This one's for you, Kim.

Meet Nika. She's cute when she's not chewing your arms off.

Serious blog envy and (other) stuff...

So it's been a long time since I've written anything.

So many reasons, so little time.

No, really.

Been too busy tryin' to survive in the big bad scary jungle of being a single mom/fiancee/outside sales rep/sister/relief society counselor/ puppy wrangler and not necessarily in that order. Of course I'm failing miserably in most of those areas and only mildly succeeding in the others. Not so fun.

Too many reasons and too little time.

But if I have to be honest I have to admit to another reason for not writing.

Serious blog envy.

Truly, I have a bad case of it. Does everyone who blogs have to be so dang funny? So clever? So beautiful? Have such perfect prozac-free lives?

Okay, and if they do indeedy happen to be on prozac, must they write about it so wittily, so breezily, so self-deprecatingly charming that I am tempted to rush out and talk my pill pusher into a year's supply just so I can be as interesting as them?

Sigh...

I wanted this blog to be a reflection of me and the family. You know, record little moments that I think are worth saving since I've never been great at keeping a journal. I always comforted myself with a piece of information that I picked up in a church article somewhere, sometime. A woman was having a brain operation and when the surgeon touched a certain part of her brain, hundreds of vivid memories flashed through her mind so perfectly it was as if they had just happened. The writer marveled at the brain's power and the capacity it has to record precious, and not so precious memories. Heavenly Father made a perfect video camera in our heads.

Cool, I thought. No need for a journal.

But I have the itch to write. Always have, always will.

I feel the need to wrestle with my thought and ideas, both great and small. I feel the need to capture the moments of the time I have with the kiddos. And with Kim. And the rest of my sweet crazy familia. And even nutty Nika.

So I am just gonna write. And write. And write.

Maybe I'll feel better about time passing so fast if I can capture some things on "paper." Maybe the restlessness I often feel will be soothed somewhat if I get it can Just. Get. It. Out. Maybe I'll get to know myself a bit better. Maybe I'll get to know others around me more through written observations. I'm always writing little vignettes in my head so maybe I can string them together once and for all and finish my book. Maybe I'll make it really and truly happen.

Maybe is just chock full of possibilities, isn't it?

"Allow me to introduce myself..." she said in a strange accent while bowing and twirling her fake mustache.

Emily (Pre haircut. One of my favorite pics of her) Jared. (Also pre hair cut and one of my favorite pictures of him.)

Me. (Not my favorite picture.)

"Just park it or burn it, already..."

My dad always got impatient when he had to park a car. One can't really blame him, though. He had six children, the first five being girls, followed by the only boy, and yes, we tried our darnedest to turn him into one of us. Poor Shad. Good thing he survived and is so very manly now. (He makes me say that).

So, imagine my poor dad being stuck in an awesome extra, extra long banana-yellow station wagon, complete with wood side panels, listening to five girls argue over who stole the lip gloss. The aforementioned lip gloss would end up in kiss marks on the windows of our sweet ride along with our names we wrote on the windows after we deliberately fogged them up. We had to mark our territory. You know, save our seats for the ride home.

My dad would eventually turn as red as his hair after driving around the parking lot a few times desperately looking for a parking spot and his chance to escape the banana. He didn't care if he had to walk us for ten blocks to get to where we needed to be, he just wanted out of the car. Inevitably, though, he would get stuck behind someone who couldn't seem to get their car into a suitable parking spot. My dad could park that banana anytime, anywhere so he was steamed when others didn't display the same parking finesse he was blessed with. Those people always ended up in front of dad.

It was his test.

It was his Achilles heel.

It was the thorn in his side.

He would explode soon and we all knew it, we sensed it. The bickering stopped and we all looked for the offending car to bestow upon the luckless driver the devastating Pierson glare in unison.

All was silent. We knew what was coming. We waited for it.

"JUST PARK IT OR BURN IT!!!"

My dad had erupted. Red faced and red haired, he looked just like a volcano and I swear I saw steam come out from his ears once.

As if the driver heard the volcanic eruption behind him, he meekly parked his car so the driver of the banana could park like the pro he was. Now my dad could relax and turn back to his normal color--pink. He could laugh now and focus on not losing us at the store.

My reasons for creating a blog are simple.

I want to park the car.

I want to stop circling the parking lot waiting for something to happen. I want to savor my time here with my family. I want to relish it, soak in every moment. I want to tatoo it into my lame memory, so I never forget it. I'm hoping this helps keep a record of these moments, because one thing I've learned lately, is that one's story, one's memories, are our most precious legacy. I don't want to lose them.

So, this is me parking the car.