Thank you, Dr. King

It's no secret that my Teensy has a best friend. A bestie. A BFF. They've scarcely sneezed without each other over the past eight years of their little lives.

Her name is Selena.

Here is a precious photo of the two of them on their baptism day:


Okay. So, a couple of days ago, I was driving the kids home from school and Mackenna was excitedly telling me about what she had learned that day. It was about civil rights. She was rattling off names like Ruby Bridges, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Rosa Parks. She explained to me that without these people, her class at school would look totally different: there would be no black people. She was so earnest in her effort to educate me. I just "Oh!"-ed intermittently like I was hearing this bit of history for the first time.

Then my Teensy spoke up with a question. "Mom," she began, "Would Selena be considered white or black?"

I chuckled softly. "Honey, Selena is white."

"No, Mom," she responded forcefully. "She isn't. She's dark."

"I know her skin is darker than yours, but she is still white," I proclaimed.

"Mom!" Teensy barked in a disgusted tone. "Have you even seen her skin? It's dark."

I was laughing in earnest at this point and trying in vain to convince her that her best friend is the same race as she is. I tried to point out that Selena's sister, a red-head with skin the color of drifted snow is clearly white and that because they have the same parents, they are clearly the same race, but Marlee wouldn't buy any of it.

Then, it occurred to me that Selena actually is 1/4 Latina. I tried to explain that she gets her quick-to-tan skin from her grandmother who is from Mexico. That just brought up a whole new bout of confusion. "What's Latina?" Gracious.

So, what did we learn in the car ride home? That we are thankful for people like Martin Luther King. Because without him, not even brunettes who tan would be allowed to go to school with my blonde daughters. Sakes alive.

The Master of This Saint

Hey, remember when I was a blogger? Those were some good times, weren't they?

I miss those heady times. Truly, I do.

Remember when my husband was ridiculously busy getting his master's degree while working full-time and serving in the bishopric of our church? I'll tell you a little secret: that was not the best or easiest time of my life.

Well, those days are long gone, devoted reader!

My Michael done grad-gee-ate-ed in September. The University of Virginia had a special night to commemorate the occasion. They held the event at a really cool place in Virginia called The Airlie Center. Seriously, look at this place! Here's my Jorge taking photos in the garden:


We used the graduation dinner as an excuse to dump our kids at my friend Lisa's house overnight. (It was only her birthday and I had her watch my kids overnight. Don't you wished you lived near me so I could take advantage of your kindness, too?)

While Lisa was celebrating her big day with a house full of extra kidgets, my Michael and I were dressing up, eating yummy food, laughing, and touring the grounds of the gorgeous venue. Oh, and we were getting diplomas!


I received a commendation elevating me to the status of "Saint" for putting up with my husband being in the program.

My Michael received a diploma pronouncing that he'd earned a Master's of Science in the Management of Information Technology.



Mine's better. I mean, who wouldn't rather be a saint than a master? (Just kidding.)

At any rate, we are thrilled that Jorge's long-time goal of an advanced degree has been fulfilled.

Now, about my dream of going to Santorini. . .