Blue Blouse. Bugged By Belt. Temple Time.

My mother liked to use the word "blouse" when I was  kid.

She would say in  her very thick Mexican accent, 

"I found you a blouse today."

I never have liked to hear the word spoken aloud.  I especially don't like to say blouse.  It makes me feel funny.

Fussy.

Blouse.

Ew.

Why can't people just say shirt or top or round neck tunic with puffed sleeves? 

Every time my mom said blouse when I was growing up I would cringe internally.

Now I say it and cringe externally. 

I need to quit pulling so many weird faces.  It's giving me fine lines and wrinkles.

My son went to the symphony with his 3rd grade class today.  I bought him a blue shirt for the occasion. 

It felt like a good day to snap some blog pics so I wore a blue blouse.  For the purpose of matching. We don't match at all though.  We GO.  There's a difference.  Look it up.

I also wore a belt.  The belt bugs though because it does a hangy thing and there is no loop to control the motion of the ocean.

Check it.

See?  I have a dangler.  It bugged all day.  What are you supposed to do with the extra belt you got hangin'?  I tried clipping it shut with bobby pins.  But I looked especially uncool.  Too obvious.

I took my blouse and belt to the Mormon temple in Mesa, AZ.

Mesa is about a 2 hour drive from Here.

Satan tried to kill me in my blue blouse on the way back from the temple. 

A TRAIN almost got me 'cause I was distracted.  Talking to my mom.  All of the sudden I was ON A TRAIN TRACK! IN MY DAD'S TRUCK!  Train was coming.  I could SEE it!  Red lights were flashing. I was THIS CLOSE! Satan does not like when people do good and spiritual things.  (My near death experience had nothing to do with my lack of attention.  It was clearly SATAN.  I am Mexican and Mormon both, so I get to be as superstitious as I WANT!)

I'm glad I survived the Demon Train so I could come back and tell you that I had a wonderful lunch before going into the temple.

Italian.

I ate far too much and literally had to loosen my belt a notch.  It shortened the excess a bit, which was nice.

Here is my sister, Michelle, and me, in my blue blouse.

I feel snugly in my blouse and belt. Like I want to hug my serious sister.  I love my baby sis.  She is very serious and reads lots of impressive books and likes to write blog posts regarding the sins of humanity and how best to rectify them.

Michelle is far more mature than I.  Like Nephi. 

I don't think I'm Laman or Lemuel by any means.  I feel like a Zoram.  Or a Sariah sans murmuring.  Actually, no.  I am Samuel The Lamanite. 

Samuel The Lamanite was protected by God when he cried repentance to the wicked people in The Book of Mormon.  He stood on a tall wall.  Men shot at him with arrows (of outrageous fortune) but none could touch him because his work was not yet done.

I almost got hit by a train today.  So I am Sam.


My mom is the best mom in the world.  If I were to use ONE word to describe her I would use the word generous, inspired, classy, cultured, well-read, service oriented, strong, and beautiful.

I don't know what I would do without her.  I'd like to say I'd cry without her.  But she has always said, "My daughters had better NOT cry." 

She wants us to be tough.  Leaders. Spiritually self-reliant. Happy.

I am all of those things. (But I am also a crybaby.  I think I got that from my dad. :)

She did a decent job with me.

It will be a while before I wear this blue blouse again.

Time to hang it up.

It has had a busy day.


PS I am leaving town in the morning.  I am running my half marathon on Saturday.  Wish me luck! :) Hopefully Satan won't try to kill me.  I'll let ya know.

S is for Sisters

Michelle is cross stitching.  I am writing.  Coral is cross-legged on the floor making earrings out of feather and wire.

My sisters and I lock ourselves in Michelle's room last night with two enormous mixing bowls filled with watermelon and popcorn, respectively.

We watch the latest Harry Potter and cast spells on the fools who dare defy us.

We joke about men, children, immodest dress and yeast infections.

"It's the yeast you can do," says Coral.  "Rise to the occasion, why don't ya." 

We cackle in unison.

I am in Love with my sisters.  They are Magical.  Sexy.  Wickedly intelligent.  Funny.  Well read.  Creative.  Mine. 

I will shrink them down and put them in a jar and keep them on my shelf so as to protect them from the world at large.  No one will hurt them in my jar.

"Why do people say 'at Large' when someone is at Large?" I wonder aloud.  "If a criminal is caught is he suddenly at Small?  Should news reporters say, 'This just in!  Tony The Tiger has been apprehended.  He is at Small and currently being questioned by the authorities.' ?"

Through thick and thin we stand together.  Michelle is thin.  I tend to be thick by comparison.  Coral is juuussst riiight.  Like Baby Bear in the story of Goldilocks.  I DARE a Goldi-locked Girl to eat our porridge!  We will rip her limb from Goldi limb con la mirada no mas.

We speak a secret dialect.  Movie quotes.  Do all siblings have this in common?

"Oh if I just weren't a Lady what wouldn't I tell that varmit!" says Michelle as Scarlett O'Hara.

"Oh, my sweet Wesley!  What have I done?" I reply as Princess Buttercup.

"That was NOT smart! That was NOT smart!" says Coral as Bob. (What about Bob?)

One of us is constantly breaking out in song, which is far better than breaking out in hives.  We are always, always singing. 

We grew up on Camalot, The Sound of Music and Batman (the one with Jack Nicholson as Joker... still gives me nightmares.  That guy is NUTS!). 

What did you grow up on?  What are your go-to flicks in times of need?

I'll list our biggest hits.

*Practical Magic
*All Dogs Go To Heaven
*Gone With The Wind
*What About Bob?
*Labrynth
*Camalot
*The Sound of Music
*The Little Mermaid
*I could go on all day and night.  Your turn.

Do you wish you could enchant your siblings and hide them from hurt and pain?  Would you place them in a jar?  You should probably put holes in the lid so they can breathe.

Michelle, My Belle

I called her Baby up until I had my own.

"Come on, Baby," I would say as I reached for her chubby little hand.

She always sang.  She never stopped singing.

My mother would assign chores to the rest of us and say, "Michelle, your job is to sing and make everybody happy."

And she did.

I'm grateful she had blissful childhood. 

As an adult she has endured hard things. She has faced debilitating seizures that have threatened her life. 

Regardless of her trials, my baby sis has remained strong.

When she was a curly haired cherub of four I humored her.

Now she humors me.

'Let's frolick up the hill, Michelle!" I said at our family picnic recently.

"I'm far too serious to frolick," she said.

I laughed obnxiously and frolicked up said hill.  She rolled her eyes and laughed in spite of herself.

I love to make her laugh in spite of herself.  I will do almost ANYTHING to her the magic of her unreserved laughter.

Michelle loves me fiercely and is unabashed about singing my praises.  She thinks FAR too highly of me.  I don't deserve her.

As proven here, Michelle is my protector.  (Isisdro is her nom de plume.)

She may be lithe in body but is a heavy weight where intelligence and rapier wit are involved.

Michelle has had her poetry published by a fancy shcmancy Ivy League University.

Michelle knows who she is.  She stands up for the people she loves and for what she knows is right.  She is fearless in the face of spiritual opposition.

I adore this little sister of mine.

She has out grown me in so many ways.