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As I made my bed last night, I came to terms with the fact this is likely the last time I’ll sleep on these sheets. These sheets that I brought home from my grandma’s house after she died. These sheets that bring me comfort, no matter how crappy I feel. These sheets, with their crazy flower pattern, remind me that my grandma was spunky, even when she was sleeping.

Over the years, since her death, these sheets have gotten me through a lot of hard times. Seeing the sheets remind me that I come from a line of strong women, they could do anything, and so can I. When the corner ripped as I made my bed last night, I didn’t feel quite so strong anymore, and I got a little teary-eyed.

I can’t throw the sheets out just yet. Instead I’ll lovingly pack them away knowing that if I ever need them they’ll be there for me—just like she would’ve been if she were still alive.

Yesterday was Frank Sinatra’s birthday. Ben sent me a text message reminding me, but I didn’t need a reminder. I’ve been in love with Sinatra my entire life. In fact, he’s the first crush I ever had.

My Grandma Leavitt played a lot of big band music when I was little, which explains my love of it. It reminds me of her, and now that she’s gone I really, really like having that reminder. The first time she played a Sinatra song I announced to her I was going to be in love with him forever. From that point on whenever I spent time at her house I wanted to listen to him. I used to put on a dress and sit and listen to his records. When my grandmother asked me why I needed a dress on, I said, “I need to be pretty in case he comes to marry me.” And even though he didn’t come to marry me, I still listen to his music obsessively all these years later.

My mother bought me the below Frank Sinatra doll a few years ago for Christmas. I love it! In fact if there were a fire in my apartment and I only had time to save a few things I’d save the doll, and my baby blanket. Depending on how much Daisy farted that day I may save her, but chances are the fire would be a direct result from her ass.

I’ve decided the best thing about the holiday season isn’t the presents, the holiday lights or any of that tender baby Jesus crap; the best thing is manipulation. Something I’m quite fond of, but throw in the Santa factor and it’s better then ever!

While watching my niece and nephew this week I was able to witness the miracle of Santa. Kids will do anything if you involve Santa.

“What’s that? You don’t want to go to Starbucks? Santa just called and said Auntie Sarah HAS to go to Starbucks right this second.” The speed in which the kids ran for their coats was spectacular.

“No, you’re not wearing cowboy boots to school. Why? Because Santa hates cowboy boots.”

“You want chicken nuggets and not the PB& J sandwich I just made? Santa just sent me a text message and said you have to eat the sandwich, or else.”

After two days of this the kids finally asked how I know Santa. Clearly the only thing to was lie. I told them Uncle Ben had gone to the North Pole on his mission. Carter piped up and asked if Ben, or Uncle Mean as he calls him, had baptized Santa. I told them Uncle Ben had indeed baptized Santa. They were in awe.

Later when my brother Matt got home Hannah told him that Uncle Ben had tried to kill Santa, which I guess is pretty accurate. Baptism is a lot like downing, only you just get cake after and not a trip in the ambulance.

Poor kiddo, first the Easter Bunny, now Santa? I’m really hoping the Tooth Fairy lives.

This morning I awoke to cold feet touching me, specifically my niece Hannah’s little, cold feet. (I know, I was hoping for a hot man, too!)

When I asked why she was in bed with me, her answer guaranteed my undying affection for life. “Aunt Sarah I need to be close to you because of all the love in my heart, or it could explode.”

Why can’t I find a man to say such sweet things to me?!

If Ben had a house fire he’d grab two items before running out the door: his baby blanket, and his MC Hammer/Vanilla Ice album. Seriously. As an afterthought, he may go back for Vegan Joe, his roommate. But only after MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice were safe.

Ben let me borrow this cherished CD last night, with the promise I’d return it in exactly one weeks time. I’m going to listen to the wise(?) words of MC Hammer and hope for Christmas gift inspiration. I have a difficult time buying for other people. Attempting to find the perfect gift stresses me out. Ben, however, is easy. Obviously I’ll be buying him a pair of parachute pants.

Our Thanksgiving dinner was amazing, even if we did forget a green salad. But as Ben said, “It’s just filler. Why waste stomach room on salad?” The entire day was so much fun, even the parts where I learned stuff from Arlo… like how to make gravy. Ben and I made the mashed potatoes, Mormon style–which means lots and lots of fatty ingredients and a Book of Mormon on the kitchen counter for luck.Unfortunately, AK ended up out of the country on a business trip so he wasn’t able to be there in person, but thanks to Skype video he was able to supervise our activities. He didn’t have a lot of faith in our kitchen skills and made sure we knew where the fire extinguisher was at all times. No, seriously.Mrs. AK, however, didn’t need any supervision. Her turkey was perfect! Can’t wait until next year!

Mom: “Just calling to say goodbye. We are leaving in the morning for our trip.”

Sarah: “Ok, but who is going to take care of me?”

Mom: “You have three brothers, if you need anything call one of them.”

Sarah: “Umm, I actually have four brothers, but what if there’s an emergency?”

Mom: “Just call 1-800-Princess.”

Sarah: “Mom, come one. Seriously. I’m not playing the part of a princess, by wanting a contact number.”

Mom: “We’re taking a Princess cruise, Sarah. And before you say anything, yes, without you. Sorry.”

Sarah: “Fine… I still love you, but give the contact info to a more responsible child. Have fun and don’t forget to bring me a present, but please not from Columbia. I don’t have the bail money it would take to spring a drug smuggling mama from jail.”

My father and I have nothing in common that extends beyond shared physical attributes. This said, we don’t get along. I stopped being daddy’s little princess the moment I learned to form my own opinions. Stop. We do have something in common! We are both opinionated and built with razor sharp tongues.

Lately I’m starting to realize my parents aren’t getting any younger. I want to spend more time with my family now than I ever have before. I mentioned to my mom I wanted to have a positive memory of my dad as an adult. She agreed this was important. So I went out on a limb and found something we could hopefully bond over.

My dad is a runner, and has been as long as I can remember. Years ago he and my brothers would run races together. This was exactly what I needed! I decided to call my dad and let him know I’d started training and would he 1) buy me running shoes for my birthday, and 2) run a race with me this spring.

This request had nothing to do with religion, school, family or anything we tend to fight over. This was just feet hitting the pavement, and yet somehow it turned out to be the usual friction between us–He was his typical abrasive self. I faked my way through the conversation and quickly hung up. Then I cried.

I’ll never have the kind of father I think I want. But I do have a father who loves me and would do anything in his power to protect me. Why isn’t that enough?

My brother and sister-in-law are out of town so I’m staying with the twins this week. I’m fully aware of just what an awesome sister I am. Are they?

While the kids were finding their blankets, dolls, and special pillows they apparently can’t sleep without, I changed into my pj’s. When I walked out Carter looked up at me in disdain and asked, “What are those?” I replied, “These are my pajamas, Buddy.” He looked confused for a moment and blurted out, “But, that’s boy underwear… and yellow with crocodiles, not pink.”

He was less than pleased at the idea of his auntie wearing something other than pink. You can’t really explain to a child that there’s nothing more comfortable to sleep in than a pair of boxers stolen from an ex-boyfriend. Hannah, on the other hand, took one look at me and said, “I like your underwear and I’m not scared of them.”

It’s nice to have underwear approval from a three-year-old. Now if I could find an adult male who felt the same way.

Ben: “I’m a card carrying member of the American Legion.”

Sarah: “Um… I don’t really know how to react to that.”

Ben: “I went again last night but they wanted me to have an old guy with me.”

Sarah: “You mean a vet?”

Ben: “Yeah, that. So I told them Dad had served in the military.”

Sarah: “But, Ben, Dad didn’t serve. You lied to the American Legion?!”

Ben: “Sorta. I felt okay about it because Dad would’ve served if he wasn’t diabetic.”

Sarah: “So you’re telling me you shouldn’t be punished just because Dad didn’t serve in the military?”

Ben: “Exactly!!”

Sarah: “You do realize Dad will be drafted now, right? The one time I used a family member as an excuse they died.”

Ben: “You killed Chad? No wonder I don’t get letters anymore.”

Sarah: “No, Ben, this isn’t a laughing matter. I killed Grandma. I used her as an excuse once and she died a month later. I’m the bitch who killed my own grandmother.”

Ben: “You’re not a bitch, you’re just insane. You didn’t kill Grandma and Dad isn’t going to be drafted. Stop drinking so much coffee.”