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May 2011

Sisters

"Don't worry, Bethany," I told my oldest daughter after the birth of her third brother,  "no matter how many times I have to try, I am going to make sure you have a sister."   That was fifteen years ago; Bethany has three sisters.
 
Sisters really are that important in my book.   Last weekend I was once again reminded why.
 
My sister right above me turned 50, so the six of us girls gathered near Atlanta to celebrate with her.

The Secret to Greatness

After the start of track season this year, Mary was disappointed when she kept coming in third and fourth place in her hurdle races. Then she didn't get the solo in the spring concert at school.  And she didn't win the Teen Got Milk?  Milk Mustache contest.  She was discouraged.
 
"I am not much good at anything," she often said.  "Just average at everything."
 
"That is up to you," I kept reminding her, adding that it is better to pick one or two things and strive for excellence than just to be so-so at everything.

Egypt or Bust

I revisit this blog in honor of Silas today on his birthday, because he is still a sponge at 7. 

My friend, Denise, gave Silas an Usborne  book on Ancient Egypt.  The first time he got his hands on it, he sat down and looked at it for a solid 90 minutes. 
 
 "Where is my Egypt book?" he regularly asks.  And if he corners you with it in hand, you are doomed for the next hour to read to him about Ancient Egypt.  "But don't show the mummy pages," he orders.

Eyes on the Goal

.
A package came in the mail last week for my son, Matt.  The return address read: Office of Admissions, USMA, West Point, NY.  The day he had dreamed of since he was just a kid had finally arrived: an offer from West Point.
 
The congratulations poured in.  “I remember when you were five years old,” a childhood friend wrote on his Facebook page, “and we were talking about what we were going to do when we grew up.  You said, with confidence, ‘I’m going to WestPoint’.”
 

A Good Sign

I have never been very good at hiding things.  At Christmas, for instance, I toss all the presents in a corner of my bedroom and throw a blanket over the pile.  Not too obvious, right?
 
So when I shoved my prenatal vitamins into the closet yesterday, still wrapped in the Rite-Aid bag, I thought the kids wouldn't notice. I just forgot that Mary never misses a beat.
 
"Mom! Mom!"  she hollered, dragging me back to the hall closet last night. "I found these vitamins next to the children's vitamins (
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