tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38661505883079766412023-11-16T09:32:36.528-06:00Adventures in Babysittingmy dreams (and my nightmares) come trueUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-76829442002646500092014-03-08T14:38:00.000-06:002014-03-08T14:38:21.740-06:00Perfection: The Problem<div style="text-align: left;">
The truth is out. Being perfect is overrated. Many opinions are pointing in this direction, especially amongst moms. "Moms can't possibly do it all," they say. "Give us some slack," they beg. </div>
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"Doing it all is too much pressure," we all think. </div>
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The term "supermom" was coined in the 70's, referring to women who were raising children, performing the duties of a housewife, and being a bread-winner. By such a definition, any woman who even <i>attempts</i> all of those is a supermom to me. Unfortunately, this title has leached into present day society, as the ultimate compliment to a woman in the world of children, and even becoming a sarcastic dig at those who try to do their best. Perfection is equated with the super-ness of your mom skills. In my circles of my acquaintances, many of the things that earn you that title, have very little to do with being a mother, and have more to do with impressing other people. </div>
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When I first hopped on the blog wagon, I was nursing a baby, and spent a decent chunk of time everyday, either composing a post, or reading those of my favorite bloggers while baby fed. I can remember being at my mom's house, swinging my daughter on the tire swing outside, regretting that I didn't have a camera to take a picture for my blog. I said to my sister, "If I was a good mom, I'd have my camera to take a picture of this!" My wise sister replied, "You are a good mom because you are spending time with your child. You don't need to take a picture to prove it." Or something to that effect. That is what I heard her say, anyway. How grateful I was to her for opening my eyes! Reading blogs about vacations, and outings, and travels made me feel like we were the most uninteresting people on the planet. I will admit, I started my blog for me, as an exercise to get out of my comfort zone, by sharing my thoughts, as well as a way to document family happenings, etc., but I also sought approval. My readership consists of about four people, all related to me, so I wasn't expecting grand accolades, but I was seeking approval nonetheless. I wanted what I was writing about to impress someone. I wanted the pictures I posted to convince them we were having fun, when all that mattered was that we were spending time together. </div>
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Perfectionism is a double edged sword. On one side, we require so much from ourselves that when we do not meet the mark, we feel inadequate. On the other side, we know that we never can be perfect in everything we do, so we begin to give up, and tell ourselves that it is okay to not try. </div>
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Finding the balance between the extremes is where we find happiness. Knowing that we can never do it all is realistic. Recognizing the load we can handle, is vital. We are all different. Different schedules, hobbies, jobs, family make-up, ambitions. I know it can be hard not to feel bad when the neighbor kids go to karate every afternoon, and your kids don't go because it's not in your budget, or you have too many other demands on your time, but the privilege of every mother and father is to decide what is right for their kids, within their circumstances. It doesn't make the neighbor mom better than you, or you better than her. There are reasons we shouldn't judge each other. It breeds feelings of inadequacy. Accepting others, and knowing they accept you is where we should try for perfection. </div>
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Personally, I have found my standards for perfection have changed over time. I don't care as much about the way I wrap gifts, or making something homemade for every baby shower I attend. However, some things, like trying to be obedient to God, have not changed. And while I may not meet that standard as completely as I'd like, I do strive to become better and improve, and correct my errors. For me, the spiritual things are far more important than whether I styled my kids' hair before school, or clipped there fingernails last night. Those things are important too, and have their place, but how I fold my towels has no bearing on my worth. I hope that amongst my virtues are the way I treat others, and my willingness to serve God. And if my towel folding earns a merit, I'll take it, but it's more likely to be due to the fact that they were folded in record time, not that they looked neat. </div>
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Some days, my perfect is to finish my "to do" list, no matter how poorly some of the tasks were done. Some days, my perfect is to do whatever I have to do to get a perfect cake done by a certain time. And some days, my perfect is knowing the basic needs of my family have been met, even though absolutely nothing else got done. There are lots of days when my "perfect" is not met, and I need an extension. And that is okay. </div>
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I wish my daughter always had a bow in her hair. I wish my sons clothes were perfectly placed in their drawers. I wish I had desire to clean my windows. I wish I folded all of my laundry as soon as it came out of the dryer. I wish I still made my daughter's dresses. I wish I had super fun things for my kids to do every Saturday. I wish I were more consistent. I wish I wanted to exercise. I wish I loved grocery shopping, and had time to coupon. I wish a lot of things, but the thing I wish for the most is for my children to be kind, to be tolerant, to do their best, and to be happy. It's not to be perfect. </div>
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I don't think we should throw the perfection out the window. Doing something perfectly is good. It is great! It just depends on what <i>your</i> perfect is, and if you did the best you could, within the circumstances you were given. I firmly believe that We should always try to do our best, at whatever We do, but I also know that it doesn't have to be better than Everyone Else's. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-75342484894838605412012-04-25T16:24:00.000-05:002012-04-25T16:27:54.778-05:00Treasure HuntersApparently, scrapping metal is "all the rage" now. Actually it has been quite popular for a while, and I am sure that the ole timers don't appreciate the rise in interest, as it takes a hunk out of their work load and profits. I think it is a wonderful thing. Taking someone's, let say, discarded water heater that no longer works, is a great service. It's removal benefits both parties.<br />
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Similarly, dumpster diving is also "all the rage". These people call themselves "Freegans". Can you guess what they are looking for? I am all for finding someone else's treasures on the side of the road, or in an actual dumpster. I have, in fact, been banned, by my darling husband, from bringing another piece of furniture into our house. (Did he say Garage? I didn't think so!) However, these "Freegans" are not dipping into the trash pile for that sweet little rocking chair that just needs a coat of paint. They are digging for food. Yup. Food. I, personally, must draw the line. But if that is your main food source, I get it. The economy is terrible. But, I am convinced that some of these people are in it for the feeling of espionage one can get from sneaking past a rent-a-cop.<br />
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In an unfortunate turn of events, a mixed conglomeration of these bread winning activities has invaded my neighborhood. My yard, to be exact:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>At approximately 9:38 pm, the other night, the dog was shushed into silence, by The Man of the House. It was assumed that he, the fearless pup, was claiming his territory from the small bird chirping outside, or a dog walking his owner nearby. Upon further investigation, The Man of the House peered into the night, shocked to see someone digging through the trash. His Dear Wife insisted he leave The Man alone. "After all, dear, we did put some lovely things out there." </i><br />
<i> In her abject nosiness, she too peered from the upstairs window, unseen. "The Man is dumping out MY trash!" The Man had just picked up the bag and emptied the unmentionable contents, searching through them for who knows what. The grass had been defiled. His Dear Wife's bad kitchen habits revealed! The Man of the House grabbed his fearless guard dog, and confronted The Man. The Man rushed off in fear of his is life and The Happy Family was able to sleep peacefully.</i></blockquote>
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Okay, the dude was literally digging through my big green trash can. I have a problem with this. Go through my junk beside the can. Take what you want. But the trash can is off limits. I called the City, thinking they would be on my side. I mean, the trash either belongs to me, or to them. They said there wasn't anything I could do about it! Yes, the guy tried to pick up, but I still had to go out there and clean up a bags worth of trash. At night. In my PJ's. Another atrocity. Is there no where to draw the line? Can my trash not even have dignity? Now, I will have to be self-conscious for my trash. Isn't there an organization that supports the rights of my garbage? We have some ideas to get back at them. Or prevent further intrusion.<br />
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;">Collect all of dogs refuse for the week, and place in on top (this may not be okay with the city, but ridiculous times call for ridiculous measures!)</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Booby trap can with pepper spray</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Placing a sign that says "Our trash is our trash. Get your own."</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Placing a brick in each bag (again the city might not be okay with this one)</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Laying in wait, and taking photos of the offenders, turning them in for littering. </li>
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If you scrap metal, awesome! If you are a "Freegan", excellent! If you love finding treasures, me too! If you must go through green garbage cans, please have the decency to take the bag home first. And feel free to leave me a tip under my door mat. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-22980289417996117392012-02-02T21:32:00.001-06:002012-02-06T14:21:10.482-06:00The Hoops We Jump Through...As I was laying, or maybe I should say propped, by Jacob while he was falling asleep, I realized that I spend many uncomfortable minutes trying to make my children happy. I was perched on the edge of his bed, laying there, with my knees on the ground, wanting to go to sleep myself. Sometimes it takes hours to get a child to sleep. Desperation strikes at times, and you fall asleep only to be awakened by the child climbing over you to get a toy, a snack, or leg warmers. I was still in the game, but barely... I forced my eyes to stay open. I was staring at the side of his head, admiring the wax that is so plentiful in my children's ears, just wondering when he would fall out, when he turned his head, and closed his eyes. I could see what is left of his darling baby face through the gaps in my bangs. I wish I could have captured a photo just like that, with my hair in the way, his baby face exposed just enough to remind me how sweet and innocent he is, and how much we have to learn from each other. Then he was asleep, breathing deeply, and I was filled with relief, as well as excitement;I could now get on with my evening. It was a fleeting, precious moment, I am so glad I looked.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-10038163510078868942012-02-02T05:35:00.000-06:002012-03-06T18:35:44.414-06:00Dear Patty Presbyterian...I have a friend, who will hopefully know the titled name to be hers. The kind of friend that you have for a season, that you know is put there in your life for you to learn very specific lessons. The kind that you wished you had taken more efforts to see. We used to joke about the pressures of being Molly Mormon and Patty Presbyterian, and while we only keep touch through our blogs, I admire her, as many do. I read her writings, and I think, "How will I ever be that amazing?" I know she is a real woman, with real struggles, and I feel for her and her family, especially now. She really is an exceptional woman, with an exceptional family. And I hope that when she reads this, she will know I was thinking of her, though I never called or wrote.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-23905593843514045132012-02-01T12:04:00.003-06:002012-02-02T11:59:48.704-06:00Musing on Men: Why Mine is Better than Yours<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ladies...</span>(and I address the ladies because it is exceedingly doubtful that any man reads this, including my own AND you must imagine that I am talking as if we are sharing a cup of tea, </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">sampling cake, and wearing fine dresses, with parasols by our sides) </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: large;">It is not a new thing to get a compliment on my husband. Oh yes, he is a great Man Child, and does not volunteer to clean the toilets, and frequently falls asleep during church, but that is what I call Charm. You know, Charm, right? The things that children and husbands do that are most bothersome, but no one is brave enough to tell you to your face, so they say they have "Charm". I myself am guilty, and I apologize if I have told you that you or your children, or your dog are full of Charm. If you feel the need to take offense, then consider that I would never tell someone they had Charm, if I didn't have a special place in my heart for them. It is almost pre-requisite. And don't worry, if you haven't measured up yet, you will. I have the ability to find Charm anywhere, for Charm adds variety, and I like variety. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now back to <i>my</i> Charm. I recently received a lovely compliment on how my husband helped me during a moment of distress, of his own accord. Indeed, he saved me from having a complete emotional breakdown in the presence of everyone we know. Instead, I was able to carry on in the bathroom. Thank you, Dear ! It could only have been better if he had handed me an handkerchief as he swept the babe from my skirt. I accept these compliments, like I am the deserving recipient of them. Of course, the Man Child is the one who should be receiving them, and I always pass them on, and he is very humble, and even more deserving in my eyes. I find that I am overwhelmed by how he helps me; I, an awful hormonal creature who often makes his life so much more stressful. He takes me as I am, and knows what will get me where I need to be, he occasionally admits that I am right, he puts the boys to bed, and has amazing biceps. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have found that I am, perhaps, proud. Indeed, I have noticed that he has competitors. He is no longer the hands down winner of this non-existing competition. I informed him of this, and he was shocked. Shocked that there was such a competition going on within my brain. In the end, he was not surprised, for even though he swears he will never understand me, he definitely knows me. He is racing, he just doesn't know it, and though he may not win, I suppose, I am just glad that he is in the running. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-4530560277675116522011-09-12T09:02:00.001-05:002011-09-29T11:24:07.115-05:00Boy ShoppingI was laying in bed last night reading a book, where one of the characters is called Ghost-Boy. This naturally led me to thinking of all of the names that I used to give the boys on which I had crushes in college. You know the ones that I was afraid to talk to.<br />
First-Aid-Boy, Yard-Boy, Danny-Boy, ROTC-Boy, Running-Boy,<br />
Library-Boy (Also known as lets-go-to-the-library-and-"study"-every-day-for-a-semester-until-you-start-to-get-a-crush-on-me-and-then-announce-your-fiance-is-coming-from-the-phillipines-boy),<br />
and Bagelby's-Boy (whom my roommate actually liked, but I later found out was also my neighbor's Social-Dance-Boy).<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I had an epiphany: My search for boys was similar to impulse-shopping.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
First, lets review the boy search (I was boy crazy, afterall):</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I saw the-boy. I thought I would die if I didn't talk to him.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I talked to him in class, or at devotional. Whatever.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I thought I would <span style="font-size: large;"><b>never</b></span> be able to live <span style="font-size: large;"><b>without</b></span> him. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I agree to a date.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Next, lets compare it to my impulse-shopping:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I see the cutest bracelets I have ever seen. So cute they make my heart ache.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I look at them while I am shopping. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I move on, continue shopping, all the while thinking about these bracelets, knowing they would look perfect with that black top in my closet. My heart was aching after all.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I give in and go back. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally, the conclusion:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">They are cute, but would be cuter on someone else's arm. </div><div style="text-align: left;">They kind of itch and aren't very comfortable. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I most definitely would <span style="font-size: large;"><b>never</b></span> be able to live <span style="font-size: large;"><b>with</b></span> them.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I forget about them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>At least the boy-shopping has been retired. Now to master the impulse-shopping.<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-21502562278484260972011-06-23T09:12:00.000-05:002011-06-23T09:12:44.511-05:00Pop Tarts...The New PerfumeRecently, a friend was telling me of the differences in the frequency of child-bathing between her and a sister. One was an "every-day-bather-no-matter-what", and one is a "few-times-a-week-and-absolutley-always-before-church". <br />
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P.S. There was no judgement there, just differences stated. All I could think was "Where do I fall in there?" Because I most certainly could not pin point a time when all my kids were bathed in the same day.<br />
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You see, we have entered that phase where some shower and some are still bathed by their mammy. Its hard when they start showering. For a few reasons:<br />
1- I no longer have complete control over the bath situation.<br />
2- The standard of clean that I would like to maintain is different than the child's, mainly because he doesn't have one.<br />
3- I am pretty sure that they aren't even aware of all of the places that need to be washed.<br />
4- It frequently involves the use of an entire bottle of shampoo.<br />
5- No one remembers how to properly use a shower curtain and I am certain the whole bathroom is going to fall through the floor thanks to all of the water that ends up on the floor.<br />
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I also find that my standard is lowered during the summer, when swimming pools are frequented, and we have no where to go. Am I alone in this? Perhaps, we have the only filthy kids in town. <br />
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This morning I announced to my children that a bath was in order. "Why" was thrown out and I replied with a "because you're stinky". Cooper then commented, "I don't smell stinky... I smell fresh...like a Pop tart."<br />
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Amazing. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-63876322862668756282011-05-26T15:13:00.000-05:002011-05-26T15:13:21.707-05:00I do have other kids....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lately I have noticed that Zaida gets top billing around here, so lest anyone forget, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">we do have other children!<img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsqzgLNp8dTLGrY3KSU_LCNUPH3lha_Oi9VlZ7uueGU52X-LD27YP7uacOouWV9eRxSP_9gt-FXO7K9dvpebGfZFlURQPcBnK8KbSXe-dPHiIyuO9FCXwXRd-kLXuYa_5EQwqEtXXy7RMf/s320/IMG_0129.JPG" width="320" /></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJQVpmTikOtU2SUxI4vJvw1Z-IQdVM11oxeIRY9O3wSPg5eryoU96ZTsWCaJXCRHSpgp-YwiIqfKmGotU_sytFyxN2v0RYEQLsuWo8ppDshVQbIL_3-CUVyH0adYPKkgNLPxUEX8a9ntv/s1600/IMG_0423.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJQVpmTikOtU2SUxI4vJvw1Z-IQdVM11oxeIRY9O3wSPg5eryoU96ZTsWCaJXCRHSpgp-YwiIqfKmGotU_sytFyxN2v0RYEQLsuWo8ppDshVQbIL_3-CUVyH0adYPKkgNLPxUEX8a9ntv/s320/IMG_0423.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Cooper about died when they went to Free Comic Book Day and these guys were there, along with an overly healthy Captain America.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAp4AfPaELf1xbgb45M4TgjB4OOtSx2bft7YyxynMeu7yL68qmm0E1u3aROS7LLfkXz3vQ4fvyvMSYT0h3JU_NdeAwkzLfk3kkbNtflsvrN67beZ_8S3dX4E9a-COZ_Lg1N3y3a1Qx2NtU/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAp4AfPaELf1xbgb45M4TgjB4OOtSx2bft7YyxynMeu7yL68qmm0E1u3aROS7LLfkXz3vQ4fvyvMSYT0h3JU_NdeAwkzLfk3kkbNtflsvrN67beZ_8S3dX4E9a-COZ_Lg1N3y3a1Qx2NtU/s320/IMG_0004.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZDpfApBc69fVNFV22FyiHLi15KcyfxZ-r5uno84NM6-RnLAW5-CeJGKR3QyJ2AMaYBvUCH7MLMAXdNoQpjckX9hvpllbjnp1RL7g1XTRZsQc9iwF_BC7sBEzBH5Lo0f4RyTwnjLu5kTb/s1600/IMG_0086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZDpfApBc69fVNFV22FyiHLi15KcyfxZ-r5uno84NM6-RnLAW5-CeJGKR3QyJ2AMaYBvUCH7MLMAXdNoQpjckX9hvpllbjnp1RL7g1XTRZsQc9iwF_BC7sBEzBH5Lo0f4RyTwnjLu5kTb/s320/IMG_0086.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-69209990504771293152011-05-26T14:53:00.001-05:002011-05-26T17:09:23.229-05:00Evolution of the Moustache<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFLshNW_APjAYyIcgelNkgqyl2Itf0pEd5u-DEzVBcGL9RS5BYxM4AfW8zDkedoxU8Gl7WdvE-HKtJAruBqUJmc5n3apIvojQK-ORx7mF1D1T04DYfrAIhS3XGwv4-3q9HRHwGg-SuLcUC/s1600/IMG_0107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFLshNW_APjAYyIcgelNkgqyl2Itf0pEd5u-DEzVBcGL9RS5BYxM4AfW8zDkedoxU8Gl7WdvE-HKtJAruBqUJmc5n3apIvojQK-ORx7mF1D1T04DYfrAIhS3XGwv4-3q9HRHwGg-SuLcUC/s400/IMG_0107.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QXoNw7WuJgKSeEEj3W2N1NWVqwxx1AqJA-ocRcJ_VJ6HiOZ6sj4nMvx27VxYoKp-Q20iZxdO6cZiezEaIzo-62lF91HDxOQrxh1H0P5NjWltsRGPlNMxCJru9czJ_sp3eAlqK6eCptF2/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QXoNw7WuJgKSeEEj3W2N1NWVqwxx1AqJA-ocRcJ_VJ6HiOZ6sj4nMvx27VxYoKp-Q20iZxdO6cZiezEaIzo-62lF91HDxOQrxh1H0P5NjWltsRGPlNMxCJru9czJ_sp3eAlqK6eCptF2/s400/IMG_0034.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TXv-pPLwkagqL7puwNpW3scMMaynz-Z7_-UDiWEKSzlRK34jSssKF4Pks0Le7xhvLMIRhRLgUEEOp-KjBmKUe4TH7WSkjfRyYxwdX1G5Od50djbzeAlR6Xmtgu6el-JZOhXoXlPrLwNg/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TXv-pPLwkagqL7puwNpW3scMMaynz-Z7_-UDiWEKSzlRK34jSssKF4Pks0Le7xhvLMIRhRLgUEEOp-KjBmKUe4TH7WSkjfRyYxwdX1G5Od50djbzeAlR6Xmtgu6el-JZOhXoXlPrLwNg/s400/IMG_0048.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-B-FEO_yJp17avTUWaV-MfJcJ4FO9AB2W5-SrQ2pywSkhlzQ4ZDWKekZecoO0u29j-qZr9WgbqSIDwSoEVPJbGPdeI9a4sCrMdYFnhQXZlyLZ2CAhsWZhN-MmVwhFhRSu2RrmkpgKGK9/s1600/IMG_0077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-B-FEO_yJp17avTUWaV-MfJcJ4FO9AB2W5-SrQ2pywSkhlzQ4ZDWKekZecoO0u29j-qZr9WgbqSIDwSoEVPJbGPdeI9a4sCrMdYFnhQXZlyLZ2CAhsWZhN-MmVwhFhRSu2RrmkpgKGK9/s320/IMG_0077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Oh ye month of May, how I long for you to end! </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-1768471741790372722011-05-26T08:18:00.001-05:002011-05-26T13:29:01.030-05:00Who Needs Toys?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TT6m7hZv1d50wMfX-eV6o_UwdYz498H-0cXsv_Kg0_B4YohyphenhyphenJrHpIk152G6tQYF0aI0dg4c0WkKTuEtxzcAoaMvKtp4dWF1DW5d1awvixRX2y7DwvKRU1v66nW2entYUMw9CTA4M12wV/s1600/IMG_0123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TT6m7hZv1d50wMfX-eV6o_UwdYz498H-0cXsv_Kg0_B4YohyphenhyphenJrHpIk152G6tQYF0aI0dg4c0WkKTuEtxzcAoaMvKtp4dWF1DW5d1awvixRX2y7DwvKRU1v66nW2entYUMw9CTA4M12wV/s320/IMG_0123.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlkZQne9785Dwat48QF_L7XtNHjcvcCHmDW5_9mRL6DN5F3PgvzS-beHcRUom1L9A0olWBSR518vbowImQHpqaOh2Ffrojvv5DQRMcrbFydVPpNKDPkiTwSQa9zIuhSkS5qJg9h-lvQDU/s1600/IMG_0094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlkZQne9785Dwat48QF_L7XtNHjcvcCHmDW5_9mRL6DN5F3PgvzS-beHcRUom1L9A0olWBSR518vbowImQHpqaOh2Ffrojvv5DQRMcrbFydVPpNKDPkiTwSQa9zIuhSkS5qJg9h-lvQDU/s400/IMG_0094.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-29547425704057964622011-05-25T14:46:00.001-05:002011-05-25T14:46:59.428-05:00School's out for summer!So I recently polled my children to see what type of activities they would like to do this summer. This is what they want to do:<br />
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1. Go to Logan's. (Not Krista's, or Nonnie's. Logan's.)<br />
2. Go to the Beach. (This is already a reward for a goal that is in place, but it is summer!)<br />
3. Visit cemeteries. (What? My kids are scaredy cats!)<br />
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We will do those and many other things I am sure! I just have to find a new motive to get up early!<br />
What kinds of things are y'all doing?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-47257043333021689582011-04-26T15:14:00.000-05:002011-05-26T15:21:10.272-05:00Yummmmmmmm.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6yh2McWOrFCNwrQsocJKRKgJmQ4JplY33mBluWeLwws3iQlYsUQk1V-bekcI6v8n3VfvS27vqVcLm3AFrH-MvoWrBhEFpFqdCbezt_96wyPGHv9TwDM9c-9w_sW8zH-9OzeZQv35B6Nr/s1600/0128111533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6yh2McWOrFCNwrQsocJKRKgJmQ4JplY33mBluWeLwws3iQlYsUQk1V-bekcI6v8n3VfvS27vqVcLm3AFrH-MvoWrBhEFpFqdCbezt_96wyPGHv9TwDM9c-9w_sW8zH-9OzeZQv35B6Nr/s320/0128111533.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-50723581062153690862011-04-18T09:25:00.004-05:002011-04-18T09:33:40.662-05:00birthday pics<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzy4OC1cILWRjh1GrzB9MkDxL5WWY3tAzwDmkL88LlLDWiiScWvPnJhFRkfm9KrphLlQFrahXT8WgNv8H8Gxh-IakUGqxSNsEXO0tz9Vah23rkVPyQS9aMh5tCqeqcs6Z9iCB_8A7m19op/s1600/IMG_0046.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzy4OC1cILWRjh1GrzB9MkDxL5WWY3tAzwDmkL88LlLDWiiScWvPnJhFRkfm9KrphLlQFrahXT8WgNv8H8Gxh-IakUGqxSNsEXO0tz9Vah23rkVPyQS9aMh5tCqeqcs6Z9iCB_8A7m19op/s400/IMG_0046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596931318717685746" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_WJHiQHK4OsGjqtN9eJgK9cy818OgXNeDB4hzySQOrkpckUoMFA32qVFGG0x8uIPKSEkPvSTppm8QWzzisft9LLxVb1N3rXlBPSmkTOTdcVXldouNKUswHMa1GjfaoaXqwwcXvkBGW3Z/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_WJHiQHK4OsGjqtN9eJgK9cy818OgXNeDB4hzySQOrkpckUoMFA32qVFGG0x8uIPKSEkPvSTppm8QWzzisft9LLxVb1N3rXlBPSmkTOTdcVXldouNKUswHMa1GjfaoaXqwwcXvkBGW3Z/s400/IMG_0048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596931313602735570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcorTpHObgUieM-yO5DBwijSG1OhWYD3J9FOHGcYdx1rbq2MIgNKwhJ1RVZ6l3gJyZ5cXv6reKPovknVd6p6oskXsg8nvwrmBLR4c5IovL7WxP6yDkBFQePuI3tDknxBOyMCLvMfpElkv/s1600/IMG_0033.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; 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cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgax-0VBvutCY9tmQBprkJ1K-F4q27rJNspCmTMl9KpiHmIS76d-3_A6lrR4ZpsnZJH-I5GWk5z9kzwVUWlAqpJYyc9DF86ngPOeh4Vd3_ABMwEvdbgYrCnRqrddUoPvvef3chEBJCk_YgR/s400/IMG_0007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596930492458283058" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15ZP8IwT1KdyqqMytwIVdgoAV29CldZynbA4-4QlSjK89l6Be8JqA4TEeF44SSicMOtQ-hE8IYvSEk-knng4sPHVDe4UGxXbXmjL3gTNlJ74M4DOwJXsXK32IEWr_YzPB5RLNQWWQeLJD/s1600/IMG_0003.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15ZP8IwT1KdyqqMytwIVdgoAV29CldZynbA4-4QlSjK89l6Be8JqA4TEeF44SSicMOtQ-hE8IYvSEk-knng4sPHVDe4UGxXbXmjL3gTNlJ74M4DOwJXsXK32IEWr_YzPB5RLNQWWQeLJD/s400/IMG_0003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596930492416606162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hx-IK3rGMvL_AUEicA5VUifHrBZBPek91kh3DqKIlZWxkYAV-KD2QBv6Y-5MtrOt6seJpEDFlB7slzI1xZdgUWxUIi39SR1uwIIvXiaVN9-YThx9x73IUtXg0L7hzIWWI1cpyz3qkUDL/s1600/IMG_0006.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hx-IK3rGMvL_AUEicA5VUifHrBZBPek91kh3DqKIlZWxkYAV-KD2QBv6Y-5MtrOt6seJpEDFlB7slzI1xZdgUWxUIi39SR1uwIIvXiaVN9-YThx9x73IUtXg0L7hzIWWI1cpyz3qkUDL/s400/IMG_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596930489534725218" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLvk0c2eyogQc-geYxIBSR_M5rqmtA4roa6FD8aFu6necW6OSilqRPNU1IM3-_wZNAb1rN5BhVlnYZUWOOykjFOOef5siL3adwUdN5EpHr9Z9WfIOE3ONeZ31ayCqqLuj5CEoiXZVPA0_/s1600/IMG_0016.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLvk0c2eyogQc-geYxIBSR_M5rqmtA4roa6FD8aFu6necW6OSilqRPNU1IM3-_wZNAb1rN5BhVlnYZUWOOykjFOOef5siL3adwUdN5EpHr9Z9WfIOE3ONeZ31ayCqqLuj5CEoiXZVPA0_/s400/IMG_0016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596930508747030178" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-49720486012363348532011-03-22T15:10:00.002-05:002011-03-22T15:46:11.453-05:00Bless the Child Who Lost His ShoestringWe have had many adventures in the past few weeks. Apparently when we moved, I developed amnesia when it came to taking Jacob places. It has most definitely been established that I can take him NOWHERE. <br />YESTERDAY, we went to Earth Fare. A grocery store across town that has lots of specialty stuff, and where I tasted the most delicious blueberry yogurt covered pretzels. We ordered lunch for the kids, looked around, dished up some plates from the salad bar, and headed to the tables to eat. It was lovely, for about 2.5 minutes. What was it that spoiled the mood? The children not liking their food? No. The abominable fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt that I had to stir up? No, fortunately my children have no such aversions. The company was the best, and could only have been better if the children had been left out of the equation altogether. What was it then? Oh, that's right. Maybe I forgot one of the details. Jacob, revolted. He ran back and forth through the automatic doors, continually slammed the doors to the trash cans, tried to play in the bathrooms, and once caught, screamed incessantly. At one point, I had him sitting on my knee, with my other leg crossed over him, and trapped by the free arm which was not feeding Zaida the aforementioned yogurt and trying to keep her from dumping the $5 pretzels, her sandwich, Caroline's sandwich, Jacob's pizza, and my salad onto the floor. Most of it did hit the floor at some point, and I suppose I may as well have thrown the monetary contents of my pockets on the floor and saved myself the "she needs to get a grip on her kids" looks that were hurling at me. <br />We have been walking to and from school a little. The other day we had a tantrum because Jacob wanted to push the stroller. No biggie. TODAY was also amazing. Jacob rode his trike. Cooper walked his scooter. I pushed Zaida. All was well. Sure, I was annoyed that Cooper was moving slower than the rest of us. I was even terrified and embarrassed when Jacob rode his trike out into traffic. The main problem on this trip was the lack of a mule. Jacob quit riding and pushed his trike out into school traffic, abandoning it. Cooper gave up also after Fred Flinstoning the trike for a while, he is less than coordinated. Add the backpack and stroller and it was MY FAVORITE. (So I carried it all for a while) I passed a lost shoe string on the sidewalk. I went back after trying to push Jacob along one kick at a time and now the trike has a leash! Thank you to the child who probably made his mother very unhappy, your service will be remembered every time I pull the trike.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-37545557253015896852011-03-09T12:17:00.007-06:002011-03-09T13:07:07.814-06:00Inspire me, Please.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUc7l39Hpk3xMTw0v9lRa-tEMBhilB1CQXJbHEi2TAWhO2efhLoLJ8yHYsRB4bJ5Q9vGAxz0_eXaeUQCJ5kCpx7cMPAdeCOc_HjMmnqA70u8Aug5rv1I9-QF6_8OiBdvE0PQQPTQVTeCm/s1600/IMG_0126.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 109px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUc7l39Hpk3xMTw0v9lRa-tEMBhilB1CQXJbHEi2TAWhO2efhLoLJ8yHYsRB4bJ5Q9vGAxz0_eXaeUQCJ5kCpx7cMPAdeCOc_HjMmnqA70u8Aug5rv1I9-QF6_8OiBdvE0PQQPTQVTeCm/s400/IMG_0126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582151909345340226" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0s2SgHkJ_d-h0GAHEQz3qUy5GFiZQnom-8df5GIcrvIwzczhrZ1TyXz95bHdqpzzSd1lueim_UeD-_eHFOd31mtN-REaKMzyQMGTl2XEoZkP4caZOuLy07Qp6Pb9-YFK-biuul0fToPE/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 146px; height: 109px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0s2SgHkJ_d-h0GAHEQz3qUy5GFiZQnom-8df5GIcrvIwzczhrZ1TyXz95bHdqpzzSd1lueim_UeD-_eHFOd31mtN-REaKMzyQMGTl2XEoZkP4caZOuLy07Qp6Pb9-YFK-biuul0fToPE/s400/IMG_0130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582151906812203698" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhSmi74jVbAAsyy3O-Uy3GUamLqU5vh0AmzmfPAOOIibePicoEXLFFmAqXiZ6rQuv-etve6amqxVpnEkCBZ0N7o_TQzVj3l0hdLF2nMci0ykx_gmBINyiQIcMKGy2t8sLFDVekMKFG2di/s1600/IMG_0129.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 109px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhSmi74jVbAAsyy3O-Uy3GUamLqU5vh0AmzmfPAOOIibePicoEXLFFmAqXiZ6rQuv-etve6amqxVpnEkCBZ0N7o_TQzVj3l0hdLF2nMci0ykx_gmBINyiQIcMKGy2t8sLFDVekMKFG2di/s400/IMG_0129.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582149771750315906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I am having style confusion.<br />Now that I have my own house,<br />and the space to create and personalize,<br />I don't know what I like anymore. <br />It is okay because their is plenty to keep me busy,<br />I just happen to be delaying<br />my dive into reality right this minute.<br />But only for a minute!<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-69461527769330814922010-11-28T21:33:00.002-06:002010-11-28T21:35:51.514-06:00The Answer to Your Question is...MOST DEFINITELY NOT. <div><br /></div><div>Not right now anyway, and not for a while, and most definitely not until my husband experiences some divine intervention to tell him to keep on. JK. And if you have no idea what this is about, then you didn't have any questions.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-77609748734633214002010-11-02T10:22:00.004-05:002010-11-02T10:54:29.993-05:00When I Grow Up...<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXUkVq9276_mg-jNoqoSWAXqyqmIpserd-xfs43-3zuB-WN7mD5e2Du1sMu3-BCLZ1Zr3oVEXWjcj7HYJoUNmGHLWVQi2wD0DEEn6e3HMYlhn2XKRXYhA0uHot8rQrDbD9XKRM-7mWOvI/s1600/IMG_0069.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXUkVq9276_mg-jNoqoSWAXqyqmIpserd-xfs43-3zuB-WN7mD5e2Du1sMu3-BCLZ1Zr3oVEXWjcj7HYJoUNmGHLWVQi2wD0DEEn6e3HMYlhn2XKRXYhA0uHot8rQrDbD9XKRM-7mWOvI/s200/IMG_0069.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534980790328202002" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfV-AJXL1McFmDMDY8_2BCUo9Ti_pFNnkIt-2CoUE350o-0StWgzaTV15Pim3f2TM4GTNbyLHktoo434zSZqfNTHjEqwDZ5xQKufALvdnmi5MlZYmkCETP-Dkn1wOzcTe5McgooFvpEHp/s1600/IMG_0064.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfV-AJXL1McFmDMDY8_2BCUo9Ti_pFNnkIt-2CoUE350o-0StWgzaTV15Pim3f2TM4GTNbyLHktoo434zSZqfNTHjEqwDZ5xQKufALvdnmi5MlZYmkCETP-Dkn1wOzcTe5McgooFvpEHp/s200/IMG_0064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534980800173728450" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">like father.....................like son<br /><br /><br /></div>One of the questions I most commonly ask people is "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I still have things that I would like to become. Such as: a librarian...or a patient mother of five children.<br />I asked both of my boys (the one's that I don't have to decipher their words) this question and they both responded by saying that they wanted to be what their daddy does. Awww. So sweet. Right? Granted his job is very cool and it's a small niche to be a flying photographer (the unofficial title I just made up). That sounds so awesome, except they think he actually pilots the helicopter and plane. I think they really want to be pilots who take amazing pictures of themselves flying. And who wouldn't?<br />I do think it is lovely that they want to be just like their daddy. I am sure they will want to be a many great and wonderful thing before they decide to be a something that works in a cubicle. Like an astronaut, or an artist. Samuel seems to have loftier goals than Cooper. Cooper says he will be a security guard in Sam's factory, or to be a worker in that same factory (I am pretty sure he thinks that Star Wars toys are made there).<br />They remind me frequently that I am already grown up, to which I respond with surprised astonishment. I can't be the only one out there that still thinks of myself as 17. When I meet people and they are my age, I automatically think they are older than me. And you know I am getting older and grown up because the nurses treated me like I might know something during the delivery of my last baby (which I don't). Sam turns 8, and will be baptized in a few weeks. That is the biggest reminder that I am indeed in the middle of my life and well on my way to being grown up.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-44280269243902208522010-10-05T15:18:00.003-05:002010-10-05T15:38:19.413-05:00What I Failed to Mention...<div>I most certainly was so excited to see that moustache come off from my husband's face and I can't believe that I didn't share the before and after pics.<div>I would like to say some positive things before the memorial begins. First, it was a fun and very free hobby. Second, it was fun to have around for a little while, just not so long next year. Last, I will admit that we have wished he still had it for novel occasions, such as a Mario and Luigi birthday party. </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Like here.</span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_QYn1frfGcBtH10Uv4osDRzTnrhf0kCtrHb6dTAsqnlZN2158SWYCqdW2UMNtHq5HPkXn89u_JbAnSrm6uxruzEap5JeWrBnSRrlp9oawvoZYI814fSo677h5fcOZjsi6SoejCbcveHn/s400/IMG_0025.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524661311747310626" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But it had to go. Something was wrong with our family picture. It was off balance.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Problem.</span></div><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeHFU9EKZVqmMtzxv_UNTM582rEz0eHUJGh5XQgvpV0JgTHQpOxHEv8zDDMBcT_TK2i4HnC3qMV1OmDiXQg7ZUxhyphenhyphenyTbq5mjv3lA_qk3X2qehH3L_ocbIwahUzxXNhriEvyulOX-j3gtD/s400/IMG_0096.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524661317617444034" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Confrontation</span>.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mdpaClREOYQ-fNTEfezpp6EgziDwYus4PiZg0RXcLM89gA5F61dlHQXd4Vt2IeTzDPY8wQZ3SIdVzJ-UOoHzlAF2FyLbhsxc-JIziDWsyzKRxGbiufPr61NrOUNbn1ik4Q8_46b5h-N-/s400/IMG_0099.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524661324145493522" />
<br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lBTqSHG5db4QMzSKBPzX5zPIJwRZ03EOUq_HC4hKU4uQjt6FkmLX2GyZ_twq-Vqyzz4sjin2BKSasWJKfaDPdrN7OKmCD4rZkCT6viNeY6_gUsJIYPD-Rd9qjXAAoAXh-kDdWFkBp1p5/s400/IMG_0098.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524661321384240338" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Compromise</span>.</div></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVu8oAMkrCSqQGW1UT7ndkMYIsD_kVUHxyQjF35u08hTXL5Q4jfbl8jAlpsspKp6sxW3bVGbNYK-iWL8K4TP5ATjusGi_7GmqLP450LkyPgMtIqFHIe_BKQ4HP0QgIN0SdkkTtbrBim7Y/s400/IMG_0102.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524661340380340322" /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-33628822468421535072010-08-22T14:02:00.007-05:002010-08-26T12:42:08.416-05:00The Veruca Salt Syndrome<div style="text-align: left;">More commonly known as the <span style="font-weight: bold;">"I want it and I want it now"</span> syndrome.<br /></div><br />We all have had it, or at least know someone who has , or quite possibly will get it, or maybe even cause it. Most of us are probably in denial on all counts.<br /><br />The best example I can think of is a newly-wedded-wifey that wants her husband to provide her with the same fine chariot that her father is currently providing for her mother. Or something else along those lines, whether it be a house, a car, a vacation, a horse, a barn, whatever.<br /><br />It can display in different ways, and it often causes a wishing away of time, and is perhaps the root of the sarcasm in my, I mean her, tone.<br /><br />Maybe it's the new skill set Veruca wants. She wants to be able to pop n lock, but she just started and she still has a lot of practicing ahead.<br />Or maybe she wishes she could yodel for the upcoming talent show, but she hasn't taken the time to learn, so she won't be the show stealer like she really wants to be.<br />Or perhaps she sees her awesome older sister and is jealous of the fact that her children are all in school, and can't wait to get there herself.<br /><br />My current (smaller and fairly unimportant) cases:<br />•Whatever the case, I can tell you that I have a uncommon case of the "I wonder if I will ever miss that moustache!" (Though perhaps there is an end in sight, and you will all know it when it happens!)<br />•Also I currently want a house of my own, to paint and to grow into, and I am having a hard time waiting.<br />•I would also like my child's teacher to return my phone call so that I can be happy and know what is going on and why the child doesn't have any spelling words.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-55902825598378054062010-08-20T09:06:00.002-05:002010-08-20T09:19:38.792-05:00Update OverloadWell, I just updated the ole blog. And I posted about a million pictures, since I have been so neglectful! Hopefully I will find brains to actually write with soon, even though I think people like to just look at pictures. However, this is all about me, right? <br />Samuel has begun the 2nd grade. So far so good. Cooper is rather impatiently waiting for preschool to start, so that he can play on their playground. Jacob is still reigning master of destruction, having successfully ripped the part of my couch that is under the seat cushions. Zaida is rolling a little and chattering a little. It's awfully cute. I am loving my kids right now. Collin, aka, Mr. Pringle is still sporting his stache, btu now with wax. It's amazingly fake looking. And he loves it. I am still rooting for the disappearance of said stache! But I love you anyway honey! And I am ardently voiding housework, but that is nothing new!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-59832457434970415962010-08-06T08:48:00.002-05:002010-08-20T09:05:56.400-05:00Star Wars!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYBiefX0XbXZdpJTXyDm2cCJTUFlaYNYS__jcDr4exXJsDxAAprsa0VuoLvl1W3GhNWUa_w72jPvjVOFsar_ICWq0aCObB70dIqtTiE50ka-VYBb0LoqMC8yC-RqDyrrph8ngs4nFl6wF/s1600/IMG_0052.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYBiefX0XbXZdpJTXyDm2cCJTUFlaYNYS__jcDr4exXJsDxAAprsa0VuoLvl1W3GhNWUa_w72jPvjVOFsar_ICWq0aCObB70dIqtTiE50ka-VYBb0LoqMC8yC-RqDyrrph8ngs4nFl6wF/s400/IMG_0052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507491516231032994" border="0" /></a>The boys loved the exhibit. The costumes were fun to see, and they had some fun interactive things. Unfortunately, the land speeder was not one of those things...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7x5SUxFjPAQ1wZ5_S1iuvdL8ynW5Qy8FMOcEAF4GUdTSmf9BSkBQ7Wa-p7jVqnAsL9ZZ_idpVVpEKAGci8t-WHkncYGOGfLul-QzCX39_SH3epFyaLb6T73ROBcdwHL567mN8DgcbXwwh/s1600/IMG_0026.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7x5SUxFjPAQ1wZ5_S1iuvdL8ynW5Qy8FMOcEAF4GUdTSmf9BSkBQ7Wa-p7jVqnAsL9ZZ_idpVVpEKAGci8t-WHkncYGOGfLul-QzCX39_SH3epFyaLb6T73ROBcdwHL567mN8DgcbXwwh/s400/IMG_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507491501153214178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlsL6mkShcRG-jxJP0gazcPjAhwuOxpTzNHPIxz_Jzuzg6D72CdOqoKw7pb4s0x976LW6tq2oYMRffayOGy555PL23L86rbOLByChvd8RHZdeF6ollr74HZFOQr7trnXWDngH5dOA-YSSu/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlsL6mkShcRG-jxJP0gazcPjAhwuOxpTzNHPIxz_Jzuzg6D72CdOqoKw7pb4s0x976LW6tq2oYMRffayOGy555PL23L86rbOLByChvd8RHZdeF6ollr74HZFOQr7trnXWDngH5dOA-YSSu/s400/IMG_0032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507491490553378674" border="0" /></a>The Milennium Falcon was of course, the highlight. The "jumped to light speed" and proudly wore there souvenir pins.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHVanh0QkP3-fVxmZle1y3by1trq37daKh9w-KMIKsQfXZEQaoccVIz1k4vTTOHaC5HVBx8qFdfMlrK-Br0uOIBtvEcK2cFkGJpGmIcpwJIK1tZTD6lrESdq61sH8tLG-K1fci4fgYe7x/s1600/IMG_0068.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHVanh0QkP3-fVxmZle1y3by1trq37daKh9w-KMIKsQfXZEQaoccVIz1k4vTTOHaC5HVBx8qFdfMlrK-Br0uOIBtvEcK2cFkGJpGmIcpwJIK1tZTD6lrESdq61sH8tLG-K1fci4fgYe7x/s400/IMG_0068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507491484520887522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXah2QY7GPLkDzjki3UbZ4cyY3b8RBDLxY9H9Dhi2epMX7jSABDNZ7xknm-hxsa3BcauFsCavOTXjflVuYLIl4QO5SJ7OOPyg1FqA7iU-IjfkOv-a0fk__-jbDHDQECyqpKsL7s0kAmJf/s1600/IMG_0018.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrLny0Ccp0gX3xjmB8rDjjrHK5UqkPB3BW5Ne5Wty-JlbIuTGWvNJs6upzlh4XcEMERSJFIK6EIULSLN3lWNSvIEUr1QuLRd02EQtKLrwlUy9Ap6fMr4SOK50SdFimYMXvCFH_6c53pkn/s1600/IMG_0017.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrLny0Ccp0gX3xjmB8rDjjrHK5UqkPB3BW5Ne5Wty-JlbIuTGWvNJs6upzlh4XcEMERSJFIK6EIULSLN3lWNSvIEUr1QuLRd02EQtKLrwlUy9Ap6fMr4SOK50SdFimYMXvCFH_6c53pkn/s400/IMG_0017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507489434351796098" border="0" /></a>We visited Sean and Stacey and fam, including the newest addition:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qWMAGdWDIq5N9JrS04oazmx2Hqerdvp7oXzORMk4Fui3TWejMaTyphWtfaSLZyDnOJhA2Z8e2gHtrqI0sINhRrQ4g0MBE83NQC_w8VdGX34nJVeviMT4juymycWRS26Bm3unfjQtdkS3/s1600/IMG_0015.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qWMAGdWDIq5N9JrS04oazmx2Hqerdvp7oXzORMk4Fui3TWejMaTyphWtfaSLZyDnOJhA2Z8e2gHtrqI0sINhRrQ4g0MBE83NQC_w8VdGX34nJVeviMT4juymycWRS26Bm3unfjQtdkS3/s400/IMG_0015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507489420758107586" border="0" /></a>Stella...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCRiRGK0XXTNYJAGUGsaXMZFeCWtooqY-NPfv5Y5cN6XYF25plHE9IQ_i_zWgYWGGcMkHWEEaob-2T41UTtfI6_Tf331U1tqYxJ1EAxs3TeY_prgEnOOjamrF24v4gTHYGmnTOVERdjGw/s1600/IMG_0011.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCRiRGK0XXTNYJAGUGsaXMZFeCWtooqY-NPfv5Y5cN6XYF25plHE9IQ_i_zWgYWGGcMkHWEEaob-2T41UTtfI6_Tf331U1tqYxJ1EAxs3TeY_prgEnOOjamrF24v4gTHYGmnTOVERdjGw/s400/IMG_0011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507489412986280514" border="0" /></a>And spent a few minutes with my very wonderful Auntie Elna! I have so many wonderful memories of her as a child, and I am excited that we will be living near her soon!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgbbHDPPFsio5jzW79K2-XBKChmXgUXq5Auw16yvq4veycVHYCZdg8339XqQgmtw4D061u3L9SwxtRbNfuP6xHgJX8L-tg2LgCF0Nlsrs3U2Eo_oBGo_1I8mvSV7Vtfq7_4XRHaPJHJJO/s1600/IMG_0007.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgbbHDPPFsio5jzW79K2-XBKChmXgUXq5Auw16yvq4veycVHYCZdg8339XqQgmtw4D061u3L9SwxtRbNfuP6xHgJX8L-tg2LgCF0Nlsrs3U2Eo_oBGo_1I8mvSV7Vtfq7_4XRHaPJHJJO/s400/IMG_0007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507489405468109874" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYNE2NKUmYR6G9qy99pRvipok2afx56q21USqS5X8nkyUCIdEiGFUdVOsgUc4-eq79RipJesBIr06DU4OSoRfK2Ky1tp0g02axfyEE92aCTZREYICaUSSlKBl45yeWJ3g7BbvwpT-cevZv/s1600/IMG_0006.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYNE2NKUmYR6G9qy99pRvipok2afx56q21USqS5X8nkyUCIdEiGFUdVOsgUc4-eq79RipJesBIr06DU4OSoRfK2Ky1tp0g02axfyEE92aCTZREYICaUSSlKBl45yeWJ3g7BbvwpT-cevZv/s400/IMG_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507489397331853090" border="0" /></a>We had a great time!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-85821920806262943262010-08-05T08:19:00.004-05:002010-08-20T08:35:20.618-05:00Zaida's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpVnO-w2690hfOMDEJv3ltINe0MDUFUBujo__ZWnZ2WyEPw2_bOyCGKd1GHDsig1-H0WF8BpHkE9KlW0Wu8Hj-eKDNwfjrPeQHJNvujUSZsBtDtD5eW74mQl3mHAfX1Q8up0MJq7pvRhUa/s1600/DSC_1419.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpVnO-w2690hfOMDEJv3ltINe0MDUFUBujo__ZWnZ2WyEPw2_bOyCGKd1GHDsig1-H0WF8BpHkE9KlW0Wu8Hj-eKDNwfjrPeQHJNvujUSZsBtDtD5eW74mQl3mHAfX1Q8up0MJq7pvRhUa/s400/DSC_1419.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507483254764551474" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdszdyV_WSJafVib4FXfENlQGnZ0zltWBKcoRi3g0wwaWjVLbZNZp5gPihUJ4-qOvRbjfbjkhJdqj7SGIgQ2SVeR1GtUuJBPZl8EwMz-UHAyp4yHbBufWkSrUO_L71BJsGkbjXls9hLH8m/s1600/DSC_1383.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdszdyV_WSJafVib4FXfENlQGnZ0zltWBKcoRi3g0wwaWjVLbZNZp5gPihUJ4-qOvRbjfbjkhJdqj7SGIgQ2SVeR1GtUuJBPZl8EwMz-UHAyp4yHbBufWkSrUO_L71BJsGkbjXls9hLH8m/s400/DSC_1383.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507484646800556130" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg83SfVbOpgaikb1GcL1iO3Gj2P3E5SrEq_93b97k-AbWEqagwAHlkPWJjHUAjkb17X9tSfsaPLrEO2crWs2QGP-9JFLSKyAx-TA2_KHuB75Wf1JuMtTZXUlJxQeh1mm_3Os2sQlEc3i0XN/s1600/DSC_1390.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg83SfVbOpgaikb1GcL1iO3Gj2P3E5SrEq_93b97k-AbWEqagwAHlkPWJjHUAjkb17X9tSfsaPLrEO2crWs2QGP-9JFLSKyAx-TA2_KHuB75Wf1JuMtTZXUlJxQeh1mm_3Os2sQlEc3i0XN/s400/DSC_1390.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507484639603266610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3JXIUnhtXFv4u1VKwWqUrQzkwD92etl2ukdXigtLpXGwJv_4Rc146wuHVHfW5vNl4V81WPtn5tpH7lLp3LwGJlMKw2H8bNLJEW-zdz7co7_UGp6z9NzIiHrMiKRW0wCchq0EqwhFd9wm/s1600/DSC_1411.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3JXIUnhtXFv4u1VKwWqUrQzkwD92etl2ukdXigtLpXGwJv_4Rc146wuHVHfW5vNl4V81WPtn5tpH7lLp3LwGJlMKw2H8bNLJEW-zdz7co7_UGp6z9NzIiHrMiKRW0wCchq0EqwhFd9wm/s400/DSC_1411.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507484630107603682" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijku4K5MB11im1warVIy4AGxffK3GWqfjx2CLh2ixxcLjbjcEUR1Frg5LsIbJi5dNu0fsuTmlNQET5QR4IOg4hJG-CKlWIw2QVN32krLRoozyLPPzZhMJIazqIxTPc01dXnyg3DdKfqzdm/s1600/DSC_1366.jpg"><br /></a>These are from the day Zaida was blessed. I really wish I had taken the time then to write down some of my feelings, but alas, I did no such thing, but she has been the very best baby and we love her so much. Sam sits by her play pen and talks to her while having his snack or whatever. I asked him last night, "Why do you like to do that?" He just said, "Because I just love her so much and she's so cute." I said, "Yeah, me too."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajZzhx-o0he4QaOFnwHauR4YraD7TVWfFWiKAGuq0llnkhRQBsU3XeL3YzmUZRRtG0kW__dkVYOCYprU7VmEgdwm1uSkuHbV9xPcN1b8TR0Q0QiEEty5MQXJyHJy2YuxRphGYjIC9cpLE/s1600/DSC_1393.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajZzhx-o0he4QaOFnwHauR4YraD7TVWfFWiKAGuq0llnkhRQBsU3XeL3YzmUZRRtG0kW__dkVYOCYprU7VmEgdwm1uSkuHbV9xPcN1b8TR0Q0QiEEty5MQXJyHJy2YuxRphGYjIC9cpLE/s400/DSC_1393.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507483243182520642" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFryD5AIdZbWNIeAMkkh4v903O95aqfg4_PdVU4Kz7vtxA7m8FD7YDoGgrlrWWagwsWpSj4CpwZm_9G03BTJ7gMMCNgWnK2yn81vOu-r445VdKAoa3VHCVAnmwQph7fD3VHm23IDwmBbGW/s1600/DSC_1396.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFryD5AIdZbWNIeAMkkh4v903O95aqfg4_PdVU4Kz7vtxA7m8FD7YDoGgrlrWWagwsWpSj4CpwZm_9G03BTJ7gMMCNgWnK2yn81vOu-r445VdKAoa3VHCVAnmwQph7fD3VHm23IDwmBbGW/s400/DSC_1396.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507483238719365474" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4W1syvidxEtVtHUekYarQerwxPfeFhxNauzDUdR5-qlcHEHbMfB17ihKt3MC6qia5vs4TZ4VglQwrSaBSja3MKcfWp8sl6RZId7YXF1VCV4K8H9oYx70YptyW6zcMCao1HIX_b18-bt0i/s1600/DSC_1386.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4W1syvidxEtVtHUekYarQerwxPfeFhxNauzDUdR5-qlcHEHbMfB17ihKt3MC6qia5vs4TZ4VglQwrSaBSja3MKcfWp8sl6RZId7YXF1VCV4K8H9oYx70YptyW6zcMCao1HIX_b18-bt0i/s400/DSC_1386.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507483229068217522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKIfmcEmHnAx4Fu1cOYXnAnfU11Tg6a3w8_fYRo7ZDAYkWNWkGMdUoWlQvwp-KaO9S0m_7Xd7U7FGzkQln12iT0pOV-E48_bZ9bm4HQWokTehRdfyvaVZaMV11sXKbYBUnq4eZzvvshtP/s1600/DSC_1371.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKIfmcEmHnAx4Fu1cOYXnAnfU11Tg6a3w8_fYRo7ZDAYkWNWkGMdUoWlQvwp-KaO9S0m_7Xd7U7FGzkQln12iT0pOV-E48_bZ9bm4HQWokTehRdfyvaVZaMV11sXKbYBUnq4eZzvvshtP/s400/DSC_1371.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507483217890118290" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-9688292805948769772010-08-01T09:19:00.000-05:002010-08-20T09:32:27.854-05:00Eclipse Movie Night<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Kdxx8KVDjR-58VrPbNNcA8CY6g7koPoWcE6cYpsCJJG5V-5A_o3kl-enLSJE-juBO9rKIXkNUk45Rc3GXkgYpb9MQDqTYMjkOqV1t0RZRBjqy-GIbTFHe6vAOP12eDEy9GyXZN9vRzz2/s1600/IMG_0016.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Kdxx8KVDjR-58VrPbNNcA8CY6g7koPoWcE6cYpsCJJG5V-5A_o3kl-enLSJE-juBO9rKIXkNUk45Rc3GXkgYpb9MQDqTYMjkOqV1t0RZRBjqy-GIbTFHe6vAOP12eDEy9GyXZN9vRzz2/s400/IMG_0016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507498223982272610" border="0" /></a>All I am going to say is that we had fun. It was a chance to go with the loveliest gals of my acquaintance, eat junk, talk, be silly, and not worry about my kids! So say what you want, I am not a Twilight freak. It's not like I have posters or signs hanging up. And that was Holly's t shirt I was wearing. I will admit that I was probably not acting like my youthful age (22), and did pout a bit when I was reprimanded by a 11 year old for taking too many pictures.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBC3cXHxbC8yBt7AsrqSUabYaWDX8dkmXSJy-qzLMT3dZYo1tAtoNN99kNPYURNV9Y_GQwG6Xq_1iXZdrlhSDBX79Hr6WHyHznWpOuxM0ZwDZCdrv0hb-GrmXTy9g8TsVLQJ9JeIBEmwb/s1600/IMG_0005.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBC3cXHxbC8yBt7AsrqSUabYaWDX8dkmXSJy-qzLMT3dZYo1tAtoNN99kNPYURNV9Y_GQwG6Xq_1iXZdrlhSDBX79Hr6WHyHznWpOuxM0ZwDZCdrv0hb-GrmXTy9g8TsVLQJ9JeIBEmwb/s400/IMG_0005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507498220645018290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4WuwXJu0HpoUwH720qvLqIYsYFYdZNx9vwjPJHjNsGx-4APrSHFuv6k7akuACld-0WKcYjw7WcSPl4giFXOerQafGi722sv9Fyadl-Kjs0xlEdeyBgOKExImPSeLEYeaV7n5E6r8CHO7/s1600/IMG_0001.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4WuwXJu0HpoUwH720qvLqIYsYFYdZNx9vwjPJHjNsGx-4APrSHFuv6k7akuACld-0WKcYjw7WcSPl4giFXOerQafGi722sv9Fyadl-Kjs0xlEdeyBgOKExImPSeLEYeaV7n5E6r8CHO7/s400/IMG_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507498209806618034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnymElqs37mt8vebwQibzLNdVh_JzwmBLUMqZ6WmRh-EsZVVwEtnsQnu3eYYoydPmixACeDQUgTQ3za2rfqk3nJDyi1pBoOunKnjMUoIC4i1aw31Noh0rAlNZXiamaSQyy4ReazbLk8rnk/s1600/IMG_0006.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnymElqs37mt8vebwQibzLNdVh_JzwmBLUMqZ6WmRh-EsZVVwEtnsQnu3eYYoydPmixACeDQUgTQ3za2rfqk3nJDyi1pBoOunKnjMUoIC4i1aw31Noh0rAlNZXiamaSQyy4ReazbLk8rnk/s400/IMG_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507497761290416146" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinGePX3nKr8Rex4fx-TQNefD2FNDVfZMfaun5tp2oGjZidvJuys3aeEwUkGj6NWtdkpHGmiacaBh9tJVkzZcCoQwABA3DcEj-Qx3uPgo8KJkIapzS7Umwh7A7kAlRnh8Cpzk2SQ-06ftav/s1600/IMG_0021.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinGePX3nKr8Rex4fx-TQNefD2FNDVfZMfaun5tp2oGjZidvJuys3aeEwUkGj6NWtdkpHGmiacaBh9tJVkzZcCoQwABA3DcEj-Qx3uPgo8KJkIapzS7Umwh7A7kAlRnh8Cpzk2SQ-06ftav/s400/IMG_0021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507497759492786866" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5OOqn6YzNi-E_eXEIp3B3_J6Bekcyhq0lRolp8ZBM_9N4uBwqPKni5-i447dpEIXy4uN3sIcVUMH4JpWYnZ_KgqKmtFnyrhFPWgApcNCDuFpLPN9oSQFeCQX9uEoVzAfoiu2SHTBkx7Am/s1600/IMG_0015.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5OOqn6YzNi-E_eXEIp3B3_J6Bekcyhq0lRolp8ZBM_9N4uBwqPKni5-i447dpEIXy4uN3sIcVUMH4JpWYnZ_KgqKmtFnyrhFPWgApcNCDuFpLPN9oSQFeCQX9uEoVzAfoiu2SHTBkx7Am/s400/IMG_0015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507497755850707282" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAyf00-h9vZHA3I_72Z26prCVsGfx2vtaAPmYvji6uftcJxoVaWiGqMh4JepecVuAN3NnVmIMEPhz8BZFlPOWs8hE0Feh-UnfFn3aXkEGqLww8tYw13hgVrkSbENkPIFdM447CSz4SRbD/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAyf00-h9vZHA3I_72Z26prCVsGfx2vtaAPmYvji6uftcJxoVaWiGqMh4JepecVuAN3NnVmIMEPhz8BZFlPOWs8hE0Feh-UnfFn3aXkEGqLww8tYw13hgVrkSbENkPIFdM447CSz4SRbD/s400/IMG_0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507497749154008242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTN3UEIflHZcLFYPhwXOSExDjCEvc2-C7_zpvNaYh7r3oZCU-ZqytJUH20uMt7G0WNdiKdpa2pOJEAhvJsYf4eQ8asumvL31QegmApjDrJikBvzOlo6Gw42qVdhXDAQlg-09FULHSZaDv/s1600/IMG_0002.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTN3UEIflHZcLFYPhwXOSExDjCEvc2-C7_zpvNaYh7r3oZCU-ZqytJUH20uMt7G0WNdiKdpa2pOJEAhvJsYf4eQ8asumvL31QegmApjDrJikBvzOlo6Gw42qVdhXDAQlg-09FULHSZaDv/s400/IMG_0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507497743707819202" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-11168745504000498802010-08-01T08:13:00.000-05:002010-08-20T08:19:16.436-05:00The Dreaded Summer Rehash, Part II<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOX9LiwOVeOxDFRFoOilgOlvbRDoUohdhZMVcIyEvf5WXl7uWOZfQSr4VUd4O7WjbR5xAixgHTpF253SwQ6Kpa3hDq1XRwa4Z9L1C1KSW8ly7i6Lsl8Lz-fWUAbUVw6GJEw8kIDx4zJ9C/s1600/IMG_0093.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOX9LiwOVeOxDFRFoOilgOlvbRDoUohdhZMVcIyEvf5WXl7uWOZfQSr4VUd4O7WjbR5xAixgHTpF253SwQ6Kpa3hDq1XRwa4Z9L1C1KSW8ly7i6Lsl8Lz-fWUAbUVw6GJEw8kIDx4zJ9C/s400/IMG_0093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507480518934607042" border="0" /></a>Fourth of July Sparklers...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZo6gJFcSNblc2UOTS8JGlhgfcVjCbxXDCc4Na6S0dOrxBHeNQb8bfOIaSw-PCrbUDePCcJGjqhcuSyB6mGsy1dyjHPSOIZp-CMp6jGDqE1TZQqrljGW8Gp10WyA_7_7wt-3fqF4PTtA1/s1600/IMG_0100.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZo6gJFcSNblc2UOTS8JGlhgfcVjCbxXDCc4Na6S0dOrxBHeNQb8bfOIaSw-PCrbUDePCcJGjqhcuSyB6mGsy1dyjHPSOIZp-CMp6jGDqE1TZQqrljGW8Gp10WyA_7_7wt-3fqF4PTtA1/s400/IMG_0100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507480519553283154" border="0" /></a>Cooper and Zaida...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIfIFgeuq1JT-c-fAgV0zD5Zj91yQpgJMNGfBMdUoKzEQYfQbc44biiu9z7yUY5qY7PcPPsj7YdHf7UNWl_dL9MrHPxRPtKpTyr6wYErGJqKVEaNOtU-Qifyj140bpcfDN16NpweJFFdN/s1600/IMG_0101.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIfIFgeuq1JT-c-fAgV0zD5Zj91yQpgJMNGfBMdUoKzEQYfQbc44biiu9z7yUY5qY7PcPPsj7YdHf7UNWl_dL9MrHPxRPtKpTyr6wYErGJqKVEaNOtU-Qifyj140bpcfDN16NpweJFFdN/s400/IMG_0101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507480514294482194" border="0" /></a>Sad World Cup Cookies...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1zAJO7NuecvlPb1A5aU5rsh5D3u9CKxoSotWlMQXeY_l4_W3VwLibKxcSz07c85Q3ERa019ahmkTqpvJBz2GxDUsGHLeIgELQu1eZSACK9WQJEKRM-BjqETPpSF075SRB1OO5fvyOGRC/s1600/IMG_0007.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1zAJO7NuecvlPb1A5aU5rsh5D3u9CKxoSotWlMQXeY_l4_W3VwLibKxcSz07c85Q3ERa019ahmkTqpvJBz2GxDUsGHLeIgELQu1eZSACK9WQJEKRM-BjqETPpSF075SRB1OO5fvyOGRC/s400/IMG_0007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507480509144855922" border="0" /></a>Sam's favorite activity: swimming...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsay9D4SPZ1PueMUxxHRvx86DxbVC8jZg-nyxs9haY5PahD82NBsNc_jZP9kXWU7VFyhvQa8gwru_BLeHkAOXgo9BHDlfRepcUaTbB5OFiXAala1Ok6LP8PEBleAZhVZTk627PVb0_g2Nf/s1600/IMG_0056.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsay9D4SPZ1PueMUxxHRvx86DxbVC8jZg-nyxs9haY5PahD82NBsNc_jZP9kXWU7VFyhvQa8gwru_BLeHkAOXgo9BHDlfRepcUaTbB5OFiXAala1Ok6LP8PEBleAZhVZTk627PVb0_g2Nf/s400/IMG_0056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507480503455205730" border="0" /></a>Jacob and Zaida....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866150588307976641.post-56406593253031072762010-07-13T20:04:00.001-05:002010-08-20T08:13:17.447-05:00The Dreaded Summer Rehash, Part I<div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1c1FlCFkjj8rktkTHQPgYtHP15pD0dOJgMjFK00CO3opEvPH3AKxrd6sZY-SPitXtofd-PFmBMXf8IIUuqAWTvRoLIl13a3foGz_Y3I2-QBamenmZYLKZDM39pLAUDPjMEaFZJ9QuBWN/s1600/Jul+12,+2010_2.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1c1FlCFkjj8rktkTHQPgYtHP15pD0dOJgMjFK00CO3opEvPH3AKxrd6sZY-SPitXtofd-PFmBMXf8IIUuqAWTvRoLIl13a3foGz_Y3I2-QBamenmZYLKZDM39pLAUDPjMEaFZJ9QuBWN/s400/Jul+12,+2010_2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0