my neck, I felt my heart flutter with excitement. It’d been forever since we’d last snuggled and rocked. My nights spent cradling a sweet suckling babe, were now replaced with a bedtime routine far more busy and boisterous.

Settling into the chair my sweet one leaned against my chest, long legs dangling on either side, now gangly arms tangled in the blankie snuggly wrapped around her shoulders. With our bodies properly arranged, I slowly began to rock, back and forth, back and forth.

My hand, as if possessed of its own memory, silently fell into the well-known rhythm, up and down, up and down, feeling her strong back, and its steady rise and fall.

As we rocked, her solid weight on my lap, my thoughts began to stumble.

“So big, when did my baby get so big?”

With feet moving the chair, fingers massaging her back, I began to hum Brahms’s “Lullaby and Good Night”. I don’t recall this song from my own childhood, but from the moment I brought Miss M home from the hospital, I've been humming this song. To sooth, to calm, to cure, to relax, no matter the situation I have instinctively hummed this tune.

Rocking together, locked in embrace, my little girl who can count to 20 and sing her ABCs. Who helps me feed the cats and insists on brushing her teeth "all by herself." My beautiful daughter, so smart and so independent, nestled against my chest, eyes closed, breathing steady.

Leaning my face over her soft hair, I kissed her smooth forehead. Leaning back, still rocking, still humming, and the realization hit me. Like a stinging elastic snap in my brain, four seemingly innocent little words.

“Not a baby anymore.”

Holding back my tears, I squeezed her just a little tighter, desperate to freeze her in this moment just a little bit longer. Yet, the words repeat.

“Not a baby anymore.”

That swaddled little peanut I brought home from the hospital has grown and developed into a full-fledged little girl. With her own ideas and indestructible opinions, she’s come through the first stage of her life, and is ready and excited for the next.

Not a baby anymore, a big girl now.

The thought repeats, "a big girl now", and yet a small insistent voice inside is not satisfied.  Piping up, it calms me.

“She will always be your baby,” it whispers “always.”

Slowing the rock of the chair, I shifted my baby into my arms, and carried her over to the bed.  For now the terrors are gone, and Miss M is at rest.

My baby, my sweet one, my life’s love, asleep and dreaming dreams of color and light.

Smiling, I turn and leave.

No matter how big she gets, how much she learns, or how many new things she discovers, she’ll always be my little baby, and I’ll always be here to help her keep the monsters at bay.


As soon as I got Miss M back into her bed, I was so inspired that I wrote this post. It was partially influenced by one of my favorite children’s books by Robert Munch entitled “Love You Forever”.  Not that long ago Miss M and I would read it together, and when the mother rocked her baby “Back and Forth, Back and Forth and sang", Miss M. would rock and sing with me.


This book has always been one of my favorites, and could make me teary at the drop of a hat.  Now that I am a mother myself, it holds a new place in my heart. A place of undeniable truth.

"I'll love you forever

I'll like you for always

As long as I'm living

My baby you'll be."

Trying not to blink,
 
Mandy:)

It's a Tough Job But...

Most of the time being a parent is great. Miss M’s kisses and silly stories make Mr. Man and I smile every day. I mean look at this face!

But sometimes being a parent just sucks.

No, I’m not talking about the new wonderland of tantrums and attitude which rear their ugly heads in a child’s third year.

FYI for those of you without children… the terrible twos got nothing on what a dear friend of ours has referred to as the…

Satanic Threes

Oh yes I actually yearn for the “Days of Mo”.

Nope, I’m talking about the times you have to say NO when you really, really don’t want to.

It happened to Mr. Man and I on Sunday.

For weeks now Miss M has been asking us to take her to OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry).

Miss M has loved OMSI since she was an infant. The interactive exhibits are everything an active and curious child could want, and every parent in the Portland/Vancouver area knows it.

Mr. Man and I hate crowds, and on weekends OMSI is a mad house.

So whenever Miss M has asked to go to OMSI on a weekend when Mr. Man and I would rather have a root canal than fight the crowds our response has been,

“Awww, sorry Sweet Girl, OMSI is closed today.”

Yup, we are expecting our nomination for “Parents of the Year” to happen any day now.

But this past weekend was different. In a fit of working parent guilt, we promised Miss M that if she was a good girl at Gram and Gramps house, we would take her to OMSI.

She was ECSTATIC!

Except, when we arrived at Gram and Gramps the next morning to pick her up, the telltale signs of sick were written all over her face. Her eyes were red rimmed and running. Her nose was congested. She had a cough, and her cheeks were flushed with the beginnings of a low grade fever.

After big hugs and kisses, and announcements that she had been a very good girl she asked,

“We going to OMSI now?”

Well, crap. We both knew OMSI was the last place Miss M needed to be. She needed to be at home, in her PJs, cuddled on the couch, with her blankie watching movies.

Did I mention that sometimes being a parent sucks?

We waited until we were in the car on our way home to talk to her about it. We suggested maybe we should wait until next weekend to go to OMSI, when she was feeling better and could have fun playing.

Familiar with the 5 Stages of Loss?

Denial: “But Mommy, I’m not sick! I wanna go to OMSI!”
Anger: “But Daddy, you said if I was a good girl, we would go to OMSI!”
Bargaining: “Mommy, maybe we could go to OMSI for just a little while, and then go home… okay?”

Then Depression, and this one was the worst, as it completely broke my heart.

Mommy and Daddy had promised, and she was really excited, and she’d been such a good girl… and Mommy and Daddy had PROMISED.

With her little chin quivering with frustration and sadness, and her sweet voice trembling as she insisted she wasn’t sick and she wanted to go to OMSI, we had to be the responsible parents and stick to our guns, because that is what being a parent is all about.

It’s not about your child liking you. It’s not about doing what’s easy. It’s about doing what is BEST for your child, even if it breaks your heart into a million pieces.

On Sunday I listened to Miss M cry with disappointment.

I told her that I understood she was sad, and I was sorry.

I explained that sometimes we get sick and it ruins the things we want to do, but that when we are feeling better, the fun things are still there waiting for us.

Daddy and I promised, with a capital P, that we would go to OMSI the following weekend and play for as long as she wanted.

I did my best to help her understand, but in the end, Miss M is 3, and so she cried.

So, how do you help a disappointed little girl move from Depression to Acceptance… the final stage of loss?

With distraction! We offered Mac and Cheese and a new Scooby Doo movie, instead of OMSI.

Like I said… Parents. Of. The. Year.

With lunch and a new cartoon to veg out in front of, in no time all was right again in the toddler-verse.

Well, except for the nasty bug that got a whole lot worse and that now Daddy has too.

Thinking about investing in medical masks,

Mandy:)

How about you guys? Ever had to be the bad guy, even though you really didn’t want to? Any comments, feedback? I love to hear from you!

The Las Vegas of Europe

Opened coffee creamers, Adam Sandler movies and European adventures.

It was one hell of a summer. Never one of those silly girls who declare after a week of dating that she is “in love” I felt totally out of my element.

Because I was…

Undoubtedly…

In. Love.

After a mere two weeks of dating I knew this was it. This was the man I was going to marry, and Mr. Man knew it too.

But life is not like the movies. We knew to give our future the best chance at success we needed to wait. Our hearts may have said, go, go, go…

But our heads were much smarter.

After all, I was only in Europe to work and bum around for the summer. Then it was back to my studies at The University of Ottawa. I’d only completed 2 years of school and I still had 2 more to go.

Yup, I have never been blessed with good timing.

So after the requisite romantic weekend in Paris, it was time to say good-bye and brave the whole new world of…

The Long. Distance. Relationship.

Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnn.

It was a long two years, but thanks to surprise (and not so surprise) visits, really expensive long distance bills, choppy barely coherent webcam sessions and my summer work furloughs, we survived. We came out the other side knowing distance HAD made the heart grow fonder.

Watch out... I’m just full of clichés tonight!

We got engaged after our first year, and when I finally returned to Europe for good, we knew we needed a plan. See, in order for me to accompanying Mr. Man to his next station we had to have a marriage certificate (not to mention easing the whole immigration process), but being located in Europe a big wedding was out of the question. We just wanted to get “the piece of paper”, and have our “big day” later.

After a little research we knew that getting married in Germany was completely out of the question. The bureaucracy and complicated translation required was just way too much work! But how about eloping somewhere fun and new instead?

Finally we settled on Scotland. My maiden name being MacNeil and my Mom’s being McLeod, Scotland seemed perfect.

And FYI, as the title of this post suggests, it’s like the Las Vegas of Europe.

Well, minus the gambling and singing Elvis.

We simply sent in our required paperwork and documentation, with our requested wedding date, waited and few weeks and, VIOLA! One easy-peasy courthouse wedding.

We arrived in Edinburgh the day before our official day, and did the tourist thing. We scoped out the Royal Mile and the castle. Upon rising the morning of the big day we decided to cram in just one more attraction before the big “I DO”. Believing the tour was a mere 20 minutes we chose the creeptastic “Mary Kings Close”. A guided tour of a portion of the city that was walled up during a time of plague, it was reportedly haunted and definitely intriguing.

As we followed the Guide through the dusty twists and turns of another time, hearing one chilling tale after another, we lost all sense of time, and when we emerged an hour later squinting into the afternoon sun our only thought was, “Sh$t! We’re going to be late for our own wedding!”

Barreling into the hotel room we tore through our luggage, hauling on the bits and bobs of our simple wedding attire, and in 20 minutes we were back in a cab and hurtling towards City Hall. Out of breath and slightly sweaty we rushed into the appropriate office, and were greeted by the calm smiling face of our Justice of the Peace.

“Relax loves, we’ve got loads of time!”

She ushered us into her office, got us a glass of water and asked, “Do you have witnesses?”

“Umm…. we were told we could find them here?”

“Oh, absolutely! Shall I go find them, or would you like to?”

Pointing out that this was our first time and we didn’t really know how to go about finding witnesses, she told us to sit tight and rushed from the room.

15 minutes later she returned with two women.

“These will be your witnesses. Julie and Julie… they are on their lunch break.”

Greeting the newest members of our wedding party, we quickly went over the paperwork and having confirmed the details were correct followed our Officiate into a small room, with a podium. I gave our camera to one of the Julies, asking her to take pictures, and then took my place in front of Mr. Man.
We joined hands.

Simple vows were exchanged.

Rings were given.

A kiss was shared.

And in the blink of an eye I was officially Mrs. Man.

We celebrated in true Scottish style with a Steak and Haggis diner.

I still can’t believe that was 8 years ago. It was our first adventure as man and wife. We’ve had MANY MANY since, and I know we have MANY MANY more to come.

And I can’t wait!


Time flies when you’re having fun,

Mandy:)

Boy meets Girl

In honor of 8 years of marriage, I thought I’d share, the crazy mixed up tale of how Mr. Man and I met, fell in love and eventually “made it official”.

Like most everything in Mandyland, the story is far from normal!

Mr. Man and I met in Germany. He was a serving member of the United States Air Force, and I was a Canadian Military Dependant. Mr. Man was stationed on the same NATO Base as my Dad.

Upon arriving the summer of 2001, to work and bum around Europe, my life changed forever.

We met the first day I arrived. Bleary eyed and fighting jetlag, I’d agreed to join my parents in attending a friend’s BBQ. When we arrived, my parents began introducing me to everyone, and amidst greetings and handshakes, I spotted Mr. Man across the yard.

It was NOT love at first sight…

But I was interested…. just not in that way. My first thought on spying Mr. Man was,

“Finally! Someone my age to hang out with!”

See, up until that point my sources of companionship were looking bleak. My choices were my parents, who although always a blast (see Oh, Oktoberfest? Um, Ya!), were… well… my parents. Or, my 18 year old brother and his stoner buddies…

I was 20… and not a stoner in ANY stretch of the imagination…

So…

Ya.

Now you understand my excitement.

My story of that evening is that Mr. Man and I chatted, and got to know each other a little bit. He talked about going to the clubs later, and I responded that I was totally jetlagged, but maybe another time. It was friendly, nice, and mostly normal.

I vaguely remember a line of conversation centered on wearing a fez and driving a tank…. So ya, definitely MOSTLY normal.

However, if you ask Mr. Man about his impressions of our first meeting… apparently, I was a bitch. Short, shutting down his attempts, cold…
I call bull and insist to this day I was charm personified… well, jetlagged charm at the very least.

As the evening wound to an end, I followed my parents to their vehicle and bid adieu to Mr. Man. I was secretly peeved he hadn’t asked for my number, but I figured we’d run into each other eventually. After all, the base wasn’t that big.

Fast forward about 5 days. Having not yet secured summer employment, and thereby lacking in further social introductions, I was BORED! In a country where the television was all in german and Facebook did not yet exist, I’d resorted to… puzzles.

Yup, you heard me… puzzles.

So, when the phone rang I was sitting at the dining room table attempting to assemble 1500 pieces of obscure European countryside, secure in my party-of-one status.

Imagine my surprise, when my Step-Mom called out that it was for me?!?

Well, I guess I wasn’t as repellent as he claims, because it was Mr. Man, calling to ask me out! After agreeing to call him when I was ready, I had just one question,

“How did you get my number?”

“Oh I asked Paul.” (A friend of my parents and his superior)

Hmmm, interesting. He got points for initiative!

Hanging up the phone, I turned to find my Step-Mom hovering right behind me.

“Who was that?”

“Umm, Mr. Man… you know from the BBQ?”

“How did he get your number?”

“Paul gave it to him.”

Cue Michelle, calling Paul, to rip him a new one for giving her daughter’s number out to strange men. I think she was joking… mostly.

About 45 minutes later, I was ready to roll, and called Mr. Man to pick me up.

“Great! Where do you live?”

“Gangelt, on Mecator Strasse, just off the traffic circle in Gangelt.”

Ha, that’s right! After only one week in Germany I knew exactly where to tell him to go. Just call me a master of directions! Drop me blindfolded in the middle of a field, without compass and map, and my keen sense of direction will guide me back! That’s right! I was practically a savant!!!

“Which traffic circle?”

Um, what? Which traffic circle? There was more than one? There are traffic circles all over the area? Oh, really? Oh, hmmm, well…

(I should probably confess this was only the first of many adventures resulting from an overly confident belief in my “keen” sense of directions. A story for another time…)

At this point, all the members of my family who had lived in Germany for MORE than a week, were out. It was just me and the dog. So, I cobbled together the best directions I could manage, which were generally useless, and had faith that Mr. Man would find me.

And thankfully, he did.

And we had ice cream and beer.

And I spilled my coffee creamer all over the crotch of my pants.

Which, although embarrassing, led to Mr. Man opening my creamer for me for the next 2 months.

During which time we were inseparable.

Which led to…

More to come,

Mandy:)

My Mom

57 years ago today Ruth and Rod McLeod welcomed to the world their first child, Karen Jean McLeod.

25 years later, she became my Mom.

Then 28 years after that, she was by my side as I became a Mom.

Here she is with the teeny, tiny Miss M.

My Mom is quite possibly the most loving and positive person I have ever met. She is ALWAYS there when I need her, and always dolling out exactly the medicine I need.

If I need a shoulder cry on, her arms are spread wide.

If I need to whine and complain, she’s there to listen. Uttering caring words of understanding, and then giving me the swift kick in the rump I need to take action and fix whatever the problem may be.

She helps me understand that I am not a super hero, I am not perfect, and that I can’t control everything.

When I begin spinning out of control, rapidly rising off the ground and into the stratosphere of the unrealistic.

Piling on too many expectations.

Being too hard on myself.

Trying to make everything perfect.

My Mom is there, reaching out, grabbing me firmly by my big toe, and hauling me back down to earth.

Whether I like it or not.

She has instilled in me a love of the written word and a passion to create.

Growing up she was never without a good book, and she was always exploring new creative outlets.

Ceramics, knitting, needlepoint, and most recently quilting.

Her creations are gorgeous and I treasure every gift she creates just for me!

Her smile is genuine and her laughter contagious.

I love it when I can make my Mom laugh!

My Mom is beautiful.

She is bursting with a loving kindness that only further enhances her physical beauty.

My Mom's love of her family is unconditional.

She tells me I’m amazing and talented and smart.

She says, I never cease to amaze her with my ideas and goals and dreams.

She encourages me to never give up.

To dream. To believe. To act with the certainty that I have what it takes to achieve anything.

My Mom is my rock.

And today is her day.

So, Happy birthday to my amazing mother!

Enjoy your day, soak up the attention and know you deserve it all!

Wish I could be there to celebrate with you!

Love you!!!!

XO

Mandy:)

Happy Birthday Auntie Em!!!

So, my daughter’s name is not Dorothy, but she is still lucky enough to have an Auntie Em. In fact whenever the stars and planets align and I get to visit with my sister, who lives on the other side of the continent, I can’t help but grab a hold of the nearest piece of furniture and yell,

“It’s a twister Auntie Em! It’s a twister!”

Early on I made it clear, she must find and marry a man named Henry, so Miss M could have an Auntie Em and Uncle Henry.

However, contrary to my wishes, she met and is in a serious relationship with a guy named Cory… but when I meet him I think I’m going to call him Henry.

What?

I think he looks more like a Henry!

Anyway, today Auntie Em turns 27.

I met her when she was 8, when her Mom and my Dad were dating.

I CANNOT believe it has been 19 years!

In that time I have watched a little girl grow into an amazing woman.

Firstly, she is GORGEOUS!

When Miss M was born, and I saw her amazingly long and thick eyelashes, my first thought was how nice it was she had inherited them from her Auntie Em.

Until I remembered they are not actually biologically related…

With her dark hair, covetous lashes, full lips and hourglass figure, Emilie reminds me of a modern day Snow White.

Could she be waiting for her prince charming to wake her up?

Nope, not this girl!

Emilie is too busy to wait around! If there is work to be done, a party to be planned or a volleyball to be rescued before it hits the floor, she’s got it covered!

Over the years, I have often thought of Emilie as a Little-Momma-in-Training. She cares deeply about the people in her life, and strives to make sure they are happy, healthy and loved.

It you are celebrating a special day, Emilie wants to make it extra special!.

If you are having a hard time, and need a laugh, Emilie to the rescue!

If Emilie is your friend, she is your friend for LIFE!

Her dedication and devotion inspires me every day.

Emilie never settles. Once she makes her mind up about something, she wants to do it the best it can be done. Nothing less will do.

Sometimes, she bites off more than she can chew…

But most of the time she ends up with an amazing accomplishment that she can be proud of.

I know I’m proud of her.

Of all my siblings, Emilie is the most sensitive. After, working with my sister Myriam to create a video montage for Emilie’s University graduation, we gave her a box of tissues before we hit play.

She’s probably crying right now…

So, everyone raise a tissue for Emilie… better known as Auntie Em…

27 today and your adventure is just beginning, the really exciting things are just around the corner.

I can’t wait to sit back and watch as they unfold.

As your older sister I command you to STOP, SIT and HAVE A DRINK!!!!

You deserve it!

I love you!!!

Mandy:)

Happy Birthday to My Littlest Sister!

Today my baby sister turns 23 years old. I can’t say I know that many 23 year olds, but I’m pretty sure she is the coolest one out there. We met when she was 5 and I was 12. My Dad and her Mom were dating and it was time for the kids to meet. I’d love to say we hit it off instantly, but that would be a SERIOUS lie.



Only having a brother I hade no idea of the complexities of a sisterly relationship. I soon found out when I was put in charge of babysitting Myriam and her 8 year old sister Emilie, that sisters have WAY more to butt heads about then a brother and a sister. They fought about everything!

At my wits end as to what to do about the never ending squabbling, I asked my Dad for advice. His solution was for me to immediately send them to their rooms whenever they fought. No matter who started it, what it was about… no excuses, no exceptions. And so I put it to the test. One night they began to bicker about a set of markers and I nipped it in the bud, sending them both to their rooms.

Soaking up the silence I went into the kitchen to tidy up from dinner. Suddenly I heard something, a quiet, whispering giggle, followed by a door closing. Putting down the dish I was washing I went into the hall to investigate. The giggling got louder as I approached their closed doors, and then I saw it. A yellow post it note on Myriam’s door. Here is what it said,

“Mandy has big boobs”

Please keep in mind that this insult was coming from a 6 year old. To this day I can’t recall this moment without laughing out loud!

Myriam is my beautiful, talented and creative little sister. Her creations inspire me all the time. I love seeing the things she imagines.



She is quick to laugh and that laughter is infectious. Her smile is always genuine and heartfelt.



She's a little bit crazy,



And a little bit quiet.



She lives her life outside the box, always looking to be a little different, a little quirky, and most importantly having a little fun!

She bucks trends for trends sake. She is rarely a sheep, always being true to her own personal beliefs and style before following the crowd. She might not know 100% who she is yet, but she is definitely working on it! Searching for what makes her happy and then making plans to chase it with all her heart and soul.



In short I think she is pretty amazing. She is full of dreams and ideas, and I seriously can’t wait to see what direction life will take her.

So here’s to my sweet little sister. I really can’t believe you are 23! I still picture you as the little girl begging me to watch “Grease” or “Thumbelina” with you for the 100th time. Wherever the time has gone it is chocked full of amazing memories. I wish I was there to have a glass of wine with you to celebrate the day, but since I’m not, be sure to have an extra one for me.



Happy, Happy, Happy, Birthday Sweets!

LOVE YOUR BIGGEST SISTER,

Mandy:)
XOXO

Feeling the Love!

Apparently, a couple little birdies were listening to my pleas for a vacation from my life, and have since delivered into my hands a ticket for the Munchkin and I to go to Europe for three weeks to visit my parents. My Dad and Step-Mom Michelle have not seen Madeline since before she was walking, so I am so excited for them to meet the little person she has become.

Well, minus the sonic screaming and full body thrashing, anyway.

One of the little birdies was told to give me a card with the surprise tickets inside. This is what I got,



It’s a piece of paper with a FAKE ticket printed on it. Maybe, in my dreams I fly first class, but in reality I’m herded onto the plane and shunted into economy with the rest of the cattle.

Not the prettiest way of springing the surprise, but I’m going to Europe, so really… who cares?

Counting the sleeps,

Mandy:)

Special thanks to my little birdies, Dad, Michelle and Colby, who are making this happen. A girl couldn’t ask for better! XOXO