I have come to the conclusion that my sister needs to write her own blog. I’m not quite sure how she will find the time considering she runs her own daycare center out of her home, she’s a mother of two adorable little boys, a wife, is part of the Junior League in her town and has recently started running 5k marathons ….still baffles me on why someone would run for fun but to each its own, granted when I started running (not for fun) to lose weight and I noticed that I lost it quite quickly and toned up in some saggy places, but she’s a size 4 and has no jiggily parts so running is just part of her entertainment.
I’ve mentioned to her on many occasions how fun it is to just write and share your daily nonsense with the world. It’s a way release all those thoughts that muddle up your brain throughout the day and it’s a way to get your word out when no one at home wants to listen. I find blogging very therapeutic and so much fun……plus you find others out there that you can relate to. I wish that I had this type of outlet when I was twenty something struggling being a single mom, raising 3 kids, dealing with a controlling ex husband all the while trying to find Mr.Right, instead my world is written in journals hidden from my grown children.
……Maybe I should write it for her????
…… Maybe I should just set it up for her and then when she has time between her kids taking naps she can just log on and write.
…… Maybe I can pull rank and force her to blog, I AM the older sister….by six years.
I found this old post I wrote years ago I thought you may enjoy it. In the meantime I think I will call my sister and mention blogging to her again……………she’s totally missing out.
Giggles and Church don’t mix
When my sister and I were young we would have to attend Catholic Church with my mother. We got the typical warning “you better behave….or else!!” the OR ELSE was code for …..If you act up you will see the fate of your dads’ belt on your backside!
As a child sitting through a catholic service it could be at times be ruthless. Hard pews, the smell of jean na’te pouring out of the pores of the old lady sitting in front of us, babies crying, stand up-sit down-kneel-stand up…..time for prayer. At this time we would have to recite the “Our Father”, I would grab my sisters’ hand and then ………..the game began. She would squeeze my hand, I would squeeze back harder and we would go back and forth until someone cracked or …….we ended up squeezing someone else’s hand on accident. Sometimes one of us would squeeze so hard that a little “yelp” would peep out of our mouth and we would get that look…………….you know that look, it’s the same “I’m going to give you something to cry about if you don’t knock it off” look we give our own children. Even though our game would stop we continued to stare each other down and normally I would be the one that couldn’t keep from giggling and then the giggling would turn into that laughter that I would try to hold in until I couldn’t hold it in any longer and then the tears would come and my stomach would hurt all the while knowing my fate was to see my dads belt or hear those 2 all time common words. “YOU’RE GROUNDED”