This picture is one of my absolute favorites. Bela looked so adorable in her little Mayan dress. It’s called a “hipil” in Mayan, and the shawl is called a rebozo. She even has her shopping bag to complete the look.
Friendtender
Is there a “friendtender” in your life? You probably have never heard the word. I hadn’t either until it popped into my head at four this morning as I was preparing for work. Even if you don’t know the word, you know what I’m talking about—a fake friend. A pretender…someone who says s/he is a friend to you, but actions prove otherwise. My daughter has at least one friendtender in her life. Just watching events unfold makes me angry.
Friendtenders are, by nature, sneaky. The real self only shows in certain circumstances—usually when they think they are unobserved. They can be charming, upbeat and smiling…until something great happens to someone who is supposedly a friend. That’s when the storm clouds take over. I’ve watched it happen. My daughter and one friendtender were just chatting happily one day when my daughter had something wonderful interrupt their chat. The friendtender and I listened as a guy asked my daughter to a dance. I took one look at the friendtender and saw the anger on her face. That’s when it hit home that this friendtender was furious. She was furious, and I was flabbergasted.
At any rate, friendtenders are like toxins. Cut all ties as quickly as possible because the “friendship” is going nowhere. If a “friend” has a mysterious mood swing (happy to indifferent or even nasty) every time something exciting happens in your life, that’s your first clue. Put some distance between you and the “friend” immediately. It only gets worse.
LootCrate!
I ordered my daughter a LootCrate (for the second time). When I picked it up from the post office yesterday, I opened it to get a sneak peek. (I’m bad, I know.) Ysabela was thrilled to unpack it herself.
Thursday!
Wordless Wednesday (kind of)
Tuesday!
Believe it or not, I found all of the components for this particular outfit in my closet. I remember buying the flared skirt for a flamenco dancing class I had signed up for. I had to cancel because the weather was turning nasty. It hasn’t been offered again (sadly). I had been waiting for the chance to use my fancy purple scarf, and today was the day. 🙂
A Widow’s Confession
Even though my dear soul mate has been gone for almost six months, I feel like it has only been days. I guess I’m still in shock. I haven’t discussed it with any other ladies I know who have suffered the same loss, but I imagine it’s much the same for them. I just keep going, fighting through every day.
My community was very supportive and generous. Bela and I got quite a bit of mail following the tragedy. It shames me to say, however, that I have not been able to even read all of the sympathy cards we received. Don’t get me wrong—I know who sent one, and all the love has been appreciated, but as far as sitting and reading each line…well, I still can’t. I don’t know when I’ll be able to or even if I will be able to. I have them saved here at home, though. Maybe some day….
Forensic Fridays
My daughter and I found an amazing forensics class online. Since my public school day ends at two on Fridays, we decided to complete work for forensics every Friday. Yesterday we took a field trip to the local sheriff’s office to look at the equipment for lifting prints.
http://bsapp.com/forensics_illustrated/index.html
Picture Day
Today was picture day at school. I, however, chose not to participate. (In my defense, when the call came for teachers needing a picture made, I had a class.) Instead of donning a skirt and a fancy shirt, I wore my capri pants with a shirt paying tribute to Edgar Allan Poe. I bought the shirt at Warped Tour when I met MC Lars. He’s a clever rapper who rhymes about Poe. He also happens to be a really nice guy. If you’ll remember, he gave me a free CD.
I had a lot of questions about my shirt today. The kids want to hear the CD about Poe, so I’m bringing it to class long enough to play my favorite track—number seven.

















