There really isn't anything better than being an aunt. I love all nine of my nieces and nephews, including the newest addition--Brian Liang-Wei Hsiao. 
Being an aunt is great becuase you can play and laugh and enjoy your neices and nephews without dealing with messy diapers, sleepless nights, tears, fights, whining, or any of those fun side activities that come with children. Yes, being an aunt is great!
Dressed as an escaped convict, a rebel nun, and the flyin' Hawaiian, we were all set to go to Park City and try our hand at pond skimming. We woke up early (around 7:00 which is incredibly early for a Saturday morning) and made our way to Park City. Only.......
We found out when we arrived that this year you could pre-register online, and that all the slots had already been filled! We were very sad, and since Kati took her role as escaped convict so seriously (almost as if she had done it before) ........
She grew angry and threatened my life. After extensive anger management classes, she seems to have returned to normal, although she still keeps her costume beneath her bed, which worries me a little. 
Family Vacation: Those two words inevitably bring back memories of Southern Utah and jeeping over Elephant Hill in the good old Pathfinder. Of course the vacation would not be complete without listening to Simon and Garfunkel on the drive down, and of course the soundtrack to "Ladyhawk" on the way over Elephant Hill itself. To commemorate those wonderful and often frightening times I have put together a little video of our last trip over Elephant Hill this past fall--and what music would I use besides "Ladyhawk"? Nothing would fit better! Although Dad could not make it on this trip he will always be the ultimate king of Elephant Hill.
The day after Christmas my parents and I boarded a plane and left our White Christmas behind to travel to Chiapas, Mexico. There in the high mountain village of El Pozo we constructed a school. After living for a year in Mexico and visiting every summer and Christmas for three years, it almost seemed like coming home. Riding over the many topes, or speed bumps, that are so prevelent in Mexico jolted back memories of my stay in Monterrey. It felt good to be back among such warm and friendly people. In El Pozo the villagers had next to nothing, and yet they were willing, prepared, and even eager to share what little they had with us. They prepared quite a party for our arrival, including a dinner of chicken soup served to us on makeshift tables. It cost them nearly two months salary to prepare that meal. Many of the villagers did not speak Spanish, but Tsotsil, their indigenous language. After our stay in the village we traveled to the ruins of Palenque, Yaxchilan, and Bonampak. From the tops of the ruined pyramids you can see how the jungle stretches on and on. I wondered how many strangled ancient cities remain covered and choked by the merciless jungle, inhabited only by the sleek jaguar and the screaming monkeys. We traveled by boat down the Ucumacinta river that marks the border between Mexico and Guatemala in order to reach the ruins of Yaxchilan. The ride was made more exotic due to persistant rain and low hanging mist. It did make our wanderings around Yaxchilan enjoyable however, since we were almost the only people there, and the rain had slackened. We also convinced our boat driver to let us hop off on the Guatemala side for a few minutes. So now I can say I have been to both Bolivia and Guatemala illegaly! All in all the trip was an incredible way to spend Christmas break, even if it was a departure from my usual Christmas break agenda---sleeping, skiing, and wild six-wheeler activities in the snow!
London Town....oh how to describe you? You are such a mix of the new and the old. It was an intersting feeling to descend the stairs at Victoria station, pulled along by the bustling crowd of people heading for the tube, and then emerge across from the Tower of London, its century thick walls still protecting the sturdy fortress. The past and present merge in a place like London to create a place both grand and chic. From our quaint little hotel, with its endless flight of narrow stairs to the top floor and its traditional English breakfast, to the decadence of Harrods department store, I loved every minute in London and the surrounding areas. I have dreamed of visiting England since I fell in love with the tales of Shakespeare, Robin Hood, and Peter Pan at a very young age. During a summer of record and torrential rain in England, we lucked out and had wonderful weather during our stay. The sky was a rare robin's egg blue as we strolled along the Thames, admiring Big Ben and Parliment. My only regret? That we didn't have more time (and money) to spend there!
My mom once told me that Africa gets in your blood. The people, the land, the smells, the beat of the sun--it all seeps into your blood and changes you forever. Of course I never believed her. It was not until I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac and saw the African sun rising in the east--twice the size of the sun I was used to--that I began to think she might be right. Day by day, first in Kenya, and then in Mozambique, I found Africa making a place for itself inside my heart. The overwhelming vastness of the Masai Mara, with its endless herds of Gnu and Zebra, its lumbering elephants and prowling felines, made me feel as small as a fire ant, and nearly as insgnificant. But the fire ants too have their place on the Mara.
The Masai themselves--tall, slender, proud, and dressed in checkered red were one of my favorite parts of Kenya. Cows are their livelyhood, and the tall Masai warriors can be seen on the plains--a bright spot of red--guarding their precious cows. One Masai warrior asked my mom how many cows she would ask in exchange for me (remind anyone of Jonny Lingo?) and she said at least 50. The Masai warrior laughed and said, "50? She is worth more than 50! More like 100, or 1,000!" Well, at least now I know my mom values me at only 50 cows--thanks mom.
It was the children that changed me the most. The children in the village of Piri Piri in Mozambique were full of life and laughter, despite their ragged clothes and bare feet. They were up every morning waiting to greet us, eager to hold our hands, touch our hair, and laugh as we struggled with the few phrases they had taught us in their native language. After we installed the first pump over the main well, and my dad began to pump up clear fresh water, the children jumped into the stream, cupping their hands to catch the life giving liqued. Their laughter as they played in thewater was the sweetest sound I had ever heard. I will never forget Africa becuase it became a part of me. My trip lasted three weeks, the memory will last forever.
