The Living Without Series
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This is the best photo of me, I think it says everything about who I am as a person and what I want to do in this life.
It took a private consultation in the bathroom with my 1987 yearbook, half a bottle of glitter hairspray with lots of blow drying and a suffocating amount of makeup to get me to look as good as I did in high school. All for the sake of my sister’s 40th birthday party.
More photos to come…..
 Today is my sister’s 40th birthday.
 Rechelle, is my OLDER sister.
 She’s also my ONLY sister.
 She has this one song that she wrote called Nowhere USA that my family loves to sing. We don’t really sing it, we scream it. But, I won’t subject you to that, it’s a bit much.
 Not, that anything is ever a bit much around here.
Happy Birthday Rechelle You are my favorite sister I love to make you laugh and I’d help you pop a blister
Here’s your favorite nephew, butchering your song.
And of course, here’s me, butchering your song with a cuter childhood picture. Because, you know, I’m the younger sibling and I need more attention.
Happy Birthday Sis.
I took my parents and my sister on a little walk to pick hedge apples when they came to visit last weekend.
Before we went out into the vast wilderness to hunt for a hedge apple tree we employed a couple of super heroes. But, when they heard the word hedge and apple….
and they fell down, dead. Poor, poor batmen. I guess this job calls for a bigger, healthier, braver, older and blonder superhero.
Dun-duh-dah-dah! April Muscle-Neck to the rescue!!! I’m able to leap over my tiny parents in a single bound. They really do look up to me! It’s not easy being with all the little people. Uh, okay, moving on.
 This is my mother. She is a gigantic goofball. She has created her own language. It’s a good thing I can understand her or on Saturday when she was insisting that we go see the Appalachias we would have been packing for a long journey across many states. Instead I suggested that we stay right here in Kansas and go visit the Alpaca Farm.  Mom, repeat after me Al-pack-uh.  Okay, Alpa-lay- shuh. 
Alpaca, Alpalacia…it’s all the same. Right?

This little guy is my dad. He’s tiny. Like 5’9″ tiny. He hates it when I say how little he is, because despite his small stature he’s a big man. I mean look at how he man handles that wagon. He’s a brute!
 
He was very determined to get every hedge apple off the tree. So he shook it. And that’s when I wanted to start singing “Shake it like a Polaroid picture…shake it….shake it….” Note: the Country Doctor’s wife came along to document the whole thing.
Here she is documenting me documenting her documenting me documenting her…..somebody stop the madness, please.
 Back to Dad. Check out that shirt! I know he’s tiny, but he’s quite hip. He’s hip Harry the hedge apple picking man.

When you ask “Why April, WHY?!” These people, they are why. I had to live with them. I can’t seem to shake ‘em . They keep coming back.

But, that’s okay. Everybody needs to be loved by somebody. Right? But, I do wonder sometimes if I was switched at birth?
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