Attn: Swimsuit makers of the world

Attn: Swimsuit makers of the world:

Why the crap are there no one-piece bathing suits in all the racks of all the stores on all the earth?


I need a one-piece for my church mission trip. (Church people tend to have, you know, standards and whatnot, you understand).

This shouldn’t be hard.

This should be fun. I lost a crapton of weight, and I should LOVE bathing suit shopping this year.

But no. NO! Instead, I am left to scour the racks of the old-women areas trying to find something that doesn’t look like it’s actually a dress made to cover every area of my body ever.

I don’t want a dress.

I just want something cute in ONE PIECE!





My sister was feeling my desperation so much that she suggested I sew two pieces together. Is that what this has come to? IS IT?

I’m at my wits end here people.



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Dear Monica,

Dear Monica,

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.

How in the name of curly hair are YOU going to be 11 freaking years old Friday?

When the crap did that happen?

It was like a minute ago that I was peering over the couch at your infant body beaming and shouting every time you would blink.



I remember wondering what your voice would sound like. I never wondered that about our brothers because I was too young to understand that new life is amazing in every way ever. (Plus they were icky boys). But with you? I got it.

Your life is amazing.

You’re amazing.

I like to say that you’re this little version of me walking around out there, but really, you’re cooler, better and tanner.

You’re funny, you’re smart and you have an incredible heart. You have a confidence at 11 that I still struggle to find at 26. You know how to find a peaceful place among all the craziness that is our totally blended family, which includes random brothers, dads and nieces/aunts. And you know that brown, never, under any circumstances, goes with black.

Also, you get me.

That’s what I love most about having a sister. You can talk to me with your eyes. Whether it’s a conversation about how mom is nuts, or about which paper shredder to buy, no words are needed. We both get it. Mom is nuts (Sorry mom). Get the cheaper shredder.

It’s a phenomenon that I wouldn’t have ever understood before I met you. And I’m old enough to know it’s special and (hopefully) to remember to never take it for granted.

I love that you’re becoming an adult. Sometimes, you even trick me into thinking you already are one. (Is that make-up young lady?)

I can’t wait to go out on the town with you, and commiserate about our umm, “time of the months,” and how lame boys are. I can’t wait to call you up late at night, when I’m crying and freaking out and have you say exactly what I need to hear. And I can’t wait to have the privilege of having you think to call me when you’re the one crying and freaking out.

My wish for you is that you’ll use every ounce of intelligence you’ve been blessed with. That you’ll never let a boy get anything he doesn’t deserve (especially your tears). That you’ll become whatever makes you happiest. That you’ll keep your pure faith in God and Jesus and all that is good. That you’ll never forget that even though bad crap happens, it also always teaches you something. And, that you’ll get to take hot showers whenever you want and sleep in more days than not.

Love your biggest fan,


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Every one loves a good “I got pulled over” story – except when it’s theirs

I got pulled over today.

The cop was all, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

And I was all, “Umm, was I speeding?”

“I paced you going 55 in a 35.”

“Really?? Wow. (Deep sigh). I’m sorry. I was umm. (mumble).”

“You were what?”

“I was just going with the flow of traffic. I’m sorry.”

“How were going with the flow of traffic? You were the lead car.”

“Oh. Sorry.”


Blink. Blink.

“Well, lucky for you, I don’t have a radar detector, so I’m just going to give you a warning. Can I have your license and insurance?”

I handed over my Wisconsin licence and my United Auto insurance, which I basically got for the price of a blue light special.


“Ya, I haven’t changed it over yet.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Umm, a few months.”

“A FEW MONTHS!! If you don’t change it within 90 days, you could be cited with not having a valid license. You need to get this changed.”

“Oh. Sorry. OK.”

Then the officer walked back to his car and I had a panic attack because I figured there were two solid reasons why this man would come back and tell me my license was as good as a toy badge and then he would arrest me and I would go to jail and have a mug shot taken and my life would suck.

ONE: The whole address thing. There must be some way that he could tell that my car had been registered to a Woodstock address for two years and therefore, I must have lived here for umm, two years and therefore my licence was not valid.

TWO: I thought maybe the whole, “I went through a toll last August and then never paid it and then ignored letters from the state about them possibly, someday revoking my license,” thing could come up.

But Thank God above and all his angles that the officer just came back over to my car with a warning.

“OK, here you go. But, just so you know, your license plate comes back as registered to a van, so you should get that changed. You could get a ticket for that.”

A van? What? I have a two-door.

“Drive safe now.”

“Umm, OK. Thanks”

And I pulled away.

With a warning.

How did that happen?

(You go knock on wood right now. Right this second. Seriously. Find some freaking wood.).

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