I'm now somewhat of an addict...

...thanks to (1) a weekend with a little too much free time,
and (2) a local public library that has 4 seasons of The Office in its collection.

We don't really watch t.v.
Honest.

But if we did... I'd be a regular follower of Dwight and Jim on Thursday nights.

Here's one of my favorite clips, for your enjoyment :)

sweet surprise

I have a huge family, with tons of amazing cousins. I hope to share some of their amazing-ness with you, in the days to come.

Case in point: Alyssa.

Liss is one of my very bestest friends. She lives in Missouri, but once in a while, she makes her way up to Chicago. Today, she paid me an unexpected visit.

We made dinner, drank coffee, reminisced about European escapades, and conspired about upcoming weddings. We prayed together. We ate an entire loaf of french bread together.

And we took pictures. So I chose the very best, for your viewing pleasure:


I call this one "Alyssa is photogenic, and I want her sweater."




And this one: "Svelt Alyssa. Cheeseball Sherah."


**I'm not kidding about the french bread. It was 3 feet long, fresh out of the oven. Totally delicious ;)

an ode to disappointing endings and horrible calls.

Hello bloggy friends.

I have a heartbreaking story to tell you.
You may not find it as terrible as I do, but feign sympathy for my sake, ok?

***

It was a weekend of two's for this hockey family.

Two siblings, both extremely talented.

Two do-or-die situations.
(My brother was playing for the AAA Illinois state championship, and a shot at nationals;
my sister was playing college hockey in Minnesota for the MIAC playoffs.)

Two really, really close games.
(One in Illinois. One in Minnesota.)

Two game-defining goals.
(My brother scored the game-winner with 2 minutes left in the 3rd;
my sister's goal put her team on the board halfway through the game, 2-1.)

Two referees on power trips.

Two goals that were disallowed, both for bogus high-sticking calls.
(If you know anything about hockey, you know that high-sticking is a ridiculously subjective call.
Hence, the refs-on-a-power-trip statement.)

Two games lost.
Both hinged on the same goal, taken away by the same exact call,
by two different referees, 600 miles apart.

Unbelievable.

***

P.S.

I must admit...

I wanted to jump the ref in the parking lot. Attack him with my air horn.

And anyone who knows me is now lying on the floor, dying from laughter.

'Twas a tragic weekend.