tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42011990739919990542024-03-14T03:27:02.994-07:00Wagon Wheels And Weathervaneslife with the gang of sevenAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-73614351053122351432018-11-21T00:57:00.001-08:002018-11-21T00:57:40.780-08:00<font face="Arial" size="1" color="#ffffff" class=""><br class=""></font><div class=""> <div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; text-decoration: none;">I should have tried it earlier! <a href="http://ten.lubevan.ca" class="">http://ten.lubevan.ca</a></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; text-decoration: none;"><br class=""></div><font face="Arial" size="1" color="#ffffff" class=""><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"> </font></div> Amy Madden OlivasAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-80342567789933748232018-10-30T02:12:00.001-07:002018-10-30T02:12:47.162-07:00Re:<div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'><a href="http://item.dentoncpslawyer.com">http://item.dentoncpslawyer.com</a></p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'><span style='color:black'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'>Amy Madden Olivas</p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-82647920065977529602018-10-01T00:46:00.001-07:002018-10-01T00:46:43.322-07:00Re:<div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><span class=MsoSubtleEmphasis><s><o:p><span style='text-decoration:none'> </span></o:p></s></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span class=MsoSubtleEmphasis><s><a href="http://credible.novelltek.com"><span style='font-style:normal;text-decoration:none underline'><span style='text-decoration:none underline'>http://credible.novelltek.com</span></span></a><o:p></o:p></s></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span class=MsoSubtleEmphasis><s><o:p><span style='text-decoration:none'> </span></o:p></s></span></p><p class=MsoNormal>Amy Madden Olivas<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><span class=MsoSubtleEmphasis><s><o:p><span style='text-decoration:none'> </span></o:p></s></span></p></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-21474499485577995092018-08-22T11:25:00.000-07:002018-08-22T11:46:48.936-07:00Re:<div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'><a href="http://then.enginejunkyardlakeland.com">http://then.enginejunkyardlakeland.com</a><sup><span style='color:black'><o:p></o:p></span></sup></p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'><sup><span style='color:black'><o:p> </o:p></span></sup></p><p class=MsoNormal>Amy Madden Olivas</p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-73052214203099348482018-07-22T08:21:00.000-07:002018-07-22T09:03:57.442-07:00Re:<div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoSubtitle><sup><span style='font-size:8.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></sup></p><p class=MsoSubtitle><a href="http://seven.markostout.com"><span style='letter-spacing:0pt'>http://seven.markostout.com</span></a></p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:115%'>Amy Madden Olivas</p><p class=MsoSubtitle><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoSubtitle><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-89909111076186240732018-06-06T06:56:00.001-07:002018-06-06T06:56:14.796-07:00<div class=WordSection1><h4><span style='color:black'><a href="http://text.truehitfitness.com"><span style='font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;font-style:normal'>http://text.truehitfitness.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></h4><h1 style='margin-top:0in;text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph'><span class=MsoSubtleReference><o:p> </o:p></span></h1><p class=MsoNormal>Amy Madden Olivas</p><p class=MsoNormal><span class=MsoIntenseEmphasis><o:p> </o:p></span></p></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-13775436973914000442018-05-12T15:48:00.000-07:002018-05-12T15:49:04.420-07:00<div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><a href="http://host.linxtea.com">http://host.linxtea.com</a></p><h2 style='line-height:115%'><sup><span style='font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;color:black'><o:p> </o:p></span></sup></h2><p class=MsoNormal>John<o:p></o:p></p><h2 style='line-height:115%'><sup><span style='font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;color:black'><o:p> </o:p></span></sup></h2><h2 style='line-height:115%'><sup><span style='font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;color:black'><o:p> </o:p></span></sup></h2></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-27633669337540763332018-03-09T04:34:00.001-08:002018-03-09T04:34:44.481-08:001<div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:150%'><a href="http://noble.helixmobilewellnessandresearch.com">http://noble.helixmobilewellnessandresearch.com</a><span style='font-variant:small-caps;color:#5A5A5A'><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal>Amy Madden Olivas<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:150%'><span class=MsoSubtleReference><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='line-height:150%'><span class=MsoSubtleReference><o:p> </o:p></span></p></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-49395538182881673792015-11-07T01:17:00.000-08:002015-11-07T00:18:09.829-08:00from: Amy Madden Olivas<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0"><tr><td valign="top"><div id='yahoo__compose_area' style="background-color:white; display:block; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Regular,Helvetica;">Hi! <br> <br><a href="http://interdisa.es/nice.php">http://interdisa.es/nice.php</a> <div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Amy Madden Olivas</div><div><a href="https://yho.com/footer0">Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPhone</a> </div><div> </div></div><div id='yahoo__original_message'></div></html></td></tr></table> Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-24908067641088278432015-09-11T04:50:00.000-07:002015-09-11T03:50:59.567-07:00From: Amy Madden Olivas<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0"><tr><td valign="top"><div id='yahoo__compose_area' style="background-color:white; display:block; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Regular,Helvetica;">Hi!<br><a href="http://godelieveschrama.nl/beautiful.php?Amy_Madden_Olivas">http://godelieveschrama.nl/beautiful.php?Amy_Madden_Olivas</a><br><br><br>Amy Madden Olivas<br><a href="https://yho.com/footer0">Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPhone</a><div><br></div></div><div id='yahoo__original_message'></div></html></td></tr></table> Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-60504785505575717862015-02-18T02:38:00.000-08:002015-03-21T02:38:33.976-07:00from: Amy Madden Olivas<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0"><tr><td valign="top"><div id='yahoo__compose_area' style="background-color:white; display:block; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Regular,Helvetica;">Hi! How are you?<div>News from Oprah: <a href="http://twsautorepair.com/order.php">http://twsautorepair.com/order.php</a> </div><div>She says it works!<br> <br>Amy Madden Olivas<br><a href="https://overview.mail.yahoo.com?.src=iOS">Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPhone</a></div></div><div id='yahoo__original_message'></div></html></td></tr></table> Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-82803629294211824222013-03-04T13:54:00.000-08:002013-03-04T13:54:47.548-08:00Another favorite thing...<span style="font-size: large;">If you know me well,</span> you know that I'm a <a href="http://pinterest.com/amer5b/">Pinterest</a> junkie. Pinning items to my virtual board is how I fall asleep, how I wake every morning, and how I spend every second of free time I have.
(<i>'every second of free time I have'</i>....haha.....now that's funny.)<br />
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Another well-known Amy-ism is my overwhelming desire to decorate for each and EVERY holiday I can. It's safe to say that finding pinterest has made my holiday-decorating addiction downright dangerous. <br />
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One of my all-time holiday favorites was the<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/49680402110744007/"> 'thankful tree'</a> we made in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. During Christmastime, I found <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/49680402111122533/">this</a> way to display cards (on pinterest) and I loved the way it looked on the large mirror by our front door. For Valentine's Day, my kiddos found their mailbox inspiration on pinterest (yes, I've introduced my male offspring to pinterest.), and we've also made some wicked <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/49680402109469871/">leprechaun traps</a>....with a little help (of course) from pinterest.<br />
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With Easter (<strike>one of</strike> <em><strong>my FAVORITE holiday</strong></em><strike>s</strike>) vastly approaching, I've been eager to break out the decor. Easter is always a tricky holiday to decorate for. Being so close to St. Patrick's day, I never know when to put the green away, and bring the bunnies and chicks out. I've contemplated keeping them both out at the same time, but that just doesn't seem fair to either holiday, and it messes with my OCD brain.<br />
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Just talking about the logistics involved with decorating for <strong>two holidays at once</strong> is enough to make me feel the need to breathe into a paper bag.<br />
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As I slowly pull my chicks and bunnies out of storage (so as not to piss off St. Patrick), I'm realizing that chicks and bunnies are no longer cutting it for me. Now that the boys are getting older, I want to make sure they understand that Easter is so much more than Cadbury eggs and Peeps.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">SO. MUCH. MORE.</span><br />
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In times of despair such as these, I turn to pinterest for advice. I was feeling the same lackluster feeling last year, and came across <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/49680402109589144/">this</a> and <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/49680402109652131/">this</a>, but never had the <em>free time</em> to make either of them.<br />
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Oh free time. We have such a love/hate relationship.<br />
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This year, however, I am off to a running start. Have a look at what I made today-<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVPMe3noZz0XHE6BfdRCR2XoakERvkzMxbb_tKShFQZ0ujn4cL4xVDdW63yNk5kmv4NykHqYG7VRztKuqJx4b3gA_tUaE1d7dWgAryHPg7yrtk6dnXvuxvBtva1wBU4ULS_h-wUVCq68/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVPMe3noZz0XHE6BfdRCR2XoakERvkzMxbb_tKShFQZ0ujn4cL4xVDdW63yNk5kmv4NykHqYG7VRztKuqJx4b3gA_tUaE1d7dWgAryHPg7yrtk6dnXvuxvBtva1wBU4ULS_h-wUVCq68/s320/photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_C13zktXiU795rqsEIfOgNgmra35CkHHk9EA6GUjKJMQReGgKq1ZQULkXzRGfbVB-6eN8jVuNacen26QAwGVUzmglSMZFwCrbhaP-7Ua4bFPS0k6vtPoMu7bgWDxrQlxJEVvkPX4Iro/s1600/photo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_C13zktXiU795rqsEIfOgNgmra35CkHHk9EA6GUjKJMQReGgKq1ZQULkXzRGfbVB-6eN8jVuNacen26QAwGVUzmglSMZFwCrbhaP-7Ua4bFPS0k6vtPoMu7bgWDxrQlxJEVvkPX4Iro/s320/photo+1.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>
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You like? Thanks! It's our crown of thorns, and it will sit on our kitchen table until Easter. I'm hoping it will help the boys be mindful of the choices they make, and (in some form) remind them of the true meaning of Easter. <br />
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Here's how it works: each child has an 'assigned' color of thorns. Red for Evan, green for Luke, blue for Jack, yellow for Logan, and orange for Wes (unless they fight over their assigned color, in which case, there will be some color switching.) Every time we (the parents) take note of a boy going <strong><em><u>out of his way</u></em></strong> to do something nice for someone else (a true sacrifice!), we will allow the good deed do-er to remove one of his thorns from the crown. Obviously, the goal is to have a thorn-free crown by Easter.<br />
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The crown was super easy to make. (The hardest part was sorting and counting 150 toothpicks.) I used a grapevine wreath from Michael's and wrapped it in burlap to help hold the toothpicks into place. Then I stuck all 150 of those bad boys in and my <span style="font-size: large;">true</span> Easter decoration was ready in less than 15 minutes. Easy peasy.<br />
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I've seen something<em> similar</em> to this on pinterest, but nothing<em> this fabulous....</em>right?<br />
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Here's to traditional Easter decor, sprinkled with a bit of sacrificium. <br />
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-33431547206365632032013-02-18T10:37:00.002-08:002013-02-18T10:37:38.020-08:00Favorite things...Today is Presidents' Day, which means my boys are home from school. <em> ANY</em> day that my boys are home with me, is my<span style="font-size: large;"> favorite</span> day.
Today is also my brother's birthday. Not just <em>ANY</em> brother, but my <span style="font-size: large;">favorite</span> brother. <br />
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<em>This brother-</em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrIJx1Ux9IHQ6Qq3_js1CeFfuBluE_4Dp3nP0R8xvK_6cVCyR8byNoGzBl7YhHGqLYhZZkuGwq4fXub2LgGpM8m3_mA7e2eETBYO8QklC63_Yx33wjMU0I_7Q-TJJRbeXzIQ0f6EoIKM/s1600/skinny+jeans.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrIJx1Ux9IHQ6Qq3_js1CeFfuBluE_4Dp3nP0R8xvK_6cVCyR8byNoGzBl7YhHGqLYhZZkuGwq4fXub2LgGpM8m3_mA7e2eETBYO8QklC63_Yx33wjMU0I_7Q-TJJRbeXzIQ0f6EoIKM/s320/skinny+jeans.jpg" /></a><br />
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His skinny jeans always make me jealous. They fit him like a glove and he never gets that 'saggy butt' look. How he does it, I'll never know. Happy 35th, Dec! <br />
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SO, in honor of my <span style="font-size: large;">favorite</span> brother, and in honor of my <span style="font-size: large;">favorite</span> day (a day when my boys are home), I wanted to share one of my recent <span style="font-size: large;">favorite</span> <strike>things</strike> <em>finds</em>.<br />
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Behold, the Lunadoll.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGqog1j1BHdeDVsumfqNxJ5RRbD8j2ZmruBdJYzH6FxOCAWiicM6oH2HqLpyGtJYZ5VIxLdv5OKUO9CMraSho1nFIxPjGeqBIj83OWwIsE1rhtNgvpRrqdBUpNWHUFfXw-v_IHRnut3c/s1600/unikafigurereng.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGqog1j1BHdeDVsumfqNxJ5RRbD8j2ZmruBdJYzH6FxOCAWiicM6oH2HqLpyGtJYZ5VIxLdv5OKUO9CMraSho1nFIxPjGeqBIj83OWwIsE1rhtNgvpRrqdBUpNWHUFfXw-v_IHRnut3c/s320/unikafigurereng.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I came across<a href="http://shop.lunapalandet.se/"> this wonderful site</a> when instagram snooping a few months ago. It was love at first Lunadoll sight. I really like this one-<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rnsXi5DPOSaa9RyrPLyda_2zLQEq0x0vvQD_y2qQudCKVfiANIIoQq-RCDMsSW_XAo8WX7ebfpYRE0qyQYssaQHWRISdGF_9bWTgw1o0myI3AI2S1VUOEOoQF0VMwcBcHpBgUksfBjs/s1600/flina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rnsXi5DPOSaa9RyrPLyda_2zLQEq0x0vvQD_y2qQudCKVfiANIIoQq-RCDMsSW_XAo8WX7ebfpYRE0qyQYssaQHWRISdGF_9bWTgw1o0myI3AI2S1VUOEOoQF0VMwcBcHpBgUksfBjs/s320/flina.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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But I'm also madly in love with this one-
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84061570HQCwBKC2RBmN92BLN7RZas665mjXqiDi_mcZvCer_hrrUWzGTFizLe44MYnM-AWdqi0FPyxZJ_oqJJYUwBBe2_biZ9ycsRWxl6JHlTg0b2w4FHtHJwkj3Bx6DbisqxpXzeqc/s1600/brownie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84061570HQCwBKC2RBmN92BLN7RZas665mjXqiDi_mcZvCer_hrrUWzGTFizLe44MYnM-AWdqi0FPyxZJ_oqJJYUwBBe2_biZ9ycsRWxl6JHlTg0b2w4FHtHJwkj3Bx6DbisqxpXzeqc/s320/brownie.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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And also this little Luna-</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8M2YrS1boe32fy6N3_gGynrafhkWjpUNtv7rF_c_UpTBYDDnPyOlbm4ZmDdIp6j4_M8Cya71IILvQ5o-zOhFjr26tCbowsufSlzr1taMyE1pac5NXZP9U02WGXjw8Gn_amk-H247ia3A/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8M2YrS1boe32fy6N3_gGynrafhkWjpUNtv7rF_c_UpTBYDDnPyOlbm4ZmDdIp6j4_M8Cya71IILvQ5o-zOhFjr26tCbowsufSlzr1taMyE1pac5NXZP9U02WGXjw8Gn_amk-H247ia3A/s320/12.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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There's just something about their imperfectness that makes them<em> perfect</em> in every way. They each have their own personality, which would make it fun to match <em><strong>Luna-to-Boy</strong></em>. I showed the Luna's to the boys and like me, it was instant Luna love. It took me awhile, but I figured out how to convert the site to English (click on the British flag) and also tried my hand at converting the price to USD. Luna's hail from Sweden and are made by their creator, Malin. (I stalk Malin on instagram just to be the first to see when a new Luna is born.) Unless my conversion from Swedish Krona to USD is way off, Lunadolls average around $55.00 each, making them out of our budget. Boy #2 has a birthday coming up and has <em>his</em> <span style="font-size: large;">favorite</span> Lunadoll on his birthday wish list. </div>
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(I think I want it a tad more than he does.) </div>
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I foresee a Luna heading <em>home</em> to Colorado in the near future. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(I was in no way compensated for the Luna shout out today. I just wanted to share their awesomeness with you. I did, however, get permission from Malin to link to the Luna site and for use of the pictures. Thanks, Malin!)</span> </div>
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Tomorrow, a new <span style="font-size: large;">favorite</span>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExUSM9pVQDGWWdBrRhu2dg2E-t56f4dlxnR4imDA-EzDQNBXovqeQaQh_n7bOiOXRQiqk48MpiWQubXBsSaQv5B2bReluO4GxDd7nehvfLR7Js0k52iDZlVQKGorBlpdi-RYeukge1s0/s1600/41CfmzBzgXL__SL500_SS500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-64508193930154180622013-02-14T13:45:00.000-08:002013-02-14T13:45:09.240-08:00Not So Fast....<span style="font-size: large;">4,380</span> <span style="font-size: large;">days ago</span>, my first boy was born. Had I known what a sweet, sweet boy he'd be, I would have had four more just like him.<br />
<br />
(Wait a minute.)
<br />
<br />
He pulled a fast one on us today and woke up as this morning as a 12 year-old. Not cool <em>at all</em>, dude. <span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Not</u> cool.</span><br />
<br />
Here's what he looked like just <strong>yesterday-</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3usJUEEm-9azy___-mG_p9IVJrTnUW8GTm2K9jU9W1pdNMuRt6GLx40p3-jtfKfHyo64xtbCvdqxtmGJ8c51pQ6EJyfRONtx2ng5dmOWcU3C0tKwmEcDDr1JFVXCzUzXhgRZ9uznFWU/s1600/evan+baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3usJUEEm-9azy___-mG_p9IVJrTnUW8GTm2K9jU9W1pdNMuRt6GLx40p3-jtfKfHyo64xtbCvdqxtmGJ8c51pQ6EJyfRONtx2ng5dmOWcU3C0tKwmEcDDr1JFVXCzUzXhgRZ9uznFWU/s320/evan+baby.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And here's what he looks like <strong>today-</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNtK-C914pbecBclFWXz0zOpZWZaapgIFVvj5B00a-X3hl6iGFb8Yiny-usMYJ_5vk1sMm1RRjXGRRtmzKDan1DbQTJ9iOAC128Mwz2dTiW0YkjOq4QelAZmj5a1zrjyapzxS6HgmgR8/s1600/078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNtK-C914pbecBclFWXz0zOpZWZaapgIFVvj5B00a-X3hl6iGFb8Yiny-usMYJ_5vk1sMm1RRjXGRRtmzKDan1DbQTJ9iOAC128Mwz2dTiW0YkjOq4QelAZmj5a1zrjyapzxS6HgmgR8/s320/078.JPG" width="305" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Only 525,600 minutes until he turns 13.
But who's counting?
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" /><br />
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<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-16547487531147127652013-02-12T12:04:00.000-08:002013-02-12T12:04:36.483-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOZySme7wOWdb-nya2INbKVjVvgY62pSB2BpDPkw3Fe6JiuuDQM5U7X9z5jRlRaxGHuZkCex-EBPbg5o7YXgj1qwksaoBgKpwKCx1giby1pxUkte-aEO46VFRVYaYLCqT4SlW3IkQVI0/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOZySme7wOWdb-nya2INbKVjVvgY62pSB2BpDPkw3Fe6JiuuDQM5U7X9z5jRlRaxGHuZkCex-EBPbg5o7YXgj1qwksaoBgKpwKCx1giby1pxUkte-aEO46VFRVYaYLCqT4SlW3IkQVI0/s320/photo.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">If your husband travels to Arizona on business,</span> life in your (seemingly) normal house will quickly take a turn for the worse.
<br />
<br />
You'll take a night off from cooking and will order pizza for the brood, including a gluten free pie for yourself.
The 'pizza man' will be greeted as such and by the looks of his face, you can tell he doesn't appreciate his given nickname.
Whatever. You think that 5 hungry boys shouting "pizza man, PIZZA MAN!" is cute. You smile, hand him his tip, and send the<em> pizza man</em> on his merry way.
<br />
<br />
Eating burnt gluten free pizza will make you think of wine, and you'll pour yourself a glass. <strike> Singed food</strike> <em>all food</em> goes down easier with wine.
<br />
<br />
The boys dive right in, and for a moment, all is well.
Just when you begin to think that life with 5 boys (and a traveling husband) is too easy, you're proven wrong (faster than a freight train).
<br />
<br />
Your child who has had unexplained hives for 3 days begins to swell like a puffer fish. His skin turns bright red and tears ensue. He tells you his body 'feels like one giant bee sting' and before you know it, you're calling his Dr.
<br />
<br />
Calling his Dr. after hours will prompt the answering service to inform you that you will be "referred to Children's hospital for a fee of $8.00." You politely remind her that in the good old days, doctors took turns being 'on-call' and you'd like to speak to the 'on-call' doctor. <em> QUICK LIKE</em>. Her memory is miraculously refreshed and she allows you to leave a message for the 'on-call' Dr. <br />
<br />
Waiting for the doctor to call you back will seem like hours and your child will grow puffier by the minute. <br />
<br />
Forecasting a trip to the ER in the near future, you cork the wine bottle . Corking the wine bottle while your husband is traveling is definitely<em> not</em> something you're comfortable with.
<br />
<br />
The phone will ring, and the unrecognizable number on the screen makes you leap to the counter with joy. What seemed like hours was only 17.3 minutes.
The DR. listens to you rant, and asks that you double up on the steroids given 3 days ago. <em> "The same steroids that make my child act like the exorcist?"</em> you ask. <em> "Yes ma'am."</em> he replies. "<i>Those</i> steroids."
It takes everything you've got, but you oblige and give your sweet boy the steroids. He won't be sweet for long.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-v7QSICOa58PR_n5AiEbHaXPz1b-aMFXkd1_XoRpMN9zy04Exr_QrzeuSjmlfqUfmiA931Nxu2AeK88QUqW4SYrgWdf414ahOlZxR5xqxeb-BTSHiyXKq36VKkGKX_vD7bkDqsrZykWk/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-v7QSICOa58PR_n5AiEbHaXPz1b-aMFXkd1_XoRpMN9zy04Exr_QrzeuSjmlfqUfmiA931Nxu2AeK88QUqW4SYrgWdf414ahOlZxR5xqxeb-BTSHiyXKq36VKkGKX_vD7bkDqsrZykWk/s320/2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Realizing you don't have much time before your child medicinally changes into the Hulk, you march the troops upstairs. Being the <strong>cool</strong> mom that you are, you invite them to sleep in your room. <i>They</i> think you're just doing it to be nice and they take you up on your offer. <i>You</i> know the real reason behind the master bedroom invite is to create more of an obstacle course for the boogie man. You know he's bound to come when your husband travels, and you'll be damned if you'll make it easy for him to get you.
<br />
<br />
Two hours <i>s l o w l y</i> go by and the troops are starting to head into dream land. Little puffer fish is starting to return to his normal size and color and is the first to fall asleep...<em>before the medicine takes place.</em> There is a God.
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<br />
The events of the evening will cause your actions to become extremely uncharacteristic. For the first time in your life, you will turn off the TV <i>before</i> you fall asleep.
You are exhausted, and will drift off after only a few minutes of feeling sorry for yourself.
<br />
<br />
118 seconds go by.
And then it happens. <br />
<br />
You'll abruptly be awakened by the sound of projectile vomit in action.
You'll rush to the side of your oldest child who has puked on everything within a 6 foot radius of his body....including his brother.<br />
<br />
<em>Fast forward two hours....</em>
<br />
<br />
It's now midnight and you'll find yourself knee-deep in vomit. Vomit on the carpet, vomit on the walls (yes, you read that right), vomit on you, and vomit on sleeping children who remain unaware that they have been so heinously violated.<br />
<br />
Having a child THIS SICK will quickly shift you into zombie mode. You'll spend the rest of the night doing laundry, and rinsing out the puke bucket.<em>
Over and over again.</em>
Daylight will come (though not soon enough) and you will find yourself handing the dog a piece of toast and offering your children dog biscuits. Trust me on this<i>.</i><br />
<em></em><br />
You'll open your cupboards and realize you are no where near equipped to handle such tragedy. You send an SOS to your parents in the form of a grocery list that reads:<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Tide</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Bleach</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Gatorade</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Ginger Ale</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Saltines</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Paper towels</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Rubber gloves</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Lysol</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Pharmacy prescription for Zofran</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
Like always, your parents are able to detect your desperate state and come to your rescue with everything requested on the list.<br />
<br />
But they decline your invite to come inside. <br />
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The next 24 hours can be explained through pictures like<span style="font-size: large;"> this-</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCk4Ka-TlewZ_9HBzHGa1bCHz_eXYQoAWJFgnT-6UUBZvYwut8nCJ2W5nYpjMM2pWmW5UA45ubOsJielAjxzBDfwi-3r5SYkxIMDRiegRwCEl6KC3yJuQL5YnA8zllxEPWFK-YD7INvgg/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCk4Ka-TlewZ_9HBzHGa1bCHz_eXYQoAWJFgnT-6UUBZvYwut8nCJ2W5nYpjMM2pWmW5UA45ubOsJielAjxzBDfwi-3r5SYkxIMDRiegRwCEl6KC3yJuQL5YnA8zllxEPWFK-YD7INvgg/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And this-</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9HrXkA6kSJg5d1uhQTidvGMxB6l2mxYspA5fn1wwjUyFpf-WrtcjDW8SgphyphenhyphenILFqGG0Zpc7j8MoxnnRIQn6hEYzcM8QFN3EdfkEHk2iWltduEq52xKABkHYQK3z_Ru92WBtWw-vA_0s/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9HrXkA6kSJg5d1uhQTidvGMxB6l2mxYspA5fn1wwjUyFpf-WrtcjDW8SgphyphenhyphenILFqGG0Zpc7j8MoxnnRIQn6hEYzcM8QFN3EdfkEHk2iWltduEq52xKABkHYQK3z_Ru92WBtWw-vA_0s/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And this-</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWB8nPCLkyz1NcLly0rKo-jcHDis33bC7NmpumhYFLBaVBjGyrm-zbKsk6Q02CdNh0vdHp8n6aWOhSDRUDgNF8Dv3vF4or7SFRGMWjiHYcgXErCYdcUFsQpBsb-3MdN9HUzmfrxpH82Y/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWB8nPCLkyz1NcLly0rKo-jcHDis33bC7NmpumhYFLBaVBjGyrm-zbKsk6Q02CdNh0vdHp8n6aWOhSDRUDgNF8Dv3vF4or7SFRGMWjiHYcgXErCYdcUFsQpBsb-3MdN9HUzmfrxpH82Y/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Your husband will come home just in time to assist with the remaining 3 children who fall ill. (Child number 4 is holding out, and so far, has escaped the gruesome spell.) Together, you will do loads of laundry, and bond while sporting matching cans of Lysol in your back pockets. <br />
<br />
After 5 days of microorganism fun, things will slowly return to normal. <br />
<br />
And just as they do, your husband will alert you to the fact that he's heading <span style="font-size: large;">back</span> to AZ in two weeks.<br />
<br />
Over my damn body.<br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-75202700091077930102013-02-04T13:49:00.000-08:002013-02-04T13:49:35.144-08:00104 <span style="font-size: large;">104.</span> That's the number of days since I've been here. The dust is thick, and it may take some time to shift my writing ability to that of which has nothing to do with forced assignments, length requirements, or APA formatting, but I'm here to give it a shot.<br />
<br />
I think I can, I think I can,<em> I think I can</em>.<br />
<br />
On my first day back in the saddle, I gave myself an easy assignment. I think it's important to trot before attempting to gallop. If anyone knows that, it's <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4201199073991999054#editor/target=post;postID=8065703817043535770">ME</a>.<br />
<br />
Here it is. My welcome back to blogging post. Yes, I just welcomed <em>myself</em> back. It's my blog. I can do that.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Top 10 reasons why I'm coming back to blogging-</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (In random order)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
10.- I just graduated from school and I'm eager to get back into writing about whatever the hell I want. I'm so done with school that I may intentionally mispell (that was on purpose) words and use improper grammar just BECAUSE I CAN. Try to grade me. I dare you.<br />
<br />
9.- I know you are dying to hear about how bad life is when your disposal breaks....<em>or how much worse it can get</em> when you turn on the water (in the midst of it being fixed) and you cause a major flood. Oh yes, things like this make<em> great</em> writing material.<br />
<br />
8.- The more I write, the better I feel. And we all deserve to feel good.<br />
<br />
7.- Since I'm no longer on Facebook, blogging will bring me back into the social media network, and I miss my network groupies.<br />
<br />
6.- I woke up at 6:00 AM this morning and made the boys piping hot blueberry muffins with the biggest, juiciest, most ginormous (and organic!) blueberries on the planet and they rejected them. Two of the boys even cried. My blueberry muffins made my children sob. I <em>so</em> need to share these things.<br />
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5.- I'm excited to write about <span style="font-size: large;">whatever I feel like</span> writing about. (I'm repeating myself, aren't I?)<br />
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4.- Spring is on it's way, and it will be here early (thanks Punxsutawney Phil!). That doesn't leave me a lot of time to get my garden on. I'm eager to write about topics like swiss chard and kale.<br />
<br />
3.- My oldest turns 12 next week. That's dangerously close to 13. <span style="font-size: large;">That</span>, my friends, leaves a lot to write about.<br />
<br />
2.- I still dream about (every 27.2 seconds to be precise) moving to a farm. Maybe the more I write about it, the faster it will come true? <br />
<br />
1.- I have 104 days of happenings that I'm yearning to share.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>But only if you're ready to listen.</strong></em><br />
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-85961749203636255352012-10-23T09:57:00.000-07:002012-10-23T10:00:55.155-07:00Walkabout<span style="font-size: large;">Where has the time gone,</span> and why do I always feel as though I start my blog posts with this sentence?
Fall break came and went,and I'm trying to adjust to life without a house full of rowdy boys. It's nice to have calm and quiet every now and then, but I miss my noisy gents. <br />
<em></em><br />
<em><strong>A quiet house is a lonely one.</strong></em><br />
<br />
On Sunday, Derek and I took the youngsters on a walk to enjoy the warm sun and beautiful fall colors. We spend a lot of time outdoors, but this particular outing will always remain at the top of my list. We were missing one boy, who was busy working off his debt at Dee and Papa's. It was strange not having him with us, and even more peculiar to be counting to <em>four</em> every time I did a headcount....which I do quite frequently. Though <em>we</em> missed his presence, <em>he</em> jumped at the opportunity to duck out of yet <em>another</em> family hike. The boy is growing up, and I am not a fan.<br />
<br />
Our journey was filled with treasures just waiting to be discovered. One of the first, was a row of abandoned nests from the little mud swallows who have flown south in search of warmer temps. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMjtcw9nyQ_2r7tyysLolPxfv-gVSCiiT8xelDehasY9o9cygChr_F2FO8JB9f-hKrLU8XBiHmWK42eNUrlLkucRaiyYjz6_iUwtPD8XFTDEei2Nn6lehBQwMkcq4duCKUbg8faijFO8/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMjtcw9nyQ_2r7tyysLolPxfv-gVSCiiT8xelDehasY9o9cygChr_F2FO8JB9f-hKrLU8XBiHmWK42eNUrlLkucRaiyYjz6_iUwtPD8XFTDEei2Nn6lehBQwMkcq4duCKUbg8faijFO8/s320/012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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There were plenty of snake holes, trap door spider caves, and other miscellaneous</div>
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crevasses to explore.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5AwDVgaQlPphyC4N_fAiWXGOzCfBsZEp9gcnFzy_-w6CVs4K7IFqDkYUoeA_RhurM4aJ_qLtY5uTX-kVs6q7F_Tm5ZHN4BYxbDOtFpKDPC9cLV7gHTYa9RkZmfH68O2NS6PZpCVKpr4/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5AwDVgaQlPphyC4N_fAiWXGOzCfBsZEp9gcnFzy_-w6CVs4K7IFqDkYUoeA_RhurM4aJ_qLtY5uTX-kVs6q7F_Tm5ZHN4BYxbDOtFpKDPC9cLV7gHTYa9RkZmfH68O2NS6PZpCVKpr4/s320/019.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Look at this view. I could stare at this picture all day. In fact, I may.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1ZuBBDxPtV6cmI2XBzxJkYPKNZhukD3n_CEWnF88lyyvT0nfkG-0c02yPpDXGgFzdI_TZS_s-zBUJ_qbLPg0VA0HNMrp7OD33f7zaO98CXAPUC00oprxADNDSFBrUs-v6-5LHow6gnI/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1ZuBBDxPtV6cmI2XBzxJkYPKNZhukD3n_CEWnF88lyyvT0nfkG-0c02yPpDXGgFzdI_TZS_s-zBUJ_qbLPg0VA0HNMrp7OD33f7zaO98CXAPUC00oprxADNDSFBrUs-v6-5LHow6gnI/s320/021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We helped a few silk weeds escape their pods. </div>
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They whispered 'thanks' as they blew away</div>
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in the wind.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZuRxwC5BmgkK_Z4vbk3YXAF2cef0Wajtk7bCwofrj5t0-C5vl9WbZOcL7JojYH1uSc9fP5fdgeVXpbWMkNR_pRkx3sjEzIOjmGYgEvqS2UtTFwOAyyxK6IXQDsI3IYa9mHaJ0atQ43I/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZuRxwC5BmgkK_Z4vbk3YXAF2cef0Wajtk7bCwofrj5t0-C5vl9WbZOcL7JojYH1uSc9fP5fdgeVXpbWMkNR_pRkx3sjEzIOjmGYgEvqS2UtTFwOAyyxK6IXQDsI3IYa9mHaJ0atQ43I/s320/023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Another picture that I could stare at forever.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTvCC_7oFzUdnPDY1oXkIv6Iqq4rP39OMJZlpwo2yfOIwLrTTC4RzaJo-wCgwpaYb9x4PP4TYXH6GbwpznoGUIkhaAHrbTA_Q9fZRU_Xd4sYuEXRuYamLeMx07CURxLtnhnFvnxAKvnA/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTvCC_7oFzUdnPDY1oXkIv6Iqq4rP39OMJZlpwo2yfOIwLrTTC4RzaJo-wCgwpaYb9x4PP4TYXH6GbwpznoGUIkhaAHrbTA_Q9fZRU_Xd4sYuEXRuYamLeMx07CURxLtnhnFvnxAKvnA/s320/036.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This was taken right before I made him step away from the cliff. It may look as though he's right at the shore, but don't let it fool you. He was teetering at a death-defying 12 feet above the water. He was also in a trance and seemed to be mesmerized by his surroundings. </div>
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Love this nature-lovin' boy of mine</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HVxWD8OK4Ag_uxQjg7NbAPd_UIGMenfQMBZYSfCQp-xBHs8GPsnEGDjlpBBUJC26sHJUPJafpCv-SHDpWJGyhByvCj8jYRj-Ahzvz2bR15TMiXtYyeyPBjsULd_OAyEUT7b-kIfMg_A/s1600/046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HVxWD8OK4Ag_uxQjg7NbAPd_UIGMenfQMBZYSfCQp-xBHs8GPsnEGDjlpBBUJC26sHJUPJafpCv-SHDpWJGyhByvCj8jYRj-Ahzvz2bR15TMiXtYyeyPBjsULd_OAyEUT7b-kIfMg_A/s320/046.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Well done, kids. You didn't cut our heads off this time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjs-br0e9KYqJZ6ZRWpEAhvVsDwskXkJercLlhmkzYWxmkYPQ-0ctl6XI4dvLqEEeN79FG7UUegRuqHItOSUpQ4M0JgI4Z0eD-3qqqfLM1RZkAXa1lkHDwe2fs9XxGtseLQeZonUT4Ps/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjs-br0e9KYqJZ6ZRWpEAhvVsDwskXkJercLlhmkzYWxmkYPQ-0ctl6XI4dvLqEEeN79FG7UUegRuqHItOSUpQ4M0JgI4Z0eD-3qqqfLM1RZkAXa1lkHDwe2fs9XxGtseLQeZonUT4Ps/s320/058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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A hike is not a hike until you find a hopper or two....or three or four.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNs-CoqEgG0x4vZdVXLYc4ddFxWSPpIGbkRRVeOpK97B8-apV8g7FxubPUDOxYGy1c-UeukJ3cF-lQ5WNlyXiEcudG2yLJr_ZaHra6T0VquzZ7P9xojnX1qPQ_Fo2vZJdwst2gCbZNmL4/s1600/062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNs-CoqEgG0x4vZdVXLYc4ddFxWSPpIGbkRRVeOpK97B8-apV8g7FxubPUDOxYGy1c-UeukJ3cF-lQ5WNlyXiEcudG2yLJr_ZaHra6T0VquzZ7P9xojnX1qPQ_Fo2vZJdwst2gCbZNmL4/s320/062.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Is it just me, or could you stand in this spot and quickly forget all your cares </div>
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and worries in the world?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOsNH0eo44Osy2HjT67abSyndfkCPkznJqhTZ-tcrzYSPvVYwQlLuOkjuzquxXO3T_FuQgzJV32LceAJWD_fFwSnrtEPtaTbaLyAHpeaeUpraANfH7qKZFF9RExHqpdVwAdBP-tAWgWk4/s1600/067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOsNH0eo44Osy2HjT67abSyndfkCPkznJqhTZ-tcrzYSPvVYwQlLuOkjuzquxXO3T_FuQgzJV32LceAJWD_fFwSnrtEPtaTbaLyAHpeaeUpraANfH7qKZFF9RExHqpdVwAdBP-tAWgWk4/s320/067.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This picture isn't nearly as beautiful as the actual scene in real life. The glistening leaves that lined the path mimicked the yellow brick road. I was disappointed to find that the wizard </div>
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was<em> not</em> at the end. I'd like to ask him for a few things.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiPmmMjV-q_lMT368mOW3v3d28Yv1Hvg5oEDAJj8gQAQoFen4dUx8gUe593kiFooIB33B4QSPD1Ejzz78O_I0Sf6b3uh06S831bsyPeH-UBVrcS_2O9Rs63fq5H9zwrlsF2fdRO_AqIg/s1600/070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiPmmMjV-q_lMT368mOW3v3d28Yv1Hvg5oEDAJj8gQAQoFen4dUx8gUe593kiFooIB33B4QSPD1Ejzz78O_I0Sf6b3uh06S831bsyPeH-UBVrcS_2O9Rs63fq5H9zwrlsF2fdRO_AqIg/s320/070.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Some of us find walking sticks, while others say 'screw it' and take the whole damn branch.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvKxHLACaEHYQK5g4XBALT3xm5Gj66cZWiV9qPXrVLzbUcqk2AsLNWesSHJF_q_DPG3BR0NiIBEIwYRbZi6UDDeCKyROgxF1lnK4ir6wHmjwTV25eSRnPxJAYUVZqzgjeB5us67hXqY0/s1600/076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvKxHLACaEHYQK5g4XBALT3xm5Gj66cZWiV9qPXrVLzbUcqk2AsLNWesSHJF_q_DPG3BR0NiIBEIwYRbZi6UDDeCKyROgxF1lnK4ir6wHmjwTV25eSRnPxJAYUVZqzgjeB5us67hXqY0/s320/076.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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(I took 97 pictures.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqAj-YGX75WTldFkpwWX2xdLklq3oFqXFBYxjLb-ZMg5ro5O6uP_CM13wsN-lIQInxdJ3VK6faPiuYXJfpXayvCL4ZJIt38jc5uX2HzaBya42Lo4a4Z9Gwqt0CqiBXtHyJB52oziG5adY/s1600/079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqAj-YGX75WTldFkpwWX2xdLklq3oFqXFBYxjLb-ZMg5ro5O6uP_CM13wsN-lIQInxdJ3VK6faPiuYXJfpXayvCL4ZJIt38jc5uX2HzaBya42Lo4a4Z9Gwqt0CqiBXtHyJB52oziG5adY/s320/079.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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It's all fun and games til someone steps on a cactus. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOp3W9LUnFMhvmbsGIeiY6xiR2VB1eyamyL763RZ_75FqPamSwDatyw-d30XNhfKYa9zctPde7p2JG1_ZSZm_Bx6-uWNWiG2yu7a4z7irdAh_HXPd5CZyji08jD0G4dYH-CfUWTjIuy4/s1600/081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOp3W9LUnFMhvmbsGIeiY6xiR2VB1eyamyL763RZ_75FqPamSwDatyw-d30XNhfKYa9zctPde7p2JG1_ZSZm_Bx6-uWNWiG2yu7a4z7irdAh_HXPd5CZyji08jD0G4dYH-CfUWTjIuy4/s320/081.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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He wouldn't tell me his wish, but I'd venture to guess it had something to do with a hot dog, a steak, or a slab of ribs. The boy <strong>NEVER. STOPS. EATING.</strong></div>
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<strong></strong> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdLLXuUp4ITydgdKINlQFXXwef6z2tCCBrtbRLxaxZoHTpgXMCj5SMJEOX6Ji8UQq0s-eDqKXsQaYDEBeEyhFDYWWdj3QcKlkHxXFJNNLiqT2rzsSR_iFYyoHAdbRGiAj6ycSgWM6T-U/s1600/092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdLLXuUp4ITydgdKINlQFXXwef6z2tCCBrtbRLxaxZoHTpgXMCj5SMJEOX6Ji8UQq0s-eDqKXsQaYDEBeEyhFDYWWdj3QcKlkHxXFJNNLiqT2rzsSR_iFYyoHAdbRGiAj6ycSgWM6T-U/s320/092.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Looks like this caterpillar was just as hungry.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHqTaYwTv7omgbz7LzlmlfS-I4xKC7O2t7yQcqN1lQZBFii3xwPLIgLFqeVn65REK6XSROYSF17Ge38BmdzbzHqMo8UflZrvE74WxD8RxHnfIHHbya2PrJUVkfHA3MonMTO1zOXDA8Ro/s1600/097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHqTaYwTv7omgbz7LzlmlfS-I4xKC7O2t7yQcqN1lQZBFii3xwPLIgLFqeVn65REK6XSROYSF17Ge38BmdzbzHqMo8UflZrvE74WxD8RxHnfIHHbya2PrJUVkfHA3MonMTO1zOXDA8Ro/s320/097.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em>Items not pictured are, a water snake, a pair of mallards, a hawk, one ginormous ant hill, and one 11 year old who is too cool for nature walks.</em> </div>
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-7068742003487244782012-10-03T15:28:00.000-07:002012-10-03T15:28:00.123-07:00Mommy blues.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqF4UDC3UGFzyd1_KoGUW-zLF6ImBmrcPY3JmH_czjWoyvfh1jjoKZMjtp5WxT00WiuDbewcESi55TestugagXNqTni0eUIpHOGzYu0M94B2CecTAjlDqwqEExzv3ni2fYGMhSMPBWryI/s1600/ev+outdoor+ed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqF4UDC3UGFzyd1_KoGUW-zLF6ImBmrcPY3JmH_czjWoyvfh1jjoKZMjtp5WxT00WiuDbewcESi55TestugagXNqTni0eUIpHOGzYu0M94B2CecTAjlDqwqEExzv3ni2fYGMhSMPBWryI/s320/ev+outdoor+ed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If your son left this morning</span> for 6th grade camp, you're probably feeling a little blue today.
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Feeling blue, will make you crave chocolate.<br />
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You'll keep busy, while chaperoning your kindergartners field trip, which will help you forget about the fact that your 11 year old <span style="font-size: large;"><strong>just left for two days, </strong></span><span style="font-size: small;">which will help you avoid overindulgence in chocolate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><em>UNTIL....</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
Your friend (and fellow field trip mom) tells you about the enticing no-bake cookies she made last night (it's all your fault, Charlene!)<br />
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Hearing about chocolaty no-bake cookies will make your mouth start to water, and your tummy begin to growl.<br />
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Driving home from the field trip, you'll turn the radio up EXTRA LOUD in an effort to drown the noises of your growling stomach. <br />
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(it won't do much good)<br />
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Once home, you'll scour the cabinets for something sweet. Reaching for a handful of candy corn (boring), you'll glance at the peanut butter jar. Seeing the peanut butter jar will remind you of the no-bake cookies your friend told you about. In your mind, you'll run through the short list of ingredients she said they contained and hope that you have everything.<br />
<br />
Crossing your fingers that you have what they call for, you'll google<strong><em> NO-BAKE COOKIES</em></strong>.<br />
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Googling NO-BAKE COOKIES will leave you with a bazillion different recipes. You pick the one that looks the yummiest (sans gluten) and tweak it to your liking. After tweaking, you'll begin to do the following:<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Bring the following to a boil:</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>-1 3/4 cups sugar</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>-4 T. cocoa powder</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>-1/2 cup milk</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>1/2 cup butter</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Once your mixture is boiling, you'll let it boil for exactly one minute, then mix in the following:</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>-1 t. vanilla</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>-1/2 cup creamy peanut butter</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>-3 1/2 cups oats </em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>You'll mix everything together, and drop these babies by the spoonful onto parchment (or waxed) paper.</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYIVqoWgN3AGRFJXiItjcC9eHtcfXnXKl2zGnOzq56STqKYAUw6OOq5ro7Ys7eVJnm0TZm5BYuK4tRDmlUm0xDIRUMoNtYxD-oGcxxXpugIhhTYs4hOVROYe_9sa9v1fyInAC0RxuJEo/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYIVqoWgN3AGRFJXiItjcC9eHtcfXnXKl2zGnOzq56STqKYAUw6OOq5ro7Ys7eVJnm0TZm5BYuK4tRDmlUm0xDIRUMoNtYxD-oGcxxXpugIhhTYs4hOVROYe_9sa9v1fyInAC0RxuJEo/s320/4.jpg" width="240" /></a>
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You'll lick the pan clean.....<em>really, you will</em>.....and you'll let the rest set for an hour or so. Then you'll try your best not to eat the entire batch before your kids get home.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQbERafAaIluwoWscXKH-zdsS4VFl44qy3AlrP1OBNXx-gwl8Qi9Npq1w8kcvmSLAMxMywLt8w3-cL28iw4M_CZRFeZCctVB72n8z1gwPJ3VgcYHbp7mBg6JrCxz3Xm4U2kwcUt_GOXY/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQbERafAaIluwoWscXKH-zdsS4VFl44qy3AlrP1OBNXx-gwl8Qi9Npq1w8kcvmSLAMxMywLt8w3-cL28iw4M_CZRFeZCctVB72n8z1gwPJ3VgcYHbp7mBg6JrCxz3Xm4U2kwcUt_GOXY/s320/1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Thinking of your kids will remind you that one of them won't be coming home for two days. As you start to become blue, you'll remember the yummy chocolate treats you made. As you begin to eat your third one, you'll decide that chocolate makes everything gloomy a teensy bit better.<br />
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The End.<br />
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-25899256131537705452012-10-02T13:49:00.001-07:002012-10-02T13:49:44.278-07:00Bye bye, susan.<span style="font-size: large;">Do you have a lazy susan?</span><br />
<br />
No, I am not referring to that weird aunt of yours, but rather the disturbing cabinet that sits <em>(very lazily)</em> in the corner of your kitchen.
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You know the one.</span>
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Do you love your susan, or are you tired of her being, you know,<span style="font-size: large;"><em> LAZY</em></span>?</div>
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If <span style="font-size: large;"><em>your</em></span> susan is anything like<span style="font-size: large;"><em> my</em></span> susan, she's dirty, stained, doesn't shut properly, and has the storage capability similar to a shoebox. <em>Though I think a shoebox could hold more.</em></div>
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Last week, my susan took her last breath. I was trying (ever so gently) to organize her unkempt shelves. I strategically placed my baking pans (and other misc. tools) on susans' two shelves. I closed the door, which popped back open, like it always does. As I tried to 'fix' the door, a rolling pin got wedged, and susan became even more defiant than ever before.</div>
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I ran to the garage (mummbling a few bad words on the way), grabbed a handful of tools, and did what should have been years ago. I ripped susan out<em> (not so gently).</em></div>
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In the process, I found a lot of dust, and a Dorito chip that just may be 10 or more years old.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">No more susan.</span></div>
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I loaded my new storage space (no longer referred to a susan) with my baking pans, cookie sheets, and pie plates.</div>
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It looked a little bare, so I hung cup hooks and added my rolling pin, pot holders, and even hubby's BBQ tools to the new area. But <span style="font-size: large;">THEN</span> I got the<strong><em> bestest idea ever</em></strong>!<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Yes, I'm perfectly aware that bestest isn't a true word. However, it remains one of my favorites.)</span></div>
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I lined that sucker with a swank pattern of contact paper. Oh happy day!</div>
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For a finishing touch, I painted the edge of the bottom corner using a black Sharpie paint pen.</div>
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Isn't it wonderful! It's super functional, <strong><em>and</em></strong> amazingly adorable all at the <u>same time</u>.</div>
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That'll teach susan.</div>
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<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-43911426665370066642012-09-28T08:51:00.000-07:002012-09-28T08:51:59.312-07:00ME time.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJwOKzJaElcCQUYETGYBkToCtMz7LOVyuANLD8lal0FUyipSK3fC_usesNWlSwm-kRGRZMSl-6vxdZxHw_YylMcDfbrblTP-t6_uTz6BwNj-eVtQvZwQKkVSmDvMWz5Hc5fgccpRX1Qw/s1600/093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJwOKzJaElcCQUYETGYBkToCtMz7LOVyuANLD8lal0FUyipSK3fC_usesNWlSwm-kRGRZMSl-6vxdZxHw_YylMcDfbrblTP-t6_uTz6BwNj-eVtQvZwQKkVSmDvMWz5Hc5fgccpRX1Qw/s320/093.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yowzers, life is busy.</span> I used to try to envision what life would be like once <em>all five boys</em> were in school. Though I'm not the lounging, bon bon type, I pictured myself getting caught up on all my little projects, in between the time I'd spend baking, decorating, painting, and writing. Id put my feet up every now and then and get lost in a book, with a piping hot cup of tea by my side.<br />
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What the hell happened? Granted, all 5 boys aren't in school full time, but I <em>do have</em> exactly four hours per week where I'm the <em>ONLY. ONE. HOME</em>.<br />
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Here's the part where I need therapy. Those precious 240 minutes are spent cleaning, folding, organizing, running (think errands, NOT treadmill), doing, volunteering, and partaking in many other <em>ing's</em>.<br />
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Funny thing is, I'm having a blast! Who knew it would be so much fun to grocery shop <strong>alone</strong>, run in and out of stores <strong>alone</strong>, fold laundry (music blaring) <strong>alone</strong>, and scrub the kitchen floor when there are no little feet eager to traipse through your mop trail?<br />
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Life is good. Damn good.<br />
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The crisp autumn air is the cherry that sits atop this blissful life of mine. (Have you any idea how much I adore the declining temperatures?) Bye bye shorts and flip flops. Hello jeans and tall boots...I've been waiting (very impatiently) for you.<br />
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In other news, when I'm not folding, cooking, cleaning, and/or running (again, no treadmill), I can be found volunteering at the boys' school. I think I may start sleeping there. It'd be much easier than this back and forth gig. Last week, the boys had field day and the two littles and I went to cheer them on. <br />
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Here's a snippet-<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>Happy Friday!</em></strong></span><br />
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-74880611471955147922012-09-12T10:27:00.000-07:002012-09-12T10:27:11.278-07:00Best. Day. EVER.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Have a look at those leaves.</span> It doesn't get more exciting. Fall has arrived, people! Today I am the happiest girl alive. It's pouring rain, and it's a brisk 55 degrees outside. I'm wearing jeans...did you hear that? I'M WEARING <i>JEANS, a</i>nd sorting through my cookbooks trying to decide what I'll bake today. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today was the first day</span> my boys have worn pants since <em>at least</em> March of this year. You know what <em>that</em> means -They all trotted off to school looking like the Cleaver's. <u>None</u> of them had pants that came past their ankles. Poor kids are bound to get 'the business' from their peeps today<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My apologies, boys.</span><br />
<br />
Look on the bright side. At least you don't have a crazy Aunt Martha who demands you wear the short-pants suit she bought you to school.<br />
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Things could always be worse.<br />
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<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-38256475343836009862012-09-11T11:54:00.000-07:002012-09-11T11:58:21.170-07:00Buyer's RemorseLast night I was invited to a<strong><em> 31 party</em></strong>, hosted by one of my awesome neighbors. If you're anything like me, you are reading this thinking, <i>"what the heck is a 31 party?"</i>
<br />
<br />
No, it has nothing to do with ice cream (though I wish they could somehow combine the two).
<br />
<br />
In short, 31 is a company that sells totes, bags, purses, etc. The catchy part is that YOU get to pick your own fabric, and can even personalize your bag with a monogram. If you're really lucky, you can even pick the color of your stitching.
What's not to love?
And, if you're like me, you get completely<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">S </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">U </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">C </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">K </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">E</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">D</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">N </span><br />
when it comes to these types of home parties. I usually fall SO in love with the products, that I end up being a consultant.
Speaking of, everyone OK with their <a href="http://www.mywildtree.com/farmgirl/">Wildtree</a> spices and oils? Let me know if you need to order anything.<br />
<br />
Every inch of my neighbor's family room was sprinkled with lovely bags of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Each one reached out to me as I walked by, but <span style="font-size: large;"><em>this one</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><em>and this one</em></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
grabbed hold of me ever so tightly. <br />
<br />
I bobbled back and forth between the two, comparing their pros and cons (I'm lying a tad about the con part - they had no cons). Disaster struck the instant I was faced with the order form. I quickly lost control of the muscles in my hand, and I accidentally ordered them both.<br />
<br />
Crap.<br />
<br />
I ordered the shoulder bag in the grey fabric (shown to the right of the picture) with an<span style="font-size: large;"><em> <span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><strong>A</strong></span></em></span>, embroidered in turquoise. Further impaired by bad judgement, I went on to order the wristlet (in the black and white pattern on the top).<br />
<br />
Crappity crap.<br />
<br />
Today I'm suffering from an excruciating amount of guilt, remorse, regret, and shame....<em>to name a few.</em><br />
<br />
Before I go through with cancelling my order, I thought I should make a list of the<strong><em> top 10 reasons why I deserve these delightful items.</em></strong> Here goes-<br />
<br />
10.- Because I <u>never</u> buy things for myself (other than shampoo, toothpaste, underwear, and mascara...but not until it becomes completely dried out and clumpy).<br />
9.- Because winter isn't coming fast enough and I'm continually faced with 90 degree days, which makes me grumpy.<br />
8.- Because my husband is traveling for work this week, and I HATE. BEING. ALONE.<br />
7.- Because I just ate a ham & hummus sandwich for lunch.<br />
6.- Because I woke up late this morning and made my husband's lunch, my kids' lunches, packed their backpacks, and made homemade pancakes (in the shape of storm troopers, Darth Vader, and Yoda) in less than 45 minutes.<br />
5.- Because a shoulder bag with a turquoise<strong> A</strong> would make me giddy.<br />
4.- Because a wristlet would come in handy for places where lugging a large purse around is frowned upon (Like when we visit our farm. Farmgirl's don't carry big purses.).<br />
3.- Because Christmas is 105 days away.<br />
2.- Because today is my 13th wedding anniversary, and my husband and I have no plans to go anywhere, do anything, or buy any gifts. My husband could give <em>me</em> the shoulder bag, and I could give <em>him</em> the wristlet. Being the manly man he is, he wouldn't have any use for the wristlet, so he would kindly re-gift it to me. He's always been very giving.<br />
1.- Because I'm Amy, mother of 5 amazing boys, wife of 13 amazing years, and DARN IT.....I'm kinda worth it!<br />
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-80657038170435357702012-09-04T13:47:00.000-07:002012-09-04T13:47:23.084-07:00Life on the prairie can be cruel.<span style="font-size: large;">Labor Day weekend</span> was this wannabe-farmgirl's <em>dream come true.</em>
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<br />
Horse rides...
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvpiPttdotgMGgzVGqCUf_E21z6vBusC789ziIQdKENUrMTRLQEiv9QVpBTXysI2_2ZWS7W9t7xSQKR3gfw57Xj1jQVWOz1cOsOkGOCyUEFMOt2KPcesZghszbivkmDwzNxdUOOB9sAw/s1600/066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvpiPttdotgMGgzVGqCUf_E21z6vBusC789ziIQdKENUrMTRLQEiv9QVpBTXysI2_2ZWS7W9t7xSQKR3gfw57Xj1jQVWOz1cOsOkGOCyUEFMOt2KPcesZghszbivkmDwzNxdUOOB9sAw/s320/066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
after horse rides...
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after horse rides...
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after horse rides.
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Throw in a few tractor rides,<br />
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and some campfires,
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and you've got yerself one heck of a good time!<br />
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Just when things couldn't seem more perfect, this little lady got the bright idea to learn how to gallop off into the sunset.
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<br />
The first go-round went smooth as can be.
The second? Well, not so much. Starlight, the three year old mare (who was sweet as pie to my boys, thank goodness), decided she had had enough of me. She reared once, she reared twice, and the third time she successfully threw me towards the moon.
<br />
<br />
Ouch.<br />
<br />
No, seriously....<em>OUCH.</em>
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<br />
I landed square on my my right hip, which inevitably, landed me here-<br />
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I'm bruised and banged up, and I've got a backside that could rival Kim Kardashian.
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<br />
(beauty is <em>not</em> pain-free.)<br />
<br />
<em>To Starlight, the spirited mare-</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>throw me once, shame on you.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Throw me twice.....well, that just isn't going to happen.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Prepare yourself, girl. You and I have only just begun.</em><br />
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-48060834662134942372012-08-28T10:42:00.000-07:002012-08-28T10:42:55.479-07:00Tuesday woes.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>Little Wes, pretending to make it snow (thanks to shredded paper towels) in his city. </em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>I'm not the only one who's ready for a change</em>.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Today I'm feeling gloomy.</span> There's not a cloud in the sky, and the outside temperature will reach a toasty 91 degrees today.
Sounds dreamy, right? <br />
<br />
Yuck.
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This girl is longing for flannels and jeans, sweaters and leggings, scarves and snow. <em> Lots and <span style="font-size: large;">LOTS</span> of snow.</em><br />
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Browsing through old pictures and stumbling upon these just adds fuel to the fire-
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzEaelgElH8AsGFvQKZ7J4gNqJ-O-mQZio9yJoufyzxpbqsRwdLeAkS9tYtY_R-bQdEQ05PA4NFP9C8oOBchzTVUMdnACl1LOux83gZk-TBZQXbnk4PeZJ7ErJFd6Nlln3Fs24Jj0vHQ/s1600/092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzEaelgElH8AsGFvQKZ7J4gNqJ-O-mQZio9yJoufyzxpbqsRwdLeAkS9tYtY_R-bQdEQ05PA4NFP9C8oOBchzTVUMdnACl1LOux83gZk-TBZQXbnk4PeZJ7ErJFd6Nlln3Fs24Jj0vHQ/s320/092.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgLw6m-DW0dNBGaoGf52bxscePoPjPdAKHmnt7x9H_exnvdjpUrcQuFG4zDCey8KSd-wiQXt51hFgzh7qcY_rKDmrS_5OZncuHUlxForoonO6IF9Jd6z_l4_FKNSeG1RJmd-IK7MGt6M/s1600/081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgLw6m-DW0dNBGaoGf52bxscePoPjPdAKHmnt7x9H_exnvdjpUrcQuFG4zDCey8KSd-wiQXt51hFgzh7qcY_rKDmrS_5OZncuHUlxForoonO6IF9Jd6z_l4_FKNSeG1RJmd-IK7MGt6M/s320/081.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFqbEx7VxWe_oqILzfXQEb1ll-u4fOVyMYaShMWQ8NNCXVaBw0JoHTzgcQThkjwFdSPeUUHST6362jhf_8MVD6bL9_i-g6BoouqwCAPcXD5XtqMH4DskE9F9XOnOquEbr5kKs35Z2XDk/s1600/061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFqbEx7VxWe_oqILzfXQEb1ll-u4fOVyMYaShMWQ8NNCXVaBw0JoHTzgcQThkjwFdSPeUUHST6362jhf_8MVD6bL9_i-g6BoouqwCAPcXD5XtqMH4DskE9F9XOnOquEbr5kKs35Z2XDk/s320/061.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As the Denver forecast</span> isn't going to change much over the next 10 days, I'll continue to live vicariously through these pictures-<br />
<em>(which I borrowed from one of my favorite etsy stores, </em><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/GraceandLaceCo"><em>Grace and Lace)</em></a> <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>(I'm pretty sure that the model in the picture above is my very own Aunt Sheila. She's lucky enough to live in foggy San Francisco, and dress like this 365 days a year. Like me, she's a leggings and boots type of girl who wears</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em> a coordinating scarf with every outfit. </em></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>I'd duplicate her wardrobe in a heartbeat)</em></span></div>
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If you're not drooling over these legwarmers right now, you and I may as well part ways. Just looking at them may help to pull me out of these warm weather blues. I don't own any, but if I did, I'd take one in every color.</div>
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Check out the link above and browse their etsy site. You'll be swooning in no time.</div>
<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4201199073991999054.post-73626187891079649092012-08-22T09:30:00.000-07:002012-08-22T09:30:12.084-07:00If mama ain't happy....<span style="font-size: large;">If sanity came in a bottle,</span> I'd be first in line to buy it. I'm pretty sure I'd be one of those selfish consumers that is first in line, 24 hours <em>before</em> the store even opened. I'd race in, trampling those who got in my way. I'd snatch it up....<em>all of it</em>. I'd sit back and drink it whenever I felt as if I just may lose my marbles.
Which happens to be occurring a lot lately.
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However, since bottled sanity remains somewhat of a fantasy (wine does come pretty darn close) and since I'm not mean enough to trample people (in the event a magical sanity juice was ever invented), I've resorted to more conventional ways of staying sane.
Like accountability charts for my little men. Nothing makes me more giddy than a good, old fashioned chart.<br />
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Last week was the first of 37 weeks for the 2012/2013 school year. By day 3, I was ready to yank my hair by the roots. Each morning was spent in a total frenzie, as I made breakfast, packed lunches, gathered snacks, filled water bottles, and collected homework from the night before. Making sure 5 backpacks are set and ready to go is <u>not</u> one of my fondest tasks.
I noticed last Friday, as I hollered at the boys for a little direction, that they seemed to <strong>enjoy</strong> watching me dance around the kitchen. Like cows chewing their cud, they continued to graze on their warm pancakes, slathered in blueberry syrup. I stopped in my tracks and stared back at their faces. As I did, I saw little thought bubbles pop above each and every one of their wee little heads-
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQo2K3GK5pUIsXGkh3zYCl-c1T9F5cN-31NLj8Ue91Cde9AlY2mYseUIyhnQ8DlQ9_aZ5582UmR4CnCmH0uCEcKVI0JnlCV1M1f0jB6YNldd3xNhX0xOTrmzfiXch2wMuXAERAd2sVfI/s1600/5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQo2K3GK5pUIsXGkh3zYCl-c1T9F5cN-31NLj8Ue91Cde9AlY2mYseUIyhnQ8DlQ9_aZ5582UmR4CnCmH0uCEcKVI0JnlCV1M1f0jB6YNldd3xNhX0xOTrmzfiXch2wMuXAERAd2sVfI/s1600/5.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pop, POP, PoP, pop, pOp</span>....and I read each individual bubble....<br />
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(The following sentences are best read in a <i>S L O W</i> , southern draw.)<br />
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<em>"Ma will do it for us."</em><br />
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<em>"Yeah...she always figgers it out, it just takes er a while."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"Sure is fun watchin' er, iddn't it, fellas?"</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"She ain't as sharp as she used to be. Poor mama."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"Good thing her cookin' hasn't changed...mmmmffff."</em><br />
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That's when I decided to burst their bubbles. "Things will be different on Monday, boys. Just you wait and see."<br />
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And I came up with this-<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2sD5FN4BnLFfGI6giy8ER4HeQ2oWqz6w8f7fkWnWVXHqhv8452Ys5qYnE6uYPZRfGgAsLqSahyphenhyphenRCX1tkVfcmWgGLCCNH7T7LM45mM_p9kB_F-eUCYxIjK9TwY9H4vHrqKfWu353_Y6I8/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2sD5FN4BnLFfGI6giy8ER4HeQ2oWqz6w8f7fkWnWVXHqhv8452Ys5qYnE6uYPZRfGgAsLqSahyphenhyphenRCX1tkVfcmWgGLCCNH7T7LM45mM_p9kB_F-eUCYxIjK9TwY9H4vHrqKfWu353_Y6I8/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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In the morning, the stars are empty. As the boys make their way downstairs, I serve them a hot breakfast and pack their lunches. That's <em>my</em> job. And that's where my job ends.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>They</strong></span> are responsible for picking a snack and placing it in their backpack.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>They</strong></span> are responsible for filling their water bottle and placing it in their backpack.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>They</strong></span> are responsible for gathering their homework and placing it in their backpack.<br />
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And <span style="font-size: large;"><strong>they</strong></span> are responsible for grabbing their lunch off the counter and, (you guessed it)<br />
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PLACING IT IN <span style="font-size: large;"><strong>THEIR</strong></span> BACKPACK!<br />
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As we race out the door (we're always racing), the charts look like this-<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_0b1og0in2fvTphTXAyIJp8WggDE9gf0LdF5hWScvSXRM8ihwiEFJtR2kE4yh3Pdzx8zBoPvxbkApoCFUvde33WDGKFIkot3GmIv6608Sbn4YlJ_a-rxiWKlrZmAuqGb8RPwsn8AiDM/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_0b1og0in2fvTphTXAyIJp8WggDE9gf0LdF5hWScvSXRM8ihwiEFJtR2kE4yh3Pdzx8zBoPvxbkApoCFUvde33WDGKFIkot3GmIv6608Sbn4YlJ_a-rxiWKlrZmAuqGb8RPwsn8AiDM/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDP5LJoRcbaEPEBZ8pwVY_SeMUkf7utmupm6svHM7ZOOS3ECqMhDJaEFhNXI8HhrafX1CJg71ikoDPwFsOjVdMJqXf6B7Kmhcgbn3NfzSaO8W9C3-8L4yu612KdaUFtojQ8ayfEG4Ras/s1600/2.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/AVvXsEgRSzUbSzuZgcroToQT7xQ_m-HBvXxHh5ejL3XHTa4QNCSry4iRejS7XVyuf1-cDdHoSkRDU8xB3tlHraR45mZ-P8tWzGmZkcY0dIzeaSo7s8lTiAiFl-Ns8tgbLwoRTaVKhibGHws8B64/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSzUbSzuZgcroToQT7xQ_m-HBvXxHh5ejL3XHTa4QNCSry4iRejS7XVyuf1-cDdHoSkRDU8xB3tlHraR45mZ-P8tWzGmZkcY0dIzeaSo7s8lTiAiFl-Ns8tgbLwoRTaVKhibGHws8B64/s320/2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
All filled....for the most part. <br />
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Everyone is happy. Everyone is sane.<br />
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The End.<br />
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<img align="left" src="http://i523.photobucket.com/albums/w351/laurenjh04/Custom%20Designs/Susis%20G/signature-2.png" style="border: 0pt currentColor;" />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04260540514602507146noreply@blogger.com1