Beer breath

I have recently perfected this gorgeous and delicious bread.
If pressured by my very hungry husband (boy can he eat!) I can make it several times a week.



It is almost always perfect. I am very proud.
But the thing I like most about it is the smell before you cook it.

You pull the dough out of the fridge where it's been resting for a day or two, take off the Saran wrap and BAM!
The sour smell of dough and yeast, smelling exactly like beer breath hits your nostrils.

You think I am gross for saying that I love that smell.
And let me say, I do not usually like when people have beer breath.

BUT beer breath is not a smell that I get whiffs of on a regular basis here on BYU campus.
And to be frank, my high school friends were pretty much all good Lutherans who didn't really drink, or people who liked me enough not to invite me to parties they'd be drinking at.

So the only time I ever really smelled beer breath up close was when I was with my family.
The Froelich side.
And let me say, Froelichs are kissers. This is something I didn't know until Travis started meeting people and going "Ew gross, you kissed your grandpa on the mouth" or "I can't believe you've just kissed every aunt and uncle in this entire room. Do I have to?"


Yep, we're kissers. We pucker up our lips and give each other a kiss on the cheek, or in the case of grandparents, sometimes on the lips.
And I never noticed.

It was very normal to me.

But the smell of this bread, when I pull it out of the fridge to let it rise smells like tickly mustaches, and curling up in an armchair with my Grandpa Roger, and even (dare I say it?) a little like holidays.
I'm sure that my good Mormon parents are horrified to read this.
Embarrassed maybe that beer makes me think of my family.

But I have a very distinct memory of sitting in an armchair with my grandpa, asking for a sip of his pop.
He gave me a drink all right, but it was not soda. I choked while he chuckled in his red-cheeked grandfathery sort of way.
Oh, how funny they were.

There, sadly, were several other times when I fell for this trick.
Kids are just plain stupid.
But after I learned to smell the beer before drinking, I wised up.

And yet. I smell beer and I think of grandpas and uncles and Minnesota and it makes me feel nostalgic and silly.
And I like it.

This is what I think of when I smell that bread.
This is me in a night gown, snuggled up on an armchair with Grandpa Roger, who does not look as jovial as usual.
But I seem very happy, despite my terrible bowl cut.


And this is an unrelated but awesome photo that I came across while looking for the picture above.



Dad, nice mullet and mustache.
Mom, nice mullet and blue eye shadow.
Creepy.
But that cute baby is me.
(Their anniversary just came and went recently. Happy 22 years of marriage, you guys. You've only gotten better at doing your hair.)

Brown as an African

I am not quite as brown as an African.
That is a fact especially clear when I am seen standing near to Africans.

And yet, Travis and I are both pretty brown, (helped along by yesterday's day at the lake.)
I promise pictures are to come, both from Africa and from this week since we've been home.
The ones from this week may include Travis and I in umbrella hats at the parade, a picture with our friends Cole and Suzie before they left for New York, and a group picture of the Pitchers at the parade.

But I am at work now, so I don't have all my pictures.

I wanted to share one of my theories about the fourth of July:

The things we do to celebrate the fourth of July are a smaller version of the things we love as Americans.

For example: We go to parades.
Americans (I'm stereotyping now, don't get all huffy) like useless but pretty things that are just for show. Americans like showing off what they've done or can do. Americans like sitting around and watching things happen without being involved.

We ride carnival rides.
Americans like to do things that are risky or exciting or scary, just to prove that they can. Americans like to have exorbitant amounts of fun, (even to the extent that they may not actually be having fun - Calvin and Hobbes, anyone?)

We wear costumes/dress the same as our whole family.
Americans LOVE costumes. Haven't you ever been to a city? or a marathon? And those grumpy middle-aged men who can't be talked into a costume still wear the same blue American-flag bedecked Old Navy t-shirt as all of their kids and as their wife under the pretense of... keeping together? Americans have some of the most boring clothes as well as the most useless income, so the need for costumes makes perfect sense. (When I say useless income I mean, after paying for the necessities there is still money left... what should we spend it on? Costumes, of course.)

We wave flags, shout out the constitution, and dress very patriotically.
Because even Americans who claim to hate the USA can't help but be ethnocentric.... I mean.... patriotic.

Okay, I'm done.
Happy 6th of July.
And happy independence day.

Birthdays

Warning: This post is longer than was expected.

(If you're wondering what my Mom looked like when I was little)
(and if you're wondering what Minnesota looked like when I was little)

On her blog Emma talked about being nine and being barefoot and being in the Midwest.

Which is funny because whenever I think of how perfect a place the upper Midwest is to grow up, I always think about being nine. I don’t usually think about being barefoot, but that’s because it’s such an obvious expected thing. I only think about when I had to wear shoes.

Like when Kristine and her Grandma and I went walking down the middle of a calm part of the Mississippi behind her Grandma’s house. She made us wear shoes so we wouldn’t cut our feet on unseen things and I ruined a pair of tennis shoes by getting them wet.

I think I ruined a pair of tennis shoes every summer by walking in rivers or sloshing through ponds.

Or stomping in mud.

There’s water and mud everywhere so it’s not really hard to do. Mom would make us put our muddy shoes in the garage until they dried out and try to make us wear them the next time some grown-up dictated that we wear shoes, but we always thought they were too gross to put back on.

I guess this is a post about Mom somehow. Even if it’s about Minnesota, too. They have the same birthday, Minnesota and Mom, it’s today: May 11^th. Happy Birthday.

I think about them the same sometimes, which might be weird for my mom. But they’re so beautiful, and better than anyone or anywhere else, they completely shaped me as a person.

When you were little did you try to imagine what it was like for your mother to be little like you? I grew up so close to Mom’s home town that when we drove through I used to try to picture her walking down the street. I would associate stories with actual places. She would say that she grew up with a tire swing that swung out over Lake Silvey, and I would imagine her swinging out and dropping into that actual lake.

I would go swimming in Lake Silvey and think of her and of my grandma and me and how we all swam in the same lake and how it made us the same.

I think of summer days when Mom and Kim would stand in our kitchen with windows open (and screens shut, of course) and it was so hot inside because they were boiling tomatoes.

They made so much salsa every year. We would play outside and run in and they would be filling dozens of cans with delicious mild salsa.

I would try to grab a chip and dip in to the half-way made salsa and sometimes Mom would let me. Sometimes she wouldn’t.

Summertime. Summertime is almost upon us.

We used to go berry-picking until we burst. We would weave in between the rows, instead of staying in one like we were supposed to. The berries were always warm from sitting all day under the hot sun. The soft skins would burst and warm red juice would explode in your mouth and Mom would tell us to pick them, not eat them.

We’d come home then with buckets full and Mom would freeze a bunch for smoothies and desserts.

Then she would get out the cans again and Kim would come over and they’d spend the whole afternoon and maybe the next making strawberry jam. Mmm, just thinking about it makes me want toast with homemade jam.

Most nights after that, when Kim and her girls spent the whole day at our house anyway, Dad would get out the barbeque and make burgers and brats for all of our families.

We’d spend the evening running around the yard, barefoot, and covered in so much bug spray it’s a miracle we could taste the brats.

And I can picture Mom in a lawn chair or on the front steps laughing and talking and not caring that we were covered in mud.

And not caring if we ran through the neighbors sprinklers with our clothes on.

And knowing that when it came time for the Haggen’s to go we would cry that we needed to have them sleepover, or we wanted to sleep over there and we wanted to set up a tent in the yard.

And she would shrug and say fine, and the next day we would wear the same clothes, or no clothes at all except a swimsuit and it would all start over.

Until the very end of summertime.

* * *

I love you Mom. Happy Birthday and thank you for being so good, and raising me so well, and teaching me about all the important things, like friends, and swimming and bug spray.

And I’m sorry I never learned to dive as well as you.

Happy Birthday Minnesota, I love you and miss you and hope that you are not embarrassed that I talk about you on my blog all the time.

As Promised

This is the picture I mentioned in my last post.
I am wearing my great-grandmother's dress, which was MADE by my great-great grandmother.

It's very old and cool.
Don't you think?

We're standing in front of our house, even though it's hard to see.
Isn't it a nice green?

5 years old

I called Kathryn. It went like this:
(Please imagine my voice as being overly excited and hers as being overly bored.)

me: Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Kathryn! Happy Birthday to you.
Kathryn: . . . .
me: Happy Birthday, Kathryn.
Kathryn: Thank you.
me: Does it feel different to be 5 years old?
Kathryn: Yes.
me: Well, how do you feel?
Kathryn: I feel good.
me: What are you doing for your birthday?
Kathryn: I'm shopping for candy for my birthday right now.
me: Do you have any --
Kathryn: OKAY! Bye, I love you!
me: Oh, okay bye.
Kathryn: Wait, what were you going to say?
me: I was just wondering if you had any birthday wishes.
Kathryn: Thanks, I love you! BYE!

Oh, so your birthday wish is to NOT talk to me on the phone.
Got it.

A few weeks ago my mom was on the phone with me, and after Kathryn interrupted her several times she asked, "Kathryn wants to know if the baby in your belly is a boy or a girl and if it's growing yet."
"Tell her I have some of each, but they're not growing yet."
"Oh, okay." Kathryn said.

Kathryn was lying in bed, listening to my dad and uncle laugh in the living room.
"It sounds like they're having fun," she said.
"Yeah," my mom said, "Your dad likes when Matt's here."
"Do you think we should go out there?"
"No, you're supposed to be going to sleep."
...
"Am I supposed to be having fun right now?"
"No. You're supposed to be going to sleep."
"Oh. That makes sense."

I tried to upload a video that I took of Kathryn singing a few months ago, but the video has been at 39% for like 6 hours. So that's a no go.


Here's a link to Kathryn's birthday post last year, which I reread and then laughed until I cried a little. And peed a little.
Also, here are several other posts which are mostly about how funny she is, which I don't want to rewrite, but want to encourage you to read.
And don't forget to read the comments, since that's where my parents post additional funny things she says.

Five years old... REALLY?
Kathryn's birthday last year.
Kathryn at Christmas time.
The Family in general being ridiculous, (but with lots of Kathryn)
A weekend at the cabin.
The last time I saw Kathryn.

Please, if you have time to waste... waste it with the Froelichs. We are so very entertaining.
Oh, and here's a link to a video or two on the family blog of the best singer ever: Kathryn.

mint-green basketball hoop

Usually I try to think of a title for a post before I write it. I can do this because I usually plan out in my brain all the things I'll say to you way before I write it.

I didn't do that today and I'm having a hard time naming this post, because I have the feeling but not the words yet. I think the words go like this:

I'm afraid to talk about my Great-grandmother on my blog. We called her Babalou.

The reason I'm afraid to talk about her is that I want to say things about her that I think I remember, but her daughter and grand-daughters and windowed husband could all read this blog and say, "No, Becky, she didn't do that. Your imagination invented it."

And I like the way that I remember her, even if it isn't quite how it really was.

Babalou died when I ten from breast cancer. So the things I remember are probably skewed.

But I think she talked a little like Julia Child. Sort of deep and throaty.

and she wore strong Chanel perfume and whenever I smell it somewhere else I feel like crying, but not because I miss her, even though I do. But I feel a little like crying because I miss her house.

The house that we only came in to through the back door, because the backdoor led to the family room where the tv was and Grandpa was. There was a ledge into the kitchen where Babalou'd put out little cookies that she'd decorated with candy.

The front door had a bell on it.

It led into a room with white carpet and furniture and little shelves of fragile things we couldn't touch. The whole house smelled like her and when she died and Grandpa moved that was what broke my heart.

It broke my heart that he was leaving that house with the upstairs room that felt like my room. That was the only grandparent's house where I wanted to go and play, instead of sit in front of the tv, because no offense Grandmas who read my blog, but Grandma houses are boring for little kids.

But they had a wooden mint green basketball hoop in the driveway, and neighbor kids across the street and next door, and hopscotch lines pressed into the cement , and a giant garden in the back yard.

And when I say a giant garden, I mean GIANT. In my child-mind I imagined it to be an acre stretching from the back wall of the house down a hill to a path which eventually led to ponds and good climbing trees. The acre between the house and path was filled with boxes and planters and flowers and berries and everything good. There was even a tree full of a raccoon family and every night after dinner the Momma raccoon would come down to the back door, the family door, and wash their paws in a little bowl of water that Babalou set out. Then, carefully, and with perfect table manners, the raccoon would eat the leftovers from our dinner.

If somehow Babalou forgot to put out their food or there wasn't enough to share, the big Momma raccoon would stand up and rap on glass door with her tiny fist until someone brought them dinner.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the house today because of something my Grandpa (her widower) said on his blog, which is something you should read, because it will make you cry.

Easter

Check out pictures of our family dying easter eggs on our photoblog: Tandem Bike Photography.

April Fools

I am apparently not very good at convincing anyone that I am pregnant.

My call with Matt was not successful. He sounded too nice and congratulatory and since he's usually a bully I felt guilt and said April Fools right away, but he had me already figured out.

"I know," he said "Lisa's been pulling pranks on me all morning." (yeah right she has)

When I called my grandpa he said "Let me think, IT'S APRIL FIRST. Did you mother tell you to call me? Give the phone to her. She played this prank on me for 15 years and for 10 years I believed it!"

When I tried to tell my parents at dinner they beat me to the punch, "We have something to tell you," I said, "Let me guess!" said my mom, "You're pregnant!"

Then they laughed and laughed.

Only when my mom typed to Mary on an IM "Your sister just told us she's pregnant" did we get the response we wanted.

"IS THIS FOR REAL?!"

No Mary. Sorry Mary.

I'm not pregnant guys, I'm just an April Fool

Week in Pictures: Family Comes, Happiness Ensues.

I remember that they are crazy.

Kathryn is almost five. FIVE!
Baby Isaac is three (maybe four?) months old and boy can he laugh!
Jack and I look exactly the same, especially now with the same haircut.

mostly, I love this picture since Renn and Isaac are making the same face.

Questions about Africa

Yesterday a travel warning was issued by the US for Kenya. (Read the info here.)
We aren't really worried, since the warning is for the opposite side of the country, along the Somalian and Ethiopian borders, and because it warns especially against big cities, riots, etc and we will be in a tiny town far from cities, but it has given us food for thought.
And I suspect it will worry our mothers and grandmothers.

SO. Here is a proposition. No matter how many times you call and say, "Where will you be sleeping?" I forget to ask.
But we're have a skype call with Komaza (the organization) soon and we're going to write down all of our questions for them ahead of time.
If you have any questions to add to the list, PLEASE leave them in the comments.
Don't just call and tell me, I'll forget.
I assure you, I will forget.

Also, you may leave questions, comments, or concerns even if you are not my mother or grandmother.

Jack

I may be able to pose as Mary, but never as Jack, even though we actually look and act completely the same.
I love to talk to him on the phone, because it goes like this:

me: Why are you home?

Jack: I'm home sick

me: Me too. So what have you been reading while you're home?

Jack: ummm, I'm starting the Hunger Games.

me: I heard they were really good.

Jack: What have you been reading?

me: I just finished the Lightning Thief, so we can go to the movie this weekend.

Jack: The movie's okay. You know that scene where Annabell plays with Cerberus, though?

me: Yeah.

Jack: They took the whole thing out. It just like all of a sudden they're with Hades, in the
underworld. No three headed dog to get around.

me: That makes no sense, you can't just walk into the underworld!

Jack: YEAH! I know, its like anyone who knows anything about the underworld would be
expecting to see Cerberus. It doesn't make any sense. They're just like ZIP! We're in the
underworld, ZIP! now we're not.

me: That's stupid. What else have you been reading?

Jack: How to Train Your Dragon, which is nothing like the movie, at least what I've seen in the trailer. I mean, in the movie they apparently kill dragons, but in the book every kid has to catch a dragon when its a baby or you're banished, so this kid catches one, but he gives it to this other guy so he doesn't get banished. I mean, when movies take stuff out, I'm like 'Okay, maybe they didn't have enough time to make it right,' but it's so stupid when they take stuff out just to add different things that never happened!

I love it. When I was a kid I just wanted a best friend who cared about books as much as I did. After the midnight showing of HP6 (which we both went to separately) he called me and we talked for almost an hour about the changes they made and how we felt about them.
And I mean, RIGHT after. We were on the phone from like 3-4am.

The first book ever ruined by movies for me was Tuck Everlasting, and it was a devastating, heart-breaking time for me. I love having someone who knows exactly how it feels.
And has read all the exact same books as me.

It doesn't matter that he's only twelve. He's one of my best friends.

look-alikes

So Mary and I are not the same person.
We don't even look like the same person.

But today I pretended, pretty successfully, to be my sister Mary.

First Mary told me that she hadn't actually finished applying to BYU, which needs to be done by March 1st. Then she said that it's because she has to send her ACT score and doesn't know how.

So I googled her high school and called and said "Hi, I'm trying to have my ACT scores sent to another college. I graduated last year."
The lady said "What is your name?"
I said, "Mary Froelich."

She said I had to go online to the ACT website and have it sent from there.
I got on and tried to create an account as Mary Froelich. I provided Mary's birthday, email, social, everything.
Then they told me that I already had an account and couldn't access my info unless I logged in.

After ten minutes, guess who had successfully figured out Mary's password AND id.
That's right. ME!
I didn't even use her security question, which totally would have given it away since it was probably something like "Who was your childhood pet?" or "What is your Mother's maiden name?"
I totally know the answers to all those questions.

Now Mary's ACT scores will be whizzing through the air to BYU and her application letter will be whizzing back to her and she will live in Provo (because I am such a great sister-impersonator) and people will confuse us for each other, because they always do, but it never makes sense since we don't look alike at all.

(See? Blond hair, green eyes. Brown hair, brown eyes. Totally different faces. We don't even look related.)

Winston

We have already named the Bulldog that we do not own, and may not own for a while.
I know what you're thinking: Bulldogs are not cute.
Well, you are wrong. While previously I believed that Bulldogs were SUPER ugly, yesterday Travis and I spent about 8 hours researching and reading about Bulldogs.
And now we love them.
Here's why:
They're exactly like me.

They are prone to allergies and asthma. (haha, seems funny.)
They don't like to lie around all day, but they are intolerant to exercise and will not accept running, especially for long distances.
They are content to just be at home with people they love and don't need to be played with all the time as long as you let them curl up at your feet or on your lap.
They are intolerant to heat and cold.
They like to stay indoors.
They love babies and children, and even other little animals.

Besides being just like me, here's how they're perfect for us:
They don't like to be left alone outside--we don't really have a yard.
They're not little yappy dogs, but they won't take up the whole apartment.
We figured out our schedule and we would never leave our puppy home alone for more than three hours at a time, but when we finally ARE home, we often just want to relax, snuggle up, and watch a movie -- and a bulldog would be content to do just that. (Don't get me wrong, though, we can't WAIT to play with that little furry ball)
They're little and short-haired, so not as much fur, so not as much allergies. (Also, Travis and I may have found a CURE for allergies. But I'm scared of it.)




Come on, look at their goofy little faces. How can you not love it?
Plus, I will read high literature aloud to Winston when he's a baby so that when he grows up he will be a great writer.
And speak English very well.
Also, he will wear a monocle.
Thirdly, our landlord may or may not let us have a dog, but our contract ends in August. We want a puppy so bad that we may just move if he says no.

Hamster

My family has been through a few pets since my childhood.
Most recently, a hamster. They had one hamster a few months ago.
Remember how cute Kathryn was? And is?
This is Kathryn and Marigold.
But Kathryn loved poor Marigold to death.

So they got a new hamster.
And Kathryn named her Becky.

"I just miss you so much," she said. "Someday you can come see Becky. You can come see Becky in real life."
"Unless she's dead," said my mom.
"Yeah, or NOT." said Kathryn.

As I talked to my mom I could hear Kathryn saying things like "Becky wants to get out of her box."

And Jack carried the hamster over to the computer (where Mom and I were video chatting) and said "I think that Becky's feet are underdeveloped which is why she can't roll around."
"How could she get her food then?" Mom asked. "She must crawl over to her food."
Jack just shook his head. "Becky's feet are undeveloped," he repeated.

It made me feel strange. Like maybe MY feet were underdeveloped.
But I can crawl to my food. So I suspect my feet are fine.

I just fear hamster Becky's imminent death. Because I don't want to hear Kathryn crying and saying "Becky is dead."
That would really make me feel weird.

Mary and Jack

Last night while reading On the Shores of Silver Lake (a Little House book) I had to stop, set down the book, and go get some tissues. I sobbed on uncontrollably for a good ten minutes.
I kept gasping and asking myself (aloud, too!) "what is wrong with me?" But I couldn't stop.
Every time I tried to pick up my book and keep reading I would begin to again cry like crazy.

This is why: In just one chapter Jack, Laura's sweet old dog turns on his bed, goes to sleep, and never wakes up again. Then aunt Docia comes and takes Pa out west, leaving three girls and a baby alone. AND THEN Mary goes blind from Scarlet Fever.

I actually texted Travis "Jack died and Mary's gone blind from Scarelt Fever and I can't stop crying" before I remembered that I have siblings named Jack and Mary.

And maybe that's confusing.

Really I was so broken-hearted that I wonder if I would cry as much if my actual dog died and my sister went blind.
I guess I probably would.

Thai Food

After my debacle with Pad Thai last week my dad sent me a recipe for Pad Thai that he made.
(at one of my new favorite sites, too!) It's on a foodblog called Use Real Butter.
I haven't made it yet, but I bought all the ingredients. I'm really excited, I hope it turns out better.
Doesn't it look tasty?!
At the end of the email my dad sent with the link, he included this post-script:

Oh, I forgot to tell you, I did not include the pickled turnips. That sounds very appetizing, if you're a freak! I was watching a cooking/travel show featuring authentic cuisine in Thailand, and they were eating a salad of live ants. I feel that, sometimes, it is okay to sacrifice authenticity to avoid filling the serving bowl with my own vomit.

Dad

I've been laughing since I read it.
My daddy, hesofunny.

Christmas (p.m.)

Mmmm, we got lucky on Christmas because the Pitchers make a big breakfast but not a big dinner, while the Patchs don't have a big breakfast but recreate Thanksgiving for dinner.

So we got two big meals with a decent lunch in between. Isn't this the reason for the season? Fooooood? I do love food.

We got to the Patchs right in time to avoid doing most of the work, but still get to feel like we helped.

Even Grandpa was mashing potatoes! The dinner was a delicious group effort. And there was a perfect turkey, and thanks to his practice in November, Travis carved the bird perfectly!

When I got to their house, Keira was all dressed up.

"You look nice," I said.
"Well, we're taking... I mean you're taking our family pictures today. I meant to ask you, but I figured you'd have your camera."

I did take a couple pictures of the family, but I must admit, I got carried away taking pictures of Isaac.

Even though he's usually making sweet faces and NOT crying, I love the pictures of him crying.
Maybe it's mean, but I think they're cuter.


And here's grandpa with baby Isaac, I'm lucky I even got these since grandpa was very against me taking his picture.

Christmas (a.m.)

I love Christmas. I love it more than any other holiday in the whole year.
This year we had Christmas morning with Travis's family, Christmas evening with the Patch family, and (hopefully) we will spend the rest of the holiday with my family up in Montana.
(we should be there now, but 12 hours before we were supposed to leave our car broke down.... again.)

So here are some of my favorite pictures of Christmas morning with the Pitchers:












I did get a little carried away with the burst mode on my camera, and took a lot of "action shots." My favorite are here:
Dave opening a gift (I think it was the bathrobe pictured above)


Tessa opening a gift (a zebra-striped pillow, I believe)


and my favorite blurry pictures of the day (and trust me there were lots of blurry pictures). This is Tate trying to tackle Tessa and consequently being thrown on to the couch and sat upon, oooh, it's fun to have little brothers to pick on!

copycatting

I am the copycat here.
Because if you don't read my family's blog then you don't get to see the rocking pictures that my sister puts up.
And if you don't read my sister's blog then you are foolish. Her blog is here.

My lucky siblings get to be in Minnesota this week. Lisa took these pictures of Kathryn and I loooove them. So I am being a copycat and posting them here.

Also, here is an anecdote about Kathryn:
This year Kathryn started pre-school. She attends a Jewish Monastery, which is really cool. She's learning Spanish and karate and other random but neat things.
Last week we had a conversation like this:

Becky: Did you learn anything at school today?

Kathryn: I learned a new song.

Becky: Will you sing it for me?

Kathryn: Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel! Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel! Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel! Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel! Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel! I made it out of clay!

Becky: Wow Kathryn, that's great! Did you know that's a Hanukkah song?

Kathryn: Hanukkah! Hanukkah! Hanukkah! Well, bye! I love you.

Christmas Card

Family pictures are super fun!
Maybe not so fun to take, but always super fun to have.

This is the second time that I've been in pictures where we set up a tripod, focused the camera, set the timer and then ran back to stand with the family.
Despite that, I think they turned out quite well.

First, our little family:
Travis and Becky. I think we're quite cute. Travis knit the scarf I'm wearing. Very impressive, no? Other couples include:
Dave and Carol, Travis's parents
and Travis's sister Camille and her husband Chris. (p.s. this is my FAVORITE picture of Camille)



Then there are the rest of us Pitchers.
Also, this a picture of me so everyone can see how LONG my hair is!! Crazy, no?

Pictures by my husband Travis.

Soon, all of our pictures will be extra pretty, because when we get some money we will buy Sheye Rosemeyer's Beauty Full Eye Candy Set. It's what makes all her pictures so BeautyFull.
Or if you're struggling with what to get me for Christmas, you could write me a check for 95 dollars and I promise to spend it on Photoshop Actions.
cross my heart.