Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

Read “That’s What She Said” to hear about my camping adventures.

Every camping trip requires an obligatory gun photo shoot, right?

To see additional pictures go here.

I’m thrilled to see August end. It’s been an emotional shit storm for me. I’ve had to make some difficult life decisions, you know, the grown up variety. As a result I’ve been a giant ball of stress and anxiety.

I can’t discuss most of what’s going on, but I can mention that my lease ends in a month and I’m not able to extend it like I had expected, which sucks on so many levels. Can I even find a place that will accept two dogs, one of which is a puppy? Do I give Rosie Finlinson back? Or do I step up and buy my own house? I’ve been a complete mess trying to figure out what to do.

Enter three amazing brothers.

They all caught wind of the situation and jumped into the picture immediately. Each of them called and offered me a place to live while I figure things out. I have three brothers who are all willing to house me and two crazy, farty pugs so I don’t have to rush my decision or give up Rosie.

I was so incredibly touched by their offers, because I know they all meant it. When my brother Jeff said, “Sarah, everyone loves you and we have your back.” I couldn’t even respond. I was too busy pretending not to cry.

Sometimes I forget just how much they care. Jeff’s words reminded me of my favorite Avett Brother lyrics: Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing, like the love that let us share our name.

It’s such a simple statement, but holds so much truth. I really am so lucky to share the name Nielson with them. It’s not quite so scary seeing what the future holds when I have so many people on my side.

I got a little stir crazy at a family party this weekend and decided to tattoo my nephew.

He pondered the display of love for a moment,

but ended up taking matters into his own hands.

He just looks so smug.

Apparently he forgot I know the garage code…

AND where his dad keeps the permanent markers. Vengeance be mine.

My niece, Hannah, is not made of sugar and spice, and everything nice. Nope. She is made of spunk and spice… thank god.

As far as I’m concerned it’s my job, as an auntie, to lie and torture my niece and nephew. Lying is a wholesome family activity. What? It was either that or teaching them how to play beer pong.

A few months ago my niece, Hannah, asked me how old I was. I lied and said I was 21-years-old. I’d forgotten all about it until Hannah called me at work last Friday in a fit that her brother, Carter, told her I was really 35-years-old.

I don’t know why he’s out to get me. First he calls me a cougar and now this?

Hannah’s defense was that I never lie to her… um, yeah.

I calmed her down and explained to her that her brother was the big, fat liar and that I was, indeed, 21-years-old.

“But Aunt Sarah, you’re older than my daddy.”

“Sweetie it’s all about the emotional age. Your daddy is much, much older than I am. Don’t I look younger than your daddy?”

“Yes.”

Whew. It’s like she knew all future Christmas and birthday presents were riding on that one answer. Carter later decided I must be younger than his dad because I was much smaller.

I’m pretending he called me skinny.

P.S. I’m totally lying on the beer pong thing, by the way. I suck way too much at the game to attempt to teach anyone.

After having the below conversation with my nephew, I decided being an aunt is the hardest job in the world. Parents have the right to beat their children. Aunts don’t. You tell me which is the easier way to deal with kids?

Yeah… I rest my case.

“Aunt Sarah, do you remember when you wore your yellow alligator underwear at my house?”

“I do Buddy, but why do you? That was three years ago.”

“I just really didn’t like them. I don’t think girls should wear boy underwear.”

“Carter they were boxers I wore to bed. Not all day underwear.”

“Well I don’t care. I’m buying you real underwear for your birthday, and they are going to be blue with cougars all over them.”

“Why are cougars OK, but alligators aren’t?”

“Because, Aunt Sarah, you are a cougar.”

“CARTER! I’m not a cougar. Who even told you that?”

“Nobody. I just know things.”

“You’re such a brat. Do you even know what that means?”

“Duh. It means you love BYU.”

I didn’t know where to start, so I didn’t. I’m not a BYU fan, nor am I a cougar, but some things aren’t worth explaining to a six-year-old. It’s much better to spend that time thinking of ways to get even. There’s going to be a very painful wedgie in his immediate future.