Newsmakers

Hey y'all -

A few (actual) news items this week:

1) Your dad has become the Squadron Commander of the local Civil Air Patrol. Let's say you're a rock star flying to your next awesome gig and your Cessna happens to go down in the Bitterroot Mountains outside Missoula. As you look through the smoke and fire of the crash site, you can expect to see the smiling face of Thor Burbach coming to rescue you. Or the smiling face of Jesus if Thor doesn't make it in time. Either way, Missoula's now an excellent place to go down in flames.

One of his first missions is to head up the local Wreaths Across America program, which places an evergreen wreath on the grave of every veteran buried at veteran's cemeteries across America - including Arlington. To help him get the word out, I typed up a press release and sent it out to all the Western Montana media outlets, and a reporter actually called him to do a story. That's how your dad ended up being interviewed on the news:

Ten days of miserable illness and continued sleeplessness is not the best preparation for going on television. You dad and I agreed that while his cause is noble, he mostly looked like the tired old guy working at the Dairy Queen.

2) Peg Peg was honored as the holder of Billingsley Endowed Chair in Nursing at the University of Arkansas. Though she's attempted to explain it to me on numerous occasions, I have no idea what this means, other than it's a big deal and a great honor and we should all be very proud of her. As we are.

There was a big ceremony this week:

I understand that this recognizes her as a superior faculty member and brings additional funds to the university for important research or service activities. But every time she mentions the "Billingsley Chair," I hear the smart-ass voice of my friend Gordon in my head, who asked, "What does she have to do to get the entire Billingsley Dinette Set?"

Applause to Dad and Peg Peg for taking the time to make the world a better place.

It offsets the time I spend making reality television.

Love,
Mom

Chocolate-Covered Update

Hey y'all-

Hagen's the same, I'm a little better now that I've got antibiotic goo for my eye, and your dad is worse. He called in sick to work today, but then we got a call that a realtor wanted to show the house, so I made him get up from his deathbed to help me clean. I don't know if it's because we're the ones responsible for childbirth, but I've noticed that women in general and southern women in particular have almost zero tolerance for men moping around complaining about their illnesses. I once saw my mother hurl a bottle of Tylenol in Tex's direction as he moaned about being on the verge of death; that wallpaper wasn't going to hang itself.

You dad picked me up some cough syrup in town yesterday, but he got the mildest, non-drowsy form of Robitussin there is. What's the point of that? I want to take two swigs of something that knocks my butt out for 24 hours, and if I wake up tomorrow and Ella has decided to raise Hagen as her own, well, that's a price I'm willing to pay for a good night's sleep.

You know who remains in excellent spirits, without a care or cough in the world? This joker:

"Mommy, can we make a chocolate cake with sprinkles on it and I can stir the ingredients?" 

I was going to say no, but you had me at "ingredients."

We made a chocolate cake, but only because I wasn't smart enough at the time to google, "Homemade Ny-Quil."

Love,

Mom

A Mexican Restaurant In Hell

Dear Readers:

I love Mexican food. Love it. But when you go to a Mexican restaurant, you have to admit that the combination plates are all variations on the same dinner - a little more rice, a little less beans, a different kind of tortilla.

Our family is suffering from a menu's worth of maladies right now, all in different combinations, but all equally miserable. Our group medical condition is - at present - like the combination platters at a Mexican restaurant in hell.

THE DAD
Congestion, Persistent Deep Cough, General Achy-ness, Bad Disposition....$6.50

THE MOM
Persistent Cough, Sore Throat, Congestion, Pinkeye....$7.25

THE HAGEN
Runny Nose, Pinkeye....$2.00

THE LANEY
High Maintenance-itis...$2.50

No substitutions

You read that right: Laney, who we are certain brought all of this pain and suffering home with her from preschool, is suffering from nothing. We love her, but she's not very popular in the house right now, and we have taken to referring to her as "The Carrier."

I am off to Target to pick up my pinkeye prescription. 

Pass the salsa.

-Brooke

Snow Angel

Retrospective

Breaking News

All photos in this post courtesy of Barnibbe Photography

Hey y'all - 

When I was little and would go to visit my grandparents in Georgia, my arrival would normally be mentioned in the social column of The Vienna News-Observer. As in: 

Brooke Lee, of Virginia, will be visiting her grandparents Mary and Woodrow Lee of Vienna.

The News-Observer no longer exists, having been absorbed by the larger - and more metropolitan - Cordele Dispatch, which advertises itself as "The Legal Organ Of Dooly County," a.k.a the most accidentally profane slogan I've ever read.

When my grandmother would mention that my visit had made the paper, I would inwardly roll my eyes and swear up and down that I would never ever live in a town where something so trifling would qualify as "news."

Alberton got a new see-saw! Alberton got a new see-saw!

We met Cedar and her family at the playground to try out the new see-saw (or, "see-saucer," as Laney insists it's called). Laney and Cedar didn't want to ride on the same one so much as they wanted to ride on the same end, so The Other Brooke and I took turns pushing them up and down. And up and down. And up and down. Just bench pressing the young'uns over and over. 

I woke up the next morning, whining, "Thor...my armpits hurrrrt..."

Brooke Burbach, of Alberton, Montana, accidentally exercised her pectoral muscles yesterday on the school playground, and is asking for prayers of support during this time of healing and recovery. 

Love,

Mom

Cheater, Cheater, System Beater

Dear Laney,

You come from a long line of competitive people, so I can't fault you for thinking you should win everything. But when you lose a footrace to Dad in the driveway, and then throw yourself down in the dirt wailing, "BUT I SHOULD HAVE WIN IT!," it's not pretty. Based on the simplest laws of physics, your 14-inch legs aren't built for speed. We see you as a short, blonde three year-old, but you apparently see yourself as a 20 year-old Kenyan.

Sometimes you yell "GO," and take off running, and when we start to catch up to you, you pick the nearest point as the finish line and declare, "I win!" By declaring the starting line, the duration, and the finish line for all your races, you have a pretty good win/loss ratio. Also, through trial and error, we've discovered that letting you win 60% of our races is the right mix of confidence- and character-building.

For Christmas last year, my friend Karen got you the game Jenga. In Jenga, you stack a tall tower of wooden blocks and remove them one at a time from the middle, until someone topples the tower on his/her turn, and that person loses, or in the parlance of our house, "doesn't win as much."

For a small person, you are incredibly good at this game. You've figured out some tricks and you can actually hold your own when you play with Dad and me. But boy oh boy is it ugly when the blocks fall down on your turn.

Yesterday, you asked me if I wanted to play Jenga, so I hauled the game out and started setting it up. The phone rang, and I went in the other room for a few minutes. When I got back, I discovered this:

You had GLUED the Jenga blocks together. Despicable. Brilliant. Diabolical. Genius.

You probably would have gotten away with it for at least a little while, had you not chosen purple glue with glitter in it.

Love,
Mom