tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-113774342024-03-07T19:33:30.481-05:00Whoa MamaUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger396125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-39372269331882657622016-05-04T05:21:00.001-04:002016-05-04T05:25:47.420-04:00Cocktail party or mosh pitPart of what I do at my paid job is organize a scholarship fundraiser. It's a swanky do with big corporate donors whose companies generously give big sponsorships and even an occasional Mr./Ms. Big signing personal checks. Everybody gets a rubber chicken dinner and we try to show them a good time. This year, the venue's overlooks Buffalo's gorgeous waterfront on a Thursday where there is also a huge free concert series. So I'm thinking 'cool! free music on the patio'. Then it occurred to me that one of the awesome things about this concert series is that over the course of the season there is something in every music genre. You get an 'up and comer', a musical equivalent of B-list actor and sometimes you get a 'once was'. With this in mind, I started hoping for Big Bad Voodoo Daddy or Peter Frampton to appeal to the fun side of my event-sponsoring suits. Lance Diamond, may he be playing the perfect set opening for Prince, would have been ideal. I started to think that things could get dicey if the band was really loud. Jackdaw, for example, might be a mood-breaker. Or with the popularity of the movie and HOF induction, an N.W.A cover band wouldn't like meld with Bobby Militello playing inside. Twisted Sister opening for Quiet Riot....oh this doesn't seem like a good idea anymore. Now I'm praying for rain.<br />
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The day arrived yesterday. The concert lineup was announced. We have Charles Bradley, an 'R&B/soul/funk singer songwriter'. YES!!<br />
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To prove that God loves Medaille and wants lots of kids to benefit from scholarships, our event is not on June 23.<br />
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<img src="webkit-fake-url://103e5198-9bab-44a6-a0a4-9fcaf4bf387b/imagepng" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-29827487552829645272014-10-26T08:39:00.001-04:002014-10-27T03:39:32.826-04:00a parenting 5k in the rain with a hill<br />
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Scott is in Iowa for
three months. No he isn’t getting punished. There is a whopper project that he
was asked to go help get back on schedule and budget. Humblebrag be damned.
This was a cool thing for which he was specifically asked and I am really proud
of him (for more on what $400 million of construction looks like, you’ll have
to follow him on Instagram). He’s home every other weekend and that
leaves me as a solo parent for chunks of time.</div>
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This is most
difficult because he is the favorite parent. Ask the boys, they’ll happily and
shamelessly tell you. When I go away, it is good times all the time: video
games and takeout, ice cream and staying up late. I was the stay-at-home
parent, so there is no Cat’s Away Syndrome for me. Plus, I’m trying not to
overemphasize his absence with things like “while Dad’s not here, (<i>fill in the burden placed on them</i>)”. I
am still using my normal MO, which is no party. Again, ask them. They'll tell you. I inflict regular jobs around
the house, enforce Draconian screen time limits, and patch the holes in their
leaky memories for permission slips, book orders and behavior (as in, "I JUST
said to stop touching your brother"). I grasp for some order to the chaos while
not buckling to be their maid. In the words of the only parenting blogger I
read, “aren’t we all just trying not to do the best we can to turn out good
humans without f*cking these kids up”. I just typically have an offensive
coordinator with whom I team to get the overall goals met while specializing on
different elements. I can turn to Scott and say, “will you just please rotate
the laundry and deal with the kitchen after dinner?” and that happens. Needless
to say, there have been lots of boys matching socks for school directly out of
the dryer. </div>
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So far I've found that any break in the routine, i.e. a wedding immediately after a soccer game, is when things get weird. Look closely and you'll see a Hogwarts tie on that one in the front. What you don't see or smell is the evidence of two boys having played soccer hard in the mud then changed clothes and tied real ties in the car. Or that that soccer mom was in a lovely dress at the field and the flip flops that I wore there, I forgot to take off before church.</div>
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It's much easier to just run wild. We did get for a long hike at Letchworth to get the lead out over the long weekend.<br />
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There is no need to
get dramatic about this. It’s an adventure and I’ve got help. My mom and SIL
have brought with meals, my parents have helped with rides and I’m remembering
how to receive support that is offered. My neighbor mowed my lawn and I didn't die of embarrassment. I accepted the offer for the choir mother
to drive them home on Thursday night. I did not, to the letter of the law, need
that. But I got to store to get boys’ winter boots before the snow flies and
pick up donations for choir reception and school fundraisers. Little things
that I needed to do but were so much easier when not sandwiched between drop
off and pick up.</div>
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Scott is home every
other week. At 12, Sam gets the timeline and is largely ok with it. The twins
at 10 are differently squishy. They've been good with each other, provided Sam
remembers he’s not the fill-in parent. The twins both like a little extra love,
which is super easy to give, unless it is after 8pm, because honestly there is a point every night when the premium on quiet and solitude is huge. Then I have to
check myself and remember that they are 10, need an extra long hug (duh!) and
that the care and feeding of their emotional well-being involves simply getting them
through only a few weeks of his absence. They actually, just this minute, piled on the couch with me right now for this event:</div>
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So I'm not running some life marathon (this is more like a 5K in the rain with a hill) and by no means is mine the roughest road but man it is exhausting!!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-41171351199108799092014-07-25T23:01:00.000-04:002014-07-30T22:22:45.075-04:00Throw Back Thursday - This Old House Edition<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivH_20F4ZGKFPhPoYNJ2yrbDBKG9m0hfXsdnubSLKM6NNMzS8W_ayDg2r9iKbl7hP-kHw4cQfIQeA8r27za2Q5cWVzy_FIH71DPZqnoPhhV0HzNWHU_ljg4nGUrZyGaKt_VJub/s1600/DCP_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivH_20F4ZGKFPhPoYNJ2yrbDBKG9m0hfXsdnubSLKM6NNMzS8W_ayDg2r9iKbl7hP-kHw4cQfIQeA8r27za2Q5cWVzy_FIH71DPZqnoPhhV0HzNWHU_ljg4nGUrZyGaKt_VJub/s1600/DCP_0135.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the ultimate #tbt, our first home is for sale again. We bought this home from an elderly gentleman who hadn't lived in the house for some time. When he did live there, he had insulated the walls with newspaper, painted much in puce and band-aid colors and happily used stick on tiles to dress things up. There was one</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> bathroom on the first floor of what could be a walk out first floor; wiping away the realtor speak, it was actually in a filthy basement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bones
of the house were good. It was the starter house to beat all starter
houses. I'm lucky enough to be married to a smart, capable, motivated
man who saw the potential in this house and was willing to champion the
cause. It was a good thing too since I couldn't get near the joint for
months, being 5 weeks pregnant as I was when we closed. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwWymG8rbcJWYcFNlAZaQuPKwMiSELZZhE5UWoBtl0ubtuUSqqYXQJBlIJgDNNinjndIgDpeVuKsW8m5heltDdU5BNEtInGhbKzv7xuMCBzsouCUnOCTSPWwffFj-DYncyyKv/s1600/IM000036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwWymG8rbcJWYcFNlAZaQuPKwMiSELZZhE5UWoBtl0ubtuUSqqYXQJBlIJgDNNinjndIgDpeVuKsW8m5heltDdU5BNEtInGhbKzv7xuMCBzsouCUnOCTSPWwffFj-DYncyyKv/s1600/IM000036.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NOT 5 weeks pregnant</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBjIaaJLBOPg6ZQsD_7UmioZKr5C5F_zio0IdhBoOj6P3j8CxRcRzv8r8ybgR6FQYmi08O1EwkRiRXai0EpsLZ-Sp-n6Xiz0TqaqyVvzC16z8wn2BhTemAXGFKN3fFt2RKTN5/s1600/IM000037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBjIaaJLBOPg6ZQsD_7UmioZKr5C5F_zio0IdhBoOj6P3j8CxRcRzv8r8ybgR6FQYmi08O1EwkRiRXai0EpsLZ-Sp-n6Xiz0TqaqyVvzC16z8wn2BhTemAXGFKN3fFt2RKTN5/s1600/IM000037.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">World's Best Dog</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_S_AbsbNItnAVxCVEQQ-EFWH7go91-cPxcnGKb7pSQZm2gQXyl3tWPPoHbRhrkvgZc8QsV-UXIaX4B8D71Wl0x4OmniqfxZ4XdBWudYqDL39FECcljD5uIa7cqbYw8MxvZns/s1600/IM000398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_S_AbsbNItnAVxCVEQQ-EFWH7go91-cPxcnGKb7pSQZm2gQXyl3tWPPoHbRhrkvgZc8QsV-UXIaX4B8D71Wl0x4OmniqfxZ4XdBWudYqDL39FECcljD5uIa7cqbYw8MxvZns/s1600/IM000398.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK - I'm really serious about the dog.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vOBTh2z0U5w6DOjCNdhbEKjD6bLgLnm0CmjaAGiyLZbd78JJdptYq_Ex2NQTG5ingczN4StdjUahVzKU5tzwGntdhXv0dCl-Rkyp906U0FK1fG50m2B26yFwlfQLW6p1SQs2/s1600/IM001603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vOBTh2z0U5w6DOjCNdhbEKjD6bLgLnm0CmjaAGiyLZbd78JJdptYq_Ex2NQTG5ingczN4StdjUahVzKU5tzwGntdhXv0dCl-Rkyp906U0FK1fG50m2B26yFwlfQLW6p1SQs2/s1600/IM001603.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocky was the best</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scott made
me a walk-in closet. He laid carpet with a knee kicker. He lashed 1/4 of
an acre of over grown yard. He laid floor and hung cabinets. He and his
cousin wired and his dad helped him plumb. My brother painted a
spectacular mural on "the baby's" nursery. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vRKZQUbyQxPVQbR9M9uon5xbf8BvSaHyvgPKjtrLFr0NeZ6ABhmJOlfTRKxW7MdHKihZaJx3OTwG8wOzgfHG6VCEG9BwbqX4U8VKIcfCnX7gClkNDWWYThRuCrpE_ZMcNf1J/s1600/DCP_0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vRKZQUbyQxPVQbR9M9uon5xbf8BvSaHyvgPKjtrLFr0NeZ6ABhmJOlfTRKxW7MdHKihZaJx3OTwG8wOzgfHG6VCEG9BwbqX4U8VKIcfCnX7gClkNDWWYThRuCrpE_ZMcNf1J/s1600/DCP_0108.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this is how you get to the filthy basement</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQXbqEsU16cI7kAEceLHxOYkKGXzlBEowI2snb7n0E-CBkKZgml-QmZjMugiKV8PQenxJr98VbA5P6QJRdylUUPNVlhZileLuYdHVwTpzSyW7_-l9gcPFs_C2RxLRJjETUIBv/s1600/IM001497.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQXbqEsU16cI7kAEceLHxOYkKGXzlBEowI2snb7n0E-CBkKZgml-QmZjMugiKV8PQenxJr98VbA5P6QJRdylUUPNVlhZileLuYdHVwTpzSyW7_-l9gcPFs_C2RxLRJjETUIBv/s1600/IM001497.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and just a year later I let Sam crawl up those same crazy stairs</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TpxN2F2H_0xx_lto3z8-WSCXMa29NuqNLnWP57yLSvB4U5JF2XizZ3eyQPsXyPuXXEjj1bAivKP4cNq_bKo-kdAE9lvFZ_Zcagj-zycEGKnfSJ4YkwnpRbSft-F3q_IUwyvl/s1600/DCP_0105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TpxN2F2H_0xx_lto3z8-WSCXMa29NuqNLnWP57yLSvB4U5JF2XizZ3eyQPsXyPuXXEjj1bAivKP4cNq_bKo-kdAE9lvFZ_Zcagj-zycEGKnfSJ4YkwnpRbSft-F3q_IUwyvl/s1600/DCP_0105.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this IS the filthy basement</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fk-5XHXoZVXaG-6FsErloS79KtgRVM_6WhZIud17ovheQL9dZIjkqty_nmS2mg-iyi4toxSMx_1CO4rZ3guXI8TUKmxRO91m7T2XE-_2dmmj4BMVJt59Y7zT-9Sfuzm1JR0H/s1600/DCP_0106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fk-5XHXoZVXaG-6FsErloS79KtgRVM_6WhZIud17ovheQL9dZIjkqty_nmS2mg-iyi4toxSMx_1CO4rZ3guXI8TUKmxRO91m7T2XE-_2dmmj4BMVJt59Y7zT-9Sfuzm1JR0H/s1600/DCP_0106.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Both rooms</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQ3flh6urtBV7bSCbrgkWFye_geyixAcnpP89KYrBXAM5izuxvmqmXWndA40bE9lLXZUtvbDAagKuUIzW56p35ELkMHWO-elJmYfPbdrv9vSk7u39umRUfOrxOxqjzue8hnGi/s1600/photo+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQ3flh6urtBV7bSCbrgkWFye_geyixAcnpP89KYrBXAM5izuxvmqmXWndA40bE9lLXZUtvbDAagKuUIzW56p35ELkMHWO-elJmYfPbdrv9vSk7u39umRUfOrxOxqjzue8hnGi/s1600/photo+(4).JPG" height="320" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are comfy in the post Duck Dynasty era</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim27jzy-vuJT5pg4zA9XzzI8ULg83VWRdhTFZmHR1hzaUZGQZAH2ZypRWEtvNAahSRBWSq_5MLjpvNqr4ftLm1ZmyPWVx3UXzpDD-udALm_lNZhTiUyXFNAz2ngEsuiaUFHPLA/s1600/IM001444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim27jzy-vuJT5pg4zA9XzzI8ULg83VWRdhTFZmHR1hzaUZGQZAH2ZypRWEtvNAahSRBWSq_5MLjpvNqr4ftLm1ZmyPWVx3UXzpDD-udALm_lNZhTiUyXFNAz2ngEsuiaUFHPLA/s1600/IM001444.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's sitting on the floor that I was once nervous to walk across</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKr1euybeOLRGTL0dGp_9dO0awnE00PhDm3_r4Y6kTictGmhu-iKDUn_ai_y7zUMRT1svrKTyPPPTtM3h0WH-hD5AN1KQKtzmEI0mn4HAZXtE_VgnuVm4abk8_kAf5xmGY8yYo/s1600/IM001363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKr1euybeOLRGTL0dGp_9dO0awnE00PhDm3_r4Y6kTictGmhu-iKDUn_ai_y7zUMRT1svrKTyPPPTtM3h0WH-hD5AN1KQKtzmEI0mn4HAZXtE_VgnuVm4abk8_kAf5xmGY8yYo/s1600/IM001363.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoAUzE2oM-MM6nV38qUdiYaUf9P3pXmcQZIg0Tlm7eEfgk5cNtbHH881xfQWhuIxnVv1uzZZCUgBgRk65jfy2_IEVci2I48xjRBacqsgQfOyD_mfgA0xD5-wM0iBRQhDj2tLtb/s1600/IM001357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoAUzE2oM-MM6nV38qUdiYaUf9P3pXmcQZIg0Tlm7eEfgk5cNtbHH881xfQWhuIxnVv1uzZZCUgBgRk65jfy2_IEVci2I48xjRBacqsgQfOyD_mfgA0xD5-wM0iBRQhDj2tLtb/s1600/IM001357.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUz-bPcJel9eKKkzMtGySRVdv4rn7NGk259izOrh8_aCq4LDwKiC2MmEkGDYgTF1zWTeFKMkD7Y0MK3qqReVFlgzinFgPWPCAcux6Hx1PDNdwUkwmISLiJzDWMXrNWepH2Gw8I/s1600/IM001388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7ixuGgKbAjK3wKWhypmekqgvY9_CoMoDcXc8Ru23Njg3FguJs1NbuQV0Nz3LPKDR6_wd-avCvnF07rknmm6SOeSySZaA4OGGs3PdCyhXEjDCBu2tJabMrVme3YV9mjJ_wXsh/s1600/IM001355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7ixuGgKbAjK3wKWhypmekqgvY9_CoMoDcXc8Ru23Njg3FguJs1NbuQV0Nz3LPKDR6_wd-avCvnF07rknmm6SOeSySZaA4OGGs3PdCyhXEjDCBu2tJabMrVme3YV9mjJ_wXsh/s1600/IM001355.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVC71AdeuBvUw8R-77HsFcBwTCnjhBeQKkUD3TCQLkFlrPRWGaRZb8MNL3JLk9CpsfmYAejIlyOABbVMeknkHyb1pRFjmKk0dZiZtGDl7F43LC8-v8g9ekOMkoan1rNvjICDx/s1600/DCP_0100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVC71AdeuBvUw8R-77HsFcBwTCnjhBeQKkUD3TCQLkFlrPRWGaRZb8MNL3JLk9CpsfmYAejIlyOABbVMeknkHyb1pRFjmKk0dZiZtGDl7F43LC8-v8g9ekOMkoan1rNvjICDx/s1600/DCP_0100.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">see the potential??</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8VwUjWTiSnX-pyAtIG7VFLm1aM4_SPXqSpMthI_q4VOSewPvI4KEyYoiSAgB-O4Nhi_F_1Nlg8AiLiLhK6O530e72pG8wcHlIVjj_b0RbQ_hCtRcGkRUPnREYwygYfQkAtRk/s1600/Kitchen+-+before.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8VwUjWTiSnX-pyAtIG7VFLm1aM4_SPXqSpMthI_q4VOSewPvI4KEyYoiSAgB-O4Nhi_F_1Nlg8AiLiLhK6O530e72pG8wcHlIVjj_b0RbQ_hCtRcGkRUPnREYwygYfQkAtRk/s1600/Kitchen+-+before.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">squint harder</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhiVEQPVnmoElMOp2TcPsgajLAAbaJaIXhc0cdjmwIP0CeO0zGzIIP2nOsgVqdThNDc08IbltDsaLbNwNWn1EwEQOYZF057eL3iC5k1Gl70DjyGia0_Zz30zmx28tMBoV4XO0w/s1600/Kitchen+-+After.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhiVEQPVnmoElMOp2TcPsgajLAAbaJaIXhc0cdjmwIP0CeO0zGzIIP2nOsgVqdThNDc08IbltDsaLbNwNWn1EwEQOYZF057eL3iC5k1Gl70DjyGia0_Zz30zmx28tMBoV4XO0w/s1600/Kitchen+-+After.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihW8q8KMWmwm8EkHbG4pXu9wseUEygdI2xiq57RqCdqUnGJW5OvYZl7lrYHk0fP0rLA8qgbH5oEDJptlxNOJtR2SirRTQznihTlqY40yi9BxqjG_Mo7tTk17Nb0_XOxP2PKTgu/s1600/290517200105_0_ALB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We built a shed together (after Sam was born). I'd like to emphasize that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We built a shed together. </span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've said ever since then that engaged couples should skip pre-cana, marital counseling or any other formal preparation for the big event. They should build a shed together. Here's the rub. One person has to be in charge. One person has to be the helper. Project manager and assistant. It is enlightening, to put it mildly. But I digress.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEZ9EMosrBlEFP26RhQstiWDhH_Oe7r3yrM8hMSsmeyYqpUh12kxXyc52bEtm2-p4j9NJhois1AqdU3SuyEFbLAjWp9QNC9ltfnQph-9Cy4epKaRPBPWXeNxBe56b_4S5LtxNo/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEZ9EMosrBlEFP26RhQstiWDhH_Oe7r3yrM8hMSsmeyYqpUh12kxXyc52bEtm2-p4j9NJhois1AqdU3SuyEFbLAjWp9QNC9ltfnQph-9Cy4epKaRPBPWXeNxBe56b_4S5LtxNo/s1600/photo+3.JPG" height="216" width="320" /></a></div>
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We made a home. It was our first home where we brought home the world's best dog, followed by our first baby. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There wasn't a corner of the house that we did not touch. It was our very own to every detail. It was also full of years of projects and potential and memories and love.</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgoqOB4SiCn8Py-c2mRmvhyphenhyphenadfqopnbOltgmf1-pV2BAM1UT_u2IfIfWmk7wids76X_qPwpTIYqmqh3kTtc0j14pNIuW1sNiAw3erbIFeEBNDX82JkDONAY34KnjvNrQ8EA36/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgoqOB4SiCn8Py-c2mRmvhyphenhyphenadfqopnbOltgmf1-pV2BAM1UT_u2IfIfWmk7wids76X_qPwpTIYqmqh3kTtc0j14pNIuW1sNiAw3erbIFeEBNDX82JkDONAY34KnjvNrQ8EA36/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="264" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Fv70qlOjuckrF0JJFoeoAOBkRn2feoG0G9fnq8kwLZjcLTl3LST4nTXX6qg6zHyH3LvCwOfqhWJNuzdzcdut4uDvgp0pDyGzFxscBndgRsCurBl2plqcGsYeT7AEGL925L8x/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Fv70qlOjuckrF0JJFoeoAOBkRn2feoG0G9fnq8kwLZjcLTl3LST4nTXX6qg6zHyH3LvCwOfqhWJNuzdzcdut4uDvgp0pDyGzFxscBndgRsCurBl2plqcGsYeT7AEGL925L8x/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This
is the kitchen with Scott well into its progress, followed by Sam
making himself at home in it. The last is what it looks like now. See
the exposed tile? This was the flavor of the whole house!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSpBCwfv3anacRgDwXhaJzvNPedkQ8dKJwdAei1DEZ10NY2gLJgju4PMackwDxg2LmYjCuFUYV_XRbUznScPLSvP5J79PJp-v1ug-QUXA5UFCEP603uv_z3uWs_6OlV3L5NNW/s1600/IM001420(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSpBCwfv3anacRgDwXhaJzvNPedkQ8dKJwdAei1DEZ10NY2gLJgju4PMackwDxg2LmYjCuFUYV_XRbUznScPLSvP5J79PJp-v1ug-QUXA5UFCEP603uv_z3uWs_6OlV3L5NNW/s1600/IM001420(1).jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLkes74q8FNBBp8CCZucOZXN9joed6PCFjKQ6u3C4ZTBxPEINHzjmh0EjswMJ1PeqFj6j_2udQsxV3Xjtbaf7-UT_E0gANC8n-bHjlJ9Y94OshN__uyMBn91KtcuPtdu9GpVe/s1600/IM001633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLkes74q8FNBBp8CCZucOZXN9joed6PCFjKQ6u3C4ZTBxPEINHzjmh0EjswMJ1PeqFj6j_2udQsxV3Xjtbaf7-UT_E0gANC8n-bHjlJ9Y94OshN__uyMBn91KtcuPtdu9GpVe/s1600/IM001633.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See the floor under Sam's feet. It started out unwalkable and rotting!</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEh0_PAX_4i2D6QGHDsMvuoMR_VadsJERZZemqemsIDaUVr2MWa3Bbe2-9sJ3GAG7iwP0AHT0mKkqnV1XZ3ylEL2g1U__rC-z4WquJurnepmA0_5-21DDbnwp-R6CAGcdfcflLDjhwxEMnm2TgNUkpswYjtOOsfQQdSA-XI=" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="20 Blake St, Ivoryton, CT 06442" border="0" src="http://photos3.zillowstatic.com/p_h/IS99142fwp46xu1000000000.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the kitchen today with the same drawer pulls that I picked out</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As life
happened, we moved to Buffalo and just in time for the family support
since I didn't know yet, but this was fixing to happen:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZf5auMfCM1AKDqYFR3BI_SjBbJP94perU6QjtCzyK077WZY0H0Xxx8yt0SilPUP7whqqC1v5bpUXS1qQ8RkmFeT-UBO3GX8rvYL6SdOeoUUr_QvW6U9Got_MMQJU7mocbu1VV/s1600/Head+2+Head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZf5auMfCM1AKDqYFR3BI_SjBbJP94perU6QjtCzyK077WZY0H0Xxx8yt0SilPUP7whqqC1v5bpUXS1qQ8RkmFeT-UBO3GX8rvYL6SdOeoUUr_QvW6U9Got_MMQJU7mocbu1VV/s1600/Head+2+Head.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember how
things all happen for a reason....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this week, I told my mom about the house being for sale and how the soon-to-be former owners converted Sam's awesome seascaped nursery into a bathroom. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXW2jgx5JJbrXx7waKPkZC7JZ-Zs9tC26ghv9jcpWhRmnIyjEFGTwuJPCdJ0jLxAq1UAt1Ru2QvdgdqVsoRHJlZdDkdwjBE_Ign-lPa96pkwdpd1oxyCn-VK3ch7y6hJ1eIRv/s1600/door+corner2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXW2jgx5JJbrXx7waKPkZC7JZ-Zs9tC26ghv9jcpWhRmnIyjEFGTwuJPCdJ0jLxAq1UAt1Ru2QvdgdqVsoRHJlZdDkdwjBE_Ign-lPa96pkwdpd1oxyCn-VK3ch7y6hJ1eIRv/s1600/door+corner2.JPG" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
<img alt="20 Blake St, Ivoryton, CT 06442" src="http://photos3.zillowstatic.com/p_h/ISlqu3jvj1gexu1000000000.jpg" height="240" width="320" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She said how sad it had made her, how she couldn't believe how quickly time passed since Sam was that small. In truth, I'm not sad. Sure I can feel Sam the infant with the intoxicating smell and whispering breath on my neck snuggling in that fabulous nursery. I smile at the silly toddler whose sense of humor came early and with abandon. That boy has grown up so happy, healthy, smart, strong and kind and still silly and fun like that little mopped headed boy who adored his "gee gog" (good dog). I couldn't wish for anything more. As new parents, we were full of anxiety and excitement for the unknown. Now we know, the tiny thing that changed every fiber of our being is turning out to be quite something.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">While this boy melts me to smush</span>.....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim27jzy-vuJT5pg4zA9XzzI8ULg83VWRdhTFZmHR1hzaUZGQZAH2ZypRWEtvNAahSRBWSq_5MLjpvNqr4ftLm1ZmyPWVx3UXzpDD-udALm_lNZhTiUyXFNAz2ngEsuiaUFHPLA/s1600/IM001444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim27jzy-vuJT5pg4zA9XzzI8ULg83VWRdhTFZmHR1hzaUZGQZAH2ZypRWEtvNAahSRBWSq_5MLjpvNqr4ftLm1ZmyPWVx3UXzpDD-udALm_lNZhTiUyXFNAz2ngEsuiaUFHPLA/s1600/IM001444.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> .....give me this creature who I know is doing ok in the world all day any day.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1UL5HHnXhDntHiN2tpYzPrbv24AVREVxOdge-IMrgTpDjlUR8x2Wr4VO5EuNkdXEyVCgnYOCeAjmpByFGP31IDBuvVyOHpKhWKP8Eor52CShGbFni98IqW7nliwZ0FHuMMmb/s1600/photo(13).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1UL5HHnXhDntHiN2tpYzPrbv24AVREVxOdge-IMrgTpDjlUR8x2Wr4VO5EuNkdXEyVCgnYOCeAjmpByFGP31IDBuvVyOHpKhWKP8Eor52CShGbFni98IqW7nliwZ0FHuMMmb/s1600/photo(13).JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And the rest of the critters are pretty great too. The journey has been tough, unpredictable, and at times quite harrowing. Though it is the day-by-day experiences that have brought us here and I wouldn't change this place for anything. I wish the former owners well and the future owners this much happiness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
the house? Well the house in most pragmatic terms, was a terrific house
and good investment. So here's to a Throw Back Thursday that reminds me
of how I've enjoyed the bumpy journey and boundlessly grateful I am for
the blessings of my little family.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">There were standard prescribed food choices which included iceberg lettuce in the sparsely vegetabled salad, an Olympic swimming pool of mashed potatoes and stuffed rubber chicken, all finished off with a flatbed of cookies. Did I mention the pasta salad, which was more like a dressing soup with noodles floating in it?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">As I embarked on the journey down this nutritional pothole, I filled my plate with salad, aiming for the anemic cucumbers and pale tomatoes. With my plate 3/4 full, I was planning for some protein when I met a second stack of larger plates. Wait. What?? I had a plate already. I quickly realize that I was holding a salad plate. I held in my hands our nation's problem with our collective waistlines: a salad plate the size of a steering wheel.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">"Forge on. Stay focused", I'm chanting to myself. The steamed carrots and green beans were a welcomed sight despite being odds on favored to have the same consistency as the noodles. Those got some real estate, leaving just enough space for what I learn is seafood stuffed sole. Huzzah!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">There was no plate showing anymore, which means no room for those pieces peanut butter chocolate heaven. I loooove all things peanut butter and chocolate. I guess adults aren't as sensitive as children to peanut butter, which we all know cannot cross the precipice of any elementary school without certain anaphalaxis. But I digress.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Settling in at the table, I realized that I am the only one not having filled two steering wheels. I vow to eat slowly, put my fork down and drink water to avoid finishing first and going back for more, or worse, for cookies. I'm sure that the cookies would have been delish, but I'm not sure I would have felt delightful after I ate one. I only wanted one because they bookended the table. I did visit them to make sure that I didn't actually want one, and I resisted and used the trip to get coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">SUCCESS! I was satisfied without bad choices!!!! It was a win, since with the 2.5 hour drive on either end of the luncheon, I had no time to move with any meaning. On to a new day!</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-1848687384718796842014-02-27T20:37:00.002-05:002014-03-11T14:34:53.367-04:00Your 24.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I, you, everybody has a shortage of time. We've all got our own details but the end result is the same. We each have 24 hours that we choose to fill. But we do get to choose. It is easy to get caught up in life's demands and go the Steve Martin a la Parenthood route ["My whole life is 'have to'."]. I inherently disagree. Now this is not suggesting that I am practicing life with no schedules or obligations. And I categorically dismiss the More magazine midlife model of "Follow-Your-Passion-and-Everything-Will-Be-OK" bunk. I've yet to see much opportunity to pay off that relentless witch, Sallie Mae, while reading on the beach. That's not really my passion so much as my vacation anyway. There persists though this implication that because I'm over 40, I need to start wearing gauzy wraps and dismiss my entire life to follow some as-yet-to-be-identified untrod route. But I digress.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I espouse a philosophy that amounts to "Make the Most of What You've Got in the 24 Hours Granted". For me, that includes a daily practice of being in gratitude for what I have and for what I have lived through, while being my best today and consistently maintaining my health. Life ebbs and tides and with it I just try to always fold in a run, weights, walk, Pilates, etc. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am not a creature of habit so resolutions and declaration of "never again" or "always" are non-starters. That said, I'm do try to keep active; consistency is bonus. I've started to go to the gym a couple times a week on my lunch. This is revolutionary since I usually eat at my desk. It isn't a hard core 90 minute burn but more like a 30 minute drive through. It is definitely better than more sitting. It makes me happier and quite simply I'm choosing to make more out of the winter days when hibernation is so tempting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is today: </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I zip to the Y this afternoon and negotiate with myself that 30 minutes of a 45 minute Zumba class was ok. Despite all of the </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">proselytizing, I really do have a 1:30 meeting that I can't stink at.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I jump into the class, my first one at the Y. I'm used to a certain non-Y instructor. But I'm going to roll with it until I spot the bad ass teaching the class grimacing at us. And I don't like her music. I take it back. I can be a creature of habit if that means the things I like won't change. Seriously, she's got her mean face on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The music gets better and I recognize some steps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I remember what I love about Zumba. Everybody is shaking their money maker. EVERYBODY. Sure there is a beautiful people here and there but so is everybody else. There are timid women with hips going all the way north and all the way south with a visit to the west in the middle. There is some whooping and cheering. It occurs to me that the cat-calling whooper is </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">not</i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> the instructor. It is the seriously overweight woman in the front row, having a blast! You can't help but get swept up in that kind of enthusiasm. Again remembering that Zumba is where everyone comes together. Everybody dances to their own beat. Another example, I'm directly behind a man who retired in the Carter Administration and he's not a sassy silver-maned Casanova. I'm sure he's leaving this class to head directly to Voelkers to bowl a few sets before going home to watch the game on the divan in his garage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But everybody loves to dance, right? Well the person who really blew me away was behind me . In a wheelchair. Not temporarily. She was also not there for the first time. She was moving it! </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was doing all the arm motions. And making it count while my two left feet were tripping over each other. Wow. Just wow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When my 30 minutes were up and I had to bounce, I wanted to tell her that I thought she was awesome. Then I remembered how I don't like when strangers try to chat with me either. So I buzzed by and said, "have a good workout", praying that what she heard was, "you make the world optimistic around you". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Freshened up, still a little schvitzen and buoyant, I went back to my day, assured that we all get to choose how to make the best out of the 24 we've got. I'll be choosing wisely, with inspiration.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-35868724727306045382013-11-23T14:19:00.001-05:002014-03-11T13:26:58.664-04:00many hands make light workWe are in the middle of a kitchen renovation. This is only plural because we all live here. Scott is doing all of the work. Except when he has a job for a boy, then they fall over each other to be the one who successfully wins the bid. This morning, Scott called out, "who wants to help?". He was snapping a line. The tacit permission to cross over the forbidden boundary brought him a team of roadies. And a few observations and questions:<br />
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-don't let that fall.<br />
-do you need tape or glue?<br />
-you poke a lot of holes in the walls.<br />
-what's under there?<br />
-can I go under there?<br />
-I always imagine what would happen if the ceiling fell<br />
-do you ever pull the string out all the way<br />
no.<br />
why not?<br />
because I've never needed to.<br />
but can you.?<br />
yes.<br />
but why haven't you?<br />
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-what are you trying to do?<br />
-that doesn't sound good<br />
-do you need that screw?<br />
can I collect it?<br />
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- I know I cannot but if I could cut that, how hard would it me for me?<br />
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while measuring, calculating, cutting, hoisting and drilling,my husband patiently, kindly and loving answered all of these questions and took in the comments. in return, his adoring fans confirmed (as if there was ever a doubt) that he holds the trophy.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-12858603841178805872013-11-14T21:58:00.003-05:002013-11-14T22:01:42.506-05:00Ode to the 6th Grade BandSitting through the Middle School Concert tonight, I was unexpectedly enveloped in nostalgia. As a former band geek, the band tugged my heart strings with fond memories. I smiled often while thinking back on the "Tour" to Cedar Point, the annual competition for first chair in piccolo and joy of hanging up the feathered coffee can hats at the end of each marching band season when I could settle into my seat as the lone bassoonist. Moreover, I was reminded how truly grateful I am for the depth of experience and enduring connections borne from making music together.<br />
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In my wistfulness, a few observations came to mind:<br />
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1. Brass players, especially trumpeters, tap with unfettered determination.<br />
2. Dissonant pieces featuring mythical creatures hide a great deal of questionable fingering.<br />
3. No pop song is beyond the reach of band music. I submit into evidence the LHS rendition of Only the Young and tonight's Beach Boys tune during which those cheeky bastards all popped on sunglasses.<br />
4. Syncopation is like eyeshadow. You can follow the instructions, but you've got to grow up to really get it right.<br />
5. Starter percussionists do go "boom chink boom chink boom chink chink", just like the elementary school band teacher used to call out to keep them on track. (name please? anyone?)<br />
6. There is a very short menu of middle school jazz pieces to choose from.<br />
7. All band/orchestra instructors unbutton their performance vest to be more hip when the jazz band plays. It never works.<br />
8. The kid with long hair, the purple electric guitar, bandanna on his head and leather jacket over the requisite band t-shirt clearly doesn't like the choice of music but knows he's got to learn the fundamentals. Kudos. You'll do fine, kid. In Lackawanna, circa 1988, we had him too except it was drums and he sported the full marching band attire with a long, bitchin mullet . RIP Kevin.<br />
9. And finally, it is my fondest hope that the 11 y.o. bassoonist is fierce and unapologetic for bucking the allure of the violin, flute and clarinet. Well, that and that she gets to play "The Blue and the Grey" someday. It really is a fabulous piece for the instrument.<br />
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I've got a lot of years of middle and high school concerts in front of me. I hope at each one I'll remember what the music is giving back to the kids as I'm treated to "In the Mood", Gershwin Medleys, Madonna as sheet music and Sleigh Ride.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-74973915518925712162013-11-11T08:19:00.000-05:002013-11-11T08:19:50.066-05:00the platitudes of gratitude<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a not-so-creative nod to the day of over indulgence, many of us have taken the challenge to express daily gratitude on Facebook. Now before I get to dismissive, I do live with a healthy, sincere, active sense of gratitude.There isn't a day when I don't thank God for the blessings of my life, including the strength to conquer the tough stuff. I do largely enjoy the opportunity to publicly express some reflection but it doesn't stop an irreverent shout out to caffeine. It does seem that a catalog of one liners falls short of what I really feel blessed by.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So last week when I named *teachers* as the winners of the thankful lottery, it demanded more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been reflecting all day on people who have had life changing effects on me and my family as their role as teachers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was the band teacher who suggested that I pick up the bassoon, which paved the way for serious character development through the awkward junior high school years. Mrs Hadrovik and Mrs Sufflita and John Smokowski who nurtured creativity through literature, art and drama. Madame Haenlin who told me I couldn't go to France with my minimal language skills. Screwing up determination, I worked harder and pushed hard to break through the barrier between me and le <span style="line-height: 16px;">passé composé and other tense mysteries</span> to spend an amazing 5 months in Paris and Provence. It was a once in a lifetime experience and came away with one of my very best friends.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While my own positive relationship with education and those who facilitate it has decades of fodder to inspire my gratitude (and the student loans to show for it), it is the teachers who have impacted my children that moved me to give more than a Facebook thanks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the mother of three young children, there were more than a few days when I dropped Sam at his few hours at the Buffalo JCC in tears from exhaustion. A few years later, I would almost gleefully get a wild pair of twins Happy Times after putting Sammy on the school bus and think, "Good Luck teachers. They've had syrup!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have bright kids. Period. They are smart. Whether that is the luck of the genetic draw, my vicious, unrelentingly militant limits on screen time, Scott's extra 'challenges' or just that we didn't let them eat paint chips, they are academic liabilities. You read that right. All three learn quickly, like doing well but will not challenge themselves for the achievement. They need not just to be pushed but to be balanced. I don't think it is luck, but the nature of teachers, that these boys love school and have so far done very well. That is all teacher.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every teacher in every school has developed a connection to school and community. Every teacher we have ever had has bridged a relationship between the child and learning. We have been so privileged to literally hit the lottery at EVCS, with the boys in classes of 25 and at least 2 teachers in each class. From the first week, when the class took a walking field trip through their urban neighborhood to tour city hall, I knew we were in the right place. Then when Mrs. Sullivan spoke to Sam about challenging himself to learn different things than what he already knew, we were thrilled. She was also the teacher who had the vision to see that A&N could read a mature book on Harriet Tubman and facilitated a self-directed project. They did a 'moving poster' showing Harriet escaping her master after a vicious beating. They were 6.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was Mrs. Ebony who gently and firmly insisted that kindergartners learn the value effective communication and Mrs. Gainey who wouldn't let a day pass without having 'stumped' Aidan and Noah on something. Mrs. Smith sets the bar high, works tirelessly to help all kids achieve that bar and demands their best. Mrs. MacDonald and Mrs. Leswing, who from Day One would not let Sam do anything but his very best while giving all fifth graders the respect and challenge to rise up to be 'middle schoolers'. The humor, honesty, creativity and energy that they brought every day kept my kid not at par, but challenged and engaged in a year when he could have gotten lost.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my gratitude for teachers is a well-formed, deep, and unabiding. Each one of these remarkable people start each day giving their heart and soul to the future of children. Each one goes home every day to their own children and lives having made a difference in the fabric of the community.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ps - I am posting this on Veterans Day and I'm not a good enough writer to tackle that, apart from saying that all of this, to you, 100 fold. Except if it is a room of 2nd graders then you might be on an even playing field with teachers. Gratitude abounds.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwyCXq5C9UGR103nb49rtdA24dJe-OT4kqkQBxwqgp6FAROmFDlrbSeO1QQyiCT6maxer8Ygaz5Dlj-nva1ME3kBBLuRoAIObEJ66G_8MeJykvSn3CVObjTIcHqwOxVTl3tH_/s1600/179159_10151057399035782_2139433734_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwyCXq5C9UGR103nb49rtdA24dJe-OT4kqkQBxwqgp6FAROmFDlrbSeO1QQyiCT6maxer8Ygaz5Dlj-nva1ME3kBBLuRoAIObEJ66G_8MeJykvSn3CVObjTIcHqwOxVTl3tH_/s320/179159_10151057399035782_2139433734_n.jpg" width="240" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-65575952383554227532013-05-23T21:41:00.000-04:002013-05-23T21:41:20.430-04:00When you want to go Erica, go Vicki. Tina is never an option.<br />
"Noah fell off the monkey bars. Can you come pick him up?"<br />
"Mommy, my belly doesn't feel good."<br />
"We're going to take him for a CT Scan"<br />
"Noah, you could give lessons on being a good patient to some adults we see."<br />
"Mom. We have an issue."<br />
"No, buddy, sorry. We can't turn on the sirens"<br />
"You'll meet with the neurosurgeon"<br />
"He'll be admitted."<br />
"Mommy, I wish this never happened."<br />
"We'll need another CT Scan."<br />
"Of course you can have bread stick with breakfast."<br />
"I wish I didn't have this IV"<br />
"I know Noah will be ok, Mommy, because you said so."<br />
"Can we step out?"<br />
<br />
abnormalneurologicallyexcessivebloodconsenttotreatangioplastysurgeryifnecessary<br />
<br />
"Will there be restrictions?"<br />
"I'm 90% sure"<br />
"Mommy, one of my children got carried off by an eagle."<br />
"He'll be in good hands"<br />
"The test was negative."<br />
"Discharge"<br />
"Mommy, the list of things I'm happy about is about 50 feet long"<br />
"No running, jumping, swimming, diving, recess, gym class for 2 weeks."<br />
"It's all good news."<br />
<br />
Amen. Alleluia. Good night.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-52823457312278781022013-03-05T21:39:00.002-05:002013-03-05T21:44:29.756-05:00Luck of the Running Irish <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In Buffalo, when we run races in
cold weather it is very often to come out of hibernation and have the
opportunity to drink beer. It is important to note that the annual Shamrock Run
also comes with the extra added bonus of coinciding with the High Holiday so
the post-party is such a big deal that they charge an entry fee for
non-runners, of which there were gobs! Only the actual runners got to enjoy
beer on the race route though, when not one, not two, but three different
establishments passed out beer like water. Ah Buffalo!</div>
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I do love races regardless of the
occasion. I love the spirit of camaraderie, the faux athleticism of those in it
for the beer, the truth grit of those in it to win it, the good natured chatter
and happy energy that foreshadows the starting gun. There are always outlandish get ups to see.
The Shamrock Run traditionally brings out the hardwired crazy of St. Patricks Day and couples it with
general sense of cabin fever for an achievable 8k. That means wacky outfits don’t
have to hold up for all that long. Now that I’ve mentioned it, I find it
annoying a predictable 5 miler has been replaced by the foreign and mildly insulting
8k. I just want to do 5 bona fide miles without having to add on which means I’ve
got to be either a pre- or a post-runner to get to the round five. I’m neither
of those. You know the ones I’m talking about? The runners whose gear all
matches, who run to the starting line because it is easier than fighting
traffic to get dropped off. They are the hardly sweaty folks running backwards
up the route cheering on those of us poor slogs who will never see the sunny
side of an eight minute mile unless being chased by zombies. I know you
are out there and we are friends with you (Laina & Sarah, if I’m talking to
you, I promise it is meant in the nicest way ), but the pre-runners are intimidating and post-runners just seem less coachy
and more showy. </div>
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<br /></div>
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When running
not-quite-five-miles, you can sport almost bling and on Saturday, so many
people did. The kilts were so commonplace that they are almost not worth
mentioning. There was bountiful headgear and why I haven’t yet gotten myself a
tutu is a mystery. I will be remedying that. Things that have never occurred to
me include a Spiderman costume with or without the complementary 8” afro or Speedos.
There was not one but two teen specimens dressed for an Olympic swim meet
straight down to the swim cap and hairlessness.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am not a fast runner. I can get the job done
but it is never fast. For the Shamrock Run, I tried compression socks for the
first time. They are comfy and feel good and I want them in every color
including nude so I can wear them all the time. They do not however make me
fast. I enjoyed them in neon green on the outside of my tights in honor of the occasion.
They did not make me faster than usual so you can imagine my surprise when at
mile 2, I went barreling by Spiderman. I mean I blew past him. He was panting
and doubled over, holding a stitch. I may never win a race; I may never complete
a full marathon; I am not breaking any records. I am only competing against
myself and I can say this with 100% surety.<br />
<br />
Because I beat Spiderman.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-10103732648466634302013-02-21T21:04:00.000-05:002013-02-21T21:10:14.302-05:00Never assume that a drive is just driveThis is an actual conversation with the 8, 8, and 10 year old boys, but that detail is painfully apparent.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Noah: Mommy, I don’t
like driving by that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Replicas_of_Michelangelo's_David" target="_blank">statue</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: Which one?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Noah: That one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Sam: Of Michelangelo’s David.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Noah: Because he’s naked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: What’d wrong with that? It’s just a body. Yours will
look like that some day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Aidan: But I can see his nuts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>[sensing an opportunity for education]</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: What are you talking about when you say “nuts”?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Noah: His penis.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: You are wrong. When guys talk about their nuts they are
talking about the other part of your privates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Noah: Sometimes me and Aidan squeeze those.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: Each others?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Noah: No. Our own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: Do you know what they are really called? </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">[silence]</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: Your testicles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Aidan: That sounds like popsicles</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>[Insert eruptive laughter followed by tick-like repetition
of the word “testicle”. Still trying to end on an educational note, I try to bring it home with: ]</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Me: Sooooooo if you have any
questions about your body or any changes, you can ask Daddy or me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Noah: Like if I get a third testicle?</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-51167662068322537692013-01-30T21:05:00.001-05:002013-01-30T21:12:26.256-05:00All before 7am<div style="text-align: justify;">
This morning, after I walked the dog for 1.5 miles, changed the laundry, made lunches, matched socks, made breakfasts, took out the trash and mopped up under the leaking garbage disposal, then I got the boys up. Sam is pretty autonomous. Aidan is usually first dressed, down and chatting. The minute I wake Noah, this starts the kind daily nudging of the boy who entered the world 5 weeks early because he was ready and promptly refused to eat because he wasn't ready. Noah continues to do what he feels like when he feels like it. Aidan soldiered on because his roommate got them evicted and has been trying to do the right thing ever since to make up for any misunderstanding that this scene was his fault.</div>
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Fast forward almost 9 years and injustices are still befalling Aidan and he gets pissed off about it. Largely he is unnecessarily pickly, but then his older brother does make certain to imposed all the rights and consequences of birth order upon Aidan especially. Noah, less so, because Noah just doesn't let Sam bug him too much. Aidan is a gratifying target because he howls at Sam and Sam continues to push his buttons. Point being, Sam and Aidan are the two that butt heads often.</div>
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This morning Sam presented himself in the kitchen wearing a tie. The only explanation I pried out of him, an hour later on the way to school, was because after a formal debate in class about manners, it occurred to him that he was getting sloppy. "Mommy, _____ and _____ wear pants that are practically pajama pants. That is disrespectful and I was starting to get that way too". (<i>Note: #1 - this child has once ever worn ripped pants to school and they didn't leave the house that way and #2 last week manufactured an Q@%$ing tantrum of biblical proportions because I made change out of the sweatshirt he tried to wear for the third day in a row</i>.) So my dapper, tie-clad fellow goes on to politely request permission to bring his Kindle to afterschool. He is holding said device like a platter in front of him. Then, as I voice my concerns, like Copperfield he is twirling his stocking-filler, combination lock in front of my face to demonstrate that he's thought out the security plan.</div>
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I press on. "I would still rather you bring a paperback"</div>
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Sam: "But I don't have any of the classics in paperback"</div>
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Mom: (shhhht - well played)</div>
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I revert to the rules. "Tell me again what the instructions are at afterschool about electronics". To his credit, he gave me a very detailed answer and let me think about it. Aidan, Sam's nemesis, the one Sam delights in teasing, who Sam will go out of his way to poke literally and figuratively, quietly appeared behind Sam, with a sweet smile, carrying this stack and said, "you can borrow any of our classics, Sam"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuFSGyoQ4hWj8D99lWkDuU8TNOt4HQteYVxQ6KUEa7wsXu3Ht3W59Fz848eIRir2ZRa582-3yT8X9IPOlczEYHiSea6U9V3FP-G2OS0kRCctaiGlkzS_HAOIFekFaf-qFRZhv/s1600/book+stack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuFSGyoQ4hWj8D99lWkDuU8TNOt4HQteYVxQ6KUEa7wsXu3Ht3W59Fz848eIRir2ZRa582-3yT8X9IPOlczEYHiSea6U9V3FP-G2OS0kRCctaiGlkzS_HAOIFekFaf-qFRZhv/s320/book+stack.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I'm reduced to a pond of proud tears and buckle on the Kindle.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-79447818109170602392013-01-05T21:08:00.002-05:002013-01-05T21:11:54.072-05:00When I'm not looking<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I
often tell the boys that they need to be on their best behavior when I'm
not looking. Yeah<b>,</b> I'm sure I actually mean just be good out there in
the world. However, often the immediate intent is to mitigate the times I
walk in on someone jumping from anxiety and shock of "being caught"
doing whatever: playing with the dog when he is supposed to be eating,
horsing around with a brother, fingers in any manner of orifice where it
does not belong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What that doesn't cover is stuff I discover that has nothing to is just unexpected, quirky and damn funny.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There are so many funny things I've stumbled upon over the years: </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIDGtnNugD067QTZdl16HzxJiHOY2opTW84zmEmb-rscjVRJGa6ucRongR2vLZiT_spGNATjohbETINMQgA5sN5jrpr5YUPYX718bkOhyphenhyphen4wPxrniGVAU-ULo5yPAOMtPxN5vU/s1600/1918_43233190781_8408_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIDGtnNugD067QTZdl16HzxJiHOY2opTW84zmEmb-rscjVRJGa6ucRongR2vLZiT_spGNATjohbETINMQgA5sN5jrpr5YUPYX718bkOhyphenhyphen4wPxrniGVAU-ULo5yPAOMtPxN5vU/s320/1918_43233190781_8408_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">not to be caught off guard by any land lubbers</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_St8b2_eyr7N244pHhxGC7oxvhFWKTbqKXLplRyB7gW13wu3Jzvcn5507ifn7otwH4kA5i6dEzJt8yVhqj5eRPIzt3zBh9rdm3xkzadCr2AA_hiN_hBshi7b6z48MdAVBDmC/s1600/1918_43233140781_5430_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_St8b2_eyr7N244pHhxGC7oxvhFWKTbqKXLplRyB7gW13wu3Jzvcn5507ifn7otwH4kA5i6dEzJt8yVhqj5eRPIzt3zBh9rdm3xkzadCr2AA_hiN_hBshi7b6z48MdAVBDmC/s320/1918_43233140781_5430_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">How you read your big brother's library book </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CAk8MDJAWwIK01TBIYn_bQephyjWBNhyfBGYbxjhdcjB5jY3mXpWIonBWihASjeKS4j1TVQgneCuqD-6viU63NAFvIQHh0Zgqsp8xQhRhxJ73lnjJraiqEpfcV2627roQ6aY/s320/448_36096835781_1988_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Having a snack on the train</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAuIBlhWRGy3KVyURNpu3oUVJmzw683VQXhKlovauGHsr1b8JG_RvC2XrkWa2SgUEYHbJZ2eFPbTCKGJBii6o2uN8esbP-aW4vIzObv33e_4Ad8wJwK1jGJX51KQgm0M3NqIj/s1600/208778_10150154676935782_872602_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAuIBlhWRGy3KVyURNpu3oUVJmzw683VQXhKlovauGHsr1b8JG_RvC2XrkWa2SgUEYHbJZ2eFPbTCKGJBii6o2uN8esbP-aW4vIzObv33e_4Ad8wJwK1jGJX51KQgm0M3NqIj/s320/208778_10150154676935782_872602_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Hi Mommy, How was your trip?"</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LFGoLC4GB2S7mX_3sEc7LHrTVw4f8a-3XmJB8SoSDTDA_l7L-aUDvvd_Hr2Hweq97WAF9PlczoZsHVS3RNPMSQyjGnMtQYqXAbkykQybLp3-kIahNaAYwuucaZ27jVtZoDH9/s1600/photo(5).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LFGoLC4GB2S7mX_3sEc7LHrTVw4f8a-3XmJB8SoSDTDA_l7L-aUDvvd_Hr2Hweq97WAF9PlczoZsHVS3RNPMSQyjGnMtQYqXAbkykQybLp3-kIahNaAYwuucaZ27jVtZoDH9/s320/photo(5).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1vOg9vFxGv1NXw3Zuo3NtF4aIEICnxtIp85_dKQpcRuPG4d2danHA5GWAvREVF7OtYPkzulQRBlOJ609fJtGaWCApxxZxNzKlxYlb1v1E2VOCxPAKAmitXSCJExd287iuV2y/s1600/389328_10150702969810782_1666812767_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1vOg9vFxGv1NXw3Zuo3NtF4aIEICnxtIp85_dKQpcRuPG4d2danHA5GWAvREVF7OtYPkzulQRBlOJ609fJtGaWCApxxZxNzKlxYlb1v1E2VOCxPAKAmitXSCJExd287iuV2y/s320/389328_10150702969810782_1666812767_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">too attached to the Bandits Banner to part with it before church</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1m5BfQKSVyQhjTE4k6W4Tqvk_q0EZ3ZzAsS9ByqeEL6ozN4VQ6LgSdktHr5gtZXASe1NGAq6GJUiGKHfIRgAt742gG-BKhu5QF8xZKdTmk3agBJSyBWPhT1ujAs43dXtX2B6L/s1600/417263_10150671601480782_1221220548_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1m5BfQKSVyQhjTE4k6W4Tqvk_q0EZ3ZzAsS9ByqeEL6ozN4VQ6LgSdktHr5gtZXASe1NGAq6GJUiGKHfIRgAt742gG-BKhu5QF8xZKdTmk3agBJSyBWPhT1ujAs43dXtX2B6L/s320/417263_10150671601480782_1221220548_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Safety First</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xs2RD6KGmXbB8v3-NCksDwDk_iy6wj2Ug9le4DoTf5B2O2IEaUNCT6OcGTxdd3E2NjmW-oInrxMKoeDKejuO7zRmhq63ohXpztGoqf_eHHv-jvu4fYQ1RG8ksK9oUPs9chON/s1600/431274_10150655688000782_342214932_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xs2RD6KGmXbB8v3-NCksDwDk_iy6wj2Ug9le4DoTf5B2O2IEaUNCT6OcGTxdd3E2NjmW-oInrxMKoeDKejuO7zRmhq63ohXpztGoqf_eHHv-jvu4fYQ1RG8ksK9oUPs9chON/s320/431274_10150655688000782_342214932_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">ummmm</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Halloween decorations have been known to go from this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PA9FSXAXaUIdyG_P27QsZX1x-H4BsRz-kp-c5ghRLT0dCX1EC9kKXCIjIYlcSJ1MydQCowehzOUjhGj3v-zLr_hY3rQDEuykL-2EINvM5jMM5n55W87RFhZ6VPuE4xM8AMgU/s1600/1+125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PA9FSXAXaUIdyG_P27QsZX1x-H4BsRz-kp-c5ghRLT0dCX1EC9kKXCIjIYlcSJ1MydQCowehzOUjhGj3v-zLr_hY3rQDEuykL-2EINvM5jMM5n55W87RFhZ6VPuE4xM8AMgU/s320/1+125.jpg" width="240" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">to a less lonely arrangement </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwleHT7vO7eaKQZfDMfPpzyEpcn-92VZIy-wRVDhdA7X810iADNFhkF8vw03ZxBoCtlY8U-jWOQ2_u226fv37LTT-WIaj6-RNjnTU1oGSOokuI4R9d7xZjKhjmE1G0ovau95mW/s1600/1+123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwleHT7vO7eaKQZfDMfPpzyEpcn-92VZIy-wRVDhdA7X810iADNFhkF8vw03ZxBoCtlY8U-jWOQ2_u226fv37LTT-WIaj6-RNjnTU1oGSOokuI4R9d7xZjKhjmE1G0ovau95mW/s320/1+123.jpg" width="240" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">to just a friend to talk to (they are face to face here) </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxq2uL7WYVw3GWVpPy33JtpQW38_sNExFJeGe94FPyHZgVgRe1bqs-X86N97kZNEht54cnwNSzZ-n76Y0Q6-qMgXhXs4YjQkbZAghylG_1GP5nWUtG17_SRFXX3WhOqgUU5c7/s1600/1+124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxq2uL7WYVw3GWVpPy33JtpQW38_sNExFJeGe94FPyHZgVgRe1bqs-X86N97kZNEht54cnwNSzZ-n76Y0Q6-qMgXhXs4YjQkbZAghylG_1GP5nWUtG17_SRFXX3WhOqgUU5c7/s320/1+124.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tw5xUdKRhIvoPk8LVmfJoetnIkgEZVxudDQCQ2gujmRGRrGOq6eVZSV5tWWJw5z2gL9ThgXNLYLbl8rYa7OO6HNDUDdQ9xjhLFm0QVMhjCR6FVkJXHn5-VkxBYlTu0DogPlP/s1600/boys+in+the+window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tw5xUdKRhIvoPk8LVmfJoetnIkgEZVxudDQCQ2gujmRGRrGOq6eVZSV5tWWJw5z2gL9ThgXNLYLbl8rYa7OO6HNDUDdQ9xjhLFm0QVMhjCR6FVkJXHn5-VkxBYlTu0DogPlP/s320/boys+in+the+window.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">reading in the window seat</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5m8ZZFvdUEaVOt8_0DowfaFNt7r265eILO7cwUYAZB1_y3DPH01UJSLc6ehTQFIJz1ziZltrBasUM0jpogexwcghnsYh1rmTOLoTFBD1EnnwWgEI7mcsdB3PxtniXepyVxEW/s1600/1+110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5m8ZZFvdUEaVOt8_0DowfaFNt7r265eILO7cwUYAZB1_y3DPH01UJSLc6ehTQFIJz1ziZltrBasUM0jpogexwcghnsYh1rmTOLoTFBD1EnnwWgEI7mcsdB3PxtniXepyVxEW/s320/1+110.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">when Mommy doesn't get those games down quickly enough</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOUBrFHIoh4IFElu1LIGkQLh0AS13qht9HwNxvAk4rt0ih0-qDYcFqYXoKd_1v2Y92D8BiGhhmDiExDunGlvpW6eUJ3xL2qC7HTd27ifBnv0oHNQm35SJTR-maVKfSr_kaNIy/s1600/552890_10150689272450782_1566618589_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOUBrFHIoh4IFElu1LIGkQLh0AS13qht9HwNxvAk4rt0ih0-qDYcFqYXoKd_1v2Y92D8BiGhhmDiExDunGlvpW6eUJ3xL2qC7HTd27ifBnv0oHNQm35SJTR-maVKfSr_kaNIy/s320/552890_10150689272450782_1566618589_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">well, what would YOU do if your chess piece was missing</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've got nothing here</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Box of Legos as comfy seat</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> As they get older, I (sadly) expect these funny things to dissipate. Recently there have been a few good ones though </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The remainder of the brand new bottle of vanilla after I gave Aidan the bottle and the teaspoon, with the instructions, "put one in the muffin batter</span>". <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I should have been clear about one what!</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> so it doesn't get mixed up with someone else's poppy seeds</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Magnetic salt and pepper grinders, attached to the switch plate (over the hideous wall paper that is getting ripped down!)</span></td></tr>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the end, I'd say, they are on their weirdest behavior when I'm not looking</span></b></i><i><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">!</span></b></i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-38919872099381382422012-12-06T21:17:00.000-05:002012-12-06T21:17:00.195-05:00In which Sue Sylvester kills the cat and eats quesadilla<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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It is very likely that I need a manicure and pedicure,
perhaps a massage.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We accidentally bought a house. It is the perfect house in a
fantastic neighborhood with fabulous neighbors and exceptional public school.
We weren’t shopping. It wasn’t in the plan. The timing was wrong. I didn’t plan
on moving to this area, not even remotely. I’m a born and bred southtowns girl,
with kids in an urban charter school. I wasn’t moving to the northtowns, least
of all right now. There was a plan. This wasn’t it.</div>
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So, yes, we accidentally bought this house.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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And I am glad. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It was not without bumps. The owner was not the owner; it
was an estate. Read as: three adult kids fighting over the sugar bowl and every
nickel to be divided three ways. It was, on our end, frustrating to say the
least. It took longer than it should have and with blood, sweat and tears
(mostly by our attorney), the house is ours.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
House buying includes moving. Moving includes packing.
Packing is, well, a pain in the ass.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While packing, there was life. Back to school, soccer,
choir, a minor surgery, our respective volunteer commitments, trying to stay
fit, laundry, groceries, etc etc etc etc etc.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All told, it is working fine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Despite the fact that we are off the charts with potential
stressors, it’s all good. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mortgage papers signed, packing happening, 7 layers of
wallpaper in most rooms (NOT an exaggeration) coming down, paint colors being
narrowed. And then the damn car stops going in reverse. At 225k miles, the car
that Sammy came home from the hospital in, died. D-E-D.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Again, not in the plan.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Oh-Kay. One new house and one new car. Well two, if you count the one that rolled
last year 3 days after Christmas. Timing. Not our friend. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Between the closing and the moving, I quit my job for a
great offer. I took a few days. I packed, I scraped, I painted. Then I jumped.</div>
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<br /></div>
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A few days in, the new job started to smell bad. But it was
ok. I was in it. There was opportunity. There was potential. There was an
excess of 40 hours and most of it was avoidable. A bit of an old boys club but
it isn’t my first time to the rodeo. I was finding that the Communications
Department was at the bottom of the food chain. Also, it was not rocket
science. Not that I was pursuing work as a rocket scientist, but using a little
smarts ain’t a bad thing. The negatives are starting to tick up. Still I’m
going to make the most of it, I’m going to learn, challenge myself, and push
forward. <i>(If you are reading this,
Suzanne, you were ringing in my ears)</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just up until I had to work with a VP who was a lifelong
product of this insular, unhealthy environment. He was an arrogant,
condescending, unintelligent misogynist. We had a bad meeting, to put it
mildly. I was reduced to tears, clearly not my MO. Not my best moment. Not
playing to my strengths. The bottom line is when the phrase "whipping boy" is used in a professional context, it is not a place where I will do well.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I quit. And in a merciful twist of fate, I was able to go
back to my previous firm. All was
looking settled. A blessed relief after a whole lot of change and chaos. Time
marches on. Report cards came home. They were, in short, great!!! I could not
have been more proud, more impressed. And
I felt very happy, very relieved, validated and very soothed knowing that the
boys have weathered this all and been able to flourish.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just when I considered letting my hair down, I came home
from work and dropping the boys to find the the old old old cat had definitely
taken a turn for the worse. The ugly details are unnecessary. I called the vet.
They could take her in the next day. But she was beyond ailing and the boys
were at choir. When the boys are at choir, I run. Sometimes I clean, do
laundry, get dinner ready but I’ve got stuff to do. On this particular day, I
was suited up to run. It was clear that little Isabelle shouldn’t be put
through another day. I took her to the SPCA in my running clothes. I was ‘checked
in’ by a barky linebacker who, at the word “euthanasia”, turned on his bedroom
voice and began using the phrase “your friend”. I’m thinking, “Dude, we aren’t
friends. I’ve dragged her through a half dozen moves, deposited not one, but
two dogs in her life and kept her fed.” I did have love to give her, when she deigned
to accept it. We’d come to the end of our road and it was sad. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of it was pretty quick. A bitch to the end, she
wouldn’t get out of the carrier. I patted her through the bars, left her in the
carrier, and split. I had an hour before getting the boys, so I met my husband
for a glass of wine and something to eat - in my running cloths. There is no
lip gloss that hides that fact that I was dressed like Sue Sylvester. I just
didn’t care. I was spent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now, I think timing should allow for a spa day. I’d really like a manicure and pedicure, and a
massage wouldn’t hurt. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now there is an Elf to hide, Advent treats to stock, cookies
that aren’t frosting themselves and all of that before the big who-haa in 19
days.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-16990743724950251322012-11-08T23:38:00.005-05:002012-11-08T23:38:45.165-05:00Girls on the Run is so much FUN<br />
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My dad was a runner. He ran in all weather. In the Buffalo winters, he scraped icicles of his mustache. He ran races in exotic locales, like Lewiston. We had Runner's World lying around in stacks. We all knew Zola Budd was to blame. He made time for routine 5 milers despite two job and three kids.<br />
<br />
I remember the first time I was "allowed" to run with my dad. I was stoked. I was finally going to find out what was so awesome about jogging, as I thought of it. Well. I did not make it past the sled hill (less than 1/3 of a mile for those of you not in the know) before things were cramping and pinching and hurting and I was thinking "what in the hell do you do this for?!?!?"<br />
<br />
That was the end of my running career for a very long time. As a young adult, I started to run again. 2 miles was it. It was hard every time but I felt good each time. I ran Main Street of Aurora, an occasional treadmill and even hit the park that scarred me at a tender age. I went to France and ran around the hill that looked like this:<br />
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I went to Texas and ran in 105 degree weather. I have run in 3 layers in the middle of WNY winters. I ran while working out stress from working with mentally ill adults, graduate school, the daily grind, life with a newborn, life with a toddler, life with 2 toddlers and a newborn. I have run a half marathon. I have been injured and recovered. I have had surgery and recovered. I like to run. I don't run fast. Unless I'm really working at it, I don't run far. I did run a 1/2 Marathon and supported Roswell Park Cancer Institute in the process. I think I've got one more 1/2 in me. Once more I'd like to hit the last 100 yards with those wings on my feet. After that, I imagine I'll run that Buffalo YMCA Turkey Trot, the Shamrock Run and lots of 3-4 milers. Regardless of the distance, the sheer act seems to make my blood pressure and my ass thank me because I run.<br />
<br />
Almost 4 years ago, I was walking my favorite ring road with my mom, who does not run. We had just moved back to the area. I was just finding my footing and figuring out what life was going to look like for my family and for me personally. We were on the backside of the park, when a lithe runner was coming up on us and said, "Leah?". I, of course said, "yes". She said, "Kelly!". I nearly fell over. My best friend until fourth grade had recognized me 25 + years later. We chatted for a minute and breezily agreed to catch up.<br />
<br />
Well, we did. We ran that summer and part of the following summer early in the a.m. before work. I found that one of my favorite people at age 10 was again one of my favorite people at nearly 40. We run and chat and sometimes just chat and chat, but I credit the running with our ability to really reconnect.<br />
<br />
Armed with this life bettered from running plus free afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursday, I jumped at the chance to be a co-coach for Girls on the Run. GOTR is a program designed for elementary and middle school aged girls to learn to run over a 10-12 week period culminating in a 5k race. [<a href="http://www.girlsontherun.org/">http://www.girlsontherun.org/</a>] Their tagline is : Educating and preparing girls for a lifetime of self-respect and healthy living. Gratefully, another mom had more time than I do to champion the organizing and was looking for another warm body. I felt like it was kismet.<br />
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We've had a group of 13 girls between the ages of 8 and 10 with varying experience with running, but collectively bringing unbridled enthusiasm. It has been a terrific experience for me, the mother of exactly zero girl-brand children. These girls have shown amazing character and strength in their achievement over these 10 weeks and I am honored to have been a part of it. Our fall program culminates on Saturday. Today, as if they knew they were supposed to get something bigger from it, groups of unlikely combinations of girls ran together with encouragement, challenge and, ultimately, success. We saw girls push each other, pull each other and, literally, hold hands in solidarity. </div>
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This made me think of my lifelong friend and running partner. </div>
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As these little powerhouses cross over their 5k finish line on Saturday, many for the first time, I hope that running gives them each in their own way something of the fitness, fortitude and friendship afforded to me over the years.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-32006918700876593372012-11-04T20:56:00.003-05:002012-11-04T20:56:10.390-05:00Packing it in.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are a few observations made during the packing/moving
process:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
</div>
<ol>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The cans invite friends.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">In my case, those friends include four very
large cans of baked beans. I don’t eat baked beans. No one in my family eats baked
beans.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The cupboard above the refrigerator manufactures
things.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Someone is apparently washing down my baked
beans with not one, but two bottles of peach schnapps. I cannot recall buying
peach schnapps. Both of these bottles are about ½ gone.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">There is a point when the 10 year old combusts.
That point is when you roll up the rug in his room. Too excited to be
contained, he skipped and hooted through the house.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">There is not enough times that you can clean the
desk and behind the shelves of the 10 y.o. I found his birthday gift cards that
have been missing. Recently he announced that his ½ birthday is next week. For those of
you playing along at home, he has been missing gift cards for 6 months that
have been sitting on top of his desk.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I might always need that. Whether it is
something I’ve saved or something I don’t want to pack before the move, I might
need that. I had to declare the “last batch of muffins” so that it was safe to pack
the mixer and muffin tins. I have a staggering list of things to do this week, but could not make myself pack my favorite running cap with the ponytail hole.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Moving food – do you or don’t you? Discuss.
Variables include aggregate value of item, i.e. ½ bottle of truffle oil is
totally coming. Whereas ¼ the large jar of poppy seeds from Guercios, not so
much. Another critical variable is how much will it annoy me to have to
repurchase said item. I will remember dumping things that I stocked up on
(crushed tomatoes) but will likely forget that one of those things was rarely
used (bamboo shoots). Finally distance is at play. I can and have made a run to
the new house with the groceries redeposited in the same bags in which they
came home from Wegmans/Guercios. Interstate moves make the mileage supersede
the value of the truffle oil and certainly a bag of flour. I mean seriously, I’m
not Caroline Ingalls and I don’t have to wait for the mercantile to stock up on necessities so that I can barter with the harvest.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">An interstate move is easier as a SAHM than a 10
mile move is while working.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It is so important to not let the chaos get in
the way of the good stuff. Without a TV (already moved to the new house), the
piled into bed with me and we watched a movie together. Yep, I could have been,
and arguably should have been packing. I wasn’t. I have no regrets. It won’t be
long before the 10 y.o., closely followed by the 8 y.o.’s won’t want to do
that.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The boys are just fine but may be feeling just a
little uncertain. While making dinner, they could not be close enough to me
tonight while insisting on playing Hangman, and incidentally their ill fated
stick men could use some more parts. After told that I refused to guess
anything that was Pokemon-related, Aidan’s phrase was “Mommy and family”, even
though it is common knowledge that I am a second class citizen when the great
god, DADDY is around.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I will have moved 12 times since college, 8
times with Scott and this makes 4 times with children. I’d really like the next
move to be either in a pine box or with one suitcase containing my bathing
suit, linen dresses and skin care to the Islands.</span></li>
</ol>
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-46228829917340401832012-10-22T22:46:00.000-04:002012-10-22T22:46:46.401-04:00Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">About a year ago we picked up the first in the Series of Unfortunate Events on audiobook. The first book begins with Violet, Klaus and Sunny Beaudelaire playing on a beach when they are approached by someone they do not know who tells them that their parents were killed in a fire that burned down their house. They children are ushered away by Mr. Poe and set on this awful course shuttled from one substandard caregiver to another, beginning with Count Olaf.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After hearing the first chapter, I ran to the library website and amazon to read as many reviews as possible to make certain that I didn't accidentally introduce my children to Steven King, Jr. It really was purported to be series for children. So we continued. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The book is loaded with little zingers like "<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">the phrase 'greatest myths' is just a fancy way of saying 'big fat lies'" and "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Children are strange and foreign to me. I never really was one. I do know that they are an important part of the ecosystem."</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">We finished the first book and moved on with our normal music in the car, until Sammy announced that he had been reading the next books in the series from his classroom library. "Sammy, does this get any better for them?" "Mommy, it is called the Series of <i>Unfortunate </i>Events. Don't be sad but stuff keeps happening."</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">We then had to seek out the next in the series, The Reptile Room, where the children where sent to live with vague relative, Dr. Monty Montgomery. He welcomed the children and assured them of their safety and well-being saying, "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">Count Olaf sounds like an awful person. I hope he is torn apart by wild animals someday. Wouldn't that be satisfying?”</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">That sent me! I snapped off the radio and said, "do you you really like this?!?!" Unanimously, they howled, "YEEEESSSSS! WILL YOU PLEASE TURN IT BACK ON?!?!" So I did and we have continued to marched through this series, treated to dark and funny passages that include, </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">"If an optimist had his left arm chewed off by an alligator, he might say in a pleasant and hopeful voice, "Well this isn't to bad, I don't have a left arm anymore but at least nobody will ever ask me if I'm left-handed or right-handed" but most of us would say something more along the lines of "Aaaaaa! My arm! My arm,!"</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">One of my recent favorites was, "a good conversation starter might be </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #373737; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 24px;">‘Madame diLustro, I believe I’ve discovered your true identity!'" I am now campaigning for the boys to call me Madame diLustro, so that someday someone can say to me, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #373737; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 24px;">‘Madame diLustro, I believe I’ve discovered your true identity!'</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #373737; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">Gradually, our dialogue has changed over the course of these books so that we now have words that are loaded and a funny, private dialogue born of this extended shared experience. For example, the storyline develops to include a mystery surrounding a secret sugar bowl. </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">While getting a cup of coffee at the drive-thru, I was asked if I wanted cream or sugar. From back in the cheap seats, a little voice hissed, "</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">Mommy, shhhh-uuu-gar! Maybe it's the bowl". Their common vernacular now includes references to items with er</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">satz qualities and </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Hobson's choices. We now joke the ridiculous spin the hopeless optimistic might put on different situations.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">As we wind through the 12th book and have only one left in the series, I am tempted to restart them as I will really miss these little characters when they are gone. Short of that, I hope that we can agree on another series that is age appropriate and we can all enjoy. While I will miss the little Beaudelaires and I hope that this ends ok so I don't have to worry about them, I treasure what their dreadful, over-the-top struggles have given to us. I like to think that sharing audio books will continue to be a habit as long as they will tolerate it. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">“ [our parents] didn't want to shelter us from the world's treacheries. They wanted us to survive them.” </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">-Lemony Snicket</span></div>
</span><br />
<div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-31651668834791041742012-10-18T21:54:00.002-04:002012-10-18T21:59:07.739-04:00You win some.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back at school, homework, activities; bought a house, need
to scrape 80 year old wallpaper, paint, pack, move, changing jobs and still entrusted with making
these little follows turn into good men and responsible citizens of this planet. I'm not sure I'm getting it all on the mark.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sam: Mrs. MacDonald told us today before “reading buddies” to
make sure we were nice to the 2<sup>nd</sup> graders. She said, “you are huge to them. Think about how you
would feel if your little brother or sister or cousin told you that one of your
friends was mean to them”. I would say, ‘listen, that is my cousin, guys. What
are you doing? That’s not ok and she is smaller than you and you can’t treat
them like that. And if they continued I would just say, listen, Ellie, we’re
just going to walk away.’ Because I would be so really mad if someone treated
Ellie or Miles or Julia or even Aidan or Noah badly. And if Bailey goes to our
school, nobody can be mean to her either.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Incidentally, Eloise (Ellie) is 18 months old and Bailey is 6 months old. He's given this some thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile in the second grade, they’ve been preparing “All About
Me Biographies”. Obviously meant to work with all types of learners, we have
seen at least four different drafts from fill-in-the-blank to free response. There was a final version but before that came home, we got a stack of these little introspectives in their shiny new take-home, puppy folders. Here are some things I’ve learned:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aidan wants to be a scientist, feels special because he has
a lot of friends, wants to have a lot of field trips, would like to improve his
handwriting, is worried about learning cursive, thinks of himself as athletic
and adventurous, dislikes poachers, Camp Ripen with Me (the group they shared a
camp with this summer) and military time. He is excited about the new school
building, was bored on the first days of school and wants to read more “big,
long chapter books.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These little eHarmony ads are cracking me up. So I move
along to Noah’s collection of personals.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Noah feels special because he is a twin, is a little worried
about new kids, excited about multipicion (though clearly has some ground to
cover in spelling), wants to go to the Museum of Play and dislikes Camp Ripen
with Me and being slapped in the face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
WAH WAH WHAT?!?!? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes. This is clearly what it says in the
line following “I don’t like_________”. On the top of his list was <u>being slapped
in the face.</u> I also dislike dirty
diapers, haunted houses, watching people embarrass themselves and leaky
plumbing, but would never choose them to rise to the top of things folks need
to know about me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I start compiling the list of people who will testify on my
behalf when I try to get my children back from CPS.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
No that is too drastic. I’m going to gather evidence. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Aidan”, I call. “I love these pages all about you. Will you
tell me about them?” Of course Noah is at his heels, dying to tell me about his
too. I keep him waiting, knowing he’ll sing like a canary when it is his turn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Noah gets his shot, we talk about his stuff, just like
I did with Aidan. They both really H-A-T-E Camp Ripen with Me (Mommy, I mean
that really strong word). He lands on disliking being slapped in the face,
laughing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Joan
Crawford is leaving the building.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: You don’t like being slapped in the face?? Who could
blame you?” Still he’s giggling. “When have you ever been slapped in the face?!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
N: Me and my
brothers play that game sometimes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your Honor, I am a good mother. Please allow me to submit into evidence, the following story<i> Mrs. MacDonald told us today before “reading buddies”...</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-7493911458962692112012-10-07T21:23:00.000-04:002012-10-07T21:24:09.355-04:00numbers, shmumbers<br />
<h4>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Another one that has been on the back burner for a while:</i></span> </o:p></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Noah: Mommy, Daddy was your first boyfriend, right?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>{insert gobsmacked, snarky internal dialogue here, including "define boyfriend"}</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No”. It would have been too easy to have just said, “yes”
and let it lie. Plus in truth, we were buzzing off to golf lessons and I was not wholly
focused. I said “no”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aidan: Who was your first boyfriend?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: His name is Torry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sam: Did you dump him?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>{the first time, yes. Hold please. Dump him?! You are 10
y.o.}</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sam: Why did you dump him?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>{OY!}</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: I didn’t want to date him anymore</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aidan: Then Daddy, right? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>{Again, “yes” is a prudent course.}</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: No</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sam: Who was it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Noah: How many boyfriends have you had?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>{electing to answer question #1}</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: um</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>{nevermind. electing not to succumb to this byzantine chastisment!!!}</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sam: why did you dump THEM?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: I wanted to date other people.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Aidan: Why?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Noah: Who?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sam: What do you do on a date?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>{crap. have good conversation. say nice things about her. be kind. have wholesome fun.}</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Go to the movies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mercifully, Caz Park is 3 miles away and the conversation ended here. Buh bye boys!! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-73668735816364548752012-09-10T21:31:00.000-04:002012-09-10T21:31:23.934-04:00Never given, only earned.I do not let the kids win. If they win, great! I do not take a fall on purpose. Ever.<br />
<br />
This is a lesson I like to think has served them well when they go head-to-head, brother-to-brother. The Boys and Girls Club had a Spelling Bee with several others in the area. The boys had special dispensation (by me) to go to the day camp program last Friday, usually our day to hang. It was the day to declare the finalists, one boy, one girl, from each grade level to go to the regional competition. Sam came out on top for his grade.<br />
<br />
Aidan was faced with "trapeze". Aidan gave me the play-by-play, what he was thinking, his decision-making process, the ultimate action, which can be summed up with "S". Aidan went down on trapeze; Noah picked up with T-R-A-P-E-Z-E.<br />
<br />
<br />
Finalists named.<br />
<br />
I have three boys, only two were left standing.<br />
<br />
For very competitive boys, Aidan handled it surprisingly well and Noah made exactly no fuss about it. Sam, well, it was no issue. He won. Period. Meh.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to today. The regional competition.<br />
<br />
Zero pressure. No stress. Virtually no conversation about it. A "normal" morning, when no one want to get up, everyone is missing something, nobody wants to walk the dog, everybody needs a reminder to brush teeth. The meeting from 1:00 - 3:00 means that this mommy is no way making the 2:00 - 4:00 contest.<br />
<br />
I scream out of the office at 3:30 only to pull up to our club kids coming out of the building. Noah sees me and hops up and down, waving. Sam just stops spreads his arms and then wave in the air ... his medal! Turns out, I've missed nothing. Of the 3rd - 5th grade competing, wily, little Noah came in 4th against his big brother and is immensely proud. Sam won! They both came home with .mp3 players, plus Sam was given a Target gift card. I think he loves his medal and the certificate with his name on it best.<br />
<br />
Today's parenting challenge is how to cheer the pants of Sam, congratulate Noah on doing awesome on stage with old kids and coming in damn close to the top, and then not having Aidan be crushed at the end of it all.<br />
<br />
Enter the #1 speller.<br />
<br />
We picked up Aidan, shared the exciting news. Aidan is both interested and seethingly jealous. He vows to avenge his spelling prowess next year and turns to a book. A few minutes pass. Sam says, "here Aidan, I already have an mp3 player. You can have mine"<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-8502234480254818602012-06-13T22:34:00.000-04:002012-06-13T22:34:03.609-04:00Things I Learned From Second Grade PoemsToday was the Second Grade Poetry Tea. How precious and liberal and creative and perfect. The class of 25 each had 2-3 poems that they read to the appreciative, snapping (as opposed to clapping) audience. One of my favorite moms turned to me and said she wished she had her beret at this beatnik slam.<br />
<br />
They have been working on everything from haikus to traditional rhyming patterns. There were obviously some themes and formats that they were working from. Interestingly one boy, the uber cool and awesomely named "Declan", inspired multiple poems. Pets were a popular theme, including our trusty, loving, old chocolate lab. Noah has always been moved by his death. Noah's haiku about Rocky included his fully formed figure buried upright on the beach. It was quite Egyptian.<br />
<br />
Other themes suggested included "why not", as in "why isn't every day Friday and why can't I have more beyblades". There was a color element showed up in sublime statements like "Purple is when the evening smells like cookies." The seasonal inspiration took on a number of forms; I particularly loved "Spring is nice. When it is warm."<br />
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My favorite theme was "what is scary". By and large what second graders find scary is:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Falling off a ladder</li>
<li>Vomit</li>
<li>Getting hollered at</li>
<li>When Mom/Dad is mad</li>
<li>Getting lost</li>
<li>Jumping over vomit</li>
<li>Barking dogs</li>
<li>Vomit</li>
</ul>
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Then we had tea and cookies and, if you are my boys, felt especially like a star when you aunt made an iced, green tea with lemon and honey concoction to share with your friends.<br />
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Especially because green tea wards off vomit.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-16321375567278658862012-06-09T20:20:00.001-04:002012-06-09T20:22:36.633-04:00Guacamole<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a girl who is almost entirely Irish, I am don't suck in the kitchen. If you think about it, it is a minor miracle since my grandmother, may she rest in peace, served her roast beef grey and cut against the grain, sometimes after she thawed it out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a number of stand-by's. If you have ever had a crisis, I may have made you a lasagna. It is my go-to, made with love, comfort food. I have a mean chocolate chip cookie recipe, make muffins my kids brag about, delight in finding new things that go with goat cheese and have a BBQ menu that can come together for any number of guests in under 30 minutes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No exaggeration about this last one. Once we agreed to have my husband's family all at our house about an hour after an eight hour drive with the kids. The car engine wasn't cold before I had three side dishes out, chicken grilling and a tall sapphire and tonic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway I've had some baking victories</span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ-He0IMpQGhDtGOaluNynFcbZ_FKfPLNevmbKYjHRyrOn-jlf88QAr4moSXsDzSbgEGt7bpDtxYHDMNJFg5heO4PudYnfwQC31RhUiVea5Y5MhnQDT_QY-_eB1jgONMva-4E/s1600/BDays+2009+018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ-He0IMpQGhDtGOaluNynFcbZ_FKfPLNevmbKYjHRyrOn-jlf88QAr4moSXsDzSbgEGt7bpDtxYHDMNJFg5heO4PudYnfwQC31RhUiVea5Y5MhnQDT_QY-_eB1jgONMva-4E/s1600/BDays+2009+018.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also do volume since all three kids have birthdays in two days.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And some serious defeats</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOsROWTmLefAvOhGlNSAq-xMmAdkoprP4CfJjpTBFR_0F0k1i-WC6ZykmrPcyaNiPFa2hzGcGt0EMtHHW1LEBVD5JgZg9OkCIfGnmlDerCn4a55IysC5-4LyW_zyskOagdYWP/s1600/58227_430117380781_3106833_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOsROWTmLefAvOhGlNSAq-xMmAdkoprP4CfJjpTBFR_0F0k1i-WC6ZykmrPcyaNiPFa2hzGcGt0EMtHHW1LEBVD5JgZg9OkCIfGnmlDerCn4a55IysC5-4LyW_zyskOagdYWP/s320/58227_430117380781_3106833_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patriots Cake with Black food color splashed on it</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tnUdAu5wfIiogBG4rWrrxuKk5vu2l2WXN4knE3UjlBfW3h0tUS93LROm6-NLWes-iwtNmqwEraZxQHWUmmdR0skQQTAyPTk-ySUaxO7ed5gEZ6wHLK0hFOvYUo9ZZFIEV6c3/s1600/521520_10150873304340782_884777513_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tnUdAu5wfIiogBG4rWrrxuKk5vu2l2WXN4knE3UjlBfW3h0tUS93LROm6-NLWes-iwtNmqwEraZxQHWUmmdR0skQQTAyPTk-ySUaxO7ed5gEZ6wHLK0hFOvYUo9ZZFIEV6c3/s320/521520_10150873304340782_884777513_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the result of a fondant attempt</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By and large, what gets me invites to parties is my guacamole. Again, weird, since it isn't like I came by it honestly. So here it is for any who have ever asked for it. It isn't complicated, but does rely in the fresh herbs, I think. Happy Summer!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peel avocados and crush by hand. Add remainder
of ingredients, blending with potato masher, or better, by hand for better
consistency and nice soft hands. Adjust any or all of the ingredients to taste.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-15867497583947877112012-06-05T17:38:00.003-04:002012-06-05T17:54:42.010-04:00Meet Babs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My baby sister (aged 35) had a baby! And she's awesome! Well both she's are pretty awesome. But Babs is particularly wonderful. See.</div>
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Gina, the Amazing, had to, as most do, go back to work today. What does a sister do to support her in this painful duty??? She makes a lasagna that weighs more this little pumpkin pants x12. Then she makes a back to work CD for her, that includes:<br />
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Heigh-Ho - Los
Lobos </div>
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9-5 - Dolly
Parton </div>
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Easy Money - Billy
Joel </div>
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What Do You Do For Money Honey - AC-DC </div>
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Working For a Living - Huey
Lewis & the News </div>
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Don't Worry Be Happy - Bobby
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Money For Nothing - Dire
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If I Had $1,000,000 - Barenaked
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Movin' Right Along - The
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Chico Snap - So
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Money (That's What I Want) - The
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Put Da Lime In Da
Coconut - Muppets</div>
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Incidentally, we are all smitten with her.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-38586184098287025662012-05-24T21:41:00.002-04:002012-05-24T21:41:53.863-04:00Roses are Red.... I spent my first Mothers Day, exhausted and snuggling a boy only hours old. I've shared Mothers Days with all three of my boys' birthdays. I adore being the mom to these smart, loving, challenging, inspirational little men<br />
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This year, I played board games on the floor while the 10 y.o. "brought the party music"(his quote) toting his mp3 and portable speaker pumping DLR era Van Halen. In a show of true love, I let him start the crossword, which could easily be a hanging offense in my world. Among many other moments this year, for doing my favorite job, I was rewarded with the 8 y.o.'s delivering these to me. What a reward!<br />
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Mommy<br />
I love you the goldest<br />
I love you the color of the golden weapons of Ninjago that bring peace.<br />
I love you the color of the interesting chatter of the lizard's feet<br />
I love you the color of the smell of hot yummy spaghetti<br />
I love you the color o f the lion's golden coat<br />
I love you the color of the awesome taste of ravioli<br />
The call of a perigan<i> (sp)</i> falcon<br />
The eyesight of a jaguar<br />
The face of a dog named Violet<br />
I love you the goldest<br />
<br />
love, Aidan<br />
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<br />
<br />
Mommy<br />
I love you the bluest<br />
I love you the color of happy bark (he quickly told me that that was meant to be "Violet's happy bark")<br />
I love you the color of a dolphin jumping high<br />
I love you the color of the dark quiet<br />
I love you the color of the pretty quiet morning<br />
I love you the color of yummy mac and cheese<br />
The sound of a waterfall falling<br />
The peace of our home<br />
The sound of a trickling stream<br />
I love you the bluest.<br />
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love, NoahUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11377434.post-78461530829781833292012-05-03T21:56:00.001-04:002012-05-04T09:11:48.865-04:00while we are on the subject of competition<br />
My grandmother is 83 and would be irate if she knew that was out there for all the web to read. She is capable, able minded, active and sharp. She picked up Phase 10 and played competitively with three other generations this weekend. She was crushed at the loss of my grandfather at 59 after 39 years of marriage. She will openly say that she thought her life was over. Since both of her parents lived past 80, she knew she likely had years left. She ultimately got her first job, a boyfriend and hobbies. She remarried and forged her next stage of life because she chose to live. She makes baskets, plays the organ in church, has a garden that would feed a small village and is just generally wonderful. She does it all.<br />
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It truly felt like a confession when I told her this weekend that in my world, it just does not all get done and I thus I have a housekeeper. She perked up and dug down to the bottom of her "pile" and produced <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_249959058">http://www.ocregister.com/articles/women-345023-cleaning-housework.html.</a><a href="http://www.ocregister.com/articles/women-345023-cleaning-housework.html" target="_blank"></a><br />
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I should never underestimated this woman.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0