tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66763029228028622492023-11-16T07:04:15.695-08:002 Queens and a KingMy alternative to FacebookUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-52733939810058738412016-06-04T17:37:00.003-07:002016-06-04T17:37:37.839-07:00You Better Treat Them RightDear (insert name here. I like to call her Tassels.)<br />
<br />
I found out tonight that you have talked to my children on the phone. And you have video chatted with them. And that there are what seem to be secret plans to meet you this summer.<br />
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But you know what? It's ok.<br />
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Well, it's not ok with me, but it needs to be ok with the children. My children.<br />
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They are fragile right now. They are looking to grasp onto anything positive that shows attention and affection. Please be gentle with this. Understand Lilli's sassyness mainly do to mood swings and do to her being my child. Abbi can be painfully shy, but she has such a soft spirit to share. Austin will be the hardest on you. He is a momma's boy through and through. Allow him that space and distance. And just accept it as him comes to you.<br />
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Please also remember they are mine. Do not speak ill of me in front of them. For as many times as I have wanted to blast out about how Daddy met you, I have bitten my tongue. Please respond with this in your behaviors.<br />
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I hate that he loves you. HATE it. I hate the prospect that my children will love you. HATE it. But, logically, that's just one more person in the world to love them. Just be cautious. Go slow. And be gentle. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-64348699792695340732016-05-01T20:43:00.000-07:002016-05-01T21:04:04.812-07:00There once was a princess....<div style="text-align: center;">
Me: There once was a princess named....</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lilli: Princess Lilli!</div>
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I don't know how many times we did this as I would make up bedtime stories for her. Would would snuggle in her bed and come up with journeys that Princess Lilli would take; visiting the stars, picking flowers for the Queen, pushing her brother, Prince Austin, in a puddle (Okay...that was more of a learning after the fact story.) I always knew how to make her smile, to pick her up when she fell down and tell her that the boo-boo would be better by the time she was married. I had it down pat.<br />
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Things (obviously) have not been awesome lately and it's been harder to get that smile back. Lots of tears, lots of door slamming, lots of my shaking my head and wondering if this was what I had to look forward to for the next 8 years or so. <br />
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This was his weekend with the kids and since I had to "call-in" on Friday night because of the swelling in my foot and someone refusing to bring them to me....and Lilli was distressed that we weren't going to see each other for 4 days. And, as I posted on my Facebook page earlier, she WANTED to go to church. What?!?!?!<br />
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I picked her up and she was grinning ear to ear as she stood in the garage waiting for me to pull up. It was just her. No sister. No brother.<br />
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Just her.<br />
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Confession: Lilli, Abbi, and I have been going to South Park Church in Park Ridge. The kids are very engaged and involved with their youth program called Echo. I wish I could watch the kids; Lilli has never been so excited about going to church before.<br />
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So, she went to the Children's Service and I went to the Main Service. And when I went to pick her up, she was chatting and giggling with the other girls in her group and my heart was happy....<br />
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I needed to go to get some groceries, texted him and got "permission to use some of his weekend time". We drove through and got some breakfast and headed to Aldi. She danced across the parking lot with a quarter and grinned as she was able to get the cart without having anyone pulling at her that they wanted to do it. We shopped; my job was to just use the cart as my cane and she would get everything for the cart.<br />
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And she was still smiling. Big, happy, ear to ear smiles. And was giddy beyond belief. She hopped around like a bunny (literally) and pretended that she was walking into the doors of the refrigerator. She used a box that I picked out to hold our food as a "helmet". Seriously, I couldn't stop laughing and smiling. Like I haven't done in forever.<br />
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My Lilli, who I used to make smile and laugh, was making me do the same. After weeks of being stuck on my couch and overthinking my whole life and existence, this was what I was missing to get my head straight. A few hours of me and my first born was all I needed to center and remind myself why I should get out of bed every day.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"We had a great day<br />
It was a super way<br />
To spend some time together"</i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-12761637462456581402016-04-28T18:54:00.001-07:002016-04-28T18:54:27.973-07:00When it smacks you in the foreheadConversation with my therapist:<br />
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Me: I know that I use the excuse of "This is how I was raised" or "This is what I have always done." When does that excuse stop?<br />
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CMW: The day that you walked into my office.<br />
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(<i>OK, that's not <u>exactly</u> what she said, but it's the general idea.</i>)<br />
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Basically, she said that you can only claim ignorance through your first trauma. Mine happened my freshman year of college. From that point, she said, I began learning skills throught therapy on how to cope with feeling and how to deal with my anxiety. That's not to say that I don't still struggle with putting those skills into place, but I at least know them and can identify when they are to be used.<br />
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For 18 months I have used the "I can't" excuse with CMW. I can't talk about this. I can't handle talking about that. I can't go there anymore. And much like the demise of my old blog, that stops here. <br />
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Shit just got real. <br />
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Time to crawl out of the shell that I have built around me and look into the sunlight....<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-85144558753767302432016-04-27T06:11:00.004-07:002016-04-27T06:12:10.752-07:00506 Days506 days ago I stopped writing this blog. It's right about the time that I found out about how my life was going to change. And I switched from writing a positive blog filled with fun stories and pictures to a rather negative, but real, blog sharing the crumbling of a sacrament that I held dear to my heart.<br />
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That's over.<br />
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That doesn't mean it's all good. Far from it. But I am realizing (or my therapist is telling me) that I should begin looking at the present more versus that past that I can't change and the future that I can worry about when it happens...<br />
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So because I am willing to make that change (CMW :} ), I am re-opening this blog....and so excited!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYcH6zBRGBtQkxW6ldqpA7yvjNfmwE5qMF4rh34cCpqsDLczrFCl63mpUdpM9il21dnkMD-KeL7wPTFj5cSj2CU3_RBTaa5FvxFCFsYS2TbxxSAydU1uO2jBSMM9GsqBZ2Sjv_tbqx5-Z/s1600/Moving+On.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYcH6zBRGBtQkxW6ldqpA7yvjNfmwE5qMF4rh34cCpqsDLczrFCl63mpUdpM9il21dnkMD-KeL7wPTFj5cSj2CU3_RBTaa5FvxFCFsYS2TbxxSAydU1uO2jBSMM9GsqBZ2Sjv_tbqx5-Z/s320/Moving+On.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-90437095024962685522014-12-07T09:26:00.001-08:002014-12-08T07:30:18.591-08:00For the love of pancakes...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My kids love pancakes. Love them. I mean, WORSHIP them. If I would let Abbi, she could eat them at every meal. THEY LOVE PANCAKES.<br />
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And every once in awhile I try and do things to spice up the routine. Blueberries and Strawberries are always a hit. Chocolate Chip cakes will be eaten before I can even sit down. A trip to IHOP is like a trip to Meccah for them.<br />
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This week I saw a video on Facebook about how you can make cute pancakes for the holidays using metal cookie cutters. I should have scrolled past it; I should have ignored it. But I was <span data-dobid="hdw">intrigued. I thought, "Hey maybe we could start a new Christmas Morning tradition of adorable little pancakes instead of Cinnamon Rolls."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi154CzIDYvChzTkoHvEBGY-IKIF2r9pbuBtJdXSQO1Qz1AsgPKfLzNIZ2lAmKTwfbth9PiYfSmxNNrDuGa2UIXrt7lH4QLlc32-V8gCF6iIhGf3lAxqW7WrEfy8jz2sK_aYPxaeSnK7e1r/s1600/web+cookie+cutter+pancakes+with+powdered+sugar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi154CzIDYvChzTkoHvEBGY-IKIF2r9pbuBtJdXSQO1Qz1AsgPKfLzNIZ2lAmKTwfbth9PiYfSmxNNrDuGa2UIXrt7lH4QLlc32-V8gCF6iIhGf3lAxqW7WrEfy8jz2sK_aYPxaeSnK7e1r/s1600/web+cookie+cutter+pancakes+with+powdered+sugar.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span data-dobid="hdw">(Nope, these are not mine. Now, read on.)</span></i></div>
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<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span></div>
<span data-dobid="hdw">So here's what happened, complete with pictures.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">The directions (I wish I could find the original video) said to dip the clean metal cookie cutters in a small bowl of oil. </span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">Check.</span><br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">Then you place the cookie cutter on the griddle.</span><br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">Check.</span><br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">Then lovingly pour batter into the molds and let them cook until they bubble.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggpXcLwuafXCNr-EtNqrOBEcvQlldDh8UOB8X9zrQIUtTykmfmcnSvur724OWFRuJ0_4isQi989yz544AQd78_L6qNY7I4MaY-FRhvtCNSHC_E6FUjrXA9JlKZtPF1MyQNm1mKm9vyLIL8/s1600/Pancake+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggpXcLwuafXCNr-EtNqrOBEcvQlldDh8UOB8X9zrQIUtTykmfmcnSvur724OWFRuJ0_4isQi989yz544AQd78_L6qNY7I4MaY-FRhvtCNSHC_E6FUjrXA9JlKZtPF1MyQNm1mKm9vyLIL8/s1600/Pancake+1.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-dobid="hdw">Check.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">When you are ready to flip the pancakes, simply use a pair of pliers to lift the mold from the griddle, as the metal will be hot, and flip the cake as you normal would.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">Hold Up.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">The mention of using pliers should have been my clue that this was not going to go down like I wanted it to.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">Here is attempt one, with using the oil dipped cutters as instructed. (I really wish I could find that damn video).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT7YCZFe_UZbctJezIprkOQ1TKxVyvTzsyWzKqmHdpIv_Kc_aMdJ_CY4y1BWxYzHfk80PtLke4rlQs65iM8PJODVmcPj5WC4-w9JNx3c3BZIVxVIcNUxqrotyF9fpZXGm5-U0k4Q-ia-h/s1600/old+fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo-kTQMMgps49MRFRGXQ_9w55jeZGa29RAKDliIBg0KepijlnPNaW2PkaB4Ux4Tm-0N73_-viknCihrK8C9Y3Q9IrIHcrQxgs0wp9-XGiXfqJj4Cms-BfT1QZKy1wjRKTsQ_zfJYKnR6u/s1600/gingerbread+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo-kTQMMgps49MRFRGXQ_9w55jeZGa29RAKDliIBg0KepijlnPNaW2PkaB4Ux4Tm-0N73_-viknCihrK8C9Y3Q9IrIHcrQxgs0wp9-XGiXfqJj4Cms-BfT1QZKy1wjRKTsQ_zfJYKnR6u/s1600/gingerbread+man.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">See the problem? If one can lift a Gingerbread Man up with the pliers and the cake remains in the cutter, this is obviously not working. What I was left with was a sad assortment of angels with missing wings and topless trees.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">Not to be a quitter, I thought for a minute and came up with a BRILLIANT idea. I have some Pillsbury cooking spray with flour in it so that your cakes don't stick to the pan. This will HAVE to work.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
<span data-dobid="hdw">Right?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6Czyff3bRF2rf_5pxYIaqP4CumXy_gWtiFccuT72YWxAn-t6oCqUXKAQ5M87TULeqfGRLZ2qaSd9Ri6ucnbaeH2kKKIxBTWxwJx5hskvTZCs64DzpN8Bh2p7y2dtqmYtY7n4zZbSgz1q/s1600/Pam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6Czyff3bRF2rf_5pxYIaqP4CumXy_gWtiFccuT72YWxAn-t6oCqUXKAQ5M87TULeqfGRLZ2qaSd9Ri6ucnbaeH2kKKIxBTWxwJx5hskvTZCs64DzpN8Bh2p7y2dtqmYtY7n4zZbSgz1q/s1600/Pam.jpg" height="300" width="400" /> </a></div>
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I know what you are thinking before you even say it. Genius, right? Smartest woman alive, right? I know, I thought that, too.</div>
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And speaking of "too", this, too, was a fail. While the cakes came out a little easier, I was still missing corners and key parts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0ohxMo1oVSwywrlzUfrAdFTzWs7RlOg-mn-mFQ4hp9PiqOAyJEDw4efq9xkmKitfCsmyXFpSLlPB4Iz4PoKmWiMacP1s0aZBzi24j-JHOy2V6acPIE2kZowqAbCro7YQ1c5kWHSbm33i/s1600/good+ones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0ohxMo1oVSwywrlzUfrAdFTzWs7RlOg-mn-mFQ4hp9PiqOAyJEDw4efq9xkmKitfCsmyXFpSLlPB4Iz4PoKmWiMacP1s0aZBzi24j-JHOy2V6acPIE2kZowqAbCro7YQ1c5kWHSbm33i/s1600/good+ones.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-dobid="hdw">With a big sigh, I decided to try one more idea. I know, you might think this one is Earth shattering, but it's practical and simple and what we should all do.</span><br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT7YCZFe_UZbctJezIprkOQ1TKxVyvTzsyWzKqmHdpIv_Kc_aMdJ_CY4y1BWxYzHfk80PtLke4rlQs65iM8PJODVmcPj5WC4-w9JNx3c3BZIVxVIcNUxqrotyF9fpZXGm5-U0k4Q-ia-h/s1600/old+fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT7YCZFe_UZbctJezIprkOQ1TKxVyvTzsyWzKqmHdpIv_Kc_aMdJ_CY4y1BWxYzHfk80PtLke4rlQs65iM8PJODVmcPj5WC4-w9JNx3c3BZIVxVIcNUxqrotyF9fpZXGm5-U0k4Q-ia-h/s1600/old+fashion.jpg" height="300" width="400" /> </a></div>
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That's right. I made the d@#n pancakes the good old fashioned way.</div>
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You know what?</div>
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They ate them, all of them. And they didn't care what shape they were in because they wanted them buttered and then cut into a million small pieces and drowning in syrup.</div>
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I have (once again) learned my Pintrest lesson the hard way. Just because someone else's pancakes come out looking like they have been doing it all their lives doesn't mean that mine have to. </div>
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Which reminds me, I need to start on those Pintrest "Reindeer Pastry Bags with Hot Chocolate Mix"...... .because I am a glutton for punishment.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFLX_T4TNZXBecGerCAyYO6W2xrgxZPKtKEmhzDDjVrb9Ky0JE68Zd3TVqVeaQ305JNcVgvtE3h6bAeH2QpiVOC-1frlu0k5izWwDq7iRYtie-oWWv5pJ033OURvbflAFVus9oXytjhyC/s1600/reindeer_hot_cocoa_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFLX_T4TNZXBecGerCAyYO6W2xrgxZPKtKEmhzDDjVrb9Ky0JE68Zd3TVqVeaQ305JNcVgvtE3h6bAeH2QpiVOC-1frlu0k5izWwDq7iRYtie-oWWv5pJ033OURvbflAFVus9oXytjhyC/s1600/reindeer_hot_cocoa_1.png" height="320" width="252" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.somewhatsimple.com/wp-content/uploads/2000/01/reindeer_hot_cocoa_1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-46522110261611458112014-11-14T11:25:00.000-08:002014-11-14T11:25:42.258-08:00To hear the angels singEvery year at Christmas Eve dinner, my mother-in-law read us a poem. I think the tradition started the year after my father-in-law's mother died, but it seems to me in the 11 years that I have known them that it was always just a part of grace. <br />
<br />
The poem (see below for full text) is about how we should not be sad for loved ones that we have lost because they are getting to spend Christmas in heaven and how joyful that must be to celebrate such a holiday in such a special place. Some years it's more difficult to listen to it depending on what loved one comes to mind as it is read, other years I enjoy hearing and imaging it.<br />
<br />
Which brings us to the true reason that I felt I needed to blog, which I haven't done in months.<br />
<br />
Christmas songs are playing on the radio. Snow is falling gently through the air today, not sticking, but giving us a beautiful preview of what is about it come. The air is cold, but it's not bitter cold and there is little to no wind. It's a lovely pre-Chicago-winters-suck day.<br />
<br />
Bing Crosby began crooning "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" and I felt choked up. I noticed this with surprise; it was a song that I had heard a million times, and then slowly felt the trickle of a hot tear slip down my face. My mind was immediately filled with memories of Christmas' past, times that I long for now. Particularly, Christmases with my Grandma Szwedo.<br />
<br />
Grandma Szwedo is my Mom's mom and was one of the best ladies I have ever known. The Best. She was quiet when she needed to be, spoke her mind when she needed to, and always had arms open for hugs. She made some AWESOME pierogi, something that we would all race to get on holidays. She was a knitter, and made all of us blankets (which I still have in my closet). She and my Grandpa Szwedo lived in a smaller house in the city, and some holidays seemed a little more cramped than others, but that house was always filled with warmth and comfort. There were 8 grandchildren in total, but she loved the heck out of all of us and always made us feel special. Some days I can still see her if I think hard, her permed dark hair, her glasses, her smiles. And it makes me miss her to pieces.<br />
<br />
My Grandma loved holidays and tradition. Easter consisted of a blessing of the baskets on Saturday afternoon followed by lunch, and a big meal on Easter Sunday. Christmas Eve was ALWAYS spent at Grandma's house, snuggled in against a mound of waiting presents and always a squabble about who got to sit at the "adult table" that year. There was laughter and food and lots of talking and food and sharing of times past and food. The fear of asking if it was time to open presents, and knowing that the response would always be "Now you've added 10 minutes on the waiting time", never stopped at least one of us from begging. And while the chaos of opening presents proceeded, Grandma would pull up a dining room chair, sit in the back of the room, and smile upon her family and our happiness.<br />
<br />
My Grandma passed away in August of 2004 while she was on a trip to Disney with my parents and younger siblings. It was quick. It was unexpected. It was devastating. It left our family reeling from shock and sadness. There are still some days that I feel that; I feel that pain and sadness and confusion over how she could really be gone.<br />
<br />
I wonder what it would be like if she was still here. I wonder what she would have said when I had each of my children and what it would have been like to see her hold them for the first time. I wonder what type of blankets she would have made. I wonder how and if my family would be different today if she was still aroundI wonder if she would approve of what I have become; if she would be proud. <br />
<br />
I wish that I could see her one more time, a cliche phrase that I know most people say about a loved one. But I really do. I feel cheated with her sudden death, that we weren't able to say good-bye. I wish I could give her one more hug, see her smile one more time, hear her tell me "I love you" once more.<br />
<br />
I feel a slight bit of peace in knowing that she is in a place far better from this world. She is with her husband and her son and countless other friends and family. I can only imagine what Christmas is like in heaven, and even though I selfishly wish she was hear, I rejoice in thinking that she is celebrating with Jesus.<br />
<br />
<center>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">I'm Spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this Year</span></h2>
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
I see the countless Christmas trees,<br />
Around the world below.<br />
With tiny lights, like heaven's stars,<br />
Reflecting on the snow.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
The sight is so spectacular,<br />
Please wipe away that tear.<br />
For I'm spending Christmas,<br />
With Jesus Christ this year.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
I hear the many Christmas songs,<br />
That people hold so dear.<br />
But the sounds of music can't compare,<br />
With the Christmas choir up here.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
For I have no words to tell you,<br />
The joy their voices bring.<br />
For it is beyond description,<br />
To hear the angels sing.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
I can't tell you of the splendor,<br />
Or the peace here in this place.<br />
Can you just imagine Christmas,<br />
With our Savior, face to face?</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
I'll ask Him to light your spirit,<br />
As I tell Him of your love.<br />
So then pray one for another,<br />
As I lift you eyes above.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
Please let your hearts be joyful,<br />
And let your spirit sing.<br />
For I'm Spending Christmas in Heaven,<br />
And I'm walking with the King.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: harrington,Tempus Sans ITC,BlackChancery;">
~Wanda Bencke ~
</span></b>
</center>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-58831191323500266822014-09-10T08:28:00.001-07:002014-09-10T08:28:20.669-07:00How to remememberIt's a dreary, rainy, stay-in-bed-under-the-covers kind of morning, and I was slow to move from my pillow. Glancing at the clock and seeing it was already 7:10 was motivation enough to spring from my nest and dash into the hallway, turning on lights and wondering if I would have time to shower before I dropped the kids off at school. Thankfully, Lilli had been awake for awhile and not only had herself dressed, but was in the process of dressing her siblings. Into the kitchen I went to make a quick breakfast or waffles and pancakes, still hoping to get that shower in before 7:40. Austin fed, his sisters were packing backpacks and sorting umbrellas when Lilli said to me.<br />
<br />
"We get to wear red, white, and blue tomorrow!" I smiled and remembered the joys of "Jeans and Hats" day from my Catholic school upbringing. A day not in uniform was like a little blessing.<br />
<br />
"That's great," I responded. "We will have to find your 4th of July shirts tonight."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, we get to wear them because two men jumped off a building in New York."<br />
<br />
I froze and looked at her. Abbi's head slowly peeked around Lilli's, her eyes as wide as saucers. A moment of panic. What do I say?<br />
<br />
"Well, Lills, that's not exactly how it happened." I continued to butter Abbi's pancakes, fresh from the microwave. "Two men flew planes into those building in New York and it was scarey and a lot of people got hurt."<br />
<br />
The looks on their faces clearly showed that they had no concept of what I was saying. I frantically tried to think of a different way to say it.<br />
<br />
Deep Breath.<br />
<br />
"Some men made a very bad choice to fly planes into the buildings, and lot of people were killed. They also flew a plane into the Pentagon which is a building in Washington, D.C., and there was a fourth plane where some very brave people were able to crash it into the ground so no one else would be hurt. It's called 9/11. It happened when Mommy had just gotten out of college and I remember it as one of the saddest days of my life."<br />
<br />
The silence in the room was unbelievable. With the exception of sleeping, I have never heard those two so quiet. And still in their tracks. I pressed on.<br />
<br />
"We remember 9/11 each year so that we don't forget all the people who were so brave and worked so hard to help people who were hurt. It's a very sad day for a lot of people." I felt a hitch in my voice.<br />
<br />
"But they caught him, right? The bad guy? They caught him in the ground?" Lilli asked, almost like she was looking for reassurance.<br />
<br />
"Yes, they caught the man who everyone said planned what happened."<br />
<br />
And that was that. Abbi took her pancakes and sat down and Lilli asked for toast.<br />
<br />
7:24AM<br />
<br />
I knew that I would have enough time to shower if I hurried. I let the hot water fill the bathroom with steam, and was thankful for the jolt it gave me as I stepped under the shower head. I felt pain well up in my chest and a few tears slipped out. <br />
<br />
I thought about that day, driving to Naperville from DeKalb when Barry Keefe on The Mix first said that there was a plane that had crashed into the antenna of the Tower 1. By the time I got to work, two planes had crashed into the buildings and it only got worse from there. At the time, I was working at a Special Education School, so I couldn't just sit and watch TV, and was anxious to hear more news as I drove home from work. It was a dream, a nightmare, as I am sure it was for many. Something that it seen in other countries, but not our own.<br />
<br />
The one memory that stands out the most happened the next day. Again, on my daily commute, I began looking at the people in the cars around me. Most were very solemn, as if driving in a funeral procession. There were no heads bopping to music and no singing like no one was watching. And then I pulled up next to this blue four door something or other with an elderly gentleman driving. And he was sobbing. Not just tears dripping from his face, but should-shaking sobbing.<br />
<br />
I am not sure if what I said to my kids today was right or wrong, it just was. My guess is they will have many questions about it later, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a few months. Or maybe they won't. Maybe tomorrow will be just another day that they don't wear plaid and they will compare who has the cutest jeans. But I will remember tomorrow for them, until they are old enough to fully understand and remember on their own.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-72761107578545866832014-08-12T10:41:00.000-07:002014-08-12T10:41:05.370-07:00Oh Captain, my captainI am wrestling with this topic, and whether or not I should say something as part of me feels that it has been overtalked about on Facebook and that people are ready to move on with the subject. But then part of me feels like it needs to be talked about; that we need to have more conversations about the trauma that is caused by depression.<br />
<br />
I have been there. I know what it feels like to feel that your world is crumbling around you and that you have no one or no where to turn. I know what it feels like to think that you are causing so much pain and discomfort to those around you that it would be better off if you were not around. I know what it feels like to want to commit suicide. And it's not a nice place.<br />
<br />
Have you seen "What Dreams May Come"? Remember when Chris finds Annie in the after-life and she is dark, grey, and unfeeling? That's what depression is. You don't want anyone to touch you, there seems to be no way that anyone can comfort you, you would rather sit in one place and rot then have to move. You don't want to take your medication as it seems useless, and you are afraid to reach out because it could mean having to go to the hospital and being locked away.<br />
<br />
There is hope, there is the possibility of healing and moving on. The POSSIBILITY. It doesn't happen for everyone, some people will struggle for years to pull themselves out. Some people are able to pull themselves up in a short period of time, only to down cycle over and over again.<br />
<br />We are not here to judge; we are here to show compassion and understanding and that we have an open mind. We are hear to be willing to sit with someone, even if they cannot talk, just so that they know they are not alone. We are here to be there for someone.<br />
<br />
My e-mail has a signature, something I heard a long time ago, so long ago that I don't even remember when. "To the world you may be one, but to one you may be the world." Be that one, be that one person to one other person. Don't be afraid to ask your friends and family if they need help, if they need someone to lean on.<br />
<br />
Rest in Peace, Robin Williams. May the untimeliness of your death be a call to at least one person to seek help.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-35525990211282973172013-11-15T15:14:00.002-08:002013-11-15T15:14:57.115-08:00SmartThere are a lot of things that I am good at. I can knit; I can sew. I
can make a mean meatloaf. I can whine with the best of them. I can
read through course catalogs for colleges/universities and get a good
idea of all the policies and procedures the first time through. I can
down a pint of Ben and Jerry's in no time flat.<br />
<br />
But I have never done smart.<br />
<br />
Smart was not me, growing up. Smart was my older sister. She seemed to
effortlessly get A's and B's in school, and was always coming home on
this honor roll or that. Not so much for me. I didn't like to study. I
didn't really like school, to be totally honest. So, I didn't do
well. Not in high school, not my first time in college for my BSW.
Only by the skin of my teeth did I pass and graduate.<br />
<br />
Then I started working in University settings. First in Enrollment,
then Academic Advising. I started to appreciate "school". I understood
the learning process more. The more I understood it, the more I
appreciated. I decided that I should go back to school, to get my
Master's.<br />
<br />
I am sure that there were some who thought that I wouldn't pass. I am
sure there are some who thought I wouldn't make it all the way through.
I am pretty sure one of them was me. But I surprised myself; I did
more than "good", I did honors good. Graduated with a 3.78. Holy Cow!<br />
<br />
I was happy with my Master's; I thought it made me stand out on
applications and that I was going to go far. It did make me stand out,
but in the past 7 years since I got it, I haven't gone far. I wasn't
doing what I really wanted to do, which was to teach at the University
level and be a counselor in a practice. I wanted to have a greater
impact on the world. I wanted to work with adolescents and young adults
who were struggling and not making the best choices when it came to
coping. Because I have been there, and I know what the caring of one or
two people can do.<br />
<br />
But I thought I wasn't smart enough to do that. To do that would mean
to become a doctoral student, and I couldn't possibly do that. Right?<br />
<br />
With a lot of encouragement from about 5 people in my life, I decided to
give it a shot. I applied. I sent in transcripts, written statements,
letters of recommendation. I crossed my fingers and waited. I was
called in for Interview Day, a day where you would be interviewed by 2
professors and learn more about the program. I got a new dress, new
shoes, new jewelry. I wanted to "look" smart. <br />
<br />
My first interview, the Professor went on and on about how wonderful my
references were, how I had an impressive GPA, that my statement paper
was well written. I perked up. She made me sound smart. We talked. I
shared stories; she shared horror stories of her graduate work. Then
she did something that shocked me. She started talking about things she
and I could do, could work on, when I was a student. She talked like I
was already admitted. I was thrown for a loop. I was in shock, but I
was also euphoric. This lady, who I had never met before, thought I was
smart. Me. Smart. <br />
<br />
I didn't sleep last night, knowing that I would get a phone call today
saying if I was or was not admitted. I woke up at least every 45
minutes and would think about it for 20 before going back to sleep. I
was scared. What would it mean if I was rejected? What would it mean
if I was accepted? Torturous! <br />
<br />
Then today, as I was driving to work, my phone rang. I recognized the
number. It was the school. I was worried. My stomach did flip flops.<br />
<br />
"Hello?"<br />
<br />
"Hi, Megan. It's Dana from the Illinois School for Professional Psychology. How are you?"<br />
<br />
"Fine, how are you?"<br />
<br />
"Great! I wanted to call to congratulate you on your acceptance to the PsyD program...."<br />
<br />
Tears. Lots of tears. I had to pull the car over tears.<br />
<br />
They think I am smart. They think I can handle this work, that I have
what it takes. They think that I will make a good doctor.<br />
<br />
A Doctor.<br />
<br />
Dr. Mueller.<br />
<br />
Dr. Megan Mueller.<br />
<br />
Smart. <br />
<br />
I can do this. <br />
<br />
I can do smart.
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-57257744749918737172013-10-10T04:35:00.001-07:002013-10-10T04:35:48.311-07:00You have what?Today is World Mental Health Day. October 10th. Every year. And, with the exception of last year, it wouldn't have even been a blip on my radar. Another "World Something" day, I would have muttered as I looked at Facebook. There seems to be a day for everything. But after living with a mental health disorder for the past two years, well, I guess I view it a little different.<br />
<br />
I know some of you already know this, as I posted it once and very briefly on my Weight Loss blog...but for those who don't read that one, I have been diagnosed with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_depressive_disorder" target="_blank">Major Depressive Disorder</a> within the past two years. Severe and recurrent. I take medication. I see a therapist twice a week (LOVE HER). I have been hospitalized for it. More than once. I have had 12 sessions of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electroconvulsive_therapy" target="_blank">ECT</a>, which I would never do again and wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It's a daily struggle to do basic things: shower, eat, take care of the kids, take care of myself, work. I have good days, and I fully embrace them when they happen. I have bad days, when I crawl into my bed and don't move for hours on end and literally want to die. But I always pull through. I have learned that there are more good days than bad, and I just have to hang on or sleep the day away and it WILL get better.<br />
<br />
So, why share this? I think that mental health is still widely misunderstood. And stigmatized. I think that there are more people out there living with mental health issues than we are aware of because they are too afraid to ask for help or don't have the resources available to them to get help. Maybe it's you. Maybe you realize that you are having more off days than on, but don't know what to do or where to go. Or maybe you have a loved one who has a mental health issue and you don't know how to talk to them or what to say. Because there are probably a lot more of us out there than you think.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am not defined (totally) by my disorder. I am a Mom. I am a Wife. I am a Worker. I am a Brownie Leader. I am a Daughter, a Sister, an Aunt. I am an obsessive Starbucks Junkie. That's who I am. I just happen to also have this extra bit of "joy" in my life. One more hurtle to overcome in my journey. <br />
<br />
So go here... <a href="http://www.apa.org/" target="_blank">APA </a>or here...<a href="http://www.wfmh.org/00WorldMentalHealthDay.htm" target="_blank">WFMH</a> Read about it. Learn about it. Don't be afraid of it. Get educated. Ask questions. Ask me questions. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-87742985542534273362013-03-28T16:21:00.002-07:002013-03-28T16:21:12.855-07:00The FightThe book lay open on the floor. He lazed on his stomach, reading the lines and smirking with each quote. This was too much fun for him. He thought that he hadn't had this much fun since he was a cub on Christmas morning. Eagerly, he pawed at each page and enjoyed the poetry that flowed like a river. He looked over at where she was. Happiness filled his chest. She was just where he wanted, and he took pride in knowing that he was accomplishing his goal.<br />
<br />
"Death must be so beautiful," he read to her. "To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and to listen to the silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."<br />
<br />
She jerked on the bed, struggling against the prose. He had shackled her hands and feet tightly; she had limited movement. She was trying to fight against the sadness that he was pouring into her soul. Her attempts to block the words were futile, and she felt her spirit shriveling with each stanza.<br />
<br />
"I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life,” she spat back at him. She didn't need a book to recite the quotes. They were imprinted in her being, and she searched the quickly to find the ammunition that was much needed. He was king of his craft, however, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could go on.<br />
<br />
He snapped his head up. Anger boiled in his blood. How dare she try to combat his words! He quickly turned the pages is search of more poison. "I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.”<br />
<br />
Each word pierced her soul like a dagger. The tears flowed down her cheeks. She kept telling herself to fight, that she could not give in. She must continue to fight. The handcuffs dug into her flesh, but it was not the outside pain that she was worried about. Those scars could heal. She needed to protect what was left inside.<br />
<br />
"I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.” She breathed the words heavily, feeling like she was being choked with each syllable.<br />
<br />
He took a moment to look at her. So sad, he thought. She didn't have a chance and yet there she lay trying to fight against him. At least he had picked someone with spunk, he mused. If he had selected prey that would have just rolled over and died, well, that would have been no fun. He turned his attention back to the book, and searched for the next quote.<br />
<br />
"I have taken a pill to kill the thin papery feeling,” he roared.<br />
<br />
Her back arched, the words burning. Her defenses were weakening, she knew that she couldn't take much more. One more, she thought, I only have energy for one more. She would have prayed that it worked, except she didn't believe in the power of prayer any longer. It had been too long since any of her prayers had been answered that she found the act pointless. She lifted her head and looked the Lion right in his eyes.<br />
<br />
"I think I made you up inside my head.” She collapsed back on the bed. That was all she had. She couldn't speak; she could fight no more.<br />
<br />
He leaped from his spot and pounced on top of her. Straddling her frail being, he looked down at what was left. Just a shell, a wisp of where a woman used to be.<br />
<br />
"All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.” The words flowed from his tongue. Pride swelled in his chest. He took a final swipe at her body with his paw to make sure she was done. She made no movement. He retreated to his corner, curled into a ball, and rested his head on the ground. He had won. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-42178206941561160292012-07-01T02:43:00.000-07:002012-07-01T02:54:45.202-07:00I have a blog?I have a blog? Really? I have several, actually, and they have all been neglected. So, to ease myself back in, I want to share what I think is the quintessential song that <i>I</i> think should be in the 50 Shades of Grey ( yes, still obsessing) movie. Don't worry, I have a book club in about 2 weeks so hopefully I will get it out of my system....<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I believe that Counting Crows came out when I was in college, so this is circa 1997 maybe? Still good stuff....But, tell me you don't agree that this fits......Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-34123207991970277262012-06-03T02:58:00.002-07:002012-06-03T02:58:40.672-07:00Couch to 5K in 16 weeks? Sound good?Does this plan sound good?<br />
<br />
I know that many runner friends out there have used training plans...how does this sound? <br />
<br />
25/0 = walk/run<br />
<br />
And would it be ok to elliptical on my off days? I am shooting for 6 days of exercise with only one day a week off for weight loss purpose....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<table bgcolor="#ececff" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; empty-cells: show; height: 159px; width: 413px;"><tbody>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 412px;"><div align="center">
<strong>Phase I Walk/Run Month 1 <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Mostly Walking</span> <b></b>(Times in minutes per day<b></b>)</strong></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><strong>Week</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>M</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>T</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>W</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>TH</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>F</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>S</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>S</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>TOTAL</strong></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>1</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>25/0</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>30/0</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>30/0</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>85/0</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>2</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>27/3</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>27/3</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>27/3</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>81/9</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>3</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>24/6</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>24/6</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>24/6</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>72/18</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>4</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>27/3</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>24/6</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>24/6</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>75/15</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 412px;"><div align="right">
<strong>Grand total: 313/42 </strong></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<table bgcolor="#ececff" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; empty-cells: show; height: 159px; width: 413px;"><tbody>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 412px;"><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: -2px; margin-top: -2px;">
<strong>Phase - II Walk/Run Month 2 <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Mostly Walking</span> <b></b>(Times in minutes per day<b></b>)</strong></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>Week</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>M</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>T</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>W</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>TH</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>F</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>S</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>S</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>TOTAL</strong></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>1</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>21/9</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>21/9</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>21/9</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>63/27</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>2</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>18/12</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>18/12</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>18/12</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>54/36</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>3</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>15/15</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>15/15</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>15/15</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>45/45</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>4</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>18/12</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>15/15</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>15/15</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>48/42</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 412px;"><div align="right">
<strong>Grand Total: 210/150 </strong></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<table bgcolor="#ececff" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; empty-cells: show; height: 159px; width: 413px;"><tbody>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 412px;"><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: -2px; margin-top: -2px;">
<strong>Phase - III Walk/Run Month 3 <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Mostly Running</span> <b></b>(Times in minutes per day<b></b>)</strong></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>Week</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>M</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>T</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>W</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>TH</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>F</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>S</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>S</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>TOTAL</strong></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>1</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>12/18</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>12/18</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>12/18</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>36/54</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>2</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>9/21</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>9/21</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>9/21</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>27/63</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>3</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>6/24</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>6/24</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>6/24</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>18/72</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 49px;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>4</strong></span></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>9/21</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>6/24</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>6/24</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>21/69</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 412px;"><div align="right">
<strong>Grand Total: 102/258 </strong></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<table bgcolor="#ececff" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; empty-cells: show; height: 159px; width: 413px;"><tbody>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 412px;"><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: -2px; margin-top: -2px;">
<strong>Phase - IV Run Month 4 <span style="text-decoration: underline;">All Running </span> <b></b>(Times in minutes per day<b></b>)</strong></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Week</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">M</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">T</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">W</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">TH</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">F</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">S</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">S</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">TOTAL</span></strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">1</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>15</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>15</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>20</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>50</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">2</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>20</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>20</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>20</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>60</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 49px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">3</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>20</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>25</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>25</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 32px; width: 44px;"><strong>70</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 49px;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">4</span></strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>25</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 45px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>25</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>Off</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>30</strong></td><td align="center" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 44px;"><strong>80</strong></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="9" style="font-size: 9pt; height: 31px; width: 412px;"><div align="right">
<strong>Grand Total: 260 </strong></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-47022399592056953012012-05-28T13:02:00.000-07:002012-05-28T13:34:05.870-07:00I'm right on top of it all.....So...some times our dog is a bit irregular...Hey, it happens to the best of us. Unfortunately, Mia is generally irregular in the middle of Austin's bedroom. To help with this, we have invested in a carpet cleaner and keep it stocked with fresh water, cleanser, and have it ready to go.<br />
<br />
The other day I walked in from dropping the girls off at school and my nose caught whiff of that tell tale sign. Damn. I grabbed a Target bag that we stash for dog accidents and the such, a handful of paper-towels, not-so-silently cussed out the dog as I pounded my way down the bedroom hallway. I quickly used the paper-towel to clean the wet mess and tied the bag up. I applied a generous amount of baking soda/pet cleaner mixture, allowed the 10 minute soak time, and went to town with the carpet cleaner. Then comes the fanning of Febreeze in the room, turning on of the overhead fan, and washing of the carpet cleaning bucket. The room still kinda had a stench to me, but it was a NASTY mess, so I figured it needed a little bit of time.<br />
<br />
When three days later there was STILL a funk about the room, Jim took the air purifier that we use in our bedroom for allergies and thought maybe that would help. Nope. Still stench.<br />
<br />
But you know what did help?<br />
<br />
When Jim took out the Target bag of poop that I had put on the back of the door and forgot about because I was so busy doing everything else.<br />
<br />
Mommy fail.<br />
<br />
(Insert laughter here. We did. It's all you can do sometimes.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-58113822403962899552012-05-23T19:06:00.001-07:002012-05-23T19:06:19.818-07:00To do listThese are the things I am hoping to accomplish this summer. My husband thinks it's funny how I have intermingled my long and short term goals:<br />
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Finish re-mulching the side yard<br />
Plant Lillys<br />
Weed garden<br />
Wash all sheets<br />
Kitchen Table<br />
Hall Closet<br />
Conquer Kitchen Cooking Shelves<br />
Retype FSA By-Laws<br />
Walk Mia<br />
Wash Kitchen Floors<br />
Write Book<br />
Clean Bathroom Closet<br />
Clean/Purge Desk Shelves<br />
Shutterfly/Yearbooks for kids<br />
Pile in living room<br />
Redecorate Fireplace<br />
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Normal, right? Ok....maybe the "Write Book" thing isn't on EVERYONE'S list...but did I mention that I have worked out the 24 character names and can visualize the classroom and have biographies done for the main 6 characters? It's gonna be good! I have also done that kinda writing <i>where you know how you want certain paragraphs to go, so you write them down even if you don't anticipate that it will actually happen until book 3, but you don't want to forget what is in your head because it sounds so good in this exact moment!!!!! </i>That was said with increasing excitement and pace....i hope it read that way....<br />
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The EndUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-86917721469596045142012-05-17T01:10:00.001-07:002012-05-17T01:10:19.583-07:00The Great American NovelSo, if EJ James can get her kicks by writing the great <strike>American Porn</strike> British Novel, I can so make a few bucks by writing a book myself.<br />
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Seriously, though, I have thought about it for years, and have even had a running story plot in my head. Think along the lines of Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High...I have a handful of fairly well developed characters, I can "see" them in my head, how they would interact, the messes and teenage angst they would get themselves into, but I have no idea where to go with it. Do you? (and that's a true question.) Do I just start writing and then send it off to publishing houses in the hopes that someone picks it up? Do I need to get a literary agent? Is there a Writing for Dummies book that I should be securing from Barnes and Noble? Would you buy my book so that I have at least 10 sales?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-78662697129983322712012-05-06T15:50:00.001-07:002012-05-06T15:50:05.638-07:0050 Shades of Interesting....Ok...so I read it...and I read all three of them in about a weeks time....and it wasn't (totally) just because of the erotic literature....I think it actually had a really good story line...<br />
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SPOILER ALERT: Do not read if you are going to read all three books and don't want it ruined....<br />
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Handsome rich young man meets an attractive college graduate and falls head over heals for her. Mix in a stalker ex-"girlfriend" and a psycho old foster brother....and you have a pretty good story line. That's not to say that the <i>other</i> parts weren't good, there are certainly some things that I have learned and had to look-up, but I don't think that the world should only focus on that aspect of the book. What about looking at the power of what a good woman can do? Christian was one messed up man, and Ana's love and patience, (and her stunning good looks) were able to transform him totally. That's romantic. That's true love. Sure, it didn't hurt the story line that Christian has eleventy billion dollars and could spoil the crap out of her....but what one of wouldn't look at that part of the story line and be just a little jealous? It's classic Cinderella (mixed in with whips and chains....totally relevant to the times...)<br />
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Just saying....don't diss it until you read it....it's made me think about a few things....(ok....maybe about a lot of things but not all of them are X rated...)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-58193256499319485702012-05-02T16:19:00.002-07:002012-05-02T19:06:59.977-07:00Rest Well, Dear Ben.....I remember the day that we got him very clearly. We had researched a number of breeders, and looked for a recent litter that had a male pup. It was a snowy, Saturday morning, and we headed out early as it was a drive. We went just over the boarder of Indiana into Michigan....like just over the boarder. It was odd because we were driving down a side street, one second it is an Indiana address and the next is Michigan. The breeder, highly recommended, had not only Great Pyrenees, but also St. Bernard's, as they make good companions. The owner was a very heavy set man who remained in his Scooter, and had his sons fetch the two male pups that he had left. At 8 weeks old, they were already almost 20 pounds and just little balls of fuzz. We watched the two brothers play, and finally decided on the smaller one, hoping that it meant he would grow a little smaller as well. He was all white except for a gray mask on his face that the owner assured us would fade over time. Jim crawled into the back seat with him; I agreed to drive home. We went back and forth between names, finally settling on Ben. Big Ben, he would be one day.<br />
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We enrolled Ben in puppy classes, more so that we could learn what to do with him than he could learn how to behave! While he was certainly the biggest puppy in the class, he was far from the most coordinated or fastest. He quickly made friends with a Bullmastif puppy...and the two were inseparable So much so, that after about 6 months of having Ben we decided to look at getting a Bullmastif ourselves. We found a good breeder who was located in Illinois this time, and drive out to her farm in the middle of NOWHERE! The pups were about 8 weeks old, and we had at least 8 to select from. I fell in love with this tiny female right away, and we quickly signed the paperwork and brought Mia home and into our lives. It only took a few hours for Ben and Mia to become quick buddies.....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Ummm..yes, Ben grew that much in 6 months....CRAZY)</span> </td></tr>
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When Ben was about 4 years old, he stepped in a hole in the back yard and tweaked his knee. We were told at first to watch it, that it might get better. But, as it always goes, his knee did not get better on its own...and we were left with a full knee replacement surgery....Holy Cow....didn't we wish then that we had bought the pet insurance. The doctor told us at that time that a surgery like this meant a shortened life-span.. Great Pyrenees usually get about 12-15 years, we were told if Ben made it to 10 we would be lucky. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben and Moo</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sibling Love</td></tr>
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We watched Ben slowly go from our happy-to-bark-at-the-wind dog to our elderly friend who struggled to get up, to walk, to move about the house, to eat, drink......it happened over 4 years time, but it seems like a blink of the eye. We used to have him groomed at PetSmart every other month, and I remember the last time we took him and they said that they just couldn't do it anymore since he couldn't stand long enough...it was so sad. We made him as comfortable as we could, added a ramp to the side yard so that he could get outside a little easier, bought extra carpet for our hard wood living room so that he would have a better grip on the floor, tolerated long barking session in the backyard as this was the place that he loved to be the most. It slowly and painfully became obvious to us that we were holding on to Ben for us, not for him, and that this was no longer fair.</div>
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I cried silently the entire ride to the vet's office today. Jim had to carry Ben's hind quarters as he hobbled into the waiting room, he just didn't have the strength to do it himself. They placed us in a "quiet room", it was oversized, lots of chairs and a bench, and a big carpet in the middle. Jim stroked his head and neck; we sat in silence. What do you really say? The vet came in and explained what would happen, brought in a blanket that Ben could lay on. We placed it over the carpet, and I sat next to him on the floor, rubbing his head, telling him it would be alright. They had trouble finding a vein as he had become dehydrated, and it took 3 needle pricks before they could inset an IV. We knew the process, we have had 2 cats put down before...but I don't think that there is really anything that prepares you for it....We held him and talked to him until the vet said it was over and left the room....Our sweet Ben, our protector, our fuzzy monster who left us with hair wherever we went. Jim and I had a running joke from the time that we brought Ben home that wherever we went, a part of Ben went, too, as there was always at least one Ben hair on us somewhere...</div>
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Ben was our first baby....our first "we are really in this for the long haul" project....our first learning experience of sleepless nights when there were thunderstorms (he was the biggest baby and always had to come and sleep in our room at the slightest rumble or flash of light)...of "potty training"...of middle of the night ER visits when Ben took Mia's rawhide and was promptly bitten for it....He was a part of the girl's growing up, giving them rides like a little pony...standing in front of the TV at just the wrong time....</div>
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The house is very quiet tonight. Jim and I are rather sullen....the girls are at gymnastics and in the 15 minutes that they were home between school/playground with Becca and changing for class, they didn't notice his absence. I don't know exactly what I will say to them tonight that will make them understand that he is in a better place, that he doesn't hurt anymore, that while we are sad we can hope that he is running around with Chenna and Moo (our two cats gone before) and barking at squirrels in the trees. I am sure that it will take awhile for our house to get used to its emptiness, its quietness, its loss of our dear sweet Ben.....</div>
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Lifehouse ~ Broken</div>
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The broken clock is a comfort<br />
It let's me sleep tonight<br />
Maybe it can stop tomorrow<br />
From stealing all my time<br />
I am here still waiting<br />
I still have my doubts<br />
I am damaged at best<br />
Like you've already figured out<br />
<br />
I'm falling apart<br />
I'm barely breathing<br />
With a broken heart<br />
That's still beating<br />
In the pain<br />
There is healing<br />
In your name<br />
I find meaning<br />
So I'm holding on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on<br />
Barely holding on to you<br />
<br />
The broken locks were a warning<br />
You got inside my head<br />
Tried my best to be guarded<br />
I'm an open book instead<br />
I still see your reflection<br />
Inside my eyes<br />
That are looking for purpose<br />
There still looking for life<br />
<br />
I'm falling apart<br />
I'm barely breathing<br />
With a broken heart<br />
That's still beating<br />
In the pain (In the pain)<br />
Is there healing<br />
In your name (In your name)<br />
I find meaning<br />
So I'm holding on (I'm still holdin'), I'm holdin' on<br />
(I'm still holdin'), I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin')<br />
I'm barely holding on to you<br />
<br />
Hanging on another day<br />
Just to see what you will throw my way<br />
And I'm hanging on to the words you say<br />
You said that I will, will be OK<br />
Broken light on the freeway<br />
Left me here alone<br />
I may have lost my way now<br />
Haven't forgotten my way home<br />
<br />
I'm falling apart<br />
I'm barely breathing<br />
With a broken heart<br />
That's still beating<br />
In the pain (In the pain)<br />
There is healing<br />
In your name (In your name)<br />
I find meaning<br />
So I'm holding on (I'm still holdin'), I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin' on), I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin')<br />
Barely holding on to you<br />
I'm holding on (I'm still holdin'), I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin' on), I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin')<br />
Barley holding on to you</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-35710250117231881432012-04-14T10:59:00.000-07:002012-04-14T20:42:24.930-07:00GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Ok...so maybe the Mount Prospect Kindergarten Storm didn't have so many goals today...but they certainly had a lot of fun trying! I am thankful that the rain held off as they would have all been crushed to miss the first game of the season...<br />
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Check out<br />
Lilli and the tongue...just like her Papa...<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-14587165285529283302012-04-07T11:43:00.000-07:002012-04-07T11:43:01.779-07:00For the Love of a Colored EggI hate dying Easter Eggs. HATE. Despise. I have strong disliking of....<br />
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But it's one of those things that a "good mother" should do. So every year I pull out the vinegar, the PAAS cups, the little bunny shaped egg scoopers, and let the girls go at it. Thankfully this year I had Becca to help with the process which made it much smoother.<br />
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What was interesting to watch was the style that the girls used to color eggs was very much like their little personalities. Lilli likes everything to be done now, and likes to claim everything as her own. Therefore, most of her eggs hardly have any color on them as they were in and out of the color baths so fast, and EACH ONE has her name written on it with the wax crayon....all 18. Abigail moved nice and slow, takes her time, and her eggs took long dips and came out bright and vibrant colors. (And I just WAY over thought the Easter Egg Coloring process....wow....)<br />
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Now the question is, what do we do with 32 colored eggs?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-83mm7aR5V14ukWD3nzymfeZONFRQqv9hahTvZ1HNGHjKSZhWfTEU7FqXQ9qfMH8cUUBN5ffWC8O2zmxqdqCVjkB4GydJoMYjApg43yjQSDpfe5fANWpOF-S3KV3WcvjQQ0BeD7q_BFB9/s1600/DSC_0047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-83mm7aR5V14ukWD3nzymfeZONFRQqv9hahTvZ1HNGHjKSZhWfTEU7FqXQ9qfMH8cUUBN5ffWC8O2zmxqdqCVjkB4GydJoMYjApg43yjQSDpfe5fANWpOF-S3KV3WcvjQQ0BeD7q_BFB9/s400/DSC_0047.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Umm...yeah, my walls are different colors....still trying to plan out what to do with them...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLQk-u4U_g6WbKhvBvKGecYFnXx2oLRVUpbRit8ooyKZ2l-Rh0-nisjF7NoH9M6OHfE4oUml4UYwYHsA-VY2UERM-veYIrIAgQQx4zmh7aSTX7lAnPPwNR1seygQsxbkhligOB40rPg2-/s1600/DSC_0052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLQk-u4U_g6WbKhvBvKGecYFnXx2oLRVUpbRit8ooyKZ2l-Rh0-nisjF7NoH9M6OHfE4oUml4UYwYHsA-VY2UERM-veYIrIAgQQx4zmh7aSTX7lAnPPwNR1seygQsxbkhligOB40rPg2-/s400/DSC_0052.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gotta make sure each egg has my name on it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-58476621312672803802012-04-02T17:28:00.000-07:002012-04-02T17:28:11.884-07:00Sisterly LoveThere are times where Lilli and Abbi do not get along. At all. I mean like black and white. Sweet and Sour. USA and Afghanistan. It makes me (somewhat) regret that they were born 363 days apart. <br />
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And then there are those brief moments of pure bliss and happiness. Segments of time when they happily play for hours, when they take turns, when you can hear little bits of "It's your turn to have the crown first." It makes my heart melt.<br />
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Abigail can play independent. She disappears into her world of make-believe with long stories about her dolls and horses and fairies that fly in and save the day. Lilli <strike>needs</strike> demands almost constant one on one attention. She wants you to sit there, not necessarily to interact, just to be present.<br />
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I often wonder how close they will be to each other as they get older. They have never gone to a school apart from the other one since Abigail was born. They are even in the same Sunday School class. There are days that Lilli still holds Abbi's hand as they walk into St. Emily's. The big sister. The protector. The one who is most likely to turn around and bop her on the head if she doesn't agree.<br />
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It's an interesting journey, one that keeps me on my toes, one that makes me appreciate the moments like the one below....just two best friends, two sisters, together forever....<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Green little leprechaun</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This one...this one needs to stop growing up...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Abigail always smiles so sweet...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-665218862931669672012-03-14T15:31:00.000-07:002012-03-14T15:31:19.897-07:00Spring has Sprung!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Our fabulous babysitter, Becca, took these pics of the girl at the park the other day and I had to share!</span> I am amazed at how well they came out, considering she took them from her phone....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORHgqIWgdeBfE8_jAtiEsrFYbHsOdQ6FSkMloMkps1XyZPCVwtMh_cS_w1EtlvyQEMLcGp43xdHQ6a51LjDLZL4-pUBylQdawivA_Uo4Q6rF1RgAm9G29JOOr7ay3nTpNz73h5MtM586R/s1600/IMG_0296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORHgqIWgdeBfE8_jAtiEsrFYbHsOdQ6FSkMloMkps1XyZPCVwtMh_cS_w1EtlvyQEMLcGp43xdHQ6a51LjDLZL4-pUBylQdawivA_Uo4Q6rF1RgAm9G29JOOr7ay3nTpNz73h5MtM586R/s400/IMG_0296.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6676302922802862249.post-2984720761522740052012-03-04T19:09:00.000-08:002012-03-04T19:09:41.070-08:00Catch The Beat?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMTteqfdTuM3VzuSHd3qC9QSa7aFKx7ebfhBBULx0rr7tBYWDcklYq3jroVRDu4uSgM8zpo7NewkpyVRuR8I0UJ3ywgMaadcDkHvHho5VwuuX99PHaU9Xb90YH88M75ENOK76yJpJrGFU/s1600/freshbeat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMTteqfdTuM3VzuSHd3qC9QSa7aFKx7ebfhBBULx0rr7tBYWDcklYq3jroVRDu4uSgM8zpo7NewkpyVRuR8I0UJ3ywgMaadcDkHvHho5VwuuX99PHaU9Xb90YH88M75ENOK76yJpJrGFU/s400/freshbeat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Those of us with kids in the 2-7 age bracket will appreciate this.....<br />
<br />
Some days it's hard enough to listen to the same program over and over and over again, especially when the songs are always the same and the jokes are kinda lame. So, I am not sure what came over me when I begged Jim to buy tickets for us to take the girls to see The Fresh Beat Band Live. Wow. Hundreds of screaming children (and parents)...but let's start at the beginning.<br />
<br />
We decided not to tell the girls that we were going because I didn't want to listen to a day of, "Is it time yet?" or "When are we leaving?". It ranks right up there with "Can we open presents now?" on Christmas. We showed up at the theater, and there was no outside signage, so they still had no idea. We walked inside the Akoo Theater (formally the Rosemont Theater) and there was a HUGE banner right in our way. I looked at Lilli and asked her if she knew what is was that we were doing. She asked if we were going to see a Fresh Beat movie. I said no, we were going to see their concert. She looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Are they really going to be here?" I told her yes, that they would be on the stage and singing live. I don't think it sunk in; she asked about 10 more time if they were really here. Abigail just didn't get it at all....she just clung to my hand and followed close. We made a quick stop in the bathroom (because they always have to check out the bathrooms in a new place, I think it's a rule they made up to torture me), bought the over-priced blinking-do-hickey that I wanted to hide within 5 minutes, and settled into our seats. Great seats. We were on the balcony, the first row of the second section. Extra leg room, and no one directly in front of the girls to block their view. Phew...<br />
<br />
The show started about 10 minutes late (awesome), and when they Fresh Beats finally came out and started singing and dancing and doing their thing, what did my girls do? They sat there. They sat as still as I wished they would sit through Easter mass. No clapping. No singing. Heck, Jim and I were clapping and singing to try and get them into it...and little to nothing. Uggg!!! I finally dragged Abigail onto my lap, and clapped her hands for her. When did they get into it? The song before intermission. Awesome. At least for the second half they were slightly more pumped and danced around a little. In between each song, though, Abigail asked me if it was time to go home. Home? Sister, do you know what I paid for these tickets? We are staying for the whole dang thing. (However, when we did get home I took her temp and it was 100.0. Good job, Mom of the Year.)<br />
<br />
So, what did I learn from this experience?<br />
<br />
A. Bring Cash. Parking was $20 and they only took cash. (what a rip-off).<br />
2. Bring more cash. We were able to get into a shorter line for the light up do-hickeys because we paid in cash.<br />
c. A concert is only as much fun as you make it out to be. When I started to enjoy the show myself, clap and sing and respond to their questions, the girls got more comfortable.<br />
IV. I am not doing that again for at least a year.<br />
<br />
<i>"We had a great day. It was a super way to spend some time together. We had a great day. The very best day. And nothing could be better." ~ The Fresh Beat Band</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0