tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82234689991421209402024-03-12T19:14:39.972-07:00Robots, Hairbows and String CheeseRobots, Hairbows and String CheeseDesperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-84534833878729068262012-02-11T20:01:00.000-08:002012-02-11T20:42:50.611-08:00My worry for my childrenThe worry I feel for my children seems at times insurmountable. It weighs heavy in me...burying itself deep into my core. It gnaws at my gut and at times, overwhelms me with emotion. It started when my oldest was still growing in my womb. When at 6 weeks into my first pregnancy, like many women, I spotted. I was terrified. Beyond terrified, really. More like inconsolable. And after the ultrasound and the reassurance that the baby was alive and thriving, I still convinced myself I was going to screw this up--that some way I would not carry this baby to term. And I said to myself that if that were to happen, I would lay down on the ground and never get back up. I fretted and distressed and not until 20 weeks did I feel any sense of relief at all. That was when we had another ultrasound and I saw moving, working parts. He wiggled his hands and flexed his feet back and forth. I cried. He worked. So far, nothing was broken. I was high with excitement, but it was short lived. I walked around in a mental bubble. Protecting my unborn child with my life if I had to. The momma bear in me was already fiercely protective of her cub.<br /><br />I delivered a healthy, happy baby boy. And after adjusting to breastfeeding and diaper changing, was starting to feel secure. Then 9-11 happened. My son was 4 weeks old and I was feeding him as I watched the newscast of the first tower on fire. My first thought was a pilot had a heart attack and it was a tragic accident. But then while still holding him in my arms, the second plane hit. And we knew we were under attack. I remember looking at him and just sobbing, apologizing to him for bringing him into the world when it was like this. Terrified about an uncertain future for him. And I just said to him over and over "I'm so sorry."<br /><br />Time passed. The world adjusted. My boy grew. But he had challenges. At first, small, but then developing into larger and more pressing issues. It took 9 years to get a complete diagnosis. Asperger's with Sensory Integration Disorder. The years have seen so many ups and downs. So many battles--losses and victories. A special needs child comes with a unique playbook of worries.<br /><br />Now I find myself with a middleschooler who is bullied and taunted. We have seen teachers who care tremendously for him and others who cringed when he walked in the door. We have sat through countless meetings and testings and "feel good" BS meetings. All the while, I worry, fret, pace the floor, wring my hands, cry myself to sleep. Most days, all I can do to get through is cross my fingers and pray that he has a good day. <em>Please, God, don't let the teachers give up on him. Please let them see the good in him. Please don't let his peers wear him down or take the love out of him. And please, I beg, please don't let him give up on himself. </em><br /><br />Six years ago, a sister came along. And my world was fought with worry for her, as well. Girls come with their own special set of stomach churning concerns. In first grade she already finds herself inadequate. She thinks other girls are pretty and she "looks weird" because of her freckles and red hair. I tell her every day how beautiful she is. Not a day passes where she is not told "I love you" by both her father and myself. She is daring and headstrong and honestly, not afraid of much. We brag about her and laugh with her and take notice of all of her creations. And yet, she says she has a "fat tummy" and cries when she makes a simple mistake. At six years of age, she is already placing the weight of the world on her shoulders. And it scares the living daylights out of me.<br /><br />It is in the moments when I cannot make my kids feel better that I feel like a complete failure to them. I don't know how to love them more than I already do. My heart aches and begs and longs for them to feel the depth of my commitment to them. For them to be able to crawl back into my arms and stay safe from the world. Of course, my rational side knows that sheltering them from that same world is not in their best interest. I won't live forever and to make them think that I will be is the cruelest thing of all. But that momma bear in me...she's fierce. And she wants her cubs safe.<br /><br />My mind wanders with the "what ifs" What if they believe all of the crap people tell them? What if they have low self esteem and hate themselves? What if they hate everyone else so much that they loose the positivity and shut us all out? What if they run with the wrong crowds and make the wrong choices. What if they make really stupid mistakes that get them kicked out of school or worse thrown into jail? What if they hate their parents and the world so much they take off or hurt themselves? What if, what if, what if. <br /><br />What if I decided not to worry my life away? What if I decided to trust in my children and trust in myself? What if I am, after all, a good mom and exactly what these babies of mine need?<br /><br />If there is a Worrier's Anonymous, I could probably be the President. But at the same time, I only want the best for my children-like every other mother in the world. Isn't that our job? To advocate for our babies and to equip them for survival. If they are not feeling secure and confident, who really failed them?<br /><br />It's a journey and there are many mountains yet to climb. But I am trying. Honestly trying and with every step I mean nothing but the best.Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-55439542277419060642011-03-04T06:43:00.000-08:002011-03-04T07:03:38.806-08:00IsolationIn the last post, I discussed distractions and how they prevent you from reaching your goals. Today I am thinking a lot about the ways evil worms between us and those around us to make us feel isolated and alone.<br /><br />My daughter is selling Girl Scout cookies. It has only been 4 days and she is already over $100.00 in sales. There are a bunch of people we have not even approached yet, but I still find myself humbled that so many people are willing to help my daughter. These are not strangers. Only friends and family. And there are so many more of them than I feel like I have when I picture my circle in my mind. <br /><br />I remember feeling similar on the day of my wedding rehearsal. I was overwhelmed to look at the sea of faces. People who had travelled--some far, some close--and given up their time for an evening with us. People who were there to do nothing but celebrate the union of myself and my husband. People completely void of agendas. It was a warm, embracing cloud of respect, support and love. And I remember it bringing tears to my eyes.<br /><br />But when I am down (and we all get down from time to time) that cloud seems to vanish and it is as if those moments never existed. Evil builds a wall--a wall designed to block my vision and encourage self-pity. It wants to entrap me. It wants to isolate me. It wants to make me feel alone and helpless and hopeless. <br /><br />And sometimes is does.<br /><br />It throws me to the bottom of a deep, cavernous hole.<br /><br />Sometimes I cry and lash out. I push away those that love me most. I hold grudges and scream to the skies. And on my worst days I curse myself--tear myself down and lynch my own spirit. <br /><br />But then...the Light has a way of working its own way through the crack, doesn't it? Slowly, cautiously, the Light flows around the locks and bars and shields you place around your heart. It floods into the hole, at first blinding us and gradually, warming us, surrounding us in calm and clarity.<br /><br />And we are once again enlightened. <br /><br />When you feel like you are alone--like there is no one you can talk to, no one that would understand what you are going through--I encourage you to make a list of those who do little things for you everyday. Grand gestures are wonderful, but the little things are what keeps the world running. And before you even realize it, you will see the Light is working to keep you happy and whole every day, in every moment and with every breath you take.Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-51293221404891319822011-02-23T06:13:00.000-08:002011-02-23T06:42:34.027-08:00ExcusesJust as soon as you start to come out of the fog and begin discovering a few things about yourself, the devil is right there to stir the pot. The last two weeks have been nothing short of chaotic. <br /><br />As you know, I have been on a journey with the goal of having more harmony and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">unity</span> in my life. <br /><br />The exact opposite has been going on recently. <br /><br />We have had family illnesses, doctor's appointments, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">disappointments</span>, medical emergencies, feline distress, arguments, hurt feelings, tears, fears, and a lot of worry. All of these things giving me a perfect excuse to put off my goals for another day and host a series of pity parties instead. Have I ever mentioned how utterly exhausting having these parties are? My mind is scrambled. My soul is exhausted. <br /><br />I have been told on a couple of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">occasions</span> recently that I need to find at least 30-45 minutes PER DAY to pamper myself. The closest I come to this is car line. I get there early on purpose. I grab a good book, turn on the Symphony channel on the radio and just get some quiet in my day. It is actually a 40 minute respite. But never seems long enough.<br /><br />It is in those moments I am glad I only teach part time. I feel like I am constantly on the go. Stay at home moms rarely stay at home. Maybe when the children are babies and staying home is easier than taking the whole house with you to the grocery store. But when they are school age, your time does not magically multiply. I thought I would get bored. I worried I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">would</span> just sit around all day. Now I wish I could.<br /><br />But then I also wonder, if I worked full time, would I let <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">something</span> go? Would I feel as much pressure to be all and do all? Would I feel obliged to volunteer for everything that came along? Would I feel the push to keep the house clean and the dinner cooked? Or would I surrender a bit more? I doubt it. I am sure I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">would</span> have an even bigger Superwoman complex than I do now.<br /><br />When will we cease to run away from the things that make us whole? If, as a human being, you need to maintenance your mind by having a few moments to do whatever it is that makes you who you are, then why do we deny ourselves. Why do we withhold to the point of cruelty? Our teeth need daily brushing to stay clean. Our bodies need nutritious meals to stay strong. Our skin requires daily cleansing to stay healthy. Would we deny ourselves any of these? Would we cease drinking until we died of dehydration? Would we forgo movement until our muscles atrophied and hearts gave out? Does our mind not need exercise and therapy for clarity?<br /><br />Our bodies have <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">innate</span> needs, most of which we meet on a daily basis. Maybe we don't eat the right things or go to a gym, but for the most part, we keep our bodies moving and living. But our minds we fail to pamper. We take it for granted. I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">think</span> that when we are <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">feeling</span> overwhelmed and exhausted, it is a cry from our mind to slow down. Someone hit your internal warning button and you need to pay attention. <br /><br />My button has been pushed. And I am trying to pay attention. I just need to find the time. (that's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">sarcasm</span>, by the way)<br /><br />Are you hearing the warning bell sound?Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-2908190584277166292011-02-05T08:33:00.000-08:002011-02-05T09:44:51.480-08:00A JourneyHow many of you have squashed a dream? Stuffed it away, beat it down, denied its existence? I am betting most of us have. I am willing to say the vast majority of us do not lead authentic lives. That's to say we did not follow our passion. We took the safer, more practical route. <br /><br />I know I did.<br /><br />The first story I remember writing was a short story called "The Flower." It was about two flowers who were best friends, but are separated one day when one of the flowers gets picked. But there was a happy ending when the next day the second flower was picked and was reunited with her best friend in a flower vase display. I typed it up on a typewriter, illustrated the pages and bound the book with yarn. My first book. I was six.<br /><br />My favorite part of elementary school was the weekly treat of creative writing. We would be called into the hall one by one to visit with a typist in a small supply closet. She would give us a writing prompt and she would then type our response on paper. We got to color the page and display our stories in the hall. I LOVED this more than anything else at school.<br /><br />By the time I was in 4th grade I wrote book reports on the likes of Agatha Christie. I remember submitting a diorama based on her book "The ABC Murders" in which I laid out one of my "dead" Barbies to reenact the murder scene. Most kids chose books like "Where the Red Fern Grows" or "Little House on the Prairie." I didn't mind being different back then.<br /><br />In 5th grade I was discovering the lure of the world. The librarian would save me copies of the New York Times. I loved seeing how life was in another part of the country. About this time my paternal grandfather started gifting me subscriptions to Reader's Digest. He did this until I graduated, feeling that there was a great deal to learn from the magazine. He was right. Lots of things were reader submitted. Jokes, personal accounts. This is the first time I tried submitting something for publication. I never heard back on my knock knock joke. <br /><br />At some point, my mother showed up with a huge box of National Geographic. The pictures and stories were fascinating, beautiful, haunting, and sometimes gory. But I marveled at the world I had yet to discover. Someday, I told myself, I would go to these places and see them for myself. I just had to make it out of the countryside of East Tennessee. Away from all of the green. I convinced myself I hated the color and longed for a life in the city. Someplace gray I told myself. That was where the real action was--the real stories.<br /><br />I wrote poetry. I won a handful of small local contests. I was published in a national anthology. At first I was excited. Then I started telling myself they let anyone with half a brain into those things. This is when I started selling myself short.<br /><br />In high school I enjoyed writing essays. I found I was really very good at it. I was faster than everyone else and always got 100s. In 11th grade I was moved to Advanced English. Until then I was considered mediocre as a student. Finally something I excelled at. But I was scared. I had nightmares about the first day of school. I felt like a farce. I was a C/D student going into an advanced level class. This is when I started pretending I was something I was not.<br /><br />By the time we got to term papers, I wrote a few papers for other students. They had picked up on my speed and insecurity to fit in. But I didn't mind, really. It didn't matter what I was writing about as long as I got to write. One kid even paid me 15 bucks for a short 2 page essay--which was a really good deal to me since I could knock that out in 30 minutes or less.<br /><br />About this time I decided to try and submit poetry to a few magazines. I received across the board rejections. My practical mind knew this was to be expected. My pride took it as a hard hit. I just let it feed into my feelings of inferiority.<br /><br />I took a creative writing class senior year that really re-lit the bug. I even won the award that year for Creative Writing Student of the Year. I was picked by the teacher who I had made curse in class one day. We were arguing over a subjective question and I backed her into a corner. I thought she hated me, but I think she admired my passion.<br /><br />In college I majored in Creative Writing. I took classes with other writers for the first time in my life. And even though I made A's and got tons of compliments from others, I felt insignificant next to their prose. I let the negativity seep in more than ever. I never submitted the works they suggested. <br /><br />At this time I was madly in love. My life was completely revolving around my boyfriend. All I wanted to do was marry him and write. I gave up on my idea of moving to NYC and writing for a major print publication in lieu of staying close to him. He felt we needed stability, good paying jobs and security before we got married. His practicality perfectly balanced my idealism. And I decided to have a back up plan. Of course, my goal was to write. I could do that on the side. Surely, I could find a job with my English degree. It was generic enough. But as a back up I could always teach. I actually started thinking about teaching in high school. I admired my English teachers, but older kids scared me. The younger the better. So I majored in Child and Family Studies thinking that this was a good plan B.<br /><br />I graduated and went on the great job search. Ends up English degrees over qualify you for jobs like Travel Agent or Administrative Assistant. They under qualify you for state level jobs in anything but teaching. And they are great for newspaper jobs like proofreading or part time writing. But with student loans and rent to pay, I could not survive on 7 bucks an hour. After a lot of depression and tears, I went back to plan B. I would teach.<br /><br />I went on to get a Master's in teaching because that was the fastest route at this point. In the mean time, I married my love. He started working full time and I focused on student teaching. I cried all the way through it. I hated every moment. I knew then I did not want to teach full time.<br /><br />I stopped writing. The ideas continued to flow, but I could not bring myself to believe in my dream anymore. I had to focus on the practical side. And teaching did allow me to use my creativity. Especially with younger children. So, I taught preschool. Within ayear, I was having some sort of break down and quit. I was miserable. <br /><br />I took a job for the local library. I was finally back in the world of literature. I started thinking about writing again. I let my heart open back up to the possibility. I worked with people who loved books and were extremely well read. But I had shut off the part of my mind long ago and was feeling a bit stunted. So, I played along as well as I could, but still feeling like a total impostor. The old voices of doubt started whispering in my ear again when something else happened. I fell in love all over again.<br /><br />With my son.<br /><br />Is it a Kleenex commercial that says having a baby changes everything? Boy, they weren't kidding. I could not leave this sweet baby. He needed me and I needed him. So, I quit to stay home. But needing ways to make money, I looked for online work. I found it. Tutoring at home. Back to education I trudged. And I kept that job for 7 years. I worked my way up to supervisor and I really loved the contributions I made there. I got to write every day. There was nothing creative going on and the writing was purely technical in nature, but I was writing. Just like high school. It didn't matter what I wrote as long as my brain was thinking.<br /><br />Another child came. More bills. More responsibilities. I continued teaching, moving back to preschool. I have found teaching to be much less cumbersome once I became a parent. I really needed to experience that change before I could appreciate children fully.<br /><br />So teaching has become my way to pay the bills. And I do like it. Now I can embrace it. In the past, it felt like that was what I did as the result of failing in writing. But I slowly started allowing writing to creep back into my life through the past couple of years. The first thing I did was start this blog. I dared myself to move. Baby steps, long pauses, but I did move.<br /><br />Second, I applied and was accepted for a job writing articles for an online company. The work is again, technical, and I primarily write about education, but I am getting myself used to the editorial process. My old enemy, Self Doubt, loves to use critique against me. And that was one of my major stumbling blocks over the years. With time and maturity, I am learning how to accept judgement. How to use it for self help instead of self destruction.<br /><br />Once these paths began to reopen and I was willing to accept the challenge, I found myself inspired to reach my ultimate goal. To write a novel. I have worked on my book, Thaw, for over a year and a half. Most of the time, the words flowed out of me automatically. Other times, I was blocked and struggled to write one sentence. But I stuck with it and finished my manuscript this past December. I was so happy, I cried. It was my moment to say, "I told you I could do it." And then I got a visit from my old enemy.<br /><br />I started researching literary agents. And then I came across the technical specifications for novels. Until a book is oer 45,000 words, it is not considered a novel. Mine was around 43,000. Simply a novella. I failed. Again. And Self Doubt really stuck it to me. He wanted me to feel the full impact. How dare I try to achieve something so lofty. So unpractical. You stupid, worthless fool.<br /><br />I sat for a month and had a pity party. Self Doubt was fantastic host, as usual. And then, I just decided enough was enough. What was holding me back? 2,000 words? I just plucked 43,000 words out of my mind and I was going to stop because I was 5% short? I was already 95% of the way there!<br /><br />In the past two weeks I have belted it out. I have over 45,000 words in my manuscript now. It may be a short, easy read, but it is a novel, my friends. A true novel. <br /><br />I told you I could do it.Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-46389736099127571532011-01-26T09:51:00.000-08:002011-01-26T10:17:35.304-08:00Goals, NOT resolutions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcyIK-6I5z-WJaRh-4BIk_pn4MrHw9MUh52WJlapN0QYRHdy0FW0olWbqQv5CpljyJYzBnD9CqqIBpztwDVXRroJ7daE1B4OV_58bhBDgskjI_I5lkXZaAa-DVntKcqc3GOLB5gGmgCJc/s1600/new+year.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 236px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566560413347526338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcyIK-6I5z-WJaRh-4BIk_pn4MrHw9MUh52WJlapN0QYRHdy0FW0olWbqQv5CpljyJYzBnD9CqqIBpztwDVXRroJ7daE1B4OV_58bhBDgskjI_I5lkXZaAa-DVntKcqc3GOLB5gGmgCJc/s320/new+year.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>In my last installment, I introduced you to the first of three areas I am working on: organization. I need to simplify the flow of my household and that started with the symbolic gathering of Legos.<br /><br />My second area of improvement is physical. I want to loose about 20 pounds before the end of March. If I will do that remains to be seen, but more on that in another post.<br /><br />My third area for concentration is more than body health...it is mental health. An overall sweep of my agendas, my esteem, my strength, my direction.<br /><br />When I was younger, I used to read the obituaries every day. In fact, one of the reasons I stopped subscribing to the paper was because this daily ritual, the study of the dead, was depressing and self deprecating. I read each stranger's life story, taking in the details. Teachers, deacons, preachers, doctors, police officers, entrepreneurs, wives, sisters, mothers. They were loved, celebrated, lauded. Then there were others who had no family to speak of, no prestigious career. It would simply say a name and a location for burial. Those bothered me the most. Because they always forced me to think, "What will my obituary read like?"<br /><br />I have to say overall, I am pleased with my life. More than pleased...proud. I am proud to say I am an educator and a writer. I am a caring mother and loving wife. I am a volunteer and advocate. I am, simply, me. But there is something else. Something more that is missing.<br /><br />As if I am not busy enough as it is. I write. I teach preschool. I run a home sales business. I volunteer for school. I am about to start a Girl Scout Troop and battle the masses in the great cookie sale. I am even considering a run for PTO, which I think may be more intense than a bid for US President. But still, I long for something more. A cohesiveness. A harmony. Not just in this particular area but in all the three goals for 2011. (And yes, notice I said GOALS, not resolutions. A goal is something that may actually still be here in 3 months time. If I called these resolutions, I have officially set in motion the kiss of death. No, a goal is much more attainable and realistic.) I need my body, my mind and my home to work as a group. Not struggle against one another for my attention. I need to work with the ebb and flow, not swim against it. I want to breathe.<br /><br />My plan? This blog, for one, will make me self-accountable. Number two, aiming high. I don't give myself nearly enough credit. I am a capable woman. I manage to take on all of these projects, but continuously feel like I fail at them. Have I actually fallen short on even one? No. In my mind I suck. The reality: I am pretty darn cool. I may not be top of my class, homecoming queen, first one asked to join the team cool, but I hold my own. And when the chips are down, I don't run away.<br /><br />So here goes nothing. Time to be courageous. My immediate goals? Organizing a Ladies Expo for my direct sales business. Keeping this blog up to date. And finally, adding those last 241 words to my novel and submitting it to a literary agent. Without the fear of rejection. Sure, I am going to inevitably be turned down, but I can resubmit. Sure, I may not get a single new customer from the Expo, but at least I tried something. And I may not have one single person read this post. But who cares? It's not about your reaction to me. It's about my reaction to myself. About finding my own strength. My own harmony. And mixing that will all areas of my life. Until my cup runneth over.<br /><br />What are your goals for 2011. Resolutions are not allowed...<br /></div>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-25051544262861018242011-01-12T12:42:00.000-08:002011-01-12T13:16:09.461-08:00Airing my dirty laundrySo, my little blog has been neglected to the point of death. So, I am resurrecting it...piecing together the remaining bits and pieces, creating new things, and even sticking in some things I have borrowed...my own, personal Frankenstein.<br /><br />I have spent the last year working on myself and my career goals. There are three things in life that I enjoy doing and I am doing all of them right now. I love writing, teaching and interior design. I currently have jobs in all three areas. Life is good.<br /><br />But, there is a yearning in my soul for more. (Isn't there always?) I have more goals to make, more achievements to reach for. And I want to use this--my brought from the dead blog--to document my journey.<br /><br />One of my tasks for this year is organization and streamlining. I already started by purging and reorganizing my pantry.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561407493536304082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMJs96YjgayC4kMfAvc2Mv_l3J5DwW7HVW_66p7X0A_NCbKMa2Vnl34OLSVya-TndCBeXHP9ypcCbEFAcIQ8p07aqgc-QAmIRYBihczk4DuDPRKxurzJv8N63Hx5LMfEVvFl0ghvc6p_w/s320/DSC_4503.JPG" /><br />Isn't she lovely? At least for a dark, small hole in the wall?<br /><br />And in the aftermath of the toy bomb otherwise known as Christmas, I found myself literally collapsing under a mountain of Legos. The Boy has an extensive collection of Legos thanks to Jolly Old St. Nick and his friendly family of elves. And he has very limited space in which to put them. Every time I passed his room, my throat welled up. I found breathing difficult. I wanted to gouge out my eyeballs. It. Was. Painful.<br /><br />When I could no longer handle the chaos, I started digging my way out of the mess. One brick at a time. Here is what I had to work with.</p><p> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561406176884894306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpluPc34sBQTUeiQXiK8P-l_s21EzxQr2BcWY_Q52RslC8vKrqHaam_lpgOJRkkn-gluxHFctlNwS1zO0sAnOnT9xf76IJmOzFoDNhPf6t-nyFXIpGeIoexljr06Ts0EOGS0Meuyjp1JTI/s320/DSC_4498.JPG" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561406171980763826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_Th5XbX3gyYjz0vfZ7ilLUwYlCKEdCc3RYX8Pphx7YOu5tzuaaI7WNiNbnRuBxMUIVhYRk4zw1QBq76fcH4hoz6Dl88mMxydUovQq6bJWEZb-_-y2TykOIG8GgFZIb94OsWJyjw8_OP3/s320/DSC_4497.JPG" />Oh, woe is me! In his defense, the white storage unit is new and was just hanging out in the middle of the room until I was ready to get serious, but still. Woe. Is. Me.<br /><br />There was dust. </p><p>And disgust. </p><p>And surprises. </p><p> </p><p>Like toys actually behind the baseboard.</p><p> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561406702482333762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSFPWhREbfHECPBa1Yg_RwlU9Phe_yjIOZr73cF19Mro5m0htz-XiHdAbO1-LMnBpVCCNBpQMPV7q5pxM5j51t3RmijrGWcFHlSGYlHCbB2Ycr5OXgXV-gjkRUsW1MseZyLzANbqlbv-hj/s320/DSC_4500.JPG" /><br /><br />But a few nails, a spray cleaner and 5 hours later, I arrived to this!</p><p><br /> </p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561407481345193570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNQ707f_USgqx6KIovBkl8EO0yZpH6VgdDbom5h3T0_qkpElbsjX7BVwakEl_rBN_7iA-oRl8tH9tcq-VH0-Kmn9XNLQ6mgYj1D_RYJD9nfR9-EINagkk3wg1tZ1R0LG7jGCxlA9PD7rm/s320/DSC_4501.JPG" /></p><p>The storage unit is from Ikea and holds different sets of Legos (Star Wars, Atlantis, Pirates, Hero Factory, etc) I installed a bar which I hung six blue cups from and organized the bricks by color into those. I installed 2 shelves to hold completed projects and protect them from The Girl. And the pocket holder nailed to the wall holds all of the instruction books for the kits.</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561407491711687890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2D_zXq1dXTEFz_RKPKy0WnsLwJDbR8HvzWRdpgKoCAxaJl15YUIBxK3GhIBIPLvyB8tLQzPD39PiBBhAI6I9l3vFNsuCcFMatpqRrI9QC0Qm6ht1Rdgs9rV9whlAsrMMRVh0vSMRO_wpT/s320/DSC_4502.JPG" />I moved the bed to the adjoining wall. This freed up the longer wall for a dedicated Lego area. The Boy loves the idea of spying on people through the window while still laying in bed.<br /><br />Finally, I can breathe. </p><p>More projects to come!</p>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-25225385306674754332010-05-24T07:20:00.000-07:002010-05-24T07:30:14.847-07:00More Bits of WisdomThe Boy: Where are you going?<br /><br />Me: To the store.<br /><br />The Boy: Well, who is going with you?<br /><br />Me: Me, myself and I<br /><br />The Girl: Nuh-uh! Jesus is in your heart, so he is going too!<br /><br />~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*<br /><br />After a particularly heinous whining streak in which The Girl was demanding access to one of The Boy's toys, she finally asks her brother in a polite and acceptable manner if she can play with it. At first he refuses. So, Mom has to intervene.<br /><br />Me: Please let her have it. We need to show her that when she asks nicely she can have it. (Little do I know that the wheels are already turning. See, he has been trying in vain to play on my IPhone all afternoon. And I have continually told him no all day)<br /><br />The Boy (in his most respectful voice): Mom, may I pretty please use your IPhone? <br /><br />Me: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (Crap! I hate it when they turn the tables on me)<br /><br />Techno Geek: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHADesperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-51693696183620401412010-05-04T14:04:00.001-07:002010-05-04T14:08:11.742-07:00Can someone please explain to me......why these two men were in my dream last night? <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJwTJqEkh-ez5zhuU_4OEAivywOHvBPhYlv25k8m5CTFMxTRbzao3qZpI-EXKLWP56OYol76uQp32F7c3ye0KrX6oOJ9pkn1fSGOsPY9H_3t8zpCgAiclzn1rUlSshjbd9aNqAQwC50S9/s1600/chips.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJwTJqEkh-ez5zhuU_4OEAivywOHvBPhYlv25k8m5CTFMxTRbzao3qZpI-EXKLWP56OYol76uQp32F7c3ye0KrX6oOJ9pkn1fSGOsPY9H_3t8zpCgAiclzn1rUlSshjbd9aNqAQwC50S9/s320/chips.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467524323082386802" /></a><br /><br />Ponch and Jon wanted to rescue me from a foreign beauty pageant were a secret association was killing off cells of international police groups. They wanted to bring me back to the LA precinct to work with them. Techno Geek thinks I watch too much TV. That may well be...Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-17477354899671046232010-04-29T06:22:00.000-07:002010-04-29T06:51:33.247-07:00Out of the mouths of babesI did not know that...The Girl: "Don't you know vagina is Spanish for bottom?"<br /> <br />~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~<br /><br />Yes, even 4 year olds can manipulate. :) After a sharp scolding from me to both kids, the Girl follows me around until she can pin me down and give me a long hug. As my heart melting, she runs off to brag the following to the boy: "See? Now Mom isn't mad at me and I can do whatever I want!"<br /><br />~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~<br /><br />My children have been taught that the expression "Duh" is disrespectful and not to be said in the house. The other day, I was asking The Girl a question with a painfully obvious answer. I saw her pull her shirt over her mouth and then she looked at me like she had just done something wrong. Then she says, "I really, really needed to say 'DUH" but I didn't want you to hear me."<br /><br />~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~<br /><br />I really wish my 8 year old said some lighthearted, silly things these days, but you know when you are in 3rd grade, life. is. serious. Maybe one day...Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-1525023780523563822010-04-28T19:57:00.000-07:002010-04-28T19:59:05.139-07:00Poor little neglected blog...Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-55927747933625096762010-04-08T14:38:00.001-07:002010-04-08T14:54:04.774-07:00Like the new look?I have been working on my bling, making it more my style than the templates that come with the Blogger site. It's only been two years! <br /><br />You can tell I am not a superstar about properly taking care of my little site here. <br /><br />I have had so many ideas in the cooker, marinating, and the time just escapes me...and before you know it, the idea dissolves before I can get the words out of me. <br /><br />I could tell you about the strep going through my house right now...the puke I have been cleaning up...the explosive diarrhea. But I will spare you the visuals and just say I still have more ideas stewing. <br /><br />I definitely want to feature a series of before/after shots throughout my house. We have lived here 7 years and have worked really hard on bringing our groovy 1974 split level into the 21st century. I want to write more about the kids and the mischief they find themselves in. And I want to share my pitiful to you, but super cool to me crafts and projects that decorate my home. <br /><br />Mostly, I just want to share myself. To put my musings out into the cosmos and just see what comes of it. I may not update every week...heck, I may not update every month...but I do want to blog and I want to invite you to please, feel free to come along for the intermittent ride. :)Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-52714732192992668042010-03-29T15:52:00.000-07:002010-04-02T17:51:34.909-07:00Family Menu Planning--A PSA<div align="left">Come, take a journey with me...a journey into menu planning. A journey that may just save your sanity...<br /><br />Twice a year I find myself thinking about family menus. I like to plan my the season, combining Spring/Summer and Fall/Winter. I write down 4 weeks worth of menus and just keep rotating those weeks month to month. I have found that it really makes planning and grocery shopping far easier! Believe it or not, you really get a sense of common ingredients your family uses (stock up on sales!) which in the long run, helps slash those grocery prices.<br /><br />I know, I know...sales! You must shop by the sale. This never worked for me. Number one, I am brand loyal. Number two, I don't have time to look through circulars or clip coupons. Again, saving my sanity here people.<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-E1GcO2Vi5eWCFAcroSmhXLGabZ9maDhMXmsuWx6U3JZcMUOSnvrDPxqM8dn1Ia83iFvjE4ULY_9X9J_NvVEHh8tgQsuSDQ9_4Brt1KXPrGCvD-FWmrvEeTTK_cVqlh_K60qY9_u8vzn/s1600/coupon.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 87px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 116px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454197640582789186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-E1GcO2Vi5eWCFAcroSmhXLGabZ9maDhMXmsuWx6U3JZcMUOSnvrDPxqM8dn1Ia83iFvjE4ULY_9X9J_NvVEHh8tgQsuSDQ9_4Brt1KXPrGCvD-FWmrvEeTTK_cVqlh_K60qY9_u8vzn/s320/coupon.jpg" /> <p align="center"></a>NOT ME<br /><br /><br />Yet, still, with my meal planning method, I feed our family of four on about 500.00 per month. Sure, I could do cheaper but organic and fresh foods rarely have coupons anyway.<br /><br />Oh yes, I run into meals that just do not work and I have to cross them off my list on a dark and stormy night. No one in the family ever hears of them again...But for the most part, it all works out well in the end.<br /><br /><br />So, instead of feeling like this when I make a grocery list:<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUR3_b17yqmZbphY2v6yFrRZhRNyOm5imR6aLX8Kann78TiMZFvVNNhJcVzz48_afYtIo2eHFCfJtwMjvJ0BZLYBD3uyOo6NQYPpVWlW9gIpyIQSarZQEzh90JJ_2KuW0BoeRmaO22eKr/s1600/stressed.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 121px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 126px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454197644762935922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUR3_b17yqmZbphY2v6yFrRZhRNyOm5imR6aLX8Kann78TiMZFvVNNhJcVzz48_afYtIo2eHFCfJtwMjvJ0BZLYBD3uyOo6NQYPpVWlW9gIpyIQSarZQEzh90JJ_2KuW0BoeRmaO22eKr/s320/stressed.jpg" /> <p align="center"></a><br /><br />I feel a bit more like this:<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6gw9eBxQb85G6H27kiY775bKzgU0MfemhtxUGwSScpXRicpjDQ_S8oX8gjdTnsFrtnr_OI-OmN3pIDWnNz9vwJ6Gt-VjPX1S4VXwa75TrNNtqz_oMA2cdtR6mHNOoDcTLgO6RIRh9Icg/s1600/relaxed.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 132px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 129px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454197665142195058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6gw9eBxQb85G6H27kiY775bKzgU0MfemhtxUGwSScpXRicpjDQ_S8oX8gjdTnsFrtnr_OI-OmN3pIDWnNz9vwJ6Gt-VjPX1S4VXwa75TrNNtqz_oMA2cdtR6mHNOoDcTLgO6RIRh9Icg/s320/relaxed.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />"But how? How can I get some of this serenity for myself?" you ask. Well, like a good neighbor, Desperately Seeking Sanity is there....<br /><br />Here are our family plans for this past fall/winter and this upcoming Spring/summer. If you want a recipe, leave me a comment. Hope it gives you some inspiration! Just think of the foods your family likes, do a little internet research, flip through a few dust covered recipe books. In no time, you will have a list too!<br /><br />Spring/ Summer Menu (April-Sept)<br />Week 1<br />1. Grilled Sausage and Onion subs/fries<br />2. Slow cooker Mac & beef<br />3. Soft tacos/fresh salsa and guacamole<br />4. Margarita pizzas<br />5. Pasta Roll ups with meatballs<br /><br />Week 2<br />1. Club Roll ups/PB& J sushi rolls, chips<br />2. Fish with lemon pasta<br />3. Taco pizzas<br />4. Chicken Picatta<br />5. Peppers & Pasta<br /><br />Week 3<br />1. Slow cooker BBQ sandwiches/corn/baked beans<br />2. Capallini Pomodoro<br />3. Summer breakfast: quiche, ham, French toast and muffins<br />4. Angel Hair Pesto, peas & carrots, crusty bread and salad<br />5. Greek calzones<br />6. Taco salads/quesadillas<br /><br />Week 4<br />1. Sub sandwiches and chips<br />2. Kabobs, pesto pasta salad, (cheese and fruit kabobs for kids)<br />3. Mexican Pasta shells, cowboy caviar<br />4. Pizza fondue, applesauce, salads<br />5. Hot dogs, Mac and cheese<br />6. Onion Horseradish Chicken, potatoes, green beans<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Winter/Fall Menus (October-March)<br /><br />Week 1<br />1. Homemade Pizza<br />2. Fall breakfast-pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, cinnamon toast<br />3. Peppers & Pasta<br />4. Philly Cheese steaks, fries<br />5. Tortellini, crusty bread<br /><br />Week 2<br />1. Calzones<br />2. Spinach Pasta<br />3. Fried chicken, mac & cheese<br />4. Meatball subs, chips<br />5. Nachos<br /><br />Week 3<br />1. Upside Down Deep Dish Pizza<br />2. Baked Spaghetti, Bruchetta<br />3. Tacos<br />4. Burgers, Black Bean Soup, chips<br />5. Red Beans and Rice<br /><br />Week 4<br />1. Vegetarian Chili & pasta, cheese bread<br />2. Calzones<br />3. Grilled cheese, soup<br />4. BBQ chicken, apples, mashed potatoes<br />5. Tex Mex Pasta Skillet<br /><br />Edited to link to Lovin It Friday party<br /><a href="http://www.tidymom.net"><img border="0" src="http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k190/tidymom/my%20blog%20stuff/layout%20stuff/Imlovinit_button.png" /></a>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-66291251873708772622010-03-19T12:55:00.000-07:002010-03-19T13:18:30.548-07:00I'm Lovin' This Weather<a href="http://www.tidymom.net/"><img border="0" src="http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k190/tidymom/my%20blog%20stuff/layout%20stuff/Imlovinit_button.png" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><div><div><div></div><div></div><div>The last day of winter....it is a BEAUTIFUL 68 degrees here in East Tennessee and spring is blooming every place I look.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Lovely flowers adorn my foyer, rising up to meet me when I come home.</div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQrDBvghSNZ53oExTcS9Y99lAAOPG2Rq8p4lIpL_YTsZ7GQOtHBrETVvR8ATztdB2DqjqKv6n8p9401hGx6rpRC94N3N0xlL7X5xbfgd3OqzT63AuIBllgPm1XYagGQ_tFVEZ6nhGeKjG/s1600-h/DSC_0587.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450439993146773602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQrDBvghSNZ53oExTcS9Y99lAAOPG2Rq8p4lIpL_YTsZ7GQOtHBrETVvR8ATztdB2DqjqKv6n8p9401hGx6rpRC94N3N0xlL7X5xbfgd3OqzT63AuIBllgPm1XYagGQ_tFVEZ6nhGeKjG/s320/DSC_0587.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyxAO9jHd_WBxa_5rdHtdBLBhOkVX6Y_oiq0Oa0ONitYCrXCvokfxZ-ax2vHtToEIRNuVvMoLv-R-2XAznnL0DgGzci4ieHMJqTfNQLwt9MQXLjhrXguZUSMfAi5KxLXqKhZ4wwgdhJ_h/s1600-h/DSC_0581.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450439189313874146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyxAO9jHd_WBxa_5rdHtdBLBhOkVX6Y_oiq0Oa0ONitYCrXCvokfxZ-ax2vHtToEIRNuVvMoLv-R-2XAznnL0DgGzci4ieHMJqTfNQLwt9MQXLjhrXguZUSMfAi5KxLXqKhZ4wwgdhJ_h/s320/DSC_0581.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Recent craft projects display happy spring colors.</div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVYS4EH41U5foWqOgxAOrEnPCgZsgLxCw3oIB9NlxhhJUKjOTWMl0fmnXzJWK2D_kVBu4UOyNKzcz6G0u9nyLRDAA_pM3_hZAiAhcMLX3M3ACIVvdUmgfbmaDDXbxOBNdjTCNXx6hSUrE/s1600-h/DSC_0572.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450438705331087906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVYS4EH41U5foWqOgxAOrEnPCgZsgLxCw3oIB9NlxhhJUKjOTWMl0fmnXzJWK2D_kVBu4UOyNKzcz6G0u9nyLRDAA_pM3_hZAiAhcMLX3M3ACIVvdUmgfbmaDDXbxOBNdjTCNXx6hSUrE/s320/DSC_0572.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatbI9_i33SBiTloeuyi-zxlZWC3nvXbCWPixYds5bKvHtxygIicx49uwMVipUMnR1z9N31VnBbgW2GWgcCXCc_ofCGX041DN2IIvy9_iw7Fh3G5-lK4TwBvyhcnd515HFNG4MEMN00wS7/s1600-h/DSC_0577.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450439175582622002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatbI9_i33SBiTloeuyi-zxlZWC3nvXbCWPixYds5bKvHtxygIicx49uwMVipUMnR1z9N31VnBbgW2GWgcCXCc_ofCGX041DN2IIvy9_iw7Fh3G5-lK4TwBvyhcnd515HFNG4MEMN00wS7/s320/DSC_0577.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Little bunnies are starting to pop up unexpectedly.</div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0OzQe8a_OV1_oda89OqcZjDT_Km8Vzq4v0t7-8OzSk1-D8JOa8sT8hHg1qev1UmcfYTwMN_ThCoz0NEXQ84jsSsOBk330sPpHFcJURxaqi7elBCuTh97Y4Ic2rWFUQSFmsCiNIbMQjm8/s1600-h/DSC_0568.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450438695898849650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0OzQe8a_OV1_oda89OqcZjDT_Km8Vzq4v0t7-8OzSk1-D8JOa8sT8hHg1qev1UmcfYTwMN_ThCoz0NEXQ84jsSsOBk330sPpHFcJURxaqi7elBCuTh97Y4Ic2rWFUQSFmsCiNIbMQjm8/s320/DSC_0568.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div>Yes, the signs of spring are here. And after a long, snowy winter, we are more than ready to welcome it home.</div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsywwZHZ4dBh-Cdhrk9sYid7Q3IG0BdmPIg9NTeqBcvsSLFj0X76tQrn8A6szCF-CiChoQLxgikwuRLqtmvzag4o8z8jyswdokfrYjG106Y53EVWtWybJKW65upYN_v1gZQcU5VvV2fQA/s1600-h/DSC_0584.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450439979963674914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsywwZHZ4dBh-Cdhrk9sYid7Q3IG0BdmPIg9NTeqBcvsSLFj0X76tQrn8A6szCF-CiChoQLxgikwuRLqtmvzag4o8z8jyswdokfrYjG106Y53EVWtWybJKW65upYN_v1gZQcU5VvV2fQA/s320/DSC_0584.JPG" /></a> </div></div>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-64426405436169858592010-03-11T05:42:00.001-08:002010-03-11T06:18:58.464-08:00Before there was Twilight...There was <em>The Lost Boys</em>. And Corey <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Haim</span>--the goofy little brother of Michael, who fights for to save the town from blood <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">thirsty</span> vampires. Aside from by boys in Duran Duran (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">DURANIE</span> 4EVER), Corey was my first "serious" celebrity crush. I had the posters on my wall, the movies dubbed on VHS tapes, lines memorized, daydreams ensuing.<br /><br /><br /><br />I was a slight bit obsessed with <em>The Lost Boys</em>. As a matter of a fact, I have always loved vampire literature and film, thanks in part to this very movie and the influence it had on my adolescence. But in the midst of that interest sat a mop of curly hair, a crooked smile and sparkly blue eyes. Corey <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Haim</span>. We had matching moles. In one scene, he sets down a box and pushes up his sleeves. And there on the inside of his left arm, a mole in exactly the same spot as mine. Forget matching tattoos. This was a birth mark and when you are a preteen, that meant something was a foot in destiny.<br /><br /><br /><br />But time passed, crushes faded. Posters came down. VHS tapes broke. Time is never kind.<br /><br /><br /><br />Despite the recent images and problems which plagued his life, and that of many other celebrities of my childhood, whenever I see a picture of that little kid, I can't help but smile. Micheal Jackson's "Thriller" still puts me back in 3rd grade. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Olivia</span> Newton John's "Lets Get Physical" still makes me tap my foot. Mathew Broderick is always Ferris <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Buller</span> to me and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">REM's</span> "Stand" makes me remember high school. Images, moments, feelings, all pinpoints in time. Triggers for memories. A thousand little pieces that make up the whole of your past and help to form your future. Your interests, your hobbies, your creativity. Even some goofy little kid singing in the bathtub to his dog.<br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MWTcHE8OS6w&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MWTcHE8OS6w&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-67163703283147413992010-02-22T18:09:00.000-08:002010-02-22T18:24:34.473-08:00Motherhood...umphSo, what have I been up to? Hold on to your seats....<br /><br />An entire week of snow kept us locked into the house, no school, no outside play, very cabin fever style of living. Over the course of time, we had numerous melt downs, a loss of two bags full of toys, left over chocolate being secretly eaten, but the wrappers left sitting around, and a handful of hair being cut off for no particular reason. <br /><br />And that was just The Girl.<br /><br />Me? I was blessed with a cold, a bum wrist and a short temper. At one point I was running through my house naked and dripping wet, having rushed out of my shower to stop an argument. It was the stuff therapy is made of. Liquid gold for future psychoanalysts. <br /><br />We had our high points. We made a fort out of sheets and pillows, we took naps, we drew pictures and played games. Over the weekend we made it out and went snow tubing. We did manage to have hugs, kisses and heard lots of "I love you," too.<br /><br />And as soon as it began, the snow week was over. Back to school.<br /><br />Oh! And today I officially realized that I am not smarter than a 5th grader. As a matter a fact, I am not smarter than a 3rd grader. The Boy brought home geometry math work that I have not seen in almost 20 years...I never learned difference between an isosceles vs right triangle back then and I still did not know it now. He giggled to me as I asked questions and told me how funny it was he was having to teach me now. He was also really proud of himself--FINALLY knowing something his Mom did not. <br /><br />Thank goodness I teach preschool. Otherwise Iwould tell all parents to keep their kids far, far away from me.Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-78621658968995266952010-02-11T08:58:00.000-08:002010-02-11T09:08:43.701-08:00Ways in which I will not win Mother of the Year any time soon...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYT8jFR6ATctjpsRHvwL4kD2ovGpFXryEp_ulqQFGDViV2e9CLx-Ay0DOk2f9Lp3SOlhcaaWzT1D7uZhduTfdHppwbtYqPhVHgBC1wTJzhabdiEBZIrVVJ7BxW-iS9Tqe4biciUETvwdYM/s1600-h/DSC_0339.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437033336700360946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYT8jFR6ATctjpsRHvwL4kD2ovGpFXryEp_ulqQFGDViV2e9CLx-Ay0DOk2f9Lp3SOlhcaaWzT1D7uZhduTfdHppwbtYqPhVHgBC1wTJzhabdiEBZIrVVJ7BxW-iS9Tqe4biciUETvwdYM/s320/DSC_0339.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>1. When school was cancelled for snow, I had a Valentine's cake that was now rendered useless since the party was going to be rescheduled. We ate it for breakfast. It was my Bill Cosby moment.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>2. Falling asleep for 2 hours while my children are watching <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">tv</span>. I only woke up because The Boy walked in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">announcing</span> he was "bored" from watching so much <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">tv</span>.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>3. Letting The Girl wear her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">pjs</span> until <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">well</span> after lunch almost any day we are home.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>4. Allowing bedrooms to look like a grand war was staged in them....the toys exploded...the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">causalities</span> were too high to count. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>5. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Encouraging</span> cooperative play through video games...as long as they are playing nice and not crying, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">whining</span>, hitting, spitting, or tantrum throwing, they can play for as long as they want.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>6. Letting The Boy wear short sleeve on 20 degree days simply because he dressed himself and it managed to match. He can wear a jacket if we go out.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>7. Finding out (after the fact) that my children have taken plastic coke bottles, play dough and PUSH PINS and made rather impressive space ships.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>8. Applauding that decision by taking pictures and posting on my blog.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwEta-jKM7YliOXKwrCOyXriX_gm-FzS7ErFWM9TO3O0tA_i3ZAUCGKXCzAjO4TcTlYp9QJyJ5vBNdtDN_HtsXGxJUCZtIuiWyih2VFb-fcNOROySSoQzTYG7VR6mSgVlOm0Trrtst5aj/s1600-h/DSC_0341.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437033567379342290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwEta-jKM7YliOXKwrCOyXriX_gm-FzS7ErFWM9TO3O0tA_i3ZAUCGKXCzAjO4TcTlYp9QJyJ5vBNdtDN_HtsXGxJUCZtIuiWyih2VFb-fcNOROySSoQzTYG7VR6mSgVlOm0Trrtst5aj/s320/DSC_0341.JPG" /></a><br /><div></div>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-34261117606815127112010-02-01T10:11:00.000-08:002010-02-01T10:53:21.900-08:00Snow bound projects<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjamyjrhFwNiI8R-UaDUgLqeHHHacrBbzX3mQR0KiuBaQJoUcKZ5agJbAkUUPYqmAN2CXac-ouWvw8WBbBW9b2UUUpPBqiOZ05lV5i1bZagpDY95QLQo4GIrOWWrGcdGSPj8RkmSIuJIvgq/s1600-h/DSC_0222.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433345845235813826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjamyjrhFwNiI8R-UaDUgLqeHHHacrBbzX3mQR0KiuBaQJoUcKZ5agJbAkUUPYqmAN2CXac-ouWvw8WBbBW9b2UUUpPBqiOZ05lV5i1bZagpDY95QLQo4GIrOWWrGcdGSPj8RkmSIuJIvgq/s320/DSC_0222.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>I have been taking advantage of the snow days. There has been a LOT of sitting around, starring at tv. There has been dancing and singing. There has been minimal cooking, but yet, still lots of dirty dishes. I have been cleaning a bit too. Every single shelf and drawer in my kitchen has been cleaned out in a early wish-it-was-spring cleaning sweep. </div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Case in point: my spice/baking shelf. Check. It. Out.</em></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433342542434911666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_DQepHb8XkTlgvL0amM8r4uZMmdcjegrcRthaUQGxeQOy-GKdn4Nf4qHj6zII_he3fnlIxSQlK9VTITJPz_RpejzLpgOHdHMEjzlmwHW6P5e3X2Pki7K9CYF1x4Rt4LdBDUjEbF5Hd-rE/s320/DSC_0316.JPG" /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Yeah, don't hate me.</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>It will only look like that for a few weeks anyway.</em> </div><br /><br /><div>And here is my canned goods area, all purged of cans dating as far back as 2005. </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5ZRG8TGb-F7u2HQ5qvj4EYGv-WwnlATi2F7dA2PEXjKKReQE4QsAznBYPi9oLx_xMRjDOhsWxYPuJhLqQYp09uCe_KqE0Rpc6ePOUbIh_ZJ7xOQwTqRpOVpfMZYvuunBLUN-y9MEoIGi/s1600-h/DSC_0317.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433343512318869282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5ZRG8TGb-F7u2HQ5qvj4EYGv-WwnlATi2F7dA2PEXjKKReQE4QsAznBYPi9oLx_xMRjDOhsWxYPuJhLqQYp09uCe_KqE0Rpc6ePOUbIh_ZJ7xOQwTqRpOVpfMZYvuunBLUN-y9MEoIGi/s320/DSC_0317.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br />What else....<br /><br /><div>There has been Internet surfing and online shopping. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>(Lands End has a great outlet area on their website, by the way.) </div><br /><br /><div>There has been junk food eating and sleeping in. </div><br /><br /><div>There has also been snowman making and wet clothes drying.</div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEhO2-P7CbwPhJ0aZB_q0WWmxP9dP_eymz0SQ2OUQ5hvtWiN7Ax3AMXK9KdqlsdbCcnWL51SQh4nZG2ali3BdZTTJHRk4LuTncZZKIdkSd-f1ormYhTF627_l0ZolFKioCbY78m336IrW/s1600-h/DSC_0290.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433344265151788450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEhO2-P7CbwPhJ0aZB_q0WWmxP9dP_eymz0SQ2OUQ5hvtWiN7Ax3AMXK9KdqlsdbCcnWL51SQh4nZG2ali3BdZTTJHRk4LuTncZZKIdkSd-f1ormYhTF627_l0ZolFKioCbY78m336IrW/s320/DSC_0290.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>But when all else fails, a good craft can pass the time. Here was an easy one I made. </div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElXBnBS5nBrswOSMxsVPot-xcuk2yiTrCgdNDAowmyvxEt_c7wMcDr7l49W41NiKnDqIfZXoTBItG0k5G2QweJzeS9cUEQjr0lvYJPgEM5C0xzqsLpjKAbPexnkPUnEHCSctdUmDM4d7U/s1600-h/DSC_0318.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433344737796738402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElXBnBS5nBrswOSMxsVPot-xcuk2yiTrCgdNDAowmyvxEt_c7wMcDr7l49W41NiKnDqIfZXoTBItG0k5G2QweJzeS9cUEQjr0lvYJPgEM5C0xzqsLpjKAbPexnkPUnEHCSctdUmDM4d7U/s320/DSC_0318.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I was inspired by a picture in the Pottery Barn catalog.</div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXYlUC6nFmRM8sTlCyBnb_Wg3HQ3E7XzYWzmBQIOrH9FdSHH_-2klyazWy4m2dMRXXSCuCEmIZ0f_qlQ0RfvrM8RfoMOXj3BffwEgXKzDHTiUcl1_sOmWBZVnyUD6fDEmR2ZKPh2n5gu3/s1600-h/PB+spoons.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 107px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433348852107320850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXYlUC6nFmRM8sTlCyBnb_Wg3HQ3E7XzYWzmBQIOrH9FdSHH_-2klyazWy4m2dMRXXSCuCEmIZ0f_qlQ0RfvrM8RfoMOXj3BffwEgXKzDHTiUcl1_sOmWBZVnyUD6fDEmR2ZKPh2n5gu3/s320/PB+spoons.jpg" /></a><br /><br />This isn't really <em>the</em> picture, but the closest one I could find on the website. See the bottle with the spoons? Love.<br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>And it just so happens that in the back of my pantry was a old paper bag full of silver spoons and forks from my great grandmother. And they were just begging to come out and play. </div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div>I already had a couple of cool containers from the after Christmas Target sale. I just scuffed up the shiny lids a bit with sandpaper to make them look more rustic.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfZ5BwS8eIR7LqKUB7uWjZodyIKkKp7gLnWXUX4DDpUWOdVc_1-OICUxHBRHstqykWIhQ4EVwrmqizsAmTjdlxXlq49JCXsg8Qq5ByB7gNhyJtwemsJrZOx9nIeW577YKeYWFaJu5IkIU/s1600-h/DSC_0320.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433345169333084034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfZ5BwS8eIR7LqKUB7uWjZodyIKkKp7gLnWXUX4DDpUWOdVc_1-OICUxHBRHstqykWIhQ4EVwrmqizsAmTjdlxXlq49JCXsg8Qq5ByB7gNhyJtwemsJrZOx9nIeW577YKeYWFaJu5IkIU/s320/DSC_0320.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>The chalkboard label is courtesy of the Dollar Store. (note: bad cursive writing is courtesy of my 4th grade teacher. ) These are wall stickers with a chalk board surface. </div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9FUMCNPmPdWP2cpnH4zBxRVyxd9TvUnXjvWWXBPIQFsm9tqpZw8ZlLg6QOs_iuCNBl6lzKPXzibkHZvbJS1ossnORF2UXVqX4U2qWY-0eABxAzJpmhyphenhyphenGUNtvVT27y8mWHmb8PxoJ7PCE/s1600-h/DSC_0321.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433345545631308994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9FUMCNPmPdWP2cpnH4zBxRVyxd9TvUnXjvWWXBPIQFsm9tqpZw8ZlLg6QOs_iuCNBl6lzKPXzibkHZvbJS1ossnORF2UXVqX4U2qWY-0eABxAzJpmhyphenhyphenGUNtvVT27y8mWHmb8PxoJ7PCE/s320/DSC_0321.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Simply cut into whatever size/shape you want and presto chango! (Pardon the mess on the table. My kids were water coloring at the same time.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZqCweFV4zvrvTQIYmqPy7x-DD-4hwWqqJmDjC9OeoTjFf7hgFqjG5_2f-5FfPHgVsi6RO7EjJLelS3BSgA43uXEQUZj__qsXDqvoWb9LTEe3-9yLt07ouWPtDZOnyv0pu6afAu-eN7rD/s1600-h/DSC_0322.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433346488543378866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZqCweFV4zvrvTQIYmqPy7x-DD-4hwWqqJmDjC9OeoTjFf7hgFqjG5_2f-5FfPHgVsi6RO7EjJLelS3BSgA43uXEQUZj__qsXDqvoWb9LTEe3-9yLt07ouWPtDZOnyv0pu6afAu-eN7rD/s320/DSC_0322.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>They look right at home in my grandmother's hutch.</em></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>What have you been doing on snow days to pass the time? </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-63435783806368761332010-01-30T06:24:00.000-08:002010-01-30T11:43:08.272-08:00And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tntYt_WMy0sNXuYovKLAwd8QthBUDJ2gdYa4kCyvXbPsUJW8x4NmGWd0uKQF3416e_0NxaHiwglzjaHtkjNivXZS_X_2dOUVh6_02Txdj2xwpoo6Uz_1AYkMCz6S93E39sUXWco-OcPR/s1600-h/DSC_0257.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432619594628402482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tntYt_WMy0sNXuYovKLAwd8QthBUDJ2gdYa4kCyvXbPsUJW8x4NmGWd0uKQF3416e_0NxaHiwglzjaHtkjNivXZS_X_2dOUVh6_02Txdj2xwpoo6Uz_1AYkMCz6S93E39sUXWco-OcPR/s320/DSC_0257.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Snow kinda gets on my nerves. I mean, sure it's pretty and all. I enjoy making snowmen, snow angels and snowballs like any other person. But it keeps me trapped in my house. It makes me cold--I mean really, really cold. It attaches to my children's shoes, making large, slippery, filthy puddles everywhere. Under any other circumstance something keeping me prisoner in my house and forcing me to clean over and over again while shivering from hypothermia setting in would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. </div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><div>All I can think of is <em>The Shining</em>. Thank goodness my garage is a hot mess and I can't reach my ax.</div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinYKVPPw1_yRtxFVzfTZ5u0_FksDLeOQXQRDHPPxfnCiE4y6liF3vq7GEGDubueSFcasMVuIFwHWTT1eealzKtUdOsAhqWkzFEprKiZ5z8pr_zZpP1_idd-fWJKghwdBWd-MsmVHEQGm1g/s1600-h/The_shining_heres_johnny.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 202px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432542484340302338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinYKVPPw1_yRtxFVzfTZ5u0_FksDLeOQXQRDHPPxfnCiE4y6liF3vq7GEGDubueSFcasMVuIFwHWTT1eealzKtUdOsAhqWkzFEprKiZ5z8pr_zZpP1_idd-fWJKghwdBWd-MsmVHEQGm1g/s320/The_shining_heres_johnny.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>I do have plans though. A couple of projects I hope to tackle this weekend.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I'll keep you updated. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Unless I am at the psychiatric hospital. I am pretty sure they don't have an Internet connection there. </div></div>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-2668835159634319352010-01-29T12:52:00.001-08:002010-01-29T13:08:13.397-08:00My badOK I have totally, completely, utterly, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">embarrassingly</span> been avoiding, ignoring, forgetting, shunning this blog. Why? Well, life since July has been...strange. <br /><br />I want to come back--if you will have me. I know that I am a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">pitiful</span> excuse of a blogger...a sham, really. But I promise, if you give me another chance, I will do my best to pour my heart out again and again for your amusement. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">solemnly</span> swear to laugh at myself and encourage you to do so. To share my successes AND my failures.<br /><br />Well, isn't that typical. In the middle of my heartfelt, gut wrenching begging I was interrupted by The Girl screaming. Apparently she had hurt her foot (for the second time today) by stepping on something she should not. No worries--shrugging it off--getting back to writing. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ok</span> where was I?<br /><br />Phone call. Yeah. I can't remember what I was going to say. I have lost the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">mojo</span>. OK Oprah is now on. It is her last season. And her birthday episode... Distraction is evil. Now I am giving in...Oprah just got cute new puppies. Someone stop me. <br /><br />I love you guys, please say you will have me back. Call me. Seriously. '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">kay</span>?Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-30153445889661811692009-07-21T11:21:00.000-07:002009-07-21T11:39:19.160-07:00My wishWith a thoughtful look, The Girls says to me, "When I grow up, I want to be a pig." When I asked her why she only said, "I like pigs!" Like I was ridiculous for even asking.<br /><br />I did not have the heart to explain to her that is not how life works. That through a series of compromises and regrets we rarely end up in the job we set out to do. And that adults usually settle, content, but still not living the life they pictured as a child. I could not tell her that because I still want my kids to feel the magic. I <em>want</em> my kids to still believe that catching fireflies and freezing them can make good money. That one day they could grow up and fly a plane or walk on the ceiling or beat up the bad guys with laser guns. I <em>want</em> them to believe there is some magical tiny lady who actually wants to pay high dollar for their tiny baby teeth. I <em>adore </em>the fact they light up when they find a penny and imagine the outrageously priced toy they can now get with it. I don't want them to loose that childhood innocence just yet. If we can just hold on a little bit longer...because once it is gone, you can never quite get it back. <br /><br />So, if my daughter wants to be a pig when she grows up, that is all right by me. <br /><br />Heck, she can be the next Queen of Sheba if she wants.<br /><br />Just so long as she always dares to dream and believe in the magic of childhood...Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-12059670513124680392009-03-25T19:37:00.000-07:002009-03-25T20:08:10.857-07:00Breastfeeding is hard*Warning* This is not for the faint at heart.<br /><br />Fine, don't say I didn't warn you.<br /><br />Breastfeeding is hard. I know it seems like the most natural thing--what our bodies are made to do. You make milk, you stick a baby on there, how complicated can it be? Unless you have done it , you have no idea. It sucks! Your breasts--they have a mind of their own, ok? They swell up; they ache; they get rock hard (and I mean rock hard); they have veins popping out of them like they turned into the Incredible Hulk; they freaking L.E.A.K. when you least expect it, they can shoot milk across the room even though your sweet baby is sitting in your lap, mouth agape in front of you (and more than once, milk shot right into my baby's eyes). Did I mention your nipples stretch out like an inch or more thanks to the sucking action of the baby and/or your freakish breast pump. And lest us not forget, they itch like a word that rhymes with witch. <br /><br />Breastfeeding is hard.<br /><br />Even if your baby takes to feeding like a champ, it is hard. But those whose babies do not have a great latch (like my first) or prefer the bottle (like my second) have extra challenges.<br /><br />Breastfeeding requires nerves of steel.<br /><br />I have a friend who is working night and day to breastfeed her child as I type. I have another friend who breastfed her baby until he was 3. I have yet anther friend who thought nothing of wiping her nipply out anytime, any place, without shield to feed her baby. I was never that strong.<br /><br />I did have my breast pump--a double pump to speed up the process. Boy, that was interesting. And a bit painful. And freaky to see since everything was in clear plastic. But nothing I could not live with knowing about myself. <br /><br />Eventually, my babies weaned. My breast pads were tossed in the trash. My pump--sold on ebay to the highest bidder. It was just a memory. But today I had a run in with a woman who reminded me how hard breastfeeding can be.<br /><br />I ate Mexican for lunch. A refried bean taco salad to be exact. And by the time I was at preschool to pick up The Girl, it hit me. I took off for the potty like nobody's business. Now, our preschool has a really nice potty. It is big, it is clean and it has--get this--a couch! Right there in the bathroom! No kidding. It also has a really nice, curtained off area for nursing moms--complete with rocking chairs. That bathroom is nicer than the break room at most companies. It is set up for quiet, peaceful, reflection. And here I came.<br /><br />So, I burst in and run to the potty and realize that there is a woman who has set up her breast pump and is ready to pump. But I cannot wait--I have to go. So, I do what any human being would do and I go. From my stall I can hear the pump turning on. My mind takes me back to those days. The pump is not comfortable, but is a tool. When it is on, it literally pulls your nipple and sucks out the milk out of your body. And it feels about like it sounds. The storage bags even come with a slot to hold your baby's picture so that you can "let down" your milk easier without your baby with you. I never had to use it. I always pumped at home. But here is this Mom--no baby--at work, pumping. And here I am, in the stall close by, making horrible noises and smells. (Remember, not for the faint at heart here.) I tried to hold it in people. I really did. I even thought about apologizing from the stall, but could not figure out how to say that and make us both not feel more uncomfortable than we already did. I knew she was trying to relax and get into that zone--the milk zone. And me and my poop had interfered. The farts did not help. *sigh*<br /><br />Needless to say, I cleaned up asap and left as fast as I had entered, all the while silently apologizing for the scent stamp I had left behind.<br /><br />Like I said, breastfeeding is hard--really hard. You have to do all sort of things you never in your life imagined you would do, like have a machine clamped to you left breast in a public restroom while strangers were relieving themselves. But you do it. Cause that is what being a parent is all about.Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-29055360180909687362009-03-17T07:35:00.000-07:002009-03-17T08:20:49.902-07:00A wee wish for you....<p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWiF1-JH3dWYYtxvRg71Xo5M9JrRJxxblcJ7d5Y1OiixilRYL9Nzwz93VlpyRUEFuG1xz9KS8QCj0CthANhHixa-f4EAwpKAE_-yQl3NKmzsZix6jgsm0NlAA8V87KViCNE3MT-bq6MjR/s1600-h/St+Patty%27s.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314165638265309570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 104px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 120px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWiF1-JH3dWYYtxvRg71Xo5M9JrRJxxblcJ7d5Y1OiixilRYL9Nzwz93VlpyRUEFuG1xz9KS8QCj0CthANhHixa-f4EAwpKAE_-yQl3NKmzsZix6jgsm0NlAA8V87KViCNE3MT-bq6MjR/s320/St+Patty%27s.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div align="center">Happy St. Patrick's Day!<br /></div><div align="left">We are celebrating by, of course, wearing green (I hate getting pinched--don't you?) The in laws went to Ireland last year and brought back Irish t-shirts, so the kids are getting to wear them today. I am desperately trying to figure out how much of their food I can die green. The preschool I used to work at always had green milk all day on St. Patty's which was super fun, but a bit gross. I am phobic about drinking bad milk. If I ever did drink bad milk, I am not sure I could ever fully recover. But the centerpiece of our festivities is the leprechaun trap. Yes, we are going to try and catch ourselves a little elfin magic! </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFscNh08RoLHBCzjZN1vqLi0aO4etkuVxuyYhPqzPMGJ5q0nljFCYzYL2NK9AoBhZMzvCEHGaUN1IpUadwVO_H-uBsXbN7GMQTYD48yrL-BPy0n5T7A-gKTDRErF1_VGvzcyQ7RxuKFcX7/s1600-h/DSC_5506.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314172659830255394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 225px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 168px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFscNh08RoLHBCzjZN1vqLi0aO4etkuVxuyYhPqzPMGJ5q0nljFCYzYL2NK9AoBhZMzvCEHGaUN1IpUadwVO_H-uBsXbN7GMQTYD48yrL-BPy0n5T7A-gKTDRErF1_VGvzcyQ7RxuKFcX7/s320/DSC_5506.JPG" border="0" /></a>As I type, The Girl is painting a shoe box green--the preferred color of the leprechaun.</div><br /><br /><div align="left"><br /><br /></div><p> </p><p> </p><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2QZlGsqveyxhRmKnJalt5ebrZSL6KecnQLLMTmBfpdKP0jXT_v5OeP0fowz455he8DfQtFUFAYKicBpay74O2rwRCSTZzYD-2FpmmdvTANVOmCLz7F7qzv4FuDrrzYgbYk-XJWWQvPnc/s1600-h/DSC_5508.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314173426055958226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2QZlGsqveyxhRmKnJalt5ebrZSL6KecnQLLMTmBfpdKP0jXT_v5OeP0fowz455he8DfQtFUFAYKicBpay74O2rwRCSTZzYD-2FpmmdvTANVOmCLz7F7qzv4FuDrrzYgbYk-XJWWQvPnc/s320/DSC_5508.JPG" border="0" /></a>Here she is beating the beejeebus of out the brush. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Once the paint dries, we will decorate it with these green flower stickers. We even made fool's gold. A little enticement for the wee sprite made from contact paper and gold glitter. He won't know until it is too late!</div><br /><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p>When school lets out, we will have The Boy join in by going on a clover hunt. We will stuff all of these goodies into the little leprechaun "house" which will be propped up by a stick. Then lights out. When the little man shows and goes all Stingy from Lazy Town up in here, he will bump into the stick, thus, trapping him in our secret trap. At least that is the theory. We will see how it pans out tonight. Until then.....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RcgcbAwRDZxk98FtnZShXnvQloe6KupBsTXqH8EBy7Im5FPLFF-NEBYwhqZ8xG6xs0eqHWvKcyEJij22auArv5wfZb6yKqM_tfmqmKEod2jKpyyZs-7uQa2FGd2mhiRz0UFi5JSwga5P/s1600-h/photo_lg_ireland.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314173437663339858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 219px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 209px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RcgcbAwRDZxk98FtnZShXnvQloe6KupBsTXqH8EBy7Im5FPLFF-NEBYwhqZ8xG6xs0eqHWvKcyEJij22auArv5wfZb6yKqM_tfmqmKEod2jKpyyZs-7uQa2FGd2mhiRz0UFi5JSwga5P/s320/photo_lg_ireland.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">May God give you...</div><div align="left">For every storm, a rainbow,</div><div align="left">For every tear, a smile,</div><div align="left">For every care, a promise,<br />And a blessing in each trial.</div><div align="left">For every problem life sends,</div><div align="left">A faithful friend to share,</div><div align="left">For every sigh, a sweet song,</div><div align="left">And an answer for each prayer.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-29520624933369015212009-03-11T15:41:00.000-07:002009-03-11T16:09:13.498-07:00We interrupt this program<div align="center"><span > To bring you funny animal pictures I have recently taken.</span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">The Hiding Cow. AKA Incownitio</div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312068798756666914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmykm4fqOoBiRVeYiSxZPVGZxLseJn_MaQPckVyCMBIvBpVHQigzouDL4gQtPGykT1BpmGL8x7m-lMRgNV851PdhRENu0wjJP2I4Y0gU314nr5d4m2zKvPJbsMSE8PsK8IVy0_XBWsWN5z/s320/DSC_5499.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Does this make me look fat? Cause I feel like it makes me look fat.</div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312068802073599602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZzJcvX6yhK9Gk39GiKgsBZRtPl5g0iXVCnq8_p0H3416exxcQv9E3KqTCyzJ31_e-sRTgTE5Vafet_4IubRI_6iFwE6FZzeu5K4fajUm3fZgS31L37qYwbIojA5ZLTqcK4LvBz_lx-wc/s320/DSC_5074.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just does not belong.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312068133416596658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8rrHJ4un12VIKQ8HoEGcoYKpFYkABmNzTeVwjTz_RaznOhI9rwTHDSHcmo1AMNffXkGCipTqGtzMyD60fybifGyQmGlC3u3EX7-Gc7CNXGQSMZy_Sq0DdMBF-9AFU2J7p0LGV3n-eQZr/s320/DSC_4710.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"><br />Oh, Hi.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312068130296644738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzYnw-Q9jXkK7SeXwTo5Zi56rIa2cT8eObeCE3A25tEDGj0Z-t9xCbd4wLmA609H8WQT5l2rGHijc1F2eG1SZ4gmPceKBlMrQwsE54OYtiBVcyQfaYCXdsaVmsRUKOdliVxTKScRwLwfb5/s320/DSC_4726.JPG" border="0" /><br /></p>You may now return to your regularly scheduled program. This has been a RHSC presentation.<br /><div></div>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-79880202939023724732009-03-06T13:09:00.000-08:002009-03-06T13:51:20.995-08:00Beauty is in the Details<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKyc8E0ilsMg4oKFEkG9cGCUMX9OXiZ5NS-cqjWMU6fWINXJ2JtiVZKt8upn0ZWVynGoj2N52AidTy5IdJKnMa4gGW09zEYb_6rNl94PsRdCWSS0FIDEHjLto7V6Q2GdHjTn07R3YWC0d/s1600-h/Beautiful+LIfe.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310191618007900290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 160px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKyc8E0ilsMg4oKFEkG9cGCUMX9OXiZ5NS-cqjWMU6fWINXJ2JtiVZKt8upn0ZWVynGoj2N52AidTy5IdJKnMa4gGW09zEYb_6rNl94PsRdCWSS0FIDEHjLto7V6Q2GdHjTn07R3YWC0d/s320/Beautiful+LIfe.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I have decided to participate in the Beautiful Life by <a href="http://theinspiredroom.net/">The Inspired Room.</a> She has been <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">talking</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">about</span> finding beauty in the details and when I was thinking <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">about</span> what I would post, I immediately realized, I had the perfect example. Let me explain.<br /><br />This is my house. </div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310187973569511570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWCJnFW8TEuT-7E-mZnWn5Vk6nzZ67AQtDIiE3s78eQAGgX7QulzWXAQBbeofEZVWdSkTB5lp3yCxuqe4nGIz7Jugk4E37IWGcCMyhnbASrF6Znq46ksSp81rgJQ5hjFfqMqEnuNCMIeZ/s320/DSC_2768.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><p>I don't have a large house in a really fancy suburb. It is a 1974 split level cookie cutter house that we are slowly modernizing. But still, it is nothing about it that is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">going</span> to command your attention and make you say "Look at that house!" My yard is full of crab grass and mud. My driveway is cracked. My roof is missing shingles. I forgot to put out mulch last year and I have weeds in my garden. But I promise you, the house is full of details. </p><p></p><br /><p>I love the way the sun hits it in the afternoon.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310192510156997474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEi23pbzIB2ds7u8vCJ9KqB9XdTV6Gpu1FOrHrNthyphenhyphenM9JGrbbUCNTN5Q8bVmFou54CSW5fPmsoi6jNRKngGrMNg8-YbVbE8TJ5V0juuLUydXT9PMO6zhcShzVF2JYoPNlbVyeMpDGPG5UN/s320/DSC_2769.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p></p><p>I love that my kids can ride their bikes on the road.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310187981568189922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6vPM5ooH22InFFF4OjAeh8wPlpclTozPf3W6IRnyqflkX7-nwc2jb6o4YvvvsXEWrvOLNzScJX2iY-RBX6EUbCTIJrdFTCcWIwqF-KhDIJkKVm8aqZr7ItGVFIvOXkXX82vAPg2yfnezh/s320/DSC_2743.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />I love the trees that surround the house--old and rugged.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310189089945231042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpm3yBMM4C0YyPUMZK6wMvMKHHIkztMoC9_xaPdMAUdmzbVzNpQwX88yR10a3Z5euAWTsnua6GUOKWIOAO-fbQXenp6QCZpC0pXK3onLumfwL4spuiOfJHdn_3l9q9zvDkiKOG3p8-xRuT/s320/DSC_2706.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />I love the flowers that we plant in the spring and bloom all summer long. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310189093714561874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuEsJ-1bYIHAzSez006q4SJDqL-UpRVncMhL7kdvantmhydqGjoLG2MsJLSj0gR0x7SSrrOZ6Ujqo8mBRxCXlrTkWFgfA-yF0zUS_1munyFW2knyFByHA7nXpS84NrW1OrRhLZgC1-iquW/s320/DSC_2679.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />And the way the snow decorates my garden in the winter.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310190254563700418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTM69p1CWkuuQEk-Syv0ou0tmBkJ5RCUc2Pu3KVUCZ3aqmJv5Pj5knmJE3h8B59IAaqYrU_DQsUQAyeXqIOtzyNkt7JiZvJ86CwZHHrCMRst5xOQ-vG7sWPCC3416nDcbpD3D4ttvfGRmr/s320/DSC_4597.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />Even if the windows are old and in need of a wash, they are lovely when I see the people that live in my house.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310194335484536450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rPPlhrcdK_HPAFCcHlcDUSgGwoJOIV8uEqSexqEWgwKP7WVoYNVEsvZPx2sFYWaVGpIRTteIQCNfhPmukc8JxIB_D5Z08H3gmWjn8bVBampYAaBA2hq73zPDRlAlyONoNY1UC8aOIy_D/s320/DSC_3400.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p>And that is how I try to live a beautiful life.</p>Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8223468999142120940.post-4865896461624159102009-03-02T06:17:00.000-08:002009-03-02T06:20:17.038-08:00'ho and TellThis is what The Girl calls show and tell. Funny, I know...<br /><br />We have been a whole bunch of sick around here for about a week. So, not much to report. Last time I was sickly, I took a 7 month sabbatical from blogging. I promise not to do that this time. :) I think...Desperately Seeking Sanityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04942588312278522279noreply@blogger.com0