tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36727908523518358312024-03-07T03:02:27.344-05:00The Daily SpawnUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger760125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-60004139386858578032015-11-01T09:55:00.000-05:002015-11-01T09:55:14.118-05:00A Halloween Retrospective<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PnVU36NL3u11dRtBjG3CeDB0CVFHaamnv9v2TNW5CQ1kD6p8S-kZHkaFR6jU29803Y78Yim-U69qRzvr76LlekWHiFA7kKVkzZvohww6LfmuEpwKNS6eA3o1XndX1v34ELc_7nWIzoB1/s1600/Scan+1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PnVU36NL3u11dRtBjG3CeDB0CVFHaamnv9v2TNW5CQ1kD6p8S-kZHkaFR6jU29803Y78Yim-U69qRzvr76LlekWHiFA7kKVkzZvohww6LfmuEpwKNS6eA3o1XndX1v34ELc_7nWIzoB1/s200/Scan+1.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Provosts in a pumpkin patch circa 1975</td></tr>
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Ah, Halloween. As a youngin' in the 70s and 80s, my Halloweens were slightly different from your early 21st century celebrations. As you can see here, the pumpkin patch we visited in Indiana was a barren throwback to the Dust Bowl into which they trucked a load of pumpkins, then lined them up sort of neatly to give the appearance that they sprang up from the ground for our carving and seed-roasting pleasure. I do recall there being a pony there for me to ride* and while I don't recollect this specifically, I'm certain there were hayrides.<br />
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Prior to the Big Night, I would get revved up for this holiday by waiting excitedly for The Great Pumpkin to come on as a CBS evening special. It was exciting. There'd be a silent written announcement that the regularly scheduled programming would not be seen, then they had this "duh duh duh duh" drumroll with the word "special" surrounded by all manner of colors come right at you as it twisted in a spiral, like it was being born <i>in your face</i>. It's on! It's on! It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! Now we own a copy on DVD and the only thing stopping you girls from watching it any time you want is your father and me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5bb_T-ZTLXaTMmZSZJNk30_lR0N4vygKiBSpMU96N3vrGP0OObLAi1yqp7vhwbGzMf0VS0FGGZlApt7bzKXuvB2UgHwEVZwKIQgI-ewqDjl2g-e6ua3lm2BqaXvcTXln7aRgKqDPwpBi/s1600/witch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5bb_T-ZTLXaTMmZSZJNk30_lR0N4vygKiBSpMU96N3vrGP0OObLAi1yqp7vhwbGzMf0VS0FGGZlApt7bzKXuvB2UgHwEVZwKIQgI-ewqDjl2g-e6ua3lm2BqaXvcTXln7aRgKqDPwpBi/s200/witch.JPG" width="200" /></a>Well before CBS was interrupting its regularly scheduled programming and <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAIxmgRtgVKMaxA4X3yNnkmEDLmGsG8ormnYCPI3b4GTQMcqGYf87ca3ngtXHmVgq_Ylk8ZAEZFo1S-lki333d2lPyfbwKZZny2uPi1e_KQ4br-Ujp1crEMV4KrKw32cHhlrYUrCMyh3I/s1600/Scan.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAIxmgRtgVKMaxA4X3yNnkmEDLmGsG8ormnYCPI3b4GTQMcqGYf87ca3ngtXHmVgq_Ylk8ZAEZFo1S-lki333d2lPyfbwKZZny2uPi1e_KQ4br-Ujp1crEMV4KrKw32cHhlrYUrCMyh3I/s320/Scan.jpeg" width="229" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5k6xeyVdGrpNdFOsT359Stm546qkvuYSziwifKld2A820t_1jmfBGBReC-l-RWxzadCSYaLSkrRAuy0dFsbT6XOTk96Co5Wvg7EJLxpbgVmkre4SUnOQqa-XHq0YczTWzKr5hlA612rcu/s1600/maryjane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="60" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5k6xeyVdGrpNdFOsT359Stm546qkvuYSziwifKld2A820t_1jmfBGBReC-l-RWxzadCSYaLSkrRAuy0dFsbT6XOTk96Co5Wvg7EJLxpbgVmkre4SUnOQqa-XHq0YczTWzKr5hlA612rcu/s200/maryjane.jpg" width="120" /></a>we were all making sure we'd gone to the bathroom, had snacks and our places were "saved with everything in them", my mother and I had secured my costume. Early on, it was always store-bought, with a big, plastic mask and an equally plastic but pliable matching outfit. Would you like to sweat and sweat while being outside in the cold? These are the ensembles for you! "Trick or Treat! I'll take some inedible Mary Janes and hypothermia!" These costumes had everything. Even so, to this day, the smell they emitted (now we call it off-gassing and have discovered it leads to neurological damage and infertility) throws me into a fond, misty-eyed nostalgia. As I grew and those costumes no longer fit me, or more wisely, were no longer on the market due to their highly flammable nature, I was responsible for cobbling together something from found objects in the household. by "found" I of course mean that I ransacked my brothers' rooms and stole their crap. I didn't have an Aunt Jo Jo making me fabulous costumes that require hip new footwear. Indeed, I had to work it out myself and the only help I got from my parents was when they ate half of each piece of my candy to insure there "weren't any razor blades" in it. <br />
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I grew to the point that trick or treating was no longer a thing. It happens, as you girls are just beginning to note. Then it was all about the parties. There was apple bobbing, a barbaric practice involving plunging one's face into icy cold water and attempting to retrieve, using only your teeth, the prize - an apple. As I emerged from child into early adulthood my fellow revelers and I found far superior things for which to bob. There was a lot more huddling indoors and watching horror movies in honor of the day, too. I remember my parents splitting duties between taking kids trick or treating or handing out candy. Then, I remember just going out with my friends, no parents. Now we abandon the house entirely so we can all go out together, and we head to our neighbors' houses, and the grown-ups go out into the streets with the kids and we bring our own grown-up beverages, often we bring refills in wagons we tote along behind us...now that I think of it, while I have great Halloween memories from my childhood, I think I'm enjoying your childhood Halloweens even more. <br />
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* "ride" here means - sit upon wide-eyed and staring pleadingly with my parents while it's
tied to something and allowed to take 4 or 5 steps forward and back.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-23001281114627237662015-10-30T14:21:00.000-04:002015-10-30T14:21:02.813-04:00You know What? Ima Keep This Blog AliveI know that Kate, at least, is reading this thing now. I failed in my attempt to get words out of my own parents (slackers), so I guess it's up to me to be sure that Kate, at least, has something to read. <br />
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It occurred to me as my the sun was setting upon my childhood, that I'd never really thought at all about my parents' lives apart from their involvement with me. I realized, kind of unpleasantly, that it was probable that they had a great deal going on in their days and their bodies and their social circles, and various relationships that actually had <i>nothing to do with me at all</i>. It was like I looked up from something I'd been absorbed in reading (a little novella titled Myself) and realized they'd been in the room with me and I hadn't even noticed or acknowledged them. This is what it's like to realize your parents are human. Some people think it happens when you witness your parents making some kind of mistake, or when they become ill or die. Perhaps, for some, that's the case. For me, it was more subtle and dependent upon my growing up a bit.<br />
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I only mention this because I assume that my daughters don't bother to think at all about what my life is like apart from them, and I'm fine with that. I do expect, though, that one day they'll wonder. So, I've been thinking of coming back in here and sharing with them the sort of things I think about, and how I see them during these times that they are making their own assumptions about how I see them. There are things I'd like to say to them that they aren't ready or willing to hear, but I can write them down here, and they can choose to come back and peruse it later. Or not. I've read a lot of blog posts from other mothers that were written to their daughters - general advice on womanhood and adulthood - and I think that's all well and good but they're usually not what I want someone to say to my daughters, so here's my chance. It's risky, of course, because as a rule, us mothers are insane, and I'm about to put my insanity down in writing (something my own mother repeatedly warned me not do), but so what? And you know what else? I think I'll cuss. All those years I kept this blog of my babies I never cussed because it was a family space, and the thought of hearing foul language from my sweets daughters' lips makes me cringe but the truth is, I like cussing and I do it a lot. You've been warned.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-56475651328929714542013-09-19T16:25:00.000-04:002013-09-19T16:25:32.311-04:00Funny, I Don't Even Remember Having a Frilly BarretteI was in 4th grade when I learned what the word "frilly" means. I did not learn in class. I can hardly recall a thing I learned in that class except that sometimes adults (my teacher that year) are total jerks, and how to spell "mountain". I learned about "frilly" from Tracy Ross. I don't know Tracy's origins, but she was in my class that year, and I was aware of her for many years after that, though I cannot recall exactly when she faded into the background and completely out of my awareness. The only exchange I can recall ever having with Tracy was that day in 4th grade when I walked past her and she declared "oh, I like your barrette! It's so frilly. Do you know what "frilly" means?" I said that I did not and she said "it's when something is very decorative in a sort of delicate and poofy way. Like lace". To this day, I think of Tracy when I hear that word, though I must admit, it isn't often; I live a life that's a little too utilitarian for things to be frilly around me. <br />
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The thing about Tracy was, she was a social pariah. When I picture her, I remember a thin girl with brown eyes and unkempt, matted, yellow hair. She was usually dressed in clothes that looked dirty and frumpy. No one really spoke to her, but people often said mean things about her. Like that she had lice. It seems unlikely to me now, since I don't recall anyone else in my class having lice and frankly, they are very social creatures, but I suppose it's possible. I had no opinion of Tracy. I do recall, though, that she would occasionally attempt to enter a conversation, only to be ignored. <br />
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In middle school we all went to the cafeteria in the mornings before school started. Everyone huddled with their friends. I remember seeing Tracy there, sitting at the end of the one of the long lunch tables, completely alone. I remember thinking I should go say hi to her, ask her how she was doing. I never did, though. I wanted to visit with my friends, and I had no real desire to be Tracy's friend. So, I would see her, think she seemed lonely, wonder if my saying hello would make her feel better, then not do anything about it. <br />
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Today, when I think that something is frilly, I wish I'd taken 30 seconds every now and again to chat with Tracy. She was not an unpleasant girl, despite the faint odor. She smiled easily, and sat right out in the middle of things, looking approachable. I wish I'd taken that time, because school can be brutal, socially, and I found it difficult even <i>with</i> a lot of friends. I felt the urge to be kind, and ignored it. Would it have made a difference to Tracy? I have no idea. Would it have made a difference to me? Very much so. When we are kind to others, we feel better. We affirm for ourselves that we are decent, loving people, and when we do that, we know we deserve to be loved and when we know that, we do not accept anything less. I know now that if I had offered that kid a smile and a wave in the hall or the cafeteria, my own junior high experience would have been slightly less insufferable. <br />
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I'm telling you this now, because I know, without a doubt, there is probably more than one Tracy Ross in your respective worlds. I know it might seem awkward, or forced, and I know it might make you think your own friends will think less of you - but please say something kind to your Tracy Rosses. Anyone who <i>would</i> think less of you for it, does not know your value, their own value or that of the kid sitting alone. Do it for yourself, and you never know, you might find out there's serious friend material there. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-25903694566428699562013-04-18T11:59:00.000-04:002013-04-18T12:07:22.659-04:00This Is All Carol Burnett's Fault<br />
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When I was in first grade, mom and dad went away for a few days and they left me with their friends the Emorys for safe keeping. I don't remember a whole lot from that visit, except that Mrs. Emory allowed me to bang away on the piano for quite some time, and she never complained within my earshot. I did notice that she seemed maybe a little <i>too</i> ecstatic when I accidentally hit upon the first few notes of Mary Had a Little Lamb. She rushed into the living room and helped me play the rest of the song. I felt her relief. People think children don't know these things, but I remember thinking at the time how annoying it must have been for her to have to endure my pounding away at the piano keys. I doubt I mentioned it, but I appreciated her patience. I learned how to play that song that day, and never forgot. That's not what this is about, though.</div>
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In the kitchen of the Emory household hung a calendar with the iconic cartoon cleaning lady from the Carol Burnett Show. She looked bedraggled and rested on a mop with the words "To hell with housework!" next to her. I asked Mrs. Emory what that meant. She said "it means she <i>really</i> doesn't like doing housework." Later that same day, my parents received a call from my teacher, because I'd written "to hell with mathwork" on my math worksheet. That was the day I learned that polite children do not use the word "hell" and they certainly don't go around writing it on their papers. I got quite a talking to from the teacher and the principal that day, all about what a naughty thing I'd written on my paper. I was asked why I would write such a thing, but the question referred to where I'd heard the word, not what motivated me. Indeed, never once did anyone ask why I really didn't like mathwork. <br />
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As I endured the remainder of my formal education, I seethed with animosity toward all topics math. I struggled in each math class, passing each by the skin of my teeth and only with incessant complaint. Dad helped me with my math homework by yelling at me that he couldn't fathom why I wasn't getting it. He meant well, and I understand his frustration. It's OK. By the time I rounded the final curve of high school I was beginning to see glimmers of usefulness for math. When I was in college it dawned on me that there was never any reason for me not to have mastered all that basic math. A bit too late, because I missed the foundations and while I appreciate the logic and, yes, simplicity, of the language of math, I have forgotten most of algebra and trigonometry. <br />
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One of my favorite quotes attributed to Albert Einstein is this - <i>if you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough</i>. Why did no one wonder why I would want to send my math to hell? Why did my teacher not take that as an affront to the topic, and try to help me find my way to grasping it instead? Why do we allow a child who earns a C in her math class to advance to the next level? A grade like that says this student absolutely does <i>not</i> understand it well enough to explain it simply. Why, particularly in the early elementary school years, do we allow scores that low on any topic? I know there are so many children, and so few educators, and we're just trying to escort everyone to adulthood while hoping each kid finds <i>something</i> for which she has an unending curiosity. It's unlikely all kids will master all subjects. So we agree everyone should at least have a passing knowledge of what we consider the basics, but to this day, I feel given up upon. I am amply aware that I presented a considerable challenge to those who tried not to give up on me, as far as math is concerned. Still, there was a moment there, very early on, when I was pointed down a rocky math path that I think was a chance to redirect me. I am sad that math and I weren't better friends. As a parent now, I worry...am I already missing a key redirect moment? Can it be helped? <br />
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I carry the threat of missing a key moment on the outer edges of my daily existence with you. I know your life is your responsibility, but parents are a tangible representation of the ego - we accidentally instill fears by fearing you'll be afraid. I want you to love learning, but you are being educated in much the way I was - in segments and boxes and with lots of punitive "motivation". The answer, of course, is that I must be the student I'd like you to be. I think of it every time you stop to observe the greenery along our walks, searching for 4-leaf clovers and noticing bugs. I think of it because I invariably hear myself say "come on, let's go!" which is the antithesis of what I want for you. I think what I'm trying to tell you here, girls, is this - don't write curse words on your homework papers. I kid! I will consider us fortunate if you'll be so verbal; I hope we'll be on it enough to pay attention, and ask why.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-64657381197818385082013-03-30T08:03:00.002-04:002013-03-30T08:07:17.558-04:00Hey Mom, Why No Reminiscing From My Grand Parents for Whom You Made This Blog Private?I don't know girls. Maybe they don't really love you. Here's a little LRB to soothe your pain.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-6744376647834493722013-03-14T16:32:00.000-04:002013-03-15T08:44:25.436-04:00A Couple Random MemoriesLet's see...you gals are in first and third grade as I write this. What was I up to at those ages? In first grade I lived in Indiana. I went to the 10th Street Elementary School. My teacher was Mrs. Richards and once, when an impromptu paste fight erupted in the classroom, I caused its end when Patrick Shoemaker threw some in my eye and I cried. Ahhhh...good times. I learned that we would be moving to Virginia near the end of the school year. As a going away gift, Mrs. Richards gave me a copy of <u>Bedtime for Frances</u>. I don't recall having any strong emotions about the impending move, but I do remember the move itself.<br />
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The night before we were to head off to the mountains, there were twenty tornadoes sighted in and around our area. I <i>loved</i> tornado warnings and watches. Obviously, nothing I cared about was ever wiped from the planet by a twister. What I knew of tornadoes was this: if they were home when it happened, we all piled into the van and drove 100 feet to our neighbors' house because they had a finished basement. We drove because the van was grounded by its tires which meant we would not, individually, be electrocuted by lightning should it strike in our immediate area, and also because it was usually raining with some ferocity as the warning sirens were blaring. Their basement was awesome. It had a ping pong table and a pool table and the back wall was lined with shelves that were filled with fun things. We would play, and there would be snacks, and we'd listen to the transistor radio for news of the storms. <br />
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That night, we were doing all those things, when your uncle Keith locked himself into a pair of handcuffs. The handcuffs were famously missing their key. Everyone had heard that about them. "Don't mess with those, we've lost the key" must've been said a dozen times that very evening. Still, Keith boldly snapped them on, convinced he could free himself. He could not.<br />
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The storms passed without incident to our neighborhood, so we would still have a ton of boxes for the movers to load on the truck in the morning. Keith remained locked in the handcuffs. So my parents called our neighborhood police officer, Dennis - the boys' nemesis. Dennis had made it his personal duty to keep the Provost boys clean and off the streets and was, from what I could tell, the bane of their collective existence. Dennis was off duty, but came right over. He did not have a skeleton key with him, so he had to take Keith to the station to get one. If memory serves, he made him ride in the back of the car like a common criminal. Then, after he made a big scene of not finding a key in his desk, he walked Keith through the jail, pointing to cells and telling him how one guy killed himself in that cell, and the guy there did [something scary] and so on. Then he found a key, unlocked the cuffs and brought your uncle back home to us. I remember sitting on one of the boxes in the dining area of the kitchen, waiting for Keith to get home. I remember my mom thinking the whole thing was pretty funny. Then we set off for Virginia.<br />
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Now then, by third grade I was in the swing of how school worked. For one thing, I got in trouble a lot less. I met my friend Anni in Mrs. Gnegy's third grade class. Early in the year, my favorite song was Joan Jett & the Blackheart's cover of <i>I Love Rock and Roll</i>. I remember dancing to it and singing into my comb in front of the full length mirror that hung in the hallway as I got ready for school in the morning. I discovered my love for writing (but not spelling) in third grade. Oh, and your uncle Dave broke my finger.<br />
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We were headed to church in our van, and it was very cold out. There was some ice on the driveway. Just as I was about to climb in, I slipped on said ice, and grabbed the post between the front passenger door and the sliding door for support. At that exact same moment, Dave was closing the front door. As we all knew, you had to really slam that front door or it wouldn't shut properly, so he slammed it with impressive force, on my hand. Kevin reported that I sounded just like a foghorn roughly one and half seconds after impact. The door closed on all my fingers, but only my index finger was fractured. We had to go to the hospital, after a brief stop next door, so Dr. Miller could have a look at it and pronounce it likely broken. The ER staff x-rayed it and put it in a splint and wrapped it up and sent me on my way. I got to go home and eat a popsicle and lie on the couch. Dave felt pretty bad about the accident and everyone was nice to me for at least that full day. What I remember most now is that I didn't have to go to church. That made it a win in my book. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-40519305592835440422013-03-07T17:07:00.000-05:002013-03-07T17:07:22.211-05:00Roller Skates<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My first pair of roller skates were the old, metal kind. You stuck them on your shod feet, and tightened them to fit by sliding the two pieces just the right distance apart and clamping them in place with a wing nut. They weighed a ton and their noisy, metal wheels destroyed nice flooring. I adored them.<br />
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I can recall one of the first times I wore my roller skates. Mom helped me get them on my feet, then sent me directly to the garage, where my dad was doing some wood working on his table saw. Your uncle Kevin was out there with us. It was cool out, and it was evening. I was only just beginning to figure out how to move myself along without falling. I would push myself from one fixed point to the next, not really moving my feet but just gliding along until I stopped by colliding with another fixed object. Back and forth in the garage I was doing that. Back and forth, back and forth...I was going to be <i>good</i> at this activity.<br />
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I suppose Kevin was helping. I guess he was encouraging me to move my feet along, to use one to push myself along while slightly bending my knees and swaying ever so gently to maintain balance and steer myself. I suppose this is the case because I really don't remember but I do know I eventually was able to do those things. I did them so well I used to wish roller skating was an Olympic sport because I would <i>own</i> that event! Just wait till those judges saw me breeze through space backwards while Kool and the Gang Celebrated Good Times. I could see them all holding up giant "10" placards. That was to be at least a year from this moment. At this moment I was pleased to be upright, and marveling at the sheer weight of the contraptions on my feet. <br />
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I have no idea what Kevin was actually doing out there, but I do know dad was ignoring us both. I think maybe when one has 5 children one learns to tune a lot of things out. I don't remember what we were talking about but I do remember this: I was perched upon the garage door when I suddenly needed to go to the bathroom right <i>now</i>. I can recall seeing the distance between where I stood and the door into the house. There was a bathroom just inside that door to the right. But as I stood there the short scoot over there became an unbridgeable chasm. I froze. Then Kevin did something <i>hilarious</i>. I don't know what it was, but I could not. Stop. Laughing. And I could not move from that spot, but my bladder didn't care. Full is full people, it's not subjective. Kevin has never been that funny again, I promise you. <br />
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At last I had no choice but to use every bit of arm strength I could muster to push myself from the garage door to the door to the house (and then somehow manage to lift one foot at a time up the single step that led inside). When I finally managed this monumental task, it was too late. I was laughing so hard, I peed my pants as I glided across the garage floor in my metal skates. I left a trail of pee from point A to point B. My oh-so-helpful brother left stinky me to my own devices, but he was good enough to help with the clean-up. My memory of that evening ends with the sight of Kevin gingerly grabbing the broom then sweeping the freshly created sawdust from around the table saw into a tidy mountain range along the long line of urine I'd left in my wake. And that, for me, was Roller Skating: Day One. On Day Two and every other successive skating day, I'm certain, I visited the loo before donning my skates.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-28017618981896134552013-02-16T10:10:00.002-05:002013-02-16T10:10:21.745-05:00Changing It UpHello gentle readers. Perhaps you've noticed (but more likely you've been too busy on Facebook to care) that I haven't been here for a while. It's true, the Daily Spawn has been neglected. Primarily because the actual spawn are very time-consuming. It's hard to believe I've been keeping this blog since Sarah was a few weeks old and now she's 6 and 1/2 years old. That's a lot of blogging about the kids. They're both reading now, and they sometimes read this blog.<br />
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So, during this unplanned blogging hiatus, I've been thinking about what I want to do with this thing. I've spent all this time maintaining a blog about the kids for (primarily) their family. I have decided now that I will switch things around a bit, and make it a blog about their family, for the kids. I know they'll want to know more about who we all were before they made the scene, because I wish I knew more about my parents and grandparents and various other relations as, you know, humans. And so, I invited my own parents to share some of their stories here, for the love of their grandchildren (and for me, because I've been asking them to write this stuff down for years now). I intend to invite their other grandparents to do the same, but I've been too lazy to pick up the phone and call them. That is, I know, a recurring theme in my life. <br />
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I thought my folks would be an easy get, but they really hemmed and hawed about it. Mom tried to tell me she's too busy, but I didn't let her get away with that non-sense. Dad's objection was one with which I couldn't argue. He doesn't want to share his stories with The Internets. And so, my friends, I had to give a little to get a little. I will have to take the blog down and make it private if I want the goods.<br />
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If you're legally family, or if I can make a stirring case for considering you family (for example, if you've ever rushed me or mine to the hospital, bailed one of us out of jail or have incriminating pictures of any of us - most likely Jeremiah), I will send you an invitation to view the blog with a password. I think you should take me up on it, because given my dad's hesitance to share tales of his misspent youth in public, I think we might get lucky and find out he <i>at least</i> knows the location of a body. <br />
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Before I go dark, here's what the girls are up to:<br />
Kate: recovering well from near death encounter with asthma, followed by stay in PICU at Egleston, followed by 5-hour puking party one week later, which we all finally agreed was probably her body (literally) purging the myriad drugs from the asthma business, not a virus.<br />
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Sarah: recovering nicely after losing a quick game of Chicken with a tree. She also enjoyed the hospitality of Egleston's ED, but was not broken of jaw, as we feared due to the extreme swelling and her unusual level of panic (Sarah's pass time is falling down and/or into things, so when she was bloodied and screaming this time, and showed no interest in the frozen yogurt she'd just acquired, we knew shit was real). <br />
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Now that everyone is healthy and safely scabbed over, we are able to enjoy the girls' winter break. Why yes, they <i>did</i> have a winter break for more than <i>two freaking weeks</i> back at Christmas time, but apparently a few weeks of school is just more than the kids can take and they need to rest again. In my day, we got about 10 days for the holidays and sucked it up until Easter, when all we got was Good Friday for a spring break because we'd invariably used the rest of that week for snow days. </div>
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But I digress. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRL71IcjUpN4Qkx9Y-M3v9Y3BWFguPcnNAW9iLmAUNYj0mygNhUTZaGtqdjd0asBupQpyvEFrRtIP-ZwB8PKsxf_3GDqpIOckQPKgpCeauh-7nGRmlXoCyD3TgLcSsv6NmeTpWpO8ppLf/s1600/turmericmudmask1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRL71IcjUpN4Qkx9Y-M3v9Y3BWFguPcnNAW9iLmAUNYj0mygNhUTZaGtqdjd0asBupQpyvEFrRtIP-ZwB8PKsxf_3GDqpIOckQPKgpCeauh-7nGRmlXoCyD3TgLcSsv6NmeTpWpO8ppLf/s200/turmericmudmask1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Yesterday I hung out with the little ladies and shocked them by declaring it treat day and allowing them to consume nothing but absolute crap all day long. Seriously. For dinner I made them pop corn (from a local farm, though!) and then we had hot cocoa. We took a long walk outside, played at the park, had Pub Frites at Leon's for lunch, walked home, had a spa adventure with turmeric mud masques that they loved so much they put all over their bodies and ran around giggling while I gasped and said "don't touch that!" over and over. Then, skin supple and glowing, we watched MegaMind while eating our popcorn dinner. February was supposed to be a no TV month and the kids are not allowed to have food or beverages in the TV room, so, this was kind of a big deal. And now you're up to date! I bid some of you a fond adieu. <br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-28422866791709280032012-09-15T10:53:00.001-04:002012-09-15T10:53:42.111-04:00Odds and EndsJeremiah created a cheesy Wham! (redundant, I know) Pandora station, and the girls love it. While we were listening to <i>Careless Whisper</i>, I told them about Weird Al's version, <i>Hairless Sister</i>. I had to explain who both Marilu Henner and Yule Brynner were. Then Pandora regaled us with Sinead O'Connor's <i>Nothing Compares to You</i>. Speaking of a hairless sister! I was telling Kate and Sarah about Sinead's shaved head and her doe-like blue eyes and perfectly shaped head. "She can really pull off a shaved head, that one" I said. Kate snorted and said "not like you". I don't know why we spend so much time worrying about our children's self esteem, those little a-holes are chipping away at mine on a daily basis.<br />
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Kate joined <a href="http://www.girlsontherun.org/What-We-Do/3rd-5th-Grade-Program" target="_blank">Girls on the Run</a> this semester. It is a fantastic program for girls..on the run. Talking about it inevitably gets <i>Band on the Run</i> stuck in my head, but I consider that a bonus. Before it started in late August, Joy convinced both Kate and Sarah they should run with her on Saturday mornings, to get in shape. I thought that sounded like fun so I joined them. Now it's a weekly habit. On Friday, after her GOTR workout, Kate complains that she's tired and doesn't want to run the next morning. Then Saturday morning I force them to get up, and while Kate insists she's not running I make her get dressed in running clothes. Joy, of course, has outfitted them both with adorable running attire from Target. Then we warm up with a walk to the coffee shop, and Kate insists she's not going to run, then we meet Joy and we all run not quite a mile around a big, long block. Then, after our intense workout, we reward ourselves with a tasty beverage and sometimes the kids get a scone. We sit outside and chat with the parade of friends and neighbors who have a similar tradition. I <i>love</i> it. Today Joy couldn't join us so we began our run at our house, changed the course, and ended it at the coffee shop. They were thrilled with the change of course. They were thrilled with the chai latte they shared. They chatted up everyone there. On the way home, we sipped our drinks and they listed all the things they appreciated about the day so far. I have to write this stuff down, because I'll want to come in the office, close the door, and read it again when they're screeching like banshees at one another because they both want the same toy, even though they each have their own version of said toy. Yes, this record will come in handy.<br />
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Yesterday I didn't bike, because Stephanie was out of town. I walked Monkey instead. When Kate and Sarah heard I was going to get up and walk Monkey, they wanted to come. To my complete astonishment, they actually got up at 5AM, got dressed and out the door with me within 5 minutes and were pleasant. I had to shorten my walk, but I didn't mind. I've never seen two people so thrilled to see the neighborhood during its sleeping hours. We watched a little oppossum run across Oakview and they haven't stopped talking about it a day and 1/2 later. <br />
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This week, Jeremiah ran 2 5k's because, I assume, he needed a couple new shirts. Also because he's a show-off.<br />
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Sarah just brought me a picture she drew of herself with a lightbulb over her head. On it she wrote "Im smoirt". I asked what it said and she replied "it says 'I'm smart'". <br />
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And now you're caught up!<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-53866309080227424432012-09-01T19:30:00.000-04:002012-09-01T19:30:39.289-04:00I ArthurSarah: How did you <i>know</i> that?<br />
Me: I'm psychic.<br />
Sarah: Oh, coooooool!<br />
Me: [Nods in agreement]<br />
Sarah: My mom's a <i>sidekick</i>!<br />
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<img height="242" id="il_fi" src="http://www.thetick.ws/images/sidekicklounge.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-9605523785245752492012-08-12T20:23:00.000-04:002012-08-12T20:31:58.735-04:00Mill Creek Falls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GeAzE185p6b1l4VSryTihle55TSfRF97bxdaNCOsChxXCCYLLhsQa37Oi8IhHff0ecm5RKPcYyHLOCXQi8enHQcjj6bFFhWSCP1A5AdsBNWNKCswx-ap0WvubFn1uxJ1Ktoy-2FCBl0j/s1600/MillCreekFalls7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GeAzE185p6b1l4VSryTihle55TSfRF97bxdaNCOsChxXCCYLLhsQa37Oi8IhHff0ecm5RKPcYyHLOCXQi8enHQcjj6bFFhWSCP1A5AdsBNWNKCswx-ap0WvubFn1uxJ1Ktoy-2FCBl0j/s320/MillCreekFalls7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Just when you thought I'd stopped blogging entirely, here I am popping back up like the scary, seemingly unkillable bad-guy in a thriller movie. Ta-da! Today we drove 2 hours into the north GA mountains so we could hike 1.2 miles, round trip. It's true. But wait, it was for <i>four</i> waterfalls! One with a giant swimming hole and a rope swing.<br />
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The short trail runs right along the very large creek, with a ton of opportunities to wade right in and frolic. And frolic we did, at nearly each of those opportunities. We watched the girls scamper all over wet rocks and told ourselves they needed to do that, to develop their confidence in themselves, as well as their love of the outdoors. We're both exhausted from this one-mile hike, because that was extremely stressful. The trail is, in many places, downright treacherous, and Sarah fell no fewer than 8 times. I am not exaggerating. She took a full header into the creek, pretty early on. Took it like a champ, too. Each time she fell she managed to damage herself in some new way, though and that sort of thing is wearing. I had to do Reiki mid-hike several times. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYduKKqxzE3k7H8xeH0oidvriiKXJd594aEsdahan_FD1QJRRXfuoGmkNMvZaPUJsimLBkHC0H9hjyyUmE5hfZwn8PyGlJJJkiTe1MM0diTCpBlbTR-VpUZ-d405ItQU6gHc9Wivz0HT0f/s1600/MillCreekFalls3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYduKKqxzE3k7H8xeH0oidvriiKXJd594aEsdahan_FD1QJRRXfuoGmkNMvZaPUJsimLBkHC0H9hjyyUmE5hfZwn8PyGlJJJkiTe1MM0diTCpBlbTR-VpUZ-d405ItQU6gHc9Wivz0HT0f/s200/MillCreekFalls3.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzuV-DYVSvv8gS5XQO7tdWyTGs63mnYKz6eHvlYIuJlHRydM1-gLxYRR453Q7pBlKOLdf5ZmIlhco2nVNoLOJWXMWZTfXK6JH_9rsnvuXHCbaBbzUZlS_sNB3-qoOjbRVD8qS58_54hsY/s1600/MillCreekFalls1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzuV-DYVSvv8gS5XQO7tdWyTGs63mnYKz6eHvlYIuJlHRydM1-gLxYRR453Q7pBlKOLdf5ZmIlhco2nVNoLOJWXMWZTfXK6JH_9rsnvuXHCbaBbzUZlS_sNB3-qoOjbRVD8qS58_54hsY/s200/MillCreekFalls1.jpg" width="171" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLfiKHe3Qag_IBMIi04zf4TEuOuB2NRQlN7b_PXrKikToa48ajxhfG2buoITnS67MjMLIljxehC5pkw1SnpKMNMO2efSCgmMDZq41uBpGMY67gEmoCnH5DOwcrUjYL99_At4vt0YKtbU7/s1600/MillCreekFalls10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLfiKHe3Qag_IBMIi04zf4TEuOuB2NRQlN7b_PXrKikToa48ajxhfG2buoITnS67MjMLIljxehC5pkw1SnpKMNMO2efSCgmMDZq41uBpGMY67gEmoCnH5DOwcrUjYL99_At4vt0YKtbU7/s200/MillCreekFalls10.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpcA9_QLZj_ZX0zXmH00YK6QMU4FxWhJFGdMgzUdOQQubJvL6PZVK6IguOPB3sej_ydCpzf31lL3bd78FfkUBTkoum53lr6kOkEWURmTgCWHmXyluMJwZ6wwuqTq-pXZrxCDIxX9yTtPL/s1600/MillCreekFalls13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpcA9_QLZj_ZX0zXmH00YK6QMU4FxWhJFGdMgzUdOQQubJvL6PZVK6IguOPB3sej_ydCpzf31lL3bd78FfkUBTkoum53lr6kOkEWURmTgCWHmXyluMJwZ6wwuqTq-pXZrxCDIxX9yTtPL/s200/MillCreekFalls13.jpg" width="150" /></a> All that was well <i>before</i> the perilous part of the journey. Just before arriving at the big fall (80') the trail sort of goes away for awhile, and you must walk along the rocks on the side of the water. Then, it comes back, but it straight up and down. To reach the swimming hole at the bottom of the big waterfall, you must descend a wall of mountain. Someone put ropes up in key places, and using them is the only alternative to simply tumbling straight down to the rocks below. My girls nailed it, but my heart was firmly in my throat the entire way down.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcABfvEpyZnQfX93U5OsWjD_9L0_4F1lf5Zinmh3DxSxS8KxquKuwcwAofldFf9K8DcYPAkQscLACSYZItnEvuWD5BMCYeCXWFzFdnlvYaAG5dJq5HeH6hN5XPw67ZvqDWUJB0O1ATRXo/s1600/MillCreekFalls15.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/AVvXsEgOcABfvEpyZnQfX93U5OsWjD_9L0_4F1lf5Zinmh3DxSxS8KxquKuwcwAofldFf9K8DcYPAkQscLACSYZItnEvuWD5BMCYeCXWFzFdnlvYaAG5dJq5HeH6hN5XPw67ZvqDWUJB0O1ATRXo/s320/MillCreekFalls15.jpg" width="240" /></a>Going back up, I had to lead Sarah safely to the ridge. I was surprised how quickly I forgot that portions of the climb were nothing but slick, wet mud and pulling yourself up the ropes was pretty much it for the ascent. Sarah did pretty well. Kate had a full-on anxiety attack. Jeremiah was stuck with her on the climb while I plopped Sarah on a tree stump and returned to help him. By the time I got back she'd made it through the tough part, but that was pretty much it, she'd climbed and jumped and swum in freezing cold water for hours and she was done. (Jeremiah kinda was too, after coaxing her up the trail while she screamed like she was being murdered for what seemed like an eternity). For awhile, she stood still on the trail, refusing to take another step. <br />
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Apart from that drama, during which she refused to release my hand but fervently told me how she would not be speaking to me ever again once we got home and she intended to run away immediately upon our safe return to Atlanta, it was a really fun day. There were a lot of other people out on the trail and they were, all of them, very friendly, a lot of fun and all looking out for each others' safety. The weather, <i>oh</i> the weather, was so absolutely stunningly gorgeous. Blue sky, cool breeze, temperature in the mid-80's...sigh...I fell in love with that weather. The trail was covered with all kinds of interesting mushrooms which seemed to need to be photographed. I missed a few of my favorites, but here are some that certainly house fairies of the woodland sort.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrW55L9NJThrnoyso9prwU0wfWnr6EDt0fRR-y_7hEA9Sf8bkDIqQLir3O4pj1eqH9omav1PNprfyl4MIdRa1nxCdiWi8j9rkZ8qxIhN9hOrbZ_jwujNGhGvtslP5vaQZspljK8L6W81w/s1600/MillCreekFalls12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrW55L9NJThrnoyso9prwU0wfWnr6EDt0fRR-y_7hEA9Sf8bkDIqQLir3O4pj1eqH9omav1PNprfyl4MIdRa1nxCdiWi8j9rkZ8qxIhN9hOrbZ_jwujNGhGvtslP5vaQZspljK8L6W81w/s200/MillCreekFalls12.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPCrqJjRLN9FgtpP4qDByIoTKW-3qCY3Bz4uiYW0h4IH-fb43XsN7AmYFzHdC5-S9Dh0LERce0WD1gmLteukf2n9lu0NzT3FJil-CNx4sKGwnZBx4m7bf1oXBvgzg5vkrX4p3ozAGAk7t/s1600/MillCreekFalls17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPCrqJjRLN9FgtpP4qDByIoTKW-3qCY3Bz4uiYW0h4IH-fb43XsN7AmYFzHdC5-S9Dh0LERce0WD1gmLteukf2n9lu0NzT3FJil-CNx4sKGwnZBx4m7bf1oXBvgzg5vkrX4p3ozAGAk7t/s200/MillCreekFalls17.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgma6m2vmKnNdak9uqu7JZujow3t6nBP4_MpVTZkQIDC0RUe087wIVUKOB7XGfJjl9TvsPzhy4oqasfvtNWWTAGNVx6X5INKPe_sc2drQSwmjXKIeZJXYKOD4GVZDPfXTHNtuEdemltMWvO/s1600/MillCreekFalls11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgma6m2vmKnNdak9uqu7JZujow3t6nBP4_MpVTZkQIDC0RUe087wIVUKOB7XGfJjl9TvsPzhy4oqasfvtNWWTAGNVx6X5INKPe_sc2drQSwmjXKIeZJXYKOD4GVZDPfXTHNtuEdemltMWvO/s200/MillCreekFalls11.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Here are some more random shots from the day. I wish I could've gotten more, but my arms were very busy holding up children while they jumped from rock to rock. My shoulders are actually sore as I type this. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQYTN6eqDEaWQV7mYA28PI58VBwsEfc4xxNxCeYY4tOx1nJxAsBTIuYuVG35ERYzfu2LzuVdJFXfqjf8760L5mfHf1YDLGsvGY631MOvA7Fijb7FedZcvR4KhicA6o-Y31VnQdvE78X6F/s1600/MillCreekFalls14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQYTN6eqDEaWQV7mYA28PI58VBwsEfc4xxNxCeYY4tOx1nJxAsBTIuYuVG35ERYzfu2LzuVdJFXfqjf8760L5mfHf1YDLGsvGY631MOvA7Fijb7FedZcvR4KhicA6o-Y31VnQdvE78X6F/s200/MillCreekFalls14.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Se0tKVBQ53028VJe1FMRTDFWJy1pkYXLV2LutnuidiBNwI34qoI80O5EcNA3zQvHvQ1eRdK5PfCFxI6D4-XKIMP_9C0Ax7KU_kbObq5oGhsE-DE0XOgjkjAmURQyy7j2fD2fZvQtDflO/s1600/MillCreekFalls4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Se0tKVBQ53028VJe1FMRTDFWJy1pkYXLV2LutnuidiBNwI34qoI80O5EcNA3zQvHvQ1eRdK5PfCFxI6D4-XKIMP_9C0Ax7KU_kbObq5oGhsE-DE0XOgjkjAmURQyy7j2fD2fZvQtDflO/s200/MillCreekFalls4.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0uSdIpv6P_hn-VJE-nvx_4bn-6WCQAypFmP3z5IwFpPbirQCsGUGV4Nxtvf5Tb3dpKh3Kwxby_IS5U7BoRnpCUwzLBY7jxvjOa1IJ2LV7YzfpH8V2pjUfVHYgPeeL6kq_VXwoagka7LK/s1600/MillCreekFalls5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0uSdIpv6P_hn-VJE-nvx_4bn-6WCQAypFmP3z5IwFpPbirQCsGUGV4Nxtvf5Tb3dpKh3Kwxby_IS5U7BoRnpCUwzLBY7jxvjOa1IJ2LV7YzfpH8V2pjUfVHYgPeeL6kq_VXwoagka7LK/s200/MillCreekFalls5.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-38632414689904217382012-06-28T12:41:00.000-04:002012-06-28T12:41:30.680-04:00SummerJune was a busy month, hence the lack of blogging. Just figuring out where the kids are going to be all day every day is tricky when school's out. After we returned from Tybee the girls did 2 weeks at Dance 411 dance camp. Then it was off to Sustainability Camp. Yes, Sustainability Camp. I thought they'd learn a bit about permaculture and what-not, and I'm really not sure if that happened, but they had a blast so there. Now they're at another dance camp - Barefoot N Motion. My favorite thing about that camp is that it's half a mile from the house. They are absurdly disorganized, but the kids are having fun. Next week they'll spend 1/2 days at the same camp, while Aunt Jo Jo hangs out with them in the afternoons. After that, Grammy Margie heads down for some quality time with the little blonde Drueke girls. After that...I'm not sure what we'll do with them, but the final week of July promises the arrival of cousin Ro*! Then cousin Mikey will actually be moving here and living with Steve and Joy. The girls are <i>beside</i> themselves with this cousin stuff. <br />
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Since March or so, Sarah's been requesting a winter-themed birthday. I've been plotting it out in my head. This morning she announced she doesn't want that now. When I asked what she does want she was quiet for a moment, thoughtfully stroking Monkey's velvety ear while she contemplated the possibilities. Then she said "how about a dog theme?" Perhaps I'll go with dogs in winter. Like the Girls of Summer but less resigned and jaded. I don't know. What I do know is that while I had a blessed reprieve from the usual Atlanta humidity for Kate's birthday, it's here with a vengence now, and I wish I had a walk-in fridge in which to decorate Sarah's cake. <br />
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I continue to follow the instructions of the Ease Into 5K app! I knew right away that my timing was less than fortuitous, picking up running for the first time in my life, when I'm nearly 40 and it's nearly summer in Georgia. So far, mornings have been mostly pleasant, though. When Rusty commented earlier that I would be doing a 5K, it was the first time it dawned on me that doing this training program was, indeed, meant to result in just such a thing. Huh, I guess I will. I switched the setting from the toneless voice of Jim to that of the encouraging Londoner, Alison. When it's time to run she says "run!" and I'm certain if she'd not been cut off she'd go on to say "like your feet are winged and the wind is always at your back! You can fly!" I like Alison. Well, I liked her. Until week 3 when she went from having me do many rounds of 45 and 60 second bouts of running with lots of walking in between to running for, like, 3 minutes <i>in a row.</i> The first time it happened, I checked the time remaining on the run and found it was still, like a minute and a half and I thought "Alison you traitorous whore!". My anger gave me energy, though, so I guess she can stay. I don't know if I'll ever consider myself a runner. Certainly not enough to plaster my bumper with random-seeming numbers, a stick figure with its hair blowing backwards and "runner girl" in pink. No, I will never stop hating those "runner girl" stickers. I do like the one I saw the other day that just says "run" as if the owner is in a perpetual state of panic. The fact that it's on his car is even more amusing. "You run, dummy. I'm driving". I want one that says "duck". Anyway, what I do know is this - biking has gotten easier. <br />
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So anyway, the kids. I have some photos. I will relocate the little green camera (last spied in the playroom, where expensive things go to die) and share some with you. I promise. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-55128316997590041092012-06-01T18:46:00.002-04:002012-06-01T18:46:43.557-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJCQ5OhyphenhyphenbZijgAaTFmcEV4m4fJwphhA960Nzv-W-rsaxnoDIY_g4JAHomtphZSMCFAVYKdflgwV23vamSUgDosv1VqX0_nmZ82aaq5qCbpMNS2iB3uBL6PrQGu5QBNja_Iv5keKPq7xCm/s1600/Tybee201223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJCQ5OhyphenhyphenbZijgAaTFmcEV4m4fJwphhA960Nzv-W-rsaxnoDIY_g4JAHomtphZSMCFAVYKdflgwV23vamSUgDosv1VqX0_nmZ82aaq5qCbpMNS2iB3uBL6PrQGu5QBNja_Iv5keKPq7xCm/s320/Tybee201223.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tybee Island Lighthouse from the beach</td></tr>
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We took a short vacation. After Jeremiah's [highly festive] birthday, we headed south to the island of Tybee for surf and sand and too much sun and ice cream. This morning when we piled back into the car and pointed the car toward Atlanta once more, none of us was ready. I mean, emotionally. We were all packed and I don't think we forgot anything, but you know what I mean. We could've used a couple weeks or maybe a month. Why aren't we European?<br />
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When we arrived on Tybee the sky was looking ominous. Huge storm clouds loomed and the wind whipped and it was kind of dark. Undaunted, we headed straight to the beach. There, we were forbidden to get in the water due to the vicious undertow and imminent storm. No worries, this did not stop us from obtaining and devouring some fresh shrimp. The weather report assured us it was going to storm all day Tuesday. Why is the weather such an a-hole sometimes?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIS50dV03bxT5S52h7uXDDIfhDvdjtLrdqDNPQCeDqpAeEjVjU_gBKRN97LiwZajWYG3dA7X9Hm_PrbjbJ-ho2uFcv1aXp2qrwZzz11ovPLpa_cG7mJyKHQuaa4MOvM-Nh2eurhc1pf_S/s1600/Tybee2012a2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIS50dV03bxT5S52h7uXDDIfhDvdjtLrdqDNPQCeDqpAeEjVjU_gBKRN97LiwZajWYG3dA7X9Hm_PrbjbJ-ho2uFcv1aXp2qrwZzz11ovPLpa_cG7mJyKHQuaa4MOvM-Nh2eurhc1pf_S/s320/Tybee2012a2.jpg" width="320" /></a>Tuesday morning arrived and, shamed by Jeremiah's adherence to his Couch to 5K (now more gently titled "Ease Into 5K") app, I began the program myself. I figured the beach was a good place to start this - what with the lack of hills. So anyway, we took turns running and the rain held off. Emboldened by the lack of precipitation, we rented the kids bikes. It was our intention to finally get them both riding two-wheelers with confidence. We were ready for a morning of starts and stops on the hard-packed sand. Instead, they climbed on and did this (see photo). Sarah requested help getting started a few times, but when she realized it was easier for her to control that portion of the ride, she stopped asking. That was the extent of our teaching the kids to ride. Step one: put them on bikes. Step two: take pictures of them riding. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gXp3S6negr8njmOCKUCZ414f5DFyfgZvnVgkGHUChPVhYVBvYcIq1y5cBSg_DEdzZ9YlkdfL6OB0uRdyPgXxROXEEgrlahaOH82MGzrDBjkt_Y_od8E-C_SYLs0Pkt3A4xpK9FTz2tXm/s1600/Tybee2012a3.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/AVvXsEg0gXp3S6negr8njmOCKUCZ414f5DFyfgZvnVgkGHUChPVhYVBvYcIq1y5cBSg_DEdzZ9YlkdfL6OB0uRdyPgXxROXEEgrlahaOH82MGzrDBjkt_Y_od8E-C_SYLs0Pkt3A4xpK9FTz2tXm/s320/Tybee2012a3.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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The storm was still promising to hit us, and so swimming was out of the question. Instead, we spent the morning riding the bikes, and celebrating the riding of the bikes and flirting with the sea's edge until we got hungry. Flying in the face the foreboding weather report, we brazenly walked to lunch (just around the corner from our cottage, the <a href="http://bookings.mermaidcottages.com/Unit.mvc/Details/15633" target="_blank">Flip Flop</a>) at <a href="http://www.sundaecafe.com/" target="_blank">Sundae Cafe</a>. There, we enjoyed seeing the girls' faces as early-planning and a bit of texting that day resulted in...a surprise visit from Aunt Jo Jo! We'd been playing the "Made Ya Look" game while we waited for our food and so, when Sarah said "I see Aunt Jo Jo!" Kate absolutely refused to turn around until Joy was touching her back. Priceless! Also, this will assure our triumph at future "Made Ya Look" tourneys. While we were at the restaurant, the weather stopped kidding around, and the skies opened. Happily, Joy gave us all a ride back to the Flip Flop. That evening, after some game playing while it rained, and some showing off on two wheels during pauses in the rain, Joy took the girls out for pizza and Jeremiah and I enjoyed a little date. We weren't that great about taking pictures. You'll just have to trust me that Joy was there. She'd had a lunch meeting in Savannah. She left the next morning, just in the time to miss all the beautiful sunny weather that pervaded the remainder of our trip. Sigh.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate's BayWatch shot</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah's BayWatch shot</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cabin's master bedroom has windows to the kids' room. Weird.</td></tr>
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We swam and swam and swam. We did, indeed, eat a lot of ice cream. We visited the <a href="http://tybeevisit.com/what-to-do/attractions/tybee-pier-pavilion" target="_blank">pier</a> often and on our second trip there, we saw 2 guys catch baby sharks and one guy catch a stingray and a pod of dolphins frolicking, yes, <i>frolicking</i> just off the pier in the blue. That day, the neophyte cyclists biked from the north end of the island, all the way down to the south end and back again with minimal whining!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26iLJqZ02rF0M8JjL_erAlnQ-qNcZ9tlQsnj9iyofc9EZpJ8K8HwyigLr2E3fpNQHmxcbbSePW0Yu3yAl_4XqaTgdIFxnIScQqXnZWTUOUE1KE1OOLcYjSKTDeMbWHChdfO1CpTABoPGQ/s1600/Tybee201217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26iLJqZ02rF0M8JjL_erAlnQ-qNcZ9tlQsnj9iyofc9EZpJ8K8HwyigLr2E3fpNQHmxcbbSePW0Yu3yAl_4XqaTgdIFxnIScQqXnZWTUOUE1KE1OOLcYjSKTDeMbWHChdfO1CpTABoPGQ/s320/Tybee201217.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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This morning, we dragged Kate and Sarah from their beds (per their requests, I should add) to see the sun rise over the beach. Nature did not disappoint; it was a good one. I had Cat Stephens' <i>Morning Has Broken </i>stuck in my head the rest of the day as a result. Just as we asked a nice woman who'd also come out for the sunrise spectacle to take our picture, the fuchsia star peeked over the horizon and she and I both gasped. The kids acknowledged that it was pretty but I think there is something about age that causes a show of beauty like that to stick in your throat. The photos, of course, do it no justice. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Sundaes. Good food.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4mpR9muk6jmDFbF9ujmMOjArk_2W5Rn1C3nE8kpDWJtlniicWf3LYOYdUH9v-GfcXbSdsWiw4dMDgEjYq66MFPKRUwAXevNdf6ox9_sr-cjcbcZZOsvimxLi-pngn_1tQGjZAFOZgeL2/s1600/Tybee201220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4mpR9muk6jmDFbF9ujmMOjArk_2W5Rn1C3nE8kpDWJtlniicWf3LYOYdUH9v-GfcXbSdsWiw4dMDgEjYq66MFPKRUwAXevNdf6ox9_sr-cjcbcZZOsvimxLi-pngn_1tQGjZAFOZgeL2/s320/Tybee201220.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another shark!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avec shark</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxQZ5uXoDRjPWSt31y6Cd-85MNH0B24CR00dh_h8GARersGbgWdrkv_vfcxbAYqC1fgNhaJqScWF6Xwby98jeG8aUoDNZ_sRFf_lHCOL6vyAB8wQbeRylWzfzqAs03KjFJgcwCIANks74/s1600/Tybee201222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxQZ5uXoDRjPWSt31y6Cd-85MNH0B24CR00dh_h8GARersGbgWdrkv_vfcxbAYqC1fgNhaJqScWF6Xwby98jeG8aUoDNZ_sRFf_lHCOL6vyAB8wQbeRylWzfzqAs03KjFJgcwCIANks74/s320/Tybee201222.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone's got to touch the dang dead shark</td></tr>
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As you can see from the photos, Tybee is a shark-infested place. We enjoyed that. We love the danger. And we love that we never met the parents of the baby sharks we found. They must be bereft. And angry. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-7540653706470610182012-05-26T18:28:00.002-04:002012-05-26T18:28:43.805-04:00PreparationTomorrow is Jeremiah's birthday, and Monday we're heading down to Tybee Island for a few days. Today, we are packing, baking, and cleaning. We have ambitious plans for tomorrow. We're going to have everything ready to get our happy selves to the coast, prepare for a celebratory dinner with friends and hit the Decatur Arts Festival. <br />
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I provided the girls with a list of things they should pack. It included a column for each of them to check off every item as they packed it, because I'm one of <i>those</i> people. It went...passably well. Their items are gathered and it only took about 4 hours to make it happen. Though the instruction "clean your bedroom" resulted in a great deal of sister-on-sister violence, some screaming, a bit of tattling (mostly from our little nark, Sarah), no shortage of whining and ultimately, a reasonably tidy bedroom. After the bedroom drama, Sarah came downstairs and helped me clean the kitchen while Jeremiah's birthday caked baked. She wanted to help with the baking bit, but because it took her so long to don just the right attire for the occasion, she arrived only in time for cleaning. She looks fantastic, though, no? She did a great job washing dishes too. <br />
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We are ready to relax. It's been a busy few months. The girls have wrapped up a very active school year. While we will only have a few days, I'm pretty thrilled to have each one of them. I cannot wait to get to hang out with my family without having any simultaneous obligations. Our goal for the trip is to use the soft landing of the packed wet sand at the shore to finally get both girls confidently riding bicycles sans training wheels. They're <i>so close</i>. I'll keep you posted on their progress. Enjoy the long weekend!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-86182032027889945832012-05-11T14:46:00.000-04:002012-05-11T14:46:42.685-04:00What the Kids Have Been Up ToIt's been awhile, too long, indeed. We've all been very busy soaking up Spring, you see, and when it's Real Spring, one doesn't really want to sit inside and blog. Not this One, anyway. Kate and Sarah have been doing very well. We met the first and third grade teachers and learned what we should expect from these grades for our girls. Yes, <i>first</i> and <i>third</i> grades. OH it seems only yesterday I held these wee bitty babies in my arms! But enough of that nonsense, they're still not too big to cuddle.<br />
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Kate had a choral performance last week. I had to miss it because Sarah was inconveniently running a fever. We knew she wasn't feeling especially well, then by the end of the school day last Thursday her temperature hit 101 and she became persona non grata at school. We know how she rolls, though. Sarah will catch a bug, moan dramatically about not feeling well, finally run a fever, kill the sonufabitch off and be fine the next day. This was precisely what she did. She owned that little virus. Take <i>that</i>, virus! Anyway, Jeremiah attended Kate's concert while I stayed home with Sarah. It was fun to see how pumped Kate was when she got home. She <b>loves</b> chorus. Then, yesterday, when I picked them up from school, the little set they'd used for the performance was sitting out in the hall. Kate took me over to it, dropped her bookbag, and did her entire performance, moves and all, just for me, because I had to miss it before. <br />
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So that was adorable. Also high on my list of uber-cute things the kids do is how we've conditioned them to react to the word "jet". Since Jeremiah and I both are unable to resist relating nearly every sentence and, in some cases, individual words, we hear to a song, we of course do the Wings vocal follow-up to the word "jet!" every time we hear it. You know, "ewh eeeewwwh ewh ewh ewh, jet!" That one. Now, the kids do it, too. We live right in many a flight pattern for the airport, so believe me, there are myriad opportunities for this to come up. We'll probably get sick of it soon, but for now, I just love hearing my little kids sing Jet. <br />
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Speaking of how everything's a song with us people up in here, last week's Kinetic Reiki blog entry about the root chakra was named for Root Down. That's right, the chakra that houses the will to live. The day after I published that, Adam Yauch died. I'm not making any point here, I'm just mentioning it, because it was mildly startling timing. Also, I'm sad. I'm sad about Maurice Sendak, too, but that was less surprising.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-50206078413519573802012-04-20T16:26:00.001-04:002012-04-20T16:26:16.576-04:00Check Out the Thing That's Keeping Me From Posting Here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzq8xlzSJH-TH-18QY9vfPzskIkYWIh8ryH7LLnS5zMjtG46Epfyn4ODzU67EYMtl260Z8J-4-gKY7VZiAzUDprYrw5LnTpdAp7FpM-wS939OlsL8Ty1JsAiUaKzcqIY5e0ug9zmqQGie1/s1600/reiki-title.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzq8xlzSJH-TH-18QY9vfPzskIkYWIh8ryH7LLnS5zMjtG46Epfyn4ODzU67EYMtl260Z8J-4-gKY7VZiAzUDprYrw5LnTpdAp7FpM-wS939OlsL8Ty1JsAiUaKzcqIY5e0ug9zmqQGie1/s1600/reiki-title.gif" /></a></div>
I have a new blog, it goes with my Reiki practice. Check it out! I'll be writing about pretty much anything I feel is even peripherally related to Reiki. I'm sure my upcoming post about how I fell asleep on my Reiki table and the rack tracks from the head piece didn't fade from my face for 5 full hours will have you on the <i>edge of your seats</i>! <br />
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This blog was actually requested by more than one of my friends (what? Two is more than one!). A request like that is so touching it can't go ungranted. Even if "ungranted" is not a word. So, I'm at it. I do realize that, to date, there are only 2 posts on it, and that doesn't really make up for my slacking off here, but I type slowly. I've added it to the sidebar on this blog and <a href="http://kineticreiki.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">here's</a> the direct link. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-8594048557018343482012-04-15T16:58:00.001-04:002012-04-15T17:03:43.948-04:00The Oakhurst Castle<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJabu2bXQcMhKNXpbFNYa0B76WsJMAkivbEX1C5JLHuxk_FxaUGdrNzVLocGTB32R4u81b9z2IuYweCGKr-KtSgU3ZRexctKDLJdNvA1AennRqhJGi0Lrw0js7t2sFXwbIUBwaxsrXGNp-/s1600/oakhurstcastle1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJabu2bXQcMhKNXpbFNYa0B76WsJMAkivbEX1C5JLHuxk_FxaUGdrNzVLocGTB32R4u81b9z2IuYweCGKr-KtSgU3ZRexctKDLJdNvA1AennRqhJGi0Lrw0js7t2sFXwbIUBwaxsrXGNp-/s200/oakhurstcastle1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFvrGsOolzag7AoHdEeZ0Tq7WWtN1dUhK9_RKs_PnYt8JjLAajI9q3jEGRXMlAb-p6xyAwYbFIOJTjdUTyJj2Boks1h4LA1bjGQmZOLEDqR1QgZGv13dVUiGuDkHa6deuDMgfnkjj-yCy/s1600/oakhurstcastle12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFvrGsOolzag7AoHdEeZ0Tq7WWtN1dUhK9_RKs_PnYt8JjLAajI9q3jEGRXMlAb-p6xyAwYbFIOJTjdUTyJj2Boks1h4LA1bjGQmZOLEDqR1QgZGv13dVUiGuDkHa6deuDMgfnkjj-yCy/s200/oakhurstcastle12.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjREh7zuCuZ1-IP3mPvOUQXuVDi_SuK0AxKiUghwWzQnINVkbDfjI6UDMYGX2CvtCiISEOJPk6iH7XPQRQltgB5ROyhe-QU_PDy1DtK0mfRj7XJrfcOUJcu24cZYAKSLMIhua0S-rrR0Yoz/s1600/oakhurstcastle9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjREh7zuCuZ1-IP3mPvOUQXuVDi_SuK0AxKiUghwWzQnINVkbDfjI6UDMYGX2CvtCiISEOJPk6iH7XPQRQltgB5ROyhe-QU_PDy1DtK0mfRj7XJrfcOUJcu24cZYAKSLMIhua0S-rrR0Yoz/s200/oakhurstcastle9.jpg" width="150" /></a>There's a lovely home on Fayetteville Road, which is just behind our own road, that we walk past all the time. It's built to look like a castle though it is, in fact, just a 3 bedroom, 3 bathroom house. It's really stunning, and we've always wanted to see the inside of it. Today, because it's up for sale, we finally got to go inside the house. We are not the only neighbors that wanted to see this place. It was the most crowded open house I've ever attended.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcqUdaZxhAd5jyG0iONFJAT6xRYvNE784Isf4WKyA5hdVoZGpMzGtdS9dJ7LfaGzeXIWOU6GtLZf2Z1r1T_bajcqf6tvYzFu_6epxhlCBEZF3lKpv24ol8Lkai1SggCdJe8MgNN4MM3Ow/s1600/oakhurstcastle2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcqUdaZxhAd5jyG0iONFJAT6xRYvNE784Isf4WKyA5hdVoZGpMzGtdS9dJ7LfaGzeXIWOU6GtLZf2Z1r1T_bajcqf6tvYzFu_6epxhlCBEZF3lKpv24ol8Lkai1SggCdJe8MgNN4MM3Ow/s200/oakhurstcastle2.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babies!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8WLsOgs4MPUTkb8JHpTeGn1Txb1t4gJqiV9opAd00M3-Y3KHVwJ46VHPI2sKdENL_utFNYTcYS2MCBosggvAf618q4L5L79rwrEUQMvIvQrSxMjPiLcpenlOBUpNQaocSoXwCW0F7qKQ/s1600/oakhurstcastle6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8WLsOgs4MPUTkb8JHpTeGn1Txb1t4gJqiV9opAd00M3-Y3KHVwJ46VHPI2sKdENL_utFNYTcYS2MCBosggvAf618q4L5L79rwrEUQMvIvQrSxMjPiLcpenlOBUpNQaocSoXwCW0F7qKQ/s320/oakhurstcastle6.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the turret, very cool space.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The house really is gorgeous, and we were entertained by some unexpected surprises. The owners collect antique radios, which were fun to see. There's a bird's nest with babies in it in the garden. A huge luna moth lit on the front porch light and was on display for all of us to enjoy. The artwork in the house was really great, my favorite being a large Frank Zappa painting,<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRUmL2tEbarB2LtW18ACMMVGnHEgPBpmavj3v8dfbqI5o_TBQ5FE1a2HNgqSVPTbSxS9ru1yMIoEpIt0n36W_D5nKulFHFiaSDwUngDlTIjj3wlWF9sg6lp5oLlwPJKwmR5gLjGfIA2H9/s1600/oakhurstcastle8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRUmL2tEbarB2LtW18ACMMVGnHEgPBpmavj3v8dfbqI5o_TBQ5FE1a2HNgqSVPTbSxS9ru1yMIoEpIt0n36W_D5nKulFHFiaSDwUngDlTIjj3wlWF9sg6lp5oLlwPJKwmR5gLjGfIA2H9/s320/oakhurstcastle8.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sistine Kitchen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>right next to a <i>very</i> clean, white sofa, if you know what I mean. There is some really stunning glass work happening in there and an impressive Sistine Kitchen. I loved the library, and the out building (which I failed to photograph at all, sorry). Here's a few shots, and <a href="http://charleswallace.listingware.com/search/searchdetail.cfm?ListingID=4312206&CurrentRow=3&ShowPage=1&KeyField=City&ListingIDList=&City=All&PropertyTypeID=All&StatusCodes=ACT,CK,CO&PriceRange=0%7C999999999&MinPrice=0&MaxPrice=999999999&Bedrooms=0&BathsFull=0&MLSArea=&PostalCode=&State=&County=&StreetName=&Subdivision=&LotArea=&LivingArea=&Type=&SchoolName=&SchoolType=&YearBuilt=0&YearBuiltOperator=later&Stories=0&PhotoLinks=No&SortOrder=desc&ResultsStyle=1&MaxRows=10&Reciprocity=No&ShowCompany=No&SinceDate=&Advanced=No&Keywords=&KeywordsOperator=and&OfficeID=&AgentID=&PageID=&Z=" target="_blank">here's</a> the link to the real estate site, if you want to see more pictures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwRXpGy0snelqeeU556hJ8fZpX7pr3M112Peswq89aRYifYuZ8Hb3wlERttxd6ICQGL0YmxzKZbUpRlVdPrFPWGckWXZryvAVG6j79dGB17iGVjtvEsfqJioFmRGhzalbNJCzAHkbsvJ9/s1600/oakhurstcastle5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwRXpGy0snelqeeU556hJ8fZpX7pr3M112Peswq89aRYifYuZ8Hb3wlERttxd6ICQGL0YmxzKZbUpRlVdPrFPWGckWXZryvAVG6j79dGB17iGVjtvEsfqJioFmRGhzalbNJCzAHkbsvJ9/s320/oakhurstcastle5.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this for you, mom. It's way better in person.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeadgOjl0Ll2GCAlB-AZ3KdorZ3Vxav4ravhlgkuBN5uq7Tm4g0Q_S0NG9_yeSr5FAKtVBONsNidjr31DBdHxPakvkrfKR64J2tIMp7lvKTvU9i3Z3iFRIkCepLYnutMWFO6nfdWZrEVLV/s1600/oakhurstcastle7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeadgOjl0Ll2GCAlB-AZ3KdorZ3Vxav4ravhlgkuBN5uq7Tm4g0Q_S0NG9_yeSr5FAKtVBONsNidjr31DBdHxPakvkrfKR64J2tIMp7lvKTvU9i3Z3iFRIkCepLYnutMWFO6nfdWZrEVLV/s320/oakhurstcastle7.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of courtyard from master bedroom</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxIrQkhzNfSGemOdnj5uT7rrBgMi3OaN1pl1ElQzVYoQazklaDd9OznyePuIiKUlxMWObk44JVsygsnGxOmn0_UCYwkJSpJPUVrMsdv94LnMYW3B9bOz-a4ajpaliT3yuTwVEfPyaTvBy/s1600/oakhurstcastle4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxIrQkhzNfSGemOdnj5uT7rrBgMi3OaN1pl1ElQzVYoQazklaDd9OznyePuIiKUlxMWObk44JVsygsnGxOmn0_UCYwkJSpJPUVrMsdv94LnMYW3B9bOz-a4ajpaliT3yuTwVEfPyaTvBy/s320/oakhurstcastle4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the courtyard from the front porch.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-41qGGA0RzHi-YjILItrDX0MOiuYiqm0G41b4sfW86hvNuiYvmjUJ27kpjZod-LYOZbhjiR3r4hIdBQIPMC7nEOLDwo8t8rE70zaJY0v__GY7xJpL_MCG4LRWkq42_ExrQMjl6qW2hel/s1600/oakhurstcastle11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-41qGGA0RzHi-YjILItrDX0MOiuYiqm0G41b4sfW86hvNuiYvmjUJ27kpjZod-LYOZbhjiR3r4hIdBQIPMC7nEOLDwo8t8rE70zaJY0v__GY7xJpL_MCG4LRWkq42_ExrQMjl6qW2hel/s320/oakhurstcastle11.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front porch</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zByQ3pjgMeiT3Q7DnrB2EL7jtSxauLMj0QDGAVH7TJhvFOo0qayUk46ASD7IYLOM-VnFh2ZpS5b83IvmDctOlIKImCxD0WvEspffRp4T5-EgxYe05u5TZ65ctOjK6aKweNNDUcEhTnSM/s1600/oakhurstcastle10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zByQ3pjgMeiT3Q7DnrB2EL7jtSxauLMj0QDGAVH7TJhvFOo0qayUk46ASD7IYLOM-VnFh2ZpS5b83IvmDctOlIKImCxD0WvEspffRp4T5-EgxYe05u5TZ65ctOjK6aKweNNDUcEhTnSM/s320/oakhurstcastle10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The library. I wish I'd gotten closer to the radios, they were really cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wyuY7v59df0TCyuwyMiRma2W74j5m0_2aOJSA9tgxXSNishW9fOArqA_5UvDImEuRKHXmPqHdpzSa2jra0lD36tqdHq0_KMGbf3aq2Vo8Ht4YpXOPoAh6Rjh2EgQPRjThhVB7MlCd1iS/s1600/oakhurstcastle13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wyuY7v59df0TCyuwyMiRma2W74j5m0_2aOJSA9tgxXSNishW9fOArqA_5UvDImEuRKHXmPqHdpzSa2jra0lD36tqdHq0_KMGbf3aq2Vo8Ht4YpXOPoAh6Rjh2EgQPRjThhVB7MlCd1iS/s200/oakhurstcastle13.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>There really are no words for how much I hate this new photo editor. Anyway, after our thrilling tour, we hit the coffee shop, because it was just so beautiful outside, we really needed a nice beverage and to cop a squat out in the middle of it all. Kate gave Sarah's doll a piggy back ride to Karvana.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-23381132805419812492012-04-08T19:53:00.001-04:002012-04-12T10:48:05.324-04:00Easter 2012<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwm67bfoD801tiPh8IQurqyROYg7U2uW4KPmnJAX_roLNzF7_c9KsONTf1I-oGwu86dSqXMhmhAmcX8CopduJMmzfsJWrPOe-sapH5S22IRl9N-EXzCVPOSkpW5bm9muPMHkGCULriJNN/s1600/Easter121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwm67bfoD801tiPh8IQurqyROYg7U2uW4KPmnJAX_roLNzF7_c9KsONTf1I-oGwu86dSqXMhmhAmcX8CopduJMmzfsJWrPOe-sapH5S22IRl9N-EXzCVPOSkpW5bm9muPMHkGCULriJNN/s200/Easter121.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZAOvTalKK8AFxSQD1RJw9hJKrWWfaFRK18yWd2_FrvzPLxbL56We0zZJ_qvi7eUAQSwF1JXs2q2KpPL8ca6B-Wc-uIQZeJDEiVDQ_uyeTVVHIN3iCtlVcx4lINNOJRL2Yf7BdTm0RGIB/s1600/Easter122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZAOvTalKK8AFxSQD1RJw9hJKrWWfaFRK18yWd2_FrvzPLxbL56We0zZJ_qvi7eUAQSwF1JXs2q2KpPL8ca6B-Wc-uIQZeJDEiVDQ_uyeTVVHIN3iCtlVcx4lINNOJRL2Yf7BdTm0RGIB/s200/Easter122.jpg" width="132" /></a>The Easter Bunny delivered around 10PM last night. He showed up with his friend, the Tooth Fairy. We had just settled into bed and were about to turn out the lights when I heard voices from upstairs. The previously passed out children, it seemed, we no longer in that state. Indeed, this became clear as Sarah appeared in our bedroom, outstretched arm displaying her basket full of goodies. We could tell she was very sleepy, she was a bit out of it. We explained it was the middle of the night and she said "but Kate said it's the morning!" We sent her back upstairs, then Jeremiah went up to see if they were actually bedding down. They weren't. Kate was just standing beside her bed, eating chocolate. Evidently they did go to sleep, but not for long. They were back up before the dawn, in our room, eating jelly beans. Throughout the day, there have been a few brief pauses between candy-eating sessions.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRS70vZcnso7dnCgfG74_z01jLpj-RT-aePaVh_8h2_CvosqBCu6gSiL2RpF_mzAW3e85J8YLhI5qMCRAB_Fx5QL7Ar398_rj1YEi7cqYnn-rKQbImZG5KnYkmolFCy1lhArQbA_AePJfs/s1600/Easter1212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRS70vZcnso7dnCgfG74_z01jLpj-RT-aePaVh_8h2_CvosqBCu6gSiL2RpF_mzAW3e85J8YLhI5qMCRAB_Fx5QL7Ar398_rj1YEi7cqYnn-rKQbImZG5KnYkmolFCy1lhArQbA_AePJfs/s200/Easter1212.jpg" width="132" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gang</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE9VQec9MtwRrHsN6dSayjRBvqd_99P9fBDhNneked6qN9VJF618-ewxQqFeSh2roTJSVTq_H8MnoxmNElWMRXRwI9IZVFhJOXVHyOAfR-5LAjNAoxiM-OrycgeEo4FmSJy0Y5zcFoO7G/s1600/Easter124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE9VQec9MtwRrHsN6dSayjRBvqd_99P9fBDhNneked6qN9VJF618-ewxQqFeSh2roTJSVTq_H8MnoxmNElWMRXRwI9IZVFhJOXVHyOAfR-5LAjNAoxiM-OrycgeEo4FmSJy0Y5zcFoO7G/s200/Easter124.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sydney</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGgaGymXkbHMDYk3roLhgdaHux0Qky9AUHoYfj21IDZHnk34jy98fu8FOl56cUflXSLELbnCFkb8FHh91ejGMIyMqykzrygc8t4cAGx4317zAy6qo-NOgwyWGxBC-plR6QZ4uRa-FDeLY/s1600/Easter126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGgaGymXkbHMDYk3roLhgdaHux0Qky9AUHoYfj21IDZHnk34jy98fu8FOl56cUflXSLELbnCFkb8FHh91ejGMIyMqykzrygc8t4cAGx4317zAy6qo-NOgwyWGxBC-plR6QZ4uRa-FDeLY/s200/Easter126.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lenora & Charles with newly engaged Lindsey</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiax-CugUCy0PrZ3-QL6yyOqsnSgtgDVwUTO6Y67rY-eBNAvbYaCRMT5SZuyddPpInQWwuAOUYcHivol_S1eu1RLy_Al_eX5QkGFk0N4HRty_EW0Tng2JQSo2AFibz2vECMnLgvSneXzOb4/s1600/Easter1222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiax-CugUCy0PrZ3-QL6yyOqsnSgtgDVwUTO6Y67rY-eBNAvbYaCRMT5SZuyddPpInQWwuAOUYcHivol_S1eu1RLy_Al_eX5QkGFk0N4HRty_EW0Tng2JQSo2AFibz2vECMnLgvSneXzOb4/s200/Easter1222.jpg" width="200" /></a>We, of course, continued our tradition of the egg hunt on Third Avenue. This year, it was much cooler out than it's been in the past few, and the candy was considerably less melty when the kids found it. Nevertheless, faces, hands, clothing, parts of the sidewalk and plants and some of us adults were smeared with chocolately goodness. At one point, Sarah came and leaned up against me and said she felt sick. This was only temporary, and she managed to find and consume the contents of many more eggs before all was said and done.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQUVGORSCCj11AgVfsVFebJL4UkrxANRcqnTBfv_uJKrPp7SCOPUoVkx3jBUSik8ewuamodi-3CyY4WKm48BZfUGM8EGWyMwqy5D7mN3mnwhfyfQNofiIk-rHwS93ImFbOr-IheHZ921V/s1600/Easter1234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQUVGORSCCj11AgVfsVFebJL4UkrxANRcqnTBfv_uJKrPp7SCOPUoVkx3jBUSik8ewuamodi-3CyY4WKm48BZfUGM8EGWyMwqy5D7mN3mnwhfyfQNofiIk-rHwS93ImFbOr-IheHZ921V/s200/Easter1234.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDg7AnDtPOpwJ2Zrzw4aye9uFUn5ABZlQTKS1UPsOifY4jxPJMEh19njZYCo3l4HNEUMQvfDyc7ad4fg4OLiOpUTnj9ANW2nmJvG4lDKLRkxT0N7ZHrFmPlHE8Vz-ZIbuVFRiJrhYKRlzs/s1600/Easter1230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDg7AnDtPOpwJ2Zrzw4aye9uFUn5ABZlQTKS1UPsOifY4jxPJMEh19njZYCo3l4HNEUMQvfDyc7ad4fg4OLiOpUTnj9ANW2nmJvG4lDKLRkxT0N7ZHrFmPlHE8Vz-ZIbuVFRiJrhYKRlzs/s200/Easter1230.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ubO_KYPGagSULMbFQEv9UsCziJdXe2X_bOZ5rq3wfOenmN2k-Y-eiJ-CBGIy5U2WIzSUt56OyodoRqEO5aeY-DEmNam68BL2GqkITAvzZkEh6-rEQF6B3osMumqPn9blYZRniOxJrdNo/s1600/Easter1224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ubO_KYPGagSULMbFQEv9UsCziJdXe2X_bOZ5rq3wfOenmN2k-Y-eiJ-CBGIy5U2WIzSUt56OyodoRqEO5aeY-DEmNam68BL2GqkITAvzZkEh6-rEQF6B3osMumqPn9blYZRniOxJrdNo/s200/Easter1224.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HXdubIzBi-0Kma7G3IebEqrMdfyyjYX3NjIbObNQmTdoTcXAeXp8nGWerYTOVblvBzqkgG-cV1hzSmH0O4bPTNoIobsPpcvXXo2s6GRfoGB-WaLIRa6J88gPu0sYKUmMUPm9ZBBnva1l/s1600/Easter1226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HXdubIzBi-0Kma7G3IebEqrMdfyyjYX3NjIbObNQmTdoTcXAeXp8nGWerYTOVblvBzqkgG-cV1hzSmH0O4bPTNoIobsPpcvXXo2s6GRfoGB-WaLIRa6J88gPu0sYKUmMUPm9ZBBnva1l/s200/Easter1226.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSp7j3810dmOLMdJYBEVL34kkI2JqDGl79tHzbsa8iFX6FbuDOQSKd3S0EhQhXLQ9ZJsAGCDP9jR70ds3H8kY6x1AXsUo70YeiuQRfRVH24dyw5J2gZig38rE9Crd6hbP8OXED-LrXm1kQ/s1600/Easter1217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSp7j3810dmOLMdJYBEVL34kkI2JqDGl79tHzbsa8iFX6FbuDOQSKd3S0EhQhXLQ9ZJsAGCDP9jR70ds3H8kY6x1AXsUo70YeiuQRfRVH24dyw5J2gZig38rE9Crd6hbP8OXED-LrXm1kQ/s200/Easter1217.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykPCOmVSIJeU0Wli74bbbvzcpt8mMB0aVp6IQnymaaxCLRm_X28uJcqkyz8R-IYmoVsZMdrifib-S_LPHO8fUoT9Q_8hnNhPDld8PA0t5X2Z-5DnZNa2w7GeA6ylwpzChVv8IUoSxGPJ4/s1600/Easter1229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykPCOmVSIJeU0Wli74bbbvzcpt8mMB0aVp6IQnymaaxCLRm_X28uJcqkyz8R-IYmoVsZMdrifib-S_LPHO8fUoT9Q_8hnNhPDld8PA0t5X2Z-5DnZNa2w7GeA6ylwpzChVv8IUoSxGPJ4/s200/Easter1229.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5u7IzCT8_jgNeoAowXfIDxCpFHU1musznzkQW1DgN4TTu8WAQIyBaP-38da8uViMue-0q2JfsaQkXd2Rl2lwj8JaV94tuSNTQJvf_NBtdpB_JnQpqhNq6rce8OQPDCsAZYkvsxCCg3EX-/s1600/Easter1239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5u7IzCT8_jgNeoAowXfIDxCpFHU1musznzkQW1DgN4TTu8WAQIyBaP-38da8uViMue-0q2JfsaQkXd2Rl2lwj8JaV94tuSNTQJvf_NBtdpB_JnQpqhNq6rce8OQPDCsAZYkvsxCCg3EX-/s200/Easter1239.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEoF4NtEel0Kowt-nawFKnm36AkIFizxn07eeBAgMAjdkFCaII-4qjOKgjh4c5TBMAMo4B_r9geawwXTLCE8ZCdPGtMT9v4R4qwia68IQMDQlJT0l2f05TTpReGNEpGT70Eqy-Zml9dgjx/s1600/Easter1235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEoF4NtEel0Kowt-nawFKnm36AkIFizxn07eeBAgMAjdkFCaII-4qjOKgjh4c5TBMAMo4B_r9geawwXTLCE8ZCdPGtMT9v4R4qwia68IQMDQlJT0l2f05TTpReGNEpGT70Eqy-Zml9dgjx/s200/Easter1235.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uxU7s3JqWcEAr3VCV7FWMfcaNsVU7H7IfM8F7oJgCEahNXBJiLaA0jjsON-rxSkkn3TgY4P2NV-ZHAdNEiyzQFST-K1ikRxDtJnjjWzFMFUV1xw_76de7Ljkb273H1TGsf7ps2s8mFVb/s1600/Easter1224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>The hyperactivity reached a somewhat startling level, causing me to feel exhausted despite my doing practically nothing. Well, I mean, I stood around drinking wine and talking. That's pretty tiring. So it's no wonder that as the girls are snuggling in for their bedtime stories, I'm wondering if maybe I should just go to bed, too. </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JoeUV8dioHgiahVj9auEP-HYFdRs6q76xOV-Qc7zEFHr1aMO4wgHO85MfksubHoeXvrhRxw-aViPwbOC4Bp3NkGBI25c7vKCjZr53-iSGJdhv8RS8HIBGekWRHv2EGqFlimhFimBf3JS/s1600/Easter1241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JoeUV8dioHgiahVj9auEP-HYFdRs6q76xOV-Qc7zEFHr1aMO4wgHO85MfksubHoeXvrhRxw-aViPwbOC4Bp3NkGBI25c7vKCjZr53-iSGJdhv8RS8HIBGekWRHv2EGqFlimhFimBf3JS/s200/Easter1241.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPA4R6CLDelg3EG2D0rKnosUx94PrRi9eEvGT34yQ6ZSmyPUJm_ksiQ5T0Qsar5_9Eg-jl9vsU7w-Q8_I_sqqSZToMcROPtz4J_76mlzOqmgDPQiGPPMVqaW7SqN7VpZdN3twRFnBMSJQz/s1600/Easter1240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPA4R6CLDelg3EG2D0rKnosUx94PrRi9eEvGT34yQ6ZSmyPUJm_ksiQ5T0Qsar5_9Eg-jl9vsU7w-Q8_I_sqqSZToMcROPtz4J_76mlzOqmgDPQiGPPMVqaW7SqN7VpZdN3twRFnBMSJQz/s200/Easter1240.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFRFl0M1n-DlhXtkv0K8KhBdoyFel3laArwRmomdrheion6IVte7PpL8suaMLiV_N7XGEVjaGduBtDn0L_Cyxl5Z3IdqmBKETJIRZPGrqgPDpigwYQYO8dBnVyqDff2QmtFbUC3UtUVP2/s1600/Easter1225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFRFl0M1n-DlhXtkv0K8KhBdoyFel3laArwRmomdrheion6IVte7PpL8suaMLiV_N7XGEVjaGduBtDn0L_Cyxl5Z3IdqmBKETJIRZPGrqgPDpigwYQYO8dBnVyqDff2QmtFbUC3UtUVP2/s200/Easter1225.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Wow, the new photo editor for Blogger makes me feel violent.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-38422709377004099652012-03-25T08:39:00.003-04:002012-03-25T08:44:24.578-04:00Thees Eez the Good LifeSnuggled into bed between her father, two dogs and me on this glorious, crisp spring Sunday morning, Sarah aimed her index finger at me and beeped my nose. "My mommy" she said. "My Sarah", I replied, beeping her back. Then she said "my daddy. My Lydia. My Monkey. My Kate. My Me. My love", and sighed contentedly. I buried my feet further under Monkey's warm fur and managed to read another 2 pages of my book before any other action was required of me. <span style="font-style: italic;">This</span> is going to be a very good day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-9138158078006388002012-03-22T18:04:00.003-04:002012-03-22T18:11:52.694-04:00Poetry - The Place Where Kate & Sarah Are FriendsToday when I picked the girls up from school Kate shared a new poem with me. I read it out loud to the both, and Sarah gave Kate a big hug. Currently, they are downstairs screaming at each other. Here is Kate's new work of literature (this is an exact copy, so the spelling is hers. I can't really complain; her spelling is infinitely better than mine was at her age.)<br /><br />Sisters<br />Sisters sisters always fighting.<br />Some love and some fight.<br />Some do a little bit of both.<br />Like me and my sister.<br />My sister is the sweetest<br />sister to ever live. She is<br />the prettyest of the most pretty of all. She is the<br />most loveing. I love her<br />even though we fight<br />sometimes. We still love<br />each other very much.<br /><br />[Stick figure of Sarah with a giant bow in her hair not shown here]<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVoDcwPfHjjeCn6bspmLpoAJtn3bYHQ1VtiOujddxZQvbRzaJORwAZYJlK7T0Fl-gI3oDXJGLen3ZXt2FxZT89TZcDJq35cSCDeVPg_uIxndcU9ZtqLXhEWTo1S2tE0fAh2CK_AbK9rGt/s1600/katethepoet32212.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVoDcwPfHjjeCn6bspmLpoAJtn3bYHQ1VtiOujddxZQvbRzaJORwAZYJlK7T0Fl-gI3oDXJGLen3ZXt2FxZT89TZcDJq35cSCDeVPg_uIxndcU9ZtqLXhEWTo1S2tE0fAh2CK_AbK9rGt/s200/katethepoet32212.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722847236197074978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The poet.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-59903978259705468372012-03-17T12:05:00.004-04:002012-03-17T12:20:30.214-04:00Happy St Pat's Day!I've never really bothered to learn much about it, so I have always been a bit confused by this whole "luck of the Irish" thing. A casual glance at their history makes me think it might have started ironically, but then went viral. Still, we've been very lucky so far today! The morning clouds cleared right out, and the sun is shining brightly and the air is unseasonably warm. It's treat day here, so we all walked to the Farmer's Market and indulged in some treats from one of our favorite bakers. Going home, we took long way around via the community garden. Jeremiah, Sarah and I all found 4-leaf clovers! I gave Kate mine, and she threaded it through the button hole of her overalls - now she's wearing some green.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBT2G8jC5VE-2BW8QcdSICDefSBrXRGEpb9VDv76ZDOfKdlCiPcD5-cqiuLZ3_f4ppaSjSaKxVdUx0nbXCxq2mTg4SDKfsdLuU4nLaHGFRCzzbOECS43nDarv0GK2msb2OkX0ccHPyfsea/s1600/bathtime3.1.121.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBT2G8jC5VE-2BW8QcdSICDefSBrXRGEpb9VDv76ZDOfKdlCiPcD5-cqiuLZ3_f4ppaSjSaKxVdUx0nbXCxq2mTg4SDKfsdLuU4nLaHGFRCzzbOECS43nDarv0GK2msb2OkX0ccHPyfsea/s200/bathtime3.1.121.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720900179880459986" border="0" /></a>I know it's been awhile since I've posted. The girls have been up to their usual - vacillating wildly between uber-sweet and monstrous. The other day, while Sarah was taking a bath, Kate went in<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLs6uAEhHMUGjilDz5ujH7qn_r3OmDQWwlnGf7SGweFFhnzX8ZfU-1QZeqTmQDTTSFCSYklY2-0OFol9lN4FiUanPFOFaXSsZYRE5bRT4cLDgY8CSg1D69mA5ZBzxuqQ17ch0psaV_Ck8/s1600/bathtime3.1.122.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLs6uAEhHMUGjilDz5ujH7qn_r3OmDQWwlnGf7SGweFFhnzX8ZfU-1QZeqTmQDTTSFCSYklY2-0OFol9lN4FiUanPFOFaXSsZYRE5bRT4cLDgY8CSg1D69mA5ZBzxuqQ17ch0psaV_Ck8/s200/bathtime3.1.122.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720900188908962994" border="0" /></a> and dumped cups of very cold water on her. They got water all <span style="font-style: italic;">over</span> the bathroom. I considered breaking it up, but when I realized I'd be squelching what will certainly become a fond childhood memory for them both, I took a couple pictures instead. The bathroom is built to withstand a lot of water in places, anyway.<br /><br />Now I must conduct a Reiki session, then get out into my garden, which is sorely in need of some compost and mulch. Also, the kids have gotten deadly quiet downstairs. Time to sign off here and carefully proceed down to undo whatever disaster is surely in the very quiet making.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-74698991382457205052012-03-11T10:42:00.002-04:002012-03-11T11:06:08.599-04:00The Sun Came OutThis morning the girls are bickering, screaming and slamming doors. I can't seem to get them to stay outside. It's beautiful out there, so perhaps I'll go play outside, and they can stay in here and declare each other "the <span style="font-style: italic;">worst</span>". Meanwhile, to remind myself that they're usually a fun addition to the house I'm recalling just a couple days ago. A cloud of sweetness descended upon them both while we were at the chiropractor. Kate made up this poem about her sister -<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote>There was a girl named Sarah,<br />who was very sweet.<br />Once, she did something so sweet,<br />that God smiled so brightly,<br />the sun came out.</blockquote><blockquote></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: left;">She recited this during her adjustment and then again to Sarah, who embraced her sister with a warm hug. Then, they played without a terse word between them until bedtime, when they managed to brush their teeth without getting toothpaste on every surface of the bathroom. Yes, there are days like those, too. I had to write it down, because sometimes they're hard to recall. <br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote></blockquote><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-48975181764492454042012-02-25T19:33:00.003-05:002012-02-25T20:11:14.868-05:00RamblingsToday it was pretty outside, so we decided to walk to the farmer's market together. You know, for some fun family outdoor time. It took us 45 minutes because incessant whining creates a lot of drag. Additionally, Kate has a styly new hat that is, indeed, adorable, but it's too big for her and keeps sliding down over her eyes. At one point on the walk, she ran smack into a mailbox. The sound was dreadful, but even as I picked her up and comforted her, I fought back mocking laughter. It's tough, you have to make sure everyone is really just fine before you can commence taunting when you're a parent. It's not like when we were kids.<br /><br />Then it was time to hit the sto'! Our big time-saving plan was for Jeremiah to <span style="font-style: italic;">own</span> the grocery store while I picked up some potting soil for today's big planting event (in our kitchen). This spurred still more whining (from the kids mostly). <br /><br />Before I planted any seeds, I wanted to begin the prep work on my new shade bed, which I got all excited about last year, just before the interminable heat settled in and made me want to lay down and die until it was too cold to plant anything. So, I'm taking another go at it this year, and I'm excited. My nemesis, the ubiquitous English ivy, had overtaken the whole spot, which is larger than I remembered, so I dedicated my afternoon to that pitched battle. Jeremiah worked on moving the giant rocks that are piled up all around one of the dogwood trees. We've had that rock pile since we did the addition. Periodically, we move it to a new spot. I've been quietly throwing the littler rocks out in the trash, just a few each week in the barrel. No one will ever know!<br /><br />The girls ran around in the yard with the dogs, as Jeremiah and I worked. Then our next door neighbors informed us that some <span style="font-style: italic;">maniac</span> (my word) had clipped the corner while turning from Pharr on to East Lake, hitting the stop sign and overturning the fire hydrant. Water <span style="font-style: italic;">everywhere</span> (and, as it turns out, not a drop to drink). When we determined that we didn't have water, the girls panicked, and immediately took up shovels and began digging a well. Their noble pursuit was derailed, however, when they began to turn up a lot of worms, which needed to be put together in a pile for later study. At last count, they'd displaced 17 worms. At one point I heard Sarah say "this one's so big and juicy...I just want to squish it!" I came to the worm's rescue before id got the best of Sarah.<br /><br />After all that we were really hungry. I wasn't too worried about the water - the city showed up long before Kate and Sarah finished our new well and even though we have only a halfass dribble of water from our faucets now, I'm sure they'll have it fixed soon. We had to pause the yard work so there could be burgers. Jeremiah manned the grill while I tended the irresponsible and slightly scary conflagration we'd built in our chiminea using the branches from our Christmas tree (which had been sitting out there since New Year's day). It smelled wonderful, which is more than I can say for any of us. Not the best night for showering to be out of the question. I also found time to plant seeds with Sarah (Kate refused to assist).<br /><br />So that's our day but, really, the only reason I even bothered to open the blog tonight was to show you pictures of Sarah's recent haircut. She went with Aunt Jo Jo to the salon yesterday, and while Joy had it hair done, it was decided that Sarah also needed a cut. Cute, right? Also, this picture of Kate was on my phone and I think it's cute too. It's hard to tell, but she's wearing that dangerous hat. It's a sort of chauffeur's cap and I keep expecting her to break out with "Chuck E's in Love" at any moment. I kind of wish she would.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYNAgBhVbIqLvAreu1VAYfslL71kz3XZG4KF-M4zFqCXBCZjGNDO1r1AvnWnkkSsto-jsCXCJQo1RvmKdDyL4erngqFdU-SpYd0uAT9HNO7oYR6wuO5UIX7c94UvWDW51bmnzwsG-wHwo/s1600/sarah+hair+225123.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYNAgBhVbIqLvAreu1VAYfslL71kz3XZG4KF-M4zFqCXBCZjGNDO1r1AvnWnkkSsto-jsCXCJQo1RvmKdDyL4erngqFdU-SpYd0uAT9HNO7oYR6wuO5UIX7c94UvWDW51bmnzwsG-wHwo/s320/sarah+hair+225123.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713241531018403074" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgn_wn478hokjfCRPSbrUiGWqalEv9_szQ3HKHlRhxshLCLQh3Rt-p2llx0TmkVyZX_pqn_udujrOQitfrCcdyMLmGZP60-5VJCg1g0vNYkXNOSbHew_zkONx_EKN_Xk_qJjnQysH0ZfwM/s1600/sarah+hair+225122.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgn_wn478hokjfCRPSbrUiGWqalEv9_szQ3HKHlRhxshLCLQh3Rt-p2llx0TmkVyZX_pqn_udujrOQitfrCcdyMLmGZP60-5VJCg1g0vNYkXNOSbHew_zkONx_EKN_Xk_qJjnQysH0ZfwM/s320/sarah+hair+225122.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713241523075475666" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksZxdgb_zlbhQLikpBebxazd5I_7eHODZ7guNY5eVRd6VvB6xMQNKbcyTU8sDGlj66J2VtqO8RLgT77b-3_7BasuqQLcVCG1ihVQPpnsFrWerLBsNjcgJ1i9iH7MZReM-F1z4u7acTq48/s1600/sarah+hair+225121.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksZxdgb_zlbhQLikpBebxazd5I_7eHODZ7guNY5eVRd6VvB6xMQNKbcyTU8sDGlj66J2VtqO8RLgT77b-3_7BasuqQLcVCG1ihVQPpnsFrWerLBsNjcgJ1i9iH7MZReM-F1z4u7acTq48/s320/sarah+hair+225121.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713241520865034914" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-26274876141819179402012-02-16T16:57:00.005-05:002012-02-16T20:09:41.712-05:00Food. Good. Now.I don't usually do this here, but I'm breaking protocol and I'm going to post a recipe. I found <a href="http://foyupdate.blogspot.com/2010/10/happy-wholesome-breakfast-cookies.html">these things</a> called Breakfast Cookies. They are not cookies, not really, but they are good for breakfast. I admired them as good potential for sustenance on those days (the non-S days) when I don't really leave myself room for real breakfast. I made them. I didn't really love them. I liked the <span style="font-style: italic;">idea</span> of them so well, that I altered them significantly enough to claim this one as my own. Mad props to Foy Update, who, for reasons I can't quite conceive, receives a lot of jam from people and subsequently posted about this earlier.<br /><br />My desire was to have something flavorful, that goes well with black coffee and can also pass as fairly nutritious. I think this qualifies, despite the lack of anything fresh, because of the fiber, omega 3's (chia seeds. Yes, cha-cha-cha-chia seeds), and all the glorious death-defying chemicals found in <a href="http://vegetarian.about.com/od/beverage1/a/raw-chocolate-nutrition.htm">raw cacao</a> (maybe, if you believe the media blitz. If you're lucky enough to live right down the road from Your Dekalb Farmer's Market, like I am, you can get those uber-hyped raw cacao nibs for just $.26 an ounce. Whole Foods charges, like, 4 times that much. A-holes.) Anyway, here's what I've concocted. I hope that you, unlike my entire family of ingrates, enjoy them -<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3s7vPHt1khvBvNl78s6xkNol96UHsF66kBXID6H-9bKlaZt79h1KXR7bjJQjJMpbQLY13rG5dlopfatEPgi71lsSKxShS1kkcb8-li98SoDShyZvI_B7nvyUz0GUxvSrmgo9FzwpbIRAW/s1600/breakfast+cookies.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3s7vPHt1khvBvNl78s6xkNol96UHsF66kBXID6H-9bKlaZt79h1KXR7bjJQjJMpbQLY13rG5dlopfatEPgi71lsSKxShS1kkcb8-li98SoDShyZvI_B7nvyUz0GUxvSrmgo9FzwpbIRAW/s320/breakfast+cookies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709905462306865746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Breakfast Cookies (or perhaps Mounds. Lumps? Globules. What You Will)</span><br />1/3 cup jam or jelly (I like something in a raspberry jam) <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> 3 tablespoons canola oil</div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> 2 tablespoons honey </div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> 1 large egg<br />1 egg white<br /></div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> 3/4 cup all-purpose flour (GF flour blend if you're high maintenance like me)<br />1/4 cup raw cocoa powder<br />2 tablespoons raw cacao nibs (I just like saying "nibs")<br /></div> 1/2 teaspoon baking soda<br />1/2 teaspoon (generous) coarse kosher salt<br />1/2 teaspoon cinnamon<br />pinch of freshly ground nutmeg<br />pinch of ground cloves<br />1 1/2 cups rolled oats (GF oats if you're even higher maintenance than me)<br /><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> 1 tablespoon chia seeds </div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> 1/2 cup pecans, chopped</div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> 1/4 dried cranberries (or whatever dried fruit you fancy)</div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <strong>Step 1:</strong> Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix all the wet ingredients together in a medium bowl - jelly, oil, honey, and egg. </div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <strong>Step 2:</strong> In a second bowl whisk together the dry ingredients. </div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div> <strong>Step 3:</strong> Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and mix till combined. This will be a very course dough. Plop the dough out onto a cookie sheet using your favorite cookie-plopping spoon. These cookies won't spread or rise. Bake for 15 minutes or until the bottoms turn brown(er).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672790852351835831.post-27776544706622061972012-02-11T11:43:00.003-05:002012-02-11T11:53:56.270-05:00Shameless<a href="http://www.kineticreiki.com/"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX3RM_yY_Uy9oRbuWkf1ivMCTNv7dHeWICytWXBlFG2HYTaW2ASeSdDD26YNkq_Hsx9rW3Qv5vumTrF9eedZ-_YOVG5i_ceLdHuzJfd6C8-6SK5GGg8BVnin0pK_KJPVoef86Qqht15faI/s320/logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707921872164439586" border="0" /></a>Here's my website (click on the giant logo there to your left) - check it out, won't you? Tell your friends! Fun at parties! Promotes hair growth! OK, now I'm just making stuff up...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0