The One With the Post-Partum Amnesia

Today is Wendy’s birthday. Wendy is my sister. My closest sister in age, with whom I shared a room until I was a senior in high school. She is the one that I loved the most, hated the most, hit the most, and missed the most when I left. This is a pretty bad picture of her. I should have a good one... we collected pictures last summer for a slideshow. But Wendy was at Girls’ Camp and left her husband in charge of sending the pictures. In the one he sent of the two of them, Wendy seemed to be wearing something that looked a little Texas polygamy compound. So instead you get this one. There are four of us girls in the family. DK likes to make trouble, by saying that there is a pretty one, a smart one, a talented one and one that married well. Believe me when I say there is no virtue in trying to figure out which is which. Anyway, back to Wendy. She has it all. Even the marrying well part, sort of… last summer when we all got together for a little family reunion, one of my boys said, “Mom, wasn’t it good of Aunt Wendy to marry Uncle Joe?” Um, yeah, I guess… “She really had to take one for the team, and we appreciate it.”

This isn’t really Wendy’s birthday. We celebrated June 10th as her birthday for the first fifteen years of her life. And then the time came for Wendy to apply for a social security card so she could get her first job. She came home one day around her 16th birthday, a little bewildered. “Mom, my birth certificate says my birthday is June 9th. How can my birth certificate be wrong?” At which point my Grandma Hamblin chimed in… “I told you she was born on the 9th! I told you that for years…” Grandma wasn’t usually an “I told you so” kind of person. But that one was just too good.

Happy Birthday, Wend! Hope you milked it for all it was worth both days. Tuna fish tuna fish tuna fish! (sorry...inside joke involving vomit)



Here are the sisters... The one with the glasses is my sister-in-law, Carolyn. There is something hanging down from the top that must be some sort of medieval torture device. Clearly I was feeling tortured.

The One Where She Saved Your Marriage

Garden Weasel dreamed last night that I started a new business, in which I charged parents $100 for four dating/etiquette lessons for boys. I taught them how to cook, how to play hard-to-get, and what fork to use. She said it was weird, but then I wrote a book and became a best-selling author…boy dating tips. I actually totally love that idea. I mean, I’m already running the service…I just haven’t been charging for it.

I don’t think I really care what fork you use, but the rest of it is Dating Survival 101, right? Do you have a dating question for “Ask Victoria?” Ask away… and in the meantime, here are some freebies: No, you shouldn’t call her yet. You smell of desperation. Give it a couple of days. While you’re waiting, go on Facebook and change your status: Dougie is trying to recover from three dates in two days. For your first date, plan something under two hours in case everything goes south. Oh, and here is the recipe I give to all the boys, whether my own, or the missionaries. I tell them it could save their marriage someday. It is also a great way to impress a date. But hey, this is not just for my guys… this diabetic coma in a muffin tin could actually save your marriage someday too.

Recipe for...
Marshmallow Popovers