tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21260959979287133732024-03-05T02:34:44.837-05:00Freckle Faced MamaTelling One Story for Every Freckle on my FaceOn Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.comBlogger305125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-50041120531204107082015-01-09T14:44:00.000-05:002015-01-14T10:11:19.502-05:00Ch...Ch...Ch...ChaaaangesI have burrowed myself deep within the walls of my family, a hibernation of some sorts, I suppose. It's been really cozy in here and really good for us. And in the shifting and adjusting many positive changes have come about that I know we are all really excited and happy about. I totally speak for all of us, well because I'm the boss. Really, Jacob is, like most 4 year olds are, but he doesn't know how to spell, so I will do it.<br />
<br />
We have surfaced and have grown in so many ways.<br />
<br />
I will let those most excited share their most important news.<br />
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<br />
Our family of 5, will be expanding to a family of 6 very soon. And I realize my children look like they are in drugs in these pictures. I was getting ready to repose them and retake the pics while they laughed and laughed at their captured images. But then I realized the last laugh will be from me, because once their new baby sister graces us with her presence, this is how they will look on a daily basis for a little while, and it won't be too funny then, to anyone....but maybe me, in my lack of sleep induced delirium.<br />
<br />
Yes. My uterus is now a hotel room for another little girl. Andy and I will now have a boy sandwich, made from sassy girl bread. This is going to be our last....so help me. <br />
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She should make her debut in the very beginning of May. Her older brothers birthday is the 4th, so if she could steer clear of that day, that would be super cool of her, because I don't think it will be awesome to them if they share a birthday. But see, this wouldn't surprise me either...the universe has only worked this way with us, so we will prepare for this, by not preparing, because this is how we evidently need to roll.<br />
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So needless to say, I have been nothing short of comatose in the past 23.5 weeks. They say women are in their prime around age 35. Not so sure that is referring to also being pregnant and having 3 additional children. I have been passing the days of this prime time, with well, sleeping. This broad ain't what she used to be, that is for sure. So if you feel left out, or if you feel like you thought maybe I had died, or moved to Mexico, I assure you, I have been right here. My energy and focus goes into my little family, and in my downtime, I can be found in a horizontal position with drool pouring out the side of my mouth. So my sincerest apologies...I still think of you, and wonder what you are doing and how you are, and how lucky you are to have the energy to do the things you are doing. You are my hero. I am here, with my growing belly, watching Andy on most days, taking on my role and his.<br />
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I will indulge in the joys of pregnancy at 36, which is old according to all the tests I get done, at another time. Right now I need another bowl of cocoa puffs.<br />
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But this lady, she's just had it. Too old for this nonsense....sometimes I concur.<br />
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On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-2956783473534417052014-08-04T14:02:00.001-04:002014-08-04T14:14:49.266-04:00Bacon is 4.You know life, it happens.<br />
This I believe is the perpetual fate of the third and youngest child.<br />
Oh Jacob Have I loved, please forgive your mama.<br />
It doesn't mean you're not my favorite, it just has to look this way so the others don't find out.<br />
<br />
Talking about my youngest is just so easy, I don't know why I procrastinate.<br />
Kid is smarter then me. I have to give him credit. He is going to be my Power of Attorney someday. Please my darling, Jakey Mikes, it has nothing to do with you, and its me being overwhelmed with the season, you unfortunately were born in it. I will make it up to you. You can pick the kinds of cereal we get next time we go food shopping.<br />
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Without further ado, this kid, my BAAAABY, turned 4 in May. I don't know why or how this happened. 4 on the 4th. He had a Super Hero Picnic with all his real life Super Heroes, who are also his uncles and Pop , and us girls could tag along, after some convincing and maybe a bribe. So we all wore some Super Hero tees and looked like those tourists in Disney World of the same family in their family themed shirts. I have no doubt this will be my family someday, no I'm not kidding. But this time it was just a trial run and we went to the Big Wheel Park in our matching attire, where Jake rode his scooter and weaved in and out of kids wobbling on their bikes, because dude as skills. And I apparently am his jaded mother who other mom's whisper about. <i>"Can you believe she just lets her kid rip through here and make my Daphne more nervous on her Barbie Bike with training wheels and ribbons off her handle bars with her entire body covered in padding and helmets!!?!?!? The nerve of her, they need to be banned from Safety Town!!!</i>" Look, your kid didn't fall off her 18 inches from the ground bike, and Jake totally stopped and let her pass before he and his scooter leaped from the roof of the bank.<br />
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<br />
This is life with Jake.<br />
Always, always something, and always an adventure.<br />
<br />
My Mom...the mother of only girls...in horror: Melissa, you do realize he is jumping on and off the cart while you are in movement, correct???<br />
Me: Uh huh, just don't put anything under the cart, he likes to body surf from there after this gets old.<br />
<br />
He was my buddy this past school year.<br />
I loved that time with him while the older went to school.<br />
Sure, some days I am sure he was bored out of his mind, but I was with him, and he filled my tank as much as I did his.<br />
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He is a blond headed, blue eyed, skinny and tall, force to be reckoned with.<br />
He is the oldest child with the youngest age.<br />
He is constantly looking out for every one of us, and every thing.<br />
His eyes will not rest at night until everyone is taken care of. And for this I owe him all my adoration.<br />
'Mommy!!! Your coffee cup is on the roof of the car!!!'<br />
'Mommy!!! Ethan isn't buckled yet, hold on!!'<br />
'Dendall!! Here is your hair brush!!!'<br />
'Et-an! Don't forget your homework!'<br />
'Mama!!! Lily got outside, I will go get her, don't shut the door!! Wait here!!'<br />
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He is very level headed and very black and white. <br />
He is quick witted and sometimes has a feisty temper.<br />
He loves big.<br />
He is quick to admire all things awesome big boys do and love the camaraderie he has formed with my 'big boy' cousins.<br />
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He is athletic.<br />
Kid just is.<br />
He picked up his big brothers scooter at 2 and raced around with the handles above his head.<br />
He wallops at a baseball.<br />
He dribbles soccer balls all over the yard.<br />
And the basketball hoop hanging on the back of his bedroom door?<br />
Don't even play. He makes shots from across the room.<br />
I was never athletic, so to watch someone be this is fascinating to me.<br />
He lives in a petri dish, and I study him all day sometimes. <br />
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His laugh is infectious. When he laughs he can turn anyone's day brighter.<br />
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Jake ADORES his big brother.<br />
I mean this guy is his favorite person.<br />
Sure. They scrap like all brothers do, and probably always will, but their bond is melding together and I love watching this take place.<br />
I mean come on, who doesn't enjoy a good choke hold every once in awhile?<br />
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<br />
When asked or about to do something, I see the jump start, and then the stall follows...<br />
'What is E-tan doing?'<br />
'What is E-tan eating?'<br />
'Is E-tan getting dressed?'<br />
'Is E-tan going?<br />
And sure, this can probably get really annoying to an older sibling, but that's why its really cool to have Ethan as your big brother. So far, he has taken this in stride and doesn't let it affect him. We will see once he has formed a close group of buddies and Jake is the tag a long, but for now having a shadow is the norm for him. I dig him. A lot. If I were to choose to have had a brother, I would certainly choose Ethan. Jake is mighty fortunate.<br />
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This kid is going to go to school. To school in the fall. Preschool, but that's enough to send me right on over the edge. I am going to sit in the parking lot on the first day and just cry. For the whole 2.5 hours. You think I am joking, no, not in the slightest.<br />
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I love him.<br />
I love him with everything a Mama has.<br />
I am so blessed to have had him as my baby.<br />
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4.<br />
And pretty damn awesome to say the least. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-85780922790040757742014-04-06T22:20:00.001-04:002014-04-06T22:27:29.329-04:00To the boy whole stole my heart...and calls me Mom...My boy turned 7 on the 25th of March.<br />
This is the child that I look at and stand silenced by how fast time goes by.<br />
How quickly time just picks up and runs and you just keep sprinting to get ahead of it, so you can tell it to stop...hold on one second...don't go so fast...please give me a little bit more time!<br />
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He is reading.<br />
He sits there and he sounds out words like a champion.<br />
The lights in his head have been going on like giant spotlights to a stage where he is the star.<br />
He focuses. He smiles so proudly. His mind, a sponge.<br />
<br />
He writes words he knows and wants to share on little pieces of paper.<br />
'Mom and me.'<br />
'I love football.'<br />
' I am nice.'<br />
<br />
I adore his heart.<br />
His giant sensitive and gracious heart.<br />
<br />
I admire his focus.<br />
He can sit. He sits honed in on what has captured his interest.<br />
He will seek completion and is so intent on this task.<br />
<br />
I love his quiet questions.<br />
His imploring questions with such thought and honesty.<br />
'Mommy, so what do boys do with their eyebrows? Am I supposed to take care of these?'<br />
'Mommy, why do you think people do really unkind things to others?'<br />
'Mommy, why do girls like to get flowers? They just die.'<br />
<br />
He plays hard.<br />
He dreams so much harder.<br />
<br />
When his brother cries...unless inflicted and justified by him, he is the first responder on site.<br />
He plays with his Jake. He teaches his Jake. He doesn't take crap from his Jake. He leans on his Jake. And he confides in his Jake.<br />
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He is the next great fashion designer of his time.<br />
He has a great interest and eye for what he chooses to wear.<br />
He instructs the hair stylist in just how he wants his hair 'shaped up.' What number and what product.<br />
One of his favorite activities is getting to choose new clothes or shoes.<br />
I can only hope to reap the benefits...someday. Right now he could care less what I wear. <br />
<br />
He loves to watch football.<br />
He absorbs the rules of the game and can give you the play by plays.<br />
<br />
He is starting to love hockey.<br />
Tells me he would be an awesome hockey player if he could only learn how to skate.<br />
His smile certainly looks like one now.<br />
<br />
He enamores his big sister.<br />
She gets under his skin, but he keeps patience longer then I even think is fair for her.<br />
Sister better watch it...her brother is going to be drooled over by all her dear friends.<br />
<br />
He is an artist.<br />
His attention to detail.<br />
His ability to tell a story with a drawing.<br />
I love to post his art all over the place. It is so very frameable because it is so very adorable.<br />
<br />
He is my first son.<br />
I find boys fascinating.<br />
Watching them grow.<br />
Watching them do things that boys do.<br />
Watching them interact.<br />
Watching them eat. All day. Everything. Bowl upon bowl upon bowl of cereal. <br />
I am like the zoo keeper sitting and watching the gorillas. Could do it all day long. <br />
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<br />
He is all lanky.<br />
Long legs, neck, arms. His fingers long. <br />
He will be so very tall. The nights when the growth spurts hit are so very long for him.<br />
We spend lots of time soaking in a warm tub. Rubbing the back, arms, and legs until the advil finally kicks in and he can rest those stretching bones.<br />
<br />
He walks with his hands in his pocket.<br />
He smirks.<br />
He giggles quietly.<br />
He is a man of few words.<br />
But screams when there is injustice.<br />
He cannot eat too much candy.<br />
Especially cotton candy. Do not give this child cotton candy. I swear its exorcist like behavior. I am not sure whether to run or take on the beast. I always lose. No matter what option. I need to invest in a straight jacket.<br />
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<br />
<br />
He is an observer.<br />
Watches quietly before summing the courage to do it himself.<br />
He hesitates before trying something new.<br />
Cautious.<br />
<br />
I love him madly.<br />
I cannot believe he is 7.<br />
His big brown eyes melt me.<br />
His olive skin and smile with a dimple already have little girls chasing him on the playground.<br />
<br />
My Ethan Thomas.<br />
My sensitive soul.<br />
I couldn't be prouder and I love you more each day.<br />
<br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-54176023571495474742014-04-01T20:21:00.000-04:002014-04-01T20:27:14.330-04:00My Banana Peel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I kind of feel like telling you that I am not perfect.<br />
I kind of feel like telling you even more so that I don't strive to be perfect.<br />
I have a long list of failures behind me and an even longer list in front of me.<br />
<br />
I have kids that melt down.<br />
I have kids that probably should be disciplined on certain occasions, but every now and then, I just don't.<br />
I have kids that talk back.<br />
I have kids that don't listen all the time.<br />
I have kids that I sometimes cry over at night because I was too hard on them.<br />
I have kids that I cry over at night because it's just too hard sometimes to do it right.<br />
I have kids that I cry over at night because of the guilt I carry and the fear I have of messing up.<br />
<br />
I sometimes say things before I actually think them completely through.<br />
I talk out of turn.<br />
I am loud. <br />
I don't always say what I mean to say because the pressure I have put on myself for saying it right has made it come out sounding completely backwards.<br />
I sometimes am really blunt.<br />
I am sometimes really sarcastic to the point you might think I am serious.<br />
I most likely require a censor button when asked my opinion, and even sometimes when I'm not.<br />
I can have a mouth, that if played publicly would sometimes require bleeping every other word.<br />
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<br />
I am too sensitive.<br />
I am self conscious. <br />
I underestimate myself.<br />
In many instances I anticipate what could go wrong, instead of expecting what could go right.<br />
I hate change.<br />
I am terrible in transitions.<br />
I am overly critical of myself.<br />
I go over what I said, and what I should have said in my mind until I regret everything I said in the first place, even if it was the right thing to say.<br />
I am the last person to stick up for myself. <br />
I question things way too much.<br />
I ask a lot of questions in general. <br />
I have a hard time believing I am worth it.<br />
Compliments make me uncomfortable.<br />
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<br />
I have a family that loves me, but I fear being a burden. <br />
I love my nephew just like an aunt should...spoil him and send him home,<br />
but will definitely be the crazy aunt.<br />
I have a Mom Mom who I let drive me bonkers, and then realize I do the same things.<br />
I regret not spending more time with my Mom Mom and Pop Pop who have passed.<br />
<br />
I have debt.<br />
I worry about making ends meet.<br />
I wish I had more to give more.<br />
<br />
I have really messy closets. And on most days, I really don't care.<br />
I have a messy fridge and could sometimes really care less. <br />
I hate folding laundry and putting it away.<br />
My car is almost always cluttery and dirty.<br />
<br />
I drive like I am being chased. <br />
I wait too long between oil changes.<br />
I hit pot holes and scream about them like it's all someone else's fault.<br />
I use wind shield wiper fluid instead of scraping off the frost.<br />
I have run out of gas and my dad has come to my rescue, at 35 years old.<br />
<br />
I have friends I have lost because I let too much time go by.<br />
I have old friends I miss way too much and probably just need to say so.<br />
I have friends who have stuck by me and think they are so much better then me for it.<br />
I have friends that have forgiven me, even though I think I probably don't deserve it.<br />
<br />
However.<br />
Amongst all of this. I am me.<br />
Feeling imperfect can sometimes be your saving grace.<br />
Not measuring up can sometimes be your polite exit to stage left.<br />
Failing can be your lesson for next time. And even next time, you still might not get it right, but at least you tried.<br />
<br />
There is a saying,<i> 'If you can't accept me at my worst, then you don't deserve me at my best.'</i><br />
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<br />
And this is for those that accept me.<br />
I am constantly learning what I am and everything I am not.<br />
<br />
I have a heart as big as the oceans are wide.<br />
I love like I won't ever hurt. <br />
I cry like I have PMS 30 days out of a month. <br />
I love animals more then people sometimes.<br />
I have stretch marks that I consider battle scars and remind me of how much I fought to bring these babies to me.<br />
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<br />
I have a family that is so close they are my dearest confidants and friends. <br />
I will drop everything just to distract you from your pain.<br />
I will cancel what I had planned to hang out with you because you need me to.<br />
I will never tell you I did that and just act like coffee with you was the only thing I had planned that day.<br />
I hurt when I see others hurt.<br />
I would rather you be happy.<br />
I go with my gut instinct.<br />
I typically follow my heart.<br />
I believe completely in my intuition. And although it can bring pain, should not be ignored.<br />
I really do think my Pop Pop is looking over me right now, and I don't care if people think that's silly or not real, I'm just thankful he is.<br />
I love good memories and love all the people in my past who gave them to me.<br />
Sometimes we have ice cream sundaes for dinner.<br />
Sometimes bed time is ignored to cuddle longer.<br />
I messily go about almost every single day. <br />
<br />
It might not be how you do things.<br />
It might not be what you want me to say.<br />
<br />
I am definitely and clearly not perfect.<br />
But I took my car to the car wash today.<br />
<br />
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So here's to you.<br />
My fellow person of imperfection.<br />
Banana Peels are going to be everywhere.<br />
Trust me.<br />
I slip on almost every one of them in front of me.<br />
Just own them.<br />
And know, you aren't the only klutz out there. <br />
<br />
<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-70535881541943495922014-02-14T22:32:00.001-05:002014-02-15T18:31:04.959-05:00Don't Grow Up...It's a Trap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When having a daughter it at one time or another hits you. The decisions you are making need to mirror ones that you wish for her also to make. When you sit down and take something, you suddenly ask yourself...is this something I would want her to be o.k. with? When you take a stand, you now say, that's right, I would expect her to do no less. This was my past year. I looked deep into those blue eyes of hers and the freckles sprinkled all over her face and was hit with it...this girl is becoming a lady, I want what is best for her, and the <i>best</i> way to do that right now is to demonstrate for her, not navigate, demonstrate. Cause Kendall, she has her own way of doing things, trust me. I have obviously wanted what was best for her all along, hello, I am her mother, but as she ages and matures and becomes her own, the need for the best standards for her radiate even more so. And since she came out of me...I get to do most of the honors, in regards to modeling these, with some help from a few chosen wise ladies to pick up my slack. Because Mama is gonna slack once in awhile. PRESSURE!!! So those that say when they are wee infants, '<i>don't worry, it gets easier.'</i> Um, sure they can brush their own teeth and deuce on the potty, but I couldn't disagree with you more. Heart and life stuff is much bigger.</div>
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Raising children in general is no small feat, raising a daughter...now this, this is astronomical. However, her and I are trudging through the terrain...and now we enter the age of 8...together, same as usual, just with some more purpose...like growing up should.</div>
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I am not quite sure where the last 8 years went when it pertains to this child's life.<br />
I am not quite sure that I am prepared for the next 8 years to go just as quickly and for her to be then 16.<br />
What the ?!?!<br />
Whenever you think that time goes slow and nothing changes, have a kid. Or watch a kid grow from birth, whatever fits your fancy. Because there it is, walking around in front of you, all sassy faced and ready for action; the evidence of time flying and things changing faster then you can sometimes keep up.<br />
<br />
For instance.<br />
<br />
She just came home and told me they were prepping to learn times tables. Times tables?!?!? Didn't I learn them in like 10th grade? This new math baffles my mind. Grouping? What in the world is this? Google can't even make sense of this to me.<br />
<br />
The teeth. I love me some 8 year old teeth. And so do the orthodontists in the future. 2nd grade is filled with all sorts of sideways, big and small, and holed up mouths.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdwl32ZNPqyMrCht8NyOaG3k1gR9UBUcMVvJsno8r7NBx9vgWH8LzPu_TgIRuYYYXAWWZIpD3DzYXYem4i8HPcLP3NGtou5dQikSCCznoqFU5X8gaTND4BhnU4GK88fq7Rh3Iv2iilik/s1600/DSC_0608.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdwl32ZNPqyMrCht8NyOaG3k1gR9UBUcMVvJsno8r7NBx9vgWH8LzPu_TgIRuYYYXAWWZIpD3DzYXYem4i8HPcLP3NGtou5dQikSCCznoqFU5X8gaTND4BhnU4GK88fq7Rh3Iv2iilik/s1600/DSC_0608.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The emergence of the, '<i>You're so mean</i>' and <i>'I'm running away,</i>' comments. I was wondering when these would come around town. I make sure to tell her that I am aware that I am so mean, and to wait until she is a teenager to see just how mean I really am, but a reminder is always helpful for the ego. And in good mom form, as she is marching out the door to stand on the front step, having 'run away,' I remind her to look out for strange people in unmarked vehicles that look like Mr. Slugworth in <i>'Charlie & the Chocolate Factory.'</i> And like clock work, the realization of this description quickly sets in and she is throwing it in reverse and stomping to her room to blast, <i>Kids Bop 25</i>, her present form of Nirvana, instead, in a matter of 2 minutes. I start dying my slow and painful death each time these annoying kids of Kids Bop come on, however, at least we know she still prefers us, mean and all.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxIflWjdCuTJ91ovKpP1dKpj863a9tdDcqUEnNboKHhF8Jnr01KMyctnHd2bjn3upnw6qJg51OTMhiG9YsgXcrWmbVTmylv6hEjG8hzG2cz6dQhzNwu3nZusDZtq2SHQCxsvtFlmeny8/s1600/DSC_0777.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxIflWjdCuTJ91ovKpP1dKpj863a9tdDcqUEnNboKHhF8Jnr01KMyctnHd2bjn3upnw6qJg51OTMhiG9YsgXcrWmbVTmylv6hEjG8hzG2cz6dQhzNwu3nZusDZtq2SHQCxsvtFlmeny8/s1600/DSC_0777.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The gangly body. All limbs, with this skinny torso in the middle. On the whole, an 8 year old's body resembles spaghetti noodles. And they just keep getting longer and longer. I cannot keep up with the ever changing clothing and shoe sizes. I turn around and mid drift is out again, and sleeves don't cover wrists. I tell her to hold out on me, I will supply her with pants and shirts that cover where they must, cause we do go out in public. But that yes, for some time, in those in between moments, your pajama pants are either going to drag behind you and get you all tripped up, or have you resembling preparation for a coming flood. Sorry.<br />
<br />
Barbies. You know you get them for them when they are like 3. And really, they don't even make sense until they are of an age where they get story lines and dreaming big. Age 3+ is just dumb. Because I have spent now 5 years dressing Barbie(s) and her counter parts Skipper, Midge, and Ken. I mean seriously Mattel. It is necessary to make tight cotton garments on rubber legs and arms that are not flexible? We have come so far in other things, and yet this still remains an issue 50 years later! And to imply that a 3 year old can do this is just ridiculous. However, now at 8, she can do this herself and Barbie has been all over the world, from the beaches of my bathroom sink to the snowy mountains of snow drifts on our back porch. She really is a lucky gal. As I type thi,s there is a stiff competition between old Barbies and new birthday Barbies for a spot in tonight's fashion show, as the Kids Bop Dorks sing Miley Cyrus'. <i>'Wrecking Ball,</i>' in the background. We are saving pennies for the Dream House by completing tons of chores. This is big people.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8lPrmbdlDlMEuBYJkLXG_cnkQ9Uay5D7cbDzaIorW_4asDbKPLkfwre2-6N88MHP3t6-PJKXDju9tNx5xCmlt_ptKdiHA__GPJ1LKIY_0lUWkV24UgSbyhdotm0BhFi29FrROFQOKbA/s1600/DSC_0743.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8lPrmbdlDlMEuBYJkLXG_cnkQ9Uay5D7cbDzaIorW_4asDbKPLkfwre2-6N88MHP3t6-PJKXDju9tNx5xCmlt_ptKdiHA__GPJ1LKIY_0lUWkV24UgSbyhdotm0BhFi29FrROFQOKbA/s1600/DSC_0743.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a> </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Notes from friends. Indoor recess, thanks to a really awesome winter, will only increase this. She comes home with a few each day. Circling of 'yes' or 'no.' I love them.<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Kendall, are you buying lunch tomorrow? Yes or No Circle one and give back to me. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
then...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>OK! Me to. Let's match on Thursday. Tell all the girls.</i><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm 100% I did this as well with my friends. It's like gang symbols for the suburbs.<i> </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
However, this has also led to notes from another gender as well...<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Kindill, you are so fun when we play Apples 2 Apples. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Your laugh makes me happy. I like your feckles.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheP4dVO3HzCEnQ1czIbI_9rDuBX4Hh38P2ZzGnDSj3RObKE_FXxJ5TmW2y8jQekINHXlRD18NCq2GV9wI9YcR_GWg3jwcAZdRsfLs558DvnPHk3gJBnYnrFtHeMhS-sFhdaiMnqfmdpzw/s1600/DSC_0750.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheP4dVO3HzCEnQ1czIbI_9rDuBX4Hh38P2ZzGnDSj3RObKE_FXxJ5TmW2y8jQekINHXlRD18NCq2GV9wI9YcR_GWg3jwcAZdRsfLs558DvnPHk3gJBnYnrFtHeMhS-sFhdaiMnqfmdpzw/s1600/DSC_0750.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a><i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefcBMG36JLPYGrDXZqPXXnPg4qP1ROW31BPNSB6SaweJJuDwZmLAVM80yP8z8sF8173rwLGUqR_jhLqZi37iyITM-wjgT4JsNtV8DFFglC-kEgOQlRDShYvLGgUKlCOr-TkFq4HRaNQQ/s1600/DSC_0802.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This beauty I saved. Come on now. An admirer of things simple and her best qualities??? A boy after my own heart. I mean sure, he might not be able to spell her name, she and I have this also in common, but please, so innocent and sweet, I couldn't give two craps if he calls her Candle, like everyone under the age of 3 does. Who is this boy? I must compliment his mother.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She now looks in the mirror every now and then. I occasionally pay close attention when she does this. I know, supa dupa paranoid Mom. But you know, I want her liking what she sees and feeling really good about who she is. This simple act is an easy way for me to gauge this. For right now, she's doing just perfect... </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>'Oh Kendall, I love those curls in your hair today. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Did your Mom put hair spray in them too? I can tell. They smell good.Wow! They look great!'</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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You know...self affirmation is important.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yet she is still just 8. That teetering age. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Where you still want to cuddle with your parents. </div>
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Where you still need your shoes tied because you can't get it tight enough when you do it. </div>
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Where you get hurt and come crying for band aids and Mommy to fix it and make it better. </div>
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Where sometimes watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with your little brother isn't so bad and you actually laugh. </div>
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Where you can take showers on your own but still need someone to tell you if all the shampoo is rinsed out. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Where you are still afraid of the dark and grab someones hand when in a parking lot.<br />
Where you still play with your little brothers because they are really the ones who get you and are your best friends, no matter what you may say.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefcBMG36JLPYGrDXZqPXXnPg4qP1ROW31BPNSB6SaweJJuDwZmLAVM80yP8z8sF8173rwLGUqR_jhLqZi37iyITM-wjgT4JsNtV8DFFglC-kEgOQlRDShYvLGgUKlCOr-TkFq4HRaNQQ/s1600/DSC_0802.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefcBMG36JLPYGrDXZqPXXnPg4qP1ROW31BPNSB6SaweJJuDwZmLAVM80yP8z8sF8173rwLGUqR_jhLqZi37iyITM-wjgT4JsNtV8DFFglC-kEgOQlRDShYvLGgUKlCOr-TkFq4HRaNQQ/s1600/DSC_0802.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>listen. i love this shot of her and her brother. all discussing their other brother.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>a conversation with a 3 yr. old cannot be serious. sorry sister.</i></span></div>
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</div>
When you're 8 being a kid is at its finest.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Swinging on swings so your feet almost reach the clouds is recess. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Getting melted ice cream smudged on your nose and chin is still occurring. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Dressing up and pretending to be anything you can dream of is still fun.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlm3sUJhhZRk_K4SWkT6hPTlHcaX9RZptN_XqVcuRyNy8WzACG_50f1FhiFEo-qwavkbly-GbcZbXOqqPYjB9NwN0fQO0aXVgescjx7qPwf4Pe10zuCJLXlJn3INBoYtPKKOFHY4gKYs/s1600/DSC_0195.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlm3sUJhhZRk_K4SWkT6hPTlHcaX9RZptN_XqVcuRyNy8WzACG_50f1FhiFEo-qwavkbly-GbcZbXOqqPYjB9NwN0fQO0aXVgescjx7qPwf4Pe10zuCJLXlJn3INBoYtPKKOFHY4gKYs/s1600/DSC_0195.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Seeing your aunts on the weekends is still worthy of countdowns.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sleepovers at Mom Mom's and Pop's are a favorite activity.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvTybbt4SHzn15SGWXBLb-zScrFeAbk_Ir9IRPyiklk5AUuBTs_73CQhyXHaOi5Gg6V2HcbBJvTQli3Hpp8SSiG44U9u1h3Sc8N4vDncl3ZngvNxUP5gOE0Q44fiYvyJ8iRBr0lgvdrw/s1600/DSC_0611.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvTybbt4SHzn15SGWXBLb-zScrFeAbk_Ir9IRPyiklk5AUuBTs_73CQhyXHaOi5Gg6V2HcbBJvTQli3Hpp8SSiG44U9u1h3Sc8N4vDncl3ZngvNxUP5gOE0Q44fiYvyJ8iRBr0lgvdrw/s1600/DSC_0611.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Time outs are still your form of punishment. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Snow Days are still awesome, because it doesn't matter when the last day of school is. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Being the biggest cousin is a really awesome reality.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFiAjJffG_Vx90_UR92HSiwT_Ww2fxf34Y1i1m8i2d4T5mDCS7rVnUSe_gChHg2fBZRC08IPwrKJh7k6RFrtERBQhk7dBSxAbM_DGOUTeEAYe6AsjWaOAUevN87sQWhO-GDAeOpR1JxI/s1600/DSC_0476.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFiAjJffG_Vx90_UR92HSiwT_Ww2fxf34Y1i1m8i2d4T5mDCS7rVnUSe_gChHg2fBZRC08IPwrKJh7k6RFrtERBQhk7dBSxAbM_DGOUTeEAYe6AsjWaOAUevN87sQWhO-GDAeOpR1JxI/s1600/DSC_0476.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-O3AvNH6KTJHpE92jo_5CN0B_ScMXRTYeVBYTuhcnRfqh_PfLME7Pj0dClPRI8m3Q8dWgMtKLHgqIbu5dQad3OEb-vrErsKIQKnpkd5wk33NmCGgApBhiu0GBCd10Eu6Rl8Y4DmchyUY/s1600/photo(8).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-O3AvNH6KTJHpE92jo_5CN0B_ScMXRTYeVBYTuhcnRfqh_PfLME7Pj0dClPRI8m3Q8dWgMtKLHgqIbu5dQad3OEb-vrErsKIQKnpkd5wk33NmCGgApBhiu0GBCd10Eu6Rl8Y4DmchyUY/s1600/photo(8).JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Kendall is my perfect storm. Born while it was snowing and it has snowed every year since on her day. I would expect nothing else in the form of weather on this day. Her spunk and tenacity slow you down a bit, and that's exactly her purpose.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioUpvkaTc5_YJy7ENL_4S_ZcoBMABbmPClzLoks6fUx4EHJGUXjGpUarB4rW6G6uM8TiU2MFVasFeR_gIwkmhq6HovOulxtSaT5i5aMnlB257WuG3UEit7vQn1U-rM4aSCrYKj0qCnHYo/s1600/DSC_0193.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioUpvkaTc5_YJy7ENL_4S_ZcoBMABbmPClzLoks6fUx4EHJGUXjGpUarB4rW6G6uM8TiU2MFVasFeR_gIwkmhq6HovOulxtSaT5i5aMnlB257WuG3UEit7vQn1U-rM4aSCrYKj0qCnHYo/s1600/DSC_0193.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
She thinks she is hilarious. And she thinks we all find her quite entertaining. 8 year old humor...I plead the fifth. However, her teacher describes her as the class clown, and when I walk up to pick her up from school she usually has someone cracking up in laughter. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBX6uabBcyf-D3sAuMUOYkgMAlLHWb8v3Ozk1gsMq3FF8DNTyS1EV7YP7oWX9LYg8DmkCE7ou_EDTjMCBQGywusytObx3g68AAgYC5QPUWGffvuuhqndHmU9X3l8ojpJJGTtViGbkebj8/s1600/DSC_0748.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBX6uabBcyf-D3sAuMUOYkgMAlLHWb8v3Ozk1gsMq3FF8DNTyS1EV7YP7oWX9LYg8DmkCE7ou_EDTjMCBQGywusytObx3g68AAgYC5QPUWGffvuuhqndHmU9X3l8ojpJJGTtViGbkebj8/s1600/DSC_0748.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNM053dXYV4Ck-5xDhAKdQOfe8CkAYFH6Zd6l_rI08bSpNCOA1gDT0NoE65dlDB5yoeQnDHLlLbEjGk3XHMVyCNT0Ah7pPmX7Gy70FMjVu2SbdcBvTmG0G3FB5M4_Ob-iv02OqKY_NrOY/s1600/596c5336962d43db98a3ac60ecd685d2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
Yet. She is fierce. She is strong. She is passionate. She is a girl of aspiration and certainly has a mind of her own. She questions everything from hair color to our governments law making process. She is all about equality and making wrongs right. She is a first born in every sense of the role if you follow birth order. She would burn bras. She will challenge. She will dance when others won't. A spit fire. Watch out for her, she's dreaming big.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNM053dXYV4Ck-5xDhAKdQOfe8CkAYFH6Zd6l_rI08bSpNCOA1gDT0NoE65dlDB5yoeQnDHLlLbEjGk3XHMVyCNT0Ah7pPmX7Gy70FMjVu2SbdcBvTmG0G3FB5M4_Ob-iv02OqKY_NrOY/s1600/596c5336962d43db98a3ac60ecd685d2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNM053dXYV4Ck-5xDhAKdQOfe8CkAYFH6Zd6l_rI08bSpNCOA1gDT0NoE65dlDB5yoeQnDHLlLbEjGk3XHMVyCNT0Ah7pPmX7Gy70FMjVu2SbdcBvTmG0G3FB5M4_Ob-iv02OqKY_NrOY/s1600/596c5336962d43db98a3ac60ecd685d2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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To my now 8 year old...<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“<i>Whatever you choose, however many roads you travel, I hope that you
choose not to be a lady. I hope you will find some way to break the
rules and make a little trouble out there. And I also hope that you will
choose to make some of that trouble on behalf of women.”
</i> <br />
<i>~ Nora Ephron</i></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I love you wildly. <br />
xoxo...<br />
~ Mama</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-16332732650118801892014-02-08T13:37:00.001-05:002014-02-08T17:11:35.324-05:00Pinterest Anonymous<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Cracks me up every time. I need it framed.</i></span></div>
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I'm not sure about you.<br />
However, I am pretty certain I should probably enter Pinterest Anonymous.<br />
Hi. My name is Melissa, and I am a Pinterestaholic.<br />
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My story begins a few years ago when you needed to request an invite to be allowed to join Pinterest. It was a secret society. I remember waiting for this invite anxiously. No kidding. I was anxiously waiting to get my invite to a website. What's that? Did you call me a loser? Oh but I assure you, you have no idea the realms of Pinterest and what it will bestow upon you by clicking around this site of mass distraction. My friend got her invite before me, I was super pissed. It's like getting looked over for the cool kids sorority and all I wanted to do was wear a toga. Now a days anyone can join this website, and although it took some of the novelty away, you can bet your sweet bippy it did has not deterred me.<br />
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I presently reference Pinterest like I reference WebMD when I have a sharp pain in my head. Recently I self diagnosed myself with either a tumor or an aneurysm. So I better start planning my funeral with Pinterest, cause if it is the latter, it could happen at any moment. I want a distressed looking turquoise casket and painted mason jars to hold the flowers, as well wreaths make from cupcake liners. No poster board picture displays, you need to handcraft frames out of pallets. And we need to come up with some good favors. Start pinning.<br />
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Morbid. But totally serious. Funerals can also be crafty and creative. I will be searching your board to see if you qualify to help plan.<br />
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While having these random sharp head pains, I need to make cupcakes for the Kindergarten Valentines Day Party. Now come on, I cannot go buy a box of mix and some icing at Target. I am over the top. I was all over Pinterest the other night looking for the exact Valentine Cupcake for this year which the children will devour in less then a minute flat. Presentation people. Let's not forget it. My cupcake will have no less then fifty ingredients and look like something cupid himself created.This is in Party Planning 101. I torture myself, and if you are a master pinner you do too. You stand amidst the bomb that went off in your kitchen knowing that you could have just ordered 32 cupcakes from a bakery, put them on a plate, and called them your own, but what does that do for our egos? That's right. Not a thing. The greatest glory will come when your cupcake itself is sitting on the 'Popular Pin' Board.<br />
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You know if you are a devoted pinner it becomes a little bit of a healthy competition Who am I kidding, this is not healthy at all, it's borderline obsessive and this is why I am now needing to enter a rehab for this addiction. But I am pretty certain there will be a waiting list, and we will be pinning and sharing while waiting. <i>'Oh did you see this Christmas Tree for your mantel with leaves made of felt!?!?' </i><br />
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It's all about these awesome ideas, but its also a bit of who can find and come up with the greatest most original pins. It's a show of who you are. Kind of like facebook but with material objects. You know when people post pictures of just their feet on the sand with the ocean in the background? <i>'Yeah you think your thing you found to do with modge podge is awesome? Well look at this end table made of recycled barn wood with old book pages adhered to it. BAM!'</i><br />
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You pin a pin, which leads you to another person's boards. You know it for certain that sometimes when you click into a person's board you get a little disappointed, like the click was a little useless for they are no way up to par with those you pin with. It's true, don't even try it. Her recipes are definitely not something you would cook and her quotes are just plain unmotivational.<br />
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The pinning society that you have created usually includes your friends and family. And also people you specifically follow because their pins just plain rank up there with your interests, humor, so on and so forth.<br />
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My parents pin. My mom will not join facebook, she holds to the opinion that it's too trendy and will take up too much of her time. Yet, she vicariously looks over the shoulders of those who have a facebook page and will comment. She however has joined pinterest because apparently this is different. And that it is, but I'll tell you mama has an awful lot of gardening ideas that didn't take just a few minutes to pin. Just sayin.<br />
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My dad is an avid pinner. According to his boards he is going to Hawaii, making old tools with new tools, working out with lions, and building a bio dome. I do laugh sometimes at my dad's pins, but not because they are just laughable. It's mostly because some of the ideas are so outrageous, totally him, and I know that in that moment, he is sitting there on his computer thinking about how he can make a certain pin come into fruition. No joke. And I can't wait to see my mom's face.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>From <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/familyons/" target="_blank">Mike's Boards</a>. I might actually swing on a swing again.</i></span></div>
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Occasionally while pinning I will seriously been in a nice and quiet room, kids in bed, and be laughing out loud at a certain pin. Again, go ahead, call me a loser, but some of these can seriously change a mood into a smile or at least a snort of a laugh. E cards especially crack me up, and also provide you with some really good comebacks if you need one. Not encouraging tit for tat, but sometimes even just saying them in your head or to your BFF works.These laughs are reassurance again that I am not the only person who thinks or goes through these things.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Sorry Ma.</i>.<i>.but it's funny</i>.</span></div>
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There have also been pins that I would love to pin, but don't because I am pretty certain I would offend people and also get a lecture from my mother. Cause you know when you are 35 lectures from your mother are still really cool. What's that? Yes I did sneak out of the house at night with my friends when I was 17. And I have also read the Fifty Shades of Grey Trilogy!! Horrors, which I call enlightenment. Wait for it...lecture on how this is not funny will be given this week.<br />
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My favorite thing to do is to search for one thing you are looking for...let's say a cupcake recipe since this is what I am after, and quickly you have found that you have accumulated and pinned over 20 recipes and are now laughing at cat pictures. What??? And one recipe would have been sufficient, but you never know, and you need to stock up. Or when planning a birthday party for your 8 year old. Once you pick a theme, it now has its own board with no fewer then 60 pins of ideas for this party. And then you are somehow then looking at new nail color shades and designs.<br />
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Now that you have pinned the party ideas and having it, you are now going to be up until 3 a.m. making pom poms to hang from the ceiling every night for a week leading up to the party. All because of Pinterest. It's no longer Martha...it's now bigger. Exhausted, fingers bleeding.<br />
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Pinterest, I believe, feeds into everyone's secret hoarding tendencies. But its all there on a website, not crawling up the walls of your home, so it can't be that bad. But damn those cupcakes look good, and that's right, I punched and strung each paper circle to make that garland above your head.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">What I look like while making my big Pinterest ideas</span>.</i><br />
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But it's organized chaos if you really do it right. It's you naming
specific boards for specific pins. It is not only hoarding, it is OCD at
it's finest.<i> </i>Naming your boards and picking it's cover photo can really be a challenge. I mean sure, you can just label them, <i>'Food'</i>, or <i>'Clothes,'</i> or <i>'Furniture'</i>, or <i>'People at Walmart Pictures.</i>' Or you can get fancy, and this is the challenge. Simple and Thematic.Listen, I readily admit it and confess. Pinterest is no closet in my bedroom. This is some important crap right here. </div>
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Pinning is like shopping without the cash. It is dreaming without the commitment. It is laughing without having to worry if people are thinking you are overly crass. But then you read this blog and find out my secrets. It is having a stylist without being a millionaire. It's remodeling your home with some pretty sweet ideas. It is creating ideas with good intentions. It's...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Paris? On the bucket list. Who's isn't it on?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> Tybee Island, Georgia. Must be in a beach cottage. I also pinned ideas for my own flipped beach shack, but one ought to visit the place first and acquire some massive fundage.</i></span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Minor.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bora Bora. And this is where I never come home. Ever. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Inspiration, Advice, & Ideas from Friends</span>.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span>...cause friends can send you pins and vice versa. What What. Some of them are great laughs, some of them are really good reminders, or slaps in the face to wake up, or something great to make with yarn</div>
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...you know, whatever your fancy.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="color: black;">This <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.mommasgonecity.com/" target="_blank">blog</a></span> ( <---- click that word homies, we are moving up here with the links) It was shared with me, but what is better is the instagram feed #theoandbeau, which you can connect to through her sidebar instagram button. Adorable.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Confirmation and Motivation</span></span> </span>.</div>
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... for yourself or perhaps some others that you desire to take such advice. </div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Innovative Ideas. Gift Ideas.</span> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Taco Tuesday just got better.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The girls with love this. Christmas List...check!</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <i>This is a deodorizing patch to squash the smell of passing gas. I don't know about you, but I just found my go to birthday presents for this year. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Announcement Ideas</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Man alive I wish I had thought of this.</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Party Planning.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Making old things new again. How To's.</span> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">No need to thank me.</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ways to warm your junk.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiehreIyaJ68__9zpNMX6dnWwQq253B5cjSac0W-zy0l_jSw1aPxZ6P8nYemrkP0cBfRoBsTyXxLK5Lt8MuOcCJyivKYKLh8InYBLQyinJ-dAiCRjKV_-yUiA6qhtDWW8GvC3sfClB-HhQ/s1600/4c1c7bee91b7123c6fabf170a6e18c4c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiehreIyaJ68__9zpNMX6dnWwQq253B5cjSac0W-zy0l_jSw1aPxZ6P8nYemrkP0cBfRoBsTyXxLK5Lt8MuOcCJyivKYKLh8InYBLQyinJ-dAiCRjKV_-yUiA6qhtDWW8GvC3sfClB-HhQ/s1600/4c1c7bee91b7123c6fabf170a6e18c4c.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> What? It's been cold this winter. Bundle up</span>.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://popwatch.ew.com/2013/08/02/jimmy-fallon-robin-thicke-blurred-lines/" target="_blank">Links to a really awesome video by my fave late night host.(again...click here,dad)</a></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6Sxv-sUYtM&feature=share" target="_blank">Or links to my new favorite song. Go ahead, turn it up and dance.</a></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" target="_blank">Here's My Pinterest Profile</a></span></span></span></div>
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So go ahead and join up. I can promise you hours and hours of clicking or tapping on things you never knew existed. And on second thought...I won't be giving up and joining 'PA' anytime soon. Happy Weekend People, see you on the boards. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb5Ki4963XLm98YD5eW8gp_dHFLjQlk8nKJRDl6LH-1KU90Uo30BeB1v59zAEg51Hqz7DNVN1kss6C8_U1uUscIwG8CtPp25Y5MSCwJ9MoQx42RXHLdVL5LniGA5vJ_B43-uVO01XNyA/s1600/1cc686d5ade5adf1357524924d512bfc.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb5Ki4963XLm98YD5eW8gp_dHFLjQlk8nKJRDl6LH-1KU90Uo30BeB1v59zAEg51Hqz7DNVN1kss6C8_U1uUscIwG8CtPp25Y5MSCwJ9MoQx42RXHLdVL5LniGA5vJ_B43-uVO01XNyA/s1600/1cc686d5ade5adf1357524924d512bfc.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-38089596315157766462014-02-02T22:48:00.003-05:002014-02-02T22:48:33.296-05:00On Snow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfv_TRMBA2lLCaV9_Q-TAPI1siZ3qEYCz5IbZQSGByenG7kGgEtfKaJJOE2r0Wkkf5-YzQHsYmjVwnJCu1fbSAJmFTAIHJQggMXNvGSZlqFIfssDNqBJYE4f1kg2iXyi7TuYnbYwmxPOc/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfv_TRMBA2lLCaV9_Q-TAPI1siZ3qEYCz5IbZQSGByenG7kGgEtfKaJJOE2r0Wkkf5-YzQHsYmjVwnJCu1fbSAJmFTAIHJQggMXNvGSZlqFIfssDNqBJYE4f1kg2iXyi7TuYnbYwmxPOc/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtx6c28SshuYRgcLjxWFolQobufoxnFvFw-8Wy06xx3GhbHVKAwO3Z9JFcqRM14J0DIZ0PDabhrFIE7zdLAovLNH0H8BFvZppzCyfieX31Tpj2iDZd_w6nbdGqQcFNxLT2XdjRFVPNQ8/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Poor kid forgot to winterize the Jeep. </span></i></div>
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So he saw his shadow. Do you care? I don't. I feel bad for the little guy, all coming out to take a leak, gather something to eat, all these people in his business.<br />
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It's going to snow tomorrow. It's winter. I need to pull up my granny panties and be on with it. <br />
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However, followed right by him seeing his shadow, and tomorrow's 4 to 6 inches, no wait, 3 to 5, no it's 2 to 4...and will change like every freaking hour by our roving weather men, is the prediction of the biggest snow storm of the season next weekend. How splendid.<br />
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Predictions placed upon groundhogs. Pretty daunting. All this thing wants to do is eat and burrow. I can totally relate.<br />
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It's like me saying if my cat farts in her sleep and the stench wakes me from my sleep before 6 a.m., then there will be six more weeks of winter. People, it is now Lillian the Cat Day, and there will be six more weeks of torture. I could have placed my bet on it before she had even released the bomb.<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtx6c28SshuYRgcLjxWFolQobufoxnFvFw-8Wy06xx3GhbHVKAwO3Z9JFcqRM14J0DIZ0PDabhrFIE7zdLAovLNH0H8BFvZppzCyfieX31Tpj2iDZd_w6nbdGqQcFNxLT2XdjRFVPNQ8/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtx6c28SshuYRgcLjxWFolQobufoxnFvFw-8Wy06xx3GhbHVKAwO3Z9JFcqRM14J0DIZ0PDabhrFIE7zdLAovLNH0H8BFvZppzCyfieX31Tpj2iDZd_w6nbdGqQcFNxLT2XdjRFVPNQ8/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This is not my cat, it's my Mom's. But I'm sure she farts too. I made her play outside with the kids last snow day. She too was pissed about seeing her shadow.</i></span></div>
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But who really cares about my cat's farts? I don't really care about Groundhog's Day. <br />
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This winter though.<br />
I think I am just plain old 35.<br />
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I mean its so pretty when snow falls. It's so quiet out there isn't it? I called my mom during one snow fall and proclaimed to her that she needed to open her door and look at the snow flakes closely. They actually looked like snow flakes that you see in a print of something all dimensional and stuff. I was fascinated, or really down on some sleep. <br />
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However. It has been so cold. I mean you open the door and it actually hurts your bones to be out in it. I scream/squeal like a girl each time I run out into it to my car. Why can't someone come and start my car for me so it's nice and toasty in the morning? Come on. Not even every morning, just once in awhile when it is like 3 degrees outside just shoot me a text, <i>'Hey I was driving by on my way to Jersey and thought I would start your car for you exactly at 8.40 a.m. so it is ready by 9 to drive the kids the half a mile to school. Toss me your keys!</i>' I will make you coffee, I will sing to you, I will proclaim you the biggest hero in my life. Not enticing you? Yeah, I don't blame you. Its freezing out there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPylyaZuANoHX8z8kJUZnM20FOsVYt18M1ZuZVLbs9lDQMpfdYcAf6LxvwnMPzle1tV-LotTSKw9ADgwKFbN_M2leowXXfe7SsoKgD6wA0Le7tWoTxSJMWCB05V1Fxyi2eq5xOSEENbho/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPylyaZuANoHX8z8kJUZnM20FOsVYt18M1ZuZVLbs9lDQMpfdYcAf6LxvwnMPzle1tV-LotTSKw9ADgwKFbN_M2leowXXfe7SsoKgD6wA0Le7tWoTxSJMWCB05V1Fxyi2eq5xOSEENbho/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then you add snow on top of it and it's all like mad chaos up in here. I know, I totally sound like the biggest creep all hating on winter with 3 small children. It's not that I hate it, per se. I like to ski. When it's sunny. And over thirty degrees. I just prefer to be nice and toasty. My dream is to own a beach cottage, that had previously been a beach shack, and fix it all up like I am Nicole Curtis from the Rehab Addict. My feet prefer to be bare and on sand. My skin warm and smelling like coconuts. Not all cold and itchy requiring a vat of lotion to feel alive. But it can't be any beach, and it can't be any shack, and so we endure winters until the time comes, cause that's really what the theme is, enduring. And the weather has certainly given me that opportunity.<br />
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It's o.k. and all to go tromping through the snow. Specifically since children eat this joyful event up. <i>'SNOOOOOOOW!'</i> Two have now reached the age where they understand snow days from school. I can remember this all too well. I would actually pack up my things and hitch a ride with the first available parent to my best friends house to get stuck there and eat Ramen, watch reruns on the boob tube, and watch her fight with her siblings all day.<br />
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Here's what though. I have since moved my children to the school district I attended as a child. And let me tell you something. This school district stares down snow storms. It crosses its arms and watches the list of school closing and delays grow and grow. It grits its teeth as the snow begins to fall, daring it to actually grow to depths or dangers worthy of closing our schools. It mocks the weaker schools closing hours before snow has even accumulated an inch. I now, again, listen to people say, <i>'oh well look, this or that one closed, yours will close for sure...,' </i>they have no idea what they speak of. This school district does not play with vacation days. It waits until the last possible second to make a decision. Your alarm has already gone off, you have already begun your day, coffee is brewing, and you have long since begun to make the noises that let the children know that they need to come out of hibernation. It is then they make the call...if they are going to at all. If you wait for it, your whole routine is thrown off if there is not a cancellation. And then tardiness occurs. That word is no good. And it's a funny joke to no one but the superintendent. This is now my children's lives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFatSyMN4yXMGUc-renbt50P1wFlW5YgNR7SJNLAh0Qt2niZ31rvtcK26E77rxmnd5RdX2C7A0_IGwBfZUporFHjwLqtjKcwpMNBRNeQ9j3Pz8YSwIzqfGpZTbM68AAWED9GOwW3-TDTc/s1600/0fa0c0368c30a741446db1ffeaf248aa.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFatSyMN4yXMGUc-renbt50P1wFlW5YgNR7SJNLAh0Qt2niZ31rvtcK26E77rxmnd5RdX2C7A0_IGwBfZUporFHjwLqtjKcwpMNBRNeQ9j3Pz8YSwIzqfGpZTbM68AAWED9GOwW3-TDTc/s1600/0fa0c0368c30a741446db1ffeaf248aa.jpg" /></a></div>
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But occasionally there is more then a foot of the white stuff and he will declare it a snow day. And they are all now awake. Half dressed. Half breakfast eaten. One sock on, one off. I can barely form sentences yet. But they are looking at me, looking outside, smiling, eyes glistening...and then it happens..<i>.'Mommy can we go outside and play in it...right now?'</i><br />
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Children.<br />
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So I appease. And I endure. In no particular order:<br />
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1. 3 children in almost the same exact size. So snow pants are interchangeable but not so much. And we start...'Kendall did you wear the black bibs or the black boarding pants last time?'...'Ethan, here put these on, no take them off, I think they would better fit Jake, no keep them on here is some for Jake.'...'Did you grow since last week, why are they shorter?!!?! No one in the tri state area has snow pants in stock right now, so in the words of Tim Gunn, make it work. Stop whining!!! You aren't supposed to be able to walk right in snow pants, we go over this every single time!!!'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLRDvMcwCp9kGtxNr748GvshEzo_G6vlu4UytMZSRXWLZnpp7OspU5aaSwttgnz0F1_25pspP_ME-1emsWRxG2hNwREhIzVuy24NStHkUkd2pDvV83blclCftVgUniUDUOWdTekDLCJo/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLRDvMcwCp9kGtxNr748GvshEzo_G6vlu4UytMZSRXWLZnpp7OspU5aaSwttgnz0F1_25pspP_ME-1emsWRxG2hNwREhIzVuy24NStHkUkd2pDvV83blclCftVgUniUDUOWdTekDLCJo/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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2. 'You must wear a hat!!!!!!!!! I do not care if you think you look like a fool. You wear a hat. You know what you will look like a fool if you don't wear a hat because you will be the only one not in a hat and your friends will say, are you a fool where is your hat!?!? Don't be that fool.'<br />
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3. 'Who cares if the socks have a little pink on them, they are warm, the ones you wore last week smell like butt and are unwashed and crusty, please just wear these and be warm!!!'<br />
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4. 'Where is that other glove!!!?!?!? Why can you not put the things back where they came from when I say to put them there!?!? Do I look like a mother or something picking up after you and being organized!!?!?!? Here's the big one and here is the little one, now where are their friends??? In your school desk!!?!?? How does this happen?'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhdNWt3oMpmM7dWxXqki6IsWt95m_9rEhVk-PPqK1Vs5chPrhqq76RAuLrdakKjkeK61CgLKo1C-14rqZHmHsZ25urjxnW3DDNpNgFvVEIYJFyvFHMnVc-4Qf4693FqZ6duWEsm-EsbA/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhdNWt3oMpmM7dWxXqki6IsWt95m_9rEhVk-PPqK1Vs5chPrhqq76RAuLrdakKjkeK61CgLKo1C-14rqZHmHsZ25urjxnW3DDNpNgFvVEIYJFyvFHMnVc-4Qf4693FqZ6duWEsm-EsbA/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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5. 'No, we drink hot chocolate after we come inside from playing outside for no shorter then 1 hour. Beyond that, can you hold a mug with those gloves on? NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Don't take them off!!!!'<br />
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6. 'O.k., for the 27th try, spread your fingers, keep them like that as I pull the glove over your hand until I say it's o.k. to not be frozen like that. Alright, no wait, where is your pinky finger? It's in the wrong spot with the other finger. Alright, here take it off, we will try again.'<br />
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7. 'O.k. sit down. Now push your foot into the boot. PUSSSSH!!!! Not working? O.k., try standing up and wiggling around a little. Got it? Toes in? It feels funny? Oh its the wrong foot, let's do it again.'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRRtKvJAO9qBA5VsTCUYd7Y1baKCPvIIQaxsX_Vzofj8YcyNc6LULkxZAyNfcpWkyb5RdJLtTk-RWrU38RH95IIvqTZbfwTywX7sbfCbQRBngBh4oc9rPdlfY535wBUlmS72LC_gbvSs/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRRtKvJAO9qBA5VsTCUYd7Y1baKCPvIIQaxsX_Vzofj8YcyNc6LULkxZAyNfcpWkyb5RdJLtTk-RWrU38RH95IIvqTZbfwTywX7sbfCbQRBngBh4oc9rPdlfY535wBUlmS72LC_gbvSs/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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8. 'Now this is why I asked does anyone need to go pee pee before we even started this. Well you should have at least tried, I bet a little of that would have come out and you wouldn't have to go so bad right now.'<br />
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9. 'Your sister did not laugh you with the scarf on now stop. Tell him you didn't laugh at him please. There is no crying or laughing about scarves, they are pertinent in sub zero temps, now wrap it around your face again. NO LAUGHING!!!'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhat_Wc9AOyf0RNi6mXnsSdJomAWX-wRo79yTGcKToX7PzQEMpUIMGEDvusXrToXne0jQLZ8HH-oStY1Ls0B7NoUy__i1iqnZkcRnuN5f0qhez0rdlvwER8e18LHrqUgTn1cAizDNOvawk/s1600/ry%253D400.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhat_Wc9AOyf0RNi6mXnsSdJomAWX-wRo79yTGcKToX7PzQEMpUIMGEDvusXrToXne0jQLZ8HH-oStY1Ls0B7NoUy__i1iqnZkcRnuN5f0qhez0rdlvwER8e18LHrqUgTn1cAizDNOvawk/s1600/ry%253D400.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></div>
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10. 'Where are your coats? Why did you not hang them on the hook with your school bags last night? We go through this every morning. Alright, now you will just have to sit there while I retrace steps. You're hot!?!?! Do you see the sweat pouring from my forehead, this is hot kid.'<br />
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11. 'Hat.On the head.Now.'<br />
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12. 'Wait for your brother!!!'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUaQh5vY96hwKFH1-ZvRbvq5tgDuf23QFD1w6EsOlmb3083b98LnL9wh46sTHX4m_T5zPYtZLDB9EQ9NjWPrTvm846BEnxQUAkrfzP9hivYkZwSxP3Ug9NGMez5tKhBfWxLf8i4E7tqg/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUaQh5vY96hwKFH1-ZvRbvq5tgDuf23QFD1w6EsOlmb3083b98LnL9wh46sTHX4m_T5zPYtZLDB9EQ9NjWPrTvm846BEnxQUAkrfzP9hivYkZwSxP3Ug9NGMez5tKhBfWxLf8i4E7tqg/s1600/ry%253D480.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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13. 'O.k., let me get ready and I will be right out.'<br />
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5 minutes later, on my way out the door...<br />
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'I'm cold, can I come in and have hot chocolate now???'<br />
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The snow is pretty though. <br />
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****And because I love it...picture has to be shared here too...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Best Picture of Winter 2014.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I secretly think he flies on saucers when I am not looking...kid is too much of a natural here.</i></span></div>
On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-90015942548335678912014-01-31T14:05:00.001-05:002014-01-31T14:16:52.489-05:00Making My Own Definition<br />
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So the other night I am sitting and watching the Grammy's. As I sit and watch the Grammy's, I realize that I am sitting the same way I always sit wonder while watching them,' why am I watching the Grammy's?' They annoy me. I don't know, Taylor Swift flipping her head back and forth. Is this necessary? I wasn't really sure why Madonna and Queen Latifah needed to be part of the marital ceremony performed by Macklemore. I thought maybe Ellen should have married all these people, if someone was going to do it, she spurred on this song. I mean Queen Latifah? But they didn't ask my opinion prior. I get the statement it was making and fully support it, I just wasn't sure that I would get married in an aisle at the Grammy's, with Madonna holding a cane, and who picked that song? Really what was with her cane? And really I am not sure why Beyonce had to get her hair wet. It was confusing. And can she please stop wearing leotards? It's also annoying. It is not a Broadway Tap Dancing Revival...all.the.time. Can she switch it up? I think she can afford an entire ensemble. She is not a cast member of Cats. And every time I see Willie Nelson's braids my impulsiveness sets in, and all I want to do is take a pair of scissors and clip them right of. Thank goodness Willie and I will never ever be in the same place, at the same time. <br />
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And then came on Carole King and Sara Bareilles. I love Carole King. Her music and voice are comforting, mature, and just wise. I have always enjoyed the laid back Lilith Fair type style of music once in awhile. You know hair flowing freely, long skirts, no make up, flower crowns, bare feet. Take out your Indigo Girls, you know you want to. Anyway, I just sat silently listening to these women on this past Sunday evening, and the lyrics of the song they were singing, their talents coming through the musical instruments that they also were playing. They didn't need anything more, no crazy sets or small attire, and it was so good. It was music.<br />
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I have obviously heard Sara's song, <i>'Be Brave,'</i> before. It is on quite frequently...like all songs played on the radio.Can they say overkill? But this was the first time I sat and listened to the words. They were sung slowly and deliberately by these two women and I heard it.<br />
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The word, '<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">brave</span></span>,' is a noun, a verb, and an adjective. You're welcome. I am certain you feel really enlightened presently...smarter...ready to take the SAT's again. I will do you one greater and tell you the definition too. Now stop, no need to thank me. So when describing something brave...you would be describing something ready to face danger; endure danger or pain, you are showing courage. You can just be, 'the brave.' A person who demonstrates courage or a fighting spirit. Name your kid Brave, set the bar really high. <i>'A spider!?!?! You're cowering in the corner over a spider...live out your name kid...I didn't bestow upon you pussy footing!!!!'</i> Or you can actually be showing bravery...actively enduring pain without showing any fear.<br />
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Many of us probably think that being brave is saved for those who demonstrate great acts of valor. We cannot possibly be equal to those many deem as brave. We can show courage, but bravery? That's reserved for the finest. You know, the fireman, a soldier, someone risking their lives for others. All great acts of courage and bravery, obviously. But allowing your actions to be considered brave, it seems like a challenge in comparison, right?<br />
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I, however, listened to the words in Sara's song and listened to Carole's awesome voice and considered those in my life that I consider brave. Those that I guarantee do not consider their actions worth being described as brave. When in fact they are.<br />
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I have a friend I am very humbled by. Her life is a story still being written and her depth is still unknown. When I think I do not have enough strength I am reminded and inspired her. This woman lost her husband by a senseless act of violence committed by a family member. In an instant she became a single mother, a widow, not given the chance to say goodbye to the man she loved and grew strength from. And she endures. Her spirit endures. She has such a fighting spirit. She is a refuge for her kids and others kids...and sometimes even me. She is brave. <br />
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I have a friend who lost her mom to cancer over ten years ago. I vividly remember seeing her on the day her mom passed and actually seeing strength in her. It radiated from her. Lots of people lose a parent. This is something to me, I cannot fathom. The unfairness of losing a parent too soon is enough to make me weep, for anyone. This is incredibly hard. This friend of mine went on. I mean what else are you supposed to do? I am sure there were crippling times. I am sure she is stricken with overwhelming grief once in awhile. But she endures the pain. I reunited with her this week over dinner and her strength still radiates from her. Her mom's spirit in her. She is brave.<br />
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I know a woman who lost her son. She is obviously more then a friend to me, she is a mentor, and always has been since I was a stupid teenage girl. She lost her son over ten years ago as well. Her son and her son's fiance, killed by another driver, driving at them full force under the influence. A tragic loss. The grief was and still is unbearable. I can remember going to their home in the days after their deaths and the cloud of heaviness that silenced all of us in there. A man willingly operated a vehicle, clearly under the influence and stole something from her and the rest of her family; my friends. The anger that raged. Yet, this woman, she forgave this man. She showed him mercy. She showed him grace. She let him know what he had taken from her and her family and friends, but she faced danger and pain and forgave him. There is no forgetting her son. I enter her home today and he is everywhere, as he should be. It is like he is there subtly, but he isn't. But the story that radiates outside of his loss, is her bravery. Her demonstration of ultimate kindness and our ultimate purpose...mercy. Don't ever let me hear you cannot forgive someone for something less then this. She is brave.<br />
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My daughter. She came home in tears quite a few times last school year in tears over older girls who were teasing and bullying her on the bus. My heart broke for her. The meanness of other people becoming a harsh reality for her. I encouraged her. I encouraged her spirit and I encouraged her to face this pain. She was aware of what bullying was and she turned around one morning and faced the unfairness, on her own. Marching herself into school and notifying who she was supposed to. Sitting down with the girls who were bullying her and an adult, and telling them how it made her feel. I am not saying that this is the answer for all types of bullying, but this empowered my girl. She now continually stands up for those being bullied, her heart on her sleeve. She is brave.<br />
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I can tell you stories all day long of those I find brave and why they are this way. I feel its something we shouldn't diminish. Recognize it and gain strength from it. Bravery is honorable, and bravery is inspiring. <br />
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In recent times I have adapted the mindset to look at things like this; would I allow what is happening to me happen to my daughter without her acknowledging it and stopping it? Or would I allow my sons to treat another like this? If my answer is no, it is time to face it. Is this bravery? Is this bravery to stand up for what I think is right? Is it brave to expect to be treated a certain way and standing up and opening my mouth when it isn't? Is it brave to voice my pain and experiences wanting to empower others?<br />
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I listen to the lyrics...she is encouraging us to say whatever it is we want to say, to let the words fall out. I think about the personal stories of bravery that I only just listed here and can see how beneficial it has been for me for these women to have let their words fall out. Their bravery has been their strength and mine, and whoever else have heard their stories...even my sweet Kendall's.<br />
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She then sings, <i>'Honestly, I want to see you be brave.'</i><br />
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I hear sarcasm, you might not, but what I hear is like, alright already, enough is enough, stop being broken, stop being depressed, stop letting the past weigh you down...show me that you can be brave.<br />
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And this is part of the new turn <span style="color: #0000ee;">i<span style="color: #0000ee;">n me</span></span>. Each person that is brave has let go. They have faced pain and or danger head on and declared it unwelcome in their mind. They have said goodbye to things that have crippled them in their past and turned these things into their courage to move forward. They have forgiven and accepted and allowed love and compassion win. Bravery allows your spirit to come out. <br />
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I am finally getting to brave.<br />
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<i>"Maybe one of these days you can let the light in<br />
Show me how big your brave is."</i></div>
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<span class="lr_dct_ph"><br /></span><span class="lr_dct_spkr lr_dct_spkr_off" data-log-string="pronunciation-icon-click" style="display: inline-block;" title="Listen"></span></div>
On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-48205650103549631052014-01-25T15:12:00.002-05:002014-01-26T07:56:20.973-05:00'Let your past make you better, not bitter'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I will confess, I have been a quote whore lately.<br />
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Written words speak volumes to me.You want me to hear something louder then I ever have, write it down for me.<br />
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So much clarity and thought comes from something written.<br />
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While going through things that have been so very painful, I have found so much strength in quotes. <br />
Some I have read and I am like,<i> 'that's it!!!'</i> They have been the words I wish to say to express myself but haven't been able to find them. They have been my motivation in times where I have felt like crawling back into bed pretending that I actually don't have real responsibilities. They have made me cry. They have made me laugh. They have made me think.<br />
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They have given me justification over issues that I have really struggled with. They have allowed me to feel validation that my pain is real and that the things I say and feel are actually not complete nonsense.They have given me reason when I have reached top frustration level. They have encouraged me. They have so put me in my place and have had me really wrestle with my current mind set and how it should really be or I should really act.<br />
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They have made me feel not so alone in my struggles. It is comforting to realize when reading one that the person being quoted experienced something that left them with these words.Their pain that was real and significant is now helping me. It is with that motivation that I sometimes write. I find it incredibly healing to verbalize what is on my heart, my soul, and on the tip of my tongue through writing. I feel at times that it is much clearer then if I were to leak my verbal diarrhea through my mouth. I have been called out on this a lot and have chosen to be very careful with my words for the most part.<br />
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It is true, I am my grandmothers granddaughter, so there are times that there isn't much left unsaid. Perhaps just the audience has changed. The list is very small as to whom I let me guard down around and can be the completely uncensored me with them. I am completely ok with this. Feeling judged and unworthy is a miserable feeling. Getting a redo, or a chance at a completely personal renovation has left me choosing wisely. I don't want to come across really self righteous when I share that. It's just I have been kicked in the vag so many times now that a girl builds some boundaries. <br />
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I have also found a lot of these things in not just quotes but lyrics too. Songs that people wrote while experiencing life and all its up and downs. I have always been this way with music. I have passed on songs to people to better express where I am and how I feel. This has also had me struggle tremendously as well, because people keep on playing music, even in the grocery store, cause when reaching for a box of angel hair pasta a certain song on the overhead can bring me to tears...again....<a href="http://frecklefacedmama.blogspot.com/2014/01/cry-baby.html" target="_blank">awkward crying moment. </a><br />
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So much clarity and thought comes from something written. <br />
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So I have found myself grateful for the quotes, words of inspiration, and songs passed onto my by friends and family and those I have stumbled upon myself. I am one of those girls that posts these reminders all over the place. It can never ever hurt to be reminded of where you came from, what you choose to inspire you, what you wish you had the balls, or um, tough enough vag, to say, and what your motivation should be. My house has now become a museum of my scars and my heart in progress.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-wfm9kcb9PBsOo5A1l_T_ZtXZBATW6joNa4clJL9zhoEsEcC7Ywmus4XDdlIgxWZVfR3HhzS5Sw2WARPQZVwC8-Fn_bb-v6DLnXlnMaUG4HWikV40iyw_i_-OGpNCLOAd0bgNiZ88XI/s1600/d28f2cc9663f4788ce28be6196c967bb.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-wfm9kcb9PBsOo5A1l_T_ZtXZBATW6joNa4clJL9zhoEsEcC7Ywmus4XDdlIgxWZVfR3HhzS5Sw2WARPQZVwC8-Fn_bb-v6DLnXlnMaUG4HWikV40iyw_i_-OGpNCLOAd0bgNiZ88XI/s1600/d28f2cc9663f4788ce28be6196c967bb.jpg" /></a>And who knows maybe someday someone will quote me and I should hope it's not anything spoken in a moment of lesser sanity...but I have a feeling the children are taking mental notes. That's not very nice. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-34862938074742607832014-01-21T15:59:00.001-05:002014-01-21T18:04:41.614-05:00I'm in Love...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are times when I have thought, am I ok with only creating 3 children? There are times when I have thought, was creating 3 children a bit too much? Cause you know babies? Yeah, they grow up. And then they start talking and realizing, hey wait a second this voice I have can actually say anything it wants like, <i>'No!,</i>' or <i>'You're the meanest mom in the whole world, like the whole world, not even just America.' </i>So much for being narrow minded.<br />
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I tell you what. It's hard to raise these things. It's a lot of pressure to know that you are going to send real human beings out into the world and they have to in fact perform and it's all on your shoulders. What are the important things they need to take with them? What are the big things, and what are the little?<br />
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I thought I was pretty good with animals, you know proud that I have raised a small farm of potty trained, well behaved animals.So kids you know, show them the way and they will be functioning. Some nights I lie in bed with all their responsibility weighing me down....all expectation on me to have them remain normal. Now my cat is taking craps on pillows on the kids beds. I can't be sure, but I think the universe is trying to send me a message.<br />
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Being a mom is no joke. I fail on a daily basis. They will look me in the eye after I have requested something of them. I can see it there, in those eyes, the battle within them to choose to do what they want or what I have asked of them, and it's all, <i>'Here it is Melissa, here is what is going to prove if you are winning.'</i><br />
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There are days I feel as though I can write a book on what not to do. And in those days you can get real down on yourself and feel like you have failed humanity because you are not raising the next president who is going to make health care more affordable, bring down the national debt, and save social security. This is real extreme because I'm not sure I would want a son as the president, I mean those Kennedy's have been really put through the ringer. However you just desire them to consistently show that you work your ass of for them, and that your life is now taken the back seat if not in the trailer attached to the vehicle.<br />
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Are you and they really going to pull through when it really matters?<br />
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There are then the days that you are filled with so much pride and joy for them and in them. They are fun. They are sweet. I sit in school conferences and hear just how great they are, mild mannered, and such good friends to everyone. I do indeed raise an eyebrow and look down to make sure that the teacher does in fact have my child's name on the paper in front of her, but it is in those moments I wipe the sweat from my brow and think, alright, I've got this, for today.<br />
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Jake is my baby of the three and occasionally I wonder if he will always be the baby. I mean I am very very certain right now that my hands are completely full. And I do certainly have all those fertility issues that can really put a girl through it. But babies, they are so very sweet. And a big family is incredibly fun, this I know.<br />
But there are more ways then one to solve this problem, fill the love tank,bring the joy of watching new life come about, and making my family grow.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Meet Henry Walter. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo courtesy of his mother & father</i></span></div>
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This boy, in all his coos and gas that new babies bring, has us all smitten.<br />
He just makes sense, I love him fiercely. He has added greatly to my healing. I thoroughly enjoy being, and am honored to be, his aunt.<br />
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Supporting his mama is second nature. It kicked in from the moment I saw them together, and I love watching her with him and encouraging her as she finds her way through this new role. I find it difficult to explain, but it is almost that she is a little sister no longer. She of course is my sister, duh, but she now has a son, the greatest responsibility she will be given, and it makes everything different, but in an incredibly good way.<br />
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And the cousins. Let me tell you. You get a bit nervous. They have been the only littles for quite a few years now. I wondered and was concerned about the transition that would occur in them. Listen, my family is close, we think about things like this, accept it.There have been some major hurdles for my kids lately and so each one is prepped for. I tend to totally over worry, but none the less, I have learned, preparation is essential, for at least, me.<br />
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Their aunts are their world. The sun rises and sets on my sisters bums according to my kids. Then their aunts got married and their uncles seamlessly became part of that world. And just like with the weddings and all that meant, I talked about the coming baby incessantly with them. Kept them up to date as the day grew closer and closer. Kept it exciting and fun. I shared with each of them the special roles they could have in this baby's life. I reminded them as to just how important they would continue to be with everyone and that welcoming the baby into this would be so awesome. In many ways our family is so close that it was reminiscent of welcoming a sibling in some ways. I share this closeness with my cousins too. So we all got how important this change was and is for them too. But irregardless, this child was coming, so come hell or high water, they best have at the very least, sucked it up.<br />
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<br />
And then he came. And all was right with them. As each of them met him
they instantly ate that baby right on up. Small smiles of adoration and
pride. He is their little prince. You can see the protection over him
from them. You can see the understanding they have grasped surrounding
Henry's needs and attention. They have beautifully loved him. They talk
about him with everyone who asks. They each have a special story of
moments they have already had with Henry. And the kid doesn't keep them
up at night. They are reaping all the benefits of a new baby without
having to change the poopy diapers unless they want to. Nothing and
everything has changed for them, and Henry fit right on in their lives.
They eagerly await stories from me about Henry if I have spent time with him without them, and they giggle and smile and share all their thoughts about him all over again.<br />
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They have made me so proud. The good always weighs out the bad, as is in almost all circumstances, most specifically when it comes to parenting. Seeing your kids understand and display love and compassion that they have learned and felt themselves, is a great gift. Sure they give me a run for my money some days, but seeing how proudly they love and adore their Henry, fills me. <br />
<br />
Parenting is all sorts of difficult...and my sister is now all over finding that out. But when they demonstrate what really matters, and it isn't a fight over taking out the trash or bedtime, then you kind of feel accomplished, if but just for a minute.<br />
<br />
So yeah, I do love me some babies.<br />
And Sir Henry is my baby love right now.<br />
Thanks fir returning the favor and making me an aunt, Meggie.<br />
Let the giving and payback of loud, over sized, and messy toys begin!On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-74861402465806471962014-01-17T19:28:00.000-05:002014-01-18T07:45:50.686-05:00I am not a Pear Shape<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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About the age of 11 I was wearing my first bra. Assets I suppose I could thank my Nana for, but to me, I would have, and still would prefer for them to be different. Less, there. You roll your eyes if you sit in a smaller rack, but I tell you what, I envy the ability for you to wear those cute strapless anythings. Like a long strapless maxi dress? Kill for it. Alright, that's extreme, but it is pretty close. I need to embark on an all out strapping on of a suit of armor underneath that bandeau top for anything to be where it is supposed to be. And wearing all that gear, in the summer heat, when you are supposed to wear those cute tops or dresses? Let me tell you something. A raging inferno goes on under all that boob battle gear, and not in a good way. Things being to melt, slip, dig in, and itch, all you want to do is run home and rip it all off and swear to the creators at Bali that you will never ever again be so foolish.<br />
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When scanning through the pages of fashion magazines you see the outfits laid out by stylists that are <i>'made for your shape or body type.'</i> The newest being the triangle, the rectangle, the circle, or the hour glass. Let me tell you something, unless of course you have been gifted with the perfect hour glass like my darling cousin Kara, who looks stunning in just about everything she wears, ok, she just looks good in anything she wears, you are left with the most undesirable shapes to describe yourself. You're a circle? Yeah, you're welcome for that flattering description, real nice, I'm sure. However, at least you have a description and options, because then there is me. I take the shapes to a whole new level. If it's a piece of fruit, I am an upside down pear, and if its a shape you are after to put in a bathing suit, well I am the cone; an ice cream cone; cake cone, not sugar. So where is the cute dress for this body type, Allure? <br />
<br />
So the mirror and I have never had a real good working relationship.<br />
Pictures being tagged all over the place on Facebook? Horrors!!<br />
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The carrying and birthing of children has subsequently further damaged said body image. Cause let me tell you something, I had a bad case of it prior to this bodily trauma, and now stretch marks and muffin tops? What on earth!!?!?! Hip expansion? The weird face changing thing? Feet? Mine shrunk. I told you I wasn't normal. Down a whole size. I can't make it up. And then the boobs. Years of weight up, down, and all over the place has just left them well utterly confused. I use the term, 'utterly,' very loosely and will allow you to spell it differently as well.<br />
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My closet. prior to my move, spanned 5 different sizes, I kid you not. This is some serious fluctuation. <br />
<br />
I love me some clothes. My closet and dresser presently, to my mother and grandmothers horror, is a filled vat of black and gray, with some white to offset, as well as some polka dots and stripes thrown in. <i>'How many black running pants does one need?!?!!?'</i> Sixty. The answer is sixty. I exaggerate slightly, but just to annoy them. <i>'How many little black dresses are in here Melissa!!?!?!' </i>One for each and every occasion I have been to. Ever. Take that.<br />
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I enjoy a colorless wardrobe and yes, black is my favorite color. Do you understand how awesome your accessories can be with this pallet though? I would however slightly appreciate clothing that had me looking like I had an ass instead of this pancake. I also would like to be able to purchase a button up shirt that came in a size that was actually fitted in the correct places and buttoned up over my boobs, instead of that gap that occurs. Right now my options are the trash bag with buttons look or the not buttoned up with a cami underneath. I love the flannel shirt thing right now, I would appreciate being able to purchase one.<br />
<br />
So I have approximately spent well over twenty years of my life concerned about my body and how it looks. And perhaps more if you count the insecurities surrounding my freckles, but that is minor once you start aging and still have them...all of a sudden you are 'youthful.' I have constantly compared myself to others. I have opted out of photos because I felt like I looked less then desirable. I put on a brave face and mock my chicken legs and the flab that has come from bearing three children in my abdomen, but they have bothered the heck out of me. I stand before a mirror and huff and puff and wish this, that, or the other was so very different. I do the dreaded look at celebrities in magazines, (gasp!), and wish I could look that fabulous just three months post baby.<br />
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I run. Well, compared to many, I jog. I do this around my kids schedules so it is hit or miss. There was a period in my life where I was regimented to run about 40 to 50 miles a week, and sometimes more. I sometimes wished I was as fast or as thin as I was when I ran then. I have thought about running my old stomping grounds and paths wanting to train for a half and then full marathon. But when I thought of this, it was all for the wrong reasons, it was to look like I run.<br />
<br />
I have pushed and pulled my body for all the wrong reasons. I have looked at pictures of me with my kids and have gone,<i> 'ugh, photoshop that mug out.' </i>Me. Their mother. I have starved and purged and I have withheld. There have definitely been times I could and can lose some weight, but I beat myself up regardless. Judging myself, becoming my harshest critic. Looking at myself as unattractive because of what I weighed, or what size and shape I was.<br />
<br />
I have harshly judged myself over the rejection, opinions, and worth of myself from the male gender. Not realizing what my true worth or beauty really is. I pour out words of advice to other girls stating why and how not to do that, proclaim their beauty and their worth meanwhile believing a different truth for myself; that I am not enough; pretty enough, confident enough, worth enough.<br />
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I stood before a mirror the other day while waiting in line to exchange something while in yoga pants and top, gray, of course. No make up. My hair slopped in a braid. Jake clinging to my leg. Instead of looking at a young boy and his mama in a moment of sweet love, I looked at myself, and made a disgusted face, thinking about just how yucky I looked. And thought about just how unattractive I probably looked in that moment.<br />
<br />
I pass hundreds of moms and their little ones throughout my day and I would never think that of them. I think the opposite,<i> 'oh she looks cute with her hair like that.'</i> Or,<i> 'I love that hoodie, it looks good, wonder where she got it.'</i> And many more compliments. When she more then likely stood in line, caught a glimpse of herself, and thought the same exact thing I had thought on that day of myself. Ridiculous. <br />
<br />
And it just needs to end. We need to embrace who we are and become what makes us happy. We need to clothe ourselves in the things that we feel best in. We need to stop scouring magazines defeated about our given named shape. We need to encourage one another as women. Just given the fact that we are women makes us beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and we need to become this for ourselves. You want to eat that piece of cheesecake for dessert? Have at it. You want to do a juice fast or get rid of gluten? By all means. But lets do it because we want to, not because we feel like we will pay the price if we do or don't. My greatest competition is myself. I have made myself uneasy and have chosen not to believe compliments about myself from others because my inner voice is very LOUD. '<i>Oh they're just being nice, they have to say something.'</i> Let's be louder.<br />
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There is this silly run coming up in Philadelphia around Valentines Day that a friend had posted about on Facebook. It is a cupid run, and you just run in your under garments. She jested who might be 'in' on the run. I immediately was like, <i>'oh hell no, no one needs to see this run down the street in anything less then some running pants and top, fully clothed, preferably in a sweat suit.'</i> The reaction was much of the same from everyone. But then I got this, why not, thought going in my head. Who really cares, right? There are no rules to your under garments, so a cami with a sports bra underneath and some boxers or shorts undies would be doable. Surprisingly, the reactions were much the same as mine, and not even about just the immodesty of running down
the street in your unmentionables, it was how we would look in them.
Telling. And I'm not calling any of them out, I thought the same exact thing, and I am certain just this little Facebook feed among ladies I know wasn't the only conversation going this way. In our underwear, some of us cringe when in our underwear in front of our significant others, so on a public street? Running? I'm not doing this unless someone is chasing me...with a weapon...and I don't have one on person. But then it hit me who really cares what I look like, it would be fun. And see that's the thing. Sure, not everything in life is a run down the street in your panties and bra, but the reaction is much of the same. <br />
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<i>'I can't wear shorts, have you seen my legs?!?!?!'</i><br />
<i>'A bikini!!?!?! Goodness NO!'</i><br />
<i>'A fitted top?!?!' </i><br />
<i>'Leggings!!?!?!?'</i><br />
<i>'I wish I was as skinny as I was when I first said I was fat.'</i><br />
<i>'I hate my double chin.'</i><br />
<i>' I wish my hair was straight.'</i><br />
<i>' Look at these stretch marks!!!' </i><br />
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We are missing out Ladies!!!<br />
<br />
I think you're beautiful. If you have a child, he or she thinks you're beautiful. If you have a spouse or significant other, this person thinks you are beautiful. Someone thinks you are beautiful because you are, and its not just one person. It's true. Its time to start thinking the same thing about ourselves. People say its what's on the inside that counts, and I can agree with that too. But its the confidence we exude as to who we are on the outside that matters to, so let's get on it. <i> </i><br />
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A run in my underwear?<br />
Why the hell not?<br />
You want to sign up, and I will run with you. Cause no matter how humility free I will proclaim to be on this day...sister doesn't want to do it alone. <br />
<br />
Could you do me a favor? Could we start randomly complimenting each other? Could we build up other beautiful women? As simple as '<i>I love that nail polish shade you're wearing, its awesome, where did you find it?'</i> She will think about how awesome she was for choosing that color each time she glances at it throughout the day, I promise, and you did that for her. <br />
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(And over there in that sidebar is an awesome blogger I would love to give credit to for her awesome <br />
movement to change how we see ourselves as women and how our body image needs to change no matter what shape or size...Brittany, Herself....click and laugh and be inspired.<br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-33860873139166190192014-01-12T10:39:00.000-05:002014-01-12T10:39:02.258-05:00Home 'Sweet' Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So listen.<br />
I am a firm believer in all things comfy.<br />
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Top to bottom. You put me in some fitting clothes and in the back of my mind I am thinking, <i>'I cannot wait to get into my yoga pants and a tank when I get out of this place.'</i> When I put on a freshly washed and dried, (heaven forbid), pair of jeans I am squatting and stretching, twisting and turning like I am readying myself to be in some sort of sprint race. <i>'Don't mind me here, just loosening up these here pants so I can actually take full strides without looking like I am in a straight jacket.' </i><br />
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<i> </i>My sisters and I bring a pair of comfy pants with us when we go places. The clock strikes a certain hour, and if around the right people, meaning those that won't judge us for our lower half attire choice, or those who's opinion we do not care about, we will <i> </i>just casually slip away and return in some super awesome let it all loose knickers.<br />
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And I want the place that I live to have the same sort of feeling; can rock a pair of skinny jeans and look pretty decent, and when you let loose and relax, it also can get all cozy like in a pair of leggings. I want you to be able to come in my home with your kids, by yourself, with your Mom Mom, or with your significant other, and be able to wrap your hands around a warm cup of coffee and snuggle up in some quilt.<br />
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Recently I moved closer to home. Meaning closer to where I grew up. Meaning I could ride my bike to my parents house if I wanted, which I could, but I won't. I hate riding a bike. Unless it's a beach cruiser. And I don't even have one. But anyway...meaning we go there at least once a week for a meal. Meaning the empty nesters now have company.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chalkboards...the latest obsession. Don't even get me started. I could chalk you one right now.</span> </i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I readily admit, that I, as well as every other member of my immediate family have</i> <i>an obsession with pinterest. However, you cannot go wrong when you find this on the side of a road and find a pretty awesome fellow to create the idea rolling around in your brain for it. Peacock Blue as a color? </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Why the hell not?</i> </span></div>
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The place I moved to is teensy tiny and down sizing all our things was a must. But so was acquiring things that make a place my home. A place where three kids can just be themselves, have things accessible to them, but still be a place that I can call my home.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A place for a random game of Life with a 3 year old...patience of champions. </i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Cultivating creativity with markers...stain paranoia setting in....what the heck are they thinking!?!?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocqz79e5nFk_-MADsUkdg-pFJZEtqoMWXcfdXOWKSjnQFUa-TCBHesFkTK9U1GLGtH1i759vIQcGRhw43s61eKD-uh38C1Y10v1kPWngNo9w1K2phWit7lA3UIcLjc8JrXKDxCjp_T-s/s1600/DSC_0699.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocqz79e5nFk_-MADsUkdg-pFJZEtqoMWXcfdXOWKSjnQFUa-TCBHesFkTK9U1GLGtH1i759vIQcGRhw43s61eKD-uh38C1Y10v1kPWngNo9w1K2phWit7lA3UIcLjc8JrXKDxCjp_T-s/s1600/DSC_0699.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Spots for Legos way up high, out of reach of even the most skilled climber. Cause let me tell you a think or two about Legos....in a future post...sister has a lot to say</span>.</i></div>
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<i> </i></div>
<i> </i>I suppose to me, your home should mimic your personality, perhaps have your visitors be able to tell what interests you and what makes you, you, and happy. I believe that your home should be a bit of a retreat for you and those who live there. Your comfort zone.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I'm thinking you cannot go wrong with knowing where you came from and relying on your family to protect you & help you, so you know a random 'Lyon' statue. As well as a pretty significant pin showing up in your new place...more on that some other time.</i></span></div>
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This was very hard for me to start again. I had grown very accustomed to the place that we had lived previous to this. Despite moving close to home, it didn't, and doesn't always feel like home. Which is really hard when you have three kids to convince that they too can feel comfortable in this new environment. Despite it being a 'homecoming' of sorts, it still had me homesick. I came from a home I had brought all my babies to. I missed my neighborhood. I missed my routine. I missed my friends. I missed the small town feel. I missed my Target. I missed the kids school. I missed my gym. I missed my children's friends for them. I missed by library. I missed my Wawa. I missed the familiar faces. I missed the open door policy of kids coming and going throughout the afternoon. There were those that said I wouldn't miss it, yet I really did. But that too wasn't home anymore way before I moved. It slowly lost its heart and it was time to make a find a new one in a new place. It was time to make a new routine and a new comfort zone, and I needed to begin in my new place.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Alright...so maybe you think I have an problem with recycling furniture. Ask me if I care and if you will ever be invited over.</i></span>..<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Book reading under Mama's feet while she's baking and just leaving them there. Where and when else? Seriously</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The drop zone. Cause where else but the table we eat upon?</i> </span><br /></div>
After we moved, there were nights I would come home from work and just could not settle. It honestly takes a lot for me to settle anywhere to sleep. So this did not surprise me. I rarely sleep anywhere well. Unless it is a home to me. So if I say to you..<i>.' I sleep so well at your house,'</i> it is the deepest form of a compliment. Presently, I think I only say that to one person, and that's changing too. See this whole change thing? Yeah.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Please do not think for one bloody second that I am organized and neat. People. I have been known to be called Monica. (Friends). Open a certain closet...you're screwed. It's my mother's nemesis. But laundry is mine...as you can see.</i></span></div>
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So home. It is more then four walls to me. It is more then a place to store my things. I grow roots. Really deep ones. It is my safe place and it is my comfort. You know when you are young and you are scared<br />
or sick and all you want to be is home? This is how I always felt. A home has a cat. A home has love. A home has deep, well kept secrets. A home is a hiding place. A home is where you can stand in the middle of a room and turn slowly around and be happy because it is you...and in my case, your three little ones too.<br />
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So slowly I am picking and choosing. I am moving this in, and this out. I am rearranging this here. and this there. And as I do it, I am realizing how making this new home is mimicking making my life new. I am seeing where the center is. I am realizing by moving things in and out, rearranging this and that, is making a home to live in and a person who is learning to settle there.<br />
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Roots are forming. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-35968679961719101242014-01-05T14:29:00.001-05:002014-01-05T14:29:47.268-05:00Cry Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm a crier.<br />
Like a low down and dirty crier.<br />
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What I have found while being a crier, is that there is all types of cries. Because all types of things deserve different reasons to cry. I mean, why not?<br />
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I cry some in happy times. Like when I am holding my baby nephew. I can feel the tears. Because he is just so perfect, and he is just so sweet. And I can give him right back to his mama and daddy for the night. <br />
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But that little nugget is a whole other post of his own. I'm talking about the sloppy tears.<br />
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Take for instance the movie, The Notebook. It's like one of those movies that I just cry to because I'm stupid. I know I 'm going to cry when I watch it, I cry every time. To me it's simple; write me love letters every day for a year and send them to me. In the mail. When I'm not talking to you. Because I'm angry with you for being a jack ass. And then when I do decide to come and see you, you best give me a movie star kiss in a thunderstorm. I mean,why not expect someone who will read me our love story when I succumb to my inevitable loss of memory? You wrote me letters for a year...surely you have something to go off of!<br />
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I don't think its too much to ask of someone to know all the right things to say at the right time so that I am left speechless. Oh, I have verbal diarrhea? It's easy to plug it up. And it's just a handy man that will build me a house when I'm not talking to him so I can paint naked in it someday when I return, nothing major. Ok, so maybe not the last one, I mean the house, sure thing, but I am not a very good painter and doing it naked would surely not be considered elegant in any way.<br />
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But I sit and cry and cry and cry. Not feeling sorry for myself, but maybe feeling sorry for all those dumb guys out there that don't realize just how simple it actually is. Dude, you want to go and play in mud for the afternoon with your toys? We don't ask much. All you have to do is take us out on a row boat for about an hour in the morning, say silly things to us that give us sea legs, row us on back to shore, and we are set for the day. I do wonder though if Nicholas Sparks is a hopeless romantic for his wife. What a disappointment it would be to find that he isn't. I would feel so misled.<br />
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This did not begin with The Notebook or any other sappy movie at this point in my life. One of my friends growing up and I, used to sit and watch the movie Beaches just to cry. Like that was our purpose.We would have sleepovers, and then on a random saturday mornings, would agree to watch the movie just so we could cry. And then proceed to watch it with more friends so that we could all cry. I mean I suppose you could call it cathartic or pathetic. Either way, to this day, if Wind Beneath My Wings came on in some department store, I would certainly fill up a bit. So this mellow drama with crying at movies is a life long commitment to tears. Bring over your tear jerker, I will totally cry with you.<br />
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Then there is that crying when you don't want to cry, and you twist your face up in all different shapes and expressions. I am certain that I look like an idiot, but at least I didn't cry. Victory! This as expected, occurs at the worst and most awkward of times. Specifically because I am around people that I may not feel comfortable crying around or I really wasn't expecting the tear attack. So if I have really got a jump on the impending tears, I will yawn. Because everyone gets tears in their eyes when they yawn, duh. But if the tears do do a sneak attack, brought on from like an unexpected upsetting text I receive while standing in line to purchase some really great leg warmers, and next thing I know it's my turn, I do face contortions to stop them. <i> 'I know I look stupid cashier lady. I know I look like there is some imaginary man punching me in the face, but see if I don't do this, I will cry, and do you really want my snot to touch my debit card that I want you to charge.'</i><br />
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And there are just people you don't want to cry around. It usually takes a connection to be comfortable enough to have tears and snot spewing down your face in front of them. Although I have been in tears in front of strangers, this is very awkward. Not recommended, refer back to necessary face contortions, because its always better to look like there is something is wrong with you then actually cry. I mean show humility, what ?!!?!?! I jest, but for real, its a personal thing to cry for some people, myself included. It's like showing someone your inside, and I've got some pretty thick walls protecting those suckers.<br />
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Then there is that cry if you are a girl, and perhaps the occasional guy, no shame fellas, that you just like throw yourself on the bed heaving in sobs. This is done primarily alone, in the company of your one and only best friend, your mom, or in my special case my mom mom, or your sisters. It's the important ones, and its one or all of the above. All of these people I have mentioned have seen my breakdown cries and they are just ugly. Its sound affects. Its from the pit of you sound affects that just need to come out sometimes to feel completely released. It's everything you are saying not making sense. Sounds something like gibberish with breaths in the middle.<br />
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These breakdowns may or may not occur around a specific special time for a lady. And if they do it can sometimes explain a lot. '<i>Oh so I'm not losing my mind...where's the tampons...I don't have any...nooo....why am I never prepared...it's been twenty years...I have dementia...(crying again).'</i> However, that is definitly not always the case, as you all well know. All sorts of things can bring on one of these episodes. It is near the end of one of them that you now look like you were punched double fisted in the eyes and you realize you can no longer breath out of your nose and it could perhaps be like this for a few days depending on the length of breakdown. And you're all wiping your snot and eyes with your palm, wrist, arm, sleeve, anything.<br />
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My sisters and I have this 'special' little thing that some other 'special' people have, and that is crying when other people cry. We just fill up and let them drip on down when someone is crying to us. It's going to happen every time. You know, your friend crying to you because their baby just went to preschool for the first time, yup, I'm crying with them. And if I cry telling my sisters, they cry too. Some may call it a huge sense of empathy and compassion. That is so very nice of you. We just call it, 'special.'<br />
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I will be honest, crying for me is usually triggered by a realization of me not having control, and that can scare the hell out of me. No control over circumstance, pain, hurt, frustration, anger, confusion, so on and so forth. It's no secret now that I have been through some really shitty times lately, having to really let go, in order to make progress. So crying it is! <br />
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For the most part I will cry alone because when you're a mom you have to cry when everyone is asleep or when you are in the shower, otherwise your kids start to panic about existence. <i>'If she's crying how is she going to remember exactly how I want my lunch packed!?!! How will we get through a game of Clue!?!?! Who will bake the cookies!?!?! </i><br />
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However, when I have chosen to brighten someones days with a crying spell, I occasionally found myself apologizing while crying in front of them,<i>'I'm so sorry I'm crying to you like a loser, (sniffing snot), you must be ready to slap me across the face or go and get your belt and give me something to cry about.' </i><br />
But I have come to realize that those closest to you want to hear your heart and not tell you to shut up. So being upset about being paranoid about being upset is just plain dumb. That I am. <br />
<br />
My dearest friend actually feels upset about something that has occurred to me before it even hits me to be upset about it. And let me tell you, these are the people you want on your side of the fence. She sticks up for me before I even know I need her to. And when I reach that point she is ready and willing to help, given she has had some prep time. I'm really loving the people I have chosen to be on my side of the fence. There is something to be said about weeding.<br />
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I have come to realize that your should not let anyone dull your emotions. People should feel honored you are crying in front of them. It's real and it's raw.<br />
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Or if you are crying because of them, they might want to have some sort of padding on just for safety precautions. I'm not sure how anyone cannot feel sympathy when another is crying in front of you. But it happens. I've bared witness and experienced this first hand, and there is nothing more crushing. Don't be that guy.<br />
<span id="goog_479530944"></span><span id="goog_479530945"></span><span id="goog_110561761"></span><span id="goog_110561762"></span><br />
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I have come to realize that crying doesn't always have to signify emotional instability and a deep dark depression. Because along side of those breakdowns, I had happiness and felt love. <br />
And I most likely would not have felt any of that if I wasn't so open with my emotions. <br />
Sure, crying is typically a pretty low point. It's feeling pain at it's finest. <br />
But it's such a release. <br />
It feels good to let out that pit of you emotion.<br />
You should try it.<br />
Get some solid people on your side of the fence and let it out.<br />
There is something to be said about me watching Beaches with that friend of mine and crying when I was merely a 'tween.' It was about finding people you are most vulnerable and comfortable around and sharing your heart. <br />
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I have come to realize that crying is the letting go of something old and the awakening of something new.<br />
I have felt hurt. Felt alone. Felt defeated. Felt betrayed. Felt scared. <br />
And I cried.<br />
I have cried all by myself. I have cried in front of my important people.<br />
I will continue to cry.<br />
And when I have let it out and felt, I then turn the corner.<br />
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And crying then becomes empowering. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-8291051251090593512014-01-01T16:49:00.002-05:002014-01-01T18:09:34.759-05:00The Number 13.2013.<br />
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You know.<br />
I am not one to be very superstitious.<br />
But looking back on things that one may find worthy of being superstitious of, one might find it quite easy to for me to be such.<br />
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A Black Cat. All black. Big, poofy, nails of steel.<br />
Yeah I wrastled...I said wrastled, that near feral kitten right on down and brought it to my grandmothers to live happily ever after.<br />
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That cat subsequently randomly attacks you while you pet it, leaving scratches so deep one might think you had a bad encounter with the Wolverine. And I personally would like a good encounter with the Wolverine and his muscles...just sayin. But cat all purring and eyes shut in pleasure one second, and the next its claws to the arm, eyes bulging in complete fury, it doesn't end well.<br />
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This cat also decides to barrel up, almost army crawl like, behind you just because he is in the mood, and attach himself to the back of your leg. It mimics an unsuspected attack from behind by an enemy. You flail forward not quite sure what hit you. Nail puncture marks to the back of your leg like you were riddled with bullets. He will then detach and run so quickly away there is no time to react and seek revenge. <br />
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This cat also enjoys hiding in dark stairwells, with his black fur and all, and spring up hollering when you have the audacity to not notice him and step on him. Like this is our fault. You either have to be light on your feet or you fall to your iminent death at the bottom. My grandfather once called me, having narrowly survived such an attack by this cat, from the bottom of the stairs, on his cell phone, unable to move, well with the exception of his fingers, so he says. He luckily lived to tell about this harrowing encounter with said cat. He is also a known exaggerator, ( and perhaps I did inherit a trait or two), so it is very likely that he tripped on the last step and slightly bumped the wall across from him and the cat laughed in his face, so he had to think of something good. But you didn't hear that from me.<br />
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So this Black Cat is just plain nasty and one might consider it unfortunate events or some bad luck...but I'm not superstitious or anything.<br />
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Gray Hair. It is simply said that if you pull out one ten will come in its place, if you're superstitious. And I'm just saying, this girl now has to fully dye her head of hair. It's no joke. And its terrible. My hair is long. Like the longest I have ever had it in my life. I'm not sure what the point of this length is anymore. That's another subject. But the dying process of this hair is ridiculous. Initially, when the gray hairs started coming in I picked them out like it was my job, one by one, day by day, or when I felt like actually styling my hair, who am I kidding? Coincidence? I'm 35 people. Just 35. Wirey gray hair is not welcome here. But to test this theory on another, I may have picked a gray hair from my sisters head the other night. I may be closely watching her scalp for results. I cannot suffer in this alone. How fair is that? For her sake, I will again state, I am not one to be superstitious.<br />
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The number 13.<br />
Taylor Swift has it as her lucky number. <br />
To me, she's just doing that to be a bit rebellious. Stop writing the number 13 on your skin Taylor. Didn't your dad ever yell at you when you came home from school with ink writing on drawings on your skin? Seriously, my dad.<br />
A sure fire way to get his blood boiling would be to sit at the dinner table with ink doodles on your skin.<br />
He would state that it was going to seep through our skin and we were going to die from ink poisoning. <br />
Superstitious much?<br />
How do you explain people living and breathing with multiple tattoos on them Michael?<br />
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My daughter, she was born on the 13th of February. <br />
And she is every bit of a rebel. Like from the uterus she preplanned being born on the 13th just so she could go up against the number itself. It would be completely typical. She is my daughter. 10 days late. On purpose. Typical.<br />
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Yet, she is stronger then I.<br />
I produced a girl that is fiercer then I and she can own that number 13 like no ones business. A rebel.<br />
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But for not being a superstitious person 2013 really pushed a lady.<br />
It went balls to the walls and said, 'yeah, take that.'<br />
Then it decided to kick me when I was down too...cheap shots.<br />
It occasionally strapped me into a roller coaster of the heighest heights and the most jarring turns.<br />
My back is killing me. <br />
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I pushed back daily on that dumb number 13 for those three sets of eyes that look at me all innocent and fill me, and that's what I had in me. At the end of the day, all went neglected and felt like the bottom of the barrel besides those three babies. They got the best of me, and that's it...and I owe them so much more. And I whisper it into their sleeping ears as they tumble off into sleep each night.<br />
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So if you got the shaft from me in the past...2013 was my crowning glory.<br />
If you felt like, seriously this girl is like the debbiest downer in the past...2013 was the bottom of the rung for me.<br />
If you felt like you had lost me in the past...2013 I went into hiding.<br />
If you held me up through a lot and you feel like I didn't notice...seriously you brought me to my knees on numerous occasions by my humbleness and and gratefulness. Words failed me a lot of the times. I basically sucked.<br />
If you feel like you needed something from me in the past and at the end of 2013 you were still around waiting, because you are awesome and irreplaceable...it's coming...<br />
<br />
Because then this sister remembered 2014 was coming and I would love for you to join me there. <br />
I always liked me some even numbers, nice and fair. Don't you?<br />
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And I can feel me rising. That laugh. It's loud and it's obnoxious, but it's mine.<br />
That mouth...it runs like verbal diarrhea sometimes, but it feels so good to have it start to flow again. To stand up for me. Say what I feel. Apologize for when it says things out of line to those that don't deserve it, but not regret when they do. Because the quiet, for Ms. Lyons,signifies pain and hurt. If this girl is quiet and she is around you, check vitals and if they are fine, presume a storm is raging inside.And I want to put the oddness behind me, I don't want to be quiet anymore.<br />
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So I've missed you guys. <br />
I owe you a hug.<br />
I am sure for many of you, I owe you lots of time.<br />
An apology.<br />
And a drink.<br />
The Lyon is back.<br />
Get ready to hear me roar.<br />
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And if you don't like it...go break a mirror in my name. I will be over here knocking on wood. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-45353884798513882742013-06-07T11:44:00.004-04:002013-06-07T11:48:36.889-04:00Potty Training 103<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>“It's been said that adults spend the first two years of their children's lives trying to make them walk and talk, and the next sixteen years trying to get them to sit down and shut up.<br />It's the same way with potty training: Most adults spend the first few years of a child's life cheerfully discussing pee and poopies, and how important it is to learn to put your pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty like big people do.<br />But once children have mastered the art of toilet training, they are immeadiately forbidden to ever talk about poop, pee, toilets and other bathroom-related subjects again. Such things are now considered rude and vulgar, and are no longer rewarded with praise and cookies and juice boxes.<br />One day you're a superstar because you pooped in the toilet like a big boy, and the next day you're sitting in the principal's office because you said the word "poopy" in American History class (which, if you ask me, is the perfect place to say that word).” <br />― Dav Pilkey, Captain Underpants and the Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People</em></div>
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<em>mmhmmm....I did totally take this pic...you know you would want to.</em></div>
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I'm not quite sure what it is with my boys and learning to use the toilet. <br />
Kendall was like, <em>'lets get this party started!</em>'<br />
This summer the beast will learn to use the potty. He honestly has no interest in this. But he is 3. And sometimes with the male species you just have to make them do it. <br />
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With my offspring potty training occurs with some good old fashioned bribery. I have no shame in it. <br />
It's quite simple you get one awesome thing that they want within budget of course. We aren't talking a trip to Disney because you can piss in the pot. <br />
<br />
This can take some time to figure out what the ultimate thing might be because they are very flighty. One day it might be Legos. One day it might be a hockey net. The next it will be superheroes. So you really have to hone in on what it might be that has them just salivating to get their hands on. Then you get that item, you show it to them, and then like an awesome mom, you sit it right on top of the fridge out of reach completely. <br />
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I have narrowed this down for Jake to be a Razor Scooter. He is still cruising around on his three wheeled scooter, but every chance he gets he swipes one of his siblings and takes off with someone chasing after him. The kids in the hood are all about the scooters this summer. There is always a pile of them on my front lawn which apparently is their parking garage. I don't know how they tell whose is who's because there isn't much of a color selection, but at the end of the day, they do. You might even catch me racing them down the street. I take no responsibilities for injuries acquired while trying to kick my butt. It's balls to the wall, every man for himself. Listen, a mama has to get her highs somewhere. <br />
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Candy treats are restricted while potty training. No one in this house gets any sort of candy until the potty trainee uses the potty. We then we all get a piece and make the biggest deal over a miniature Reese's cup or lollipop like we are getting the best thing in the entire world handed to us just because a certain someone uses the potty. <br />
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We take no prisoners here. <br />
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I have attempted to take him undies shopping a few times. He has absolutely zero interest. I'm like super excited in the Target aisle, <em>'Jake!!!!!!! Look these have the Wolverine on them, his whole face on the back!!!! These are so awesome!!!' </em>He looks at me like everyone else in the aisle in that moment like, <em>'Seriously Lady, its underwear.'</em> <br />
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A kid is ready for potty training when they stop mid sentence, let out a sigh with a look of relief on their face and say, <em>'I just peed,'</em> and that's all there is to it. So I will get excited all over the Target underwear aisle and peace meal pieces of candy. The scooter will be placed on the fridge and the sticker chart will go right under it...we don't get that scooter until all we do is pee in the pot during waking hours and deuce in the toilet 5 times in a row with no accidents, just skid marks. <br />
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Mama don't play. <br />
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Watch out for puddles on the hardwood when you come to visit...puddles and flip flops can be killers. You've been warned.<br />
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I'm thinking about potty training the cat too. Sister can really mess up a litter box in her old age. Something tells me, the cat might win this race. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-38590235598015774732013-06-05T12:22:00.000-04:002013-06-05T12:29:44.594-04:00Hen's NightI am not a party animal by any means.<br />
O.k. well perhaps I used to be at one point in time. I will admit that there were many times that the kitchen or bathroom tile felt just absolutely heavenly to my then nauseous and room spinning self, from too many lemon drops or way back in the day zimas with jolly ranchers placed in the bottle. Oh. It still makes my stomach churn when I think of those. I think I need to go and find some nice cold tile for a few minutes...be back.<br />
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I really find it astonishing that I wasn't concerned in the slightest about the sanitary wrongness of these actions. There are moments I am so not proud of that I would look at my friend who was lying inches from me vowing the same things as I, to never ever drink that much again, and then thanking the nice cold floor for being so healing. The whole thing just ridiculous. Was Dave Matthews really that awesome that we needed to see him 23 billion times in the same place or was that just the haze? The jury is still out.<br />
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I will admit, many fun times. None of which my daughter will be having. <br />
Now, there is just no way I would choose to partake in times like these on purpose. <br />
Beyond all the unnecessariness of it, have you woken up with a hang over with children? <br />
Let me just tell you, <strong>HERE</strong> is the beginning of the day and then end of the day is like in North Dakota and you have to get there while carrying three children on your back, walking, barefoot, with one of them banging Thors Hammer into your head. This is what a hangover feels like now. You cannot just sleep the day away flat out on your back, drool coming out the corner of your mouth. Responsibilities people!!!<br />
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So when it comes to Bachelorette Parties you can imagine that all things that a Bachelorette Party were when you are in your mid twenties, kind of becomes a little unnecessary when you get into your thirties. I know. I am fuddy duddy. But going to see male dancers is never as it was in the movie, <em>Magic Mike</em>. It just isn't, and that's why its the movies. <strong>POP!!</strong> And there, I burst your bubble. I readily admit if you told me that I was going to a party and Channing Tatum was going to be dancing and then, although not in the movie, Ryan Gosling was going to make a special appearance, I could be persuaded to change my mind. But this is not the case and it never will be. I live near the Jersey Shore. This should be enough said. <br />
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My baby, baby sister is getting married in just under two weeks. The man she is bringing into the family is probably the best thing around. He's a great cook and a great personal trainer, and you can't ask for more then that. Ok, ok, he does have some pretty awesome qualities as well. You should totally meet <a href="http://www.bodybybrent.com/" target="_blank">him</a>. Ask him to get you in shape and also cook you some pasta. Really, if I knew he was cooking for me at the finish line of some triathlon he trained me for, I would totally do it. Now I'm hungry.<br />
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In the wedding party, there is a wide range of lady status' all from the same family. One is pregnant, one isn't 21 yet and certainly does not drink yet...in college...6 hours away from home...come on, one had 3 children to return to, care for, and over all function for, and two are probably age appropriate for an over the top bachelorette shin dig. So meeting in the middle was probably pretty necessary. <br />
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So my other baby sister, the preggo, took the reigns, and planned the party weekend out of her homebase in Delaware. We had some spa treating in her living room, because why go out when you can drink wine and eat teenie weenies at home while someone else is soaking your feet? Not only that, it was 50 million degrees outside. At one point my mom and aunt decided to take a walk and were back within 10 minutes; heat, wine drinking, and brisk walks are not a good combination, in case you were wondering, cause they apparently were. <br />
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So we lazed the afternoon away doing this and answering prompted questions surrounding bachelorette ideas...like worst date ever...thing you noticed first about your future fiance. She totally said his butt, and come on, he totally has to sell his product...who would work out with a trainer who doesn't have a good bum? <br />
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We then got all gussied up for a dinner out on the town. My sister had chosen a tapas themed restaurant that I would totally recommend you hit up on your next jaunt to Wilmington, Delaware called Orillias. As previously mentioned, I do not partake in any excess drinking on purpose. I am a little bit strange, in that if the taste of the alcohol is stronger then the taste of the rest of the stuff in the beverage then I am out. So here is where Sangria might come into play. O.k. maybe it did come into play and by the end of the dinner my cousin sitting next to me were totally picking the fruit out of our empty glasses to eat with our fingers. We are that classy, but fruit that has been soaking in that yummy beverage is soooo good after downing like 8 glasses...dude, some of that food was spicy!<br />
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After plate upon plate upon plate of food, and a conversation in the bathroom about liking subway tile, but not before a brief inspection of teeth by other resident fruit eater of her sister and my other cousin, we headed back to my sisters house for some desserts and go to Bachelorette Party games. By the way...if you are in need of a Penis Pinata for any event, please let me know, my sister ordered one that did not come in time for the party. You know for a Bris, a gender reveal party, something like that. This will go totally fast, get your bid in.<br />
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I totally do not remember falling asleep. I am however keenly aware of the headached and dry mouth I had the next morning all while my eye makeup was smeared down my face. Again, classy.<br />
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We had some yummy breakfast and a vat of coffee each, and they headed out for yoga. I skipped this part of the event to get home to my children...I totally had a big day ahead of me, being North Dakota is so very far away.<br />
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Oh and I am totally not getting paid for this product advertisement. However, after a night of drinking, some spanish food, and 64 ounces of strong coffee with cream you might feel a little rumble. Sticking with the classy theme, I recommend <a href="http://poopourri.com/" target="_blank">THIS</a> product to have by your commode. No joke. Works fantastically. If you live with a man, it might just be a necessity. Just sayin.<br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-6627734861494882852013-05-30T17:45:00.001-04:002013-05-31T09:18:47.032-04:00She's having a baby.When a sister is having a baby and you are pretty sure you done having some of your own you get all sorts of excited. My uterus just yelled, <em>'PRETTY SURE!?!?! Oh hell no sister, we are done. You think the occasional and unexpected piddle in your pants when you laugh, run, cough, jump, or sneeze is bad...I am going to abuse the urine system so bad Depends are on your weekly shopping trip list!!!!'</em><br />
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The reason is simply just like this; you get to coddle, spoil, smoosh, and love on a little baby with all your might and then when the moment hits be like, <em>'ok. that was fun, here's your fussy baby back I think it wants YOUR boob.'</em> O.k. so I totally didn't breast feed my kids. WHAT!?!?!?!? It goes like this....even if my milk had come in fully, even if I hadn't gotten thrush, even if I knew I would get over the razor blades babies have stored under their gums that come out upon sucking, I just don't think I would have stuck with it. You breast feed, awesome. I didn't. As I look out my window upon children racing through the yard screaming at each other I think they are doing alright. Perhaps not genius', but they will be able to obtain employment. <br />
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So my sister who was married last year is now officially <em>'with child.'</em> You go through the waiting period of 12 weeks to announce this to the world because of all the sucky <em>'what ifs'</em> that some people, like me, go through and then you are like, <em>'HEY!!!! I'M NOT JUST GETTING FAT FOR FUN PEOPLE!!! NO, I AM NOT TRYING TO ATTEMPT TO LOOK LIKE THE WALKING DEAD!!! I AM PREGNANT!!!'</em><br />
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Then they only tell immediate family, then extended, then facebook, and then your sister can blog about it. It's all about order people.<br />
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I will toot my horn and totally say I knew it probably about the same time she found out she was pregnant. Listen...I am like the <em>'with child'</em> whisperer. No, I am totally not, but I know how a newly pregnant person acts because of course I acted like this as well, and I am totally a people watcher and very nosey. What?!?!?! Come on. Me??? Nosey??? I dare you to try and hide something from me. <br />
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So my sister came to one of my child's birthday parties looking like she hadn't slept in approximately 73.5 days, the slightly dark circles under the eyes were just rearing their ugly head. I turned to my other sister and said, <em>'yo, she's pregnant.'</em> Other sister was like, <em>'no, I don't think so, didn't she have wine?' </em>Then I was like, oh yeah, this sister has not had something growing in her uterus attempting to take over your entire body, so her opinion right now isn't very reputable as much as I love her. As I was sitting next to possibly pregnant sister, her hubs then came up to her and was like, <em>'hey babe, you need anything? Drink of water, maybe?,'</em> and then proceeded to lovingly brush her hair back. And all of you that have been with child are like, <em>'oh yes, of course, that was the icing on the cake.' </em><br />
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Poor fellow. He is a newbie at this. There are code words and statements you do not say aloud around other women unless you of course want them to know you are talking in code. I do agree, this man is a sweetheart and thoughtful, and all that. But asking your wife who looks like she rose from the dead, who has not stated that she is not feeling well, if she needs anything at your inlaws house is code for, <em>she is with child</em>.<br />
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<em>The Future Madre y Padre</em>.</div>
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So I just waited it out, and would tell her every so often that she was pregnant just to make her feel awkward. I mean what is a big sister for, really?<br />
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So...on to 'Aunt Land,' I go. I am truly truly so very excited. I love me babies and a growing family. I love the way a baby smells. My nose will be afixed to this child's scalp. Totally normal, promise. I can't wait to swaddle that turkey up nice and tight in its blankie and hold it until my arm wants to fall off. This probably sounds like I would want another of my own. I assure you, this is not the case. Besides that, my ovaries just walked out the door with suitcases. <br />
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Totally weird though when your sister gets knocked up. I mean not in the, I know what you do behind closed doors, type of thing. Just that this is the person you used to torment endlessly and now they are giving life to a little soul. You try so very hard to keep a tight lip as someone goes through pregnancy. Most especially when you are the oldest sister and typically always have an opinion. Just sayin. So you try to let their experience be their own, and not being all like, <em>'yes, you see its true, I wasn't exaggerating being pregnant, is in fact miserable.'</em> <br />
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<em>Best part is about this picture is that I totally remember this outfit and on most days when recalling my sister in my head this is what she still looks like. And she's going to be a MOTHER!?!?</em></div>
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Here are some other fun facts you do not share with pregnant sibling:<br />
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1. That pain in your back honey, oh that's just the beginning, wait until that thing rests its ass on your sciatic nerve for 8 weeks because it seems like a really awesome place to nest and grow. That decision will now affect you for life.<br />
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2. Oh, you're in the second trimester now? Sleep like your life depends on it. Because in fact, it does. This is it. Once that thing has reached maximum space capacity at about in your uterus and decides to stretch out your skin with all its might until it decides its a good day to make it's appearance up until the age of maybe your youngest leaving home, sleep as you know it now, is gone forever. The second trimester is now your safe place.<br />
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3. I am aware that you do not want to know the sex, so don't study closely because hamburger buns are a girl and a bunless hot dog is a boy. Ultrasounds have come a long way. I knew Jake was a boy before the woman even pointed his weens out. <br />
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4. You are really not eating for two. I really hate to break it to you. You will give birth, and a few days later convince yourself that there is another one in there that they forgot to take out. Sadly, this is not true. Do not go home and attempt to put on anything other then the yoga pants your wore until you were the size of a small house. Muffin top takes on a whole new meaning. Its more like, science experiment gone wrong and goo is puddling over the top of your pants. <br />
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5. Privacy? I don't even know what the meaning of this word is anymore. There is no privacy after having children. So if you, or your hubs is not o.k. with an audience while using the bathroom or dressing and changing, well you probably should start practicing now or hold everything until they are fast asleep, but even then, this is not a guarantee to privacy. I, however, do not volunteer to be the gopher.<br />
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6. Birth. <br />
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7. Listen, I don't think I need to mention anything more then that word listed above. My sisters have watched me birth a child. But let me tell you something, although you may now have a good idea about time frame and what to expect with the whole delivering a child thing, nothing, absolutely nothing, not even the best doula in the world, can prepare you for birth. I have done it three times and wouldn't know how to prepare someone fully. All I can sum it up is as, it will hurt like a mother f-----. It will end though. You think you are dying, but it will end...eventually.<br />
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8. Along those same lines, epidural. Dude, don't go all She-ra on me. Birth in a pool, birth in a hot tub in your back yard, just make sure the anesthesiologist makes house calls and you have proper extension cords needed for the I.V. Nothing, not even your mom, can coax you through this pain. Take a trip on the modern medicine train, thank Jesus for it, and let them stick that needle in your back. They could have stuck a needle in my eye at that point and told me I would be blind in that eye for life and I still would have been like,<em> 'GIVE ME THE MEDICINE!!!!'</em><br />
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9. Things are just going to start happening to your body that are just really unattractive. They are totally not controllable, so go with it. Case in point, that one day you get in the shower and your breasts are squirting milk out like they are super soakers. Yes, I realize you did not sign up for this. Wait until you go to take your first dump after birth, how about that? You will now be convinced that there indeed is another child that was left in there, and it got its directions confused. And whatever you do, don't take a mirror to the nether regions. Horror. <br />
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10. You are going to do things and say things you never dreamed you would ever do. Like study a child's poo and overly obsess about it. You will look out windows in the dark of night and cry because everyone is sleeping out there but you and this child. You will taste milk that is not from a cow just to make sure it isn't too hot. You will walk around with spit up down your back all day because you didn't know it was there, and everyone else felt so bad for you so they didn't mention it. You will go days without a shower...you say no way, but you will, it will be so long you will sniff your pits and really have to think about when the last time your showered was. You will contemplate securing a pillow over the face of the child's father who just sleeps and snores the night away as if there is not a wide awake child in your arms.<br />
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But see, I would never let my sister know all this unless of course she asked. I will just welcome her to the club and give her that reassuring nod that comes with having endured a battle so great, that only the strong survive.<br />
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Seriously, thank god I am going to be an aunt. <br />
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T minus six months until the little turkey arrives.<br />
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Totally a boy. Calling it right now.<br />
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<em></em><br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-20490721119436631282013-05-24T17:52:00.001-04:002013-05-24T17:56:48.277-04:00The GraduateCue Pomp & Circumstance.<br />
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(<em>Editor's Note: Thats one of his BFF's in front of him. I know this without looking away from the lens in my camera because hands in pockets and sweet outfits equal swagger and a friend of E's...this is the future Ralph Lauren graduating mind you.)</em></div>
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So the middle graduated from Pre K this week.<br />
Kendall finds this highly unfair. Then in normal fashion gets all reminiscent and says, <em>'I just love my class this year...we are totally going to miss each other this summer. We spend 7 hours a day together, what are we going to do when we don't do that everyday!?!?'</em><br />
DRAMA.<br />
I don't know. Swim. Go on vacation. Drive me crazy. <br />
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As previously mentioned, I had decided to give E one more year until he went to kindergarten.<br />
Best decision. Big high five to myself...a good parenting decision...maybe I can do this.<br />
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If you are thinking that perhaps your child is just not right for kindergarten, or someone blatantly points that out to you, give them one more year. You totally don't have to take my advice, they won't take your kid away from you, but your life will be a lot easier. <br />
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E is a kid, that in most cases, will not do something until he knows he has it right. This can be extremely frustrating when attempting to know if he at least gets the gist of the alphabet or what number he can count to.<br />
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This year things came flowing out of him like I don't know what, I was going to say vomit or pee, but you know, that's just inappropriate.<br />
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And he made himself some tight friends.<br />
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The graduation ceremony was Tuesday night. In the past E has kind of mouthed the words, looked uncomfortable, and was probably sweating bullets. So I prepared for much of the same. Must.Not.Make.Eye.Contact. Flooding him with praises none the less, because we got it and understood Ethan. He would rather run through flames then stand in front of an audience. I was fussing with Jake when the first song began, because I mean why be a three year old if you don't fuss when you aren't supposed to. I began to hear this loud singing voice that sounded like E's start leading the pack. I threw a juice box and some matchbox cars into Jake's lap, and had to look up before the moment passed. <br />
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But it didn't. <br />
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My Middle Child. Singing. Mouth wide open carrying a tune like this was his job. <br />
They sang a bunch of songs, he didn't once falter or become uncomfortable. <br />
They then played a tune on xylophone. <br />
Apparently this kid has some musical skills.<br />
Who would have known? Not me. <br />
Next he will whip out some Beethoven on the piano.<br />
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Listen this kid makes me mush. <br />
To see him be proud of himself melted my heart. <br />
I also cried when I signed him up for kindergarten. I'm not ashamed. Him standing there doing the eye exam looking all grown up.<br />
So of course I was a mess at this graduation.<br />
Look out for high school graduation. <br />
This mom will have banners, megaphones, a 5 piece band. I will be standing on the bleachers....<em>'MY BAAAAABBBBYYYY!!!!'</em><br />
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I pulled him aside when graduation festivities were over. I told him how proud he made me and that I loved him so much. I also then told him to stop playing me...totally onto his game.<br />
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<em>E & His Teacher...something tells me this woman is owed a ton of my gratitude.</em> </div>
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-27705158979733172982013-05-17T16:18:00.000-04:002013-05-17T23:23:22.505-04:00My BabyThe weasel turned 3 on the 4th. <br />
I still refer to him as the baby. <br />
I think this might be stuck on him for life.<br />
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<em>The baby on the Jaguar because that is what Diego has. Alright...so clearly he is not a baby, and perhaps not even the size of a toddler, I really don't care what you think, he's my baby.</em></div>
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<em>'Shhhhh.....the baby is taking a nap!!!!!!!!!'</em> But it's very simple, if you wake Jake from a nap before he has made the decision that he is refreshed and ready to continue on with his day, you will have hell to pay. There is no fury greater in this house then Jake awake before he wants to be. I have been known to leap down flights of stairs when E brings his buddies in here for a refreshment break to silence them before Jake hears them. That's right I will break my bones to keep him asleep, it is that serious. <br />
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<em>' I have to give the baby something for his belly or he is going to lose it!!!!'</em> Along the same lines as sleep, if you do not feed Jake, havoc will take place. This child is the biggest child I own, and he requires a ton of nourishment, daily. <em>'Ma-yee I need sumting to eat.'</em> All.day.long. As previously mentioned, he is my future line backer. Either that or a contestant on the Biggest Loser. In either case he will be financially stable. <br />
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He is my baby. Oh and I coddle this thing like nobody's business.<br />
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Out of the bunch, at 3, he is probably the one with the most wit and has a memory like an elephant. I really find it astonishing that elephants have such a good memory, but then again, I am also typically astonished with Jake's memory as well. He will remember how to get somewhere after only one drive, he will tell me verbatim what he did while I was at work the night before, this sometimes does not work in his brother and sisters favor. He can remember what happens next on Team Umizoomi after just one run through. This memory comes in handy. <em>'Jake!!! Where did Mommy sit her keys!?!?!...Where did we park the car!!?!?!....Are we out of milk!!?!?!?...Where did E say he was going!?!?!'</em> <br />
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His fave foods right now are:<br />
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Cheese Curls. <br />
Dude, do not come between this man and his cheese curls. You buy a whole bag this is his job to finish it. <br />
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Popsicles...or opsicles as he calls them. <br />
He has been caught breaking into the freezer and stealing two or three at a time. <br />
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Hawaiian Punch...or I-an Unch. <br />
Oh you don't give your kids red 40? You're missing out. <br />
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French Fries.<br />
Must have ranch and ketchup for simultaneous dipping. <br />
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Ice Cream.<br />
Plain ice cream (vanilla) with chocolate on top. <br />
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As you can see his diet is just really awesome and right on track for your normal 3 year old. <br />
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He likes to say:<br />
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'Yippy Skippy.' This occurs when overly happy about any person, place or thing. I think I am going to start saying this. <em>'Hey Melissa, we are just calling to remind you of your upcoming appointment here at the gynecologist.' </em><br />
<em>'Yippy Skippy!!'</em><br />
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He likes to ask when driving anywhere in the car, <em>'where we going.'</em> And when we arrive there and get back in the car to leave...<em>'where we going now?'</em> When running multiple errands at in one trip this can get a little, I don't know...annoying shall we say.<br />
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He is obsessed with burping. <br />
Please, I don't know why. <br />
He can now make himself burp because you see this is quite entertaining to your big brothers friends. <br />
I at times have to threaten him to stop because it is getting to crazy at burp 12 to 15 that I think he is going to throw up. <br />
<em>'What do you say Jake?'</em><br />
<em>' 'scuse you.'</em><br />
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He likes to:<br />
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Play outside. He thinks he is 6 and can play with the big boys, so I often see him in the side yard tackling someone from behind. The unfairness in this is terrible because they know if the tackled him back they could do some damage, so bless their hearts, for now, they don't. Payback is well...you know.<br />
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Play sports. He may not be over the top skilled but little dude knows about every sport and the concept of how to play it. His favorite right now is basketball. Consequently, I have more sporting goods in my home then should be allowed by law. <br />
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Make funny faces. His is like the king of facial expressions. You can read just what he is thinking by his face. O.k., so maybe I have a tendency to also poesess this quality, its debatable. <br />
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<em>Here I am asking him to smile for a picture with his cheese curls...he is thinking the same thing as you...</em></div>
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<em>that is a really stupid idea.</em></div>
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Play super heroes. His favorite time to do this is when we are shopping in Target. He will take the size stickers off the clothing and put them down his arms, legs, and across his forehead. O.k. so maybe he also busts out of the middle of the clothing racks and yells in his manly super hero voice, 'I am here to get the bad guys for you Ma-yee.' I don't know why size stickers constitute as super hero attire, you don't ask these questions. <br />
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Spike his hair like his big brothers. This of course is not ideal for a hair of longer length, that is wavy, but whatever floats his boat. The fashion maven tries to explain to him that his texture of hair is not the same as him, but he could care less. <em>'Ma-yee you spike my hair like E's...dat's cool.'</em><br />
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Be bossy. No, this dude can hold his own and more. His demeanor is that of an oldest child. He can boss and bully his siblings into things that have me saying to his older siblings of 3 and 4 years, <em>'hey, hey hey...he's 3, if you know jumping out of the crib and trying to land on Ethan's bed is wrong then don't do it!! And if he says he is going to pinch you if you don't you come tell me!!!'</em><br />
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<em>Evidence: The suckers. He told them to ride together on the alligator...so they did.</em></div>
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He has my heart. Oh his blonde lightly curled hair, big blue eyes and little nose speckled with some freckles get him out of all sorts of trouble. He is my toughy. He is all boy, all the time. He is filthy at the end of the day. Tub water that light shade of brown. He is bound and determined to learn how to walk in flip flops properly.<br />
Ask him who is best friend is: <em>Ma-yee.</em><br />
Ask him who he loves: <em>Ma-yee</em><br />
Ask him guess what?: <em>Chicken Butt...Guess Why, chicken thigh.</em> <br />
I love little boys. <br />
He is without a doubt my favorite three year old in all the land. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-18969667584670250682013-05-16T17:16:00.001-04:002013-05-17T09:12:07.406-04:00My Ode to WWCMy senior year of high school I had not a clue where I was going to spend my collegiate career. I will say looking back, that 18 is such an awkward age to decide what you are going to do for the rest of your life. Thank goodness we are just complete morons at this age, and so the task ends up not being so daunting. If I were having to make this decision now there would be lists, in depth studies, interviews, anxiety attacks...all the things that come along with making an adult decision. However, for me, at 18, I was like, <em>'Adventure!! Leave Home!! Independence!!! Sign me up!!!'</em> <br />
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Into the end of the winter of my senior year I was pretty decided on PBU, but I wasn't too thrilled about being so close to home, remember; <em>Adventure!! Leave Home!! Independence!!' </em> I was told about an extension of PBU, a campus in Wisconsin. It's again at 18 where you don't really hear all the details you just hear what you want to hear which was distance for me. Listen, go big or go home. <br />
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PBU's campus in Wisconsin happened to be a Wilderness Campus. That's right. Me and the Wilderness. You are thinking oil and water...this I know. Again, 18 = moron. At the time, backpacking, foraging, cross country skiing, hiking, surviving, mountain biking, were minute details to the facts that involved me getting out on my own. Wisconsin required more then just a ride down Almshouse Rd. to the other side of Newtown and I was all over that. <br />
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At the time I was there, the campus was limited to about 30 to 35 students. They try to make the male/female ratio somewhat even. You needed to apply early and then sit on a waiting list. I took a gamble, knowing I was way late. Got a phone call from one of the admissions peeps there for a phone interview stating that they were looking for another girl. And then I was accepted. My wit and charm take over every time...or perhaps just a number that needed to be filled. <br />
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When I got there I had no idea as I looked around at the other 28 faces that were there with me that this year is one that would change my life. You know me, I was looking around sizing everyone up wondering at that point what in the world I had signed up for. But by the time my parents were leaving to trek home without me at the end of the first weekend there I honestly didn't look back, my mom can attest to this.<br />
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If you have ever watched an American Pie Movie, you are aware of the one character that loves to reminisce about stories from band camp...<em>'this one time at band camp...'</em> If you attended WWC you get where I am going, you will probably always say throughout life...<em>'this one time at WWC...'</em> I am also fairly certain people surrounding you are like, <em>'oh great here we go again, will it be the story about her freezing her rear off camping in the dead of winter and thinking she was going to die...or about the time when Ken fell off a cliff.'</em><br />
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Sadly, no more then sadly, the Wisconsin Campus is just ending its last year. You know I'm not even aware of the details. I know that PCB, or PBU, or Cairn, or whatever you refer to it as, is offering an adventure campus out of the campus in Langhorne, which I am sure will be awesome. But I am a sentimentalist and can't help but be a little disappointed, listen, I'm allowed, I am an alumni. There is a similar current that runs through everyone who went there, even on a different year, and its a little sad that it won't go on. <br />
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So what was I thinking? <br />
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I am here to tell you. You put 28 people in pretty much the middle of nowhere for almost a year, some crazy stuff goes on. I almost kind of get how easy it would be to be involved in some cult. No, now hear me out. I would never be in a cult, that's just silly, but the co-dependency and roles formed within a group like that makes group dynamic theorists hungry. If reality shows were huge then, we would have been top rated. The co-dependency was so rampant that we were sobbing like we were losing limbs when we had to go our separate ways at the end of the year. Like, how could we possibly survive without the others? Even those we spat with or who irritated us to no end, we were sad to be apart from. My grandmother was with me on the drive home, she tells me I was pretty much silent until we reached Ohio. This is not normal. Most of us were going to see each other within a few weeks.I lived 5 minutes away from two of the people who went there with me. Beyond that, most of us were going to school together the following fall. But we had been with each other daily,all.day.long. living in this little bubble, we in fact had become a little crazy. <br />
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I was totally cool with that. <br />
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What I experienced there was things people can probably write a 300 page book about. <br />
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And for the sake of what was WWC, and for its memory...here are some of my favorite band camp stories. <br />
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The jobs. Similar to work release. We were told to off set the cost of tuition that daily we were to engage in some sort of work around the campus. This could be working in the kitchen, helping in the office, babysitting the directors kids, oh...little Benny Jalovick..., work outside, chopping wood. That's right, chopping wood. Your duties at first would rotate until you found an area you liked, and then you were pretty much assigned to that. Typically most of these jobs were in the afternoon, after class. Here's me, the moron, not wanting to work in the kitchen, so I was occasionally assigned to chopping wood. Half way through the year, I was <em>'encouraged,'</em> to maybe think of a job in the kitchen. I was even told that if I did dishwashing at dinner time it left the entire afternoon free. Naps galore!! (no one naps like a college student) I pretty much was being told I sucked at chopping wood. I don't even think I chopped wood, I think I just stood by the trailer we were loading looking pretty and called it a job.<br />
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I did in fact go camping in the dead of winter in Wisconsin. The point was to make an igloo to sleep in. Supposedly these things would keep you so warm you could pretty much sleep naked, due to body heat being trapped. It all seemed really kind of gross to me, sweat, keeping you and someone else of the same sex warm... o.k. even with the opposite sex... I really didn't know what I was saying until I thought about it, and either way, its gross. So Jessica had a broken ankle from playing broom ball...listen don't ask...some game they play up there with a broom on ice, running, to me, broken bones are inevitable. So this left her unable to sleep in an igloo, really I don't know why, people who live in igloos all the time certainly break bones. But whatever, a few of us girls opted to sleep in a tent. Let me tell you something. People that say sleeping in tents is fun are crazy. People who do this in the dead of winter are just plain dumb. We did not sleep that night. In fact we froze our asses off. I even wept thinking that I was going to die and that this was just the most ridiculous place to do it. Jessica had it even worse with a cast encasing the cold onto her leg. I contemplated climbing into an igloo but wasn't up for barfing from seeing naked bodies in an igloo. I would have rather froze, and so I did. Close to dawn we heard some rustling around outside. I cried out, <em>'who is that!?!?'</em> ok, so maybe I screamed, 'H<em>ELP US!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'</em> The voice that replied was that of Matt Goodman. <em>'I'm going pee, go back to sleep.'</em> Really!?!?! No way!!! It was up to me to save the lives of my girls, I took full advantage of Jessica's condition and yelled, <em>'no, please make a fire, Jessica is frozen solid and needs help.'</em> Listen I don't know why we didn't make a fire ourselves. We were probably scared of those crazy mountain people you hear about...we had no sleep...hallucinations is an offset of that...who knows. All I know is that Matt Goodman made us girls a fire, and although he sat miserably by it, probably wishing he was naked in an igloo, he saved our lives.<br />
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O.k. so for gym credits...this was college, we had to complete certain activities. Like mountain biking ten thousand miles or cross country skiing forever and ever. We had to complete a certain amount of mileage or time each week. So for some reason or another we would procrastinate and on a Thursday we would all be scrambling to complete our quota. In the winter, this involved a course in cross country skiing. I really don't know how many miles needed to be completed, all I know is that it was a lot. So much in fact that one time we were just cruising along on an afternoon on a back trail and Cortney just sat herself down. And Cortney was not a quitter, so I thought she needed to rewind her tape or something...I did say rewind her tape. I almost flipped over her. It was then realized she was freaking out , arms flailing, and when I turned to look and she was throwing her equipment in an absolute rage. <em>'THIS IS SOOOOOO STUPID!!! I AM JUST SO SICK OF SKIING!!! WHY ARE WE DOING THIS, NO ONE IS WATCHING!!!' </em>Which was completely true. This was the final turn of our sweet Cortney who realized that hey, not everything is always enjoyable or that you need to pretend it is, some things just need to be cursed about. We all came into our own a little bit that year. And I really think that is what the first year of college should be. You should be thrown out into the wilderness to see what you've got. OO was a lit trail,and we would go to this little trail night after night significantly late, and ski back and forth, and back and forth until we reached our mileage. We made mix tapes to pass the time, and I would be singing aloud going back and forth to keep my sanity. However, it was at these moments out there in the middle of nowhere, where we were lost in our thoughts, pushing limits, and holding our own. Independent.<br />
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Of course, of course there was intermingling amongst the ranks. I mean seriously we were a bunch of teenagers thrown to live together. It's like the Real World on MTV, with morals. There was of course slim pickings and many boys would vie for the same girl, it was pretty much always Laurie. She was the quiet one. I was bossy and loud and hard to please...ok so maybe not much has changed. I do think that at some point almost every boy had a crush on every girl, and vice versa. It was totally to be expected. It was like a commune. It was also extremely confusing, but if you sat back and watched it,really hilarious. Hormones are inevitable. There I said it. I will share this one story, but leave out the name of the boy, who about in mid march of that year, just called me on the phone in my dorm and told me to get down to the end of the drive because he needed to make out with someone or he was going to go crazy. Now that's how to treat a lady. I didn't go, but just the same this is how much of it went down...climbing through windows, sneaking off into the woods...it's the secret chapter in the WWC book. There were some pretty legitimate relations to come out of that year, and one has now been married for 14 years. Meggan told us girls pretty early on in the year that she was going to marry Eric, we all thought she had just about lost her mind, sure he was cute, but marriage!?!?! They were married a year later...that girl don't play.<br />
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For the most part, except for three girls, which each had our own areas as our rooms. Mine was a big open space, but there was a half wall and a pretty definite separation between my space and the other space in the room. In reality, my room was an off shoot to many of the other rooms and had a door that led right outside in it...silly directors...but it became the thoroughfare. I liked it this way, it gave me social interaction with all the girls I was there with regularly. Me? Social? Stop. I did at times wish I had a roommate, but then would end up being thankful I had my own space. Remember messy room from last post? You got it. I instantly clicked with a girl named Cortney who I swear was put there just to be my friend. I know, it is so terribly selfish of me to say that, but I clicked right on into her. We were so very alike and so very different all at the same time. I loosened her up and she straightened me up. I would run to her room to escape and she would run to me to be crass and crazy. For a few weeks, I did crash on her bottom bunk because my room had started to stink. I cleaned the crap out of it thinking that something was just rotting in some secret corner. Nothing. We were then told that yes, it was something rotting, and probably just a dead animal in the wall and the smell would go away after it stopped decaying. Real awesome. Just. A dead animal. This was the wilderness people. <br />
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I honestly could probably co author the book. Memories can come flooding in when you let them...my long term memory is still in tact, phew. I have a video I had sent home to friends that year and I just watched it the other night. First off. I am old. Secondly, I reaffirmed that yes, this probably was a top year in my life. And lastly, I hate my voice.<br />
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So to all of you that had your year at WWC with or without me how fortunate were we. To those heading up the new outdoor program...well, you have some big shoes to fill. <br />
<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-88781354445739036422013-05-14T10:09:00.002-04:002013-05-14T10:28:03.769-04:00My Mother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is my mother. Well the one on the right. The man on the left, lets just pretend we don't know him. I honestly have no relation to anyone who might behave or act like that.<br />
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Let's just look at it again. <br />
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Nope. <br />
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Regardless of man making strange face and weird cryptic arm and hand gestures...my mom has been a mom for almost 35 years. She is living proof that you never stop becoming a mom, because when I am sick and throwing up, I seriously still cry for my mom. I'm not joking. <br />
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I am also a mom. SURPRISE!!! I really didn't write all those pushing child out of my hoo-ha stories for fun. I am a mom because of my mom. I mean, yes bore me inside of her uterus so yes, without her I would not be here to be a mom. However, beyond that, she made me want to be a mom. She is so very skilled and talented at being a mom. I take full credit, I am after all the oldest, as well as her favorite, given I have provided her with three beautiful grand children. Not lying. And no, stop asking, I do not know why I look like the man in the above picture, its just a coincidence. <br />
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I am also quite certain there are two reasons as to why I am a mother to my daughter that are also in direct correlation to my mother. I was a tyrant of a child and adolescent. Was I fun? Sure. Was I loud? Of course. Was I difficult, challenging, and typically impossible? You best believe it. <br />
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My daughter. I have said before, my mom describes her as, passionate. I describe her as dramatic. <br />
I also believe and have said before, that what goes around comes around. <br />
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I was a really awesome teenager. Ok, so maybe my mom didn't think so. But I am certain my pack of friends did, we were all really awesome...don't worry guys I will totally mention you in the acknowledgement section of my future posts about my teen years. <br />
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Here are two incidents that have come back to haunt me when I look into the eyes of my daughter I am teaching survival skills to so she becomes a functioning human being. <br />
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This one time in junior high, I was caught lying. I do not remember what it was I was lying about. I think that most lies tend to work this way. However, due to this lie I was grounded for a month. Perhaps you don't really get the great impact that might have on me and my social life. It meant that I did not get to go to my friends boy/girl birthday party that was within this month, go to a school dance, or talk on the phone, and I was pissed. After the completion of my time, I was sat down in front of my parents in a great parenting moment, and asked what I had learned from this punishment. You see now most smart children might say, <em>'oh well, I learned to tell the truth.'</em> And then smile and nod, completing the pow wow. Now, I was not smart. I looked at the two of them. Without sarcasm, sass, or any negative tone said, <em>'nothing.'</em> Seriously, I said the word, <em>'nothing.'</em> I now realize after having children of my own, specifically my daughter, when a child says this to you, you basically want to lose your <strike>shit</strike>, cool right there. I then went on to say that sitting in my room not engaging in social activities did not teach me not to lie. I was really dumb people, I was the child who made my parents want to bang their head in the wall.<br />
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In typical teenage fashion, I also did not like to clean my room. Go figure. This in fact, drove my mother insane. At some points, the clothing and things would be almost level with my bed, you would literally open my door, and have to step up. On occasion she would graciously clean my room. Really what she was doing was snooping and reading all my notes to and from friends because she would leave them unfolded on my bed to let me know she knows what they said. I would just fold them back up and put them in some shoebox under my bed. I would then say, if asked, <em>'do you know how many things I could be doing that are worse? Drugs. Cults. Birthing babies. Stealing parents cars and driving them all over town all night!?!?'</em> Oh wait, we did totally do that one, but it totally sounded good for my argument. What they didn't know at the time couldn't hurt them.<br />
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When I did clean my room it would take all day long. I would blast Eagle 106 from my radio and be in there all day. They would play throw back music all day on Saturdays and I would totally bust a move in there. My room was the size of what is now known as an acceptable sized walk in closet, but I still managed to be such a slob. I would be in there all day. Ok, and perhaps having an imaginary dance party may have caused some procrastination. But by the time I had to meet up with friends, that joint would be sparkling. Just don't look under the bed. <br />
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You would think this might make my mom happy. You know me finally taking her threats seriously enough to clean the room every once in awhile. Nope. And so the battles ensued day in and day out about the messy bedroom. <br />
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One day I am certain she thought she was mad clever. She kept telling me that she was just going to empty my room out and throw it all over the front lawn for me to pick up. This day came. I saw the chaos before she saw me, this I am certain, as I was walking home from the bus stop. Clothing was flying out my window all over the garden and lawn below. My Mom Mom was there and she was most likely thinking my mother had lost her mind, but also most likely got some amusement out of the whole thing because I don't think the apple falls far from the tree. I remember completely prepping myself. So this is what I did. I just walked right up to the house, paying it all no mind. I walked past flying bras and panties and right into the house to grab a snack and engage in whatever it was that I did after school those days. I left it all out there. Bras hanging from limbs. Yes, this is what I did. This my friends, is why I have been gifted with Kendall. I am sure neighbors drove by wondering why there was unmentionables and socks strewn all over the front of the house, but again just like the <em>'your grounding didn't work,'</em> scheme, I was again set to make it known, a thong sitting on the roof of <em>your</em> car has taught<em> me</em> nothing about cleaning my room. <br />
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I am clearly aware now, when being a mother myself, that I should have just let them be punishments. Because I now do not have the last laugh. <br />
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I don't know when I cleaned that stuff up. I know it wasn't immediate, or in the following few hours, or even that night. All irrelevant. She wanted me to be embarrassed about my stuff all over the front lawn, I made it seem as though I wasn't. This again, to a parent, is infuriating. <br />
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I do realize that things could have been worse. I am constantly talking to my friends about parenting skills and how one false move and your child is all sorts of trouble. I consider the trouble my friends and I got into as 'responsible trouble.' We were never once in trouble with the law. Except for that one time when we were pulled over after toilet papering someones car in the town we live in less then a mile from home. The officer asked us what we were doing in that certain neighborhood, and we said we were lost and not sure how to get home. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. Again, I will just remind my parents, I told you I did not learn anything about lying by being grounded for a month in 7th grade, this incident is proof. The officer just told us to go home by going left at the stop sign and drive fifty feet. <br />
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However, the reason I had some sense about me was because of my mom. I am certain I drove her mad. But I never would have turned out the way I have if not for her. That might also be considered an insult to some, but I like to think of myself as a good mom. I am going to toot that horn. I work my ass off for these kids, its the reason I don't have one. That, and my mom doesn't have an ass either. Ok, we have asses, its not some genetic malfunction, they are just like pancakes. <br />
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My mom is a perseverer. I totally know that isn't a word. She totally persevered through parenting, taking each moment as it arose. Her and I paved the parenting road my sisters got to drive on. She was simple. She was creative and clever. I have been rewarded with her being one of my closest confidants and friends. This is my motivation with Kendall, I know if I persevere and take each moment as it comes, and pave the parenting road with her as wisely as I can, she will be o.k. She will certainly have adventures and a slew of good stories, but she will be o.k. <br />
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My mom is beautiful and admirable and I love her dearly. <br />
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Again, I am not certain who the guy she has on her arm is...I think he might need some medication.<br />
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(Love you too, Dad)<br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-13957588489564122892013-05-09T11:21:00.001-04:002013-05-09T11:25:53.928-04:00Magna Doodle ConfessionalsThe evidence was destroyed quicker then I could get my camera. <br />
<em>'I love Jackson,'</em> had been written on the Magna Doodle that was in a certain girl that lives in my houses' bedroom. <br />
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You know immediately I try to convince myself, oh she forgot to add 'Michael,' before Jackson, how silly. Surely, like her mother she loves to dance to <em>'Don't Stop Till You get Enough,'</em> and<em> 'Thriller,'</em> duh.<br />
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I mean for crying out loud, she's 7. Then I clearly remember me and my girly friends chasing a certain boy around on the black top at recess in Kindergarten. Kindergarten! I think we were trying to pinch him or something absolutely stupid. Socialization and admiration at that age are very primitive...ok, so maybe sometimes they still are. I wish I could remember his name. Something cute and very kindergarten crush appropriate I think. Any girl who was in Kindergarten with me, feel free to chime in, the brain fart is starting to annoy my o.c.d. <br />
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So I continue my clean up of the rooms saying to myself, <em>'let it be, this is her room, her privacy, her little crush.'</em> Then of course I remind myself who I really am, nosey, and decide to just, <em>'make mention,'</em> of Magna Doodle confession in some,<em> I am that mom</em>, moment.<br />
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She is in the shower in her little blissful singing in the shower moment and I ask,<em> 'Hey Kendall, so is there a Jackson in your class, or like a Jack that rides the bus, I like that name, but I can't remember if they are the same person or not?'</em> I know, real subtle, I'm real classy like that. She freezes in place. Minutes go by and she swings the shower door open, flaming red cheeks. <em>'Jackson is in my class, Jack is on the bus.'</em> Swings shower door back closed. <br />
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Then she starts this fake laugh chuckle thing.<em> 'Hey Mommy, I can't believe what I did today. I was writing on the doodle thing, and I was going to write, I love Jacob, but I couldn't remember how to spell his name, and I ended up writing Jackson by accident, so funny...right!?!?!'</em> Followed by another tirade of fake awkward chuckles.<br />
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Here's a few things about this moment presented to me by my daughter, who absolutely stinks at lying:<br />
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1. The fake laugh (it is so awkwardly funny that I have to walk away so I don't bust out laughing at it in front of her, you know the laugh a bit of nervous combined with a bit of obnoxious then forcefulness)<br />
2. She knows how to spell Jacob foward and backwards, there was no moment of confusion with this.<br />
3. She would not just write, <em>'I love Jacob,</em> ' on her Magna Doodle. Her love for her brother is deep, but not worth proclaiming on a Magna Doodle. He is 3. His main objective right now, is to annoy the crap out of her. This does not produce that warm fuzzy feeling.<br />
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She then proceeds to go on and on about it randomly throughout the rest of the evening. <br />
<em>'Oh my gosh, I just cannot believe I wrote Jackson instead of Jacob, that was just such a funny mistake.'</em><br />
<em>'Oh man, Jacob is J-A-C-O-B, not how I spelled it, which I think spelled Jackson, what an error on my part.'</em><br />
<em>'Mommy? How do you spell Jacob again? I just want to make sure I don't make a silly mistake like that again.'</em> <br />
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This goes round and round until I finally am completely regretful of even being nosey in the first place, so perhaps for me, lesson learned. <br />
<br />
I sit her down and say, <em>'look, I know you wrote Jackson on purpose, and it is completely normal for you to be a bit smitten with a boy in your class. You think a boy is cute, that's it, you don't have to make up stories about it to Mommy. I had crushes on boys too, probably a few too many that left me completely distracted all day long, but I did. End of story.'</em><br />
<em></em><br />
As you may have gathered, I am a tell it like it is kind of girl, and so this obviously extends into my parenting; <em>'I told you if you used that chair to climb up on that ledge you were going to fall and get hurt, now get up and go and put the chair back where you got it from, and then I will inspect you for injuries that might be permissible to cry about, there is no evidence of immediate blood or loss of consciousness so therefore return the chair and stop climbing up on ledges to jump off of.'</em><br />
<em></em><br />
However, my daughter, is my daughter and like I have said, I am nosey. So this continues as I am tucking her into bed.<em> 'Mommy, you thought boys were cute? Like what boys? What did they look like, what were their names? I can't believe you thought boys were cute too!!!'</em> I told her, dude, this list could easily fill a novel of which we could never read in one night, but that no, I am not an alien, and yes, I can actually relate to you. <em>'So give me one.'</em> In an effort to appease her, and make her feel a bit normal and relatable in an embarrassing moment of such, I gave her one. I told her about the boy I had a crush on all through elementary school and high school and never ever told him about until graduation day. A fit of giggles ensued. <em>'MOMMMMY!!!! You should have told him! I bet he had a crush on you and you could have had crushes together, and you could have swung on the swings at recess together!!!'</em> <br />
<br />
I didn't bother to explain further then that, that life really doesn't actually always work like Disney Fairy Tales that you wrap up in a perfect little gift box. I didn't share with her that there would be tears, and confusion, and hurt, and frustrations. I didn't let her know that she will read and reread notes from boys looking for hidden clues to his undying love. I didn't let her know that she will torture herself listening to songs on the radio and cry over dumb boys who thought another girl was prettier. I didn't let her know that she will spend half of school dances in the girls bathroom with her girlfriends consoling them or getting consoled because a boy she thought was cute was dancing with another girl. I let her have her little crush, because that is really all it is. She is in first grade. I didn't panic and question if I thought she was growing up too fast for her years of 7. I mean really, at the end of the day, mastering a cartwheel is still much more important to her. There was no reason for me to go into with her more then what it was, and as usual, back my train up.<br />
<br />
She is a spirited little girl who has a crush on a boy who gives her his only chocolate cookie from his lunch bag because he knows they are her favorite, and who holds the swing still at recess so she can hop on before going to play soccer with his buddies. He is also the boy who, 'accidentally,' bumps into her and laughs when the class is attempting to get into line, just to get her attention. This is so caveman, why do they do things like this to girls?<br />
<br />
I met Jackson the other day on the school field trip. I took in his ripped at the knee jeans, his tee shirt with a motor oil logo on the front, his converse sneakers, cheeks with a smudge of dirt on it from playing too hard with something, and his messed up hair. I listened as he loudly asked Kendall as he bumped by her, 'did you like the play?' Something tells me she too will have a confession on high school graduation day.<br />
<br />
I mean I totally don't blame Jackson, who wouldn't save this girl a cookie?<br />
<br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-55578312639528446732013-04-25T16:43:00.002-04:002013-04-25T16:43:47.480-04:00Boy Toys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
And now there's Legos.<br />
Let me tell you something. Boys have very extravagant toys. I often times feel bad for my girl because the playroom looks like I have been in the boy aisle of a toy store, dumped it all into a pick up, opened the roof of my home, tossed it all in.<br />
<br />
It can't just be a hot wheel car.<br />
It's tracks of hot wheel cars that attach to walls and race across tons of square footage.<br />
It's not just a super hero. It's their caves, castles, cars, and weapons.<br />
<br />
I realize that there is plenty for a person to get their female child. However, I have taken some time to watch the girls play. You give them a way to play music and they and their girly friend are CeCe and Rocky, simply creating a stage on the living room floor. My boys and their pals are downstairs constructing an obstacle course out of blocks, tossing many of the two thousand bouncy balls they have at each other, while donning super hero costumes and subsequent super hero gear.<br />
<br />
This simply just fascinates me because we, the girls, are considered high maintenance. PUHlease.<br />
<br />
So in the past year my middle man has started collecting some Legos. <br />
<br />
Let me just deal you something real quick about Legos.<br />
<br />
I hate them. <br />
<br />
It's a real crying shame, because that boy of mine, he loves them. So now see, I have to tolerate them. The middle boy has a slight setback with some fine motor skills and these Legos provide him with mad strengthening in this area. Attempting to fit the tiniest of plastic pieces into the tiniest of holes on another piece is really just the practice he needs. So now you see, since they help my child, I have to allow them into my home. Guilt is just a crazy thing. <br />
<br />
Have you ever attempted to put an entire Lego set together? Dude, this requires like hours of commitment. You have got to be kidding me. And one false snap early on, at the end of the piece you are about to sky rocket earth because something isn't right. Apparently, you are missing the final piece, and this is because the piece earlier on, although similar to the piece that was actually needed, was not the piece necessary, and now you have to figure out how to get the piece and replace it with the right piece while dismantling as little as possible. <br />
<br />
This is just unbelievably irritating to me. So add that with the issue of trying to keep it together for the six year old so that he doesn't think this isn't fun for you, well you are just about close to a nervous breakdown over pieces of plastic. I kid you not. <br />
<br />
Who the hell thought this might be fun?<br />
<br />
Here is my most favorite part of Legos. You are finally finished you pick it up to move it to higher ground so that a certain two year can not deconstruct it, and something snaps and its all messed up. After hours, this thing has snapped apart. Not completely, just a side piece, but it's a half hour investment of your time at the very least. You might think, oh just snap it back together. It's never that simple. See how they snap apart when breaking is so random its unbelievable. For those that aren't familiar with them, Legos are constructed in order. One piece built upon another until you have your masterpiece. The pieces are placed and snapped together so intricately that sometimes I am like, was this piece even necessary? We couldn't have done this easier? You are give a helpful little pamphlet. It's almost like Ikea furniture, but really, it's actually more difficult. Apparently the Swedes did not have a meeting with the creative team at Lego Headquarters. I will tell you that every time I go to move a Lego to it's resting place something causes carnage to the piece. And here I am sitting at the kitchen table while the child has moved on to the next activity piecing together a Lego like I love them or something. <br />
<br />
And can someone tell me what is up with the price of Legos? Is there a specific reason as to why the Lego Mine is over one hundred dollars? People this is plastic. I think I have it figured out. It is the adults who still collect and assemble Legos themselves that have jacked up these prices. The Star Wars Lego Theme, more specifically? Forget about it. Some of them are even deemed as 'rare.' Rare? A plastic block? Please stop collecting Legos once over the age of 18, it is just not fair to the boy who has to save his allowance for six years just to purchase the Star Fighter Jet. <br />
<br />
I don't know why people think that a child can actually play with Legos once built. This is very confusing to my son as well as me. So you receive this Spiderman Battle Mutant Galactic Supersonic Cave thing with figurines, you put it together, and then you try to play with it. Forget it. Something has snapped off, come unattached, broken off, and impossible to put back on without something else snapping off. It's a chain reaction like dominoes. You see, Legos are simply just for display. Or you disassemble them, put them in the handy Lego storage boxes with the pamphlet, label it, and put it together again, and again, and again. Hours people of my life, now possibly years. But don't you lose that pamphlet. You lose that man and you are screwed you will never know where that red triangle slanted thing goes correctly ever again and it will just look dumb. I try to tell my boy to please, please leave them on the shelf until at the very least the monster is napping. This may in turn lead to a more successful rehabilitation for the set. Because if Jake gets ahold of one, you might as well cut your losses.<br />
<br />
am not complaining about time with my son. Don't get me wrong. It is just the sheer focus that is required to put together a complete box of Legos is so very draining. How am I supposed to feed these children when done with this? How can I be expected to see straight? You may just call me an idiot and are thinking that you can put some Legos together in 20 minutes flat. Totally cool too, you are like Lord Lego of Nerdlandia.<br />
<br />
In this battle of toys, it looks however that I am very defeated since my son's collection continues to grow. And now with the Star Wars trilogy under our belts, it looks as though our choices continue to expand. It seems as though Santa will have to dig a letter deeper into his pocket making Christmas equality even more difficult. Who's idea was it to have three kids? <br />
<br />
I will tell you this one thing. When running down the stairs in the middle of the night in the darkness to get a child whatever it is they need at 3 a.m., if I continue to step with all of my weight onto another Lego I will start a war. That is where I draw the line, Legos, now go make yourself some coupons for me to use.<br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-33196316814643567652013-04-19T17:18:00.001-04:002013-04-19T17:20:01.638-04:00The Face<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
For some reason this child has a slight case of Mama Diagnosed OCD.<br />
Its main symptom is repetition and order.<br />
So help you if you sit down something where it does not belong.<br />
Shear panic ensues.<br />
Like if I am getting in the car and putting him in first. I typically have a coffee or a diet pepsi in my hands. I will always put it on the roof to free up my hands to buckle him in. <br />
I now have to do this when he is not looking. <br />
If he is looking.....'MA-YEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOUR COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ITS ON THE ROOF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!OH NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! GET IT!!!!!!!!!! GET IT NOW MA-YEE!!!!!!!!!!!! YOUR COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'<br />
It doesn't end until the coffee is safe in my hands. <br />
<br />
Jake: Ma-yee, this truck is red?<br />
Me: Yes.<br />
J: The truck is red.<br />
Me: Yes, good job.<br />
2 minutes later<br />
J: Ma-yee this truck is red.<br />
Me: Yes it's still red.<br />
10 minutes later.<br />
Jake: Ma-yee, the truck is red.<br />
Me: Yup, not gonna change pal. We bought it red, it will stay red. Unless your sister gets it and decorates it with marker like every other surface on this house.<br />
J: It's red, Ma-yee. <br />
<br />
He likes to count things. <br />
'Ma-yee, there are 1, 2, 3, 7, 13, 14, cereals in my bowl.'<br />
And its everything. <br />
I just sent him to give Stan a treat.<br />
'2 treats.'<br />
J: 4, 6, 7, 9 treats, Ma-yee?'<br />
'No, just two.'<br />
<br />
He has now moved on to adding facial expressions into this OCD. Someone showed him that this trick was possible, and now this is all I see. I see it at least 783 times a day. <br />
'You see my hot dog, Ma-yee.'<br />
He does it whenever he is spoken to.<br />
Some might think it's fresh, like he is sticking out his tongue. I am here to tell you this is not the case, he just can't help but do it, ever since he learned how to do it. <br />
On second thought, perhaps its tourettes.<br />
<br />
Why is it called a hot dog?<br />
It looks like a hot dog roll, but we call it a hot dog. <br />
<br />
He is aware of who can and can not do this. <br />
'Ma-yee, you see this hot dog.'<br />
Me: Yup, and I saw it the last 67 times too.<br />
'Sue can't do the hot dog, neither can Evan.'<br />
Me: Really? I didn't remember you just told me that five minutes ago. <br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2126095997928713373.post-82011782542634963982013-04-16T21:06:00.002-04:002013-04-16T21:10:09.345-04:00School HandoutsHere's what. The Homework Folder.<br />
This is what is in there for the student: The homework packet for the week on Mondays.<br />
Here's what is in it for me, the parent: TONS AND TONS OF PAPERS.<br />
<br />
In particular, there are an obscene amount of 'papers' that come home every Monday in my girl's homework folder. Seriously, I fill recycling bins. This is an environmental issue people. Al Gore, are you aware of this?<br />
<br />
For instance, there are papers about buying groceries through the school. Does someone do this? Can I talk to you as to why you do this? I'm honestly not really understanding the benefits of this. <br />
<br />
There are papers about anything and everything. It's like my personal little inbox. <br />
<br />
Yesterday there was a flyer to encourage parents to become part of the parent/teacher organization next year. Mine had an extra envelope stapled to it with my name on it. It was a letter from the office to encourage me to put in a nomination to be on the parent/teacher organization board next year. Some might think, <em>'wow that's awesome, they must see some leadership qualities in me.' </em>No, this really isn't why they sent it to me. It's because I am in constant contact with the school and then also when her class is having a holiday celebration...here's me with like a freaking party in a box for these kids. I tend to have a slight obsession with party planning and also get nervous for the children in the class as they have a male teacher. Not saying anything bad, but you know sometimes men think that opening the box of juice boxes and opening the bag of pretzels constitutes as a holiday celebration. I love Mr. Taco, but I also know he would love some hot wings, pretzel nubs, and some yuengling at the end of the year party. Totally cool. I will totally bring the cupcakes, brownies, juice boxes, and apple slices so we can pretend to be healthy.<br />
<br />
So anyway, to give me purpose and to get me to shut up and off their back, well they think giving me a job within the school might be an outlet for me. I can't help it if I think the Spaghetti Dinner could be so much more awesome. I will contemplate this idea for five minutes, I promised. But like I said, I have a bit of ocd in regards to events and so seriously the book fair will look like something from my pinterest board, and book fairs seriously aren't that deep. I don't know, I think feeding mental health issues might not be cool.<br />
<br />
My fave things that come home in the folder are things that K completed in the last week of school. Now that reading and writing has become part of her skills that make her a first grader, I get lots of entertainment from these. I often find myself saying, <em>'I am totally keeping these.</em>' I am hoping one day she snorts from laughter at what she wrote, or perhaps she could hate me forever for keeping them. Either way, some are that hilarious that I am willing to gamble. She has to do this journaling that is centered upon questions the teacher writes on the board and they have to answer them to the best of their ability practicing punctuation, spelling, and grammar. <br />
Here are some highlights from last week:<br />
<br />
<strong>What is your favorite food, tell me about it:</strong> <em>'My favouright food is pancaks. Pancaks are made from flower. Flower comes from wheet. Pancaks can be stiky. Have wipes on the table.'</em><br />
<br />
Oooookkkkkk.....excellent advice for the person who might eat pancakes or the person that may have a wheat allergy. This child hates pancakes.<br />
<br />
<strong>Tell me a funny thing that happened to you and how you felt:</strong> <em>'One time I took an egg and thru it into the air and it landed on my head and brooke. I felt imbareassed.'</em><br />
<br />
She should be more embarrassed by the fact that this incident never once occurred. It happened to Judy Moody, but not Kendall Anne. I can easily understand the mistaken identity though. Beyond that, it takes incredible skill to throw an egg up in the air and have it land smack on your head. <br />
<br />
<strong>Tell me an adventure you went on and what happened:</strong> <em>'One time I went on a bike ride with my Mom Mom and Pop. It was viry long. I thot my legs were going to not work ever again. They like to go far. We went down a big hill to look at a tree. The hill was dangerus. Pop said it was fun. Then I had to ride back. I wanted Pop to go get the truk. I did not say that becuse they were having fun. I wanted to ride to a ice crem place. That is an aventure to me. They say they like natur. They sleep out side to sumtime.'</em><br />
<em></em><br />
This could all very well be true. I feel her pain. <a href="http://frecklefacedmama.blogspot.com/2011/05/do-not-enter.html" target="_blank">I am sure you know my issues surrounding bike rides.</a> Outdoor adventures with my parents and sisters are a whole other post, or five hundred. I can with confidence say that yes, the hill probably was large and that my dad actually did in fact say this was fun. This is how he rolls. Again, another post. However, my parents actually do own a home, with a bedroom ,and a bed. I can only assume she is referencing camping, unless of course she knows something about them that I do not, and if they truly do just go in the backyard to sleep sometimes, this is just information I would rather not know. <br />
<br />
What also was in with these papers was a note from the school nurse. You know all about that hand out if your kid is in school, <em>the handout.</em> We received them many times last year, something about kindergartners I suppose. However, each time my reaction is the same, shear panic. I began scratching my head as soon as I placed it in my hands to read.<br />
<br />
This is a nice and quaint letter to inform me that there is a student with lice in her classroom. Listen, I know about lice. Ok? I know it happens and I know its fairly normal. None of these facts matter to me. Last year the lice was in the classroom, but it was a student in the afternoon class. The risk goes down a little. This year it is a student in her class. This is all consuming worst case scenario, cause I am totally that person.<br />
<br />
Of course the letter stated that my child was checked and she did not have lice at this time. However here's me: standing over Kendall as she sat at the kitchen table eating cereal this morning, going through her hair like I was some monkey. Listen, I never said I was perfect, perhaps the kitchen table is not an ideal spot to be examining a head for lice. However, I was reading this hand out at the kitchen table, there was no time to change positions, this is an emergency situation people.<br />
<br />
I know that it is treatable. But let me tell you something. If there is lice on my child you will know it. Not only will I call everyone I know close to a nervous breakdown, if you were to drive by my home, it would look like Elliot's home in E.T. when NASA comes to visit. Tubes from doorways to go in and out, white hazmat suits worn. If I find a nit in a hair you will hear me screaming from here to Louisiana.<br />
<br />
I don't even care if you call me an over reactor.<br />
<br />
Listen, an unmentionable smaller entity in what is my large family took themselves and their family away to a family friendly place and hotel and came back with lice. The sweetest place on earth gave them lice. I now, will never take my children to this place. That's how serious I am. I only go to their home now because I love them, and because I have to, they are family. These facts, combined with the fact that the lady of the house is just as obsessive as I am about this horror that invades our scalps. O.k., so perhaps I stayed away for a specific amount of time that was determined by myself, however, once cleared, I was rest assured all proper treatments and precautions were completed 75 times more then what is necessary. <br />
<br />
We just got finished with showers and baths. The girl didn't want to be bothered with one this evening. I, of course, chimed in like a nice calm and rational adult, <em>'Oh no no no....you will get in the shower, you just went to school in a classroom with bugs that could be potentially looking at your dirty hair and thinking, that might make a nice nest. So no, in this house we shower morning and night.'</em><br />
<br />
So thanks to this handout I have been itching my scalp all day long. I have also grabbed my children each time they have walked past me today to examine their heads because you never know when one might make their move. The back pack is on the front porch. <br />
<br />
I don't play. <br />
<br />
Watch we get it. <br />
<br />
What am I going to do?<br />
<br />
I hate school hand outs.<br />
<br />
This will certainly be the next one:<br />
<br />
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<br />On Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12228953768495365708noreply@blogger.com0