Since you asked

Okay Jeremy, you told me to write something, and since you’re probably my #1 fan, I will. It’s nice to be appreciated.

I shall start by saying awkward things to you: Jeremy! I’m glad you came over and conversed with the middleschoolers and me today! One of my pet peeves about you is that you never talk to me at youth group. Of course, one might say that I’m the one who never talks to you, but this is my blog, and I’m the boss around here, so I’m going to blame it all on you.

Sorry; my middle name is Awkward. I do and say very awkward things sometimes. I’m such a dork. That’s okay, though; if you’re confident enough, being awkward can be fun. In middle school, I was not confident. Being awkward was not fun. I’m more confident now. I love being awkward.

Actually, my middle name is Louisa, which apparently means “famous warrior.” Fabulous. Of course, that makes sense because it’s the feminine form of Louis, just as Charlotte is the feminine form of Charles, which means “manly.”  Long ago, our Bible teacher at the Christian high school had every freshman class research the meaning of his or her name, then find a Bible verse to match it. I am very glad my name was not Charlotte at the time. I wish I could have been there when Bryce did his; Bryce means “speckled.” Ha. Ha ha ha. He would have had to use the verses about Jacob getting all the speckled sheep from Laban, wouldn’t he? Ha ha ha ha.

Sorry (not really). I should not laugh at my own jokes.

Moving on!

I finally finished the sweater I started making last summer. It’s an itty-bitty summer sweater (for ME, not for my baby sister, ’cause I’m just mean and selfish that way), but I stopped working on it for fall and winter so that I could so socks instead. Here it is:

I’m glad I’ve finally finished, though, because I need to make a pair of socks for a friend’s birthday. Ah, so many birthdays to do stuff for.

I love doing stuff for birthdays.

Speaking of which, it was Ryan the 6th Grader’s birthday yesterday. I went temporarily insane on Wednesday and bought him a sickle, a giant pair of scissors, a box to put his chopsticks in when he’s finished with them at school, The Dangerous Book for Boys, plus some random junk, like socks I found on an airplane last summer. I got most of them at Daiso, the Japanese dollar store. I love Daiso. I love reading the bad translations on the packaging.

“Lame Lace Ribbon.”

“The best excellent food is homemade cakes in the after.”

“Whether to make the strawberry jam? Whether to make the strawberry cake?”

Never change, Daiso. Never change.


P.S. I graduated the other day. Yay. But I still have lots more schooling to do (is that grammatically correct? Despite the fact that I have a college degree, I still make these mistakes all the time). Boo! I actually graduated right after my great-grandfather’s funeral, so you can kind of see my black mourning dress under my cap and gown. I also, um, misplaced my tassel, so I used my brother’s ’08 one. No one ever found out. Shh!

Here’s my favorite picture from all that:

Hans, computer mastermind older brother, looking supremely uncomfortable in a button-down shirt, and me with my fake diploma.


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