The Sister I Never Had, Her Husband and Their Six Children

Growing up, I always wanted a younger brother.  Being that I already had an older brother, you may find it odd that I wanted a younger brother.  Sure, a sister would have been nice - and to be honest, I would have been happy with either a sister or a brother - but I thought that if I had a younger brother, I could torment him the way my brother tormented me.  (A truth in life: a big brother will torment his little sister and said little sister will continue to worship the ground he walks on.)  My big brother was always too strong, too fast, too clever for me to retaliate against.  I figured that I would have a good four or five years of picking on my little brother before he grew big enough to pick on me.  ...yes, I gave this a lot of thought.

In the end, God and my parents never gave me that little brother (or sister), but what I did get was my cousin Jenny.  We grew up 3000 miles apart from one another, but somehow, Jenny has managed to be the closest to a true sister I have ever come.

Growing up, I spent my summers with Jenny, whether it be at her house or at mine.  I have memories of us creating synchronized swimming routines in my backyard pool - with Jenny managing to hold her nose the entire time because she could not swim - and of that winter she visited when my mom said "if I'm going to fly you to Maryland to see snow, there better be a damned blizzard!" and, of course, there was.  Jenny was stuck in Maryland for an extra week or more because the airports were shut down due to all the snow.  Being a child of a Navy officer, I have memories of other girlfriends throughout my childhood, but they are limited.  They begin and end with someone moving away.  Jenny is different.  She was there for every stage in my life, even if just for a moment.

For the past two weeks, I have been visiting Jenny and her family in their new home, located about as far away from me and my family as Jenny could get - Washington state.  (Jenny's husband is in the Navy and his last orders brought the family to the Pacific Northwest.)  It has been two years since I have seen Jenny and her kids, but I feel like it was just a month ago that I was visiting them in Texas.  Since my last visit, Jenny and Josh have added two new children to their family and I have added one.  Together, we have nine children and it's incredible experience being in the house with all these cousins!  The kids picked up right where they left off and we adults did the same.  I know the next time I get to see them, no matter how much time has passed, it will still feel like Life has been on pause.  The only way we can tell that time is still moving forward is the kids keep getting bigger and there always manages to be more of them.  :-)

Jenny, Josh and a small brood of children

I wanted to take this moment to thank Jenny and Josh for welcoming me and my children into their home.  Josh deserves a special thank you and some sort of award. I cannot count the number of times he has let Jenny and I "escape" from the house without any children so that we can have time together.  That means he was left with a newborn, two toddlers, three preschoolers and three more children to boot.  One man; NINE children.  And not one true complaint.  Hmm ... it seems Jenny and I have more than just a bloodline in common: we both married exceptional men.  And yes, Josh is definitely an exception to the rule - unfortunately.  Right ladies???

I also wanted to thank Jenny for her friendship over these past 20-some-odd years.  It's not easy having me for a friend, this I know.  I'm honest and blunt and demand a lot of the people around me, though I often fall short of my own expectations ... I'm working on that.  She has accepted me as I am, despite my faults and has continued to love me and defend me all these years.  I may not know what true sisterhood is, but I'm pretty sure that's it.

Mini-Tiffany and Mini-Jenny, creating their own memories

By the way: her name is not short for Jennifer.  Her name is Jenny.


"Me and Jenny goes together like peas and carrots." - Forrest Gump (and me).

Two Roads Diverge in a Yellow Wood I know ...

Nine years ago, a bleached, spikey haired soccer player with skater pants and an affection for punk music sent me an instant message on the now antiquated AOL. Those words set me on the path of life as I know it now. “Do you want to go running?” The first time he asked, I said no. He was obviously in better shape than I was and I did not want to embarrass myself. After all, I was his RA; I had to save face. I believe it was the second time he asked that I agreed. There I found myself, running uphill beside this guy I barely knew; huffing and gasping for air as he leisurely jogged beside me, pretending that it was much more than a stroll for him. I tried to carry my end of the conversation he was intent on having and found that I really liked this guy that, by appearances, I had little in common with.

After our runs, we would sit under the stars and talk. These were the “get to know you moments” that I love to think back on. I learned that he liked to eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby after a run - in one sitting! My preference was Chunky Monkey. Being the lady I am (and with a much slower metabolism), I often opted not to gorge myself on ice cream. What I did not realize in those early days is that this guy I found easy to talk to was falling in love with me. I had never known love and didn’t know what to look for. From his experiences, he knew what he wanted and, it would seem, he had found it. Me.

So it began. And so it is. Brad no longer bleaches his hair, his musical repertoire has broadened and his pants have gotten skinnier, but he still has a great smile and the charming personality I fell in love with. Think back to our favorite B&J flavors. He’s my Chubby Hubby and I’m his Chunky Monkey. It was meant to be.

Thank you Brad for asking me to go running.

The Original Ace of Cakes

You may not realize it, but my mom is an artist.

Long before novelty cakes filled the bakery section at the grocery store, my mom was decorating masterpieces at our kitchen table. Over the years, she has created thousands of cakes to celebrate birthdays, retirements, holidays, special achievements, etc. etc. It’s hard to remember an occasion that has passed without my mom making a cake for it. If ever I need a thoughtful, carefully decorated cake, I ask my mom. I am guaranteed to have a cake that is not only beautiful but delicious!

You remember superlatives from way back when, right? They were all the rage among the Senior class in high school. Who was Most Attractive, Most Athletic, Most Likely to Succeed, etc. When we got our yearbooks at the end of the year, we sat around and gossiped about the accuracy of the awards. I remember my freshman year lacrosse coach gave out team superlatives. I was given Best Smile and Most Optimistic (or something like that). Why? Because when we’d lose a game – and we almost always lost the game – and everyone would have a storm cloud hanging over their head on the bus ride home, I was happy and cheerful and wondering why everyone was in such a funk. How could you be upset if you tried your best? I know I did the best I could warming the bench!

Ah yes, now you remember what a superlative is! If I were to give my mom a superlative, it would be Unsung Hero. She volunteers and is often volunteered to do many things to help others out, from picking up extra hours at work, to baking a cake for so-and-so’s retirement, to baking a lasagna for her son’s neighbor after his house caught on fire, to watching her grandkids with little notice so her only daughter can work an unpredictable and often chaotic schedule. I know my mom does not like telling people “no” when she is feeling overwhelmed and overburdened because she sees their need and wants to help as she can. I think that is what makes her an unsung hero: she gives her time and talents to help others even though she may receive nothing in return.

I want to end this entry dedicated to my mother with an exchange from my early teen years. (I hope my mom does not feel this is TMI because she is usually private about such matters … oh well, my blog, my decision!) We were visiting family in Texas, as we did every summer, when my grandmother’s refrigerator broke down. Without skipping a beat, my mom talked the situation over with my dad and bought a new fridge for my grandma. I remember thinking how my parents couldn’t afford such a large purchase and asking my mom about it. Her response has stayed with me and has guided me over all these years. When you do something to help another person, even if it seems outside of your means, the "good" that you gave will come back to you when you find yourself in need.

Kill Them with Kindness

I’m sure I’m not the only person out there who has one or two people in their lives that makes them feel like a thirteen year old all over again: petty, immature and insecure.  No matter how much you try to befriend them, get to know them better as individuals or show them that you are someone worthy of love, you always find that you’ve been rejected.  Time and time again, I have been rejected by a few people in my life that I just don’t understand why.  Maybe they are not happy with what I have to offer and they expect more or something different, but this is me.  If you have not found a way to love me as I am, with all my imperfections and misplaced good intentions, then I guess it’s just not going to work out between us.  But I will keep trying because I’m foolish and believe that if I’m nice to you, one day you will return the favor.

Then there are the people in our lives who we’ve had a minor conflict with that, for some silly reason, has never been resolved.  We don’t hold a grudge and are not even upset about what happened, but too much time has gone by without reconciliation and the friendship has just sort of vanished. 

You might be that person that receives one of my cards and questions why.  Maybe you will think you are one of the people this post is talking about.  Quite possibly.  All the same, I think it’s important that you recognize that you did something I am grateful for; perhaps many things.  You may not care for me as an individual and you may prefer that I was not in your life.  I may have done something to personally offend you.  If so, for that I am sorry.  I tend to offend more people than I realize.  Those nearest and dearest to me have – graciously – overlooked my offenses or are as oblivious as I am to them.  As it stands, our lives have crossed at one point or another and we are both forever changed by that.  Our paths may cross again in the future.   As long as you do not hurt me or mine, you are welcome to continue not liking me for all of eternity. (Personally, I would not want that cross to bear.)  My hope is that you may learn to accept me, and others that do not meet your expectations, as I am.

PS, thank you.

The Lenten Spirit Lives On

And my Thank You Project continues.

Since the end of Lent, I have taken a small break from writing thank yous, all the while continuing my list.  With the passing of my Aunt Patsy, a quick trip to Texas, spraining my knee for the second time in a month and some work drama, I’ve just needed a chance to veg out -- mentally at least.  Now, I am back at my project with renewed vigor.  Yes, vigor!

Over the past couple of months, I have done a lot of reflecting.  Times are hard for my family and I believe that to be the case for many of us.  Like most people, the cost of my food, gas, housing, utilities, etc. has risen while my work compensation has remained the same.  In my line of work, the only way to make more money is to work more hours, which is an expense in and of itself – increased gas and childcare costs, wear and tear on my car, and missed time with my family to name a few of the costs of working more hours.  To be honest, I just don’t feel that working a few 15 hour days a week is worth the extra cost, especially not when the cost for me to get to work has gone up about 20 to 40%. 

I have heard it said that during tough economic times, people turn more to their faith and their faith community.  That could be true.  Since gas and food costs are becoming out of reach, I find myself praying more for prudence in financial decisions.  Brad and I have a history of “keeping up with the Jones,” and I do not want that for our future.  When we graduated college, we were told we would have high paying jobs, we should buy a house, we could afford $50,000 to 75,000 more than we felt comfortable spending on a home because we had a “high earning potential” as recent college graduates, etc .  We bought into it all and now we’re trying to swim upstream in an effort to recover from the downfall of our decisions. [Mixed metaphors anyone? J] We are in a period of our lives together where we realize we need to rely more on each other and our family and have faith that these times are temporary.  We will reach a point when we can look back and see how we came together during rough times rather than falling down and apart.

Working on my Lenten resolution has also brought me closer to my faith. I have spent a considerable amount of time reviewing the positive experiences of my life and acknowledging the roles that others have played.  I am conditioning myself to see the good things in what people do for me and for others.  I have heard “if you can’t change the circumstance, change the perspective.”  This has been my mantra for years now.  Yes, TypeWell people, you can thank Judy for this. J For instance, I cannot change the circumstance that I have a financial need to work every day and be away from my children, but I can change my perspective on things.  I can be thankful that my kids are happy and being well taken care of by a family friend; I can be thankful that I have a job in a bad economy; I can be thankful that I have a “client” who has requested my services for almost three years now and has provided me consisted work.  I could go on.  I am an optimist at heart.  I believe there is good in everyone and (most if not) every situation.  This Lenten season, I was reminded of the inherent good in everyday interactions.

One thank you too late/ A small tribute

The night before I got married, my family held the traditional wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.  Our dinner was lovely.  The meal was a choice of chicken with boursin cheese or rockfish imperial.  I tried to create a luau theme, with leis and tiki torches.  There was a pool table and video games and, the best part, an open bar!  I was surrounded by just about everyone in the world that I loved and cared for most (a few important people were not able to make the event), and I have a few classic memories to take through life with me.  The star of one such memory is my dear Aunt Patsy.
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As you can see, Aunt Patsy (along with my mom and
Grandma) was thrilled to be at my wedding! :-)


Aunt Patsy is my grandma's sister.  Since I was a little girl, she has played a leading role in my life.  Aunt Patsy, along with her sister Barbara, are what I imagine the quintessential southern woman to be. This is the woman that fed me her granddaughter's rabbit - and I thought it was chicken!  My cousin's son had diarhea and she treated him with Karo Syrup.  My brother went boar hunting with her sons.  She had one three-legged dog, one named "Red" and another named "Bobcat" that would bite you as easily as he'd look at you. And when she spoke, it was with a high-class, quite refined southern dialect; a tongue best used for spreading southern hospitality, or as us Yankees call it, gossip.

Aunt Pat's handiwork on the
cutest models available

For my wedding, Aunt Pat made just about everything that wasn't bought or borrowed.  She made my bridesmaid dresses, the flower girls' dresses, vests for the boys and my wedding cake.  The cake was delicious and oh how I covet that recipe!  She worked really hard for my wedding and I guess she decided to let loose a little at the wedding rehearsal. 

The night of the rehearsal, after dinner, I walked over to the table she was sitting at with my mom and Grandma.  I asked if everyone was having a nice time and Aunt Patsy said she was.  She held up her nearly-empty frozen margarita glass and exclaimed in her Southern drawl, "I've had four of these!"  As we all had a nice laugh, I noticed one of the tiki torches, which had not been lit due to the fire hazard it would create, was singed.  When I inquired as to which of the three had tried to light it, the other two quickly gave up Aunt Patsy.  Innocently, she said "Well, I just wanted to see if it would light."  As if it were so obvious! 

A few months ago, Aunt Patsy was diagnosed with cancer.  This past week, I learned that she had been hospitalized because tumors in her body were slowly shutting down her organs, starting with her kidneys. This morning, with my grandmother holding her hand, Aunt Patsy said her good-byes and went Home. 

As a part of my thank-you project, I wrote Aunt Patsy a card thanking her for all that she has done for me over the years.  A card she will never read.  How was I to know that in less than two weeks, she would die and that the card I wrote, thinking I would see her again, would arrive a day too late?  I wrote out the card, but didn't send it because I did not have Patsy's address on hand.  Like most of the things we put off in our lives, I thought I had more time to get it to her.  I realize now how foolish I was. 

Can we ever trust that we have more time to say "I love you," "I miss you," or even just "I was thinking of you today?"  And how often do we regret our wasted time, our sentiments falling on deaf ears?  We always take for granted the time we have with the ones we love and, in a way, we take them for granted.  I took for granted that my grandfather knew I loved him, even though the pitch of my voice was too high for him to hear, so I didn't talk to him often. Now, I wish I had screamed until my point was clear.  I take for granted that the people I love will be there when I need or want them to be.  I have experienced over and over again that this is not always true.  Will I ever learn??

When I wrote the card to Aunt Patsy, thanking her for making my wedding so special and for giving me some great childhood memories, I knew she was sick.  I knew there was a chance I would never see her again, but I didn't want to believe it to be true.  In the end, I weakly ended the letter with "I hope to see you soon."  Really, it should have read, "I may not see you again in this world.  If that happens, know that I loved you and you will live on in my memories and in the hearts of those of us who were blessed to have a chance to know you.  Love always, Tiffany"