tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36674770627878054162024-03-05T02:52:25.630-07:00Heart StringsUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger205125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-42512840142307302312011-10-02T21:45:00.000-06:002011-10-02T21:46:01.238-06:00Fall ConferenceToday was general conference- one of my favorite times of the year. We cooked a big turkey dinner and all the trimmings. It was a lot of work! I think next time we'll just toss in a frozen lasagna. The talks were wonderful. I choked back tears as I listened. The Spirit touched me and whispered to my soul some things I can and must do better in my life.<br />
<br />
We invited Andy and Carter to join us, as they usually do on Sundays. Mark took the opportunity to teach and testify to them, as he usually does. He has a gift of reaching people. He is so wise. He is so good. During the second session, we snuggled on the couch and listened to the speakers. I closed my eyes as the warm autumn sunlight shone through the windows, my head on his chest and his arms around me. I reflected on the happiness of it all. The joy of the Gospel. The Savior and His love for us. Families and the eternal links that bind us.<br />
<br />
Last night we were visiting next-door while all the guys attended the Priesthood Session. Tiffany said the funniest thing. She talked about President Samuelson (of BYU) getting released as a general authority. She said when she heard that news, her first thought was, "Maybe Mark will be the next President of BYU!" She said it with such seriousness that it took all of my strength to hold the laughs in. Later when I told Mark we laughed and laughed. He was quite flattered and I agreed that it was a nice compliment.<br />
<br />
Rachel faithfully took notes on all the talks today. She is amazing. She is stalwart and virtuous and strong. Linc is not too far behind her. He is a good boy, his friendship and example may be what saves Andy. I really could not ask for better kids, I feel so very blessed.<br />
<br />
Our baby turns four this week. We told her that we are not having any of it. We want her to turn two instead. She said, "Mommy, you turn what you turn and you don't throw a fit". I told her I might throw a fit anyway and she said, "Just go down to the baby store a get another baby- I am turning four!"<br />
<br />
Life is good.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-34055635448202396622011-09-18T22:35:00.000-06:002011-09-18T22:35:19.148-06:00A Typical SundayToday marks the day of a new start with this little blog of mine.<br />
Today I begin to write just for me.<br />
I can brag about the amazingness of my three joys and not even think twice about it.<br />
I can share the most intimate desires of my heart, complain if I feel like it or just write boring stuff that no one else would really care to read. This is going to be great!<br />
<br />
Today is Sunday.<br />
It was a good Sunday.<br />
Mark started at 6:00 am as he does most weeks. Tonight he got home at 8:45 and announced that he was done for the day and that he would now be taking off his tie.<br />
He is a rock, my Mark.<br />
I love him.<br />
He is absolutely true.<br />
<br />
The twins taught their Sunday school class today. Their teacher, Brother Oliver, asked me to substitute for him and so naturally I assigned Lincoln and Rachel to teach the lesson. They were fantastic! They tag teamed it like old pro's. They engaged all the other kids, asked thoughtful questions, validated class comments, they were just so great. At one point, kids were sharing personal experiences about a time when they each felt the Spirit. A few of them got emotional. Lincoln said to the class, "Feel that?" "Feel that peaceful, good feeling we have in the room right now?'' "That's the Spirit" Devin related that a new boy moved in next-door to him. He said he felt prompted to introduce himself and invite the new boy to walk to school with him. He talked about how good he felt about reaching out to the new boy. Rachel then commented, "Devin, I'll bet he really appreciates having such a nice kid like to you welcome him here and be his friend". She was so sweet.<br />
<br />
We came home and had out usual Sunday dinner and Lincoln invited Carter and Andy to join us. Mark had them go downstairs and do a Duty to God and then report back to him. They did great. Mark is trying hard to teach them what it means to be a priesthood man.<br />
<br />
Our little Sam Girl played dress up all afternoon. She went from one outfit to the next. She brings us plenty of smiles!<br />
<br />
Now it is time to close the day.<br />
How blessed I feel.<br />
<br />
KimberlyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-80507223702025000802011-09-08T21:52:00.000-06:002011-09-08T21:52:03.379-06:00Sami: (Handing me a piece of paper written on and cut out) Sing this.<br />
Me: What do you mean?<br />
Sami: Sing this, just read the music.<br />
Me: (Upon closer look, she had drawn music notes!) Sam! You wrote music! Sami! You're brilliant! And she is. She. Really. Is.<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-15468153284816056282011-08-15T16:20:00.000-06:002011-08-15T16:20:13.200-06:00Saying Goodbye Is Hard To DoWell today I got out the old laptop and dusted off my blog. I have a hundred things to write about. A hundred things that have been floating around in my head, only to be placed on a shelf until that magical day arrives. You know the day I'm talking about, the one loaded with time and nothing to do but write.<br />
<br />
But days keep ticking by, turning themselves into weeks and then months and still THAT day never seems to get here. Things I want to remember about this season of life seem to quietly melt into days gone by. My patriarchal blessing specifically tells me to keep a journal so that I can hand it to my grandchildren for their learning and benefit. So with that being the real goal of writing, I have made an unusual decision. <br />
<br />
I am turning this blog private. Private as in just for me. I want to climb into bed at night, type a few thoughts down, upload a picture or two of the day's events and keep this blog as a personal journal. Every once in a while, I'll get it printed into a book to save for those little red-headed grandchildren that will start arriving in about 15 years or so. <br />
<br />
Saying goodbye is hard to do and I want to thank you for taking the time to read. I have loved your comments, advice, and most of all, your friendship. Keep posting on your own blogs! I love hearing about your adventures and I will remain a fan.<br />
<br />
Your friend,<br />
KimberlyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-25222108882193184902011-05-19T11:10:00.001-06:002011-05-19T13:14:40.245-06:00The High Price of Parenting<b>We all know what <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">M</span>r. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">S</span>ave <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">F</span>or A<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> R</span>ainy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> D</span>ay would do with roughly $7,880.00.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_T-ErM6Ku_HjjNXLbspWvbYADCANiw-NtfwyMUae2xnXJgrtilqNJvrvOcYSYZJeuKsvBw1HExJ1OfwOMzjh6Fx03jz_kre9lcvBm_mhGMpU3ZYPP4VA9ISpNybuF_vFLUdgnqmnQTI/s1600/braces14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_T-ErM6Ku_HjjNXLbspWvbYADCANiw-NtfwyMUae2xnXJgrtilqNJvrvOcYSYZJeuKsvBw1HExJ1OfwOMzjh6Fx03jz_kre9lcvBm_mhGMpU3ZYPP4VA9ISpNybuF_vFLUdgnqmnQTI/s320/braces14.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><b><br />
</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>But what Could a girl like me do with that kind of mullah?</b><br />
<br />
Make a decent down payment on a brand new one of theses babies? <br />
Did you know that the new Acura MDX pushes the luxury SUV to new levels of refinement? With its super handling all wheel drive, a plethora of luxury appointments, and room for SEVEN, and their gear??? <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZVUkD7yn_L33OELar7svxIT63OxUFRBkELxVkXtEohHTInuCzl21MfsWgORy8UTlxJTZedzEC_PGQUtavDZR_C1uPxYLVY4VYrIC5jBpoYhty2lnZUMZ48A16iVF_LyTW_TYtFx5VZQ/s1600/braces5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZVUkD7yn_L33OELar7svxIT63OxUFRBkELxVkXtEohHTInuCzl21MfsWgORy8UTlxJTZedzEC_PGQUtavDZR_C1uPxYLVY4VYrIC5jBpoYhty2lnZUMZ48A16iVF_LyTW_TYtFx5VZQ/s400/braces5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><b>Sadly, no that's not what I did with the cash.</b></i></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Take the entire family on a magical vacation aboard Disney's New Dream Ship? Where all our needs will be anticipated and carefully attended to- where we will eat ourselves sick, sunbathe, swim, snorkel and explore- basically, have the experience of a lifetime on the high seas with Mickey & Company?</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdBTw5e60YtDjSgFXuUppL5rcLkRlkN9k7m8UPVn63FBemOnOUbGCljd4mgWzis6tPqDPjTIK_0e-ixFWK1QY6EJzUsZ_ndst22S7aZIp3czeGlSlutkM0ou03D_WYeECLBW6lHuiU5s/s1600/braces3-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdBTw5e60YtDjSgFXuUppL5rcLkRlkN9k7m8UPVn63FBemOnOUbGCljd4mgWzis6tPqDPjTIK_0e-ixFWK1QY6EJzUsZ_ndst22S7aZIp3czeGlSlutkM0ou03D_WYeECLBW6lHuiU5s/s400/braces3-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><b>Nope, unfortunately, regrettably, distressingly, this was not an option either.</b></i></div><br />
<br />
<br />
How about a visit to my favorite place for home furnishings .......<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSxZ3INJPPILPwc_JBOlLZVrQrDNprw8hMyj_P339rsBlPN4RqvRrPccRwHBEhpQ3kbEBiPeqqaIHk4gkrsWdvJoNXi4Yk1rmgHLy64cOglYxCDjhESv-PYBrefzkuKSmp1Vtom8XEds/s1600/pottery+barn.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="21" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSxZ3INJPPILPwc_JBOlLZVrQrDNprw8hMyj_P339rsBlPN4RqvRrPccRwHBEhpQ3kbEBiPeqqaIHk4gkrsWdvJoNXi4Yk1rmgHLy64cOglYxCDjhESv-PYBrefzkuKSmp1Vtom8XEds/s320/pottery+barn.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIJLBZK_YL8ED87pRg0G_NVAXsN-Xj9H8iMZE150hzjOf8DgclJFn6x3d3xeZeyE6JZkdg5LX0O-bBbE4DiYaLL_1C4L0GVJxbuZvF2Q3Fnbiv7WJIKuWUkjd2Nm4lQltsOC2CPJlanc/s1600/braces7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIJLBZK_YL8ED87pRg0G_NVAXsN-Xj9H8iMZE150hzjOf8DgclJFn6x3d3xeZeyE6JZkdg5LX0O-bBbE4DiYaLL_1C4L0GVJxbuZvF2Q3Fnbiv7WJIKuWUkjd2Nm4lQltsOC2CPJlanc/s320/braces7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGOkU5MDvEN-qSQEMK2M-OaN57yQrxVnkZ29GiI09Aj46GiPO59aPjeFmlMRVTdM-ND9zM08VeiMg6B5EvP-2H3H-2pySk_LcC7Pw51K6yNMTcm8kk2EtIbM4WtK-Ie-1HSvRILjHWic/s1600/braces10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGOkU5MDvEN-qSQEMK2M-OaN57yQrxVnkZ29GiI09Aj46GiPO59aPjeFmlMRVTdM-ND9zM08VeiMg6B5EvP-2H3H-2pySk_LcC7Pw51K6yNMTcm8kk2EtIbM4WtK-Ie-1HSvRILjHWic/s400/braces10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><b>Oh Pottery Barn how I lovey you.... </b></i></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><b>But (sigh, sniffle, weep) it was not meant to be.</b></i></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No new car, fabulous vacation or beautiful new furniture.</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Instead, 7,880.00 was our portion of the 15,760.00 original bill, (choke) that bought exactly:</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 sets of braces (4,500 x 2), </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">two retainers (190. x 2), </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 Maryland Bridges to hold in place the new teeth the dentist had to make to put in place of the missing teeth that never grew in (3,100 x 2).</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Warning-- vent coming on...</span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">*HONESTLY, did they both have to be missing the same teeth in the same spots??? I mean really, where did that come from, Mark and I both have all of our teeth--- SHEESH.*</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>Thank you, I'm done now.</i></span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And finally, two new retainers to go with the new teeth. (190. x 2 again).</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Tb897X_YEAC8M2RlRe_iQ-s1H1-fsbiyqkFuWKt1UPfRqD3J5dhS621APPpjSG1H8iim3qoGsfkFWarpSemzhPKSb4SMG0z7R2PS5qzKrtdVgqUfaFjZcT3C9Z8jP3b7nwM_ahYJ9D4/s1600/braces13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Tb897X_YEAC8M2RlRe_iQ-s1H1-fsbiyqkFuWKt1UPfRqD3J5dhS621APPpjSG1H8iim3qoGsfkFWarpSemzhPKSb4SMG0z7R2PS5qzKrtdVgqUfaFjZcT3C9Z8jP3b7nwM_ahYJ9D4/s640/braces13.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>And that my friends, is what a girl like me did with 7,880.00.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">PS, recent dental x-rays show that the little one in the middle does indeed have all her future teeth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Can I get a Hallelujah?! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-7102496712086593022011-05-06T10:21:00.001-06:002011-05-07T18:10:38.580-06:00The Magic Spell of LoveMom.<br />
Mother.<br />
Mommy.<br />
Mama.<br />
<br />
Those words mean love.<br />
Love in its strongest, most tenacious, unyielding, purest form.<br />
<br />
The first moment you look at your child, Heaven reaches down and casts a magic spell over your soul.<br />
You fall so intensely deep in love, that you have a super natural ability to withstand nights of<br />
no sleep, messy diapers, spit-up, a diaper bag that could double as a mid-size piece of luggage and a waist line that is never quite the same.<br />
<br />
That love stays with you as you learn how to deal with tantrums at the store, potty accidents, snotty noses and vomit at 2:00 am. It swells and grows as you read bedtime stories, watch them run, play, laugh and learn to pray. <br />
<br />
Motherly love overrules that urge to make them change clothes because the ones they picked out don't match and celebrate accomplishments like putting their own shoes on, even if they end up on the wrong feet.<br />
<br />
It's the kind of love that leads you to sob when they go off to kindergarten and then 3rd grade and then jr. high.<br />
<br />
It brings tears to your eyes when they hand you a homemade card or Christmas ornament or ask you to snuggle at the end of a long day or lie on the green grass and look at the stars together.<br />
<br />
It causes your heart to ache and weep when they strike out in a big moment or get left out by their friends. You wish you could take away the pain of not making a team or ease the sadness of being rejected by a first crush.<br />
<br />
Sometimes they do things that disappoint you.<br />
Sometimes you do or say things that you regret but that certain strain of love, wraps itself so tightly around your heart, you are moved to humbly apologize and ask for forgiveness.<br />
<br />
You find yourself with the uncanny ability to give them the benefit of the doubt. Every. Single. Time. You see the best in them, ALWAYS. <br />
<br />
You have your Mother Bear Moments and understand when other Mother Bears have theirs.<br />
<br />
You see the goodness of their hearts like no one else, even their dad. And while you treasure the memories of childhood, you can't wait to see what's around the next corner.<br />
<br />
And the best thing about this unique, extraordinary, unparalleled kind of love?<br />
It never ends.<br />
<br />
It evolves and grows and expands. <br />
<br />
And someday, you hope to have a front row seat when someone places a little piece of heaven in your child's arms and the magic spell of love begins again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-77207538998098203782011-05-03T09:13:00.000-06:002011-05-03T09:13:26.091-06:00Chicks Dig HimWell... <br />
Apparently Chicks really do dig scrawny, pale guys-<br />
and<br />
Dudes with cute little sisters.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4Ob6xg6iYw8Yh5lXc5CZ_1YsD8_GI8xxtVAe1rbGc-rh4cmctKP1_az9EOjsJl9fv4hU0_-06_LBaPGNMEIKWjRf2Hx-3EnBXxvnGL3gOY7ri0B7cZeEHBIeTTwXyv852p_9mcq5Av4/s1600/senate2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4Ob6xg6iYw8Yh5lXc5CZ_1YsD8_GI8xxtVAe1rbGc-rh4cmctKP1_az9EOjsJl9fv4hU0_-06_LBaPGNMEIKWjRf2Hx-3EnBXxvnGL3gOY7ri0B7cZeEHBIeTTwXyv852p_9mcq5Av4/s400/senate2.jpg" width="343" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYzX0gFPJaCJiM9vIoFwdoPrWTbF8JwnNZc1TxoAJ3E3LVvZLMiqtzuriAFRdsFmH8odO-GjhA-Y5xKYJ6E6rWS8V_lgvioyZs-gdIFrSkRJfsY0-zNjm7iRFrftoyXtI8GDuy1STvbqE/s1600/senate3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYzX0gFPJaCJiM9vIoFwdoPrWTbF8JwnNZc1TxoAJ3E3LVvZLMiqtzuriAFRdsFmH8odO-GjhA-Y5xKYJ6E6rWS8V_lgvioyZs-gdIFrSkRJfsY0-zNjm7iRFrftoyXtI8GDuy1STvbqE/s400/senate3.jpg" width="387" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Congratulations on the election, Linc!<br />
You'll be an awesome great 8th grade Senator.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmk8S1EwglP-Ru3pXfS1NzPaXCmNf0udlsInRZ7_e1DqsS8qC0uyGHn2774A2iWQKJ08ose0XLHfBURRAF7rVFCkx3RdcVSqHnxLTPoNSHTGXP413EzfCtrYFZsdn5Io4yzq79ZjM5Lck/s1600/senate1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmk8S1EwglP-Ru3pXfS1NzPaXCmNf0udlsInRZ7_e1DqsS8qC0uyGHn2774A2iWQKJ08ose0XLHfBURRAF7rVFCkx3RdcVSqHnxLTPoNSHTGXP413EzfCtrYFZsdn5Io4yzq79ZjM5Lck/s640/senate1.jpg" width="505" /></a></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-19041611424697068792011-04-19T09:23:00.000-06:002011-04-19T09:23:31.016-06:00Three Cheers For Rachel!A couple of years ago Rachel came to us and announced that she would like to be a cheerleader when she got to jr. high. An older sister of a friend had just made the squad and boy did it ever look like fun.<br />
<br />
I was a little surprised. Ballet is her first love and that is where all her focus had been. But she persisted.<br />
So, reluctantly, I signed her up for a Saturday morning tumbling class. When she arrived the first day of class, they separated the girls into skill levels. Rach could do a cartwheel and a round-off. So she was placed in the beginning level. <br />
<br />
The problem? All the other girls except one were half her size and half her age. She came home that first day feeling embarrassed and a bit humiliated. We asked her if she was sure this was something she wanted to do. She thought about it and then repeated a line that she had heard a well loved scout master say, "<b>Don't trade what you want now for what you want most".</b><br />
<br />
Those words became her mantra, her theme, her words to live by. Week after week she pulled herself out of bed to get to class. Progress was slow. Younger girls were quickly moved to a more advanced class while Rachie struggled to do a back-walkover and then a standing back handspring. <br />
<br />
Rachel is the first one to raise her hand and admit that she is not naturally flexible. Her toe touches were not pretty and her splits were nowhere near flat. But she was determined. "<b>Don't trade what you want now for what you want most"</b>, she muttered to herself every time she felt like sleeping in on a Saturday.<br />
<br />
She also began a serious habit of stretching before bed each night. She did push-ups to help her tumbling. She wrote messages to herself on the bathroom mirror and on the whiteboard in her bedroom. <br />
Those messages said:<br />
I can do this!<br />
I am strong!<br />
I am a cheerleader!<br />
<br />
She studied out scriptures for help and fasted on Fast Sundays. She wrote on her mirror, "If I do my part, He will do His".<br />
<br />
Time passed and improvement was noted. This year for her birthday, all she asked for was some private lessons to help her nail the round-off back-handspring. <br />
<br />
By the time tryouts rolled around last week, she felt ready to give it her best shot. She used her own money to buy cheer shoes and some new clothes for tryouts. She went to the clinics and then home to practice until bedtime. She knew odds were against her as they only take 2 or 3 seventh graders but she stayed focused on the goal. Mark and I were out of town on her big week, so my sisters stepped in to deliver moral support.<br />
<br />
The day of tryouts she went before the judges and did her very best. She called me when it was over and said, "Mom, if I don't make it, I won't feel bad because I will know that I did every single thing I could have done".<br />
<br />
I think she meant those words. She truly had done every thing she could have possibly done and that's all you can ask of yourself.<br />
<br />
Last Thursday we gathered at the school for the big announcement. Tensions were high and butterflies were plentiful. We sat there with hearts racing and fingers crossed. One by one, the current cheerleaders gave a cheer for each girl who made it. <br />
<br />
The #5 spot went to Rachel! (assembly video below)<br />
It was a rewarding moment to see all that hard work pay off.<br />
A real life lesson that anyone can do anything that they put their mind and heart to.<br />
<br />
So, three cheers for Rachel.<br />
Three cheers for determination.<br />
Three cheers not trading in what you want now for what you want most.<br />
<br />
Hip Hip Hooray!<br />
Hip Hip Hooray!<br />
Hip Hip Hooray!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdoh7q3c9HCWCdxARWe1TmEEgJbWkooupoSsrSwMS4YetGvzrkcVmPUN-vifhNNgkSXLdwb0gG7lQ_wP3wNdh6mY5wHtfB819cCeBra8Um_g_nAbcpEr246sD8MwWfFyyZYXcRy-H4oqM/s1600/cheer14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdoh7q3c9HCWCdxARWe1TmEEgJbWkooupoSsrSwMS4YetGvzrkcVmPUN-vifhNNgkSXLdwb0gG7lQ_wP3wNdh6mY5wHtfB819cCeBra8Um_g_nAbcpEr246sD8MwWfFyyZYXcRy-H4oqM/s320/cheer14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxB1a-Fr0hReYj7RJYZbYRTb3y0FnLiRumT9GhGHd6au8BpNRfzyrJWB5dCtoiKdrrj6QzjLwTSNLsTMfUpKQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-59085986912375052732011-02-15T12:05:00.001-07:002011-02-15T12:18:07.651-07:00See Sam Chapter 11See Sam.<br />
Sam has a favorite game.<br />
The name of Sam's favorite game is Hide and Seek.<br />
<br />
Oh how Sam loves to play Hide and Seek.<br />
<br />
"I will count and you hide," says Sam to her family.<br />
<br />
"One<br />
two<br />
three<br />
four<br />
five<br />
six<br />
seven<br />
eight<br />
nine<br />
ten<br />
eleven-teen<br />
twelve-teen<br />
thirteen<br />
fourteen<br />
fifteen<br />
sixteen<br />
seventeen<br />
eighteen<br />
nineteen<br />
twenty-teen!"<br />
<br />
Sam can count to twenty-teen!<br />
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Sam is good at finding Buddah.<br />
Sam is good at finding Issy.<br />
Sam is also good at finding Mom & Dad.<br />
<br />
But you know what Sam is BEST at?<br />
Sam is best at hiding.<br />
<br />
It's not so easy to find Sam.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEW05ZxO7wM5-J3ctUKRZp9UA2QCTp4vO9Jb-TWwhpFDwLeeLfomZV5xFXsXjLPSrV7h_6UpQhpRoxvJsg0z3gMBkT9q5wkN9R1Bp8AcanfazZCVjadeVYLVcZrkX3Q4oW790PRSj6t8/s1600/HS3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEW05ZxO7wM5-J3ctUKRZp9UA2QCTp4vO9Jb-TWwhpFDwLeeLfomZV5xFXsXjLPSrV7h_6UpQhpRoxvJsg0z3gMBkT9q5wkN9R1Bp8AcanfazZCVjadeVYLVcZrkX3Q4oW790PRSj6t8/s400/HS3.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br />
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She tricks almost everyone in her family.<br />
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<br />
"Where is Sam?"<br />
"Where could she be?" Sam's family wonders.<br />
The best way to find Sam is by listening for her giggles, otherwise it is EXTREMELY hard to find her.<br />
<br />
One day Sam taped up her favorite hiding spot to make it even harder to find.<br />
<br />
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Oh, the places Sam finds to hide.<br />
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So clever is Sam, that sometimes she just cracks herself up.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuRcOeyis1DU-SyQcb3hk_-9xfpLZ4JgWfkZm1jqKpDMkb-Fh-S9evaP_-HMLxt4U9RN2d2ZzsXvm2jnwSa_CVDhuLGDBnVRWVXV0f15ROouzEpEFmiOqE-ZyV4u4HNfMg_ob5VcPdyc/s1600/HS40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuRcOeyis1DU-SyQcb3hk_-9xfpLZ4JgWfkZm1jqKpDMkb-Fh-S9evaP_-HMLxt4U9RN2d2ZzsXvm2jnwSa_CVDhuLGDBnVRWVXV0f15ROouzEpEFmiOqE-ZyV4u4HNfMg_ob5VcPdyc/s640/HS40.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Sam has so much fun playing hide and seek.<br />
And as long as Sam doesn't decide to play hide and seek at the store again, Mom likes to play too.<br />
<br />
Happy, playful, silly, Sam.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-88374069288593484152011-01-13T10:10:00.000-07:002011-01-13T10:10:26.443-07:00The Essence of Thirteen-nessToday is a crossroads of sorts.<br />
Today is a turning point and a defining moment.<br />
<br />
Today, these precious bundles of sweetness will officially become teenagers.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdJwEgnUKjFBWf6XD1ArpHItCpzyoF_IhN7X9AXn2kt5VfmWJREAAMqkz0h-Dr7TQircmoVlUNAwM3lFbyIcHciwY2gqdKHje8VLdjZdMQleQ5f4INdJOrIZOXqp1KwBwxSlZYE97fbI/s1600/twin13%25233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdJwEgnUKjFBWf6XD1ArpHItCpzyoF_IhN7X9AXn2kt5VfmWJREAAMqkz0h-Dr7TQircmoVlUNAwM3lFbyIcHciwY2gqdKHje8VLdjZdMQleQ5f4INdJOrIZOXqp1KwBwxSlZYE97fbI/s320/twin13%25233.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The day they were born was the happiest day of my life up to that point.<br />
After five long years of waiting, hoping, wishing, longing, I became a mother.<br />
There is no other joy like it.<br />
There is no other love quite like it.<br />
They captured me, heart and soul.<br />
<br />
And you know what?<br />
Thirteen years later, I can still stay that I have never gotten over the thrill of having these two.<br />
They are not perfect kids, but they are the perfect kids for me. <br />
<br />
I wanted to find a way to preserve their personalities, their thoughts, the essence of their thirteen-ness today so that as they continue to grow and change, I can remember what thirteen was like.<br />
<br />
The other day I ran into a mom who's son is a classmate of Lincoln & Rachel's. She asked me if I had seen what the twins had posted on the class website. When I went home and read these couple of paragraphs, I knew that their own words would do more to remind me who they are, than mine ever could. <br />
<br />
Each week the teacher poses a question and the kids have to respond.<br />
Here are their words:<br />
<br />
Question for week #7 <br />
If you had to give a gift to someone, who would you give it to and what would it be?<br />
<br />
Rachel: I would give a gift to my cousin Lauren. She has Down Syndrome. She is so cute! My gift would be that she wouldn't be treated differently than other kids. Even though she might talk and act differently than other kids, she is the sweetest little girl I have ever met. I wish people would never be mean to her or make fun of her. I look up to her so much! She is only eight and yet she has had open heart surgery. I am glad that she is special because she has taught me to be a better person and to be grateful for the many things that I have. I love you Lauren!!!! Thank you.<br />
<br />
Lincoln: I would give my beloved sister a mall. Yes, a mall. She loves clothes, accessories, the boys she could meet at the mall, the whole shabang!!! She is such a great sister and I love her.<br />
<br />
Rachel: Thank you Link! You're the bestest friend I have! You are an amazing person and I really look up to you. I love you and always will. I would love a mall! That would be pretty sweet!! You know me too well! You are one in a million, thank you.<br />
<br />
Love for others. Malls and clothes. Accessories and boys. (In all fairness, we should include girls on this list for Linc, but as part of the Motherly Code of Conduct I will refrain from elaborating at this time.) <br />
<br />
But my favorite part of their thirteen-ness is the love they have for each other. They are different in so many ways and yet the same in all the ways that count. They really are the best of friends in an old married couple sort of way.<br />
<br />
Welcome #13, I think we're going to get along just fine.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday my Twins.<br />
I love you.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ElqgoTkyFNY4UDASv1pLdmvfkCb3dvAnoRpnevhpJGsv_DClnptZJdIHxavNKEi7ZSrq2m9oIMvXdt_oPC8MxtYa1_5ppEq2tWGqApKD4D4Zdpen9OB53BjDlsx7hHGliSiFcCtP_II/s1600/twin13%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ElqgoTkyFNY4UDASv1pLdmvfkCb3dvAnoRpnevhpJGsv_DClnptZJdIHxavNKEi7ZSrq2m9oIMvXdt_oPC8MxtYa1_5ppEq2tWGqApKD4D4Zdpen9OB53BjDlsx7hHGliSiFcCtP_II/s400/twin13%25232.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQIvGIab2xXybWFuBOTNOnRxnhzvtBd8Lbv-queUJnLFHOYh2raCwne-9bk7NMK-OrgeNzeeVq-Wevtv2XaBF3TWfHxLwuhPGZFjDwTltNuhAeIViUS008Az0mKQXiwXdZtKz0huksx40/s1600/twin13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQIvGIab2xXybWFuBOTNOnRxnhzvtBd8Lbv-queUJnLFHOYh2raCwne-9bk7NMK-OrgeNzeeVq-Wevtv2XaBF3TWfHxLwuhPGZFjDwTltNuhAeIViUS008Az0mKQXiwXdZtKz0huksx40/s400/twin13.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYEKlqhYaTL8ihOUsArQjxa8HOk2i8pxCMa5hJpb4OjjQbFD1Vra5uFLoBJ7ZKhQu42dx2kpj9ZFduLMVpr2pfsGOQBvWxKEObC19GwU0729VGk25Yo01WaNaD9P9Kgk0biiTMamp3z8/s1600/twinners13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYEKlqhYaTL8ihOUsArQjxa8HOk2i8pxCMa5hJpb4OjjQbFD1Vra5uFLoBJ7ZKhQu42dx2kpj9ZFduLMVpr2pfsGOQBvWxKEObC19GwU0729VGk25Yo01WaNaD9P9Kgk0biiTMamp3z8/s640/twinners13.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a></span></div></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-165383002053057582011-01-04T11:01:00.001-07:002011-01-05T17:33:39.529-07:00Grumpy New YearToday is probably not the best day to get back on the blog bandwagon.<br />
I'm grumpy, crabby and in an all around bad mood.<br />
<br />
I stepped on the scales recently.<br />
When those black squarish digital numbers popped up, my white jiggly, nearly nude self almost fell over.<br />
<br />
Must be a low battery, I said out loud.<br />
I<s> kicked the thing, </s>tapped the scale nicely with my foot, and tried again.<br />
<br />
Same. Ugly. Numbers.<br />
<br />
I yelled for Sami to come in.<br />
She had just been to the doctor with double ear infections and they weighed her.<br />
<br />
There it was, 33 pounds.<br />
The same thing she weighed at the doctor.<br />
My scales were accurate.<br />
<br />
I shrieked in horror.<br />
<br />
No, it was more like this...<br />
I SHRIEKED IN HORROR!!<br />
<br />
It turns out that all my favorite things about December<br />
namely:<br />
chocolates<br />
cinnamon rolls<br />
a jar of chocolate dipping sauce<br />
pecan logs<br />
fudge<br />
dipped pretzels & marshmallows<br />
snack mix drizzled with white chocolate<br />
chocolate milk<br />
carmel corn, popcorn balls---<br />
All of those favorite things have decided to stay with me like a good Christmas memory should.<br />
Yes, they have set up camp on my hips, thighs, stomach and that pesky spot underneath my arms. <br />
<br />
<i>Oh the agony of natural consequences.</i><br />
<br />
No, more like this:<br />
<br />
<i>OHHHH THE AGONY OF NATURAL CONSEQUENCES.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
So yesterday, I took matters into my own pudgy little hands.<br />
This is stopping TODAY, I declared to myself.<br />
<br />
For the last 37 hours I have eaten zero treats.<br />
I had a can of slightly dressed up tuna fish for lunch and a bowl of blueberries for a snack.<br />
I completed day one of an extreme exercise program that has left me unable walk, lift or breathe.<br />
<br />
Thus, the grumpy, crabby, (completely justified), all around bad mood.<br />
<br />
*Note to family*<br />
Today would not be a good day to leave socks or wet towels on the floor or try to avoid practicing piano.<br />
<br />
My bright spot is that I happen to be married to a sweetheart of a man who has agreed to go through the next 90 days right by my side. He called home at lunchtime yesterday and we commiserated over our cans of tuna. Last night we wrapped our sore muscles around each other and fell asleep. Tonight we'll rendezvous with weights and chin-ups and try to make it through. I am still on the fence about before and after photos but we'll see.<br />
<br />
12 pounds is my goal.<br />
<br />
Grumpy New Year Everyone.<br />
From your ball of sunshine friend,<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-69146678517992456332010-10-19T10:48:00.000-06:002010-10-19T10:48:28.315-06:00Saying Goodbye to TwoA year ago we said hello to two.<br />
Minus about 116.6 tantrums, two was wonderful.<br />
Two was joyful.<br />
Two was funny and curious and an adventure.<br />
But now it is time to say goodbye to a few things.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Goodbye to the baby swing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2w4uHHtnzzptiWul5W3A08-H6se9gxt7s8UpYskQRbsCHFRMjtRm6br2Y51if8_rFU3-KyLDUHAcQJfDImkngpqftbhTkOTTjOfKY0qPuYTgIiyrnEnaNoYpr4wAZz4b5VI6CBqJ1HA/s1600/bye2-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2w4uHHtnzzptiWul5W3A08-H6se9gxt7s8UpYskQRbsCHFRMjtRm6br2Y51if8_rFU3-KyLDUHAcQJfDImkngpqftbhTkOTTjOfKY0qPuYTgIiyrnEnaNoYpr4wAZz4b5VI6CBqJ1HA/s400/bye2-2.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><br />
Goodbye to secretly un-decorating mom's Christmas Tree.<br />
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And being the littlest reindeer in the Christmas Program.<br />
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Goodbye to waiting at the bottom of the hill for the big kids to come down.<br />
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And having to explore at the bottom of the mountain.<br />
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Goodbye to princess dress-ups that are too big.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9R3SHs1yCgmyGgloJ6SwXQ4VNMEm5cAXSTfeVu4PPGafnah6Dn8_jokzzdH-7FBqgiEp2I-2znrTdeZoAQ9iuEGN2pbiNsIvzjYYlKn84_LKLL7RtsXZ5whZiUCYq8wMAowpXTtpWrJg/s1600/bye2-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9R3SHs1yCgmyGgloJ6SwXQ4VNMEm5cAXSTfeVu4PPGafnah6Dn8_jokzzdH-7FBqgiEp2I-2znrTdeZoAQ9iuEGN2pbiNsIvzjYYlKn84_LKLL7RtsXZ5whZiUCYq8wMAowpXTtpWrJg/s400/bye2-8.jpg" width="297" /></a></div><br />
And goodbye to watching big sister bake while you only get to lick the bowl.<br />
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Goodbye to sneaking into mom's make-up bag. (Fingers crossed)<br />
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<br />
Goodbye to diapers!!!!<br />
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Goodbye to the kiddie pool, and coloring on your forehead with green marker.<br />
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Goodbye to being stuck on the little kid rides all day.<br />
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Goodbye to pretending that you get to go to a real ballet class.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Goodbye to all things two. (sniff, sniff)<br />
<br />
Hello to "I'm big!" "I will do it myself!" "I'm not a baby!"<br />
<br />
Hello big kid swings,<br />
decorating the Christmas Tree,<br />
sledding,<br />
hiking,<br />
dress-ups that fit,<br />
taking a turn to crack the eggs,<br />
owning your own lip gloss,<br />
fancy panties,<br />
swimming lessons,<br />
big kid rides<br />
and going to your very own ballet class.<br />
<br />
......Hello three.<br />
It's nice to met you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFzxoLr-EEbs8-TeYMW1Hk0MHFJUyYUowgfzB9EpWhqTA1bYP-Ul1F4Karu4Nvr9Ep4kRRPJDoIbtBr1KbNbJ2yZsYyVDdL7W0323j3PVMcKtUG2xpMU-kUEBJmxHyTTcjeezzhWlaN0/s1600/bye2-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFzxoLr-EEbs8-TeYMW1Hk0MHFJUyYUowgfzB9EpWhqTA1bYP-Ul1F4Karu4Nvr9Ep4kRRPJDoIbtBr1KbNbJ2yZsYyVDdL7W0323j3PVMcKtUG2xpMU-kUEBJmxHyTTcjeezzhWlaN0/s640/bye2-21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-1507496814873984092010-10-12T13:07:00.000-06:002010-10-12T13:07:41.809-06:00Dear Grandkids<div>Dear Grandkids,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Even though I am about 15 years or so away from meeting you, I have been thinking about you. I hope that at least 3 of you have red hair and about 250,000 freckles but if not, I'll love you anyway.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Today I was thinking about my two grandmothers, Maude and Helena. How I loved them, how I miss them. What a treasure it would be for me to have a little glimpse of their lives when they were my age. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I wonder what filled their days, what their worries were, what their hopes and dreams looked like.<br />
Then a little idea sprouted: Why not write a series of letters to you... <br />
<br />
After all, no one else really cares that:<br />
<br />
I'm 86% Democrat.<br />
I love Rocky Road ice cream and spaghetti with meatballs.<br />
My house is clean, my car is not.<br />
I have been completely, entirely and thoroughly in love with same same man since I was 17.<br />
I cannot bake a loaf of bread and sewing a button causes me great anxiety.<br />
I rarely get angry and hardly ever get offended, but if someone deeply hurts me I have a hard time forgiving.<br />
I wish my body was thinner and my hair was thicker.<br />
I wish I had a musical or artistic talent.<br />
I'm a good listener.<br />
My wardrobe consists mostly of cheap jeans and tee-shirts.<br />
My friends know they can count on me.<br />
My hands look like they belong to an 80 year old and gray hairs are giving the others a run for their money.<br />
I have close, loving relationships with my three joys. They are my heart and soul.<br />
I don't mind dirty work.<br />
I brush my teeth about 8-10 times a day but I hardly ever floss.<br />
I've never been on a cruise or traveled out of the country but I'd like to.<br />
I am profoundly religious but can't ride a roller coaster without a minor curse word (or two) slipping out.<br />
<br />
That's me in a nutshell. Nothing fancy, nothing notable, nothing anyone would really care about...<br />
except you, my dear grandbabies. Someday, you might wonder what your grandmother thought or felt or did. Something I write might reach through the years and generations and touch you, encourage you or help you through a difficult time. <br />
<br />
It is with that hope, that I close my first letter to you.<br />
<br />
With love,<br />
<s>Grandma, Granny, Gran, Grandmother</s><br />
Hmmm I'l have to give this some thought.<br />
<br />
(for now) Kimberly<br />
<s><br />
</s></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-25514829394245009912010-10-05T11:15:00.001-06:002010-10-05T13:51:06.326-06:00The Circle of Dads and Daughters<div>Have you ever noticed how life often goes in circles?<br />
You start in one place and end up in another and somehow the second place strangely resembles the first?<br />
<br />
Such is the circle with dads and their little girls.<br />
<br />
For example, this is Rachel Grace, aka 100% Daddy's Girl.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaITT7JhMmCC8KCNSFJMZhbdYDnC25p5WyKSzqg5CSnNrsoY6kKodo0c80Z1xY-i1KzDbYP-MqT1Vk9EP0TuO2N4B8hLP8T7H7f02lJntUin9w5_hPkG5A5GO4IHYY7FVJa_4qOCDLII/s1600/IMG_4141+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaITT7JhMmCC8KCNSFJMZhbdYDnC25p5WyKSzqg5CSnNrsoY6kKodo0c80Z1xY-i1KzDbYP-MqT1Vk9EP0TuO2N4B8hLP8T7H7f02lJntUin9w5_hPkG5A5GO4IHYY7FVJa_4qOCDLII/s320/IMG_4141+(1).jpg" width="251" /></a></div><br />
<br />
</div><div>I say that with very little tartness or animosity. </div><div>I have come to terms with the fact that the kid just adores her Dad and has from her first breath.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6Zsd7PRx0b1kSVLv0jDUvlRw6gNEDBYNhRnHvfMa4jf1hwcnhFijp1Oh7uRkCOpDi_tXOER051jJFi_OslcnrqT-siisBu7zdDGTh3mcxxHkwc0nrd8vzNtWVvtdOgNC4LHBQOH8hlk/s1600/dad18.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6Zsd7PRx0b1kSVLv0jDUvlRw6gNEDBYNhRnHvfMa4jf1hwcnhFijp1Oh7uRkCOpDi_tXOER051jJFi_OslcnrqT-siisBu7zdDGTh3mcxxHkwc0nrd8vzNtWVvtdOgNC4LHBQOH8hlk/s1600/dad18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>When the twins were four months old, Mark left on a business trip for the week.</div><div>The minute we dropped him off at the airport, Rachel started to cry.</div><div>She literally cried the entire week.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I took her to the doctor, certain she had an ear infection. Nope.</div><div>I took her for rides in the car. No help.</div><div>I gave her warm baths and rubbed her back. Useless.</div><div><br />
</div><div>After four solid days and nights of crying, my nerves were frazzled.</div><div>My neighbor came by to check on me and when she saw the distressing, lamentable, miserable state I was in, she packed up the babies and took them home with her.</div><div>I collapsed into bed, feeling like a failure.</div><div>Later that night I buckled the babies in and we headed to the airport.</div><div>The VERY moment Mark got into the car, Rachel's crying CEASED.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It stopped as abruptly as is started.</div><div>She cooed and smiled at her Dad all the way home.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And that is pretty much how the last 12.7 years have gone.</div><div>Pure and utter devotion to her dad.</div><div><br />
</div><div>She makes sure Mark is taken care of, she sings to him and writes love notes.</div><div>She starts planning his birthday and Father's Day weeks in advance.</div><div>She quickly agrees with him, even when he is wrong.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I wish I had a quarter for every time me and poor Linc have taken a back seat to Dad.</div><div>Mark just smiles smugly, shrugs his shoulders and reminds Rachel that it is absolutely her duty and obligation to teach Samantha everything she knows.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Just last week, I was telling Rach about something sweet that Mark had done for me. Her eyes got all teary and she declared, "Daddy is the best!".</div><div><br />
</div><div>It is with that understated background that I move to part two of my story.</div><div>About a year ago, Rachel came to us with a problem.</div><div><br />
</div><div>"No boys like me," she stated.</div><div>"Some boys think I'm nice and some boys think I'm smart, but that's it."</div><div><br />
</div><div><div>"Hmmm." I said.</div><div>"GOOD!" Mark cheered.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Maybe it's because I'm a head taller than most of them, she continued.</div><div>Maybe it's because I'm Linc's twin sister, she theorized.</div><div>Maybe, they just don't think I'm cute.</div><div><br />
</div><div>After a few minutes of listening, we were ready with some words of advice:</div><div>Mark reminded her that she does not need to worry about boys liking her until she has her first date at around age 30.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I thanked him for his empathy and sensitivity.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Being the somewhat wise and relatively all-seeing mother that I am, I gently made a prediction...</div><div><br />
</div><div>Rachel, I said.</div><div>When you get to 7th grade, things will change.</div><div>Boys will start to notice you.</div><div>Boys will start to like you.</div><div>You will have lots of boys trying to get your attention.</div><div><br />
</div><div>We hugged her and sent her off to bed and that was that.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Fast forward a year and I have been somewhat shocked with the accuracy of my foresight.</div><div>Apparently, there is something about jr. high that makes boys come out of the woodwork.<br />
<br />
</div><div>In the past month, she has had boy after boy ask her to "go out" (this is where you publicly declare that you like one another), one boy tell her that he loves her, several offers to buy her a soda at the State Fair Field Trip and one proposal of marriage. (Yes, I'm serious)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Things are definitely a changing.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Boys that used to come over to see Linc are now coming over to see his sister. Last week, he said that a kid asked him, "So Lincoln, when is your sis.. umm I mean when is your birthday?" He said that another boy wrote all over his hand "I Love Rachel".</div><div><br />
</div><div>My favorite was a boy from school who found my name on Facebook and sent me a message introducing himself and asking if I thought he had a chance with Rachel. I guess if all else fails, play the win-over-mom card.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Wow has this ever been a drastic turn of events.</div><div>So far, Rach has turned down all of these declarations of teenage love.</div><div>Oh, one boy has caught her eye, but Justin Beiber and David Archuleta are still tops on her list at the moment.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Mark hasn't been as amused.</div><div>It's not so funny to him.<br />
<br />
Here is a harmless example of Rachel showing off her newly made flip flops to one of Linc's buddies. <br />
Dad is not that thrilled.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheK9V3JeUZNKJt9TV4G-9rG4T-aGEv_JFg0OYxby6hfdNZoGmMKHGbaQKuMrLikNFJFEQs8gruMM-ZpCbfa2S2icjdZ_Hrxs1qs6bBC1otgrZLschUvW5xPDwS6Jvx-reMy7VGzEZd6JA/s1600/dad11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheK9V3JeUZNKJt9TV4G-9rG4T-aGEv_JFg0OYxby6hfdNZoGmMKHGbaQKuMrLikNFJFEQs8gruMM-ZpCbfa2S2icjdZ_Hrxs1qs6bBC1otgrZLschUvW5xPDwS6Jvx-reMy7VGzEZd6JA/s320/dad11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div>Maybe he was serious about the first date around age 30 comment or maybe he just sees the first small glimpses of the fact that he will only be Rachel's first love until her first love comes along.</div><div><br />
</div><div>All too quickly she will be grown up. In the coming years there will be many likes, a few loves and a broken heart or two along the way. The love letters to Daddy will decrease, disagreements may arise and he will probably slip a couple of slots from his Prince like status. <br />
<br />
Poor Mark.<br />
<br />
He's got a little over three years to prepare for Rachel's first date, I hope that's enough time.<br />
When that day arrives, it could potentially cause Mark to cry like a baby. <br />
If that happens,<br />
I'll tell him to take a relaxing bath,<br />
I'll be there to rub his back and take him for a long ride in the car.<br />
That drill will seem all too familiar to me.<br />
<br />
<br />
....And so goes the circle of dads and their daughters.<br />
<br />
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</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-26495629644350034152010-10-03T09:07:00.001-06:002010-10-03T09:31:19.727-06:00Start HereToday is a sky blue, hint of fall, early October Sunday.<br />
It also happens to be one of my favorite days of the year.<br />
<a href="http://www.mormon.org/">Members of my faith</a> from around the world will gather in churches and homes to hear messages from our leaders. <br />
<br />
We will be given instruction on how to be stronger families, more Christlike neighbors and just better people in general. <br />
<br />
We will be inspired to try harder and to do a little better. <br />
<br />
We will be reminded that it really is the basics of:<br />
Daily family and individual prayer,<br />
Daily family and individual scripture study,<br />
Attending our church meetings,<br />
Regular temple attendance for those who live near a temple,<br />
Family Home Evening on Monday nights<br />
And being kind to everyone, especially our own family members.<br />
<br />
These are the things that invite the Spirit into our lives.<br />
When we have the Spirit always with us, we want to do good things.<br />
We think of the Savior and want to be more like Him.<br />
<br />
When the Savior becomes the central part of our lives and our homes, a transformation starts to happen. We strengthen ourselves from the evils of the world. Things like pornography, crude language, dishonesty and envy have no appeal. We become more grateful, humble and open to correction.<br />
<br />
Relationships within our families become closer and conflicts decrease.<br />
We become more committed to doing good and looking for the good in others.<br />
We see the world with happy and optimistic eyes.<br />
<br />
When trials come, we have faith.<br />
When we make mistakes, we repent.<br />
<br />
In short, today is a day for re-commitment and rejuvenation.<br />
It is a day that shouts, "Start here!"<br />
No matter where we are in this process, we can start right now.<br />
<br />
So, let's get started!<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/309/7E3AD1E426E5B611C1E86BC072A1F130.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-4074555628258967152010-09-21T14:10:00.000-06:002010-09-21T14:11:37.416-06:00See Sam Chapter 10<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>See Sam.Did you know that Sam is an artist?<div>She loves to color and paint and draw pictures.</div><div>Sam can spend an entire 1/2 hour working on this talent.</div><div><br /></div><div>She paints beautiful rainbows....</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5epBkVK46leyC0C0tUVEIkYOy_wE-RCeSO-lLlY6_-_IzgzttLrWzoE6Z-gS0hwGr4E3GXkuYmX3irue73vnaxvnkkv-AMOoZC_bUXIo5-6mon1M3Djky2O4G8haoMojzoYOJKQXQ2Ig/s400/artist-rainbow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519459556204807058" /></div><div><br /></div><div>She draws amazing self portraits...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2qCdIEmTKDHzsgTqfsp0VVIKuIvFFX-g5jtr_04YK-YoRYxQsw9RN8_uqfsSc5IzJRzy_PmzkWzLFrXnMfPyMAEak1U9lw-5147xjKTXfMKZC-OOGjPh5jOrih1OhMpsXZwfv4ukyOY/s400/artist-selfportrait.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519459366833336866" /></div><div><br /></div><div>And here is a picture of Sam's own hand catching</div><div>a pretty blue butterfly.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmGf3Ze-Kw09RdOzTM5zpjGGVKQ4QnDWgWjob3IJeqWB8ASbxvTzLdLg6P6P0FD1anW5030yp3RlFN0ptzJz5fRBEtcTQQVvNd_4tdAFZPiWwRCxlOSECrI52xO81Xv8x_45wki6hNDM/s400/artist-butterfly.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519459127044257586" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Usually when Sam has completed an art project, she finds a spot to display it on the fridge. Sometimes, the fridge is so covered with impressive works of art, a person could actually mistake it for a fine art gallery.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Mom loves her little artist.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtcBy9-zz9p-7mRxbzbSXEOKj51rCoSN0TdEK1xsNmTJo-Quww8P1lUua1DYXxBBxESk1sTkK4g3IL3N23YpQ58hOwwa_D28km_bVjQbYqGuAjxqrezcpEzwYHEQ6MJvxaAULaR-Mwp2A/s400/IMG_3045.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519458941390645106" /></div><div><br /></div><div>See Mom.</div><div>Guess what Dad got Mom for her birthday?</div><div>A new fridge!</div><div>Mom got a new fridge for her birthday!</div><div><br /></div><div>This fridge has fancy settings and lights and two cool freezer drawers.</div><div>Mom is so excited, she hugs the fridge.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIQsLhYdvdJwJmszg7JKoCX-r-b96hyZGIMFDMYVp6X1W1frZ608SZFKBoMp9tqjtCQQKp4isYB7Soj81gcFo2Swul_3Cy3E8qvgTw7IiZiIEeM5HJYpu17Il2esHSI_pyXTQC4PBCjg/s400/IMG_3143.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519458578605448818" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Dad moves the old fridge out to the dark garage while Sam transfers her art projects to their shiny, new, stainless home.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> Mom and Dad are standing in the kitchen, admiring the beautiful new fridge when Sam asks,</div><div>"Can I have a flashlight Daddy?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Dad gets Sam a flashlight as he and Mom discuss all the</div><div>exciting features of their new purchase.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_1K48nJFI_qwDRIv2BMH99JXwiCOHG0HfT1C9ixHb-YbTQ9Vd7ZljL-dwKvTCeuaNblLzlbaEmXB7u7yvD7jE8E_vjpSLzcKmzd6u6Khih5raaNcj42Vl7Hzl7QcPtmKQmixU36iKp8g/s400/artist-mom.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519458294181021090" /></div><div>A few minutes go by before Mom and Dad</div><div>realize that Sam is gone.</div><div>Where is she?</div><div><br /></div><div>"Sam, Sam!"</div><div>"Where are you, Sam?" they ask.</div><div>Then Mom hears some noise coming from the dark garage.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom opens the door to find Sam with her flashlight.</div><div>Sam is hanging up all of her precious works of art on the old , white fridge.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"Sami," asks Mom gently, </div><div>"Why are you out here in the cold, dark garage?"</div><div>"Why are you hanging your beautiful pictures on the old fridge?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Because" answers Sam sadly with tears in her eyes, </div><div>"they won't stick on the new fridge."</div><div><br /></div><div>Sam is right.</div><div>Magnets won't stick to stainless.</div><div>What good is a fancy fridge if you can't use it as an art gallery?</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom and Sam are sad.</div><div>Mom feels extra sad.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom feels so sad that suddenly a great idea pops into her head.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom grabs her purse and runs to the store.</div><div>Mom returns with a few supplies and a couple of hours later, dad hangs up Sam's very own board. It is in a special spot in the kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Sam quickly fills up her new board with art work.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgup0xwPdtNvGI0AAc5iFw64jczm-NYu8MmS71rAJOBVlKwL1IdXVcdZtnbHWZOOLOvI7oy2RQ2gTSD2MRACYSZFNdqd46CmYQDDWdEChtrdKcvAhqcARopsZuXoMut5xrQswJS9l92f0s/s400/artist-board.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519457886425342594" /><div><br /></div><div>"I love my Sam Board!" squeals Sam.</div><div>"I love my Sam," says mom.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Sam.</div><div>Happy Mom.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgimhTjPNb5es5KmINBLsRBAKNo1fHr9vxeRXZFGqPkKSPuRE9GSpxV8Zqcv95vAFqt58oOVJMCucmW8AbT9YLBJp4TFq8jCSCdu77GlpwCga2VAAErkbVN_LRuQ1moAIrBq4le9n8v6tA/s400/artist-samboard.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519457039553180370" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-15815631034842641052010-09-14T09:50:00.001-06:002010-09-14T09:54:32.286-06:00The Magic of a Zinnia Seed<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I love zinnias. They are my most favorite flower, ever.</div><div>Their bright, bold colors just seem to say "happy".</div><div><br /></div><div>I can never get over the potential magic that is tucked away in those humble, unpretentious , seemingly insignificant seeds. It is one of nature's little miracles.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>When I get old, I am planning to look very similar to this:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX52N5SPztfK3XCbu2HAqkVcMEC4Sqbs7FrABEjDlmBl_31fVyqHNzDDFFOVOqv1gVDL5werM7LJumXSEpsH21JdirIxGHd7jMNeJAkNhM2T893TgCZi-xkKAEEOVZVtKAJRmu4PHp-QA/s400/garden+hat.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516797023903892898" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I am going to buy one of these:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3v2BFn7pexK8NAuIAc1KkjeopkzHbOnVH177AQaPIYsBjKIcG9mP_MKMDYXudO9QX7nU-dZUZ1GxT6pFPJxYkpEPTlePijoq284hsmzA765lW3sNjuE0_WGFhb3M5GOuTqNKp67VSr-4/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516796720990962914" /><div><br /></div><div>Then, I am going to spend my springtimes traveling around, sprinkling little seeds of beauty everywhere I go.</div><div><br /></div><div>Like Johnny, people will know me as Kimberly Zinnia Seed.</div><div>I could possibly become legendary.</div><div>It will be awesome!</div><div><br /></div><div>True, I cannot grow a decent vegetable garden </div><div>(3 golf ball size tomatoes this year, sigh and sigh) </div><div>but I can always grow a zinnia patch.</div><div><br /></div><div>So easy, a two year old can do it!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_NfjNzpZX8KfSmM8YLNs24PGAlHNKlKYxk229C_KKR03-jSb-hQo_T0Ciy4sMCVVEfBxyXUOlgieJlzO3UG4pXvoejsOPyI5TWJcVYvJBV8Z0jd16NtcPN-3GKyvu7wrut4PmRfpRx4/s1600/zinnia5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_NfjNzpZX8KfSmM8YLNs24PGAlHNKlKYxk229C_KKR03-jSb-hQo_T0Ciy4sMCVVEfBxyXUOlgieJlzO3UG4pXvoejsOPyI5TWJcVYvJBV8Z0jd16NtcPN-3GKyvu7wrut4PmRfpRx4/s400/zinnia5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516775244894540354" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>Just take a handful of seeds.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuIyf-NwUSh0s0bQxHqMtEMftWyxVVEUWG5q9i4zGVHXpoVgnznl1lcGm919Y_sqPJtQDu8TCqOw2743cVKf8LJuOyBCkKPdX4-u4oJ9gMU9HI3gZRSFAbptEQffjysSG4BGvRsurOdo/s1600/IMG_3772.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuIyf-NwUSh0s0bQxHqMtEMftWyxVVEUWG5q9i4zGVHXpoVgnznl1lcGm919Y_sqPJtQDu8TCqOw2743cVKf8LJuOyBCkKPdX4-u4oJ9gMU9HI3gZRSFAbptEQffjysSG4BGvRsurOdo/s400/IMG_3772.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516775131178067682" /></a><br /></div><div>Sprinkle them in a little patch of earth.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyilXEhSxqVm_4OykwD5kc4zGJuuHJekPzdQB-BExq2-G7AFeXaC3t4UzpgD4H1BH2jptpZu7sWNYk34ptci4swDFX-jipRVw9mltax_4camZVhMmvZymxU_dhuXtVpZmiFvy5ASZAytw/s1600/IMG_3782.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyilXEhSxqVm_4OykwD5kc4zGJuuHJekPzdQB-BExq2-G7AFeXaC3t4UzpgD4H1BH2jptpZu7sWNYk34ptci4swDFX-jipRVw9mltax_4camZVhMmvZymxU_dhuXtVpZmiFvy5ASZAytw/s400/IMG_3782.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516774978275652882" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Add water and lots of sunshine.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then sit back and watch the magic unfold.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_bFomGnQwJ3KCWT8NZtM5THyw2h9uevop28YnMcC6RqILbQdx5qmHzpuqeQVtg2ElEI_FumrNMXnuI6hMKTuDNVLgGSZ_MKlRYZRYfq4c0Z96TFpvhKTRrKUeUxF5WTdTw4zDP-NJNA/s1600/IMG_3224.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_bFomGnQwJ3KCWT8NZtM5THyw2h9uevop28YnMcC6RqILbQdx5qmHzpuqeQVtg2ElEI_FumrNMXnuI6hMKTuDNVLgGSZ_MKlRYZRYfq4c0Z96TFpvhKTRrKUeUxF5WTdTw4zDP-NJNA/s400/IMG_3224.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516774832451375170" /></a><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-g5Dbihq1FNELONp4CWBsfFKmApEJpQjE-KNWzMnUaZphgwflf8GTmRLYOdgBj5MRrAXenoFbnvLR4b1YHoCb1fshNu0PFDCXk8jrHZ3jvl9XAbIJ0e-Qb-b56TbMoeqW49o6MzP9D4/s1600/zinnia1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-g5Dbihq1FNELONp4CWBsfFKmApEJpQjE-KNWzMnUaZphgwflf8GTmRLYOdgBj5MRrAXenoFbnvLR4b1YHoCb1fshNu0PFDCXk8jrHZ3jvl9XAbIJ0e-Qb-b56TbMoeqW49o6MzP9D4/s400/zinnia1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516774701380939730" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG48bq7jnvnlMbLuZCK7B98NYpIdUorMRz80XHGgSimHzQ-3eI4uZsz9HgZeAHtOdaBvnnmYzhfN5Cqn0rZSZbv15kL-YtBXuiYNWAHMqXAB6ng3vEElke5aDyxzcc0HkwAjf1wPN_sYY/s1600/IMG_4038.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 335px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG48bq7jnvnlMbLuZCK7B98NYpIdUorMRz80XHGgSimHzQ-3eI4uZsz9HgZeAHtOdaBvnnmYzhfN5Cqn0rZSZbv15kL-YtBXuiYNWAHMqXAB6ng3vEElke5aDyxzcc0HkwAjf1wPN_sYY/s400/IMG_4038.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516773273457216498" /></a><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_fwozAMdU-RUujECyWXP1QtPI-donnhLWaGdwRxUAky9K3PC3KGoYYFQ5i4RwXI8gNGKRI9i8UGU2OeanzvJ3910oYaV_70W8nar6Pnv3Bfeh6gtsjbSI8mjx30Z3_wrPLt7RiWIUc4/s1600/IMG_4019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_fwozAMdU-RUujECyWXP1QtPI-donnhLWaGdwRxUAky9K3PC3KGoYYFQ5i4RwXI8gNGKRI9i8UGU2OeanzvJ3910oYaV_70W8nar6Pnv3Bfeh6gtsjbSI8mjx30Z3_wrPLt7RiWIUc4/s400/IMG_4019.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516773108763313618" /></a><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEf1c9krzgfmJjHWRQPztzm2YSVjhbXdjZdW-3kH1xU9aLwoexkhFNERR3kj1hpf_tiGG5FLJGbwV4CoqOT0xcxkGz-xFUvXz9Am3eXfINKKxPdC_D8cytW5Wn5FGFnvKNNr1kpSQatw/s1600/IMG_4017.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEf1c9krzgfmJjHWRQPztzm2YSVjhbXdjZdW-3kH1xU9aLwoexkhFNERR3kj1hpf_tiGG5FLJGbwV4CoqOT0xcxkGz-xFUvXz9Am3eXfINKKxPdC_D8cytW5Wn5FGFnvKNNr1kpSQatw/s400/IMG_4017.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516772353749794354" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qR2mftW1jTvYRkfczvVkjCOGZLFFJyVZUxuBZ4uSYbw-0DwS7yxGlNDPnkgW93t0FOCFkzORcyBn8MacyqSuqBphXX_MJDF8WYp9_Vob4MpghDAlMyg3m3NkMl3s22-3YF2_BSaX0uw/s400/IMG_4014.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516771901300191090" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It really is just that easy!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Because I am still a few years away from traveling the countryside on my bicycle </div><div style="text-align: left;">and because I cannot bring myself to throw any zinnia seeds away,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I have approximately 4,539,087 seeds stored in our gardening shed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If you would like to discover the magic of a zinnia seed for yourself, please let me know and I will take good care of you.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, and if you happen to understand the magic of a tomato seed and would like to enlighten me, I would so appreciate it.</div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-90090233613141159972010-09-07T11:20:00.001-06:002010-09-08T14:43:55.077-06:00The Ruth Horne Principle<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Last spring I attended the funeral of a wonderful woman.<div>Her name was Ruth.</div><div><br /></div><div>We met Ruth and her husband Bruce when we were building homes in our neighborhood about 11 years ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ruth was a seasoned homemaker, gardener and grandmother.</div><div>I was a clueless new mom. I barely knew how to sew a button and I had never canned a peach or baked a loaf of bread. (Still haven't baked a successful loaf of bread, sigh.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite the differences in our ages, abilities and stages of life, we became fast friends.</div><div>Although I don't have a lot of visible talents, I am pretty good at watching and learning from people I admire. Ruth was one of those people.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her home was immaculate, her yard was beautiful, you name it and she could sew it. Plus, she was an AMAZING cook.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I sat there at her funeral, reflecting on the things I had learned from Ruth, feeling sad that I wouldn't have the opportunity to learn more from such a remarkable woman.</div><div>Then her son shared a few memories of her and in those moments, I learned an invaluable lesson.</div><div><br /></div><div>He told us about the summer he really learned to work.</div><div>He said that he and his siblings always had assigned chores from the time they were small. When they were little, they could get away with a few lumps in their efforts to make a bed. They weren't expected to do a perfect job when they vacuumed or swept the floor as long as they made a good effort.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then when he was around the age of twelve, things changed. When school got out for the summer, Ruth came to him and said that he was growing up and she expected him to rise to a new standard.</div><div><br /></div><div>She told him that she would be inspecting his work after each job was completed and if it didn't meet her expectations, he would need to do it again. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>He said it was a painful summer. She held him to it. </div><div>Sometimes weeding the strawberry patch took two, three, even four attempts. </div><div>Other times, he would try to sneak something by her just to see if she would catch it... </div><div>she would.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But by summer's end, he knew how to do more than just complete a chore, he knew how to work.</div><div>He had learned how to do a job right and take pride in doing it well.</div><div>And guess what? 25 years later those habits and work ethic have stayed with him.</div><div><br /></div><div>His words struck me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I believe in giving kids chores. </div><div>I believe in work before play. </div><div>What I am not so good at is making them do a thorough job. </div><div>I've been known to let a mid range effort pass and then come behind them to get things to my level of clean. It's just easier that way sometimes.</div><div><br /></div><div>But let's be real, where's the lesson in that?</div><div>I knew it was time to set a higher standard around here.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So when school got out for the summer, I sat the twins down and introduced them to the</div><div>"Ruth Horne Principle".</div><div><br /></div><div>The first day wasn't pretty.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Chores that should have taken two hours dragged on for nearly six hours! I felt like a grumpy warden. Lincoln felt like a picked on prisoner. There were times in those first couple of weeks when it would have been so much easier to just do it myself or let a half done job pass.</div><div><br /></div><div>But then I would think of Ruth. </div><div> I could almost hear her telling me to be consistent and firm. I would switch back to my <i>following them around with a clipboard mentality.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>By the end of week #2 they were getting the hang of it and by week #4, a good, thorough job was becoming the norm.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Yards (ours plus Grandma's & Grandpa's) were mowed on Tuesdays and Fridays. Kitchen duty automatically included sweeping the floor and no streaks were allowed on any mirror or faucet. Oh, and they learned that the vacuum comes with attachments for a reason.</div><div><br /></div><div>My corrections became fewer and fewer. If their quality of work fell a little short I would just say, "Sorry, I don't think Ruth would approve". Sometimes they would roll their eyes but I assured them that this is for their good and that someday they will thank me. </div><div>Granted, it may well be at my funeral, but they will thank me.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the summer has come to a close, I can see the benefits of all that effort.</div><div>Even Samantha has assigned chores. There is a certain satisfaction that comes from doing something well, even if it is cleaning a bathroom.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtQy5b4fiEA02z9Rdmd9ndDGOCC9zihSYDefZQ7HEvKEbwo4IDkkJxxToRV6m9fMNhhsLZqJ-BSdUbfnkcXdYlgUALZheRXdO-Xq3SaC4dGmim_YSSoGXZRateTaq3tyCgbxeqMx2_Gw/s400/ruth.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514592806894115010" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijA-8Jg5ArYDLuDuFiqPP4A5f9M7qKN-qq_OPqKt6dAPd557BvOsEqaA6g2vxBQluHRqLml3v5_h3I0uglx1DSHNZqBVFQCZNrPTIeO569HpiAFG_dKn_eNnNtSli3pjj0wFADCBeKF9I/s400/rh2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514576617893779282" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFz_5RmJ61N2lYOnek_ddu3Ih3MpXFgrBhvmTqGFNRwTWRSbcz9gNULvnEFvQiLnbZR3MnvgcGIZf1JIZDtbLpKTnsyrjK_2fPSq9ha1iecX4LQvqaMfTYx2vENN14Z9ReBPzk32QqGg/s400/rh3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514576238410466226" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Ruth Horne Principle is definitely staying.</div><div><br /></div><div>Someday I hope to catch up to Ruth in that great strawberry patch in the sky. </div><div>Maybe I'll bring a loaf of freshly baked bread to go with her jam.</div><div>I'll give her a hug and tell her about that summer in 2010 and how her wisdom helped me be a better mom. </div><div>Until then, thanks Ruth.</div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-67920025742202153432010-08-31T22:05:00.003-06:002010-09-01T07:12:50.323-06:00My Bad<div>My Bad.</div><div>Those two words strung together are among my favorites.</div><div>Why? Because they imply accountability, responsibility, owning up.</div><div><br /></div><div>I respect a person who can admit a wrong.</div><div>It's hard.</div><div>I hate making mistakes, they bug me.</div><div>But I have found that mistakes are often our best teachers.</div><div>The lessons are in what you <b><i>choose to do</i></b> with a mistake.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today was a rough day at our house.</div><div>We had a few Our Bads.</div><div>Definitely no fun, but a life lesson none the less.<br /><div><br /></div><div>To frame this story up, I need to give a little background on our family.</div><div>We are rule abiders by nature, all of us. I don't say that to boast, it really is just the way we're wired.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Mark was first called as a Bishop, he came close to memorizing the handbook. He would fall asleep with it almost every night for the first few months. In his years serving in the stake, he has earned a solid reputation of "going by the book". People joke about his commitment to the rules and guidelines. He will not go against them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm the same way. When I was a kid I would stress for a few days before my library books were due. Oh the horror of not turning a library book in on time! </div><div>I drive the speed limit.</div><div>I pay bills early.</div><div>I return phone calls.</div><div>I would never dream of parking in a handicapped spot, even for a second.</div><div>And I think I would be mortified if I ever violated a home owner's covenant.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lincoln and Rachel are products of their parents. They have never been in trouble at school. Neither one of them has ever had a B and I can't think of a time they have not had straight honors on citizenship. They have earned many awards for citizenship and leadership because of their rule abiding natures.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not just school- the other day I filled a prescription for Linc and later that day Rachel reviewed with me the side effects and dosage instructions. She had read all the information that the pharmacist had enclosed. </div><div><br /></div><div>We really are a pretty law abiding bunch and that is why what I am about to tell you is so out of the ordinary for us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last week, the twins came home and announced that they would both like to run for senate at their school. They brought home the paperwork after school and I read it over. </div><div><br /></div><div>The rules I remember stated that you could not hand out fliers, wear t-shirts promoting yourself or hand out stickers. Each student could have two posters and one page to state what they would do to improve the school. </div><div><br /></div><div>And the most important thing in my mind: you couldn't spend over 15.00.</div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday afternoon we picked up the poster supplies. We carefully tallied the costs. I got a few pictures at Costco and we were still way under budget so while I was there I grabbed a bag of cheap candy for them to write their names on and give out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sunday after church, we sat down and pounded out their posters. That was A LOT of work!</div><div>We busily cut and glued and cut and glued and cut and glued.</div><div>Four posters and one blister later, we finished.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday I heard the twins calling some of their friends to help them pass out candy at lunch.</div><div>Today, they happily headed out the door with posters and candy in hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>At lunch they were talking to kids and passing out candy when someone said,</div><div> " I don't think you're supposed to do that".</div><div><br /></div><div>They were both a little startled. They looked around and noticed that no one else was giving out candy so they put it away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later that afternoon, the advisor approached Rachel and asked her if she and Lincoln had been passing out candy at lunch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rach answered that they had.</div><div>The teacher, in her gentlest way told Rach that passing out candy was against the rules. She said that a mom of another child had called her and said,</div><div>"The twins were passing out candy at lunch so is it ok for my child to as well?"</div><div>(Translation: Lincoln and Rachel were breaking rules)</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm sorry but I am going to have to disqualify you and your brother," Mrs. Garcia said.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rach was stunned.</div><div><br /></div><div>So this afternoon they sadly packed up their posters and came home.</div><div>There were a few tears and a couple of devastated faces.</div><div>Deep disappointment has been the mood around here.</div><div><br /></div><div>There it was, written on bright orange paper, NO Handouts.</div><div>We all must have read it but none of us processed it.</div><div>I was so hung up on not exceeding the 15.00 budget, that's all I really had on my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was not intentional.</div><div>We were not trying to pull a fast one.</div><div>But none of that matters, because at the end of the day, we were wrong.</div><div>We should have read and re-read the rules.</div><div>There is no one to blame but us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our bad.</div><div>Plain and simple.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lincoln and Rachel have handled this with such dignity and maturity.</div><div>Rach wrote a letter to the teacher involved apologizing for their error and telling her that next time they will read the rules better.</div><div><br /></div><div>Linc said that he is just going to pick a couple of his friends to really campaign for. He wants to do all he can to help them win.</div><div><br /></div><div>We counted up the candy that was left in the bag.</div><div>They passed out a total of 25 pieces.</div><div><br /></div><div>25 little pieces of candy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Probably not enough to sway an election.</div><div>But way more than enough to learn a lesson.</div><div><br /></div><div>My bad.</div><div>Two words that sting.</div><div>Two words that are part of life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two tough words that can help us grow and do better next time.</div><div>And next time, we will.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-72643421252425307022010-08-23T16:11:00.009-06:002010-08-24T09:43:54.398-06:00The Bitter and the Sweet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG3hxI0yfhmd-KTolKTMlIHPobq0-G1JQ8GeTY87M4szGz8Ur6dJ-zlqdMDbNCJaN4RW9pp5zTgAMnbzXB6v_Gx-HKFDciVR-WO4Em6euQ8Re7U5Yr9s5BuTVrgU_v5aP9NhRHa4X_zI/s1600/7th+grade+4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 364px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG3hxI0yfhmd-KTolKTMlIHPobq0-G1JQ8GeTY87M4szGz8Ur6dJ-zlqdMDbNCJaN4RW9pp5zTgAMnbzXB6v_Gx-HKFDciVR-WO4Em6euQ8Re7U5Yr9s5BuTVrgU_v5aP9NhRHa4X_zI/s400/7th+grade+4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509000058666241122" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div> I am alive and breathing ....... barely.<div>My twins went off to that great and spacious building AKA Jr. High yesterday and I lived to tell the tale.</div><div><br /></div><div>Remember the <a href="http://kimberly-heartstrings.blogspot.com/2008/08/they-made-me-do-it.html">sad situation</a> I put myself in when they went to 5th grade?</div><div>Letting them go to 5th grade nearly drove me nutty so you can imagine how yesterday went.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had a picture in my mind of walking them to school and then walking them home.</div><div>After all, I've walked them to and from elementary school dozens and dozens and dozens of times. In the afternoons I would often pack a bag </div><div>of otter pops or chocolate chip cookies to share with the crew of kids who decided to join us. Those are some of my favorite memories, some of our best talks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shockingly, the twins politely declined my offer.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I insisted that it would be fun, they called in reinforcements.</div><div>Their friends ganged up on me, Mark got suckered, my own sister agreed with them and even Always On My Side Roni had to gently put me in my rightful place. </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess it's not a great idea to walk 7th graders to and from school....</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Sigh.</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So I moved to plan B. I mentioned showing up to innocently and in a very discreet way, snap a couple of pictures of them in front of their lockers.</div><div><br /></div><div>They <b>not so politely </b>said no way.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Double sigh.</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>All I could do was hug and kiss them and wave a tearful goodbye.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Triple sigh plus three large sniffs.</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>To save my sanity, I carefully planned out the day's events.</div><div>I kept hair cuts and shopping sprees off my list and added volunteering at the Food Bank and scrubbing the kitchen floor-- just to keep things in perspective. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have a love / hate relationship with this whole "kids growing up" business.</div><div>I hate leaving behind the things that cause a mother's heart to swell. Like shoes with the lights in them, speech impediments, missing teeth, the magic that comes with learning to read.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet, I love watching them become their own people. I love the conversations we have about first crushes, watching them try new things and just their excitement for life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hate the thought that they will be exposed to the things of the world, but I know that learning by their own experience is a necessary part of growing.</div><div><br /></div><div>This milestone is bitter and sweet all rolled into one.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, today I let them go ahead and venture over to that great and spacious building for day #2.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's hard.</div><div>I miss them.</div><div>The clock is ticking extra slow.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am fighting the urge to so something crazy with my hair or book a sudden trip to Disneyland.</div><div>Mark has been warned that for the next week or so I cannot be held 100% responsible for any rash decisions.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Maybe today I will just enjoy every minute with my two year old. We can hang out in the toddler section of the library. We'll pick up a Happy Meal and stop at the playground on the way home. I'll probably give her about a million kisses and remind her to stay little.</div><div><br /></div><div> Most of all, I'll look heavenward a whisper a little prayer of thanks, that I'm 10 happy years away from sending her to jr. high.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrJXV4Qjs_FY86Jgb4Rs292xOERPMuY8IHzRm2HgXChbFDDtA5Kk4UXfictQjt8gEdguZx6uJtO99ONyDPxILr0VvhHdFzpk8a2QOrysqt2M7mS0f_Lpod1opMm5RoaPvlZIDZjRK9v0/s400/7TH+GRADE+5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508999627195320002" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-5154941803914633902010-07-21T12:14:00.001-06:002010-07-21T12:19:09.962-06:00A Tale of Three Chickens<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Once upon a time there were three chickens who decided to spend the afternoon at a water park. These particular chickens were broke and had no extra money for tube rentals.<div>Since most of the <b>non</b>-<b>scary</b> slides required a tube and they had no tubes AND they were in fact chicken of the tube-<i>less</i> slides, it made for an uneventful day at the park.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNbfFFOToyWksvnZIIgEPC9VH8DHDe3GZQGBFRbCgrJfhopSWOzagVNGLX7l4x9o0m3YNqg7ASX1p_9ruApPWviTsWrCLuXhgqrWYFQQ-lNz9n7UMVDtgkPK_ynmY8MoORW1gYGFW07is/s400/tube2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496422310263090338" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The girl chickens they were with had plenty of babysitting money, which meant that they were perfectly content being chickens because they could float around on their tubes, sunning their feathers and enjoy themselves in their own non-daring way.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmLFOSSAsIdEz7cw2HAfgN_im_NU_fkZXBoKFtXVRLdS_VCfkpJrFp2kIKtIiZR9U0HShjPieQspCSX-3pKbDxhxGtqwkrMHZ7nvwlgVMSpNRohzwEEwkZZ4OVNqFiJM4uy8OcTHzqd08/s400/tube.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496421579569286082" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>At one point, the three boy chickens tried to heist the tubes of the three girl chickens but the three girl chickens were not having any of that. So, the boy chickens were left to piddle around in the wave pool and kiddie areas and dream about the day that courage would come their way.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDV93J7wxbbtoNTkZEgftHl5_oS1Kph4Pxyxsa6D1vJrZ7L8AtVIPbe6Uyq2PGw264_p09CJUBHY2LhY4YpX661cYN2VSgy2uJ6OTOW7uIuwE3F-XoTAoW7F3EFSSO9bjQfaFhtS0ys80/s400/1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496420546250974082" /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8UyLn5mZiSiF1iSBIcfszV8QEMQ3eaJXYH9BlKUjkUn1lwkrCYXNkK3sUFa1wA8T2O3RwMQnHyq9pgPIOcsCG5nblczMupNUK98t5nS6XiCbsR4NP8t2zVkyqc739Q_5i3pG-Zf1gO4o/s400/2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496420307957141970" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSKlHLVVnxLvdKrst1PFOkekSxAVEMmMTRFZFZjTNgT0UwlZ4j-50uekwPXkUc-U_hVoOOWrmebfn1t6ZctpMIr00kxAsHuDOn6x-K6aKkFSTN7XqxdOi094LelnY7HMIOTBTeiWsIer4/s400/3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496420124694385106" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0oXdl6xbW-b3SPDn3QD3xZHCTj_3G13EBZ4ODQqFVlU54RO95Yt0GkqaptMt7R1emlAF65P4HibR_Scw_3sLq-pzDm81z2DB_J1knhxWyUN9toMxTCrOwg5P_-baYY7zBztYsDA3Xrww/s400/4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496419915432865266" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>A sad scene indeed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Enter a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>T</b></span>all<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"> <b>H</b></span>andsome<b> </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>M</b></span>an <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>W</b></span>ith<b> </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>A</b></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>S</b></span>omewhat<b> </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>S</b></span>exy<b> </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>F</b></span>armer's<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b> T</b></span>an which we will refer to hereafter as THMWASSFT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XtOIXL43UA5Y49uNTMP0ZZoptT2wUymAeWZ_kxWJTvOYnMxd788G6Tg3eD9PQAkSupNFA_1CiteKV2NDXdIpT2Vj3IB5DzzXqGbd85lqCM9ybr0ip97kT4NCUxpyKL3BxqvUHUIp-mg/s400/chicken17.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496418246966588514" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>THMWASST is not of the chicken variety. In fact, it is true that he only throws up on things that go upside down. Since none of the slides go upside down, he was in a position to change the destiny of the three chickens.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>He took them to the information board. They read about the thrill of climbing seven stories up only to plunge head first down at a rate of 50 feet per second!</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2ducAf1e__hQ-oUq7EK4iT7S9x6TWI-e-e6m9q9hWV_Xss1wDDZ4PRgTHvV9Li6BOeYhsKT00cTwSu9rfvGkaA_VtwKOyxA85PJBfAJSrqF7NvkYQH97h7aqSQciJ0MyLln0u5T8NsQ/s400/chicken15.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496417256778463138" /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhurk5O02MHKMhiMJKEz5XxuJPF17QohkmIUD4tT902i_yOoYExp97oIgmNu9c6iTp86QaLRNfz_DASgC31CzeOvwg_DjCFBHnXFIoqsmJgYZjGRdAVwkGQwEcBAJthncpKfA8DTFfGY/s400/chicken16.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496416926638373346" /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>THMWASST was convincing, persuasive, compelling, influential and even inspiring.</div><div>One by one the three little chickens started to find their courage. They gathered their feathers about them and clucked over to the speed slides.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The little white chicken lingered behind the others but he did indeed make the long and distant walk.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJyWoefvwMVwgQSk2g3fEeC-KdR0YNQ8v25KM8KdGOV302dcyv3BN07-rlDzYEUeN4s-IZhPeiRjUdq17zPrqkxpig1k_gt50IzoWJSzZ6aPaD3pUSThAt2fcaalijEVEKxKZ7nCJzsQk/s400/chicken14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496415527005072498" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The three chickens and THMWASSFT waited in line.</div><div>The line was long.</div><div>The anxiety mounted.</div><div>If most regular people would wonder with apprehension about the stability of all those old wooden stairs, you can imagine the angst and distress of the three chickens.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>With hearts racing, they began the long climb.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9IJ2fJgNrzEx78t7vcXJ79qsk-bSN_exOCc5-aMy6ScGGHQdXS0SBa1EPVHuPUt1cyvsc4y-TahvChL0O8QKpnLz8G7vE1t0BeHgTLFWs0vPCQxHCFmk3abgIylDMxPEDuan0hSaEYc/s400/chicken13.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496414824793999154" /></div><div>Up they went.</div><div>Up. Up. Up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Finally, they reached the top.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22FmpUn1JGdNBIVZN5Q3cAXuKVg-JhEEYIef35XGzlsiDCGqVMZBU7ZhD0bNGrlWLVXiThpRTqPZy4cIc9dZ5zFNvs372-5QQk0f4p8V4AQ0yCdWps0F-eZAY_ec8Xf4nu_HyepCBBDY/s400/chicken11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496174782867983058" /></div><div>THMWTSSFT went first, to prove that he would arrive safely at the bottom alive and well.</div><div>Sure enough there was not so much as a scrape on that sexy farmer tanned man.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb60QMPBdtXrZEPKTzv5lap2h5H4oNKCrcdPqXQoegbr1yJB5vU_XjtJXnFTbhxUzkzlDfyBGnusC_63TUUq4BIIgFVYnP-PjB15Fyj_8KgXPu0zT-fdy-Na8Yw-q4mQnOOsPYBnB8yzo/s400/chicken9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496171476335110066" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>One by one, the three chickens took the plunge.</div><div>Head first, they soared down that wicked, slippery chute.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl96-1jm6dV8g9dAAk73oM3swLKXOa-fnDomdrT2MA6iHEj-dO6YPlz6b_waPfjDmxcQzYTtq0gLVSmYHZj8P9gsviwgbOgvz7Vcf10iLn74JGH2m3klK5ecxQvCyYgyKMnbbx7vAI4CA/s400/chicken8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496170672569098562" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXY_kr76aerDRtNjBDNP3nQEztZi2dSyfbXv3MKFS6d_7zxIy7AarAdXScladI_X4JOe1gMVG2DobQ0_OWmQ_gyypBfTnYMqtChR8s-K6bB6bGVUYvyOMwIWtb6v3lii1513wqUi-QqU/s400/chicken7jpg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496169702338263282" /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhF_WrnY2i3Esv48LKltYuWwSAaUZaBxjBB9HBcYaEuwWxpp4eNVvGSf4WFPRttFXsPTnajwI90erDDkIGX5MMntvVPaylJQoXyxz-OENzP_95osuRTL0YuDwAHYieFWO3CEWQjfl10g/s400/chicken6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496168662800014498" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>At the bottom, smiles replaced fright and confidence</div><div>replaced trepidation.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIK9AAZxkqBP6d9m5zc36TJDJPCcn8do6v-mrWGeyekUqhLpl_jM92UBgph3jA5pazCXeg8gIDiENOja3wK-9Q7qv3Mgc3i1B1Ow4K2juRdau-ejyqdQB1-iDJmPW-ZPNNoOLHV-wabgg/s400/chicken4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496167866537187794" /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid4VyfN9aUuPV4M64M3PvY2N28J0CguVN5Kmu7kXSSgchkzOGmiwI3KCmiKzx1vw5ZVTYxV_AGdJaFmVAxuxtzYxNCnw8f1YjarhzOB8fQ70mvnN9B8BHos9984ank1hwTb755K6_Nq8Y/s400/chciken5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496167560237320914" /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WKzOlC8yl2Mr9I24gYC0Xe4J1XX-MLkjyDTByMK9L11wzxY6w3KvMfrAfl2ZfGHTKHvQJm_IcHSYoj_dDZ_PvJIu-BYCu07zijzzfuzWxOBloNAdcl7HaJ8ptj6RsNFHCcJYc1zFQ9Q/s400/chicken3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496166597621973826" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-ivf5cNPEV-9Yknyac2FG4F_i8k75OyEo6Df8Rm6WRcCFHMBwNusSuzhhCt2IjwB_7nCzoox9l5r7NlSW-E8eEMYC_xdiCzOqxHm6EhsCWdmn7Noe4R2aor4t9OzZehSKUVvH0mbKbc/s400/chicken2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496165948508098946" /></div><div><br /></div><div>The three chickens were chicken no more!</div><div>They couldn't wait to find the three girl chickens and rub the news into their beaks!</div><div>Ah, the fabulous-ness of shedding the name "Chicken"!</div><div><br /></div><div>The three former chickens patted each other on the back and walked off into the sunset.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIBEcYo6-9cM4E-5li_K5vg_ehGletZdL_AsuWr8EA3doPNoOkBSZHz6O_RsudL5pI44BQWRKx16oJCCPQZZ-wgGNQHGaPZM6BT9AT6O98SYYr71-mbLlx7f143N1-jOi1LfpbTkEBz4/s400/chicken1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496165271930294306" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The moral of the story?</div><div><ul><li>Have the courage to try.</li><li>Face your fears.</li><li>String a camera around your own neck and claim the job of resident photographer so they'll never know you're the biggest chicken of them all..</li></ul></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-83338740316952086412010-07-12T20:11:00.023-06:002020-07-20T15:56:40.636-06:00If It's Important to Us, It's Important to Him<div style="text-align: center;">
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Well our 2010 baseball season has officially come to an end. What a season it turned out to be!<br />
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Back in December, an opportunity arose for Linc to try out for a new team. We happened to pick up our mail on Christmas Day and there was a letter for Lincoln congratulating him on making the team.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493437034010358018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6-ybSVM_0BRe8tKLp1FMm24dBR5vszEyeKszmOOxI4g1DRg7nD0zipq0UxrCbcVSxb7VjFL4bF_-6Ee8w46Ds3ri-Au04Td9lE744ptv5TgpAWiPn8XveOz9lsET8QLOfQv51hCuyn0/s400/IMG_2343.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 354px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493436760155164210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmS-T87vRxCRLJ_U-OayA77PvUdrkZzB8yZ_5Zyf0PBefmw1vzfMvmdkRsMauu63CLTT_LqSmOpP1hdqegF7O8UngGwa39LXqkM5WTCdb0jAEE3Sq5IOrJUHXHWDBWVod4DiuifcbWZ6k/s400/IMG_2348.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 380px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
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This team is much more competitive and advanced than anything he has been involved in, so it took us a little bit by surprise when we got the word that we would have our first round of games in mid January.</div>
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We packed up the family and headed to Las Vegas for 12 games in three days. Linc got to play on the brand new Big League Dreams field that had just opened the previous week. The fields are exact replicas of MLB parks. It was so much fun. He fielded well but struggled at the plate. We chalked it up to being the new kid and not having thrown a baseball in about six months.</div>
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By February, the team was in full baseball mode. Three practices a week and sometimes, up to four hours of practice on Saturdays.</div>
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We felt certain that Linc was doing just fine and that by the Presidents Day Tourney in February, his batting average would improve.</div>
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....we were wrong.</div>
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He would have an occasional hit here and there but strike outs were starting to become the norm. It was painful to watch. His confidence plummeted. Discouragement set in as he tracked his stats on the team website. We stayed positive, his coaches stayed positive but the person who mattered most quit believing in himself.</div>
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It's difficult to describe the pit in my stomach, tightness in my throat, <b>can't bear to watch</b> type of anxiety that filled me when poor Linc stepped up to the plate. My only consolation was that Mark felt as bad as I did and Rachel felt worse than both of us.</div>
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The hardest part of the whole thing was watching my sweet son.</div>
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Biting his lip, fighting back the tears as he hurried back to the dugout -- strike out after strike out.</div>
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I was proud of the way he handled it all. Never throwing a</div>
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bat or a helmet, cheering his teammates on from the bench, shaking hands with his coaches and thanking them after every single game and practice.</div>
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By the end of March, there was little improvement and by April, things were starting to hit rock bottom. Instead of swinging the bat and missing the ball, he began to watch strikes. Beautiful, perfectly delivered meatballs right down the center of the plate went unchallenged, not even a swipe of the bat.</div>
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Disappointment, turned to agony and then to frustration.</div>
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Nobody was more frustrated than Lincoln.</div>
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One Sunday morning before church, I was getting something from the hall closet when I heard quiet sobs coming from Linc's room. My heart sank as I immediately knew what was wrong. I knocked on his door and found my sweet boy with red eyes and red cheeks sitting on his bed. I will never forget that picture in my mind. Lincoln sitting there in his suit, with his head in his hands. Heartbreak written all over his face and tears dripping from his chin.</div>
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"Why?"</div>
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"Why can't I hit the ball?" he sobbed.</div>
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"I'm letting my team down, I'm letting my coaches down."</div>
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I wrapped my arms around him, not sure what to say.</div>
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Suddenly, he looked up at me and with tenderness and complete sincerity he asked,</div>
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"Mom, do you think it's ok to fast and pray about baseball?"</div>
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The question caught me a little off guard.</div>
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I paused a moment and then answered,</div>
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"Lincoln, if something is important to you, it's important to the Lord."</div>
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I assured him that although God has much bigger things to worry about than baseball, I know that He knows Lincoln by name and he loves him. He hears every prayer, especially earnest ones and He answers them. If Heavenly Father notes the fall of the sparrow, He certainly understands the importance of baseball to a 12 year old.</div>
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Lincoln asked if I would fast with him that day, Rachel and Mark joined us.</div>
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The next week we fasted again and so continued our pattern.</div>
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Nearly every prayer that was said in our family over the next couple of months included a plea to help Lincoln believe in himself. One night Rachel plastered notes on the bathroom mirror that said:</div>
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You can do it!</div>
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We believe in you!</div>
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Home Run Hitter!</div>
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You are amazing!</div>
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We love you!</div>
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We also studied scriptures about turning weaknesses into strengths. Studying the scriptures helped Lincoln realize that he had to work hard and do his part and then Heavenly Father would do the rest. We decided to get up early and go hit a couple of buckets before school and then again in the evenings. He didn't complain about waking up at 6:15 am. He didn't complain about giving up any free time at night to go practice hitting.</div>
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It was in those early morning practices that we started to see a change. It began with just making contact with the ball and gradually he started hitting to the fence. Within a few weeks, he started hitting over the fence. Confidence returned. It was an amazing transformation.</div>
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It didn't take long for the knew attitude to transfer to the games.</div>
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Lincoln started hitting the ball!</div>
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Singles, doubles, triples, <b>game savers</b>, <b><i>game wi</i></b><b><i>nners</i></b>. Over the last six weeks of the season, he was the top hitter on the team. It was hard to believe we were watching the same kid.</div>
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A Disney movie couldn't have captured a come-back of this magnitude. </div>
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By the end of the season, he had gone from dead last in the batting order to the #2 spot.</div>
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His coaches were thrilled. They even put him on the cover of the team website. We were relieved that the season was ending on a positive note, Rachel started sleeping through the night once again but most of all, Lincoln learned an amazing lesson that will stay with him....</div>
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<i><b>If something is important to us, it is important to the Lord.</b></i></div>
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If He cares about something as seemingly insignificant as the baseball season of a 12 year old kid, he cares about everything.</div>
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Big, small and in-between.</div>
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God cares.</div>
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He loves His children, He knows us by our names.</div>
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He will answer in His time and way. </div>
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At times He will let us struggle in order to teach us faith and reliance on Him</div>
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But He WILL be in the details of our lives, if we will only invite Him in.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493434769962796338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7FlwWWNBMp0UQUTrYqan4u_v7nbyBC6DvNem9sHecUydHciwE-K3VPKjDkyJ6atIrvYNWhjArbA6YQVmxoxfTQDBngrBo1dZdtMkIl5wIBnijCqB-etEoy4DCdGu6qHOAts2QA3veXM/s400/DSC_3399_118.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493433745511490370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglx2mM6IH2Jk0xMzJ5FkRqS-reycY-0cTMkldTyyEh_pl-VJCrhFg4Z2GzNRazdGx3LBJnsgZXey_5Dgj8ZlL7Co2kIY30xjWVg6Tehbj05JXmAuV8_MwbpI0S_PjoL-YlL8rET4wra5Y/s400/DSC_6330.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493432575923675474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFHZwTXRx_Safo_O0kj1LXqhj3kyrBLIn9dGXQjKyq0ZympfoxlNj0XC-IJEo_EPkL_HfWHbmLsrqrOCv8WuVHbbYk_Az6XLfEA_16Te2wo85lsIq9QyvrshWAy_teNIIdUyMP0A4vVc/s400/DSC_6328.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493432152719377938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgKptssbOdJHud577K9TuMt5MO4Pzlcx-q0oBAiz7fxaTfpMfHe7bT_xe1NJvsJWHLlcq6hBnA0rZ57EHV2ttIRiY-aBObcWJQJ1gP9mZQq16ROxk7FSC9X78zh-VcYee1QVfug8w-js/s400/DSC_3150_452.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493424455477074146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_P4-W0lPVw1HbACZGyk3TLJw33M6ncNpqMCqcP-h2bqeSe_Z8IQm8wmWvITR5jb0fPJwNLYdZR83mdyz9p3itK-WuiIeHbrEh5LJApJltjBcsybw4SUk2wqBsGQ9jn3Hsr82GQrrNW4/s400/DSC_6332.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 178px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493423527772694098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxI1RhRTrfRRDpEj31wEaIrBns2ZMyzGdOTDnr-Fy8ahKxPhxzSlXeFEx03jPM52RhLVltUxlNorYv7VAShKfg7Vhf6I5MPqward_PfNTnYi0Bj8-iulE_sEsLV05WA5Z4iS91Hwt0EDw/s400/DSC_6379.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 203px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 233px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493422004583970610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLfbPa4Kpc-3Bii97mJlmPn9is6V6QWkADNrZTLtgprGyNRvVYnoNrfD5l9Az1LDgGYe5izKJSKBzk4cG1DiGBZbyY2nDYrgXOUjH9cH7cuXb06_4EKE29oVtoC9bQpJm-5YN13a5g_TI/s400/DSC_2627.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 169px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 253px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493421320389482498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb75TH1NDGwBO6TesilRe4KHfEt01J7lVtj-vwLLF11ij4ok_I46zbIfa9ZWYqoVzg1MdjL5_8sA1iz3ICr2QmqxUBp_G6fB4ko9wLRhiEbL93VO0SkdIvgyldrhTJB9EmGLceMs_v9QM/s400/DSC_3400_119.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493420654465940018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZ14uRUKEbBjG8YL2PeHWXWC8taMNzUu3oaqTIxQfu3-sUCR8ss8so5rrRkD1yG504mpN6jopJ5oqypjbDU31mM3UCTmL26nplMLRfPdyfLvvC1rMAW92oLAaehw3AmsQeONOnoZh8EM/s400/IMG_4370.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 304px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Baseball season 2010....</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a lesson for life.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-65061754345567404182010-06-22T11:57:00.019-06:002010-06-22T15:13:23.103-06:00See Sam Chapter 9<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmAl9sij5gi-v9rOTUThJj9k56y8NZGNPEuzsUB4nBeIgpmFqy0QDDmI6nEZ1qVuzDcn4CEMSot7yM0wE7P3WzL5WkniC0TIa6nC9iBbs5f3bSO55hvi-DrJoMHFfzmIADUP91Xux7BQ/s1600/spark8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmAl9sij5gi-v9rOTUThJj9k56y8NZGNPEuzsUB4nBeIgpmFqy0QDDmI6nEZ1qVuzDcn4CEMSot7yM0wE7P3WzL5WkniC0TIa6nC9iBbs5f3bSO55hvi-DrJoMHFfzmIADUP91Xux7BQ/s400/spark8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485700711321124306" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>See Sam.<br />Sam loves her big sister.<div>Issy is one of Sam's favorites.<br />Sam wants to be just like Issy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>When Issy goes to ballet lessons, Sam puts on her dancing dress and pretends that she is going too.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Issy goes to school, Sam gets her backpack and pretends that she is big enough to go.</div><div><br />When Sam sees Issy pray, she wants to pray too.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>When Issy plays the piano, Sam wants to sit next to her and "pac-tiss".</div><div><br />When Issy explained to Sam that diapers are no fun and that big girl panties are much more hip, Sam agreed! </div><div> Sam quit using her potty for art supply storage and started using it as the <span style="font-weight:bold;">mother saving device</span> it was intended to be.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkTvlRH9_-TACsovR7L9j978B6ov68Vk1POwnofw_-iTELGfhNDgOIAm_6_Uhc3LJPjVQG7WJcI8VT_HtOZPL8LSwUg_yYs3Z_p_LuHLMHck8L5AWcuQXaAFoQCeDqsPoPpjEqxHvXy4/s400/IMG_3205.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485697029001378530" /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-LYa488DkQnB3pVfJb_fNRshkfXYoWhg6r_DKrPqNDyqw9teuB-HvdEIpEX4gHEl4wrRE0DFJtVI2na07jRlLW229O7zpDzMsUZpT74cKiCVKidGO-QjA3iP2bvQ1Qi4J6W2ReYVTu0/s400/spark7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485696697515176050" /></div><div>Oh how Sam loves Issy!</div><div>Issy is the best!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Three weeks ago, Sam decided to brush her own teeth.</div><div>Sam is good at brushing her own teeth, just like Issy.</div><div>Mmmm clean teeth feel great.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>While Sam was brushing her teeth, something sparkly </div><div>caught her eye.</div><div>"Whoa!" Thought Sam.</div><div>Sam spied Issy's special sparklies, the ones she</div><div>just bought with her baby sitting money.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sam knows she should ask Issy for permission.</div><div>Sam knows that Issy will share, but Sam is so mesmerized by the sparklies, that all of her</div><div>self control goes straight into the potty. (You know, the same spot where the art supplies used to be?)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Sam is overcome by the temptation of those little </div><div>containers of brilliance.</div><div>Sam can't help herself.</div><div>She covers herself in millions of tiny, glittery bits of twinkle.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiebkBXQ-wFqivlzKwNCamBEcSZ8QnpEgfgIpWOmBvShkMJsHnHEvZg4eRKlsMuM-DGl-HbKLH9QXbd5vMmRuV5m0mUlvVAqdwF6esnjD07-GzBy2fJ4OGjBn5MRQXE_Tmio9VhGgKkM/s400/spark1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485678260109352546" /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSTC7aCslEYCH7aHvc480RrS33uRMM0bue664dN_PxN-5oQccc-nQ-MM75qd-kDGWuQQetOXNpUFmr0MfqXlPmZEaE6XvfYeOWqXqJhdcrdSRn_G_astJfMuuXSFS_QjKYKYENgSlpXQ/s400/spark2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485677964004843026" /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvL5O1ThBG5xcIQ42MnyzX74KJXBUrURbavMeyPXRDNWPF9vl_UwfsCPXPu3o7MVQHxac828EtRSVxzB36dWdD8B6TaijlzabYMdn8d3yaaQlan1zWneocb9SR_-aQGldmDgvtTFdQAM/s400/spark3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485677616539493970" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAV24l6Tx8ZZe_WRWZRuCeNPpVJOvCV2gaZJecnZ5NufA292xtettezzrBxMkzp0_8b7rvNyUwFWSM3Pop6WdH8AtfrNgrqVDu5S9NRcUWAquoy8oKYfD8k8lwBHbwzkkiNjTddvzpLIE/s400/spark4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485677361042466898" /></div><div>Sparklies are EVERYWHERE.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sam comes downstairs to confess her crime.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Sam's family gasps at the sight of all those sparklies,</div><div>Sam says, "TA-DA, now I wook just like Issy!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"Oh Sam" sighs Issy.</div><div>Issy is very patient with Sam.</div><div>Issy only gets a little irritated.</div><div><br /></div><div>Daddy and Budda are less patient when they keep finding leftover sparklies on suits and baseball uniforms.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom has tried and tried to wash all those sparklies out but three weeks later, Sam still has sparklies imbedded in her scalp.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9i27MS1CQX7V0Y7SeYwyXv_VoHoh9F7tCnL3E-ab80wN20xqTiTpQ8roKpUH_tTKSpmKvjGY6VgKUaoeM60L1iOF9KMWDR0VWOzXQdWs93q8vmhrI3WtTJqoyXUKzglPSRbwNRxoOeU/s400/spark5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485675454403260386" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Whenever Issy notices them glimmering in the sunlight, she smiles at Sam.</div><div><br /></div><div>Issy loves Sam.</div><div>Sam loves Issy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Sam.</div><div>Happy Issy.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDM_KHxwUl2KMcFYfUqbKyvJbseom1svaaFcTgWFGv7-Bzu2IlssSnBJ30vhzVKlrZ00sa8jUZjjPJUtmZVtoSM3n-AvlTFysWUsUmcqti-c2y05ceun-DIsaI6qrKqjSuQqaOI5KlNtE/s400/spark6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485674982084717650" /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-55508959609158920622010-06-17T09:16:00.002-06:002010-06-17T09:58:31.630-06:00Slacker No MoreThere are a couple of very good reasons that I have not written a blog in nearly two months.<br />Their names are Lincoln and Rachel.<br /><br />We have been so wrapped up in dance, baseball and a million other things that we have barely come up for air. I have no idea what is going on in the world and I have missed some very important emails. Most of all, I have been out of touch with my fellow bloggers.<br /><br />This morning I woke up early and spent two lovely hours getting caught up on the happenings of friends and family.<br />I have missed you all. I need your updates. I love your pictures! I am amazed by your talents! I love to see the great things your kids are doing! I am uplifted by you!<br /><br />I have also missed my own time recording the little things that make life sweet.<br /><br />So I am taking a solemn vow to not fall behind again. <br /><br />If there is anyone out there who still checks this blog, I commit to do better.<br />Here's to a long, lazy, blog filled summer!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667477062787805416.post-86118283631453773542010-04-22T09:37:00.036-06:002010-04-22T19:30:42.627-06:00Dear D. Will<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhniMPLKr2yGtS0S5kCxX-3Hi91CQz_unIxorFw9mx5043g8apcs_QY58g4okBYTMqfsKl9pUZFz19CS5BAXCfelXzQ7_u82DfREWXA6M4bGGAHl3Tmswd1zBGZybFVfl0CL7CCqcJ3dE0/s1600/Dwill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhniMPLKr2yGtS0S5kCxX-3Hi91CQz_unIxorFw9mx5043g8apcs_QY58g4okBYTMqfsKl9pUZFz19CS5BAXCfelXzQ7_u82DfREWXA6M4bGGAHl3Tmswd1zBGZybFVfl0CL7CCqcJ3dE0/s320/Dwill.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br />Dear D. Will,<br /><br />Hi, my name is Kimberly. I am writing to you on behalf of my son, Lincoln.<br /><br />Lincoln is a pretty amazing kid, D. Will.<br />He is a loving and kind brother.<br />He has never had a "B" in his life.<br />He is obedient.<br />He even practices the piano without complaining!<br /><br />But guess what else he is, D.Will?<br />He is a loyal, faithful Jazz Fan.<br />This kid is true blue, for real.<br /><br />He watched his first game at age 12 hours.<br /><br />He cried for two days when John Stockton retired without winning an NBA Championship, he was five.<br /><br />And remember that terrible day three years ago when you guys lost to the New York Knicks?<br />AKA "The worst team in the league"?<br />Well, all I can say is click on the video clip below to see how that went over.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxnk_AS2HY2VhMucE1XMy41TxjZ_hv7m68lbsEmsV-sSj1DBcrHPaFRY9UyTpZuVSkcABUjxGgmX2LtfHrEUw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><a href="rtsp://v8.cache8.googlevideo.com/video.3gp?app=blogger&fmt=13&cid=7ec01f979a195579" type="video/3gpp"><img width="320" height="266" alt="video" src="http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app=blogger&contentid=7ec01f979a195579&offsetms=5000&itag=w320&sigh=ffLGgfg-_n6AFVknQN4w8VlDGBA" class="BLOG_mobile_video_class" id="BLOG_mobile_video-7ec01f979a195579"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Lincoln knows all about players, stats, positions and strategies. He is literally a walking sports page.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The point is, D. Will, I really need you to lead the Jazz to victory this year.</div><div style="text-align: left;">No pressure, just my child's hopes and dreams riding on your shoulders, that's all.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You are just the man for the job.</div><div style="text-align: left;">You're amazing!</div><div style="text-align: left;">You're awesome!</div><div style="text-align: left;">You have rock star status around our house.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I believe in you, D. Will, you can do it!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanks so much!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Very Sincerely Yours,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Kimberly</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a name='more'></a><span id="goog_375274074"></span><span id="goog_375274075"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6