tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92878242024-03-23T12:25:20.256-06:00Sandy EggoSo I'm from this little place called San Diego, hence the name of the blog. Never thought I'd have to leave my family and paradise of a home town but here I am in Denver, where good ole Uncle Sam has placed us for now. This blog is part mommy blog, part snarky sarcasm, part artsy fartsy and lots of plain randomness.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.comBlogger348125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-30553178111600998212011-05-30T21:17:00.000-06:002011-05-30T21:17:44.852-06:00Yes, this really is a post about my cat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mozart is an indoor cat. Can't you tell?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Every once in a while, I'll let him out into the backyard, as long as I'm there to make sure he doesn't take off to patrol the neighborhood.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bx84jdGU2eWh6Ez_MhBSMxSyA0iZJTs8TRyPXJnio6drDXb1hlcYUMewMDPuL2DX889P_jO8KNLvbJXIjqpm765pw0a2iQCDACo4g7BHduTrJFkDEN7xxdclztj8AP94Z8M-/s1600/DSC_0073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bx84jdGU2eWh6Ez_MhBSMxSyA0iZJTs8TRyPXJnio6drDXb1hlcYUMewMDPuL2DX889P_jO8KNLvbJXIjqpm765pw0a2iQCDACo4g7BHduTrJFkDEN7xxdclztj8AP94Z8M-/s320/DSC_0073.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div> The only problem with our little routine, is that Mozart has fallen in looove. He is really a smitten kitten. He gets this look in his eye. He paws at the sliding glass door in the morning begging to go outside to see his love. I can see the anticipation building up in his little body. Yes, Mozart has a girlfriend.<br />
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Her name?<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUqXey56A3tLgcZ7M8CUeLredvewspdviVrlf0Rc-U0kKdx8DFq37jJWvpuvs8qVNBmD96PYel42iXOoiZdTllO-HvfDXuNJI2yT4pMgJezhiKJ_PHp-YoU2DAYjKLAOY_4sF/s1600/DSC_0074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUqXey56A3tLgcZ7M8CUeLredvewspdviVrlf0Rc-U0kKdx8DFq37jJWvpuvs8qVNBmD96PYel42iXOoiZdTllO-HvfDXuNJI2yT4pMgJezhiKJ_PHp-YoU2DAYjKLAOY_4sF/s320/DSC_0074.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div> Lilac. He purrs. He pushes the side of his face all over these poor lilac bushes. He kisses them. Whispers sweet nothings (in Catonese of course) and seems irritated if I interrupt his little love fest. I really don't think it will last long. Maybe until October at the most. It's a strange love affair for sure.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLov4oUuf1eW_oqHY_e4W3MUQH-NZFIC9_uPFP-fH3UzkNbHHYiHwzLpl3j1PxiBRDnY51L4CaNQPrLJgdkiXkOzzcxKvvduACuupvHhJXynvaDgJ-qdaCA2a24QIM53bxz_8A/s1600/DSC_0075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLov4oUuf1eW_oqHY_e4W3MUQH-NZFIC9_uPFP-fH3UzkNbHHYiHwzLpl3j1PxiBRDnY51L4CaNQPrLJgdkiXkOzzcxKvvduACuupvHhJXynvaDgJ-qdaCA2a24QIM53bxz_8A/s320/DSC_0075.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div> He did stray for a little bit. He walked the perimeter of the yard, saying hello to the aspen.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xI14phcZaJrTBeKSkpjArOZtA88akZstmHMs3VYM9r7ILvaz6KrzXJhZ01nF_krMfrZPtsnMntpmy16xYkAOOdl-00Aqeg1fRozyzgGQ8LpS8FKNhalhVHkjv_EWpTSNnIP6/s1600/DSC_0076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xI14phcZaJrTBeKSkpjArOZtA88akZstmHMs3VYM9r7ILvaz6KrzXJhZ01nF_krMfrZPtsnMntpmy16xYkAOOdl-00Aqeg1fRozyzgGQ8LpS8FKNhalhVHkjv_EWpTSNnIP6/s320/DSC_0076.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div> Completely ignoring the birds who were warning each other that there was a hairy beast on the ground. Fluttering leaves were much more interesting than the noisy chirps.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6p_LStNmYiM-OObwEGmhP3RQsNqff59Q6OOb8rA1SvW5qszRebz6rflR6PSd1P3A5xsBWPS0u6FwFiweK7RfUxNuaSVQgXvfxbGyOxDza0DDjllz5GngewbG2m8Zkep3DiC4e/s1600/DSC_0079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6p_LStNmYiM-OObwEGmhP3RQsNqff59Q6OOb8rA1SvW5qszRebz6rflR6PSd1P3A5xsBWPS0u6FwFiweK7RfUxNuaSVQgXvfxbGyOxDza0DDjllz5GngewbG2m8Zkep3DiC4e/s320/DSC_0079.JPG" t8="true" width="212" /></a></div>He's obviously not lacking in food hence the lack of attention to his feathered friends. The aspen leaves only held his attention so long. And then he was back to the love of his, uh, season: Lilac.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-54277305891972012872011-05-24T20:14:00.000-06:002011-05-24T20:14:50.757-06:00Bullets and junk<ul><li>It really should be illegal for the weather to contain a '4' in the first number as we approach the end of May.</li>
<li>It should also be illegal for children to be done with school any time before June.</li>
<li>When bullet points 1 & 2 crash together, my tradition of Slurpees on the last day of school go out the window. Except the window was closed and the heat was on in the car because it was cold and rainy.</li>
<li>I finally, for the first time in my life, bought new towels. </li>
<li>I'm wondering if swallows migrate through Colorado because that sure is what all of those crazy birds swooping between cars, searching for moths to eat, look like.</li>
<li>I use, way, too many commas, when I write.</li>
<li>There's so much excitement and craziness going on back home and I really wish I was there.</li>
<li>I miss the ocean. A lot.</li>
<li>I do not miss the rude people of my home state.</li>
<li>I miss plants that don't have the word 'pine' in them.</li>
<li>I am on this weird fascination kick with Mormonism's polygamy thing, watching the show on TLC and reading The 19th Wife.</li>
<li>I could NEVER share my husband.</li>
<li>I should really clean my house.</li>
<li>And clean out my DVR.</li>
<li>The Rapture didn't happen, and I knew it wouldn't <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+24:36&version=NASB">link</a></li>
<li>I had to explain Ska to someone and I'm not even sure I did it correctly</li>
<li>I'm considering taking the carpet off my stairs</li>
<li>My kids fall down and UP the stairs so often I'm not sure that's a smart idea.</li>
<li>I'm super desperate for a girls night out!</li>
</ul>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-28391528822188769292011-05-20T21:26:00.000-06:002011-05-20T21:26:56.125-06:00When it Rains it PoursMy very young (read aged 54) aunt had a mild heart attack yesterday. If that wasn’t bad enough, she is the sole health care provider for her husband, my maternal uncle, who has debilitating rheumatoid arthritis. This guy has had more wrenches thrown in his gears than anyone I know. It’s not just like he gets a sore knuckle when it rains. He has metal plates keeping his head attached to rest of his body. He’s been wheelchair bound for years and been in the hospital more than the mom from 19 kids and counting. He’s an amputee and really can’t do much for himself. Yet he still takes time to work on his art, root for NASCAR and give me a load of crap on my voicemail if I don’t answer my phone right away.<br />
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Being my uncle’s nurse for so long, my aunt takes care of all of his meds. He couldn’t tell you what exactly he takes or when and he’s on a LOT of meds. She worries about that for him. My mom’s concern over her baby brother included medication related issues. I assured her that there were enough competent people around so she wouldn’t worry too much and feel like she HAD to go up there and cancel her very important plans for this weekend.<br />
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And then I got word that my uncle OD’d. He’s ok now, but he took too much of something and was rushed to the hospital. Oh, and we just found out that my aunt has to have triple bypass surgery. My goodness. I have one really awesome thing that’s really my focus right now and two pretty stressful things that are competing for my attention. <br />
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Never ask the question, “What else?” because you probably won’t like the answer.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-806347816060408752011-05-19T18:39:00.000-06:002011-05-19T18:39:08.867-06:00<div style="text-align: center;">This is what the inside of my head looks like right now:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lH2XeOFaffOiCIchsMnD-uHV0wKUMSPaI5qQ2eIz64ryNWLBSiWRQFGdrtRYGRfnLrcJMpfVi0ggdtCety5WVInaOy4-qDcgG3kxKAHldIBbCBv18hpMQamBXuX-_Xanu_zB/s1600/crazy+brain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lH2XeOFaffOiCIchsMnD-uHV0wKUMSPaI5qQ2eIz64ryNWLBSiWRQFGdrtRYGRfnLrcJMpfVi0ggdtCety5WVInaOy4-qDcgG3kxKAHldIBbCBv18hpMQamBXuX-_Xanu_zB/s400/crazy+brain.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div></div>Usually, when my head looks like this, I write. And I have. But not here. Not yet. Hopefully soon. Ish. Maybe. So when I can't write because I'd have to kill you if I did, I put up pictures! Nothing is wrong. Everything is kosher. No worries from those of you who do because God is in control, Halleluja. Man, if I were in control, the whole world would look like the inside of my head and that would just be bad. And messy.<br />
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Woohoo! The PLAN was to then set aside that car payment each month and save up to buy our next car with cash a la Dave Ramsey style. And then God laughed at our plans.<br />
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We had to replace our dishwasher about five months ago which ate into our savings. The "extra" car payment helped us build that back up but we were basically going into debt by borrowing from ourselves. And then Bill blew a tire. And you can't just replace one tire, especially when you fail the <a href="http://www.tirerack.com/tires/tiretech/techpage.jsp?techid=51">Lincoln test</a>. And so we ended up buying four new tires. Throw Christmas and a bunch of birthdays in there and the Ramsey approach to money just flew out the window. Fortunately, the window didn't need replacing so we saved some money there.<br />
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And then it happened. It smelled funny. Like burning rubber. And I had images of my laundry room/master closet/linen closet (they're all one big room) bursting into flames. I've seen my mom take apart appliances because there was no savings and we needed things to work. If she could do it, I could do it. Well, I could make my husband do it. I was sure a belt in my faithful 14 year old washing machine was about to go out. Turns out, there is no belt in my model. It would most likely be the doo-hickey thingie according to the local appliance repair guy. So we took the doo-hickey thingie out and brought it to the store to replace it. Husband puts in new doo-hickey thingie and the washing machine is started. And it smells like a huge tire bonfire. And I'm sure that we're going to die AND lose all of our clothes in a fire or pass out from the horrible smell. We paid $30 to replace that smelly part and were told a new engine would be around $100. But what if we spent $100 now and then something else broke? The agitator? The transmission? The hickey-doo? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFbOnqTxy1Q65M63_cC3x_0ufk8WUoKpv4_TZlFDLFo2t99xfxqQiQgQnHXctJxvWx6W37JcsBl-vGKTQc8Z5eX6VfWmhJOJxI4P7kefwVp_oYKPr2b3AwJ2yX9p-Cr6przF3/s1600/DSC_0222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFbOnqTxy1Q65M63_cC3x_0ufk8WUoKpv4_TZlFDLFo2t99xfxqQiQgQnHXctJxvWx6W37JcsBl-vGKTQc8Z5eX6VfWmhJOJxI4P7kefwVp_oYKPr2b3AwJ2yX9p-Cr6przF3/s320/DSC_0222.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP 1997-2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I'm frugal. I hate to spend large amounts of money if I don't have to. Buuut...we bought this washing machine in 1997. It's been in five homes in five different cities, two different states. Maybe it's time to consider replacing it.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I'm not just frugal, I'm particular. Some may say obsessive. Others may say anal. I say I like to do my research so we get the best in the price range we can afford. I spent three hours researching washing machines and we were able to take home our new workhorse today. Our SUV was big enough to shove that baby back there. What we didn't think about was whether or not the door was wide enough to get the machine in. Oops.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No doors or husbands were injured. We did end up taking it out of the box while it was still in the garage though. Then came the hard part. Bill and I nearly killed ourselves trying to get it up the stairs, but we made it. I don't have any pictures of that but I will say that my hamstrings are screaming at me right now.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are 101 pages of instruction on how to use my new machine. Granted, there are three languages but I had to sit and study and still ended up doing something wrong the first time I washed a load of clothes.</div><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And here she is. My new BFF. The one I will spend many hours with. She is also very particular and only drinks the finest of drinks.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkg5GbM1yRRnAqoMJFlp9CqD3QvOc6QkdUz3axdQiMeeM3agrWXI6ClFLlWydOyHKQ5jq5oy_3C2krWHhYXHR8CGO2_lssWuIWKFkFX0defuKM8I5qv4Zf7lPMXFLjUr6s6RL/s1600/DSC_0227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkg5GbM1yRRnAqoMJFlp9CqD3QvOc6QkdUz3axdQiMeeM3agrWXI6ClFLlWydOyHKQ5jq5oy_3C2krWHhYXHR8CGO2_lssWuIWKFkFX0defuKM8I5qv4Zf7lPMXFLjUr6s6RL/s400/DSC_0227.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXCF17kf1f_BAUW5rwHNST6SQjGHrgu89QlwEfXKIlir30u7OC8k94ifJZrTCZ_2RgAaHdkD9XcOqRa5vu2QyYsEh5lBHrw0-uQsZVvwWO4sGrNTxi5OUWZ2O8xPhOpfjStdT/s1600/DSC_0226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXCF17kf1f_BAUW5rwHNST6SQjGHrgu89QlwEfXKIlir30u7OC8k94ifJZrTCZ_2RgAaHdkD9XcOqRa5vu2QyYsEh5lBHrw0-uQsZVvwWO4sGrNTxi5OUWZ2O8xPhOpfjStdT/s320/DSC_0226.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thankfully I was almost done with my Costco sized bottle of Tide. Now I have to buy this stuff. High maintenance I tell ya.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv394P5NJ5TkZPa5kZkzbaNI_mIQLExc1qMbi2o1TVyPn79ZygIrjxfV_c39aacPur9_JRKWmUi1v0g6j85yVjkoaulcyVu_YRk54wmhCbKsxIrAUbMw2dDlOwWRv7Ougtb-d/s1600/DSC_0228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv394P5NJ5TkZPa5kZkzbaNI_mIQLExc1qMbi2o1TVyPn79ZygIrjxfV_c39aacPur9_JRKWmUi1v0g6j85yVjkoaulcyVu_YRk54wmhCbKsxIrAUbMw2dDlOwWRv7Ougtb-d/s320/DSC_0228.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vO-sgROVxFfqVaejpd_ax7QRaxzwmrBNyrixhmMVaigRl3Fv7fV1f3ddkA-0SS63YB-vtXocfx93zoKxGiiCstvPmYTHttNMZQiVWpGYK3-GGdoaFgw1pTdyMA6iDvP-2afs/s1600/DSC_0230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vO-sgROVxFfqVaejpd_ax7QRaxzwmrBNyrixhmMVaigRl3Fv7fV1f3ddkA-0SS63YB-vtXocfx93zoKxGiiCstvPmYTHttNMZQiVWpGYK3-GGdoaFgw1pTdyMA6iDvP-2afs/s320/DSC_0230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">But, she sings to me. She sings when the power is on and she sings when she's done washing. And I'm singing knowing that everyone will have clean chonies very soon.</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-76331375931418841942011-01-15T18:06:00.001-07:002011-01-15T18:10:28.707-07:00Le ArtisteMy daughter, like most kids, likes to draw. A lot. Any chance she gets at a fresh piece of white paper and her box of markers, she'll take. She'll usually draw your normal scenario: flowers, rainbows, the family cats, a house, etc. Sometimes I'm not really sure how her brain works and she comes up with doozies like this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmVucfyWfgrFW8UT6WiAMUu1xTkygw1ioONUOZpN-eN9h4EzwaZhUZXdiIwR38gE9wCSf3vu00vMD-XMHoKslX5DLcRqzpaMbpHH_New51BZZ-yrC4AdsKbrvdQ_CEROFHLMi/s1600/DSC_0121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmVucfyWfgrFW8UT6WiAMUu1xTkygw1ioONUOZpN-eN9h4EzwaZhUZXdiIwR38gE9wCSf3vu00vMD-XMHoKslX5DLcRqzpaMbpHH_New51BZZ-yrC4AdsKbrvdQ_CEROFHLMi/s400/DSC_0121.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Notice the lighting, shadowing and composition. Notice the use of color and depth. Or don't because this is just a really weird picture created out of the mind of a six year old girl. What the heck is it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(click on picture to see full size)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowcSCvnbxZWXLz2AnO5-L9NstTw70nq_tgJLxO38WvvtLpfRkktt6b_vZUl0uRrWfvdBI-sY625aZfSB-dsGlYx0-GEkUboP8tluTecMDKrLgwNB1fjwCPcChCX6VjLYsW23B/s1600/Leah%2527s+drawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowcSCvnbxZWXLz2AnO5-L9NstTw70nq_tgJLxO38WvvtLpfRkktt6b_vZUl0uRrWfvdBI-sY625aZfSB-dsGlYx0-GEkUboP8tluTecMDKrLgwNB1fjwCPcChCX6VjLYsW23B/s640/Leah%2527s+drawing.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let's explore. We have two sets of stairs in our house. Leah was very clear that these were the stairs DOWN to the basement. Because why would some creepy thing happen on the main floor? Didn't you watch Home Alone? Trey, the one-eyed man child has lifted his diminutive sister above his head and is preparing to devour her. I, with my awesome adaptable legs similar to that funny sheet on tv that only covers the guy from the waist down but covers the girl from the chest down, am obviously NOT happy that my son is misbehaving. Notice the lack of horror on my face. It's more of a "I can't believe you're doing this again after I told you not to" face. Does Leah feel threatened by her huge brother? Not a bit. If anything, he's more concerned with her sneaking up on him and starting a brawl. Is this world too overwhelming for her? She's six. The answer is no. Why did she give me such ugly pants? Maybe she wants me to be happy and is encouraging me to be happy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Or, she just has a twisted mind in that tiny head and I should start saving for therapy NOW.</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-42090475721616410322011-01-01T20:43:00.000-07:002011-01-01T20:43:24.257-07:00WintryIt's been a little cold here lately.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSk1tLDe60a0Zn4C2fTggH5oi7aDolIAFZe0IM61bdAnCenwPeE1sWD08WnLD5A0nAi0hLeCa_6BtY8OMiBEL2KBfvtn8sb2HQp4w4XKSK1mErkZvKV2KNVj2_roAxoVXYBvJ8/s1600/temp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSk1tLDe60a0Zn4C2fTggH5oi7aDolIAFZe0IM61bdAnCenwPeE1sWD08WnLD5A0nAi0hLeCa_6BtY8OMiBEL2KBfvtn8sb2HQp4w4XKSK1mErkZvKV2KNVj2_roAxoVXYBvJ8/s400/temp.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It was even a bit too cold for my adventurous feline to venture too far. He decided the top step on the patio was far enough.</div><div align="left" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFx5AHRWFSoSsUJhk-hX9fAPnSbDnqrrEkvSbhZNTCNe6xq5snEzBV63m78MDrfOakoDrdT6mT_9Rp_ZNuF3-UxMYTdB19dSIGcgU1sjB0RTrFslcOrlvRudTnbsnjL5YI7HQa/s1600/DSC_0119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFx5AHRWFSoSsUJhk-hX9fAPnSbDnqrrEkvSbhZNTCNe6xq5snEzBV63m78MDrfOakoDrdT6mT_9Rp_ZNuF3-UxMYTdB19dSIGcgU1sjB0RTrFslcOrlvRudTnbsnjL5YI7HQa/s320/DSC_0119.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div align="left" style="text-align: center;"></div>What can I say? We Californians aren't too fond of this white stuff.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-6758721938240191922010-12-09T19:33:00.000-07:002010-12-09T19:33:16.272-07:00It really isn't easy being green<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I have hair issues. I've always wanted great hair like this:</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrB8A4K-hgh4hWrTpgMS5xZkFupu06P4HwuO1CZt9ylBfYBQ_QJDslw3BwwRfw8ZLKFGPz4SdoNFiaOPEgnKaE_T5VmsV2LlxsHLyBHi13hAEZJ7_6YRKip0SBPWN9yAFyvYC/s1600/80s-bad-hair1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrB8A4K-hgh4hWrTpgMS5xZkFupu06P4HwuO1CZt9ylBfYBQ_QJDslw3BwwRfw8ZLKFGPz4SdoNFiaOPEgnKaE_T5VmsV2LlxsHLyBHi13hAEZJ7_6YRKip0SBPWN9yAFyvYC/s1600/80s-bad-hair1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So I actually wanted hair like that in about '89 but didn't everyone? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Two problems: </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">1. I'm not blonde</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">2. I didn't know anything about 'product' in the 80s.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My mom was her mother's guinea pig when it came to dyeing and perming and bleaching. There are many old black and white pictures of my mom when she was around 4 or 5 and she's covered in curlers and perm solution or her natural black hair has been peroxided a horrible orange shade. With that kind of emotional scarring, it's not surprising that she has really no interest in the mop upon anyone's head, even if I begged her to learn to french braid or make those ribbon laced barrettes with the beads that were popular back in the day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lZLxWHi9HqQAbhnODHlmYYM1pZPTmfAhGHaKcwqNS_EVv3Up_sLtGtum1wfBny-nmAGGGZNPCheprBUZbNIPEebcQNR3l9siMOSeUHVk8_Q8OD7msZ8V-6o1CA4khnhnzX-W/s1600/RibbonHairClips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lZLxWHi9HqQAbhnODHlmYYM1pZPTmfAhGHaKcwqNS_EVv3Up_sLtGtum1wfBny-nmAGGGZNPCheprBUZbNIPEebcQNR3l9siMOSeUHVk8_Q8OD7msZ8V-6o1CA4khnhnzX-W/s1600/RibbonHairClips.jpg" /></a></div>Nope. I was lucky to have a banana clip and discover Bold Hold on the shelf of my local drug store when I was a teenager. <br />
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As luck would have it (and the hair gods had sympathy on me) I've had FOUR friends in my adult life who have also been professional hair dressers. Whoopee! Now I could get the scoop and ask questions and let them decide what looks good on me.<br />
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For the first time in my life I paid one of my hair dresser friends a lot of money to make my natural chestnut brown hair blonde. Blllloooonde. I actually got a lot of compliments on it. It was a bit weird to get used to it at home and I knew it would be a lot of upkeep (read: money) to keep it that shade of honey yellow so it would be a temporary thing. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQDntd2NODQkg78n3WCOONF5vlxKUBK1yOtvXnNktroMmTA5xpH4BPivPO4P7eeYW1-ldnStL4IBY2qDp7qI_PcMNjqDT2AmVL65FGWItJFHGdqVo9jMKSmdq9SWCsL04pixa/s1600/ball.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQDntd2NODQkg78n3WCOONF5vlxKUBK1yOtvXnNktroMmTA5xpH4BPivPO4P7eeYW1-ldnStL4IBY2qDp7qI_PcMNjqDT2AmVL65FGWItJFHGdqVo9jMKSmdq9SWCsL04pixa/s320/ball.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>Here's a picture of me and my studly husband at this year's Marine Corps ball. Definitely NOT chestnut brown hair on me anymore. It's fun. It's different. I can't wear the same colors that I did as a brunette. <br />
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This week I decided to darken my locks a bit. Just a smidgen to a medium brown with blonde highlights. Once again I paid a lot of money in order to get back to more of a low maintenance 'do. For <em>some</em> reason my hair dresser used an 'ash' on me. And now? My hair is green. Yep. <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Green. </span><span style="color: black;">I'm told it will even out a bit in a few days but I am NOT a happy camper. The woman who did this has her own salon so it's not like she mixed a concoction in her kitchen sink. She employs other colorists! I'm about ready to head to the store for a $10 box of L'Oreal and fix this myself. The joy of beauty standards. Maybe I'll just chalk it up to being the Grinch this year. ;)</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-23194536803635344712010-12-05T19:30:00.000-07:002010-12-05T19:30:12.383-07:00Meh...Ever have that "meh" feeling? Yup, that's about how it is right now. The Christmas tree is up and I actually LET the KIDS put ornaments on. Do you know how much control I gave up for that? A <u>lot</u>. I managed to get some garland strung around the fireplace and the stocking are hung by the chimney with apathetic feelings. The lights are up on the outside of the house thanks to my awesome husband. I've perused lots of decorating blogs with beautiful displays of the season and my normal reaction would be "I've got to run to the store right this second so I can replicate this exact display". This year? "Meh." <br />
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We just got back from San Diego where I was able to see family and friends which was not meh but great. We're preparing to head out to visit Bill's family in a couple weeks. Also not meh but great. My poor little house will be empty for two pretty big holidays and hence my lack of enthusiasm. I hate not being stoked about Christmas. In fact, if I didn't have kids I don't know that I would have decorated at all. How Scrooge am I?? I'm vowing that I'm staying home for Christmas next year and my tiding will be glad and meh will just be a saying on a snarky t-shirt.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-34895458083022579912010-11-19T19:35:00.000-07:002010-11-19T19:35:14.790-07:00Wordless October aka Just for Krista<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3t6oriqq8Lc6pvTXqvh3Bfqp-pc8GAY4dVCt-0s60JEpGYjZjjdAfW02PzGZA_HpsTTruvrIPkfpORp-59smU5ALdR24xQZXUSezW501jWB9CFe3jRJMXmOlxE1-C7T2SIsH/s1600/Wordless+October.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3t6oriqq8Lc6pvTXqvh3Bfqp-pc8GAY4dVCt-0s60JEpGYjZjjdAfW02PzGZA_HpsTTruvrIPkfpORp-59smU5ALdR24xQZXUSezW501jWB9CFe3jRJMXmOlxE1-C7T2SIsH/s640/Wordless+October.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-29766793159910898662010-09-11T19:22:00.000-06:002010-09-11T19:22:22.503-06:00Well...CRAP!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My mom's annual vaca is the beginning of September. Last year she was out here helping us unpack our very first home! This year she came out just to spend some time with me and Bill and the kids. I had a couple of things planned: A trip down to the Garden of the Gods, maybe a tour of the Molly Brown house, a bit of shopping, the usual. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We started our awesome week of vacation with an unofficial not-really-a-block-party get together Sunday evening. A few of our neighbors came over to hang out and grill and talk and eat and talk and make s'mores and maybe have a glass of wine or three. After taking our sweet time to get out of bed the next morning we loaded the car up and traveled 45 minutes south to Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. We'd never been before and didn't really know what to expect. The adults had a great time learning about the area and hiking the trails to look at these natural phenomenons. The kids however, well, were kids. "I'm hooooot. I'm booooored. I can't walk anymoooore. My legs are tiiiiired. Carry meeeee." So, we didn't spend nearly as much time exploring as we'd like but at least we can say we've been.</div></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8RTYQ39otyOGc3UfZhEFwhzsIzrXEltX9I449bB0IPbhBaZqtq1K5tcbyE_-uEeOPbcer-n0mCqbpP_bmT-V4xP0bXn7tdYzKUSN1H7dr4PujO_hwEfRdLtDuM1tRlp0FuVr/s1600/GoGs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8RTYQ39otyOGc3UfZhEFwhzsIzrXEltX9I449bB0IPbhBaZqtq1K5tcbyE_-uEeOPbcer-n0mCqbpP_bmT-V4xP0bXn7tdYzKUSN1H7dr4PujO_hwEfRdLtDuM1tRlp0FuVr/s640/GoGs.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The next day the kids were back in school and my mom and I got some good girl time. We hit the outlet mall and got some Christmas shopping done. Yes, you may hate me now. We were spent, literally and figuratively so we had Bill take us out for dinner. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">By Thursday we were doing pretty well with our shopping, dining out routine. We hit a local restaurant with Bill during his lunch break. For some reason as we were walking out to the parking lot I brought up this phase that Trey is in asking if my mom will still be alive when he reaches adulthood. That led into a conversation about how young my own grandma was when she passed away and how Trey still thinks she'd be 62 today since that's the age she was when she died. My mom and I talked about how she's "timeless" even though she'd be the same age as my grandpa who is 82 now. We went about our day after Bill left to go back to his office. We hit a scrapbooking store and the obligatory Target run for some essentials. While we were perusing the book shelves for reading material for Trey, my mom's cell phone rang. I watched her face drop and listened to her repeat "Oh my god" over and over again. Something has obviously gone wrong.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My uncle had called from California to inform us that my very healthy, able bodied, strong willed an strong muscled grandpa had just died. Complete shock. My mom had just spent the weekend with he and his wife at Pageant of the Masters in Laguna. He'd just gone to the L.A. County fair the day prior. I just saw him in July while I was home. While I was home he told me that he'd been to the doctor and the doctor was in disbelief that 1) he wasn't on any medication and 2) he was as healthy as he was at 82. My grandpa was still getting up in the morning and going around the house repairing things, fixing shingles on the roof, replacing brakes on my aunts car and a number of other things men half his age couldn't do. What happened? We don't know yet. It's still to be determined. It's been twenty years since I've been affected by a death on my side of the family. Right now, it seems surreal, a bit bizarre and very somber. I'll be flying home to be with my family. The family that I will usually see to celebrate a holiday or a birthday. Unfortunately this time it will be to get together to say goodbye to our patriarch.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">God Bless my grandpa. 1928-2010</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-82772138570097669592010-08-13T13:18:00.004-06:002010-08-13T13:37:35.677-06:00Summer Part 2?Wait! I wasn't ready. I'm always ready with plan in hand and calendar filled out but things were just weird this time. Oh...well...I guess there was that time last year when we planned our move around the start time but didn't realize that the start time was in mid-July. Maybe I can just blame the whole thing on Colorado. Yeah, that seems like a good plan to me. That, and then there's the fact that they lied. Who does that?<br /><br /><br /><br />School started on August 9th. But not really. The calendar that was approved for the school year said that the first day was the 9th. And then emails came in telling us that PARENTS were to attend the first day with their kid. Except that the first day wasn't a full day. It was an hour for one kid (an hour?!) and five hours for the other kid. And on the 10th, they had the day off. But the real <em>real</em> first day was the 11th. Still. Who goes to school that early? Especially in the land of perpetual snow. It could very well start snowing next month and <a href="http://ohthosekids.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-thought-it-was-may.html">if you recall</a>, it snowed here three months ago. I think the administration hates sunny warm days at the pool and loves green flourescent lighting and the smell of Pinesol. Well, a big fat raspberry to you calendar planners. School ends in May and it will be too cold or windy or tornado-y or hail-ey or some other 'ey'. It better not be snowy.<br /><br /><br /><br />When my kids go back to school is when I usually feel like I'm celebrating my second new year. A clean slate for the academic/sports/dance year. I start weeding things out of closets and dressers and cupboards. I'm just not there but I really want to be. When does your school year start?Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-15292426242219219822010-07-07T10:20:00.004-06:002010-07-07T10:50:51.259-06:00Summer Part 1<div align="center">I seem to be without words, but I'm certainly not without pictures this summer.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491200919265933810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrH9LAGTVnRkHFLtSHtHVFC-s4G_nApHH0_9OgoweUsmEzm3JCkF6Xiv3ARSgJOIXkgqC995W6jqRB3qh6wUNWScdiSfwn8DYRdmWntyoFmpJxoWdS7Mds8LhKIW88m3dq8b1/s320/DSC_0164.JPG" /></div><div align="center">Firepits in the driveway seem to be the thing to do in the neighborhood. The start of the season included lots of gooey s'mores and kids and dogs. And beer. There always seems to be beer.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491200947914588130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1vDt4yS0tzbC4pq97bhXlu-obwIRyLj9UWa9w87atBJ4xhmU6JJ9eYoXjTtF_f10G8FveHn0U48MFF8O4rd6h1dU0Y9XHrD7rTsuSG9-J2RohWwQcHFbrPsBHULGdwnGW1VM/s320/DSC_0169.JPG" /></div><div align="center">A little girl turned 6 despite my pleas to stay five.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491202119814258530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYrAS2DG6kPj9mKgpaTVIlvWQuh70-hvj6-wbHG6esfsAN_2Mgq1aKIDWvaNI1v1jvy2SJAZDorDKbtMf5SNPYsdGrG0upJEWCrswjq4OzY3hnhizSap2DAKZuCTiTAyBYsZwa/s320/DSC_0212.JPG" /></div><div align="center">A tornado warning threatened to delay our Build a Bear party. Fortunately, weather didn't win this time.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491202124902807506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5OZDfivUx_A2GW37lb9KKusuXKNieL-rNfPYPDQcnxT1jnrCkSjZtLSNdftP3fv_5GR5c5QkAamZ9Z2meZURTnXekQiPB1vUeF4HsMnknj8Nxt9wl_YY7hKlJqOBbG_ewWj9Q/s320/DSC_0241.JPG" /></div><div align="center">That same little girl graduated kindergarten. I did not approve.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491203218924121714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihiP5Le-4M4ZG3ACp5tebJgfwbSV-Hu1ZJK6B6wQsh8CbvMDn9oNnTic9AKyfRmm3GlrxR4TeNu9UP9rkJTkyVKPtyu_S7qofIuYpIzhdgtOy0RSSJw7Ybpth2UgnYSDg5Parz/s320/DSC_0284.JPG" /></div><div align="center">I started a super huge project in Trey's room that will only take me about fifteen years to complete.</div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491203207153219890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdG-aSLZDi-hW1jQO2n8xlUMnTngy8skVWquyi58vUJd0Gsrba3AROvMixla07jyu6JnwxM0CMXDgDnfx9P6X8M8mRasfU6Ifnv3ZujD3uqMPxaciS7QTqHrV3ibjjL4C_paI/s320/DSC_0274.JPG" /></div><div align="center">It was our turn to host the firepit and it started out great. And then, like Denver weather does, it totally changed. The skies opened, the lightning cracked and as you can see from my husband's lovely face he was thrilled to hold a beach umbrella over the pit to save the fire. What a trooper.</div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491202109478780514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlmmGsWmW6jpD8ID1hscE6iGCk0G0oOMVhDuyohV2bZeCbLaAFQFmtTj2aydg2FYNmXAPTDROvX-62goDZmV9XZc7lFCuofEXJ5PoOidqrYX1w-7t6vcSznMfI2Qnuoy0Z0JS/s320/DSC_0207.JPG" /></div><div align="center">Trey started baseball and <em>loves</em> it. If you know my kid, that's huge. A sport he actually likes. Halleluja! He's holding up first while Bill coaches first. And that awesome contraption in the back is our local water park that is uber cheap to get into. </div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491200952372138946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpJQKjsg6hggsbU-Nz10ddmtaWMrCOt5tZkiywnhYev6RilNdrF7M8lMsMM7XTL4IHIh20MhyphenhyphenTHAc-vnYrZWAr3E27fyXWb6cTke0RqVLQDo-1-zHl0fC69zlp3ia3fzJcAdb/s320/DSC_0172.JPG" /></div><div align="center">We had to have the perfect kicks for 4th of July.</div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEll3DZkiSv-BLkuQ-daGIp0APNFnJvjy-rnN2AZBnl5EGbhAslRCKGXBSQM1DfLVY887lyTMmfg6EAD-_peoz7-6mAvjXLQwUuy8jzQ8cM6itP7FNI6IzwtiW3Am0q6qdi67i/s1600/DSC_0331.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491203225174132546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEll3DZkiSv-BLkuQ-daGIp0APNFnJvjy-rnN2AZBnl5EGbhAslRCKGXBSQM1DfLVY887lyTMmfg6EAD-_peoz7-6mAvjXLQwUuy8jzQ8cM6itP7FNI6IzwtiW3Am0q6qdi67i/s320/DSC_0331.JPG" /></a> <div>And that's the end of the beginning chapter to summer. We have a lot more to cram into a few short weeks before the kids go back to school. Seriously, who goes back to school August 9th?? <div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-28943731996656532742010-07-03T09:43:00.002-06:002010-07-03T09:48:42.068-06:00Summer Time BluesI'm at a loss for words. No, nothing tragic has happened. I just don't have any words in me that are dying to come out in story form. My brain has hidden them somewhere in the deep while it continues to produce phrases ad nauseum.<br /><ul><li>wash your hands</li><li>turn off the tv and go outside</li><li>I'll make lunch in a minute</li><li>what do you mean you don't want to play with your sister? Why do you think I had <strong>2</strong> kids?</li><li>you can pour your own cereal</li><li>did you flush?</li><li>get a napkin and clean that up</li><li>put your markers/Legos/Wii remotes/dolls away</li></ul><p>My brain is fried with summer time commands and we've only just begun. There are stories. Somewhere. I hope I find them soon.</p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-52114457295740531192010-05-12T14:37:00.001-06:002010-05-12T14:38:35.301-06:00I thought it was MayIt snowed last night. My yard is covered in a white blanket. This sucks. The end.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-34381565802864424142010-05-11T18:51:00.007-06:002010-05-11T19:37:33.301-06:00Clicking My Heels<div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Last year's birthday I told anyone who would listen that I would NOT be in Denver for my next birthday. I knew that late falling snow is normal in Colorado and I didn't want any part of it. I made good on my promise and got an awesome deal to fly the heck outta Dodge, er, Denver. And to add a pat on the back for my decision, it snowed on the way to the airport. Ugh. GoodBYE Colorado and hello home.</div><br /><div></div><div>In just over two hours I was back to my home sweet San Diego, sniffing the salty air and admiring the leaves on the trees. Those hadn't shown up out here in CO when I left. Just a bunch of bony fingered branches on the naked aspens. Oh California. Thank you for perpetual warmth and palms. I'll admire the chapparal and cacti if need be. I don't care. It wasn't covered in frozen crystals.</div><br /><div></div><div>Our first stop was <a href="http://www.rubios.com/">Rubio's</a>. Love that place. Apparently there is one out here but I haven't seen it yet. When I placed my order, I looked at the guy at the cash register and said, "Did you know it's <em>snowing</em> in Denver right now? Snowing?!" He looked at me like I obviously spend too much time on the weather channel and shook his head 'no'. Extended periods of cold weather make me a bit loopy apparently.</div><br /><div></div><div>About an hour after I got to my mom's I headed back out to join a couple of girlfriends for a wild and crazy girls night out. I mean, WILD. These girls are insane. Oh wait. Nevermind. I don't have friends like that anymore. We hit the stores, we had dinner at a hot spot for prom dinner apparently and saw a movie that wasn't animated. That's wicked awesome in my book. And I got home after curfew. But don't tell my mom, she still doesn't know.</div><br /><div></div><div>The day before my annual celebration of life, my mom and I drove up to L.A. to visit the <a href="http://www.getty.edu/museum/">Getty</a>. I've wanted to go since it opened and it did not disappoint. I haven't been to a museum without at least one child in tow for um, eight and a half years so it was a treat to be able to look and read and talk without potty interruptions or requests for food or hearing, "mooooomm...I'm booorrred".</div><div> </div><div>The Getty has an awesome garden to meander through. I wish I could have walked through this mini labyrinth, but it's in the water. I don't think they let you do that. Buzz kill. The weather was less than perfect. We had a lot of fog that day *BUT* no snow so I was ok with that.</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470186197045687698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwM0V70YPkbhl3hqZzxsef2SnIwawSTY5LIPN28xlfXc9Ziav9EIdYBFGzMUEHBARRWCOUjIa34-aloXNHckdvwns66OffgJVtpN6dQ7ivP_d_Onjz8TPEO8c1JNz2K39BUZoN/s320/April+2010+002.JPG" /></div><div>This is one of the strangest poppies I've seen. When I looked at it from the side in passing, I thought there were bugs inside.</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470183523814847730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvuYdcZfbVZetIHMHrJhyphenhyphen1qkKa8rN8guEBcfdxt-aThUc2EljnVEnjaDMwq4e4fKX39wXVlJUtQwuhc8nvIRVrQryQ7cXaQ4BbTV2OC9Hmwwo4S60k9xReU2XVM28B22YbQaG/s320/April+2010+003.JPG" /></div><div>This is my new bed--The Getty just doesn't know it yet. It was huuuuge. Oh those French. Always over the top.</div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470183532161240018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1W9YNRMsnWoiC2xfz_KpDdWj_hvX2sepg0U7g_DCVmvcOlO9rX9SZmNT44V29VYSUNNLpu77ZO6scX1MmbXa0ZhG9B2SId5W50LWQt2YXmfzQZmTUchIPtrDhZv1gsdO7iZ8/s320/April+2010+013.JPG" /></div><div>My mom and I spent about six hours there. We decided it was time to leave when our brains expanded past the point of capacity. We couldn't learn anymore at that point. With the Santa Monica pier being just a few miles away, we decided to stop before heading back to S.D. I've never been to this pier so I fit in with the rest of the camera toting tourists.</div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 420px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 290px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470185039173281730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0vO0nlM7dbZmy1S-s-I0YTphWs9WJfIyQBkNNWMhPzCX6mm6NTAFNpO31wU8TdXtR_-1WO3_4tBKv_IZd30BUV57sqX7TX3BGVx7DJSLE2Tww7GOsNSXaSg9jY077cY2m22Q/s320/April+2010+031.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470185047883978114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJO585Z3Ed9PHU_iPvRzWCWX1wPrjlqFeiM-AXGXAn0mUqFjZ-uPrjCzB2YiEvlh2E845yuAekI0J3B4ZH8qASPopuFLp-8AVJIrujA-Wfo2dzaiQcm_Wn65mBbBepxS7rwIr/s320/April+2010+035.JPG" /></div><div>Here's where Route 66 officially ends. It's actually over the water and cars are allowed to drive and park on part of the pier which is foreign to me.</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470184404660454146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTr7XoXiKZHQ2L1sZ32HwYe_zc1OLzW79kUwzi9cONJ1S_f4O3JWJgqe5o8r3pXPwxJ_NAj9PoBJC98Ult9MddL6LH3D47-4AF3SMWR8DbIziLHBfxtrhyDq2rhBcF3VaEZFei/s320/April+2010+021.JPG" /></div><div>There's a Bubba Gump restaurant on the pier and these plates just made me laugh. My favorite is the plate with the rainbow. Ha!</div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470185030404247074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0aZ00eE7CnigNFsofGUatSh7XybYBvsGUvuH7dvzt9eYp6LVZ0GYf6UHxKIHk_ml6GEXurcLIL9bvACh1AR1jFktX4fL7y3Cxc2SdnSDMcAEq7nDNqxDTrU04fmgK41tmQvbd/s320/April+2010+030.JPG" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><p>What I learned, or finally realized, on the fifth anniversary of my 29th birthday is that people in my home town are RUDE. I know it's not a California thing because I'm a Californian and all the friends I grew up with are (duh) and we weren't raised that way. People expecting you to move out of the way for them, letting the store doors close on you, not even giving you eye contact when you hold the door for them. It's so annoying. As much as I love home, that is one thing that Denver does well. People here are polite. There are too many stinkin' people in San Diego. They all need to go back to wherever they came from. Oh, sorry, was that rude? Bill and I went to Target here in Colorado. On a Saturday. And it was empty. But I digress.</p><p>It was so great to be around people I have history with. To see familiar faces and have people see me. To recognize and be recognized. I'm still not there out here. I love home and we already have our next homecoming planned. I'll just have to take enough Xanax that I don't care about rude people.</p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-39910885863132421762010-04-20T08:12:00.003-06:002010-04-20T08:36:33.049-06:00Two Inches and a Bit of IgnoranceI went to a new (to me) salon yesterday for a much needed haircut. My hair had been threatening to band together and gnaw itself off, so I knew it was time. For me, it's always awkward to start a new potential client-professional relationship. You don't know one another so you have to go through the dreaded small talk. What happens if you don't like the results? Can you come back and see a different person? What if the person just bugs you? I think about things way too much.<br /><br />So our conversation started. And of course it led to where we moved from. She had been to San Diego a few times so I thought it would be nice to talk about home with someone who was at least a little familiar with the place. And then came the inevitable "it's really expensive to live there, huh?" Ha! If she only knew. The conversation went on about things to do: the beach, the zoo, the Wild Animal Park... She continued with, "I bet your kids have been to SeaWorld a bunch of times." I knew where her head was starting to go. <br /><br />"Actually, no" I said, "It's super expensive so we've only been twice. And the only reason my kids have been to Disneyland is because my in-laws paid for them to go."<br />"Oh really? Doesn't everyone who lives in San Diego have a lot of money?"<br />*blink blink*<br /><br />Yes, and everything in Hollywood is sparkly clean. Everyone in Southern California knows how to surf, is super skinny and drives a convertible. Disneyland is real and the "characters" never go in the back, remove their heads and take a smoke break while talking about which gay bar to hit that night. Yeah, I said it. When we lived in Orange County in a teeny apartment, our neighbor that we shared a balcony and a landing with was Goofy. <em>The</em> Goofy and was as staight as <a href="http://www.panoramio.com/photo/442916">Lombard Street</a>.<br /><br />"Um, actually no. There's a lot of poverty in San Diego as well." And then she looked at me like I was smoking crack. I couldn't believe that someone who has actually been there only saw the pretty parts and not reality. <br /><br />"My friend lives in Escondido. That's a really rich area, huh?"<br />"No, only certain parts, like every city. There's a lot of scary-ghetto parts there, too." But again, she didn't see that part. Which means she went no where near the heart of the city. "The only area that is exclusively wealthy is Rancho Santa Fe." I had to explain where it was and that a few celebrities have homes there. I should have said 'that's where the Heaven's Gate Cult lived' but I didn't.<br /><br />I left feeling like stereotypes are alive and well. All Californians are rich, all Texans wear stetsons and spurs and all New Yorkers are Italian and say things like "fuhgettaboutit".<br /><br />And my haircut is uneven. Next!Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-5039727809484022372010-04-12T22:16:00.002-06:002010-04-12T22:25:24.254-06:00Not What I Wanted to HearHere's the deal. I've been pretty anemic for a while. Like, your body is supposed to store extra iron as a backup when you're not getting enough. It's supposed to be anywhere between 20 and 80. Twenty and eighty what, I'm not sure, but my store number was two. Maybe that would explain why I can take a nap any time of the day and never have any energy to do much of anything. For the first time in, oh, <em>forever,</em> I have a doctor who wanted to know why. So I had some more blood drawn and was ordered to take iron supplements three times a day. My test results came back positive for celiac disease. I never would have guessed. I didn't have any of the typical symptoms other than the anemia. I thought maybe it was a mild case because of the lack of symptoms, but once again my body isn't playing by the rules. Numbers again: under 5 (I don't know 5 what, but stick with me) means no celiac. 5-8 you need more testing but probably have it. 8 and over you have celiac. My number was over 100. Seriously?? I have a serious love of bread, cereal, pasta and all things gluteny. Now I have to change my way of thinking, eating, and apparently digesting. Now I will join the ranks of those irritating people asking what the food has in it because I have "special dietary needs". I give that a big fat raspberry.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-25746716981567100792010-04-12T11:14:00.002-06:002010-04-12T11:17:45.148-06:00So, so sorryMost of you know that I'm very fluent in sarcasm. I mean, it's my spiritual gift and all. And, well, sarcasm and drama are best friends and I guess drama kinda crept into my last post. Although, it will be dramatic for me. Yes, I was supposed to find out what the heck is going on last Thursday BUT when I went in the lady at the desk told me that my appointment was actually for Wednesday. Don't blame me! They called and told me it was Thursday. I've had to lie in wait all stinkin' weekend, too. So today I have an appointment and I'm hoping to hear some news and I WILL (pinky swear) share it with you as soon as I <strike>announce it on TMZ</strike> call my husband and my mom to tell them what's up.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-32140611036492798682010-04-07T20:49:00.003-06:002010-04-07T20:53:40.694-06:00Huh?Tomorrow I may hear some of the saddest news in my adult life. It has the potential to be very <strike>traumatic</strike> inconvenient for me. I may have to change <strike>my entire life</strike> some things in my life. I'm going into this with a <strike>positive</strike> pessimistic attitude because I don't want to hear what has to be said.<br /><br />So as to not get all worked up (you OR me) I'm going to leave it at that and let you all know what the heck I'm talking about when I find out tomorrow.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-8911694242619756372010-04-01T16:36:00.005-06:002010-04-01T16:54:12.998-06:00HopeIt's been a REALLY long winter. It's been six months of on and off snow and for someone like me, that is five months and three weeks too long. At first it was kind of cool, seeing the flakes flitting down. The kids were in awe. I was even a little bit in awe. And then I got over it in a big way. A blizzard? In <em>October</em>? For my entire life, October has meant hot, dry winds and clear blue skies. Not a blizzard. Unless we're talking Dairy Queen. <div><div><br /><div>I'd had my fill. The reports of snow on the news got annoying. I couldn't see my beautiful yard because it was covered with that evil white stuff.</div><div></div><br /><div>Now, spring is starting to show its face and I just want to kiss it! My grass is starting to come back. There are buds of future leaves on my aspen trees. The tulip bulbs have sprouted and I'm elated.</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 550px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455304510595925458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBI2CWNmfN1diE60q7tE_kZBJNNLqga98jWv3C-FYdorqKqu0Dpg795ztj6wHy3Fnn8M7vxdtNT0LIOLa2DSlhaMa2FPs80p94vVdj0n_c6svz4s-jwj8JAP9cSZ_oxCP-LtAt/s320/green.jpg" /></div><div>To give myself a little push and a little color I bought some seeds. Now, if I can actually plant them AND keep them alive, that will be a miracle. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 262px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455304971158750962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNIjf53T3uF9Gvg204Y3EimGFrTn-cdPdjP_EThufgWXEdKDe7iUt1V4vtxMKw7pGKQ2w-BKvI6rs7V_RhYysOg-QpvSBRs-r-HQToPHHg93Tbo0KOgRaRZZq4-ricRKH1gcS/s320/seeds.jpg" /></div></div></div><br />I've never been this happy to see spring. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this Colorado life.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-72491988470434647752010-03-30T21:51:00.003-06:002010-03-30T22:06:20.253-06:00Is it Something I Said?Moving out here to the sticks, I imagined living in a neighborhood full of families similar to mine: husband, wife and a couple of kids. We found that neighborhood and knew it was perfect when no less than six families came over to introduce themselves before we were in the house for 48 hours. This was going to be great! Maybe we could get together over margaritas and watch Grey's Anatomy. Maybe our kids would all play together. Maybe this would be our happily ever after.<br /><br />We got settled, we got into our routines and I started talking to more of the moms at the bus stop in the morning. All of out there in our pj pants, coats, Uggs and mugs of coffee. We're quite a sight. Unshowered, bed head and no make up. We rock. Anyway, one of my new bus stop buddies mentioned that she had just gone through a divorce. She's a year older than I am with four kids. Rough, to say the least.<br /><br />A few weeks later another mom asked if we had any boxes left over from our move because she was trying to clean up her basement. Sure, we have tons of boxes. I thought it was a bit weird that you'd need moving boxes to tidy up a basement, but maybe I'm just crazy about my plastic bins? Turns out she was packing up herself and her daughter and high-tailing it out of the state, leaving her soon to be ex-husband behind. Interesting.<br /><br />Through the grapevine known as the nosy mom club I was informed that my next door neighbor who hasn't taken two seconds to even glance our direction, is also going through the Big D and I don't mean Dallas. What?! No kids this time, but she's my age. Not that people my age don't get divorced, they do, it's just weird. Almost like when you find out your doctor is your age and if you'd gone that route, you'd be <em>a doctor</em>!<br /><br />Ok, so this is getting weird. All of these families live within five houses of me. They were all married when we moved in back in September. Now seven months later we have three that are single? Oh wait...<br /><br />Just today another bus stop mom told me that she was done. Done with what? I assumed she'd meant the counseling she and her husband have been attending. No. She thinks she's done with him. Yeah, you guessed it, she's my age. Is there just something that hits you in your early to mid-thirties to make you feel like it's not worth the fight? There have been times when I didn't even want to be in the same house with my husband, but to not be married? I can't fathom. It's been a lot of hard work but the payoff is so worth it. That and the fact that I made specific promises to him before friends, family and God.<br /><br />Since all of these separations have happened since we joined the neighborhood, it's obviously something to do with me, right? I mean, is there any other logical explanation??Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-80953397225857879112010-03-01T16:59:00.003-07:002010-03-01T17:09:01.743-07:00It just didn't work outI tried. I really did. I've driven past it a couple of times and told myself that I would go in and look at the potential and the life that could be brought back. I wouldn't be judgmental. Even my husband said he'd try it-that he'd thought about going in before I even said anything. So many bloggers have found abandoned jewels there and shined them up nice and pretty for their homes.<br /><br />Today, we ventured in. The parking lot was packed. I took that as a good sign. And then we went in. And it was crowded. And half of the people in the building weren't speaking English. I'm used to that in San Diego, not here. We made a bee line (b-line?) to the home goods section. It was full of *junk*. I tried to look beyond the junk for the sparkling jewel but the whining kids and funny, stale smell and people continuously competing for the tiny aisle space that I was in was too much of a distraction. <br /><br />And so we left. And I felt snobby. The Goodwill and I did not get along. So we took our Pottery Barn tastes and our Target budget elsewhere. Sorry Goodwill. Maybe I'll get over myself and go treasure hunting another day.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-9164203365906897002010-02-12T20:33:00.002-07:002010-02-12T20:51:12.397-07:00Illin'Part of my acclamating process out here on the wrong side of the Rockies is to try and get involved. Involved in anything. Easiest thing to get involved in? Bible studies. I mean, it's a rule that the other girls have to be nice. Right? So on Wednesday I started a Beth Moore study and those of you familiar with Ms. Moore know that she's very in depth. So in depth in fact, that I blamed my headache on her. I don't really ever get headaches and this one lasted all day. Surely it was her fault, right? By Wednesday night I just wanted to shove two O.B.'s up my nose because it just wouldn't stop running. I went to bed relatively early (i.e. before 1am) to try and sleep it off. I woke up with the gift of a MAC truck lodged in my head.<br /><br />This is so unlike me. I don't get sick like this and the last time I was, I think I was pregnant with my 8 year old. And the kicker is, I didn't catch it from one of my <strike>walking petri dishes</strike> kids. They're both perfectly healthy. I sludged through the day, even making a trip to Target for milk (one of the great things about Colorado....Super Targets!!) and drugs. Too bad I had my kids with me and didn't notice the drugs I bought did NOT contain an antihistamine. So for the rest of the day I had that I'm-going-to-sneeze-any-second feeling. It really is quite fun, if you're a glutton for punishment.<br /><br />I'd been bribing my kids during their off track time with a movie in exchange for good behavior. With today being the last official day off, I had to make good on my promise, sick or not. So I divvied up our candy and put it in my movie purse. Oh come on, don't tell me you don't do that. We headed out and sat through 'The Tooth Fairy'. Cute kids movie + sinuses on vacation = minimal interest. But I did it. I didn't whine and complain like I wanted to. I wasn't selfish and claimed I couldn't leave my bed like I wanted to. I didn't even pout because I wasn't willing to buy popcorn I can't taste like I wanted to. On this last day of off track time I celebrated, mouth breathing and all, by making good on my promise and letting my kids have their way. Now it's my turn as I sit on my couch, bundled up and watching the opening ceremony for the Olympics and whining to my husband that I can't breave fru my dose. Go U.S.A.!Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9287824.post-42316872690444807292010-02-08T17:47:00.004-07:002010-02-09T09:51:39.681-07:00Q & AHave you heard people ask those silly questions like, why do you park on a driveway and drive on a parkway? I have my own set of silly questions that have been swimming in my brain. If you can answer them for me, you get a prize*.<br /><br /><br /><br /><ul><br /><li>Why did it take 18 years for my husband's job to completely rock AND why are we so far from friends and family when this kickin' job is finally happening?</li><br /><li>Why were we finally in a place of financial freedom in California (I know, sounds like an oxymoron) and then get moved to Denver where it feels like we're back to where we were two years ago?</li><br /><li>When making knock off Chipotle guacamole, one is instructed to dice a serrano or jalapeno pepper. When you do this, you're supposed to wear food prep gloves or you risk burning your skin. But then you put said peppers into your MOUTH and they eventually end up IN your body. Man, good thing they instructed me to protect my fingers.</li><br /><li>When you find something at Costco that everyone in your family loves, why do they quit stocking it?</li><br /><li>Any time I state, "I will never", it ends up happening. Why?? Examples? I will never date a Marine--married one. I will never drive a Ford--had it for 3 1/2 years. I will never live where I have to shovel snow or endure a tornado--double check...oh Denver you wacky city.</li><br /><li>Why does my eight year old think that he is smarter than I am? Doesn't he know he needs to be at least twelve before he starts that behavior?</li><br /><li>Why does my cat feel the need to yak on whatever is cleanest/most difficult to clean in the house? We've got a ton of wood flooring and tile in the house but apparently my oversized comforter and freshly changed sheets are a better option.</li></ul><p>What are your unanswered questions? I know I'll have more. I've had a LOT of time to think lately with all the not working and the snow and the kids being home. My brain needs a vacation in San Diego.</p><p>*One shiny Gold Star. Woohoo!!</p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139382973742711105noreply@blogger.com2