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It's up.

And running.

Mostly. :)

on sisterhood

Sisters.

I have one.

This post isn't about her.

She's brilliant, gorgeous, athletic, funny. I waited 14 years for her. She gets her own post. This isn't it. This post is about a different kind of sisterhood.

Before I go into it let me tell you this, I was one of *those* girls in high school. To all the girls I went to high school (or junior high school) with, I apologize. I wasn't the boyfriend stealer. I wasn't a snob. I wasn't a bitch (Actually, I probably was a bitch. Feel free to tell me if that was the case. I'm doubly sorry for that.) I just didn't have girlfriends. I started out having girlfriends but as girls sometimes do we betrayed each other. We acted snarky. Talked badly of one another. Lost touch. And ultimately stopped talking at all.

So I eventually just hung out with the guys. All guys (Jordan, I'm talking to you if you're reading). And I had fun. Guys aren't catty or bitchy. They don't care what you're wearing to the prom. You can make them a pie and they are just happy you made them a pie. They don't try to make a pie better than you or curse you out for trying to outdo their pie. I went on 'dates' with guys. To concerts with guys. To pizza with guys. I studied with guys. Rode around (and got stuck) in a 4 WD pick up with guys. Listened to Metallica (and some George Strait and Joni Mitchell, we were a varied group) with guys. Watched Monty Python with guys. I think you get what I'm saying. I hung out with guys. The memories are good. Very good.

But I missed girls.

Here's the thing about girls: We are in constant competition with each other. Who has the smarter kid. Who is skinnier, prettier, smarter, funnier. Who has the better (or worse) husband. Who has the bigger or nicer house or car. Who. Is. Better.

I don't get it.

And here's what I know, when you meet a girl that you don't have to feel like you're in competition with, hang on to her.

Recently someone I only barely knew in junior high commented on my blog post about secrets. It said this:

Joni, I'm a lurker on your blog and, well, just read this: http://stefdwe.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-blogging-inspiration-aka-im-so.html.

So I went there. Cause what am I, some kind of jerk? And what did I find? A blog post about me. Yep me.

Little ol' insignificant imperfect me.

I hope you read it because it drives what I am about to say home.

When I read it I was awed. Just awed. Here is this sister, beautiful, intelligent with a beautiful family and an enviable life and she is talking about how I make her feel inadequate. How she actually AVOIDED reading my blog because of this feeling. (Read her blog by the way, it's really good.)

Which is, you see, why I had to write this.

Because when I look at the Pioneer Woman I feel inadequate. She is a blogger extraordinaire. She cooks. She's witty. She homeschools. She leads an interesting life. She wrote a BOOK for godsake.

But she's my sister too.

And here's the truth: I'm not inadequate. And neither is Stefanie. And neither is anyone else reading this or any other blog.

We have the same struggles. We share the same hopes and fears. We want the same things for our families, our children.

We are sisters.

And we should act that way. We shouldn't have to blog about it because it should just be.

We should help each other through nursing school.

These sisters were there when I thought I couldn't write one more care plan.

They should stand by each other through whatever.

These sisters? I've know them since I was a punky little kid. My wedding wouldn't have been like it was without them (like I wouldn't have had flowers because I couldn't cut 575 stems alone, 8 and a half months pregnant.)

They should fix your hair when you get married.

Like this sister.

And they should be there when you have your babies.

This sister rubbed my back for at least 6 hours. The one up there ^. She took all the pictures.

These are a few of my sisters.

And I treasure them.

Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister. ~Alice Walker

LLL and other things on Tuesday

Today was La Leche League. This is a meeting that happens once monthly where breastfeeding moms (and not breastfeeding moms) get together and talk about... you guessed it, breastfeeding. Well really besides that what happens is ladies can feed their babies without anyone looking at them like they are weird. It's nice. I wish the whole world was one big perpetual LLL meeting.

Also we had a nice lunch afterward. Good news. I can still speak a language other than baby.

Here are Ella and I. Please note: Wearing 15 year old daughters scarf.



She is trying to eat my face. Don't worry I fed her before she got too much of it in her mouth.

Next item of business:

Hubs asked me about my blog the other day. He doesn't usually so this was big news.

It went like this:

Hub: Have you been updating your blog?

Me: No.

Hub: Why not?

Me: Because I don't have anything interesting to say.

Hub: You're always talking about happy stuff, you should talk about some hard stuff too.

Me: Good idea. What?

Hub: I don't know. Something hard. (BTW this is my version of what he said. He sounds far more intelligent than that.)


So here I am... I used to keep a pretty busy blog about weight loss.

But then I got skinny. Who wants to read about that?

Guess what? I'm not skinny anymore.

More on this later.

Also it looks like pretty soon I'm going to start guest blogging for Attachment Parenting International. That'll be fun.

News to follow.

Also... Don't tell my husband but staying at home has me a little freaked out. (Just kidding. He already knows.) Anyway. I've been an "at home" mom before. I love to cook and clean and craft and raise kids. Seriously. I was born to be domestic. My mom told me when my first darling baby was born that my the time she was 6 weeks old I wouldn't be able to get to work fast enough. Wrong. So so wrong. I cried EVERY DAY for months taking her to the nanny. I wanted to be home. As a mom it's all I've ever wanted. Suddenly though I feel like I have nothing vital to add to any conversation. Who wants to hear about homebirth? Breastfeeding? Co-sleeping? (Someone besides you Staci. You put up with me. Lord bless ya.) Also I'm afraid to run out of money. It's gonna happen eventually. And I'm afraid I'm a lousy mother. What if my kids hate me? I'm afraid I'll forget how to be a nurse. Oh my gosh, what if can never ever start an IV again? Then I'm afraid when I do go back to work no one will want to hire me because I forgot how to be a nurse. They can TELL. Oh and I'm afraid I'll forget how to have an adult conversation. Goo. Gah. What? You don't speak baby?! (I don't speak baby either. As far as I know babies speak the same language we do, they just don't know how to make words yet.) And I'm afraid of the day I have to go back to work. NO. I don't want a stranger taking care of my baby. It's a lot of afraid in case you didn't notice. Mostly I'm thankful to be at home. And scared for the day that isn't the reality anymore.

Those are the things maybe some mommy bloggers think about but don't say. My (Former. I think I have to call her former now that her brother and I aren't married anymore) sister in law, and one of my favorite people in the history of people, used to say, "I just wish we could all wear t-shirts that said the things we don't want people to know. Things like ' I yell at my kids'. 'I eat too much fast food/chocolate/meat.' 'I don't know the last time I exercised.' 'My husband and I fight. All the time.'' 'I don't recycle."

She's a smart one that lady.

It's true though. No one wants to say they're fat, mad, miserable, broke, too in debt, grouchy, have PMS, dislike their husbands, want to yell at their children. And if you talk about these things are you interesting? Honest? A jerk? I'm not sure.


I do know one thing though. You're about as interesting as you think you are.