All I Want For My Birthday...

My birthday cakes when I was a kid were amazing. My mother would craft them herself. Sometimes the sugar decorations would take her weeks to handcraft. She didn't follow any patterns, just made them all from her own imagination. The cake I had for my 12th birthday stands out the clearest in my memory. It was this incredible confection of lace made from icing and hand-sculpted mini-bouquets of flowers cascading down the sides of a two tiered dream. It took her a good four weeks to make all of the lace pieces and allow them to harden and dry. I wish I had a picture of it to show you. I have never seen a professional cake which could measure up to her standards.

So, of course I wanted a clown from Baskin-Robbins. I can still picture them so clearly in my mind, those little clowns. Really just decorated scoops of ice-cream on a cookie with a cone for a hat and half a maraschino cherry for a nose. I wanted one all of my childhood and never got one.

Every Saturday afternoon, my family would walk or ride our bikes down to Baskin-Robbins and get a scoop which we would eat while sitting outside on the curb when weather permitted or squeezed into a single booth when it did not. I always looked at and sighed over the clowns. They sat there in their cheery glory, each one a different flavor, just smiling at me. My mom was as cheap then as I am now, and wouldn't spend the extra fifty cents on a bit of icing. So, I ate my scoop of gold-medal ribbon (it's still my favorite) and waited for the day when I could have one.

I've still never had one.

I know it's silly, but it's all I want for my birthday. B.R. is quite a drive from our house, and I just can't justify it for a $2.00 dessert. So every year I tell my husband that this silly thing is all I want for my birthday. It's been 12 years and I still haven't gotten one. Perhaps he thinks I'm joking or trying to save a few bucks by asking for something so inexpensive, but it is the one thing guaranteed to bring tears of joy to my eyes because I've waited so long, and he will have paid attention. Let's be honest, it's the paid attention part that makes it a great gift. I know he reads my blog at least once a week, and my birthday is the 2nd. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that he takes the hint. All my friends and the children have been prepped to tell him that this really is all I want for my birthday. This year, I don't want flowers or jewelry or dinner out at and expensive restaurant....all I really want is the $2.00 clown that I never got as a child. Sorry Mom, but I really think the extra half dollar for icing is worth it.

A 6 Year Old's Deep Thought

If Jesus is God and man, is the man part of him a saint?

I Threw a Party..

and you'll never guess who came. We had Sts. Elizabeth of Hungary, Benedict, Joseph and Agnes and Queen Isabella of Spain. Sherlock Holmes, Christine from Phantom of the Opera, the Frog Prince's lady put in an appearance. It was a stunningly varied group of the real and the fictional, but they all had so much fun.

We had our homeschool group's Halloween party at our house yesterday and 30+ children came. They ranged in age from 2 in the womb up to 14 years old. They ran and played and showed off their costumes (they were limited to saints or literary figures only). The amazing thing was that with all of these children in my house for 3 hours, there were no fights and no arguing. Older siblings watched out for the little ones and helped them play the games. When one little girl got no candy from the pinata, three others dug into their own bags and shared with her until she ended up with more than anyone else. When the party was over, the children picked up after themselves without being asked, so that all I had to do was run the vacuum to remove any trace of their presence.

Best of all, was when we gathered in the living room to say a rosary for those family members who had died this past year. All the little ones knelt and everyone prayed. The only squabble of the day was over who got to lead. They solved it themselves by taking turns.

People often ask us why we choose to homeschool our children instead of taking the few hours of freedom that the schools offer me. The reason is simple. I can't imagine a group of 30+ elementary children who go to the local school as coming to my home and being so kind, selfless, and lovely. Going to a traditional school changes children in ways that their parents are not able to control. By keeping them home, we are able to preserve the natural kindness and sweetness with which they were born.

Abortion, Suffering, and the Chinese Widow

From RealChoice comes this excellent post. She does good work, you should check her out.

Once upon a time, according to a Chinese legend, there was a poor widow whose only son was killed in an accident. Her grief was so deep that she wanted to die. In desperation, she went to a magician and asked if he could prepare a potion for her to cure her grief.

The magician told the widow that he could make just the potion she needed. But the widow had to bring him a special ingredient: an onion from a home that had never known sorrow.

So off the widow went to find an onion from a home that had never known sorrow. She went from village to village, door to door, seeking the onion. But every home she went to had known sorrow. Soon the widow found that she was spending her time giving comfort and recieving comfort from those she visited, sharing her sorrows and their sorrows. And in time, her grief faded and she found a will to live again and a new joy in life.

Finally she went back to the magician and told him that she had failed. She could not find an onion from a house that had known no sorrow.

"Ah," the magician said, "But still the potion worked! For your grief is cured!"

So many arguments in favor of abortion are based on the idea that abortion is somehow necessary to spare the child a life of suffering. But I challenge you, like the Chinese widow, to find someone who has known no sorrow, no suffering.

It's natural for parents to try to protect their children from suffering. They take them to the doctor and the dentist for preventive care. They teach them to beware of strangers. They teach them basic safety rules. And their hearts are always broken as life somehow manages to cause the child suffering, from a skinned knee to a crippling automobile accident, from taunting at school to torment by criminals. All of our best efforts to keep our children safe and happy only stack the deck. They delay the encounter with suffering, or they mitigate the suffering, but they can't eliminate it entirely, because suffering is an inevitable part of life.

The parent who is considering abortion to spare the child suffering might do well to follow the Chinese magician's advice. For proof that you're making the right choice, go and find an onion from a home that has never known sorrow. If you find one in time to keep your abortion appointment, go for it.

Then let me know. Because I'd like to meet the people who gave you the onion.

Penny Pincher Hint

Find out what day and time your grocery store marks down meat left over from the weekend. Ours does it at 7AM on Tuesdays. Go and hang out while they're doing it. (You may need to get your spouse or eldest child to watch the kids) You can save 30-50% on your meat bills. How do you know what day to show up? ASK! always ask. You also should check out the "Sell by" date on each package. If the date is today, show it to the butcher and he/she will usually discount it on the spot. The meat is still good, and you're going to bring it home and put it into the freezer anyway.

Also a good tip, buy in bulk and separate it at home. For example, when I buy hamburger, I buy it in the largest package I can find (unless the small ones are discounted then they can be cheaper, you have to do math here!) then I brown it when I get home, divide it, and freeze. It takes out one step from preparing dinners like spaghetti, chili, or even my beloved Hamburger Helper.

Tomato Sauce and Sunshine

I don't know why I have been thinking so much lately about the passage of time, and how quickly my little ones seem to be growing. I have just been oddly nostalgic lately. Not over some sweet memory, but wanting desperately to hold on to the small, normal things which all come together to make my life complete. I just want to live in this moment for a long. long time. I get the feeling that THIS is the best time of my life, right now. We're all healthy and relatively happy, and our children are all still gathered around us. I want to try to take mental snapshots of everything so that I will be able to call these precious moments back when I am sitting in my rocker on the porch and reminiscing about when they were young.

One of these sweet memories is the way that our children smell when they are little. Not just the sweet aroma of a baby's head, but the tangy smell of little boys who have spent the whole day outside. My eldest son, for example, has the definite smell of tomato sauce. He has always smelled of tomato sauce and sunshine even as a very tiny baby. I don't know where the smell comes from. It must just be his body chemistry as he doesn't eat any more tomato than anyone else. I just know that's his scent.

I admit to breathing it in deeply whenever I hug him, and a pot of sauce on the stove makes me think of him and smile whenever he's not around. Some day he will be a man. I don't know if his saucy good smell will still linger even after it takes on the changes of puberty. Somehow I think it is one of those fleeting childhood oddities that I will tell his children about, "When your daddy was a little, little boy, he smelled exactly like tomato sauce and sunshine" and they will smile at the thought of their dad as a little boy with a smell all his own.

So, I sit and I try to take mental snapshots of all the things I will tell my grandchildren. The kinds of things they hear a hundred times but never tire of hearing. And I think of my son who smells of tomatoes and hope that somewhere in the world there's a nice girl who smells of basil.....

When Did It Happen?

Yesterday in the car I realized that I had missed an important moment in my eldest child's life. The moment when she stopped being a little kid. How did I miss it?

We were taking her to dance class and singing our favorite silly songs at full volume when I looked to my right and saw her staring out the window. She had that definite "I love my mom, but she's a dork" look on her face. When did she get too big to make disgusting frog noises with the rest of us?

I bought her her first heels this summer, but she was still a kid. I bought her first bra, but she was still a kid. Then one day she woke up, and wasn't little any more.

She's still not a grown-up by a long shot, but she will never be my little girl again. She is out-growing Barbies, and dress-up, and doll houses. I remember going through those stages and losing interest in childhood things. Then I decided my mom was a drag and a pain and I walked away from our close parent-child bond. We reformed that bond when I was in my twenties, like most families do, but while it was normal for me it must have been gut-wrenching for my mother.

I have a special bond with this child. She is the one who made me a mom and was the reason for my own transition into adulthood. There are moments when we laugh and for a glimmer of a moment I can be 10 again. I'm still her mom, but I can remember in her laughter my own giddy childhood.

She stopped singing along. It may seem trivial to most, but it was monumental to me. It marked a place in time where she began to untie those apron strings. We will have her at home for many more years, but our relationship is changing. Please God, may I have the strength to see her through it and to endure these many, mini-heartbreaking moments along the way.

I Blame My Parents

My family and I often joke that I live my life like a duck, calm on the surface but paddling like heck underneath. There is in reality only one thing that ruffles my calm feathers, and that is being late. It turns me from a pretty happy mom into a crazed lunatic with one glance at the clock.

Always in my head is the refrain

To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, to be late is to be grounded

which I heard from my father regularly. He was a Navy man, and the military had beaten punctuality into his head and he was determined to beat it into ours. My mother was a stickler for manners and propriety, and while she would have preferred fashionable lateness, she taught us that rudeness was really never fashionable.

Not that is was completely pointless, he was right about a few things. People who are late express a contempt for the time and schedules of those around them. It sends a message that my time is more valuable than yours. It amazes me how many people don't understand this simple concept and act as though the world will patiently wait for them to catch up. I can't even begin to tell you how many people I have seen lose jobs, promotions, raises, and friends over the years because they can't grasp the idea that they should always try to arrive five minutes early.

Early in our marriage, we stopped hanging out with a lovely couple because they were always 45 minutes late for everything. We would show up at a restaurant with our baby, ready to eat, and they would glide in 45 minutes later apologizing, but time got away from them. The baby would be fussy, we would be starving, and I would be offended. It wasn't worth it. We still see them occasionally, my husband works with him, but we are not the great friends we could have been had they only shown up when they said they would. He hasn't been promoted as quickly as others in the office either; he shows up late to work and back from lunch, but is the first one out the door at the end of the day.

I, on the other hand, have been known to have panic attacks over being off schedule. Unorganized in every other area of my life, I have this one small spot of neuroses. It works in my favor most of the time, but I am working on my patience with the smaller and slower members of my household. I have my parents to thank for my lunacy. I hope to teach my own children punctuality without being crazed by it. I pray that my dear husband will show them how to live with and love a lunatic while still getting out the door on time!

The Dad Song

I think this guy has been in my house at bedtime.

h/t Play the Dad? No, be the Dad

Balm to a Battered Soul

So many people have written such lovely things and included our family in prayer since reading of the loss of our Bernadette. I wanted to take a minute and thank you all for your kindness. One of the many things we have learned through all of this is of the extreme generosity and compassion of complete strangers.

I wanted to let everyone know that our lives did indeed go on. Six weeks after our loss, we discovered to our surprise and pleasure that someone new was on the way. He arrived last April, and is a balm to our wounded and weary souls. Just look at that face, how could we not be brought back to complete joy by such a boy? He is the easiest of our 5 living children (so far), calm and happy. In the words of his big brother, God has big plans for him. Bernadette went to Heaven to make room for him to be with us now. We will be watching with interest to see what great things the Almighty has in store for our sunny, funny boy.

ADDED: We think he looks like a Kewpie doll in this picture. It's not his regular expression, just the one when he wants us to laugh.

Things I've Learned

Before we have children, we know it all. We think about all the things we will teach our children, then there are the unexpected things they teach us.

1. Don't run with your finger up your nose. If you fall you'll poke your brain.
2. Don't eat that crayon, it'll make your poop purple.
3. No, babies don't bounce.
4. Dogs don't like to wear dresses. If they love you they'll do it anyway.
5. Hand soap is a substitute for hair gel.
6. Potty water is good for splashing.
7. Taste everything..the floor, the window, the dog...
8. Yes, farts make bubbles in the bath. Yes, it's funny.
9. The more uncomfortable the parent, the sounder the baby sleeps.
10. M&M's off the floor are fine, at least they won't kill you.
11. Why walk when you can jump?
12. There is nothing more fascinating to siblings than the baby's stinky diaper.
13. Bodily fluids are always gross, always funny, and can be talked about with anyone.
14. There is nothing so embarrassing that I can't live through it.
15. You'll know you're really a parent when you catch the puke in your hands.
16. Tape is fun.
17. If you yell your name in Mass, the church echoes.
18. Old church ladies will think it is cute when you yell your name, Mom won't.
19. A warm blanket and someone to snuggle with are all you really need for a good nap
20. The sound of ripping paper is cool.
21. The sound of dad when he finds you ripping papers is cooler.
22. If you run fast enough, you can run up a wall.
23. If you swing high enough, you might be able to wrap around. We're not brave enough to try it, but we wish we were.
24. If there are 4 sprinkle donuts, everyone wants glazed. If there is one sprinkle donut, it's a fight to the death.
25. When looking for a toy, always call it. It can't hear you, but somehow it helps.

Penny Pincher Hint

Start shopping for Christmas now if you haven't already. I usually start in May or June. Set a strict budget for your children and then STICK TO IT. We usually budget $100 per child. By starting way ahead of time, you can look for bargains and get way more for your money than if you wait until the last minute.

Never spend more than $30-35 on on our parents and less than that on other relatives. What can you get for 30 bucks? One of our favorites is a coffee table book custom printed with our families photos from mypublisher.com (I don't get paid by them, but I should!) They run about $30 a piece and I have a coupon code for buy one get one free if anyone wants one. The grandparents are thrilled and it looks MUCH more expensive and impressive than it really is. We also have started our brothers and their families out with Fontanini nativity sets (again, no kick back for the plug). Every year we buy a new shepherd or animal for the set at around $15 a piece.

I also bake, a lot. People like homemade candy and baked goods, and they are cheap to give. One of our favorites is candied pecans made from the nuts in our yard. Use what you have. It doesn't have to be expensive to be appreciated.

Have You Lost Your Mind?

If so, they found it in Richmond, VA. You really should be more careful.

Everyone's Cheapest Friend

I have been told four times this week, and by four different people, that I am the cheapest person they know. To be fair, the fourth amended it to say that I am merely the most frugal person. She even said that I could give classes on saving money and that people would come.

Isn't it funny that I never think of myself that way? My closest friends think of me as a penny pincher who never pays full price for anything, and I think of myself as a regular person like everyone else. I freely admit to only paying full price rarely, but I guess that I just assumed everyone cut corners when they could.

I am not the kind of cheap person who won't buy what is necessary because it costs a bit. I am the kind who always looks for the way to get it free, or at a reduced price. For example, I only shop online from places that offer free shipping, or credit from every purchase goes toward a gift card. Last Christmas, I had almost $300 in gift cards to use for my shopping. I don't see it as thrift, just good common sense.

My two eldest boys wear through the knees of their jeans just as quickly as any other boy who spends all day outside, so I refuse to pay full price for jeans which will be full of holes within the month. Their jeans come from the local Goodwill. When I spend $1 a pair, I don't care if they wear holes in the knees. I just go get another pair. They don't care where they come from (I know, I asked), they get to be boys, and I don't yell at them for not taking care of their clothes. It seems win, win to me.

We live in a nice house, drive a fairly new car, the kids take all kinds of classes, and we always have what we need. So, am I cheap? I don't know, as I said, I think I'm average but perhaps I'm not. I clip coupons, and shop around, and drive hard bargains so that we always have what we need and most of our wants met, and so that I can stay home with my babies while they need me.

So, I guess that I am a girl with an eye for a bargain. I don't know if that's a character flaw or an endearing quality. More than one friend has confided that I affect her shopping habits. They pick things up and then put them back on the shelf thinking "(the Mom) would wait until this went on sale." I hope it is a good inspiration and not a nagging feeling.

From time to time, I'll post a Penny Pincher tip on the blog for those who need them, and classes start next Thurs at 7:00. Call me and we'll discuss the price...that's your first lesson, always negotiate.

AdSense

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize on behalf of the Google Ad Sense people who advertise in the right-hand column of this blog. I did not have the filter set up properly, so Planned Parenthood was advertising here. I have fixed the filter, and will continue to adjust it. Please bear with me during this fine-tuning process. I will remove all offensive content as soon as I see it.

Thanks for your patience,
the Mom

The Immigration System is Broken

I spent an enjoyable time yesterday afternoon with my Uncle W. over at Oma's house. He is in this country visiting and attempting to get his immigration papers through at last. I say "at last, because W. has been trying to emigrate from Germany since 1983. For the last 24 years, he has been caught up in red tape, and there is no end to it in the foreseeable future.

On paper, he looks as if it should be a no-brainer to let him into the US. He retired from working for the United States Government in Germany after 25 years of service. He was told that working for the government would speed up the process for him. His sister is a United States citizen and is willing to sponsor him for citizenship herself. He has an independent income both from the United States and from Germany, so he will not be a drain on the economy. He wants to come with his wife ans three children and buy a house and put his children through college. He is exactly the kind of citizen we should be rolling out the welcome mat for, but we aren't.

He heads back to Germany this week. After 3 months in this country, his cause for immigration is now in a worse place than when he left home to come and visit. In spite of all of the pluses on his side, the bureaucrat at INS shredded his paperwork this week. She said that she can't explain why, but she thinks he's attempting to break the law in some way, so she was denying him. Then she pulled out her shredder and ran his papers through it. These papers have been on file since 1983! Now he must begin again. So, he's going home to start the process all over.

We have contacted our senators and congressmen, but the only one who offered help was Sen Tom Coburn of Oklahoma. God bless him.

While the immigration debate these days is centered around those sneaking in illegally, perhaps we need to look at the system as a whole as irreparable broken. When qualified applicants are left in a perpetual limbo, and bureaucrats can shred documents because they "have a funny feeling", and after 24 years the promise of citizenship is still years away, then we need to change things. We need to keep one eye on the people building the fence and the other on those manning the shredders and demand that someone fix this now!

Welcome

At some point during the last 24 hours, this blog received its 1000th hit. I am in complete shock that so many people would be so interested in the humble musings of a mom from Oklahoma.

Whether you have come for a specific post or just stumbled across it and are looking around, welcome to you all. Put your feet up, get comfy and stay a while. Then when you're done, be sure to hurry back.

God bless all who visit here.

+JMJ+

the Mom

Wow

It is amazing to me to see my post about abortion popping up all over the place. It is a very gratifying feeling to write something for yourself and then finding our that it touches others as well.

I have had many requests for permission to print it in part or in total, so here are the rules:
If you are using it for pro-life purposes to inform people of the horrors of abortion, please take and use it.
If you are pro-choice and want to use the story of my daughter's death for any reason, the answer is a resounding 'NO'.

The only people authorized to use it are those who understand that she is our daughter. Her name is Bernadette. She was a human being from the moment she began. She is loved. She was desperately wanted, and she is terribly missed.


+JMJ+

Dismantling

This is one of my favorite posts by one of my favorite writers. I go back and read it from time to time to remind me how precious every day is. If you like it, go check he out at http://twistedvalley.blogspot.com She always has something interesting to say.

Sunday, April 15, 2007
The Process of Dismantling

This is something I wrote a couple of years ago. The holy relic shirt still resides in a bag hanging in my mud porch. I'm still dismantling. Lord, never let it end.
___________________________________

It has been 1 year, 1 month, 20 days, 16 hours, and 24 minutes since my husband died and still I am dismantling the things he put together, the things he touched, the edifices he erected around him. When a person dies suddenly, the stuff they have left behind is not sucked into the vortex created by their vacuum-like absence. It remains. It remains exactly AS IF they never left. It is for you, the “next of kin” to dismantle it… to make the decisions of what stays and what goes, what is sacred enough to become part of the permanent shrine and what must be broken out of the matrix that was his world.

Just this morning, I finally washed a cup of his from work. He had drunk all the coffee out of it, so there was only a residue and the invisible stamp of his lips. I had kept this cup (and a spoon, fork and knife he kept at work in a Ziploc bag) by my desk at home, not knowing exactly what to do with them.

I have another confession to make. I have a dirty shirt of his in a bag. This shirt was his lawn mowing shirt and instead of washing it every time, he kept it in a plastic bag in our mud porch. The shirt has lost all its scent but it reminds me of his substance, his physical presence, his manly sense of order in which washing a shirt used only for dirty work was unnecessary.

Most people will say, “Wash them, you silly fool. That’s what you do with them… and not over a year later.” Yes, but when will he drink from another cup again. When will he mow our lawn or sweat in a shirt or make a decision about how best to store work clothes. When will I be able to wash his dirty cup again? I have dismantled an entire activity of his that will never repeat.

This is exactly why dismantling my husband’s life is difficult. Every act, every doodle on a piece of paper, every wonderfully dirty shirt is sacred. They are sacred because they can never be again. Dismantling a loved one is painful. Yet I do not want to reach the end.

And what of me? How can I be trusted to make the choices about the parts of me that he touched? I am inextricably enmeshed in this matrix also and I do not know how or even if I want to dismantle the part of me that is him and the part of me that is me. But if I remain entwined with his remains, for the person of my husband has gone on and is no longer concerned with matrices and edifices, what of me will be left for anyone else? Will I not be living among the dead, dying among the living?

Tag, I'm it

I was tagged by the Secrets of SOV2 and Wife and Mom of Two

1. Do you attend the Traditional Latin Mass or the Novus Ordo?
Novus Ordo. We have a wonderful, devout priest, so no funny business there.

2. If you attend the TLM, how far do you drive to get there?
I've been a few times, it's about 35 minutes away

3. If you had to apply a Catholic label to yourself, what would it be?
I think I'm probably a rad trad wannabe

4. Are you a comment junkie?
You better believe it. I have my own blog because I can't resist stating my opinion. That's kinda the point, isn't it?

5. Do you go back to read the comments on the blogs you’ve commented on?
Yes. If I can remember how to get back to them.

6. Have you ever left an anonymous comment on another blog?
Alright, who told?

Not so much now that I have my own blog. Lots of people find me through the comment pages.

7. Which blogroll would you most like to be on?
Curt Jester, Fr Longenecker, and Jimmy Akin (dare to dream...)

8. Which blog is the first one you check?
My own on the sitemeter. I admit it, I'm a wee bit narcissistic.

9. Have you met any other bloggers in person?
Yup. I have several close friends who blog

10. What are you reading?
Pride and Prejudice

Bonus Question! Has your site been banned by Spirit of Vatican II?
YEs!!! Wooo-Hoooo

If it has, who do you think Father Tim really is?
Hmmmm...satan?


I tag:

Twisted Valley
Peace and Quiet
Sooner Scotty
Foxfier
and the Gleesons

If I Were a Sword Maker...

Alright, it's just occurred to my that my approach to Catholicism is almost all through analogy. Hmmmm... If you have patience and time for another one, here's how I explained Redemptive Suffering to a Baptist minister while in labor with our dead child. I could have included it in the Ru-486 post, as it was the same day, but I think it needs its own spot. Do me a favor and breathe deeply every 2 minutes as you read it...I was in labor, remember.

So, here's what the minister who was sent to me for pastoral care said and my response:

Him: We don't know why these things happen. We don't know what God's purpose is in them. They seem so senseless and there doesn't seem to be a point. All we can do is trust and hope that one day we understand.

Me: Of course there's a point, it's called Redemptive Suffering.

Him: I've heard the term, but it is not one which I am familiar or comfortable with. I can understand the longing for finding meaning in meaningless pain, but it's just not there. This world is pain. That's all the explanation there is.

Me: No, there is a point, want me to explain?

Him: (skeptically) GO ahead.

Me: Let's pretend for a second that I'm a sword maker. I'm sure that they have a name for those guys, but I don't know it, so pretend I'm one of those guys who makes swords. I would take a big lump of metal, I'm not sure what kind really, I'm only a pretend sword maker, and throw it into the fire. After a while, I would pull it out and beat the hell out of it, then I would throw it back into the fire. I would do this over and over again, the throwing it in and beating the hell out of it. After a while, I would cool it in a big bucket of water and then start polishing it and sharpening it until it was sharp and shiny and was a sword.

Well, it's kinda like that. God's making me into a sword and I just happen to be at the "beat the hell out of it stage". That's okay, because at the end, He will cool me off and polish me up and I will be sparkly and shiny and I will be a sword. And I'm a girl, so shiny and sparkly work for me.