Once upon a time, when she was about two years old, Annalie was scared of our friend Bernie. We never could figure out any reason for her to be afraid of him. He’s not an intimidating guy at all, he doesn’t have an especially loud voice, and he’s not in the habit of kicking puppies or anything. He has two daughters of his own, Annalie’s friends Morgan and Dylan, so he’s not weird around little girls. But despite all those things, when we were going to Bible study or over to their house Annalie would ask in a quavery voice, “Will Mr. Bernie be there?” Then she would cling tightly to me or Troy and hide her face, .

After a while, Bernie decided the best thing to do in response to Annalie’s fear would be to act as though it didn’t exist. Annalie would see him and exclaim, “I don’t like Mr. Bernie!” and Bernie would talk to her in a friendly way, ask her questions, tease her and make her laugh. Usually within a minute or two Annalie had forgotten she wasn’t supposed to like him and was totally fine. The funny thing is, her I-don’t-like-Mr.-Bernie routine continued on well after it was clear that she did like him and wasn’t afraid of him any more. It was like it was just a habit she couldn’t break.

I think she’s finally broken the habit.

Bernie, we’re glad you were able to finish your work early and spend the afternoon and evening with us yesterday. Come see us again next time you’re in town on business…and bring the rest of your family sometime!

Sitting on our cushy, comfy, stained-beyond-cleaning couch with my feet up on the cedar chest that my mom bought before I was born. It’s our coffee table/foot rest now.

Smelling the rain outside.

Listening to the ceiling fans and the football game Troy is watching on TV.

Drinking nothing at the moment, which is unusual. I almost always have some kind of drink at hand.

Reading The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes. Re-reading it, actually. I read it before when it first came out, right after Annalie was born.

Loving that I live just five minutes away from a pottery-painting studio now, instead of 45 minutes away.

Dreading the day when Annalie says things like, “You’re a mean mommy, and I don’t like you anymore!” and really truly means them.

Eagerly anticipating our upcoming trip to Texas: seeing Sarah and Kristen and Bekah, the Sanders family, Troy’s mom and stepdad and assorted relatives, Angie & Chris, and maybe even Jamie.

Worrying about my cousins whose dad just died.

Wishing I didn’t live so far away from so many people I love. Also wishing for a sugar-and-cinnamon BeaverTail.

Praying as often as I can, though probably not as often as I should.

Grateful for my mom.

Sharing the couch with Troy.

I got this list from Karen. Feel free to copy.

While we were at my Aunt Julie’s up in the desert this past week it was freaking hot. Annalie wanted to go swimming but we had no pool. Julie suggested we could fill a big bowl with water and bring it outside, and that way Annalie could at least wade and get her feet wet. When we brought the bowl outside, Annalie stepped in and promptly sat down. Totally cracked us up.

I was sitting on the bed with my laptop while Annalie showered in our bathroom when I caught a fragment of the song she was making up. “Ohhh, I love my mama, no matter how mean she is to meeeee…”

At the theater recently Annalie turned to me in the middle of the movie to inform me, “This popcorn is good for my voicebox!”

Annalie loves dogs and is very disappointed that we’re not allowed to have one in our current rental. We tell her that someday when she’s older and we live in a different house we’ll get a dog. We don’t really say anything to her about a little sister (or brother) but she’s always talked as though it’s a foregone conclusion that someday she’ll have one. She told me the other day, “I know what I’ll name my dog! I’ll name her Daisy.” I said that was a good name for a dog. “Actually,” she went on, “I’ll name her Rose. And I’ll name my little sister Lemon.”

Annalie asked Troy for help getting her shoes tied and he asked her what the magic word was. “Um…” she thought it over for a moment. “A-la-kazam?”