tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43563433402921714332024-02-07T18:16:17.803-08:00Soni Says...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-46699750523657379042012-12-15T13:25:00.002-08:002012-12-15T15:29:04.011-08:00Memories of Grandma
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 20pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";">Memories
of Grandma</span><br />
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are many
ways one could describe Joye Ella Freeman Anderson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a spunky court clerk who worked for
many years alongside her husband, Judge Keith Anderson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a devout member of the Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joye
was an avid reader and had a deep love of music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a socialite and enjoyed her monthly
club meetings with her friends. One could even describe Joye as a ‘biker babe’
as she spent many a mile riding motorcycles with Keith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I would choose a different way to
describe Joye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would choose a word
that speaks of kindness, adventure, generosity, and love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That word is Grandma.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was fun.
Childhood adventures were her specialty. Summer day trips on the Heber Creeper
Railroad were an annual favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
would ride the train up the canyon, visit the old fashioned shops at the Heber
Station, and enjoy the scenery and each other’s company as we rode along to the
clickety-clack of the rails. Other expeditions took us to the zoo, or to Salem
Pond to feed the ducks and have a picnic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember thinking Grandma must be rich because she would buy us a
brand new bag of Wonder bread to go feed the ducks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once Grandma and Grandpa started collecting
motor homes it was a special treat to join them on a trip to Yellow Pine in the
Uinta Mountains. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was
beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the sparkling crystals
hanging from the chandelier in the entryway, to the glorious blooms that always
filled her yard, to the sleek lines of her Cadillac, Grandma liked beautiful
things. High heeled shoes, fur coats, and shimmering gems were always a part of
Grandma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Appointments to get her hair
“done” were a part of Grandmas weekly routine. You had to get up pretty early
in the morning, literally, to catch Grandma before she “put her face on”, but
if you did, she would let you sit in the bathroom and watch as she carefully
applied her makeup in front of her mirror with the adjustable light settings.
Grandmas home was always impeccable, and had a special smell- I think it was a
mix of her moisturizer, combined with fabric softener, and a splash of Grandma
magic mixed in. It smelled like love and security.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was holidays.
On Valentines Day each of us would receive our own tiny box of chocolates. On
Easter, she would hide bags of candy and colored eggs throughout the shrubs in
the backyard for us to find. On Memorial Day she would load up the trunk of the
car with what seemed to be dozens of jars of carefully cut lilacs and irises,
or pots of mums, and lovingly place them on the graves of every known relative
and ancestor in the area. Never a birthday passed without a special wish from
Grandma. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She spent the months leading up
to Christmas creating some kind of crafty sensation in bulk. One year a whole
gaggle of decorated wooden geese took over the back room, the next year a large
flock of stuffed sheep were her project. Yet another year produced enough pound
puppies to fill an entire animal shelter, each one embroidered with one of our
names across its haunches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Christmas
Eve was the crowning glory for Grandma. It was a truly magical time for all of
us. Some years Santa or one of his elves stopped by after we’d enjoyed a lavish
holiday dinner. There was always new Christmas pajamas and an abundance of
holiday gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were spoiled- but it
was marvelous! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was
food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In recent years Grandma was a
cheap date as her preferred meal of choice-a scoop of cottage cheese and a side
of biscuits and gravy-would set you back about $3 at Jim’s Family Diner. But
not long ago, she was a fantastic cook. She would make mountains of mashed
potatoes, perfect lemon meringue pies, pink apple jelly, and the fluffiest
scrambled eggs I’ve ever seen. We all recall bowls of macaroni and tomatoes, eaten
on a TV tray while we watched the lunchtime news. Grandma would invariably
offer you a drink if you came to visit, and there was always a plentiful supply
of Sunny Delight and an assortment of sodas in the fridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you needed a snack, there were pudding
cups, bottled peaches, microwave popcorn, fruit snacks, and tiny colored
marshmallows to munch on. If Grandma didn’t feel like cooking you could look
forward to stuffing yourself at Chuck-a-Rama, or getting a kids meal at
Wendy’s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was a haven.
We all loved to have sleepovers at her house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She would tuck you in with an army of stuffed animals to watch over you
in the night. Then just before she went to bed herself, she would turn on the
night light in the bathroom in case you needed it, and tiptoe in to make sure
the blankets were snug around you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
would lie there with my eyes closed pretending to be asleep while she came
in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it was just the girls spending the
night, she would let us each choose a flowing scarf, a silky nightgown, and a
long pair of socks- pulled up to our thighs, and we would put on a performance.
Grandpa would play the organ, and we would dance and sing with the whole valley
as our audience, watching through the large bay window in the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was ingenious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She inspired us with her firm belief that a
stack of paper cups was the answer to boredom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Turns out she was right. You can go bowling with paper cups. You can
fill a paper cup with berries that you’ve picked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A paper cup makes a lovely temporary habitat
for a bug you’ve captured. You can build a tower with paper cups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have enough paper cups- and Grandma
always did because she had a dispenser of tiny paper cups in every room in the
house- you could build a fort, then knock it down and build it again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was
loyal. She loved her family fiercely, and once you were in, you were in. A
break-up or divorce might cause a diplomatic removal from the picture mantle,
but not ostracism. Her charitable nature left her with a soft spot for
strays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t uncommon to find
Grandma taking care of someone. From a neighborhood cat named Tom that would
hang out at her house during the day, or a neighborhood kid that happened by,
to a grandson that needed a place to stay before heading off to college, to the
occasional ‘random friend staying in the basement until they can get back on
their feet’, Grandma would do almost anything to help the people she loved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was
generous. If you needed to earn money for something she would always find you
some chore that needed done, and then pay you far more than you were worth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We organized cupboards, mowed lawns, polished
plant leaves with mayo, swept the porch, and washed cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember Grandpa watching with great
trepidation as all the grandkids gathered in the driveway to wash his shiny
black car one evening. The streaks and spots seemed to literally pain him, but
both he and Grandma stood by and endured our “help”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another time, Grandma offered their new
Cadillac as transportation for their 16-year-old grandson’s prom date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, Grandpa stood by, pained, as Grandma
sweetly smiled, and somehow got her way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was
family history. She kept volumes of records on ancestors, and was proud of our
pioneer heritage, and our family claim to fame as descendants of George
Washington’s drummer boy. She preserved family memories with vast albums filled
with photos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you sent her a letter
she would save it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you were in a play
at school she would save the program. If your picture was in the newspaper, she
would buy about 20 copies and clip it. If you sent her a wedding invitation,
baby announcement, or thank you note, it went in a file or a drawer. She was so
proud of each of us, and each of you, that she treasured your every milestone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And now Grandma
has gone on to her next milestone. And while we will miss her hugs, her super
speedy phone calls “just to hear your voice”, and her unconditional support- we
are so very thankful for the time we had, and are grateful that she can now go
be with Grandpa, because she has missed him desperately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma was
love, and we will miss her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-79580548394139054432011-07-25T16:30:00.000-07:002011-07-25T16:30:41.180-07:00Things I learned "Bach'n It!"Here I sit. All alone. Jared, Brandon and his two boys have headed to the coast for a week of scout camp. Andrea is off enjoying waterslides at a hotel in Idaho, and Collin is on his way to spend a few weeks in Canada working on his grandparents farm....leaving me...all alone. I figured I'd enjoy my down time in true bachelor fashion. Maybe order a pizza and sit on the couch in my underwear watching a bunch of movies. <br />
<br />
But I couldn't. <br />
<br />
The laundry was calling, floors needed vacuumed, bathrooms need cleaned, and I've been on a redecorating kick lately. So first I set out to spruce up the kids bathroom. Until today it has sported a lovely beige shower curtain, some beige towels, and a beige rug. Spiffy, eh? As part of my redecorating fervor I found the cutest "like new" bright tree frog set on Craigslist to jazz up the "beigeness". But before I could put my newfound treasures in their rightful places I needed to clean the bathroom.<br />
<br />
I rarely set foot in there, and I don't think I've cleaned the kids bathroom once in the 3 years we've lived in this house. Now before you shiver in horror and decide I'm disgusting I will relieve your distress by telling you the bathroom does get cleaned every week...but the kids do it. However, what I learned today (among other things) is that they don't necessarily hold themselves to the same cleaning standard that my Grandma does. Luckily for them I will continue to afford them the opportunity for further practice.<br />
<br />
As part of my cleaning process I learned where that foul, radioactive stuff comes from that they inject into Superheroes to make them lose their powers. I think it's the murky liquid from the bottom of the toilet bowl brush holder in my kiddos bathroom. Ewwwww. <br />
<br />
Moving on from that vomit inducing visual....<br />
<br />
At this point I ran out of paper towels (because I used A LOT of them to clean out the aforementioned toilet bowl brush holder) and I went in search of a rag to use to finish the less offensive jobs. Now, this shouldn't have been a problem as I at some point had a plentiful supply of rags. However, like unattended cookie dough left in the fridge, they seem to disappear at an alarming rate. Today I learned why. My husband is a hoarder. Not normal gross hoarder things like food and old newspapers...nope. B hoards rags. I'm not sure what troubling event transpired in his childhood to bring this on- and I can't explain why one man would need boxes, bags, and bins full of rags. He has a plentiful supply of shop rags to use for his assorted home and automotive projects- but that's not enough. He requests rags for Christmas- tells the kids he'd like rags for Fathers Day, and now he has apparently decided that all the rags in the house belong to him- in his garage. There lying at the back of his workbench was my latest supply of rags- fresh from the laundry and neatly folded. Whatever....<br />
<br />
Now the bathroom was clean and I could put on the finishing touches. This was the point in my day when I learned I was cheap. (OK, I actually already knew that, but had it reiterated to me) As I put out my Craigslist bathroom treasures I recoiled at the listed prices on the still attached price tags. $54.99 for a garbage can? $18.99 for that adorable- but plastic- frog shaped soap dispenser? *gasp* $41.99 for the tissue box cover??? Who really needs a tissue box cover? All these, along with the shower curtain, 2 rugs, a switch cover, curtain rings, and frog shaped mirror clings was mine for the value price of $40. Ya gotta love my good friend Craig and his awesome list!<br />
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After replacing the shower curtain, rugs, soap dispenser, etc. I went to replace the boring white switch cover with my new delightful tree frog cover. That is when I learned that just because you CAN pry most anything off of a wall with a flat screwdriver doesn't mean you SHOULD. (Hopefully I can glue the fan dial back together and hide it before Brandon gets home!)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyCTFJWPq07_3KfqRtbx-a26wePWtKYn5fxyUXcXvgaqhsCxI6dEkb0tQ9m2lwEFhzpbXM3J2yt7cLQSOw-D91ic3BudFFxX3ORb6uczO0QYRgpPQtLAZpvio1quKUjmbfqJyQSdYpao/s1600/tree+frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyCTFJWPq07_3KfqRtbx-a26wePWtKYn5fxyUXcXvgaqhsCxI6dEkb0tQ9m2lwEFhzpbXM3J2yt7cLQSOw-D91ic3BudFFxX3ORb6uczO0QYRgpPQtLAZpvio1quKUjmbfqJyQSdYpao/s320/tree+frog.jpg" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div>Anyway, enough of my rambling on. I think I just heard the pizza delivery boy pull up!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-75588264160368311022011-02-19T15:44:00.000-08:002011-02-19T15:44:50.360-08:00RX for Sunshine!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApxMnSEQPT10-O6hlSsNP9i6ps6GDbxnwJPHdrJ-idd3s0OQhcPI2PYDH9XKFzqREQqQDxcHAfXk5VGICLdMPOZYe5R_KYo32WP9rVeg1KSP33N7mChfXblIawENCaT40kLY7Tc2lNsM/s1600/beach_vacation-dsc04627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApxMnSEQPT10-O6hlSsNP9i6ps6GDbxnwJPHdrJ-idd3s0OQhcPI2PYDH9XKFzqREQqQDxcHAfXk5VGICLdMPOZYe5R_KYo32WP9rVeg1KSP33N7mChfXblIawENCaT40kLY7Tc2lNsM/s320/beach_vacation-dsc04627.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Dear Insurance Company:<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago my husband went to the doctor for a regular check-up. They called back recently to let him know that after running his blood work, he was Vitamin D deficient. Vitamin D...the good stuff we soak in from sunshine. As you may be aware, we don't see a lot of sunshine here in the Pacific Northwest from about October until May. We are a pasty, gloomy people, trudging about in our galoshes covered by golf sized umbrellas. <br />
<br />
I, being a loving wife who is concerned for my husbands health, as well as my own, decided we must do something to remedy this vitamin deficiency. I'm sure you can understand why we don't want to settle for possibly unregulated or imported vitamins from a bottle. I am currently working hard to find a sunshiney environment where we can soak up the necessary nutrients.<br />
<br />
I realize whatever destination I choose will be out of my in-network area, so will only expect you to cover the cost at the out-of-network 70%. Would you prefer to handle the reservations yourself, or shall I just submit our itinerary along with a copy of our medical coverage card?<br />
<br />
Thank you for your ongoing concern with our health and well being.<br />
Sincerely,<br />
SoniUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-6509680787461558932011-01-22T14:30:00.000-08:002011-01-22T14:30:13.866-08:00ProcrastinationI have discovered that a sure fire way to get all those pesky little chores around the house done is for me to start a big project that I dread doing. Last week I planned to paint the bathroom. I didn't want to. I taped off the molding, then walked away with an overwhelming urge to do laundry. Came back a while later, slapped on a coat of primer, then felt compelled to clean out the fridge rather than continue in my drudgenous task. (And I am NOT one of those people that cleans out their fridge with any semblance of regularity) Reluctantly I returned to put on the first coat in the bathroom, then was drawn away to organize a cupboard. A little more paint...think I'll go bake something...paint...blog....<br />
<br />
Today I have multiple "things" I'm procrastinating. I'm supposed to teach a lesson in church tomorrow...hmmmm....maybe I better start the taxes instead. Started the taxes. This proved to be more stressful than the original lesson I was avoiding. Decided it was urgent that I remove all the dead leaves from my plants, and water and fertilize them. Came back to the lesson for a bit. Had an anxiety attack. Watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy. More anxiety as it left off with Izzy stopping her boyfriends heart in order to move him up the transplant list while Dr. Burke, the heart surgeon, lies bleeding in the parking lot with a gunshot wound. Aaaugh!!! (yelled in a Charlie Brown frustrated voice!)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdoKyjXPZfhPfj7gV98AJzRIZiFGXnGPbJA2uVngWPxncY1r5vSdmj4jWdcsoMsrvmNlu-O_8NL2N_CX_TAk718eWWeTShLrVn5_qEGXpL7-0OvCvUm43alYiOcMVhKxjfnVjNWPbWd4/s1600/charlie-brown-baseball-aaugh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdoKyjXPZfhPfj7gV98AJzRIZiFGXnGPbJA2uVngWPxncY1r5vSdmj4jWdcsoMsrvmNlu-O_8NL2N_CX_TAk718eWWeTShLrVn5_qEGXpL7-0OvCvUm43alYiOcMVhKxjfnVjNWPbWd4/s320/charlie-brown-baseball-aaugh.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>I suppose I'll go rotate the laundry, get out the Valentines decorations, start dinner, itemize my charitable donations for the year, see if Denny survives Izzy's desperate act, and then I've gotta get back to planning my lesson!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-75076489932918633402011-01-17T15:38:00.000-08:002011-01-17T16:08:07.999-08:00PaintingI used to love to paint. I painted everything: chairs, tables, an innumerable amount of craft projects, playhouses for the kids, the mailbox, even the kitchen garbage can (That may have been going too far..)Once I painted cute little stepping stones with winding ivy all over my front porch. I thought it turned out adorable- the teenage boy across the street wandered over, took a look, and asked me why I'd just spent 2 days painting potatoes on my porch...sigh... Then I moved on to bigger projects- painting the boys room like a medieval castle and Andreas room like a garden bouquet. One bathroom became a springtime retreat with a sky blue ceiling and wispy clouds, a white picket fence and flowers, birds and bugs. Another bathroom became an Under the Sea Adventure complete with bubbles, shells, anemones and everybodys favorite clown fish- Nemo and his friends. <br />
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Then it came time to put our house up for sale. In the name of creating a neutral, buyer friendly home, all traces of creativity were erased and all the walls were to be painted white...blah. I drove to Home Depot and purchased a five gallon bucket of neutral eggshell colored paint. After loading it into the trunk along with all the painting supplies, new garbage cans, new outdoor mats, and other "curb appeal" paraphernalia I headed home. It probably would have been a good idea to have unloaded the trunk when I got home, but I didn't. This proved to be a disastrous flaw.<br />
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Later that day my husband took my car to run an errand. He returned home shortly with a look of outrage on his face. "Why was there a 5 gallon bucket of paint in the trunk?" he asked through tight lips and clenched teeth. "We need it to repaint, silly!" I replied. ""But why was is in the trunk???" Now , I'm a pretty perceptive person, and it was rapidly becoming clear to me that there was a problem with the paint. I followed him out to the driveway where the trunk was open, providing a magnificent view of the paint spattered trunk and all its contents. "Oooops....."I softly whispered. "I guess I should have gotten that out of there..."<br />
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After much ado the trunk was restored to some semblance of functionality. But I think Brandon was scarred from the event. Whenever he is driving my car and hears something rolling around the trunk (which is pretty much always as I keep filled water bottles back there) he turns to me, tightens his lips, and asks: "Do you have paint in trunk?" <br />
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After living in our new house for the past 3 years with its very neutral, very plain walls, I finally decided to break back into the world of color slowly. After a trip to Ace Hardware I started the process of taping, covering (a great use for that leftover Christmas wrapping paper!), priming, cutting and rolling our master bath. It is now a lovely shade called Lorelei (a light mossy green) and looks fabulous. And I made sure to seatbelt the paint can in for the ride home!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifsvAjZPUzGxKKr1R0M9IlpFnla8sj3U99Rl3krh7H2Lzrtz6-dY2lIgijRkuj2847bcKZuVy7M-qXW5MOFVkGBUnu3azCOUtxttdTXlMOyjwDCaTATKNu_cFQnhM3hO8abURwNHFY3c/s1600/bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifsvAjZPUzGxKKr1R0M9IlpFnla8sj3U99Rl3krh7H2Lzrtz6-dY2lIgijRkuj2847bcKZuVy7M-qXW5MOFVkGBUnu3azCOUtxttdTXlMOyjwDCaTATKNu_cFQnhM3hO8abURwNHFY3c/s320/bathroom.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Confession: This is not my bathroom! But isn't it pretty? :) <br />
Mine is this color however!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-50175880787337974262011-01-09T20:11:00.000-08:002011-01-09T20:23:06.587-08:00Take me away...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here in the Pacific Northwest, the rains start in September or October, and don't let up for about the next 9 or 10 months. This means that by about January not only is my skin a pasty shade of vanilla but my overall mood has taken a serious decline from the lack of sunshine and vitamin D. My darling husband has learned that in order to get me through the gray spring months and into my happy season (summer) I need a Spring Break trip. The planning and anticipation are nearly as therapeutic as the actual trip. However, planning a trip is not without frustrations!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTtZQELXcmkJhoFm-vAK4Eir2nzZan1PtnpHu8uk9gFzGKuWIQCt4WMOTK9WmlrLmIuaaq0JU45JBz4j6riFaM6IIOE8EgmTysbwEAqHNh02rieJuntYj7zqhO_2iILgjLHcvT6D3ICI/s1600/the-most-beautiful-beaches04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTtZQELXcmkJhoFm-vAK4Eir2nzZan1PtnpHu8uk9gFzGKuWIQCt4WMOTK9WmlrLmIuaaq0JU45JBz4j6riFaM6IIOE8EgmTysbwEAqHNh02rieJuntYj7zqhO_2iILgjLHcvT6D3ICI/s320/the-most-beautiful-beaches04.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Someone needs to invent a user friendly vacation planning web site. The kind where I just have to put in the dates I want to travel, inform it of my meager vacation budget (or rather the meager budget I hope to attain after filing my tax returns), hit the return...wait while the little glowing dots travel across my screen to show me it is hard at work...then Poof! Out comes a list of suggested vacation destinations given my limited criteria. Hmmm...you would like to travel in March for less than $500 ...you can go to Boise, Reno, or South Dakota. Willing to spend $1000? How about Las Vegas, San Diego, or Phoenix. But no. Everyone of the darn sites insists I put in a destination. Honestly, I don't care where I go. I just want to go AWAY!!!! And it's got to be sunny!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Suggestions?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-56053650609477784062011-01-02T20:31:00.000-08:002011-01-02T20:32:11.736-08:002010 in Pictures<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsA35Hd62nXVp_QpdqlwHnEXFxROv7L11JyfNbA2-yv0I938EKJdLxeI1smyi2NriMjJxLigthenyTlgzQhR0ShswUmjlqIJPaWLq35hZieBqGLuxrBc7O1pRmVgVU8wXZt5aNEwN2s7I/s1600/January.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsA35Hd62nXVp_QpdqlwHnEXFxROv7L11JyfNbA2-yv0I938EKJdLxeI1smyi2NriMjJxLigthenyTlgzQhR0ShswUmjlqIJPaWLq35hZieBqGLuxrBc7O1pRmVgVU8wXZt5aNEwN2s7I/s320/January.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In January the boys went on a father-son snow cave campout.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6y73TnclKmrRBGlCB1kXdgLgj7FKtSccShAbd94OstIGkeopG18Vy-Zf8l2PIVzvKppwoqTJLgcZ_yQmn6xyp9Wpek3eQHrim6foMlWruxei4VCpmFL8DznXZBhajr0cnLXV1Hb2AY4/s1600/February.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6y73TnclKmrRBGlCB1kXdgLgj7FKtSccShAbd94OstIGkeopG18Vy-Zf8l2PIVzvKppwoqTJLgcZ_yQmn6xyp9Wpek3eQHrim6foMlWruxei4VCpmFL8DznXZBhajr0cnLXV1Hb2AY4/s320/February.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In February Brandon took his kids to the mountain to build an igloo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUq-HMYUkO2BXULYAfEUDijNKCULTE0UMRJTrL4XpZSCqab5Y3BmXugdV_ncteMT_yX9OAVlFEDGtZRkf7JgCKkGs4DBKS7R0uQVBlINCSzT3HwcRNnB7i-mebSysqupvm2ba_ie_UB14/s1600/March.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUq-HMYUkO2BXULYAfEUDijNKCULTE0UMRJTrL4XpZSCqab5Y3BmXugdV_ncteMT_yX9OAVlFEDGtZRkf7JgCKkGs4DBKS7R0uQVBlINCSzT3HwcRNnB7i-mebSysqupvm2ba_ie_UB14/s320/March.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In March we took a trip to California where we went to <br />
Disneyland, Hollywood, Huntington Beach and Medievel Times</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXlMfD7rCbubCuoresaTB0QsdA7iR6iptSHAaHYU_hyXpTmy2D97PtCaRXvH2K_jAxV_HAMhiGLt9mfJ_R1y371f8qvmh50pkMSn8fHSHeNFtfNdILN9V-DSZ7hc6BmNXPgpNVUyAaug/s1600/April.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXlMfD7rCbubCuoresaTB0QsdA7iR6iptSHAaHYU_hyXpTmy2D97PtCaRXvH2K_jAxV_HAMhiGLt9mfJ_R1y371f8qvmh50pkMSn8fHSHeNFtfNdILN9V-DSZ7hc6BmNXPgpNVUyAaug/s320/April.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In April Collin turned 16 and got his drivers license</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCvMITTXjT1bc_nlHUG2Y0g7spHsuhSlROzr7V0DRsbaviODbtatF31pC9ZoJFIuIIcV3gYF8ZOy3dkMzAOdYWSlBfyomy-StLlRZbKaDqt-dOTMzRRF_ED36uuXl6DaAmu-XMgwN8sE/s1600/May+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCvMITTXjT1bc_nlHUG2Y0g7spHsuhSlROzr7V0DRsbaviODbtatF31pC9ZoJFIuIIcV3gYF8ZOy3dkMzAOdYWSlBfyomy-StLlRZbKaDqt-dOTMzRRF_ED36uuXl6DaAmu-XMgwN8sE/s320/May+%25282%2529.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In May my sister Cara and her family came to visit. <br />
We went to VooDoo donuts for their famous bacon maple bar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqYhAdhkOeKRTMEyBApu0k7ApI_YjMbg2-b8s8nK1_ygJHoCrjbVBZL5HosHh3mHBrJFz6OKIpPlOfvQndT6cspE-Gvsjpn4vSM5lVnwKJlVe-osboltKNrC0BHDRl2SgMDcdg3MFipo/s1600/June+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqYhAdhkOeKRTMEyBApu0k7ApI_YjMbg2-b8s8nK1_ygJHoCrjbVBZL5HosHh3mHBrJFz6OKIpPlOfvQndT6cspE-Gvsjpn4vSM5lVnwKJlVe-osboltKNrC0BHDRl2SgMDcdg3MFipo/s320/June+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In June Andrea got to go to girls camp for the first time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjops4kiHdupXPmGXUDrA5QZFg4haK45d9l6Ljis0itiMUKUaSM7wXVHrlgz_BpaiKEIkMryaDgIoof5NbvipcbTa27RioKOt77XCUB6Wyyb2rIY4InTvFBcnT8nMBplMv3DNXDHVCvi30/s1600/June+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjops4kiHdupXPmGXUDrA5QZFg4haK45d9l6Ljis0itiMUKUaSM7wXVHrlgz_BpaiKEIkMryaDgIoof5NbvipcbTa27RioKOt77XCUB6Wyyb2rIY4InTvFBcnT8nMBplMv3DNXDHVCvi30/s320/June+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also in June my sister Cassidy came to visit. <br />
We went on a jet boat on the Willamette River.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhm-MBEJmLz6KrcL841Ro8qkPztzqqRVb5ZBaKdtcEu-iVfTPf7oKqnLwZuBlCQa5wSv8EiBeTUa2ZN7ApY3f18e7MmXyukWLdmuOrs_pMaNA44NEy05S7RmgQWZbgtmCR91vBh4T4i04/s1600/July.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhm-MBEJmLz6KrcL841Ro8qkPztzqqRVb5ZBaKdtcEu-iVfTPf7oKqnLwZuBlCQa5wSv8EiBeTUa2ZN7ApY3f18e7MmXyukWLdmuOrs_pMaNA44NEy05S7RmgQWZbgtmCR91vBh4T4i04/s320/July.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In July we made the annual mecca to Utah for the family trip to the cabin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJVv0ir4lfePIKYuOVDbuhxYUUcXdzsg2xHl9kFWmw9TNPfXAH3eCoBJ15ybqRoi1Ixx5x0quaYTu2Sny3aGvKmop91avzHRqlHI1A_9A-SyXDbPsJ6ifWEZtUuBtG3Ohudr4T0S9KCsM/s1600/July+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJVv0ir4lfePIKYuOVDbuhxYUUcXdzsg2xHl9kFWmw9TNPfXAH3eCoBJ15ybqRoi1Ixx5x0quaYTu2Sny3aGvKmop91avzHRqlHI1A_9A-SyXDbPsJ6ifWEZtUuBtG3Ohudr4T0S9KCsM/s320/July+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We also went to the aquarium while we were there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEU9sfT6x6C8QsbpR61yPjZY6PckYuwp7g8qdwhjk7HlwZoMdcjHFRlm-v3LEdrEQITBoSTOjQ2XoGMdHAy77u3bf828FieJ3erMHpfSXTr-9OwT7QPHj8N-XrPzqjqyfy5by3wOUcgs/s1600/August.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEU9sfT6x6C8QsbpR61yPjZY6PckYuwp7g8qdwhjk7HlwZoMdcjHFRlm-v3LEdrEQITBoSTOjQ2XoGMdHAy77u3bf828FieJ3erMHpfSXTr-9OwT7QPHj8N-XrPzqjqyfy5by3wOUcgs/s320/August.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In August my mom, my sister Justine and her son, and my little brother Hamilton came to visit.<br />
It was great having so many visitors over the summer!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHXW82XgByIt0Ehxzgqfhilv26annNXgjMaXjh9vEVqOAITbvlgV_kmqt-KWkLbj4AEj0yTQ6Oz36ZX162lbTr3B4AuxMuJKCRBjZhdR-gF-_FgFkG76X3e3SlWVKg911zXx3De3VG0I/s1600/September1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHXW82XgByIt0Ehxzgqfhilv26annNXgjMaXjh9vEVqOAITbvlgV_kmqt-KWkLbj4AEj0yTQ6Oz36ZX162lbTr3B4AuxMuJKCRBjZhdR-gF-_FgFkG76X3e3SlWVKg911zXx3De3VG0I/s320/September1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In September school started<br />
Collin is a Junior </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4zFBERWjdbESpYdg24C8yyF0TbjfqL3YYwRsgEf8G5PkIizlPBIVz0ETK9ivSaufYH_aGp_FddhvKu7gmEKBbnSbu_-cmjFwejOtZwws75SICI6wPL6z_jnZTRCk8DdFD5-oHvLuqKo/s1600/September+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4zFBERWjdbESpYdg24C8yyF0TbjfqL3YYwRsgEf8G5PkIizlPBIVz0ETK9ivSaufYH_aGp_FddhvKu7gmEKBbnSbu_-cmjFwejOtZwws75SICI6wPL6z_jnZTRCk8DdFD5-oHvLuqKo/s320/September+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jared is a Freshman </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7AFXFm2_cAGaccw9vv7IP8SLzt8kLuN3nrP9bzIK68Z-14fmYlHe1oj_Hxql0VoTbORKdPMW9KPokC6aDArwrVuS8AqeCOYgeXxPCUt1ymylZ_9Bu73Rbl4YIwx9JUOwwnwqxVAx_wZo/s1600/September+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7AFXFm2_cAGaccw9vv7IP8SLzt8kLuN3nrP9bzIK68Z-14fmYlHe1oj_Hxql0VoTbORKdPMW9KPokC6aDArwrVuS8AqeCOYgeXxPCUt1ymylZ_9Bu73Rbl4YIwx9JUOwwnwqxVAx_wZo/s320/September+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andrea is in 6th grade</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKacwPkj9xucYhzQzoYP9R5tJJeXR_cMXjjow3Y64FWx7QLChQ7z7yyOMyCko3nE7WGdNgY51mWy6Vy0Nf0Wwq85Oy7UPNQQq-BQUZPRtPKnB3Bv5r4UCAo5pArfpxM1a5L-X2_OaPWfQ/s1600/October.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKacwPkj9xucYhzQzoYP9R5tJJeXR_cMXjjow3Y64FWx7QLChQ7z7yyOMyCko3nE7WGdNgY51mWy6Vy0Nf0Wwq85Oy7UPNQQq-BQUZPRtPKnB3Bv5r4UCAo5pArfpxM1a5L-X2_OaPWfQ/s320/October.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In October Jared donned his short- shorts for cross country.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglK1lGODS_leIHSt4jT84r7ldmzt7fpZnIkCoq2QWof9B2qzxhMNeKP1mEPVrV_iAv0wweXThB3Ujowsn_ITVyokGdYFfXHbaOrjl7beh46-02qPdYx4Z1cHCgfP6eKrHP2WCBuU06XEk/s1600/October+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglK1lGODS_leIHSt4jT84r7ldmzt7fpZnIkCoq2QWof9B2qzxhMNeKP1mEPVrV_iAv0wweXThB3Ujowsn_ITVyokGdYFfXHbaOrjl7beh46-02qPdYx4Z1cHCgfP6eKrHP2WCBuU06XEk/s320/October+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collin sported a speedo for water polo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9Q3Rs8GrpNj_1s_Hyi615BVQwQd5okGW2KE7COYpIP0ABfPdS_4MjN4stNDg2ujIoV8Ut9l7-veVZy88zobD8yTwCd52Lh3vNZq4KeyMDZR3UbKcg2LmJpdaYa9cQWval11Q4SS3PsI/s1600/October+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9Q3Rs8GrpNj_1s_Hyi615BVQwQd5okGW2KE7COYpIP0ABfPdS_4MjN4stNDg2ujIoV8Ut9l7-veVZy88zobD8yTwCd52Lh3vNZq4KeyMDZR3UbKcg2LmJpdaYa9cQWval11Q4SS3PsI/s320/October+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also in October our friend Gary took us out on his boat where we learned to sail.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSD-wk6MTN39CyS3Hb2EK-NF-0jNWM7iICXoInNVImLhZuss_2jCWdaBS0zAj71B1pC27ocjM2l6XushwbOs-mG1skgc-6s6cLYF2E0c-FfTTEhvpA4xtR_J2OmRBs9xzC8mDgdnWpH4/s1600/November.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSD-wk6MTN39CyS3Hb2EK-NF-0jNWM7iICXoInNVImLhZuss_2jCWdaBS0zAj71B1pC27ocjM2l6XushwbOs-mG1skgc-6s6cLYF2E0c-FfTTEhvpA4xtR_J2OmRBs9xzC8mDgdnWpH4/s320/November.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In November we celebrated Thanksgiving with a big dinner with all the kids <br />
followed by a trip to see Harry Potter 7 at the movies.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIszJdUuu38PTLidmfOvScJ-Fv-yDSNkzI1cSboWLlw-GYSgBhatb8A3g1Z7JzfdotKlPWjmp09BZMKAFxb9XK9ymUd2wZCooAH9HKCtWkgt0KrYUXXXLjUQ4NxYCXEec5ZDoI5QpScaY/s1600/December+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIszJdUuu38PTLidmfOvScJ-Fv-yDSNkzI1cSboWLlw-GYSgBhatb8A3g1Z7JzfdotKlPWjmp09BZMKAFxb9XK9ymUd2wZCooAH9HKCtWkgt0KrYUXXXLjUQ4NxYCXEec5ZDoI5QpScaY/s320/December+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In December Brandon and I escaped to a bed and breakfast for Christmas</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2TmM8gz8WZ-ejJJkgJCyVVya-cXw_4x3pVGfWSFr_QZJ_yPctBeZpeeO6cF1QwhxagbiUvN9Pxt8BlpUdhd2nC1tj5GZdlL-v55WPAcBvwVER7GWCxHsAWpwy2YbDPJVHwzvgs1Uea0/s1600/December+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2TmM8gz8WZ-ejJJkgJCyVVya-cXw_4x3pVGfWSFr_QZJ_yPctBeZpeeO6cF1QwhxagbiUvN9Pxt8BlpUdhd2nC1tj5GZdlL-v55WPAcBvwVER7GWCxHsAWpwy2YbDPJVHwzvgs1Uea0/s320/December+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Followed by Christmas gifts with the kids and a trip to Utah to see family.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>What a year!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-34102776197858626382010-12-25T19:46:00.000-08:002010-12-25T19:46:01.827-08:00A very Merry Christmas<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It's been a wonderful Christmas....a little nontraditional- but great! All of our kids were with their other parents this year, so Brandon and I loaded up the Kia mini-van sleigh and headed to the beach for Christmas Eve. On the way we stopped at one of the casinos (see I told you it was nontraditional) and stuffed ourselves at their fabulous buffet. Sooo much food!!! Then we continued on to the Baywood Shores Bed and Breakfast (<a href="http://www.baywoodshoresbb.com/">http://www.baywoodshoresbb.com/</a>) in Lincoln City, OR. What a gorgeous place! I strongly recommend you check it out if you ever have the chance. We stayed in the "Captains Room". It had a big jacuzzi overlooking the bay, a private balcony, a fireplace and so many other little things that made it perfect. We went and walked on the beach in the rain, spent a little time shopping at the outlet stores, then made a snack run to the grocery store.</div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQxhAZIV4jEntwpOd61Z94es-sr3YhY7u8JZa7P0wzD0Tfpx2z6mdu8LmXrE2Cx47eJ-nEx22AGjwyKZUgczWIhza0WU0owdk_orlGjQtE23rBNY3mOyiryX_5-UJ150ixn_-gMcGuY8/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQxhAZIV4jEntwpOd61Z94es-sr3YhY7u8JZa7P0wzD0Tfpx2z6mdu8LmXrE2Cx47eJ-nEx22AGjwyKZUgczWIhza0WU0owdk_orlGjQtE23rBNY3mOyiryX_5-UJ150ixn_-gMcGuY8/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecU2FHmVY1irA-HVPiecvlHO7LpoiurUqX4eK4c2fLijyFl3kzrYp1BkSNjZ9ZJ2y_kdbBOaPbtInh_623Rq1aRUXhJrtSNVBxeBcuI7dBaS2DR8HQkqpPr3uaBqsEmLXOXCuP36Avf4/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecU2FHmVY1irA-HVPiecvlHO7LpoiurUqX4eK4c2fLijyFl3kzrYp1BkSNjZ9ZJ2y_kdbBOaPbtInh_623Rq1aRUXhJrtSNVBxeBcuI7dBaS2DR8HQkqpPr3uaBqsEmLXOXCuP36Avf4/s320/009.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqU7tXc-62T8Xy2xvwI3evacLLHKViLvFF0ExkDAzmeKRhhWqQ7qZnA106qcviHAVmfmgU95VIpTUwzRx8CMFpE-NBtZxDnBevSEHnr5OqvbWeVMIQDKsGVKkDjUcv1decWLD9KKuuNXg/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqU7tXc-62T8Xy2xvwI3evacLLHKViLvFF0ExkDAzmeKRhhWqQ7qZnA106qcviHAVmfmgU95VIpTUwzRx8CMFpE-NBtZxDnBevSEHnr5OqvbWeVMIQDKsGVKkDjUcv1decWLD9KKuuNXg/s320/010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">After exploring the town a bit, we headed back to our room for a rousing game of Scrabble in front of the fire, followed by a dinner of cookies and eggnog. Then we watched a movie and soaked in the tub while watching the twinkly lights across the bay. So relaxing! About 3:30am I was awoken by rustling in the corner. It thought Santa had found us! But no, it was just Brandon digging through our bags looking for some antacids. Apparently, unlike Santa, he is not cut out to indulge in a dinner of cookies.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In the morning the innkeepers made us a lovely breakfast of "dutch boys" and fruit. More food, just what we needed! We lounged around our room until it was time to check out, then went to pick up my kids. Once home with the kids we opened their presents (didn't take long to open their stocking and gift card!) then got to work on making our Christmas dinner. Yup, more food!</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In the morning the kids and I are getting up at the crack of dawn and driving to Utah to visit my family. (It's going to be hard to get up early after being a total lazy butt for the past week!) Brandon will stay here and "staycation" with his kids. I can't wait to see my family and especially my little nephews! Hopefully the 13 hour drive will go smoothly, and the weather will cooperate. I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas!</div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfPN2ShRhqLWHngVsWk_0ZS5mSPIx-FgpLB90MCeYmeBNpfxzY-LHGT3K5bP4hXxAWzZ-qGFH0mc6sTpYDR_z1ABpF39ehgUEynr4dvfElz9KZfcPGPxjsd36VlN6M90AiFG-A_3JoK8/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfPN2ShRhqLWHngVsWk_0ZS5mSPIx-FgpLB90MCeYmeBNpfxzY-LHGT3K5bP4hXxAWzZ-qGFH0mc6sTpYDR_z1ABpF39ehgUEynr4dvfElz9KZfcPGPxjsd36VlN6M90AiFG-A_3JoK8/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-24978513973124081852010-12-22T15:35:00.000-08:002010-12-22T15:35:10.676-08:00Cindersoni, Cindersoni...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1xfgPzuOXNnHgNkUlVZFrmApxswDfYO8C-LOxcAUJqLtimYOxds09EH0EhJUsSDbdsa5H6zdxOUYqDi-Je0B2V2B1ehYVGUM4MZ-ti2Tvelz6TbBHoSIRVxlS4yxya-OWXXBjvo4WIM/s1600/cinderella309.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1xfgPzuOXNnHgNkUlVZFrmApxswDfYO8C-LOxcAUJqLtimYOxds09EH0EhJUsSDbdsa5H6zdxOUYqDi-Je0B2V2B1ehYVGUM4MZ-ti2Tvelz6TbBHoSIRVxlS4yxya-OWXXBjvo4WIM/s1600/cinderella309.png" /></a></div>Today I feel like Cindersoni (ya know, Cinderella's lesser known cousin. My mom used to sing the little song the mice sing to Cinderella when I was younger and I would complain about doing chores- except instead of singing Cinderell-y, Cinderell-y, it was Cindersoni, Cindersoni). Like everyone else I've been frantically trying to get ready for the Holidays. Wrapping presents, finishing homemade gifts, baking, shopping, cleaning, blah, blah, blah. In addition to all this, I'm trying to get ready for two trips. Brandon and I are going to a cute little bed and breakfast at the beach, then the day after Christmas the kids and I are driving down to see my family in Utah for a week. <br />
<br />
I'm not sure why these family trips bring out the worst of my slight OCD tendencies. On three separate occasions in the past 14 months I've proven that I can be out the door and on the road within an hour in an emergency. But if I'm planning on going, it takes me DAYS to get ready. Planned visits bring on strange compulsions. I feel compelled to do things like bleach my children's suddenly unseemly socks, get my brows waxed, detail my car, vacuum all the nooks and crannies of my house, clean out the window tracks,organize the Tupperware, alphabetize the bookshelf, and scrub out the fridge.<br />
<br />
I suppose secretly I'm afraid I'll die while away, and you'll all come to my house and judge me. (I come by this fear naturally- you should see the elaborate plans my grandma makes when going on vacation!) Anyway, I gotta go change the sheets and pack the suitcases! Good luck to each of you getting your holiday To-Do list done!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-80299397099859266172010-12-20T19:01:00.000-08:002010-12-20T19:01:14.387-08:00'Twas the night before ChristmasWhen I was a child, Christmas Eve was magical...like Disney Princess magical, not just normal people 'Christmas spirit' magical! Our family would go over to my grandmas house along with my aunts, uncles,cousins and some second cousins. Grandma would start the evening off with a fabulous meal. Turkey, ham, her special layered cranberry-apple jello salad, potatoes, rolls, teeny tiny little sweet pickles and enough olives we could each have our own set. (Ya know...a "set" of olives- one for each finger!) A plethora of cookies, pies and candy followed dinner. Frequently, dinner was followed by a visit from Santa or one of his elves- who of course came bearing gifts for each of us. After the initial excitement of Santa wore off, the adults would sit around visiting, while us kids sat squirming, wiggling, and frequently asking "When are they leaving?"<br />
<br />
The "they" in question were all the extended family. It's not that we didn't like them- in fact my cousins Jodi and Janna and I spent a fair part of the evening trying to catch our slightly older second cousin, Kyle, under the mistletoe so we could kiss him. However, the truly fantastic part of the evening didn't begin until it was down to just my siblings, my 2 cousins, and our parents. Eventually, the other families would head out to enjoy the rest of the evening at home. That's when the magic happened. <br />
<br />
Like dutiful little elves we would all march down the hall to the "pink room" (Grandmas guest room which bore a cherry blossom pink quilt and rose covered carpets) and start carrying out the brightly wrapped packages. We would deposit each of the gifts in a segregated pile marked with our name. Then while Grandpa roamed around with his huge camcorder balanced on his shoulder, it was finally time! You know those Christmas movies where civilized families go around in a circle and take turns opening their gifts? They take time to admire and oooh and aaahhh over each item...we didn't do that. Someone would count down and then like greedy little imps we would tear into our mountain of gifts. <br />
<br />
Inevitably there was a set of new Christmas pajamas- lacy frilly nightgowns for the girls, superhero pj's with capes for the boys. While the grown ups picked up our wrappings (I told you we were greedy little imps) we'd all go change into our new pajamas, then hurry back to play with our new treasures. Eventually, our parents would insist that if we didn't go home Santa wouldn't be able to come. (Like we needed more toys!) So we'd pack all our new stuff into the trunk, climb into the car and head home- happy as little clams. The magic would carry home with us as we tried to listen for sleigh bells on the roof and eventually drifted off to sleep with visions of sugar plums dancing through our heads.<br />
<br />
Years later, when I was in my late teens, and had long since given up on Santa and elves, I was once again caught up in the magic of Christmas Eve at Grandmas house. Her large family room was surrounded by windows on 3 sides. As I looked out over the amazing view of the sparkling lights of the city and the glistening lake below, I was stunned to see a tiny sleigh being pulled by reindeer off in the distant sky. It truly took my breath away in disbelief. Only a moment passed before I realized I was seeing a reflection of a Santa picture hanging in the opposite window behind me...but for just a moment... I believed!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrzwaK0r0EJga81fDTQSgEpgE-WosFtRWlOpux4Rz98fDipuHqCq9KyNq6ni3cpDyMWlGJQtfqGu2sFn-VkioTjyRaOm6HApE5DZjn3Q95ubQEXG3H1LJMccT79jfM0ddPVNcsp6Sb1M/s1600/santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrzwaK0r0EJga81fDTQSgEpgE-WosFtRWlOpux4Rz98fDipuHqCq9KyNq6ni3cpDyMWlGJQtfqGu2sFn-VkioTjyRaOm6HApE5DZjn3Q95ubQEXG3H1LJMccT79jfM0ddPVNcsp6Sb1M/s320/santa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Merry Christmas everyone!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-90580226384333824572010-12-11T12:11:00.000-08:002010-12-11T12:11:21.025-08:00day offI have ended up with the whole day all to myself today. Whatever shall I do? I should paint the bathroom that desperately needs it. I should clean out the "Harry Potter" closet under the stairs (where I'm sure I would find all the things that have been deemed lost, stolen, or missing for the past...well, since we moved into the house!) I should go check our storm drains and crawl space to make sure we're not going to float away in this horrific rain we've been enduring. I should bake Christmas treats for my friends and neighbors.<br />
<br />
Those are just a few of the things that I <em>should</em> do. But what I'm <em>gonna </em>do is make a nice hot cup of candy can cocoa in a snowman mug, turn up the heat, put on my cosiest hoodie, and que up the Netflix. One of the few perks of a rainy day (other than helping with bird poo as mentioned previously) is it makes a great excuse to have a lazy day! Enjoy your weekend!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExTcF3SWAZ3vTFI4PWOufOO5WUPYqBt0Kcs-gGgvDfBZDj2kRyxTNMesT0wakc-WIc4G9MtEVBer3hbGdOkFoe3pq1p4jFi72IKwHxCpghlWKJMVtRArWudD_Ml9VzRNGsS9njTduFFg/s1600/snowmanmug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExTcF3SWAZ3vTFI4PWOufOO5WUPYqBt0Kcs-gGgvDfBZDj2kRyxTNMesT0wakc-WIc4G9MtEVBer3hbGdOkFoe3pq1p4jFi72IKwHxCpghlWKJMVtRArWudD_Ml9VzRNGsS9njTduFFg/s1600/snowmanmug.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-75076257140623431002010-12-07T16:16:00.000-08:002010-12-07T16:16:57.474-08:00bird poo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghp63-nh3tZRB75GKk5vKda1hwg1R6dv3qpLdcHUMbd-CuE87EGiK__CxdJ3yc9Oi2iNcTTFUwRkospPnukDR__9p39_QE7dLkSVQJMFkujgxheKy63KYpmVzvsf99LTYvySxB4dp89ko/s1600/bird_poop1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghp63-nh3tZRB75GKk5vKda1hwg1R6dv3qpLdcHUMbd-CuE87EGiK__CxdJ3yc9Oi2iNcTTFUwRkospPnukDR__9p39_QE7dLkSVQJMFkujgxheKy63KYpmVzvsf99LTYvySxB4dp89ko/s320/bird_poop1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We have a large elm tree that hangs over our driveway. I love the tree- it provides a glorious covering of shade during the 9 days of summer we are blessed with every year, and each spring its weathered knots provide a nesting spot for the tiny little birds that flit about. Argh...the birds. It's no secret that I am deathly terrified of birds, and despise the little critters (they're like rats with wings), but even I can appreciate the cuteness of a nest of chirping, featherless, hideously ugly little babies. But why, oh why, do they have to poo all over my car?<br />
<br />
Sunday evening I glanced over at my car and was thoroughly perturbed to see that once again the ol' Taurus was covered in white splatter. I shook my head in disgust and resigned myself to parking in the outer parking lot at work so noone would see my shame. However, on Monday morning I woke to the sound of raindrops pounding on my roof. "Stupidmiserablerainwithitsstupidclouds" I thought to myself as I stumbled out the door at 6:30am. (Guess what I like even less than birds? Rain!) But then, as I looked at my car, I was suddenly grateful for the miserable, wet drops that were pounding the city. All the poo was gone! What a glorious suprise!<br />
<br />
After making the school run with the kiddos I pulled back into the driveway to get ready for work. I was parked there less than an hour. When I went to leave, my car had once again been victimized. No fewer than 12 poop bombs once again covered the windshield, hood, and roof of my car. <br />
<br />
I think I'll cut down the tree.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-50579980468933815932010-12-05T19:41:00.000-08:002010-12-05T19:41:29.629-08:00It ain't what it used to be<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When I was a little girl, Christmas was truly "the most wonderful time of the year". For months beforehand I would spend hours carefully pouring over the Sears and LaBelles catalogs seeking out my list of desired treasures. With a colored marker in hand, I would circle each and everything my little heart desired. An Easy Bake oven and Kewpie dolls eventually gave way to much more sophisticated toys. Things like the Barbie Dream pool, Snoopy snow cone maker, and a ruffled umbrella. My brothers circled things like race tracks,GI Joe figurines and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. After months of consideration we'd submit our pared down lists to the fat guy in the red suit. Between Santa, my parents, and doting grandparents we usually made off with a pretty good haul. </div><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My parents went to great lengths to ensure the joy of Christmas magic was complete. One year a sooty boot print was left by the fireplace. Another Christmas morning revealed a torn piece of red velvet left behind as evidence of Santas misadventure with our fire grate. One year I was heartbroken when the baby doll I longed for wasn't there on Christmas morning, but a few days later my mom came in with it from the backyard...seems Santa had dropped it on the roof and it took a while for it to roll off! We always left out cookies and milk for Santa, as well as carrots for the weary reindeer.Eventually I started counting the carrots that were back in the fridge come Christmas morning and was dismayed to find our offering returned...</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When my own kids came along I tried to duplicate the impressive Christmas mornings I remembered from my childhood. Care was taken to insure that Santas presents bore their own special wrapping paper so as not to be mistaken as a gift from us, the lowly parents. Cookies were set out, as well as carrots for the reindeer (which were NEVER returned to the fridge!). With two little boys we saw an abundance of train sets, Hot Wheels tracks, and super hero pajamas, followed by doll houses, stuffed animals and tutus when Andrea joined us. Later we moved on to K'nex, Legos and RC cars for the boys, and Barbies, Polly Pockets and Little Ponies for the girl. Christmas was a delight.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QhxAF-AIgZJ_lkamC2HrhmsEnIB2kXXHoiiVcKJmRLlr5zCAo1HbQhtEEjwNopIzjLziDgm3HruRn2WSjV9_w83FkIWWD8KA_qTEjBmOiAN9M1VadWHkkyYkzySpnFVmirTrM5H57So/s1600/IM000508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QhxAF-AIgZJ_lkamC2HrhmsEnIB2kXXHoiiVcKJmRLlr5zCAo1HbQhtEEjwNopIzjLziDgm3HruRn2WSjV9_w83FkIWWD8KA_qTEjBmOiAN9M1VadWHkkyYkzySpnFVmirTrM5H57So/s320/IM000508.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Fast forward a few years. I-pods, phones, and requests for cash make up the list. That's it. Nothing cute, nothing fuzzy, nothing fun to give. Enjoy 'em while they're little- cuz Christmas ain't what it used to be!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-83445914869450732202010-11-29T21:44:00.000-08:002010-11-29T21:44:43.169-08:00stupid #$@%! phones (a personal rant)Recently Brandon acquired a new all inclusive cell phone from work, so we decided to shut off his personal cell phone. Unfortunately this led to a whole slough of problems as I was forced to switch my teenage sons phone over to Brandon's number due to contract issues. However, I figured it would be a simple switch, and we could all get on with our technically savvy lives. I should have known better! Unbeknownst to me Collins phone had a security feature that locked it if and when the SIM card was removed/replaced. Should be easy enough to fix...if you have the password. We tried all the obvious choices- last 4 digits of the phone number, our stand by PIN's, 0000, 1111, 1234...all to no avail. We did however succeed in completely locking down the phone from our repeated attempts. AAAARGH I thought to myself- but I figured a quick trip to the cell phone store would remedy the problem***sigh***there is no such thing as a quick trip to the cell phone store.<br />
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"I'm sorry ma'am, but as that is a security feature you have enabled we can't unlock it."<br />
"OK, could we just replace the SIM card then?"<br />
"Sure, this will just take a moment....hmmmm....this is strange....just a sec...let me Google this...ummm, you're going to have to call the manufacturer."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNrwZD5gDE8Xi7fgwom8EUtVdvSBTLDJ4pIy-1CzGoIz8U56Oq4_vhyphenhyphenAhN8cinFfsvno2v6UJT2ziMMojk5zSRtUuaFTnS-8khBb07sluP3EWKcgNDEzJMNGPR9z4OGWMfcn0uEQ88LE/s1600/samsung-solstice-II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNrwZD5gDE8Xi7fgwom8EUtVdvSBTLDJ4pIy-1CzGoIz8U56Oq4_vhyphenhyphenAhN8cinFfsvno2v6UJT2ziMMojk5zSRtUuaFTnS-8khBb07sluP3EWKcgNDEzJMNGPR9z4OGWMfcn0uEQ88LE/s200/samsung-solstice-II.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Anyway, after a long and complicated process involving myself and several "helpful customer service agents" from somewhere in the deep South (aren't they all from there?) I finally obtained a series of codes that would enable me to turn off the security feature that locked the SIM card...only to discover that as a final step I would need the original password to do that. Isn't that fun?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I figured while I was there I'd try to resolve a separate cell phone issue (we get no reception in our house). My new friend Kelly at the cell store suggested I call customer service to see about getting a '3G cell' that would boost our reception. Already frustrated, but grateful for the tip I called customer service. A helpful fellow named Patrick (also apparently from the deep South) knew exactly what I was talking about and told me to a specific location on the companies website. I searched the web site, found the product in question...and was directed to go to the store ...*%^$#@!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-81535804495855791082010-11-26T18:34:00.000-08:002010-11-26T18:34:19.212-08:00'Tis the SeasonIt is here! The day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday- the official start of the Christmas season. (Unless you work at Target- Christmas arrived there the day after Halloween.) As is our tradition I planned to load up all the kids and set out to find the perfect Christmas tree to spark the holiday merriment. Andrea, who is my mini-me, happily donned her boots and grabbed a jacket. Then I moved on to the less enthusiastic crowd..."It's Christmas time guys! Who wants to go get a tree?" "Ummm, no, I think we'll stay here," grumbled my husbands 4 children. Then on to the teenage boys who were still sleeping soundly. "Hey guys, we're going to go get a tree! Wanna come?" "imtryingtosleepgeez" mumbled Jared as he glared at me through the one visible eye. "No" was all Collin mustered before he rolled over and put a pillow on his head. So off Brandon, Andrea and I went to Sleighbells Christmas tree farm where we found a beauty of a tree in the form of a 7 1/2 foot Noble Fir.<br />
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Then home we came with our Christmas treasure. I turned on the Christmas music and asked: "Who wants to help decorate the tree?"<br />
"Not I," said Brandons kids.<br />
"Not I," said Jared.<br />
"Can I go to my girlfriends house and help them decorate their Christmas tree?" asked Collin.<br />
"I'll help" answered Andrea.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtmFLeL0hh6Xq1ZAQrZHzAUtBLgTEM5sb8RVDoy-EMIq6-bHlp0GmjVRM20gN8OD2NnG6Opqf4PoThDKzAADd9fW44wDAkbEK8qEHhlopEfW-hOD6XyOOMoTVKqJw8p_DtRhiHkFzaDI/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtmFLeL0hh6Xq1ZAQrZHzAUtBLgTEM5sb8RVDoy-EMIq6-bHlp0GmjVRM20gN8OD2NnG6Opqf4PoThDKzAADd9fW44wDAkbEK8qEHhlopEfW-hOD6XyOOMoTVKqJw8p_DtRhiHkFzaDI/s200/016.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>So the tree is up, the giant candy canes are in the yard, stockings adorn our banister, and ribbons and lights have given the house a festive glow. I'll let you guess which of all the children is going to get the most presents this year.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-39847645403599214192010-11-21T19:03:00.000-08:002010-11-21T19:03:51.702-08:00How Did We Survive?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPhvww8JP-R2AgMjMFUW3Lzxn1aMOHIz3zZQ97zqjLVW3pnnC86xapTZFB_RsgqwFgrWeRlnAURsS18Fy35rvMPH1l8VNymVHfIY-xqarX4FuVNz1PpRViv70B0943jdSvl2j3RYFaZk/s1600/DSCN2226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPhvww8JP-R2AgMjMFUW3Lzxn1aMOHIz3zZQ97zqjLVW3pnnC86xapTZFB_RsgqwFgrWeRlnAURsS18Fy35rvMPH1l8VNymVHfIY-xqarX4FuVNz1PpRViv70B0943jdSvl2j3RYFaZk/s320/DSCN2226.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A few days ago my 16 month old nephew peered into the fridge and pointed at some leftover birthday cake as his choice for breakfast. My little sister reflected back and remembered that our mom used to let us eat cake for breakfast, so she decided to carry on that decision. It caused me to think back on some of the things my siblings and I used to do when we were kids. Some things were harmless pleasures like cake for breakfast, or seeing who could spit the cherry pits the farthest across the kitchen. (My mom was pretty indulgent of our childish antics!) Other things would no longer be considered safe, or even legal. It made me wonder how so many of us who grew up in the age before seat belts and bike helmets made it through childhood unscathed, or at least mostly intact!</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">One thing I remember doing on several occasions with 2 of my brothers was taking turns "riding" in the dryer. One of us would climb inside while the others closed the door, and turned it on. Round and round we would tumble. At the time we thought we were so cool, now I'm amazed we didn't end up on the evening news. (Pretty sure mom didn't know we were doing this!) We also enjoyed mounting a plastic sled and riding it down the stairs, with the wall at the end of the hallway to stop us. And who could forget tying a tube or old slip-and-slide onto the back of the car and sliding around the neighborhood on a cold, winter night?</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">How about riding around while lying in the back window of the car? I remember riding through Canada that way (though the memory is a little fuzzy as I may have had a concussion at the time...but that's another story...remind me to tell you about jumping on the tent someday!) </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We also had some stellar babysitters that provided the highest level of care. I remember my teenage aunt babysitting us one night, and literally sitting on us, because she said that's what she'd been hired to do. Another sitter dared my brother to eat a worm. He fried it up, slathered it in ketchup, and consumed the worm. Yet another sitter (funny, they didn't seem to come back more than once...) kept us amused by launching us off of his feet through the air and into the mattress he'd propped up against the wall. You'd be surprised how high a six year old will go.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Sometimes I worry my kids are missing out. They've never ridden in a car without being properly strapped into their seat, never felt the exhilaration of their face hitting the wall at the end of the stairway, and never slid around behind a car at 40mph with the snow blowing through their hair. They have however, had cake for breakfast!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-88075072849171673002010-11-17T22:01:00.000-08:002010-11-17T22:01:36.487-08:00Gloopy mess<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyXfEpmXiPUxp2eC-PTGuvZUEdD1pmHb7edYp5XgszTaX6rSkS0Wa7T1ODXwnpO5K6Cha8egT8xA_Z7-7GoR6L2gjQQXg_-bPBuE_1XEX0sZJhNH9tLIjKOs7nd48NOCPEATAxuKn2XM/s1600/oatmeal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyXfEpmXiPUxp2eC-PTGuvZUEdD1pmHb7edYp5XgszTaX6rSkS0Wa7T1ODXwnpO5K6Cha8egT8xA_Z7-7GoR6L2gjQQXg_-bPBuE_1XEX0sZJhNH9tLIjKOs7nd48NOCPEATAxuKn2XM/s320/oatmeal.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>I've been trying to eat a little healthier lately. In lieu of a Diet Coke and a PB&J for breakfast I've been making myself a gloopy bowl of hot oatmeal with frozen blueberries in it each morning. Unfortunately, it's throwing off my morning groove. I have a carefully timed, and well tuned routine I go through each morning- right down to leaving my house 5 minutes before I have to be at work. (It only takes me about 4 minutes to get there- I know, it's a rough commute!) Anyway, my new found fiber and antioxidant rich breakfast takes exactly 5 minutes to cook- compared to the 60 seconds the PB&J required. This leaves a 4 minute deficit in my schedule. I could probably absorb that into my morning somehow- maybe only shave one leg, skip flossing, or resist my email compulsion. But that isn't the only problem. A PB&J can be polished off while walking out to the car, or while operating the motor vehicle. My purple stained oatmeal is not nearly so condusive to on-the-go consumption. Why don't I just eat it before I leave the house you ask? It's too hot. Why don't I eat it while sitting at my desk at work? It's too cold. But in the car, precariously perched between the steering wheel and my chest, with one hand spooning, and the other hand maintaining balance...In the words of Goldilocks, well, It's just right!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-52401435980407624072010-11-15T08:57:00.000-08:002010-11-15T08:57:26.494-08:00Rough Start<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhgLvQ08ddAQIHCfE88T4fl69zegM1heqSyCudU0ZlcQpRIPdARhhCgm23pHZMmUyJotWk3-qTfqHOIHRfuHCjjuX55l-_Hs9_8qorgDpaoq-1i1yl5-lea4rOw-xB6ksnKwipqTENCM/s1600/waking+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhgLvQ08ddAQIHCfE88T4fl69zegM1heqSyCudU0ZlcQpRIPdARhhCgm23pHZMmUyJotWk3-qTfqHOIHRfuHCjjuX55l-_Hs9_8qorgDpaoq-1i1yl5-lea4rOw-xB6ksnKwipqTENCM/s320/waking+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Most mornings my alarm clock and I engage in an elaborate tango of sorts. As it creeps towards its allocated time of torture I spend the last hour or two with one bleary eye taking careful note of the position of my stalker. But after a four day weekend my defenses were down and my biorythyms were off. Suddenly and unexpectedly my blissful slumber was rudely awakened by distant strains of "Viva LaVida" blaring. AAAAAAGGH! Welcome back Monday, It's gonna be a long week!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-48155851913406766642010-11-10T19:35:00.000-08:002010-11-10T19:35:20.183-08:00Picture Perfect Memories<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Each year I spend some time creating pages to add to the kids' scrapbooks and give them to them as part of their Christmas gift. I start out each year with the grand intentions of keeping current with the photos, but when that fails I spend an immeasurable amount of time throughout November and December trying to sort through the photos and create beautiful creative pages that will be passed down and treasured for generations (heehee- at least that's how it goes in my head). </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfXMdNexyfgS8h8sE8w-59YYjoH0lo69oPbTqum5ORlgt96izsEkkKwFDh33eklIKTiJm0yCsD87cCUnyYaXMLOMn1lz0nYWfH8tNOVPmydyYtE6MKi2_4DSjyVO7V27aBvnn1ILQ5Fo/s1600/100_0167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfXMdNexyfgS8h8sE8w-59YYjoH0lo69oPbTqum5ORlgt96izsEkkKwFDh33eklIKTiJm0yCsD87cCUnyYaXMLOMn1lz0nYWfH8tNOVPmydyYtE6MKi2_4DSjyVO7V27aBvnn1ILQ5Fo/s320/100_0167.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDxTcHw1JeexwfG7KO4bXF_v2kKo6NCK8XVWUnJU3m7DaUMapvswWUtCMJfVxXc_W-UF1u6GSkLOvCfcB-e4ydusGSn15ZU8zYB90XGaZkkceDsn0jXXaa7U49gQcBQjXPL0TjxIYsj4/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDxTcHw1JeexwfG7KO4bXF_v2kKo6NCK8XVWUnJU3m7DaUMapvswWUtCMJfVxXc_W-UF1u6GSkLOvCfcB-e4ydusGSn15ZU8zYB90XGaZkkceDsn0jXXaa7U49gQcBQjXPL0TjxIYsj4/s320/036.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This year as I was sorting through the past 12 months and 18 gazillion photos I realized something. The photographic evidence of our celebrations, vacations, and milestones is often the best part of the event. For example, when I looked through pictures of the family all carving jack-o-lanterns, all I saw was smiling happy children joyously celebrating the bounteous squash harvest and eagerly anticipating an exciting night of trick-or-treating and dressing up as a beloved character. I didn't see slimy pumpkin seeds mashed into my carpet. I didn't hear whining about the frugal improvised version of the costume they'd wanted. I didn't feel my teeth rotting from the Dots and carmel apple suckers. It just looked like some good holiday fun.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As I waded through the pictures of our family trip to California and Disneyland last spring I couldn't help but wonder who that perfect family was in all the shots. A snapshot of a teenage brother carrying his adoring little sister on his shoulders, a fun-loving family all splashing together in the sparkling pool at the hotel, a relaxed couple lounging on the beach as their children gathered shells along the shore. Beaming faces exploring Mickeys wonderland. Gone was the evidence of children bickering for the entire 20 hour (each way!) road trip. Nowhere to be found was the snide comments, short tempers and achy feet that were prevalent throughout the week. Amazing!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lID0wLzYvdBHq9lTKk8Eh1712J14uVtmgPpSF5D74UFNlg3FkSvPa4yW3MOBDmSkZkTWlNVR0PZOm7HZfv4x5nUytI3BjB2wKKdxJeM5ShVgiel_GLISwWdEgFmJok_wmXpLmmdj79s/s1600/177+-+Copy+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lID0wLzYvdBHq9lTKk8Eh1712J14uVtmgPpSF5D74UFNlg3FkSvPa4yW3MOBDmSkZkTWlNVR0PZOm7HZfv4x5nUytI3BjB2wKKdxJeM5ShVgiel_GLISwWdEgFmJok_wmXpLmmdj79s/s320/177+-+Copy+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My hope is that as the kids grow, and look back at their "oh so fabulous" scrapbooks, they'll also discover the phenomenon I'm coining as "Picture Perfect Memories". I hope they'll remember the good times- the trips to the pumpkin patch, picnics at the park, summers at the cabin, baking cookies in the kitchen. I hope the picture perfect memories will overshadow the arguments, the lectures, the frustrated sighs. Someday I hope to be the mother my photo album says I am!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iaRjdVK8nX4jhLhprpQ8R1r3zxJGkCAiEOjuczJ-eEEUnv0HHp05T_CGTLwg-LK19krVikAd7VkWp50EUk570jNe1sIUt7lKnRc-sCU_Z8AE40Fc1KUCJNeera1mrRBO8raitC5iaZM/s1600/067+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iaRjdVK8nX4jhLhprpQ8R1r3zxJGkCAiEOjuczJ-eEEUnv0HHp05T_CGTLwg-LK19krVikAd7VkWp50EUk570jNe1sIUt7lKnRc-sCU_Z8AE40Fc1KUCJNeera1mrRBO8raitC5iaZM/s320/067+-+Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-75036206941497841852010-11-08T19:54:00.000-08:002010-11-08T20:12:41.606-08:00A great place to workRecently at <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Brandon's</span> work they did some remodeling. I expected new, cheery paint, brighter bulbs, new desks and tables. The usual office improvements and upgrades. Tonight he took me for a tour of the new place. First we stopped by the spectacular modern chrome kitchen . After taking advantage of the free Starbucks <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">cappuccino</span> and hot chocolate machine we <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">mosied</span> over and lounged on the couch in the large cushy rec room with the massive flat screen TV. Then we meandered through the upgraded and sparkling cafeteria with it's free drinks, blood pressure machine, and in house bank, past the fitness room, and on to the game room with another big screen TV, a pool table, a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Foosball</span> table, and each took a seat in the Cadillac of massage chairs. For 15 minutes my body was kneaded, pulsed, vibrated and rubbed from head to toe.<br /><br />"Why would they do all this dear?" I asked, thinking to myself that these upgrades had to cut back on employee productivity. "They want us to think this is a great place to work" he replied. As I thought back over my day at work I pondered the perks of working for the public school system...900 kids...and their boogers...hmmmm...still pondering...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-63333900032971146152010-11-06T12:17:00.000-07:002010-11-06T16:36:30.225-07:00206 days until summer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSt2lIcJ79OkVM-bw4yikcaezRn0L-PbC2ia0PaT2Gt-iNLtzHSGSha0y0aqRQ1afGrEEQrvE8KIOwQqcEDUPEaZJ4HwdOXt6OlJICebhp8TdIMoe5I7ARFz7HtjNDavJJ1wIt1NaZuo/s1600/76880.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536584683174757618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSt2lIcJ79OkVM-bw4yikcaezRn0L-PbC2ia0PaT2Gt-iNLtzHSGSha0y0aqRQ1afGrEEQrvE8KIOwQqcEDUPEaZJ4HwdOXt6OlJICebhp8TdIMoe5I7ARFz7HtjNDavJJ1wIt1NaZuo/s320/76880.JPG" /></a><br /><div>I love summer! I love the warm sparkling sunshine, the clear blue sky, the smell of fresh cut grass. I love the lazy mornings and late evenings. Picnics at the beach, outdoor movies at the park, the smell of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">BBQ's</span> wafting through the neighborhood, and road trips. But most of all, I love the feel of fresh dirt between my fingers, spending hours wandering through the nursery finding the perfect additions to my yard, watching tiny seedlings push their way through the soil to reach for the sunshine. I love watching the bulbs spring forth as their sumptuous blooms come forth after a long winters nap. I love the hanging baskets of geraniums and trailing <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">lobelia</span> and the climbing clematis that liven my front porch and make me smile as they grow.<br /><br />As fall sets in, with winter quickly on its heels, my spirits seem to fall a little as each of the plants in my yard begin to turn yellow and wither away. The gray skies move in, sunshine grows dim, and the whole world seems to sigh as it settles into the dreary winter months. I've considered hibernating from about the first week of November until mid-April, and have even done my part to pack on those winter pounds, but the logistics of taking off 5 1/2 months has just never proven doable. Laundry still needs done, kids still need fed, and my employer refuses to agree to the arrangement. So, as a compromise between myself and Mother Nature, this year I am attempting to keep a little piece of summer around all year long.<br /><br />My computer room is now brightened by the cheery red blooms, and green foliage of my plentiful collection of geraniums. Last week, on drizzly Saturday in late October, I carefully and lovingly <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">repotted</span> my large outdoor plants into more suitable indoor containers. Then I shifted and scrunched the current "space-taker-uppers" from off the filing cabinet, table and shelves to make room for my 6 glorious pots. I'm hoping they'll take to their new gentler surroundings and flourish and grow, as an alternative to the yearly suicide their <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">predecessors</span> have chosen come winter. I'm also hoping they will help keep my winter-blah's at bay. Maybe I'll make a little picnic, spread a blanket on the floor , turn the halogen lamp on high and pretend that summer is just around the corner!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4356343340292171433.post-27270692945497725212010-11-05T22:05:00.000-07:002010-11-05T22:23:27.563-07:00Got Blog?After years of intending to join the ranks of bloggers around the world- here I go...my first shot at worldwide fame, or at least a token gesture at some regular journaling. "But Soni", you might say..."isn't each and every day of your life basically just a boring repeat of the previous day, and a precursor of what lies ahead tomorrow?" "Yes indeed," I reply. But after 36 years of living I've decided that uneventful days are some of the best ones. It's the dramatic and eventful ones that seem to cause the gray hairs and credit card bills. So here's to the journey, and hoping it is <em>prosaic</em> (a little word I picked up while meandering through the thesarus ...not to be confused with a <em>Prozac </em>journey!) Wish me luck!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1