tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12204437784501661912024-03-05T00:56:13.968-08:00Three Billy Goats GraffUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-78890860394320790022022-03-19T16:36:00.000-07:002022-03-19T16:36:11.419-07:00Maple Syrup Festival<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9D3DfXNKlGHtr8NmUa6OU0ZYWK05AaA61-PWGL4d_q2iza-_k2zv2ETEJQCXW_R5UhwwirIpvkkWTfpuu9NuQU68EAFjUhkFAxeoZ4SmCT3RYpgZPyZJdYKigwS2ZRU7eU2a1bcufH_isqz-ZD0wnVO1pCTYgCioIE5ejZEyNwEO6OIypnqrwxOWTzA/s4000/20220319_105501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9D3DfXNKlGHtr8NmUa6OU0ZYWK05AaA61-PWGL4d_q2iza-_k2zv2ETEJQCXW_R5UhwwirIpvkkWTfpuu9NuQU68EAFjUhkFAxeoZ4SmCT3RYpgZPyZJdYKigwS2ZRU7eU2a1bcufH_isqz-ZD0wnVO1pCTYgCioIE5ejZEyNwEO6OIypnqrwxOWTzA/w587-h440/20220319_105501.jpg" width="587" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We went to the Maple Syrup Festival @Cunningham Falls State Park today. The weather was *gorgeous* and the crowds not horrifying. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJh15rG5JNqCyYYp_IgPFMQm_pCuSRI0riFhNBOicc7KnFx-viOnvfbfKrpiraXbG6ui7tS9xuWgDp6Gd4hu9aqhR1axexKJYi1SB_HgYf9ZS6JTB42zuDRgYsW64DEezomMf-SCs8AEKdFuSpMaFBhmyWSgpLS_rRiMXC_cdSTmWx4lbhnqht7kozYQ/s4624/20220319_105850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJh15rG5JNqCyYYp_IgPFMQm_pCuSRI0riFhNBOicc7KnFx-viOnvfbfKrpiraXbG6ui7tS9xuWgDp6Gd4hu9aqhR1axexKJYi1SB_HgYf9ZS6JTB42zuDRgYsW64DEezomMf-SCs8AEKdFuSpMaFBhmyWSgpLS_rRiMXC_cdSTmWx4lbhnqht7kozYQ/s320/20220319_105850.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhc8yY_7MAEEd9t-208QpTysG82gZuRutCkrOzOFr62fb-Xt0SXsp6GJHJ0TjWnX1Z3NCRLquqeyjOQmtc_534VLwiTmgEW0tS4rOYQGOIsDzZlXU6-egk0xH5wRoPjA1XcgR6VxT5D_MZaN32P3HkBtxKVXqPKrpT8Bjs0IWF9eB5SyE3KkMUBf17HA/s4624/20220319_104752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhc8yY_7MAEEd9t-208QpTysG82gZuRutCkrOzOFr62fb-Xt0SXsp6GJHJ0TjWnX1Z3NCRLquqeyjOQmtc_534VLwiTmgEW0tS4rOYQGOIsDzZlXU6-egk0xH5wRoPjA1XcgR6VxT5D_MZaN32P3HkBtxKVXqPKrpT8Bjs0IWF9eB5SyE3KkMUBf17HA/s320/20220319_104752.jpg" width="240" /></a><br /><br />We started off on the "Storybook Trail" that talks about the process of making maple syrup. It goes around a loop and back towards the demonstration area. I think Jim and I were the only ones to read the whole story. I had the boys read a few pages, but mostly they were mostly like cats and wandered wherever. As we headed back towards the syrup demonstration area (with all the people), Rae asked to cross the stream down off the bridge. The water was cold, but if you didn't stay in it too long, you were not going to be hypothermic. Sure, I said. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-I_UpR9-EPzszqMb92S6C5rLGC0R5JW_ymh1kkIopBv730DUy7TSUw7sPIQCOX_PuIi6BJQHOlwflstQo3MDRAB3o-SilO9KOg1QksoBtWYVy9qB7E73RnJd8wcHDTQY7lyhw664Wia6oHb3J4ycDk_MFYo-9O_DgPL3ti8ytQmleqskpXS5auZpDg/s4624/20220319_111847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-I_UpR9-EPzszqMb92S6C5rLGC0R5JW_ymh1kkIopBv730DUy7TSUw7sPIQCOX_PuIi6BJQHOlwflstQo3MDRAB3o-SilO9KOg1QksoBtWYVy9qB7E73RnJd8wcHDTQY7lyhw664Wia6oHb3J4ycDk_MFYo-9O_DgPL3ti8ytQmleqskpXS5auZpDg/s320/20220319_111847.jpg" width="240" /></a><br /><br />Off we go. <br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />We started to look for a place to cross the stream. Joe was very eager to participate and didn't want to be excluded. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPdlNMEngiWNCnvR0Ur8U9akR681cwO5pAjxf5ogCbLqVVIa1Ropr-6LMKE41hTGfBKK3i1Z0w05vQDE-yVzarxJLg8XAye0nMtt7nlJuEIersfMq6Yz9z6AHBYOQHaaInKlXyFLwYgmLxKjxGkKAQ7K6jLnfbK4a7XAWqxfAIKj9aiqSjCNm21A9ywQ/s4624/20220319_112103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPdlNMEngiWNCnvR0Ur8U9akR681cwO5pAjxf5ogCbLqVVIa1Ropr-6LMKE41hTGfBKK3i1Z0w05vQDE-yVzarxJLg8XAye0nMtt7nlJuEIersfMq6Yz9z6AHBYOQHaaInKlXyFLwYgmLxKjxGkKAQ7K6jLnfbK4a7XAWqxfAIKj9aiqSjCNm21A9ywQ/w400-h300/20220319_112103.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZpQEb5sxpQlLs94nRXiio7XaQBywFSkDaSQYu9NYb7P35rTvEY8FpxqsRUwhvVn7W2G28um-aNWfEyd59kuNVxmcjDY3UYNpN_ChiB0oAFeqpqKSl1Y2hl8kO1CDuSUb6P4HP5lRRxtKrBrwYjt0d6-VOy_i_qVZamebz6qUKYQDdlTS2DNTEjlMkw/s4624/20220319_112107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZpQEb5sxpQlLs94nRXiio7XaQBywFSkDaSQYu9NYb7P35rTvEY8FpxqsRUwhvVn7W2G28um-aNWfEyd59kuNVxmcjDY3UYNpN_ChiB0oAFeqpqKSl1Y2hl8kO1CDuSUb6P4HP5lRRxtKrBrwYjt0d6-VOy_i_qVZamebz6qUKYQDdlTS2DNTEjlMkw/s320/20220319_112107.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We all still had dry shoes at this point. It didn't last. Cay slipped on some algae and became the first inductee of the Wet Shoes Club. Joe and I soon followed, rounded out by Rae, who then decided that he didn't want to wear his shoes and continued on with only his socks. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenmRAI8Gm6giDbJuS4-Rtwec9nYMXlZ0qeRI66M6L5T1P-DLl4EZlG8-1HAflylXxWe2zYIihhvq7-G3s00LapiUPrM9MzmFrHzGPXSGqCLhWK_XPMI2-gKW738iPbf20Y8B9tE68K6PzmN3YvGgIZCLHrnF_Xo3yWKIkoQ7X8wMNCpYcT0l0d0Jxig/s4624/20220319_113957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenmRAI8Gm6giDbJuS4-Rtwec9nYMXlZ0qeRI66M6L5T1P-DLl4EZlG8-1HAflylXxWe2zYIihhvq7-G3s00LapiUPrM9MzmFrHzGPXSGqCLhWK_XPMI2-gKW738iPbf20Y8B9tE68K6PzmN3YvGgIZCLHrnF_Xo3yWKIkoQ7X8wMNCpYcT0l0d0Jxig/s320/20220319_113957.jpg" width="240" /></a><br /><br />Joe got halfway across the stream and decided that he would rather throw rocks from his tiny little island. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRF_a2X6O_H-aIWGmIqanZXuBXnl3ja57k_52KlgE1XVM6jor0uz7NRU-vbPHa52pxrfTZop57z7fY0SEt3BtxxJiVIwJHTBomZ-CcTMN-liHeRESgaAdRN0Pq75xAkm0SWXlydyRzp90SevnMBJODdG70G-e3Svo7t9sdHrIUsDbV6mAS8YLWLp0sEg/s4624/20220319_113735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRF_a2X6O_H-aIWGmIqanZXuBXnl3ja57k_52KlgE1XVM6jor0uz7NRU-vbPHa52pxrfTZop57z7fY0SEt3BtxxJiVIwJHTBomZ-CcTMN-liHeRESgaAdRN0Pq75xAkm0SWXlydyRzp90SevnMBJODdG70G-e3Svo7t9sdHrIUsDbV6mAS8YLWLp0sEg/w418-h314/20220319_113735.jpg" width="418" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lord Josephius Graffius carefully selecting stones for his island palace. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUR_R2uGe4PPf2cshHAGbIoRsr_aYhwWyFejPKonwsV92tbI-sTOWYnMZJ350YhLMz6OXnrcLUbtw9-R93F8eh1ARDOxyKP7Ysir9i4YXg9RmnT2GrE7M5GzviP_VBOVkGdmnXCDYWghG1I2r2Qzkx-hshdJ-FX8FOL_sLOJwfu764Oa3ARml4HVhyRQ/s4624/20220319_114108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUR_R2uGe4PPf2cshHAGbIoRsr_aYhwWyFejPKonwsV92tbI-sTOWYnMZJ350YhLMz6OXnrcLUbtw9-R93F8eh1ARDOxyKP7Ysir9i4YXg9RmnT2GrE7M5GzviP_VBOVkGdmnXCDYWghG1I2r2Qzkx-hshdJ-FX8FOL_sLOJwfu764Oa3ARml4HVhyRQ/w493-h658/20220319_114108.jpg" width="493" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cay had wandered farther upstream than the rest of us and had officiated his own baptism into the Wet Bum Club. We cheered. He liked the full body, immersive experience, which he repeated frequently. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlL3kX_YT0HjHBkumDOsyBSc-fOjl5M3dh9PQZnt9HRoE-DCq0r-TVsuL0LgnxQf7ytHWbA8ghIBP7fHAXLwHSc_SZLWXpFvxGYkzLHnwsHz2lKEYCcYmVU5U5YL03jnbAM6u-vNLvHwPh1FBlK70n8VTnhDzGTRlAAOWEUh2GRj0WuXf8cob3haiBQ/s4624/20220319_114509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlL3kX_YT0HjHBkumDOsyBSc-fOjl5M3dh9PQZnt9HRoE-DCq0r-TVsuL0LgnxQf7ytHWbA8ghIBP7fHAXLwHSc_SZLWXpFvxGYkzLHnwsHz2lKEYCcYmVU5U5YL03jnbAM6u-vNLvHwPh1FBlK70n8VTnhDzGTRlAAOWEUh2GRj0WuXf8cob3haiBQ/w486-h364/20220319_114509.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Cay up in the culvert; Rae with his arms in victory; Joe creeping along the side of the creek.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2mf7Oh5LVthGuPlNIutNaU_8sBBJiGdsC3ip-xcaelGheSRl86_Ta3hvM905cjJUV8xf3HaBYu1RT-eqlBLZwqcdIifhR3AK7SSWUBzHjC554V2Q3gSmqEir3EO0X628usPGcYw49cIHlLZFxLkEFLfwBkQagIUvnZY_tU0NIJGXj2QiQO0528F2pQ/s4624/20220319_120006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2mf7Oh5LVthGuPlNIutNaU_8sBBJiGdsC3ip-xcaelGheSRl86_Ta3hvM905cjJUV8xf3HaBYu1RT-eqlBLZwqcdIifhR3AK7SSWUBzHjC554V2Q3gSmqEir3EO0X628usPGcYw49cIHlLZFxLkEFLfwBkQagIUvnZY_tU0NIJGXj2QiQO0528F2pQ/w605-h454/20220319_120006.jpg" width="605" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We all made it up to the culvert and despite my concerns about fast moving water, only Joe slipped and only slightly, getting one hip wet. Another child of the creek went through the culvert at the same time as us and he got a thorough dunking, but we were on hand and helped fish him out. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By this time, Jim had finished watching the maple syrup demonstration and wandered back to find us. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZUNVswCBlKj-DKp0r6kLGy0fT4Jlv9PG_lMuEkzoDb5S77DN3KNxT9Z0T8cYRVsgsLTUsuYyeuhP8fD8Og6HTr1cNe3YOhn3_RwhAipfQzjAFn40zFLHmC_VFJ3fq1BjBRBoeqHdOHMMfLXlK7b5Ofwdl3-8sNB8CFRb4de4UyLrplY-803-FovsXNg/s4624/20220319_121213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZUNVswCBlKj-DKp0r6kLGy0fT4Jlv9PG_lMuEkzoDb5S77DN3KNxT9Z0T8cYRVsgsLTUsuYyeuhP8fD8Og6HTr1cNe3YOhn3_RwhAipfQzjAFn40zFLHmC_VFJ3fq1BjBRBoeqHdOHMMfLXlK7b5Ofwdl3-8sNB8CFRb4de4UyLrplY-803-FovsXNg/w342-h456/20220319_121213.jpg" width="342" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He helped Joe cross the stream while I acted as paparazzi. "Could you do that just a bit more photogenically?" The only time I tripped and fell was while taking this series of pictures (yes, every picture I post here is part of a series; I have to take a half dozen of each shot) because a tree root had the audacity to be present while I was photograffing the wildlife. I am probably going to have a colorful bruise. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So, Maple Syrup festival is probably pretty cool, but the stream and water were even cooler. <br /><br />And someone fell asleep on the way home: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEwHZLV5qzcTx5UjaleGbJvXNUJsgbfMnEJVg7gJWJUt3Hrj2ZckEqdxTlsX_opVEWOTMSgmAFzTz3OTd8u0djhLcijOLV59YJvloKWRRNSH1WoJ1Rkx0YMRdrTYsD3pXo1YdIMNIytr77nfCkFxi7mncaKIk9XJ2lCieAKI3BwfRgAdwUJVmI5Wlow/s4624/20220319_130709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEwHZLV5qzcTx5UjaleGbJvXNUJsgbfMnEJVg7gJWJUt3Hrj2ZckEqdxTlsX_opVEWOTMSgmAFzTz3OTd8u0djhLcijOLV59YJvloKWRRNSH1WoJ1Rkx0YMRdrTYsD3pXo1YdIMNIytr77nfCkFxi7mncaKIk9XJ2lCieAKI3BwfRgAdwUJVmI5Wlow/w506-h380/20220319_130709.jpg" width="506" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I got a sunburn; all of our shoes are drying in the garage; and we got to play in water. <br /><br />It was a good day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Just not really about maple syrup. </div></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-14945845714369859832022-01-17T14:39:00.000-08:002022-01-17T14:39:27.802-08:00Gingerbread Houses <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our Little Middle developed a fascination with gingerbread houses this year. We went to Five Below to shop for sibling Christmas presents and as we were about to leave, Little Middle planted his feet and refused to leave without a gingerbread house kit. <br /><br />Well. What was I to do? <br /><br />I put the kit back and pulled Little Middle bodily from the store. He was not happy. I was not happy. <br /><br />I related all of this to Jim, who then went out and bought a gingerbread house kit with Little Middle a few days later. <br /><br />Little Middle was thrilled with the gingerbread houses. He picked the smallest and plainest one for himself, assembled it, and dumped sprinkles all over it. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjO-q-j-IfdN_4k1wyNaU85IX8JKO1WDw58nucHReLclT1TIkUcEYGbRVIPzq-qoIESlGLhbFnJyLFoQtypzDj-R7pEn5G_PCZHLrFh4o_IKkcBdHA1zCYPHqWal0CRVXfCvLnfkfHaqo5VQk5EHpc6NXkvzl22fep5o69Sctpoob_HQ0h_WWFugs1yiw=s4624" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjO-q-j-IfdN_4k1wyNaU85IX8JKO1WDw58nucHReLclT1TIkUcEYGbRVIPzq-qoIESlGLhbFnJyLFoQtypzDj-R7pEn5G_PCZHLrFh4o_IKkcBdHA1zCYPHqWal0CRVXfCvLnfkfHaqo5VQk5EHpc6NXkvzl22fep5o69Sctpoob_HQ0h_WWFugs1yiw=s320" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I got home after construction was underway, so I missed out on all the candy and frosting in the kit. So I put on berries, Andes Mints, and sprinkles and constructed my house with peanut butter. Incidentally, peanut butter makes good construction glue.<br /><br />Jim assembled his house and promptly left the construction zone... giving his house a very minimalist appearance. <br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmyW2HWLEcTXcJaR_zFrV3uv2wGxRzFW6DqOVuLfyUUU6Dk9uiYCfvmTioNdf7NLznB2Ji-m3P_T-F9ayCiveEyMtE8Uiij5qxi_01AXZJhgVhp7qtkVs3kNPCX9415VopM-_fNs6iKw06xO-U6qA-fmVgCldWTObAoVZ0V_5hD5ee51A0NyBbasANdA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmyW2HWLEcTXcJaR_zFrV3uv2wGxRzFW6DqOVuLfyUUU6Dk9uiYCfvmTioNdf7NLznB2Ji-m3P_T-F9ayCiveEyMtE8Uiij5qxi_01AXZJhgVhp7qtkVs3kNPCX9415VopM-_fNs6iKw06xO-U6qA-fmVgCldWTObAoVZ0V_5hD5ee51A0NyBbasANdA=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Raeford neatly constructed his house and fastidiously placed his candies in rainbow order. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL1hU95Stwk4sR2c00x6cnHdSfXHRMCErN5QrPeWA2HuzFMdEeP6zThZQTPYty-M2I7oUetlAUo3Pb0whI7xaj0ZiuJaqJGQn4xnGP8V1xntTTqtPFr4HeNYXFsDKelOCiDA1W9r0SG9g9wpTUylgtsZgWDWLaX-uIVx6dYnGCj0ANgbl-2hkeg4DXyA=s4624" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL1hU95Stwk4sR2c00x6cnHdSfXHRMCErN5QrPeWA2HuzFMdEeP6zThZQTPYty-M2I7oUetlAUo3Pb0whI7xaj0ZiuJaqJGQn4xnGP8V1xntTTqtPFr4HeNYXFsDKelOCiDA1W9r0SG9g9wpTUylgtsZgWDWLaX-uIVx6dYnGCj0ANgbl-2hkeg4DXyA=s320" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Caleb went at his house with all the enthusiasm of a pig in mud. He loves textures and got as least as much on him (and in him) as he did his house. </span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFf5zyfFX4OFyAuM3TrSKio0i9pLmiUKRJGPq7x2CipBzU8AkYS4Sh-z14-fVd3WA2IpDk__OSS3pmJ5ITUbQBmw3T6jNzKV1M5LO6mS7mNj-hvhyASVcxgkeiXBHMZwmvI-jyOCMRaCT4YbEdqtWPexeq3HXFTLEiKVdm2_Nwou9nNelfEZvOF0_kaQ=s4624" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFf5zyfFX4OFyAuM3TrSKio0i9pLmiUKRJGPq7x2CipBzU8AkYS4Sh-z14-fVd3WA2IpDk__OSS3pmJ5ITUbQBmw3T6jNzKV1M5LO6mS7mNj-hvhyASVcxgkeiXBHMZwmvI-jyOCMRaCT4YbEdqtWPexeq3HXFTLEiKVdm2_Nwou9nNelfEZvOF0_kaQ=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Awhile later, Jim found another, witch-ier, gingerbread house---which we knew would be a big hit with the boys, again. [Rae helped photograph this one, so I am in a few of the pictures. La!] </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSYTCGs0wS5rvX--y3vsf0BWrloXgX8T-BN-_6w99sCM_Yoh_J_oQJ2-90_pBCkZAmv9e0MSyXE8AcPIVq4xVtG4zEO8BcL1tyAUX6-51ShQA7rmZsdrTMlUqXSsyZHPEJm4YmxL6rKodNPuydvU7IIG0YpWch20N6yY7_DH0iZ_hl3EKdmjMdxmhPqg=s4624" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSYTCGs0wS5rvX--y3vsf0BWrloXgX8T-BN-_6w99sCM_Yoh_J_oQJ2-90_pBCkZAmv9e0MSyXE8AcPIVq4xVtG4zEO8BcL1tyAUX6-51ShQA7rmZsdrTMlUqXSsyZHPEJm4YmxL6rKodNPuydvU7IIG0YpWch20N6yY7_DH0iZ_hl3EKdmjMdxmhPqg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">Also, because I *might* have bought a ridiculous amount of holiday sprinkles this year, we have had to find creative uses for them, like gingerbread houses. And sugar cookies. And fairy toast. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfDsm4oHFAjJ3Ge_2M3bvooXJG4bC16ZKWkERkRoi7cp-OdJ3KxiSOFf05d_qEaDIjovHgWkyq5DboY3FA2ZtCTRDOp3o1OiBe7Gucts7Op-MToZuGB5bD_SwSh1gFqNLd_7xRDOS2RbPer0z2x97gEpBY2iC2KZDeM5QwSMsXfAolLQCF-R6pQTUBwg=s4624" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfDsm4oHFAjJ3Ge_2M3bvooXJG4bC16ZKWkERkRoi7cp-OdJ3KxiSOFf05d_qEaDIjovHgWkyq5DboY3FA2ZtCTRDOp3o1OiBe7Gucts7Op-MToZuGB5bD_SwSh1gFqNLd_7xRDOS2RbPer0z2x97gEpBY2iC2KZDeM5QwSMsXfAolLQCF-R6pQTUBwg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This German gingerbread house (which tasted a whole lot better, fwiw) had a witch, a bat, Hansel, and Gretel all posing in front of the witch's house with a Christmas tree. However, unlike the fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel didn't escape the witch, absconding with her food and treasures. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This year we ate them. <br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLt7GdzN7NloTJK-s4JTolzb6_bS2FPkVyFsWfJ5ZzSxV4Hm2ieZlS1Z9QTB9ZSp3QUL8a1rZsYETKeRlNJ_ADmaCvS_IY1q6SZeR9GpkV8dEC3nl0xbLzHaBnpRb29G4UQYTIDd-MrbgSAbeAZgAdPHtFt3siGwXB-HULcV0KPxiIB3BbJvxxQ3VlKA=s4624" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLt7GdzN7NloTJK-s4JTolzb6_bS2FPkVyFsWfJ5ZzSxV4Hm2ieZlS1Z9QTB9ZSp3QUL8a1rZsYETKeRlNJ_ADmaCvS_IY1q6SZeR9GpkV8dEC3nl0xbLzHaBnpRb29G4UQYTIDd-MrbgSAbeAZgAdPHtFt3siGwXB-HULcV0KPxiIB3BbJvxxQ3VlKA=s320" width="320" /></a></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And they were delicious. </span></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-42776090257592152802021-12-27T10:01:00.000-08:002021-12-27T10:01:43.362-08:00Tampon Tales<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">To understand the rest of this post, you need context. <br /><br />So, let me begin at the beginning. I grew up in a very conservative home with very conservative parents and attended a very conservative religious university. As a child I was not allowed to watch <i>The Simpsons---</i>too crass, or <i>Captain Planet---</i>too environmentalist-wacko. My parents opted me out of sex ed in elementary school, but didn't teach me themselves. I remember asking my dad what "well-endowed" meant, watching him become very awkward and gesture with cupping hands at his chest. I was highly embarrassed and learned at that tender age to not ask my parents about anything even remotely sex-adjacent again. <br /><br />This didn't stop me from reading Jean Auel's <i>Earth's Children </i>series (which includes rape and sex scenes) in middle school, or from trying to understand my body; I just had fewer resources and many, many roadblocks. <br /><br />I didn't reach menarche until I was fifteen and a half---rather late for a child. My mom had explained the basics to me when I was ten years old with a Childcraft encyclopedia, but that explanation left far more questions than answers and I didn't know how to ask questions. By the time I was fifteen and a half, there was no discussion of menstruation in my house---there was hardly any discussion about anything, ever---so I was left to reading information on and in tampon boxes as an entrance to womanhood. <br /><br />I will mention here that tampon boxes could do a better job explaining how to use their products. I was playing water polo when I reached menarche, and thus needed to use tampons so I could play during my period. The first time I used one, I left the cardboard applicator inside myself overnight because the directions were too vague. I eventually figured it out, but it took me awhile and would have been much better for me if I could have just asked someone. <br /><br />One of the things that drew me to Jim, early on, was that Jim never seems to be embarrassed to ask a question when he doesn't know the answer. I really admire frankness in others, and I aspire that kind of open transparency in my own life. I feel that if my child is bold enough to ask a question, I can be brave enough to answer it honestly. <br /><br />So, now that you have some background, let me take you to my first semester freshman year (at my very conservative universtiy) early morning Anatomy and Physiology lab class. The light is barely coming in through the basement windows; the walls are tiled, the room echo-y; it is cold, and everyone is half-awake; except for my TA who exudes alertness and enthusiasm. He strides confidently into the middle of the lab; everyone (mostly female nursing students) sits on stools circling him. <br /><br />"This is a penis," he says, cupping his hand and holding up a brown chunk of cadaver soaked in </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">formaldehyde. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Repeat after me: penis." </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"...penis..." my horrified/awe-struck classmates latently whisper. There are nervous isolated giggles. Remember, most of these people have not ever said "penis" out loud. <br /><br />"Penis," he says louder. <br /><br />"penis," we quietly repeat. <br /><br />"I can't hear you," he cups his other hand, the one not containing shriveled cadaver junk, next to his ear and yells, "PENIS!" <br /><br />"Penis," we say. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The TA repeats continues his call and repeat sequence until the whole class enthusiastically shouts names of various genitalia. For a crowd of extremely conservative co-eds, this was *radical*. <br /><br />And I could not have loved it more. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anatomy & Physiology was my favorite class of my entire college experience. It's a bummer that I took it my very first semester because---honestly---nearly everything after that was a let-down (except for Women's Health Issues my senior year). It's been seventeen years since that class, and I still love to study anatomy. I love the body and how it is so absolutely weird and wonderful, </span><span style="font-size: large;">and I have extremely few scruples when discussing bodies and various bodily functions. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This comes in handy in my day-to-day life. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">One morning, Rae runs to me aghast and indignant, sputtering and fuming with too many feelings of injustice. It was rather early for so many feelings from such a small person. I barely had both eyes open. <br /><br />"MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMmmmmmmm," he wails. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I really was not awake enough for this. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not waiting for a response, he launches into his complaint. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"YOU. HAD. ICE. CREAM. </span><span style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">WITHOUT ME!" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">At this point, I am rather baffled. One, my eyes are blinking, trying to lubricate themselves and get ready for sunshine; two, I feel like donating my uterus to science (again) because menstruation; and three, my brain can't register the words Rae is saying. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"<u>What</u> ice cream?" I ask. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rae rushes to the trash can, grabs the offending pint, and stomps back to me. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">My brain fog is clearing, and I glimpse the pink container. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLE2j7B7NKvu6jZibNmtMLYb1G2tSTmTSM6Jj-xOlztGvfwwrocV-sKC0UM86bUdk54Wd0DiuWFdyhP3lRPYH-i2TWXOvVyp-MI6OBsQPKDii229EieQdN_TOYE1YrnD3Dxze1-8PFMOUX/s720/20210512_105249.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="720" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLE2j7B7NKvu6jZibNmtMLYb1G2tSTmTSM6Jj-xOlztGvfwwrocV-sKC0UM86bUdk54Wd0DiuWFdyhP3lRPYH-i2TWXOvVyp-MI6OBsQPKDii229EieQdN_TOYE1YrnD3Dxze1-8PFMOUX/s320/20210512_105249.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can't help it---I laugh when I recognize the pint of not-ice-cream. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpO6_KUz4GDFBeLzRLNeCGoamY_4c6OkZ2QYmqh8Qw4T78LYm0b_3aSS3xEhYrrsP_Rg80Cv9dMEXZky6HQygBWWujZBdf_MG1xd8ZwjKVpRZZdUJwaPunC73v7eR1xEV5Z5AVYhqDJ_1A/s720/20210512_105426.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="720" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpO6_KUz4GDFBeLzRLNeCGoamY_4c6OkZ2QYmqh8Qw4T78LYm0b_3aSS3xEhYrrsP_Rg80Cv9dMEXZky6HQygBWWujZBdf_MG1xd8ZwjKVpRZZdUJwaPunC73v7eR1xEV5Z5AVYhqDJ_1A/s320/20210512_105426.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I explain that is a tampon box and because we have regular discussions about menstruation and bodies; Rae immediately grasps the situation and his anger deflates. <br /><br />He and I would both rather have had ice cream. <br /><br />~~~~~~</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Recently, a friend recommended organic cotton tampons, so I tried them. Turns out, I like them a lot. If you have to stick something there, it might as well be organic. Everything else is. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Menstruation happens regularly (one would hope 🤞🤞). Jim, bless him, lacks any embarrassment picking up sanitary supplies for me when he goes shopping. Because the feminine hygiene aisle is dauntingly complex, Jim asks for specific instructions, which I appreciate. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Recently, the instructions have been:<br />-get [this brand], <br />-definitely do not under any circumstances get [that brand],<br />-and if [this brand] is unavailable, just find one that says organic cotton. <br /><br />Jim is adept at following instructions. He came home with organic tampons that worked just fine. Yay. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because I am still that person, I read the tampon box and all the pamphlet information---almost every time, and <i>definitely</i> when switching brands. I am not entirely sure why, but I haven't outgrown the habit. Perhaps I read it so I can remind myself of all the symptoms of Toxic Shock Syndrome. <br /><br />However, TSS was not the most interesting part of <i>this </i>box. <br /><br />This was:<br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiruX9ij6jIohijN1dIJcuiFv8w5wfr-nWGISASw15D9MHhlKIbR_0f_GKiaRK54CfcYJPvGAtFg-5WTnd88C08C7irumDoY3XuOXmqVyuuEEyxfqDZnmfdp7hksnhc4MXBV8uVhowra8nq/s4624/20211027_193523.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiruX9ij6jIohijN1dIJcuiFv8w5wfr-nWGISASw15D9MHhlKIbR_0f_GKiaRK54CfcYJPvGAtFg-5WTnd88C08C7irumDoY3XuOXmqVyuuEEyxfqDZnmfdp7hksnhc4MXBV8uVhowra8nq/w640-h480/20211027_193523.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: large;">So, of course I *had* to read it to Jim. <br /><br />"Huh," he says, "...ghosts told me to stick herbs up there is their marketing strategy." <br /><br />My humans-without-vaginas make me laugh. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-82867812233263290712021-12-15T11:20:00.000-08:002021-12-15T11:20:06.024-08:00Keeper of the Zoo <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho1G2JSNOMy9IpvrmpvviYp7b9wnIDU-OiuJ_3TNnPI_9L11fU-PDEN38Wmu3DLYSaQ8l17anO73Y0Pg2TIdnFDLsZZLGFfNRah6Zead14WPbzlJF_I5z8kh39dOnCGxMvNqTekkFsoOC4t-zA9h2AV2VsBFwqvo2J9j3LKO4j10IMa9M7UH_4Fzkj0w=s3965" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2891" data-original-width="3965" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho1G2JSNOMy9IpvrmpvviYp7b9wnIDU-OiuJ_3TNnPI_9L11fU-PDEN38Wmu3DLYSaQ8l17anO73Y0Pg2TIdnFDLsZZLGFfNRah6Zead14WPbzlJF_I5z8kh39dOnCGxMvNqTekkFsoOC4t-zA9h2AV2VsBFwqvo2J9j3LKO4j10IMa9M7UH_4Fzkj0w=w640-h466" width="640" /></a></div><br /> Of my kids, Caleb is most similar in temperament to me. He cannot sit still long enough to watch a movie; he doesn't like to sit still to eat, and he is endlessly organizing his brothers to do things with him. <br /><br />Like random face painting after school. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />Joe wanted a heart, and then he wanted gold glitter on his heart, so we got craft-herpes everywhere. Caleb wanted to appropriately dispose of the glitter (yay), so I told him to shake it out at the garbage can. I neglected to tell him to take the lid off the garbage can <i>first</i>. </div><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7hFNY1GE0zaj8bMh5yE9ft44MMPyyL7P77pN-A0er3SUACCZTb1Nl3J3GQ1nS2EJB8XAT48ci1rDa3HoUHGyGhubChjBZoib-tMa8akAcDQYn8vsI3DitJ03Wk6idDKmF1xDJYgwUU6JB9SqI7O0o82R3YTHpechxdBurRI9owMcTKh9YiZ3tvUWA5Q=s2872" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2551" data-original-width="2872" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7hFNY1GE0zaj8bMh5yE9ft44MMPyyL7P77pN-A0er3SUACCZTb1Nl3J3GQ1nS2EJB8XAT48ci1rDa3HoUHGyGhubChjBZoib-tMa8akAcDQYn8vsI3DitJ03Wk6idDKmF1xDJYgwUU6JB9SqI7O0o82R3YTHpechxdBurRI9owMcTKh9YiZ3tvUWA5Q=w400-h355" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Based on the first picture, you'd conclude that Cay was putting on rouge. Not so. I didn't really get a good picture of the final face paint job, but this is close-ish: </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv424y1wzBoyzWIejBI9_GcxgrvJYNg1A_zPVvjlBfVzrCztHUhgJyeEozoPwSL9sm6ApgfjPdr3SjDMwUnG84GRiNgr_FhUn2Ect9BpW5zjcLGOfF07Kutv-WYQmNoKlJJFFoQDf8sh88Rd_GbKXqpw0iO3UxoGpUojYdRYPlYe8qFJX20Ja1puyRKQ=s1957" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1957" data-original-width="1468" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv424y1wzBoyzWIejBI9_GcxgrvJYNg1A_zPVvjlBfVzrCztHUhgJyeEozoPwSL9sm6ApgfjPdr3SjDMwUnG84GRiNgr_FhUn2Ect9BpW5zjcLGOfF07Kutv-WYQmNoKlJJFFoQDf8sh88Rd_GbKXqpw0iO3UxoGpUojYdRYPlYe8qFJX20Ja1puyRKQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">He told me that the black above his eyebrows was to make him look fierce, like a warrior. The blue on his chin reminds me of Mel Gibson in Braveheart. Cay also told me that he was going to wear his face paint to school the next day to show his friends. Nope. Not happening. It took six attempts, but he finally washed all of it off his face before bedtime. <br /><br />I've been volunteering at the school. Right now, I am mostly working with Rae's class (making copies and doing math facts), but I've started helping out in Caleb's class, too. <br /><br />One of the small people in Cay's class told me that I look like a zookeeper. <br /><br />I laughed. <br /><br />Why, yes, I <i>am</i> the keeper of the zoo. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-90024935564082360322021-12-03T07:55:00.005-08:002021-12-03T10:07:15.835-08:00Dear Goodness, What Happened to November? <p style="text-align: center;"> <br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br />November is a historically difficult month for me. My body shuts down and tries not to feel anything until mid-January-ish. Which is disappointing because I wind up missing out on three holidays and two kid birthdays. Like I just can't muster up the enthusiasm. <br /><br />I think that I *finally* acknowledged that this-is-a-thing for me last year. I think acknowledging that there is a problem is probably the best first step to doing anything about it. Even if that first step is just saying, "Hey, there's a problem." I think talking about it helps, too. I think medication definitely helps. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">[Sidebar: Can we talk about how hard it is for people with mental health issues to reach out and get help? First, I have to be able to acknowledge that there is an issue; second, I have to know what the resources are; third, those resources have to be actually helpful. Any misstep along the way derails my ability to get help for myself.] <br /><br />Speaking of medication, mine had a hiccup. The script was not written correctly, and I ran out. So, I went from maintaining somewhat normalcy to sobbing on the phone to a stranger trying to figure out the logistics of getting my prescription refilled. It was overwhelming. I know logically that I just need to keep pressing forward to figure out a solution, but I just didn't have the spoons to do it---which left me frustrated and sobbing to strangers. <br /><br />So---instead of pressing forward for a solution--- I just waited it out. Fortunately my prescription refilled yesterday and I got my first good night's rest in awhile; hence, I have enough spoons to blog. I really enjoy blogging, but it is very hard to do when my brain feels like it is circling the drain. <br /><br />This morning, Rae saw the pharmacy bag for my prescription medication on top of the garbage. <br /><br />"What's that?" he asked <br /><br />"It's medicine to make my brain feel better."<br /><br />"How does it do that?" <br /><br />"My body doesn't make enough neurotransmitters, so this medicine keeps the ones it does make in circulation longer." <br /><br />"Why is that important?" <br /><br />"Without those neurotransmitters, I tend to sleep too much, cry, and be easily irritable. I lose interest in things I enjoy, stuff like that. I need my brain to function well, so I can feel good enough to function." <br /><br />"That makes sense." <br /><br />I have this bizarre, boot-strapping desire to make myself function well---no excuses! Like, it is a moral failing if I can't make myself be better. I've come to realize, it is not a moral failing. It is just what it is. I got a set of conditions and circumstances that I manage, and those conditions/circumstances don't inform my character. It is rather a relief to separate who I am from what I deal with. <br /><br /><br />So, November, here are my birthday boys: <br /></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCJShqCtMsXcsLUu9VsvDc5zK4vMgUZDowapvgDJEKJOz_2aHUbWPGw8f6q4G3sNHm6CjBjtFaQv55Q0fQbkfrRn66HzbC1vhAZNjyl9ue-STGo0HSM8H2g1AI3DgZePaD3qrrM6PWOmj/s4624/20211115_181905.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCJShqCtMsXcsLUu9VsvDc5zK4vMgUZDowapvgDJEKJOz_2aHUbWPGw8f6q4G3sNHm6CjBjtFaQv55Q0fQbkfrRn66HzbC1vhAZNjyl9ue-STGo0HSM8H2g1AI3DgZePaD3qrrM6PWOmj/w300-h400/20211115_181905.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbKwcdJZZD67WUA-CNMw2npU61-DxY4cMaF-rln8k7LT2BIzu5D8eIHJ-FNf3wB-BDwA73n2xGtWui4Zq0ec6XlJZebyqBGg0vqXqzh5572uhV9A7WF-2Euc6uXkq_S5vUqczObHh5y2s/s4624/20211124_134055.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbKwcdJZZD67WUA-CNMw2npU61-DxY4cMaF-rln8k7LT2BIzu5D8eIHJ-FNf3wB-BDwA73n2xGtWui4Zq0ec6XlJZebyqBGg0vqXqzh5572uhV9A7WF-2Euc6uXkq_S5vUqczObHh5y2s/w400-h300/20211124_134055.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Joe got a mommy dog with a zipper pouch on her belly and four puppies inside, among other things. Wouldn't that be easier? #zipperpouchenvy<br /><br />Cay got geodes which he smashed with a hammer and a foam stomp rocket (I highly recommend this one, but when the pieces need to be glued together, don't use super glue. It doesn't work, and I wound up gluing my fingers together. Use a hot glue gun, instead. #lessonlearned) </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6pZdyHw_unvupez0U0-CeFGEesBx62TbTCsSNQ9_OFsZz_mjPA_yyOW7jYVlsBPFzPjyfO2rJgBHJXMvrUXiUHNjGc1C3KdAgxOx_NUjqi5CuhYQq3XNC3vnKPyYbXU5JA0KMr_DFua8/s4624/20211124_140550.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6pZdyHw_unvupez0U0-CeFGEesBx62TbTCsSNQ9_OFsZz_mjPA_yyOW7jYVlsBPFzPjyfO2rJgBHJXMvrUXiUHNjGc1C3KdAgxOx_NUjqi5CuhYQq3XNC3vnKPyYbXU5JA0KMr_DFua8/s320/20211124_140550.jpg" width="240" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I don't have pictures from Thanksgiving, on account of my body surrendering to two four-hour-long daytime naps because 1. booster shot; 2. Aunt Flo; and 3. lack of brain medication. The collision of those three things together was like Dante's ninth circle. Fortunately, Caleb also napped with me for my second nap. <br /><br />Speaking of my booster shot, the boys got their first dose! We went to the county health department, and there was a news crew who asked to film/photograph my three kids getting their shots (I have no idea if that actually made it to the papers), and I said, sure! It'll be a circus. <br /><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">I was right; it was a circus. 🎪 </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">🎪</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">🎪</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Cay went first and was arrogantly stoic about the whole thing, telling his bigger brothers, "</span><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I</span><span> </span></span></i><span style="font-size: large;">did it; it was soooo easy." <br /><br />Joe was inelegantly sandwiched between me and Jim, squirmed like a caught fish, more or less subdued, and quickly shot by an expert. He howled indignantly for ten seconds then promptly forgot about it when handed a sticker.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rae, dear Lord, bless his heart. He was all kinds of panicked about getting his shot, even after watching both his brothers (maybe <i>especially</i> after watching his brothers). I don't want to know what the health department workers or the news crew filming us thought of my parenting after listening to me word-grapple with Rae, which ended abruptly when I promised to sit on him with cold-hearted sincerity and a three second countdown. <br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I honestly thought that Joe and Cay would more difficult. Nope! Not this time, anyway. </span><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5AgxhKJKdUrEZrthnEaCpY8QwVs5ck1Tvq9RmMuevpcrWPHKQsAmED7pMhrWwV2hIDMTJzVV3TSSHNsOG7OU2kq2aWU2ViO4iuGjQ9fsVko8ulNbJwei53-EYqS60sWlqu2e5XPr5vtFu/s4000/20211120_144817.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5AgxhKJKdUrEZrthnEaCpY8QwVs5ck1Tvq9RmMuevpcrWPHKQsAmED7pMhrWwV2hIDMTJzVV3TSSHNsOG7OU2kq2aWU2ViO4iuGjQ9fsVko8ulNbJwei53-EYqS60sWlqu2e5XPr5vtFu/w640-h480/20211120_144817.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we got outside, the railing had round, colored stickers that the health department used to quickly identify who needed what, where. Apparently, everyone took off their stickers after walking out the door and decorated the rails, the signs, and the lamp post nearby. It was actually quite cute, so I needed a picture. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />As for post-shot reactions: Rae's arm was warm and sore; Joe seemed to have no reaction; Cay needed very long naps.</span><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDq0TBsI6efwprzG8wvN8HppwJHjp8xRrCtOd3D6P12nf1tf0McfEZkB3eYu5RCnfPUO4FSEdvChpytURX9GEVu_tHVqWJQjRdv85bxV6YNhBk4zskEJchbtYEaUBjIcfPSzeQJZpCjtlm/s4624/20211121_194447.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDq0TBsI6efwprzG8wvN8HppwJHjp8xRrCtOd3D6P12nf1tf0McfEZkB3eYu5RCnfPUO4FSEdvChpytURX9GEVu_tHVqWJQjRdv85bxV6YNhBk4zskEJchbtYEaUBjIcfPSzeQJZpCjtlm/s320/20211121_194447.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Since Cay never slows down, we were quite thrilled with this side effect.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Goodbye November. Onward, December, ho! </span></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-49200683280438345862021-10-27T16:23:00.000-07:002021-10-27T16:23:44.699-07:00Carpenter bees and Ceilings <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Projects, projects, projects. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Okay, it's just two projects. One, smooth (and paint) the dining room ceiling; and two, stain the deck. I set an arbitrary deadline of end of October, but the more involved I get in these projects, the less likely it seems that I will finish them in ... the next four days. <br /><br />Several months ago, when I was full of ambition and infallibility, I removed the texture from the dining room ceiling. As my kids were extra fond of telling me---and anyone else they talked to---, "Mom, it looks WORSE now than it did before." <br /><br />Harsh.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <br />Also, true.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <br />And, it was a ginormous pain in the ass. I wet the ceiling with a pump sprayer thingy and scraped off the texture with a putty knife. It took *forever*. YouTube made it look so much easier.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9udAyJ8bPCgI7pH7SNOTKa0FBIKSLa85tcb5TZ1jfav1M2-clHgibbrNBflD1uKY_NTpOmD_MNrE5KicbUHB7MArIGiTWCXMY1qYF4grcMYGwqetfaqlL7EP0MSJzKG5RROG9AGsNuw6/s3264/20210510_104245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9udAyJ8bPCgI7pH7SNOTKa0FBIKSLa85tcb5TZ1jfav1M2-clHgibbrNBflD1uKY_NTpOmD_MNrE5KicbUHB7MArIGiTWCXMY1qYF4grcMYGwqetfaqlL7EP0MSJzKG5RROG9AGsNuw6/s320/20210510_104245.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvA3j6VAi_dABTfiyad536efeAUHUbnQa-k3jHpKlD7N8UZ26LdtSU8CKZa_isDtxB3Shx49iHRH7JEqCZaEpaMWsmD7b-bJYU-baNuPGkJ-AfVlzHwrhdTAlQeSMCzw9Prim03POlHpN/s3264/20210510_105354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvA3j6VAi_dABTfiyad536efeAUHUbnQa-k3jHpKlD7N8UZ26LdtSU8CKZa_isDtxB3Shx49iHRH7JEqCZaEpaMWsmD7b-bJYU-baNuPGkJ-AfVlzHwrhdTAlQeSMCzw9Prim03POlHpN/s320/20210510_105354.jpg" width="180" /></a></div></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Hubris, thy name is Icie. <br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I started to patch the ceiling with mud. Mudding also made the project look decidedly worse, and I left it again for several weeks while I thought on it. <br /><br />Eventually, I went back and finished the first coat of mud; let it dry, then sanded the ceiling. It wasn't perfect, but it was significantly better. So, I put on another coat of mud---just for the spots that needed it; let it dry; sanded it again. Third time was the charm and I've finished smoothing out the ceiling with mud, letting it dry, and sanding. <br /><br />Sanding was the worst! I was covered in dust and it took hours for the dust to fully settle around the house so I could then clean every surface in the house. If I ever get a wild hare to do this again, I will seal off the room and restrict the sanding dust to ONE PLACE. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlyY72THGdgOYZxahdF61N_2P8sxdGGN_IAKsFgJ4avCdberf-kBeNlG_skeTX92qMFhx6j0hQjcx7xmizX3jAd90NWE1-LeZ-XJjgE4oXCFv8d2I1ULfuR6PqpvFvZiT_V5cIcz1jtY9/s1148/20211008_130910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlyY72THGdgOYZxahdF61N_2P8sxdGGN_IAKsFgJ4avCdberf-kBeNlG_skeTX92qMFhx6j0hQjcx7xmizX3jAd90NWE1-LeZ-XJjgE4oXCFv8d2I1ULfuR6PqpvFvZiT_V5cIcz1jtY9/w402-h640/20211008_130910.jpg" width="402" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think the hard part of projects is all the ugly not-yet-finished stages where you can't quite visualize how this horrible mess you are making is going to actually turn out okay. <br /><br />But, I've needed to put a pin in the ceiling project (again), while I hurry to get the deck stained before it gets too cold. You see, there are carpenter bees and they are inactive in the fall, so I have to get it done now, as my previous strategy involves murder.<br /><br />The best way to protect against carpenter bees eating your deck is to stain it...or, the second best way is to kill the bees with a tennis racket. We may have bought a tennis racket for the express purpose of killing carpenter bees (which I may keep in my kitchen). I may have killed 87 bees two summers ago; 50-something the previous summer; and a few dozen this summer. I may have kept a hash mark tally next to the sliding door to the deck. May have, hypothetically. But, the guilt catches up to you, you know? So carpenter bee abatement strategies needed something more refined than vigilantism. <br /><br />Before I can stain the deck, I need to clean it. Today was my third day of pressure washing the deck, and it is mostly done. You know, ...*twelve hours* of pressure washing later, it is only <i>mostly</i> done. I had no idea it would take that long. Also, there is a learning curve for using a pressure washer. [Use a wide spray, go along the wood grain, and get close-ish to the surface---you're welcome.] Also, I did not chop off my fingers when I accidentally shot a line across my hand. Go me. <br /> <br />I am well on my way with both projects, but there is still so much more to do. It's weird to write a post where I am still in-process. No cool before-and-after pictures.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Weird, but fitting. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Meanwhile, a cute picture of Joe and me snuggling in my hammock chair yesterday: </span></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQl91JVnfebGjYLxlnQVr-3Ebvm8b94bRvLTcVd-rrNOB6EUv0JIJi8oWGQ68WXPn7uWhbtTJcmGSWhimTbL9Q2O_ZtlKzfgPOuVlprCh1-mHdmoPp0lQ8A8crnxOqrx-WoYTUMbxBp_4M/s3264/20211026_155304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQl91JVnfebGjYLxlnQVr-3Ebvm8b94bRvLTcVd-rrNOB6EUv0JIJi8oWGQ68WXPn7uWhbtTJcmGSWhimTbL9Q2O_ZtlKzfgPOuVlprCh1-mHdmoPp0lQ8A8crnxOqrx-WoYTUMbxBp_4M/w300-h400/20211026_155304.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-18702514898361277412021-10-06T09:54:00.002-07:002021-10-06T09:58:10.101-07:00It's OCTOBER, witches! <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRmKttba-HWgInn1poCmiqFT2J-p2pB2MwHwkXlbq3jwMw9ZbzCFPr1wDBo0n5hLXlgJE_H1nrnAnUnd2ZtpKXOuuu9uD-A4EpRQ0KR8GUnBXox31pFpjf5LBLt9I7qJK77ZntZ4Fg4E7/s2560/20211002_123425.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRmKttba-HWgInn1poCmiqFT2J-p2pB2MwHwkXlbq3jwMw9ZbzCFPr1wDBo0n5hLXlgJE_H1nrnAnUnd2ZtpKXOuuu9uD-A4EpRQ0KR8GUnBXox31pFpjf5LBLt9I7qJK77ZntZ4Fg4E7/s320/20211002_123425.jpg" width="180" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">Jim called this my low-key goth outfit. Black shirt, leggings, sandals, and a Dia De Los Muertos mask. I use to really hate the idea of wearing skulls on anything, and I am largely still that way, but for some reason... I am really drawn to DDLM. It's bright and happy. <br /><br />Megan sent me her mask pattern, and I have to say... making masks has become a sickness: <br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9iD0s9b63tcKrQVWXmRfgizoMVh9icayf2suRMcCpi4bRl120x2PyPKr9sqi871nwU79-BR3HgopXP91AMtVD8T6IEcOIujG6cDVm2tdoju0R5lywmTv28gvp8bvFCzOOx-g8SzRirgr/s3264/20211001_104150.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9iD0s9b63tcKrQVWXmRfgizoMVh9icayf2suRMcCpi4bRl120x2PyPKr9sqi871nwU79-BR3HgopXP91AMtVD8T6IEcOIujG6cDVm2tdoju0R5lywmTv28gvp8bvFCzOOx-g8SzRirgr/w640-h360/20211001_104150.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">Rae and Cay both picked out fabrics this last weekend and we sewed up new masks for themselves, which they wore to school this week already. Cay might have burned his fingers; Rae might have tried to tell me what the pattern *actually* said, multiple times. 🙄 Rae-splaining.🤦🏻♀️ Rae's mask was pink and blue; Cay's mask had rockets and polka dots. [neither are pictured 👆🏼]<br /><br />The other big news is... we applied for passports!!! The current wait time is 12 weeks or so, and although everyone asks, I have no idea where we really want to travel to outside the United States. Other than Iceland. I've had a longtime fascination with Iceland. <br /><br />Where do the kids want to go? <br /><br />Rae: New York City<br /><br />Cay: China<br /><br />Joe: the moon<br /><br />We did all five passports at the same time, and for a hot minute I really debated whether or not it was worth it because corralling everyone was making me super anxious. Then I started wondering what corralling everyone in a foreign country would look like and my heart rate sped up and I felt light-headed. <br /><br />The post office was great, though. We got in and out in less than an hour and half, and it wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been. Ultimately, I know that we don't know how much time we get with the people we care about, and I want to make memories. I want stories and adventures. <br /><br />We're probably not going to the moon, though. <br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt84yNj5r1UuX3gxnz-hdFG11arMj48GX6EK61ovjfa9LgmoysE5gq-8U4A0adgf_U_RjwgdxRXOqWx3TBa0jKY8aLsEGLoKm2eCpnhMDQxTzoiG39tuielguHyJgAOTYYPrn-lMIGZJpM/s3264/20210929_152239.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt84yNj5r1UuX3gxnz-hdFG11arMj48GX6EK61ovjfa9LgmoysE5gq-8U4A0adgf_U_RjwgdxRXOqWx3TBa0jKY8aLsEGLoKm2eCpnhMDQxTzoiG39tuielguHyJgAOTYYPrn-lMIGZJpM/w640-h360/20210929_152239.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx42qalgKH26fNdnTrughAN5kbB4w0bj5QrLIfmVcB1w4ggA7B9_u0hN1wgyG4mBYkYKsEiPAPoP7UqKw2cz9w-SiBpeXGe_ETDXjPcXkzqURqEr1IEMR0-y_T7ZUXlhVobR6ywQp8aUE0/s3264/20210929_162812.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx42qalgKH26fNdnTrughAN5kbB4w0bj5QrLIfmVcB1w4ggA7B9_u0hN1wgyG4mBYkYKsEiPAPoP7UqKw2cz9w-SiBpeXGe_ETDXjPcXkzqURqEr1IEMR0-y_T7ZUXlhVobR6ywQp8aUE0/s3264/20210929_162812.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBveeo0IR6u2NOnBepPN2X_tRWf6-nzN_NnGU7LHWKmXVOyQmycsi2uu5S2rfMVOhrOYoH8yOpEh5ww7r8IkQZwnT0ft3MtXkl_JamiRuysSENRdjkKNYJtlMSdDhs4_R1hX-8Q_vQt3a/s3264/20210929_161436.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBveeo0IR6u2NOnBepPN2X_tRWf6-nzN_NnGU7LHWKmXVOyQmycsi2uu5S2rfMVOhrOYoH8yOpEh5ww7r8IkQZwnT0ft3MtXkl_JamiRuysSENRdjkKNYJtlMSdDhs4_R1hX-8Q_vQt3a/w360-h640/20210929_161436.jpg" width="360" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">Rae's passport photo makes me laugh! Jim's hair dyed his background a pale pink. The rest of us look alright. :) <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6ttbd0JgepOPxVB__M9HScCaGzuGeMWHCNUbAu4QkvZ5FgM67eb_8-XI2vrV5-joNsDgYpQxcYn6I89Iq49ajhKfUi77oo5WB3eJmUzttQc-gvTLxMsnKfViEqW726H32hL8oLcchOe_/s2048/part0%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6ttbd0JgepOPxVB__M9HScCaGzuGeMWHCNUbAu4QkvZ5FgM67eb_8-XI2vrV5-joNsDgYpQxcYn6I89Iq49ajhKfUi77oo5WB3eJmUzttQc-gvTLxMsnKfViEqW726H32hL8oLcchOe_/w640-h480/part0%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />We went to the library park (we have a tendency to name our parks anything other than their actual name---the library park being in close-ish proximity to the library), and I tried to get an artsy photo of Joe on the merry-go-round and accidentally caught Cay flying off the side. </span></div></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzL9qUzkqMZhtYTtIXZfqL3qSUIDaDGXaWS0_HSpAvoBrXdtLa6ehCmk8C_DEK-FAFSKXSpq69x6bq5_ryqCLPK-b-arCr5JHVTPJ1C9aLj3MlDqEIG9YtdPBPokZpfyptkJrf4WG2a9Fu/s3264/20210929_164109.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzL9qUzkqMZhtYTtIXZfqL3qSUIDaDGXaWS0_HSpAvoBrXdtLa6ehCmk8C_DEK-FAFSKXSpq69x6bq5_ryqCLPK-b-arCr5JHVTPJ1C9aLj3MlDqEIG9YtdPBPokZpfyptkJrf4WG2a9Fu/w640-h360/20210929_164109.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">I am totally in love with Rae's hair---it reminds me of Link from Legend of Zelda. I also like pictures of <a href="https://that-they-might-have-joy.blogspot.com/2021/09/testing-testing-is-this-thing-on.html">Rae helping Joe</a>; it just reminds me of what a great big brother Rae is becoming. I am so, so proud of him. </span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnajT56q-juxItU1OUlMdliwUjnaMKKMz4oFCx6jXsyatOTI0qtOIzU59wzQRiNJrsfA5c6YZWNNcLCF-r2WGyUf29KoC7RlvHs1JvL6ksNNnbvrQeFRJqhBUvUSM7Ta7ZaCXNHEZxaug2/s3264/20210929_165011.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnajT56q-juxItU1OUlMdliwUjnaMKKMz4oFCx6jXsyatOTI0qtOIzU59wzQRiNJrsfA5c6YZWNNcLCF-r2WGyUf29KoC7RlvHs1JvL6ksNNnbvrQeFRJqhBUvUSM7Ta7ZaCXNHEZxaug2/w640-h360/20210929_165011.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: large;">We have a dry erase calendar that I update each month. This month I wrote, "It's OCTOBER, witches!" at the top. Caleb asked me why I wrote it, and I gave a sanitized answer: because Halloween is in October and witches are part of Halloween! I didn't realize that Jim had heard my explanation until he laughed at me. "You know... they might repeat that at school..." 😳<br /><br />Sorry....but not really sorry. <br /><br />Because... it's OCTOBER, witches!!! 🧙♀️</span><br /></span></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-9447390524359663232021-09-29T10:41:00.002-07:002021-09-29T14:44:37.884-07:00Testing, testing... Is this thing on? <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack....<br /></span><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOr5m7JiurBaWqvihkc9w_zE_oRJn_X_VubxcG5AeBzq7xyBuTwsOBBokIblMmftHU-29myKqAx8YYO9OVRI638ESbjvEu0XEtRxoo7rBo0CZqHQDpcXRoo7Y4zHrSxwx5NNROkGuwrWB1/s1148/20210926_140657.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOr5m7JiurBaWqvihkc9w_zE_oRJn_X_VubxcG5AeBzq7xyBuTwsOBBokIblMmftHU-29myKqAx8YYO9OVRI638ESbjvEu0XEtRxoo7rBo0CZqHQDpcXRoo7Y4zHrSxwx5NNROkGuwrWB1/w402-h640/20210926_140657.jpg" width="402" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: times;">[Necklace courtesy of Caleb, freshly made, just that morning. I like how looking down it says "WOW" at me. Jim's necklace is pretty awesome, too. The a's and d's all look the same, so Jim's says "AAA" or "DDD" depending on your preferences.] </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Is blogger even still a thing? <br /><br />Ah, well. <br /><br />I would try to catch you up on four years of adventures, but that sounds like work, so let's pretend my last post was a giant cliffhanger and now the story continues. Something, something, something; mumble, mumble, mumble. <br /><br />Ah hem. <br /><br />We are all older, not really wiser, ....though the boys are all back in school (WAAAAAHHOOOOOO 💃💃💃💃💃💃 !!!!) <br /><br />...Except when they are sick. Rae came down with a cough last Friday and we have all been quarantined together until his Covid test came back negative from the county health department (yesterday evening; you can bet I was refreshing that browser frequently). Because I like my house and sanity, we spent our time biking and hiking. <br /></span><br /><br /></span></div><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLdgEYr1ep3y2OrihuvtE6XXGP67O88z-KELeRq10kpgfgXb3qqhhIaizWvImNParpO_nEgL4oc6UuwGePyd6Ho7FAS9p1MthT3gE4QD8FWakZUAPq2eOfx_M323X5tOnZP2BoRaoazKX/w400-h225/20210927_170315.jpg" width="400" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">[My lovely dabbers--- Cay very serious; Rae happy; and Joe silly]</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmqQM0IIwf9b5pWDNBp7MaeNfr3atlSrLqdUoF-rSCIXt5BdeZ6kyjfTx4DCjA0ed7Ac1hMCx8-RWzZbS-C4vn2nDPa5GGzIbK6IbiU9Hg8ihBureTz99-yhGlJspRYXZnuimmv-PhRvG/s2560/20210927_165530.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="2560" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmqQM0IIwf9b5pWDNBp7MaeNfr3atlSrLqdUoF-rSCIXt5BdeZ6kyjfTx4DCjA0ed7Ac1hMCx8-RWzZbS-C4vn2nDPa5GGzIbK6IbiU9Hg8ihBureTz99-yhGlJspRYXZnuimmv-PhRvG/w400-h225/20210927_165530.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br />[The Biker Gang: my ebike has a passenger seat which Joe uses; Cay is doing great (still using training wheels); and Rae, is the --as yet--unrivaled leader. Don't worry, there will be a picture with Cay's face, eventually.]<br /><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">We biked a part of the C&O canal towpath. There are locks and old buildings and the Potomac River on one side. If we stopped for any length of time, the mosquitoes found me, so I hurried everyone along. On the ride back, a runner passed us! Watching that runner, Cay had renewed determination to speed up. The runner's pace was slightly faster than Cay's lackadaisical one, so Cay had to work to pass him, which--of course--he did. He carefully monitored the runner's progress, looking over his shoulder and hollering, "He's so close!!!" then redoubling his efforts. Thank you, pacesetting runner man. </span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6DjYNtH2OyiQD0cmjS7V4pdBJKbVUBTXhD8QsjnZKi1cQJXtcbhIHNO-Qw2gEO3GrSkWbsmHzB7NifXY7-8B5sH-MuIgfnMLwIyE7Agb5UKeFvq-jB81xDo4H0XWtIAx-mjDUgbDp333/s3264/20210927_131507.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6DjYNtH2OyiQD0cmjS7V4pdBJKbVUBTXhD8QsjnZKi1cQJXtcbhIHNO-Qw2gEO3GrSkWbsmHzB7NifXY7-8B5sH-MuIgfnMLwIyE7Agb5UKeFvq-jB81xDo4H0XWtIAx-mjDUgbDp333/s320/20210927_131507.jpg" width="180" /></a><br /><br />[Everyone else was still in school, so we had the skate park all to ourselves two days in a row. Sick day bonus!] </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My mom turned four furniture dollies into scooters for the boys (and her) last summer, and they loved using them at the skate park (as opposed to just the garage floor). <br /><br />Joe was an especially bold dolly-er. As an infant, we called him the </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Buddha Baby because he was so chill---especially in comparison to his older brother---and he's super chill as a skate park bum, too. On his first run, he went down one ramp and then unintentionally careened down a second ramp with unruffled aplomb. Luckily, I am practiced at not letting the panic show on my face. 👍👍 , Joe. </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1T9tgq9eG6mmTcNJsxbggBV65O9og9tIAM0fnRevFonFOQTrcHkByAFJg53oLs7faY_QXgl1iD-t_qrc46g3OjoNFPRH3BW8nxiwCBGKuwzYscqyiwua1Y93-D3UBvYYdHWssnmC7ejKI/s3264/20210926_141148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1T9tgq9eG6mmTcNJsxbggBV65O9og9tIAM0fnRevFonFOQTrcHkByAFJg53oLs7faY_QXgl1iD-t_qrc46g3OjoNFPRH3BW8nxiwCBGKuwzYscqyiwua1Y93-D3UBvYYdHWssnmC7ejKI/w400-h225/20210926_141148.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br />[But why male models?] <br /><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">The Delaplaine Art Center offers so many awesome art classes that I am pretty sure I will never want to move again. My last class was Self-Portraiture in Clay. </span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUYJatawbqfvM1woTVKU4tlJ5mfghx6vSzmwFnYsv6gTDHkp_HbKuiCROcetcSJZuBi1bvUTiLDKFaNiMLzMNEiIt5q4F7uvQ1fDSw7pORne32nFORNBXHrz8dFRvhk8eqpKUrtgCW1lB/s720/20210924_213511.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="720" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUYJatawbqfvM1woTVKU4tlJ5mfghx6vSzmwFnYsv6gTDHkp_HbKuiCROcetcSJZuBi1bvUTiLDKFaNiMLzMNEiIt5q4F7uvQ1fDSw7pORne32nFORNBXHrz8dFRvhk8eqpKUrtgCW1lB/w400-h214/20210924_213511.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtL-Yb6q1ZQwc1D7Kaq6yE_4-6qQTCyXhUPY8svj_P7nopP5gNsWAMVsllmqdoXryvV8fY_XDULweOA-9HqyQElICW9mCe21COB-In0RRDgfEzj6s4yyexXnOniEcSrui67bmQU5-R8nbD/s3264/20210923_100140.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtL-Yb6q1ZQwc1D7Kaq6yE_4-6qQTCyXhUPY8svj_P7nopP5gNsWAMVsllmqdoXryvV8fY_XDULweOA-9HqyQElICW9mCe21COB-In0RRDgfEzj6s4yyexXnOniEcSrui67bmQU5-R8nbD/w640-h360/20210923_100140.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">[Here's Cay helping me add more clay. See, I told you I'd have a picture with his face.]</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">I am still dinking around with it and enjoying that process. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Back to Rae: he still has a gross sounding cough and is staying home today; but since he had a negative Covid test, his brothers are back at school. He's living it up on the couch, humidifier humidifying, cough drops on hand, and YouTube playing. <br /><br />How many Gen Z-ers want to be YouTube celebrities? <br /><br />At least my three. </span></span></div><p></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWB9iD1i6-7LysivsETDiIPr9dgLy8DzDkT254a3RhoHZjnTFh3UdVwVxHSPeyiiKzaqUTMED00cyeftJ5SSs3eQch3dJRChJBxzUMxUJGKdLwp74ES8yk1wAPJS5cqiFOOd8Sy7jMsFf/s3264/20210929_093343.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWB9iD1i6-7LysivsETDiIPr9dgLy8DzDkT254a3RhoHZjnTFh3UdVwVxHSPeyiiKzaqUTMED00cyeftJ5SSs3eQch3dJRChJBxzUMxUJGKdLwp74ES8yk1wAPJS5cqiFOOd8Sy7jMsFf/w640-h360/20210929_093343.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Please like and subscribe. </span></span></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-63745284426915021202017-10-24T10:02:00.000-07:002017-10-25T22:22:45.965-07:00Anxiety, the challenge and the gift <br />
Anxiety is one of my challenges.<br />
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"Normal" bodies always have a certain amount of white blood cells circulating to keep the body safe. Generally, if you have an above average amount of white blood cells, it is because your body is fighting an infection.<br />
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My body is always above that average range; it is like my body is always on high alert, even when I am perfectly healthy. My mind mirrors this, I am always on high alert and I battle with anxiety.<br />
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How do I deal with anxiety? I try to listen objectively to what the anxiety tells me and analyze whether there are any facts to support it. This process can take awhile and takes practice and sometimes I cannot do it. Maybe I have to go and investigate whether the oven is on or my kids are still breathing or if the door is still locked. When I can mentally acknowledge there are no facts to support my anxious thoughts, I practice calming techniques that work for me until I am ready to move forward again. I give myself permission to deal with the anxiety--this unseen enemy-- as a real, tangible thing, just like cleaning up vomit, or staying close to the toilet when you have diarrhea are real things. I let my body slow down and recover.<br />
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That is the pattern of coping that has sustained me for awhile, and it is not a terrible pattern, but I am starting to shift into a different pattern. In a process similar to mediation, I focus on being
present and passively watch my thoughts without judgment. This requires a great deal of comfort with ambiguity, with not knowing
the answer and acknowledging that I do not have the answer. This seems to be closely tied to the concept of humility, which I define as confidence in God, His timing, His purposes, and my confidence in His guiding hand in my life. Humility to me means I do not have to have the answers because I know where the answers come from and I have the confidence that He will give me answers as He sees fit. Humility requires trust. Trust develops from experience and from remembering experiences. <br />
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I have learned that anxiety causes real, tangible physical symptoms for me. When my brain sends those anxious feelings to my body, I have to wait it out. Wait and trust. Let my body slow down and recover. For me, this is the same idea as "...let your hearts be comforted... for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God." (D&C 101:16). I like the language of this scripture. He says, let your heart. The choice I have to make is to allow, to let. It is not me swimming against the mental onslaught; it is me letting go because I trust that God does want to comfort me. Then, I have to "be still". Being still, like letting my heart, is not my efforts to actively slay the dragon, it is passive, it is waiting to receive. When the dragon is breathing fire down on me, or the waters are threatening to pull me under, it takes trust, that I have developed over time, to "let [my] heart be comforted" and "be still".<br />
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I read a poem recently that I love, in the Deseret News.<br />
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It's relaxing to be humble</div>
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And exhausting to be proud</div>
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I saw an important man —</div>
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Center of attention,</div>
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Watched, looked to. Deferred to.</div>
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Earnest, trying to live up to it all,</div>
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Others giving him answers he wanted to hear</div>
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But couldn’t trust.</div>
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Weight of the world,</div>
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People depending on him</div>
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Hiding his secret fear of failure,</div>
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Of letting people down,</div>
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Burying it beneath his energy,</div>
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Always stoking up his can-do attitude.</div>
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He looked exhausted,</div>
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The exhaustion of proving himself</div>
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Over and over again.</div>
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I saw another man,</div>
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Smaller, humbler, happier,</div>
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Whistling in fact.</div>
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Somehow his load was light, though he led a church.</div>
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He’d learned not only to believe in</div>
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But to depend on Higher Power,</div>
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So he was a relaxed messenger,</div>
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A stewardship servant,</div>
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Full of love but without pressure,</div>
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A simple, can’t-do attitude</div>
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With a footnote:</div>
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“But he can”</div>
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He looked relaxed,</div>
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Even refreshed.</div>
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The escape of knowing it wasn’t</div>
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About him.</div>
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Anxiety is a mental health issue, and the key word there is health. We do not yet have good language or cultural understanding for talking about the needs of the mind. Those conversations are changing, and I am grateful to live in this time, but we still have destructive language and conversation for dealing with mental health.<br />
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Why do I need to write about this issue today? Well, I do hope that my search for clarity helps someone else gain clarity for their own situation. Writing has power, sharing with others has power. So, yes, this post is to help me organize my thoughts, but dear reader, it also for you. I have been blessed by listening to the experiences of others and using those experiences to better understand my own. I feel I am paying it forward by sharing my experience, contributing, in my small way, to the ongoing human conversation.<br />
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Anxiety is one of my challenges.<br />
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Anxiety is also one of my gifts.<br />
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Anxiety gives me the push to develop resilience, faith, and trust. Anxiety gives me the push to develop humility. My patriarchal blessing reads, "always feel secure in your strength, for it is the strength of the Lord". I think the "strength of the Lord" means, in part, humility. <br />
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God makes beauty from ashes. I know He does in my life. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-28173283476055961872017-04-24T01:21:00.000-07:002017-04-24T01:21:12.441-07:00My brother is married! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My sibs and I have not been in the same place, at the same time in a looooong time. </div>
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Grandma says we need to get together again sooner. </div>
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I agree. </div>
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We got our boys are gussied up, but I think Joe was the only one who liked the fancy clothes. </div>
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Rae thought they were itchy, and could only be appeased with lots of electronics. </div>
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Caleb had to be woken up from his nap, and so was less than impressed. </div>
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This picture makes me giggle. </div>
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Tish and I went to get our hair done. It was nice spending time with her. </div>
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And here's my crew: </div>
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Grandpa loved talking to the boys. </div>
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And I dared Jim to order a virgin Sex on the Beach. He did, and it was pretty good. </div>
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Grandpa gave Joe his flower, and Joe loved it. </div>
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I feel bad, but I don't have any pictures of Cassie! Ah! </div>
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We're happy to have her in our family and excited for the two of them to start their life together! </div>
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Congratulations, Will and Cassie! </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-15226740834430231732017-04-23T20:18:00.001-07:002017-04-23T20:22:27.718-07:00Guest Post by Jim! Guest post today by Jim! Jim told me about his day, I laughed and told him he should write a blog post about it. I got to go to church solo (and listen!) and teach. It was awesome. Anyway, back to Jim's day...<br />
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Today, all of our boys were had runny noses, scratchy throats, and mild temperatures, so they didn't go to church. After enough time trashing the house and obviously having nothing to do with their extra energy, I took them to the park.<br />
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Yeah, the park instead of church. Because they're sick.<br />
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Anyway, I think most people take their kids to the park for the playground. Ours get bored of the playground equipment very quickly and start running off to do other things. Today, we walked right past the playground and kept going to the racquetball court. It has a wall for them to throw tennis balls at and then chase down. It's pretty cool.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDWxzxLtgSGhhuzfqX16h5e-f_zk-urybizs8tOTBZdzYNrG6nae5Y_12ZXFvlDiQb6mxYoIdvxUqoais-NqFUmn8xC7sWE1sbgg002L-dRxKNa8asttA3k7Umh6Gaa7XthCjGK93kZDv/s1600/20170423_121627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDWxzxLtgSGhhuzfqX16h5e-f_zk-urybizs8tOTBZdzYNrG6nae5Y_12ZXFvlDiQb6mxYoIdvxUqoais-NqFUmn8xC7sWE1sbgg002L-dRxKNa8asttA3k7Umh6Gaa7XthCjGK93kZDv/s400/20170423_121627.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It took a while to get them all in the same picture.</td></tr>
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After we played there for a while, we went and got some water, then played at the playground until Rae made friends with someone who had a bike. They raced up and down the sidewalk a few times, and then Rae convinced the boy to let him ride the bike, without much in the way of experience or shoes. It did have training wheels, and I did get him to wear the helmet that was swinging on the handlebars. Sorry I didn't get any pictures of that. You'll be glad to know that Rae did not injure himself riding down the hill, though.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6BgxUJvi6lA0XhF0YYwjqbTbJOLH5J2_JQvUVwJqaLD6LV5LYnxTux_9sDdSE5_cCdrOE4Z7EOoMqDGFVZHcZlOLwZmaAPegF4eX6i9gBdAfdYis-4qIjJZfsVIbd9qcQd3aiBcQ4VT1/s1600/20170423_124808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6BgxUJvi6lA0XhF0YYwjqbTbJOLH5J2_JQvUVwJqaLD6LV5LYnxTux_9sDdSE5_cCdrOE4Z7EOoMqDGFVZHcZlOLwZmaAPegF4eX6i9gBdAfdYis-4qIjJZfsVIbd9qcQd3aiBcQ4VT1/s400/20170423_124808.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calebinius the Dog Whisperer practicing his arts</td></tr>
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More water, running in circles, and petting random dogs that happened to be in the area, all the boys went back to the racquetball court. Rae's new friend Reuben went with them, and playing ball meant that Reuben would throw all three of the tennis balls, and my boys would go chase them down and bring them back to Reuben.<br />
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After a setback or two. You see, by this point Rae and Caleb had both taken off their shoes. (Not Joe. Good for him.) Caleb ran about six feet onto the racquetball court, then stopped and wailed, "Daaaad!"<br />
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"What is it, Caleb?"<br />
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"Feeeeet!" I was halfway to where he was by that point, and could see him trying to stand on his heels and keep all the rest of his feet up off the ground.<br />
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"Is the ground really hot?"<br />
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"Yes."<br />
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I picked him up and explained to him that we wear shoes to protect our feet. After splashing water on the soles of his feet, we put his shoes on his feet and he ran back to the game like nothing had happened.<br />
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Rae, of course, was still barefoot, and the pavement was still hot. He just stuck to the ledge on one side of the court and the twelve inches of shade on another. After a few minutes of watching and laughing, I suggested he put his shoes on, too. <br />
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"Oh, yeah..."<br />
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Because I'm short on pictures for this post, here's the younger two getting some water. They don't want any help at all using the water fountain, thank you very much. Rae gets his water this way, too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTtSzZQfsDTKG4RrCmglrWEvETxWlNV981BrAyQla6ZjkMnJdiPNiIcmokoG6g5wXitGntzh7ZbKz2soUEcTPB42jqzV7dQG-do9MEPzXYluS_YtG2kCpRB4OACC3oFkHUASYJeRBEuJR/s1600/20170423_125031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTtSzZQfsDTKG4RrCmglrWEvETxWlNV981BrAyQla6ZjkMnJdiPNiIcmokoG6g5wXitGntzh7ZbKz2soUEcTPB42jqzV7dQG-do9MEPzXYluS_YtG2kCpRB4OACC3oFkHUASYJeRBEuJR/s320/20170423_125031.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caleb came home soaked. That was half the fun, I'm sure.</td></tr>
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We came home and had some water and cookies, and then Joe put himself to bed. Caleb No-More-Naps also went down pretty easy, and is in fact still asleep as I type this. I guess that was a good trip to the park.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvmI_hNkfELI9KfpUExNGl-dxRkfjD851G-TNd1Yn_AkBII4tq6KpOE2Irnu2NCwDDGM-Wqv3RaFMuUpKKfPaSQige4N3pq66RjtMiYxaGob6NtJl85H_Uecom2xwSqOqpkbh-hybbNMN/s1600/20170423_141040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvmI_hNkfELI9KfpUExNGl-dxRkfjD851G-TNd1Yn_AkBII4tq6KpOE2Irnu2NCwDDGM-Wqv3RaFMuUpKKfPaSQige4N3pq66RjtMiYxaGob6NtJl85H_Uecom2xwSqOqpkbh-hybbNMN/s400/20170423_141040.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bean bag chairs for the win.</td></tr>
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That, or they're still sick...</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-46336647895123417492017-04-17T01:27:00.000-07:002017-04-17T01:40:52.511-07:00Chattanooga<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When we went out to Atlanta, my Dad was super excited to take us to one of his favorite places:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Chattanooga, Tennessee. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We rode the Incline Railroad, walked around Lookout Mountain, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">and ate genuine Tennessee BBQ. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The railcar is made at a 18 degree angle. If I hadn't been worried about tripping and killing myself, I would have taken a picture of the wonky stairs walking into it. It's trippy, and trippy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When you sit down (at the bottom of the mountain) your seat is like a lounge chair because you are leaning back and extra 18 degrees. The stairs in the car are shallow and wide, but again, 18 degrees off of normal stairs. My kids were in heaven. They raced down the stairs and plastered their noses on the window looking out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The Incline Railroad is billed as the "steepest" incline in the world. In the winter, when the roads at the top of the mountain are impassable, but the schools are still open, the Incline Railroad works like a school bus, taking kids down the mountain to school. Some people really do still use it to commute. It's also been used to transport medicine and mail. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHys1EED8zTmEpJ1jRvBHWmObRUcihxAC1t6OcyPDbszfEPr_ecAbhkDURRK_G1CitpbyjdC50RPRW7xQTKcddLiQzGAVn9MlMcyVvT-RBim0FqNF7owShDqTviDB1huyghrN3RwdBzaM/s1600/20170330_141644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHys1EED8zTmEpJ1jRvBHWmObRUcihxAC1t6OcyPDbszfEPr_ecAbhkDURRK_G1CitpbyjdC50RPRW7xQTKcddLiQzGAVn9MlMcyVvT-RBim0FqNF7owShDqTviDB1huyghrN3RwdBzaM/s320/20170330_141644.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When you are riding on it, you pass houses on either side, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">and the locals pleasantly wave at you. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQNGHPpL9E2K6M2TgfW61KLGCIjqgn8mXsa5Rm4herdRp-zYMaRF4CdSjNc185NIwumwQWyRylUOVcJN1vmOvU1v25xsyOAtjixE51Y3m6NX6I1AvPYHGsjVDYV_aBbx2z8gTsEk2_V2a/s1600/20170330_141356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQNGHPpL9E2K6M2TgfW61KLGCIjqgn8mXsa5Rm4herdRp-zYMaRF4CdSjNc185NIwumwQWyRylUOVcJN1vmOvU1v25xsyOAtjixE51Y3m6NX6I1AvPYHGsjVDYV_aBbx2z8gTsEk2_V2a/s320/20170330_141356.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">While we were waiting to go back down the Incline Railroad, Joe desperately wanted to plaster his face against the plate glass door which showed the giant, red wheels and cables used to pull the railcar up the mountain. But, there was a gate, and Mom said no. So he threw Dog over the gate and looked right at me as if to say, "Well, you won't let me go over there, but surely you would let me get my dog back!" No such luck, Joe. I retrieved Dog and everyone stayed on the right side of the gate. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAF3JAfYZz7GVK3Q82XajzZdu1i4xf7VP50TwFk41RPIGIjQ_XHjaeCEKJTIxoc5UUYRfG6Hc8l8CI22n7UOR6n4XhPYz-Bosg3KmSr9bpC5TmJTRbSCuBfvsz8Xehi60BKDAsK71Dg8E/s1600/20170330_141421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAF3JAfYZz7GVK3Q82XajzZdu1i4xf7VP50TwFk41RPIGIjQ_XHjaeCEKJTIxoc5UUYRfG6Hc8l8CI22n7UOR6n4XhPYz-Bosg3KmSr9bpC5TmJTRbSCuBfvsz8Xehi60BKDAsK71Dg8E/s320/20170330_141421.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The boys loved Aunt Tish, with good reason. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-p80rFdCy8JSVlnCFdGkxzSRRnrOn0X0w7wApJkR9FUWlC_8dvjntKzp0FBZcw4hcLLLDEjvMH6Qguzc-H_6Qt5UrqA_faMhf-AXzDIQPIa28Kz2rXECRwi_O6f1GhUHL9lW3EboAM9RF/s1600/20170330_141437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-p80rFdCy8JSVlnCFdGkxzSRRnrOn0X0w7wApJkR9FUWlC_8dvjntKzp0FBZcw4hcLLLDEjvMH6Qguzc-H_6Qt5UrqA_faMhf-AXzDIQPIa28Kz2rXECRwi_O6f1GhUHL9lW3EboAM9RF/s320/20170330_141437.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She helped us corral them (bless her!) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">and helped them squish pennies into flat souvenir pennies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ode to joy. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9Wfi2949uR7VUsjYp44CbhHmmEBWq29lvz_ZzMFTWczuex3QsCpRYhkAgcCQ5fCMvVNJMStNCTr51WNW8ao3W45tXMZ407NXJwRJ1Dah6z8dpiTFUlt36jgLQg5kZVOmnM2qnNK4eAlC/s1600/20170330_142918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9Wfi2949uR7VUsjYp44CbhHmmEBWq29lvz_ZzMFTWczuex3QsCpRYhkAgcCQ5fCMvVNJMStNCTr51WNW8ao3W45tXMZ407NXJwRJ1Dah6z8dpiTFUlt36jgLQg5kZVOmnM2qnNK4eAlC/s320/20170330_142918.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When we got back to the base of the mountain, I tried to get a picture of how high up the railcar had taken us, but it doesn't really stand out in these two pictures. If you look at the top of the tree line in the middle, you will see a square-ish tree. It's not a tree, it is the visitor's center and the white speck below it is a railcar making it's way up the mountain. It's is slightly to the right of my sister. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMXr1-JF8xSrnUat99eWRz6qiyHqKwvXWTqf1hUd9R6sCzDgL3KEIOfUtmxvXRIilApE-_jjCplHpXC8nyzW6Z3_5ITBp1iTUMC72Pn3hpORXVZ3UAoIyIII4_hMBLSRIi5hRqRCTyEQ5/s1600/20170330_153738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMXr1-JF8xSrnUat99eWRz6qiyHqKwvXWTqf1hUd9R6sCzDgL3KEIOfUtmxvXRIilApE-_jjCplHpXC8nyzW6Z3_5ITBp1iTUMC72Pn3hpORXVZ3UAoIyIII4_hMBLSRIi5hRqRCTyEQ5/s640/20170330_153738.jpg" width="360" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You don't see the white speck railcar in this picture, and the Visitor's Center is in between Tish and Dad in this picture. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijB77J4eSre9xIyE4aBcK-fteZuGgf7jwK0wHYwoaBIH3Lxgt166fU0Ag-MUcsWKeKWgM3Jg0ySfgRJ1-iqnVtBN7q54N4WiUiQYq5TetOqc3CCsNGUv1Pvo0LyMYIIMgR6OC9aziwEhbr/s1600/20170330_153818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijB77J4eSre9xIyE4aBcK-fteZuGgf7jwK0wHYwoaBIH3Lxgt166fU0Ag-MUcsWKeKWgM3Jg0ySfgRJ1-iqnVtBN7q54N4WiUiQYq5TetOqc3CCsNGUv1Pvo0LyMYIIMgR6OC9aziwEhbr/s640/20170330_153818.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">After the Incline, we had some really awesome Tennessee BBQ. There were half a dozen different BBQ sauces on the table, we had fun experimenting with them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The wait staff even brought hot damp towels to help us wipe up after eating. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">That's how you know it's good. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu9l9AS_7_ygghPxBsYmwqkXvf_y2UcuaRBlCqDjFPqY-8vfoQWT8cKJ0TUxbZOayKmpUU4fCfEjwQAdvmI64oiCR-_p9oiu6IiXqLU0AewxJu48URjBeIgh5JqmIhAeVM6sCMmtc93bUl/s1600/20170330_165603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu9l9AS_7_ygghPxBsYmwqkXvf_y2UcuaRBlCqDjFPqY-8vfoQWT8cKJ0TUxbZOayKmpUU4fCfEjwQAdvmI64oiCR-_p9oiu6IiXqLU0AewxJu48URjBeIgh5JqmIhAeVM6sCMmtc93bUl/s320/20170330_165603.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On the side of the restaurant there were a few goats. You know, just right off the highway exit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When we headed back south, a section of the northbound lanes of the same highway collapsed. Apparently, someone had set fire to construction materials that had been stored underneath the highway overpass. Forty-five minutes of intense heat later, it fell.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> We lead the exciting life. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxKKukmxiC51b1pjHeRip4GYWfW8ZrMthjm1lPoc6C_b8VlzwCtvKS65bGzLfgWPPJsukOJuIt_dgYhtTdCRePPCXIKkjK9oaFKbqdNTFVqMdDEXgL6ycAF0l3mraOLl2igBaP0MGqfpZ/s1600/20170331_103249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxKKukmxiC51b1pjHeRip4GYWfW8ZrMthjm1lPoc6C_b8VlzwCtvKS65bGzLfgWPPJsukOJuIt_dgYhtTdCRePPCXIKkjK9oaFKbqdNTFVqMdDEXgL6ycAF0l3mraOLl2igBaP0MGqfpZ/s320/20170331_103249.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">(That's watching tv at the hotel. Can you say jet-lag???)</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-44804511168908292882017-04-10T01:25:00.003-07:002017-04-10T01:27:32.670-07:00Calebinius the Dog Whisperer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Caleb can find a friendly canine anywhere. </div>
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He loves dogs. </div>
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We've taught Rae to ask permission before touching a dog, but with Caleb we have to beat him to it and hurry and ask the owner before he gets there. The black dog here played fetch with Caleb for a long while. Caleb was sad to leave. The dog might've been, too. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI2YWbv_qqro_Fs-uBFvasdB0HiTXvlmRWzoi6Yw30V6muP11phuUZepBmWJD2l0KVya9zk7dD1cMXFOhH2bHOI3iBrq3kaOUJTpmrthz0RozDcRS30DnjmEaIQo4ChTfDJ88yV7ET1XgD/s1600/20170330_145040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI2YWbv_qqro_Fs-uBFvasdB0HiTXvlmRWzoi6Yw30V6muP11phuUZepBmWJD2l0KVya9zk7dD1cMXFOhH2bHOI3iBrq3kaOUJTpmrthz0RozDcRS30DnjmEaIQo4ChTfDJ88yV7ET1XgD/s640/20170330_145040.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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One day, he met five dogs in half an hour at the park. He was busy. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx2YBFhExhkO4tJW-AMAs28OqxW2hmtPLVXZ5YOBThpD-Xg-CCwm0f7uq1IJidPlkFkryuJE8GH68X_jQsJ4xFLWIpW-3IHZX41ffo2bLxQZhh0dEMRswlxa2DrX_Q3DagCMwyrtsfS8z/s1600/20170402_164420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx2YBFhExhkO4tJW-AMAs28OqxW2hmtPLVXZ5YOBThpD-Xg-CCwm0f7uq1IJidPlkFkryuJE8GH68X_jQsJ4xFLWIpW-3IHZX41ffo2bLxQZhh0dEMRswlxa2DrX_Q3DagCMwyrtsfS8z/s400/20170402_164420.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwm-eyGYTkfjuEe8A8Lt-I8vZZ44znQSUNBWKdyXW2PfroaNf-3WBbG216RdcD4-O6u6SnO4MKS0Gb_01Y1gvK-wDrMzf8HLf7n6Jz8oLmK3991QXOOrM42AeF8nP8Ugr5XZoM2GGz4Tz/s1600/20170402_171653.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwm-eyGYTkfjuEe8A8Lt-I8vZZ44znQSUNBWKdyXW2PfroaNf-3WBbG216RdcD4-O6u6SnO4MKS0Gb_01Y1gvK-wDrMzf8HLf7n6Jz8oLmK3991QXOOrM42AeF8nP8Ugr5XZoM2GGz4Tz/s400/20170402_171653.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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We saw Caleb walking away from the playground and Jim ran to catch him (it was a huge playground and there was a Persian festival going on, so lots and lots of people, dogs, and children were around), only to find him petting another friendly, shaggy pooch, almost as big as him. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgog437haRPHr926IPXM_9aVn9MUXIIRyuKp6P9D1XLpJEOLrBsNQKHWfczAdNsqvWvI2_URPJlGJesFVx3wtf9Ojlacf_lgxXBWbLbsLEP6ogqDpld4ChIs-2A9x7LOuHjj6iSAs_b80TL/s1600/20170402_171133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgog437haRPHr926IPXM_9aVn9MUXIIRyuKp6P9D1XLpJEOLrBsNQKHWfczAdNsqvWvI2_URPJlGJesFVx3wtf9Ojlacf_lgxXBWbLbsLEP6ogqDpld4ChIs-2A9x7LOuHjj6iSAs_b80TL/s320/20170402_171133.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcGZ0w-3g_ERdBLmYfqU2X5mNRK-XQ-cEgeVI5SLlXdAKd-i_gqWRFX8RD3lAO28H6gVG3TDdPQ3NTHKdOmhvRpPmKb9GPBjrZrHdkkr4Db97h1zs0adi0JsDwS6AEh_IkVgNLGk96LkH/s1600/20170402_170810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcGZ0w-3g_ERdBLmYfqU2X5mNRK-XQ-cEgeVI5SLlXdAKd-i_gqWRFX8RD3lAO28H6gVG3TDdPQ3NTHKdOmhvRpPmKb9GPBjrZrHdkkr4Db97h1zs0adi0JsDwS6AEh_IkVgNLGk96LkH/s320/20170402_170810.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaWsMcjgkupGpSVP8pr28y8GrE12mL5-lJrceuwBP7QAfWtAWxZfilzV04HhBotKfGzFekwtqhiw7me_sqgQyLWG4Lns0P4KKT3m5Ff9jDCEMRQNGrI29El5rVk1wPf0KvHxVsyIPqIxy/s1600/20170402_171127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbaWsMcjgkupGpSVP8pr28y8GrE12mL5-lJrceuwBP7QAfWtAWxZfilzV04HhBotKfGzFekwtqhiw7me_sqgQyLWG4Lns0P4KKT3m5Ff9jDCEMRQNGrI29El5rVk1wPf0KvHxVsyIPqIxy/s320/20170402_171127.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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That's my baby! The dog whisperer. </div>
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And, no, I am not getting a dog for a long time. </div>
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I have boys. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-44162433016457741932017-03-20T02:41:00.000-07:002017-03-20T02:41:18.899-07:00WOOHOO! <div style="text-align: center;">
I can walk again! </div>
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The surgeon cleared me to be full weight bearing ten days ago. Woo! He says that to get back the strength and endurance I had before I broke my leg, it will take about 18 months (from surgery), so June 2018, here I come! I'm doing physical therapy and I can already see vast improvement in my ankle. So, I hope that 18 months is overestimating how long it will take. </div>
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I don't walk evenly; I still baby my right leg. And going down stairs---that's a hoot. My right ankle doesn't let my right leg bend far enough forward to get my left leg down the next step, so I grab the wall and try to make it go as far as it can. My ankle gets tired and swollen quickly, so even just routine cleaning and chasing boys is tiring. But, I can do it, which is a vast improvement. </div>
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I took this picture so I could see the swelling. My right ankle is swollen, and maybe you can tell that my right calf has atrophied. I'm not going to take a picture of my hamstrings, but my right hamstring has atrophied too! It is amazing how quickly our bodies adapt to a lack of use. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0f8MiaOby5uKuIQnAY_9jLGQf8fKQeiqBKetXo-FwEzd1mMeIhgFJvHtjjJidq3MKp-MqFBgHTh90ar1WuvbDzVbjl8YKv1ckdoeC-PH7zjefN5UN1hE6LSMK_HxmnQw3myiiXP54T0y/s1600/20170312_153502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0f8MiaOby5uKuIQnAY_9jLGQf8fKQeiqBKetXo-FwEzd1mMeIhgFJvHtjjJidq3MKp-MqFBgHTh90ar1WuvbDzVbjl8YKv1ckdoeC-PH7zjefN5UN1hE6LSMK_HxmnQw3myiiXP54T0y/s320/20170312_153502.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And here is my fancy new scar. Fun fact, you have to massage the scar so that the skin can move across the stuff underneath easily. Otherwise it gets stuck down and hurts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiEJ1bdP8_w-uY-3QD436cXofGvmOB-YTQlP82LR7oxteZJ9nU8ibizjWFZ2YAgL33rHpQgH4Bnqwt2nFChzibuCRQ6y8MlruiG634ZuGX4anR0WXQdnuBnC-02CHHxE6iXss-u8TmWd2b/s1600/20170312_153512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiEJ1bdP8_w-uY-3QD436cXofGvmOB-YTQlP82LR7oxteZJ9nU8ibizjWFZ2YAgL33rHpQgH4Bnqwt2nFChzibuCRQ6y8MlruiG634ZuGX4anR0WXQdnuBnC-02CHHxE6iXss-u8TmWd2b/s320/20170312_153512.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The day I got cleared to go full weight bearing, I walked the boys to the park (it was raining, so we went puddle jumping), walked into my ASL class, and then went shoe shopping to celebrate. It was liberating. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ULQ3qbJ-Ejw6hOVMMpaNr-4-m4_Mfjj36Ezs1ysBywLpo0NX4_8om8VamfFU-wwGERCB8B7f3ivYtQV8LVMlDWQU91htw5uGEZdqAawGZnj9luZ1FRath-JIeQ2vqOOVKDhnAfxCG1BB/s1600/20170309_143937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ULQ3qbJ-Ejw6hOVMMpaNr-4-m4_Mfjj36Ezs1ysBywLpo0NX4_8om8VamfFU-wwGERCB8B7f3ivYtQV8LVMlDWQU91htw5uGEZdqAawGZnj9luZ1FRath-JIeQ2vqOOVKDhnAfxCG1BB/s320/20170309_143937.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhU-NrLG4yUgzWBPgaBZfzNHnmNnsxk-GyP1GKCLk-xvLehLQVLIAQ2WV32I3EasZbJ40ZwVkWL8WKrzITXCNsY__-vbTlHXPX-1V2FsUvbkvATC5waDj8ypvHifm0beCl518x1LT6QJCi/s1600/20170309_143943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhU-NrLG4yUgzWBPgaBZfzNHnmNnsxk-GyP1GKCLk-xvLehLQVLIAQ2WV32I3EasZbJ40ZwVkWL8WKrzITXCNsY__-vbTlHXPX-1V2FsUvbkvATC5waDj8ypvHifm0beCl518x1LT6QJCi/s320/20170309_143943.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Jim made a walking rope for the boys. Each boy has a loop and holds onto their handle so we can all walk together. Today we made them practice walking to the corner and back using the walking rope. Joe and Rae did pretty good. Caleb finally got the concept but exercised his two year old right to protest, so Jim carried him. So, we're hoping repetition will finally sink the message in before we fly to Atlanta for my brother's wedding. </div>
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Jim gave me earrings, and I had to take a picture. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqeP0rkiVfXPv30dz3oCv5vZYS6RKhuv9hfiLSs6U40aT7ZwvuPA9v5CR2OYLSyjKT7SB7XVZDLufXjuwH6diyMyTb90emOMt8aoxYj343OJ9c5HT5PzHdQoUuYiXS4tQbmCzZEBXD0Hn3/s1600/20170215_153707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqeP0rkiVfXPv30dz3oCv5vZYS6RKhuv9hfiLSs6U40aT7ZwvuPA9v5CR2OYLSyjKT7SB7XVZDLufXjuwH6diyMyTb90emOMt8aoxYj343OJ9c5HT5PzHdQoUuYiXS4tQbmCzZEBXD0Hn3/s320/20170215_153707.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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For Valentine's, Jim bought me a hammock! Love that man. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69xcLTVAWuHReje0tV9LcjJfIJIDk51RQsXpK00nL2vIwhkSMe-7Jl0eeICvUOiYtpmI0EVr1W_WDZF6YNHrxPWuUDbuQnf_G79bmcN6lqeXNzDqqLoKrMo8fU6htlQw6bn4mUSNttGPa/s1600/20170220_115517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69xcLTVAWuHReje0tV9LcjJfIJIDk51RQsXpK00nL2vIwhkSMe-7Jl0eeICvUOiYtpmI0EVr1W_WDZF6YNHrxPWuUDbuQnf_G79bmcN6lqeXNzDqqLoKrMo8fU6htlQw6bn4mUSNttGPa/s320/20170220_115517.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The rope wasn't long enough to string between the trees at the park, so Jim boy-scouted a new rope with cool knots. The boys loved my hammock and they look like peas in a pod. </div>
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I love homeschooling, and it was one of the few things I felt like I could still do well with a broken leg. Rae's our resident artist, and our living room floor is often littered with his prolific creations. For me, I like how much bonding time I get with Rae, and I how I get to watch him progress. He's bright and does not like to be told how to do things ("I got this," he'll tell me), so I mostly facilitate learning for him. I model a new skill and let him go for it, and then drill him on the stuff he knows.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3eA2bAc62WG29D3HOJiwWHJL-5duRtqFh_6taJKK3gplVJgN6s70pmbKJGLVOf1bWhyFK15ayv6jy9El-DXrxccU7RF8lqVGPm0SKu5NN3TS2uEPBopJnNEFAHddiNJucaj6EDL_Wr1h/s1600/20170307_073734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3eA2bAc62WG29D3HOJiwWHJL-5duRtqFh_6taJKK3gplVJgN6s70pmbKJGLVOf1bWhyFK15ayv6jy9El-DXrxccU7RF8lqVGPm0SKu5NN3TS2uEPBopJnNEFAHddiNJucaj6EDL_Wr1h/s320/20170307_073734.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Here Rae wanted to spell helmet, but we didn't have the letter e, so he used his hands to sign "e". </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIPhdCbeJ348OXAmYiVfHgTBaSbX5qXR6l08FAdYH6ZG6SRGRyGSiLbRBrOMJ_y9hIRTS3AJofhwmIZWUGxULkzUe3fMm0q2RTW4t95Wq_6Ok_N-QFKC4DX4BXe8APtt-NuEn6-q-dPy7/s1600/20170212_082854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIPhdCbeJ348OXAmYiVfHgTBaSbX5qXR6l08FAdYH6ZG6SRGRyGSiLbRBrOMJ_y9hIRTS3AJofhwmIZWUGxULkzUe3fMm0q2RTW4t95Wq_6Ok_N-QFKC4DX4BXe8APtt-NuEn6-q-dPy7/s320/20170212_082854.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Reading to Caleb in his couch fort. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEACbXhYmUiZLBjEfst2_7M_yaYZSYHOOT4iwRQFQLzQ79KeB9bhH2HSgfBMglAiqPwQetNMrSShhyphenhyphenOpEp-UHmAOmjQQi6dZ3ISs8xqVRFnTNSsK3pAZNl2c_mlOk4K_HLT9RfBW_O_2Lr/s1600/20170311_104431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEACbXhYmUiZLBjEfst2_7M_yaYZSYHOOT4iwRQFQLzQ79KeB9bhH2HSgfBMglAiqPwQetNMrSShhyphenhyphenOpEp-UHmAOmjQQi6dZ3ISs8xqVRFnTNSsK3pAZNl2c_mlOk4K_HLT9RfBW_O_2Lr/s320/20170311_104431.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Caleb came up to me a few weeks ago, pointed at my phone and said, "Rectangle!" I was so surprised that I asked him to say the names of other shapes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5aIAV1QgQPPvcwnup4q3pBXxC7trysTiEfXSxVc5uQ5qSKPSrHGnutlsJiBfFKngWTA5KciSVsUlinhMM4QRnROj8QIwgZNNe1I7JIF0hTThK60d51zWp-VOYqr0eOvphzaHFT6k2zKPb/s1600/20170209_120434.mp4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5aIAV1QgQPPvcwnup4q3pBXxC7trysTiEfXSxVc5uQ5qSKPSrHGnutlsJiBfFKngWTA5KciSVsUlinhMM4QRnROj8QIwgZNNe1I7JIF0hTThK60d51zWp-VOYqr0eOvphzaHFT6k2zKPb/s320/20170209_120434.mp4" width="320" /></a></div>
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My boys love to play with my phone's camera: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdypK076Vi7M7IQ02yYA76ZLANwVglZw43gXQlVvdsdWKf6YWIy1VmuZoAVffWQQVfDpAz6LmFQgCdlRYcuf5cXz8aRaNpEiHPul6C0sUn1csz1l6CG5owXdea1XbVOqYUOYvG-P6WnECy/s1600/20170211_170707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdypK076Vi7M7IQ02yYA76ZLANwVglZw43gXQlVvdsdWKf6YWIy1VmuZoAVffWQQVfDpAz6LmFQgCdlRYcuf5cXz8aRaNpEiHPul6C0sUn1csz1l6CG5owXdea1XbVOqYUOYvG-P6WnECy/s320/20170211_170707.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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This face cracks me up. </div>
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Joe got the "Na Hoku" award for Most Improved. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJVi2TLsq1jOPGMGUMnsScgjv4d6zOSjxte4BPTK_vJYkI8OsqfC0ITPviuQXk2G3DANVCG26o9IknOo7ZRTBVNRNB1Ny8OJM4R1CT4rFgpc4Wu_GwXHEmCoNHO2soan1XCco6nOFRJnj/s1600/20170224_092246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJVi2TLsq1jOPGMGUMnsScgjv4d6zOSjxte4BPTK_vJYkI8OsqfC0ITPviuQXk2G3DANVCG26o9IknOo7ZRTBVNRNB1Ny8OJM4R1CT4rFgpc4Wu_GwXHEmCoNHO2soan1XCco6nOFRJnj/s320/20170224_092246.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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He had an MRI on his brain to see if there was anything to suggest why he has so many different physical issues. The scan came back normal, which is great news, but means Joe's condition is still a cross between an elephant and a rhino: 'elephino. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSIrS942Y3fFFqIOo1r7nIeR7Z2qXnd3tr8CoxoCVO5Tn8q_rkJciplUmpD4O1U0k_y6y_m9kN1rJ9IqtHsKdR6l2MziFh5cBVBP6CDoPaeXycPcjpHz5rsxZpevN3fdaj2q5txGbr_gf/s1600/20170225_110627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSIrS942Y3fFFqIOo1r7nIeR7Z2qXnd3tr8CoxoCVO5Tn8q_rkJciplUmpD4O1U0k_y6y_m9kN1rJ9IqtHsKdR6l2MziFh5cBVBP6CDoPaeXycPcjpHz5rsxZpevN3fdaj2q5txGbr_gf/s320/20170225_110627.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Napping with Cat. Cat is a pretty central figure in Joe's life right now. Dragon got badly singed in a campfire last year, and Dog went missing, so now Cat goes everywhere with Joe. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBUl-FbczaX2gnLRIt1eCNywx8x19jWKfxlaVHf-K8D80tMEYb9hy4b25SeAQLuNs4swbCLMufE74wsHYlVmQCjkTEQcXWfKw8Mr3DvMZSOL4lKXa7uExqoCTaESc4mnMs8mnsueEfuMFz/s1600/20170308_145051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBUl-FbczaX2gnLRIt1eCNywx8x19jWKfxlaVHf-K8D80tMEYb9hy4b25SeAQLuNs4swbCLMufE74wsHYlVmQCjkTEQcXWfKw8Mr3DvMZSOL4lKXa7uExqoCTaESc4mnMs8mnsueEfuMFz/s320/20170308_145051.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Rae is so fun to watch because he is always coming up with new things to try, like this: </div>
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So, hooray for full weight bearing! And here's to getting strength, flexibility, and endurance back to my ankle! Bring it, 2017. I got this. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-60084394073237689932017-01-29T20:31:00.000-08:002017-01-29T20:31:04.951-08:00Remember that time I broke my leg... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEdG1UV5B3dvtTiAArLLPcYlaJEBCbDCxMsiOYQ0eA3j012ELLq6dFqA8BSqHumTOEMdjlYE1pzIwCs0QgJSe6HoCpozAbDrRW_shkZVkNFMdl7PbbTTPp8JK1jJ8xBvwDBIQ2j6UGxFy/s640/20161226_094533.jpg" width="360" /> </div>
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This has been my view of the world for the last 56 days. It's changed from a splint to a boot, but essentially this has been my view. <br /><br />What happened you ask? </div>
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I tripped on grass. </div>
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Okay, okay, it was <i>uneven grass. </i></div>
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And if you want to make it sound <i>noble</i>, I was trying to help Joe down a couple of stairs. </div>
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<i><br /></i>I chatted up a lady sample server at Costco who had a daughter with the same kind of injury (broke two bones, displaced ankle) and the same kind of surgery (open reduction internal fixation with a syndesmotic suture thing)---I'm really surprised how many people I meet who have had the same thing happen to them! <br /><br />Anywho, she was SKYDIVING and landed wrong, so she broke her leg bones and displaced her ankle. That is a MUCH COOLER story. </div>
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So, if anyone asks, I was skydiving and landed wrong. That's how I broke my ankle. True story. </div>
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My boys love whatever mobility device I happen to use: crutches, wheelchair, and lately, a knee scooter:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrX0iP-t9SxSxMd3QEU_WJR-qUTyuPOIUgAtm8lyTQrF2iVH2j9-r8VCiEapBEu0FRrHArTzLwJ5HHy6wY9ScGuOJ7HMkDApEx0O92rpBLt-gVaF0RGNvcMHfTt388DH4JQAcZ3xozL3D/s1600/20161231_123005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrX0iP-t9SxSxMd3QEU_WJR-qUTyuPOIUgAtm8lyTQrF2iVH2j9-r8VCiEapBEu0FRrHArTzLwJ5HHy6wY9ScGuOJ7HMkDApEx0O92rpBLt-gVaF0RGNvcMHfTt388DH4JQAcZ3xozL3D/s320/20161231_123005.jpg" width="180" /> </a></div>
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(I have to remind them that I use the wheelchair/knee scooter/crutches like my legs, and they cannot just walk off with them and leave me stranded!) </div>
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But, life goes on. It was a bit blurry [some medication haze, some struggle to keep up] for the first four weeks, but we're moving now. I even lowered my knee scooter over the balcony with bedsheets so that I could take the boys to the park. We're getting a bit of cabin fever here. Jim tries to get the boys out after work, but he has a full plate being both parents and taking a lot of household responsibility. My favorite outing is to the tennis courts because it is super fun to play with tennis balls and the wheelchair. </div>
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Anyway, I'm super impressed with Joe. He can now navigate the U rung steps at the park! It makes my heart palpitate, but he does it! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeECIIrz5G59wmkLyfdigVDRd0EM4hl9w1FmksozAllOxxNpdHXDVZ2yGpzfwk7K6BBa8xFz8Rc08mCsWhGdy-mPxp5h5kdN4eWyDdHg33viCSEF1CwRebEZKJNx2c7Vb3iRhnUGl-yXUC/s1600/20161231_154834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeECIIrz5G59wmkLyfdigVDRd0EM4hl9w1FmksozAllOxxNpdHXDVZ2yGpzfwk7K6BBa8xFz8Rc08mCsWhGdy-mPxp5h5kdN4eWyDdHg33viCSEF1CwRebEZKJNx2c7Vb3iRhnUGl-yXUC/s320/20161231_154834.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0kNVYEy1pK09tpCDf6NQEUqrxmI7xNBFTHBL43JJLO6pdTVM2YqExQcc8jFDr0RwLY9G6BlVQYnc6uqWxfXBlH5ruIi8Wc-Fx6JZHjX5xJUxiu9r1uPT8iJUM2tEQYMtHljD2y968PHP/s1600/20161231_154837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0kNVYEy1pK09tpCDf6NQEUqrxmI7xNBFTHBL43JJLO6pdTVM2YqExQcc8jFDr0RwLY9G6BlVQYnc6uqWxfXBlH5ruIi8Wc-Fx6JZHjX5xJUxiu9r1uPT8iJUM2tEQYMtHljD2y968PHP/s320/20161231_154837.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love this monkey child of mine: </div>
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIL8KqmGQEHKmhGcXw6Fk-iTrCvWnsM-E_JKtEAS7e0_SbVkwtAg9eTMGK5ZSFY6i6Q1lgplkAz1EXI_tG84b1II8NfPKx-o1mOStVQ2o79wBtNNGUz0xSHh3AbSCtQLr_-OLeMZQx5yj/s320/20161231_154951.jpg" width="180" /></div>
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I tried getting a picture of Rae jumping off the side of the curvy slide, and had a photobomber, who usually doesn't like me taking his picture. So this picture makes me giggle. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjossCZ8DSYF3Z9rB73cmVsbRYdrU1rStwqtyDb9_bUiauWXNOp2l-ZZqU-r9Z5W6RLtthyqR3NihU1fj7kzeX_MEmtGR1kZ3Fy3r7ilV5xKeqIt3qOBTXW1f-X5igr3KQqXjJ9bff9CX6M/s1600/20161231_155202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjossCZ8DSYF3Z9rB73cmVsbRYdrU1rStwqtyDb9_bUiauWXNOp2l-ZZqU-r9Z5W6RLtthyqR3NihU1fj7kzeX_MEmtGR1kZ3Fy3r7ilV5xKeqIt3qOBTXW1f-X5igr3KQqXjJ9bff9CX6M/s320/20161231_155202.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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We kept trying to get all the boys on the bridge and looking at the camera. Ha! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHh2n-qA6i2LCsNg2vVoUgI6t0H-v6-wjrdwgDAe0SZTJFGUhpT1xXU-LsQZ4KmKaHlOf-P7EQu1KsXOMMduSexMmNAZij7h1GkmAMe_hkg2K_NnM3BpbMxY2HDUCz4ZAjDCEn3tv8asq/s1600/20161231_161529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHh2n-qA6i2LCsNg2vVoUgI6t0H-v6-wjrdwgDAe0SZTJFGUhpT1xXU-LsQZ4KmKaHlOf-P7EQu1KsXOMMduSexMmNAZij7h1GkmAMe_hkg2K_NnM3BpbMxY2HDUCz4ZAjDCEn3tv8asq/s400/20161231_161529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A lot of our activities are indoors. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx5did9QIS1mpzS8cmZ4aiVj86n7tWLfBKbi4Ke_CntpQsUbkzej9hykHheeKPPtGgWIu3yYWvbc2P8g2ebvVEm0JpYz2TwnukF-Piuu1GgUwVPBVNVbWiE94HrBCEU6Vznpi_pQbsHEi/s1600/20170102_102909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx5did9QIS1mpzS8cmZ4aiVj86n7tWLfBKbi4Ke_CntpQsUbkzej9hykHheeKPPtGgWIu3yYWvbc2P8g2ebvVEm0JpYz2TwnukF-Piuu1GgUwVPBVNVbWiE94HrBCEU6Vznpi_pQbsHEi/s320/20170102_102909.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And sometimes we have friends come play with us. </div>
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The hardest part of the last almost two months has definitely been dealing with Joe's school. Hands down. Doctor's appointments, stir crazy children, maintenance emergencies, feeling like I'm not contributing are not even nearly as awful as dealing with Joe's school. </div>
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Joe has a speech disability, and it shocked us last year when we started teaching Joe sign language that he soaked it up like a sponge. Like a 350+ (I've stopped keeping track) sign sponge. <br /><br />Now I am not a native signer, but I know a lot of vocabulary, and putting it together is a skill I am learning. Signing, using ASL, is a really different way of looking at the world. It's beautiful, it's fun, but the most important thing is that it helps us communicate with Joe and gives Joe a community of people that he can communicate with. <br /><br />We've been advocating for Joe to go to the Deaf school so he can learn ASL. And the school turned it down. Right now, it has been about an 8 month process. We other options to exhaust: Title II, mediation, due process, but the thought of so many more meetings is overwhelming. I mean, just his regular, annual IEP meeting was a total of 7 hours long. </div>
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I want him to have access to education, and I feel strongly that ASL would help Joe develop language skills that he desperately needs. I also feel that ASL has helped Joe tremendously up to now. Before we started signing with Joe, we had no real way of communicating with him. He could hear, but he didn't understand. </div>
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So, anyway, the fight goes on because we are invested in Joe. </div>
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With the stress of figuring out how to get Joe what he needs, I have Jonah Days. Do you have Jonah days? One morning, I was having a Jonah morning. Grumpy at everyone and everything. So, Rae wrote me this note. It says, "I love you, Mom, no matter what." He sounded it out and put it together for me. It was just what I needed. <br /><br />I'm so glad that he loves me no matter what. </div>
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I love this boy. He is spunky (he really doesn't like all the indoor time we've been confined to), he's the life of the party. Caleb is all action, and doesn't care if he makes a mistake, he just keeps on going. He also makes the best faces, and I caught a few of them: </div>
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We bought squish packs because they were on sale, and Joe tried them! And now I dream in squish packs... We still spoon feed Joe because poor motor control and he can't eat solid foods. This is the first time he could independently eat something! It was just a few ounces of applesauce, but victory!</div>
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Now I want to put all of his food in squish packs, and Jim tells me I need to rein in my enthusiasm. But seriously! If Joe could independently eat his food in a squish pack and his water through a straw, boom! Life would be made. </div>
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I took this picture of Rae to remind myself that I will laugh about this in the future sometime. You can see flour in his hair, a tape mustache and you can glimpse the chaos that is in my house. The problem with a broken leg is that it is hard to get around. The problem with children and a broken leg is that they make obstacle courses you never needed. Some days all I manage is a clear path to the bathroom. (Just between us, diarrhea and a broken leg do not go together. For reals.) </div>
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So, someday I will laugh about that time I broke my driving leg with three little kids, but for now I feel like this...</div>
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with a smattering of this: </div>
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(He's napping MIDDAY! Voluntarily! ...Because he's sick.) </div>
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But, I am grateful that the weather is slightly cooler. That I can shower, that I do have friends who help. I am grateful for a very supportive husband. I'm grateful for good medication and steady healing. I'm grateful that someday I will understand why I needed this particular experience! </div>
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Because right now... gah! </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-22500983934770634842016-10-16T23:57:00.001-07:002016-10-16T23:57:24.672-07:00Our First Camping Trip<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
Guest post by Mr. Graff! This one is from awhile ago, we actually just survived our second family camping trip. </div>
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Our first family camping trip was a success!</div>
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By which I mean we ate food, slept in a tent, and did a little bit of hiking. And rock climbing. </div>
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And playing in water fountains. That was the best game ever. Once the little boys figure that game out, we were afraid we wouldn’t see them again. At least we knew where to find them.</div>
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We got to our campsite, up in the mountains of Hawaii, in the “African plants” section of the botanical garden. We set up our tent, pulled some things out of the car, and dashed for cover as it started pouring. Rae and I (and some of our foodstuff) went to the tent, while Icie and the others found cover in the dish-washing area. </div>
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I’m glad they were able to stay dry.</div>
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After playing in sinks, water fountains, etc, we decided to try hiking. We found a lake! We’re all about water, there. </div>
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We also found a butter tree. Not sure how to harvest butter from it, but we’re willing to try planting one and finding out when we have some yard space of our own.</div>
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We went back to camp and started cooking dinner. As it turned out, we were so focused on boys, clothes, food, bedding, etc that we forgot to bring any lighter fluid or candle or anything to get the fire going. And a pot for all of the things we brought that would cook in or with boiling water. And the apples got left behind, too. We did have a propane stove, though, and a boy scout hibachi grill. Dang it, I was going to have a fire!</div>
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It worked. Even with all the rain. Icie and I had bread and cold lentil curry while the fire was getting going, and the boys had all the bread, cheese, and raisins they could handle. Then we got down to making s’mores. Rae liked making s’mores more that he liked actually eating them!</div>
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When it was time for bed, we found out that the boys were absolutely determined to sleep on the cots we’d brought for ourselves. And, after we’d won, that we couldn’t actually sleep on the cots we’d brought for ourselves. We’re going to have to work on that.</div>
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The next morning, I was the only one to have oatmeal for breakfast. It turns out that everyone else likes their oatmeal cooked, and you know, we’d forgotten that pot to boil water. We had plenty of bread, cheese, and raisins, though, which was some of the boys’ favorite foods. Some of us got leftover chocolate and mallows, too.</div>
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We played in the water fountains some more, and packed up our camp. There was a nice Buddhist temple in the area with a huge bell and koi ponds and all sorts of other cool things. Turns out we forgot to bring the address.</div>
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Then we got to the gate and found out that THEY forgot to tell us that the gates didn’t open until 9, so we had a good half hour to drive around and look at all of the gardens and 1900s charcoal kilns before we could leave. Icie liked the walking trees. </div>
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Pretty much everyone fell asleep on the way home. Then when we did get back, this happened. He never sleeps more than once a day!</div>
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Yep, this trip was a success. We want to do it again sometime.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-56271834093942602922016-09-25T23:53:00.001-07:002016-09-26T01:08:37.486-07:00Joe's prayers<div style="text-align: center;">
Joe plopped himself on my lap the other day and said that he wanted to pray. </div>
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"Ok," I sign. So, I voice the prayers while Joe signs them. </div>
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"Dear Heavenly Father," Joe starts. </div>
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"Thank you for this day. Thank you for my strong body. Please bless the dogs and bears. In name of Jesus, Amen." </div>
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I love his prayers. </div>
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And that he likes to lick garlic off his fork. </div>
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Garlic is near and dear to me, too. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-34265647550300087042016-09-05T00:58:00.000-07:002016-09-05T00:58:03.503-07:00Lately<div style="text-align: center;">
Rae starts homeschool tomorrow. I'm nervous. He isn't. </div>
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I wrote Caleb's name on my paper, got up, threw it away, and came back to find that Rae had copied it from memory and added a stick figure with a "1" to show that Caleb is 1 year old. I was astonished. </div>
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We've spent a lot of time at hospitals, therapists, and specialists this summer for Joe. In this picture, Joe is about to get a chest x-ray for pneumonia. After I took the picture Joe tugged on the curtain room divider and signed "Ready, go!" as in, let's blow this popsicle stand, Mom! </div>
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Caleb brings a spunky balance to our family. We are making Friday into Beach Day, and Caleb loves the waves. He likes floating and kicking. He climbs and spins and pushes himself. We've lately only been able to get him to nap by strapping him down in the car and going for a short ride. He really does like to go! </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-57071122185809249562016-07-03T19:10:00.005-07:002016-07-03T19:13:16.856-07:00One Proud Momma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Rae loves numbers and letters. </div>
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Jim bought a brownie mix. </div>
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Rae wanted brownies. </div>
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I was busy making dinner. </div>
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So... Rae made them himself! </div>
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He found what temperature to set the oven and set it to 350. He broke two eggs and put them in a cup (I'm glad I wasn't watching that one). He opened the mix and put in the bowl. He found the right measuring cups for oil and water and mixed them into the batter. </div>
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I helped Rae pour the batter into the pan. </div>
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I am super proud of him! Go, Rae!</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-29025496789719018772016-05-16T12:05:00.003-07:002016-05-16T12:05:19.464-07:00Signing<div style="text-align: center;">
So, Joe's not verbal. At all. </div>
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He once said, "Mom", clearly and intelligibly. I turned to him and tried to get him to say it again, and all that came out was "Mah, mah". </div>
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I'm not sure what is wrong. He's now three and a half. He's had 5 surgeries on his mouth. He has extremely low muscle tone---even in his mouth. If he eats blueberry yogurt, he still cannot get the blueberries out from under his tongue. </div>
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So, there is a lot physically that can account for Joe not being verbal. </div>
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We've emphasized signing at home. We're watching "Signing Time", we look words up in our ASL dictionary. We use asl.lds.org for Church signs. Jim and I are going to start taking a 6 week ASL class together soon. Rae and Caleb are learning to sign so they can talk to Joe, too. It's a big part of our life right now. </div>
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It's fun to see what Joe is thinking about. Frequently, it's Baby Dragon, my stuffed animal that Grandma gave me when I was born.<br /><br />He's also able to say funny things, like, "Mom, your hair is black". Rude! I've insisted that is dark <i>brown</i> for a long time! Jim just laughed. I think he takes Joe's side. </div>
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But sometimes, especially recently, it's, "Mom, I want horse." or, "I want horse food". Which, since food and eat are the same sign, he could have been trying to say that he wants to eat a horse. Gross!<br />
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Now that I see how much Joe can communicate, I am finally realizing how much he is missing. </div>
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Joe has ear infections. All the time, even with ear tubes. His ear tubes get blocked with wax and fluid stays on his ear drum, and I imagine it is like trying to hear underwater. So he can hear, but not that well. Signing with Joe has opened up my understanding of his hearing problems. </div>
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For example, Joe can't hear the difference between "cat" and "hat" or "bear" and "hair". But, because he can sign, I know that he is confusing those those words. Before, I just didn't know.</div>
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The medical world is confusing and not reassuring. Last October, the audiologist said that Joe can "probably hear". April 2015, the ENT surgeon said that Joe had "mild to moderate" hearing loss in his right ear. She also said that it might be a result of inflammation and scarring from his ear infections---so it might correct itself over time. </div>
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Which led me to think that it was not a big deal. It would fix itself. Mild doesn't sound bad, right? But what if "mild" means that Joe can't hear the difference between "cat" and "hat"? What if that means that Joe sits in a mostly silent world, with some sounds that don't convey meaning?<br /><br />It is a bit terrifying to learn a new language, especially if I need to model that language for my son. I'm out of my depth, and venturing into a new community of people that communicate visually. I don't know what I am doing. I feel like I am grasping for a life preserver, so I can help my son not drown. </div>
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We were playing the "How are you?" game. I would sign "How you?" to Joe and he would say, "I fine" or "So-so." or "I tired". Then, he would sign, "How you?" back to me. I would say rude things like "I need to poop." And he would giggle. And then we would sign about feeling "poopy". </div>
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Because it is educational. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-35442774323742991202016-04-25T00:26:00.000-07:002016-04-25T00:26:09.323-07:00Joe ache. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I wish Joe could talk. </div>
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I wish it so much it aches. </div>
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Some times he can say "Muh" for Mom, or "luh" for light, or "eh" for egg. He was sitting next to me when I heard him clearly say "Mom" for the first and only time in his life. My eyes lit up and I repeated it back to him and he could only manage "muh" again after that. </div>
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He's frustrated, too. </div>
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The trouble about being non-verbal is that when things are wrong, it is hard to get someone to understand that something is happening. I worry about this a lot. </div>
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Joe always has massive amounts of ear-junk. Orange, brown waxy stuff that piles up in his ears, everyday. So, I clean his ears everyday. This week I found green-ish brown stuff that filled his ear canal and looked shiny. We head straight to the pediatrician. Double ear infection. </div>
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I know what this probably means. It (probably) means his ear tubes have fallen out, and it means surgery on his ears, again to put new tubes in. I don't like surgery. </div>
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Once, when Joe needed a CT scan, they were not prepared to put him under full anesthesia, so after a few false starts and a lot of waiting around, the full team assembled and Joe was put under. They had me help hold him. I felt him go from fighting like a wild man to completely limp in seconds. </div>
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When he woke up, he coughed out a 4" plastic hook used to hold his airway open. Both of us were ready to leave. And that was only a CT scan. </div>
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Am I ready for surgery again? No, not at all. But I will get up and call his ENT and make it happen, because that is just what you do. One foot in front of the other, one day at a time. </div>
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But, oh, I ache. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-89475970710826893942016-03-23T14:49:00.004-07:002016-03-23T21:28:02.094-07:00Self Directed Learning, Day 2<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm not going to lie, this concept still makes me nervous. The idea of child-led anything actually makes me nervous. What am I suppose to do? How will I know it is working? Are we just going to make a big mess? </div>
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I got started on this idea after meandering through this blog: <a href="http://www.aneverydaystory.com/australian-homeschooling-blog/">http://www.aneverydaystory.com/australian-homeschooling-blog/</a></div>
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She seems lovely, and I would like to meet her. And then I read through "Project-Based Learning" as soon as I could get it from the library. What I enjoy about the book is it breaks down how to learn, and it is not really just for kids. It is meant to be a family affair. We talk about life-long learning enough to gag on it, but doing it is a whole different thing. </div>
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I also really like this mommy blogger, who is lovely in a completely different way: </div>
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<a href="http://www.catholicallyear.com/p/about.html">http://www.catholicallyear.com/p/about.html</a></div>
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There are so many good ways to homeschool, and they don't have to look alike, at all. And really, I don't think they should. How I teach one kid is completely different from how I teach another kid. </div>
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So, today, I pulled out the art supplies and let the boys have at it. Joe still enjoys the goggly eyes and watching things drip. We painted today because that is what Rae wanted to do. </div>
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"I'm making a whirlpool. Inside they will be sucked down and won't find their way out!" </div>
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After Rae wandered off, Joe wanted to paint, too. </div>
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Maybe you can tell that I gave Stomp Stomp beans for playing and he preferred throwing. </div>
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The green stuff on Joe's face is a combination of nose boogies and spinach-influenced puree. And Stomp likes to join him. Sometimes he eats the puree, too. Joe makes sure that I share with the baby. </div>
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After a quick bathroom break, I came back to find more self-directed learning... applesauce. </div>
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Yum! </div>
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So, is it working? I don't know, but the boys appreciate the time to do something creative.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-70943464937620269352016-03-22T13:38:00.000-07:002016-03-22T13:38:34.561-07:00Self-Directed Learning, Day 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday I read a fantastic book that I really don't know how to use, "Project-Based Homeschooling" by Lori Pickert, which is about self-directed learning. You give your child materials and then sit attentive with a journal in hand to write down what your child does and help him winnow out any potential long-term projects. I think the idea is to mentor your kid as he finds things he wants to explore. </div>
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Cool idea, I just have no idea how to do it. Especially since I do not work well with chaos, and lots of materials in easy reach of children under 5 sounds fraught with chaos.</div>
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But, I tried it today. Well, as best I could. </div>
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I pulled out the tub of art stuff and had the boys sit around the dining table... and then sat with my journal and .... watched. </div>
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Rae started by drawing a gumball machine and he wanted to know how to spell "gumballs", so I wrote it for him on a piece of paper and he copied it onto his. He talked about how the "s" was hard to make and it looked like a "5". When he wandered off to do something else, I asked him what he wanted to work on tomorrow during project time, he said, "I want to play on an airplane next time". </div>
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Don't know how that one is going to work. </div>
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Joe is trickier. He's a nonverbal three year old. So we sign and do a lot of guess and check to figure out what he wants. Today, he wanted the Elmer's glue, and he watched in rapt attention as it drizzled onto his paper. He added a few lines and some goggly eyes, but mostly he watched the glue drizzle onto the paper. It's going to be drying for awhile. </div>
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He did, though, ask me to open his marker. He signed "open" and "please". I usually have to prompt him by saying what he needs, but he beat me to it. </div>
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Stomp Stomp ate a blue marker, crushed up some graham crackers, and then scaled down his high chair solo. </div>
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Yay for self-directed learning! </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-78095377411189045022016-03-07T00:26:00.000-08:002016-03-07T00:26:36.689-08:00A Week in the Life ... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYdjCnNnBKJjrJvnNYBmLOZSv5AJ4rIL9A1C7LSa5QilC6WMRn7FGKXUKClNnOx_nTQL3MSZKs-F3NnZsGQIPu3o2-fPmWRB6prMo9ZhUP5UyZNE3d1XLW1fLCKl5S3Yjyr7k7DLJd0wg/s1600/0229160951a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYdjCnNnBKJjrJvnNYBmLOZSv5AJ4rIL9A1C7LSa5QilC6WMRn7FGKXUKClNnOx_nTQL3MSZKs-F3NnZsGQIPu3o2-fPmWRB6prMo9ZhUP5UyZNE3d1XLW1fLCKl5S3Yjyr7k7DLJd0wg/s320/0229160951a.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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So, with this picture of Caleb to lead out... let's look back at the week! </div>
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The boys love looking out their bedroom window. We put Mr. Graff's trunk in front of it to protect the screen (ha!). This week I found my keys thrust out the bottom of this window (no more keys for Caleb!). The window goes floor to ceiling and everyone loves to sit and watch cars, or garbage trucks, or Joe's bus in the morning. </div>
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Rae's starting "Joy School" (a preschool run by moms) next week! To celebrate, we went out and got him his own backpack. I'm not actually teaching part of Joy School, and a friend in the ward is picking Rae up and dropping him off. After picking up a backpack, though, we had to go to the park and play. </div>
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Caleb and Mr. Graff love the spinny cups. </div>
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I kept trying to get a picture of how elated Caleb is to go round and round with Dad. I think this is the closest I got... </div>
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Rae is ever the limber monkey. And usually tries to pick on kids twice his size. </div>
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Booty shot. </div>
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Non-booty shot. </div>
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I think Rae must enjoy the blood rushing to his head because his favorite thing to do is hang or stand upside down. </div>
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Mr. Graff got out the dry beans and had the boys play with them. </div>
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We did some shopping. Picked up apples, paper shredder, and chocolate. The important things in life. </div>
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Mr. Graff kept them running all day, walked to the library and park, went shopping all afternoon, and after baths, Rae came to listen to scriptures in his towel .... and fell asleep. </div>
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Sunday is almost always a circus at church. My favorite part of this week's circus was watching Mr. Graff try to tame Caleb's bed-head (which was spectacular) with water from his sippy cup. Joe had a faux hawk in the top middle of his head, which I tried to spit down to a look I call "civil dishevelment". I would have laughed, but Rae was trying to make my skirt into his own personal tent. </div>
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Thankfully, this week ended on a nice walk, </div>
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and almost everyone walked, almost the whole way. </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1220443778450166191.post-18671113592789953962016-02-14T23:41:00.002-08:002016-02-14T23:53:52.640-08:00Barefoot Boys <div style="text-align: center;">
Any chance that Rae gets, off go the shoes. And since, well, Hawaii, it's not a big deal, just sometimes kinda gross. We tried in vain to find his other shoe before a walk this afternoon, and finally settled on "Caleb doesn't wear shoes, so Rae can go without them, too. He's not going to wear them anyway." Off we went, shoeless. </div>
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And then we found his missing shoe, on the sidewalk, a couple blocks from home. Apparently we dropped it on our walk last night.</div>
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Locals call flip-flops "slippers". I hear it everywhere, so it creeps into my vocabulary, too. Rae mashes them together and calls his shoes "flippers". </div>
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I still haven't put Caleb in shoes, yet. We live in eternal sunshine... there are no seasons, just wet and not so wet. Warm and not quite so warm. The sun always goes up around 7 am and down around 7 pm; Hawaii doesn't do that Daylight Savings Time thing. We just don't need to. </div>
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So, no shoes for Caleb. </div>
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I love listening to Cal's "tap, tap, tap" as he zooms down the sidewalk. He's quick and waves his little arms to keep his balance as he goes. He runs almost everywhere, and when he's excited, he kind of flutter-kicks his feet. We call him "Stomp-Stomp".</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij4aiCrIeBFiJNALEb94YZDKGu4Jf7U5OYx1qSLA6fUF6pdbG9qlxXHGd-ABO7Q08nqkfXITTVqd_umsbBoEOxG5JNa1_NqV2nCgO1RrYgaVh52SruthjvmfQWMnnABQ1-aMaJ6z46EdMo/s1600/0206161125c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij4aiCrIeBFiJNALEb94YZDKGu4Jf7U5OYx1qSLA6fUF6pdbG9qlxXHGd-ABO7Q08nqkfXITTVqd_umsbBoEOxG5JNa1_NqV2nCgO1RrYgaVh52SruthjvmfQWMnnABQ1-aMaJ6z46EdMo/s400/0206161125c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Going barefoot does make it easier to climb. </div>
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And do headstands. </div>
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Rae does a lot of headstands, for some reason.</div>
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We go barefoot. A lot. </div>
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One of our kiddos is rather attached to his shoes, our Little Middle. If it looks like we might be going anywhere, Joe will run and grab his shoes and demand to have them put on his feet. Where Rae and Caleb are completely content to go naked, Joe demands to have clothes, and he loves his white button up Sunday shirt best. </div>
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Shoes means he's going places. We think Joe is going places. And we think Rae is going places, too, once he finds his shoes. Caleb can stay barefoot a little awhile longer. </div>
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