tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47950474047684898362024-03-05T14:48:06.270-05:00nobody-but-yourselfTo be nobody-but-yourself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
~ e. e. cummingsHeatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.comBlogger462125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-82828668861515607782012-07-14T14:26:00.000-04:002012-07-14T14:26:04.697-04:00The life lesson we hadn't intended48 hours ago, this post (which I've been working on for weeks now) had a different title and a very different ending. I've been undecided about whether I should even post this (after all, none of the other Life Stuff that has been going on in my world has made it to the blog in the past several months...) but I figure at this point, perhaps it will provide closure.<br />
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A few months before Kiddo's ninth birthday, Hubby and I decided that we were going to give her what she would consider the Best Birthday Present EVER: a kitten of her very own. Kiddo had been having a pretty rough year in school, and while finances haven't been the greatest (are they really that great for anyone these days?), we decided adding one more cat to the household wouldn't be a strain after the initial adoption fees and vet fees. We bought a litter box, some dishes and some new cat toys and wrapped them up for her in a box. Following her first ever slumber party, which ended the morning of her actual birthday, we gave Kiddo the box to open.<br />
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At first, she thought these were just props she could use in playing kitty. (She has several pairs of cat ears and tails and quite frequently pretends she is a cat. I have even run errands with my kiddo-kitty. Yes, one does get some strange looks when one is accompanied to the store by a child wearing cat ears and a tail.) When we told her "well, you <i>could</i> use those to play kitty, <b><i>or</i></b> we could take you to the animal shelter right now and you could pick out a kitten" she went speechless. I didn't think humans' eyes could actually get so large - it was like a cartoon come to life.<br />
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Needless to say, she was totally on board with the plan. We hopped in the car, cat carrier in hand, and drove across the county to the shelter from which we'd adopted our older cat ten years ago. (I'd called beforehand to confirm that they did, in fact, have many kittens available for adoption.) It didn't take long at all before she fell in love with a kitten that was loaded up and on the way home with us less than an hour later - an auburn and white DLH that she named Mittens.<br />
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Mittens was an awesome fit for Kiddo. She was a purring machine and instantly bonded with her new human, happy to be held and snuggled to Kiddo's heart's content. Friends and relatives stopped by to meet the new arrival. Kiddo introduced Mittens to her cousins in NJ via Skype. She was happier than we've ever seen her. It made my heart full to witness her joy and love for Mittens. <br />
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But.<br />
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Mittens, who was set up in Kiddo's room in a home base/quarantine situation to start with (before introducing her to our other cat), ate well, drank well, played well, used her litter box. However, we noticed when she used her litter box for the first time that she had diarrhea. And the second time. And the time after that. For the first two days, it was nothing but diarrhea. Needless to say, we were concerned. I called the vet and we brought her in with a stool sample on the third day for a check up. We were sent home with medicine and the recommendation to feed her only meat baby food, which would be the most easily digested thing she could eat and therefore help rest her digestive tract so it could heal. The vet wasn't overly concerned - diarrhea in shelter kittens isn't uncommon - and we were confident that a few days of the medicine plus the new diet would do the trick.<br />
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But it didn't. A few days later, she still had constant diarrhea (which required her to be confined in an extra-large dog crate so the mess would stay contained - one that we totally decked out for her, including a carpeted "loft" Hubby built and installed in it, and also required me to bathe her back end to clean her up after she went because her long fur was no match for the mess squirting out of her).<br />
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She also started seeming less interested in her food and water, which was alarming. Back to the vet we went, with another stool sample. He felt that things could still turn around, since she hadn't been on the medicine for the full week yet, and gave her a hydration treatment which perked her right back up. We were allowed to bring her home again, with an appointment made for three days' time to follow up. While she was eating and drinking normally and back to her usual self following that hydration treatment, she still had the diarrhea when we took her in for the follow-up appointment. That was when the vet decided the best thing to do at that point was to hospitalize Mittens, where he could monitor her more closely and try a higher level of intervention than we could provide at home. We left the animal hospital with Kiddo in tears, but with the reassurance that things would surely get better and Mittens would be home in a few days.<br />
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This began a two and a half week period of visits to Mittens the inpatient - I'd pick Kiddo up at dismissal on school days and we'd trek over to the animal hospital, and on the weekends we'd head over as soon as we'd finished breakfast. The staff would let us have a room (at first, one of the exam rooms, but then they let us use the shelter's adoption visit room instead, which was large, full of cat toys and had seating for humans) and we'd spend an hour or two (or three) with Mittens. Kiddo would bring her favorite toy from home and would play with her and snuggle her. <br />
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Mittens remained steadfastly loving and happy and active, but still had the bowel issues. She got to the point where, despite being on steroids and a special hypoallergenic diet, she was just leaking constantly. She'd run around the room playing with Kiddo, and I'd follow behind with a wipe to clean up the floor behind her. It was a daily, ongoing heartbreak. Every car ride home was full of questions and tears. When will Mittens be better? Why can't God fix her (Kiddo had not only been praying at home, but asking for prayers at church as well)? Will she be home by Tuesday-Thursday-Friday-the weekend-next week? No one could say.<br />
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The vet did everything in his power. There was no cause he could come up with; she had no parasites, no illness, even the food allergies we suspected turned out negative. Nearing the end of the second week of her hospitalization, he came in to talk to us as Kiddo and Mittens were playing in the visitation room. He was blunt - he was nearing the end of his capabilities, and Mittens would need to be referred to a specialist for further investigation of the cause. He suspected that it was a congenital defect. He was willing to try one more thing - a different drug - in combination with the special diet, but if that didn't improve things (and he was no longer optimistic that they would improve), then she would be deemed "unadoptable" and she wouldn't be able to come home. Kiddo was shattered. (And of course, no child with an adoption story of her own - as Kiddo and I both have - wants to hear the word "unadoptable" either. Ever.) He suggested that Kiddo just pick out a new kitten and give up on Mittens. Well, that wasn't happening. Kiddo was determined to stick with Mittens until the very end - an end she still believed could be a healthy kitten coming home again.<br />
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We went on like this for another week. The daily pilgrimages to the hospital, the bittersweet happiness in spending time with Mittens, the crushing sadness in the car ride home afterward. We tried to prepare Kiddo for the probability that Mittens wouldn't come home. The hospital has a few "hospital kitties" who were deemed "unadoptable" but who have a happy life there and are well cared for. We talked this option up to Kiddo - that Mittens could be a "hospital kitty" and while she felt that was unfair, we just fervently hoped that would be the outcome, as opposed to her being put down. Kiddo had us promise that we'd go and visit Mittens if she did become a "hospital kitty" who lived at the vet's.<br />
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Over the weekend following the talk with the vet, Mittens seemed to be improving. Hope! More than a glimmer - it seemed like the "last resort" drug was actually working! She wasn't leaking anymore, and her stool was still soft, but not watery. Then, when I took Kiddo over there the following Tuesday (the penultimate day of school), major heartbreak. The vet tech on duty told us that Mittens was back to the leaking, watery, "spraying everywhere" diarrhea. The vet had officially declared her unadoptable. I had this conversation with the vet tech out in the hallway, as Kiddo played blithely on with Mittens in the visitation room. I texted Hubby. It was time for Kiddo to say goodbye to Mittens. The vet tech said we could choose another kitten - a healthy one - to bring home instead, as they still had many, many kittens who needed homes. I went back into the visitation room. Kiddo could see the look on my face and knew it was bad news.<br />
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That was the hardest thing I'd ever had to tell her - that she needed to say goodbye to Mittens, because Mittens wasn't going to be able to come home. Once the vet tech collected Mittens and took her out of the room, Kiddo and I sat and cried together. Absolute heartbreak. I asked Kiddo if she would want another kitten, because this was totally up to her - she could choose one now, or at some other point, or not at all. She decided to look at the other kittens who needed homes, so we saw six other kittens. The sixth one looked like Mittens (although they weren't related) with the same dark fur and white belly and paws. Kiddo sat with the kitten, played with her, and thought about it. She decided she would like to bring this kitten home.<br />
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So, home we went with a new kitten, whom Kiddo named Socks.<br />
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Socks has a distinctly different personality than Mittens - much more mischievous and less snuggly overall, but still loving and happy to be with Kiddo. She quickly decided her favorite sleeping spot was right smack-dab on Kiddo's head. Kiddo nicknamed her TTT for Teeny Tiny Troublemaker, as well as "the IBK" (for Itty Bitty Kitty). Socks was just 8 weeks old the day we brought her home.<br /><br />Kiddo told me that night that she was confused. She was so sad about Mittens but happy about Socks. She didn't know which feeling was "correct" and she didn't want Mittens to be sad that she was happy about Socks, and she didn't want Socks to be sad that she was sad about Mittens. We had a lengthy talk about how it is okay to feel both things at once, to be both sad about Mittens and happy about Socks. We talked about how you don't stop loving someone just because they aren't with you any more. We continued to pray that Mittens would have a happy life, even if it was as a hospital kitty and not home with our family.<br />
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The following week, I had to bring Socks to the vet for her spaying surgery. (This is a condition for adopting from the shelter.) Kiddo was understandably nervous, but the next day, we picked Socks up and she came home with a shaved belly but otherwise no worse for the wear. (She also was the first cat I've ever had - and I've had dozens - who actually liked taking medicine. Then again, she is one of those "OMG it has been FOREVER since I've had any food and I'm STARVING - FEED ME NOW!!!!!" kinds of kitties, so perhaps the medicine was just another kind of "food" in her opinion.) When I went to drop Socks off (without Kiddo in tow), I inquired about Mittens. I feared the worst - to learn that she'd been put down - and was happily surprised to hear that she was once again improving and might even be cleared for adoption again. !!! I shared that news with Hubby and that night, we decided that if Mittens was made available for adoption, we would adopt her again. We were prepared to have a special needs kitty, after all, we have a special needs kid. I let them know the next morning that we wanted Mittens, and over the next week we kept in touch with the staff, hearing nothing but cautiously optimistic news.<br />
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Then, this past Monday, I got a call from the hospital. The unbelievable had happened - Mittens was better and cleared for adoption. She still had softer than average stool, but it was no longer diarrhea and there were no hygiene issues. If we were still interested, she could be ours! I gleefully texted Hubby the update and we did internal happy dances all afternoon. We told Kiddo the news that night at dinner, and she was flipping out. If <i>one</i> kitten was the Best Thing Ever, then <i><b>two</b></i> kittens? Wow!!!!! She could hardly fathom! The next morning, Kiddo and I went over to the vet's and she was reunited with Mittens while I did the paperwork for the adoption.<br />
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Once the paperwork was complete, they put her on the schedule to be spayed on Thursday and then we were going to be able to bring her home today (Saturday).<br />
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Kiddo spent the next 48 hours in a state of elation. She talked endlessly about how she was going to have TWO kittens. She preemptively nicknamed them "Double Trouble" and told everyone - and I mean everyone; the check-out lady at the library, the cashier at Wegmans, random passers-by in the locker room at swimming lessons - the story. It was fantastic to see her excitement - an excitement that Hubby and I shared. Plans were made for how Mittens would spend the first week sequestered in Kiddo's room while Socks would continue having the run of the house (much to our older cat's ongoing chagrin). We already had the special kitty litter to use during her post-surgical recuperation. The shelter staff had sent us home that Tuesday with two bags of the kitten chow Mittens had been eating, so we could acclimate Socks to it (we'd decided that what one cat in the house ate, all of them would eat, because this is a house, not a feline restaurant). We were set. There was much rejoicing on Facebook when I shared the good news. I'd decided I was going to go ahead with my long-overdue return to blogging post, A Tale of Two Kitties. I had been reluctant to post it when it was a story about how Kiddo's heart had broken with the Mittens saga, but who doesn't love a story with a happy ending? <br />
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My phone rang as Kiddo and I were driving home from a friend's house on Thursday afternoon. I saw it was the vet and picked up, expecting it to be the update on how Mittens did with the surgery. It was, but not what I'd ever wanted to hear. <br />
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The adoption specialist, who'd been one of the primary staff members we'd been dealing with since the morning of Kiddo's birthday back in May when we first met Mittens, was on the line. She was crying. I knew before she even said it that the really, really worst, the unimaginable worst, had happened.<br />
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Mittens died during surgery.<br />
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I was in tears. I tried to stay calm and quiet, because Kiddo was right there in the back seat. We pulled into the garage and I turned off the car as I listened to the news. Kiddo noticed I was crying and asked me what was wrong. I got off the phone and turned around to face her. I pulled her into my lap and told her.<br />
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I didn't think heartbreak could get worse than what we'd already gone through. Of course that wasn't the case. Now today, instead of driving to the vet to bring Mittens home, we are going to pick out a memorial stone for her to put in our garden next to the memorial stone for Swimmy, Kiddo's goldfish. I realize that in the grand scheme of things, this is a small tragedy - a kitten who lived less than four months. But to Kiddo, this is a very big tragedy indeed. She loved Mittens with all her heart, and this loss is as big to her as it could be. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This is the MIttens angel Kiddo made, to remember her by.</i></span></div>
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Mittens the awesome kitten, March 26 - July 12, 2012. Rest in peace, you are forever in our hearts.<br />
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<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-78034850303761382532011-12-13T22:16:00.000-05:002011-12-13T22:16:59.040-05:00Last call!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Here we are, late in the evening of the last night of my thirties. When I wake up (hopefully not before 6am like I have the past several days), I'll be 40. Egads. I wish I could come up with something pithy or reflective or remotely meaningful to share. I mean, I spent a bit of time reflecting on the past decade as I went about my errands and housework today. There certainly were some big highlights - becoming a mom; becoming an aunt (several times over); milestone wedding anniversaries (10th and 15th); the passing of my last remaining living grandparent; selling our first house, buying our second and moving; rejoining the workforce after spending most of the decade as a stay-at-home mom; heck, even being on Jeopardy - but right now? There's just one thing that is on my mind, and it is this:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am fairly certain that we have a yeti living in our basement. I have proof. Proof in the vast expanses of greyish fur that amass in the collection canister of my vacuum cleaner every time I use it, like earlier this afternoon. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I mean, it just seems obvious that such insane amounts of what is clearly animal fur would come from a gigantic, highly hirsute source like this:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">than from something that's smaller than a breadbox (though admittedly pretty fuzzy) like this:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Yep, that's all I've got for this evening, my yeti-in-the-cellar theory. Clearly, old age has already begun fading away what few brain cells I have left. (Also, it's 10pm <i>and </i>I spiked my milk with mudslide mix at dinner, so there's that. Living la vida loca, for sure.) Before I toddle off to bed, I'd like to make one last plea:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Won't you please, pretty please, with sugar and sprinkles and a cherry on top, <i>please</i> help me make my fortieth birthday wish come true? You can <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-40th-birthday-wish.html">read about it here</a>. (I know I've been asking with every post lately, but the good news is that tomorrow is the last day I can bug you about it...) If you would please join me in doing 40 Good Things and leave me a comment letting me know what you did, I'll be the happiest 40 year old birthday girl ever tomorrow! Thanks!</span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-13362245796558623232011-11-26T16:57:00.004-05:002011-11-27T18:58:43.386-05:00A bird in the hand...Kiddo and I went with some friends to a nearby park this morning that has a trail frequented by wild birds as well as people. (How crazy is this weather - it was in the 50s here today! Outdoors in a light jacket in late November? Woohoo!) The reason we went to this particular trail was because we'd heard if you bring some bird seed with you, put some in your hand, hold your arm out and stay very still and quiet, you can be a human bird feeder!<br />
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Our friends had done this before, and told us if you try this in the winter, the chickadees positively swarm your hand to devour the seeds. Today's chickadees seemed pretty well-fed, as the trail was quite busy with human bird feeders. (We also saw cardinals, jays, woodpeckers and finches, but only the chickadees ventured onto our hands.) We weren't exactly swarmed, but we each had birds land on our hands a few times. We will definitely go back in the winter to feed the birds again!<br />
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(PS - Another plea as we're now just 17 days away from my birthday.... <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-40th-birthday-wish.html">won't you please help me make my 40th birthday wish come true?</a> Thanks so very much!!)Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-23521560598550015572011-11-13T12:37:00.000-05:002011-11-13T12:37:14.863-05:00At least *someone* enjoys leaf management<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(Though I will say I am mighty happy to own a leafblower. It makes the chore a LOT easier.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">PS - Please consider checking out <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-40th-birthday-wish.html">this post</a> and helping make my upcoming 40th birthday wish come true! Only a month and a day until the big 4-0! (**<i>gulp</i>**) Thanks!</span><br />
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<span id="goog_145842399"></span><span id="goog_145842400"></span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-968026318403238782011-10-31T23:08:00.002-04:002011-11-01T08:13:25.831-04:00Next year, I'm coating our jack o'lantern with cayenneThis past Saturday, we went to a local farm market to pick out this year's pumpkin.<br />
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We came home and Kiddo and Hubby promptly got to work carving said pumpkin into this year's chosen design. As we've long since established around this here blog, Heather does not do pumpkin guts. This was the first year that Kiddo did the majority of the carving work herself (under Hubby's supervision, while I popped in and out every so often for a quick picture but otherwise kept well out of arm and nose's reach of the goings-on).<br />
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Kiddo was well pleased with her kitty jack o'lantern when we set it out on the front porch and lit it up for a test run Saturday night.<br />
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Yesterday afternoon, Kiddo and I attended a Fall Fun event for our local Girl Scout troops. As we pulled into the driveway upon our return, I noticed something a bit off with her pumpkin......<br />
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Closer inspection revealed that some critter or critters had zombie-fied Kiddo's jack o'lantern by snacking on it quite thoroughly (they also removed and chewed on the tea light I'd left inside it overnight). I didn't catch any such critter redhanded (or orange-mouthed), but my strongest suspicion points in the direction of our multitude of neighborhood squirrels.<br />
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Kiddo was upset, naturally, and immediately clamoring for a return trip to the farm market to get a second pumpkin. This request was denied as we were now less than 6 hours away from Halloween (and last night was a school night to boot), the market was closed and, frankly, we weren't overly eager to drop some more green on another delectable squirrel treat. By this morning, the other parts of Halloween (costumes! parade! party! Trick or Treating with friends!) had mitigated her disappointment at the jack o'lantern mutilation somewhat, and off she went to school. I went out to clean up the pumpkin detritus around midmorning, and decided that there was, in fact, enough unspoiled pumpkin on the back half that technically someone <i>could</i> carve a second kitty face onto the other side.<br />
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I promptly looked around. Turns out the only <i>someone</i> who was home and available for such a project around 11 on a Monday was me. (Well, I mean, I could've asked the cat, but she lacks both the attention span and the opposable thumbs for such an undertaking, and then there's the extensive list of things she's managed to damage with her own sharp bits over the years - do I really want to be arming her with a pumpkin carver?)<br />
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Have I mentioned how much I detest pumpkin guts? I am <i><b>not</b></i> kidding when I say I have a pathological aversion to them. The smell and/or feel of the inside of a pumpkin can induce the urge to vomit in me more than actually being vomited upon by another human being. Seriously. (Pumpkin seeds, on the other hand - delish! So long as someone else has cleaned them off and toasted them up. Also, I love pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, pumpkin muffins - as long as I don't have to touch or smell the raw ingredient in its most primal form.)<br />
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I feel that it is a pretty remarkable testament to my overwhelming love for my child that I sucked it up and did this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLR1MF0Yn1glcMErIRtFgjnv2GVE8emLAEKG5_74hjkdRQyySW6IhxbfYFwKEDFY2fVrEenpLhh5_t5YbSKIGRQuIa0B-yvizi2wszXZzlOMgX8rUBH07g0DYXMsmaXj6MeNJPKMPeEj5/s1600/IMG_2516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLR1MF0Yn1glcMErIRtFgjnv2GVE8emLAEKG5_74hjkdRQyySW6IhxbfYFwKEDFY2fVrEenpLhh5_t5YbSKIGRQuIa0B-yvizi2wszXZzlOMgX8rUBH07g0DYXMsmaXj6MeNJPKMPeEj5/s320/IMG_2516.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> and a pretty remarkable testament to my willpower that I neither threw up nor fainted at any point while doing it. (I kinda wanted to do both at a few points along the way.) (And as to Hubby's reply text when I sent him the above picture, yes, they <b>had</b> scooped out most of the pumpkin guts before the first carving. <i><b>Most of</b></i> them. The pumpkin was a far cry from pristine inside, <i>and</i> being out on the porch in the cold made it extra-clammy. Unless some of the clamminess came from squirrel spit, but really, does <i><b>that</b></i> make it better?)<br />
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That isn't to say that next year, I won't be sprinkling our jack o'lantern quite liberally with cayenne pepper before I set it on the porch. I may love the kid enough to suffer the trauma of raw pumpkin meeting my hands and nose <i><b>once</b></i>, but I have no intentions of there being a sequel. I'd rather have to deal with actual zombies on my front porch then try to repair a zombie-fied jack o'lantern again, <i><b>thankyouverymuch</b></i>.<br />
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(Oh, and I am tired and punchy enough right now to point out that when lit with the slightly-gnawed tea light tonight, in the pitch black darkness that is 7pm in our parts this time of year, the kitty cat was glowing mightily in its newly carved facial area, but also casting light out of the rather gaping hole in its backside. I believe there's an expression about blowing sunshine and one's posterior regions........)<br />
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Happy Halloween from me and mine to you and yours! (Kiddo, for the record, was one of several Hermione Grangers tromping the grounds of school in today's Halloween parade. She was the only one with a Crookshanks with her, however.)<br />
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<span id="goog_1453409613"></span><span id="goog_1453409614"></span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-11226947429758536182011-10-22T18:34:00.000-04:002011-10-22T18:34:59.513-04:00Is this why I liked The Silence of the Lambs?<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My kid, at the advanced age of eight, no longer easily complies with hand-holding in public. Mind you, I only ever reach for her hand in specific situations - navigating a very crowded, public place where we might easily become separated (after all, she is the <a href="http://youtu.be/xrAIGLkSMls">human version of Dug from Up</a>: <i><b>squirrel!</b></i>), </span>or crossing a heavily trafficked parking lot or street (where again, her distractability can be detrimental to her survival), that sort of thing. These days, she will squirm and squirm and <b><i>squirm</i></b>, along with whining and whining and <i><b>whining</b></i>, to get me to let go. As a compromise, she'll sometimes offer to hold on to my wrist or forearm or for me to hold her elbow or something.<br />
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On a recent such occasion, as I was desperately trying to grab hold of some part of Kiddo while she darted away into Certain Mortal Peril, a song from childhood popped into my head. I recalled it as being sung by Bert from Sesame Street, and I sang a snippet of it to the kid. I couldn't remember it as clearly as, say, <a href="http://youtu.be/Ye8mB6VsUHw">C is for Cookie</a> or<a href="http://youtu.be/rxgWHzMvXOY"> I Love Trash</a>, so a few days later, I looked it up on Youtube while Kiddo and I were waiting for the school bus to arrive. I found it right away, and we both watched; her for the first time ever and me for the first time in several decades....<br />
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Please take a moment and watch it if you didn't already. Do you remember watching it as a small child? Are you as unsettled as I was? I mean..........*<i><b>shudder</b></i>*, right? After all, this is SESAME STREET for crying out loud - how could it be so disturbing???<br />
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As I said, I remembered this from my own childhood. (Not sure it is too surprising that I never saw this clip re-aired during Kiddo's Sesame Street watching phase). (Also, my memory of it being sung by Bert was actually correct. Bert did the record album - remember record albums? - version and my sister and I had <b>all</b> the Sesame Street albums between the two of us, so score one for my rapidly aging brain cells for remembering that.) I do <b>NOT</b> remember being the slightest bit put off by this clip. I remember thinking it was, in fact, funny. My sister and I would act out this song with each other (and with props standing in for the body parts.) ACK - see? There's where I'm disturbed now. Body. Parts. Maurice the Muppet is <b>REMOVING THE FEMALE MUPPET'S BODY PARTS</b>, y'all.<br />
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I know that there are far more disturbing things on television these days. (Well, it seems like there are far more disturbing things <i>everywhere</i> these days.) I don't let Kiddo watch, say, Dexter or Supernatural or any of the CSIs or L&Os. But..... but...... this is SESAME STREET. Holy moly. Watching this now, as an almost-middle-aged woman, I found it way more disturbing than amusing. I was especially squicked out by the tooth (obviously required for the lyrics' rhymability) and the way he is fiddling nonchalantly with the <i>pile of body parts he has just removed</i>.<br />
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So, is it just me? Is this unsettling to anyone else? I wonder if this is where my great enjoyment of things like The Silence of the Lambs and Supernatural comes from..... At any rate, Kiddo wasn't put off by it one bit. As a matter of fact, a few days later, as we stood on the porch waiting for the bus to turn up our street, she asked me if we could watch it again. I declined, though she persisted. Until she saw a squirrel run across the yard, anyhow. (I wish I were kidding. I'm not.)<br />
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*****<br />
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In other news, stay tuned for a really awesome giveaway that I plan to do in the coming weeks. I can't give you the details yet, but I can show you a relevant trailer:<br />
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And in other other news, please do read the post and consider helping me out with <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-40th-birthday-wish.html">my 40th birthday wish</a>. I'd really appreciate it!Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-36105503920371104672011-09-30T17:31:00.000-04:002011-09-30T17:31:48.062-04:00My 40th birthday wishAs it so happens, I am now 39 and three quarters. (That is, if adults still said their age the way kids do, but that stopped being the <i>in thing</i> somewhere around age 13, didn't it.....) Suffice it to say, then, that I'm in the sunset of my 30s. Well, more like the mid-late evening of my 30s. If my 30s were a day, I'd be in bed already by now.<br />
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Now, in a perfect world, I'd be celebrating my 40th birthday by sitting in the front row, center seat of the theater for <a href="http://www.hughjackmanonbroadway.com/">this</a>. But, it isn't a perfect world, and that isn't going to happen. I mean, not only is my birthday during one of the craziest times of the year (11 days before Christmas), but this year, my birthday is on a Wednesday. Also? Broadway is about six hours away from my house by car, and nowadays, the cost of one ticket is more than it used to cost my entire family to see a Broadway show back when I was a kid. (Which, granted, was way back in the Olden Days, especially to hear Kiddo talk about it.) I don't even want to know how much a <i>front row</i> ticket would be. Probably way more than I spend on groceries for our family for an entire month.<br />
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So, clearly this is <b><i>not</i></b> a perfect world. (A fact which has been made abundantly clear over and over again in the past year, le sigh.) That's why I've come up with an alternate plan to celebrate my birth<strike>dayweek</strike>month. Best of all, it's something that YOU, dear reader, can help me with! So, win-win, right? I mean, I just know you were wondering what on earth you could get me for my big 4-0. Right? (Humor me and nod enthusiastically, if you don't mind. Thanks!)<br />
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Here's what I'm hoping we can do for my birthday: I want to have a <b>worldwide celebration*</b> of helping others. Paying it forward. Doing good deeds. If I can get 40 people to do 1 Good Thing between now and my actual 40th birthday, that would be just about the best present ever. (Or 20 people to do 2 Good Things. Or 10 to do 4. I'm not picky.)<br />
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It doesn't have to be a BIG Good Thing, either. I'm not asking y'all to turn into Mother Teresa/Ghandi/<a href="http://jezebel.com/5833283/watch-ryan-gosling-hero-break-up-a-random-street-fight">Ryan Gosling</a> here. Just, you know, do something good. Spend an hour or two helping at a soup kitchen or food pantry. Pay the toll for the guy behind you on your way to work. Offer to watch the kids for that mom who never gets a night off. Stop by a nursing home and visit with someone who is lonely. Overtip the waitress at the diner. Mow your neighbor's lawn or rake their leaves or shovel their snow (hey, I live in upstate NY - we'll have snow before I'm 39 and 5/6ths). Send your mom some flowers. Make a point of looking everyone in the eye and smiling at them for one day. (<i><b>Everyone</b></i> - this is harder than you'd think. Believe me, I've tried.) You get my drift.<br />
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Now, I've been fighting a losing battle against the interwebz all day. So, I'm not going to attempt to do a Mr. Linky thingamabob because then I might just break the internet once and for all, and I don't want <i><b>that</b></i><b> </b>on my record. Instead, if you do do a Good Thing in honor of me getting old (heh heh heh, I just said "do do") (what? I am getting <i><b>old</b><b></b></i>, not <i><b>mature</b><b></b></i>), please comment here, if you would, and let me know. I haven't broken my blog comment email notifications yet, so that'll work. If I get to 40 things by my big 4-0 on December 14th, I'll be beyond thrilled. And since it is my birthmonth, instead of my usual birthweek, I'd be beyond thrilled if we got to 40 good things by December 31. Like I said, I'm really not picky.<br />
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So, there you have it. What I'd really love to get for my 40th birthday. Please consider playing along - it would mean more than you know.<br />
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<b>*</b>(Worldwide <i><b>could</b></i> happen - my stat meter tells me of blog hits from all over the world! They aren't all from weirdos searching for the word "boobs" either. I know real, lovely people who live as far away as Australia who read my blog....)Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-15709030489328590762011-09-11T12:05:00.000-04:002011-09-11T12:05:07.413-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">This is my song, oh God of all the nations,</div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;">A song of peace for lands afar and mine.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is my home, the country where my heart is;</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">But other hearts in other lands are beating,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">But other lands have sunlight too and clover,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">A song of peace for their land and for mine.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
May truth and freedom come to every nation;</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">may peace abound where strife has raged so long;</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">that each may seek to love and build together,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">a world united, righting every wrong;</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">a world united in its love for freedom,</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">proclaiming peace together in one song.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-73947776391989753992011-09-03T18:43:00.000-04:002011-09-03T21:39:59.296-04:00So, I've been a real P.O.S. blogger...<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">... but not the P.O.S. you might be thinking of - no, I mean a Prisoner of Summer, <a href="http://www.shadesofblueandgreen.com/2010/06/being-a-p-o-s-blogger-means-never-having-to-say-youre-sorry.html">as coined by my friend Ash last year</a>.</span> I posted before Armageddon (and, btw, did you hear it's been rescheduled? Apparently now Armageddon is back on for sometime in October) and then <i>poof</i>, three months went by and here we are in September.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So, to do a recap for those who might be interested........</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In May, we went to Walt Disney World for Kiddo's 8th birthday. Our trip coincided with Star Wars Weekends, which had two thirds of the Smith family <i><b>extremely</b></i> excited. As for me, I enjoy SW all right - I mean, I've seen all the movies more than once and have a good grasp of the fundamentals, but I still had to be corrected by my second grader - "No, Mom, that's not a <i>Storm</i> Trooper, that's a <i>Clone</i> Trooper. Sheesh." A girl after her Dad's own heart..... </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUmv_X25xsAfSBXwJr97lPIkpYzm3iQEhI71BLXR-yN_CLuczNK9X1AupkgbmrREE1EhkGdhthJVOLYwQnZZCHIdosnbeYPRZkDZc6nF7Q9oFu1e26HKv9cBDANFqg4ZJbF7sOZBvXIsY/s1600/wdw0511chewiefam2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUmv_X25xsAfSBXwJr97lPIkpYzm3iQEhI71BLXR-yN_CLuczNK9X1AupkgbmrREE1EhkGdhthJVOLYwQnZZCHIdosnbeYPRZkDZc6nF7Q9oFu1e26HKv9cBDANFqg4ZJbF7sOZBvXIsY/s1600/wdw0511chewiefam2.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Immediately prior to this picture, Chewbacca gave me a hug. Following this picture, I spent the rest of the day plucking long, coarse Wookiee hairs out of the inch-thick layer of SPF 60 and sweat that coated my body after waiting in line for close to an hour in baking, steamy, central Florida sun. Seriously, Chewie sheds like crazy.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The kid took part in the Jedi Training Academy, and managed to successfully battle Darth Maul. (She'd previously been <i>very</i> nervous about facing anyone other than Darth Vader, so when we found out her group was getting Darth Maul instead, I was giving even odds that she would bail. Her Jedi strength and courage stood her well, though, because she did it. Our home video of the duel has me cheering wildly and audibly from across the area from where Hubby was standing, which cracked me up when I heard it. It was just one time when I uttered my signature <i style="color: #cc0000;"><b>WOOHOO</b></i> over the course of the trip.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjmc4P3Ib-upIzcT3DVlZGYkBaAeU7zwccZ06beOyOb5a2Ii1BVMyV0UMHHVk6q-uun38yfixV7j1NAQxmITT5oZdDcwNpNvSl8bdy4GztTRXFU5aLDEGoqmIEWsWy-fwsrZrAnIxiHES/s1600/wdw0511darthbattle1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjmc4P3Ib-upIzcT3DVlZGYkBaAeU7zwccZ06beOyOb5a2Ii1BVMyV0UMHHVk6q-uun38yfixV7j1NAQxmITT5oZdDcwNpNvSl8bdy4GztTRXFU5aLDEGoqmIEWsWy-fwsrZrAnIxiHES/s320/wdw0511darthbattle1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q9WfkXZcmFA8POgHWXDSKHlvIDUTbsD3-oUISZPjnsVGT37YMLX2R5iA9P15PDpFbJUxWF8YmBTPysIa2pv2mcMuKit3h4bSs9MAvBhZQZ9I7sFDPuTbhEcCHyX6DlABUH0vMCd_4t3i/s1600/wdw0511darthbattle2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q9WfkXZcmFA8POgHWXDSKHlvIDUTbsD3-oUISZPjnsVGT37YMLX2R5iA9P15PDpFbJUxWF8YmBTPysIa2pv2mcMuKit3h4bSs9MAvBhZQZ9I7sFDPuTbhEcCHyX6DlABUH0vMCd_4t3i/s320/wdw0511darthbattle2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2w9FD2oG7JnRHV5bZjgRcXWKwDMsfnjjXmENOK7xcaaAbjfUDJT2iF3Lj8qO2FdAS6pDdb1XKxBTWT-Gd7WwWQKrAEk_HoH1rKa_HjZKVaZsP4Ef7ShyyuzoVKEPZGXxw_J6aLVYztNP/s1600/wdw0511darthbattle3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2w9FD2oG7JnRHV5bZjgRcXWKwDMsfnjjXmENOK7xcaaAbjfUDJT2iF3Lj8qO2FdAS6pDdb1XKxBTWT-Gd7WwWQKrAEk_HoH1rKa_HjZKVaZsP4Ef7ShyyuzoVKEPZGXxw_J6aLVYztNP/s320/wdw0511darthbattle3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Other Star Wars fun included riding the new and improved, just reopened Star Tours several times (it is SO much cooler than it was before, though I did get a bit motion sick a couple of times) and waiting in line so the kid could meet-n-greet all sorts of SW characters. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCbyHXznkQK-1grUQ60oOjJS76fR6Alqdgk6FWu2DGbhc0XQ4Aa3qxmW3LB_4YqhORYnh-KGS_1p5DvoMN_naAulWlmGp6-GGNEsXh9_xQKxsB-BZGzqBi9iiNWII-SPUehbejHx1QTGZ/s1600/wdw0511emanakin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCbyHXznkQK-1grUQ60oOjJS76fR6Alqdgk6FWu2DGbhc0XQ4Aa3qxmW3LB_4YqhORYnh-KGS_1p5DvoMN_naAulWlmGp6-GGNEsXh9_xQKxsB-BZGzqBi9iiNWII-SPUehbejHx1QTGZ/s320/wdw0511emanakin.jpg" width="216" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmfUIrPTgAh0uwy8lq8VCHaAKx2iQzzH2PQD7rNuf13VIV0JWt9DBHRCUVgcmYQKUtOpY-kZSAWqaB5lTfMsVvFm1_g8dT8k8h1X38OWLWQ130HMLgx2ZgqyYk2oX8P_ZHXgSbVU2-XE_/s1600/wdw0511emclonetrooper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmfUIrPTgAh0uwy8lq8VCHaAKx2iQzzH2PQD7rNuf13VIV0JWt9DBHRCUVgcmYQKUtOpY-kZSAWqaB5lTfMsVvFm1_g8dT8k8h1X38OWLWQ130HMLgx2ZgqyYk2oX8P_ZHXgSbVU2-XE_/s320/wdw0511emclonetrooper.jpg" width="217" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdYSJdOgA_qinYEASwlz-0uiSawjySsB-K5kFxWnoSEXn_APBFkimV9aQjddYzTShIhQM414ukbclbWw-7gagvY4gKCylq6D34N9sZO25Ae_4yuNeLaWX1atdvhbNSSa5yb7hyQ2HV1o6/s1600/IMG_0549.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdYSJdOgA_qinYEASwlz-0uiSawjySsB-K5kFxWnoSEXn_APBFkimV9aQjddYzTShIhQM414ukbclbWw-7gagvY4gKCylq6D34N9sZO25Ae_4yuNeLaWX1atdvhbNSSa5yb7hyQ2HV1o6/s320/IMG_0549.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Several of the other women with whom Kiddo and I waited in line were gushing about how <i>dreeeeeamy</i> pre-Darthified Anakin Skywalker was. He spent a good four minutes chatting with Kiddo as they grumbled in line behind us - apparently the Force was stronger with the 8 year old than it was with the cougars......)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We did do other, non-nerdtastic sorts of things while we were there too, of course. Kiddo wore her official WDW "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY" pin for the entire week leading up to and then the days after her birthday, so she was fêted most lavishly everywhere from the restaurants to the parks to the birthday serenade by the Dapper Dans, the barbershop quartet that performs in the Magic Kingdom, right in front of Cinderella's castle. So, clearly she is a girl after her mother's heart as well, since we all know how much I love to celebrate my birthweek!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWwD8C2C53AVUr_MR2XKeZG2mtQdCKM-VQYiIPurnlBGTft1zwDHhV9r0b3B1gDlDH4F5Pzpnuirb1-neW0eVoHd3gpqyl8OQaOCX9046xk0VAeSkLvVsQ70Mgo6feBCun5rVmaqqbQrp/s1600/wdw0511epcotballoons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWwD8C2C53AVUr_MR2XKeZG2mtQdCKM-VQYiIPurnlBGTft1zwDHhV9r0b3B1gDlDH4F5Pzpnuirb1-neW0eVoHd3gpqyl8OQaOCX9046xk0VAeSkLvVsQ70Mgo6feBCun5rVmaqqbQrp/s320/wdw0511epcotballoons.jpg" width="218" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3wKt-1rKzDQCRa7MnNDPqOz-lN4OAhrC_QkcaCUjTBD59qgjcZAMVH1_BZtQEvBRMvWIEQ-zxP9I5BOhOloCN1_bFgoemyvLRCSJQ5ffzkhQkTgFRRVo41bMOlVv_dHYVuWx7grUGXDi/s1600/wdw0511mickmin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3wKt-1rKzDQCRa7MnNDPqOz-lN4OAhrC_QkcaCUjTBD59qgjcZAMVH1_BZtQEvBRMvWIEQ-zxP9I5BOhOloCN1_bFgoemyvLRCSJQ5ffzkhQkTgFRRVo41bMOlVv_dHYVuWx7grUGXDi/s320/wdw0511mickmin.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3wKt-1rKzDQCRa7MnNDPqOz-lN4OAhrC_QkcaCUjTBD59qgjcZAMVH1_BZtQEvBRMvWIEQ-zxP9I5BOhOloCN1_bFgoemyvLRCSJQ5ffzkhQkTgFRRVo41bMOlVv_dHYVuWx7grUGXDi/s1600/wdw0511mickmin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y5qW0AQo5Mep3OmBc1fx-UrRDLezoes28b65KtlbPmQAAGryRDPMOkvxKfBBwb6XYRHdDb4D7VUKvvFwiAydAJGCg0avODBek8DWlSh4mhQa2dUg0Kqoj5SAipyvgOXPuCL1Z-3_1K6i/s1600/wdw0511talkaurora.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y5qW0AQo5Mep3OmBc1fx-UrRDLezoes28b65KtlbPmQAAGryRDPMOkvxKfBBwb6XYRHdDb4D7VUKvvFwiAydAJGCg0avODBek8DWlSh4mhQa2dUg0Kqoj5SAipyvgOXPuCL1Z-3_1K6i/s320/wdw0511talkaurora.jpg" width="216" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgwJ3KvwJ3iYpIM8RJyKbjnh3IUPx40gSUQbEeHBYbuJZybiSyVaQJRkG5ObFxUTxBJ3zoJIQCtN8e3z5aRp-BvHUm1wUAnYPMWacVJ97PVwO25mEEWRX_FYHIB8J-uW4jVhiLaUq_ahQ/s1600/IMG_0398+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgwJ3KvwJ3iYpIM8RJyKbjnh3IUPx40gSUQbEeHBYbuJZybiSyVaQJRkG5ObFxUTxBJ3zoJIQCtN8e3z5aRp-BvHUm1wUAnYPMWacVJ97PVwO25mEEWRX_FYHIB8J-uW4jVhiLaUq_ahQ/s320/IMG_0398+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Only eight more years until that driving picture becomes a reality - GULP. Kiddo most gleefully pointed out to me that she is "halfway to a driver's license" and I immediately felt twenty new silvery highlights <i>sproing</i> out on my scalp at the thought.) </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The next picture was taken at Teppan Edo, which is the kid's favorite restaurant at Epcot. Towards the end of our (awesome) meal, the staff came in with this hat and did a whole birthday song and routine. (This happened at just about every restaurant we went to, but not with a complimentary chapeau.) We had to preserve the hat to bring home with us. Try going through security with one of these sometime...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8JftxTdMWtxWi6o_YK-wcK_uPB5rfwJGTMAou_-q52_OSaJLu5MT-mU_cqy-KXozOw8WjW7UMXTzn9F1w03OzH_cHcJOE-GKSitBvFAbOdwtUSeTEoe21RUD4Y-tWYRgGn-Kjwv9Dy6F/s1600/5-21+Emma+Teppan+Edo+Hat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8JftxTdMWtxWi6o_YK-wcK_uPB5rfwJGTMAou_-q52_OSaJLu5MT-mU_cqy-KXozOw8WjW7UMXTzn9F1w03OzH_cHcJOE-GKSitBvFAbOdwtUSeTEoe21RUD4Y-tWYRgGn-Kjwv9Dy6F/s320/5-21+Emma+Teppan+Edo+Hat.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-BahKYzgUO_MUkd1dONqP1sMBl9OSk1bFKTXM4N0lJfnIYWjlimaJAaO2vayOFvUm11T6tDDLaKo0wNImYjKw6zGMErpKYAE2VYNUZLQ1v8cuvHJU76q83_3FJpGYYaG6elHvGG9jATfe/s1600/5-28+MK+Gramma+on+Teacups+-+Small.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-BahKYzgUO_MUkd1dONqP1sMBl9OSk1bFKTXM4N0lJfnIYWjlimaJAaO2vayOFvUm11T6tDDLaKo0wNImYjKw6zGMErpKYAE2VYNUZLQ1v8cuvHJU76q83_3FJpGYYaG6elHvGG9jATfe/s320/5-28+MK+Gramma+on+Teacups+-+Small.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Poor Gramma, who came from Tampa for a few days. This was the first time she'd experienced the Mad Tea Party spinning teacup ride with us. She wisely opted out when I did after my traditional one turn, and we watched from solid, nonmoving ground as Hubby took Kiddo for a second whirl.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Padawan went pirate, thanks to Captain Jack Sparrow's pirate tutorial:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Tk9jATOaSYMz6BcjSo0ees8K4WLSM5e-EdjyYYglz9Yryi_GESgL-bv74PFptpXT3X1xBNkPrJJhKHA3LRPeXEI0SV7zPCifeJoLvC9CLJzQamBqUP7TQxsBxgWIhHigU25aYhwb-mx8/s1600/5-28+MK+Capt+Jack+and+Emma.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Tk9jATOaSYMz6BcjSo0ees8K4WLSM5e-EdjyYYglz9Yryi_GESgL-bv74PFptpXT3X1xBNkPrJJhKHA3LRPeXEI0SV7zPCifeJoLvC9CLJzQamBqUP7TQxsBxgWIhHigU25aYhwb-mx8/s320/5-28+MK+Capt+Jack+and+Emma.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcqQEkhbMRY0mVcwLnAymRNIHZR8w2csQ104_ChwIEiMHgIfTNgOJtHqFTdkXevxlCnLgfxi7Hf00OhgL8dgcxXkk9eKI9gcBu3wZ4qbbnlf_jcXBlI8tcTunQVjw8p9EJFd0gqAqY2Km/s1600/IMG_0495+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcqQEkhbMRY0mVcwLnAymRNIHZR8w2csQ104_ChwIEiMHgIfTNgOJtHqFTdkXevxlCnLgfxi7Hf00OhgL8dgcxXkk9eKI9gcBu3wZ4qbbnlf_jcXBlI8tcTunQVjw8p9EJFd0gqAqY2Km/s320/IMG_0495+%25282%2529.JPG" width="275" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjncGiv5ibRN2s4RADYPzFIV86-atY4z690vkfeT_vV86XLiwN157plMw4MifkGb5HsH_1YOM4YpA4KHCSrR8YUyKy0-1h6ah08ajCxjLBvJV68Aab54tnlAQOyhi_51NZ6RLKBrnySoeJB/s1600/IMG_0391+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjncGiv5ibRN2s4RADYPzFIV86-atY4z690vkfeT_vV86XLiwN157plMw4MifkGb5HsH_1YOM4YpA4KHCSrR8YUyKy0-1h6ah08ajCxjLBvJV68Aab54tnlAQOyhi_51NZ6RLKBrnySoeJB/s320/IMG_0391+%25283%2529.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We always enjoy the scenery at the Animal Kingdom Lodge, and Kiddo spent quite a while sketching the critters on the savanna from her vantage point on our balcony -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMAmqHE7hsWcBvbvf55gbgPng4xnPm_1SL9WbXUOF7VeZi1ezqz3Ra2B74nxBKaDPVyJzrrZptrleztqngTxe9CghBiN6j2uCBaohffhSOwFyefQTVfbL5AKqVUwlS-KkXOjmdwANYDi2/s1600/5-27+Sketching+Animals+off+Balcony+-+Small.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMAmqHE7hsWcBvbvf55gbgPng4xnPm_1SL9WbXUOF7VeZi1ezqz3Ra2B74nxBKaDPVyJzrrZptrleztqngTxe9CghBiN6j2uCBaohffhSOwFyefQTVfbL5AKqVUwlS-KkXOjmdwANYDi2/s320/5-27+Sketching+Animals+off+Balcony+-+Small.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjncGiv5ibRN2s4RADYPzFIV86-atY4z690vkfeT_vV86XLiwN157plMw4MifkGb5HsH_1YOM4YpA4KHCSrR8YUyKy0-1h6ah08ajCxjLBvJV68Aab54tnlAQOyhi_51NZ6RLKBrnySoeJB/s1600/IMG_0391+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_PovAi5rZSxKLLMBkmHueEHMKO1XvQTwa2MDL4mFMaV-4bZ85evqwwrVV2Z5uRk7-EKGylquzwFZ3FdMY5qcxuqsGKMagFZ08soVdpJhoAydpa_gXZbpQiMCuV330KbPbEZVPDX2fYSy/s1600/IMG_0393+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_PovAi5rZSxKLLMBkmHueEHMKO1XvQTwa2MDL4mFMaV-4bZ85evqwwrVV2Z5uRk7-EKGylquzwFZ3FdMY5qcxuqsGKMagFZ08soVdpJhoAydpa_gXZbpQiMCuV330KbPbEZVPDX2fYSy/s320/IMG_0393+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6eVI7hxc7vnEQXfUmV8b7u8_a1Ijm2KeAoRovRO_fbiZ3dvPRLj60Qmg3HhaYPM_ZNOatbmbbwKokDdWDMoRxUS09V64n0hRwphSVSBCPcb5_0h3-XHnFP_igAK9CmjV_VNJpwv6hnvct/s1600/IMG_0761.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6eVI7hxc7vnEQXfUmV8b7u8_a1Ijm2KeAoRovRO_fbiZ3dvPRLj60Qmg3HhaYPM_ZNOatbmbbwKokDdWDMoRxUS09V64n0hRwphSVSBCPcb5_0h3-XHnFP_igAK9CmjV_VNJpwv6hnvct/s320/IMG_0761.JPG" width="241" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkDzNqyeb4LRJlNIosnXVdGIJxAr1D0wThqNrsXkgEhm5BHv6G-uof8ZeXopdDEFYAq1gW6DlXx0t0Ok8haGEk4hF3fDMYfenEdV_GJBxmLb43C1jQ319hhSlorJBRpG4jmFpAEN5KpOg/s1600/IMG_0429+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkDzNqyeb4LRJlNIosnXVdGIJxAr1D0wThqNrsXkgEhm5BHv6G-uof8ZeXopdDEFYAq1gW6DlXx0t0Ok8haGEk4hF3fDMYfenEdV_GJBxmLb43C1jQ319hhSlorJBRpG4jmFpAEN5KpOg/s320/IMG_0429+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqP9T23m88WJwqm7Ymauw8l3a5oC8mNcV3BQd-M_pFuCR82P3niM4236YhRhbNcCF-PVBFhS20AwDKlXPSENT2S-DxfTkpZ6z1wAR2JVB5xdWHRZGJw_sKB4sIzbTe8U0ah0rmPrDX_f-r/s1600/IMG_0413+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqP9T23m88WJwqm7Ymauw8l3a5oC8mNcV3BQd-M_pFuCR82P3niM4236YhRhbNcCF-PVBFhS20AwDKlXPSENT2S-DxfTkpZ6z1wAR2JVB5xdWHRZGJw_sKB4sIzbTe8U0ah0rmPrDX_f-r/s320/IMG_0413+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9M4MmUfK58QyhVs1GMeQaxNXvXirbmd9iyrlCfGfK2aOjQiEPp_rb-taCWDDqCMmSs1w91HQVqAoOm30MtmyFw10BJHWgFkT_D7yKCYLXly4zpsdvGsO_TuYebH_xiacyiUHcRacV0r2N/s1600/IMG_0767.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9M4MmUfK58QyhVs1GMeQaxNXvXirbmd9iyrlCfGfK2aOjQiEPp_rb-taCWDDqCMmSs1w91HQVqAoOm30MtmyFw10BJHWgFkT_D7yKCYLXly4zpsdvGsO_TuYebH_xiacyiUHcRacV0r2N/s320/IMG_0767.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For her actual birthday, which was the sixth day of our trip, we surprised Kiddo by taking her to the luau at the Polynesian. She got to go up on stage twice to do the hula (see if you can pick her out... she's the one in the Hawaiian print......) and also cross off one of her bucket list items: to drink a drink out of a coconut. Pretty good to have ticked off an item on her bucket list by the tender age of eight!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4PiZzqyZ6RisyyzipHhbOwB6WFGSE1RB2nJgQbUpTh8kwp49RP7dX_kAEwvfm2k2HIDlDUFvqjRD0F-MpIV24k145Cck9QHzT4ju4Bfd5XMkNaUP-PhMTCaijm5mTUBDW0iQLaK8B4mw/s1600/5-26+Emma+dancing+in+sand+-+Editd.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4PiZzqyZ6RisyyzipHhbOwB6WFGSE1RB2nJgQbUpTh8kwp49RP7dX_kAEwvfm2k2HIDlDUFvqjRD0F-MpIV24k145Cck9QHzT4ju4Bfd5XMkNaUP-PhMTCaijm5mTUBDW0iQLaK8B4mw/s320/5-26+Emma+dancing+in+sand+-+Editd.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFvASYrRGYOMkFUgtix8dDHURQXJsl7WjdN2BfKlLhO2051gAQkpEyClx_LivNFOHtF9unviC1_tUAxpdn3gHCY0uES1BBkSUiofuM0ZFj773gPEFIKqjpmUcGqU6SfOA5w4Ag-i3o5G0/s1600/IMG_0603.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFvASYrRGYOMkFUgtix8dDHURQXJsl7WjdN2BfKlLhO2051gAQkpEyClx_LivNFOHtF9unviC1_tUAxpdn3gHCY0uES1BBkSUiofuM0ZFj773gPEFIKqjpmUcGqU6SfOA5w4Ag-i3o5G0/s320/IMG_0603.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIiRIWsRIZUaz7jyqnJT7YX-yk1PAe20S1gs2oloANoo_070tQhUdwGT8nzWvLuoxKgiHH44XK8zuJmmvDqlLj62HDphGkbvz-kdEStfTlfiAv1VLYT4_jNFZCt6R5insfYAx7NVu2g5K/s1600/IMG_0582+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIiRIWsRIZUaz7jyqnJT7YX-yk1PAe20S1gs2oloANoo_070tQhUdwGT8nzWvLuoxKgiHH44XK8zuJmmvDqlLj62HDphGkbvz-kdEStfTlfiAv1VLYT4_jNFZCt6R5insfYAx7NVu2g5K/s320/IMG_0582+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhNgC6ypYhaGciVANQXYapc4sZRmDIUgJz9ajSkKGDNKIcpigZVcjGha5JmhhdxErstwVFQkDIEqjZWq86A2XESIIrR_3ZFZifSk0XoRLWZejKX-LEyn5ua9Q03E-5rsUM6pdhTa6Zryt/s1600/IMG_0564+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhNgC6ypYhaGciVANQXYapc4sZRmDIUgJz9ajSkKGDNKIcpigZVcjGha5JmhhdxErstwVFQkDIEqjZWq86A2XESIIrR_3ZFZifSk0XoRLWZejKX-LEyn5ua9Q03E-5rsUM6pdhTa6Zryt/s320/IMG_0564+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Since we did pull her out of school for four days, Kiddo had homework that she had to do each day in the hotel room -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0akEoiBYZqz-MIsYXo7qKntUrJK8ud_ZoueawyfMBgmybb_exOHc3ldhm1NwGUjmFV1MZMfaEE9X8fe_rNFzRMwU2mVeLvOxfvoOnYVh_DRxxjukrXYzCqP4s_uaZ1pRjilOajBaC8hyh/s1600/IMG_0376.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/AVvXsEj0akEoiBYZqz-MIsYXo7qKntUrJK8ud_ZoueawyfMBgmybb_exOHc3ldhm1NwGUjmFV1MZMfaEE9X8fe_rNFzRMwU2mVeLvOxfvoOnYVh_DRxxjukrXYzCqP4s_uaZ1pRjilOajBaC8hyh/s320/IMG_0376.JPG" width="230" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, that was Disney World. In June, Hubby and I decided it was time to let Kiddo dip her toe into the world of internet communication. To this end, he set up an account for her via a texting app on her iPod Touch that she can use to send and receive texts from a very elite group (Daddy, Mommy and one of her grandmothers at this point). She is further restricted by only being able to text where there is wifi, so though she'll text right up until the bus rolls up -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWhS3zcMKqVOKZP_VtmHHJfg9q-gwWzKjGTUe6ehfMjjqQAxRDsPrs4oVS1jXdgOgN96w0V-jl4DuHZO5Snxz3cqtIYim77ZoVDve6irkxCRgULnCj4CWAvjZNFxAedFZ8rsSz1kyOKp3n/s1600/IMG_0925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWhS3zcMKqVOKZP_VtmHHJfg9q-gwWzKjGTUe6ehfMjjqQAxRDsPrs4oVS1jXdgOgN96w0V-jl4DuHZO5Snxz3cqtIYim77ZoVDve6irkxCRgULnCj4CWAvjZNFxAedFZ8rsSz1kyOKp3n/s320/IMG_0925.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As soon as it does, she hands over the iPod and goes off to a texting-free day. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Also in June, I started my new job. It requires me to dress up -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhl_hF5FBmBzgi31yadJatfpSTwa9mIwR6moU22tXZY3QteMlR6iq4lCLmoxhepracYoPP49fynZJkj5hC6Yblk6KfTzc5O2euxtBNWPpi-U0KmTZyLUTiHI4mHwwTCelVEyVWkJbe71xA/s1600/IMG_0934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhl_hF5FBmBzgi31yadJatfpSTwa9mIwR6moU22tXZY3QteMlR6iq4lCLmoxhepracYoPP49fynZJkj5hC6Yblk6KfTzc5O2euxtBNWPpi-U0KmTZyLUTiHI4mHwwTCelVEyVWkJbe71xA/s320/IMG_0934.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">but other than not being able to wear yoga pants and my Birks to work, it is an awesome gig. The people at the church are super nice, everyone has been very welcoming and seems happy to have me there, and I'm so glad I found this job. So, woohoo for being back in the working world!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The weekend after school got out, Kiddo and I went on our annual Smith Chicks Road Trip to NJ. We spent one day at my aunt and uncle's house, which is on Lake Hopatcong and included fishing, swimming, kayaking, picking water lilies, throwing balls for my aunt's and mom's dogs, and going for a ride on the lake with some of her cousins - my uncle even let the kids take a turn steering the boat. (Kiddo's turn was rather abbreviated, as she was an enthusiastic but dangerous driver.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdltC5IelZ_GMjUcITKmgUfQdMe7j62gRj5GRTTno64ixe4DF0oKDossyyqjjARwVy_bh14qk4f7-Yd1Lt7rCLG_V7wjq1iagcIxN_idK7diud_yu5y69XFQkM_KjPONSF7QEtuWFMfd2F/s1600/IMG_1009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdltC5IelZ_GMjUcITKmgUfQdMe7j62gRj5GRTTno64ixe4DF0oKDossyyqjjARwVy_bh14qk4f7-Yd1Lt7rCLG_V7wjq1iagcIxN_idK7diud_yu5y69XFQkM_KjPONSF7QEtuWFMfd2F/s320/IMG_1009.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BrFk8e8kk5unXM_B76ZDz01GtFarW86m16MoFAlg2SeH4v488N1ll7tsSq4kODmQ6g6CmrkzpSpKgFn69qYQUam9a8uECBSz-vEs53pwBE50-uuB8ZwQC-IK6bcce3DrJ89ozU0GGgGk/s1600/IMG_1021.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BrFk8e8kk5unXM_B76ZDz01GtFarW86m16MoFAlg2SeH4v488N1ll7tsSq4kODmQ6g6CmrkzpSpKgFn69qYQUam9a8uECBSz-vEs53pwBE50-uuB8ZwQC-IK6bcce3DrJ89ozU0GGgGk/s320/IMG_1021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We also went down the shore for a day with my mom, both of my sisters and their kids, and while we didn't have a Snooki sighting, we did encounter a massive beaching of millions and millions of baby jellyfish. SO gross. (That's what Kiddo and my niece are holding up for the camera in that one shot.) I got stung a few times as I stood waist-deep in the water on boogie-boarding patrol, in which I was on the lookout for any child related to me coming off their board in the water and going under. After getting out of the water, I noticed what I first assumed was a splotchy sunburn on my calves, but turned out to be jellyfish stings. Um, OW.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yM8WKLMasFUseOIKSOoW7q4_DvKrJabYBse-55EbvShFnqjfC3XCjRtTQu9peDIDaCuf0gaZRS7tUBR4OgqO57Y9C4e9egJCOeq9O3rJEmwUqWlYOOQ5OCyteR0k7G4JVGsq3pquy65Q/s1600/surfergirl.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/AVvXsEg8yM8WKLMasFUseOIKSOoW7q4_DvKrJabYBse-55EbvShFnqjfC3XCjRtTQu9peDIDaCuf0gaZRS7tUBR4OgqO57Y9C4e9egJCOeq9O3rJEmwUqWlYOOQ5OCyteR0k7G4JVGsq3pquy65Q/s320/surfergirl.jpg" width="253" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPhuc3kJ_7vEiSBHSCzEXLAfUWGJxaG3BuJxhLf5s5rSKP01PdwM3nk6I7yq6s_bvRM_lVDrWEsxEck2YOYH8MaivTB7Vd_WPJ10xIYyDw2PHW2Od4_X4CeaHhyukK0nwv3-GxnTQxqIT/s1600/cousinssurfing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPhuc3kJ_7vEiSBHSCzEXLAfUWGJxaG3BuJxhLf5s5rSKP01PdwM3nk6I7yq6s_bvRM_lVDrWEsxEck2YOYH8MaivTB7Vd_WPJ10xIYyDw2PHW2Od4_X4CeaHhyukK0nwv3-GxnTQxqIT/s320/cousinssurfing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSxXTES-yZl2cmOx2zxoJjGzMxFv4dbMLySoz-zH3cD8HrR1y-rFBlCG5kZXIL65fbBnSTVHRty073WZBAyScjDgIVvj7H4Z-sTX9tMApxW0T1uxsrfx_snH_NtrYiPkd1XengUnRVY23/s1600/surfingkid1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSxXTES-yZl2cmOx2zxoJjGzMxFv4dbMLySoz-zH3cD8HrR1y-rFBlCG5kZXIL65fbBnSTVHRty073WZBAyScjDgIVvj7H4Z-sTX9tMApxW0T1uxsrfx_snH_NtrYiPkd1XengUnRVY23/s320/surfingkid1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSxXTES-yZl2cmOx2zxoJjGzMxFv4dbMLySoz-zH3cD8HrR1y-rFBlCG5kZXIL65fbBnSTVHRty073WZBAyScjDgIVvj7H4Z-sTX9tMApxW0T1uxsrfx_snH_NtrYiPkd1XengUnRVY23/s1600/surfingkid1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJheVxKEPuenVLU7sorE0qYNdJSymSp9tuWJLKI0jvcqY12ARjbjQNy07cmtQPR-4vNVJf6CoG9GeVSjl5XNsrWKNUuIG1aNk6D37IXwLoQ8NvUTtt4GmqfoT3I42uS7PtvPdZqglkHeSp/s1600/IMG_1035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJheVxKEPuenVLU7sorE0qYNdJSymSp9tuWJLKI0jvcqY12ARjbjQNy07cmtQPR-4vNVJf6CoG9GeVSjl5XNsrWKNUuIG1aNk6D37IXwLoQ8NvUTtt4GmqfoT3I42uS7PtvPdZqglkHeSp/s320/IMG_1035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqiu17WjzH6tcmXM13zGg-6-yIy2Tm9aUqMEl9zMFXsjmjdFz77e1QhTTAKOIvnc7Pap0jdh0uXU7meKEh_vGCUr3wSZEwAXvFwzJTyIIMhJo902GhBiBkKCwOGOdkSt8d8wc-WYXbhzZu/s1600/IMG_1051.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqiu17WjzH6tcmXM13zGg-6-yIy2Tm9aUqMEl9zMFXsjmjdFz77e1QhTTAKOIvnc7Pap0jdh0uXU7meKEh_vGCUr3wSZEwAXvFwzJTyIIMhJo902GhBiBkKCwOGOdkSt8d8wc-WYXbhzZu/s320/IMG_1051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Other fun things we did this summer included dogsitting a few times for Barkley, aka the Fluffy Pup, playdates galore (note to self: the joy experienced by kids in the three minutes it takes them to throw the entire jumbo-sized laundry basket full of water balloons you've arduously spent the better part of an hour filling, covering yourself and the walls, floor and ceiling in a five foot radius around you with water as you did? NOT worth it), trips to the zoo, and the like...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3gAF1HqKlV_Vg154BuAfvfBCSKkOl3pRVzgjejAxS9xonPi-CRHFAS_meFLAnMTGG8kBAPuVQ0PXMFmgKAaEuUpHoUqzZDWRQT7eDWNRDGwn40u_GuvSJLAarf6_CDkrWe8itN5u1Dq4/s1600/IMG_0955.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3gAF1HqKlV_Vg154BuAfvfBCSKkOl3pRVzgjejAxS9xonPi-CRHFAS_meFLAnMTGG8kBAPuVQ0PXMFmgKAaEuUpHoUqzZDWRQT7eDWNRDGwn40u_GuvSJLAarf6_CDkrWe8itN5u1Dq4/s1600/IMG_0955.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3gAF1HqKlV_Vg154BuAfvfBCSKkOl3pRVzgjejAxS9xonPi-CRHFAS_meFLAnMTGG8kBAPuVQ0PXMFmgKAaEuUpHoUqzZDWRQT7eDWNRDGwn40u_GuvSJLAarf6_CDkrWe8itN5u1Dq4/s320/IMG_0955.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPiBbYWH_L2TK3qyubSC0_1bWODbGfVti_-AJR2SheKCdW4Dofwm7xLucPYEb5Q2ld3eM43xi3acNpnADCzkJ-Vef-usY8u53EbPSy2qMJ0_S2EH63aFv8QrMyqW9tAijIladDLa08aPz/s1600/IMG_1090%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPiBbYWH_L2TK3qyubSC0_1bWODbGfVti_-AJR2SheKCdW4Dofwm7xLucPYEb5Q2ld3eM43xi3acNpnADCzkJ-Vef-usY8u53EbPSy2qMJ0_S2EH63aFv8QrMyqW9tAijIladDLa08aPz/s320/IMG_1090%255B1%255D.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(I thought I was taking the kid to walk the dog. Apparently, I was <i>actually</i> taking the <b>cat</b> for a walk with the dog.......)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINAKGK0z79pKOjcfDtuAIBKiXaAtwaFE8hAM_7SZJyKWo7zKPUoOyfLAt2vDelVB1my6IBFuixuMy7Z2Mlft6gsOgH6Gr3jzE2terQix8ojQ0Y2L6fsx12-WA5Jdm5tkKUQKRjhDd7jpY/s1600/IMG_1577%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINAKGK0z79pKOjcfDtuAIBKiXaAtwaFE8hAM_7SZJyKWo7zKPUoOyfLAt2vDelVB1my6IBFuixuMy7Z2Mlft6gsOgH6Gr3jzE2terQix8ojQ0Y2L6fsx12-WA5Jdm5tkKUQKRjhDd7jpY/s320/IMG_1577%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiArFUVlJpL_GGG-fncO4WD8BUnEYSpE_J8I9MXGzSD_opmlryLwcIYTf8bEhcJM3AJhxMQ4P9TaZ3AmOIa8LISW45qM3rIsF2l5IxEMn83NW3KZ9HPp12A8_g58C8oi6dUSAF6BF4AGrtn/s1600/IMG_1304%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiArFUVlJpL_GGG-fncO4WD8BUnEYSpE_J8I9MXGzSD_opmlryLwcIYTf8bEhcJM3AJhxMQ4P9TaZ3AmOIa8LISW45qM3rIsF2l5IxEMn83NW3KZ9HPp12A8_g58C8oi6dUSAF6BF4AGrtn/s320/IMG_1304%255B1%255D.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />In July, as we have since the very first movie opened a decade ago, my BFF and I saw the last Harry Potter movie. This time, in IMAX 3D, obviously. We got there early enough that we were the FIRST ones into the theater. Woohoo!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRMcDUWQp-YOaimhSBzlzxbIPlotCpuvmezmq7IeOV3EQdrINN_9KK5Me1kLiMC40crCIBlQhjSMeEQ6VAbZgjB9LjNJdC1CwRmXht2xxQWK5MeKaiviCsqjFELmHmr6hS3Veg4mKlikC/s1600/IMG_1227.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRMcDUWQp-YOaimhSBzlzxbIPlotCpuvmezmq7IeOV3EQdrINN_9KK5Me1kLiMC40crCIBlQhjSMeEQ6VAbZgjB9LjNJdC1CwRmXht2xxQWK5MeKaiviCsqjFELmHmr6hS3Veg4mKlikC/s320/IMG_1227.JPG" width="241" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRMcDUWQp-YOaimhSBzlzxbIPlotCpuvmezmq7IeOV3EQdrINN_9KK5Me1kLiMC40crCIBlQhjSMeEQ6VAbZgjB9LjNJdC1CwRmXht2xxQWK5MeKaiviCsqjFELmHmr6hS3Veg4mKlikC/s1600/IMG_1227.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Other momentous achievements included Kiddo learning how to blow proper bubbles with proper bubble gum (taught by her mom). Here's her first-ever actual bubble:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvK9B8-AdFmJV2lnJfvT_bjZptPnVfRd2JeaomOB56W_ALUz0CovHphscnC0AOO2yDf4iuj1nAglZdHYBHQn3_ozLaUZd1UtO9alGRmxLYFZTvQBu7c4TTw5HMddqGd5f8XT02v2W-_a_4/s1600/IMG_1176.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvK9B8-AdFmJV2lnJfvT_bjZptPnVfRd2JeaomOB56W_ALUz0CovHphscnC0AOO2yDf4iuj1nAglZdHYBHQn3_ozLaUZd1UtO9alGRmxLYFZTvQBu7c4TTw5HMddqGd5f8XT02v2W-_a_4/s320/IMG_1176.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBvI_CwLfVvm7RrA0L8JckxMIYA6DOSIi9okRmYpQEzr0cnlozgcl_0ROfp5K7md8Tz1IvVfvg_48CcMpHea2s6MY5njZGncLjQ0Qi73Wy_cxakZrKdkUBGGwjrz5zISuUGaNqoSVglv5/s1600/IMG_1363%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Kiddo also mastered her two-wheeler sans training wheels (though with much protective gear - at her insistence). Bubbles and the proper way to sing Bohemian Rhapsody may fall under my purview, but biking was all Dad. Well, up until the point when she was confident enough to go pedaling around the neighborhood, and I was forced to hop on my own bike and go pedaling along with her. Me on a bike? Yeah, not pretty. I haven't had a heart attack yet, though I was secretly a teensy bit relieved when Hubby came in from the garage one night and mentioned my front tire had gone completely flat. He has since repaired it though, so my reprieve is over.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBvI_CwLfVvm7RrA0L8JckxMIYA6DOSIi9okRmYpQEzr0cnlozgcl_0ROfp5K7md8Tz1IvVfvg_48CcMpHea2s6MY5njZGncLjQ0Qi73Wy_cxakZrKdkUBGGwjrz5zISuUGaNqoSVglv5/s1600/IMG_1363%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBvI_CwLfVvm7RrA0L8JckxMIYA6DOSIi9okRmYpQEzr0cnlozgcl_0ROfp5K7md8Tz1IvVfvg_48CcMpHea2s6MY5njZGncLjQ0Qi73Wy_cxakZrKdkUBGGwjrz5zISuUGaNqoSVglv5/s320/IMG_1363%255B1%255D.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Kiddo even got Grandpa to go for a spin with her when my folks came up from Jersey for a visit -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LzLju6R8yvttu2tRSFUdno8rWvQQ3qNmH_kxxWShsD_ycZqU2xHW5mj3iVr-3eCiGtKiD5luLZ3QX0Ilp21qN_7evpDuZvFXv1XHr5whCXxYVtjepsIt4niWYlYRtCaJ0m1DndXPEmfX/s1600/IMG_1382%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LzLju6R8yvttu2tRSFUdno8rWvQQ3qNmH_kxxWShsD_ycZqU2xHW5mj3iVr-3eCiGtKiD5luLZ3QX0Ilp21qN_7evpDuZvFXv1XHr5whCXxYVtjepsIt4niWYlYRtCaJ0m1DndXPEmfX/s320/IMG_1382%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBvI_CwLfVvm7RrA0L8JckxMIYA6DOSIi9okRmYpQEzr0cnlozgcl_0ROfp5K7md8Tz1IvVfvg_48CcMpHea2s6MY5njZGncLjQ0Qi73Wy_cxakZrKdkUBGGwjrz5zISuUGaNqoSVglv5/s1600/IMG_1363%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have been extremely fortunate to have Kiddo's grandparents watch her for the majority of the summer when I was working, and friends who hosted her for playdates for the majority of the times when her grandparents weren't available. There was one day when I did wind up doing a "Take Your Daughter to Work Day", but as we were the only ones in the building, it wasn't a big deal (also - I had talked to my boss about it beforehand and she was cool with it). Sadly, the busy work type tasks I'd saved up for her, thinking they'd keep her occupied for a good hour-hour and a half, Kiddo knocked out in a cool 20 minutes. I wound up raiding the Sunday School classrooms for arts and crafts things to keep her occupied while I worked.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBvI_CwLfVvm7RrA0L8JckxMIYA6DOSIi9okRmYpQEzr0cnlozgcl_0ROfp5K7md8Tz1IvVfvg_48CcMpHea2s6MY5njZGncLjQ0Qi73Wy_cxakZrKdkUBGGwjrz5zISuUGaNqoSVglv5/s1600/IMG_1363%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9WtVx1b6r45Z0AhLEgAm8zuNVDvVy8rwgMo5YGCngv3mE5FxK82veR7lbB-ukudAON2kGTUMJlaXAdCTZ5Lf3L8YXkYvQ7ZjTA3TZmVP7b9ciyi8EjDe3uJK3IOGrouQ4tLtf_aS4kFi4/s1600/IMG_1500%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9WtVx1b6r45Z0AhLEgAm8zuNVDvVy8rwgMo5YGCngv3mE5FxK82veR7lbB-ukudAON2kGTUMJlaXAdCTZ5Lf3L8YXkYvQ7ZjTA3TZmVP7b9ciyi8EjDe3uJK3IOGrouQ4tLtf_aS4kFi4/s320/IMG_1500%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Kiddo was given her very first American Girl doll, whom she named Isabelle Hermione, by her godmother for her birthday -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGm29WqM-KZajGXixjzYGVahiiPyR-Jn2oC7OzunyMKEtPTx5uz4dKZtFwkGS4nvS8ET5fFm_5L1bzwRaIn7CXVRN_Rnzaq5_yj4AVIjS81sQ4FMzjDmk5kuuOFclvYbnA6rhyphenhyphenlMUXkMC/s1600/IMG_1494%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGm29WqM-KZajGXixjzYGVahiiPyR-Jn2oC7OzunyMKEtPTx5uz4dKZtFwkGS4nvS8ET5fFm_5L1bzwRaIn7CXVRN_Rnzaq5_yj4AVIjS81sQ4FMzjDmk5kuuOFclvYbnA6rhyphenhyphenlMUXkMC/s320/IMG_1494%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We went on our first overnight camping trip with a group of people from our church to Stony Brook State Park. This is us midway through a hike of the insane gorge trails in the park -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIGomhN9Ly2yXpWXKrRaJoaa2q2XUIgctEb07Z_wziY0vZ_R-boGqXFxAJhq-6bMft1fV1KHnb51ZsRQLLDqfpXacZhIMkiZSMZ-autBWCyIsLK8DB9MZ5EehG8-C9S9IWaMNJVbUZztc/s1600/IMG_1479%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIGomhN9Ly2yXpWXKrRaJoaa2q2XUIgctEb07Z_wziY0vZ_R-boGqXFxAJhq-6bMft1fV1KHnb51ZsRQLLDqfpXacZhIMkiZSMZ-autBWCyIsLK8DB9MZ5EehG8-C9S9IWaMNJVbUZztc/s320/IMG_1479%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">and kiddo playing by one of the waterfalls we'd hiked our way down to:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb1WckzZEuyqZbrgBljtzxf2CpSHjT6KXVeTuKL3KyTMjN1AEKkDSTsVAPs1vpHAoZeHiLlZRcRApCFOTOVPXSxnXW9onVUhMCLKSlisYOx3borkRUbqv6uG-tj-L9fucEuWESkrl1LXFA/s1600/IMG_1470%255B1%255D.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb1WckzZEuyqZbrgBljtzxf2CpSHjT6KXVeTuKL3KyTMjN1AEKkDSTsVAPs1vpHAoZeHiLlZRcRApCFOTOVPXSxnXW9onVUhMCLKSlisYOx3borkRUbqv6uG-tj-L9fucEuWESkrl1LXFA/s320/IMG_1470%255B1%255D.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The hike <i>down</i> wasn't nearly as bad as the hike back <i>up</i> the gorge. It is a 400 foot change in elevation, and several hundred helpful-yet-killer stairs. It's like going to San Fransisco, I'd imagine, but with less Golden Gate Bridge and fog and more sweat and mosquitoes. Overall, we had a good bit of fun - s'mores! playing in the stream! potluck campout supper! - but between the insane amount of noise overnight and general sleeping conditions in our campsite, the bathrooms that were so gross I refused to shower or to wash Kiddo off in them, and the horrific storm that was due to arrive overnight the second night, we opted to pack up and head for the comfort, cleanliness and quiet of our own home instead of sticking it out the second night and then trying to pack up in the downpour the last morning.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The not-so-fun part of summer hit us a few weeks ago, when Kiddo needed to have eye surgery again. This time, it was just one eye, which was good, but her post-surgery recovery period was a lot rougher. It took the doctors three escalations of her pain medicine before she was feeling well enough that we could take her home. By the next day, though, she was rallying from her sickbed on the family room couch -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhm7IaXOyYP0o7-eaJ8AuQQir4TCRlUixwKpPRPTV0X_4Tg3ISQb6gGMJ5iaJxvDq8804OABnLKfCqo3FHgfdEKVwc-BrW2nLfEeW__JIGvXmKjxuyQfM6D-hFoOZi5GCuDhh57y8vOrQi/s1600/IMG_1504%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhm7IaXOyYP0o7-eaJ8AuQQir4TCRlUixwKpPRPTV0X_4Tg3ISQb6gGMJ5iaJxvDq8804OABnLKfCqo3FHgfdEKVwc-BrW2nLfEeW__JIGvXmKjxuyQfM6D-hFoOZi5GCuDhh57y8vOrQi/s320/IMG_1504%255B1%255D.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">(that's Domino, a get-well gift from one of the ladies at our church) and within a few days, she was feeling well enough to be chafing at the total movement and activity restrictions that she was under for the past two weeks. A rousing game of checkers was about the most excitement she was allowed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGm29WqM-KZajGXixjzYGVahiiPyR-Jn2oC7OzunyMKEtPTx5uz4dKZtFwkGS4nvS8ET5fFm_5L1bzwRaIn7CXVRN_Rnzaq5_yj4AVIjS81sQ4FMzjDmk5kuuOFclvYbnA6rhyphenhyphenlMUXkMC/s1600/IMG_1494%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif04WzlfWxwRbJyU-bpQqB7tT2DL32549jaK57Z-VkwHmvXvSJf7oJJiRvXvFu9cugd6PTswHoQhEMNPZKHJ1tQV7rtCYW0g-0E_SYmafY0XcuAkL7j1s9Dq7i8qXZCaZPhGmXTxzpbkYn/s1600/IMG_1525%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif04WzlfWxwRbJyU-bpQqB7tT2DL32549jaK57Z-VkwHmvXvSJf7oJJiRvXvFu9cugd6PTswHoQhEMNPZKHJ1tQV7rtCYW0g-0E_SYmafY0XcuAkL7j1s9Dq7i8qXZCaZPhGmXTxzpbkYn/s320/IMG_1525%255B1%255D.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(Side note: I got into an interesting discussion on Facebook about letting kids win. I don't, for the record, but Grandma apparently did because Kiddo complained quite loudly about how she always beats Grandma but never beats me. Hearing the news that I was the fourth grade checker champion back in the 70s didn't do much to mitigate her despair.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As you might imagine, having a major sensory seeker-type SPD kiddo be forced to be utterly still for an extended period of time has led to one <b>extremely</b> disregulated kid. When the restrictions were lifted two days ago, Kiddo went nuts (and not entirely in a good way). She had a lengthy playdate this afternoon, and we're going to do some bike rides and running around the park with our canine house guest tomorrow and Monday (weather permitting...), and hopefully by the first day of school on Tuesday, she'll be closer to her normal. It sure doesn't make a terribly good first impression to have a kid who can't keep still and can't focus.....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, that just about brings us up to speed. Whew. I'd say I'm looking forward to things quieting down now that school is starting in mere days, but then I think about what I'm doing this school year -</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- co-Chair of the school PTSA</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- class mom</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- 3rd grade volunteer for several school programs and events</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- Brownie troop leader</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- working three mornings a week at my paid job (woohoo!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- church choir member</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- Sunday school teacher</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and suddenly, it doesn't seem like the fall is going to bring me much more peace, quiet or free time after all!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But, I promise I'll be blogging more regularly now that I'm no longer a P.O.S. Hopefully there are still folks out there reading..................</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-65984016875635627852011-05-20T22:52:00.001-04:002011-05-20T22:54:42.749-04:00Rapture, shmapture.So, there's been a lot of hubbub lately about the End of the World, specifically about how it will begin to end tomorrow. (Quick digression: is all this talk earworming songs into your head, too? I've had a persistent earworm-off between REM and Blondie for days now...)<br /><br />While I do not doubt that there are some folks out there who believe this is <b><i>it</i></b>, I'm not one of them. I admit to being momentarily surprised to actually drive past one of those <b>"End of the World 5/21/11"</b> billboards a few miles from my house earlier today. (I guess I assumed this was more of a Bible Belt kind of thing.) I've chuckled at some of the Rapture-related jokes I've seen online (the Facebook event for the post-Rapture looting party, for example), and generally find myself firmly in the "tongue in cheek" camp about the topic.<br /><br />To that end, when asked what my plans are for the start of the End of Days, I've responded "I'm going to Disney World!" Which is true, actually. We are heading to Disney World for Kiddo's eighth birthday. (Side note: how did eight years go by so fast?!?) We've got the house and cat sitters lined up, the bags packed, the boarding passes printed. So, if it turns out I'm wrong and the doomsday prophesiers are right, well, at least we'll be spending the last day in the Happiest Place on Earth!<br /><br />And...... when we get back, I will be starting my new job!! I know, I haven't mentioned it yet - I wanted to wait for all the Is to be dotted and Ts crossed. Well, they are, as of earlier today, so it is now official and I can say that as of June 1st, I will end my career as solely a SAH mom and rejoin the paid workforce! I've taken a part time position as an administrative assistant for a church that is right around the corner from our house (not the one or even the denomination of the one to which we belong). I'm really excited to be earning some money, even if it isn't much (the job is just 3 mornings a week), and contributing to the household income again. The people I've met at the church so far have been really great, and I'm looking forward to starting..... once we're back from Disney and assuming the world hasn't ended, of course.<br /><br />I have a spiffy iPhone app Hubby recommended that I'm testing now and hope to use to update my blog from the road. We'll see how that goes...<br /><br />To sum up, it may be the end of the world as we know it, but I feel fine!<br /><br /><br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-26351126225652213122011-04-23T22:34:00.001-04:002011-04-23T22:35:24.233-04:00Oh, that wascally wabbit!Look where the Easter Bunny hid Kiddo's basket this year:<br />
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The Easter Bunny is clearly employing the same strategy he used way back in the day, when my Easter basket was found after a lengthy search (and ultimately several "you're getting warmer/colder" type hints from my dad, who had located it already) neatly taped to the ceiling above the dining room chandelier. Yes, I walked around the dining room approximately 800 times that morning before I ever found it. It's a miracle we ever made it out the door to church that day, considering that back in the 70s we used to go to the sunrise service for Easter. (I asked my mother earlier this afternoon if she and Dad were planning on attending the sunrise service tomorrow. She laughed maniacally before informing me that no, they'll be going to the 10:30am service instead. Oh, how I would've loved a 10:30 church service back in my youth instead of the crack o' dawn!)<br />
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The butterfly in front of the basket is one Kiddo made and always hangs from that plant hook. This hook is located directly above the area where Kiddo currently has her Littlest Pet Shop/Star Wars/safari animal Empire spread out on the family room carpet. Anyone want to hazard a guess as to how long it'll take her to look up and spot it? I reckon it will either be something she spots instantly when she comes down the stairs into the family room (she has heard the story of the year my basket was on the ceiling before) or she'll never spot it at all. I sent the picture to my parents and asked them how long <i>they</i> think it'll take her to find it. Dad's answer? "Fourth of July." Considering this is a kid who can't find her sneakers on the kitchen floor when she's looking right at them, Grandpa might be pretty accurate...<br />
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Stay tuned!<br />
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(And never fear, these<br />
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aren't in there yet. The Easter Bunny won't hide them until after church tomorrow, so they're still safely in the fridge, where they have been tempting both Hubby and Kiddo since yesterday afternoon. Easter is the only time of year I ever hard boil eggs. I do not fancy hard boiled eggs in any form - plain, deviled, saladed - so they each get six a year. Kiddo is already salivating in anticipation of Monday's lunch. Hard boiled eggs <i>and</i> a bologna and provolone sandwich - she'll be quite popular in the cafeteria, I'm sure. Heh.)<br />
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Where's the most creative place the Easter Bunny ever hid a basket in your house?Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-51178583971560905672011-04-14T20:07:00.001-04:002011-04-14T20:07:50.459-04:00Now *this* is the life...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J362AzOoPmxFTCowAFzfgniBj0tbR2jAXh10DHThIHgNSKeNP1ZpOp9bo9QA0iIMFnBRjir2NWD_N9PbypvxqNykhXdA3ilrXe7kSuSRNvCP5zloDLBNqw4utZPCuDczhGxEquG66Jea/s1600/Img_0461%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J362AzOoPmxFTCowAFzfgniBj0tbR2jAXh10DHThIHgNSKeNP1ZpOp9bo9QA0iIMFnBRjir2NWD_N9PbypvxqNykhXdA3ilrXe7kSuSRNvCP5zloDLBNqw4utZPCuDczhGxEquG66Jea/s400/Img_0461%255B1%255D.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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That? Right there? The picture of contentment <i>and</i> the warmest, toastiest bit of belly fuzz you've ever scritched. Crazy Cat doesn't usually allow the belly of the beast to be exposed in such a manner, but she just <i>could. not. resist!</i> the magnetic pull of the afternoon sun. (Outside, it may only have been 49 degrees F but on her pillow with the sun beaming in, it was positively equatorial.) Note to self: if ever I take another spin on this globe, make sure I come back as a thoroughly spoiled house cat.<br />
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(Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to our Crazy Cat, who turns 9 years old tomorrow!)Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-87666175351798362922011-03-27T19:51:00.000-04:002011-03-27T19:51:52.554-04:00Off to the Great Fishbowl in the SkyIt is with a surprisingly heavy heart that I report the passing of Swimmy, Kiddo's pet goldfish. Swimmy's life came to an end at approximately 4:45 this afternoon. I can be that specific because we'd spent the day on Piscine Death Watch, keeping vigil over the tank in Kiddo's room.<br />
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I'd noticed Swimmy seemed a bit off a few days ago when I was in Kiddo's room putting away laundry. You see, Swimmy's typical response to catching sight of any movement in the room was to begin swimming frantically back and forth at the top of the tank in a bid to get fed (or, more accurately, fed <i>again</i> as Swimmy was indeed fed first thing every morning). The other morning, however, Swimmy ignored me, choosing to stare morosely at the bottom, back corner of the tank. I waved my hand in front of Swimmy's face, which would ordinarily elicit a response, but nothing. I mentioned this to Hubby but he said he wasn't worried because Swimmy had been swimming and splashing (did you know goldfish like to jump? True story!) as per usual when he was reading to Kiddo at bedtime.<br />
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When we got home from church this morning, Kiddo went up to her room to change and immediately came back downstairs to get us. "Something's wrong with Swimmy!!!" Uh oh. Sure enough, Swimmy was sideways and sort of hovering near the top of the tank. Swimmy did not look good. Kiddo was really upset, to say the least, and asked us if we could take Swimmy to the vet, which, um, no. Hubby did a 25% water change, removed all the decorative plants and vacuumed the gravel in the tank, which turned up a <i><b>lot</b></i> of uneaten fish flakes and led us to the conclusion that Swimmy had not been eating for at least a few days. Double uh oh. Hubby helped Kiddo add a dose of Stress Coat to the tank water, and then we waited and watched. I was hoping for a miracle but not holding my breath.<br />
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Since it seemed a foregone conclusion that Swimmy was not long for this world (and sure enough, the end came within hours), we were faced with helping Kiddo through one of life's Big Lessons. You see, we have been very fortunate in our family not to have experienced much death in recent years. Since Kiddo was born in 2003, our only losses have been her great-grandmother (my grandmother), who died when Kiddo was 18 months old, and our old cat, Katie, who died when Kiddo was just two and a half. She has no memories of those experiences, so in fact this pet goldfish (of no great significance in the grand scheme of things) was about to be her first true <i>personal</i> experience with death.<br />
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And this is why I am sad. Not because I will particularly miss the fish. I'm not especially fond of fish as pets (and after all, Swimmy <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2008/07/swimmy-wants-me-to-sleep-with-fishes.html">did try to kill me</a>) or really any pet smaller than, say, a guinea pig (and Hubby has put his foot down that we will emphatically *<b>not</b>* ever be getting a guinea pig). I prefer pets with which one can interact, ideally a cat or dog. No, I'm sad not because of Swimmy's passing, but because of Kiddo's devastation. I know it's the circle of life and all that, and it is a lesson she needs to learn (and she did understand the concept of death in theory prior to today), but man, it is just so hard to have to witness her heartbreak and grief, even over something as inconsequential as a goldfish.<br />
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Kiddo opted for a ground burial over an aquatic burial (which is a good thing considering Swimmy's size - I feared a burial at sea would wind up with a plumber's bill for a backed up sewage line due to his rather impressive corpse) and so Hubby dutifully dug a hole in the front garden, right by the house. Kiddo wrote a small memorial (and the tear splotches on the paper broke my heart anew):<br />
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and we tucked it into the grave with Swimmy. Once Hubby had finished filling the grave back in, we placed a special stone on top of it, given to us by Kiddo's beloved kindergarten teacher -<br />
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because it seemed fitting. I told Kiddo that we can buy a plant to put there too, once the planting season starts. She likes the idea of Swimmy having flowers.<br />
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And there you have it. Swimmy, the<a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2008/04/our-big-fat-carnival-goldfish.html"> ginormous, carnival fish</a> who <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2009/11/leopards-and-poodles-and-pigs-oh-my.html">scared large dogs</a> and Mommies alike. From humble beginnings<br />
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to more elaborate digs<br />
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and with a brief moment of international fame when Swimmy was a finalist in a photo competition and thus was featured on the <a href="http://www.simonscat.com/index.html">Simon's Cat</a> website:<br />
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Swimmy made my kid happy for four years of her childhood, and that means a lot, even if Swimmy was just a fish.<br />
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(I should note that Kiddo is already asking for another goldfish. I mean, what she <i><b>really</b></i> wants is a dog, but unless the Invisible Fence Fairy pays a visit to our back yard and makes it possible to be able to let a dog out to do his/her business without requiring a human to get dressed, leash the dog up and take it out for a walk every single time it has to go, a puppy isn't happening this year. So, we've talked about it and have agreed we'll get another fish soon...)Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-58504107390855973082011-03-23T20:02:00.000-04:002011-03-23T20:02:58.040-04:00Mostly Wordless Wednesday: "Spring" (<-- those are great, big, honking air quotes there)These were my crocuses as of Monday morning, the first morning of Spring, when I stepped out onto the porch to see Kiddo off to the school bus:<br />
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These were my crocuses as of *this* morning, the third morning of Spring, when I stepped out onto the porch to see Kiddo off to the school bus:<br />
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And <i><b>these</b></i> were my crocuses as of 4pm today, and I am really wishing that my computer had a function to adequately depict <i>great, big, honking air quotes</i> to put around the word Spring:<br />
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It is of small comfort when our local meteorologists cheerfully remind us that the official "snow season" (<-- more GBHAQ there) doesn't end for our area until June 1st. Or that there was snow last year on Mother's Day. Small, cold, white comfort indeed.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-48265446102102440002011-03-13T20:00:00.003-04:002011-03-14T06:57:45.709-04:00I might not have had Bob Ross's painting abilities, but I did have his hairstyle...<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Those of you who are of increasingly advanced age, as I am, may remember the artist Bob Ross from the back-in-the-day PBS show <i><b>The Joy of Painting</b></i>. </span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MghiBW3r65M" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa9Twbu1_3LLpjqvEf9JR6uO4oWaKpbd4-TnJpDraQpo3Knn1voJ2e7UvGD8LPAxqfKvgz_PhZTupA__bDoxxr7ydbtFGumFa8M2mCT6_SUN4y1XUetJ6AnbEK3W3ZJDdBM_gmcMsNce5/s1600/bobrosswikipic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i> </i></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Bob used to talk in an extremely <i><b>mellow</b></i> and <i><b>calm</b></i> voice, all about the "happy clouds" and "happy trees" and how you didn't make a mistake, just a "happy little accident" and in the span of one half hour TV show, he managed to produce a pretty darn decent painting, usually a landscape, and make it look easy to boot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Well, back in the day when the Husband was just the Boyfriend and we were poor college student types, we decided that we too could paint like Bob Ross. Well, "we" in this scenario was actually the Boyfriend, as I've never held the faintest illusion that I could actually paint (or draw, or sketch, or pastel, or sculpt or do anything artistic that involves me using my hands and brain to reproduce something that another human being can readily identify) and this is an opinion with which many unfortunate art teachers from the early 70s through the late 80s would wholeheartedly concur. I am most pathetically Artistically Ungifted, y'all. But, I was swept up in his enthusiasm and agreed that this would be a fun weekend activity, so we went to the art supply store and picked up some Bob Ross painting kits.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">After doing an exhaustive internet search (read: fifteen seconds with my good friend Google and then five minutes of making Hubby stop the gargantuan computer project he's been working on all weekend to turn around and look at link after link as I hollered at him "Hey, do you think this is it? This must be it, right? Oh, no, wait, isn't this the one? What about this one?"), I'm fairly certain <a href="http://www.bobross.com/howto3.cfm?type=Landscape&Page=MysticMountain">that this was the kit we bought</a>, or it was from the same series at least, although the canvas that came with ours was much smaller (again, poor college students - we didn't have the cash to spend on a deluxe canvas set) and of "landscape" instead of "portrait" orientation. (Well, that's the way we painted them, anyhow.) We went back to <strike>Hubby</strike> Boyfriend's apartment and set up our project. We worked on our canvases intently and diligently for the better part of the afternoon, finally getting to step 10 (signing our paintings with pride!) and left them to dry. I'd like to tell you that our painting experience was as mellow and fluffy as Bob and his hair, but it wasn't. Not even the magic of Bob Ross could turn me into a decent artist. What should have been a glorious, snowcapped Mystic Mountain, rising up above a lake and river into a happy-little-cloud-speckled sky looked more like a hunk of moldy cheese, smoldering on a shiny salad plate. Oh well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Shortly after our Wild Weekend of Art, the Boyfriend upgraded to the </span><span class="mention-Latn" lang="fr">Fiancé</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> and shortly after that, we began living together. I began the practice of proudly displaying our masterpieces side by side in our first apartment and kept the tradition up for many residences over the years, until the paintings got packed away for a move and lost to the set of Boxes One Never Actually Unpacks, but Still Moves from House to House Where They Reside in a Forgotten Corner of the Basement. Periodically, I'd think "Hmmm, I wonder what happened to those Bob Ross paintings we did?" and even attempt a search of the BONAU,bSMfHtHWTRinFCotB but no matter how many of those dang Mystery Boxes I would paw through, it was always in vain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Until last month, that is, when I was helping Kiddo gather materials for school project and opened up the trunk in which I have stored copies of just about every photo we've ever taken of her in the past 7.75 years. This trunk also contains several other odds and ends in the "memento" realm, like the lock of hair from Kiddo's first haircut, copies of her birth announcements (along with approximately 200 extra prints of the photo we sent out with her birth announcement - um, what the <i>heck</i> were we thinking?) and many miscellaneous photos of ours taken well before Kiddo arrived on the scene. And there, in the trunk, I found them. The Bob Ross paintings. Both of them, tucked away in the bottom of the trunk (which, in hindsight, seems a perfectly logical repository for them, and one I should've therefore thought of instead of one of the basement boxes), in all their technicolor glory.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I haven't hung them up again, though I just might. I think I'd want to frame them first, which is something we couldn't afford to do back when they were created and something I never got around to in subsequent years. We'll see if they make it up onto the wall or if they languish on top of the scanner where they've been since last month when I unearthed them. In the meantime, however, I proudly present the Internet Unveiling of the Smiths' Mystic Mountains:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Mr. Smith's (not too bad, really):</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3gCxSkVPsCvMlj_5IdQYr4FkOU2pkKwgsFXjc7f962xaVEKKEYs3KJJHWGaekQuVbZtAXULUEWDTcQ0AAX8v0oMTmd9qoK0Owq9hRJ8GyLCLaKs7MI1lYB8K_ujZHDbzjvJyAPtOeX5v/s1600/cbsbobross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3gCxSkVPsCvMlj_5IdQYr4FkOU2pkKwgsFXjc7f962xaVEKKEYs3KJJHWGaekQuVbZtAXULUEWDTcQ0AAX8v0oMTmd9qoK0Owq9hRJ8GyLCLaKs7MI1lYB8K_ujZHDbzjvJyAPtOeX5v/s640/cbsbobross.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">and mine:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpPNsxXI26G-JCHIQphBpwWCslp2AmUB26_PcNfRWiWuGnJqQuAqr5_glmJVHRnQ7h6qU0SED6XPkztks02adENCQteQuD37rLJuMZP8uGoAems9Lb20J73ZW7siE5JSeyNNsASSHHPTP/s1600/heathbobross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpPNsxXI26G-JCHIQphBpwWCslp2AmUB26_PcNfRWiWuGnJqQuAqr5_glmJVHRnQ7h6qU0SED6XPkztks02adENCQteQuD37rLJuMZP8uGoAems9Lb20J73ZW7siE5JSeyNNsASSHHPTP/s640/heathbobross.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I'd like to remind you that theoretically, these should have looked identical to each other as well as pretty darn close to Bob's original:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pbqqGnzBHrz0kxIHs7I0M0dII9_TwVnPbFEd39qcG6KsGmwP0Un2leMHcJTHKdwPnM4Q_C0T3LpFXCIY3hpsd6w_pPKUvrUg282lf2KWfLGjPZ57V7VWstpODYx1c-ZfuUd4ov_6qs-l/s1600/MysticMountain-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pbqqGnzBHrz0kxIHs7I0M0dII9_TwVnPbFEd39qcG6KsGmwP0Un2leMHcJTHKdwPnM4Q_C0T3LpFXCIY3hpsd6w_pPKUvrUg282lf2KWfLGjPZ57V7VWstpODYx1c-ZfuUd4ov_6qs-l/s640/MysticMountain-10.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">But hey, if I never did quite match Bob's painting talent, at least I did once rock his hairstyle:</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa9Twbu1_3LLpjqvEf9JR6uO4oWaKpbd4-TnJpDraQpo3Knn1voJ2e7UvGD8LPAxqfKvgz_PhZTupA__bDoxxr7ydbtFGumFa8M2mCT6_SUN4y1XUetJ6AnbEK3W3ZJDdBM_gmcMsNce5/s1600/bobrosswikipic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa9Twbu1_3LLpjqvEf9JR6uO4oWaKpbd4-TnJpDraQpo3Knn1voJ2e7UvGD8LPAxqfKvgz_PhZTupA__bDoxxr7ydbtFGumFa8M2mCT6_SUN4y1XUetJ6AnbEK3W3ZJDdBM_gmcMsNce5/s400/bobrosswikipic.jpg" width="308" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i> (image borrowed from the Bob Ross Wikipedia entry)</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoW6XUujf-u5lMwLq7EQcabG0FN49uepw8mLjou5OcIuWxdaq5mApl6XWLgnejxpP9rn0poKXwCtOuY6XGT0lcmApAM8QN9S-XtrV-wldIFRV5WeOR72YRMnXHKFpAViPbB6EWT-Sop9h6/s1600/publicityshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoW6XUujf-u5lMwLq7EQcabG0FN49uepw8mLjou5OcIuWxdaq5mApl6XWLgnejxpP9rn0poKXwCtOuY6XGT0lcmApAM8QN9S-XtrV-wldIFRV5WeOR72YRMnXHKFpAViPbB6EWT-Sop9h6/s400/publicityshot.jpg" width="262" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>(me, circa 1987)</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Last but not least, I'd like to dedicate this post to <a href="http://www.mommywantsvodka.com/">my dear Aunt Becky</a>, because she hears Bob Ross's voice in her head (along with Billy Mays, but that's neither here nor there) and because I once promised her that if I ever found the paintings, I'd share them with her. So, this one's for you, AB!</span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-46230810154428313952011-02-27T19:14:00.000-05:002011-02-27T19:14:58.401-05:00Heather vs. Potted Plant: Possibly too close to call.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPlPjEuhtguZl1HN61FOFxw8yFPl0EfVuFY-W7Z7V8_rpipKzrZc-ulZ2r0yKkksUfLADQaqCEeLBX406jxveC56F9_3UHIbHaByG7dmlZYVtzUPSFWTq0N9z8dzBXkSQcR4hR060Ztta/s1600/pottedplant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPlPjEuhtguZl1HN61FOFxw8yFPl0EfVuFY-W7Z7V8_rpipKzrZc-ulZ2r0yKkksUfLADQaqCEeLBX406jxveC56F9_3UHIbHaByG7dmlZYVtzUPSFWTq0N9z8dzBXkSQcR4hR060Ztta/s320/pottedplant.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">So, back in the day when I was barely a grown-up, having just entered my very earliest 30s and all, I was a contestant on a little game show known as Jeopardy!. I became a contestant on the show because some of my coworkers, who knew me very well and spent lots of time with me on a daily basis, thought I was smart and had a crazily good memory. Which was, and I don't mean to brag, pretty much the truth................ <i>back then</i>. So, these coworkers of mine signed me up to try out for the show, I went down to NYC, passed the contestant exam, did the audition, and a few months later, got the call and flew out to LA for the taping.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">But, now, many years later, I'm closing in on 40 in a matter of months and it's all turning to mush. My memory, that is. Oh, the long-term memory still seems relatively intact, but short term? Not so much. Also more mushy than back a decade or so ago? No, not my midsection, though yeah, that'd be accurate too, but I'm referring to my actual brain itself. I mean, it never really seems to have recovered 100% from those days of early parenthood when having a young infant in the house = perpetual sleep deprivation.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Case in point: Lately, I seem to lose my car. A lot. Like, in a parking spot, of my own choosing, where I parked it.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Take, for example, earlier today. I had to stop in at the grocery store after church to pick up a few things. I was inside the store for 10 minutes, tops. I came back out into the parking lot and............................</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Dude, where's my car???</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">I did that thing that I'd like to think we all do every once in a while. That "aimlessly wandering with a simultaneously hopeful, sheepish and frustrated look" thing. I scanned the lanes for my vehicle. Granted, colors on automobiles are hard to see this time of year in my neck of the woods - they all turn the same shade of "road salt grayish white" - but still, I should've been able to find it in under 10 minutes. I mean, the parking lot isn't *that* big.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Now, I have strategies I use to combat this problem. I tend to have "my" spot in any parking lot I visit regularly. I choose an area and try to find a spot within a couple of spaces of that landmark (a cart return or light pole, for example). I've thought about getting one of those antenna toppers -</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Or I could go more "thematic" -</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRdZmoC2TvTqAFdF9gJOzLEpX2Vow20OoT7-SrtpE_WJne8EI0pX5ap0fLJms3eFGs_aeaQn-OqEMNgx99gmTk882VLpzY5cnSre2Ck_m8p45p-Hi5mQ5LnJBLdq0YlfXasS7bjgX6_SV/s1600/mmtopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRdZmoC2TvTqAFdF9gJOzLEpX2Vow20OoT7-SrtpE_WJne8EI0pX5ap0fLJms3eFGs_aeaQn-OqEMNgx99gmTk882VLpzY5cnSre2Ck_m8p45p-Hi5mQ5LnJBLdq0YlfXasS7bjgX6_SV/s1600/mmtopper.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaSYZk8gP-1kc3wIbHKUQ5hnk60WFUdXRfZRf2dPCrqAlwK-qdN3xfpyjhX4VsuMt4thk72A_JMO0Qlry6t3yfTr6pNMCdNcJWzTxuPw38Vxp7qCtpIp1S278nN1P8LqSa7bm_g_nP3kF/s1600/musictopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaSYZk8gP-1kc3wIbHKUQ5hnk60WFUdXRfZRf2dPCrqAlwK-qdN3xfpyjhX4VsuMt4thk72A_JMO0Qlry6t3yfTr6pNMCdNcJWzTxuPw38Vxp7qCtpIp1S278nN1P8LqSa7bm_g_nP3kF/s1600/musictopper.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Or even patriotic, while I'm at it..........</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1S1qMS-V0rHkOCYvfm7iNICnT-y7n27SfeUM1QPNlnuvxRQhCxfh-Gf7WvQTlZGaPVss3Fdg0Sp279RxrFj0V4vI_LMVbicp2lZ-qwRjDxtRo5QOxsWHPTDWvbQHE31ogBaYoMAMaCw-K/s1600/peaceusatopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1S1qMS-V0rHkOCYvfm7iNICnT-y7n27SfeUM1QPNlnuvxRQhCxfh-Gf7WvQTlZGaPVss3Fdg0Sp279RxrFj0V4vI_LMVbicp2lZ-qwRjDxtRo5QOxsWHPTDWvbQHE31ogBaYoMAMaCw-K/s1600/peaceusatopper.jpg" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"> But I fear that short of a flashing, neon sign directly above my vehicle</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlt-L1EFHk6P6Gzv6t-1VyfBNhQ6JRksvWF9t7meEmwMta7xqZWt4koTBoreX1xlNoslM-C4rMaHaHk9eCBcQoTAmqPO7orsnz5mTH1JaZeUSmHbqiwAhPV8oIBOD0s9sRDHiKL0_NlXfC/s1600/carsign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlt-L1EFHk6P6Gzv6t-1VyfBNhQ6JRksvWF9t7meEmwMta7xqZWt4koTBoreX1xlNoslM-C4rMaHaHk9eCBcQoTAmqPO7orsnz5mTH1JaZeUSmHbqiwAhPV8oIBOD0s9sRDHiKL0_NlXfC/s320/carsign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">I'd still be wandering around the parking lot with that expression on my face for hours. Okay, minutes, but enough minutes to feel like a thoroughly doddering fool. (Oh, and the fact that I was looking for my minivan when I'd actually driven Hubby's car to the store? Double bonus points for my brain, right?!)<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Now, fine, perhaps we all get a little Ashton Kutcher and lose our cars temporarily in the parking lot every now and again. Heck, Seinfeld did a whole episode about losing a car in a parking garage and it was hilarious. I have further proof that my mind is more scrambled egg than spring chicken.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">The week before last, I was browsing through a recipe website because I thought I'd make something new and different. I was bored of my go-to weekday menus using ground beef, which I had on hand and needed to cook. So, I came across this recipe for "<i>pizza casserole</i>" and thought "Ooooh, *that* sounds good!" and decided I'd make it for dinner.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Hubby gets home while I'm in the midst of browning the ground beef and boiling the pasta and asks what I'm making. "Pizza casserole!" I reply, "It's a <i><b>new</b></i> recipe!" He picks up the page I'd printed out and skims over it, and then says "Um, isn't this just <i><b>baked ziti</b></i>?" </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">.........Yes, yes it was. Baked ziti, that I make on a fairly regular basis. The only difference was that I was making it, as the "new" recipe instructed, in a deep casserole dish instead of my lasagna pan.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">D'oh!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Want another example of how mushy my old gray matter is these days? Hubby and I recently got brand-spankin'-new iPhones. (Cue chorus of angels singing alleluias.) We'd been eagerly awaiting their release on Verizon for ages and were giddy with glee when they arrived. Shortly after my iPhone hit my hot, little hand, I texted my dear friend J something to the effect of "OMG This is my first ever text message on my new iPhone! It's so cool! Woot! Is this working??" because J is generally pretty quick with responding to texts. Sure enough, mere moments later, my iPhone dinged (side note: why do all the text notification sounds suck, why are they so long and why can't you do a customized text sound like you can ringtone? I want answers, Steve Jobs, answers!!) and lo and behold, there was her text:</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><blockquote><div style="color: #351c75; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">I just got something in Arabic from you. Is that you being funny? I don't get it. LOL.</div></blockquote><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">OH NOES! I promptly freaked out and sent her another text, which I intended to read "Wait, Arabic? Nooooooo!" but which the iPhone's autocorrect changed to "Wait, Arabic? Nippon!" and then immediately after that, "Is *this* in English?" after which my phone rang and it was J calling to gently point out that she was yanking my chain and that I was not, in fact, inadvertently texting in Arabic.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">Double d'oh! Also, well played, J. She said her entire family were all doubled over in laughter because they were <i>sure</i> I'd realize that she was kidding. Only, I hadn't realized. Honestly, the thought never occurred to me.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">In conclusion, if this is what life is going to be like as I head into middle age, I'd better get one of those Life Alert buzzer necklaces asap, because it can't be that much longer before I've fallen and I can't get up..............</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">In the meantime, you can now watch my episode of Jeopardy! on YouTube so you can get the reference I made to being smarter than a potted plant in the title up there. You see, Alex Trebek himself questioned which would be smarter, me or the plant. In my defense, I don't think my multivitamins have the same oomph as a good dose of Miracle Gro.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br />
Part one of my episode is here: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFWneTg-VkI" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span>http://www.youtube.com/wat</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span>ch?v=JFWneTg-VkI</a><br />
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and part two is here: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kt2i7TCEeoU" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span>http://www.youtube.com/wat</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span>ch?v=Kt2i7TCEeoU</a></span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">Just please, pretend you're laughing <i>with</i> me and not <i>at</i> me, okay? </span></span></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-76168505620640166592011-01-22T13:10:00.000-05:002011-01-22T13:10:53.636-05:00Call me Grace<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Remember how I posted recently about <a href="http://www.hartleysboys.com/p/spd-blogger-awards-nomination-form.html">being nominated for a Major Award - an SPD Blogger Award in the Humorous Blog category</a>? (If not, welcome to my world, and I'm glad to have company that probably, like me, gets in the car and drives directly to the grocery store for three things you need and then, upon entering the store, forgets at least two of those things. And yet, can still sing *every last word* of any number of pop songs from the 80s.... Also, check out the post preceding this one, 'cause that's the one I'm talking about.)</span><br />
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Well, I have tried to be, as Jane Lynch <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkaR_JguWJI">put it while accepting her own Major Award</a> (that one being a mere Golden Globe, since she's not an SPD Blogger as far as I know), <i><b>falsely humble</b></i>, but as the clock winds down to the end of the voting period and I see my fellow nominees campaigning on Twitter and the like for their own blogs, I find myself reverting to true form.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That form being Grace. Of <a href="http://www.durfee.net/will/scripts/s0121.htm">Will & Grace</a> fame. Yes, I admit it. I have a teeny-tiny bit of a competitive streak in me. (It is also true that I once aspired to have a huge head of red, curly hair a la Debra Messing in W&G or, more accurately, a la <a href="http://www.celebrity9.com/img/julia-roberts/julia-roberts-3.jpg">Julia Roberts circa Mystic Pizza</a>. But that is neither here nor there, as my <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/search/label/hair">painful, Wolverine Van Beethoven recent history</a> and present "the heck with it, I give up"ish Mom 'do can attest.) (Also, that "teeny-tiny" qualifier is the same as saying I have a "teeny-tiny" crush on George Clooney and/or Hugh Jackman, or that I have a "teeny-tiny" love of popcorn and naps. And as longtime readers may recall, <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2008/11/one-night-only-limited-engagement.html">I once made a video of myself singing an ode to George in order to win a contest for an autographed picture of the man.</a> Which, by the way, I won.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I have always been competitive. It's not that I'm not a good loser, because I can be gracious in defeat. Really. I just hate to lose. Ever since I was a small child, I relished the opportunity to beat anyone, anytime, at any game. It started out with Candyland, Chutes & Ladders and my favorite -<a href="http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Missing_Match-Ups_Game"> Missing Match-Ups</a>. I particularly adored Missing Match-Ups. It was a "Memory" style game, with several different combinations available of several different boards. I, with the freakishly good memory powers of my youth, memorized all the possible combos of each board and became unbeatable. My parents (and any other grown-up unfortunate enough to cross my path or face me over a game board) quickly gave up the pretense of "letting the kid win" and would play all-out in an attempt to keep the game close. Didn't usually happen. (In fact, I was often admonished by my parents to let my younger siblings win sometimes, because I was that competitive. Didn't matter that my competition was still in Pampers, though I preferred to beat grown-ups over a drooling toddler....) By the age of 5, I had graduated from the kiddie games and was playing cribbage against my Dad. It had been one of his favorite games and he was happy to teach it to me. At first, anyhow. MWAH HA HA HA HA. Once I began playing crossword games like Scrabble, it was <i>Good night, Irene</i> for the vast majority of my opponents. Trivial Pursuit? Pictionary? Taboo? Scattergories? I killed in 'em. Games that revolved around words, like Balderdash? Oh yeah, right up my alley. When computers became commonplace in the home and the first, majorly pixelated Jeopardy* home game became available, I'd disappear for hours on Christmas day, parked at the PC up in my dad's office and waiting for new <strike>victims</strike> - erm, opponents - to take on. At work, we started a lunchtime Scrabble thing, where we'd play a round of 9-tile "speed" Scrabble (4 players using 9 tiles each can knock a game out pretty quickly - plenty of time to finish a game in one lunch break). For over a decade now, my own beloved Hubby refuses to play Scrabble with me except on my birthday, because I always win. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So, yeah, I'm competitive. And, as I feel the end of this Awards voting period drawing to a close, I'm starting to twitch. To panic. I didn't want to be one of those bloggers who begs and pleads for votes, really I didn't. But, now I am. Begging and pleading. Pretty, pretty, pretty please, wontcha hop on over and cast a vote or two (really, you can vote twice according to the rules - I like to win but I don't like to cheat) for me? Please?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPI1yTvo5eE_EGHQXmBG1YwhsSH49QvRZkcQJbNNU6MWIQ_4ZFM-ZXFeZgE5XjfN0nct5eysB9F0L6DbWo1Fdb41aEsW7KM_HPGaQ6-h1KSvNqXSfAhDSPVH-abWhbGkmAj08RNkUUcml/s1600/puss_in_boots_big_eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPI1yTvo5eE_EGHQXmBG1YwhsSH49QvRZkcQJbNNU6MWIQ_4ZFM-ZXFeZgE5XjfN0nct5eysB9F0L6DbWo1Fdb41aEsW7KM_HPGaQ6-h1KSvNqXSfAhDSPVH-abWhbGkmAj08RNkUUcml/s320/puss_in_boots_big_eyes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Pretty please?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBSAmuGVAL2ZhAK7uDtPpQDiWmNj0eoT8OYcgfEAGliDekmZhGi_gBo8D2RN_b-LQPHVKiSK3oUPcvdRMDqTYbWvI6ox2pLG7A_lkJD2fyfGX6UzasYk-GPcmgwSXMxz6FrWw-DUCOyvQ/s1600/puppydogeyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBSAmuGVAL2ZhAK7uDtPpQDiWmNj0eoT8OYcgfEAGliDekmZhGi_gBo8D2RN_b-LQPHVKiSK3oUPcvdRMDqTYbWvI6ox2pLG7A_lkJD2fyfGX6UzasYk-GPcmgwSXMxz6FrWw-DUCOyvQ/s640/puppydogeyes.jpg" width="574" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Okay, I'll stop begging now....</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6W8gko4KTRhd4r7xs-nebxBN8Q6S9-1Zs7h-8_bxrA9oAtxVwAwqnqbYsGKSFRBNZ4J7ND5NtVPDra39LnvxaVsL0HHsuPyVIKjh8RXF2TnwGdOclaqbpZmyDOXA6sNU2E-2aUdGpZt8/s1600/1020jjcu1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6W8gko4KTRhd4r7xs-nebxBN8Q6S9-1Zs7h-8_bxrA9oAtxVwAwqnqbYsGKSFRBNZ4J7ND5NtVPDra39LnvxaVsL0HHsuPyVIKjh8RXF2TnwGdOclaqbpZmyDOXA6sNU2E-2aUdGpZt8/s640/1020jjcu1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">(That one's a vintage Kiddo shot)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So, for the last time, please click the conveeeeenient link below and vote for me!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.hartleysboys.com/p/spd-blogger-awards-nomination-form.html"><img alt="Vote For Me!" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4K3quxm16nRZCgj4ehts3zKBHldcSvwHCAMFpnLNLmk3-3zA-YhOSpPp3I1uAQq_Bi27ggOBOFGjsmpKSLHlZLB_0TyKaJKMOXl04pZgN-hAiRIyl4WGKJPTo2s3RbuqLsZrFI5o-dko/s380/Vote-for-Me.jpg" /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I might even be convinced, should I win, to repost my Clooney song video for your entertainment.....<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">* PS - I once, back in the early '00s, appeared on the actual TV show.... My coworkers, they of the "we lose at Scrabble to Heather on a daily basis" variety, signed me up to try out for the show.</span></i>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-35182214501415841122011-01-16T17:48:00.000-05:002011-01-16T17:48:32.109-05:00Sure, it really is an honor just to be nominated, et cetera and so forth...<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So, the ever-fantabulous Hartley, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/This-Gabriel-Making-Sense-School/dp/1426927770/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1268679556&sr=8-1">amazing author</a> and tireless champion of parents with SPD/ASD/special needs kiddos, has a little awards shindig going on over at <a href="http://www.hartleysboys.com/">her blog</a>. Nominations have been going on for the past few days, and I just received the news that my blog has been nominated for an SPD Blogger Award!! In the category for "Humorous Blog" no less! (I've checked out the competition and it is fierce, <i>*gulp*</i>!)</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This is literally the first good thing to happen to me this year so far. Yes, I know we're not even 3 weeks into 2011 but so far? It has bitten the big one. We're in the midst of another major battle with the school district regarding Kiddo's current IEP and have further heard that it is 99.9999999999999% sure that Kiddo will not be granted an aide for next year (or ever again after this year) when her CSE meeting rolls around in March. Kiddo has now been examined by a pediatric pulmonologist, who confirmed what her pediatrician has been suspecting for several months now - Kiddo has asthma, and with the relatively "late" onset of symptoms, it is likely that she will have asthma for the rest of her life (as opposed to kids who have it as toddlers and then outgrow it). Have you ever seen a major sensory seeker on not one but <i>two</i> asthma meds simultaneously? Holy bouncing off the walls, Batman! We're working out an appropriate med regime that controls the inflammation with the least amount of disruption to her life, but the <i>working out</i> phase involves dealing with issues like difficulty falling asleep/restless sleep and other fun stuff like that. (If you think a major sensory seeker hopped up on two stimulant asthma meds is a scary enough sight, add to that a lack of adequate rest and we have a new horror movie franchise in the making.) On top of that, Kiddo has just been more challenging than usual behaviorally. I won't go into details, but she was Majorly Grounded for almost a week, which effectively killed our wedding anniversary date night out plans (and on top of that, it's never fun to have to be the Grounding Enforcer/Prison Warden anyhow). Last but not least, she's been sick for more days this January than not, so we're stuck inside with playdates and birthday parties falling by the wayside thanks to those evil, evil germies. (Side note: someone told me that the odd years are always more challenging than the even years. Six was pretty dang delightful around here, especially in light of how seven has been. I'm willing to believe that at this point, especially if it gives us a light at the end of a tunnel that will only go another 5 months... Anyone else ever hear that one?)</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So, like I said, 2011? Not the best year so far. (Isn't this the big Mayan Apocalypse year? Are all these issues actually harbingers of the impending doom - and if so, where the heck are <a href="http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/16700000/Sam-Castiel-Dean-supernatural-16744451-1280-800.jpg">Dean and Sam and Castiel</a> when I need them? Will I start<a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2009/08/mostly-wordless-wednesday-wth.html"> dreaming of Phyllis Diller</a> again? Did I mention that coming up in December, I turn the big 4-0? Isn't that bad enough for one year in and of itself?) </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>But</b>...</span> then I received the news from Hartley that I've been nominated for an SPD Blogger Award - and it's a <i><b>MAJOR AWARD</b></i>, you know. I'm hoping the prize looks something like this:</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Tfh-hhE9_-V7cnJmBB0-HrIBAvKXquZWSHHvOHqWhhtqx-UsM2aVgkcUlufxcGMoONEoLrFTqt4WylUsXf63QavQFB1CUHX04HojFMzYn5mPf59OKItWrEsavuPUZ2pPePOjsM3aM4xN/s1600/122208lampleg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Tfh-hhE9_-V7cnJmBB0-HrIBAvKXquZWSHHvOHqWhhtqx-UsM2aVgkcUlufxcGMoONEoLrFTqt4WylUsXf63QavQFB1CUHX04HojFMzYn5mPf59OKItWrEsavuPUZ2pPePOjsM3aM4xN/s640/122208lampleg.jpg" width="534" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And yes, it's just an honor just to be nominated, especially since I didn't nominate myself - someone out there likes me! But then again, if you really <i><b>do</b></i> like me, please drop by the voting page starting tomorrow at 6am and help me stuff the ballot box, mmmmkay? I mean, George Clooney and Hugh Jackman have presented Oscars and Golden Globes before, so what if it's one of <i>them</i> presenting the SPD Blogger Awards? Do you want to be the one to make me miss out on that? Let's reverse the trend of craptastictude for 2011 by landing me a Major Award!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.hartleysboys.com/p/spd-blogger-awards-nomination-form.html"><img alt="Vote For Me!" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4K3quxm16nRZCgj4ehts3zKBHldcSvwHCAMFpnLNLmk3-3zA-YhOSpPp3I1uAQq_Bi27ggOBOFGjsmpKSLHlZLB_0TyKaJKMOXl04pZgN-hAiRIyl4WGKJPTo2s3RbuqLsZrFI5o-dko/s380/Vote-for-Me.jpg" /><br />
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</a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.hartleysboys.com/p/spd-blogger-awards-nomination-form.html"><br />
</a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I promise I'll mention you in my acceptance speech - maybe even give you a shout-out from the red carpet when Ryan Seacrest stops me to find out who I'm wearing..... "Microfleece yoga pants from Target, Ryan, of course! Mind the sparks, now..."</div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-88845459710825079452011-01-02T19:13:00.000-05:002011-01-02T19:13:26.230-05:00Well, that was a harrowing start to the new year<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Only two days into 2011 and I almost didn't make it. I almost went down in flames - and I'm not talking figuratively, here, either - earlier this afternoon.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It all started when I decided to make a quick run to the grocery store. While I was really quite content to stay all cozy on the couch in my comfy clothes, tucked under a blanket with the copy of <b>The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo </b>that I'd been waiting months and months for on the hold list at the library, but it seemed that no matter how powerful my lounging magic was, it wasn't powerful enough to conjure up a bag of tortilla chips, and tortilla chips, in case you didn't know, are a key ingredient to Sunday Night Nachos. I'm fairly certain that had I attempted to make our Sunday Night Nachos out of the other snack food we had on hand - to wit, organic Cheez Doodles or sourdough pretzel nuggets - things wouldn't have gone well. So, despite the almost irresistible draw of <i><b>stay here and read a while longer</b></i> that was being exerted upon me by the general conditions of the couch in the family room, I dragged myself away from the world of sloth and out into the snow to get some more Tostitos.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Just because I was going out in public didn't mean I'd have to, you know, <i>get dressed</i> for it or anything though, I reasoned to myself. I mean, I did have a bra on (first time in '11 - woot) and was fully clothed, but I saw no reason to put on a pair of jeans when I was so cozily clad in a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Merona-Womens-Micro-Fleece-Pant/dp/B003ZTT0A4">pair of these</a>:</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1KkJKcIyBRs7zhQzaQVNej80ktctvqWpc0Kq36qTVJJ6upIEDDGR4cCGvrkbnKmx_A-2eXYU6mirhDmL1WXmGHvYQfpzDAtCagcse_YIHj3Ns9MRjh1S_X6g4ak7oIvYjTZzphwL4cRP/s1600/fleecy+pants+of+doom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1KkJKcIyBRs7zhQzaQVNej80ktctvqWpc0Kq36qTVJJ6upIEDDGR4cCGvrkbnKmx_A-2eXYU6mirhDmL1WXmGHvYQfpzDAtCagcse_YIHj3Ns9MRjh1S_X6g4ak7oIvYjTZzphwL4cRP/s1600/fleecy+pants+of+doom.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">(<i>Those, by the way, are not my legs, feet or abdomen. Have I mentioned Sunday Night Nachos? I don't think the model above has ever eaten Any Night Nachos. Nor would I pair microfleece pants with bare feet in kicky ballet flats. I don't own kicky ballet flats. Kicky ballet flats make Heather's Hobbity Hooves look particularly ginormous.</i>)</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Anyhow, I threw on a fleece jacket, some wool socks and clogs and off I went. I pulled on a pair of fleece gloves in the car because DANG it is cold again here in western NY. What I'm trying to say here is, I was Primed for Major Static Happenings, had I paused to think about it for just a second.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
This wasn't my first time wearing these delightfully comfy, microfleece yoga pants out in public, by the way. Nope, I wore them all the way back from NJ to NY last weekend. They've traveled, is what I'm saying. Traveled with nary a hint of the horror that was to come my way as I trudged through the parking lot and into the store.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I noticed it first as I was briskly striding towards the entrance. My pant legs felt a bit... snug. I reached down and shook them out and kept going. After all, one of the best features to a pair of yoga pants is their <i>roominess</i>. Their embodiment of the exact antonymy of <i>skintight</i>.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">By the time I'd gotten a cart and gone into the store proper, I realized that this was not just a momentary trouble. My legs were wrapped in what appeared to be microfleece leggings, not yoga pants. By the time I'd worked my way through the produce aisle and over to chips, my lower half was snap, crackle and popping as though my skin were made of Rice Krispies. Egads. I caught another shopper's gaze traveling up and down me as she approached me near the crackers. I was almost afraid to look down at myself, so I met her gaze with a jaunty "and???" look in response and kept on going. Once safely past her Judgy McJudgerson glare, I risked a glance downward. What had been comfy, microfleece yoga pants when I put them on at home were now Stage Five Clingers of highwater proportions. I'm talking microfleece capris here, y'all. It was <i><b>not</b></i> flattering. (I'm not sure if I was drawing more ireful looks for the noise of the static electricity or the sight of my shrinkwrapped-in-microfleece legs and rear. I'm pretty sure I was generating enough sparks to have a halo-effect of glow around me, though.)</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">There wasn't much I could do, besides shoplift a can of Static Guard from the shelves and make a break for the bathroom, but I was a bit worried that if I moved any more quickly, I'd actually burst into flames. By this point, my hands were getting shocked every time I moved them the slightest bit on the cart handle. I sounded as though I was hiding a popcorn popper in my undies. I quite probably could've powered my neighborhood, if not the whole town, with the amount of electricity I was generating with each and every step.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Finally, I made it to the checkout, through the checkout and back outside. Hoping that the falling snow would dampen the static, I walked as slowly as I dared back to the car. I stopped a few times to tug the bottoms of my pantlegs down somewhere closer to my ankles (in retrospect, not having shaved probably didn't help matters - the stubble on my legs was standing straight up and likely contributing to the statickyness of it all). I was so relieved to finally reach the safety of my vehicle where I could zap myself home in peace.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Can you imagine the headlines? <b>Stay at home mom dies in New Year's yoga pants conflagration</b>.... Needless to say, I'm not wearing those pants, comfy as they may be, out in public again unless I douse them liberally with Static Guard first.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And how was your opening weekend of 2011? Equally exciting but less combustible, I hope! </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-77646499427359327942010-12-24T15:16:00.000-05:002010-12-24T15:16:34.677-05:00May the Force be with you. And also, bacon.<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Hubby got a Christmas present last weekend that he used for the first time when making breakfast this morning.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9y4dyxrm3-718oD_e0WK3DN6L860_jpdJvLhHR6GlN9DnuPjsNu6hAKkbGYDYgs1G4NZnRB7Cmho6ycT0EqR301jCWGt3NWtvhhTm7nRcu_N7jBbmvNO6HzxSxawSfircuk5l90Xzl5q/s1600/swpancakesonthegrill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9y4dyxrm3-718oD_e0WK3DN6L860_jpdJvLhHR6GlN9DnuPjsNu6hAKkbGYDYgs1G4NZnRB7Cmho6ycT0EqR301jCWGt3NWtvhhTm7nRcu_N7jBbmvNO6HzxSxawSfircuk5l90Xzl5q/s320/swpancakesonthegrill.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Star Wars pancake molds. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtBHcRPAw_VXPkzlZ9Y_wOnhJkjns5riV1-pt2AQ-QQZxY2g_DUNBMMOyYXV_L744JbAe_TwKCDSPduY1NmiZjMgfny7DwQU3xQYYdJuzBn1OJpoyZifJcWHigPXoCicQEDB9qNaGCdV0/s1600/swpancakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtBHcRPAw_VXPkzlZ9Y_wOnhJkjns5riV1-pt2AQ-QQZxY2g_DUNBMMOyYXV_L744JbAe_TwKCDSPduY1NmiZjMgfny7DwQU3xQYYdJuzBn1OJpoyZifJcWHigPXoCicQEDB9qNaGCdV0/s320/swpancakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This led to many bad Yoda impressions during breakfast. "<i>Eat my face, you will!</i>" "<i>No more ears I have</i>!" "<i>Pass the syrup, please you will?</i>" </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYXdxXzyVCus5MXaW3Co8vBExtv7M5OXyx800zK-l8oWcf8af8HkMvV6RmYXF9uBm6IJGViVodOrbQZGBmTD46gb_IgaDdxwONkQ_kEndqzggKdLgZjuqHaOX38DGnCmAjlVBd9jOjCJck/s1600/swpancakesready.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYXdxXzyVCus5MXaW3Co8vBExtv7M5OXyx800zK-l8oWcf8af8HkMvV6RmYXF9uBm6IJGViVodOrbQZGBmTD46gb_IgaDdxwONkQ_kEndqzggKdLgZjuqHaOX38DGnCmAjlVBd9jOjCJck/s320/swpancakesready.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">There was a tiny bit of batter left over at the end, so Hubby made one regular, round pancake. Oh wait, I mean, "the Death Star" - it's all in the marketing, of course. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It was a delightful Christmas Eve Day breakfast. Especially the bacon - erm, "light sabers" (as the kid called them). Of course bacon doesn't need the Force to be delicious......</div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-58917244394296583982010-12-21T12:13:00.002-05:002010-12-21T12:14:25.026-05:00How to age with dignity...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45qiFa3YfE9U1YIYxRl4kLRdFQw7oJycHPcVOr5Z_oGmFfB8M5_SURTVqxbS3HLoY-koC23DyuwATfLFrWgC7YEariKrbUClKSnpTUFsBIPHMNmSGxdx8aCpnk3Dj3BWUesXxNxKRaI5d/s1600/1214cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45qiFa3YfE9U1YIYxRl4kLRdFQw7oJycHPcVOr5Z_oGmFfB8M5_SURTVqxbS3HLoY-koC23DyuwATfLFrWgC7YEariKrbUClKSnpTUFsBIPHMNmSGxdx8aCpnk3Dj3BWUesXxNxKRaI5d/s320/1214cake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I believe that the older one gets, the more dignified one must be. I mean, clearly one should aspire to be more like this:</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_z7Sw1T1ioXSDl7iTlKKrWowAYeiOG1I7_qh_vEqkT8QbL06wX5PYqfkOcQxap2ifeIPDkxOvDjTeZ8YFzVEFoSdf47_O9fMbL5Qbb8tHaFLDvM8vOz7C6WauAv7VPPDYNOanh1eVV86o/s1600/audrey+hepburn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_z7Sw1T1ioXSDl7iTlKKrWowAYeiOG1I7_qh_vEqkT8QbL06wX5PYqfkOcQxap2ifeIPDkxOvDjTeZ8YFzVEFoSdf47_O9fMbL5Qbb8tHaFLDvM8vOz7C6WauAv7VPPDYNOanh1eVV86o/s320/audrey+hepburn.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigInsraw06UCcZOZWwIG0MoQgOcI28slawjneMW6gQ2dEqM9ag-120T8-WcRihnSmTJjphTxVL-1yFmed9yIBHeV3WKQeklHWlpWHrLMEKPFIG-4H985bxYvwg2xCTEDI1p-L0wkwWCJkN/s1600/jacquelinekennedyonassis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigInsraw06UCcZOZWwIG0MoQgOcI28slawjneMW6gQ2dEqM9ag-120T8-WcRihnSmTJjphTxVL-1yFmed9yIBHeV3WKQeklHWlpWHrLMEKPFIG-4H985bxYvwg2xCTEDI1p-L0wkwWCJkN/s320/jacquelinekennedyonassis.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">than this (You really need to only watch the first 24 seconds of the following clip to get what I'm talking about...):</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wO4mBPsUQWM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wO4mBPsUQWM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Now as it just so happens, we are currently wrapping up Heather's Birth<strike>day</strike>week*. Yes, last Tuesday, I officially entered the End of My Late Thirties by turning 39. Clearly, I needed to muster up all the dignity I could, now that my age has inexorably advanced another year. Fortunately, my family was ready and willing to pitch in and aid me in my quest to age with dignity.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">First, I received a lovely, talking/musical birthday card specially selected for me by my darling daughter.......</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzMqNyVS6p7mwPHl_u1L_Bm2vBNcGo2o6jrh4wq5cD5etL4MEYIw_xk9khd94da13N3Npt3gx67XRsETzRJwtO-nqnd9H_kqelEMfQGE9Oq3SpLH7Lwsx1jZ7c8-hom7vA59p_79p78Rx/s1600/1214bdaycard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzMqNyVS6p7mwPHl_u1L_Bm2vBNcGo2o6jrh4wq5cD5etL4MEYIw_xk9khd94da13N3Npt3gx67XRsETzRJwtO-nqnd9H_kqelEMfQGE9Oq3SpLH7Lwsx1jZ7c8-hom7vA59p_79p78Rx/s320/1214bdaycard.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i>(It talks - in Wookiee - and then plays the Star Wars theme. Très raffiné, non?)</i></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Then, when opening my birthday present from Kiddo and Hubby with suitable decorum, I sliced a small chunk out of my thumb on the corner of the box. (Us elderly folk have thinner skin, you know. We're quite delicate. It wasn't that I was shrieking with glee as I tore into the packaging of my present, I swear. <i>That</i> would not have been dignified in the least.) Kiddo came to my rescue by providing this first aid:</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmaNSFy-ce8DWkkfTB0NN-yBRIgSuLDpZnhO_FT9mp7WTJI5_tnTSvi24p_1yliCoe86wnymr9WfkA6pyK1QdQBwJDIfcWT7O_yhChvWdmVCz4XCTzKb2d8rBkhchdxsFpy1foyrT1Weh/s1600/1214lpsthumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmaNSFy-ce8DWkkfTB0NN-yBRIgSuLDpZnhO_FT9mp7WTJI5_tnTSvi24p_1yliCoe86wnymr9WfkA6pyK1QdQBwJDIfcWT7O_yhChvWdmVCz4XCTzKb2d8rBkhchdxsFpy1foyrT1Weh/s320/1214lpsthumb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>(Confession: The above photo was a Dramatic Reenactment, as I've since recovered from my injury and am no longer in need of a stylish and dignified bandage for my thumb.)</i> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I'm fairly certain I saw a similar bandage on the Queen of England's thumb in a photo a few months back...</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Oh, and the present I got for my birthday? Rock Band 3 - <b><i>with keytar</i></b>. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5Jvw6CTlIx4ekdzXIPHaJ-79w4e236YnOt6PXjx25XoBJxPw-lUy7aQKK8vyp9fD-3xqhYmNXDZi10sSIY7VMFR7x35gaEExFzhfzTjCScFc7Zh6TVzt9-UTKvFhH2dX8fytSfB2aI2B/s1600/1214keytarrock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5Jvw6CTlIx4ekdzXIPHaJ-79w4e236YnOt6PXjx25XoBJxPw-lUy7aQKK8vyp9fD-3xqhYmNXDZi10sSIY7VMFR7x35gaEExFzhfzTjCScFc7Zh6TVzt9-UTKvFhH2dX8fytSfB2aI2B/s400/1214keytarrock.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>(Hubby, while taking the above picture: "You're not really going to take a picture to post on the internet of you in your jammies, are you?" Me: "Of course I am!" Cinéma vérité - doesn't get any more dignified than that! Okay, maybe I should've opted for some soft focus vaseline-on-the-lens.... Also? That was my attempt to look both dignified and <b>rock-n-roll!</b> simultaneously.)</i></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Now, I've been playing the piano since I was four years old. <i>Four years old</i>. That means that as of last Tuesday, when I hit my late thirties (okay, fine, my late-late thirties), I've been playing the piano for <b>thirty-five</b> years. I can read music. I can sightread music, even. I was sure I'd have the keytar <i>locked down</i>, is what I'm saying. Turns out? Not so much. I was only slightly more accurate playing the keytar parts than my cat would be. (Speaking of the cat........</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDiWy9CZQIVZMATBIaPdJT88taPaml4EgTrTe3J3bzdjbqrTXJCDkCMst_vwTognQneMCfHUi6bwjsVP8h0d6ttRZ2leTqvz-q7uAhJxyHCsjPxrPSCvNDR1eeqf1wLUkkpy0k89TkmTC/s1600/1214fuzz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDiWy9CZQIVZMATBIaPdJT88taPaml4EgTrTe3J3bzdjbqrTXJCDkCMst_vwTognQneMCfHUi6bwjsVP8h0d6ttRZ2leTqvz-q7uAhJxyHCsjPxrPSCvNDR1eeqf1wLUkkpy0k89TkmTC/s320/1214fuzz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">.....she enjoys Cheesy Eddie's carrot birthday cake with cream cheese frosting as much as the rest of the family. But I digress...)</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So, I tried to maintain my dignity whilst playing my new Rock Band 3 keytar, but I <i>may</i> have slipped with a colorful phrase or twelve while failing repeatedly to play the dang notes. That is neither here nor there, however.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">For dinner, I chose to go to a local Japanese restaurant for some teppanyaki deliciousness. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1uhGHBhidQNNpqDPmBU0CoE4lqQwZOsvO7WRe-e4iNgjekZlMk2Xme-XeCug01MPv8YloSyTs1yuOrU3geJqwVKm41dv4X2CMcezW3vYg2RDfZysseAMJg6hL8GlMd_2pjB_7b3ADuV3Y/s1600/1214bdaydin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1uhGHBhidQNNpqDPmBU0CoE4lqQwZOsvO7WRe-e4iNgjekZlMk2Xme-XeCug01MPv8YloSyTs1yuOrU3geJqwVKm41dv4X2CMcezW3vYg2RDfZysseAMJg6hL8GlMd_2pjB_7b3ADuV3Y/s320/1214bdaydin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">True, the restaurant now occupies a building that was formerly a Hooters, then a Cheerleaders USA establishment, but it has been completely redone and reeks of classiness and elegance. They don't even serve any drinks inside giant Buddha statues, for Pete's sake. Being a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teppanyaki">teppanyaki style</a> restaurant, the chef comes out and cooks the food right in front of you. This enables the patrons to take part in the preparation of the meal, mainly by means of catching rice balls in their mouths which are flung at them by the chef.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Now some people</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBbmd212T1gu77TltsTxZeM-qjZV_A53gKqntNKOYZtPnRJ_Db-rBCA7UNLXfSF3I5lGUiImlgfYkE0KaEocM1kiH_lqB9PnxoH3q_xGVVJ952J_Uazxu78goUC01NWRat9qqIHwGWS8N/s1600/1214kidattempt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBbmd212T1gu77TltsTxZeM-qjZV_A53gKqntNKOYZtPnRJ_Db-rBCA7UNLXfSF3I5lGUiImlgfYkE0KaEocM1kiH_lqB9PnxoH3q_xGVVJ952J_Uazxu78goUC01NWRat9qqIHwGWS8N/s320/1214kidattempt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">may not look terribly dignified while doing this...</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDr9SxgOh9gZ8THbrShpJuXqcnMw3jeJ9iWp33Cx2gHD-wdz65RkMQ8Bg1Z7zyv9texaO4FOU9NVRWxYkY3hl1T1mcWC-wrqmtZVDT_7DaakaQ_zNfAqtuuATtOb67TkBODIUunkELhO9O/s1600/1214riceballwin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDr9SxgOh9gZ8THbrShpJuXqcnMw3jeJ9iWp33Cx2gHD-wdz65RkMQ8Bg1Z7zyv9texaO4FOU9NVRWxYkY3hl1T1mcWC-wrqmtZVDT_7DaakaQ_zNfAqtuuATtOb67TkBODIUunkELhO9O/s320/1214riceballwin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">(see how Hubby is gloating? He was the only one at our table to succeed in actually catching the rice ball, rather than getting plonked in the face with a rice ball.)</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Whereas I?</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNxL9hhUUQ7w4p3zuHaJZfmDCTlLx1KPlKUE_wr4YP8L5w_5myxM3WCd7xMN5mj0nFPbSii6UCsmruWG3N5MrJ3WImsDV2sA9VQFolFXfv6OSjvNdMM0aZh72L6ELlLbp22RRRNob9apT/s1600/1214attempt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjNxL9hhUUQ7w4p3zuHaJZfmDCTlLx1KPlKUE_wr4YP8L5w_5myxM3WCd7xMN5mj0nFPbSii6UCsmruWG3N5MrJ3WImsDV2sA9VQFolFXfv6OSjvNdMM0aZh72L6ELlLbp22RRRNob9apT/s320/1214attempt1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KUUPihELZ-yVDKCP0NXFgQ8SEfF9v1cUMm3G9uYuVhztl-J7-DoMSv-XwosDFwOE4fSVoaI1Xk-910kIsfMTxKthYMp1whkbJubxJdNIu6GnJJwnp7aQZZfXppQaeRmJFYakVxQoec6z/s1600/1214notevenclose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KUUPihELZ-yVDKCP0NXFgQ8SEfF9v1cUMm3G9uYuVhztl-J7-DoMSv-XwosDFwOE4fSVoaI1Xk-910kIsfMTxKthYMp1whkbJubxJdNIu6GnJJwnp7aQZZfXppQaeRmJFYakVxQoec6z/s320/1214notevenclose.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Dignified all the way, baby. Jackie O couldn't have done it better.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Once we got home from our dinner (we were the only diners in the teppanyaki section, what with the major snow event occurring outside ((that I preferred to think of as "Mother Nature throwing confetti in honor of my big day")) and all), Hubby and Kiddo presented me with my Cheesy Eddie's carrot birthday cake, politely lit with just 4 candles instead of ablaze with 39. (We more senior types can be lacking in proper lung capacity to blow out such a blaze, after all.)</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This is how you blow out birthday candles with dignity:</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0Ge6vMvBM2O0-1vF1SOGAc9m0SD0XnhQT9DpYtKGCIeRn6zsQfEtDSCTUK78OOuXXfZKAjFYPxIdjIAGPWjr4zyonfqj2l_upBO7zE1O5TrBFDlt7RJIEbMbJRTMoD1pMMCTcXyoM_dg/s1600/1214cakeactionshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0Ge6vMvBM2O0-1vF1SOGAc9m0SD0XnhQT9DpYtKGCIeRn6zsQfEtDSCTUK78OOuXXfZKAjFYPxIdjIAGPWjr4zyonfqj2l_upBO7zE1O5TrBFDlt7RJIEbMbJRTMoD1pMMCTcXyoM_dg/s320/1214cakeactionshot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I hope that you have learned a little something about growing old with grace and aging with dignity. You're welcome.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">* I long ago decided that an event as momentous as my birthday couldn't truly be contained in just <i>one</i> day. Hence, Heather's BirthWEEK. I celebrate it as often and heartily as possible. In the past seven days, I have had three birthday lunches, one birthday brunch, one birthday coffee and two birthday dinners (well, one was a combo birthday-Christmas dinner, but such is the lot of the mid-late December baby). Also, my Facebook wall was flooded with birthday wishes, which I <i>adored</i> receiving. Seriously, I felt all Sally Field - "You like me! Right now, you like me!" It just added to the awesomeness of my day. Then even more messages came in over the course of the rest of my birthweek, which I'd gladly stretch out right up until Christmas, but remaining dignified really doesn't permit me to do. Until next year... My sincerest, most heartfelt thanks to all my family and friends who helped me celebrate this year. You're all fantabulous!!!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-68440542777065993902010-12-11T01:07:00.000-05:002010-12-11T01:07:43.553-05:00The Awesome List<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">December is the time of year when folks compile Top Ten lists and Years in Review and Most Fascinating People and the like. Well, I have decided to do my very own such compilation, entitled The Awesome List. I am breaking it down into subcategories, because it's my blog and that's how I want to do it. Here goes......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><u><b>People who are Awesome: </b></u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">~ My friend J. A few weeks ago, I mentioned to J that I love December for its mail. Not just because December brings my birthday around which means the occasional birthday card, but mostly for the holiday card mail. I <i><b>love</b></i> holiday cards. Photos, letters, the whole nine yards. LOVE them. I do a happy dance at the mailbox when I open it to find those sorts of envelopes therein. (Seriously, pop by my street around 5pm any given day of the week that there's postal service and you will see me out there at the curb, shaking my groove thang. Assuming, that is, that said groove thang isn't frozen due to our lovely weather - record snowfall, anyone? - in which case the groove thang doesn't get shaken until it is ensconced, once again, indoors, in which case you'll have to peek through the front windows.) Well, J came up with a Most Awesome Plan, unbeknownst to me at the time. She filed away this little tidbit of info and when December 1st rolled around, a Christmas card showed up in the mail from J and her family. It was one of the first cards we received this year, in fact. Then, December 2nd brought another card from her. And the 3rd, and the 4th. A cryptic note on my Facebook wall on Sunday the 5th led me to trek out through the snow to the mailbox where indeed, <i>another</i> card from her was waiting. She's <i>that</i> good - able to get mail delivered even on the day that the Post Office doesn't do it! And so it has continued each day of December. Each card comes with a note in rhyme inside, no less - variations on the Twelve Days of Christmas. It. Is. AWESOME and so is she!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"> ~ I am fortunate enough to regularly rub internet elbows with some very classy blogging type dames. Two in particular that I'd like to bring to your attention at the moment are Margaret from <b>Nanny Goats in Panties</b> and Anna from <b>Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder</b>. The reason I'd like to bring these fantabulous broads to your attention isn't because they're sidesplittingly hilarious (which they are) or because they're foxy as all get out (which, <b><i>obviously</i></b> - have you <i>seen</i> Anna's moustache?) but because these two are giving away animals on their blogs right now. For real - they've each partnered with Oxfam America to give away livestock (in <a href="http://www.nannygoatsinpanties.com/2010/12/goat-thing-of-the-day-twilight-goat-and-a-goat-giveaway.html">Margaret's case, a goat</a>, naturally, and in <a href="http://lifejustkeepsgettingweirder.blogspot.com/2010/12/sheep-its-whats-for-christmas.html">Anna's case, a sheep</a>) to people who need it most. Since I'm not nearly as cool, hilarious or foxy as Margaret or Anna, I'm not doing any such giveaway myself here on my little corner o' the blogosphere, but please, please, please stop by their blogs and participate in their giveaways (linked above) and support an organization as awesome as <a href="http://www.oxfamamericaunwrapped.com/home.php">Oxfam America</a>. Charitable giving, especially of the sheep or goat sort, is AWESOME.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">~ Another blogopshere goddess I adore is Aunt Becky of <a href="http://www.mommywantsvodka.com/">Mommy Wants Vodka</a> fame. The reason I am listing Aunt Becky now isn't for her full-of-the-awesome MWV blog, but for another blog she founded and runs that is <i>super-duper</i>-full-of-the-awesome. This blog is called <a href="http://www.bandbacktogether.com/">Band Back Together</a>, and in Aunt Becky's words, </span><br />
<blockquote><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Sometimes, you’re alone in the dark. You stumble around, breaking things, smashing your legs and arms into furniture and walls and crying because just minutes before you could see perfectly <i>dammit!</i> But there you are, alone in the dark.</span></div></blockquote><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<blockquote><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Soon, though, your eyes adjust, and you begin to see vague outlines. Shapes emerge in the darkness, looming up around you. Everything is closing in around you. The walls have teeth. The darkness is omnipresent and it is terrifying.</span></div></blockquote><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<blockquote><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just then, as you feel the darkness overtaking you, a light is flipped on and you are bathed in it. You can feel the light all around you and it is warm and it is good. Your skin warms as you feel the darkness slipping away, inch by inch. Yes, there will always be a piece of that darkness inside you. You cannot go through hell without absorbing some darkness.</span></div></blockquote><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<blockquote><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But the light will sustain you and carry you through."</span></div></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">Band Back Together is a place to be that light, give that light, soak up that light. It is open for anyone to share their story or to lend an ear, shoulder or words of support to someone else. I strongly urge you to check it out, because it is AWESOME.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><u><b>Food that is Awesome: </b></u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">~ December is the time of year when Perry's Ice Cream puts out their limited edition flavor, Peppermint Stick. Peppermint Stick ice cream, drizzled with a generous amount of chocolate syrup, is heaven in a bowl. I've tried other peppermint ice creams and none can compare to Perry's. I even have been known to pay full price for a carton of <a href="http://www.perrysicecream.com/icecream/premium/product.php?id=83">Perry's Peppermint Stick</a>, and full price Perry's is ridonkulously expensive. That is how awesome it is. (And the fact that, per their website, Perry's Ice Cream is </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">supporting The Make-A-Wish® Season of Wishes™ campaign by donating a portion of the proceeds from each package sold of popular Limited Edition Peppermint Stick ice cream to fund a child’s wish just makes it <i>that much more</i> awesome and makes paying the ridonkulously pricey price a little easier to swallow. Especially when drizzled with a generous amount of chocolate sauce....) </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe3LWodJoPkcH7z63OGgGTKJqL1x5mzG3G9QPbZwcEmoVed40yNfUM_F37pNuHiIju9U6FMddzZJAgTKSKWu2_uQh6PC2I4qUgM-MFRORoa-LP6ik_oGf4PPFZD_fwlWRpoI4wJaYz34De/s1600/peppermint_stick_make-a-wish_8-26-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe3LWodJoPkcH7z63OGgGTKJqL1x5mzG3G9QPbZwcEmoVed40yNfUM_F37pNuHiIju9U6FMddzZJAgTKSKWu2_uQh6PC2I4qUgM-MFRORoa-LP6ik_oGf4PPFZD_fwlWRpoI4wJaYz34De/s1600/peppermint_stick_make-a-wish_8-26-10.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">~ A month or two ago, a Boy Scout rang my doorbell with his popcorn sales materials in hand. Now, I am a fool for popcorn and a sucker for kids, so I said I'd buy something and scanned the offerings. Well, my eyebrows kept creeping higher and higher up my forehead as I perused the items for sale - I am used to the Girl Scout cookies at a (relatively) measly $3.50 a box, and MAN everything on the Boy Scouts' sheet was a LOT pricier! I finally found the cheapest thing on there, ordered it and forked over the $10. (Hey, don't judge - that'd be almost THREE boxes of Thin Mints, y'all.) I then found myself the proud owner of one three pound bag of popcorn kernels. </span>I usually spend a dollar and change for a bag o' kernels. This was more than three times that.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Now, I love popcorn. I mean, <i><b>love</b></i> popcorn. Popcorn is to snacks what December is to months for getting mail. I bust out my air popper and make up a nice salty, buttery batch of freshly popped corn deliciousness several times a week. So, I knew I'd use this popcorn eventually. I will admit, though, that I was bitter. Resentful of this popcorn. <i><b>"</b></i><u><i><b>Gourmet</b></i></u> popcorn?" I sneered to myself, the bag and to Hubby. "How flipping <u><i><b>gourmet</b></i></u> can a bunch of corn kernels be, for Pete's sake?" I refused to open up the new bag until I'd used up the bag I'd already had, and then the day came.</span> Grudgingly, I got the bag out of the cabinet and opened it up, pouring the kernels into my popper.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I didn't want it to be good. I wanted to be able to scoff at and mock the overpriced popcorn, even if it meant calling myself out for the sucker that I was for buying it in the first place. I eyeballed my popper skeptically as it began to heat the kernels up. They began to rise up through the chamber of the popper and tumble fragrantly out into the bowl. They looked..... fluffy. Large. <i><b>Fancy</b></i>. Still dubious, I buttered and salted the bowl as usual and took a bite.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It. Was. AWESOME. Dagnabit.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hubby asked me, a few days and bowls later, whether the fancy popcorn was in fact <i>all that and a bag of chips</i> (or whatever the hip-n-groovy youngsters are saying instead these days. The whippersnappers! Also: Hubby did not actually use the phrase <i>all that and a bag of chips</i>. That is merely my paraphrasing of his question. Hubby would not want me putting such, <i>ahem</i>, <u>hip-n-groovy</u> words in his mouth). I had to confess that YES, in fact this was the BEST popcorn I'd ever popped.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You can, therefore, imagine my great chagrin a few weeks later, when I wandered upstairs on a Saturday afternoon to take a little snooze while Hubby and Kiddo curled up on the couch to watch one of the Star Wars movies. (Yes, Hubby has created a pint sized Star Wars buff in his own image - Kiddo loves Star Wars. LOVES loves Star Wars. Kiddo wants to be addressed only as Teebo the Ewok now. The other day, she unironically quoted Yoda to me at the breakfast table. But I digress...) Well, I woke up a few hours later and came back downstairs to see the remnants of a popcorn snack in the sink. Hubby passed through the kitchen moments later and broke the news: he and Kiddo had finished off the Boy Scout Popcorn. That? SO NOT AWESOME. I was sad and resentful of my lot, stuck as I was now with the pitiful, lame, unfluffy, small, unfancy popcorn. I figured I'd reacclimate eventually to my usual popcorn, but I didn't, not for weeks now. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fortunately, Kiddo's grandmother had the <i>same exact</i> situation at her house, as it turns out. A neighborhood Boy Scout rang her bell and she, being an equal sucker for kids, bought the cheapest thing she could find on his sheet..... the popcorn kernels! Better yet, Kiddo's grandparents don't eat popcorn! They don't even own a popper! So it was with great glee that I received their 3lb bag of awesome popcorn from them the other day and carried it home singing hosannas in four part harmony (no mean feat when there's just one of me, but I was <i>that</i> happy). I was briefly tempted to parcel out the popcorn, to make it last, but I just can't do it. No, I will enjoy bowlful after bowlful and then one day, a howl of misery shall ring out across the frozen, snowy tundra that is western, upstate New York for I will have finished off this second 3lb bag, too.</span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xh-jgT76BaBCRM0MvY2K6kt_IGYOG0McZ9EL62Cm3vI4ATWJIld4tabb8o8pxKCFyJvTMduc6WpJ3hFmq-e24hi-LV4Sfp0XnGSTLOI3OBZFEjkN5MxlpPYVPzTweupJaeXy_vgMOQY9/s1600/popcorn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xh-jgT76BaBCRM0MvY2K6kt_IGYOG0McZ9EL62Cm3vI4ATWJIld4tabb8o8pxKCFyJvTMduc6WpJ3hFmq-e24hi-LV4Sfp0XnGSTLOI3OBZFEjkN5MxlpPYVPzTweupJaeXy_vgMOQY9/s1600/popcorn.jpg" /> </a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">~ <a href="http://www.cheesyeddies.com/carrotcake.php">Cheesy Eddie's Carrot Cake</a>. Amazing morsels of delicious awesomeness that I hope to be cramming down my rapidly aging gullet come Tuesday, after blowing out enough candles to be visible from outer space.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Media Things That Are Awesome:</span></b></u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">(I will confess in this section that I am in fact a day or three late and at least a dollar fifty short when it comes to the Latest and Greatest happenings on Ye Olde Interwebz. Bear with me on that point, mmmkay?)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">~ This one is in honor of my friend Andy, aka The Creative Junkie. Andy shares a dream with me, you see. No, not the Anderson Cooper covered in Nutella dream, that's hers alone as (a) I don't think Anderson plays for the correct team for this scenario and (b) I'm not really a Nutella fan. No, she shares the dream with me of some day being involved in a flash mob. She's blogged about it more than once, most recently <a href="http://thecreativejunkie.com/2010/11/05/this-would-almost-make-up-for-paying-holyshityouvegottobekiddingme-when-flying-coach/">right here</a>.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, my dear Andy, this is for you: <a href="http://improveverywhere.com/missions/">Improv Everywhere</a>. Check out their missions - the musical in the grocery store or at the mall food court. The high fiving on the subway. The dude who got "lost" at the Knicks game. The Ghostbusters reenactment at the NY Public Library. I have never wanted to live in NYC more than I do now, so that I could be an Agent in one of their missions. A flash mob of one singing in the bulk foods aisle of Wegmans just doesn't have the same......... cachet. Panache. Verve. Sense.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">~ Speaking of flash mobs, didja see the one Mitchell participated in on Modern Family? Because Modern Family is absolutely chock-full of AWESOME. It is as hilarious as it is full of heart. If you haven't watched Modern Family, or even if you have, <a href="http://www.hulu.com/modern-family?fromsearch=google&gclid=CO2Vqpa846UCFRVx5QodJHRAYQ">take yourself over here to Hulu</a> and watch the awesomeness. Just make sure you have a comfy chair because you won't want to get up until you've watched every last minute of every episode! </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">~ Since we can't spend our entire lives with our eyes glued to a screen, I'm also calling "AWESOME" on Pandora radio, specifically the holiday stations. I made my own holiday station by plugging in my favorite artists and have thus been spared having to hear the utter dreck known as The Christmas Shoes or the insidious earworm of Feliz Navidad ever again. Well, at least when my iPod is in range of the wifi. It has made for a very happy aural holiday season this year.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, that concludes The Awesome List right now. If I think of any more Things that are Awesome, I may do a Part Deux. In the meantime, anyone care to chime in with something Awesome from your world? How about holiday cards - love 'em, hate 'em, never send 'em, always send 'em? Ever seen a flash mob live? Ever been in one? </span></div></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-8574059863841921632010-11-25T12:25:00.002-05:002011-04-29T13:42:06.546-04:00Gobble, gobble!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_doxI-ShAAk35oQX4Vue_uLSz6JEX8boaMG2lVVfc17P2Rz4x1SkrzHMIt5DVZKgLOeeAHHOlLEWbIwnHSEbRrcnT5jf3jn0G0KDG_NvGK579smaQ3IlBCwgIVQujz2yrsGe8uYflR879/s1600/turkeypic20102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_doxI-ShAAk35oQX4Vue_uLSz6JEX8boaMG2lVVfc17P2Rz4x1SkrzHMIt5DVZKgLOeeAHHOlLEWbIwnHSEbRrcnT5jf3jn0G0KDG_NvGK579smaQ3IlBCwgIVQujz2yrsGe8uYflR879/s400/turkeypic20102.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">(Above is this year's Kiddo and the Turkey photo. You can check out previous years' editions <a href="http://nobody-but-yourself.blogspot.com/2009/11/happy-thanksgiving.html">here</a>.)</div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We were supposed to have my sister, brother-in-law and nephews with us for Thanksgiving this year. They were supposed to come up last year, too, but illness prevented them from making the trip (it was the dreaded swine flu, which had felled our house over Halloween). This year, my sister and I kept careful watch on the kids, and no one was appearing germy, so we thought we were good to go. A decently sized turkey and inordinate amounts of potatoes and broccoli were purchased and stored. Fixings for pies were gathered. The guest bed was unearthed from beneath the piles of clothes I'd been sorting upon it, beds were made up, the house was cleaned. On the other end, my sister was packing up clothes and dog gear, making sandwiches and loading the cooler. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">You know where this is going, right? Yep. Late Tuesday afternoon, less than 18 hours before they were planning to leave, one of my nephews got sick. Not just a little sick, either, but majorly sick. Once again, the Thanksgiving trip had to be canceled. Many tears were shed by the cousins here and in Jersey, and much disappointment and sadness felt by the grown-ups, too, but what can you do? A sick kid is a sick kid and we all know you can't travel 6-8 hours with a really sick kid. At least we will see them in a month at Christmas...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">In a "making lemons out of lemonade" - or, more accurately, a "uh-oh, how are we going to eat a 16 pound bird plus four pounds of potatoes, stuffing and broccoli apiece" moment - I called up some friends who were neither traveling or cooking Thanksgiving this year and invited them to join us. Happily, they agreed to spend their holiday with us here at Chez Smith, so I will not need to see if it is, in fact, physically possible to burst the drawstring on my yoga pants by sheer carbohydrate ingestion. (Oh, and did I mention the pies? I made two - apple and pecan. Even did the apple pie's crust from scratch. Go me!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So, we will have a table full of friends and food in just a few short hours. Wherever and however you plan to spend the day, I hope it is likewise full of family, friends, food and fun. Also, if you have a pair of Thanksgiving pants, I am majorly jealous.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Gobble, gobble!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-70285122060020562412010-11-10T20:07:00.000-05:002010-11-10T20:07:01.151-05:00A truly remarkable woman<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Earlier this evening, a dear friend of mine, with whom I worked years ago, sent me a link to a newspaper article about a woman who had just passed away. She sent me this link because we knew this woman back when we worked together at Syracuse University. This woman, Kathy Urschel, was a graduate student at SU then, and worked in our office for a while as a graduate assistant. At the time (this was the early 90s), Kathy and I became friends. We'd have lunch together when schedules permitted and we'd certainly chat (I've always been a talker - and so was Kathy!) a lot whenever she was in the office as well. She was a hoot, funny and quick-witted and had a keen sense of observation that could leave me rolling in laughter in an instant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Eventually, I left Syracuse, got married, moved around and lost touch with Kathy somewhere along the way. I still thought of her from time to time over the past 16 years, and at one point (still in the early days of the internet and email) exchanged letters with her to reconnect and catch up. Even with the passing of time since we last were in touch, I was greatly, greatly saddened to read <a href="http://www.syracuse.com/poliquin/index.ssf/2010/11/the_truth_of_the_matter_is_tha.html">this beautifully written article</a> about my former friend when it arrived in my inbox tonight. You see, Kathy Urschel was, simply put, one of the most amazing people I've ever known. I found the following video clip that sums up her story, in her own words, better than I ever could:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The last time I saw Kathy was the summer before my wedding. We had lunch together, picking up sandwiches from the place next door to my office and eating them on a bench on SU's main quad. We basked in the sunshine of that midsummer day. We talked about wedding plans and she asked me all about my newly chosen wedding dress. It was the week before I was leaving Syracuse, and we promised each other we'd keep in touch. Tonight, I'm left wishing I had taken the time to track her down and catch up again, now that it is too late. Just a few months ago, I was telling my daughter about her and the thought crossed my mind to Google her and try to track her down. I added it to my mental list of things to do and never got around to it. Please, if you have a few minutes, read about Kathy's life and accomplishments. She was such a remarkable human being, and I'm proud to say that she once was my friend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Rest in peace, Kath. </span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795047404768489836.post-67192745307256810872010-11-08T21:48:00.000-05:002010-11-08T21:48:56.411-05:00A little spy FYI<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Earlier today, I came across the following piece of paper, tucked amongst a pile of books and magazines on the family room coffee table:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrmxsJmRB_oyxQ5ZY5ssDbWjzovWl6WeU__74jIwkXgEAtaPd9VlhVlQ3e0z8brAkjzkLXYXH9Hi3JatGsM4gVEwCzSzNjOqu4vHFnUZqCFAvtGn22bwuxd3xFx5jxA-Q1nb1udoKa72r/s1600/spy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrmxsJmRB_oyxQ5ZY5ssDbWjzovWl6WeU__74jIwkXgEAtaPd9VlhVlQ3e0z8brAkjzkLXYXH9Hi3JatGsM4gVEwCzSzNjOqu4vHFnUZqCFAvtGn22bwuxd3xFx5jxA-Q1nb1udoKa72r/s320/spy.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Now you know that if you happen upon a person wearing funny glasses, fake paper mustaches and old costumes, they just <i>might</i> be a <i><b>spy in disguise</b></i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">You're welcome.</span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04027001537835285847noreply@blogger.com3