tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68621054625711157142024-02-18T23:26:32.152-05:00Stepped on a LegoExisting on Caffeine, Chocolate, and the Occasional Shot of WhiskeyAshleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.comBlogger194125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-17499267586676742522010-09-11T13:10:00.010-04:002010-09-11T13:59:59.627-04:00Hometown<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6eHeqL78s6i1w1cPoE7lHPh3aRckjEyz0GSxIAelwqpzWIsqEdmeQnM8iymOl_0y0NBz6aDaZ66Q7MH9tS-rONKprp0TL8wxV9NxaQzn9vkKI5AXEpez6yMJtsAnJwvMi3P8dhaWrc4M/s1600/IMG_1702.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3N0Y_c7zpRXL-8PtOpq5gNPJjmqdNTaQIGQQUY5QRjx7a6Tsr9uGdZvrGzYXx8Q-wwr6Jo1KVDlpRqvHoj4-9pwg1rmI0hrxwLvMmvH5ykLuBFDNBOeqbc1aQNb4hfe5hLxmlhcU7Aw/s1600/001.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515704937354608482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3N0Y_c7zpRXL-8PtOpq5gNPJjmqdNTaQIGQQUY5QRjx7a6Tsr9uGdZvrGzYXx8Q-wwr6Jo1KVDlpRqvHoj4-9pwg1rmI0hrxwLvMmvH5ykLuBFDNBOeqbc1aQNb4hfe5hLxmlhcU7Aw/s400/001.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>The problem I see with a lot of Facebook posts and an overwhelming majority of blogs is this: People only ever talk about the 1% of things that are perfection. Perfect pictures, edited as such, perfect posts about a perfect meal (not mentioning the fact that you’d fed your kids cereal for dinner the five nights leading up to that), how positive and perfect you're feeling, turning illness into a great learning opportunity, talking about how great your kids are when we all know they're driving you up the wall more often than not, the highlights of a trip that leave out the four hour plane delay, the fact that your four year old vomited all over the hotel, etc.<br /><br />Typically, I try to be honest in my posting. I’d hate to make someone feel bad by getting a less than realistic view of my life and think I’m anything close to perfect. Cause I’m not. And proud of it.<br /><br />Last week I took a trip to Baltimore for my grandmother’s funeral. Obviously it was not a happy occasion. Besides the fact that my grandmother is no longer with us, my family is… a little dysfunctional. What you find below is by no means an accurate account of my trip and contains positive, and only positive moments. Therefore, this is about 1% of my trip.<br /><br />I do really love going to Baltimore. It’s where I was born, and it only takes one step off of the plane for me to delve into reminiscing. The airport reminds me of a trip four years ago when my nephew (who was four years old at the time) threw a fit because there were no dinosaurs there. His parents promised he could visit dinosaurs on the trip (at the Smithsonian). I guess he was expecting them to be awaiting our arrival promtply after deplaning. He was also really upset that when he finally did get to see the dinosaurs, they were bones, and not real, live, roaring beasts.<br /><br />I went alone this time. When you have three kids, being by yourself seems like a really good idea, but in truth it's really quiet and kinda lonely. I felt like a little kid hanging out with my parents and having three meals a day with them. Everywhere I went I got carded which had me laughing hysterically. Partially from being carded and partically because no one could find my birthdate on my Florida license.<br /><br />But I really enjoyed my time in Baltimore. It's a truly historic town.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvHWsEt9y8dW97WfMwaBfRtMmHbbqP26Fvgb-9YE9MbshirboR90pE41TWk5ysa-iSVPpZyld46RTRu9oe0x4HaflU7E-JXKzRht3qEil0UQpHh4_6rkaQLUQJOG4JQcuduPKluS8ybU/s1600/002.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515704928569613618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvHWsEt9y8dW97WfMwaBfRtMmHbbqP26Fvgb-9YE9MbshirboR90pE41TWk5ysa-iSVPpZyld46RTRu9oe0x4HaflU7E-JXKzRht3qEil0UQpHh4_6rkaQLUQJOG4JQcuduPKluS8ybU/s400/002.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_6sDlo2zs__ejD3TD-MFZH1KRjmJeUG-WZ4pDXFsjzFQcF8yVOVLtQbUlME1M04Dmx68gbkMnyh9nqBCNjgGhWeC2Z_jE1EwkYqfNzr0rEeqGY0DSS7gPVqtnH_bedvvaAfBjnQ46jU/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515705149792275266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_6sDlo2zs__ejD3TD-MFZH1KRjmJeUG-WZ4pDXFsjzFQcF8yVOVLtQbUlME1M04Dmx68gbkMnyh9nqBCNjgGhWeC2Z_jE1EwkYqfNzr0rEeqGY0DSS7gPVqtnH_bedvvaAfBjnQ46jU/s400/005.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Driving around and just seeing all these things that used to be so familiar and now are so...distant. You don't often see train tracks where I live, and in Baltimore I saw an actual train chugging along, minding its business. I know it probably sounds crazy, but I like it.<br /><br />Being in Baltimore with my dad has a distinct advantage: he knows where all the best food is. And there is <em>a lot</em> of good food. Straight from the airport we headed to <a href="http://www.gandmcrabcakes.com/">G&Ms</a>, a place that has, hands down, the best crab cake in Baltimore. It was funny because I posted on Facebook about just having the mother of all crab cakes and my brother (who lives in Baltimore) responded "G&Ms or Timbuktu?" (<a href="http://www.timbukturestaurant.com/">Timbuktu </a>is really good too, but we had gone there on our last trip. Gotta spread the love.) When you’re a Marylander you are a natural born crab cake snob, so I really enjoyed being able to go to a restaurant and order one, knowing it wouldn’t disappoint.<br /><br />The next day’s food stop was a bar in Locust Point called JRs. I was told they have a hamburger topped with meat, and more meat.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHymxQEyPmfk6fLUQ5EefkgcNPr7WQ8IiJgeSOwBQFPaatDg0bUAp5dtgqDtDE-D6ieppXd_DKNNE0rJB9sLs4tHgO9SxKiBpTK6dOJeUgnRr1Y5Wgm3GKd1IBYaYL5XPom18UWWWFnMc/s1600/014.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515705162477505090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHymxQEyPmfk6fLUQ5EefkgcNPr7WQ8IiJgeSOwBQFPaatDg0bUAp5dtgqDtDE-D6ieppXd_DKNNE0rJB9sLs4tHgO9SxKiBpTK6dOJeUgnRr1Y5Wgm3GKd1IBYaYL5XPom18UWWWFnMc/s400/014.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />It was the most majestic hamburger I’ve had in all my years. I had the ¼ lb. version, but more manlier men have the option of the ½ lb. burger, which is just unphathomable to me. I chose the “Locust Point Burger” which consists of a burger topped with ham, bacon and cheddar cheese, plus I opted for tomatoes, mayo and grilled onions. Holy mother of deliciousness.<br /><br />It was here at JRs that I was introduced to <a href="http://nationalbohemian.com/Home.aspx">National Bohemian</a>, from the land of pleasant living.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho52H8TiYIL_UWbwvrPw8UKSbY_TfJw9AOCwZ2dMZZWuihSsEOyahAT0ZVNEhFZIhHj0sxFM2ntTbAxQQFJeSbKmuzqBRZ4cLxfWxaqfjqq9ftcBhJkXu30Jprh9DQVyN1urnVjtqxPOk/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515705161008365074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho52H8TiYIL_UWbwvrPw8UKSbY_TfJw9AOCwZ2dMZZWuihSsEOyahAT0ZVNEhFZIhHj0sxFM2ntTbAxQQFJeSbKmuzqBRZ4cLxfWxaqfjqq9ftcBhJkXu30Jprh9DQVyN1urnVjtqxPOk/s400/010.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Baltimore is famous for its beers, and this one is a Baltimore original. My dad described it as a raunchy beer, and I was a little afraid, but it was really quite good and exceeded my expectations. The bartender told me it’s “in style” right now. The best part—it was $1.88 a bottle. You can’t get a glass of water in Naples for $1.88. Notice the little one eyed guy on the label. My brother says the beer's called the "one eyed wonder." And he, being a beer man, would know.<br /><br />I consumed more Natty Bo at my old childhood hangout of Muirs. Yes, you read that right. I spent my childhood in a bar. Every Sunday after German school my dad would take us there and we’d eat pretzels and drink Cokes. It was nice to go back. I wish I got a better picture of the building—it had this tall, pointed roof.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27PRIvS01KNYdJhg_iTBmIwPtx39w0Rempl3fCB-mB09_56T-0zG5B9eTcdC2lsThd3c6bfIQl3WN58hR5syZdkFU22X1HJZ9nNQ6oT9o3CrxlnpFWEweS8oWR71GHCY_IhnteURAeC4/s1600/020.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515705359950611474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27PRIvS01KNYdJhg_iTBmIwPtx39w0Rempl3fCB-mB09_56T-0zG5B9eTcdC2lsThd3c6bfIQl3WN58hR5syZdkFU22X1HJZ9nNQ6oT9o3CrxlnpFWEweS8oWR71GHCY_IhnteURAeC4/s400/020.JPG" /></a><br /><br />My dad's all time favorite hot dog joint, <a href="http://www.polockjohnnys.com/">Pollock Johnny's.<br /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKA8myDhSbBmvXGnvBdbE_BZhT7Z6HNak7lmmB_nVktcWBB-lVHyLnZy9yRmiHcwTwP94AcQIZKoUbpYrBmou7LwhhqptGArn-xaNuI-pZjghfcWWzpmhTKGjSSyWK-oeIRNDfSDRyZc/s1600/IMG_1702.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515706192617487954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKA8myDhSbBmvXGnvBdbE_BZhT7Z6HNak7lmmB_nVktcWBB-lVHyLnZy9yRmiHcwTwP94AcQIZKoUbpYrBmou7LwhhqptGArn-xaNuI-pZjghfcWWzpmhTKGjSSyWK-oeIRNDfSDRyZc/s400/IMG_1702.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In between funeral events and eating, we visited our old house.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KfEvvRpGNHRGFQ8xiqp4SYFVjaxPJW7k7NprV2IhBDQkt-YVQaBm-U5wJ1C0szgTgXZP0ltxtgx5UbDpq609ZpxsW1ZMMZbO6pO0WMW2OZeZ-GV7zE8yi1wvsYV_YctE4kSidT3d778/s1600/IMG_1706.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 384px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515706223362994322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KfEvvRpGNHRGFQ8xiqp4SYFVjaxPJW7k7NprV2IhBDQkt-YVQaBm-U5wJ1C0szgTgXZP0ltxtgx5UbDpq609ZpxsW1ZMMZbO6pO0WMW2OZeZ-GV7zE8yi1wvsYV_YctE4kSidT3d778/s400/IMG_1706.JPG" /></a><br /><br />The road seemed super skinny, but I guess that’s what happens with you get bigger and the road doesn’t. My dad had planted a tree sapling outside my bedroom window 25? years ago that is now twice the size of the house. A family with a baby lives there now. They caught us cruising by and staring like stalkers so we ended up introducing ourselves.<br /><br />Right down the street from us was the Georgetown Market. We used to go down there and buy typical kid stuff, sodas and candy. It's the exact same 7-up sign.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidMgYOG9oyklFSF-0_OiiT3Db1c_Xg1hNar_ngK_9LKhOEPdAolT8-UGkT4zVAxaELW9P5RRcwBxbgIGBKo-dfq1RSJUN9JS_4FRcthFX-3gg19NZCkMQSLdQZqrtW1hMGPTzKDbKitTo/s1600/IMG_1703.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515707991634805938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidMgYOG9oyklFSF-0_OiiT3Db1c_Xg1hNar_ngK_9LKhOEPdAolT8-UGkT4zVAxaELW9P5RRcwBxbgIGBKo-dfq1RSJUN9JS_4FRcthFX-3gg19NZCkMQSLdQZqrtW1hMGPTzKDbKitTo/s400/IMG_1703.JPG" /></a><br /><div><br /><br />My grandmother’s house<a href="http://steppedonalego.blogspot.com/2010/01/sad.html"> was auctioned</a> by the state last spring to cover the costs of her nursing care. I mentioned before how hard this was for me… A company is rehabbing it. South Baltimore is in the midst of a revival, so her old house was perfect for a company to gobble up and restore.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_ENtSk5Zb2_PcJYWB-lc0gRoxx-ROfZx4TOw1ZSiMDp6z0tGU3uUOynr6v1QY5-x0_jkygr6vmsx5QU55E7GYo5aberMIefvsCJb-a_WWHVaQIMHtDQdxiWWLyaWyHH8BezzdovSK3M/s1600/IMG_1710.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515706675932856866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_ENtSk5Zb2_PcJYWB-lc0gRoxx-ROfZx4TOw1ZSiMDp6z0tGU3uUOynr6v1QY5-x0_jkygr6vmsx5QU55E7GYo5aberMIefvsCJb-a_WWHVaQIMHtDQdxiWWLyaWyHH8BezzdovSK3M/s400/IMG_1710.JPG" /></a><br /><br />They took off the form stone front (it used to look like the houses on either side of it, form stone was a popular trend in the 50s) and restore the original brick. It’s beautiful. I spent so many nights of my childhood sitting on those steps with my grandmother. It’s a South Baltimore thing, sitting on the stoop. People would stop by and talk. It was so… neighborly. The house has new windows and upon a peek in them I was delighted to see all new walls, wood floors, and beautiful trim. I’m so happy to see this house restored to its glory, but so sad that my grandmother never got to enjoy it, and even sadder that this place is no longer a part of our family.<br /><br />I love irony of this picture. The greatest city in the world, indeed. We’re just so busy being great we can’t trouble ourselves with picking up the trash…<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PzALvG8NumJUrnHmx0J37RgJMFZ3itIUOyMC3Wggm56PJ4cJj4eKxhEprjJMIWMgQSUHBAnFaucT8v61q4XmsXQIsqsiw_rj7zbsb-A_g0azShRzeXnJ-zKhD50SWtWURxSJpkuG-fk/s1600/IMG_1701.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515707207151106898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PzALvG8NumJUrnHmx0J37RgJMFZ3itIUOyMC3Wggm56PJ4cJj4eKxhEprjJMIWMgQSUHBAnFaucT8v61q4XmsXQIsqsiw_rj7zbsb-A_g0azShRzeXnJ-zKhD50SWtWURxSJpkuG-fk/s400/IMG_1701.JPG" /></a> </div><div>Even with the rough patches, it's a beautiful city.</div><div></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6CzRqhuVxVdvuwHzAr7AMkilqHn5xs8FBl5VfpzojsXEYrgrQUuWrPFDTeLHulvMkq2wNEi-7pej428ob1YtvfWkeujG-ERzmqYhaZaQIDhku3QprAkAzPIASfRrvd4xEXd9bRGX95g/s1600/IMG_1714.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 281px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515707216186480418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6CzRqhuVxVdvuwHzAr7AMkilqHn5xs8FBl5VfpzojsXEYrgrQUuWrPFDTeLHulvMkq2wNEi-7pej428ob1YtvfWkeujG-ERzmqYhaZaQIDhku3QprAkAzPIASfRrvd4xEXd9bRGX95g/s400/IMG_1714.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-56073654666580476462010-08-23T20:11:00.001-04:002010-08-23T20:11:00.426-04:00ABC’s of the First Day of SchoolA – Adorable. My kids, they are.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvQi2cM0LKfquTp_hQS7iq5P7P4pI2psfZ92ulOb5WO549ApH1Vqd7P8ZAX11jrSFWgYqWyffHZGUn3dCSBPpk1OmOgwF_9gjuugzOK3ggpVJgeKG3kdFmOS9G77jc9MUFSUTWULewXI/s1600/IMG_1625.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508747538701802850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvQi2cM0LKfquTp_hQS7iq5P7P4pI2psfZ92ulOb5WO549ApH1Vqd7P8ZAX11jrSFWgYqWyffHZGUn3dCSBPpk1OmOgwF_9gjuugzOK3ggpVJgeKG3kdFmOS9G77jc9MUFSUTWULewXI/s400/IMG_1625.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhv3rXPW-clNFvDHglJMXVbFHIKmqdlAxiEzbw6x1bHU79S3eRUxCaTjobJ4mX8r8JLsufRpJ3cG4XHzORp2PLEmTCgqxCflxe8XdSYlE852W2BEiAulwlU12SHMKblv2ArR1lBIsxxY/s1600/IMG_1621.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508747374832309810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhv3rXPW-clNFvDHglJMXVbFHIKmqdlAxiEzbw6x1bHU79S3eRUxCaTjobJ4mX8r8JLsufRpJ3cG4XHzORp2PLEmTCgqxCflxe8XdSYlE852W2BEiAulwlU12SHMKblv2ArR1lBIsxxY/s400/IMG_1621.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />B – Buzz Lightyear shoes that Cole insisted on wearing even though he complains they hurt his feet. But hey, they light up.<br /><br />C – Car line pickup. It was a little bit like the apocalypse.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38vI2qjs2HYO_VifC0dodJd7qHO6mCkJAO7JVLMKggkvNQec3nTwautHrVjPfcSQvnWhVQ_kGZisLzU1dyamYRvswIFYj-ijmeh3TIDaRxu8mSLzw64o_Hofb2vwVxWPtW30YtVp9Yic/s1600/015.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508750515231380482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38vI2qjs2HYO_VifC0dodJd7qHO6mCkJAO7JVLMKggkvNQec3nTwautHrVjPfcSQvnWhVQ_kGZisLzU1dyamYRvswIFYj-ijmeh3TIDaRxu8mSLzw64o_Hofb2vwVxWPtW30YtVp9Yic/s400/015.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />D – Daddy, who had to deliver Cole to his first day of preschool since I can’t be all places all the time.<br /><br />E – Early wakeup. For me at least. The kids slept in, which is hysterical since they were up at 6am every day of the summer.<br /><br />F – Fancy. What Cole called the plaid shorts I picked out for him and the reason for his refusal to wear them.<br /><br />G – Gatorade. Our special after the gym after the first day of school drink from the gym vending machine.<br /><br />H – Hectic. An honest description of what it’s like to have to deal with kids at two different schools.<br /><br />I – Impressed. Mason’s teacher is amazing with how she speaks in this low, slow voice. Those kids listen. I could learn a thing or two from her.<br /><br />J – Junk food. How every first day of school should end.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCC-w0wvz6f0eqGRO4Zt2z8fRpR8WXgG6zrvpryHrroS86Gi6XpiNQJtwLYaI2iddXFUNvFKDbmGYoSnuHX0WoV8A7KYNr-MIk-0cSNjSlqArqH3u1QAv1jbeX1IcLxuAnbgftDhucZQg/s1600/IMG_1666.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508748319012613410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCC-w0wvz6f0eqGRO4Zt2z8fRpR8WXgG6zrvpryHrroS86Gi6XpiNQJtwLYaI2iddXFUNvFKDbmGYoSnuHX0WoV8A7KYNr-MIk-0cSNjSlqArqH3u1QAv1jbeX1IcLxuAnbgftDhucZQg/s400/IMG_1666.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErWT4jlL3Z7r2MhMV09QMu2isY7ATC3bV-VIpHOx4ADKVYEBzoHMAFrtVGJZDL1bO85HtnzjNMyWjrIQFeGnVRJx_mvzBgPu9Q6cKXqgiScGhjf6bHusfrrG1HB00ncfds1AvCUkGez8/s1600/IMG_1667.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508748313778511890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErWT4jlL3Z7r2MhMV09QMu2isY7ATC3bV-VIpHOx4ADKVYEBzoHMAFrtVGJZDL1bO85HtnzjNMyWjrIQFeGnVRJx_mvzBgPu9Q6cKXqgiScGhjf6bHusfrrG1HB00ncfds1AvCUkGez8/s400/IMG_1667.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />K – Kindergarten. Can’t believe it!<br /><br />L – Lemonade served at the “Boo hoo” breakfast. Spilled by Lila all over the media center.<br /><br />M – Memories to last a lifetime!<br /><br />N – Nap for Lila. Oh wait, there wasn’t one.<br /><br />O – Overwhelming. This entire day!<br /><br />P – Playing outside. Cole’s favorite part of the day today. Although I don’t see how since it rained all day and he doesn’t seem soaking wet.<br /><br />Q – Quiet. My house with the boys gone. It was also clean, which was bizarre.<br /><br />R – Relaxing. What I’m going to do for the rest of the evening.<br /><br />S – Sunbutter sandwiches. Good ol’ PB&J is banned from Cole’s school, so I passed off sunbutter to both of them hoping they won’t notice. So far, so good.<br /><br />T – Technology time. Mason’s favorite part of the day today. Shocker.<br /><br />U – Umbrella. It was a very rainy day, like most have been lately. I’m ready to build an ark.<br /><br />V – Valium. I’m gonna need one.<br /><br />W – Work. It takes a lot to get your kids to and from school.<br /><br />X – Xanax. I’m gonna need one.<br /><br />Y – Yoga class that I had to teach at 4:30, meaning Lila went to the gym kids club without a nap.<br />Z – Zzzzzzs. What I’m going to need a lot of tonight in hopes of making a full recovery!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcfc7_19grTiv2Cwpwg4OKMo3GUMyN-ukQzobOrABu0SMmKq3imJSv7TrH5xIi7tE11EHfeXlIXA_DQUlpJ_TfM4AnH1iqUUXVZi5FZT9hkzKJO8eCiT6t5DozXSUX7zaX8czBD_VMMM/s1600/IMG_1652.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508748015553455250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcfc7_19grTiv2Cwpwg4OKMo3GUMyN-ukQzobOrABu0SMmKq3imJSv7TrH5xIi7tE11EHfeXlIXA_DQUlpJ_TfM4AnH1iqUUXVZi5FZT9hkzKJO8eCiT6t5DozXSUX7zaX8czBD_VMMM/s400/IMG_1652.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXZoSwxiYXwWsyLzcVwQ_xaqvxOOjT34-Tv8wkXwqUpoGNbe462NESFZJ8-LUZleX89lh5DMgKW0wEKYXMQd2cHa6LSl_hJaWjqskQx0jr7pXEuoqaSYR5Th-j1W3tEfvDxsuMUwf6x8/s1600/IMG_1653.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508748007091231794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXZoSwxiYXwWsyLzcVwQ_xaqvxOOjT34-Tv8wkXwqUpoGNbe462NESFZJ8-LUZleX89lh5DMgKW0wEKYXMQd2cHa6LSl_hJaWjqskQx0jr7pXEuoqaSYR5Th-j1W3tEfvDxsuMUwf6x8/s400/IMG_1653.JPG" /></a> </div></div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-56037910925523466392010-08-20T10:59:00.003-04:002010-08-20T11:19:39.016-04:00The Many Faces of Cole<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIPOI7v4BK8EQqm9AEs3yLI-EVu7gCe3rcIvQMJs3ycq1bwyGmXUNtEvMzeC8S40kjxg6AYqmUOi-toTa-Qw_WxLmxWmxC0xHwUX30VDR27lwBLkm2YOCgZSsHG25lzjhy8O3k79ZayI/s1600/035.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507510243769369362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIPOI7v4BK8EQqm9AEs3yLI-EVu7gCe3rcIvQMJs3ycq1bwyGmXUNtEvMzeC8S40kjxg6AYqmUOi-toTa-Qw_WxLmxWmxC0xHwUX30VDR27lwBLkm2YOCgZSsHG25lzjhy8O3k79ZayI/s400/035.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>Cole is my free-spirited child. Almost always you can find him with a smile plastered on his face. It's fascinating to me that I have a child who's so busy soaking up life. (My general personality is that I'm too busy with life to soak it up, if you know what I mean.)</div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXdXg78GVjL6ajdrd1lE6TljrtE0HmzhROZWq8a9IvFUXm_rXYKrHqdg6hpSnHvDH5_F92XoYJOZZSVJ9BI9usWnZtyn3nyk5yZZexB5y6fsRS0mo0td7Ni-EdmXEi6tnKhvwNgpYWqw/s1600/033.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507510226110484914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXdXg78GVjL6ajdrd1lE6TljrtE0HmzhROZWq8a9IvFUXm_rXYKrHqdg6hpSnHvDH5_F92XoYJOZZSVJ9BI9usWnZtyn3nyk5yZZexB5y6fsRS0mo0td7Ni-EdmXEi6tnKhvwNgpYWqw/s400/033.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>When I became pregnant with him, my firstborn was a whopping nine months old. So being as Mason was still very much in the baby stage and his newborn stage was still fresh in my mind, I sorta (unrealistically) expected my second to be just the same.</div><br /><br /><div><em>Couldn't be farther from the truth.</em></div><br /><br /><div>These two could not be more different, and I'm not just talking about Cole's blonde hair and blue eyes.</div><br /><br /><div>Mason's very interested in learned facts--numbers, letters, words, bookish stuff-- Cole wants to take crap apart and learn how it works. I call him the Evil Genius, if only he could use his powers for good. </div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbBeu26O8S8f_TcFjR4ZJsJ1y3uNsrkTRWprhjmoyloAVmilIv0XDjPTnZE1zxSLmkPmAYmOAwiKXqET28FCm6uPLTu_cYEh_BTLugTvvzZ1zdIJ1AZDr4vwIMk6LSqXD7wgprUkD_JY/s1600/034.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507510219455021298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbBeu26O8S8f_TcFjR4ZJsJ1y3uNsrkTRWprhjmoyloAVmilIv0XDjPTnZE1zxSLmkPmAYmOAwiKXqET28FCm6uPLTu_cYEh_BTLugTvvzZ1zdIJ1AZDr4vwIMk6LSqXD7wgprUkD_JY/s400/034.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>Today Cole mentioned that we need to buy another dog so Mike has someone to play with. It'll be a cold day in hell before I bring another being into this house--the <em>last</em> thing I need is another mouth to feed and more crap to clean up.</div><br /><br /><div>So I laughed and said, "No, Mike doesn't need a friend."</div><br /><br /><div>Cole's response: "When is Jack going to come back to be Mike's friend."</div><br /><br /><div>Jack was our Jack Russell Terror, I mean <em>Terrier</em> who died four years ago (three days before Cole was born in fact). He was bit by a coral snake. </div><br /><br /><div>I said to him, "No Cole, Jack is in heaven so he won't be coming back."</div><br /><br /><div>Mason chimes in, "Yeah, Jack is in heaven with God."</div><br /><br /><div>Cole, after a pregnant pause said, "Well, can he come back down if he promises to stay away from snakes so he doesn't get bitten again?" Cole must have heard us tell the story to someone somewhere along the line.</div><br /><br /><div>This whole exchange went down in the car. Life's most important conversations happen in a minivan.</div><br /><br /><div>So I'm driving, stupefied, wondering what to say to this. Death is something so hard to understand, let alone explain in appropriate terms to a four year old.</div><br /><br /><div>Saved by Mason, the ever precocious child. <em>"It doesn't work that way, Cole,"</em> he said.</div><br /><br /><div>"Oh, okay. Can we go have a playdate with Matthew?" was Cole's very accepting response.</div><br /><br /><div>I've been known to make problems more difficult than they need to be. I guess I'll leave the life lessons up to Mason from now on.</div></div></div><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpFPm3SZCLDL3-9whe9RKlLGNQEViAjM2ypL0uu1kKTyF-B4rAbTN02TtSBZqI3E-qD3k5MyTRgdjJ3zUYzD_LbR1K2Hx_wqpoU64XSLL7f5BDxow_otERez2Qo9JlFSvOmuEqfFq7k8/s1600/038.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507510214355871394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpFPm3SZCLDL3-9whe9RKlLGNQEViAjM2ypL0uu1kKTyF-B4rAbTN02TtSBZqI3E-qD3k5MyTRgdjJ3zUYzD_LbR1K2Hx_wqpoU64XSLL7f5BDxow_otERez2Qo9JlFSvOmuEqfFq7k8/s400/038.JPG" /></a>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-60149364069686349232010-08-16T13:25:00.003-04:002010-08-16T13:38:16.767-04:00The Seven Day CountdownI had the <em>best</em> weekend.<br /><br />It was just what I needed, being here at the end of summer (and therefore on the cusp of losing my sanity. Long story short, it involved my kids spending the night with their grandparents, celebrating a friend’s 21st (plus a few) birthday, sleeping in, a delicious breakfast, an indulgent take-your-time-and-don’t-worry-about-getting-paged-to-the-Kids-Club kind of workout, a trip to the beach with my friend (the first time I’ve been to the beach in many moons where I was able to pack one small, teeny bag to hold my stuff), an afternoon with a book, and an evening at the movies.<br /><br />Jealous?<br /><br />So here we are on Monday. At first glance it’s an ordinary Monday, but if you look a little closer at the calendar you’d notice it’s the last Monday before the kids start school. I wasn’t teaching any classes this morning so I really was enjoying my one of my last mornings of not having to rush kids off to school (I am teaching tomorrow and Wednesday, but repeat performances of this lazy morning will be held on Thursday and Friday).<br /><br />Tomorrow is Cole’s open house, Wednesday we find out who Mason’s Kindergarten teacher is, and Friday is his open house. I am so excited for it all!<br /><br />And then there’s my girl Lila. When the boys depart on Monday I’m sure I will have my share of sadness and bittersweet moments. But I am really, <em>really</em> looking forward to spending some time alone with my girl. It’s been nice having the boys around all summer but I miss my mornings of last spring, where it was just me and Lila. She’s my sidekick. She’s really good at it too! I’ve discovered lately that I’m a bit lost when I’m without all of the kids, so at least I still have one to keep me company. And this might sound really strange, but I've never had one-on-one time with a two year old. When Mason was two, Cole was six months old, when Cole was two, Lila was a newborn. I have really learned to appreciate alone time with my children. <br /><br />The summer has ended with a bang. The boys did a little set of swim classes last week and were proud to get diplomas at the end. (***Dislclaimer: All photos are craptastic iPhone photos. I forgot my camera. Hey, no one's perfect.)<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8780MS9ymLhskeHGnyZpF58j_Q-OgHLimSc2MfdCFCRVHaK9HDMAlC81TdoC0bIxyx_hibegwwcpuKrJ3xJWFEOcTWuuALpVOEcg3XXB8CFz3tG7rnbq0FLFvKd1qlQZ_vJPDJFpYC0/s1600/042.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506060730334916290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8780MS9ymLhskeHGnyZpF58j_Q-OgHLimSc2MfdCFCRVHaK9HDMAlC81TdoC0bIxyx_hibegwwcpuKrJ3xJWFEOcTWuuALpVOEcg3XXB8CFz3tG7rnbq0FLFvKd1qlQZ_vJPDJFpYC0/s400/042.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0YKHq8VFm4f1FerUkbgBMbXOkyyUomLG_CqO4ke4q9KQVJEKu1tJx8ydpwzXN9B4v7Xlp04oCshuzZa8j7LtMLYEaUYvUtzU2aDgbidBb4iDC-81YTxj7HISOfqWoRJyxe2ZW19FC9M/s1600/043.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506060723161472962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0YKHq8VFm4f1FerUkbgBMbXOkyyUomLG_CqO4ke4q9KQVJEKu1tJx8ydpwzXN9B4v7Xlp04oCshuzZa8j7LtMLYEaUYvUtzU2aDgbidBb4iDC-81YTxj7HISOfqWoRJyxe2ZW19FC9M/s400/043.JPG" /></a><br />They learned the backstroke and the freestyle stroke, and Mason has proven to be a wicked fast freestyle swimmer. His only (and quite significant) downfall is that he forgets to pick his head up and breathe. But watching him tear across that water freestyle is some kind of amazing. Cole is more interested in diving to the bottom to retrieve things off the pool floor. The kid is a solid hunk of very heavy muscle. Buonacy is not his forte. They both have taken to jumping off the diving board, something that looks so freaky I don't even know if *I* would be brave enough to attempt it. But that's little boys for ya.<br /><br />On the last day all the kids were allowed to go down the waterslides twice, which is a huge deal because typically you need to be 48 inches or taller to go down them during park hours. On one hand this is cool because they were excited and had so much fun. On the other hand when we go there on our own to visit it’s going to be tough to explain to them that they’re not tall enough to go down the slides when they can clearly remember that exception being made.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfYYfYXIwVgXgB2bC8tMy0jvuMeszJQnFsAh7dPD29Bd6_Eb9HyiV82lN7DssKqS7OtmfVVZ7CpxmxUkTgGlEk0TV6GVtqHd-8DqYLMRuXL93SboNqFDgr3w0sFjKUbLAjKFQzRwFUeo/s1600/045.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506060715481979138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfYYfYXIwVgXgB2bC8tMy0jvuMeszJQnFsAh7dPD29Bd6_Eb9HyiV82lN7DssKqS7OtmfVVZ7CpxmxUkTgGlEk0TV6GVtqHd-8DqYLMRuXL93SboNqFDgr3w0sFjKUbLAjKFQzRwFUeo/s400/045.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVXZVD8-aK9o0jVl2RJX-v7JR6g0b7IFfCB1uZTBi30YKYls62JzVlwv-9BxPKqKD0WF1zbUjqvJdodd72A5-4LXJ0dPz7IhcDmP79CqxuroBr12b61zaXmlup6M_ul5V_6n8Bbx91Mg/s1600/047.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506060707456444370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVXZVD8-aK9o0jVl2RJX-v7JR6g0b7IFfCB1uZTBi30YKYls62JzVlwv-9BxPKqKD0WF1zbUjqvJdodd72A5-4LXJ0dPz7IhcDmP79CqxuroBr12b61zaXmlup6M_ul5V_6n8Bbx91Mg/s400/047.JPG" /></a><br />Excluded from swim lessons due to the broken collar bone of the Summer of '10, is Lila. Still as cute as ever.</div><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2aQsiCVz725_BWxaOXOavdHUT37zt6LWYUSS55VjZfpSfcv06ZL8nN5meeam7aLJT-XEKaEDQHUvBNhhMIDjGNyvRiD21qUSkgZ1NyQIPmAHve8B-IOC6MZgu6u5xaKdnrlKBIjt6Ig/s1600/040.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506060851886918530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2aQsiCVz725_BWxaOXOavdHUT37zt6LWYUSS55VjZfpSfcv06ZL8nN5meeam7aLJT-XEKaEDQHUvBNhhMIDjGNyvRiD21qUSkgZ1NyQIPmAHve8B-IOC6MZgu6u5xaKdnrlKBIjt6Ig/s400/040.JPG" /></a><br /><br />At the end of the school year I had decided to keep the kids home all summer, mostly due to Mason’s increasingly more vocal request that he was getting burnt out of school. Truth was he’d been attending almost nonstop since he turned three. I am proud to say that with the exception of one week of vacation bible school, they have been my constant companions. Let’s just say that next summer a little bit more scheduled activities will be involved. As much as I enjoyed the low key nature of most days, my sanity is on the line here. Plus Mason in particular has been requesting me to enroll him in a different activity every five minutes. Soccer, tennis, basketball, bowling, more swim lessons… you name it, he wants to do it. What’s summer for if not to explore some interests?<br /><br />So here I sit, on the cusp of major changes with my family. I am bad with change. Extremely. But time waits for no (wo)man, and Change it is a comin’. </div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-33856599576333049172010-08-05T11:51:00.000-04:002010-08-05T11:51:00.127-04:00Mother AgeI’m under the mistaken impression that I am still young.<br /><br />It has recently come to my attention that I am not.<br /><br />Even though I am still (for a few more weeks at least) in my 20’s, I have three kids. The first one ages you three years, the second one ages you four more, and the third one ages you five years on top of that.<br /><br />So just like we used to have “weighted” GPAs in high school, my Mother Age is somewhere around 42. Which 42 is not “old” per se, but when you’re an honorary 42 year old who doesn’t sleep enough and eats a nutritionally void diet that is mostly consumed while standing at the kitchen counter, it’s a little rough.<br /><br />And then, you get the bright idea to consumer bottles, yes <em>bottles</em> of wine with your friends and stay out until midnight on a Wednesday night.<br /><br />Wednesday night is half price wine bottle night at The Pub, for those of you who are interested. So my cohorts and I headed out to take advantage of this. And then, about 30 minutes in, this drunk 24 year old kid came over to hit on us, three married ladies. Kara asked him how old he is and his answer was something to the effect of “I’m younger than you, of course.”<br /><br />This, coupled with the fact that he had (at 8pm) already consumed so much beer that he couldn’t open his eyes all the way, should have been a warning.<br /><br />The night lumbered on and he started tell us how his sister (who I went to high school with) is a whore because she got pregnant and had a abortion at 17. What kind of wacko calls his sister a whore to perfect strangers?? That was just the tip of the iceberg, but I won’t go into details here. Let’s just say it was highly disturbing, and he repeatedly tried to get Keri to leave with him because he deemed by some method his puny little brain created that she had the least happy marriage out of the three of us and was the likeliest to commit adultery. Like I said, he was a super individual.<br /><br />So we ended up next door at the pizza place to let some of the wine to wear off. And when I say pizza place, I’m talking like gourmet, fancy pizza. <em>It was delicious</em>. So there we are, at 11pm or something, eating our delicious pizza with wonderfully spicy pepperoni, and the owner of the place comes over to chat. He’s a legit Italian guy named Fabio. He ends up pouring us some champagne and discussing how American men only work out their upper bodies and never their legs, therefore making them look like birds. His point is an excellent one. Anyway, he was a super nice guy, and like I said, his place makes the most lovely, flavorful pizza I’ve had in some time. But in the back of my mind I keep thinking, who do we think we are? Young people with no kids? This is going to hurt in the morning.<br /><br />And, uh yeah, it hurts. I woke up thirsty, hungry, thirsty, hungry some more, and tired. The kids were up at 6:30, and I had no time to acclimate before I picked myself up by the boot straps and headed out to swim lessons.<br /><br />So, I think that when you and two friends consume two bottles of wine plus some champagne, get insulted by a guy in a bar who is only five years younger than you but behaves worse than your toddler, and stay out so late that it’s the next day when you make it home, you can add 15 years to your already adjusted Mother Age. Which makes me 57 today.<br /><br />That feels about right. I must have some grandchildren running around here somewhere.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-70089586472983605302010-07-22T17:05:00.000-04:002010-07-22T17:06:14.542-04:00Summertime, And the Living Ain't Easy<div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_pozM2IlvLjgkOZ5SbX098SQYnyhZ_rC5ZrRmQT_3S7Zljf4QWDKdOr2qXveid3OFjdFB3kSwRWFe-bAUJ2WdrS16w8dtBBTeW3j2kjjj5laI1spYWxgByzPEr4daA8sXQcXG2hoU1bU/s1600/IMG_1544.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496836755386883410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_pozM2IlvLjgkOZ5SbX098SQYnyhZ_rC5ZrRmQT_3S7Zljf4QWDKdOr2qXveid3OFjdFB3kSwRWFe-bAUJ2WdrS16w8dtBBTeW3j2kjjj5laI1spYWxgByzPEr4daA8sXQcXG2hoU1bU/s400/IMG_1544.JPG" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I LOVE this picture. I have titled it "Summertime." I feel this is an appropriate representation.<br /></em><br /></span><br /><br />It's been more than a month since I have posted. I have lots of good excuses.<br /><br /><br />Summertime is an interesting beast. I was so excited to get to it, so glad to have days where the kids and I could rise leisurely, craft four course meals for breakfast, and take our time deciding what to do with the day.<br /><br /><br />This never happened. Of course it doesn't help that I don't cook.<br /><br /><br />And besides, I selectively blocked out that at least two morning a week I have to rise and instruct yoga. A welcome break to the cacaophony of screaming and fighting that has been the soundtrack of summer, but it does stand in the way of the aforementioned leisurely mornings.<br /><br /><br />You see, children like to fight amongst themselves. Siblings get a special kick out of sparring with one another. It's enough to drive a mother mad.<br /><br /><br />Two weeks ago I really was questioning my need for a padded room. Friday had arrived, I was at the end of my wits, and was thankful, grateful, excited and ready for the weekend. Saturday I took some me time and strolled the Waterside Shops, and when I began to feel like a human being again I returned home, ready to step back into my role of mother.<br /><br /><br />Just in time, too, because an injury had been sustained.<br /><br /><br />Long story short, the kids and Rey were playing outside and Lila fell and fratured her collar bone. I will take this (and any other opportunity) to say how wonderful I think Dr. Wilson is because he gives you his cell phone number for Saturday emergencies. He says four weeks until she's healed, and you can set your watch by that. I'm pretty sure he keeps a crystal ball in his office to predict such things. You can't *do* anything in terms of a cast for a broken clavicle, no matter how minor or severe. He explained to me how it heals, something to the effect of that the fracture will form a calcification around it and that shortly thereafter it would wear itself away into a new bone. Sorta like a miracle, if you ask me.<br /><br /><br />So we persist, our only healing instruction is to keep her calm, prevent falls that would further damage the weakened bone. Keeping a two year old calm is an... interesting challenge. She's not allowed to swim, or bike ride, or go in bounce houses, or basically do any of the things that up to that point had been helping us survive the summer. And since she can't do this stuff, by and large neither can the boys. So instead they go buck wild around the house.<br /><br /><br />It's funny how just when I was at my breaking point, just when I thought I was done and couldn't take another thing, another thing happened and proved me wrong. Because as mothers we don't have a choice. We <em>can't</em> break, we're <em>never</em> done, and there's always, <em>always</em> another thing that we have to take on.<br /><br /><br />Summer can suck it. I'm ready for school to start. Which I would feel slightly guilty about if the kids weren't excited too. Mason asks every day when he gets to go to Kindergarten, when he gets to start at his new school. Cole's missing his friends, and Lila's going to be taking a weekly dance class. So there's a lot of fun things in the horizon as summer sets and fall rises.<br /><br /><br />I personally can't wait.<br /><br /><br />In the meantime I've been investing small fortunes into school supplies. Mason got a new backpack.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESSP-GNImh4ZfUU5Bkn__NiKScO9mPEpfl9-YeSp_LRwmAsyi0zCk3ItUDQDDGBmth3yvcwYHieezLS0j3-YwOHPfyppApy7KSYYBR4C4nRDeW_V8o4Vc-HH5az2FGX3ckvZGVt9mh6A/s1600/IMG_1494.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496837058850541538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESSP-GNImh4ZfUU5Bkn__NiKScO9mPEpfl9-YeSp_LRwmAsyi0zCk3ItUDQDDGBmth3yvcwYHieezLS0j3-YwOHPfyppApy7KSYYBR4C4nRDeW_V8o4Vc-HH5az2FGX3ckvZGVt9mh6A/s400/IMG_1494.JPG" /></a><br /><br />And I love to cruise the aisles of Target. I must admit that school supplies are my weakness. It's one of my happy memories as a kid when my mom would take us to the store to buy all of our stuff. I can still remember the smell of it all. And then I'd bring it home and inhale the smell more, unpack, organize, and load it all into my backpack. Good times!<br /><br /><br />I've got to make it through two more weeks with my broken baby, and after that we have two more weeks of summer fun.<br /></div><div align="left"></div><p align="left"><br /><br /><br />In the meantime, we have been playing a lot of Band Hero.<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0e-60NC3DUMhhksslcd3RYF2FDs8RMik7RwpOVkO7CCgEq507IjZMPPbXF8gzJv5DY_TAqjiBmpO83Q6k9VndJgxB_62-MXvDFPyfr3ahOXgkzKP0TbEDjOhFZRxBIgSNFtioKlByY8/s1600/IMG_1300.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496837643749935986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0e-60NC3DUMhhksslcd3RYF2FDs8RMik7RwpOVkO7CCgEq507IjZMPPbXF8gzJv5DY_TAqjiBmpO83Q6k9VndJgxB_62-MXvDFPyfr3ahOXgkzKP0TbEDjOhFZRxBIgSNFtioKlByY8/s400/IMG_1300.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRotcTzfbYr_GmzUWnjorWr8r94GpmPRnpXK1E_LWLko5GL6OnJmk-56Ch-sKUdKynz3ytWf4HMGPUVcYvRtxP_dwO9FS-wVIZHSJpppuQKSH_ncmaEi7MiuDtrbLs7HmAufLL-TQxImw/s1600/IMG_1301.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496837313087048066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRotcTzfbYr_GmzUWnjorWr8r94GpmPRnpXK1E_LWLko5GL6OnJmk-56Ch-sKUdKynz3ytWf4HMGPUVcYvRtxP_dwO9FS-wVIZHSJpppuQKSH_ncmaEi7MiuDtrbLs7HmAufLL-TQxImw/s400/IMG_1301.JPG" /></a>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-31485306306814973732010-06-17T17:13:00.013-04:002010-06-17T18:17:28.101-04:00Amber and Ashley Vacate Plus EightThe plan was simple—to have no plan. And the beauty of having no expectations means that it’s impossible to be disappointed. Even better—you could be very pleasantly surprised like I was.<br /><br />My only thought about the trip was to get away from my house, my chores, my daily grind, and go and spend some time with great friends and their kids who I love. This was a guarantee.<br /><br />Then I met the ocean.<br /><br />I had frolicked with the Atlantic before, yes, but it’s been years. When I was a kid and we lived in Maryland we’d spend two weeks each Thanksgiving in Fort Lauderdale. We stayed in the same exact hotel each time. My dad would get up at the crack of dawn and dig for sand fleas to use as bait. He had an impossibly long fishing pole that had a base that was as thick around as my seven year old arm, and when he’d cast it I could swear it’d go out for miles. This is a set of memories from my childhood that I won’t forget.<br /><br />So imagine my surprise when I bounded down the boardwalk, lugging a superhuman amount of towels, sunscreen and beach toys, with wild children swirling around me like a nebulous of chaos, only to lay eyes on the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in perhaps a decade or more.<br /><br />Beaches are not a novelty to me. In fact, I can’t understand it when people come to visit Naples and marvel over the gulf waters and palm trees that stand at attention along each and every street. It’s just my normal. I was expecting this beach to be just as normal.<br /><br />Boy, was I wrong.<br /><br />It was stunning.<br /><br />Those who know me know I sorta kinda hate the beach. Sand in particular. You can never seem to get rid of it. But I have cheated on my Naples gulf beach with Amelia Island’s Atlantic one. And I will have a hard time forgetting about my summer love affair.<br /><br />Our first trip was during low tide, and there was this vast pool of water only a several inches deep that spanned about 20 feet before you made it to the tide. Perfect for little people. Cole spent hours, no exaggeration, trying to catch these tiny little minnows for his bucket. With the help of some kind folks from Pensacola, he did. And named his fish Dirty Head.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqufSP1qIKlMkk0btRXdLms2_qzI0_IVMaN2N2HaH3H_0Xmz3Ovfai2-PoXJY3PH6j9Fl4nGRk6U9zw01OHJjtaVwfhmYl0SdenrOko7RsJfdgS4l3xHLgtw3VmCapHUAaKSiQOMEWVK4/s1600/IMG_4968.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483867043160204994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqufSP1qIKlMkk0btRXdLms2_qzI0_IVMaN2N2HaH3H_0Xmz3Ovfai2-PoXJY3PH6j9Fl4nGRk6U9zw01OHJjtaVwfhmYl0SdenrOko7RsJfdgS4l3xHLgtw3VmCapHUAaKSiQOMEWVK4/s400/IMG_4968.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Dirty Head met a sad demise when Cole left him unattended to attend to his own bathroom needs. Savannah, who was herself engulfed in her own obsession of playing in a hole, dumped him over in a fit of splashing joy. And Dirty Head was a goner.<br /><br />Soon Cole had acquired two new fish, and Siennah one was well, thanks to the same kind family.<br /><br />The waves on the Atlantic were something else. I knew they were bigger, better, and badder than our measly gulf waves, that only makes sense. But they were so. much. cooler. than I ever thought possible. I could stand there for hours (and did) watching them roll in, the incoming one fighting to overcome the receding one, leaving behind proof of their visit by way of white foam. They roared and lapped as they moved, and I realized the ocean was talking to us. I feel like the ocean is an analogy for my own life, noisy, chaotic, but so incredibly beautiful.<br /><br />And then, I discovered body surfing. The guys had been at it from Day One, with Mason and Sebastian in tow. Cole was more interested in sand activities and Siennah was supremely occupied by worrying about everyone drowning (at the beginning at least, she warmed up markedly there towards the end). Amber and I were glad to let them be, busying ourselves with watching the little ones and taking pictures. Until we got too hot and had to swim. And so it began.<br /><br />It was so fun! As in SO freakin’ fun! These huge waves would come along and lift you up, take you to their swell, and put your feet back on the ground. Sometimes it was a kind and gentle little ride, and sometimes it was a splashing, violent jaunt where on more than one occasion I wondered if a rip tide was going to take me away, never to see the light of day again. But I am paranoid like that.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiIqV5qjS9vvDOjQbs2HFKnJiGXN98AX-dnDnwTsr-TI3hoUlBx-KDwROh3ApsynwSCtQmvGBtrnQ3vfW437VIOXefspl7SW-9G8qYLqXcLUvaCtcP2vqcbbidCmq4W9jkJlxFCW5c8U/s1600/IMG_5400.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483866759268353810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiIqV5qjS9vvDOjQbs2HFKnJiGXN98AX-dnDnwTsr-TI3hoUlBx-KDwROh3ApsynwSCtQmvGBtrnQ3vfW437VIOXefspl7SW-9G8qYLqXcLUvaCtcP2vqcbbidCmq4W9jkJlxFCW5c8U/s400/IMG_5400.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Moral of the story: Go Body Surfing. Cause it’s awesome.<br /><br />Sleep was scarce, thanks to an army of little kids who were anxious to get up an play. The latest they slept was 6:43, and the earliest and rudest awakening came on the last day at 6:02. Tired parents who had spent every night burning the midnight oil enjoying cocktails and company were not ready to wake this early. Save one day that Amber and I went to checkout the sunrise.<br /><br />Sunrise, like waves, is a novelty to me. We here on the west coast obviously have sunsets, a much more accommodating beauty to a non-morning person like myself. However, I rationalized that in fact it was my one chance since who knows when and until who knows when that I could soak one up. So awaken I did at 5:45, by choice, and still clad in my jammies trudged with my friend down to the beauty that is the beach.<br /><br />Fog. Fog prevented my vision of that big orange orb peeking up over the horizon, but we were still treated to a visual delight. What started as a gray and bleary-eyed morning, soon turned into a promising purple sky, which led to a pink horizon that was soon overtaking by brilliant orange. My once bleary eyes were opening wider and wider. It was a simply breathtaking way to greet the day. Even though bugs were snacking on my delicious skin.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh98TgH5EfOQCgyHlPbqtGhDCaiNldxyyP9q1gCfIlZN8dQ4BHGec1nVQ17lTqxCMecN1HfGE_5CIz6PYpsLD8ij-QksfxyCh5YlOPJtbR66962aPJ3Myo2JSovnsJll6uk1Ah8D4zZM/s1600/IMG_6012.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483865717501553938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh98TgH5EfOQCgyHlPbqtGhDCaiNldxyyP9q1gCfIlZN8dQ4BHGec1nVQ17lTqxCMecN1HfGE_5CIz6PYpsLD8ij-QksfxyCh5YlOPJtbR66962aPJ3Myo2JSovnsJll6uk1Ah8D4zZM/s400/IMG_6012.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUDYNv2OmI47FFB8dEJ7bcW1xYDL60hYbP1MfYKOathhYKhU-EDo-we1CJl2O7dAzxT9HLxniyJwK-KDuznPYFPBKyUhtePvfWfWCD2sn8eoRw5LQtr8W5ScIgLlh_tH2O_8cXq5qnQk/s1600/IMG_1016.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483865709522170850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUDYNv2OmI47FFB8dEJ7bcW1xYDL60hYbP1MfYKOathhYKhU-EDo-we1CJl2O7dAzxT9HLxniyJwK-KDuznPYFPBKyUhtePvfWfWCD2sn8eoRw5LQtr8W5ScIgLlh_tH2O_8cXq5qnQk/s400/IMG_1016.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJFw7RM2bBYfKANr65zgzEnPFtJRWa6kJP8dsESRF1xiAXlDeA5wu31yMl2NiR2zGAFnx_AOj5QOUtkUq8VMCgoSdYPVAiKpnG8keVHxlNT7sdRcQiRUoDdPhozm-7epwUFlpUwYE81w/s1600/IMG_1013.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483865705124940418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJFw7RM2bBYfKANr65zgzEnPFtJRWa6kJP8dsESRF1xiAXlDeA5wu31yMl2NiR2zGAFnx_AOj5QOUtkUq8VMCgoSdYPVAiKpnG8keVHxlNT7sdRcQiRUoDdPhozm-7epwUFlpUwYE81w/s400/IMG_1013.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEdJsMjZDqQWVbbcDN1H8MV76OrPZ_b72TQMZZuxu3qvwSz876e1CPOnSDfJVhNJvEZoqBAfqXIbMpYN19FE2uUWZzJfxBoz9k1uPa6nLUAGxdkvpJyptDspWcceiDrE_Wa8Cos_ieBU/s1600/IMG_1028.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483864955836891218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEdJsMjZDqQWVbbcDN1H8MV76OrPZ_b72TQMZZuxu3qvwSz876e1CPOnSDfJVhNJvEZoqBAfqXIbMpYN19FE2uUWZzJfxBoz9k1uPa6nLUAGxdkvpJyptDspWcceiDrE_Wa8Cos_ieBU/s400/IMG_1028.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FQcB9QXzQgZLgB_N9HsTq3FNlU2sGbnW0KPUNiFvqMK45MjIAt7zlIgA23mqm7ydESuPaLeGA4PdnxRzUvcR2gAFUZsLTICtzXSWyGfE5lnT-1yAI9JkCgB-JVt3XEaGtWk-xEjwgog/s1600/IMG_1044.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483864943792627170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FQcB9QXzQgZLgB_N9HsTq3FNlU2sGbnW0KPUNiFvqMK45MjIAt7zlIgA23mqm7ydESuPaLeGA4PdnxRzUvcR2gAFUZsLTICtzXSWyGfE5lnT-1yAI9JkCgB-JVt3XEaGtWk-xEjwgog/s400/IMG_1044.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BllFF3GnX9KFQhRR5Tfpz2m2BEW38PZ969wMUiPQlOeNkOJ7dHaZBnF9J3sNJvgEIzJ0iBCw1G3UeR_6C2kuE2KDyuhSLQXfhxKm8hxiWwboktsJxLf310jri1szVG_cOng-bfYd3-k/s1600/IMG_1048.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483864940789522786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BllFF3GnX9KFQhRR5Tfpz2m2BEW38PZ969wMUiPQlOeNkOJ7dHaZBnF9J3sNJvgEIzJ0iBCw1G3UeR_6C2kuE2KDyuhSLQXfhxKm8hxiWwboktsJxLf310jri1szVG_cOng-bfYd3-k/s400/IMG_1048.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_OU2ImQupfvZnaOc-_8tvh38udd-IFh9Gnnza0yhqF6BqVWn1q4Vsa6fldZoa4tQrnI02UyjKigDEVyDvCrkSfDOWRVZ9eWfbhBSGjsxAsc-qEbDzWC8m6dwyJK7Okrxs9AyRors9vuw/s1600/IMG_1054.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483864306124133746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_OU2ImQupfvZnaOc-_8tvh38udd-IFh9Gnnza0yhqF6BqVWn1q4Vsa6fldZoa4tQrnI02UyjKigDEVyDvCrkSfDOWRVZ9eWfbhBSGjsxAsc-qEbDzWC8m6dwyJK7Okrxs9AyRors9vuw/s400/IMG_1054.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4yde6lWX3LUQekJD-7KprUnzrmg1s8Mfb380sGh3lPPLmbQ3XmRUmDRpH8SPUFCyMtmV1f9dqpwDUCLXhN9dAgNOFxmRIvfmHD5bCw8cQcHunz_IU6B8gw1etAcGg2_janhnl8mzmpY/s1600/IMG_1064.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483864299430283586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4yde6lWX3LUQekJD-7KprUnzrmg1s8Mfb380sGh3lPPLmbQ3XmRUmDRpH8SPUFCyMtmV1f9dqpwDUCLXhN9dAgNOFxmRIvfmHD5bCw8cQcHunz_IU6B8gw1etAcGg2_janhnl8mzmpY/s400/IMG_1064.JPG" /></a><br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br />And on top of that, this little guy swam by for a visit.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xdTlO1EbES8Cj7WpYa-MOTcYEI3OzXcbFuFED4NNdRhnEzMT7-ppqZpHkblrLX8EdZ0KURxOHX2TrzK4rcylKcM1TvgZJ-Cic0rnZqRqYBxVkBb4yC639xKmlUgR1bF6Pu8VK2qHcv8/s1600/IMG_1039.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483864294916865810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xdTlO1EbES8Cj7WpYa-MOTcYEI3OzXcbFuFED4NNdRhnEzMT7-ppqZpHkblrLX8EdZ0KURxOHX2TrzK4rcylKcM1TvgZJ-Cic0rnZqRqYBxVkBb4yC639xKmlUgR1bF6Pu8VK2qHcv8/s400/IMG_1039.JPG" /></a><br /><br />We rode bikes. Amber and I, thankfully, were solo riders. Rey and Brian were not so lucky, each towing a baby on a baby seat and two big kids in a trailer. It was nothing short of hysterical watching them attempt to pedal up some of the hills and come to a complete stop. But then again (full disclosure here) I did crash into a tree. There was great humor in the fact that I, a certified Spinning instructor, crashed my bike into a tree. To which my response is this—you don’t have to steer a Spin bike people! And for that matter, I have never in my life ridden a bike anywhere except for southwest Florida, which means I have never in my life ridden a bike anywhere that a thing called a “hill” exists. It’s hard to steer and pedal and brake so you don’t go flying. One hits a tree from time to time. No humans, animals or foliage was harmed.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiybWErC9Ma_V4AntnJy3moSWGlUy0wL7vsuI43vW_mTeJOLEuStoDDtR831V79j4fE-ofLsG0Mr_-p86OYO3fF9g4og8NA7R2K0l7fcNCk1pNYF5FdO4UMeSrbMZhRcAPMwkgmJBUUvY/s1600/IMG_5246.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483863525116230850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiybWErC9Ma_V4AntnJy3moSWGlUy0wL7vsuI43vW_mTeJOLEuStoDDtR831V79j4fE-ofLsG0Mr_-p86OYO3fF9g4og8NA7R2K0l7fcNCk1pNYF5FdO4UMeSrbMZhRcAPMwkgmJBUUvY/s400/IMG_5246.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHOkovwus8BsPf7mTPNwJ7zvRSnpXxMsxqYZkgGhGRGrXRtMxNsTJyKYpZ1PTXG3rC0mEB7dydA4QLoSWIaDRH7ZwLgB91pKiuZOBoK7U7FrA3dqClKc7qfALulDdPxPb5zPZgebcXUo/s1600/IMG_5614.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483863515598743298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHOkovwus8BsPf7mTPNwJ7zvRSnpXxMsxqYZkgGhGRGrXRtMxNsTJyKYpZ1PTXG3rC0mEB7dydA4QLoSWIaDRH7ZwLgB91pKiuZOBoK7U7FrA3dqClKc7qfALulDdPxPb5zPZgebcXUo/s400/IMG_5614.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Note the trees—all the trees on the island were adorned with lovely, soft beards of moss. Amber was quite obsessed with them. And every time I looked at them, all I could think was that they were good for packing a wound (a bit of trivia that I learned <a href="http://steppedonalego.blogspot.com/2010/02/book-nook.html">here</a>).<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJMV2siPX3uIhSTZfPCMQ0BkKv-YAKRxKUUMKj9T-EDwXL4dA3ygM43iOp32dlk3-hN_qnu33pDtU6H8rM0m5AKmw0W7zR3rh8K8KAcY-15wTETQk4ShUfGqtI2xJAQdN67iWavOUubc/s1600/IMG_5360.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483863508163952978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJMV2siPX3uIhSTZfPCMQ0BkKv-YAKRxKUUMKj9T-EDwXL4dA3ygM43iOp32dlk3-hN_qnu33pDtU6H8rM0m5AKmw0W7zR3rh8K8KAcY-15wTETQk4ShUfGqtI2xJAQdN67iWavOUubc/s400/IMG_5360.JPG" /></a><br /><br />We toured Fort Clinch which both astounded me in its beauty and totally freaked me out. The boys were stoked to see canon balls, guns, and the "soldier" (ask him anything! He either knows the answer or will make one up so convincingly that you’ll never know the difference). Brian watched a 15 minute video at the beginning of the tour, committed the whole thing to memory and was officially the unofficial tour guide.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzm5g6K4qLtGTAbEhSYJqWdnIKSnnOSykp3ZWXN3SoTTL-LuhJMUxnmfvM184cailPL9oRDjN1lFaaI_30DjS6ipN1wT8E_WREIiFCbL7Sve-pa3cKO4wXnSi3gY2Y6l5kl1baFq3hkw/s1600/IMG_0891.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483862868608135138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzm5g6K4qLtGTAbEhSYJqWdnIKSnnOSykp3ZWXN3SoTTL-LuhJMUxnmfvM184cailPL9oRDjN1lFaaI_30DjS6ipN1wT8E_WREIiFCbL7Sve-pa3cKO4wXnSi3gY2Y6l5kl1baFq3hkw/s400/IMG_0891.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjYmOJyEd-MANEnOY5iidINREJj4oJZtBrFhdfbO1vJIqV2WhkizHrH-mg4qFCXu7TXh96EyUp6YcSUTr8lhT-2IIwJYHtgUBawnfNuKhye9hWoXgx4szii9o3fU2x6w1d2AHUSA5_aM/s1600/IMG_0895.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483862858152383890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjYmOJyEd-MANEnOY5iidINREJj4oJZtBrFhdfbO1vJIqV2WhkizHrH-mg4qFCXu7TXh96EyUp6YcSUTr8lhT-2IIwJYHtgUBawnfNuKhye9hWoXgx4szii9o3fU2x6w1d2AHUSA5_aM/s400/IMG_0895.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89kk7mo97CG0KlFrJ8XQmuTC3NX0tLD9cjxQRMDscfZNaskZlklZPLt0LN55NjypSzwnmwFqtiqzjzQQUuAcN8_vylqYAas39FSrkFKt3G2VIJvg-O4PS-jjg76jKoq_c5xAxSPlCDJk/s1600/IMG_0905.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483862853569566594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89kk7mo97CG0KlFrJ8XQmuTC3NX0tLD9cjxQRMDscfZNaskZlklZPLt0LN55NjypSzwnmwFqtiqzjzQQUuAcN8_vylqYAas39FSrkFKt3G2VIJvg-O4PS-jjg76jKoq_c5xAxSPlCDJk/s400/IMG_0905.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYoiNCpGs15y8cTr10bI1szO3hDUi4PAfhyqvPtFRWFrhpYmPhKo9gM0pY5m6YUYSjS_Voy_c6vhSsUJyTvjjK37l3_Udekd32CcwZAaIhdM53CrM5WVnRpeC8-gLeJek37J0wvNxlhI/s1600/IMG_0918.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483862282116178882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYoiNCpGs15y8cTr10bI1szO3hDUi4PAfhyqvPtFRWFrhpYmPhKo9gM0pY5m6YUYSjS_Voy_c6vhSsUJyTvjjK37l3_Udekd32CcwZAaIhdM53CrM5WVnRpeC8-gLeJek37J0wvNxlhI/s400/IMG_0918.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsI_bPLQe1jkjVBcd8g4yn36Te-17TzR76pjb2tsRCJ9djPiaTSQysoOBzrPYecRL8VcHOa0iN5Gscy5hX2XMt4-rC4ezVSRCraSm-MxJtTcE100411lCEKM7VDu7KpXvi9ysWChCcYMs/s1600/IMG_0923.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483862277194905362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsI_bPLQe1jkjVBcd8g4yn36Te-17TzR76pjb2tsRCJ9djPiaTSQysoOBzrPYecRL8VcHOa0iN5Gscy5hX2XMt4-rC4ezVSRCraSm-MxJtTcE100411lCEKM7VDu7KpXvi9ysWChCcYMs/s400/IMG_0923.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnumsVRyR-0w_Qs0F6T1cs1r6qF6-uSaOj3qzq3X0TWd5gwTIUxggAmB2s1YoetTGL7_hS2dxvBNLdCUx-FiZiOCqgyfYIMaDZwD34cNFWEXtUeipRSafuELmlP50xD-3fyXarYqvusnc/s1600/IMG_0946.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483862268190136130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnumsVRyR-0w_Qs0F6T1cs1r6qF6-uSaOj3qzq3X0TWd5gwTIUxggAmB2s1YoetTGL7_hS2dxvBNLdCUx-FiZiOCqgyfYIMaDZwD34cNFWEXtUeipRSafuELmlP50xD-3fyXarYqvusnc/s400/IMG_0946.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhx2llzeq3tJtiVRcdRZ5CGT6zqhWB_mLX44LgIyFNAcQDIWOi6TO46FdMJkoeADUKKMj_h4JBoPvsVOPTrOtSLOYL7deBiGcESX1jCIze183ykL_7DVpZ0j6DRwtlGNBAjQKqcHSFN0Q/s1600/IMG_0966.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483861676164838466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhx2llzeq3tJtiVRcdRZ5CGT6zqhWB_mLX44LgIyFNAcQDIWOi6TO46FdMJkoeADUKKMj_h4JBoPvsVOPTrOtSLOYL7deBiGcESX1jCIze183ykL_7DVpZ0j6DRwtlGNBAjQKqcHSFN0Q/s400/IMG_0966.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzrgrSuX7SCsC9jMkEzOmU9aaEPPy8RXL0iYfi0ih7ctvxwuLqzXb4leocKIfM4cXceMhyexuKmtTmz0ob1zVqEbRK6nlmMmc9n4fBPcIv8KX0fg2wToGSnCNEw7C-Ik4upX9J169sGA/s1600/IMG_0968.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483861667169833410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzrgrSuX7SCsC9jMkEzOmU9aaEPPy8RXL0iYfi0ih7ctvxwuLqzXb4leocKIfM4cXceMhyexuKmtTmz0ob1zVqEbRK6nlmMmc9n4fBPcIv8KX0fg2wToGSnCNEw7C-Ik4upX9J169sGA/s400/IMG_0968.JPG" /></a><br />My favorite part of the tour! ; )<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2O5o4xXrVP-5DpKckzu24jXxxZGrEF7U9uJ4g0w-QQ5bNXal1P5E3tTBMWg2zLehHt3asmOP5oOB4lsH-M0M75tS5q6dnvG6h0x5CwKoWx6C_ie2Sykdl2y2QcRSrHlBEDjK9VGOn7c/s1600/IMG_1011.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483861656104039346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2O5o4xXrVP-5DpKckzu24jXxxZGrEF7U9uJ4g0w-QQ5bNXal1P5E3tTBMWg2zLehHt3asmOP5oOB4lsH-M0M75tS5q6dnvG6h0x5CwKoWx6C_ie2Sykdl2y2QcRSrHlBEDjK9VGOn7c/s400/IMG_1011.JPG" /></a> </div><div>More pics to follow... (I say that with optimism and unwavering faith in myself that I will, in fact, get around to posting more!)</div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-81675024825912513122010-06-06T13:12:00.003-04:002010-06-06T13:26:22.572-04:00Tick TockHave you ever had a night that just wouldn't end? You watch the minutes tick by on the clock thinking "if I fall asleep right now I can still get three hours" which quickly turns into two hours, and then one. You alternate between hoping for sleep and praying for morning, both of which seem to make the time go by slower. Sometimes it's insomnia, sometimes it's a baby crying because she's on vacation and away from her own bed. My case was the latter. <br /><br />Eventually, the night did end. <br /><br />And the morning was there to greet me, whether I was ready or not. <br /><br />I wasn't.<br /><br />Our vacation was waiting also, and vacation waits for no tired mommy. We spent the day at the beach here on Amelia Island. I am no stranger to beaches, being as I live a mere three mikes from Florida's gulf coast. But let me tell ya, the Atlantic beach is the big mama to the gulf beaches.<br /><br />First I was shocked by the sand. It's real, unadulterated, nature made beach sand. Ours is trucked in and powdery fine. Little to no shell action. Whereas here you could actually make a day of hunting for shells, a pastime which I now finally understand.<br /><br />Second, the span of space from the beach to wet sand, from wet sand to this odd little two inch deep shallow tide area, and finally to the edge of the water to the waves.<br /><br />And the WAVES! They are legit, people. Mason and his buddy Sebastian were taught to body surf by their fathers, and I daresay that with enough food and beers (for the dads, that is) they could body surf themselves into next week.<br /><br />It is strange to be a stranger to the beach. I officially feel like a tourist now. <br /><br />Until tomorrow, which hopefully is its own day and not a big long continuous run-on sentence like today and yesterday have become!Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-29063606743593484462010-06-04T19:51:00.012-04:002010-06-04T22:24:00.507-04:00A Sweet CelebrationA photo essay...<br /><br />Why? Because we are leaving for vacation tomorrow and I am so unbelievably tired I can barely put two words together.<br /><br />I only have one thing to say other than that--<em>I am the cupcake master. </em><br /><p>Oh, and my pals are the best gals around.<br /><br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLxCH71FcK5Mwpi922u7vr3fbohT_DXgQdE6zVSI-DERmEf_dxzOVMKk8BHHKCMbUhEmHoMW5-m5Lb7qYAQowpb1XyVZRNMbPp1MovoYd9TOkv5da-v3R_JwTHHOt8gX7uTIrzLUgxJw/s1600/IMG_0220.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479107514626945586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLxCH71FcK5Mwpi922u7vr3fbohT_DXgQdE6zVSI-DERmEf_dxzOVMKk8BHHKCMbUhEmHoMW5-m5Lb7qYAQowpb1XyVZRNMbPp1MovoYd9TOkv5da-v3R_JwTHHOt8gX7uTIrzLUgxJw/s400/IMG_0220.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtZ-LC_MS33W7mi7SyXCz2wsfRtFmG1i2mNlZ2141XGNg4FGazdbBGw_wCcmqJnvNT6Ow3veh7c6-QwVrdA8lQyktbp_IS4hVupZKKIdrVLDaYjLXzha_bsRe-pPW8A74nVRQ1zO1Sm8/s1600/IMG_0235.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479070840709754850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkDHmpYPD2DIpNVB2ObM4dGRMFUv5knq3JAkUPKCj1FoA2ixqGVBEMO_eveHYY-9Y0CmGzt1ZatbFdHZNi8Ye2ZhDzSroAbvx7ovNjX8dWsgfmwyCQ2bGpPSaKjJD3ZLPASu7TX6ILck/s400/IMG_0415.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-27250377377014108202010-05-20T19:26:00.000-04:002010-05-20T21:05:59.513-04:00Lila<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0beOl-RuYUD-K98ZRvva_SbS-nNOpR1YuNolQ89sLOPF_wh-x3z2tXqLBikPaSOKXuX66TKeeBw5Yhz-KKxkIHlyNuL7SUSsJukWe37EQRE_W2vi_iOH1wD8ih5gSQmayFlVbY4utq-Y/s1600/IMG_0044.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473521035555403426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0beOl-RuYUD-K98ZRvva_SbS-nNOpR1YuNolQ89sLOPF_wh-x3z2tXqLBikPaSOKXuX66TKeeBw5Yhz-KKxkIHlyNuL7SUSsJukWe37EQRE_W2vi_iOH1wD8ih5gSQmayFlVbY4utq-Y/s400/IMG_0044.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Hi.<br /><br />My name is Ya-ya. Spelled L-I-L-A, but I like to call myself Ya-ya.<br /><br />Today is my birfday. I am two.<br /><br />Being two is fun. I love my life! I get to play with my bruh-yahs, Mas and Co-Co.<br /><br />My favorite thing to do is to cullah. You know, with crayons.<br /><br />I like to watch "packpack" on TV. Mason insists it's called "Dora" but I am certain he is wrong.<br /><br />I'm a super big girl now. I like to use the potty ever chance I get, but my mama says she doesn't have time for me to be potty trained. Those big girl underwears are so pretty though. Mine have Tinkerbell on them.<br /><br />My mullet has finally grown out long enough so mommy can manage it. Every morning I make her put pigtails in my hair. Or else.<br /><br />My favorite 'nack is raisins. I leave them all over the house!<br /><br />Every night before I go to bed, I tiss mommy, tiss, daddy, and tiss my bruh-yahs. I love to give tisses. Mwah! Then I say nah-nite.<br /><br />I am happy to be two.<br /><br />Happy birfday to me! Sing it, people.<br /><br />P.S. I'm having a really "sweet" birthday party this weekend. If my mommy has her act together she'll post some pictures next week.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-14151018710135458382010-05-19T13:58:00.001-04:002010-05-19T14:01:29.224-04:00True Floridians<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMMiIOc9tElzY6U6xDT5hY6lYm_B9eomolQi32sEDFJCw7molhrBh9GsTwYIC9V4qTtIzUnm9FwW60md2ssZAeKgQw9D8EFdKn0WwECgw4DgtFvCAccZQfz-vSkkglwEp_BrQByNzBaB0/s1600/IMG_0128.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473042577479079410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMMiIOc9tElzY6U6xDT5hY6lYm_B9eomolQi32sEDFJCw7molhrBh9GsTwYIC9V4qTtIzUnm9FwW60md2ssZAeKgQw9D8EFdKn0WwECgw4DgtFvCAccZQfz-vSkkglwEp_BrQByNzBaB0/s400/IMG_0128.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_46NGeAawdSnn1W4AP8L76Xxge2t3vmN5S6tBwer_MW51tjjrCTXE6ceJ-lUUOgxNMwDZglCYeVQ4nmSc3fE-EUA3ltJbCfrSJ7ASZllIdWgZQ2yALxRztQ-ZcP6kkRY7nYdAVGvXyM/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473042572103300642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_46NGeAawdSnn1W4AP8L76Xxge2t3vmN5S6tBwer_MW51tjjrCTXE6ceJ-lUUOgxNMwDZglCYeVQ4nmSc3fE-EUA3ltJbCfrSJ7ASZllIdWgZQ2yALxRztQ-ZcP6kkRY7nYdAVGvXyM/s400/IMG_0130.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUpbcFH2VlexLQmYEUJjavL_a7lr6q6dFexQFTTWQAwjURigOyDinYwjDyPj8GlzwSRZ2i4nqQy4qaFMM8x9XJ5RfS6QYVDlIrd0WRGuhi8BaSYu0tx7UXn34F0IJFRVaDow_067iIz4/s1600/IMG_0132.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473042560147168434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUpbcFH2VlexLQmYEUJjavL_a7lr6q6dFexQFTTWQAwjURigOyDinYwjDyPj8GlzwSRZ2i4nqQy4qaFMM8x9XJ5RfS6QYVDlIrd0WRGuhi8BaSYu0tx7UXn34F0IJFRVaDow_067iIz4/s400/IMG_0132.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-42298515812137985502010-05-17T12:57:00.004-04:002010-05-17T13:19:11.959-04:00The Unexpected Gift<div align="center"><em>The manner of giving is worth more than the gift. ~</em>Pierre Corneille<em> </em></div><div align="center"><em><br /></div></em><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">On Friday, Cole came home from preschool with a gift from his friend.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyc80k5aJksK2T2azF2j4QWnKR6xKhmsHXnFQMkynB0MJwYFhm1GVc8P0_esqdyJ7ySHFeFTKY6fPcwGduBpev7EhHmL4qzli2jm7x9gW3Cp5KTeHWeMHz_llxlFXZNxol5gHaFDVxhyphenhyphen4/s1600/IMG_0140.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472285421036545810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyc80k5aJksK2T2azF2j4QWnKR6xKhmsHXnFQMkynB0MJwYFhm1GVc8P0_esqdyJ7ySHFeFTKY6fPcwGduBpev7EhHmL4qzli2jm7x9gW3Cp5KTeHWeMHz_llxlFXZNxol5gHaFDVxhyphenhyphen4/s400/IMG_0140.JPG" /></a> </p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">It was from his "best girl friend" Tianna.</p><p align="center"><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUymFsakMj85YDzVe8jaiEMnU9jlWFUAEjeGl2EYfn0kjcAr58d7QmHZMWzxIF_YSBkuDtQpcR3q3smZy87tdyQAvD85x2Kzx3BibCcJuBnkMuMwQODon4U53AJTaWt4XlqB_ilCvA6Jw/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG"><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472285414141475074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUymFsakMj85YDzVe8jaiEMnU9jlWFUAEjeGl2EYfn0kjcAr58d7QmHZMWzxIF_YSBkuDtQpcR3q3smZy87tdyQAvD85x2Kzx3BibCcJuBnkMuMwQODon4U53AJTaWt4XlqB_ilCvA6Jw/s400/IMG_0145.JPG" /></a> </p><p></p><p align="center">I think she really likes Zac Efron.<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZZaRXWGiabCOPAOl7cmqb0Wpc2chPmIpfQ3_SDgkG74H4wziI8IAWdi0GxZutZfID_jexhKIa1Bq0VlG4ES60gMmoyiwnkXRpZ-ddXRu90TJDWgzxzKrfLDruWi-W357kxiynZZPJu8/s1600/IMG_0144.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472285148049962386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZZaRXWGiabCOPAOl7cmqb0Wpc2chPmIpfQ3_SDgkG74H4wziI8IAWdi0GxZutZfID_jexhKIa1Bq0VlG4ES60gMmoyiwnkXRpZ-ddXRu90TJDWgzxzKrfLDruWi-W357kxiynZZPJu8/s400/IMG_0144.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">She even made some sweet little hearts for the box. And yes, that's a Gucci G, my friends. Cole's best girl friend has good taste!<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5ozNGq17MNF5IedipK6zvy63GVi4UaxuaRn7AS2eNgLSaK2C4VzJJTRIsWtXwHbMyEdSxyXZmPLx6mxPAaQHBqJ00Y8kO0AHCCNwetzy8-ue-YQ0hgyqfTQhBMf3cOTvIopjX_64cD0/s1600/IMG_0147.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472285139953694610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5ozNGq17MNF5IedipK6zvy63GVi4UaxuaRn7AS2eNgLSaK2C4VzJJTRIsWtXwHbMyEdSxyXZmPLx6mxPAaQHBqJ00Y8kO0AHCCNwetzy8-ue-YQ0hgyqfTQhBMf3cOTvIopjX_64cD0/s400/IMG_0147.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">What was in the box? I was as excited to see as Cole was. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">It was a bear.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvOuMWLArLRXgJd8GQkZEpxthyphenhyphentu61nXUlqMhqtHYloOBjokLKjGWjMA_DWFn2Th6ie1GtCrlHZC6_mHnwUO6jXame44o3obS8yJw0J-PLcSErzIygUCxTR95nVrS9mNhNfomVRafpnE/s1600/IMG_0152.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472285131397541490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvOuMWLArLRXgJd8GQkZEpxthyphenhyphentu61nXUlqMhqtHYloOBjokLKjGWjMA_DWFn2Th6ie1GtCrlHZC6_mHnwUO6jXame44o3obS8yJw0J-PLcSErzIygUCxTR95nVrS9mNhNfomVRafpnE/s400/IMG_0152.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />Cole quickly dubbed him "Nosey." He sleeps in Cole's bed along with Ruffie, the 'Poster (Imposter) Ruffie, Fat Penguin, Scooby Doo, Froggie the Wenkinz, Baby Jaguar and three blankies. It's really crowded in there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJld9_XeFSi-DsgyvfsbQtPIA-sBlv52Q2Aeu19D67ZaPvi2AUjTcNtIqHJqwppG24HLbfd2FikSrbIW5UbwYj3434RumgxNvjr_3YrLN-cZxBNczLiUMLl599NGkKXz394rAZKlIskk/s1600/IMG_0158.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472284690293323906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJld9_XeFSi-DsgyvfsbQtPIA-sBlv52Q2Aeu19D67ZaPvi2AUjTcNtIqHJqwppG24HLbfd2FikSrbIW5UbwYj3434RumgxNvjr_3YrLN-cZxBNczLiUMLl599NGkKXz394rAZKlIskk/s400/IMG_0158.JPG" /></a><br /><br />All weekend Cole carried Nosey in that box. I'm sure he'll start up again when he comes home from school today. He kept talking about Tianna and how much he loves Nosey.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67DhfSsZDlLjZq2yU3pIeetE-fJAi7msG_hrUitJpZP3LpYFV1g7uQcYxfLyyN8Byx_usquVriRteLcNVxM0teVuGwDVf3viBAjDyMxWlSXdxerLLSk16921Tmp3Hkr_X1EwKi4gDgM8/s1600/IMG_0161.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472284679565637410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67DhfSsZDlLjZq2yU3pIeetE-fJAi7msG_hrUitJpZP3LpYFV1g7uQcYxfLyyN8Byx_usquVriRteLcNVxM0teVuGwDVf3viBAjDyMxWlSXdxerLLSk16921Tmp3Hkr_X1EwKi4gDgM8/s400/IMG_0161.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />And I keep thinking about this little girl, working on crafting this little box for my boy. It makes me happy for him that he's sweet to her and that she wanted to do something nice for my little guy. And above all else I am so happy for her that she's so caring and big-hearted to do something like this for another child.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74jgr0ZETf_vTwyXFsGitm1wV7_1c2ZAUIx-oSaSj9JZiCQaU7Z42m1JNocLCnrBopcci3BqNRf4d2atNRSgfIUVXCsL2mNZ6XPwL0IRp6qX_bFSrhVIQhEW72mTHl9a0qiVHm4C4koU/s1600/IMG_0166.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472284671661024146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74jgr0ZETf_vTwyXFsGitm1wV7_1c2ZAUIx-oSaSj9JZiCQaU7Z42m1JNocLCnrBopcci3BqNRf4d2atNRSgfIUVXCsL2mNZ6XPwL0IRp6qX_bFSrhVIQhEW72mTHl9a0qiVHm4C4koU/s400/IMG_0166.JPG" /></a><br /><br />It sure made him happy. And me too.<br /></div><br /></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-16499347346449542802010-05-14T16:48:00.001-04:002010-05-14T18:01:23.933-04:00Work ItThe thing about teaching an exorbitant amount of fitness classes is that you have to eat a lot of food.<br /><br /><br /><br />And I mean <em>a lot</em>.<br /><br /><br /><br />Or you'll starve.<br /><br /><br /><br />No joke.<br /><br /><br /><br />For most people, this likely is not a problem. But those people probably like to cook. And even if they don't, they probably still do it on a regular basis.<br /><br /><br /><br />In the last 30 days, I have taught at least 23 classes (I lost count somewhere along the line). That, my friends, is quite a bit. In addition to that, I've also tried to maintain my own workout routines by taking a yoga class here and there instead of teaching, and throwing in some <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">cardio</span> when it's been a few days between teaching spin classes. <em>And I love it.</em><br /><br /><br /><br />I am a machine.<br /><br /><br /><br />My machine needs more fuel.<br /><br /><br /><br />There are days where I literally burn so many calories I cannot possibly eat enough. Case in point Monday, when I taught two spin classes and a yoga for a grand total burn of somewhere in the neighborhood of 1400 calories.<br /><br /><br /><br />Interestingly enough, the more active I am, the more my body craves <em>healthier</em> food. This is certainly a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">conundrum</span> because I abhor all aspects related to healthy meal preparation. I don't like the planning, nor the shopping, I'd rather read a book than cook, and cleanup is for the birds.<br /><br /><br /><br />But I have to eat. It's really quite a predicament.<br /><br /><br /><br />On top of that, I've been getting a lot of flack when I mention to people that I don't often cook dinner. I get incredulous looks that go from disbelief, to jealousy, to pity for my poor family. So I had to make a decision: either start cooking, or stop telling people that I don't.<br /><br /><br /><br />I decided to meet halfway--I'm trying to cook a little more and I don't mention to anyone the amount of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Calistoga</span> and Tijuana Flats my family consumes. I think it's a nice arrangement.<br /><br /><br /><br />The irony is I am busier than I've ever been. And incorporating meal prep into this when it wasn't part of the schedule before is slightly laughable.<br /><br /><br /><br />But it's working. And Rey is ranting and raving about how good everything I make is.<br /><br /><br /><br />I can't figure out if he's telling the truth or just trying to keep me going...Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-6942294939051115512010-05-01T08:00:00.000-04:002010-05-01T08:00:07.307-04:00May Day. And a Mayday, too.Once upon a time, I was bored.<br /><br />That time was a long time ago.<br /><br />A while back<a href="http://steppedonalego.blogspot.com/2009/08/balance-or-lack-thereof.html"> I talked about having lost the balance </a>in my life and losing myself in motherhood. That was probably the beginning of this process. The process of digging myself out. Because of all those things I listed there, I have actually pursued several of them. Some I will mention. Some I will not...<br /><br />First off, I have become a yoga teaching maniac. I am currently teaching three classes per week, and then on top of that I sub a few almost every week. I was calling myself the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">yogamatic</span> there for a couple of weeks because there was a raging illness running rampant amongst the instructors so I was subbing more classes that I can count.<br /><br />That has moved on into teaching the other classes I am certified for, Spinning and general group fitness. I actually subbed a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">cardio</span> class this week. It was pretty amusing, to me at least, since <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">cardio</span> is so not my forte. But that was okay, because I balanced that with Spinning, which I love, and yoga, which I am very good at. I taught 7 classes in 6 days. I would be lying if I told you my body didn't feel abused.<br /><br />In addition to my fitness craze, I have, as I mentioned, been moving forward with some other me projects. It has been lovely. Doing what I want to do is an amazing novelty. I just wish I had more time to do it, because something had to give. In order to do the teaching, and the planning, and my own working out, and all the other things I've gotten myself into, other things are neglected. <br /><br />The house is a little less clean.<br /><br />The laundry takes a little longer to make it from the baskets to the drawers and closets.<br /><br />Even more of the meals are coming to the table by way of carry out containers.<br /><br />So now I am THAT MOM. The one who has no time. Who is so involved in being so involved that many days I forget my name. It is only appropriate that today is May 1st, "May Day", because I feel like screaming that from the rooftops. Only I would turn it into one word.<br /><br /><em>Mayday!</em><br /><br />She's going down.<br /><br />Balance... the scales have certainly tipped the other way.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-24505167696421181432010-04-18T18:15:00.000-04:002010-04-18T19:08:31.699-04:00APBs - Acquired Preschool BehaviorsWe as stay-at-home parents relish in the fact that for a certain number of years were are able to raise our children with no influences from the outside world. Being with one's children 24/7 gives certain advantages, such as knowing what food they're eating and keeping them away from the undesirable influences of other nasty little children with biting habits or the like.<br /><br />But then, someone along age 3, preschool seems like a wonderful idea. And we stay-at-home parents remain as such, but our lovely little offspring head to be handled by someone else for a few hours each week.<br /><br />And as such, we are not longer in control of their perfect little environment, where they eat healthy foods because they don't realize that other kids are allowed to drink soda, which you've always told them in a grown-up drink, like beer, and whiskey.<br /><br />And they befriend other little boys and girls, some of whom are rambunctious and have nasty little habits of saying things like "Awesome!" and "Great!" in a sarcastic fashion when their will is not met.<br /><br />I call these <em>Acquired Preschool Behaviors</em>. Also knows as APBs.<br /><br />Not at day that goes by, <em>not a day</em>, where one of the boys doesn't say or do something that makes us say, "Where in the world did they learn that?" Sometimes I ask, and Mason is such a forthright little child that he'll flat out tell me where he picked up whatever annoying or endearing behavior he was just displaying.<br /><br />Most notable APBs:<br /><br /><ul><br /><li><em>Reminding us that "Stupid is a bad word."</em> Listen, I understand all the reasons we might not want our young little cherubs wielding the word stupid. But who is the stupid person that came up with the brilliant idea to tell them "Stupid is a bad word." Do we say, "F$%k is a bad word"? NO. We simply say, "We don't say that." So then the little children take delight in reminding the world, at every possible opportunity that stupid is, in fact, a bad word. So when say, someone's mother is struggling a great struggle to get a certain new toys out of the jaws of death that is toy packaging these days, and she utters "Why can't I get this stupid thing out?", she might not have her frustration added to by her five year old reminding her that "Stupid is a bad word." It's not like I, er I mean, <em>she</em> was dropping the f-bomb.</li><br /><li><em>Thinking that every day is an occasion for Chuck-E-Cheese's. </em>Perhaps it makes me a bad mother, but I liken a trip to Chuck-E-Cheese's akin to entering the gates of hell. There are too many of other people's children there. And other people tend to forget to supervise their children. So I don't take my kids there, like ever. But of course, so and so from preschool goes there all the freakin' time. So now I am not only a bad mother, <em>but my kid knows it</em>. He's on to me, knowledge gained as part of his preschool education.<br /></li><br /><li><em>Why did the chicken cross the road type jokes. </em>Except they make zero sense. Examples: Why did the window cross the road? Cause he wanted to go camping!</li><br /><li><em>Saying 'Hey' is for horses! </em>Over and over again. 'Nuff said.</li></ul><br /><p>I'm beginning to see why people homeschool. You might go out of your mind trying to do it, but your children will be much less annoying as a result.</p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-50905248103515584492010-04-08T10:23:00.004-04:002010-04-08T10:44:05.143-04:00Sunshine and Lights<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSRjetaOxY622qCzr0muPKUf00gPIOyM48RaVoXQtc6W8KyOnsdWCaqefjLptjanatYObIqZ1dMzx_ScDiVmZXMHRjuDFYKBSVBKyihZ0nUxg4OENEV0TpipBPhPgysn6XOB08vEEUTU/s1600/IMG_9850.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457772850937084162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSRjetaOxY622qCzr0muPKUf00gPIOyM48RaVoXQtc6W8KyOnsdWCaqefjLptjanatYObIqZ1dMzx_ScDiVmZXMHRjuDFYKBSVBKyihZ0nUxg4OENEV0TpipBPhPgysn6XOB08vEEUTU/s400/IMG_9850.JPG" /></a><br /><div>In light of the fact that Cole has turned four, it was time for him annual trip to see Dr. Wilson.</div><div></div><div><br />First words out of his mouth?<br /><br /></div><div></div><div><em>Do I get a shot?</em></div><div></div><div><br />Naturally it's what any four year old would want to know. And thankfully Dr. Wilson saves the shots for the five year visit, so we get to put that unpleasantness off for another 365 days. Due to recent anxieties the boys have about the doctor's office, I've enacted a rule that they can bring their Ruffie along for the visit.</div><div></div><div><br />Clearly Cole's Ruffie is not a dog. Mason's however, is. And when Cole was a baby and heard Mason calling his prized little lovey "Ruffie" Cole was sure that his little friend should go by the same name. Cause Big Brothers always know what's right.</div><div></div><div><br />Ruffie is Cole's best bud, and he doesn't get out much. I live in fear that he, who is in my opinion more valuable than gold, will be lost.</div><div></div><div><br />Ruffie, as you can see, if very well loved. He's so well loved that he's pretty much flat, his arms completely so, all the stuffing that once resided inside him having been hugged flat by an abundance of love. He needs a little plastic surgery, a nip and restuff, but I am deadly afraid Cole will flip with any alterations. So Ruffie slumps. He doesn't seem to mind.</div><div></div><div><br />Cole has a wonderful imagination, more colorful than the rainbow. He treats his Ruffie so well, making sure he always has something to eat and always gets to see the sights. He was so excited to show Ruffie all the toys in the waiting room, and as he was introduced, Ruffie barked his approval.</div><div></div><div><br />When I got the usual gamut of questions from Dr. W (any problems, does he sleep, does he eat, seem to be allergic to anything, does he like school, follow discipline) I really couldn't come up with a single issue to raise.</div><div></div><div><br />And it filled my heart once again that my sweet little Cole is such an easygoing dude. He lives in this world, soaking up every moment with a smile, showcasing his chipped tooth from one of his lesser moments. And despite those lesser moments that all kids have, right now, in his four year old state, Cole is the sunshine of my life. </div><div></div><div><br />The members of a family are like actors in a play--everyone has a part. Sometimes we trade parts so that other members get a chance to shine as the lead. Right now, Cole's our leading man.</div><div></div><div><br />And on a completely unrelated note, I am now the proud owner of a Canon Speedlite 580EX II external flash!! Ahhh, photography equipment.... There's just nothing like having a new piece of it. Now if I only had 45 spare seconds to put some batteries in it and try that bad boy out! </div><div><em></em></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-59146718921125117002010-04-06T11:23:00.001-04:002010-04-06T14:22:01.207-04:00Rhetorical Rhetoric<p>Lots of things on my mind lately. I know, it's amazing!<br /><br />So here, in no particular order, I offer the following: </p><ul><br /><li>When does tree pollen season end? I think I might throw a party when that happens. </li><br /><li>Is it better to clean one room completely and then move on to the next, or move from room to room in 15 minute increments? </li><br /><li>Why can't the washer and dryer take the same amount of time to operate?</li><br /><li>How come children find so much joy in throwing clean laundry all over the dirty floor?</li><br /><li>My brother-in-law was on my porch at 7:30am collecting the tables and chairs from the party. I was not expecting him and his scared the bejeez out of me. He's lucky I'm a liberal and don't own a gun.</li><br /><li>I am, however, very thankful that he removed the tables and chairs for me. And that he laid sod in my yard last week. My husband should be more thankful because both of these tasks were his chores. He too is lucky that I'm a liberal and don't own a gun.</li><br /><li>Why is it that no matter how much space you have in your house you seem to fill it, and no matter how much money you have you seem to spend it? Same goes with time.</li><br /><li>Do you think the QWERTY keyboard really is the best key placement for optimal typing? I have always wondered. </li><br /><li>Does your baby's crib bumper fit in your washer? Lila's doesn't and it's highly inconvenient. </li><br /><li>How many strollers do normal people own? I have five right now and am told that's excessive.</li><br /><li>Is there a way to put sheets on bunk beds that does not involve calisthenics and sweating?</li><br /><li>Wouldn't it be nice if there was one company that collected all of your bills and gave you the total so you only had to write one check? </li><br /><li>How does anyone live without an iPhone?</li></ul><p>That's all for now folks. <br /></p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-52160024968109566032010-04-04T18:02:00.007-04:002010-04-04T19:09:57.619-04:00Monster Truck Sized Egg-Shaped CelebrationsI woke up this morning the way I always do--to one of my children staring in my face.<br /><br />This time it was Cole. <em>The birthday boy.</em><br /><br />He climbed in bed with me and I snuggled him. Told him it was his birthday and now, at long last, he was officially four. And then I looked at the clock and noted the time.<br /><br />It was almost exactly the same time it was four years ago when I met him for the first time, several hours after his tumultuous and highly dramatic entry into this world. And in retrospect, I can't believe after such an entrance he has turned out to be such a quiet, easy-going, happy-go-lucky child.<br /><br />Have you heard of a <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/golden+birthday">Golden Birthday</a>? It just learned of this phenom last week. Apparently it's when your age matches your date of birth. So since Cole was born on the 4th and he's turning four, it's his Golden Birthday. Imagine that.<br /><br />Since today is Easter, we had his party yesterday. It would have been so nice to have his party today, on his actual birthday, but of course people would be celebrating the holiday with their families.<br /><br />This year was awesome, because Cole told me exactly what kind of birthday party he wanted. A bounce house party, at our house, with monster trucks. Pirate monster trucks, to be specific (come to find out this means <a href="http://www.offroaders.com/directory/monster_trucks/Captains-Curse.htm">Captain's Curse</a> from Monster Jam).<br /><br />I thought all of his decisiveness would take the guess work out of it for me, but it just so happens that Monster Trucks are the hardest to find, hardest to plan birthday decorations. But I worked it out. Right down to the cake. After Target and Publix were both sold out of their monster truck cake decoration parts, I said eff it (literally, I was frustrated) and made my own cake.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSyDZYtdSakHQk2mB95ThXQtCX1rftiThQ2Wwi-WWV4CbR-Qd-DzG_WKafs2dVPObTvl30vkaVXz6j4nXjWb1Z5UMlfdqMY7qeYiclee97RB4kdElKrzB2c3KVS11n-fUFyKlnedVy0g/s1600/IMG_9589.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456412264781412642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSyDZYtdSakHQk2mB95ThXQtCX1rftiThQ2Wwi-WWV4CbR-Qd-DzG_WKafs2dVPObTvl30vkaVXz6j4nXjWb1Z5UMlfdqMY7qeYiclee97RB4kdElKrzB2c3KVS11n-fUFyKlnedVy0g/s400/IMG_9589.JPG" /></a> </p><p></p><p>Then I found these snazzy letter candles, but of course there was no "Cole." They were also sold out of most single letters. So how did I score this? There was a "Nicole." Ha!</p><p><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5MbbDvlSAdtRiz6bt36wkz-Gbz7NagA3N3UrgmMzHQV8J-mAE1JRB9X-wbwvYjOfah-wdiDOPid6JWR2yOjHlF-LKpOss0pGpMm-sDTt0jYmDi0jM6yJmR0zLZWZhLpmwP-UKSveAr4/s1600/IMG_9592.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456412246021399138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5MbbDvlSAdtRiz6bt36wkz-Gbz7NagA3N3UrgmMzHQV8J-mAE1JRB9X-wbwvYjOfah-wdiDOPid6JWR2yOjHlF-LKpOss0pGpMm-sDTt0jYmDi0jM6yJmR0zLZWZhLpmwP-UKSveAr4/s400/IMG_9592.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-SEO6f4e4uyT59YNLGHUGz_lMboKnGwoVSbYMSwvvz65UWMdcn173mig9CtLUlDgI7C20ygrp3koLpKgrwC2Y4gfOVta2n29DK7t45phXePG5kPhg0VNSp4ulMCgdVuQxu-mxfh3kpw/s1600/IMG_9594.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456409690310170242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-SEO6f4e4uyT59YNLGHUGz_lMboKnGwoVSbYMSwvvz65UWMdcn173mig9CtLUlDgI7C20ygrp3koLpKgrwC2Y4gfOVta2n29DK7t45phXePG5kPhg0VNSp4ulMCgdVuQxu-mxfh3kpw/s400/IMG_9594.JPG" /></a><br /></p><p>Pre cake he's already got chocolate on his face. <em>Donuts</em>. We had a breakfast party. Getting the kids nice and jacked up on sugar. : )<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZG5v_NEPnnX2s6mBmYSY-z5N3OH8GswiRxXrbgheUnhrezXbSScCDoI1rs0EDjSb0f89744e8TCdDb0TDngJ6p4GwpYSrBp0ojiIsKd-uQ9Lbu6EbF3_k4lVoikVebjKqDTPlJYyhq60/s1600/IMG_9598.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456409656601174626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZG5v_NEPnnX2s6mBmYSY-z5N3OH8GswiRxXrbgheUnhrezXbSScCDoI1rs0EDjSb0f89744e8TCdDb0TDngJ6p4GwpYSrBp0ojiIsKd-uQ9Lbu6EbF3_k4lVoikVebjKqDTPlJYyhq60/s400/IMG_9598.JPG" /></a><br />Lila, in her very own pink monster truck shirt. With her very own chocolate donut face.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_i6ZB0VXocgm_rLYSZLy432GfhdjCQ2rMVzG-AIa3fbSenib6H1wJLNA4M_H64aO7dUEAHE37F1Q5jAcIxZychaNIULmySQylU4ft3lKyti9aCePny_8SX2wJvEOIDf5IjiLilP8pN44/s1600/IMG_9641.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456409639422990114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_i6ZB0VXocgm_rLYSZLy432GfhdjCQ2rMVzG-AIa3fbSenib6H1wJLNA4M_H64aO7dUEAHE37F1Q5jAcIxZychaNIULmySQylU4ft3lKyti9aCePny_8SX2wJvEOIDf5IjiLilP8pN44/s400/IMG_9641.JPG" /></a><br /><br />After the party, after the cleanup, after Cole and I went to Publix to order cupcakes for his class party on Monday, we switched out of Birthday mode and into Easter mode to color eggs.</div><div></div><div>Before.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidn67LBonpPSZ1t-p10RPaNrjQ9Kh4Xok8ohmZFVItskfJnuDyAA3VYgNfgPkxfaWcdQN5bodBBg-61HWgZshCMwmzz6msI9j1qcfO5dacebKV-Q6qk2M_LJecB2I7nnDzXi0yM2Jh0ZY/s1600/IMG_9683.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456409096913483826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidn67LBonpPSZ1t-p10RPaNrjQ9Kh4Xok8ohmZFVItskfJnuDyAA3VYgNfgPkxfaWcdQN5bodBBg-61HWgZshCMwmzz6msI9j1qcfO5dacebKV-Q6qk2M_LJecB2I7nnDzXi0yM2Jh0ZY/s400/IMG_9683.JPG" /></a><br /><br />During.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjVzStNsuOQyv8hkmyc7wk7q2VVnI0gjNHjnL55uwQe54qKq1eZ6oK3BkXKUwDEsADgDHoSlpx9MV3g4vA2CARdP0HOnfStKInoMa5RhvMb3JDVTBS4bkH_YyAxnlS1HMzc4bJX5jKeM/s1600/IMG_9686.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456409090246046434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjVzStNsuOQyv8hkmyc7wk7q2VVnI0gjNHjnL55uwQe54qKq1eZ6oK3BkXKUwDEsADgDHoSlpx9MV3g4vA2CARdP0HOnfStKInoMa5RhvMb3JDVTBS4bkH_YyAxnlS1HMzc4bJX5jKeM/s400/IMG_9686.JPG" /></a><br /><br />After. 18 freshly colored little cadets standing proudly in their carton.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRM9FvPNioaMaikOEJgElu0Hjq8ffIPLMpD4-0yorYwpXvgf8v0cAVsYKyA99LAg7-mGHRaeeVHHfLkycTAuO2EEnzouRj2HXCFYDz1TCD2asGIwYnFi5Wxp-lv4nQ8AUvNuS9WUr56Es/s1600/IMG_9712.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456409077986691218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRM9FvPNioaMaikOEJgElu0Hjq8ffIPLMpD4-0yorYwpXvgf8v0cAVsYKyA99LAg7-mGHRaeeVHHfLkycTAuO2EEnzouRj2HXCFYDz1TCD2asGIwYnFi5Wxp-lv4nQ8AUvNuS9WUr56Es/s400/IMG_9712.JPG" /></a><br />And then this morning when Rey pulled out the white eggs to make Cole's breakfast french toast, Cole wondered what kind of trick we played on him to make the "painted" eggs plain again.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKoUwdGeUIB6hp0dV-sdG7SABEmG79OjMFJI0Xth8ImgdIB1DaHEJYf0MQNK8md4f1RpRGOpcqoFZ3UKhJwdOIOy6znCn2bS4RaJWSBOu5qlQ_bLc7-RfCygRSQvAtzsVxZROzxqBRsU/s1600/IMG_9714.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456409074225273826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKoUwdGeUIB6hp0dV-sdG7SABEmG79OjMFJI0Xth8ImgdIB1DaHEJYf0MQNK8md4f1RpRGOpcqoFZ3UKhJwdOIOy6znCn2bS4RaJWSBOu5qlQ_bLc7-RfCygRSQvAtzsVxZROzxqBRsU/s400/IMG_9714.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />This morning, in a special hybrid Easter/Birthday mode... we stopped in our harried rush to make it from point A to B to C to Z and took a few quick Easter best pictures.<br /><br />My girl.<br /><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIp_N6_3J5VstjG7kov9qXOgu3dw3kElZ9l6TdYWCfN-SgrcPrKjhbvqW1Ktjf_U5StcAOrcdtpvunEiMu57H0CY5yEAusIgkW05Wq9z8phWmv1-FHs7bYNttRGpe8ZtqOu1xcWTnMdm0/s1600/IMG_9721.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456408002759690130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIp_N6_3J5VstjG7kov9qXOgu3dw3kElZ9l6TdYWCfN-SgrcPrKjhbvqW1Ktjf_U5StcAOrcdtpvunEiMu57H0CY5yEAusIgkW05Wq9z8phWmv1-FHs7bYNttRGpe8ZtqOu1xcWTnMdm0/s400/IMG_9721.JPG" /></a><br />My girl and her brothers who love her to bitty bits.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilytyLueA0FKko3ZHjr0U9ttgfw4CYigrr97XkZvQuDXkoi23ss0qF4CBkcJVSzhq7u_qm1OEgAsAASNh0tf94iz4dmDpy7yaT3gzuNWHWbKi_2NAhD0ckzNfB390xrSkjOFf5Bju5R88/s1600/IMG_9729.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456408000692497890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilytyLueA0FKko3ZHjr0U9ttgfw4CYigrr97XkZvQuDXkoi23ss0qF4CBkcJVSzhq7u_qm1OEgAsAASNh0tf94iz4dmDpy7yaT3gzuNWHWbKi_2NAhD0ckzNfB390xrSkjOFf5Bju5R88/s400/IMG_9729.JPG" /></a><br /><br />I almost made Cole change out of his blazing red Crocs. But he really wanted to wear them. And although some might think they ruin the "perfect" shot, I think the perfect shot consists of perfectly happy kids. It was his birthday, he was already sharing it with a holiday, and by george if wearing red Crocs would make him happy then it also make this picture perfect.</div><div></div><div>It also covers their perfect little personalities. Lila the Ham. Mason the Showman. And Cole, perfectly bored out of him mind and wondering when this would be over so he could get back to his Dragon Wagon.<br /><br />I made it into a picture!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxE7dSspKHDm6ddo1tx-q-pFzT0Md9Qh3y1Szu3tfJm-jg9TfA04v_3GcexezaappjtFp0dBbQ6BpHXX6GMe_6TsrhObKx_E1A3aQbWRlFoq1LebS_Ajh1DuVF55lbzMKX-BJ57UR39s/s1600/IMG_9746.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456407977153646146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxE7dSspKHDm6ddo1tx-q-pFzT0Md9Qh3y1Szu3tfJm-jg9TfA04v_3GcexezaappjtFp0dBbQ6BpHXX6GMe_6TsrhObKx_E1A3aQbWRlFoq1LebS_Ajh1DuVF55lbzMKX-BJ57UR39s/s400/IMG_9746.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Tried to fire off some singles of the boys.</div><div></div><div>Mason poses.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZs9sMs-2BFP29eqzj360xrR1JIbuT1CqEHm6pIpbffXLXw6yoG2-485NbVGc_Lf-QPRqg78rIeN-fvaFNegZNyV9RdMRaB2jN9Y4Jx87hx7Epe7_xDR5fEMyP7zsz284fwlGEnlbMB0/s1600/IMG_9750.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456407336989788402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZs9sMs-2BFP29eqzj360xrR1JIbuT1CqEHm6pIpbffXLXw6yoG2-485NbVGc_Lf-QPRqg78rIeN-fvaFNegZNyV9RdMRaB2jN9Y4Jx87hx7Epe7_xDR5fEMyP7zsz284fwlGEnlbMB0/s400/IMG_9750.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Cole does not.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoHPQP5bxrXp9bLLgatxlCTxDUKhHwn4MsHNotLJYHCcqDXH97hjqZ2pWd_gGQxqtFgx1-3749e1QHL4cBKHjpdqSWRG2LAY2zUeTymNM-N2V0Qy_V1UgE-2stva3MO8tDOpWWgdaJLA/s1600/IMG_9756.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456407332946279714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoHPQP5bxrXp9bLLgatxlCTxDUKhHwn4MsHNotLJYHCcqDXH97hjqZ2pWd_gGQxqtFgx1-3749e1QHL4cBKHjpdqSWRG2LAY2zUeTymNM-N2V0Qy_V1UgE-2stva3MO8tDOpWWgdaJLA/s400/IMG_9756.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />He would be very pleased for you to know that he's now four. That's four years old, people.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8B1NSMpMg7BSBNeAtHDX_TVpYLrDkkGTaYyd4s5OhaFw7uBnAJOXlv0stTpjpF5HZXMHF_lohjdRh_908K_O0-jhpripJvo5pZc7QVGiusn_TEm1k3L0MYFKtqwKF0aRncN3VsCHvJnQ/s1600/IMG_9764.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456407325065800770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8B1NSMpMg7BSBNeAtHDX_TVpYLrDkkGTaYyd4s5OhaFw7uBnAJOXlv0stTpjpF5HZXMHF_lohjdRh_908K_O0-jhpripJvo5pZc7QVGiusn_TEm1k3L0MYFKtqwKF0aRncN3VsCHvJnQ/s400/IMG_9764.JPG" /></a><br /><br />And lastly, a cake. Post egg hunt, post Easter brunch with one family and Easter dinner with another, we had the final cake. With four candles.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrn-p32b3I-NSorwsSx5_MfTNzhhIBH4qauwD_WYEpy8RhLwqZIIUJeojCHQy4ZymXkyM5P_ILMAPsacsKK3hbK-kQBwwx6dponWViW-1ztkmPK2ZkwIKAP0wFJqMib0FW7I8X9CTGxJk/s1600/IMG_9840.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456406526593323954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrn-p32b3I-NSorwsSx5_MfTNzhhIBH4qauwD_WYEpy8RhLwqZIIUJeojCHQy4ZymXkyM5P_ILMAPsacsKK3hbK-kQBwwx6dponWViW-1ztkmPK2ZkwIKAP0wFJqMib0FW7I8X9CTGxJk/s400/IMG_9840.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDloZUlZDqVsukMyJVO-48jqw-lr3YtoJSar052TvzDM47Jr4i4iAWoqzAesEwy6g07gw7QKELv_iuAlI07m0EvZUdXSwHoOeBRnR0keBgNhpfouJ1KFRH6Snxbb9gI86ArUMZVtJ-Yk/s1600/IMG_9843.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456406494634190882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDloZUlZDqVsukMyJVO-48jqw-lr3YtoJSar052TvzDM47Jr4i4iAWoqzAesEwy6g07gw7QKELv_iuAlI07m0EvZUdXSwHoOeBRnR0keBgNhpfouJ1KFRH6Snxbb9gI86ArUMZVtJ-Yk/s400/IMG_9843.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />Egg-shaped for Easter, with four springtime layers.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDM4uB43iCWv4FrV4VEj96fZOFNQBS2IZU3KHf1nMTpRkZU6bkTd0AbNei-9Phtc2woauuj5eUmKYHL82cKJiLjaCm2p886m3aOqefqHeqLpeKjLalT232dbjJBEN2DRexI2_MWQaxcw/s1600/IMG_9847.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456406489970979954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDM4uB43iCWv4FrV4VEj96fZOFNQBS2IZU3KHf1nMTpRkZU6bkTd0AbNei-9Phtc2woauuj5eUmKYHL82cKJiLjaCm2p886m3aOqefqHeqLpeKjLalT232dbjJBEN2DRexI2_MWQaxcw/s400/IMG_9847.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Between the cakes and the candy, our entire family is poised to lapse into a sugar coma.</div><div><br />I think I did a good job of making the best of my boy sharing his birthday with Easter. I think I managed to make him feel special and still make a special holiday for my other Garanimals.</div><div><br />But I am dead dog-tired. And thankful that Easter doesn't fall on April 4th every year.</div><div><br />I assumed it would happen at some point again though, and I even took the time to look it. </div><div><br />2021. Easter will be on Cole's birthday again when he turns 15.</div><div><br />At least I have 11 years to recover from this weekend before I have to do it again.<br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-48393871363674428692010-03-23T15:41:00.000-04:002010-03-23T15:42:47.796-04:00Dancing With Slightly Well-Known People<em>Disclaimer: The post I am about to write is going to take me way too much time and be entirely too lengthy. But still I persist on. Because I feel it’s my duty as an American.<br /></em><br />I have a confession. I am a reality TV junkie.<br /><br />I attribute it largely to the fact that not only are less and less non-reality shows being made, but the ones that ARE made seem to always be canceled. Think Kings, Lipstick Jungle, Privileged, Pushing Daisies…<br /><br />So I have given up on them.<br /><br />Enter Dancing With the Stars.<br /><br />I love this show.<br /><br />I am less than impressed with the new season of <em>stars</em>. I can barely call most of them that with a straight face.<br /><br />I think it’s hilarious how each star had to introduce him or herself and then explain why they’re famous. Because without that explanation, we might very well be left wondering.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Chad OCHOCINCO!!! and Cheryl</em></strong><br /><br />I’ll be honest—Cheryl bugs the crap out of me. I liked her a lot when she was partnered with Drew Lachey, but then she got a little too cocky for the likes of me.<br /><br />But there’s something about pairing Cocky Cheryl up with Cocky Chad that makes me wanna scream ME LIKEY!<br /><br />I’m not exactly a Bengals fan, having a general aversion to Ohio due to the fact that so many annoying snowbirds invade my town from there every winter, but I really do like Chad. I think he’s a stellar player, I like his spunk and I mostly like the fact that he looked down at his jersey one day and thought “My jersey number in Spanish would make a super last name.”<br /><br />And then had the guts to actually change his name.<br /><br />He did a decent dance last night. So I really hope he sticks around. Even if it means Cheryl has to stick around with him.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Shannon and Mark</em></strong><br /><br />I am not her biggest fan. But I do like Mark. I thought her dance last night was a lot better than she was given credit for. So we’ll see.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/?action=view&current=d9d67cc593f4959a09fb69be4c02ad571.jpg" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/d9d67cc593f4959a09fb69be4c02ad571.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><em>Erin Andrews and Maks<br /></em></strong><br />I’ve always like Erin Andrews. I am a softy for women who are strong enough to take on a stereotypically male profession. It’s the tree hugging feminist in me. I was happy to see her paired up with Maks also because he is one of my favorites. I think they are a good match.<br /><br />In rehearsal she kept correcting herself before Maks had the chance and I almost peed in my pants when Maks said, “My only pleasure in life is to bitch at people and you’re taking it away.”<br /><br />I’m sure they will be around for a long time.<br /><br /><a href="http://s575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/?action=view&current=Dancing-Stars-031810-00021.jpg" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/Dancing-Stars-031810-00021.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><em>Jake and Chelsea<br /></em></strong><br />I suffered through a season of The Bachelor with this man. I watched him send home perfectly lovely and delightful women in order to instead propose to Vienna, the one we all love to hate. And now, just when I thought I was free of his hokey ass, he’s on DWTS.<br /><br />So last night, he did the Viennese Waltz. An ode to his sweet Vienna, how charming. We watched him present his hot blonde partner Chelsea with not one, but two red roses <em>a la</em> The Bachelor. (I really wish they would have cut to a shot of Vienna during their little quasi rose ceremonies. She strikes me as the jealous type, fo sho.) He danced to Seal’s “A Kiss from a Rose.” And then, then as if all this wasn’t enough, rose petals came falling from the ceiling at the end of the dance.<br /><br />Excuse me. I just threw up a little in my mouth.<br /><br />I love Chelsea. Love her! But please, America. Please don’t vote for the Hokey.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Nicey Nash and Louis</em></strong><br /><br />I have watched an episode or 30 of the show Clean House, so I know who she is. Her frequent references to her “jiggly parts” were funny, and I’m glad she’s comfortable in her skin. But between her relatively unknown status and her partner Louis being one of the less popular professionals, I don’t see her sticking around too long.<br /><br />Plus she kinda sucked.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Evan and Anna</em></strong><br /><br />Everyone loves an Olympian. Remember Kristi Yamaguchi’s stint on DWTS? I like him a lot, and I think he has a distinct advantage. Although he’s not a dancer, I think figure skating lends itself a lot to this show. You’re in good physical shape, you’re used to being coached, you’re used to learning choreography, and you’re used to performing. These are a lot of advantages.<br /><br />But his partner Anna never seems to connect much with the audience. She has never garnered the following that Chelsea or Cheryl or Julianne have. So we’ll see.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Buzz Alderin and Ashly</em></strong><br /><br />It was a nice touch that he was introduced by astronauts.<br /><br />Poor Ashly. I love her (even though she is totally missing a letter in her name) and remember her awful time with Master P on Season 2. Remember, he wouldn’t even wear dance shoes and danced in sneakers? Imagine that… She left, got married, had a baby, and now she’s back. And I really think they should have given her a celebrity with a shot in hell.<br /><br />An 80 year old astronaut doesn’t have a shot in hell.<br /><br />Adorable as he is, a shot in hell he has not.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/?action=view&current=Dancing-Stars-031810-00042.jpg" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/Dancing-Stars-031810-00042.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><em>Nicole and Derek</em></strong><br /><br />I think Derek is some sort of unfair advantage. He is <em>so</em> good, and hot, and funny, and downright popular that I think he’s one of the best partners to score.<br /><br />And of course Derek scored Nicole, who is also hot and popular (remember it’s not always a given on DWTS that the stars really are stars). And of course she’s done music video dancing. I don’t care what the pop stars say about how pop dancing doesn’t prepare them for ballroom. It does. Hello? You’re already coordinated and used to learning and memorizing choreography. Sounds like much more advantageous of a pre-req than say, walking on the moon.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/?action=view&current=308008981a3550188ba5322f4f41cf061.jpg" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/308008981a3550188ba5322f4f41cf061.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Aidan Turner and Edyta<br /></em></strong><br />I am rooting for Edyta so hard. I love her, I envy her, I think she’s great. She’s the only star to be on every season since the beginning, yet she’s never won. So I think it’s fitting that she scores a hot soap star for a partner.<br /><br />Now I must admit, I had no clue who Aidan Turner was before last night. He’s on All My Children, and I’m a Days of Our Lives girl myself. Something tells me you won’t soon be seeing an NBC soap star on this ABC show… But he’s hot. And he has an Irish accent, which is always a plus.<br /><br />Too bad he sucks at dancing.<br /><br />Better luck next year Edyta.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/?action=view&current=8d4d04e19e81d90e8fc173a01c1bf80e1.jpg" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i575.photobucket.com/albums/ss199/steppedonlego/8d4d04e19e81d90e8fc173a01c1bf80e1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Kate Gosselin and Tony</em></strong><br /><br />WTF is up with her hair? I know the reverse mullet was bad but the frizzy extensions don’t strike me as much of an improvement.<br /><br />She was lousy. And thank goodness for that, cause maybe we won’t have to put up with her for long. Here’s to hopin’.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Pamela Anderson and Damian</em></strong><br /><br />That woman is a hot mess. But I think she did very well, especially considering her inexperience, her cougar status, and her life of hard livin’. So we shall see.<br /><br /><br />Predictions: I’m rooting for Chad, Erin and Nicole.<br /><br /><br />{images from abc.com}Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-55284582849326005832010-03-23T14:20:00.001-04:002010-03-23T14:20:00.464-04:00Book Nook - Graceling and FireFurther recommendations from my good pal Kathleen...<br /><br />I do think it's important to point out that I also recommend books to her as well. I wouldn't want to be thought of as a literary leech.<br /><br /><em>Graceling</em> and its companion, <em>Fire</em>, by Kristin Cashore<br /><br />Again, they have some fantasy and supernatural elements, and honestly I was more skittish about reading these than I was <em>The Hunger Games</em>. But that worked out quite well for me, so I had a little faith.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrWbKzv50gWrZPbZLggG5VDepz1ZJBTVdXVbr9n98Z3cjuV2oOHUjJ_B_q44oFYVk8SNnQL4eCSfbU3aXSit73mSTSgDo3HM0fzl_pSRY3f3z8GP0qD-L_WrBmCEfj_DBHJwL06ce3Ec/s1600-h/graceling%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 205px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 307px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450505400452202706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrWbKzv50gWrZPbZLggG5VDepz1ZJBTVdXVbr9n98Z3cjuV2oOHUjJ_B_q44oFYVk8SNnQL4eCSfbU3aXSit73mSTSgDo3HM0fzl_pSRY3f3z8GP0qD-L_WrBmCEfj_DBHJwL06ce3Ec/s400/graceling%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><em>Graceling</em> is the story of Katsa, a girl who is Graced with killing. In this fictional land of the seven kingdoms, some are born with a Grace, and are labeled as Gracelings when their eyes turn and become two different colors. In Katsa's case, she has one green and one blue. Unwilling to be a killing monster, she uses her Grace to form a Council that works towards helping people in danger. This is how she meets Po, a Graceling fighter himself and a prince of Lienid, the only kingdom that is an island. He has one silver eye and one gold, and I can't tell you how much that freaks out my imagination. Can't you see how they would make a stunning couple though?<br /><br />I was enamoured with this book. It took me a solid 50 pages to really get a rhythm going, but once I was hooked and I was unstoppable and finished this 400 page book in 24 hours. I can't really go into further detail without ruining the whole experience for you, but put your prejudges against two eye colored people aside and read this. Trust me.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBFjjXs8Gk5afUG6HRnOlb5QY-hBvOWdRbalErhM0TU9l1qVnWn3P8eL9OY82PM0UneyPewFnXo1Puj5WNAzHCT9W8HtGVYXuy_k29URmV9DwDwq1a5iJlH1YCjNJg6lQPNs99uTtFPw/s1600-h/firecover%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 199px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 299px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450505397667292306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBFjjXs8Gk5afUG6HRnOlb5QY-hBvOWdRbalErhM0TU9l1qVnWn3P8eL9OY82PM0UneyPewFnXo1Puj5WNAzHCT9W8HtGVYXuy_k29URmV9DwDwq1a5iJlH1YCjNJg6lQPNs99uTtFPw/s400/firecover%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>I started <em>Fire</em> within hours of finishing <em>Graceling</em>. <em>Fire</em> is dubbed a companion book to <em>Graceling</em>, as it's a bit of a prequel inasmuch as it takes place in the years before <em>Graceling</em>, but the story only shares one character in common. I was so enamoured with Katsa and Po that at first I was greatly depressed about their absence. I forged ahead because trusty Kathleen decreed that she loved <em>Graceling</em>, and loved <em>Fire</em> more.<br /><br /><em>Fire</em> did not disappoint. It has romance. It has suspense. I was pulling for these people the whole way through. And although both of these novels are labels as the Young Adult drama, this one definitely seemed to me to be more adult in tone. For instance there was a ton of premarital, casual sex, and lots of illegitimate babies and people walking around with confused parentage. But I loved it all the same.<br /><br />However, I have to disagree with Kathleen. Because I loved <em>Graceling</em> more.<br /><br />I started to examine why because it really bothered me for no apparent or significant reason. And for me, it came down to the differences between Katsa and Fire.<br /><br />Both are strong women.<br /><br />Both love fiercely and are fiercely loved.<br /><br />But Katsa is a feisty, strong, mud rolling, hunting, takes-care-of-herself kind of girl. She wants a meal? She shoots a rabbit. Someone ticks her off? She kicks him in the temple and knocks him unconscious. She emanates this feeling of never needing anyone to take care of her. And that draws me to her.<br /><br />Fire is also strong and quite capable in her own ways. But in comparing her to Katsa, she's more of a lady in the traditional sense. She is brave, but still needs protection. And when people do her wrong, she fights them with words and letting them know of her sadness and disappointment, but they learn in a subtle sense. Fire needs, ever so slightly more than Katsa, to be taken care of. So while Fire is an appealing and strong character, Katsa is a badass.<br /><br />For some reason it seems that all series books are coming in threes as of late. And the third companion book to this series is coming out later this year. I am excited for it, and although I loved these books as much as I loved <em>The Hunger Games</em> and <em>Catching Fire</em>, I am not in such a state of anticipation for <em>Bitterblue</em> because of that fact that it's a companion and not a sequel.<br /><br />But I'm sure I'll love it to pieces all the same.<br /><br />Now get to reading people.<br /><br /><div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-67513824316820720452010-03-22T09:03:00.000-04:002010-03-22T09:03:00.314-04:00SicknessI can look at almost any stroller and tell you its make, model and colorway (which in layman's terms, means pattern name).<br /><br />When presented with the name of a car seat, I can probably tell you it's weight and height limits and why or why not it's a good choice for your child.<br /><br />And I can look at your baby's outfit and tell you what store it's from. If it's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gymboree</span>, I might even be able to name the line it's from.<br /><br />And herein lies my sickness.<br /><br />It is just not normal to know this much useless baby crap. I suppose perhaps it's not useless as people really do need to know that their 23 pound, 31 inch long son can't ride in that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Graco</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Snugride</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">any longer</span>. But boy does he look cute in his Tropical Turtle romper.<br /><br />Rey always says I should figure out a way to capitalize on my knowledge. He's just trying to figure out a way to make a buck off me, I'm sure. It's his way of saying he's sick of supporting me all these years so I could raise his children and clean his house. (I would add "cook his meals" but of course, I don't do that.)<br /><br />Do you think I really want to be like this? No! But I can't help it. It's ingrained in me and I can't escape it. My children are getting older and much of this useless information is becoming more and more useless to me.<br /><br />So next time you're watching a movie with me, don't be alarmed if I exclaim "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Chicco</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cortina</span> stroller in the Adventure Colorway!" <br /><br />Cause I am working hard on deprogramming myself.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-32735931366041760232010-03-20T09:32:00.001-04:002010-03-20T09:32:00.259-04:00Cole's Easter Birthday Bunny?This year, Cole's birthday falls square on Easter Sunday. And I am at a loss.<br /><br />Do I forgo a little of Easter for all three of my kids to properly celebrate Cole's birthday?<br /><br />Or do I forgo a little of Cole's birthday to properly celebrate Easter?<br /><br />I am an all or nothing kind of girl. So I am having a lot of trouble with this sharing the holiday business. Those of you with Christmas babies, my heart goes out. Although in a way this is tougher because it's difficult to explain to a three-almost-four-year-old why he has to share his birthday with Easter this one year only, when each are equally lofty to a kid his age. The 40 days of lent mean nothing to a kid who can only count to 14.<br /><br />I'm looking at napkin rings that say "Happy Easter." But I can't use those on Cole's birthday....<br /><br />Can I?<br /><br />I'm looking at our typical tradition of taking the birthday child to breakfast with his or her parent of choice.<br /><br />But we can't split up our whole family for breakfast on Easter Sunday...<br /><br />Can we?<br /><br />I feel like whatever way I throw it, someone's going to get shorted. Is this reasonable guilt or am I being ridiculous? I do have say that since he's the middle child I alway go above and beyond to make sure he doesn't feel shorted...<br /><br />His party is on Saturday, his actual birthday/Easter is on Sunday, and the obligatory cupcakes at school come on Monday.<br /><br />I am exhausted already.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-34225947338676264202010-03-18T20:14:00.000-04:002010-03-18T20:32:56.584-04:00B.A.N.A.N.A.S.Over the course of my 5.5 years of parenting, I have come to the conclusion that the stomach flu is pretty much rock bottom. Having it yourself takes you to the point where you literally might begin to wish death, and if your kids have it...well I can't think of many things worse than being vomited on by another human being. Add in the ever loving fear that you will catch it yourself and begin to wish for death, or the ever loving fear that your other children will catch it and begin to vomit on you as well, and you've got a situation so awful that I'd rather give birth and/or have a root canal than endure it.<br /><br />Oh, and as a special token, our dryer broke. So I have veritable <em>mountains</em> of laundry piling up. Some with vomit, some without. We like to have a variety around here.<br /><br />Sometime last week the preschool sent home a note that if your child has stomach flu symptoms, they are to be kept home for three whole days after the symptoms stop. Good grief. Now for the good of all, I don't mind abiding by this. I just wish everyone else would. <em>Ahem</em>. I will step off my soap box at this time.<br /><br />So here we are, on Thursday. Mason can't return to school until Monday. And as if the broken dryer wasn't a special enough treat, Rey had to leave town for work. <strong>Super</strong>. We are stuck home in quarantine with no daddy to rescue us at dinner time.<br /><br />As luck would have it, the weather's pretty good. So after a morning of fighting, screaming, ear piercing loud siren imitations, and the crushing of one's sister underneath a <a href="http://www.potterybarnkids.com/products/hybrid-contrast-piping-anywhere-chair/?pkey=dsoft-seating">Pottery Barn Kids Anywhere chair</a>, we headed out into the back yard. I took a chair and a People magazine out with me, at which point I thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the sun and breathing the fresh air. That is, until I realized that the three of them were standing there staring at me.<br /><br />"Daddy plays with us," Mason says.<br /><br /><em>Oh super.</em> Super, Super Daddy. <em>How is he better than Mommy? Let me count the ways.</em><br /><em></em><br />Despite the aforementioned little sister abuse, Mason can be really sweet with her. He kept lifting her into the wagon and after several rounds of lifting her in and out, he proclaimed his arms were so sore from doing that.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-LuwUuLGrcWp6es4NwwMo0lbbrMnbnBkuqGvXcTvRNGFaXeiLtc_ImvOztUKsPeXxHgV-UDNXM7v-tOoDHe4S3fDtp39RFLddpnKSPIQt-yXK2hF4f80-gjX8c5HmB0euCE1XjOJOWc/s1600-h/IMG_9198.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450121149778502914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-LuwUuLGrcWp6es4NwwMo0lbbrMnbnBkuqGvXcTvRNGFaXeiLtc_ImvOztUKsPeXxHgV-UDNXM7v-tOoDHe4S3fDtp39RFLddpnKSPIQt-yXK2hF4f80-gjX8c5HmB0euCE1XjOJOWc/s400/IMG_9198.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Cole decided he was too good for the paparazzi and offered a kindly view of his palm instead.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvT_ZTII8QmoikIg8ookOfh1jEK5MIg8hvGOBQBq7V2VDkGkH1HTN8I4G8Pqhn7HWND7SyTLeKmbNBlxuJnqean-eYpqo9HWDlayvg_ZlXX-UBuOh5U_DEMpj54EuwslD1Vb4X10RUsI/s1600-h/IMG_9227.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450130151405713826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvT_ZTII8QmoikIg8ookOfh1jEK5MIg8hvGOBQBq7V2VDkGkH1HTN8I4G8Pqhn7HWND7SyTLeKmbNBlxuJnqean-eYpqo9HWDlayvg_ZlXX-UBuOh5U_DEMpj54EuwslD1Vb4X10RUsI/s400/IMG_9227.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>But Mason was pretty happy to pose, at least if he could make some faces.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHcx2BDNllCUdktlQRiGjznUpd7BfXInWyB8UYwh8GYoUA0-zfDxIjTxHDDDBjIwxU0ojBIyP_5uuw0VC92Fs3yIiqxtAfSLSvmFvB6RZJeN7BiNNKqGORhtO8a3eqKqZ-Gsc-8T9j2Qk/s1600-h/IMG_9254.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450130142827194738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHcx2BDNllCUdktlQRiGjznUpd7BfXInWyB8UYwh8GYoUA0-zfDxIjTxHDDDBjIwxU0ojBIyP_5uuw0VC92Fs3yIiqxtAfSLSvmFvB6RZJeN7BiNNKqGORhtO8a3eqKqZ-Gsc-8T9j2Qk/s400/IMG_9254.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU0ddmlOdL5CUr12pGRv77ZhlxIsh_Ju8PCutso1o2iX0J_m7R3_0Qum00e6xZBpf-C6Rq8rA14vHTezYQOMQHm2_ajc0TzL-kpQaclWW1mbdjEXaPPM1kDsf7hTiIObMY5xloiaczMM/s1600-h/IMG_9255.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450129623925704866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU0ddmlOdL5CUr12pGRv77ZhlxIsh_Ju8PCutso1o2iX0J_m7R3_0Qum00e6xZBpf-C6Rq8rA14vHTezYQOMQHm2_ajc0TzL-kpQaclWW1mbdjEXaPPM1kDsf7hTiIObMY5xloiaczMM/s400/IMG_9255.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcmZwmwDbYjZSSiTf3OfrKkpcQq6bvr8bWCVLgLpDwwkhI-yxlZ7-S_D3xhuYGxYKRvc8WCkEfz4_NyUCXLQE3YDktjmTUjIIioiaNQ56h7_t_rFYevJg4fLoM5QvY6K2bqNHYpLyY0I/s1600-h/IMG_9256.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450129614040504210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcmZwmwDbYjZSSiTf3OfrKkpcQq6bvr8bWCVLgLpDwwkhI-yxlZ7-S_D3xhuYGxYKRvc8WCkEfz4_NyUCXLQE3YDktjmTUjIIioiaNQ56h7_t_rFYevJg4fLoM5QvY6K2bqNHYpLyY0I/s400/IMG_9256.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8s-nBJgxq18_kk5E7upEhk2YcbaA2DCoL2ZEh2W3AqrGZVdiUDu9M2nOagTZY-6CArDRSDEfyD9wy1gqcgcGzJbmNmhWrE1E1IkoiVakIADj1t_khNBVmbVgzz1sFEzOAZ_4ivkZ3VP4/s1600-h/IMG_9257.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450129253785782386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8s-nBJgxq18_kk5E7upEhk2YcbaA2DCoL2ZEh2W3AqrGZVdiUDu9M2nOagTZY-6CArDRSDEfyD9wy1gqcgcGzJbmNmhWrE1E1IkoiVakIADj1t_khNBVmbVgzz1sFEzOAZ_4ivkZ3VP4/s400/IMG_9257.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />Our yard is currently a little, shall I say, <em>grass</em> <em>challenged</em>. Inasmuch as large parts of it have none. The Old Man is in a constant cycle of ripping out the dead and replacing the sod, and we are currently in a "ripped out" stage with promises of sod coming this weekend which remains to be seen since he's currently six hours away.<br /><br />Cole found a fat stick, which Mason promptly disarmed him of with threats that if he didn't relinquish the stick he wouldn't be able to watch Mason play Wii later. Apparently Cole really likes watching Mason play, because he handed it over without a blink.<br /><br />At which point Mason started writing everyone's names in our dirt pit. (I can guarantee you Rey will use this story as proof for why having no grass is beneficial. You know, the education aspect and all.)<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8sivgzOtHTeyjhpTQpfp5-xE1fjVyNlJXcZ-Rwr6fMmxQCkszxu6gobj6ikn5xRHrR4WX7cI5RcjOQOXNU6r_UGE3P0KBnhyFP0tDsHXexzP3Iy3RpgfQR_mUAoqVfuwQ8-EBHyuKLo/s1600-h/IMG_9264.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450129248217212402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8sivgzOtHTeyjhpTQpfp5-xE1fjVyNlJXcZ-Rwr6fMmxQCkszxu6gobj6ikn5xRHrR4WX7cI5RcjOQOXNU6r_UGE3P0KBnhyFP0tDsHXexzP3Iy3RpgfQR_mUAoqVfuwQ8-EBHyuKLo/s400/IMG_9264.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0k_OzigpQ_qfIvXpbp73Zm-S-SkWABnQ8FVq3zIVFnrNVqW-VTYn6gHNue1jp9vKdh-r5rJYu4ftwAnDJ_fggFyfD6E-JSB07w06AgOxuSmbDevaOwcn9EsIoeS_-8SCKjNjp0IpxGVA/s1600-h/IMG_9265.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450127682419880818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0k_OzigpQ_qfIvXpbp73Zm-S-SkWABnQ8FVq3zIVFnrNVqW-VTYn6gHNue1jp9vKdh-r5rJYu4ftwAnDJ_fggFyfD6E-JSB07w06AgOxuSmbDevaOwcn9EsIoeS_-8SCKjNjp0IpxGVA/s400/IMG_9265.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />After all other outdoor options had been exhausted, I went to the last resort--the light sabers. I abhor these things. Strong enough words do not exist to properly parlay my hatred. But I decided to take one for the team.<br /><br />And I was terrified for my life.<br /><br />Those kids attacked.<br /><br />I always hear them and Rey playing out there, making the voom voom noises and using their force (whatever the heck that means). But I very rarely will bear one myself. And for good reason because those kids were out for blood.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9FbaWoM61DfdjelrYmcr-BXTlY8f683SXkUVAYiKnYiGhyphenhyphenwnGkmvx5noIWmTe7o06Tf1KFdQddcUQFlR6x_-vRFYJbqix4wcWl2ahtDv9ET3CyaswTBu5BjoFOGNRDlR93WHyf8Nw38/s1600-h/IMG_9280.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450125330142172274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9FbaWoM61DfdjelrYmcr-BXTlY8f683SXkUVAYiKnYiGhyphenhyphenwnGkmvx5noIWmTe7o06Tf1KFdQddcUQFlR6x_-vRFYJbqix4wcWl2ahtDv9ET3CyaswTBu5BjoFOGNRDlR93WHyf8Nw38/s400/IMG_9280.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ-gtBzZICGAAEFozKuKcoZpus0Dm9XuRsyh7g6rVMrzbLUcz3B5tDWM0lfcWXMvogCYYUHhQ6ziMPFiDDx4b3mP3bmwC3i3WDkyemxkCDIGz-bTcIUQ1I3zhKNCJ2hN_mCCinnlgU2k/s1600-h/IMG_9282.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450125326491716146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ-gtBzZICGAAEFozKuKcoZpus0Dm9XuRsyh7g6rVMrzbLUcz3B5tDWM0lfcWXMvogCYYUHhQ6ziMPFiDDx4b3mP3bmwC3i3WDkyemxkCDIGz-bTcIUQ1I3zhKNCJ2hN_mCCinnlgU2k/s400/IMG_9282.JPG" /></a><br />Look how gleeful his face is, so happy to be attacking his poor mother.</div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvyeGhwnmpg7qvYYkKIFgU1xhrXWEYvJTCR7W-d4l-mH7m2dzGdV8eHLWM_Y_2Oq-DlvGlrxfp6Np-rtqVlx7zvdmRKjKzvsXur7ZD59EdtyC_gE4dfkkS1azaWIiAN4t3wxByudhxHaE/s1600-h/IMG_9301.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450125311659128482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvyeGhwnmpg7qvYYkKIFgU1xhrXWEYvJTCR7W-d4l-mH7m2dzGdV8eHLWM_Y_2Oq-DlvGlrxfp6Np-rtqVlx7zvdmRKjKzvsXur7ZD59EdtyC_gE4dfkkS1azaWIiAN4t3wxByudhxHaE/s400/IMG_9301.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnREUefaC9vWZmtKjEhduiFrfGQK9QHSWOuOqcWrlKtqt56sgpL5aQF6xrw-lSMa-T62lM9J8DbZP-2aBZVpd9MJ_khGJmV0S9rQfHxupQdxtHHLEKjTIaOmMjYc6jRLeN9h8BnyIC1RM/s1600-h/IMG_9310.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450124791452358578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnREUefaC9vWZmtKjEhduiFrfGQK9QHSWOuOqcWrlKtqt56sgpL5aQF6xrw-lSMa-T62lM9J8DbZP-2aBZVpd9MJ_khGJmV0S9rQfHxupQdxtHHLEKjTIaOmMjYc6jRLeN9h8BnyIC1RM/s400/IMG_9310.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />Cole thought it was super fun to attack me too. But if I decided to rally Mason against him, he cried and ran like a sissy. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Happy attacking...<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkQObXMEItZjfT7iDkJw5IVI1R5JLh2YU2U7g8qObHypH1lGQ5FMdpBTpc5YuzBpNaQNss9BzTsZokXovJ_QZBAeiMwWcMavep5FAmpKNFUNW51kVaMfiVclrljbcQBApcg6IJxJFqBo/s1600-h/IMG_9293.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450124785799089986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkQObXMEItZjfT7iDkJw5IVI1R5JLh2YU2U7g8qObHypH1lGQ5FMdpBTpc5YuzBpNaQNss9BzTsZokXovJ_QZBAeiMwWcMavep5FAmpKNFUNW51kVaMfiVclrljbcQBApcg6IJxJFqBo/s400/IMG_9293.JPG" /></a><br />Sad sissy.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdmcHf8Hb9OY1ovNIWtmxa2ZKTFv8TSsKGSRe4DGqMhkXfSUCy_zTL_dmprw4z37r9ThLWgdIbjGaD8MkxIR04VkrT1lkVs9lAH9qOoSzQnzDy4oWOE9UuQUy9w2ch2mbmvMEfDey1b0/s1600-h/IMG_9323.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450124774603994178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdmcHf8Hb9OY1ovNIWtmxa2ZKTFv8TSsKGSRe4DGqMhkXfSUCy_zTL_dmprw4z37r9ThLWgdIbjGaD8MkxIR04VkrT1lkVs9lAH9qOoSzQnzDy4oWOE9UuQUy9w2ch2mbmvMEfDey1b0/s400/IMG_9323.JPG" /></a><br />Happy attacking (this time Lila's playhouse was his target)...<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVDbX-BmQRK36awvwQ_MvXP13-eCTre5WwDnq6I9vakYp5L69ZjGXOEntXJIL27MKHUJ3ynEZsMWNGuT4zBUtwanth0CqjJ_1rIKVz4Hfcq2vm-rhizC5uWgcLR1eJApO__9mISZBEfQ/s1600-h/IMG_9303.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450124073662472274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVDbX-BmQRK36awvwQ_MvXP13-eCTre5WwDnq6I9vakYp5L69ZjGXOEntXJIL27MKHUJ3ynEZsMWNGuT4zBUtwanth0CqjJ_1rIKVz4Hfcq2vm-rhizC5uWgcLR1eJApO__9mISZBEfQ/s400/IMG_9303.JPG" /></a><br /><em>Really</em> sad sissy.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6O8L-2HT2AXTgyxZ2bE-0-wZQp5jkALt2CZ_mxK1rw86w_7Dq5yvdYA-GzQrZCpxbdST3ZiZnuxdsoufEDOavK_TO0FE2bLG6Qk9Wz3qLZxS9XMzmJSwFAKgCBlNIzgANW5gNKSQSbI8/s1600-h/IMG_9328.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450124071783663858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6O8L-2HT2AXTgyxZ2bE-0-wZQp5jkALt2CZ_mxK1rw86w_7Dq5yvdYA-GzQrZCpxbdST3ZiZnuxdsoufEDOavK_TO0FE2bLG6Qk9Wz3qLZxS9XMzmJSwFAKgCBlNIzgANW5gNKSQSbI8/s400/IMG_9328.JPG" /></a><br />Happy attacking...<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGXGd_7u5HjWoww0au3nk847buQQvj2qQ86wTbvsHCfxTuPZ10CFmgLMQS2RbHNK6-sm5cv25FUV8L0i0V0bjp6HwyfIaxfem0ZGa0_l7kH3AlFwa0ftQvBsNdofNRBL3G62jXV5K7lMI/s1600-h/IMG_9336.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450123184237753362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGXGd_7u5HjWoww0au3nk847buQQvj2qQ86wTbvsHCfxTuPZ10CFmgLMQS2RbHNK6-sm5cv25FUV8L0i0V0bjp6HwyfIaxfem0ZGa0_l7kH3AlFwa0ftQvBsNdofNRBL3G62jXV5K7lMI/s400/IMG_9336.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VoJxkmSu18tvJo6Ct8-fzvoQU7VLhZmVfFCvyaWb0h6DmRuKzLXLUbi9datZcHJNS4ofLTjSUyXakCWffds2wSJVAAHqe9v6HA63C3nx1JcYDESodpQqGw5I3-AhnYomjDSSwolN6Rk/s1600-h/IMG_9332.JPG"></a><br /><br />Sad sissy.</div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjje2qp4wUqzieGCCgcjKgINzY4zZCBfiir3fK-arPZQ1kRdFNrJhPy5mzC43qv0ClVEdP1jh2HxYTK6ZCJs3__MhMvYMpHXWzOFH6aSQAgczHyOgst6oDsTIoz2nE5EF9bIr_xoPOqFxE/s1600-h/IMG_9335.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450123195392524658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjje2qp4wUqzieGCCgcjKgINzY4zZCBfiir3fK-arPZQ1kRdFNrJhPy5mzC43qv0ClVEdP1jh2HxYTK6ZCJs3__MhMvYMpHXWzOFH6aSQAgczHyOgst6oDsTIoz2nE5EF9bIr_xoPOqFxE/s400/IMG_9335.JPG" /></a><br /><br />And then Mason hit him in the face.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-4ebvO0RPxuUFoEKA5JnW-haJ4XMZmw3VYp0uAxCryuznBQJI8_CwIrTfEf21IkpqTkvStAvR68k1H99sPFpvmmWLtm8ScWG55IgtsQI-jejlW0FKtfdW-K1Cskx2ZaMWRyzR6uCjvs/s1600-h/IMG_9341.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450123173500018898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-4ebvO0RPxuUFoEKA5JnW-haJ4XMZmw3VYp0uAxCryuznBQJI8_CwIrTfEf21IkpqTkvStAvR68k1H99sPFpvmmWLtm8ScWG55IgtsQI-jejlW0FKtfdW-K1Cskx2ZaMWRyzR6uCjvs/s400/IMG_9341.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />It was time to put these evil things away.<br /><br />I have cabin fever.<br /><br />I haven't spoken to an adult all day.<br /><br />I can't wait until Saturday when our three days are up and I can go to the gym.<br /><br />I have run out of trick in my book to keep these people occupied. At this rate I might have to pull out the dreaded <a href="http://steppedonalego.blogspot.com/2009/03/arts-smart.html">paint</a>. </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-67679270050943572642010-03-12T17:01:00.002-05:002010-03-16T14:57:07.634-04:00High School SweetheartsThe Old Man and I are high school sweethearts. This is amazing to most people. Sometimes it's even amazing to me.<br /><br />We met when I was at the ripe old age of 13. He was 15, an older man. But we didn't start dating until I was 16 and he was 17.<br /><br />Fast forward 13 years, a house, three kids and a dog, and you will find us here. In a state of wedded bliss. Or wedded semi-bliss, depending on if any of the children have had the stomach virus as of late. That definitely will take your bliss down a few notches.<br /><br />I'd say once a month or so, it comes up in conversation with friends or strangers that my husband and I were high school sweethearts. It is nearly always met with a response of shock and awe.<br /><br />I have come to expect, and accept, the shock and awe.<br /><br />But it isn't that shocking to me. Or awesome. Or even that rare!<br /><br />A few days back, I got to thinking about all of the people I know, who went to my high school, who are now married to their high school sweethearts or at least someone they knew from high school.<br /><br />Michelle and Aaron. High school sweethearts, married with three kids. Sound familiar?<br /><br /><a href="http://sponsellerfamily.blogspot.com/">Nicole </a>and Jeff. Okay, not high school sweethearts, but definitely high school friends. Married with an adorable (and tall!) little boy.<br /><br /><a href="http://manringmemories.blogspot.com/">Lindsey </a>and Tyler. Again, not high school sweethearts, but they were acquainted... Married with a little girl who has the most darling pigtails. (Pig tails are a pipe dream around this house!)<br /><br />Keri and Joe. High school sweethearts, just had their first baby. A girl!<br /><br />Is this some kind of Southwest Florida phenomenon? And who made up the term "high school sweethearts"? Cause despite the fact that I can't think up a better term to use, I don't like it.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862105462571115714.post-18674114124279850282010-03-12T16:26:00.000-05:002010-03-12T17:10:19.142-05:00Gifts and GuiltToday it rained. A lot. I thought about trying to build an arc, but then I remembered I am no good with a hammer and nails. <br /><br />A rainy day is a blessing and a curse.<br /><br />It's a curse because it sucks every ounce of motivation out of me, right down to my bones.<br /><br />It's a curse because I have three children, so if I am to leave the house I am also to get soaked.<br /><br />Then comes the blessing.<br /><br />I'm so unmotivated that I do nothing.<br /><br />I'm so unwilling to get soaked, that I stay home.<br /><br />The boys were at school, so it was down to me and Lila today. We sat on the couch and engaged in our new ritual of snuggling and watching American Idol.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsjLLMq7pee_XhAxlAWuyBGzziqtoyjO5eJhOSq-oaJi4WUp_0xqmotfPpxRbLCrE_oxwNoufwK6SbEH8SIxQ2iNdZIbx0CrAz1qV1XeOBnWSv7wVaa_58fWQn7DBFzYMZxM72IJI6S8/s1600-h/IMG_8978copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447871211393485794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsjLLMq7pee_XhAxlAWuyBGzziqtoyjO5eJhOSq-oaJi4WUp_0xqmotfPpxRbLCrE_oxwNoufwK6SbEH8SIxQ2iNdZIbx0CrAz1qV1XeOBnWSv7wVaa_58fWQn7DBFzYMZxM72IJI6S8/s400/IMG_8978copy.jpg" /></a><br /><br />This child loves music. It really fills my heart to know that music fills hers. I feel like every day with these kids is like opening a present. I never know what part of their personalities, what new interest will emerge, what new talent will make an appearance.<br /><br />I feel so grateful for rainy couch mornings like these, and at the same time I feel overwhelming guilt at my unproductivity. Where's the balance?<br /><br />Sometimes, much more often than I might like, I am overwhelmed by motherhood. I waver from wanting to rip all the hairs out of my head to wondering who out there was crazy enough to leave me in charge of these three little humans.<br /><br />But then Lila's little ears hear music and her little body starts to shimmy.<br /><br />Cole tells Mason that he's his best friend.<br /><br />Mason draws a little stick figure picture of himself and Daddy. And he even writes their names on the page.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqTKjfdDk-7EiXZkMa1IsWUmPYVLKFhZ7TnMZ0zBFQPpcmaFe6tzUUcoz0rxFhXDTW4QvNunwH-RYH0hS9j7m8JN8iilf7yRh9OSRjHDrdXoUGit9rIK8xD9j1MbXD4d6pWYPW0g2ZZs/s1600-h/IMG_9007copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447871355703536530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqTKjfdDk-7EiXZkMa1IsWUmPYVLKFhZ7TnMZ0zBFQPpcmaFe6tzUUcoz0rxFhXDTW4QvNunwH-RYH0hS9j7m8JN8iilf7yRh9OSRjHDrdXoUGit9rIK8xD9j1MbXD4d6pWYPW0g2ZZs/s400/IMG_9007copy.jpg" /></a><br /><br />And I feel a little better about myself, a little more convinced that I might be doing something right.<br /><br />I feel so lucky for this gift of time with them. I feel lucky to be staying home with them. As often as I want to run away, I also want to run home.<br /><br />Our children are on loan from God.<br /><br />Too bad the laundry isn't on loan, too.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13815304181908300170noreply@blogger.com0