tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21271151955596738172024-02-19T11:58:48.843-05:00A Military Family BlogJolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.comBlogger256125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-18838786234219635592010-01-05T08:36:00.008-05:002010-01-05T09:06:05.237-05:00We're all good. How are You?So Olivia and I are hanging out in the living room waiting for her bus before the sun is even thinking about coming up <span style="font-style: italic;">if</span> the sun were to show its face today since the white sky is barely distinguishable from streets newly covered from snowfall during the night when it occurs to me,<span style="font-style: italic;"> "I wonder if there's school today?"</span><br /><br />Two-hour delay. Bummer. Not that there's a delay (lots of accidents out there) but that I didn't figure it out before the whole house was awake.<br /><br />I know, I know: I've been scarce around here again. It's not like I haven't been blogging! The other one just garners more of my attention, that's all; I'm a wee-bit obsessed with our finances as of late. But in a good way, I think.<br /><br />It's funny, because before I started<a href="http://budgetsarethenewblack.com/"> the other blog</a> I would keep thinking of things regarding money that I wanted to write about, but it just didn't seem appropriate for this blog, which is why I started another one. I really had no idea how much thought I could give to finances until I started writing about them. Apparently, I have quite a bit to say!<br /><br />Unfortunately, it takes quite a bit of my free time to write about it -- and then some, if I'm to be honest. (You probably wouldn't want to stop by about now and make use of my bathroom -- this blog hasn't been the only thing left by the wayside.)<br /><br />In the meantime, we have been (trying) to get ready for John's deployment, which is imminent. I'm not supposed to say exactly when (<span style="font-style: italic;">"opsec</span>, people!") (John's words) but it doesn't help that "They" can't seem to figure out when, either. His flight time changed a couple of times before they figured out that they were getting him mixed up with <span style="font-style: italic;">another</span> guy deploying from base with the same name.<br /><br /><a href="http://amilitaryfamilyblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/just-call-me-sven.html">We're getting pretty tired of that.</a><br /><br />In the meantime, we've been enjoying some of these.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBv8EPogaIdDUZN6a7BhvHtCax1rpplxuPEhdVtBXbpG_WWNfqj_y8oVcC2dOfW0DO9j28DZjXhAcINPFpEoB2I8xWgfFhJ-11kP0QTXs8wp5k-SfUUaJvMEgXgpPCJy2YXgespmlV0V3/s1600-h/CIMG0494.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBv8EPogaIdDUZN6a7BhvHtCax1rpplxuPEhdVtBXbpG_WWNfqj_y8oVcC2dOfW0DO9j28DZjXhAcINPFpEoB2I8xWgfFhJ-11kP0QTXs8wp5k-SfUUaJvMEgXgpPCJy2YXgespmlV0V3/s320/CIMG0494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423254319517483010" border="0" /></a><br />And trying to finish up this...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVI-j3QKEzyr6LO7qM7J03MJJlbNVzzv7KugmcWmO4YeI4DEa0hUcPYKEdCVfd-fuOjUyUt2mFRGrUOckHhLA8LOczfXOkNHVzBtCBeYWtuTlIm8ooAQ90Pzzu79pGnTaYxfHwy0T46QB/s1600-h/CIMG0535.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVI-j3QKEzyr6LO7qM7J03MJJlbNVzzv7KugmcWmO4YeI4DEa0hUcPYKEdCVfd-fuOjUyUt2mFRGrUOckHhLA8LOczfXOkNHVzBtCBeYWtuTlIm8ooAQ90Pzzu79pGnTaYxfHwy0T46QB/s320/CIMG0535.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423254647087620322" border="0" /></a>The tile is just lying there, not glued down at all or anything. I think he just finished cutting it last night. What do you think?<br /><br />The kids all know now, of course, that their dad is leaving, not that it really means anything to the little ones: it'll make more sense once he's actually gone and not sitting there with us at the dinner table anymore or reading books to them at night.<br /><br />But we're all good. At least for now. You might not want to ask me a couple of months from now. *wink*Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-67492736057936771292009-12-22T22:19:00.004-05:002009-12-22T22:26:47.774-05:00$5 DinnersMy friend Erin's new cookbook has just been released! It was featured on Good Morning America this morning. <span style="font-style: italic;">Woo-hoo!</span><br /><br />(Click below to view the GMA segment with cutie-patootie George Stephanopoulos.)<br /><br /><a href="http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=9399382">The Best Cookbooks of 2009</a><br /><br />You can order your own through Amazon, or go to <a href="http://www.5dollardinners.com/">her website</a> where she's also doing a great giveaway of ten of her cookbooks <span style="font-style: italic;">every day </span>for the next<span style="font-style: italic;"> two weeks!</span><br /><br />I ordered a few copies myself from Amazon. Unfortunately, they didn't get here in time for her signing party she hosted this evening. But don't worry -- I know where she lives. And as soon as they come in I'll be getting them personalized and mailed to a few lucky recipients of my own... ;)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAeR26SRnhQvI5Z1K8c8ZgLRgw2Jv_JZlHYZoLK_rbtWbihKxz3Clw0VHjQ9gS-HcTyLw3YD1jpU4yErRuWq4pYH811ITB_ib9i-DnY8iy67OzgqK5sl1uPINFHFpxwTHCVsk6ZB46ww7/s1600-h/erin+and+her+cookbook.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAeR26SRnhQvI5Z1K8c8ZgLRgw2Jv_JZlHYZoLK_rbtWbihKxz3Clw0VHjQ9gS-HcTyLw3YD1jpU4yErRuWq4pYH811ITB_ib9i-DnY8iy67OzgqK5sl1uPINFHFpxwTHCVsk6ZB46ww7/s320/erin+and+her+cookbook.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418266467715915426" border="0" /></a>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-12576550976090267552009-12-19T13:30:00.001-05:002009-12-19T13:32:42.666-05:00Got Snow?It's snowing! Seems so appropriate for the first day after the last day of school! (follow?)<br /><br />And no, I'm not ready for Christmas! Thank you for asking. You?<br /><br />I hope to be after Monday, though, when I hope to get some final shopping done. I guess we'll see if the road conditions stay one step ahead of the weather conditions...<br /><br />I feel so sad about neglecting this blog so much lately. Like I've been neglecting an old friend. I have so many excuses, the likes of which I hope to resolve by early next year <span style="font-style: italic;">(heh-heh)</span> so that I can get back to the business again of blogging as usual. Even just the act of writing in this blogger format feels so comfy and familiar. <span style="font-style: italic;">*sniff*</span><br /><br />Many of you may have noticed that I've been working on a new blog. I started it in blogger, the same platform as this blog, then decided to take it up to the next level and make the switch to self-hosting on wordpress.<br /><br />Oh. my. word. I had no idea what a can of worms I was opening. It's like the Pandora's Box of Blogging: Once the top is off you lose all control of what comes out; you just hope you can keep your wits about you and keep up. Widgets and plug-ins and CSS code <span style="font-style: italic;">(huh?)</span> and feedburner and themes and open hooks? That's just a sampling. Talk about a learning curve. I'm still reeling. (And still climbing.)<br /><br />I even messed around with some html code widget tag-on thingy that put some post thumbnails at the end of each post on this blog. Did you notice? Only I didn't know that it would grab posts from <span style="font-style: italic;">both</span> of my blogs on blogger. My bad. And I was too worn out to go back and figure out how to take it off. Now I'm curious what will happen over time as I'm no longer updating the other blog through blogger, so I'm going to leave it for now. If that bothers you or confuses you, I'm sorry. Just think of it as taking one for the cause of Jolyn's Blogging Education.<br /><br />I leave you, for now, with greetings from Olivia and Peter while they were playing in the snow this morning.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7_MqN-_NRlDEWGJ_c5pFgeZKYmgPgKVtB-WYkFRAqWYTN7UAld4zHHortwxQk_uHPNpQxOhd7suT_Ita1FBpNDpoe9qVCHUbBxLoTwk7VtRJLDP1lv4Jv9o_MlI4dz0385LdOywVpfpP/s1600-h/waving+in+the+snow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7_MqN-_NRlDEWGJ_c5pFgeZKYmgPgKVtB-WYkFRAqWYTN7UAld4zHHortwxQk_uHPNpQxOhd7suT_Ita1FBpNDpoe9qVCHUbBxLoTwk7VtRJLDP1lv4Jv9o_MlI4dz0385LdOywVpfpP/s320/waving+in+the+snow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417015053076225122" border="0" /></a><blockquote>"We're making a snow<span style="font-style: italic;">dog</span>, not a snow<span style="font-style: italic;">man</span>."</blockquote><br />Of course!<br /><br />It's not the 14 or so inches that the East Coast is seeing! But the kids are enjoying our first real snowfall regardless and couldn't care less. And it's still snowing! And the forecast calls for more tomorrow, and the day after... So we shall see.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-57422915722964178732009-12-10T22:09:00.011-05:002009-12-11T08:34:00.452-05:00Feeling the Christmas... SpiritEvery time the radio plays the <span style="font-style: italic;">Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Carol of the Bells"</span> Sean-Peter turns into some kind of marionette puppet with strings and he has no choice but to jump around and do a form of "dance" that basically consists of kicking, twisting, and punching the air. He'll tell you he's fighting the bad guys. John calls it <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kabuki">Kabuki theater</a>.<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyBMvJwaKdR-kd1Km4CybUXuIo22v9ffmzZGLa2AlwI5tnLCtRrfzqt9Loof5rQnEidVBK6RkKwnnqM9mX9Jw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Who knew Christmas music could be so... inspiring.<br /><br />I wish it would inspire me. I am <span style="font-style: italic;">sooo </span>unprepared for Christmas. I think it has to do with my serious intentions of making this Christmas as non-materialistic as possible: e.g. I'm not going to pile a mountain of presents under the tree. Which is sad, really. If not buying presents is why I'm not inspired, that is. Presents should not a Christmas make.<br /><br />And they don't, but when you're inundated with commercialism every where you turn around and you're determined not to succumb I wonder if I've tilted the pendulum too far in the other direction.<br /><br />Either that, or I'm just getting old.<br /><br />The kids are getting a good, old-fashioned Christmas, by the way, with presents and stocking stuffers and everything, don't you worry. I'm not even claiming to be spending a whole lot less this year -- I'm just determined not to get so much <span style="font-style: italic;">stuff.</span><br /><br />Wish me luck. I think I understand why my mom needed so much coffee on Christmas morning.<br /><br /><br /><div><div id="c_s01uI7x5JiRCPYFPawiHPQKPQ=="><div class="ilike_content"> <ul class="song_list_preview" style="list-style-type: none; list-style-image: none; list-style-position: outside;"> <li style="overflow: hidden;"><a class="song_play_btn" title="Carol Of The Bells" href="http://www.ilike.com/artist/Trans-Siberian+Orchestra/track/Carol+Of+The+Bells">Carol Of The Bells</a> by <a href="http://www.ilike.com/artist/Trans-Siberian+Orchestra/Trans-Siberian+Orchestra">Trans-Siberian Orchestra</a></li> </ul> </div> </div><script src="http://www.ilike.com/api/s?c=1&k=s01uI7x5JiRCPYFPawiHPQKPQ%3D%3D"></script><div id="ilike_s01uI7x5JiRCPYFPawiHPQKPQ=="><div style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); padding-top: 5px; font-size: smaller;">More <a href="http://www.ilike.com/artist/Trans-Siberian+Orchestra">Trans-Siberian Orchestra</a> music on <a href="http://www.ilike.com/">iLike</a></div></div></div>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-87589804027995930592009-12-07T22:34:00.006-05:002009-12-08T23:01:12.344-05:00Snow and a Show and Some Sugar<span style="font-style: italic;">Brrrrr!</span> Anyone else with me? We got our first snowfall here...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAldkz9nq52RhAuhsKgjuwoBfmt6ldGRQArLxB09wWDlE5VxnYrZGXZZQ0gXE6bBKd0yx-AngRaB1JL8x_lByLOJNsb9qgGY3VeUCtMJ5V8KXqU7h2tYLDiHSoSrWt07WeoRdJ4-BwV8M/s1600-h/first+snow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAldkz9nq52RhAuhsKgjuwoBfmt6ldGRQArLxB09wWDlE5VxnYrZGXZZQ0gXE6bBKd0yx-AngRaB1JL8x_lByLOJNsb9qgGY3VeUCtMJ5V8KXqU7h2tYLDiHSoSrWt07WeoRdJ4-BwV8M/s320/first+snow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413074797069031570" border="0" /></a>Have I ever mentioned that it's still dark when Olivia gets on the bus? And hers isn't even the first one that comes through the neighborhood...<br /><br />Speaking of Olivia, she's got her first "acting gig" under her belt (<span style="font-style: italic;">heh-heh</span>), a little Christmas show production her dance instructor put on in her studio with a couple-handfuls of her students. Olivia has <span style="font-style: italic;">begged </span>to take an "acting class" ever since I put her in <span style="font-style: italic;">Storybook Dramas</span> at the local town hall theater... <span style="font-style: italic;">over a year ago.</span><br /><br />Go ahead, take a look. It's barely a hiccup.<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwRbMnkfQ3fUaOv0dRUDSBccjnNnWNgKNiLxRBhMJnIak0zaeeTVXfg4MTTEwUi_n6rVF91yjXKnF5rvvYI' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />And seriously, <span style="font-style: italic;">how. cute. are they.</span><br /><br />And yes, Olivia loved every minute of it. I daresay she enjoyed performing even more than what she enjoyed after the show.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf0nUj_MVdIjwGWy99Xi9grE83SAxnRa0C2Nw2ZACmubfXmK33zazL75Q6TH7fqJt026LfJPINLtKPYn8R_xnFuVyKjIbWzLapxouey-6mbrjkcuQe39ORCQl9jQGnbKv-Ndj0nqRZo69/s1600-h/not+even+the+best+part.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf0nUj_MVdIjwGWy99Xi9grE83SAxnRa0C2Nw2ZACmubfXmK33zazL75Q6TH7fqJt026LfJPINLtKPYn8R_xnFuVyKjIbWzLapxouey-6mbrjkcuQe39ORCQl9jQGnbKv-Ndj0nqRZo69/s320/not+even+the+best+part.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413079543724787858" border="0" /></a>She looks nice and calm here, but don't be fooled: she rode the sugar loop all the way home.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-82041554726478537732009-11-30T17:07:00.006-05:002009-11-30T17:48:19.168-05:00He's Still My Baby...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoow_0cDdMaYkmOi-4eRLBZQkMiUesgG7WnW3k9Th7Ad6U3t2NhXVRMjcezDUCmcd0I-enDu8t6gu7a_zgsUx0o__W5P-0eQYzaN8BUJnzs6CEdoI5patYDlkmE7xdd5pfV7YwU7liJbTp/s1600/missed+one.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoow_0cDdMaYkmOi-4eRLBZQkMiUesgG7WnW3k9Th7Ad6U3t2NhXVRMjcezDUCmcd0I-enDu8t6gu7a_zgsUx0o__W5P-0eQYzaN8BUJnzs6CEdoI5patYDlkmE7xdd5pfV7YwU7liJbTp/s320/missed+one.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410029856654904274" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">But he did turn five!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgNqIem1dhV8pJZwSgf0dQ6DnDJthw9GG6iO9M_R6DokBv7ZgIyFC93PjK8xQzqBeA1w4eccdNwnjSY_fF1REtV3mmfyVU7yw0TvRSpwNyE8jJAVgf1RoORwM6u66NeScvKzooZbwAQ78u/s1600/sleeping+with+bumblebee.jpg"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwUW5l0NgZPpRhtddDYMn-6fF80dZCPiw5R85KTtxwV1Bk2-gIuT1FhiaRKWjmFFxqIk1tKR1Wbpy742eOQ4w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></a><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">(Grandma's got so many grandsons, it's hard to keep track of them all...)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">He was so excited to get mail from his <span style="font-style: italic;">Me-ma...</span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wymFHpluQuiI6pOi4vDFbn3ZtZ4EUmL1Wmz50g-AUEjFXp6xZu8GXrBN-2yjvjCK9p5lHyGtkdZKVkJHqXSms0_Fgm5CahADQcdUIA9u9M3YvBKKO98CCjFEsyjN1REewAMxPd4jlF4w/s1600/opening+grandma%27s+card.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wymFHpluQuiI6pOi4vDFbn3ZtZ4EUmL1Wmz50g-AUEjFXp6xZu8GXrBN-2yjvjCK9p5lHyGtkdZKVkJHqXSms0_Fgm5CahADQcdUIA9u9M3YvBKKO98CCjFEsyjN1REewAMxPd4jlF4w/s320/opening+grandma%27s+card.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410022661586783986" border="0" /></a>And <span style="font-style: italic;">Lassie</span> from his other grandma... (Aww, remember Lassie? <span style="font-style: italic;">"Lassie, please come home!"</span>?)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83H8oG9m7tisieRznZnkQrVC7nW3EkzlQb0zBaKe6hXnUTg6R54KGDCnXQL1gyMTMFGTMQZDukvQ5USNqvCCjKBh9VEk-J1UJ_iCgtKdiheW0ML2jbY3otZAttLKq0EofN9g2itVzOupT/s1600/Lassie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83H8oG9m7tisieRznZnkQrVC7nW3EkzlQb0zBaKe6hXnUTg6R54KGDCnXQL1gyMTMFGTMQZDukvQ5USNqvCCjKBh9VEk-J1UJ_iCgtKdiheW0ML2jbY3otZAttLKq0EofN9g2itVzOupT/s320/Lassie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410022655020955074" border="0" /></a>Of course there was cake.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpE2QddzQaTlz4anxhZ10mR6TAMXSJO_enJkdiTfW5uwd_psBjGuXpCKT4-0-uQWgm66iJV9HO-9TK_LcK0FS21_z_gEOoUm247Iy6sS8EXiECwLF-9-frGsPIIvKVysp1NaWF5UDiJTgc/s1600/birthday+boy+with+Conner+and+Olivia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpE2QddzQaTlz4anxhZ10mR6TAMXSJO_enJkdiTfW5uwd_psBjGuXpCKT4-0-uQWgm66iJV9HO-9TK_LcK0FS21_z_gEOoUm247Iy6sS8EXiECwLF-9-frGsPIIvKVysp1NaWF5UDiJTgc/s320/birthday+boy+with+Conner+and+Olivia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410022645953472610" border="0" /></a><br />And presents...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu14CR8QuNz4GxYBAL0wbqVl33SMz73sk9DCFLM7BZo4lEsvBumd4xsAz__FyyGgLgZdhwLy2feCSGVM5z6BA3tPecY_L5SU7B90SPVUwWKiVO0ZTwWUVAVsbTFxI3xPDJEr5mN9_hiYuH/s1600/birthday+boy+gifts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu14CR8QuNz4GxYBAL0wbqVl33SMz73sk9DCFLM7BZo4lEsvBumd4xsAz__FyyGgLgZdhwLy2feCSGVM5z6BA3tPecY_L5SU7B90SPVUwWKiVO0ZTwWUVAVsbTFxI3xPDJEr5mN9_hiYuH/s320/birthday+boy+gifts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410022634510822002" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">He was a tad-bit excited about the transformers. At least I convinced him he only needed to sleep with the smallest one...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgNqIem1dhV8pJZwSgf0dQ6DnDJthw9GG6iO9M_R6DokBv7ZgIyFC93PjK8xQzqBeA1w4eccdNwnjSY_fF1REtV3mmfyVU7yw0TvRSpwNyE8jJAVgf1RoORwM6u66NeScvKzooZbwAQ78u/s1600/sleeping+with+bumblebee.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgNqIem1dhV8pJZwSgf0dQ6DnDJthw9GG6iO9M_R6DokBv7ZgIyFC93PjK8xQzqBeA1w4eccdNwnjSY_fF1REtV3mmfyVU7yw0TvRSpwNyE8jJAVgf1RoORwM6u66NeScvKzooZbwAQ78u/s320/sleeping+with+bumblebee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410022876701921970" border="0" /></a></div>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-41012780413846919392009-11-25T23:00:00.013-05:002009-11-25T23:54:37.035-05:00I gotta hurry and post this before my husband gets fed up and starts watching our show without me.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOeUR5Xhj68Xmp8SFXlet0RW36FhfQICP1fxI-ytbxKliv_Prf1XJTLe3vCgDhEz6_2zxHsbRrojPsVOi4EvR0RrLZascP7iFB1B8-uXoLk4Y-3K9CyG7UmToG6uElJfZYaSgPMRizLcMr/s1600/mom+reading.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 319px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOeUR5Xhj68Xmp8SFXlet0RW36FhfQICP1fxI-ytbxKliv_Prf1XJTLe3vCgDhEz6_2zxHsbRrojPsVOi4EvR0RrLZascP7iFB1B8-uXoLk4Y-3K9CyG7UmToG6uElJfZYaSgPMRizLcMr/s320/mom+reading.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408265611894356130" border="0" /></a>My parents are here for Thanksgiving, and I thought I'd give you all a glimpse into what an exciting time we're having!<br /><br />This is the scene that usually greets you when walking into a room. Though usually mom and dad are reading solo and Olivia and Peter are wreaking some kind of havoc.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OCRAj1tVd4Jlr_ea3_ef3WkcA12fQWlUjjdj-Rcu3yDuDMZjVGsUPsPJQxM_FurrHRD7k1JHjkW8YKhKE0J4P-A5_NmJAhqJkWcfhfxLwd1dmM4hS241kPrGO9Q_Hjq7-TFbPCmrZaQ8/s1600/dad+and+olivia+reading.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OCRAj1tVd4Jlr_ea3_ef3WkcA12fQWlUjjdj-Rcu3yDuDMZjVGsUPsPJQxM_FurrHRD7k1JHjkW8YKhKE0J4P-A5_NmJAhqJkWcfhfxLwd1dmM4hS241kPrGO9Q_Hjq7-TFbPCmrZaQ8/s320/dad+and+olivia+reading.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408259207661389522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The funniest thing that prompted this photo was that not only was Olivia reading, too, but Sean-Peter was just hanging out, all docile and, well, <span style="font-style: italic;">quiet</span>-like. Like sitting there pleasantly in the parlor was the most normal thing in the world.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Oh, wait. Here we go; now he's all ready for bed.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9lpkhWUPi86xkwY1UP4RcVvv2zLZ7OY2o8BtJ4ndZrrXYy9uN8Z5HLZvOyozAD5CKHEnt9qHmhH5ZRmnrwk1xx3svEyZGi163vUC8pVN82qLEiqml0NXGJugqU_6cmKjihZJtilChwGQ/s1600/more+typical.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9lpkhWUPi86xkwY1UP4RcVvv2zLZ7OY2o8BtJ4ndZrrXYy9uN8Z5HLZvOyozAD5CKHEnt9qHmhH5ZRmnrwk1xx3svEyZGi163vUC8pVN82qLEiqml0NXGJugqU_6cmKjihZJtilChwGQ/s400/more+typical.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408270630323153026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Aw</span>, isn't that more like it? This was taken moments after the parlor photo. I guess he caught his <del>26th</del> 2nd wind. And I guess I should finish unpacking from my trip to Chicago...<br /><br />Oh, yea! I went to Chicago! For a whole <span style="font-style: italic;">two days</span>! I stayed with my friend Amy and we quickly digressed to our <del>junior high</del> high school years, talking and giggling like a couple of teenagers. Teenagers with wrinkles. <span style="font-style: italic;">Not that that matters.</span><br /><br />At the risk of repeating what you may have already read in my <a href="http://budgetsarethenewblack.blogspot.com/2009/11/road-trip-to-chicago.html">other blog</a>, we had a great time. Our high school friend Nathan also joined us. Sweet, tall Nathan. Back in the day, Nathan and I were partners in our high school's mixed ensemble. As in singing group. When I was talking with him at our 20-year high school reunion this past summer, I looked up<span style="font-style: italic;"> (and up and up)</span> at him and said, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Um, you weren't this tall in high school." </span><br /><br />He readily agreed. Apparently, he grew like another six inches after we graduated. Who knew? He also went on to study music and voice and he does all kinds of neat things like perform operas and compose music for poems written by inner-city school kids. Yea. Quite cool.<br /><br />And he wasn't at all phased by our acting like we were a bunch of school kids again. Take this photo op, for instance -- originally Amy's idea, but I was the one who <span style="font-style: italic;">insisted </span>we make the extra trip to actually get it done.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM4MaOmuIK9MTncAplO_FnOaE-VnQTJ-b0VMutYTA04NZ_7cn0SiOAI5IDNRlyDbYicbD-R-xFZwniv2Ikna2zo1kcuJKmzoSdP3lRrGaMSe9oVORnzBNgqiM18sxoOatDuLI2DHLXni_R/s1600/Get+Really+Close.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM4MaOmuIK9MTncAplO_FnOaE-VnQTJ-b0VMutYTA04NZ_7cn0SiOAI5IDNRlyDbYicbD-R-xFZwniv2Ikna2zo1kcuJKmzoSdP3lRrGaMSe9oVORnzBNgqiM18sxoOatDuLI2DHLXni_R/s400/Get+Really+Close.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408266740604987762" border="0" /></a>Go ahead, click on it, and think about it. Please, for me? I'll wait.<br /><br />Funny, huh?<br /><br /><br />And Amy? She does stuff like this.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnOWZjs4STDCD3AW_WH5QXQQdz3cbG5XwQovzI81RGKhqiYHveviAmgaX4QaCjB360JYrD4mpI2gnDV5niADVml_hof4oqd48faOjBnrPXrWdZgkIiUXmfmVivVG1nEMPGfrlNgt5hmFB6/s1600/Amy+the+pretzel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 204px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnOWZjs4STDCD3AW_WH5QXQQdz3cbG5XwQovzI81RGKhqiYHveviAmgaX4QaCjB360JYrD4mpI2gnDV5niADVml_hof4oqd48faOjBnrPXrWdZgkIiUXmfmVivVG1nEMPGfrlNgt5hmFB6/s320/Amy+the+pretzel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408265325003567778" border="0" /></a>Not that I hold it against her. But I did do a <del>excruciatingly long</del> very short yoga session with her and I ended up being sore for a week. You know how some people just get better and better with age? Amy's one of those people. Of course, she works at it...<br /><br />We are planning on enjoying a nice, quiet Thanksgiving at home tomorrow, just the seven of us. We're having turkey <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> ham. <span style="font-style: italic;">My baby likes his pig.</span> It's not a whole turkey, though: just a breast. And they're both cooking as we speak, all stealth-like in the crockpots. Is that not cool or what?<br /><br />In addition to turkey <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> ham, the menu includes...<br /><ul><li>Sweet potato casserole</li><li>Green bean casserole</li><li>Stuffing</li><li>Mashed potatoes</li><li>Cranberry sauce<br /></li><li>Seven-layer salad</li><li>Rolls<br /></li><li>Pumpkin pie<br /></li></ul>How's your menu look?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Happy Thanksgiving!!</span></span>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-78511002335434502212009-11-15T13:02:00.000-05:002009-11-15T13:02:00.797-05:00This is How We Get Rid of Leaves and Drag Around Kids in O-hi-yo.<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwfB_2NrAgrPR5W8-lEibYandcjp9EZW3lOoBA6cSxhWduvbm3C9weDf5-DvVHktcHXSr4HMbv28aO9K8KwjQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-36104150565164668642009-11-14T10:19:00.006-05:002009-11-14T10:31:19.229-05:00This time last year...<div style="text-align: center;">...he was obsessed with Thomas.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadv2m2V9qM0cywxDAMJG1AWbiqLDtWV6NGb2PPFlyxVT505HfB33Kei1hNiSeXYRqc2Zou5a7fwkvr-5x1vqRTdn_nf66bqEzuhpZE5QURn82vtN01vQnPYtrV53F1NZtWwotBTLOM0es/s1600-h/obsessed+with+Thomas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadv2m2V9qM0cywxDAMJG1AWbiqLDtWV6NGb2PPFlyxVT505HfB33Kei1hNiSeXYRqc2Zou5a7fwkvr-5x1vqRTdn_nf66bqEzuhpZE5QURn82vtN01vQnPYtrV53F1NZtWwotBTLOM0es/s320/obsessed+with+Thomas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403981313170521954" border="0" /></a>Now it's <span style="font-style: italic;">Pokemon</span>.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPmuhDrRZQq5X_EGGBRLOOV-eAq_GydCjHdb15rq86hIsMLQ4psjJ-vN-TQPuOyyCEI2d0xEAM2lfm5ihMBKR5pgZODT5uhDWGy-GwaEOWotTgOeKS7D-AWWzanGg2XmQSfPN9wpJt_5I/s1600-h/pokemon+cards.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPmuhDrRZQq5X_EGGBRLOOV-eAq_GydCjHdb15rq86hIsMLQ4psjJ-vN-TQPuOyyCEI2d0xEAM2lfm5ihMBKR5pgZODT5uhDWGy-GwaEOWotTgOeKS7D-AWWzanGg2XmQSfPN9wpJt_5I/s320/pokemon+cards.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403979588992774194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sigh. </span>Why do they have to grow up?<br /></div>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-32370042098739320222009-11-11T22:50:00.005-05:002009-11-11T23:32:44.359-05:00Now, Where Were We?I know, I know. Poor, neglected blog. You sweet thing. Now there, mommy's back now. You miss me?<br /><br />Hmm, let's see, where to begin... Let's just summarize, shall we?<br /><br /><ul><li>We went trick-or-treating.</li><li>We've taken turns being sick.<br /></li><li>Sean-Peter earned another trip to the ER (with a little help from his sister).<br /></li><li>I spent a lot of time finishing an assignment for my writing class.</li><li>The rest of my writing time has been spent posting to my<a href="http://budgetsarethenewblack.blogspot.com/"> other blog</a>.<br /></li><li>I've wasted a lot of time trying to transfer my other blog over to my own domain.<br /></li><li>When I started the process I didn't realize it involved writing code.</li><li>I don't do code.</li><li>I've tried.</li><li>John's feverishly reading and writing a paper for <span style="font-style: italic;">his</span> class.</li><li>Oh, and Olivia lost a tooth. See?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABUZ6pjc58YUaPFxMRvhyphenhyphenkuO3Mv7crQSs1c6smnPM46XfrJyDD8ZjaA10TD9ORI2gkkWcAqYEShk_RERJQuHVFfF72Zz8ue2BHPo0Phe2K9jHcWld37tZyI-bKjHheIiWlyF1W3scO27Z/s1600-h/lost+a+tooth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABUZ6pjc58YUaPFxMRvhyphenhyphenkuO3Mv7crQSs1c6smnPM46XfrJyDD8ZjaA10TD9ORI2gkkWcAqYEShk_RERJQuHVFfF72Zz8ue2BHPo0Phe2K9jHcWld37tZyI-bKjHheIiWlyF1W3scO27Z/s320/lost+a+tooth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403065146576060178" border="0" /></a></li></ul><ul><li>John's on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again.... Honestly, I lost track. Anybody recall where I left off with the latest on his deployment?</li><li>Anyway, it's off-again. Officially.</li><li>But there's another one that might be on.<br /></li></ul>Isn't this fun!<br /><br />Sean-Peter's fine, by the way. Turns out there's a reason Bill Cosby always told us on that one commercial that we should never stick anything in our ears, other than our elbows. And then you couldn't help but sit there and try to stick your elbow in your ear. Remember that one?<br /><br />Olivia was almost as traumatized as Sean-Peter. Almost.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I was just trying to clean his ear!"</span><br /><br />He's been in for a follow-up once, but needs to go in for another next week. His ear drum didn't rupture, according to the ER doc, but it did bleed a lot, and the second doc wants him back after the dried blood has had a chance to clear up a bit on its own, so's she can see in there all the way right-like.<br /><br />Isn't this fun!<br /><br />Otherwise we're all good. <span style="font-style: italic;">"</span><em>We</em>'<em>re fine</em>. <em>We</em>'<em>re all fine here</em> <span style="font-style: italic;">now, thank</span> <em>you</em>.<span style="font-style: italic;"> How are</span> <em>you</em><span style="font-style: italic;">?" </span><br /><br />(Name that movie.)<br /><br />Hint: <span style="font-style: italic;">Use the Force.</span><br /><br />I do hope you all enjoyed a wonderful Veterans Day! Kids are off of school here the next two days, so my "weekend" starts early...<br /><br />Oh, and I'm going to Chicago on Sunday! <span style="font-style: italic;">Whoopee for me! </span>A road trip. All. by. myself. What <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> that, anyway? Anybody have any books on tape to recommend? I'm going to visit an old, <span style="font-style: italic;">old</span> friend -- we grew up together, for pete's sake. She never married and never had kids. She might as well live on another planet.<br /><br />I might like it there...Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-20252105108928113702009-10-25T15:07:00.000-04:002009-10-25T18:17:54.509-04:00Birthdays and BarkingJohn celebrated his birthday yesterday... Although mourned seemed to be the more appropriate description for much of the day, and not just because he's approaching the end of another decade... <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Ahem)</span></span><br /><br />It all started out innocuous enough. A guy from the phone company came out, a day earlier than expected. So that sounds good, right? He confirmed that our <del>nerves</del> wires are frayed and did what he could on the spot short of pulling them all out and starting over. Apparently, 40+ year-old wires aren't good. Especially with the jimmy-rigging that went on with the previous owners.<br /><br />Right after he left we did a little jig, because our internet connection was faster than it had been since... Well, since forever.<br /><br />Unfortunately, that was short-lived.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Routing Woes</span><br />John thought he'd piggy-back on our good fortune and work on getting the router to, um, <span style="font-style: italic;">route </span>properly. Alas, in vain, since this was the umpteenth time he has worked on this problem, and always before we could go back to how the phone line was probably contributing to the problem. Now that the phone line has been fixed (as much as it can be for now) he is faced with the router being absolutely, undoubtedly, the worst router. Ever. He alternated between working on it, debating whether to call the Dell Indians at a mere $7 a minute... or stomping on the ground and smashing it to smithereens.<br /><br />He opted for giving up instead, with plans to return the router to the depths of Hades from whence it came. Or to the BX, whichever you prefer.<br /><br />Besides, he had a game to watch, with his favorite peeps.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgqV7nzuyZFuYb4NbHDH0sFlq3TgFRLReb5omTsr1XDTzkTVbLaC4vkcc9gH_6bCpGnRS7n17IVdcCz5Le0ZgBg1FjAjEStKk7__fBGMYJrAMQGF_I-oHzZ_athiq5UD3IJfbNODIBT3Qn/s1600-h/watching+the+game.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgqV7nzuyZFuYb4NbHDH0sFlq3TgFRLReb5omTsr1XDTzkTVbLaC4vkcc9gH_6bCpGnRS7n17IVdcCz5Le0ZgBg1FjAjEStKk7__fBGMYJrAMQGF_I-oHzZ_athiq5UD3IJfbNODIBT3Qn/s320/watching+the+game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396534237094691698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Alabama won!</span><br />No matter that they shouldn't have, based on how they played. John and some Tennessee fans at work placed a friendly bet on this game -- John should have some beer coming his way very soon... Happy Birthday!<br /><br />And the kids showered him with homemade gifts, each in their own unique way.<br /><br />Olivia went on a card-making frenzy...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHcFVIkrdl0NnTI0sGR2Aw2H2wDHlVKeUlLy9jqyEZXYwB5AKsprzIkSLwdvVPXI6MiILSZ83KuXcfvuZdaF-uuxIuFl7eNA0EoiVchg7ge6YI3DBosGLLx35fiWCCJpxW1x59h7ly7o6/s1600-h/we+love+you%21.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHcFVIkrdl0NnTI0sGR2Aw2H2wDHlVKeUlLy9jqyEZXYwB5AKsprzIkSLwdvVPXI6MiILSZ83KuXcfvuZdaF-uuxIuFl7eNA0EoiVchg7ge6YI3DBosGLLx35fiWCCJpxW1x59h7ly7o6/s200/we+love+you%21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396536887816268114" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLl7HLdzfG-4XmUywWmVOxufPCzR4qXG55f-RMPMrFSVK3k8yfueLK9ypFTsyb0GfAPjpj7mFG1yt5N3yhZREsUMbs1FUnWQMUuGkEnJjMEuYGm9NdARsFUEMYM1zcppFjpqU6zwvqoRo/s1600-h/Pokemon+4+ever.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLl7HLdzfG-4XmUywWmVOxufPCzR4qXG55f-RMPMrFSVK3k8yfueLK9ypFTsyb0GfAPjpj7mFG1yt5N3yhZREsUMbs1FUnWQMUuGkEnJjMEuYGm9NdARsFUEMYM1zcppFjpqU6zwvqoRo/s200/Pokemon+4+ever.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396536891849365090" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TrFmrHVRU9T1vYewNtPS-ueHGRT_TT1RAEoAKiqNukhfZAZbHqCsUfdUYrsa8UdUzUQQ2pXHztZF7MS1DYPScTZOhCuiU_lL-MGpA4goKpFS9YCEWtfjwN3xU10VdeALE_dDe4sRg_dC/s1600-h/mom+and+mommy.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TrFmrHVRU9T1vYewNtPS-ueHGRT_TT1RAEoAKiqNukhfZAZbHqCsUfdUYrsa8UdUzUQQ2pXHztZF7MS1DYPScTZOhCuiU_lL-MGpA4goKpFS9YCEWtfjwN3xU10VdeALE_dDe4sRg_dC/s200/mom+and+mommy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396536899525886994" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjsHkQggekuywFpQn0MIxRBVtSGTpRrhYj4gwvWL2-EDuJ441R1hVTp01wEi36m5fGE7LKZzCn-Wmw3sz0AXtGOXbMsKzmA0DVhkxUXrNY3kcIvQ2r_4XlLKUgaUgKeDp0SY-qbHyfgGX/s1600-h/to+daddy+from+olivia.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 96px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjsHkQggekuywFpQn0MIxRBVtSGTpRrhYj4gwvWL2-EDuJ441R1hVTp01wEi36m5fGE7LKZzCn-Wmw3sz0AXtGOXbMsKzmA0DVhkxUXrNY3kcIvQ2r_4XlLKUgaUgKeDp0SY-qbHyfgGX/s200/to+daddy+from+olivia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396536885795962050" border="0" /></a><br />If you look closely, you might wonder if she even wore herself out. <span style="font-style: italic;">("Mom and Mommy"?)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Times, They are a Changing</span><br /><br />In what truly says more about this next generation than I could ever begin to articulate, Conner presented his dad with his own homemade "card", DSi style...<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxcNFNKMF8kPCLYAxaDlbNNZoCQ6TYiDUG04NcP2H2xioBiwT9_XREgC2ZK_l4mV6MzwYqd4KBSJVQsn1UaPA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />I mean, have you ever?<br /><br />I think John was quite taken aback.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2MUXUy3iPMgJetVg-3acW_vYgXuE3nk1nIOzaqqRAmNb9WnBaZLOhadR_H-4eoMFhyphenhyphenltqQkLApd8EcpPQGlNYlGlSmvhsca0fq-bTu1kWHVdmR0aZbLIxUTty6LAJedMjhvEasu01aEw/s1600-h/birthday+card+from+Conner.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2MUXUy3iPMgJetVg-3acW_vYgXuE3nk1nIOzaqqRAmNb9WnBaZLOhadR_H-4eoMFhyphenhyphenltqQkLApd8EcpPQGlNYlGlSmvhsca0fq-bTu1kWHVdmR0aZbLIxUTty6LAJedMjhvEasu01aEw/s320/birthday+card+from+Conner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396545103356175602" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Imagine if the original Disney creators could see what everyday teenagers are able to do now...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Sean-Peter didn't really make anything for John, <span style="font-style: italic;">per se</span>. But he presented his own creation, in his own, unique way.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmPthHb6bT1vt5URlfB3BdY6A81f-CqcF3y6wPK3izLdeebiVXiZsUoPH0pi-ok6OPr7hbkKISKmfAhptZ_Qz-yei0HvW92uqOhw4-rmIjX3pCYUH8pMBDURqdq4m2zZ7FqwXRcGlA8uF/s1600-h/so+much+for+the+cake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmPthHb6bT1vt5URlfB3BdY6A81f-CqcF3y6wPK3izLdeebiVXiZsUoPH0pi-ok6OPr7hbkKISKmfAhptZ_Qz-yei0HvW92uqOhw4-rmIjX3pCYUH8pMBDURqdq4m2zZ7FqwXRcGlA8uF/s320/so+much+for+the+cake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396548124888720722" border="0" /></a>So much for the cake.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOsMT2CgInqnY6yYrqNNpDcnzWUWRJyy0YMaLwcOJ3m7XRWcNBI5CLoaS1o5IyEE71fF-OLPTUtHOxYjiP4O7-U1k2fJwJDvkPJKq6P-fQAs74w9OMiF_9exEyV-T6kv5ZyHyV6mlPA52/s1600-h/happy+birthday+daddy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOsMT2CgInqnY6yYrqNNpDcnzWUWRJyy0YMaLwcOJ3m7XRWcNBI5CLoaS1o5IyEE71fF-OLPTUtHOxYjiP4O7-U1k2fJwJDvkPJKq6P-fQAs74w9OMiF_9exEyV-T6kv5ZyHyV6mlPA52/s320/happy+birthday+daddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396656769741700210" border="0" /></a>It's a good thing he's so darn cute.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">He's not into much mischief today, though...<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkvJNc9JTnlAKnLoA2oUfcAy1IGB7PxWp9ucss9gom7bFL4RUfrTpGbzBsHjpCxOPg40Y8f-oQZyCcCtEOKYcEyka2IPYjpWaYxsqAUJapfJLXeMudesm_Mwe-xep_EGEX6AXokdki9jF/s1600-h/sick+little+boy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkvJNc9JTnlAKnLoA2oUfcAy1IGB7PxWp9ucss9gom7bFL4RUfrTpGbzBsHjpCxOPg40Y8f-oQZyCcCtEOKYcEyka2IPYjpWaYxsqAUJapfJLXeMudesm_Mwe-xep_EGEX6AXokdki9jF/s320/sick+little+boy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396658776074454578" border="0" /></a><br />Meet the latest cold victim. He's got it worse than Olivia did; he woke up this morning -- not early -- panicking with that tell-tale barking seal cough. He was my only kid who ever got croupy, but at the ripe old age of <del>almost five</del> four it's definitely more bark than bite. It took a while to convince him of that, though. It didn't help that he'd also lost his voice.<br /><br />Here's a tiny sample of a barking seal cough. I didn't want to belabor the point by forcing it out of him, but you get the idea.<br /></div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxh_ET3hCVOQ9JG06qE02chOCb3ZV13iEwCcOcK-CIsQIZxX85qLXCfctxrr20FrIxSSgqfKCyRwYHuJpPqMw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />At least Olivia's doing much better...Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-2099349135451631492009-10-23T20:13:00.003-04:002009-10-23T23:43:02.511-04:00In Which I Post a Bunch of Photos and Videos and Update You With Our Wild and Crazy Antics.<span style="font-weight: bold;">Sickness</span><br />Talk about a major chill day today. Olivia was home sick -- again -- with symptoms that are decidedly cold-like, and I've decided to try to keep them that way.<br /><br />These are times I am <span style="font-style: italic;">sooo </span>glad I am a stay-at-home mom.<br /><br />It also rained all night, and most of the day. Talk about an incentive to do nothing but <del>lay</del> lie around on the couch...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-i1IZi7c921OcGRsLuB2gpFLxqIWAdMxUM9vqxh0CupBS26PRbYQ614sxlydDRgCORVgrptu3Xl1sByafM7vpQNOtk7Te4UzCnzUqPbnCQIYYb2lI0LnJs6aWyEShuBmgeNacrMFZL9To/s1600-h/Olivia+and+her+reading+buddy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-i1IZi7c921OcGRsLuB2gpFLxqIWAdMxUM9vqxh0CupBS26PRbYQ614sxlydDRgCORVgrptu3Xl1sByafM7vpQNOtk7Te4UzCnzUqPbnCQIYYb2lI0LnJs6aWyEShuBmgeNacrMFZL9To/s320/Olivia+and+her+reading+buddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395924847439141186" border="0" /></a>(Especially when you have a reading buddy.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sleep</span><br />I passed out on the couch for awhile myself. I'm not sick, but apparently I'm not well, either. I basically went to bed with the kids last night, slept all night, fell asleep on the couch about mid-morning, then again after lunch...<br /><br />I have no idea what my problem is. What if I didn't have the "leisure" to just fall asleep like that? <span style="font-style: italic;">(Never mind about the kids... Hey, the house didn't burn down, okay?)</span> I can only imagine that perhaps all that sleep helps my body keep the germs at bay. John emailed from work himself saying he wasn't feeling too well...<br /><br />Imagine what this world would be like if everyone just got enough sleep.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Parties</span><br />I missed a party yesterday at Sean-Peter's preschool. A <span style="font-style: italic;">"Mexico Party</span>" -- something to do with butterflies? No matter: I thought since I didn't send Olivia to school it probably wouldn't be prudent for us to show up at a festival. But look at this photo my friend Erin took while she was there.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1n8szh16EAkywuSxR6i3lldMhfTCbxM-CvAXRhbX2CGdvOY2Jm9w2jeoU_huQY_txVo4Vz3-07MUG303ZDw0zzALjPCZ8hQyZ6WWvhmxW21UNEwWLOBV-9pE8hcDEBker3Qc_Flryi9y/s1600-h/Peter+at+preschool+with+frame.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1n8szh16EAkywuSxR6i3lldMhfTCbxM-CvAXRhbX2CGdvOY2Jm9w2jeoU_huQY_txVo4Vz3-07MUG303ZDw0zzALjPCZ8hQyZ6WWvhmxW21UNEwWLOBV-9pE8hcDEBker3Qc_Flryi9y/s320/Peter+at+preschool+with+frame.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395925011801394146" border="0" /></a>Isn't it the best? Down below is more typical of photos that we've gotten lately...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDD5J9hYgI4t-4rsxhL6RgpEr_0zSPqHCDG5za7MCaBYdPNDSo7A9VLnw6SQZG2ieub7Ypv3VqWn5RafgT2DZzyfGKwTmNgCi4CiR0ASzJ6pKvL4vooyQMuS61mWNCdQbIR80Hy4bMWl4/s1600-h/upside+down+SP.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDD5J9hYgI4t-4rsxhL6RgpEr_0zSPqHCDG5za7MCaBYdPNDSo7A9VLnw6SQZG2ieub7Ypv3VqWn5RafgT2DZzyfGKwTmNgCi4CiR0ASzJ6pKvL4vooyQMuS61mWNCdQbIR80Hy4bMWl4/s320/upside+down+SP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395929195630448066" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Games</span><br />Sitting at Conner's soccer games has been a familiar pastime as of late. The tournament is scheduled to finish up this weekend, wet fields permitting. I think it's none too soon for his little brother... Not to mention the weather. I think the damp chill at his last game was what did it for Olivia's cold and level of coughing. Ohio's weather is typical Midwest-fare: sweaters one day, shorts the next -- raincoats in between.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmparw8lHe8lpJjiZzdI5m2rpR8QY7CostGTYaYp6x0GRe3i_dsXHLGdjUwXmMYXbuVkqQxCWjMMZl_XeWR89lEMj86LM2LUe-KgN-wHFU5OavSDsWjjNNUtVwenuFyhCHoqqvkKyeOqxZ/s1600-h/Conner+playing+soccer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmparw8lHe8lpJjiZzdI5m2rpR8QY7CostGTYaYp6x0GRe3i_dsXHLGdjUwXmMYXbuVkqQxCWjMMZl_XeWR89lEMj86LM2LUe-KgN-wHFU5OavSDsWjjNNUtVwenuFyhCHoqqvkKyeOqxZ/s400/Conner+playing+soccer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395941251450444866" border="0" /></a>(This was a shorts' day. With a mix of long-sleeves.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pumpkins</span><br />We also went to a pumpkin patch recently...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdXzeuVpn11x-d3iOSA5T88aiXudE0Vk-wxgTQ5F25bBtAVla5pIwapUHFOfFMj7DxtK8to7CYAPJG8URYqDw8CGsaa4DsKTEZG5AuzhAJNrCdX3c3p9Ft341icOtTT5UwJxZpsVQMjbj/s1600-h/four+peeps+and+pumpkins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdXzeuVpn11x-d3iOSA5T88aiXudE0Vk-wxgTQ5F25bBtAVla5pIwapUHFOfFMj7DxtK8to7CYAPJG8URYqDw8CGsaa4DsKTEZG5AuzhAJNrCdX3c3p9Ft341icOtTT5UwJxZpsVQMjbj/s320/four+peeps+and+pumpkins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395934714502233154" border="0" /></a><br />Yet another event with Peter's preschool, where he <span style="font-style: italic;">apparently</span> has a girlfriend.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizH3Pu3mAgefYl0TNwi9jv_PFyqYZkQ7uxOLOWFvS8zl7YnelYPvfle34NGbzQ4EIxd-0AZ9RH4i8m4Uw7D_VqtBBV2Fq1zi2SKVRe6fnFaDw-v7rfMuLaKTppcTI2FbHrVWzoPzORibH/s1600-h/holding+hands.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizH3Pu3mAgefYl0TNwi9jv_PFyqYZkQ7uxOLOWFvS8zl7YnelYPvfle34NGbzQ4EIxd-0AZ9RH4i8m4Uw7D_VqtBBV2Fq1zi2SKVRe6fnFaDw-v7rfMuLaKTppcTI2FbHrVWzoPzORibH/s320/holding+hands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395935292688606754" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Just kidding! </span>(I hope.)<br /><br />But it was the <span style="font-weight: bold;">most absolutely gorgeous beautiful</span> fall day in Ohio... Maybe <span style="font-style: italic;">Love Was in the Air</span>?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcotduETuudD6UBJC09UqT0DY7LqINkfXWK7zHNeFVPy4BxS-KN8rDjgtfngVXytZDyNT0eczfoOuOJWzBxKzmb_0wF4j3OBML1iKUg7q6ECr698N9rl5FAJTomyIvERH3VtRmRJVavdic/s1600-h/fall+day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcotduETuudD6UBJC09UqT0DY7LqINkfXWK7zHNeFVPy4BxS-KN8rDjgtfngVXytZDyNT0eczfoOuOJWzBxKzmb_0wF4j3OBML1iKUg7q6ECr698N9rl5FAJTomyIvERH3VtRmRJVavdic/s400/fall+day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395939102059524914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Reading</span>...<br />Sean-Peter's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Individualized_Education_Program">IEP</a> meeting with his teachers, etc., was today... Again, I missed it, because Olivia was home sick. But John was able to go, so it's all good. We haven't yet talked about what they discussed, but I can't imagine any surprises. Overall, he's simply doing quite well, especially from an academic perspective. Get a load of him here reading...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Reading Preschooler:</span><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzhWwSkI8SakYpCqX4Oq3ZPZ0pneym0EgEDkJ_-ZLuC3L3p23y0ADESfNAJxo5NmkgbtfZlsdr5dqxsgmulrw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Okay, so he's not exactly <span style="font-style: italic;">reading. </span>But it's the first step, eh?<br /><br />And it was all Olivia could do not to step in right away and show him how it's done. Of course, she got her turn...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Reading 1st Grader:</span><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxBGX449InfdqKEsEcJHrSa9Dl4XjhpqlWzhkp2IWB4oIPrjUkKkCQsZGEv-MZMFg0VVjeAS6hbk1LEWyKDaA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />It is entirely <span style="font-style: italic;">apropos</span> that they're reading a book about guinea pigs, seeing as how we have this little guy now. Meet our latest pet, "Nosy Pepperoni" (don't ask).<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPLg7w2ribuCGcY2z5MF2K7U5pdl-D2Sxws2oHXA11VJd8cdJkPHMNPAHtq0ZutYrRjPIsaD0or11QeG_f3nk0qBKtYt_PjVEYyPGXhZGKa6TuZvLcbmcvIlezhJGQAUBn10GJKXUkWyg/s1600-h/Little+Piggy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPLg7w2ribuCGcY2z5MF2K7U5pdl-D2Sxws2oHXA11VJd8cdJkPHMNPAHtq0ZutYrRjPIsaD0or11QeG_f3nk0qBKtYt_PjVEYyPGXhZGKa6TuZvLcbmcvIlezhJGQAUBn10GJKXUkWyg/s320/Little+Piggy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395988635760219682" border="0" /></a>Otherwise known as "Pepper", "Little Piggy" -- or better yet, "Bacon Bit".<br /><br />I know, we're terrible. But The Huckster <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> rather taken by him.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAQQPHzxbNWbuZs2ShclYqKwXhhGHXomvpE6W-UsFaiow9rilyqdNrcPAFsQzZMz_iIjiRWIpCiUfbdj6LaoKHl7-qSyPjJYCQC5oXYI-uNOl8UtZ3xixVqBjGtE9uef9rQS2QkkUVBg5/s1600-h/Huckster+and+Bacon+Bit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAQQPHzxbNWbuZs2ShclYqKwXhhGHXomvpE6W-UsFaiow9rilyqdNrcPAFsQzZMz_iIjiRWIpCiUfbdj6LaoKHl7-qSyPjJYCQC5oXYI-uNOl8UtZ3xixVqBjGtE9uef9rQS2QkkUVBg5/s320/Huckster+and+Bacon+Bit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395988640360245426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Internet-Schminternet</span><br />It has taken me all evening to sporadically write this post and download the photos and videos all while dealing with the erratic behavior of our internet connection, which has been sketchy at best. It's all tied to our phone line, which apparently has problems "in-house", so far as we have been able to nail it down.<br /><br />We are slowly dealing with it and have thus far pinpointed the problem as occurring mainly when it rains, and thus when the box is wet. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZeIznFk7LcaBAqGLAIr0dXcyq9akN_fYxh5x4O0Yae6cOCChvCNIefKZas_J8B6mlNBpkid2Y6OTxtbrWWK719L3PU2HNd55o7GoPPBy5xXe18FQj1nbZwPR22F4iajVMp3N5Jv2GejS/s1600-h/talking+outside+on+the+box.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZeIznFk7LcaBAqGLAIr0dXcyq9akN_fYxh5x4O0Yae6cOCChvCNIefKZas_J8B6mlNBpkid2Y6OTxtbrWWK719L3PU2HNd55o7GoPPBy5xXe18FQj1nbZwPR22F4iajVMp3N5Jv2GejS/s320/talking+outside+on+the+box.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395997467681646898" border="0" /></a> Here John thought it would be fun to take a picture of me calling the phone company with a phone hooked up to the box <span style="font-style: italic;">outside. </span>Because it's all just <span style="font-style: italic;">so funny.<br /><br /></span>We have<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>since taped a plastic bag around the box on the side of our house. Because we're classy like that.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Apparently a hard rain such as the one we had last night still gets through.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>Oh, and we're also having issues with our router, WHICH WE JUST GOT, and our modem, which don't seem to like each other very well. We've thought about putting them in time out, but that's all they seem to want to do anyway, so it doesn't seem much of a punishment.<br /><br />John's getting right on that. Because he doesn't have anything better to do with his time. We're just all wild and crazy around here.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-25044454936936046502009-10-15T04:32:00.001-04:002009-10-15T04:32:00.640-04:00Haiku Hysteria<div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">Husband's deployment<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">a go. Then no. Then yes. Then...<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">Stab my eye with fork.</span></span></blockquote><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">*This haiku was inspired by a children's book I read to the kids tonight. (The idea of writing a haiku, that is -- not the theme I wrote about.) Go ahead, try your own. It's fun! Cheapest therapy around, I'll tell you what.</span><br /></div></div>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-78033992920761802022009-10-14T18:51:00.005-04:002009-10-14T19:43:19.754-04:00Today's Quote from Olivia<span style="font-size:180%;"></span><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote><span style="font-size:180%;">"Nothing's fair in my life!<br /><br />"...Nothing!"<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;">All because I told her to clean her room, and she wants to play a <span style="font-style: italic;">game </span>instead.<br /><br />Oh, the travesty.<br /><br />Just wait until she gets a job, and her boss expects her to show up if she wants a paycheck. <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh</span>, the injustice.<br /><br />You wanna know what's not fair in <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>life, Olivia? ....Oh, never mind. I don't have that kind of time.<br /><br />Now <span style="font-style: italic;">that's</span> not fair.<br /></div></div></blockquote></div>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-90637568302482832842009-10-09T10:23:00.002-04:002009-10-09T10:26:28.067-04:00Blackmail Photo #287<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Z5ddMKbz9CmRaL8for1FbLxOE6ojuXmCYSeTrcTQQg1GPVoQyoG4q2R0apgDNsLppfmi9cImUKz0VsOO9pXOXLJ0OIMuOruHML1Ud2tDuUetUlvUrznxi3wymSlruXjDRg9osHnj5hhs/s1600-h/Peter+the+butterfly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Z5ddMKbz9CmRaL8for1FbLxOE6ojuXmCYSeTrcTQQg1GPVoQyoG4q2R0apgDNsLppfmi9cImUKz0VsOO9pXOXLJ0OIMuOruHML1Ud2tDuUetUlvUrznxi3wymSlruXjDRg9osHnj5hhs/s400/Peter+the+butterfly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390606236118020978" border="0" /></a>In his defense, he said, <span style="font-style: italic;">"I'm a butterfly!"</span>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-50810823256116578442009-10-05T08:43:00.003-04:002009-10-05T09:54:19.688-04:00And So I Rant.I'm reading some news this morning and I find myself getting madder and madder. First, some headlines reaming the General in command of Afghanistan because he's going all over talking about how more troops are needed over there or we're going to lose the war. Critics are saying it is <span style="font-style: italic;">"better for military advice to come up through the chain of command."</span> Well, maybe if the President would <span style="font-style: italic;">grant </span>the General an audience it <span style="font-style: italic;">would</span> come up through the chain of command! Did you know that The President has spoken to the Commanding American General in Afghanistan<span style="font-style: italic;"> one time</span> since he's been president? <span style="font-style: italic;">One. Time. </span>Never mind the obvious practicality of talking to the guy <span style="font-style: italic;">in charge of a war</span> -- what kind of message does that send? What does that leave the troops fighting this war to think? What message is that sending to the widows? the orphans? their buddies left behind?<br /><br />While the President and his wife are flying in luxury to European capitals to wine and dine with foreign delegates and champion the cause of our <span style="font-style: italic;">athletes</span>, American troops are dying while the President contemplates strategy and declares that his decisions will not be driven <span style="font-style: italic;">"by the politics of the moment"</span>.<br /><br />How about by some discussion with the people in charge? How about with some recognition of how <span style="font-style: italic;">guys are dying</span> while he takes his sweet time trying to figure out what to do, as a guy who has <span style="font-style: italic;">no experience</span> in knowing what to do with a war?<br /><br />More headlines referred to a <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=113491835">latest attack</a> on some remote posts near the Pakistan border. Eight Americans were killed and four Afghans, with 11 more Afghani police taken hostage by the militants before they fled. The Taliban claimed responsibility. These outposts <span style="font-style: italic;">"are among many in Afghanistan's remote and volatile regions that U.S. forces plan to pull back from in a bid to turn the war around"</span>.<br /><br />Turn the war around to <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span>? The other side? <span style="font-style: italic;">"The new strategy calls for U.S. troops to pull out of these remote areas and concentrate instead around Afghanistan's population centers."</span><br /><br />What do you think is going to happen if we abandon the "remote" areas? Is there something I'm missing? Some pieces of information that I don't have privy to that would change what seems so obvious? If we patrol the cities, and leave the rest of the country to the Taliban, what's going to happen as soon as we leave the cities? What motive do decent Afghanis have to work with our efforts to bring peace to their country, knowing that just a few miles away, Taliban forces are just waiting for us to leave, and to grant punishment on those who cooperated with us while we were there? What's happening to those 11 Afghani police forces who were kidnapped this weekend during the raid on their post? What ordeal are they going through <span style="font-style: italic;">right now</span>, as you're reading this? <span style="font-style: italic;">If</span> they're even still alive. And all because we didn't have enough guys out there to watch their back. And now they're talking about taking those few guys away, too.<br /><br />Well, we should. We should just take the whole lot of them away, unless we're going to hunker down and do what it takes to do this right. Right now. The outcome is inevitable if we don't, so why waste any more lives fighting a war that our President doesn't even consider important enough to make a decision on. It's disgraceful. Disrespectful. Above all, disheartening.<br /><br />Here I haven't been heard from on this blog for a couple of weeks and you come back for this. Well, I was mad. And already I'm calming down, but while I was still mad I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">"I'm going to write about this, da#@it, and get it down. Because later when I'm not so mad I won't want to."</span> And that's what happens. We get mad, but then we get over it. Because we have our own lives, our own responsibilities, our own pressing daily <span style="font-style: italic;">minutiae</span>. I don't think we get over it, but we do get on with it -- on with things we have control over. And the war in Afghanistan isn't one of them.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-58246108849504259222009-09-20T19:49:00.003-04:002009-09-20T22:14:35.404-04:00Little Eggy (and Mushroom Head)Sean-Peter started back with his Occupational Therapy (OT) sessions after taking a break for the summer. He was doing so well last Spring, and the private company where he does his OT was going to be short-staffed in the summer, what with several therapists out on maternity leave and several others cutting back their hours while their kids were out of school.<br /><br />It was really nice to have the break, if nothing else for the sake of a change -- not to mention the 20-minute drive each way for the one-hour weekly session. I really didn't know what to expect during the break after a full year of Sean-Peter going to OT. Would there be a change? Would we even notice a difference?<br /><br />It was about mid-July that it occurred to me that it wasn't a coincidence that Sean-Peter's tolerance level was lower and his frustration level was higher. He was quicker to erupt and more quickly moved to tears for slights that otherwise might have been taken in stride. His speech sometimes stuttered and he articulated with much more effort. We were definitely missing OT.<br /><br />The progress he has made in this year-plus since he has started therapy has not been lost on me; I am still amazed to think that I once thought I would be learning sign language, and instead the little guy "graduated" from speech therapy. <a href="http://amilitaryfamilyblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/poster-child-for-early-intervention.html">Why, just one year</a><a href="http://amilitaryfamilyblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/poster-child-for-early-intervention.html"> ago Sean-Peter couldn't even <span style="font-style: italic;">sing. </span>He cried in frustration when challenged to sing along to "Old McDonald's"<span style="font-style: italic;"> ee-i-ee-i-oh...</span></a><br /><br />And now, not only is he singing, he's making up his own lyrics...<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxPkv5-606Za9R0eK8L3TWOlFFdYDIijiiFkaQc2M6ZwBf93ebDPz1aG69wIxWaMJhoNrz_xK_ER8jwJyaFfg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><blockquote>"Little Eggy" by Sean-Peter (44 seconds long)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Little Eggy, Little Eggy....</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">If you want to hatch</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Use your tail or teeth to break it open</span><br /><br />"And, don't forget! Another one..."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Little Eggy, Little Eggy....</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">If you want to hatch</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Use your tail or teeth to break it open</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Little Eggy, Little Eggy, Little Eggy...</span><br /></blockquote><br />Yes, the little guy continues to amaze me.<br /><br />Along with starting back to OT, we have also started up his <a href="http://www.sensorysystemsclinic.com/Therapeutic%20Listening%20Program.htm">Listening Therapy</a> again at home. This requires a special set of (quite large) headphones that enable noise to filter in while he's wearing them for the 30 minutes of therapy each day <del>that I remember to have him do it</del>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PwCPorB733pfH1TkxoWdqBC4kLsCa3j3uqA5w16Gwp3CYmyul_5pNkpnpU2ULKCNNnjbwCQB52bmSPtQzv0WbQvbnzRBnb6E_2UF40MhkGhS0ySsOIZiTPuWip7Bf9RVxq5eAS7r8zgW/s1600-h/mushroom+head.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PwCPorB733pfH1TkxoWdqBC4kLsCa3j3uqA5w16Gwp3CYmyul_5pNkpnpU2ULKCNNnjbwCQB52bmSPtQzv0WbQvbnzRBnb6E_2UF40MhkGhS0ySsOIZiTPuWip7Bf9RVxq5eAS7r8zgW/s320/mushroom+head.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383735149405759922" border="0" /></a><br />They're also what earned him the moniker, "Mushroom Head". (The hat helps to keep them on while he goes about his business.)Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-33355857674067033332009-09-15T22:28:00.008-04:002009-09-16T00:23:58.082-04:00Happy Birthday, Conner!We celebrated Conner's birthday tonight, even though his birthday isn't until tomorrow. But tomorrow evening is going to be a busy one, with John getting home <del>later and later</del> later than he used to and Conner's soccer game and then Olivia and Peter will be in bed, so...<br /><br />Besides, we decided that since Conner was born in Germany in the wee hours of the 16th, <span style="font-style: italic;">technically</span> in Ohio he turns 14 the night before! So it's all good.<br /><br />I did <span style="font-style: italic;">bake </span>his cake -- I got away with that only because he was in school, I'm sure. Conner insisted on decorating it himself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpnLq2prFYdSvjRhxKr8gfnQgwRpDE3Mo1pwOWWfr4rd-dKM4wd17FNpTUcSuuzQEQIKBuhQdMQhV0vOPMS-n1R2sxXzQlwqbSVKorbHkIlYw8YPnzpkYQcBSc453U2xF5P41_bPWVrJS/s1600-h/made+his+own+cake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 171px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpnLq2prFYdSvjRhxKr8gfnQgwRpDE3Mo1pwOWWfr4rd-dKM4wd17FNpTUcSuuzQEQIKBuhQdMQhV0vOPMS-n1R2sxXzQlwqbSVKorbHkIlYw8YPnzpkYQcBSc453U2xF5P41_bPWVrJS/s320/made+his+own+cake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381887071183704642" border="0" /></a>And he served it...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCSYraRd4Tb-Ivhlx2_AWXhmZZQVWPfxjRJq8iWW2eFDhh8IkBjzzmWCEm3M7HNth-nIPRE2EiUbo6x5zC8EJzSFCz3C1Ur1awlBJFcBwWhFnHztSTLdc3Xs0zvQJbaNoazxW7cIwtUMB/s1600-h/I+want+some%21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCSYraRd4Tb-Ivhlx2_AWXhmZZQVWPfxjRJq8iWW2eFDhh8IkBjzzmWCEm3M7HNth-nIPRE2EiUbo6x5zC8EJzSFCz3C1Ur1awlBJFcBwWhFnHztSTLdc3Xs0zvQJbaNoazxW7cIwtUMB/s320/I+want+some%21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381887051526312194" border="0" /></a>I tossed a few gift ideas back and forth... But if I was going to be honest, I knew that what a teenager really wants is cold, hard cash.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52b8a5qKyhIbouEOZVQ5QIdwSk4w9tq-ZcArd7svX_46_aZCvO4CDHShR28MeHUtAZK2vu8qNhL9M138-lYXjH2eZGNOJFwnXx6WxJlHlTb9unEsrbUcYH1z2bi5L9uMRTN_mdD3LnrFJ/s1600-h/cold+hard+cash.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52b8a5qKyhIbouEOZVQ5QIdwSk4w9tq-ZcArd7svX_46_aZCvO4CDHShR28MeHUtAZK2vu8qNhL9M138-lYXjH2eZGNOJFwnXx6WxJlHlTb9unEsrbUcYH1z2bi5L9uMRTN_mdD3LnrFJ/s320/cold+hard+cash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381894880208469170" border="0" /></a>Even Olivia understands that. (Where do you think the 11 cents came from?)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRddNLSmBiM5MOllaWcIV2lHn998PM42mBQl2xdhfZm9AORomd4UoSGn23p7swPb_h1SW0h_YHZpiga569lDG_fPp-wqb-mq5vQ1lMoHxL1qTL_Th-jvH1KJEOFcfipD4kc8IxN1gj9XS/s1600-h/11+cents.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRddNLSmBiM5MOllaWcIV2lHn998PM42mBQl2xdhfZm9AORomd4UoSGn23p7swPb_h1SW0h_YHZpiga569lDG_fPp-wqb-mq5vQ1lMoHxL1qTL_Th-jvH1KJEOFcfipD4kc8IxN1gj9XS/s320/11+cents.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381896084527833362" border="0" /></a>Sean-Peter gave him an air gun. Thing is, the air gun already belonged to Conner. Until Sean-Peter<span style="font-style: italic;"> "stole it out of his room!"</span>, that is. This would be an excellent example of where it's the thought that counts.<br /><br />The sole concrete non-cash gift Conner got from us was a brand-new lunch box and water bottle. With strict instructions to tattoo his name on it in red ink to deter anyone from stealing it. Which happened last year. And is why he has been taking his lunch to school in plastic sacks.<br /><br />Hey, these things aren't cheap!<br /><br />After he got his gift he acts completely shocked.<span style="font-style: italic;"> "I had no idea, mom. Wow, thanks."</span> You'd think I'd just given him a new car.<br /><br />Thing is, this morning he had just told me that we were out of plastic sacks. <span style="font-style: italic;">"What am I supposed to take my lunch in, mom?"</span><br /><br />Of course, I knew he was getting a new lunch box later today, but I just handed him a gallon-size ziploc without a word.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Wow, mom, I had no idea. You're really good at keeping a secret." </span><br /><br />I asked him, <span style="font-style: italic;">"What, Conner, should I have been like, '(</span>wink-wink<span style="font-style: italic;">) You won't need plastic sacks (</span>wink-wink<span style="font-style: italic;">) anymore, Conner (</span>wink-wink<span style="font-style: italic;">) if you know what I mean (</span>wink-wink<span style="font-style: italic;">).'"</span><br /><br />He just laughed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NeughfX6OnWpRNDEERv_R9DJZhEmY6EjqDOjvb8G6t28Ffy_9pEnlrcWEOHY_ziyRvDpNKaQTlAZf2KHPWp2Xg3YAqnJN2iXlEeUqN9RR1-DmPbqiQXnHHdousVaTmpNcSVp7nXe5GFF/s1600-h/birthday+boy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NeughfX6OnWpRNDEERv_R9DJZhEmY6EjqDOjvb8G6t28Ffy_9pEnlrcWEOHY_ziyRvDpNKaQTlAZf2KHPWp2Xg3YAqnJN2iXlEeUqN9RR1-DmPbqiQXnHHdousVaTmpNcSVp7nXe5GFF/s320/birthday+boy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381887062617537762" border="0" /></a>Happy Birthday, Conner. I'm so glad you're my son.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-59554914976946315932009-09-11T09:11:00.002-04:002009-09-11T22:55:59.035-04:00To Commemorate 9/11, May We Never ForgetMy kids have no memories from that fateful day eight years ago. Conner was in kindergarten, about to turn six, but he insists he has no specific memory of what was happening. I do recall that I tried to keep the news on TV, those vivid images, to a minimum. We were staying with my sister in Kansas for a while, while John was TDY. Her boys were as young as Conner and even younger. Their needs couldn't wait while the adults dropped everything to watch replays of the same horrible scenes.<br /><br />To Conner it is just history, not something he experienced or witnessed personally as it played out. His knowledge of that day, and what it meant for this country, will have to come from us. I remember exactly where I was, and what I was doing, when I learned what was happening in New York. I remember the feeling in the country that we were all united, we were all galvanized and determined to find those responsible, we were all afraid, and we were all mad.<br /><br />Olivia and Peter weren't even born yet. "Patriot Day" to Olivia means wear red, white and blue to school. As you might imagine, Olivia's always up for a theme.<br /><br /><br />Someday, I hope, she will understand the gravity of what this day commemorates. For now, singing a song she learned at school about loving her country is enough.<br /><br />(Video's 41 seconds long. The cymbals were her idea;)<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwm1808YhLYJHEuu1vCx9Q3FwDzeFYj5ywLvvbeETL_VK9GV1NRHERKcBOC-A0PNet0rBAgant8rEjCjnM-eA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />May you all have a blessed day.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-8083799644407781692009-09-01T22:42:00.008-04:002009-09-01T23:35:45.687-04:00There was a mouse in our house.<span style="font-style: italic;">"Mom, where's some gloves!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"What do you need them for?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Just tell me where some are!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"They're in the closet, in the bin marked, 'gloves'."</span><br /><br />I know, I'm an enigma.<br /><br />Turns out Conner was panicking because John had discovered a mouse in our house. Yes, I am aware that sounds like the beginning of a Dr. Seuss book. But come one, a mouse?<br /><br />First, it was these guys...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFLK_0Pz_2OLC-BClklhFY_qtCzD-6Ge9P-NoTayiLEEpyfoC3mLMRwdI5PX57TuYBTAMZnlIBOmQAfHEEyi2yzpOxrBy85Yxl7H4wqwHC5PFIsHjh2pBNXwhZGHlCjJXtMs0fGPe6uDYW/s1600-h/chipmunks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 155px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFLK_0Pz_2OLC-BClklhFY_qtCzD-6Ge9P-NoTayiLEEpyfoC3mLMRwdI5PX57TuYBTAMZnlIBOmQAfHEEyi2yzpOxrBy85Yxl7H4wqwHC5PFIsHjh2pBNXwhZGHlCjJXtMs0fGPe6uDYW/s200/chipmunks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376701477476991538" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnB0WgSQIPRn9qcyrYjE2UTl0t6TOrtyY1YVS4rAsZhqjOv7c-TqyrI3vzMzvLg07c74u6XyWHYBi9cUgRNtI-GMOyVG2yD-HsntoWOR7_olVWJLId-25AOPD1icUpzup1zNAyMF-W_O_8/s1600-h/chipmunk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnB0WgSQIPRn9qcyrYjE2UTl0t6TOrtyY1YVS4rAsZhqjOv7c-TqyrI3vzMzvLg07c74u6XyWHYBi9cUgRNtI-GMOyVG2yD-HsntoWOR7_olVWJLId-25AOPD1icUpzup1zNAyMF-W_O_8/s200/chipmunk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376701300121841506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It started a year ago when chipmunks <a href="http://amilitaryfamilyblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/its-official.html">tried to get into our dryer vent</a>. Come summer,<a href="http://amilitaryfamilyblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-which-i-post-thousand-photos-and.html"> they simply used the door.</a><br /><br />But today, it was this little guy...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIieSFPjDGralfI1en-ABcf1vjvvzWExFmU3DxwJh5yZsF9E5cWvWpjBk4nhc1JjoXsog59-2X7j-He4emLjxacCYL2f-HsXRHCPl2al5fKV6W6Bdi420ouAfsb8yuYARokpKXsNcu_QJz/s1600-h/mouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIieSFPjDGralfI1en-ABcf1vjvvzWExFmU3DxwJh5yZsF9E5cWvWpjBk4nhc1JjoXsog59-2X7j-He4emLjxacCYL2f-HsXRHCPl2al5fKV6W6Bdi420ouAfsb8yuYARokpKXsNcu_QJz/s320/mouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376701740477399602" border="0" /></a>It took a little doing (and a little destruction)...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBG5HrAtwMtf3A0Sa0H5cRtmUHmNjyWrcL4V272sNoi9WhoGi6CIZ-HSovth-mQXBZPDu8Ou64RIsRYaHZs6ONK-WzFMd-77No65EelbvdK-9eJIHbb8rXLVmM9XpcZ3lFVm11uQsktWWe/s1600-h/mouse+was+here.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBG5HrAtwMtf3A0Sa0H5cRtmUHmNjyWrcL4V272sNoi9WhoGi6CIZ-HSovth-mQXBZPDu8Ou64RIsRYaHZs6ONK-WzFMd-77No65EelbvdK-9eJIHbb8rXLVmM9XpcZ3lFVm11uQsktWWe/s320/mouse+was+here.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376703378983882290" border="0" /></a>But John finally caught him.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxUm1LuWl8GqKR_9e7B-mutmQuiOIEdtfRbk-Y84UdipZCMj7M_uGiMUNVSCBH9NgrE7PYqcZMWw_1OS76yPDsmEMYc-HnUaPZ5JEKr2TiBxV_ptGCHsNQe8woQwhByS64myBeCJPbZsw/s1600-h/my+daddy%27s+the+man.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxUm1LuWl8GqKR_9e7B-mutmQuiOIEdtfRbk-Y84UdipZCMj7M_uGiMUNVSCBH9NgrE7PYqcZMWw_1OS76yPDsmEMYc-HnUaPZ5JEKr2TiBxV_ptGCHsNQe8woQwhByS64myBeCJPbZsw/s320/my+daddy%27s+the+man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376705414391364466" border="0" /></a>He took the poor thing to the Nature Park, to join our former pet chipmunks Mr. Fluffy and his brother Darryl. (Unfortunately, his other brother Darryl succumbed to internal injuries.)<br /><br />Where, oh where was the cat? you might ask. I know I did. Once the ruckus had died down and the mouse was safely ensconced in his plastic bag, The Huckster finally sauntered out from taking a nap and was all like, <span style="font-style: italic;">"What?"</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaulXXBTrcYX8tcgB1RmS6EX2SqnK90P-r69dPMji3VtO7v6TNppV2kfcexOzCco55R2Sdnb_arNgHhUafUdvzP4lu3I25uFsMstH7Yh6LfTm_e0TWBxcB1YvEU6nkOETouwFxXuq-vPil/s1600-h/like,+so+whatever.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaulXXBTrcYX8tcgB1RmS6EX2SqnK90P-r69dPMji3VtO7v6TNppV2kfcexOzCco55R2Sdnb_arNgHhUafUdvzP4lu3I25uFsMstH7Yh6LfTm_e0TWBxcB1YvEU6nkOETouwFxXuq-vPil/s320/like,+so+whatever.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376707820254744018" border="0" /></a>He is so getting fired.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-24126328531755952132009-08-29T21:20:00.007-04:002009-08-29T23:27:04.567-04:00Ohio's Grass is Showing Its RootsYou ever heard about the mom who was asked where she lived? And with a straight face she answered,<span style="font-style: italic;"> "In a white suburban." </span><br /><br />I felt a little like that today, only I was living in a Big Green Van. Conner had a soccer game about as far away from our house as you can get and still be in our little corner of suburbia. Then Olivia had dance yet another eight miles away or so, closer in to The Big City. Oh, and there was the little part about going home only to find the house locked up and I didn't have my key, so I had to go back out to find John, who was holed up in a coffee shop trying to get some Master's work done...<br /><br />But that's neither here nor there. My point is <span style="font-style: italic;">what I saw</span> while driving hither and yon, at every major intersection along a certain main street/highway in this Dayton area.<br /><br />Conner took most of the pictures (for some reason it made him nervous to have me drive and take pictures at the same time?) -- I'll let them speak for themselves. The video at the end? Well, that was my attempt to get an audio of the cacophony of fellow drivers joining in on the protests, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Honk if you oppose government run healthcare."</span><br /><br />Conner wasn't with me in the van at that point, or I would have handed him the camera lest he up and faint right there in the seat beside me. Sheesh, I don't know what the big deal is. The video's only 17 seconds long...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJp7SOMeHmjlUMakwihMLliFN_mmqaUBJNw7UFdrDxJTz2HUJnsNEUOAZq3xLNWL56Sh1nsmGle1Q_TZ6Xth5gB67AU0UtSBmpS8c2X_AWJbq-2s1HbLFkjfdptRTqotILtucZ6Jj6mo0U/s1600-h/protesters+8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJp7SOMeHmjlUMakwihMLliFN_mmqaUBJNw7UFdrDxJTz2HUJnsNEUOAZq3xLNWL56Sh1nsmGle1Q_TZ6Xth5gB67AU0UtSBmpS8c2X_AWJbq-2s1HbLFkjfdptRTqotILtucZ6Jj6mo0U/s320/protesters+8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561869229983010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTeI9k4sLgwC3dxdilmTSjtQMdkzH5lExr-reI9Rq8xdc32GiTG3jASLhzJ3GI6DXhJbqxnZ-_yUUlHx0sr8T9vKmnmPYY3Iy8jqR6stPafx4viB0G0C9-dsA91d0l6TB4_uUTdEtX2B_/s1600-h/protesters+7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 296px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTeI9k4sLgwC3dxdilmTSjtQMdkzH5lExr-reI9Rq8xdc32GiTG3jASLhzJ3GI6DXhJbqxnZ-_yUUlHx0sr8T9vKmnmPYY3Iy8jqR6stPafx4viB0G0C9-dsA91d0l6TB4_uUTdEtX2B_/s320/protesters+7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561862647814322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaaKMX6UWIO74Oof2IdEtFJRF6EISJhLU2qBJLPjwTFfwnf-Gj-M6g76Rxj3aZsDbXmbREQW27Jaea0OwI9XvFKm-BQmmqq4RBbzN6w43Y3Zy9aqeBnhCrp5dv-FkGQwPYnSWABrk5yTR-/s1600-h/protesters+6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaaKMX6UWIO74Oof2IdEtFJRF6EISJhLU2qBJLPjwTFfwnf-Gj-M6g76Rxj3aZsDbXmbREQW27Jaea0OwI9XvFKm-BQmmqq4RBbzN6w43Y3Zy9aqeBnhCrp5dv-FkGQwPYnSWABrk5yTR-/s320/protesters+6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561852672326210" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzuain9wrabyV7DNMIjUTsAxYoxXqgHloaqNDdp2ld0uhu9200Z8I-SGLFMQhwfVJuvQQqmAbT7YqiWcKiZypb6ntxjTb1AdpqGQolFDAIBtd9fW-0uFxSp5DASXu7BXshArZhciOhGyr/s1600-h/protesters+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzuain9wrabyV7DNMIjUTsAxYoxXqgHloaqNDdp2ld0uhu9200Z8I-SGLFMQhwfVJuvQQqmAbT7YqiWcKiZypb6ntxjTb1AdpqGQolFDAIBtd9fW-0uFxSp5DASXu7BXshArZhciOhGyr/s320/protesters+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561363541322146" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnaAFnfu6IUc2jPVSofwvueXB5_SiGTBqXQ63gpXQaFZUNxw-d7R9zkoAM_IxoAMviqPVpcysMO2sR-ND-93cDsXxY9KAsWefNHdN77ScvYQYpUKr_SfiagRR6nmRBlPevptGjdlE67dn/s1600-h/protesters+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnaAFnfu6IUc2jPVSofwvueXB5_SiGTBqXQ63gpXQaFZUNxw-d7R9zkoAM_IxoAMviqPVpcysMO2sR-ND-93cDsXxY9KAsWefNHdN77ScvYQYpUKr_SfiagRR6nmRBlPevptGjdlE67dn/s320/protesters+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561356610046578" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHDw0dPXG6qVsNAuyEX8qt-faSyWHfkO0haRO93qkaTq0G5JWtMODW9P_3faDP97RC5QRr4FSXW5MGM1PXND3qI5HYUgtH_B03llR_6yg3Kb08BPYDKOQPryuRkwa8Ixc-clEqijzpH4g/s1600-h/protesters+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHDw0dPXG6qVsNAuyEX8qt-faSyWHfkO0haRO93qkaTq0G5JWtMODW9P_3faDP97RC5QRr4FSXW5MGM1PXND3qI5HYUgtH_B03llR_6yg3Kb08BPYDKOQPryuRkwa8Ixc-clEqijzpH4g/s320/protesters+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561342289969970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXo-HfThLIg7oQXM1eH2cBgb6wuFlZqU8ih3GWxOaNCRi2HsmNaelN74AVKY0maqnIktNFD-12kl0SDRELbhBSaZgDfDQUSzua_pfiO8r1hEYFvYPf-QST2ttsTeYybYCeAilqRwDTjnFS/s1600-h/protesters+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXo-HfThLIg7oQXM1eH2cBgb6wuFlZqU8ih3GWxOaNCRi2HsmNaelN74AVKY0maqnIktNFD-12kl0SDRELbhBSaZgDfDQUSzua_pfiO8r1hEYFvYPf-QST2ttsTeYybYCeAilqRwDTjnFS/s320/protesters+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561335881342738" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FWb_bg-rvE5pL5Dr9qH2alFDx1jM1Sk93kEYemFYtS_PpS16F2XR6AbhlliXTUSvjZ6kfb8YUw7a2-ak_2iTQisXmAMObHZs1qMZEunf1rvUMnEevI9gZ037n5P2wmEykv8FdQMn_kQ5/s1600-h/protesters+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FWb_bg-rvE5pL5Dr9qH2alFDx1jM1Sk93kEYemFYtS_PpS16F2XR6AbhlliXTUSvjZ6kfb8YUw7a2-ak_2iTQisXmAMObHZs1qMZEunf1rvUMnEevI9gZ037n5P2wmEykv8FdQMn_kQ5/s320/protesters+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375561326872385522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx9Ae9_eXdCvILCLfMylgUKyAzQzhF10CXS50--g_2aiJjc4IpyQSKEJI2kqRn0KmTW8E-MsclMScls-6NbiQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Like I said, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves -- or at least for the people demonstrating in them. So far I haven't found anything in the news highlighting these protests; we'll see what comes out in the Sunday news. When we were stopped at a light I hollered out the window (Conner just loved that, I tell you what) and asked one of the ladies who they were, and she just kind of shrugged, <span style="font-style: italic;">"We're just grass roots, trying to get our voices heard."</span> <br /><br />Any other voices out there you've been hearing about the healthcare plan? Demonstrations? Local Town Hall meetings you've attended or heard anything about? How about the voices in your own head? Do tell.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-79650990943821829412009-08-28T20:05:00.003-04:002009-08-28T23:55:14.997-04:00I didn't put a title on this. Oh, whatever.Yes, the kids started school! And I would've given a shout out regarding that a bit earlier but we've been having computer woes. Technical issues. Router problems, to be specific. It took a couple of tries, and a couple of days, and a couple different model numbers (and a couple returns to the store...) and more than a couple conversations with Punjab in the international customer service but John seems to have finally squared everything away. Just not soon enough to get his weekly Master's assignment in on time, unfortunately. Too bad Punjab couldn't write him a note.<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">"Please to excuse John's late assignment. His computer was very broken and he was working very hard to repair the problem. It wasn't his fault, I assure you.<br />Sincerely,<br />Punjab."</blockquote><br /><span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Olivia...</u></span></span><span><br /><br />Oh-bright too early is grand central bus station in our ne</span><span>ighborhood. </span>Not because we necessarily have that many neighborhood school kids, but because the few we have apparently go in all different directions: there's preschool, and elementary school, and early elementary, and middle school, and high school... Don't forget the special needs kids, of which Sean-Peter is one. Oh, and there's also the Catholic school...<br /><br />Imagine Olivia's excitement when one of the buses finally stops right by our house...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOyo96cBJKWj0dwp0bs_sv4bZmBUz0IEqL1-WxBxsDUYUrmKzPkPKgK99s_V9Zh0Ab5HIYgFzxMMBK3N06npsQMyiWytBhEANUN18JT9Ck8b0OZRdzqggpkaaSWO5jD6z2kFP8qW7Uoni3/s1600-h/waiting+for+her+bus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOyo96cBJKWj0dwp0bs_sv4bZmBUz0IEqL1-WxBxsDUYUrmKzPkPKgK99s_V9Zh0Ab5HIYgFzxMMBK3N06npsQMyiWytBhEANUN18JT9Ck8b0OZRdzqggpkaaSWO5jD6z2kFP8qW7Uoni3/s320/waiting+for+her+bus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375169656100928162" border="0" /></a>Only to learn that it wasn't hers after all.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLnLl5F93ZHf7k3OcVWLmPFkYSdFh-3KUCGXYWdbp3mgzLKqxb8hm-btzLCH639Qhvt82Ljr2jAARphtoVEWm8Ux0Noc_GZTsE6qJj5SXKJlTuEjS3neEh5xGx0OMapPFzD4CA7c_oUzTz/s1600-h/not+her+bus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLnLl5F93ZHf7k3OcVWLmPFkYSdFh-3KUCGXYWdbp3mgzLKqxb8hm-btzLCH639Qhvt82Ljr2jAARphtoVEWm8Ux0Noc_GZTsE6qJj5SXKJlTuEjS3neEh5xGx0OMapPFzD4CA7c_oUzTz/s320/not+her+bus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375169662190261010" border="0" /></a>Poor thing.<br /><br />Of course, her turn finally came.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXsEg5Is38ZIxw6PNg9gEZSkGM-PaoOHaQ9MyTIDjsuXMF5lyUUNxu2n7af0HfngulJYBxug42MICnWUZqxLSuTqL5oZVtVZVRoszoD0qENu1WQwrkM3irlaw6qIo7g-GMunEtPUeoSeK8/s1600-h/1st+day+1st+grade.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXsEg5Is38ZIxw6PNg9gEZSkGM-PaoOHaQ9MyTIDjsuXMF5lyUUNxu2n7af0HfngulJYBxug42MICnWUZqxLSuTqL5oZVtVZVRoszoD0qENu1WQwrkM3irlaw6qIo7g-GMunEtPUeoSeK8/s320/1st+day+1st+grade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375226085380717394" border="0" /></a> And then it was...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><u>Conner...</u></span><br /><br />Conner's turn! He did oblige me with a photo.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWkh706t67Qh3bH-_KR_gti-hmKpkEIlqIkA4nrVsAKQsmgz4r5uJsDy82DwQg40sOFNpxxsx3W2Bt6l8N6VQqJgSaXbrnTO9IgqEML3jSjGt5ldTHRF2rAg8wYIJgWnP8RslxBSbNi4Y/s1600-h/1st+day+8th+grade.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWkh706t67Qh3bH-_KR_gti-hmKpkEIlqIkA4nrVsAKQsmgz4r5uJsDy82DwQg40sOFNpxxsx3W2Bt6l8N6VQqJgSaXbrnTO9IgqEML3jSjGt5ldTHRF2rAg8wYIJgWnP8RslxBSbNi4Y/s320/1st+day+8th+grade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375180606785751954" border="0" /></a>I told him he owed me because I bought him pop tarts.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKSJvmzCxKoDGbTKpLpapFp8dXi0Bt76ehmVy2dxBWADVaV4ArOuotv6P5slHaUHYv_W3vrxE33lfXxek966gdxnOVtLj5SPNHgv98CQAbl8tz9yYSDAO_7o73kfwSMOndUOO6-AYa3tI/s1600-h/pop+tarts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKSJvmzCxKoDGbTKpLpapFp8dXi0Bt76ehmVy2dxBWADVaV4ArOuotv6P5slHaUHYv_W3vrxE33lfXxek966gdxnOVtLj5SPNHgv98CQAbl8tz9yYSDAO_7o73kfwSMOndUOO6-AYa3tI/s320/pop+tarts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375181768802867218" border="0" /></a>It helped that the bus actually stops right in front of our house this year -- otherwise he would have given me nary a glance and skedaddled off down the street to meet up with his friend at the old bus stop.<br /><br />As it was, I got a little carried away with the camera. It was all he could to not run onto that thing.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQoo4-IcprvJjUGxjtsPBwdHP8w5kbNA-DrgrausZAUKvoVukssIMDB1AZAUTNa8-xINC28j-pu8V48tkfFnk2wDuLyj43BLjZhiU3JW16G6-jm3p7jaBRJCjxTBRFKTjk_sos0LahjQr/s1600-h/conner's+bus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQoo4-IcprvJjUGxjtsPBwdHP8w5kbNA-DrgrausZAUKvoVukssIMDB1AZAUTNa8-xINC28j-pu8V48tkfFnk2wDuLyj43BLjZhiU3JW16G6-jm3p7jaBRJCjxTBRFKTjk_sos0LahjQr/s320/conner's+bus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375185909395723602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Sean-Peter...</u></span><br /><br />Is officially better! His stool sample even says so. You know, just in case you were wondering.<br /><br />But really, kids are just amazing. Just a couple of days after coming home from the hospital he was already trying to keep up with his big sister.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5B5bQtsZ59dq_YrqQt3rqAK8t679odR8NmxdIzRlzP2fpIXr4nQeHfd2M1wox55CzUZb7V4hlXAynDrdimgJEn_bOadh9beXTvRCSe9Y3RVQmKL2_RD3qRPcd9HZREkIMXimLOYZagjw/s1600-h/running+p+and+o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5B5bQtsZ59dq_YrqQt3rqAK8t679odR8NmxdIzRlzP2fpIXr4nQeHfd2M1wox55CzUZb7V4hlXAynDrdimgJEn_bOadh9beXTvRCSe9Y3RVQmKL2_RD3qRPcd9HZREkIMXimLOYZagjw/s320/running+p+and+o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373315056466940482" border="0" /></a>Though methinks she will not be his "big" sister for much longer. They already wear the same shoe size, for Pete's sake. Pun intended.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIYq6RfyRaQAiVcX9yh9rXozedxHexF1tShhZ_nHT3GFKkqsYnWcjQkVsRqHoe7Zfjb9gGtbwK3zSbj-ndyea0X8QyOmvPQc9uOK51TI5hWTxGJytMCGyGeP7cCk4qNA5ppa39LxHCHqQ/s1600-h/olivia+and+peter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIYq6RfyRaQAiVcX9yh9rXozedxHexF1tShhZ_nHT3GFKkqsYnWcjQkVsRqHoe7Zfjb9gGtbwK3zSbj-ndyea0X8QyOmvPQc9uOK51TI5hWTxGJytMCGyGeP7cCk4qNA5ppa39LxHCHqQ/s320/olivia+and+peter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373315046255508162" border="0" /></a> I just couldn't resist this photo. The lighting was so good. But certain readers will be relieved to know that Sean-Peter has gotten a haircut since the photo above was taken...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzQBhkk5tL-aZARTrAL0umsJu4iLx4FXcVky5YMPWMGIBj5IkjFlevk4vN2_db8WMHIpPQVeNdb-UYqiq_OWSoBchDvOGAtZWi6iyOANFzJ5ZLysjbw2ZLkOOyxIaMpu-id2RRSdrYD8q/s1600-h/grumpy+haircut.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzQBhkk5tL-aZARTrAL0umsJu4iLx4FXcVky5YMPWMGIBj5IkjFlevk4vN2_db8WMHIpPQVeNdb-UYqiq_OWSoBchDvOGAtZWi6iyOANFzJ5ZLysjbw2ZLkOOyxIaMpu-id2RRSdrYD8q/s320/grumpy+haircut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375217176442863106" border="0" /></a>Though he was none too happy about it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >"Are you done YET??"</span><br /><br />I didn't blame him. I'm perfectly capable of cutting my kids' hair (usually). But I. am. slow.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcO4ltScYahQhtdNrr1pkCXk_5fCj6uVxyXWW4rNPC19DPKLQMUg47UXxv9OKmEna_XD1zJHdhQNOZyMKDz5OvVxZhLoG9TMn1U_4zjiPa16inH9sPGIvXxhwYxMze2885p5nLL-JDa0dm/s1600-h/same+bus+driver.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcO4ltScYahQhtdNrr1pkCXk_5fCj6uVxyXWW4rNPC19DPKLQMUg47UXxv9OKmEna_XD1zJHdhQNOZyMKDz5OvVxZhLoG9TMn1U_4zjiPa16inH9sPGIvXxhwYxMze2885p5nLL-JDa0dm/s200/same+bus+driver.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375223797477163778" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wwkbGDJkq_xedmDRCUmMfNQr16nux0GkibtAIIbXMre82OZRU1dY1TFEuOuhuFtFkhJQzQftlT7DCX5jtX6XHhEhzt_n9Nlcmo_zXon_EYrk1PJ-1lrWP3zVTaanFtGC1xV1xDtdI9Kb/s1600-h/1st+day+preschool.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wwkbGDJkq_xedmDRCUmMfNQr16nux0GkibtAIIbXMre82OZRU1dY1TFEuOuhuFtFkhJQzQftlT7DCX5jtX6XHhEhzt_n9Nlcmo_zXon_EYrk1PJ-1lrWP3zVTaanFtGC1xV1xDtdI9Kb/s200/1st+day+preschool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375221036354430338" border="0" /></a><br />Sean-Peter's in afternoon preschool again, four days a week. Same school, same teacher, same bus drivers! I really don't know what to do with this kind of continuity. It's like we're living a stable life or something. In our life, stable is anything over two years. We're about to hit that mark for our time in Ohio. Two down, two to go? That's just crazy.Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-61653809590411925982009-08-18T08:11:00.003-04:002009-08-18T12:02:49.667-04:00They say it comes in threes. I'd take that.First we get an "extended vacation" because our car breaks down while we're in Kansas. No sooner are we back home in Ohio then Sean-Peter contracts e-coli from Lord knows where and lands himself in the hospital. Olivia starts throwing up, and I break my stupid toe. I should write a country song. Thank God we don't have a dog or a pickup truck. Although my mom did tell me we should get rid of our cat. (No surprise there.) (Hi mom!)<br /><br />Poor, poor Sean-Peter. Have you ever known anyone who suffered from e-coli? It ain't pretty, especially when you don't yet know why your child appears to be expelling half his bowels. Poor, poor Peter.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopYfQaQAx3vtuY_acEdfzU-8vBB2KKqpZPWcwGm1eSAXMTUk3_ACWjcEPKkL7SI7e8d2QkV9qlo7yJ0MIkd8t7jHxSutN6zCrqxxDkewfpPZjUPU4xX3MMpS1TfvFiiQ6m9X1SdPHi4LJ/s1600-h/closeup+pitiful.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopYfQaQAx3vtuY_acEdfzU-8vBB2KKqpZPWcwGm1eSAXMTUk3_ACWjcEPKkL7SI7e8d2QkV9qlo7yJ0MIkd8t7jHxSutN6zCrqxxDkewfpPZjUPU4xX3MMpS1TfvFiiQ6m9X1SdPHi4LJ/s320/closeup+pitiful.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371140332703493682" border="0" /></a> Don't he look pitiful?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBVGxPeuNgoonI8I0hHjzblUeOSOpgXmqeXyXDUmn_2KxFraIKkKiNvwOkZW1QNGY76AQSzumMk-qkVUVNSnKyNSKbCg9NUBd0oWa4oD5pZ1HUH64GNb1GSmcuz5_TPdMk75jSLvRstz7/s1600-h/pitiful.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBVGxPeuNgoonI8I0hHjzblUeOSOpgXmqeXyXDUmn_2KxFraIKkKiNvwOkZW1QNGY76AQSzumMk-qkVUVNSnKyNSKbCg9NUBd0oWa4oD5pZ1HUH64GNb1GSmcuz5_TPdMk75jSLvRstz7/s320/pitiful.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371140550684784146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />We started out at the ER on base, where they tested him for everything under the sun and ruled out what they could. They then transferred him to Dayton Children's Hospital where they continued to run tests and I couldn't have been more impressed with the care.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSa2OJwGSEqD2s91u3-g8uaan6anZQUwfcE9-aymPkMNvfEllC7bpgaNelIoEne35KiQtTl-AShEa3uuMu4_ktfOcC_Of3WfjGGrtAIRYmdMBxciDK0bvUPrgIwRWBUojvkpH2wrStL2R/s1600-h/Children's+Hospital.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSa2OJwGSEqD2s91u3-g8uaan6anZQUwfcE9-aymPkMNvfEllC7bpgaNelIoEne35KiQtTl-AShEa3uuMu4_ktfOcC_Of3WfjGGrtAIRYmdMBxciDK0bvUPrgIwRWBUojvkpH2wrStL2R/s200/Children's+Hospital.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371141669309443474" border="0" /></a> Seriously. If I'd had nurses in the hospital like that when I'd had my babies I never would have wanted to go home.<br /><br /><br />Sean-Peter went through so much. You know how it is when a child is so sick and pathetic and lethargic and weak and so, so pitiful?<br /><br />He cried <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> pathetically when they put in the I.V. which, really, is so much more than a shot. (Have you ever had that tube stuck up your arm?) I soothed him and assured him that the worst was over. Then they taped a sack around his nut sack <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(ahem</span>) so they could collect some urine to test and when they had to tear<span style="font-style: italic;"> that</span> off he screamed and wailed and I said I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">so sorry</span> I was wrong because I was sure <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> was the worst.<br /><br />The little guy got his first (and hopefully last) ambulance ride, with the nicest people ever, two confident, take-charge women who must be saints to spend their lives helping hurt and hurting children.<br /><br />They transferred him from the base ER to Dayton Children's by ambulance "just in case" -- the little guy had been so dehydrated and of course they don't know me, his mom, from Eve, so why take chances?<br /><br />While sitting back there in the ambulance with those lovely ladies, and a wane little boy so unlike the one I know, one of them attempted to spark some life out of him with some idle questions.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"So, you have an older brother and sister?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Uh, huh."</span> So, <span style="font-style: italic;">sooo</span> pathetic. You could barely hear him.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Are they nice to you?"</span><br /><br />Sean-Peter suddenly looks alert and starts shaking his head.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"My brother is mean to me and calls me stupid and a loser."</span> Then he lifts his hand and makes the two-finger loser <span style="font-style: italic;">L</span> sign.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Doh!</span><br /><br />The woman laughs appropriately and I am a bit taken aback at the biggest display of life he has shown all day. She asks me how old his brother is and when I tell her 13, she rolls her eyes appreciatively. But still.<br /><br />Oh, Conner. We have told him time and time again what a powerful role model he is to his younger brother and sister. They look up to him so much and <span style="font-style: italic;">everything he says</span> affects the dynamic in their relationship. No matter that he thinks he's being funny or that he thinks they're annoying; they are not his peers and being the oldest bears a certain responsibility.<br /><br />I wasn't surprised by Sean-Peter's response -- just by his animation -- but apparently Conner was. Surprised and hurt. I think it made quite the impression that his brother -- his sick, little brother, thought of him this way in his most vulnerable moment. What, you going to accuse a sick little four-year-old of making this stuff up?<br /><br />Partly in redemption? But mostly because he really is a kind-hearted soul, Conner helped his sister make a card for their little brother.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qHb37beWdkvR_Gy3y1Itu-pkafJQ192_fKKtQETr7PWmWbine_JawZVyoyzZBO7ccMSjpzyeDAUUkX1gdyBI684Zr91KmFDQ4EZyQkHP6WnJqsRzTQC0kTRmzQ0uE-TWf9Vj2SsAXsbP/s1600-h/Spongebob+card.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qHb37beWdkvR_Gy3y1Itu-pkafJQ192_fKKtQETr7PWmWbine_JawZVyoyzZBO7ccMSjpzyeDAUUkX1gdyBI684Zr91KmFDQ4EZyQkHP6WnJqsRzTQC0kTRmzQ0uE-TWf9Vj2SsAXsbP/s320/Spongebob+card.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371154406808934418" border="0" /></a><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />"Jellyfishing isn't any fun without you, Peter."</span><br /></blockquote><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lNIt980CbDm2TvdLfMoIGYj46xbxZTQLYK_a5ZO9GGhxTPbTI5oZFSYSQwHRxziKHazQ-QzXZ1ZDrimJgDUq5x-mrKK0ytG_y6JbhfW2P3BnV8vtsSR9IOaxWc2DQmlKjukJEz0ha4Al/s1600-h/we+love+you+peter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lNIt980CbDm2TvdLfMoIGYj46xbxZTQLYK_a5ZO9GGhxTPbTI5oZFSYSQwHRxziKHazQ-QzXZ1ZDrimJgDUq5x-mrKK0ytG_y6JbhfW2P3BnV8vtsSR9IOaxWc2DQmlKjukJEz0ha4Al/s320/we+love+you+peter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371154416152756386" border="0" /></a><blockquote style="font-style: italic;"><br />"We love you, Peter.<br /><br />Hey, Peter, can't wait to see you, it's really boring without you! I miss you and I hope you're feeling better!<br /><br />You will get better."<br /></blockquote><br />I especially like the last part.<br /><br />The country song didn't go into full effect until yesterday, though, when I managed to break my toe -- running to change out laundry? Answer the phone? I really can't recall. But it was sometime <span style="font-style: italic;">after</span> Olivia threw up but <span style="font-style: italic;">before</span> Public Health called with Sean-Peter's diagnosis: I vividly remember massaging my foot with a bag of frozen peas while attempting to process <span style="font-style: italic;">"your son has e-coli"</span> and intelligently answer her formula questions.<br /><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Is anyone else sick? </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Is your son in daycare? </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When did you go to Kansas?</span></blockquote><br />In all honesty, we'll probably never know exactly how or where Sean-Peter contracted the e-coli. He simply doesn't fit the standard profile (e.g., he won't touch hamburger) nor does he have any connections with any other cases. It is sobering to note that, at the same time Sean-Peter was in the hospital, at least two other small children were there for the same thing -- and they're still there. Public Health called again today with more questions, desperate to rule out any and all correlation between our son and the other cases, and a bit credulous that he was home and doing so well, as the other children are still suffering so much. We are very fortunate.<br /><br />My broken toe notwithstanding. You all can feel sorry for me now.<br /><br />And I apologize for this photo in advance, I just couldn't resist.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3dQSPX1tmQn-21i86P_D3dPkoh4cT3SMC8asTIuGa2Em8q5ncsD594L5DLCeZteilA2F_w06FMPC5YiwilfuzRlHLL4TConMDwlrfIEeKWfI3xg7oFdQRlbEofyOiqdqlwzOnx4HJCUb/s1600-h/broken+toe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3dQSPX1tmQn-21i86P_D3dPkoh4cT3SMC8asTIuGa2Em8q5ncsD594L5DLCeZteilA2F_w06FMPC5YiwilfuzRlHLL4TConMDwlrfIEeKWfI3xg7oFdQRlbEofyOiqdqlwzOnx4HJCUb/s200/broken+toe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371326031283400754" border="0" /></a>**<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Before the whole e-coli, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Thang</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, I started uploading photos for a </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Trip to Kansas</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> post. I will recommence on that shortly.</span><br /></span><br /><br /><blockquote></blockquote>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-4736657099546311892009-07-24T09:25:00.004-04:002009-07-27T00:23:51.240-04:00"7 Quick Takes Friday"It's been so long since my last post, I thought I'd try participating in <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/">one of my favorite blogger's</a> weekly carnivals,<a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/2009/07/7-quick-takes-friday-vol-43.html"> "7 Quick Take Fridays"</a> to catch up:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZozY99ZAeoBnOC-K1yOsUAo1SAm852qOSysVhtIauFc8zX1lJPTKJUUn2prh8rNJ7OGHPJmWGhjJzByTmbz96l5d26MRySGmsLBp_wBjbAKg9xRHvx8VsVvcLRkV2k_0UjXsAusY_SJ7l/s1600-h/7_quick_takes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZozY99ZAeoBnOC-K1yOsUAo1SAm852qOSysVhtIauFc8zX1lJPTKJUUn2prh8rNJ7OGHPJmWGhjJzByTmbz96l5d26MRySGmsLBp_wBjbAKg9xRHvx8VsVvcLRkV2k_0UjXsAusY_SJ7l/s320/7_quick_takes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361866633080839426" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">-- 1 --</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">John got his leave approved for our trip next week. His boss actually approved it some time ago, after John sent the request along with this email...<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"My wife has a family trip planned to Kansas for (insert dates). If there's anything you can do to get me out of it, I'd really appreciate it."</blockquote><br />John said it was the fastest turnaround for leave approval he'd ever experienced. Of course, he told his boss he was just kidding...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">-- 2 --</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1v30d11uyOTTy47kXsfqbjN_NLQC-rQvmgczsxnPw3zVX6ooYm_1jSL36HYtIJWu0LiMDorAQeyjN-gdt0_9D23XYyc9jbox55PhnslnoCxo-lVaZh5vKfuWkEudxSXXV4VmlhZ2_moms/s1600-h/ain't+she+purdy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1v30d11uyOTTy47kXsfqbjN_NLQC-rQvmgczsxnPw3zVX6ooYm_1jSL36HYtIJWu0LiMDorAQeyjN-gdt0_9D23XYyc9jbox55PhnslnoCxo-lVaZh5vKfuWkEudxSXXV4VmlhZ2_moms/s320/ain't+she+purdy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362041880807725042" border="0" /></a>My sister Carmen visited us recently with her youngest son Ben, who's Conner's age (13). We fit in all kinds of fun things: <span style="font-style: italic;">King's Island</span>; the <span style="font-style: italic;">Columbus Zoo and Aquarium</span>; The Air Force Museum and its IMAX theater... We even got to Goodwill! I'm thinking of donating a bench there in my name when I die: they need a place where you can sit and take a breather while you're waiting for your second wind.<br /><br />On our way to Columbus we stopped at a rest area. Before anyone could stop him (or even notice what he was doing), Sean-Peter goes right up to the guy who was parking next to us and starts tapping him vigorously on his arm. When the older gentleman finally looked down and discovered the persistent little bugger, Sean-Peter exclaimed -- and these were his exact words -- <span style="font-style: italic;">"YOU GOT A GROOVY CAR!"</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Bu-CDnusWN2J_AaGnJZA_lZTLTgFDWQbllX13vaDyccufcfK_Gm-i0_tRkPuT9h_LB_kqDL_0Y9ek_gBTCnjtEq3GoXFg970cQS1VvJ0Upk7XsBQEWYsY7fZnOx0P42M2lxd8_vf84o9/s1600-h/groovy+car.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Bu-CDnusWN2J_AaGnJZA_lZTLTgFDWQbllX13vaDyccufcfK_Gm-i0_tRkPuT9h_LB_kqDL_0Y9ek_gBTCnjtEq3GoXFg970cQS1VvJ0Upk7XsBQEWYsY7fZnOx0P42M2lxd8_vf84o9/s320/groovy+car.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362026401881240274" border="0" /></a>And he does, doesn't he? He and another older friend were obviously out for a joy ride. After we all laughed the guy looked at Sean-Peter, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Well, if we had more time, young man, I'd take you out for a ride!" </span>And I think he would have. Sean-Peter obviously made the guy's day.<br /><br />*Sigh* What is it about boys and their toys?<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">-- 3 --</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">At one point during Carmen's visit, Sean-Peter asked her to get a basket down from the top of the bookshelves in the basement. When Carmen figured out that was where the gamecube games were kept, she told him he should probably go ask his mother. Sean-Peter replied, <span style="font-style: italic;">"But my mom tells me no electronics, so you have to get them down for me."</span> Luckily, the little guy's still gotta work on his guile.<br /><br />Later, Carmen came and found me because she had discovered this:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRc96L0fA0o4iJCrxh3314uviHLGYZ4n-cX5myT2oq9hpriYaGqxs0GmKGALH39QuoSStCCQNbhnZ3wPt-05xrTKMZmlmiTQ-IuIZ5skKe628CC0nMRQtHhSXgaBz3JhyphenhyphenOlCmPgXFeBqw/s1600-h/discovered+this.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRc96L0fA0o4iJCrxh3314uviHLGYZ4n-cX5myT2oq9hpriYaGqxs0GmKGALH39QuoSStCCQNbhnZ3wPt-05xrTKMZmlmiTQ-IuIZ5skKe628CC0nMRQtHhSXgaBz3JhyphenhyphenOlCmPgXFeBqw/s320/discovered+this.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362032461817682786" border="0" /></a>She even said, <span style="font-style: italic;">"I've got a perfect blog post for you!"</span><br /><br />When his aunt didn't yield to his request, apparently Sean-Peter decided to resort to other means.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjel2PGTsfXVmiBmfr3vy9VDayHQGr2LaZ_PNA9IUY2jf2GgsBSHjjzQef3pKkW4Pz3G4uVTCvzgWxmZfNy-c7XCtCb5cbgoCnZ9EbRjWSGEsiZphxqo5lPI1uZ9sUUbqTtYIugQVB9ELWY/s1600-h/pointing+at+basket.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjel2PGTsfXVmiBmfr3vy9VDayHQGr2LaZ_PNA9IUY2jf2GgsBSHjjzQef3pKkW4Pz3G4uVTCvzgWxmZfNy-c7XCtCb5cbgoCnZ9EbRjWSGEsiZphxqo5lPI1uZ9sUUbqTtYIugQVB9ELWY/s320/pointing+at+basket.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362033250353532562" border="0" /></a>I can't remember if Carmen found him before he actually got to the top, or if he started up and changed his mind. But to his credit he did say, <span style="font-style: italic;">"It's scary up there."</span><br /><br />It's a wonder we've only been to the emergency room one time with that guy.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">-- 4 --</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Proof that John is not the only one with, um, <span>a</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> displaced </span>sense of humor... Carmen left our house to go visit a good friend of hers who just moved to Columbus, and this is the inscription on the plaque she gave her as a housewarming gift:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTlRkjxHNTuMFn5p__Vy0_qnQ6aXIMZiDF5cVvBLZw6zKU1B0g0tv5ZfAKJq2JKTRg_3JiXemtVK4T-TSe24kba0nBknUIZDlmXnBhZfs2xXFhVfzdBn-CInACNSksQVBPkxz-WDk2WUX/s1600-h/Please+God+plaque.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTlRkjxHNTuMFn5p__Vy0_qnQ6aXIMZiDF5cVvBLZw6zKU1B0g0tv5ZfAKJq2JKTRg_3JiXemtVK4T-TSe24kba0nBknUIZDlmXnBhZfs2xXFhVfzdBn-CInACNSksQVBPkxz-WDk2WUX/s320/Please+God+plaque.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362035286021320594" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Please God</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><blockquote>If you can't make me thin ...<br />make my friends fat!!</blockquote></div><br />Apparently, it's an inside joke.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">-- 5 --</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Conner flew to Kansas <span style="font-style: italic;">all by hisself</span> a couple of days ago. Yes, he's flown a gazillion times in his lifetime. And yes, he's even flown alone before -- on an international flight, nonetheless. But that was three years ago, and we used the airline's unaccompanied minor service that time so they were liable for his whereabouts.<br /><br />But he's 13 now, and perfectly capable of navigating a day of travel, connecting flight and all. (That, and now we have cell phones.) Here he is getting ready to go through security, all by his lonesome. Don't he look so small?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5cQEi6XjzbrCN7pTiU76Z89xoC9I6QlgG1JGIo8nlcFzBEuU1WTEjtAdpmbnLE6rTrhCP799w2BIdzl3GUOUf85gEfaZVxFBJnEX16P3MAJFMP5O0I1RPVkZOA538GWSwXlZD4GCh0en/s1600-h/conner+at+airport+security.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5cQEi6XjzbrCN7pTiU76Z89xoC9I6QlgG1JGIo8nlcFzBEuU1WTEjtAdpmbnLE6rTrhCP799w2BIdzl3GUOUf85gEfaZVxFBJnEX16P3MAJFMP5O0I1RPVkZOA538GWSwXlZD4GCh0en/s320/conner+at+airport+security.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362036412022894354" border="0" /></a>Remember the days when you could see people off at the gate?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">-- 6 --</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We'll be joining Conner in Kansas next week when we go there to visit my family... And also to attend my high school's 20-year reunion. <span style="font-style: italic;">Yikes. </span>Where have the years gone? I clearly remember thinking that people who attended their 20-year reunions were, well, if not <span style="font-style: italic;">old </span>exactly, at least very seasoned. <span style="font-style: italic;">"I guess by now they've done about everything they set out to do."</span> Ha! Joke's on me. I feel like I'm turning a corner and there's just as much going on over the next stretch as there was on the last one. Just not at as quick a pace, perhaps. <span style="font-style: italic;">Please, we can slow down now. </span>I do feel old enough to have the patience to enjoy it now, I will say that. And that's a good thing.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">-- 7 --<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">Last night when John was putting Olivia to bed, he told her he'd lie down with her a little bit because <del>he needed a little nap</del> that's the kind of father he is. John first went to use the bathroom, and when he walked back he caught Olivia holding his pillow under her booty. <span style="font-style: italic;">"What are you doing, farting in my pillow?"</span> She just giggled<span style="font-style: italic;"> maniacally</span> and exclaimed, <span style="font-style: italic;">"You were going to smell it anyway!"</span><br /><br />Spoken like a true six-year-old girl who only has brothers. She can <span style="font-style: italic;">so </span>hold her own with the boys.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div></div><br /></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127115195559673817.post-71724549341670423652009-07-09T10:47:00.005-04:002009-07-09T11:04:27.825-04:00"Bellies in Bloom" and a GiveawayMy cousin Hannah created an amazing blog, <a href="http://belliesinbloom.blogspot.com/">"Bellies in Bloom"</a> that focuses <span>on holistic health care, pregnancy, and natural childbirth. Recently she posted a series chronicling her personal, heartbreaking experience with an ectopic pregnancy. She's been a massage therapist for several years and recently became a doula. (She lives in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area if you are interested these services!)<br /><br />Right now she has a great giveaway on her blog for some <span style="font-style: italic;">cute cute</span> handmade baby shoes or some beautiful earrings. Go <a href="http://belliesinbloom.blogspot.com/2009/07/give-aways-galore.html">check it out and leave her a comment</a> to enter! You have until tomorrow...</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxM5DVFK0LfcjUDWW0ThAMi4NSFwUMhJOD5JbjdehGcr-Dx8Kunk4vZhEbQ64Ngj577Bv_vYEvazltHd8iKZ5TiSBWizw52hrGp5L_7phWfNRf92GZCnE88TWfBggHt06ETpYj8Qpu9RC/s1600-h/Hannah's+shoes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxM5DVFK0LfcjUDWW0ThAMi4NSFwUMhJOD5JbjdehGcr-Dx8Kunk4vZhEbQ64Ngj577Bv_vYEvazltHd8iKZ5TiSBWizw52hrGp5L_7phWfNRf92GZCnE88TWfBggHt06ETpYj8Qpu9RC/s200/Hannah's+shoes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356474829443122770" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1a3JI7NdRBGEIe3t4xfWPduRqWaj_5tuKZQqYXpYHZjBBnNQAwzjs6Ew887wg8BUSbtNc-R5etIlNnU9fglwWJpyTgORJmlCXxhNpeQrogDZwtWYxyaSGOET8tgzhtwF-hdsALv1R4otW/s1600-h/earrings.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1a3JI7NdRBGEIe3t4xfWPduRqWaj_5tuKZQqYXpYHZjBBnNQAwzjs6Ew887wg8BUSbtNc-R5etIlNnU9fglwWJpyTgORJmlCXxhNpeQrogDZwtWYxyaSGOET8tgzhtwF-hdsALv1R4otW/s200/earrings.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356475182672425634" border="0" /></a><br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/PARENT%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Stephanie -- if I get lucky in the drawing your new baby girl will have some adorable new shoes coming her way!)</span></span></span>Jolynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511682180313702603noreply@blogger.com2