My Flower Girl

I can't believe what a terrible mother I am. So, you know how I told you that I took pictures of a wedding on July 3 and that Tryn was a flower girl? Can you believe that I have not showed you any pictures of Trynica from the wedding yet? I mean, seriously, what is wrong with me?!!

Trynica looked absolutely beautiful. She was pretty much the cutest flower girl ever. She was so excited to wear her "wedding dress" - Lord, help my heart when she came up to me and said, "Mom! How do I look in my wedding dress?" I thought my heart was going to stop beating for a minute. There was some definite pain around my entire midsection and some tears that had to be swallowed. It's going to be at least 20 years before she really asks me that again, right? Whew.

Ahem.

She couldn't stop twirling in her dress, it was absolutely adorable. She also did a great job actually walking down the aisle. She forgot to drop the flowers from her basket on the walk up, but remembered when she got up on the stage and so then dropped them all right where the bride was going to be standing...that still works, doesn't it? :)







And I think that Tryn danced more at the reception than anyone else, even than the bride and groom. The only time she stopped dancing for three hours was when we made her sit down and eat some dinner.

Oh, and I have a new favorite thing that Tryn is doing right now. I don't even know how she knows this song, but often she walks around the house singing, "Don't you know that I'm the one who understands you. Why can't you see-e-e? You belong with me-e-e," from You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift. I keep trying, without luck, to get it on video. If I do I will definitely post it though!

Excerpt from my childhood: Part 1

I have learned many things in my lifetime. I have learned to always turn on the light before sitting down on the toilet in the middle of the night. I have learned that, unless you like melted, it's better to eat ice cream out of a plastic bowl, it helps slow the melting process. I know that too much sugar can give me a stomachache, that I really like the color brown, and that 40 is still really very young.

Something else that I have learned is that it is never a good idea to try and put on a pair of pants while wearing shoes.

I first tried this when I was 7 years old. This was back in the 80's, when all pants had tapered legs and it was sometimes hard to just get your own foot through the ankle opening, much less an entire shoe. But, of course, when you are 7 and the world is just passing you by, why would you want to waste time taking your shoes off before putting on pants? One might ask why I was wearing shoes without pants. That is totally beside the point.

Those sneaky pants. They fooled me by allowing me to get most of my foot through until I was close enough to the bottom to think, "Yes, this is totally going to work! I don't have to take the time to take off my shoe...I'll just shove my foot right through..." And that's when it caught me. Yes, then came the point when my shoe would not budge. There might have been even be a little more pushing and shoving, further securing my shoe in its new home, before I realized that this was definitely not a good idea.

The struggle that ensued could win awards. It should be as easy as a simple tug the other direction, but no. When the shoe was not easily released from its captor, pure panic set in. It's like getting locked in a closet with nobody around to hear you cry for help. Except I didn't want to cry for help because I didn't want anyone to see me with my pants, literally, around my ankles. The ripping, pulling, tugging, and clawing, customary to what you would see in manic moods, was, I am sure, a sight to behold. I was positive someone was going to find me hours later this way and that they would have to cut the pants and shoe from my body. Panic, panic, panic, calm down, take a deep breath, it wasn't that hard to get in, therefore it can't be that hard to get out. Let's try again, tug...tug, tug...TUG, panic, panic, panic. This went on well beyond what it should have, probably only minutes but what felt like hours.

From the many lessons I have learned, one thing I know for sure. It's not a good idea to put pants on while wearing shoes. I would like to be able to say that I am a learned-my-lesson-after-one-time kind of girl. But then I would not be telling you the truth. Oh no, I am a well-let's-just-see-if-it-will-work-this-way kind of girl. Of course, I had to see if it would work with my boots and snow pants. When pants got a little wider at the bottom, surely it would work then. The same goes for trying to take your pants off while wearing shoes. Just don't try it. It's not a good idea. Instead of saving a little time by not removing the shoes first, you will waste enormous amounts of time, energy, and sanity. We all know nobody has enough of those these days.

A Whole Week?

Well, I didn't really think it was going to be a whole entire week after our trip to the Como Zoo that I would finally get pictures posted. I would have seemed so much cooler if I wouldn't have told you that I went last week and just posted the pictures like we went today or something. Then I would have seemed like an organized, on top of it, non-busy mother who is like super woman. Alas, that is definitely not me, as you find out while I am posting these pics 7 days past the event...At least I am still getting it done, right?

Ahem.

Some pictures from our little trip to Como. Oh, did I already say this? Don't ever go to Como Zoo on the weekend during the summer. You will have to be shuttled in from the State Fair grounds and your kids will have to skip their afternoon naps and they will be on a crabby sugar high after you give them ice cream so they don't freak out in the zoo.

Anyway. I didn't even have time to edit these pics. *sigh* I just promised, so here they are :)

And, unfortunately, the only pictures I got of Tryn were of her when she was really crabby sitting in the stroller, so here are some pictures of Berlin at the zoo...although Tryn was there too.

Thankful

I went to an infant’s funeral last night. Sad, sad times. The little boy, Skylar, was born with a cyst on his brain and only lived for a week. The parents had actually known since the 20 week ultrasound about the cyst. They were told many things ranging from he won’t survive the entire pregnancy to he could be born in complete health. Well, he was not. He was their first baby and he lay in a little white basket that was smaller than my laundry baskets, while pictures of him yawning, sleeping, and breathing flashed overheard.

After the funeral the dad, who is a musician friend of Steve’s, came up to me and said, “How are your girls doing?”

I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I managed to choke out, “Oh, they are fine,” without bursting into tears. All I could think was, they are great. They are healthy, they are fine, they are alive.

I am so thankful for my beautiful, healthy, spirited, funny, happy, content, alive baby girls. I am so blessed to have them and so very, very thankful for them today.

A Serious Question

Steve and I were sitting on the front porch steps last night watching Trynica run around. She would run from one end of our yard to the other, spin around, and say, “I want much more than this ovential [provincial] life!” Then she would walk around holding up a book in front of her face, then come up to me and say, “I just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk and an ogre!” Then she would go sit on the edge of the lawn and talk to imaginary sheep sitting to either side of her…this is her life right now, acting out scenes from Beauty and the Beast. This is our life.

This also leads to dramatized reactions to other things. For example, on Sunday morning I was trying to get a sliver out of Steve’s foot. Tryn walked up and put her hand over her mouth with the exclamation, “Oh!” Then, with her hand moved up to cover her eyes, she said, “That is so gross!” Hilarious.

Tryn loves to dance, loves to sing, and loves to walk around the house pretending to play instruments (especially the trumpet and trombone). She loves to act out scenes from movies.

Here is my serious question: Do we pursue that or run the other way as fast as we can (i.e. ignore it for as long as possible:))?

I always said that I would want to and let my kids be whatever they wanted to be. However, as much as I love dancing and would love to go to every single dance recital, I don’t want Tryn to be a dancer. The majority of dancers are anorexic and deal with lots of broken bones and joint issues. I also don’t want Tryn to be an actress. I don’t want her to end up with that kind of unhealthy lifestyle that many actresses have and I don’t want her life to be that publicized. She is too sensitive to have the harsh life of an actress. Maybe she could be a singer, but that is also a hard life. Now, these are all to the grandest extreme that acting, dancing, or singing could lead to…however, I feel like the fact that we can see these things in her at such a young age could really bring her somewhere far along those roads.

I always said that I would work to notice what my kids were good at and really develop them in those areas. If they were good athletes I would notice that and make sure they were able to use that skill. If they were good at math or sewing or art or science, I would try to notice that and really encourage them in those areas. I don’t want their natural abilities and talents to be wasted.

But, here I am, struggling over the decision to enter Tryn in some dance classes for the fall. She would love it. And it could be nothing, just something fun for her to do. But it could be something…I know, I know, I should just not worry about it. And believe me, we are going to just let her be a kid no matter what. No pressure to do anything or be anything when she is 5 years old, which is ridiculous. However, if I was going to stick true to my promise to myself that I would develop the natural talents of my kids, I should really get her dance lessons. Or music lessons.

For those of you who don’t know, my amazing and musically gifted husband Steve has had about three years of piano lessons his entire life…two of those years were in college. He has never had guitar lessons and plays guitar in front of hundreds of people every week. So, this is a topic that hits close to home for us. Steve is not unhappy with his life or where he is at, but his life could be vastly different if he had taken music lessons from the time he was three. So, I am just thinking, "Why couldn't she be really good at coloring or drawing?" :)

What do you think? I am looking for any opinions, so don’t be afraid to be honest! Please let me know what you think...whatever that might be.

Pulse?

Am I still alive? Hang on, let me check my pulse…barely.

What a busy past week! Between work, a monthly dinner with a group of friends, dinner with the pastor and his wife and some board members from CPC, softball games, hanging with uncle Tim and uncle Jordan (two of Steve’s brother’s who were in town for the week) and their friend Amy, and editing pictures in all my spare time, the week was packed. The weekend was just as busy.

On Saturday, after making breakfast, cleaning the house, and picking up the babysitter, I proceeded to work an additional nine hours by being a second shooter for a wedding. My friend and co-worker Alissa had asked me to help her out with this wedding and I am so excited to show you the pictures. The church was so beautiful. The building was 100 years old and there were huge stained glass windows and amazing wood work, so pretty.

On Sunday the girls and I met up with my brother and his family at Ikea. We shopped for awhile and then went to Como Zoo. I don’t know if I have ever been to Como on the weekend, but I am not likely to go on the weekend again anytime soon. We actually had to be shuttled to the zoo from a parking lot a few miles away, crazy. This also created a much bigger commitment as it was not a quick little walk to get back to the car. Berlin, thankfully, fell asleep in the stroller for about an hour and Tryn just skipped her nap.

This, unfortunately, lead to a full on temper tantrum when we had to go to the grocery store after getting back from the zoo. Tryn had been playing really nicely and pretending to be Belle, but when I wouldn’t let her take her book into the grocery store she started crying. This led to walking across the parking lot with her screaming at the top of her lungs and stomping her feet as hard as she could onto the pavement. Lovely. After taking a few seconds to very calmly remind myself that this was not actually her fault, but my fault for skipping her nap, I told her that her behavior was very unacceptable. Then, instead of getting mad that she was still freaking out, I gave her a really big hug. I felt like an absolutely terrible mother when she laid her head on my shoulder and heaved a huge sigh. Apparently, it had been a long week for everyone. Probably should have stayed home instead of going to the grocery store. Oh well, we all survived.

Stay tuned for pictures of the zoo and the wedding!

Sugar and Spice

What I love about having little girls:
• No matter how many times my little girls have seen me in the same dress or skirt, that particular item of clothing is always still, “So beautiful!” I will get endless amounts of, “Mom, I really like your dress,” or “Your skirt is so beautiful!”
• Painting toenails becomes something fun and exciting to do, instead of that chore that I never have time for.
• My everyday flip flops can become glass slippers.
• Every day I get to hear things like, “I like your pretty earrings. I like your beads (i.e. necklace).” All of my accessories become just a little more fun.
• I still get to spend time pretending I am a princess.
• I get to see my husband’s heart melt in a way that neither of us can really comprehend.
• Pretty things are so much prettier, and there is never a lack of the enjoyment of pretty things...sugar and spice and everything nice. Totally true.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I was holding Tryn in my arms as I stared into my closet waiting for inspiration. Suddenly, I felt a little finger gently graze my eyelid.

“What is this?” Tryn asked as she looked at her finger.

“That’s eye shadow, sweetie.”

Her little finger reached back up and swiped my eyelid again. She contemplated her shimmery fingertip for a moment, and then, with a shy little grin stretching across her face, she reached up and transferred the color to her own eyelid. “How do I look?”

"Like a princess." I told her.

“No, Mom, I look like you!”

Joel and Crista

I took pictures of my friends Joel and Crista's wedding almost two weeks ago now. I have finally managed to actually just look through all the pictures that we took, and have only gotten to edit around 100 out of more than 1,000. I think this is going to take me awhile :) Anyway, we took pictures at a farm and the colors were a-mazing. The clouds and the sky were amazing, the tall green grass was amazing, and the red sheds were amazing. Oh, and the bride was AMAZINGLY gorgeous! I am really excited about the pictures and of the 100 or so that have been edited, these are my favorites so far.

Colors and Funny Faces

I discovered something new about Tryn this weekend, something that I didn't know before. She has a favorite color. On Friday night after I got home from work Tryn and I laid on our backs on the front porch to look at the clouds. We talked about how when mommy and daddy buy a house that mommy wants to paint the outside of the house red, kind of like the house across the street (or the really cute house for sale that I had looked at earlier that day:).

I asked Tryn, "What color do you want to color your room in the new house? If you could pick any color at all, pink, green, yellow, blue, orange, purple?" I was sure she would pick pink or purple, classic princess colors.

"I want blue," was her answer.

"Really? Blue?" I wanted to be sure she knew what we were talking about. "Out of all the colors you would pick blue."

"Yes, I want to color my room blue."

Hm. On Sunday morning, while I was volunteering in her Sunday School room (as any proper pastor's wife would do, of course), I was again surprised by her choice during craft time.

"Here, Tryn, do you want to use pink or purple paper?"

"No, no, I want the blue one!"

I guess that it makes sense that out of all of the pink, purple, and red construction paper crowns I cut for the girls who came to Tryn's birthday party that Tryn's crown ended up being blue.



I never would have guessed.
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A conversation that I had with Tryn yesterday:

"Mom, who is your favorite?"

Shoot, I thought it was going to be awhile before I had to explain that I could have two favorite girls and that I loved her and Berlin equally. "Well, Tryn, you are my favorite girl and Berlin is my favorite girl too!"

"No, no, no, Mom. No, who is your favorite princess?"

Oh, right.
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Tryn is hilariously obsessed with making funny faces lately. She will come up and say, "Hey! Look at me!" and then, with the most deadpan expression on her face, she will stick her tongue out. Or bug her eyes out so they look even bigger - if that is possible. Here are some of her funny faces.




And Berlin, not wanting to miss out on the photo opportunity said, "Me! Me! Me!" which she does whenever she wants you to look at her or pay attention to her too. This is her funny face.



And, yes, she ran around like this most of the afternoon on Sunday because she loves to be nakie. I mean, who doesn't, right? ;)

A Note From Steve

My fabulous husband Steve regularly reads my blog (thanks honey!), but has yet to contribute anything...until today! Although, I don't if he even knows he is contributing. I told him I was going to post this, but I don't know if he believed me. You may remember when I posted a blog called In North, about our lives in North Minneapolis. Well, this is similar, something that happened to Steve on Tuesday night while I was at my writer's group. Enjoy...

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The Guy on the Other Side of the Car Door

I packed the kids in the car and picked my way through the neighborhood towards the closest Redbox. Mmmm, Redbox, you bring me such joy. On my way, I passed a consignment shop with 10 or so bright white Yamaha Marching Drums sitting out front. I made a mental note to stop on my way back.

After selecting my movie, I pulled up in front of the consignment shop, there was a man standing outside and he looked like he knew something about the drums that I was hoping to get for a song.

“Yep, I know ‘bout them drums,” he says, “they’s mine.”

“What’s the story? Where’d ya get ‘em?” I asked.

“Well I bought ‘em!”

Well, sir, that doesn’t help me, see. You just created more questions than I initially had: You own the shop and you bought the drums to sell? You’re a customer and you just bought the drums? Why the heck are they parked out in front of this shop if you’re not selling?

“See, I let kids play the drums…I’m a pastor ‘round here. I just lost my building this week and I don’t have anywhere to put my drums. That’s how I get the kids. See I pull ‘em off the streets and outta gangs – offer ‘em some good education, let ‘em play the drums. Why are you interested? What do you do?”

Do you remember the story at the end of Matthew 26? Jesus pauses from praying to go get some relational support from His disciples. He comes back and finds them sleeping. Do you ever feel like all of a sudden you find Jesus and realize He’s looking at you with these eyes that say, “Wow, you couldn’t even stay awake for one hour?”

I felt Jesus’ eyes on me for a second, but then the thought left as quickly as it came. As I looked at the man, I noticed the whites of his eyes. Or the lack of the white. Yellower than yellow. He was drunk. Well that’s a bummer, this guy almost seemed like the real thing.

Them man on the other side of the car door was staring at me. He had asked a question.

“Uh, well I work at a church. I was a percussion minor in school and have always fantasized about drum lines. The shiny white drums sucked me in, I guess.”

The man on the other side of the car door looked dumbfounded. “You’re an angel.”

“Ha! No, my name is Steve and I live about eight blocks north.”

“No, you don’t unnerstan, see, I been praying to the Lord, ‘I wanna give up’. I got kicked out of the building an people think I’m a crazy Jesus guy. But I have FAITH.” As he finished this last sentence, his yellow eyes began to cry. Wow, pastor or not, he seems to at least have some sort of past in church.

Before you judge me and my cold-heartedness, I should tell you more about my story. I live in North Minneapolis. My neighborhood, Hawthorne, has one of the highest crime rates in the State. We also have a lot of poor people. Homeless people live here. Widows begat orphans here.

Before you judge me, I was just trying to get a Redbox and score some cheap drums. I live with “these” people, I just wanted a night off. “They” will tell you anything you want to hear if it means you’ll be sympathetic. Of course, we know better. If you give one of “them” money, they’ll just go buy some booze and be worse off than before they met you…I was preparing for the money ask.

Before you judge me, you should know that I usually feel “these” people judge me before I can do the same to them. Living in North Minneapolis means, as a white person, I’m the minority. White symbolizes a lot of things in a lot of different places in the world. In North, being white means you have options, choices, a chance at a bright future. It means you have parents who most likely don’t live in jail. It means you can be hated for having more. And not trusted just for being white.

The man on the other side of the car door was still talking.

“…the parents, see, they want they kids to be going somewhere stable. You know? Now my flock is small, fifteen or twenty. But the Lord, He’s good. I just need somewhere. I said, ‘Lord, I just wanna give up. You knows I dyin’, just lost the building and…”

“Sorry, did you say you were dying?”

As if offended as he realized this whole time I had been thinking he was some bum, he answered with grace:

“Son I go get my dialysis, because my kidneys don’t work. It’s a matter of time. I wanna give up, but these kids!” The deep yellow, although now I realized not drunk eyes, start to cry again. “Someone has to be hanging with these kids, man! Lord told me, you just put a nice shirt on and shave yo face, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Jesus, I’m so embarrassed. This guy is legit. He IS the real deal. He’s a pastor of a flock who doesn’t have a home. He saves kids who are part of a vicious cyclical lifestyle. 85% of African American kids in Minneapolis have to visit their fathers in jail. 45% of those same kids end up in the same jail with their dads before age 18. The guy on the other side of the car door is triaging North Minneapolis. He sees it for what it is and is doing everything he can to save…five. Maybe seven.

“Can you help? I don’t have much money. But if you know how to play drums, I mean…”

I tell him I wouldn’t need money, I already have a job. The guy on the other side of the car door begins to weep. I heard myself say I work full-time, but on my days off, let’s get classes going. I heard myself say that I know lots of people, I bet I could get us a room somewhere so the parents feel safe about their kids hanging with us.

He said I was sent to him by God. I didn’t have the heart to tell him God turned a selfish motive into good. God saved my white a** once again.

The guy on the other side of the car door prayed for us. But mostly he prayed for the kids on the streets all around us. We exchanged contact info and I told him we’d talk by the weekend. I left with a full and heavy heart. “What had I just done? What will my wife say? He’s a crazy Jesus man! I’m kinda excited/scared/ashamed/nervous/inspired.” With all these thoughts racing through my mind, I hear Jesus say to me “Just put on a clean shirt and shave, well, at least trim. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The name that I got from him is Major. Most likely for Drum Major. May we all find someone to help show us how to follow the beat of this beggar King we so love.

American

My whole life growing up I thought I was of German and Polish descent. Pretty much half German and half Polish, how that happens during a World War II era is slightly beyond me. I recently found out that I am a little Italian as well, an interesting combo. The point is, I am pretty sure of my heritage. My mom was born in Germany and moved to the United States with her family when she was six years old. They sailed over on a ship and landed in New York. If you were to just consider my mom’s side of my heritage, I am a first generation American.

My dad was born in Chico, CA, and I believe it was his grandparents who moved over here from Poland…maybe to escape the war? Not sure of the details. Anyway, my grandma told me that her parents lived on the boarder of Germany and Switzerland and so during the Wars they would claim Swiss nationality so as to escape persecution by those fighting the Germans.

I can still say I am German, Polish, and Italian. My kids, however, will most likely never sit around with their friends and discuss their nationalities because they are American. My nationalities combined with Steve’s eight or so make for what I call a really good American mix. My children’s children will most likely not be able to trace their family lines without extensive research which would involve people from several countries combining efforts to eventually produce them. A good old American. Nothing at all wrong with that. Just an observation that in a few years from now the question, “Now, where are you from?” will no longer be a cocktail party conversation or something to discuss among my children's friends. If the question is asked the answer will be, “I’m an American,” and that won't just mean that they were born in the United States of America.

A Thing I Never Thought I'd Do

I never thought that I would buy frozen French fries in place of making real potatoes. Real cut up potatoes with oregano, basil, Cheyenne pepper, lemon pepper, and a little garlic salt fried up in extra virgin olive oil taste so much better than frozen French fries. Not only did I replace real potatoes with fake potatoes, I also never thought I would be excited that for the first time in a really long time I didn’t have to fight with the girls to get them to eat their dinner. A simple and fairly bland dinner of ham, French fries, and green smoothies. I was actually excited that they ate the fries so well and I didn’t have to spend my meal time helping Tryn count how many bites she had left, threatening, bribing, or tricking anyone into eating food. I never thought I would be so glad to have gotten the unhealthy option. Ah, life with little people.

The Project

Wow, what a weekend! The kids, Steve and I went up to Brainerd for the wedding of some good friends of ours. Steve played the music for the wedding and I was the official wedding photographer. The wedding was on Friday, July 3rd, and, seriously, that day felt like four days all rolled into one. Steve helped me shoot the wedding and we got some really amazing shots that I am really excited about. However, before I lose myself in editing pictures for the next several days, I wanted to remember to update you on the last thing that I promised from last weekend (btw, where in the world is all my time disappearing so fast!!!! I totally thought I would have this picture up days ago!) So, I worked on a big project all of last weekend, some quilts for my girlies. My mom taught me how to sew when I was younger and, as I am sure I was not the best student, I am very grateful to my mom for being patient enough to put up with teaching me. I can't say that sewing is something that I am really good at (in fact, if I had not pieced these quilts together with my mom around I am fairly certain that they would not have turned out!) or that I even really love to do...I just enjoy the results.

See, I have searched and searched for bedding for the girls beds and have not been able to find anything like I really liked. At all. Every bedding set had a wrong color, or pattern, or was too expensive, or just not quite right in any number of different ways. So, my good friend Amy took me fabric shopping. She has a secret location in St. Paul, a small little privately owned fabric store that has many designer fabrics, and they had so many great options I could hardly decide. Until, that is, I saw the panel that is in the middle of this quilt. It was perfect. Bright colors - especially green, blue, and brown, but girly at the same time - vintage, fairies, and little birdies. Seriously. So. Perfect.

So this is Berlin's finished blanket. I didn't get a picture of Tryn's (the layout of hers is a little different because it is bigger), it was too big to take a picture of it without help, but you can get the idea.

Dear Santa, in July

Yes, I know, I know, it is July, not December. However, remember at the beginning of the week when I said that I had pulled out some old (really old) diaries of mine? Well, I had a really grand time reading through some of them. My first very first diary was bright pink with dancing ballerina teddy bears across the front and I was eight years old when I got it. I remember getting the diary when we were on a family trip to Iowa, I was so excited that it had a lock and key - that way my brothers would not be able to get in and read my deepest, darkest secrets. Well, my first deepest, darkest entry went something like this:

Friday, Dec 8, 1989
IOWA
Once I went to Iowa. I had great fun. I went to see my uncle Dave and I went to a motel and went swimming.

My next entry was a little darker:
Saturday, Jan 27, 1990
My sister likes to listen to tapes, her favorite one is The Baby. I hate it when she listens. It gives me a headache. I hate it so much. Sometimes I like it.

On the front page there were questions like, "What is your favorite..." and I discovered that my favorite colors were still blue, green, and purple (though now add brown), I loved roast, carrots and pizza (all still very true), and I wanted to be a mother and an ice skater (half of which came true). Although, at one point in the journal I also wrote that I wanted to be a writer - things haven't changed much.

I found myself laughing hysterically at my sister who was going to name her kids Ariel, Tina, Triton, Eric, and Grimsby, all names of characters from the movie The Little Mermaid. But, probably the funniest thing that I found was a letter written on lined elementary note paper with leaves flitting across the corner.It went something like this:

November 14, 1992
Dear Santa Claus,
I am sorry, I am 11 years old and I don’t believe in you anymore. My mom is making me write this letter so that my little sisters can still believe in you. I think that is dumb.
I would like a Barbie Sharing Sisters gift set in the JCPenny’s magazine, on page 383. I would like a doll on page 376, her name is Leslie (or, if not that doll, the doll named Mandy on that same page). I would like a pink or blue stereo player and the set on page 123 that is green or blue. I hope you have the JCPenny’s catalog so you can figure out what I am talking about.
Thank you.
Love,
Heidi

Hilarious. The whole voice of it still sounds so much like me now! Except I definitely don't want a Barbie gift set...maybe a nice pretty set of dishes or some pretty jewlery. I am much more into pretty things now ;) So very different, yet still so much the same.