So my sister called me on Saturday and informed me that she was coming to crash my party this week. After 72 hours together I’m mad at her for living so far away (actually, she’s mad at me for living so far away). Here are my top five reasons why our long-distance relationship is probably a good thing.

The people at Saver's Thrift Store don't appreciate us standing around the book section giving dramatic interpretations from the back of slutty romance novels (which we then take home and read aloud for "research").

Because we would spend all our time watching reruns of "What Not To Wear" and taking copious notes (this is an example of something we think is HOT).

The Thrift people also don't seem appreciate our thrifty fashion shows.

Why in the world didn't I think to take my SIL to Savers for a wedding gown? For $19.99 you can get married in style.

I was going for "Hopeful Bride" here.

I almost bought this skirt because it was so flattering. Don't you dig the layered look? WNTW would be so proud.

We should probably stop baking brownies (the empty pan is reflecting the billions of calories we've consumed this week. Look what they've done to Jenny's bosom!).

And lastly, because when Jenny's here, I can't seem to get around to putting in my extensions. But hey, she's worth all the pain.

Here I am, all determined to keep my American Idol thoughts to myself, and they go and present the worst hair night in television history.

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Poor Blind Scott. I would take his soppy old hair cut over his neo-90210 do anyday. He looked like a blind Jason Priesly without the chops. Here’s the thing: you want to introduce a new fad in hair styles? DON’T DO IT ON THE BLIND GUY.

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And Bright Pink girl, your vocals were insane, but all I could do was stare at that nest on top of your head, wondering if you were going to finish your song before the birdies flew back. And speaking of birdies, we realized last night (thank you Camille) that Adam Lambert has missed his calling in life: He is Conrad Birdie reincarnate (minus the attraction to women).

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• 
  Top 11 – Grand Ole Opry
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And can’t we all agree that Lil Rounds should avoid lycra in general? And singing in public? So should Megan. She actually gets worse every single night. Either Megan or Anoop earned a free pass home last night. Apparently, spoiled rotten only-child Anoop has never heard a personal criticism in his entire life. Watching Simon dish it out to him, I kind of thought Anoop might take that chain and choke him to death, we’re lucky Ryan Seacrest was there to protect Simon.

On a positive note, at least Paula wasn’t drunk (at first. We all know she’s got more than coke in that cup of hers).

I know plenty of people disagree with this statement, but I can’t help it. Teachers are going to hate me, end of story.

Check out this week’s column for the full scoop.

I got released from primary yesterday. Turns out the bishopric noticed I have a 15-month-old child with no one to tag-team teach and decided to cut me loose.

Of course, this happens right after I finally start to love my calling.

I have a darling girl in my class who’s the best little class participator I’ve ever met in my 30 years of church-going. She’s the girl who has her hand in the air, ready to answer, before I’ve asked the question.

I was  feeling a little emotional today, knowing it was my last opportunity to grace them with my stores of spiritual wisdom and extensive life experiences. At the end of my lesson, I started to bear my testimony when–

Whoosh! There goes The Hand. I could have ignored her, I could have motioned for her to put it down, I could have finished my monologue, but somehow, I couldn’t deny her.

“Yes, Sally?” (names have been changed to protect the innocent)

“Well, um, one time, my grandma was working…well, she used to be a doctor for a while, or something like that, and she worked at this office, or hospital place, (gulp) and, um, I guess this guy came into the office because he was hurt, or I think it was his head or something, I don’t know, and um, she was watching him and she was like, supposed to go do something but she didn’t, and so she just stayed there and kept looking at his head, and then something happened, and she saved his life. And when the family asked her why she didn’t like, leave, she said it was the Holy Ghost.”

Tell me, how do you follow that?

I have no doubt that if the Savior had visited our church today, he would have come straight to my class. These kids are strong. They love the Lord and they love Heavenly Father, and they want to share it. I don’t think anything makes the Heavens happier than watching their childlike enthusiasm. This is the rising generation, and they are stronger and smarter and more capable than any generation before them.

My only prayer is that we won’t fail them. If we don’t teach them about Christ, who will? We have to try harder today then we did yesterday. We have to fill our own spiritual wells as often as we can, so there will be a place of refuge when their faith wavers.

Pray with them. Read to them. Tell them about Christ. Don’t let Easter sneak up on you this year. During primary when the Bishop asked why we celebrate Easter, one of the four-year-old’s raised his hand and said, “Because Jesus was resurrected!”

Do it. Do it today.

I received this update on June today:

“It may be embarrassing when your toddler throws a full-blown screaming fit in the middle of the produce section, but rest assured that other parents feel your pain. The most useful response is to take your child out of the store (even if it means leaving a cart full of food behind) and sit with him in the car or on a bench until he finishes crying. When the storm is over, your child will feel close to you and happy again. And you can take some comfort in knowing that eventually your child will outgrow this behavior.”

Harrison is 71 months. When do they outgrow this again?

There’s nothing like spending the day, locked in the house with half a dozen kids. It’s so easy to get instant sympathy from people, everyone feels bad for women who “put themselves out” to babysit, right? If you want your husband to offer to bring dinner home, try babysitting.

“Wow honey, you’ve really got your hands full,” Jason says to me today, “Can I bring dinner home for you? I’m sure the last thing you’re going to want to do is cook.”

“Oh, that would be great. This is just so hard, *sniff*”.

“Hey, I could never do your job.”

“Actually sweetheart, you know what would be really great?” I say.

“What?”

“Could I go to that five-o’clock yoga class tonight? That would be the best thing for me today.”

“No problem, I’ll meet you there and get dinner for the kids.”

Is it bad that I kind of played it up a little? The truth of the matter is this: babysitting is not hard*. At all. In fact, there’s nothing worse than a houseful of your very own bored kids. Sure, six kids might sound like a handful to some teenage babysitter who’s getting paid by the hour, but to a mother who’s dying for some cheap entertainment for her five-year-old? Babysitting is the perfect solution.

And the more the merrier. When I babysit, I like to call all my girlfriends and invite them to dump their kids off. It’s like money in the bank, racking up all those hours of free drop-offs.

Lifestyles of the stay-at-homers: you can’t beat it.

*Except when you have a ten-month-old infant who cries all day, and wants to be held, and doesn’t know how to hold his own bottle. That can get a little exhausting and frustrating. But the rest of them are great.

UPDATE:

I am going insane. Three of these children (two of them are mine) have been crying at top volume for the past 22 minutes straight and I want to cut off my ears. I think I need that yoga class.

Dear Fox Television,

I’m sorry to say that I will no longer be watching American Idol. Okay, that’s a lie. I will be fast forwarding through everything the judges say, do or wear so I can avoid any further discomfort caused by watching Paula try to speak in complete sentences. 

I don’t care about dogs, dope or the contestant’s personal body temperature, and listening to Krandy try to do math gives me a headache. I’m not interested in what Paula has under her skirt, whether or not Simon remembered to change his shirt from last week, or if Ryan will ever make it through an entire show without hitting on at least one of the judges.  

Come on, you might as well hand Adam Lambert the trophy and cancel the rest of the season. Lil Rounds can’t sing Motown (or country or pop or R&B), Scott can’t see, and any day now Kris’s wife is going to smuggle in a machine gun and mow down the female masses congregating outside his dressing room. The only attractive contestant you’ve got left, Megan, has apparently taken a job at the Copacabana. 

By the way, do you think you could get me Smokey Robinson’s autograph? 

Peace out,

Rush Limbaugh

So The Man and I are subjecting ourselves to a 13 week Dave Ramsey course. I don’t talk about it here because it’s too painful. Plus you would get so sick of hearing me lament, you’d never come back to visit. 

But some things I can’t keep to myself. Check out my column this week for the inside scoop on this financial charade.

I can’t stop thinking about Willie Nelson (thank you Anoop) and his stupid, stupid famous song. “You Were Always On My Mind” is the biggest load of moldy doodoo I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Maybe I didn’t say nice things to you, or treat you very well. And maybe sometimes I made you look really stupid in front of other people and forgot your birthday. Hey, we both know I was always on the road meeting other, younger women who followed me back to my room, and that I suck at personal self-maintenance and hygiene, but hey, feel better; you were always on my mind.

So now that I’m old and wrinkled and ugly, now that all the hippie chicks are women going through menopause, is there any way you’d take me back? Come on, you were always back there bumping around in my weedy brain, the perfect fall-back plan. You can’t hold those other things against me, I was high! But even when I was smokin’ that weed, I was thinking of you, babe.

So how ’bout it?”

Very possibly the stupidest song ever.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to interview the super duper famous LDS novelista, Annette Lyon. This woman is incredibly successful in the world of writing; we have been given an exclusive interview to find out what makes those keys click.

Watch as I uncover the experiences that helped build her new book, Tower of Strength, and gawk at the inside workings of a fictional author (or author who writes fiction). She is experienced. She is brilliant. She has been published mui mui much.

1. Now Annette, have you ever worked in a mine before/experienced a blast powerful enough to blow off a body part? 

I’ve seen pictures of mines. Do fireworks count as a powerful blast? 

2. Are you, or have you ever been, a thief? If so, when and what did you steal?

At the age of six, I believe I stole some quarters from my father’s dresser. I have since reformed.

3. Have you ever owned or worked with a newspaper, specifically one used in the 19th century?

I’m seriously experienced on this one. I did a few newspaper articles and book reviews for a now-defunct paper. It died in the 1990s. Not QUITE the 19th century, but maybe it counts.

4. How many times have you been to Manti, UT?

Three: Once as a kid too tired to remember the pageant, once as a 14-year-old going with a youth group to see the pageant (which I don’t think I watched much of because I had heat exhaustion), and then once for a research trip for the book, which consisted of driving around, snapping pictures, hanging out in the cemetery, and wandering the temple grounds. Real in-depth stuff.

5. Have you ever been bitten by a rattle snake? If so, where? Did it hurt?

I know someone who saw a rattlesnake in the wilderness once.

6. We hate to ask this, but are you a widow?

Alas, no. We’ll be celebrating 15 years of marriage in about a month.

7. Do you have a thing for British Accents or men who are really bad with animals? Are they good kissers?

What woman doesn’t have a thing for British accents? Actually, my husband spent a lot of time as a kid with animals on his grandparents’ farm, so he’ spretty good with them. When it comes to me and animals, the farther we are apart, the better. (He may lack a British accent, but for the record, my man is a good kisser.

8. Tell us about your equestrian background.

You’ll be way impressed here. When I was twelve I took pony riding lessons for few months. About the sum total of what I remember:  1) even in boots, toes WILL freeze in the winter 2) those beasts were freakin’ huge and scary and 3) I looked kinda cute with the little black helmet.