tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74839237081643938842024-03-14T07:12:26.504-07:00the millersThe Mother LoadJack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-76644861129119709142008-12-08T10:41:00.000-08:002008-12-08T11:37:21.429-08:00I'm paralyzed.<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">That's it... I HATE WINTER!!! There- I said it.</span><br /><br />Snow, sickness, stalkers (that's for you know who), my furnace, my pets, and just about anything that needs anything from me today. I hate all of it. I am sick today, so I think since I am in a rotten mood, I will make a list of things that REALLY grind my gears.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7VYw_AHQlPmIp7YV3JKDVT11Y5qjg4yQNv3KvI-JFjoTWSppDsLW88VS3MmhG8-M49RRepG6FAYv-PWvzi0jGRxpEI5aX7lnrTyEDxDVedOXvh6BN9wlmC_onLfUpv362fD9YrrUS78/s1600-h/IMpressphotoPR.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; width: 139px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7VYw_AHQlPmIp7YV3JKDVT11Y5qjg4yQNv3KvI-JFjoTWSppDsLW88VS3MmhG8-M49RRepG6FAYv-PWvzi0jGRxpEI5aX7lnrTyEDxDVedOXvh6BN9wlmC_onLfUpv362fD9YrrUS78/s320/IMpressphotoPR.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277500179267329202" border="0" /></a><br />Here I lay in bed, trapped by the completely moronic<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Imagination Movers</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span> We'll start there. When I was growing up and a show, commercial or song we really hated came on we would freeze completely until it was off and say, "I'm paralyzed!!". Well today, my friends, for the moment "I am paralyzed!!!".<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVw916CzGzJ5Qn-fMjk6zzzG78z3Oz4l52pAKxXfPbOGB07c-ploQVxOF_EYZVr5eGDbvK0e-aHPryMOqiNGN8120Xo0nRb9Kae50ic76NKrBrtsTNyMGoEC3YbN2KDZ6CMVkhF-rPD0/s1600-h/TIDC_PeaceSignArmsOut.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; width: 175px; height: 131px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVw916CzGzJ5Qn-fMjk6zzzG78z3Oz4l52pAKxXfPbOGB07c-ploQVxOF_EYZVr5eGDbvK0e-aHPryMOqiNGN8120Xo0nRb9Kae50ic76NKrBrtsTNyMGoEC3YbN2KDZ6CMVkhF-rPD0/s320/TIDC_PeaceSignArmsOut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277500188252060754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">And that Daniel Cook HAS TO GO!!! </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Don't even get me started on him or that lame Emily Young..... argh!!! I want to rip my hair out!!! </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Poopy diapers</span>. Especially Jackson's. He's hiding behind the chair right now, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mLrfwb_Kk6EKvOeAYIH6rkrryiyyzHLgYGmjHLoCU7L4N7bCIaoUK6Sq1lrcGzNL3j2m28L_JTClgM733UtF5DfBXE0C5qziKpneWEKk5bpVvcNOKUWPqTpyhQ2VREdiDnurVnvzrLE/s1600-h/disposable-toxic-diapers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; width: 140px; height: 96px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mLrfwb_Kk6EKvOeAYIH6rkrryiyyzHLgYGmjHLoCU7L4N7bCIaoUK6Sq1lrcGzNL3j2m28L_JTClgM733UtF5DfBXE0C5qziKpneWEKk5bpVvcNOKUWPqTpyhQ2VREdiDnurVnvzrLE/s320/disposable-toxic-diapers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277500183259470050" border="0" /></a>so I am pretty sure when he emerges waterey eyed and red faced- well then, you know. Potty training is hit and miss...pardon the obvious play on words.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5xJ8_yQsVoELO2hwtU8zXM3EBWT1wGa_CTxH1d8MMs6CNsVwnrCZnRzMknVujNyxcmMugMxsG012BL2_4cYwcimklA5nsxUczT8KkznNbm7b4hZLrMU3k1PdkvzqdsCiUMArNVAxdBk/s1600-h/2708200339_bfd05f75a8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 137px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5xJ8_yQsVoELO2hwtU8zXM3EBWT1wGa_CTxH1d8MMs6CNsVwnrCZnRzMknVujNyxcmMugMxsG012BL2_4cYwcimklA5nsxUczT8KkznNbm7b4hZLrMU3k1PdkvzqdsCiUMArNVAxdBk/s320/2708200339_bfd05f75a8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277501167388996978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Guadalajara, Mexico. </span> Si. Nuf said. Will be there on Thursday... damn.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Hidden homework. </span><br />Me: "Do you have any homework?"<br />Addie: "No mom!"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">5 hours later.... </span></span><br /><br />Addie "Mom, can you help me with my divisions??"<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVffhqHlaDlaMAGopN074JGClhK07BaUtTUDADWYF5BtaUR6WFASpG2nDds4WCu0sclHAhSga-dXe3C4qID3DNwqD1UGUgBGx_ePJ_nCtesvNn0K-alGTOXBuOOAZdkNzat6Oj_4oW3Bc/s1600-h/phone+rage.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVffhqHlaDlaMAGopN074JGClhK07BaUtTUDADWYF5BtaUR6WFASpG2nDds4WCu0sclHAhSga-dXe3C4qID3DNwqD1UGUgBGx_ePJ_nCtesvNn0K-alGTOXBuOOAZdkNzat6Oj_4oW3Bc/s320/phone+rage.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277500190721466706" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kathy McKibbis-schlimmi-ding-a-linger.... whatever her damn last name is. </span>I still get phone calls for this lady. Collection phone calls. Nursing home phone calls from her father's nurse. Doctor's office phone calls. And I have had my phone number for <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">4 years.</span> I told one of them when they finally get ahold of her to tell her to stop giving my phone number out, and pay her freakin' bills!!!!<br /><br /><br /><br />Ok, I need to go get in the shower and cry. Pray for all of us. Really. We're lookin at certain death and destruction. (Ok, not really, but I am sick.)</div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-65151993256093441072008-10-28T10:10:00.001-07:002008-10-28T11:59:59.162-07:0019%...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYmiQFkMDUEIW2GFq7nnvcUJb8irKCs2HgjU2WKqs4_YAYPBJ2ztVIgHA1kN7j2MT5ow-NQxvM8p28nAezb2_IT8fsqT4rHYLAQyTw7VqBVP9L2b9KwYqXxw2mqBW05biqDJf2kceu3Y/s1600-h/DSCF3140.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYmiQFkMDUEIW2GFq7nnvcUJb8irKCs2HgjU2WKqs4_YAYPBJ2ztVIgHA1kN7j2MT5ow-NQxvM8p28nAezb2_IT8fsqT4rHYLAQyTw7VqBVP9L2b9KwYqXxw2mqBW05biqDJf2kceu3Y/s320/DSCF3140.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262279532819048594" border="0" /></a>That's how much of my 401K I lost last quarter... Lord only knows how much I have lost since then. As I was opening my statement, I was visibly sickened. The only thing that could have made me laugh in this situation was the following exchange:<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Addie: " What's wrong mom?"<br />Me: "Oh, nothing."<br />Addie: "Mom... it isn't nothing. You look sad."<br />Me: "Mom just lost a bunch of money."<br />Addie: "Well, we'll help you find it."<br />Brax: "Yah, mom... I have 7 dollars.."<br />Me: "Thanks guys, but I lost it in the stock market."<br />Addie: "Oh... hmm... well, what was the money for?"<br />Me: "For when mom gets old and retires. It's so that I can have money."<br />Addie: "Well, when are you going to retire? You're already old."<br />Me: "Thanks Addie."<br />Brax: " I feel soooo bad for you mom!"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">long pause.....</span></span><br /><br />Addie: " It's okay mom, I'll pay for your nursing home."<br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And with that I laughed until my sides hurt. The only request I have is that Joon and I be room mates at the Coventry. Otherwise, I ain't a-goin'!</span><br /><br />I overheard them down the hall about 15 minutes later:<br />Brax: " I still feel so bad for mom..."<br />Addie: "<span style="font-weight: bold;">Brax-ton</span>, I <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">ALREADY</span> told you!! I'm going to pay for mom's nursing home!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb96MpmPByi-FnXIwbSNj-EEG0tMrUR6yJdL4zfmC2_AUZDh7hL4wmlyq_qO__iF1xpLr2m_c18syk54FX7kWdZ6d6uNnutj_AXwB6N1lhDp5dA9sSeeq4k_mIvfwK0Qa6PXq7eolST28/s1600-h/IsabelWalker.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: right; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb96MpmPByi-FnXIwbSNj-EEG0tMrUR6yJdL4zfmC2_AUZDh7hL4wmlyq_qO__iF1xpLr2m_c18syk54FX7kWdZ6d6uNnutj_AXwB6N1lhDp5dA9sSeeq4k_mIvfwK0Qa6PXq7eolST28/s200/IsabelWalker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262274107685652610" border="0" /></a></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-10869331088359800962008-10-27T20:13:00.000-07:002008-10-27T23:57:56.563-07:00Nice Suits...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiMItPDJNq29ZypN9IydvoKHfOa39XpWIYvBegbdND1EwRepkI1aXSW3drPOnLXtmtr27mYL_v0I024lyBS62fLjLJ3UQZXXiIgckcfcIEghUCPmBBBcMdSZ7tqD8aIHn82GxqJsfYK7Y/s1600-h/DSCF3068.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiMItPDJNq29ZypN9IydvoKHfOa39XpWIYvBegbdND1EwRepkI1aXSW3drPOnLXtmtr27mYL_v0I024lyBS62fLjLJ3UQZXXiIgckcfcIEghUCPmBBBcMdSZ7tqD8aIHn82GxqJsfYK7Y/s200/DSCF3068.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262056902551878882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Right off the bat you </span><span style="font-style: italic;">will notice the title of this post. At first, it will not make sense to you since the correlation between "nice suits" and a wonderful relaxing weekend Halloween party seems quite the stretch. Believe you me, by the end I will have wrapped it up nicely and handed it to you with a nice bow on top. Promise. </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">And, for the record I drove... *GASP!!*</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">First of all, Kudos are in order to Gramma Kristine and Poppy Rick <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn01v30pv_9x2JAwm4ZsAsPZPR8ZvWL-yujnpcRUKpPYyCswGEjjFPdK97MJ6tFrxi4wXw-IfgdMDQSb3em_UacqaVAR7QrDp9IUVUNEHEAZNpolh3u9Q87wefl9UZlSryFK7KG3TzzKw/s1600-h/DSCF3022.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn01v30pv_9x2JAwm4ZsAsPZPR8ZvWL-yujnpcRUKpPYyCswGEjjFPdK97MJ6tFrxi4wXw-IfgdMDQSb3em_UacqaVAR7QrDp9IUVUNEHEAZNpolh3u9Q87wefl9UZlSryFK7KG3TzzKw/s200/DSCF3022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262056891279414962" border="0" /></a>for putting together a wonderful weekend getaway. Kristine (having been a 2nd grade teacher) always has <span style="font-weight: bold;">LOTS </span>of fabulous activities planned for the kiddies, and this party was no exception. She plans everything out to the T and I always leave each event feeling blessed that she is part of my kids lives. She is amazing to say the least. This year we carved pumpkins, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6cHd5KbhmXlmQ8fzpNJiF_yJ0g4hHuTLjC6oZTwcxfHOdByAgJdkmwe3C7wMeD3WkQeKaLO-qG5UQL4AizWzlSpu5bqG2lFk7aUapplx6l9TtX9t-fWY4bEO2_9dDGIrmoymQR_3UMY/s1600-h/DSCF2989.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6cHd5KbhmXlmQ8fzpNJiF_yJ0g4hHuTLjC6oZTwcxfHOdByAgJdkmwe3C7wMeD3WkQeKaLO-qG5UQL4AizWzlSpu5bqG2lFk7aUapplx6l9TtX9t-fWY4bEO2_9dDGIrmoymQR_3UMY/s200/DSCF2989.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262054997226744258" border="0" /></a>made candle votive holders with spooky eyes, ate lots of yummy food, and spent a few hours soaking in the natural hot tubs of Lava Hot Springs. Kristine made arrangements for us to stay in this fabulously charming old school house that has been renovated into a place you can rent out and hold such activities. There are <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUJh7g1A70QMzaMhe2M6kSeU6DYYcAswMLngEVatyXDMQdy_wdGzE6-EjtPXNCkJIpi6E7bbj-c9nw4hG4KRNe-nJFA07s6-ejLaVxa-D6I1sORl2QBiGzpUVwTMPom1Wy_XLCxot-ag/s1600-h/DSCF3028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUJh7g1A70QMzaMhe2M6kSeU6DYYcAswMLngEVatyXDMQdy_wdGzE6-EjtPXNCkJIpi6E7bbj-c9nw4hG4KRNe-nJFA07s6-ejLaVxa-D6I1sORl2QBiGzpUVwTMPom1Wy_XLCxot-ag/s200/DSCF3028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262056896235565282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />lots of beds, plenty of room to spread out and though old, it has so much charm, it's beyond description. Plus, it has lots of trap doors, a stairway leading to no where- literally, and would be an <span style="font-weight: bold;">uber excellent place</span> for an adult game of hide and go seek in the dark or by candlelight. Guaranteed to scare the crap out of anyone. :) Perhaps next year. My brother Kevan said the basement reminded him of something from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Shining</span>- - of course he always has been a pansy.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGfIYmya2r97_tfyC7e-2RzldCMzLf3C2RgPelS45UN-Mcy_SReAXv5lw-vLej796950L8-zbc-GdKPFeRgEY5C0K6CbA6HpevLqPnwZ-qTRW_9McvSSJ2Mt5YH_jRlWiBfEHHiCRrW4/s1600-h/DSCF2995.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGfIYmya2r97_tfyC7e-2RzldCMzLf3C2RgPelS45UN-Mcy_SReAXv5lw-vLej796950L8-zbc-GdKPFeRgEY5C0K6CbA6HpevLqPnwZ-qTRW_9McvSSJ2Mt5YH_jRlWiBfEHHiCRrW4/s200/DSCF2995.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262055003244565938" border="0" /></a>There was an indoor gymnasium and the kids had a riot playing ball, and riding on the flying turtles. Braxton and Jason had races and Poppy ended up throwing out his back in the process.<br /><br />Addie threw a tea party before bed, and yes- you will notice that I am wearing my jammies with footies. (One of the perks of being 5'1" is being able to still shop in the kids section . Which means that<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lISEpO1O2_xyFx0wqnBi5qdfIrD9OtKzZFDQ5lD6TKD1NPfTxf1Xzyi42aKlIcO9wNgpadUPiHvRJvygGG3pQWe5NpP13dGK96yXcD06C-xB5WHDlFzdPjE2CVv5gp2mAF5j-cL4ZNc/s1600-h/DSCF2988.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lISEpO1O2_xyFx0wqnBi5qdfIrD9OtKzZFDQ5lD6TKD1NPfTxf1Xzyi42aKlIcO9wNgpadUPiHvRJvygGG3pQWe5NpP13dGK96yXcD06C-xB5WHDlFzdPjE2CVv5gp2mAF5j-cL4ZNc/s200/DSCF2988.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262054989641286914" border="0" /></a> I can still buy footie jammies!) I am not proud. :) And yes... I have no make up on... heck- give me a break I just got back from the hot tubs. The next morning we had a wonderful breakfast consisting of my pull aparts and eggs and sausage. YUUUMMMM!!!<br /><br /><br />So here's the best part of the story:<br />At the conclusion of the night, gramma stayed behind and got the kids settled into a movie <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8EgXMRMnUJUkoFlBPp3DgQnECRhuPUWuhzGl6NwljJlZJy0SIsS6T0mcyLvicnXfU0dpgrqyHiFogT3APrHoilxIIjgTF9g7cmNwGwmni9PeHra-WKbEKRdlVFOCdcl8YvcwPyEkhUQ/s1600-h/DSCF3016.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8EgXMRMnUJUkoFlBPp3DgQnECRhuPUWuhzGl6NwljJlZJy0SIsS6T0mcyLvicnXfU0dpgrqyHiFogT3APrHoilxIIjgTF9g7cmNwGwmni9PeHra-WKbEKRdlVFOCdcl8YvcwPyEkhUQ/s200/DSCF3016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262056886739295218" border="0" /></a>and my brother, his wife Jill, my dad and I all snuck out to the springs for a night time soak. Being about 8:00 it was rather dark and cool- perfect for a visit to the hot springs. As we arrived and settled in we noticed a couple of girls (early 20's ) taking lots of pictures. Everything seemed fine until frame 643. .. at which time we started asking, <span style="font-style: italic;">"what in THE hell are they doing?</span>". Once the photo shoot concluded things got even stranger. In a deeper section of the pool there is a horizontal bar sticking up out of the water. After hanging on that for a while they split up. One girl starting hugging the rock wall and doing pull ups. She apparently really liked this wall, since she was really getting into it (ie making out with the wall). Not to be out done, the other girl started posing on one of the wooden decks they have around the outer edges of the pool. She was pretty much posing as if to "tan" in the moon light, and at the conclusion of her moonlight tanning session, she grabbed on to a pole and swung around it. It came pretty naturally to her, so we figured she must be a stripper or something of the sort.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8JO_bf14zBEJfy1_hKvrCxv7G1o04cDUYzEjsxtci4rXR746FApTqSgjKRuQW-An3Ueo2ME7WmOp8HqAKbWbSyAW8W6tnQuK9cvunnTMMD0giDNPlxiSbterADs_00mCnM1UtlT7ogo/s1600-h/DSCF3031.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8JO_bf14zBEJfy1_hKvrCxv7G1o04cDUYzEjsxtci4rXR746FApTqSgjKRuQW-An3Ueo2ME7WmOp8HqAKbWbSyAW8W6tnQuK9cvunnTMMD0giDNPlxiSbterADs_00mCnM1UtlT7ogo/s200/DSCF3031.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262056904695278674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Weeeelllll, by this time, Jill and I couldn't handle it any longer. Being the sexiest girls there, we figured we'd better start reclaiming our territory that was being invaded by novices. (Actually we were mocking the crap out of these girls). I threw my legs up on the rail, Jill withered her body and we laughed uncontrollably. Apparently these girls didn't like what we were doing, because on the way out as we passed them they yelled, "Nice suits!" Apparently the best thing they could come up with. And yes, they are nice suits actually.<br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-3978788351841789922008-10-22T20:07:00.000-07:002008-10-23T09:42:03.520-07:00Hello, my name is Tiffany, and I am a knee-boot-aholic. It's been 2 months since my last purchase.<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br />When I was in high school I developed a deep, passionate love for all things fashion.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUPMLI2PgZaG6NMjt3iPD5sS64CD8YLgm3lgiz0XpU56Klbu1wxBzKdP-YbXqia1OQ7AiTcGnIvqaLVyR-lSVQj45BiusV8K-85eBW5odV33DK0K2knciEbPuLufV6mVdybOhacQh16A/s1600-h/chanel08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 144px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUPMLI2PgZaG6NMjt3iPD5sS64CD8YLgm3lgiz0XpU56Klbu1wxBzKdP-YbXqia1OQ7AiTcGnIvqaLVyR-lSVQj45BiusV8K-85eBW5odV33DK0K2knciEbPuLufV6mVdybOhacQh16A/s200/chanel08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260239256047304946" border="0" /></a> In fact, when my high school sweetheart* dumped me out of the blue, I vowed to move to New York, never to be married (or have children for that matter), and make it big and famous in the fashion world as a fashionista, or plan B was to become a Broadway singer/actress. (Of course, you will note the absolutely striking similarities between who/what I am today and what I wanted to become.:) Ok, not so much.)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzOu1GZJYma1VNMrpcUqRnY0LvPP7Y48jpHzoCVV-4NwcMKXqX6zVYWJVVZ6IngqlmD8s1UWy6_U4YXDF7i6FYNXKRg_edA0b3pxR9jCt96FbglFEgoU94XIiwPyvFDn4QB2kh-xrtrfY/s1600-h/NYC.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzOu1GZJYma1VNMrpcUqRnY0LvPP7Y48jpHzoCVV-4NwcMKXqX6zVYWJVVZ6IngqlmD8s1UWy6_U4YXDF7i6FYNXKRg_edA0b3pxR9jCt96FbglFEgoU94XIiwPyvFDn4QB2kh-xrtrfY/s200/NYC.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260185631082134866" border="0" /></a>As the years have floated by (what has it been 6 or so? Maybe a few more, but what the hell- who's counting?) I have maintained my love for fashion, trying to stay hip and fashionable as I have become olddddd... My love for shoes, handbags and clothing is only surpassed by my love for Lime Diet Coke. :)(Could someone fetch me one, please?)<br /><br />As my husband can attest, I have <span style="font-weight: bold;">never</span> met a fabulous <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6DnN5uWbkzItXh2To2Qm38qcQGmM6w5_ThoRZzVKaHBSyvpRLJBA8FcXZIgjS5CSg3ZKax87tnEIxiMLl9LWc-fwevCN2CSInf0MlzGZkMC4gfHTXlWz48Oie6ZuDv_Hd5nAeDJO1FvI/s1600-h/DSCF2746.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 72px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6DnN5uWbkzItXh2To2Qm38qcQGmM6w5_ThoRZzVKaHBSyvpRLJBA8FcXZIgjS5CSg3ZKax87tnEIxiMLl9LWc-fwevCN2CSInf0MlzGZkMC4gfHTXlWz48Oie6ZuDv_Hd5nAeDJO1FvI/s200/DSCF2746.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260241747209737666" border="0" /></a>set of boots I didn't love/adore. Especially ones that are knee high, have long pointy toes, and spike 3-4" heels. <span style="font-style: italic;"> (Que the</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> angelic chorus!)</span> So, recently I was THRILLED (to say the least) that our work uniform guidelines now allow us to wear said boots with our uniform. When that guideline was approved, I promptly called the Head Honcho and asked where I could send the bouquet of flowers.. but I got her voice mail so I hung up. Oh, how happy am I?? Immediately I started planning which boots to wear with which dress. I am talking kid on Christmas morning happy (<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">so, for all you nay-sayers, there you have it: it really is the little things that make me happy</span>). You getting all this?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBloVID9TD8gPtVc572X8IqRNQqgaIreiaPo5v4k1qTOWRhEFChTaEEPrxWVZt97kGpCMJARbUFIomGCQwnFLOq7VOvweo9JTZTwF7dI5L01ZYkDvX2z7gGkF6GfWhm8gqVFOjdQO2vU/s1600-h/DSCF2554.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBloVID9TD8gPtVc572X8IqRNQqgaIreiaPo5v4k1qTOWRhEFChTaEEPrxWVZt97kGpCMJARbUFIomGCQwnFLOq7VOvweo9JTZTwF7dI5L01ZYkDvX2z7gGkF6GfWhm8gqVFOjdQO2vU/s200/DSCF2554.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260241744932601170" border="0" /></a>As I went to my closet, I approached with some caution... after all, I knew I had a few pairs of black, high heel knee boots.... but since each has a special place in my heart, I lost track of them a while ago. Honestly, I feel sheepish in the following admission, since nothing could have prepared me for the unearthing of <span style="font-weight: bold;">7 pair</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>of black, knee high boots... that's right, I said 7. This of course doesn't include any other boots in my closet: not the brown boots, not the shoe boots, not any other type of boots I may own.<br /><br />And while I will never admit to this in person (<span style="font-style: italic;">so don't ask me to because I swear I will deny it in any conversation from here on out</span>)...I think I may have a problem.<br /><br />Oh, and maybe one day I'll still run away to New York... well, in my dreams anyway.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">*What a total jackass</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">!</span><br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-64868030847182064182008-10-21T19:40:00.000-07:002008-10-23T09:22:53.289-07:00Shoes...<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">This goes into the "DO NOT tell Ryan" category... so please, do me a favor and keep this under wraps. </span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Confession: Jack likes my shoes. He also likes my purses and makeup- but that's another story for another day. I digress, Jack loves to wear my shoes more (in fact, the higher and pointier- - - the better). The other morning I left him closely attended (ok...so I was in the same house, but I could hear him rummaging around) and he kept climbing up and down the stairs. I didn't think too much of it since I could hear him doing something. Usually when he's quiet is when all hell is being loosed. So, finally when I was done doing my 2 loads of laundry, I walked out into the hall to find the following scene:<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmv4mvOMsyAohfT3xrTkaCRdVxx0HWYkQ0s32UX-ust3uC9Xka_8nMgS9oXr5WlEkHPl2FoQH-8cGc4BOXcwKWTrF3_Dh1eKaeypqqsFm-xc5p3CBzAvl6fqNnc1PlaAVHlElZsSgASWA/s1600-h/DSCF2925.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 96px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmv4mvOMsyAohfT3xrTkaCRdVxx0HWYkQ0s32UX-ust3uC9Xka_8nMgS9oXr5WlEkHPl2FoQH-8cGc4BOXcwKWTrF3_Dh1eKaeypqqsFm-xc5p3CBzAvl6fqNnc1PlaAVHlElZsSgASWA/s320/DSCF2925.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260173994585856594" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br />There at the end of the hallway, lined up as neatly as a 2 1/2 yr old can, were 6 pair of my shoes. Shaking my head, I looked at Jack and I asked him what he was doing. He said that he was "playing with mom's shoes... priidddy, huh mom?". Sure enough... he as playing with my shoes. At least he picked out all of my favorite pairs! Who knows, maybe I am raising the next Manolo Blahnik. And if that is the case, then yay for me!!! A mother's dream.</div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-74733487412528603902008-09-22T17:03:00.000-07:002008-09-22T17:43:06.496-07:00Sonofa...<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-mGcB-QbzeNFfgoClZCAzCZ4UKZ6sWXW1EjYYSBHjEDs-Bs1QLa-wVA5KCoZ3pjdjXdQawFD_w-Hkw3mlwjxYqr_JcvsWqfgIHl0P1byghXiekmuxZqaV1g4auLu0xY-dRhVZe6cs48/s1600-h/DSCF2572.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-mGcB-QbzeNFfgoClZCAzCZ4UKZ6sWXW1EjYYSBHjEDs-Bs1QLa-wVA5KCoZ3pjdjXdQawFD_w-Hkw3mlwjxYqr_JcvsWqfgIHl0P1byghXiekmuxZqaV1g4auLu0xY-dRhVZe6cs48/s200/DSCF2572.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249002172776604082" border="0" /></a>Where do I start? I haven't blogged in a while because I have been busy fixing all the things that Jack has done recently. Originally, when I posted my eggs incident, I truly did not believe that things could go from really bad to worse. However I have recently revisited that thought, since not only do I now know- but I can attest that things can indeed go rapidly from really bad to worse. Let's take a look see and find out why I now intimately know this.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">For future reference, the following may be helpful to know. </span> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Recipe for disaster:</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >10 lb bag of flour +</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >curious 2 year old boy +</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >mom in shower<br />= HUGE MESS.</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9827AmOesYONZi7Yd2cTj6mFZ18FwuAyzKIfOlqvZWetegmt6NrAHkHUsApHGlcpQM_Ziq-W-8rVsF4j7-i9mJeKKtwEBWJoM8tJ81RJSvUWbtq1PmxRvgpZEcPDRrodks97dcilhLW0/s1600-h/DSCF2575.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9827AmOesYONZi7Yd2cTj6mFZ18FwuAyzKIfOlqvZWetegmt6NrAHkHUsApHGlcpQM_Ziq-W-8rVsF4j7-i9mJeKKtwEBWJoM8tJ81RJSvUWbtq1PmxRvgpZEcPDRrodks97dcilhLW0/s200/DSCF2575.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249002166843295682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >Observe:</span><br />This was within the same week as the eggs. How nice. Forget that there are starving people all around the world! We are well on our way to wasting as much food as possible. I don' t think we will be able to make crepes anytime soon, what with being out of flour and eggs and all. Really the only thing missing is the milk. I am drawing the line at the milk though. Because I think that at this point it is safe to assume that one can, indeed, cry over spilled milk (and for that matter, spilled flour and smashed eggs too).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNtAs5aXlAhYbHP55GZecZ2JMqHCJrsp-FHPJC-0KDFGG7QmrmltkpqaaoSO_3h_K44-vjJy-GqYGl4Ho9OzoiV245wkfraYILiWhQAfBkgMvSacBOSYNL22AvSnIHTQdezqlVsuJIkw/s1600-h/DSCF2576.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNtAs5aXlAhYbHP55GZecZ2JMqHCJrsp-FHPJC-0KDFGG7QmrmltkpqaaoSO_3h_K44-vjJy-GqYGl4Ho9OzoiV245wkfraYILiWhQAfBkgMvSacBOSYNL22AvSnIHTQdezqlVsuJIkw/s200/DSCF2576.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249005292762051762" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4crHs-mPICDW6wMLfS1XxwAPwE-ofJz0lRpHkn_dJbzVMU0QVLQLWQWdABbaDrN41vco5qQDZx80Q8AlqbI-JLhWrbnL358Ra80lmzXvD-9j5o5ozcmXWyITyJRr_AznQ2wu3_iE-xI/s1600-h/DSCF2573.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4crHs-mPICDW6wMLfS1XxwAPwE-ofJz0lRpHkn_dJbzVMU0QVLQLWQWdABbaDrN41vco5qQDZx80Q8AlqbI-JLhWrbnL358Ra80lmzXvD-9j5o5ozcmXWyITyJRr_AznQ2wu3_iE-xI/s200/DSCF2573.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249005281760224306" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-30485694479744403842008-09-14T11:56:00.000-07:002008-10-08T21:23:03.344-07:00Yearbook yourself<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6JryjoOmDFcXHzT77VhpB6VQE8Q0mOeQH35ro3mtxERDOE6OVXjZu-faUIgl7Hm_AFphdjcAplShxI_F3kycRfJ-HtCXezArmV_EXUkcQY6_14D8zdLAEgRLWkZVr53K8jyDwiwIwzpk/s1600-h/rm2"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6JryjoOmDFcXHzT77VhpB6VQE8Q0mOeQH35ro3mtxERDOE6OVXjZu-faUIgl7Hm_AFphdjcAplShxI_F3kycRfJ-HtCXezArmV_EXUkcQY6_14D8zdLAEgRLWkZVr53K8jyDwiwIwzpk/s200/rm2" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246324169590088130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxzPGVtpj1OLUO60nwH9Db_H0GPbb-aXNh8xE4clcT1NJVceiRfJG0jQsOIyFe95jByTnSZmYH2ogWGq__jGHxfJ2W9VuO3hPs-tKsBmG5cU6w-wzk5X1qVafs9yVlEfwt_C2mM4xLNU/s1600-h/myYearbookPhoto5"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxzPGVtpj1OLUO60nwH9Db_H0GPbb-aXNh8xE4clcT1NJVceiRfJG0jQsOIyFe95jByTnSZmYH2ogWGq__jGHxfJ2W9VuO3hPs-tKsBmG5cU6w-wzk5X1qVafs9yVlEfwt_C2mM4xLNU/s200/myYearbookPhoto5" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246323783599342322" border="0" /></a><br />Are you ready to pee your pants because you're laughing so hard? Check out<br /><a href="http://yearbookyourself.com/">this</a> site! You put in your picture and it spits out a photo of you in yearbook fashion from 1950-2000. It is hilarious. I thought you all might like to know how we looked over the many years we spent repeating High School.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnqc1WTycYu-xuhAfDJheTKTkbEx2tr9gWnoLLmOGs_l2jkPvOXlfOeCgdIVjfRUoeoJVKINQ4JepJksiPtNmxbbWzSlI7v_ONwC8fRnZY9ZgOAFx4eyElTFqMxnILtwLivCyppxLsw0/s1600-h/myYearbookPhoto7"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnqc1WTycYu-xuhAfDJheTKTkbEx2tr9gWnoLLmOGs_l2jkPvOXlfOeCgdIVjfRUoeoJVKINQ4JepJksiPtNmxbbWzSlI7v_ONwC8fRnZY9ZgOAFx4eyElTFqMxnILtwLivCyppxLsw0/s200/myYearbookPhoto7" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246323786879201042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMkgV5MfmYsd3L51OuQTRNuzk7qNrT0sMM0_eqSWvpIW-TzHyNhJkpBEBMengxZLe0GvPhn6LuyL4vahTkJhOs-j_dRszujLAnzwX3hTMNU72AZuHR2XJD8FK-dkPr110MnawKIYcO34/s1600-h/myYearbookPhoto2"><br /></a>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-82036458875930881742008-09-11T09:54:00.000-07:002008-09-11T10:30:08.920-07:00One in the same, I think.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuwudLGpP2a6kVX2u4L54hlGjy-mmREiMF4hjgU8enyB7VfY2L7AHaC6PsAjIa_DthDZirvvzyxoXk4Ct6saXpEzMclHSuv11Zm0EQHNTJNp9shH9Bw1GBiQqRD4O0dMQBilvvI1Hxzk/s1600-h/0b7671accc321.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuwudLGpP2a6kVX2u4L54hlGjy-mmREiMF4hjgU8enyB7VfY2L7AHaC6PsAjIa_DthDZirvvzyxoXk4Ct6saXpEzMclHSuv11Zm0EQHNTJNp9shH9Bw1GBiQqRD4O0dMQBilvvI1Hxzk/s200/0b7671accc321.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244816324478202386" border="0" /></a>So, frequently (like flippin' weekly) I have this little exchange at work, usually with someone I have just met or only worked with a few times:<br /><br />Me: -Insert quick one liner here-<insert>. (This last weeks was said in answering a passengers question on how to open </insert><insert>the bathroom door. I answered, "Just turn the knob and push". Then under my breath I said, "just like on your trailer." Hey, I was in a bad mood....)<br /><br />Other person: You know who you remind me of?</insert><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCmTJ5TeQK3y8Azo0n9g8EFzWewb959BxuZBre42XxsGclscJ-iEQsqKHV4klFh636lNRaHOMpzUYlWI3T0qZAQf4gB2nxfpyVXN1eSotWTROoygT4ERAr1rnR2_6KAwqkWbmEjdGlGY/s1600-h/DSCF2504.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCmTJ5TeQK3y8Azo0n9g8EFzWewb959BxuZBre42XxsGclscJ-iEQsqKHV4klFh636lNRaHOMpzUYlWI3T0qZAQf4gB2nxfpyVXN1eSotWTROoygT4ERAr1rnR2_6KAwqkWbmEjdGlGY/s200/DSCF2504.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244815693228343346" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvKdAphSveauzp82rmS9MsAF1TGWP726Oxa7t3HQ2vNpDeyD3NyyGtffYONVdt701SQya58CPPe55l_VB4GFZxt9OthBM_eNuYSX9Aq_2g-UdMB7bYqYXpPSvu0F10fxhm8lAtCBv71I/s1600-h/karen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvKdAphSveauzp82rmS9MsAF1TGWP726Oxa7t3HQ2vNpDeyD3NyyGtffYONVdt701SQya58CPPe55l_VB4GFZxt9OthBM_eNuYSX9Aq_2g-UdMB7bYqYXpPSvu0F10fxhm8lAtCBv71I/s200/karen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244815679335189618" border="0" /></a><br /><insert>Me: No. <span style="font-style: italic;">Who</span>? (In my head: Geez- only do this once a </insert><insert>week, but let's play along anyhoo--)</insert><br /><insert><br />Other person: Karen, From Will and Grace.<br /></insert><br /><insert>Me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Noooo..</span>.. are you serious?<br /><br />Other person: Dead on. Perfect.</insert><br /><insert>___________________________________________________________</insert><br /><insert><br />So, in having this exchange this last week, I decided to do a little research. I have been closely watching episodes here and there and finally broke down this morning and did a youtube search. I think you'll find the similarities striking.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qJmIfsrJYmI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qJmIfsrJYmI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Um... Ok. Next?<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6XLKBZvZ9M8&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6XLKBZvZ9M8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />On second thought...<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sJ5BOkadfRI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sJ5BOkadfRI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Nope! But she is Fabulous!!!</insert>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-86913252324463854522008-09-10T12:51:00.000-07:002008-09-10T13:47:39.496-07:00Damn it all!!<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMsQs1nx4U_QYv0x_izBRAJmHI47OEe_D0ET8ZRxy0IFPzZETjAjuY_Wv2QGU3igtmO0WQjZoTbMu1dZILD916u_cxS7REAmR2VTeqpB4xHqdgASBE11QF3ofZGCWOA7xUy0fIlfIWfYg/s1600-h/samrudd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMsQs1nx4U_QYv0x_izBRAJmHI47OEe_D0ET8ZRxy0IFPzZETjAjuY_Wv2QGU3igtmO0WQjZoTbMu1dZILD916u_cxS7REAmR2VTeqpB4xHqdgASBE11QF3ofZGCWOA7xUy0fIlfIWfYg/s200/samrudd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244491680103039186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My gramps (Sam) used to say, "Damn it all, Margie!" to just about anything that didn't suit his fancy. In fact, that was my favorite thing to hear since I would smile from ear to ear when he said it, mostly because of the <span style="font-style: italic;">way</span> it was delivered. So, what does that have to do with this post? Well, I will tell you. <span style="font-weight: bold;"> I have had a "damn it all" day.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdmdL19HamvaacjFviW0ho2moAHv6FW16chTdncDShEUkXFj_kzA3FEKggHQC7ToFAwmg4Lqj7O3hdFiOW8qxp0WeyHkQ5MCzpFUGtHzyEUs_sAt2qszKGqozfPZf9R7w8UTsaWyCZhc/s1600-h/NBS_Box_Top.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdmdL19HamvaacjFviW0ho2moAHv6FW16chTdncDShEUkXFj_kzA3FEKggHQC7ToFAwmg4Lqj7O3hdFiOW8qxp0WeyHkQ5MCzpFUGtHzyEUs_sAt2qszKGqozfPZf9R7w8UTsaWyCZhc/s200/NBS_Box_Top.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244491680072648818" border="0" /></a>Let's start at the beginning. I didn't sleep particularly well last night and spent a few hours watching infomercials for various products. I sheepishly admit that I ended up ordering a few items that perhaps I shouldn't have. That belongs into the "Do NOT tell Ryan" category. At nearly 1 AM I decided that I would go to sleep, considering that the children rise at 7 I didn't have much time to play with. I am a full 10 hrs of sleep kinda gal... anything less than that is simply an insult. At 7 AM the alarm went off with it's usual irritatingly sweet "Good Morning" chime. I went in to wake the children and noticed Jack was completely nude. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">OHHHH GRRRRREEEAAATTTT!!!! </span>I said (<span style="font-style: italic;">Ok, it really consisted of another 4 letter word, begins with S ends with T, but that's neither here nor there</span>).<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />After removing Jackson from his crib and surveying the damage, I knew I had a major clean up project on the agenda for today. Grand! So, I plopped Jack into the tub and began to remove his bedding and accoutrements. Braxton seems to think that Jack needs to have a party at his crib every night. Those invited are the 2 Lions (Li-Li), 2 Bears (Max and baby Max), Mr. Flops, another Dog (Ralph) and Big Bunny. From what I understand it is <span style="font-style: italic;">THE PLACE </span>to be. A real par-tay. Needless to say, all of those friends were subjected to a 'shower'. So, into the wash everyone went. At about 11 I went down to remove the load in the washer and move it to the dryer. This normally takes about 4 minutes to do. Upon my return upstairs the following scene greeted me:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6kPqL6zwffRsi_rmE9EEcelyOvU5qoJejX-xYk5rn0KR78spLwrDx-EyED190asBE4vHGUUTtYWKVLoyKA1isZ0uvDz4X5OAzpqR4XCYZaFdPOi137Lj46SbbPOnOJdfSWdioQm9_Rus/s1600-h/DSCF2561.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6kPqL6zwffRsi_rmE9EEcelyOvU5qoJejX-xYk5rn0KR78spLwrDx-EyED190asBE4vHGUUTtYWKVLoyKA1isZ0uvDz4X5OAzpqR4XCYZaFdPOi137Lj46SbbPOnOJdfSWdioQm9_Rus/s200/DSCF2561.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244492766501788338" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCC3NJ2hcBND-xtq9kd43ANNaUarwQVSSuELPUJbvhJ7NmMVzkJeZM-VqLh2tPqGheZ1L5246ptSuxqEPXQ6F6oT9Fnj9XvTW6jx2UaMHaIvZsD8H143hv9iAGOhJMiQX2nM4f9yHHIo/s1600-h/DSCF2562.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCC3NJ2hcBND-xtq9kd43ANNaUarwQVSSuELPUJbvhJ7NmMVzkJeZM-VqLh2tPqGheZ1L5246ptSuxqEPXQ6F6oT9Fnj9XvTW6jx2UaMHaIvZsD8H143hv9iAGOhJMiQX2nM4f9yHHIo/s200/DSCF2562.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244492776799162386" border="0" /></a></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Do you ever have those times where if you don't laugh, you are gonna cry? Well, this fell into both categories!! At which time I promplty picked up the phone and called Jodi (in the interest of Jackson's welfare). She listened to me as I cried/laughed. She's the best! After I hung up I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDeBi3YJnNZo6N7WPrXKnY5wqmIVJtBmwsfswlWwiR0_oSc-xptL0DkT1o4eN7i0YhzOOcO9G66jTpr7deYk2HyV9wrVIwqNLArRe0AHSij_KAkFmgHiFTZ0Q5PwMG0JDD2bN3yXDX-jo/s1600-h/DSCF2565.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDeBi3YJnNZo6N7WPrXKnY5wqmIVJtBmwsfswlWwiR0_oSc-xptL0DkT1o4eN7i0YhzOOcO9G66jTpr7deYk2HyV9wrVIwqNLArRe0AHSij_KAkFmgHiFTZ0Q5PwMG0JDD2bN3yXDX-jo/s200/DSCF2565.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244491676775900450" border="0" /></a>looked at the mess, which consisted of 7 eggs, 4 on my carpet and 3 on my wood floor. I broke down and cried (like a big fat baby!!). As I was scooping up the egg mess my mothers voice came to my head. She said, "Don't you remember the time when you and Jeremy broke all of our eggs on the kitchen floor? We were so broke and you two broke all of those eggs. Remember dad put you in jail and fed you both bread and water for dinner?" I do remember that! I haven't been forward with my friends and told them that I have a record. Okay, my time served was under the crib with the side rails down, and I was 3 at the time- but it was close enough!! :). And yes, we did have bread and water for dinner.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqDHGvMQ4twizNiZtPqyoKfZLDkvrG2G5ulINyqp2E96t0L2IAv9DB6LtJvpl01_5I5znnWL05pTKKrbN-koMnNRMs_UwTdYhvfwXBZLu187EV4rUwp2wP5A-Ao0BgDZO3xyBlPFVCgco/s1600-h/DSCF2563.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqDHGvMQ4twizNiZtPqyoKfZLDkvrG2G5ulINyqp2E96t0L2IAv9DB6LtJvpl01_5I5znnWL05pTKKrbN-koMnNRMs_UwTdYhvfwXBZLu187EV4rUwp2wP5A-Ao0BgDZO3xyBlPFVCgco/s200/DSCF2563.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244491660845772562" border="0" /></a>As I cleaned up yet another mess, I felt her telling me how hard it was to raise 4 boys, and I felt a wave of understanding wash over me. At least I knew that she was there wiping my tears as I wiped up the goopy mess.<br />And yes, Jackson was sentenced this afternoon... to a nap.<br /><br />"Damn it all, Margie!"<br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-6173171652177403312008-09-09T20:37:00.000-07:002008-09-10T12:50:51.105-07:00Could it be??<div style="text-align: justify;">School started a while ago (3 weeks), and as tradition goes, most mom's do the annual first day photo. This year was certainly no exception. It went something like this:<br /><br />Me: "Kids, get over here lets get a picture."<br />Kids: "But <span style="font-style: italic;">mom</span>..."<br />Me: "Come on... right here in front of the sign. You guys look great!"<br />Kids: "Fine... but hurry there's our friends and we need to see who our teachers are!"<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Snap! </span>Great!!<br /><br />20 minutes later in the car, I decide to look over my handiwork. Perhaps you will think the same thing I did when I looked at this picture:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bssWtnsjmaao9jiu4iZanYCujRiF2C9PKblmSk8F9yOgJ4f2c-MLigtOKQEnJXbBKT0gmbmXiTjr3rAfaRy8X5Hyx0z9ZigfEv9M0K7-7TjfCHTBnmp_d_5KRufWwl4L2TymNBFOrz0/s1600-h/13113135.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bssWtnsjmaao9jiu4iZanYCujRiF2C9PKblmSk8F9yOgJ4f2c-MLigtOKQEnJXbBKT0gmbmXiTjr3rAfaRy8X5Hyx0z9ZigfEv9M0K7-7TjfCHTBnmp_d_5KRufWwl4L2TymNBFOrz0/s200/13113135.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244234019166078722" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I said to myself, " Is that the same child??" For all of those of you that think Addie looks like me and Braxton looks like Ryan, I submit this as proof positive that none of my children look like me. Case Closed!</div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-63408414076864640362008-09-08T09:49:00.000-07:002008-09-10T12:51:10.539-07:00Cake Wrecks<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyTlUur0IBnBsIkjnmzg5i7YqoRw23D3YfQs8C2Dz2YeRKbx05qh_vyVF_GiYpStH8g6NynulG5VWg_YnB2zSfx49SPaR5czb6WwJL1YGW8nwgb5U5OkOSEuoRw1AGnQMvKDH6cS-l9o/s1600-h/Vicky+C+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyTlUur0IBnBsIkjnmzg5i7YqoRw23D3YfQs8C2Dz2YeRKbx05qh_vyVF_GiYpStH8g6NynulG5VWg_YnB2zSfx49SPaR5czb6WwJL1YGW8nwgb5U5OkOSEuoRw1AGnQMvKDH6cS-l9o/s200/Vicky+C+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244065906190661058" border="0" /></a>If you haven't taken the time to visit <a href="http://www.cakewrecks.blogspot.com/">this</a> blog, then please do. I laugh OUT loud every day that I read it. To the point of crying. It is hilarious!<span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br /></span>What is it? This blog is dedicated to professional cakes that come out all wrong. My brother sent me the link, and I am addicted. This last cake (<a href="http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-think-ive-just-been-punkd.html">the Tiffany cake</a>) made me want to die. Check it out, you'll thank me later. Promise.<br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-24995853457234949302008-09-07T19:15:00.000-07:002008-09-09T10:20:16.720-07:00I'm Baaaaaccckkk!!!<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB2ITNfRb6hVtbilGLzyn7gpAnL43GF3IOqeSL5WIOtIFbBtq061YVbgCyyxit6w4wa8A5DoeAPLjLSWh53oCJltnz8WPF0nffYhnJZ9sAAGHSnWBY6U5RmWtDaEiNhoOfOTEv3VCaoDg/s1600-h/DSCF1134.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB2ITNfRb6hVtbilGLzyn7gpAnL43GF3IOqeSL5WIOtIFbBtq061YVbgCyyxit6w4wa8A5DoeAPLjLSWh53oCJltnz8WPF0nffYhnJZ9sAAGHSnWBY6U5RmWtDaEiNhoOfOTEv3VCaoDg/s200/DSCF1134.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243472157219709058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Yes, I know. My sweet BFF told me that my readership numbers are way down... to like nothing. She also informed me that people were starting to not read my blog anymore. I figured that isn't really surprising, since I haven't blogged since</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" > MAY!!!!</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> I know... in my defense, it has been a long summer filled with many trips to Wyoming- which in case you were wondering is God's country, according to my DH. Needless to say, I am back on the wagon and trying to settle back into my life.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Speaking of which, I need to vent for a moment. Why is it that I am the only person qualified to change out a roll of toilet paper? That is, of course, after being the only one qualified to find said toilet paper. To let you in on a little secret- I hide the toilet paper. It is in the garage on the shelf (next to the paper towels) in plain view. But, no one can ever find it. Hmmm... I am sure glad that I attended that pre-wife/mothering course wherein I learned vital things like: how to know where everything in the house is at any given moment, how to wash-rinse-dry & fold clothing for 5 people simultaneously, emptying the trash cans, replacing toilet paper rolls, how to scrub a toilet and wipe a mirror, etc. Well worth my time. Anyone planning on having a husband or children: Highly recommend this class. It will serve you well... especially since you will now be the sole authority on such things.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">(sliding my soap box back to it's proper location) Ok.... whew!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">So I am back, and I hope that you spread the word. I don't want my eagle award revoked. Ok, so I gave it to myself, but still!</span></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-83020353847138487122008-05-22T12:23:00.001-07:002008-05-24T17:05:05.372-07:00The apple doesn't fall far from the tree....<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWpE9Gv6tjZwaihWTXOzC3pc25GLKtvgD4QZNAgLIacXKaTG3sBFu-q0PFAMwMhKXY4OnoIaSFixoHAS-JUEVa2eT76wtV6AIUtnaSLDFAD6mmn79eQmjghc-lfBWLADaOF-L8S24zeU/s1600-h/DSCF2046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWpE9Gv6tjZwaihWTXOzC3pc25GLKtvgD4QZNAgLIacXKaTG3sBFu-q0PFAMwMhKXY4OnoIaSFixoHAS-JUEVa2eT76wtV6AIUtnaSLDFAD6mmn79eQmjghc-lfBWLADaOF-L8S24zeU/s220/DSCF2046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203285337585198402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Addie graciously let me know as we were leaving the base ball game on Monday that: "Mom!! This is it! This is the car I want when I turn 16!! That's the color and everything!!!!"<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Mmm..hmm... go ask your father. If he says yes, then we'll share it.... </span><br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-20520747447594880582008-05-13T09:09:00.000-07:002008-05-24T17:18:00.949-07:00Major Meague Mama<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dObkgnDo1Kx9lgk1R4JeWpfZMFIi_RGagcBocrgh9CpfNPC-nikogEl9ZzUeKLSJQcALwQSb7bf-VMUbyekzQo84phu8KG0TdkaXBFNOzbRRmMOa8cRvFoPha_0Z0oWa7_7u7ji-P44/s1600-h/DSCF1983.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dObkgnDo1Kx9lgk1R4JeWpfZMFIi_RGagcBocrgh9CpfNPC-nikogEl9ZzUeKLSJQcALwQSb7bf-VMUbyekzQo84phu8KG0TdkaXBFNOzbRRmMOa8cRvFoPha_0Z0oWa7_7u7ji-P44/s220/DSCF1983.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203283456389522690" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaE15MjoFqpO0NZtqjjFAWkGNa5Aa7FERQeTR9vQMksytbfqPc6tWLsQAxgNIcbDCx2kl9NbcDQhQOSBlIR-S7O_DW2vAGBpEp6L3qNt-Eix5JfvdMyuA3LXkh2bdH2ZDHkDKbTcardc/s1600-h/DSCF2033.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaE15MjoFqpO0NZtqjjFAWkGNa5Aa7FERQeTR9vQMksytbfqPc6tWLsQAxgNIcbDCx2kl9NbcDQhQOSBlIR-S7O_DW2vAGBpEp6L3qNt-Eix5JfvdMyuA3LXkh2bdH2ZDHkDKbTcardc/s220/DSCF2033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203283464979457298" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gv7YxnDM89uq2G5_2N2jsCeehh5yBJI5PVLCYr68FObr415u45fYcD9LXvh7gGAkbS882J-tBfI_lFY9fm_t_uPGarQHP5qfqGOjoY3VlVm3KeI4Aj1nx7ni_kQpLT_xHUohmFcSoJ8/s1600-h/DSCF2038.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gv7YxnDM89uq2G5_2N2jsCeehh5yBJI5PVLCYr68FObr415u45fYcD9LXvh7gGAkbS882J-tBfI_lFY9fm_t_uPGarQHP5qfqGOjoY3VlVm3KeI4Aj1nx7ni_kQpLT_xHUohmFcSoJ8/s220/DSCF2038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203283473569391906" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJoxXqJPj6qPibBSzDz-s7xgDsJr0ylXw5cyGTZUo8t0bfEQPOZEQzvOi46Jct-PevxaFneTm4AL5MNYv5LC6TULeYFsyM8rbCn6SY_VesGRPhYBZiUUYcxKup4McI9e95D0weiQQ-Ak/s1600-h/DSCF1967.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJoxXqJPj6qPibBSzDz-s7xgDsJr0ylXw5cyGTZUo8t0bfEQPOZEQzvOi46Jct-PevxaFneTm4AL5MNYv5LC6TULeYFsyM8rbCn6SY_VesGRPhYBZiUUYcxKup4McI9e95D0weiQQ-Ak/s220/DSCF1967.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203283482159326514" border="0" /></a>Well, I have officially arrived. I have entered the next era as a mom. Driving kids to games and practices now define my Monday and Wednesday evening activities. Which, don't get me wrong, I knew was part of the plan when I became a Miller. You see, in the Miller Clan, sports is a must. Excelling at sports is also a must. So, when Braxton started T-Ball this week, I knew the pressure was on: Go BIG- or GO HOME! I have long been hesitant to put him in sports, because he is so sweet, and I didn't want that to be replaced by macho, sports-guy attitude. Now, when it comes to football, I don't think I will be as happy to allow him to play, but having married you-know-who, I do believe it is inevitable. At least in T-Ball theres little to no contact, which makes me happy. At least he won't get pummeled by the other kids. As far as how he's doing? He has gotten along well in his new found place in the world, much to my appeasement. I am one proud mama! He's a natural, which comes from me- regardless of what my husband says. He makes things up all the time.... :o).</div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-25610600836421178902008-05-11T20:33:00.000-07:002008-05-12T09:05:42.167-07:00HMD<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICsKFoi1nEK4beT4ud_zuf41nYracsrnaJT_lMVLL_DqS4GEPJ96maWBWnDXNF2GDIkN9UO403PtIgbhKSeK-hVXn3vZBHcsCaN8ULEmUmtOyhp0px7CpaFL54uongkDHTJzQJtV4DBk/s1600-h/DSCF1786.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 7px 7px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICsKFoi1nEK4beT4ud_zuf41nYracsrnaJT_lMVLL_DqS4GEPJ96maWBWnDXNF2GDIkN9UO403PtIgbhKSeK-hVXn3vZBHcsCaN8ULEmUmtOyhp0px7CpaFL54uongkDHTJzQJtV4DBk/s220/DSCF1786.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199518918630362146" border="0" /></a>Let's face it.... at the risk of sounding like a pouty child, I am going to throw this one out there. Hopefully it doesn't sound like it as you read on, but I hope you stick with me here.<br /><br />I am going to be brutally honest, and I hope that I don't come across as a little black rain cloud, because I am not trying to be one. But this is relevant, so stick with me. I don't like mothers day. There- I said it. That's right. I don't. I did when I was a kid, because I had the best mother in the whole world, and there are a lot of days when I just feel like I don't measure up. Granted my mother had her flaws, and maybe she yelled a lot more than I remember her doing, but overall I would give her a "10". And I miss ehr a whole lot... probably more than I can articulate. That's why I don't like Mother's Day. Certainly my children did a great job in making my day a happy one... I was in Billings, MT early Sunday morning, and flew back only to have my phone ring in the car on the way home.... it was Braxton.<br /><br />"Mom, can you stop at the store on your way home?"<br />"Why son, what do you need?"<br />"Nothing mom, we just aren't ready for you to come home yet. "<br />"Okay son, I will drive around for a while. Call me when you're done."<br />45 minutes later....<br /><br />"Okay mom.. we're almost done..."<br /><br />This was the best part of my day:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8OLf731eZ8cj9P5MUp-vp5ANxpntuMqrcdlBURoQqS-mWRuBY38uft6Ivyw9YpAD64O2ezmsWXh5b_LIAIlCHVfPA8JjlZz_9MrRwZEjOEhrdR8fZT1MVWvDcmMCC_grQiQpEwlUxB8/s1600-h/DSCF1800.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 7px 7px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8OLf731eZ8cj9P5MUp-vp5ANxpntuMqrcdlBURoQqS-mWRuBY38uft6Ivyw9YpAD64O2ezmsWXh5b_LIAIlCHVfPA8JjlZz_9MrRwZEjOEhrdR8fZT1MVWvDcmMCC_grQiQpEwlUxB8/s220/DSCF1800.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199518381759450098" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuVmH5klDP2X1tt0komBeO78v1e4Sc7ZeKsAiMwEsMo_MzAgE2mvc48rimmViLroDtIoyLNcM4fJHcRUUoEoLCFbn82LkFfT7yej4ig67_Li3eF_sJZhB9GiqL9PhyphenhyphenlzkyDXQ-o4Xp1s/s1600-h/DSCF1805.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 7px 7px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuVmH5klDP2X1tt0komBeO78v1e4Sc7ZeKsAiMwEsMo_MzAgE2mvc48rimmViLroDtIoyLNcM4fJHcRUUoEoLCFbn82LkFfT7yej4ig67_Li3eF_sJZhB9GiqL9PhyphenhyphenlzkyDXQ-o4Xp1s/s220/DSCF1805.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199518386054417410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoMTlSZxCD7OD0TsTvYJzW1s4dCW5U_zy6TewV-HgkKSF6WktMxlsaj1opQge5LpnlIN7ozkKAocisoGM1xBK2TO4lDJLVJ62_zI6kEiFFS12G6-8TNyExbPaMP_Yi1rIlUQhyphenhyphengvIEgY/s1600-h/DSCF1804.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 7px 7px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoMTlSZxCD7OD0TsTvYJzW1s4dCW5U_zy6TewV-HgkKSF6WktMxlsaj1opQge5LpnlIN7ozkKAocisoGM1xBK2TO4lDJLVJ62_zI6kEiFFS12G6-8TNyExbPaMP_Yi1rIlUQhyphenhyphengvIEgY/s220/DSCF1804.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199518394644352018" border="0" /></a>Addie made me the cutest picture that she sewed at school, and the corsage that Braxton made me (wrapped by Addie and Brax in paper and band-aids, because they couldn't find any tape). My husband bought me a beautiful necklace and an outfit that I love, and Jack.... oh, Jack. The card with his handprint and picture on it brought tears to my eyes and made me forget the stinging that my heart felt all morning. Thanks my little family... thanks.<br /><br /><br />Oh, and by the way... Happy Mother's Day, mom... I love you.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwcD14LKaHR113bYhz7Yw-WPevFku5y7UqflMfS_kbwJHlG-nKwl1IQNWo3aJNACYIYeiDTjzHoMjl04DsSCq7wXA6CjssZ0m7vu3u2VzFRQyvEaG7B9-e1NUB1BsyWZSpJZ5ZaZ6WHg/s1600-h/m_ada65572fe595e6eeac4c2a537387bd2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwcD14LKaHR113bYhz7Yw-WPevFku5y7UqflMfS_kbwJHlG-nKwl1IQNWo3aJNACYIYeiDTjzHoMjl04DsSCq7wXA6CjssZ0m7vu3u2VzFRQyvEaG7B9-e1NUB1BsyWZSpJZ5ZaZ6WHg/s200/m_ada65572fe595e6eeac4c2a537387bd2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199520258660158514" border="0" /></a>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-48164744082824718332008-04-30T19:23:00.000-07:002008-05-04T16:33:33.513-07:00This is what happens when...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-wt0_CZ04DzSBZEIgaWdEEETRpn7PIxohJFs809REK9QsXQt88WMDNS09R_peBNhGD5hzKIFwD1AxK85gcWje3CT2SkwoxIepiWV-TkuQ55hzZhKJIRmebpgwO1YqUkAzuaKvyiTxAg/s1600-h/DSCF1700.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-wt0_CZ04DzSBZEIgaWdEEETRpn7PIxohJFs809REK9QsXQt88WMDNS09R_peBNhGD5hzKIFwD1AxK85gcWje3CT2SkwoxIepiWV-TkuQ55hzZhKJIRmebpgwO1YqUkAzuaKvyiTxAg/s200/DSCF1700.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196665213288251138" border="0" /></a><br />you leave your camera within a child's reach. No, age doesn't matter, and I believe that even threats of broken arms or legs don't either. As I was uploading my recent pictures, I came across the following and wondered if I had taken to drinking, or if the camera had been hijacked.<br /><br />For the record, it was the latter... now if you'd pass me my vodka tonic, please.<br />Oh... it's a JOKE!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJATHmcXBs8ksYS9BRUgvs8tOU3G2t1CvHjdnT3xjIdfJ85qAHBT-ayqbSBs2ok8l53uvIR7jV9abcqHhxuMFR9pVtu7DtzXAf1vc1LsoNh5UQ-zctTNdl9JyF6iAMgGa8lWkep_DPnI/s1600-h/DSCF1662.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJATHmcXBs8ksYS9BRUgvs8tOU3G2t1CvHjdnT3xjIdfJ85qAHBT-ayqbSBs2ok8l53uvIR7jV9abcqHhxuMFR9pVtu7DtzXAf1vc1LsoNh5UQ-zctTNdl9JyF6iAMgGa8lWkep_DPnI/s200/DSCF1662.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196666317094846242" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6a0nNPeYW5wWBsx-6uaC1noIMnYaAyvcMTRfdB8zp2CmCzQV6nDs97XAhKpcIyXLM6EwnmRuDJT-SG-PZATpcl34MQ3_0DG9lUUJsfUeoHbi7rosp5oYYhjDOLhxAsMWEg4Xfb48bZUs/s1600-h/DSCF1519.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6a0nNPeYW5wWBsx-6uaC1noIMnYaAyvcMTRfdB8zp2CmCzQV6nDs97XAhKpcIyXLM6EwnmRuDJT-SG-PZATpcl34MQ3_0DG9lUUJsfUeoHbi7rosp5oYYhjDOLhxAsMWEg4Xfb48bZUs/s200/DSCF1519.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195230685621452386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAiSnEJjqIvwdQkHsGIm3zEcV5K0t9MotfRtCaTQLsMjX0tFHOT8wAaCtYQf2jcYGr8chnyti9ySpieuj00Uk_Bar_dgIJ1aP8Q2A1oJVo0QUtxHLBYQUUVf8PcSegpvkAG1te7HZgyuc/s1600-h/DSCF1601.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAiSnEJjqIvwdQkHsGIm3zEcV5K0t9MotfRtCaTQLsMjX0tFHOT8wAaCtYQf2jcYGr8chnyti9ySpieuj00Uk_Bar_dgIJ1aP8Q2A1oJVo0QUtxHLBYQUUVf8PcSegpvkAG1te7HZgyuc/s200/DSCF1601.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196665200403349218" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DMltcdbQiki4ZkKVHXRunUbua58kh8b0FJdzzzB_ug8wIJGkDDtSK4hiwrf3L9_ajz2QN7YHzTUP3V9iHza-POIry4-SmRik5Hpr0t7oOpDZGYFfY3JEl4x8fCK9jXu24S2RMqTFlr4/s1600-h/DSCF1653.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DMltcdbQiki4ZkKVHXRunUbua58kh8b0FJdzzzB_ug8wIJGkDDtSK4hiwrf3L9_ajz2QN7YHzTUP3V9iHza-POIry4-SmRik5Hpr0t7oOpDZGYFfY3JEl4x8fCK9jXu24S2RMqTFlr4/s200/DSCF1653.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196665208993283826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgIZ6Mcip1oBFJp2j_vu9uQdCzH-oub7yw5wRSg3F1FUJ2INQ4FZS5hjyBep2kUJoDok34Jo3QVFhWQWCDUGoK2zokEIhYiPK098YajwFD0P4cicHycnK-UjldtyWAOfO55v5NQXg3mM/s1600-h/DSCF1701.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgIZ6Mcip1oBFJp2j_vu9uQdCzH-oub7yw5wRSg3F1FUJ2INQ4FZS5hjyBep2kUJoDok34Jo3QVFhWQWCDUGoK2zokEIhYiPK098YajwFD0P4cicHycnK-UjldtyWAOfO55v5NQXg3mM/s200/DSCF1701.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195230702801321618" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5Y4DyVgPboQrKvbD4k6D0_2HRBDRjidD13do6u05gl65wjS6FTVRFBlBqUjrudhekcuxkROdB4L1yQ6ZB-5fNSNaYWx4wtAd3L5rejNl9wAKyqBIMYu49ZpGJXMI_obU33jzO4HpI8I/s1600-h/DSCF1468.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5Y4DyVgPboQrKvbD4k6D0_2HRBDRjidD13do6u05gl65wjS6FTVRFBlBqUjrudhekcuxkROdB4L1yQ6ZB-5fNSNaYWx4wtAd3L5rejNl9wAKyqBIMYu49ZpGJXMI_obU33jzO4HpI8I/s200/DSCF1468.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196665217583218450" border="0" /></a>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-78250406850705899532008-04-30T10:56:00.000-07:002008-04-29T23:07:38.486-07:00I'm seeing spots!You'll remember this little number?<br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPHhEnGI5Wr1_X4do7SMt9VFxGqJqNXVJG7-bAyXojn9GDvm_J8xj_BA9U1t2vNxAsDst0IyqCVF8L-kR8UUTRIeVa_X8UUPfmWERwwk8_vIpC-amGiWt5BM1w_nSgx16ITIjs24gJrA/s1600-h/DSCF1471.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPHhEnGI5Wr1_X4do7SMt9VFxGqJqNXVJG7-bAyXojn9GDvm_J8xj_BA9U1t2vNxAsDst0IyqCVF8L-kR8UUTRIeVa_X8UUPfmWERwwk8_vIpC-amGiWt5BM1w_nSgx16ITIjs24gJrA/s320/DSCF1471.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194915830158917186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, here's the picture I promised. Note her forearms and neck, if you can.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5iWookPGgwhPVUfANs7nDT9Z2C3qsbs7t05fh_FNmQQDe3ysOsPIG7Xp8fpzpiCzk7AWxXPbFxLrKQQKj-4Nxtf5by2ARGuIbjK68ItJpEfFmxCYrpODaxKb8lgIJsX8R8VbKXOiPxs/s1600-h/DSCF1709.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5iWookPGgwhPVUfANs7nDT9Z2C3qsbs7t05fh_FNmQQDe3ysOsPIG7Xp8fpzpiCzk7AWxXPbFxLrKQQKj-4Nxtf5by2ARGuIbjK68ItJpEfFmxCYrpODaxKb8lgIJsX8R8VbKXOiPxs/s320/DSCF1709.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194915825863949874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Priceless. I love this kid... she's a hoot!Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-71458792858565723552008-04-29T22:36:00.000-07:002008-04-29T22:54:49.914-07:00Melting cupcakes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluTP9UGoomhFMxBmJBRwyHletuxbAz-iSK61pbmhMsDzaoUpcFUQdxcRXqBx067O0ZQqRdcHLU0bH328w6rRaC2EI6uP4eXJWVAWZIdKnGmJlxWlnr43I-1CRRjT6MM6AEbwhDxMHU0Y/s1600-h/DSCF1644.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluTP9UGoomhFMxBmJBRwyHletuxbAz-iSK61pbmhMsDzaoUpcFUQdxcRXqBx067O0ZQqRdcHLU0bH328w6rRaC2EI6uP4eXJWVAWZIdKnGmJlxWlnr43I-1CRRjT6MM6AEbwhDxMHU0Y/s320/DSCF1644.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194912041997762034" border="0" /></a><br />I decided that I haven't gained enough weight lately, so I thought it might be a good idea to make something else that would help in this endeavor... funfetti cupcakes. Yes, with strawberry icing. Yummy! Really, I am just trying to put on sympathy weight for Pam, but I think I may have gained more weight than she has, and in a few weeks, she's gonna have something to show for hers! Me, I'll just have a bruised ego when I am done. But, I digress. <br /><br />I ran out of batter about 4 empty cupie cakes early. My mothers voice was screaming its usual warning in my head (just like it did when I was a kid) to make sure that I filled up the empty cakemolds with water for an even bake. When finished the cakes looked like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUWyBJ2r2xCE6IAdAz0vMBt14NPEi0oQnZ25RX74ZAXHkk_xC1XX-hOWrAzFXL_aVV-KCA7NY8pswQ92Z223090H9gst2rHGfQyfq_fP9vTHSNJMJWzcsMb9lFVhaDhTI-XCuO3rDqSs/s1600-h/DSCF1641.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUWyBJ2r2xCE6IAdAz0vMBt14NPEi0oQnZ25RX74ZAXHkk_xC1XX-hOWrAzFXL_aVV-KCA7NY8pswQ92Z223090H9gst2rHGfQyfq_fP9vTHSNJMJWzcsMb9lFVhaDhTI-XCuO3rDqSs/s320/DSCF1641.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194912050587696642" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, you will note the rust in my el cheap-o cupcake pan. Well, Braxton comes in a few hours later and screams, "MOM!!! Hurry come here!!! The Cupcakes melted!!!"<br /><br />I did not try to explain to him what had happened, but instead grabbed my camera to promptly take a picture. I knew that was indeed, a bloggable moment. Come to think of it, I still don't think he knows that the secret to evenly baked goods is a little water in the empty cupcake molds.Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-18310836299308804732008-04-11T10:46:00.000-07:002008-04-10T20:51:35.686-07:00El BurritoMy children love it when I roll them up right before bed. Many times I will hear from a darkened and long silent room:<br /><br />"Mom..... can you.... do the burrito?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HXjfB4yOHKVNBlmTFt7CdjDzTlVBeX1pFtjihxUNCzVhe3azT8dQZgvw88kPltsWqFrHNztJ0s9jLVopzFLW9IOySJ3WF6OReQPVFlTKLzlHJrZgO59fz15KsoQFBIA6OMEU4SuXgfE/s1600-h/DSCF1382.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HXjfB4yOHKVNBlmTFt7CdjDzTlVBeX1pFtjihxUNCzVhe3azT8dQZgvw88kPltsWqFrHNztJ0s9jLVopzFLW9IOySJ3WF6OReQPVFlTKLzlHJrZgO59fz15KsoQFBIA6OMEU4SuXgfE/s320/DSCF1382.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187829853784550962" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqry0wwOh3AQpFuAgkDU3aOB3KtVs4ovVdiZsr3uD_2H1E4X2igRtx0rlWAmyOPCgZ2tvYkMLUrJWIJgUzVOIm-8ILjOeT-IG1jusRJ_9xIIN9vXaPP0t6x7SkGAy4oCbgnqn4Kf6_iVM/s1600-h/DSCF1383.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqry0wwOh3AQpFuAgkDU3aOB3KtVs4ovVdiZsr3uD_2H1E4X2igRtx0rlWAmyOPCgZ2tvYkMLUrJWIJgUzVOIm-8ILjOeT-IG1jusRJ_9xIIN9vXaPP0t6x7SkGAy4oCbgnqn4Kf6_iVM/s320/DSCF1383.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187829862374485570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7EwElnnwXfyvaxVPwRmF752BPLiLe3kipSH4B6rwCxQ9VduqRwSqYRkfXZaVU39VKPgjweY-WCallXby71yRDRm1izQ0XJH8aYQ8WI5fXfAvGf_aZFxc5GDSIYhaIStiv6EWwiqOMcI/s1600-h/DSCF1387.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7EwElnnwXfyvaxVPwRmF752BPLiLe3kipSH4B6rwCxQ9VduqRwSqYRkfXZaVU39VKPgjweY-WCallXby71yRDRm1izQ0XJH8aYQ8WI5fXfAvGf_aZFxc5GDSIYhaIStiv6EWwiqOMcI/s320/DSCF1387.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187829870964420178" border="0" /></a><br />And truthfully, I love it.Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-30711861824176232972008-04-10T14:02:00.000-07:002008-04-10T14:17:34.045-07:00April Fools. . . on me!So my darling daughter thought that it would be funny to play a few practical jokes on some of our neighbors. (By the way, I have NO idea where she became aware that it is funny to do things to other people that live on our street. I have NEVER heard of such a thing!)<br /><br />So she found a baby shower invitation and filled it out for some made up person and delivered it to <a href="http://www.pamily.blogspot.com">Pam</a>. She thought it was a delightfully funny joke. Then she gets this idea to cover herself in large, red dots as if she has some measles-like disease. Then she would run over to <a href="http://ryanandcathymcf.blogspot.com">Cathy's</a> house to expose all of her children to this disease, as seen here:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2sd4u-LLQRINb0IM-c6pf15PEVQEMjbphD_c_8YrmRcKKoaVzVscJh0xgr7eRyfyF3kZIDvta5Kyss2AmmkfA0wUuuwqqWJNNJ4FabFSZvJOU2PkO9aH-zEkkSfz_UawAZL64D6OeZY/s1600-h/DSCF1471.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2sd4u-LLQRINb0IM-c6pf15PEVQEMjbphD_c_8YrmRcKKoaVzVscJh0xgr7eRyfyF3kZIDvta5Kyss2AmmkfA0wUuuwqqWJNNJ4FabFSZvJOU2PkO9aH-zEkkSfz_UawAZL64D6OeZY/s320/DSCF1471.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187726353662651922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3andEXzXXNSyYUF7_bYQumCnRKihcyWXVrWs0bL4MrRPwrw-X2Nw_Cy_5-LFLEwwHO5PDIOhexJmcb-Bd4HzWHh3Qn4oKxScdVdOx7k-Sxu_RFBE7QFr8r7eA4ZSp4JOD6c0xY9_DfPc/s1600-h/DSCF1472.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3andEXzXXNSyYUF7_bYQumCnRKihcyWXVrWs0bL4MrRPwrw-X2Nw_Cy_5-LFLEwwHO5PDIOhexJmcb-Bd4HzWHh3Qn4oKxScdVdOx7k-Sxu_RFBE7QFr8r7eA4ZSp4JOD6c0xY9_DfPc/s320/DSCF1472.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187726362252586530" border="0" /></a><br />I thought it was a pretty standard April Fools Joke. Heck, I think I did something similar when I was that age. At any rate, all was well until the next morning when we were running late for school and realized that Addie was a spotted mess. So we rush through the shower, only to find out that the marker she picked out was not budging. It was a non-washable marker. So after convincing her that it would wear off (and trying to remove it with everything under the sink- including bleach and the magic eraser. . . I know, but she was fine) she was off to school.<br /><br />The best part of my day was yet to come. Why you ask? Because at 10:30 my phone rang. It was Addison. Spring School pictures and whole class pictures were that day, unbeknown to me. Yup, I am NOT lying. What a GREAT day to take a picture. And yes, I will be buying the whole package, since it will come in handy later in her life, perhaps when she's dating. I will post the picture as soon as I get it.Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-53074881930018454822008-04-09T12:01:00.000-07:002008-04-09T12:20:35.274-07:00Eee tin coo keeesJack found a new favorite snack. I bought these for Gilly the other day, and found Jack on the table the next morning- - - going to town!<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxj_V7ZSt4d3kQz6lJRfPnrfqVTlStdMaEfZ_HTOFghHAWNxvK0Xo0z8-jcPekUrxq_qp8QjBzyefy3SXb72w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-59554627927600487092008-03-31T20:36:00.000-07:002008-03-31T20:43:32.344-07:00Oh my hell-en keller...<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;">This is why a 2 year old and semi-permanent lipstick should NEVER be within 200 yards of each other. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpMdqsp35PUzH7QWzOi4BJeHlQqu7Z0X1q2G1dEj9wzBxtqroVAlnhYRsKDlaJZE90AHvXWrsqO-QtojjqPIZW0n4qeYnLmGzceffAs9ZEI_05xwqn7eK-Htfo9XHtRHfs7TKv9z9ePM/s1600-h/DSCF1312.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpMdqsp35PUzH7QWzOi4BJeHlQqu7Z0X1q2G1dEj9wzBxtqroVAlnhYRsKDlaJZE90AHvXWrsqO-QtojjqPIZW0n4qeYnLmGzceffAs9ZEI_05xwqn7eK-Htfo9XHtRHfs7TKv9z9ePM/s320/DSCF1312.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184116837335815634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>Imagine my panic when I saw Jack from about 100 feet. I thought he was killed for sure.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGIieAt3y-nOLl7g1guOooGw8xe4wr_6UCzi1LflC8v_KwdB9_JkNgWIYAnJKXuXcq1Tb2Uud5ZHVuuelp-_4ihR45cggBs6O68Rvkvr1jU-Dt6M1MQRLXxZ8a3m4ztJ7WQj18AbTBpE/s1600-h/DSCF1313.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGIieAt3y-nOLl7g1guOooGw8xe4wr_6UCzi1LflC8v_KwdB9_JkNgWIYAnJKXuXcq1Tb2Uud5ZHVuuelp-_4ihR45cggBs6O68Rvkvr1jU-Dt6M1MQRLXxZ8a3m4ztJ7WQj18AbTBpE/s320/DSCF1313.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184116845925750242" border="0" /></a><br />Turns out "Primrose" makes a pretty good stand in for blood if you are ever in need of it. And, with my bad vision it nearly caused me a heart attack. It wore off after about a week.<br /><br /><br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-26766003247983277692008-03-22T12:19:00.000-07:002008-04-08T20:49:06.959-07:00Mini Indy 2008<div style="text-align: justify;">Mini Indy... oh my! Don't know what it is? Don't worry, you will in a second.<br /><br />You haven't heard of it simply because outside of the SkyWest culture Mini Indy isn't really known. That is, unless you have family or friends within the SkyWest culture, but even then there aren't any REAL guarantees.<br /><br />So what is it? Well, my friends- let me tell you. Picture this, if you will. 42 teams ranging from 6-20 adults each, using a souped up go-kart to beat each other around a track with lots of turns and obstacles. This is no small event, but rather a HUGE 3-day production with people dressed up in their NASCAR jumpsuits and a "go big or go home" attitude. Competition was stiff (to put it mildly) and cheaters were doing their best to not get caught. All proceeds from this race (which totalled in excess of $100,000- went to the United Way of Dixie.) Each of our 2 teams was comprised of 6 people that were nominates by other employees as being exemplary. Out of over 2,000 flight attendants in our company, I was 1 of 2 that were invited to take part. What a HUGE honor and boy was I excited to be there. <br /><br />Day one started out with the kids and I in the van on a road trip to Saint George, UT. About a 5 hour drive.... which I thought would be nearly unbearable. I am happy to report that the children were FANTASTIC!! Not a peep or anything (PTL for the Ipod!!). That night I checked into my hotel room, only to find:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXsbLUQIrbRnR741M2ZRnMvV4LFGKSOV_-MLxbPnPRKGpvYRsuVzKKuNRayk6idlrAoUfjVTIzZ-ZNYRxV2Hb8tGWaSoY8BdflfPzHgOJvXnWOddxYFREUeJ77UCYoU1Ye5r44oGrPrw/s1600-h/DSCF1141.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXsbLUQIrbRnR741M2ZRnMvV4LFGKSOV_-MLxbPnPRKGpvYRsuVzKKuNRayk6idlrAoUfjVTIzZ-ZNYRxV2Hb8tGWaSoY8BdflfPzHgOJvXnWOddxYFREUeJ77UCYoU1Ye5r44oGrPrw/s320/DSCF1141.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183993485875074418" border="0" /></a><br />How nice! After a brief touch up on the hair and makeup, we were off to dinner with the executives of SkyWest. Our CEO Jerry Atkin, and our COO Chip Childs were there, along with many other VP's and important people (yes, including me!).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbvk1YByPM1UywVm2CCSINbn2uG4rITbVJXvdgLtRU1teghA1XDbEtpHCTAflcZVaVnhK9glwPV3aTtzinKI47cScOspjUTjjlvUPQ0UM8ELCIBt8Ux3-ietglPvoYV0E_-LQck2d59Q/s1600-h/Chip.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbvk1YByPM1UywVm2CCSINbn2uG4rITbVJXvdgLtRU1teghA1XDbEtpHCTAflcZVaVnhK9glwPV3aTtzinKI47cScOspjUTjjlvUPQ0UM8ELCIBt8Ux3-ietglPvoYV0E_-LQck2d59Q/s320/Chip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183993477285139810" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The next morning we met to register and check out our car and start practicing not only our driving skills, but our pit stop skills. Since we had 2 teams both team selected a team Captain. Rave Team 2 (car 72) was my team, and our captain was... ME! Yay!<br /><br />Practicing for the pit stop competition.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWgo-vnBHHZe6Nut6mGHypQJZ9M2WPUtLiNWI7MMB1QM6PGYQmoPko-bpBPKLBVQ_HVFdWMO7GiAmgPIHtELOtEq6OIV18izgg-S_OdBqCKbEpw8-h6z6K6EFkG2HIK-2gQfhJOQ1qUA/s1600-h/DSCF1246.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWgo-vnBHHZe6Nut6mGHypQJZ9M2WPUtLiNWI7MMB1QM6PGYQmoPko-bpBPKLBVQ_HVFdWMO7GiAmgPIHtELOtEq6OIV18izgg-S_OdBqCKbEpw8-h6z6K6EFkG2HIK-2gQfhJOQ1qUA/s320/DSCF1246.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184059074320651682" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After the practice sessions, we were offered a tour of corporate offices. Here's me behind the CEO's desk. Hope he didn't mind if I signed off on a few things. :) Thanks Jerry!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHADbquf9bV8fNZBMttVVYdUJ3OSvv3uA9yh0bbqnf1EvNnwYilwVsmJuLACOOk2-NgfGUlKHS7Jxmh9WHurq_MlUFPHHrZQRIbyghE8ifKJa3HUXeVnBD53XSrmvWQxnG6_qJKs4SXOg/s1600-h/DSCF1189.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHADbquf9bV8fNZBMttVVYdUJ3OSvv3uA9yh0bbqnf1EvNnwYilwVsmJuLACOOk2-NgfGUlKHS7Jxmh9WHurq_MlUFPHHrZQRIbyghE8ifKJa3HUXeVnBD53XSrmvWQxnG6_qJKs4SXOg/s320/DSCF1189.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183987670489355522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On Friday night there was a large banquet and a pit crew competition.<br /><br />At the Banquet:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoKMPOqIJRVLpSsR5H9b2WcWWaRs9vaSX3S2TOo_R35fXahW2fuhUt4v16_zClFc8LnRvPLO21Xe0IUe9yXoVMS6kOhfYhuJCJa_pSoDNjzCXwZzVokhkmi3MvfQJETJloRzPe3B4S58/s1600-h/DSCF1203.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoKMPOqIJRVLpSsR5H9b2WcWWaRs9vaSX3S2TOo_R35fXahW2fuhUt4v16_zClFc8LnRvPLO21Xe0IUe9yXoVMS6kOhfYhuJCJa_pSoDNjzCXwZzVokhkmi3MvfQJETJloRzPe3B4S58/s320/DSCF1203.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183987691964192018" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We lost by by 1/100th of a second... grr!!!<br /><br />The last day was Race Day. We were supposed to ride in a parade, but never made it to the track in time (our ride never showed up). We all know how much I love parades, so I was terribly disappointed, but nonetheless I pressed on. We started racing and there were 4 rounds of driving.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVA1xKDv2UC3e4rCyG_DtoY8HndsiBje3DslaRsrqtriyc_C7m2ys02KQOjghx8qoXdtgzUMMwepEgBgLsRbz_altn_zTGztaj_I-WjQ079F65lLtoxCbOk6ZEQXaubNuMfVLlxrJmp4/s1600-h/DSCF1241.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVA1xKDv2UC3e4rCyG_DtoY8HndsiBje3DslaRsrqtriyc_C7m2ys02KQOjghx8qoXdtgzUMMwepEgBgLsRbz_altn_zTGztaj_I-WjQ079F65lLtoxCbOk6ZEQXaubNuMfVLlxrJmp4/s320/DSCF1241.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183987696259159330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHI2oTLwnj_NF4b3kqA-ywzmvlb50pp9q0VoHcQWmdsTXjhMJAVnYlcGIixBJKb6R-2wTzHkWSKTUzSwip-V73IHNW0UzuFtIFYV5-CuUWeGPicNFmB2-20YyhloPCU7xi04a0Zr3SXhM/s1600-h/DSCF1232.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHI2oTLwnj_NF4b3kqA-ywzmvlb50pp9q0VoHcQWmdsTXjhMJAVnYlcGIixBJKb6R-2wTzHkWSKTUzSwip-V73IHNW0UzuFtIFYV5-CuUWeGPicNFmB2-20YyhloPCU7xi04a0Zr3SXhM/s320/DSCF1232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183987704849093938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We all took turns and had a grand time, especially on the wet corner of death.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-kizHObQx0pUMSJ7E2odTQ5j_NDtJiQne5wXinPtRJJ5bwmBVX1LSIFvhSIFaYyjZ84pNCxNlxFWZpsAr-I83mDnpGXj-YB1oN79oI2M1U2oPwtOe6tNjYlIQ26k8Se3u-isQW0dMnig/s1600-h/DSCF1273.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-kizHObQx0pUMSJ7E2odTQ5j_NDtJiQne5wXinPtRJJ5bwmBVX1LSIFvhSIFaYyjZ84pNCxNlxFWZpsAr-I83mDnpGXj-YB1oN79oI2M1U2oPwtOe6tNjYlIQ26k8Se3u-isQW0dMnig/s320/DSCF1273.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184058576104445314" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Our other team ended up crashing and taking off the front end of their car.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7cT7YT1wrD3f36Wja6HMPV3l6XEO0_rnc3UupfVD-yqc7J_JA02Mx4P5QIz759EFj_Y4fFghqhMs35Wm-F2SAEm6b6EuhsRJz5HT_GSk0NDx5VifZg5ygJ2T3HKrIsdCPYGAhSDZI2g/s1600-h/DSCF1277.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7cT7YT1wrD3f36Wja6HMPV3l6XEO0_rnc3UupfVD-yqc7J_JA02Mx4P5QIz759EFj_Y4fFghqhMs35Wm-F2SAEm6b6EuhsRJz5HT_GSk0NDx5VifZg5ygJ2T3HKrIsdCPYGAhSDZI2g/s320/DSCF1277.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183987713439028546" border="0" /></a><br />We left ours in pristine condition, all things considered. We didn't win, but we tried hard and fought a good fight. In the end, the SGU Fire Department won. It was okay, because they were HOT. :)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4U5etvSMLc-aePIL_yu8xm9ZJ5Rzjcu80X7w2B2tHQ3Zv501VoqMR1TbPAs33XIuJBfdlA_l8F081bOsClJtPfTyp8Y5EiTOly3eEaFr5cyvX82OmS3YWQ0p7KyVu_QtTMYBJzC0Z_c/s1600-h/DSCF1288.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4U5etvSMLc-aePIL_yu8xm9ZJ5Rzjcu80X7w2B2tHQ3Zv501VoqMR1TbPAs33XIuJBfdlA_l8F081bOsClJtPfTyp8Y5EiTOly3eEaFr5cyvX82OmS3YWQ0p7KyVu_QtTMYBJzC0Z_c/s320/DSCF1288.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183988997634250066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Our President and COO, Chip Childs. </span><br /></div></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-4048248030059101402008-03-17T18:28:00.000-07:002008-03-17T18:29:29.420-07:00If you don't laugh until you cry, you aren't really my friend....<p class="postBody" style="color: rgb(119, 119, 119); text-align: justify;"><strong> <i>This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph... PC Magazine's 2007 editors' choice for best web mail-award-winning letter....</i></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Dear Mr. Thatcher,</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dry-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills. Isn't the human body amazing?</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants.. Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Are you kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. If you just have to Slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?</strong><br /><strong> </strong><br /><strong>Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending BS. And that's a promise I will keep. Always. Best, Wendi Aarons</strong><br /><strong>Austin , TX</strong></p>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7483923708164393884.post-51058339072741700822008-03-11T13:51:00.000-07:002008-03-11T20:01:12.781-07:00An ode to my BFF<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LXmTUjm11w_M_4UDJtuAHfYGlV2Or6D_rEjhMrh1MWw-rXPkznvFxGo4JmtjE9B2B4bpovoOZgQd6Khra_lCizzoi-ch88UE24Tofa5-xvtE__KL0s50VIqsJ1o608QJEcpYwOo6T9I/s1600-h/DSCF0854.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LXmTUjm11w_M_4UDJtuAHfYGlV2Or6D_rEjhMrh1MWw-rXPkznvFxGo4JmtjE9B2B4bpovoOZgQd6Khra_lCizzoi-ch88UE24Tofa5-xvtE__KL0s50VIqsJ1o608QJEcpYwOo6T9I/s320/DSCF0854.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176684484531715138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">This shirt I almost bought for one of us, then I realized. . . who would own it?<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I have been thinking a lot about <a href="http://www.joonsfamily.blogspot.com/">Joon</a> for the past week, and more regrettably thinking about being unable to do much for her to celebrate her birthday. I figure she pretty much had a crappy one this year, especially since she'd been cut up and sewn back together all in one day (which happened to be ON her birthday). And since we have been trying to figure out when we could take the same trip that our DH's took over a year ago and haven't found the time (mostly my fault), I figure the "make-up" birthday may fall into this category as well (again, probably my fault). But, whatever the case, I just think that it is time that EVERYONE know how great my BFF is.<br /><br />Top 10 reasons why my BFF is better than yours:<br />#10 She helps me plan little shenanigans to keep us from going crazy.<br />#9 She is always telling me nice things about me and she makes me feel important.<br />#8 Most of the conversations I have with her end up with us laughing so hard we are in tears (eg a whole new...world?, the ken doll, Farley, the wedding photo convo...etc) .<br />#7 She holds me accountable to work out - - even when I don't want to.<br />#6 She would move heaven and earth to help me if I were in a bind (which has happened many times).<br />#5 She is the only person in the world that is thinking the same thing I am, at the exact same time.<br />#4 She is the most patient mother I have EVER met and doesn't swear in front of her kids! WoW!!!<br />#3 She is always looking for someone to help.<br />#2 I can ask her if I look fat in a pair of pants and she would look for something nice to say like, "well, I like your shirt." instead of telling me I look fat!<br />And the Number 1 reason:<br />She is the WHOLE reason I am not bald (from pulling my hair out), she helps me maintain my crazy life and is the best listener in the world.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">I love ya Joon!!!! Happy Birthday!</span></span><br /></div>Jack's Handlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00435026477859266349noreply@blogger.com3