Q is for Quilt

My sweet little sister is moving to Virginia for college this week. I saw her for the last time tonight. There were tears. But enough about that. This is a happy post about the gift I made for her. Several weeks ago, I asked each member of my immediate family to donate 2 shirts to the cause. I ruthlessly slashed through them in order to make 20 cloth squares, 18 in. x 18 in. I sewed them together to make one side of the quilt and attached a black and white gingham print on the other side. It's not the most stylish quilt and it's not going to win any awards for precision. But it's something in her dorm room that will be a little piece of all of us at home.

Here come the tears again. I'm going to miss that girl.

At The Ranch

As always, we had a lovely time at Grandpa's ranch. My family has celebrated our nation's birthday at the ranch every year since I can remember. When I was a kid, we brought only our old, stained, ripped clothes to the ranch because there was only one bathroom and about 50 people. The kids didn't have priority in the tub. Now things are a little more civilized (3 toilets, 3 showers, and a shaded bowery with picnic tables), and there are fewer people that stay at the cabin. (We still celebrate with the whole extended family, but most families opt to stay overnight at a motel in town.) There are still only two tiny bedrooms though, so everyone who stays at the cabin sleeps either on the deck or in a tent. I don't understand why my fellow Johnsons would ever choose a motel room over the rhythmic crickets, milky stars, and campfire aroma. My annual trip to the ranch nourishes me in a way that a schedule, a computer screen, and a pillowtop mattress never could.

I miss you Grandpa. We all do.

Sing Your Song

At age 11 3/4, I finally got what I had wished for for years. A little sister. I called her Babe and pushed her around the block in her stroller. We danced together in the room we shared. We shared a bunk bed until I got married. She was a pretty little blonde with curly hair and big eyes. One time, she looked like this:

Now look at her.

She is fiercely loyal and always dependable. She will rub your back when you are sad and play with your hair just because.

She has sausage toes. And beautiful blue/green eyes. She is athletic and adventurous. Silly and determined.

She is the punk's favorite aunt, with good reason. She'll run and wrestle and play and laugh and pretend and sing and tickle.

No one can make me laugh as hard as she can.

And in August, she is leaving home. Sing your song, Little Sis. Then call me and tell me all about it. Okay? Okay?

Sister Day

Once upon a time, a 7 year-old girl sat in the room she shared with her sister, 12 years her senior. She was considering the current holiday, Mother's Day. She asked her big sis, "There's a Mother's Day and a Father's Day. Is there a Sister Day?" Big Sis said, "No, but we could make one." And behold! Sister Day was born.

Little Sis and I have celebrated Sister Day every year since then. We exchange gifts, we plan activities, we spend time.

She gave me this awesome mirror and a mug with a monogrammed M, perfect for hot chocolate.

I gave her the necklace in my friend Amy's blog post, seen here.

Amy also spent some time with us, taking pictures for Little Sis, who is graduating from high school in a few weeks.

Then Sister and I went out for lunch (Star of India), hot chocolate (Starbucks), a stroll (The Gateway), a movie (Something Borrowed), and dinner (Happy Sumo). Ahhhhh, bliss!

Then I had to get home to my baby before my boobs exploded.

If you have a sister, I highly recommend starting a Sister Day tradition of your own. Join us next year on the Saturday after Mother's Day. Spread the Sister Love!

Egg Hunting and Trampoline Jumping

As the only egg hunter, the punk enjoyed exclusive access to the field.

He had plenty of guidance from 3 uncles, 1 aunt, 1 grandpa, 1 grandma, 1 great-grandma, and 1 great-great-grandma.

A two year-old egg hunter is marvelous entertainment for three bachelors.

And his aunt and uncles have more energy to play than his tired parents. It's great fun all around.

While growing up, my cousin, who hailed from the east side of the valley, always looked up when airplanes flew overhead. I never noticed them. They flew over our house about every 3 minutes. Now the punk is the east-sider who notices the planes.

Uncles are fun.

Birth: A Photographic Story, Part 3

Part 3 of 3. Photos by Amy Gretchen

The most special part of the experience for my man and me was when the punk came in to meet his little brother.

He was so happy. (I have about 6 chins in this photo, but the punk's face is so precious that I don't care.)

He loved meeting his little brother. He is still as enamored by "Baby Asher" as he was at that first moment.

Two of my siblings came immediately to meet the basher: Rachel and David. I love you guys!

My parents were also there. They had been watching the punk while we were laboring at the hospital. They brought him to us and then my man's parents took him home to spend the night with them.

Isn't Little Sis beautiful?

This is Amy, my great friend and talented photographer. Thanks, Amy, for capturing this moment so beautifully!

Six Mostly Unrelated Thoughts on Music

1. I love it when my family visits me because we usually end up singing or banging rhythmically on the table or dancing wildly around at some point. Last night my brother David and Little Sis came over for dinner. After we ate, I showed Uncle Davey the piano piece I've recently learned: Linus and Lucy (aka the Peanuts theme song). While I played, he made percussion sounds with his mouth and hands and Little Sis danced with the punk. I'm happy to see that he has musical influences besides his crazy mama.
2. Why is it that when women age, their formerly lovely singing voices begin to sound like men imitating women? (See this video.) The only two women I know of who have avoided this are Dolly Parton (who I'm assuming is injected with age-defying substances) and my Grandma Valeen.
3. Steven Tyler has revitalized my interest in American Idol. I don't even miss Simon and his creepy crawly chest hair.
4. Thanks to a brilliant Christmas gift from the aforementioned Grandma Valeen: an electric guitar that plays several familiar rock excerpts, the punk knows the words to Love Shack. How many of you could sing, "Love shack, Baby!"as a two year-old? It's totally awesome. And slightly disconcerting.
5. Sometimes I wish I lived in a musical.
6. The punk's Kindermusik teacher commented today on his talent for rhythm. Thank goodness for that because it seems he is only capable of monotone singing:

Punk Subtitles:

I am a child of God

And He has sent me here.

Has given me an earthly home

With parents kind and dear.

Lead me, guide me,

Walk beside me.

Help me find the way.

Teach me all that I must do

To live with Him someday.

Sunday Faux Pas

My brother David and I attended our little sister's Young Women Standards Night this evening where we heard an entertaining guest speaker talk about the recently added Young Women value: virtue. She first addressed all the other Young Women values, saying that if only she could be considered a woman of faith, or a woman of divine nature, individual worth, etc, then she would be content. When she came to the value of knowledge, she said, "I would love to be a woman of knowledge. Not only spiritual knowledge, but sexual knowledge."

Huh?

All the heads in the congregation snapped up. She had our attention. We wondered what the next slide would be in her PowerPoint presentation. Images from the Kama Sutra? Are we in the wrong meeting?

Silent pause.

Crickets chirping.

"Excuse me, I meant secular knowledge."

This faux pas was the highlight of my Sunday. That and the fact that my brother brought a fork with him so he could scratch his itchy foot during the meeting. He just carried it right in with him. No wallet, no keys. Just a fork in his hand.

Sister Day

Little Sis and I created our own holiday 9 years ago, when we looked like this:

It's called Sister Day. Yes, we are very creative. On Sister Day this year, I posted the following status update on Facebook:

Happy Sister Day! On today's agenda: lunch, pedis, movie, photo albums.

Only spellcheck automatically corrected "pedis" to "penis." Yes, wholesome fun for everyone! Lunch. Penis! Movie. You're welcome Little Sis!

Chocolate and Herbs

My lovely mother in-law gave me this luscious set of hot chocolates for Christmas. They were decadent, rich, oh so dark, and gone in a flash. I only shared with one person, one time: Little Sis. Because I like her so much. No one else could get near them. You know... because of all the booby traps.

I mean, this is a set of real dark chocolate shavings that you add to steamed milk. Would you share? Yeah, I didn't think so. The flavors were: Dark Chocolate. (And it was. It reeeeealy was. In fact, Little Sis had to add sugar to hers. Blasphemer!) Mocha. (Oh, heaven help me!) Aztec. (It made me think I was drinking Vianne's hot chocolate in the movie Chocolat.) and Spicy.

So when I finished the last precious sip, I knew I couldn't just throw the tins away. They are very cute, and they evoke such marvelous flavor memories!

So today, I made myself an herb garden. I now have basil, rosemary, mint, and parsley. This stuff, I'll share. It's remarkable how fragrant these tiny plants are.

When my man came in and saw what I had done (and how giddy I was about it), he said in his best church lady voice, "Oh, how precious! Goodness sakes!"