tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15409405225574316742024-03-13T14:24:20.936-06:00AMENMomAMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.comBlogger420125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-63263336828891909382013-09-05T14:14:00.000-06:002013-09-05T14:18:27.175-06:00My grandmother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My grandmother did not star in any movies. She never ran for
public office, and she didn't invent a medicine or cure any diseases. Some
people would say this means she didn't change the world while she was here. I
would say there's more than one way to change the world. <br />
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Jean Golden raised four children-with varying degrees of success. She raised
me, and had a hand in raising all of her grandchildren. She experienced so many
joys, and her share of heartbreaks, and a world that was changing so fast it
could make you dizzy. Through it all, her missions in life were clear: love and
serve. Have a good attitude. Never act ugly.<br />
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I learned so much from my grandmother. She showed me how to be a good and true
friend, and her friendships were treasures she valued dearly. She ingrained in
me not just the importance of family, but the absolute necessity of it. I was
well into adulthood before I realized that not everyone hung out with their
great aunts and uncles and third cousins twice removed like I did. From her, I
learned that we should serve others in whatever capacity we are able. She
volunteered at blood drives, worked election polls, and made a point to visit
elderly acquaintances. She went door to door in our neighborhood collecting donations for cystic fibrosis research. Hospitality was her gift, and the best way to ruin her
day was to not let her take care of you. Nothing delighted her more than a
knock at the door from someone who wanted to sit in one of her bar stools and visit.
Most importantly, she taught me to love Christ, and that living for Him is
the only true way to have joy and peace in this life. </span></div>
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Another of my grandmother's greatest gifts was her wit, and her ability to laugh at
herself. She simply was not capable of driving through Memphis without getting
lost, and built extra time into her trips to account for the accidental
detours. She had a fair amount of self control, but that went out the
window the moment she stepped into a dollar store, or saw anything for purchase
with a magnolia on it. Expiration dates on milk were only suggestions to her.
She never-- ever once in her life--threw away one of those twist ties that held
a bread bag closed. Her answer to everyone's needs was a banana pudding, and
most of the time it was the right answer. <br />
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My respect for my grandmother grows all the time. Now as a wife and mother, I'm
honestly astonished that she baked cakes and mowed the
yard, sewed her own clothes and hung up the Christmas lights. She
handled everything life required of her with enormous grace. Amazingly, even
Alzheimer's disease wasn't able to steal her spirit. Until the very end, my
grandmother was kind and joyful at all times. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">We can't all change the world. But every time we
speak, every time we act, we change the lives of the people around us. My
grandmother has challenged me to be a more patient, thoughtful, selfless
person. She loved us all so much, and we are all forever changed for the
better because of her. And in small ways, every single day, she showed everyone around
her what God's love looks like when it takes on the form of a woman and
goes walking around on earth. </span>AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-76055160029288209512013-04-23T20:33:00.000-06:002013-04-23T21:11:32.773-06:00Annie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wanted a
dog. I was 22 years old and had never had one. I’d never really had a proper
pet at all, unless you count the brief tenure of a cranky cockatiel when I was
a pre-teen or Crawford, the bizarre and spunky Wal Mart goldfish I bought on a
whim in college who lived with me for three years in various dorm rooms.
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, no dogs. Matt and I had just gotten married and I made it the first
order of business after getting home from our honeymoon to head to the animal
shelter. I walked up and down the aisles until I found a smallish black dog
that acted like she’d been waiting all day for me. I asked to play with her.
The volunteer from the shelter retrieved her but explained to me that since the
dog knew her and I was a stranger, it would likely not come near me and that I
shouldn’t push. We sat down on the floor, she let go of the dog, and it made a
beeline for me. Well, that was that. Matt came to meet her and thought she was
perfect. We took her home a couple of days later and named her Annie. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Annie was
like our first child right away. By this, I do not mean we were those people
who take their dog to work every day or buy little doggie clothes. The only
time Annie ever wore clothes were the 45 unfortunate seconds on Halloween 2001
when we tried to dress her in a little sombrero and poncho. It didn’t end well
for anyone involved. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So we didn’t
indulge her terribly or treat her like a human, but we had so much fun with her. She
loved to run at top speed in large circles through the house and wrestle with
Matt’s hand. She was also content to keep a lap warm for hours. She took to
sleeping at the foot of our bed right away, and she somehow slowly altered that
arrangement so that she was sleeping at the foot of the bed INSIDE the covers.
I thought it was weird and slightly annoying, because when she would decide to
get up she moved every inch of covers to do it. Matt loved it, though—she was
like his own personal foot warmer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When it was
time to bring Abby home from the hospital, we were a little worried. We’d read
and heard so much about dogs being unhappy about or aggressive towards tiny new
family members. We shouldn’t have fretted. Annie sniffed her a few times and
moved on. In fact, she endured all three of our children with grace, especially
considering the torture regu</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">larly inflicted on her that children refer to as “playing
with the dog.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now let me
be clear: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Annie was not a perfect dog.
She barked every time someone came to our door. Every. Time. She barked when a
car drove too slowly by our house, or someone walked past our house. Or if it
sounded like any of those things might be happening. Or if something like that
wasn’t happening, but she was remembering a time when it had. She greeted new
people by jumping on them with joy, and more than a few guests walked away with
scratches from her over-happy paws. She chewed. Oh, did she chew. Over the
years, Matt and I replaced 17 sets of wooden blinds because she chewed them up
when she couldn’t see out a window. She got up on our dining room table when we
weren’t looking. She had a knack for waiting until I had fully settled on the
couch for the evening, blanket perfectly draped and pillows fluffed, before
whining to go out. When I’d call her to come back in, she would hide until I
gave up and closed the door, then she’d come running. She went ballistic any
time Matt stood in a chair to change a light bulb or used a fly swatter. She
ruined a lot of carpet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But in all
her years, Annie never bit anybody. She never ran away, and she never got sick.
She greeted us with the same enthusiasm if we had been gone to work all day or
if we’d gone to the mailbox. She didn’t hold a grudge if we were cranky or let
her water bowl get empty. Juggling three kids and work and life meant that we
sometime didn’t give her the attention she deserved, but she loved us every
minute anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last
Thursday night, Matt and I noticed that Annie wasn’t acting like herself. Matt
took her to the vet Friday afternoon. He examined Annie and told Matt
that she had advanced lymphoma and that it had spread to most of her organs
already. Mercifully she was likely not in any pain yet, but our timing was lucky—he
said that she probably had around a week left before her condition became
extremely painful and would take her life shortly after. He recommended that we
put her down by the following Monday to avoid having her suffer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We were
devastated. We knew that she was 14 years old and that’s a long run for a dog like
her, and we definitely didn’t want to watch her hurt. But it seemed unthinkable
to move forward without Annie. We told the kids, which was at the same time
incredibly painful and beautiful, to see them choose to put aside their sadness to
be resolute in wanting what was best for her. I’m pretty sure Annie thought
aliens had taken over our bodies for the weekend, because we spent it spoiling
her—she was carried around everywhere and given a good portion of whatever we
ate. (The acquisition and consumption of “people food” was a lifelong source of
joy for Annie). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Monday morning, Matt and I held Annie and told her we loved
her while she left the world. I feel sure that for all the sorrow I have left
to experience in this life, only a few moments w</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">ill match that heartache. I don’t
know how long it will be before I can think about her leaving us and not cry,
but it’s sure not going to be any time soon. If her purpose on this earth was
to be in our family and love us well, then she exceeded all expectations. I can
only hope that she knew how much she was loved back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-9563431938402494882012-02-15T08:18:00.005-06:002012-02-15T10:13:48.908-06:00Someone in my house got a box of chocolates from a boy, and it wasn't me.Yesterday was Valentine's Day. When you're married with kids, this means a very different thing than when you're dating. For me and Matt, it means watching a movie together after the kids go to bed while eating Rick's cupcakes. It also means school parties and Angry Birds valentines and drawing hearts on lunch napkins.<br /><br />Until this year.<br /><br />This year, we had a new experience that caught us thoroughly by surprise and gave us a glimpse of what the next 10 years hold in store for us.<br /><br />Abby, Ethan and Matt have had sinus infections, so everyone was home from school and work. I was running some errands mid-afternoon when Matt sent me the following text:<br /><br />Your daughter just got hand-delivered valentine candy from a boy.<br /><br />And it begins.<br /><br />Now, let me give you a little background. The boy is Sam, who has known Abby since they were 10 months old in day care together. Sam and Abby have always gone to school together and have always been devoted to each other. When they were in pre-school Sam was her "boyfriend". In Kindergarten, they confessed to kissing in PE, and we were quite relieved to find out it was on the cheek. Later that year, Sam proposed. They've worked out how many kids they want (4) and what they'll be named. As they've gotten older, they've cooled it with the relationship talk--at least in front of other people. They remain great friends and make a beeline for each other any time they're in the same room.<br /><br />Matt and I have decided that Abby and Sam's, er, relationship is fine by us. Sam is a nice boy who is kind and generous with our daughter. Sam's parents, Heather and Richard, have become friends and seem to like Abby as well. (Heather knows I'm blogging about this) Plus, we figure as long as Sam, who is for the most part a known quantity, is around, this will keep other unknown (and possibly unfit) quantities at bay. (This is how you talk about your children when you're married to an engineer).<br /><br />So if anyone's going to be bringing my daughter a present on Valentine's Day, I want it to be Sam. Still, as I watched Abby dance around the house all evening with her box of chocolates and then spend half an hour on a heart-shaped thank you note that HAS to be mailed, not hand delivered, because that's the proper way to send a thank you note according to Abby, I got a little panicked. I am not ready to watch boys woo my daughter. I'm not ready to watch her enjoy being wooed. But it's coming--in fact, it's apparently already here. A nine year old boy knocked on our door, and when it was answered by Abby's father he didn't run away. He stayed to see my daughter and give her a Valentine's Day present. Then he ran away. (Hey, he's 9. I'm sure he was equal parts proud and horrified about what he was doing).<br /><br />Hey Heather, next time tell Sam that if he really wants to get in good he should bring chocolate for Abby's mom too...AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-67399794677985427352012-01-06T23:13:00.003-06:002012-01-06T23:32:57.995-06:0010 Cotton Bowl ObservationsCompletely random, and in no order whatsoever:<br /><br />1. Jarius Wright kept pointing to a tattoo on his bicep. At first I just thought he wanted to show off his guns. Still no idea what the tattoo said, but I really hope it's "Mom".<br /><br />2. I love Jake Bequette.<br /><br />3. Some words should be banned in football announcer's booths. My first choice is "momentum." At the very least, they should use it correctly. Momentum is something that builds, and thus cannot change hands every 30 seconds like those schmucks kept insisting it was.<br /><br />4. I love Tyler Wilson. Did you see him talking to the KState quarterback after the game? I could squeeze his cheeks. What a great guy and player.<br /><br />5. When football players on the sidelines wear their helmets propped on top of their heads, they look like total goofballs.<br /><br />6. I love love LOVE Bobby Petrino. He is, in equal parts, endearing and terrifying. He gave a small smile during the post-game interview and I think it's the most positive emotion I have ever seen him express. He's like a grumpy, highly intelligent, slightly scary but still lovable teddy bear. Who seriously knows how to coach football.<br /><br />7. Speaking of goofballs, can the NCAA make a rule that players cannot have hair sticking out of the back of their helmets? I know they think they look cool. They are so, so wrong.<br /><br />8. Ethan called KState "the bad guys" whenever he came in the room to ask what was going on. I like it.<br /><br />9. Man those guys looked zonked walking off the field after the game. I can't even imagine how tired and sore they are.<br /><br />10. We should be #3.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-24256055659203641932012-01-05T13:29:00.002-06:002012-01-05T13:39:43.480-06:00The blog fights backI think I have a lazy blog. I took that long, ah, hiatus, and as soon as I came back it started acting up. It's probably trying to get me to go away so it can relax a little longer.<br /><br />I've been having this thing for years, and for that entire time I've had this nice little sidebar that had pictures of my family, a little About Me paragraph, and links to the blog archives. Suddenly all that has disappeared. Well, it hasn't actually disappeared--it just moved to the verrrrry bottom of the page, as though the most recent blog entry felt crowded and gave the sidebar an angry shove downwards. This very problem has its own link in the "Help" section--however, it doesn't offer any solution. It would seem that the link should instead be listed in the "Problems people have that we acknowledge but make no attempt to fix" section.<br /><br />Hopefully my computer-genius husband will be able to fix it this weekend, but until then I guess it's stuck like this.<br /><br />Side note: 50 years ago, people always said they wanted their kids to marry doctors or lawyers because it would be so handy to have one of those in the family. I'm here to tell you that while doctors and lawyers are great, the 21st century is all about having a computer genius in the family. He's saved my hide about a thousand times, and that of most of our friends and family too. That, and his willingness to clean the bathrooms, are just a couple of the million reasons I'm hanging on to him.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-32692603851990297732012-01-02T21:27:00.003-06:002012-01-02T21:43:37.061-06:00Back by popular(ish) demandAs you no doubt noticed if you're one of the many* people who read my blog regularly, I've taken a little hiatus the last few months.<br /><br />(A side note: don't you love the word hiatus? It's one of those words that lets what you're doing sound way better than what it really is. I wasn't being lazy, I was taking a hiatus. It's like when professors and preachers take "sabbatical".)<br /><br />I really didn't mean for it to happen, but the longer the time stretched since my last post, the harder it got to figure out how to jump back in. Family pictures? Witty commentary? Apologetic excuses? It was easier to just post some one-liners and iPhone photos to Facebook and move on with my day. As time went on, I received multiple** messages from readers asking me when I planned to return. I decided to make a clean break with 2011 and start fresh in 2012.<br /><br />I've been compiling a list of post ideas. Now it's just a matter of having the discipline to sit down at the computer and write the posts, which really means having the discipline to use Aaron's nap time to blog instead of passively surf the Internet, catch up on DVR'd episodes of Anderson Cooper's new talk show, or dig through the pantry to see if somehow, somewhere we still have some Snickers fun-size bars left over from Halloween. We don't. I know this. WHY do I still look?<br /><br />I will not promise that I'll post every day, because there are days when I don't have time to do much of anything except act as chauffeur and laundry lady. But I'll do my very best to appear at least a couple of times a week. If you're reading this, thanks for not giving up on me. I won't let you down!<br /><br />*Many=7-8<br />**Multiple=2AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-80435298002475872632011-09-01T18:47:00.005-06:002011-09-02T09:34:04.612-06:00On Being A Girl Who Loves FootballSomething big is happening this weekend!
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<br />What? Our wedding anniversary is this weekend? Oh, yes, that too. But I'm talking about something that is on waaay more people's calendars. It's Razorback football time!
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<br />I love football. And I don't just mean going to football games, and I don't just mean Razorback football, though I do love those things. A LOT. But I actually love the sport of football. I find it fascinating and entertaining. Yes, I'm a girl. No, I'm not a tomboy. I don't like racecars or power tools or other traditionally "boy" stuff (though for a brief period in college I was a pretty enthusiastic pro wrestling fan--but that's another story for another time). I just really enjoy football. I know I'm not the only girl around who feels this way--many of my girlfriends like it, and a few even love it like me.
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<br />The girls I know who care nothing about football think I'm weird, I know. They can't imagine why I'd be interested in what, on the surface, looks like a bunch of giants smashing into each other. There are plenty of reasons for my devotion, though!
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<br />1. <strong>It's all about strategy and logic.</strong> Whoever came up with the stereotype that people playing and coaching football are dumb clearly never took a look at the rules. The game is intricate, and playing it well requires intelligent planning and creative problem solving. Watching great coaches orchestrate brilliant plays is pure joy for my brain.
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<br />2. <strong>There's some serious talent out there.</strong> I've seen athletes throw and kick with strength and accuracy I can't fathom even after seeing it. I've seen guys run, I swear, without their feet touching the ground. I've seen players have two or three opponents dragging them to the ground from the back and they still manage to move forward, and I've seen them do somersaults in midair to avoid a fallen player and land on their feet to keep running. Football players have strength, of course, but watching their balance, grace, speed and skill in action is a fascinating study in physical superiority.
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<br />3. <strong>I like being a part of the cool crowd. </strong>Well, you know. If you live in Northwest Arkansas, you are surrounded by Razorback frenzy. I love being excited about something that unites me with my alma mater and my community. In a larger sense, I can go anywhere in the country and meet a complete stranger, and if they like football we have an instant connection and conversation fodder for as long as we need it. Unless they are an LSU fan; then I will have to walk away immediately and go wash my hands.
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<br />4. <strong>It can be so very, very satisfying. </strong>I don't care how un-football, how girly, how dainty you are, EVERYONE has a moment now and then when they want to throw something through a wall. That thirst for aggression is beautifully quenched when, say, a receiver catches a pass and is immediately and cleanly slammed to the ground by a defender he never saw coming. I'm sure anyone who doesn't like football and just read that last sentence is rolling their eyes and mottering something about Neanderthals and violence. Whatever. They just haven't seen a really good tackle.
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<br />5. <strong>It's exciting!</strong> I think everyone needs to have some hobby in their lives that they enjoy so much they have to cheer about it. It feels GOOD to hold your breath in anticipation of a pass landing in the right hands, to high five random people around you, to yell a cheer so loud you go a little hoarse. I mean, scrapbooking's great and all, but when is the last time it earned anyone a high five?
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<br />When I was in high school, my best friend (who will remain nameless because she might kill me otherwise) was quoted in our yearbook as saying that football was her favorite sport because of the tight uniform pants. She made a good point, but that doesn't really factor in for me these days. I love football for the game that it is and the experience of watching it. I am so ready for kickoff. Go Hogs!!!
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<br />AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-43839284069090536122011-08-29T09:11:00.004-06:002011-08-31T08:56:02.287-06:00DreadYou know what I dread more than anything else?
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<br />No, it's not Abby's first date (though thinking about that does make me hyperventilate a little). It's not paying for three college tuitions. It's certainly not turning gray (as my children will happily point out, I'm already well on my way).
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<br />I dread the first time that I see my grandmother and she doesn't know who I am.
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<br />There's no way to know when this will happen, but as her condition continues to deteriorate several years after her Alzheimer's diagnosis, I see that we're getting closer and closer to that moment. For now, she clings to some memories. Not always our names or details, but she knows me and she knows Matt and she even knows the kids. You know, I always thought no one could love my grandmother more than me until I saw my kids get to know her. Abby and Ethan have put their Gigi on a pedestal that can't ever be touched. Remarkably, she lights up when they're around, somehow cutting through the fog that Alzheimer's has poured into her mind.
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<br />I know, though, that even the little clarity she has left won't be there for long. She's already lost so much. Every time I talk to her or visit her, I can see the erosion continuing. We've begun preparing Abby and Ethan to understand her confusion. I pray desperately that Aaron will get at least a little time to know his Gigi.
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<br />My best childhood friend, Steve, recently lost his father after a brutal fight with Alzheimer's. Before his dad's death, Steve and I were talking and he described Alzheimer's as a hateful disease, stealing the soul of the person we love and leaving their body with us to taunt us every day with what we no longer have. He is so right.
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<br />This experience with my grandmother has been so hard, but it's also given me a perspective that most people my age don't have. We're all so busy working, raising kids, squeezing in some fun between grocery store trips and meetings, that it seems like life will be like this forever. It won't, though. Eventually we'll be old too. In all likelihood, if I live long enough I will develop Alzheimer's. Will there come a day when I look at the children I gave birth to and raised and see them as strangers? Will Matt have to spend his days feeding me and making sure I don't wander out of our home? Will I be constantly terrified and confused?
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<br />Oh, I hope not.
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<br />We all face the probability of contracting Alzheimer's. The longer you live, the more sure it becomes that you will be diagnosed. It will be virtually impossible to live into your 70s or 80s and not have either you, a spouse or a sibling suffer. Is this how you want to end your time on this earth? I know it's not what my grandmother wants. It's not what I want either.
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<br />Our family is participating in the 2011 Walk to End Alzheimer's on September 10. Abby and Ethan know that we are doing this walk to raise money so doctors and scientists can work to cure the disease that has hurt their Gigi. For them, that's enough--they are ready to walk all day.
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<br />If you would like to donate with Team Gigi, you can go to the team's website here:
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<br /><a href="http://walktoendalz.kintera.org/springdale/teamgigi">http://walktoendalz.kintera.org/springdale/teamgigi</a>
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<br />and click on General Team Donation. We want to do this event to raise money to help end Alzheimer's, and we also want to teach our children that when there's something you don't like in the world, the first thing you need to do is try to change it.
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<br />I would love if the people who have read this blog entry decide to donate, but that's not why I wrote it. I wanted to remind people that Alzheimer's is not a disease that affects only the people who get sick, or even their families. It's a big, scary cloud hanging over every single one of us. This day I dread? It's coming for us all unless we do something to stop it now.
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<br />AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-22471390186128147152011-08-21T20:36:00.005-06:002011-08-21T21:22:03.294-06:00FIrst DayI have always loved the first day of school. There's so much newness and excitement. I'm a sucker for school supplies and the smell of freshly cleaned hallways. Now that it's my kids' first day and not mine, I find a whole new set of reasons to enjoy it. I get to experience a milestone in their lives, meet the teachers that will be guiding them for the next months, and I get to usher them off to another building five days a week where other people will deal with them for a while!
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<br />Just kidding about that last part. Really.
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<br />I don't think there's ever been a more responded-to AMEN post than the one about what Abby should wear. It tickled her to pieces to hear what all my friends had to say about her wardrobe. In the end, the purple and black won out (due in large part, I think, to its bling). Not to worry, those of you who voted for the other outfit: we kept it and it was her Day 2 look. Here's the fashionista on her first morning of third grade:
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<br />(Did I REALLY just write third grade? That is ridiculous.)
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<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MN_rmRkZC3g/TlHEbsWf7bI/AAAAAAAABYY/6DCN75qUa1A/s1600/077.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643507788112981426" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MN_rmRkZC3g/TlHEbsWf7bI/AAAAAAAABYY/6DCN75qUa1A/s400/077.JPG" /></a>
<br />And speaking of ridulous, check out how cute an already-smoochable 5 year old boy (whose Kindergartener status his mother is not yet prepared to discuss on this blog) can get when you add new glasses to the mix:
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<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eB4ZoRJ1cgc/TlHEbF_5hwI/AAAAAAAABYQ/APAGCOB_yd4/s1600/066.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643507777817642754" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eB4ZoRJ1cgc/TlHEbF_5hwI/AAAAAAAABYQ/APAGCOB_yd4/s400/066.JPG" /></a> I could eat them both up. They were remarkably patient with my photo session, probably because they knew I wasn't letting them go anywhere until I got what I wanted. The backpack photo was their idea, though:
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<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-npxEsS5rZ5o/TlHECc8SK3I/AAAAAAAABYI/M2suN_dzr7c/s1600/074.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643507354479766386" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-npxEsS5rZ5o/TlHECc8SK3I/AAAAAAAABYI/M2suN_dzr7c/s400/074.JPG" /></a>
<br />Just in case there's a chance you haven't yet fully realized the fabulousness of my two older children, here's a closer look:
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<br />Ugggghghghghg. I need to look at these pictures every time I'm about to throw one of them out a window to remind myself of their many redeeming qualities. </div>
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<br /><div>I held it together really well while we dropped them off. The only time I teared up was when, without prompting, Abby ushered Ethan into what had been her school, and was now their school. Watching them walk together ahead of me made me a little weepy.
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<br />We walked them both to their classes and got them settled. They were both eager to get going and just fine to give us a quick hug and kiss and let us move on out. I dread the day when they don't need me to walk them in on the first day anymore. And by "need" I mean "want" since, let's be honest, they don't NEED me to do it now.</div>
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<br /><div>And in case you were wondering, Aaron took all this fuss and hubbub over his siblings in stride.
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<br />He knows that now he's effectively an only child for most of every day. Life is good.
<br />AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-79002507582806673502011-08-04T13:23:00.004-06:002011-08-04T13:59:27.685-06:00Dress My DaughterThis daughter of mine is something else.<br /><br />We went shopping for her first day of school outfit, and we found two that we loved. I bought both, and we decided to think about it and decide later. Proving that social media has soaked into pretty much every pore of our culture, my 8 year old daughter, who has never been on Facebook but references it frequently as something her parents use to talk to people, suggested that we put pictures of the outfits on Facebook and let people vote.<br /><br />She had a moment of hesitation when she realized that there are people that she does not personally know that would be able to vote. She does have about 3 ounces of shyness deep down inside. Finally, though, curiosity got the best of her. I decided to put the vote on the blog so I could write a little more than on Facebook.<br /><br />Ironically, when she put the clothes on for the pictures, she decided she knows which outfit she wants to wear. However, this is the child that can change her mind about what flavor of ice cream she wants 3 times while we're getting spoons out, so I'm not confident it's a final choice.<br /><br />So, here we go: let's play Dress Abby for Third Grade! Below are the two looks. Please comment ON THE BLOG (I need them all in one place to show her) with which you like better as a first day of school ensemble. Be sure to put your name in your comment so I can tell her who said what.<br /><br />**Please note: I did not tell her to stand that way. This is her go-to trying on clothes pose.<br /><br /><br />Look 1: Pretty in Purple<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8xat2frbl0Y/TjryJKQ3bPI/AAAAAAAABXA/o_xTpF6PNks/s1600/022.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637084122795437298" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8xat2frbl0Y/TjryJKQ3bPI/AAAAAAAABXA/o_xTpF6PNks/s400/022.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Look 2: Lovely in layers<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u6sgFi0b2H4/TjryIpNRmXI/AAAAAAAABW4/v8a0eaxV2jc/s1600/018.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637084113922005362" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u6sgFi0b2H4/TjryIpNRmXI/AAAAAAAABW4/v8a0eaxV2jc/s400/018.JPG" /></a><br />Time to vote! </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>**A point of clarification on the layered look: it's faux layering. The shirt is all one piece, designed to look like two. The skirt is attached to the leggings and is not real denim--it's a pretty thin cotton.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-87870166746267252652011-07-08T15:02:00.007-06:002011-07-09T19:22:41.236-06:00Parasailing, or Why Never to Trust Someone Doing Business Out of a HutTwo years ago on our trip to the beach, Matt and I and my sister-in-law Patty went parasailing. We loved it. I mean, <em>loved</em> it. We checked in at a dock in Destin, were ushered onto a swank boat, and zipped off into the ocean. Once there, we took turns pairing up and sitting down on the back of the boat, where we were harnessed to the parachute and lifted gently into the air to float along above the boat until we were brought back down again. Just before getting back to the boat, we were lowered until our feet dipped into the ocean and then zipped back up again. That's the only time we got remotely wet. It was relaxing and peaceful and really, really cool.<br /><br />This year we thought it would be great to take Abby and Ethan. There's not really a minimum age, and I knew they would love the experience. Patty decided to take her oldest son Jake, too. Once we got situated at our house I set about making it happen.<br /><br />Seacrest is a little bit closer to Panama City than Destin, so we decided to go there this time. I researched companies and narrowed it down to the one that seemed the nicest. I called ahead and made reservations. The lady directed us to show up at a beach, and when I asked her if there was a dock, she said we'd have to ride a smaller boat out to the main boat. Okay, sure.<br /><br />On the designated day, we left Jake's little brothers and Aaron in the reliable care of Jacob, Michael and Siobhan and headed off to PC. We found a great parking spot and walked onto the beach. Here's a picture of Abby and Ethan, ready for the sail.<br /><br /><a title="121 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916165799/"><img alt="121" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6011/5916165799_7520376313.jpg" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Over Abby's shoulder can you see the little brownish umbrella. Well. That was the parasailing company. It was sort of a little hut thing. The company representative, a middle aged woman in a sring bikini, was checking another family in. As we listened while we waited, I grew increasingly alarmed. First of all, she told them that they couldn't bring anything with them that they didn't want "completely soaked." Then when they asked how they were getting to the parasailing boat, she pointed at a giant yellow raft called a banana boat. I wasn't terribly worried about that, though, because the woman on the phone had assured me they had a much drier and safer option since we had children with us. Finally she told them to expect to wait at least an hour for their turn, but again I wasn't worried because unlike these other slacker customers, we had reservations.<br /><br />Then I checked in.<br /><br />While she was working on our paperwork, I said, "Boy, I sure am glad we don't have to ride that banana boat thing. That looks terrifying!" She looked up and said, "You DO have to ride it. That's the only way you're getting to the boat." Apparently the other, non-perilous option had broken down the day before.<br /><br />Now let me just pause in my narrative a moment to explain to you what a banana boat is. You should Google it to see that I'm not exaggerating. It's a giant raft shaped like, well, a banana. 5 or 6 people straddle it and hang on to little handles. It is PULLED BY A JET SKI through the waves. And I don't mean over them, I mean through them. We watched a group go out, and at more than one point the banana was nearly vertical. People pay to go on these things as a thrill ride. I am not those people.<br /><br />I expressed my concern at my children's ability to hang on adequately, and she peered at them and said, "Oh, kids usually only fall off if their parents hang on to them too tight." Super.<br /><br />(A small side antecdote: when she looked at the kids, she noticed they'd taken their flip flops off and warned them to be careful of broken glass in the sand due to the recent tornado. WHAT? Do YOU remember hearing about a tornado in Florida ON the beach recently? Or EVER? Yeah, me either.)<br /><br />At this point, I can see that if we survive the ride to the boat and back, we are going to be soaked and terrified. Everything within me is screaming at me to walk away, but I don't want to disappoint the kids, so I finish the paperwork. As she handed me the receipt she said, "Now we'll need you to be patient. It could be a while."<br /><br />What? I had reservations.<br /><br />Well, she explains, that apparently doesn't mean a whole lot of anything. They're running behind and there are people waiting in front of us. How long will it be, I ask. She confers with her assistant, the older shirtless hairy man sitting on a bar stool, and tells me to expect an hour. Over her shoulder, he mouths at me, "Closer to two hours."<br /><br />That's it.<br /><br />After a brief conference, we bribe the children with ice cream and get a refund while resisting the urge to tell them what to do with their banana boat. Once we got home I called the company in Destin that we sailed with before and booked us for our last day in town. Thank goodness, I thought. The drama is over.<br /><br />Ha.<br /><br />We got to Just Chute Me's office in Destin (clever name, eh?) and were thrilled that all workers were fully dressed. Well, except this one:<br /><br /><a title="122 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916166275/"><img alt="122" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6025/5916166275_69e418ae22.jpg" width="375" height="500" /></a><br />One of the workers had her dog with her, and I think the dog was more well mannered than Ms. Bikini. We had a speedy and very professional check in and were escorted directly to our boat, which took off the moment we were seated. Aside from the 6 of us, there were 6 other passengers from Georgia and the two guys working on the boat.<br /><br />We quickly discovered why everything was so quick--there was a megastorm headed straight for us and they wanted to do their best to let us all sail before it got too close. To speed the process up, they wanted us to go up in threes instead of twos. After a quick conference, we decided to send Abby with Patty and Jake (she loved the idea) and Matt and I would go up with Ethan.<br /><br />The Atlanta group went first while we enjoyed the boat ride and waited our turn.<br /><br /><a title="124 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916166669/"><img alt="124" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6005/5916166669_c5964c9efe.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />And before we knew it, our little girl was being strapped into a harness that was being attached to a parachute. I started to have a little mama-panic, but then I looked at her beaming face and realized she would be just fine.<br /><br /><a title="126 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916167079/"><img alt="126" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6030/5916167079_983495b3f4.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />And sure enough, she lapped up every moment. She's like me--any time I am enjoying something thrilling, I have a huge goofy grin on my face the entire time. I look like an idiot on roller coasters, but I'm laughing so hard I don't care.<br /><br /><a title="2011Florida-Parasail 002 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916168845/"><img alt="2011Florida-Parasail 002" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6127/5916168845_dcc9657d2f.jpg" width="332" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Look how HIGH she was! How far away! She was startled to see this picture and realize how high up she had been.<br /><br /><a title="131 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916727440/"><img alt="131" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6025/5916727440_b5d4a82a0b.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />Their dip:<br /><br /><a title="2011Florida-Parasail 023 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916169287/"><img alt="2011Florida-Parasail 023" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6016/5916169287_2e48e8e8a4.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />As they started being pulled in, we noticed that the two guys who were working the boat were moving much faster than before. When they landed Abby, Jake and Patty, they had them unharnassed and back in their seats in seconds. While they were up, we had been hearing very unsettling phrases on the boat's radio, like "serious winds" and "dangerous waves." The captain looked at me, visibly upset, and said, "I'm SO sorry, but it's just not safe to let you guys go up." We could see the storm bearing down on us, so not only did we not fault him for that decision, we were kind of glad he wasn't willing to risk our lives to make a little money. Ethan is a 5 year old who has no concept of wind velocity dangers or credit card refunds, so we were worried he would melt down, especially after seeing how much his sister had loved it. I explained the situation to him, and here was his reaction:<br /><br /><a title="139 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916727816/"><img alt="139" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6011/5916727816_79d5aa9267.jpg" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Bless his heart, I don't think I've ever loved that boy more than I did in the moment when he said, "It's okay mom! Maybe I can just go first the next time we come to the beach." I was astounded. The captain (who, it should be mentioned, was also on our boat the first time we went two years ago and so, even though he didn't remember us at ALL, we thought of as our old pal)(and who, despite the stuffy title of "captain" is young, laid back, and rather freakishly cute in that I-spend-all-day-every-day-on-a-boat-in-Florida way) was really bothered that he couldn't let us go up and decided to go into the harbor to see if the weather might let up enough to let us go there.<br /><br />Once we got to the harbor, Cameron (that's the captain) pointed at Ethan and asked his name. E answered and Cameron said, "Well Ethan, while I see if I can get you in the air, how about you come drive this boat for me?"<br /><br />Right then it turned into the best day of Ethan's life.<br /><br /><a title="140 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916728176/"><img alt="140" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6016/5916728176_62e1d95516.jpg" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Everyone cheered while Cameron showed Ethan how to handle the steering wheel. Then Cameron jumped on the back deck to work on the equipment. He stayed there. Out of reach of my son, who was in reach of the steering wheel and the throttle of the boat holding 14 people. Ummm. We know our son and so we were a little worried, but E handled it beautifully and was in heaven.<br /><br /><a title="149 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5916168735/"><img alt="149" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6139/5916168735_4cb609c516.jpg" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Finally it was determined that parasailing was just not to be for us. Ethan barely noticed, because after Cameron came back to the wheel he kept Ethan there with him and opened up the boat to about 40 miles an hour. We all clung to our seats and prayed while E and Cameron had a grand time zipping through the water. When we got back to the dock, we thanked Cameron profusely for giving Ethan such a great experience and told Ethan he could tell his Kindergarten class this fall that he had driven a boat in the ocean. Everybody left happy.<br /><br />I like to let the public benefit from the knowledge gained from my experiences, so if you are considering going parasailing on the Florida panhandle (and you should DEFINITELY consider it) here's my advice: Stay away from Panama City, banana boats, and women in string bikinis. Go directly to Just Chute Me in Destin Harbor and ask to get on Cameron's boat. Who knows, if you're nice maybe he'll even let you drive.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-82689459482186895172011-07-06T10:00:00.009-06:002011-07-07T16:18:31.002-06:00AMEN at Seacrest BeachWell, God bless Facebook. I have been trying to post pictures on this ridiculous thing for days and was pulling my hair out when a high school friend who I've reconnected with on Facebook introduced me to the miracle that is uploading to Flickr and imbedding the photos in the blog. What would have taken hours took just minutes. BLESS you, Jennifer!<br /><br />Now Jennifer's saving advice means you all get to look at entirely too many pictures of our vacation, entirely too long after it happened. Sorry, but this is as good as it gets.<br /><br />Our rental house. It was wonderful. Ours was the room on the second floor in the front--please note all our swimming laundry hanging out, white-trash style, on our balcony.<br /><a title="013 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909168284/"><img alt="013" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6018/5909168284_2a3287e676.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />Our little hooligans after their first swim.<br /><a title="007 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908608801/"><img alt="007" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5031/5908608801_fd03e139ab.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />Man, this girl loves the beach.<br /><a title="040 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908612135/"><img alt="040" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6017/5908612135_5f40d3605b.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />She tried out boogie boarding for the first time and LOVED it, though her coordination left a little to be desired. When she would get a good wave, her face was the perfect combination of terror and delight, which is pretty much exactly what I felt watching my baby get tossed around by the ocean.<br /><a title="111 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908617159/"><img alt="111" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5314/5908617159_45d02db3b3.jpg" width="500" height="334" /></a><br /><br />And here's the middle hooligan, whose attitude at the beach can only be described as happy-go-lucky. He didn't care what anyone else was doing, didn't need attention or anyone to play with. He just hung out with the ocean and the sand.<br /><a title="061 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908612481/"><img alt="061" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5236/5908612481_e9ec0aac61.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />His favorite thing to do was stand in one spot and jump over every wave that came in. He could do it for an hour and never get tired of it.<br /><a title="066 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908614871/"><img alt="066" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5073/5908614871_472c99d3f8.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />See?<br /><a title="102 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909174330/"><img alt="102" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5231/5909174330_dcdcc2f8e8.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />And then there was the littlest man. Aaron loves the water as much as his siblings. <a title="003 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909164818/"><img alt="003" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6017/5909164818_27a1c6579a.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />Unfortunately, he got a nasty diaper rash while we were there, so he was stuck in his stroller for much of our beach time. He's like his mama, though--give him a good book to read and he's as happy as can be.<br /><a title="079 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909173802/"><img alt="079" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5075/5909173802_1974113df8.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />Our house came with a couple of bikes that had infant carriers on them. Matt procured a toddler helmet for Aaron and took off the first chance they got. Aaron LOVED the ride.<br /><a title="135 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909176074/"><img alt="135" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6004/5909176074_9dcfff5ea8.jpg" width="333" height="500" /></a><br /><br />A couple of times, Matt stayed at the house with Aaron while I took the older kids to do something with the group. Both times, Matt and Aaron took long bike rides that ended with lunches at little cafes. I have my suspicions that they were using the cuteness of a baby on a bike to strike up conversations with pretty girls, but they both deny it.<br /><a title="143 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909179088/"><img alt="143" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6050/5909179088_581f01d924.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />I mean, look at them. Who do you believe?<br /><a title="298 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909189326/"><img alt="298" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6021/5909189326_89d692b693.jpg" width="332" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Our last night at the beach, we went to a crab house for dinner. While waiting for our table we decided to take a few pictures. Here's the best one of our family:<br /><a title="278 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908626811/"><img alt="278" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6014/5908626811_1118b8124f.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />This is my oldest brother Michael, his wife Siobhan, and their children Claire, Aidan and Natalie. I tried to sneak Aidan home with us in my pocket but he wouldn't let me.<br /><a title="270 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909182340/"><img alt="270" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6053/5909182340_0116ec2b24.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />This is my brother Jacob, his wife Patty, and their boys Josh, Jake and Drew. Josh and Drew are twins. Really. I promise.<br /><a title="265 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909180638/"><img alt="265" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5312/5909180638_40423c9e90.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />This next set of pictures will give you the best sense of what our vacation was like. All 9 kids all together. Siobhan had to hold Claire as she was not in a mood to humor her pushy Aunt Nancy. The pictures make me laugh every time. While there was no chance of getting one where they are all actually looking at the camera and smiling, I was just so happy to have them be still for 10 seconds.<br /><a title="288 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908631613/"><img alt="288" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5278/5908631613_7b50f8cc7d.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br /><a title="284 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909187260/"><img alt="284" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5036/5909187260_7b4b2b02a5.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br /><a title="282 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909185670/"><img alt="282" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6022/5909185670_b49efa3400.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />This is what WOULD be a fantastic family picture if SOMEONE had not made a goofy face. I'm not naming names, though.<br /><a title="350 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5909193134/"><img alt="350" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6056/5909193134_3bbed47f6e.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />And this is what we had to say goodbye to. Boo.<br /><a title="343 by amenmom, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/64860386@N05/5908634205/"><img alt="343" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6054/5908634205_cb35966584.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></a><br /><br />A huge part of our trip planning was that we were going to take our kids parasailing. The story is too good, and too long, to be in this post, so it gets its own. And now that I have the gift of Flickr, it will come with pictures! Lucky, lucky you.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-89955762003644764552011-07-02T21:13:00.003-06:002011-07-02T21:43:32.029-06:00My body's at home, but my brain's at the beachA little less than a week ago we got back from our vacation. I’m just now accepting the fact that we’re home, and therefore willing to blog about the trip as a past experience.<br /><br />We went to Seacrest Beach, a tiny little beach town in a string of tiny little beach towns between Destin and Panama City. We sort of went there by accident a couple of years ago (you can read about that <a href="http://amenmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/house-that-frat-boys-built.html">here</a> and <a href="http://amenmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/hope-you-have-few-minutes.html">here</a>) and we fell in love with it, so we couldn’t wait to return. We rented a big house with my brother Jacob and his wife Patty, my brother Michael and his wife Siobhan, and their two sets of three kids each. Yes, that makes 6 adults and 9 children in one house. Yes, it was loud. And messy. But it was also lots of fun.<br /><br />I went through my pictures and noted the ones I wanted to put on the blog. Then I counted them. There were 58. Unfortunately, with Blogger, it would take about 4 days to upload that many pictures. I whittled it down to 30-something, and I think I’ll split those up into a couple of posts.<br /><br />In fact, it’s being particularly persnickety right now, so I think this post will just have to start things off with 4 pictures, and maybe it will be a little more obedient tomorrow.<br /><br />Our halfway decent family picture, if you don't count my out of control hair:<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XL7Qu7dDNuQ/Tg_fTjcaAQI/AAAAAAAABWI/i6ncbT7pwYU/s1600/360.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624959986633933058" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XL7Qu7dDNuQ/Tg_fTjcaAQI/AAAAAAAABWI/i6ncbT7pwYU/s400/360.JPG" /></a><br />All together now: awwwwwwwwww.....<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wxFDyYe4YuU/Tg_fTPUrbUI/AAAAAAAABWA/jse07R7yNGc/s1600/364.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624959981232811330" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wxFDyYe4YuU/Tg_fTPUrbUI/AAAAAAAABWA/jse07R7yNGc/s400/364.JPG" /></a><br />Boys sure do love sand. Pretty sure Aaron ate about 3 cups of it while he was sitting there.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--asSATanviE/Tg_fS-KCnEI/AAAAAAAABV4/3HmhXL6RWNM/s1600/102.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624959976624790594" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--asSATanviE/Tg_fS-KCnEI/AAAAAAAABV4/3HmhXL6RWNM/s400/102.JPG" /></a><br />I guess eating sand wears a little guy out...<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PqPlyTY0fFY/Tg_fSSw4bcI/AAAAAAAABVw/yXBl9k6ODEY/s1600/108.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624959964976541122" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PqPlyTY0fFY/Tg_fSSw4bcI/AAAAAAAABVw/yXBl9k6ODEY/s400/108.JPG" /></a><br />Blogger has my blood pressure up right now with this photo frustration, so I'm going to walk away. Tomorrow I'll try again with more pictures--I really do have some great ones. In the meantime, go Google Seacrest Beach and see why I'm in denial about coming home.<br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-81984682313196334702011-06-07T06:39:00.003-06:002011-06-07T07:15:30.386-06:00A little perspectiveI love living in a place that has 4 seasons. Even though my car serves alternately as an oven and a freezer, and everyone in our family has to have two entire wardrobes (and there are many days where we need to access both of them) I love it.<br /><br />A few months ago, we were experiencing one of the snowiest winters I've ever seen, along with some bitter cold. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> was awash with complains about missing the sun, and oh I'm freezing, and where's summer? Now summer's really gearing up. We've had about a week of temperatures in the 90s. And guess what? I open up <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> to choruses of I'm melting and this is miserable and where's the breeze? This must be where the adjective "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">fairweather</span>" came from.<br /><br />I do get it. It's hot. If you're sitting at the ballpark watching your kids, or walking your dog, or weeding your garden, you're going to be uncomfortable. But before you get geared up to complain about it, let me offer you some perspective.<br /><br />Last week, my friend Amy and I made the hour drive to Joplin, Missouri. I'm sure you know that much of Joplin was destroyed by a tornado that killed well over a hundred people. It was a week and a half later and we weren't sure what we would do, we just knew we wanted to help. We ended up working with a Lutheran church that was just outside the path of damage. We loaded up the car with coolers filled with cold Gatorade and water, and set out to give them to anyone who looked thirsty. It was about 96 degrees out, and we started in the worst part of the day, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">midafternoon</span>.<br /><br />I will not attempt to describe the damage we saw, because I'm incompetent to do the horror justice. Just know that whatever pictures you've seen, it's worse. Thousands of homes. Just meditate on that for a minute. Thousands. If you're familiar with NWA, a comparison of the length of the damaged area would be like driving from the 6th Street exit on I540 in Fayetteville to the Wagon Wheel exit in between Springdale and Rogers--about 13 miles.<br />It keeps going and going as far as you can see. We drove for over 3 hours, never going to the same place twice, and still didn't see the end of it.<br /><br />I will tell you what we did see, though. We saw homeowners out in that heat (no shade, because <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">nothing's</span> left standing) combing through debris to find anything salvageable. We found a family trying to find some decorative items in the rubble of their elderly mother's home so she could feel somewhat at home in her new apartment despite the fact that they were so tired they could barely stand. We saw volunteers who had taken off work to spend 12 hours a day in the sun lifting splintered boards, window panes, and pieces of roof so they could prepare the lots of complete strangers to be bulldozed. We saw electricians sweltering while they raced to restore power to the fortunate homes that are still standing. We saw teenagers wandering in their neighborhoods, wanting to be close to home but not having them anymore.<br /><br />Here's what every single person we came in contact with had in common: they were all VERY hot. They were all VERY thirsty. And they were all very, very happy to be there. The volunteers were cheerful and kind. The workers were all grateful for something cold to drink. The victims of the tornado, even the ones who lost every single thing they had, insisted that they were lucky, blessed, better off than others.<br /><br />And do you know what NONE of them did? Not one of them complained about the heat.<br /><br />That day in Joplin gave me tremendous perspective. I am so much more aware of how easily everything you value can be gone in a heartbeat, but also of how resilient people can be if they choose to. I may have to be hot a lot this summer, and I may not love it, but I can take it.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-14596182998724619872011-05-26T08:14:00.009-06:002011-05-26T12:58:11.214-06:00The weekend, part 3: Our last first birthdayI've delayed writing this post for a week now. When I'm done, I will have posted about one of my children having a first birthday party for the very last time. Oh, the bittersweet of it all! Okay, I'll downshift on the mama drama a little.<br /><br />Since last weekend was so filled with Abby's dance recital and other activities, we couldn't schedule Aaron's birthday party until Sunday afternoon. It worked out great. After lunch, Abby and I headed back up to the church to decorate. Abby made this beautiful sign for the door. The things that look like giant eyelashes on each of the letters are supposed to be fireworks. Please don't tell her that her "1" is backwards--it's a sensitive topic.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gkVLtw8Yhyk/Td5lJMfv3nI/AAAAAAAABVk/Rddl6ou7EOE/s1600/273.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611033394397830770" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gkVLtw8Yhyk/Td5lJMfv3nI/AAAAAAAABVk/Rddl6ou7EOE/s400/273.JPG" /></a><br />Aaron was very blessed to have lots of people who love him come to celebrate his birthday. We didn't do much (really, what all is there to do at a party for a one year old?) but we had plenty of fun. We did remember to get a family photo, and once again I was very happy with the results:<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UpghjAoc5ic/Td5lIoF8UvI/AAAAAAAABVc/QTdkPRsPve0/s1600/294.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 358px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611033384625918706" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UpghjAoc5ic/Td5lIoF8UvI/AAAAAAAABVc/QTdkPRsPve0/s400/294.JPG" /></a> We also took a few shots of Matt and I with our baby-no-more. He cooperated beautifully, mainly because I was tickling him the whole time.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zkIxRfVUv_k/Td5lIAP08yI/AAAAAAAABVU/UgYJUlkSZwo/s1600/297.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611033373929960226" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zkIxRfVUv_k/Td5lIAP08yI/AAAAAAAABVU/UgYJUlkSZwo/s400/297.JPG" /></a><br /><br />He was not, however, so agreeable to being put in the middle of a kiss sandwich. Too bad for him.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O5xy2DR7n6s/Td5ko6pcjeI/AAAAAAAABVM/lmtp_6jFgGw/s1600/299.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611032839850855906" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O5xy2DR7n6s/Td5ko6pcjeI/AAAAAAAABVM/lmtp_6jFgGw/s400/299.JPG" /></a><br />The big kids were very well behaved, and wanted to make sure I documented their presence.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sy3aelXvkKE/Td5komGLSaI/AAAAAAAABVE/RRZpm97UnOg/s1600/327.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611032834334214562" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sy3aelXvkKE/Td5komGLSaI/AAAAAAAABVE/RRZpm97UnOg/s400/327.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0JGnHkKOoo8/Td5koK8wJbI/AAAAAAAABU8/BkLmeJgdRuY/s1600/328.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611032827046929842" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0JGnHkKOoo8/Td5koK8wJbI/AAAAAAAABU8/BkLmeJgdRuY/s400/328.JPG" /></a>And now to the part everyone is always waiting for. The smash cake. Abby refused to get messy with hers. Ethan went hog wild with his--we found icing in his ears for days. I posted a couple of pictures of that day <a href="http://amenmom.blogspot.com/2007/01/how-do-you-get-icing-out-of-ear.html">here</a>. Aaron was the perfect middle ground. He enjoyed his cake, but did not bathe in it. He was quite delighted to get to eat it all by himself. Observe the progression:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlF6wIiqeBA/Td5kDlTii4I/AAAAAAAABU0/Ycwo7JT0eJY/s1600/337.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611032198466669442" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlF6wIiqeBA/Td5kDlTii4I/AAAAAAAABU0/Ycwo7JT0eJY/s400/337.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bo_VzjWj-ao/Td5kDMK_XBI/AAAAAAAABUs/OBt0w6-tkws/s1600/345.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611032191719922706" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bo_VzjWj-ao/Td5kDMK_XBI/AAAAAAAABUs/OBt0w6-tkws/s400/345.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FH3PP6hEh1g/Td5kCqFUFeI/AAAAAAAABUk/QIUErKuJ50U/s1600/366.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611032182569309666" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FH3PP6hEh1g/Td5kCqFUFeI/AAAAAAAABUk/QIUErKuJ50U/s400/366.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G1oel80WbRs/Td5jbPX51dI/AAAAAAAABUc/HmfPFXq7LjY/s1600/370.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611031505384625618" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G1oel80WbRs/Td5jbPX51dI/AAAAAAAABUc/HmfPFXq7LjY/s400/370.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wuP6xvEUFIE/Td5ja_sk0vI/AAAAAAAABUU/aobBCgH5haY/s1600/372.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611031501176361714" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wuP6xvEUFIE/Td5ja_sk0vI/AAAAAAAABUU/aobBCgH5haY/s400/372.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bWdWTlJTjzk/Td5jaWJEuBI/AAAAAAAABUM/sxKkqwkkKDE/s1600/382.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611031490021603346" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bWdWTlJTjzk/Td5jaWJEuBI/AAAAAAAABUM/sxKkqwkkKDE/s400/382.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w3HOYB7jpE4/Td5i1Di1AZI/AAAAAAAABUE/JgPSA3oNAOg/s1600/384.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611030849374192018" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w3HOYB7jpE4/Td5i1Di1AZI/AAAAAAAABUE/JgPSA3oNAOg/s400/384.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-ZcmL0emVk/Td5i0kC-myI/AAAAAAAABT8/p-HZYh3kU9M/s1600/399.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611030840919104290" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-ZcmL0emVk/Td5i0kC-myI/AAAAAAAABT8/p-HZYh3kU9M/s400/399.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vAdqLj3KjAY/Td5i0KUcC2I/AAAAAAAABT0/oWGIJ6aH68s/s1600/404.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611030834013014882" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vAdqLj3KjAY/Td5i0KUcC2I/AAAAAAAABT0/oWGIJ6aH68s/s400/404.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eIMZI9dlzrY/Td5iLQn-1sI/AAAAAAAABTs/EwzCuncBWQc/s1600/421.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611030131330963138" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eIMZI9dlzrY/Td5iLQn-1sI/AAAAAAAABTs/EwzCuncBWQc/s400/421.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ta1DYnErHk/Td5iKmBSIdI/AAAAAAAABTk/U8Vk7xA8kfE/s1600/424.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611030119894360530" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ta1DYnErHk/Td5iKmBSIdI/AAAAAAAABTk/U8Vk7xA8kfE/s400/424.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--XtqeySDmq8/Td5iKVJ-UWI/AAAAAAAABTc/XtDVNapJAB0/s1600/441.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611030115367407970" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--XtqeySDmq8/Td5iKVJ-UWI/AAAAAAAABTc/XtDVNapJAB0/s400/441.JPG" /></a><br />And just like that, it was over. We have a one year old. And a five year old that starts Kindergarten in 3 months and an eight year old that just danced in her first recital. I think I need my own cake now.<br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-4753767025638266182011-05-19T07:45:00.006-06:002011-05-19T08:28:24.215-06:00The weekend, part 2: Dancing QueenAfter a Saturday morning and afternoon filled with soccer, a friend's birthday party, and running errands, we prepared for Abby's big recital Saturday night. She's been taking ballet all year and LOVES it. I always pegged her as more of a hip hop or jazz kind of kid, but she's really enjoyed attempting to be graceful. I never took dance as a child, so this whole world has been new to me. And it is a serious world, let me tell you. The recital was almost THREE. HOURS. LONG. It would have actually been fun to watch the whole thing had we not had two boys who were not so into it with us.<br /><br />My new camera did not let me down Saturday night. I still really don't know what I'm doing with it, so I was thrilled when I got such great photos. For the recital, I basically turned off the flash, zoomed in as much as I could, and prayed for the best. As you'll see, it worked.<br /><br />Here's the dancing queen all dressed and ready to go:<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9xrWQkuwZBY/TdUg_MtFOhI/AAAAAAAABS0/wQB_C7Xu0rQ/s1600/127.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608425181073979922" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9xrWQkuwZBY/TdUg_MtFOhI/AAAAAAAABS0/wQB_C7Xu0rQ/s400/127.JPG" /></a><br />Bias, schmias. The girl is pretty. She had to wear makeup which just made her look older and prettier.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2yW_r3Gx_JM/TdUg-VS1STI/AAAAAAAABSs/WgrnLe1k6vg/s1600/136.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608425166199933234" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2yW_r3Gx_JM/TdUg-VS1STI/AAAAAAAABSs/WgrnLe1k6vg/s400/136.JPG" /></a><br />Prepping her ballet shoes for the performance:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nQWOGr2608c/TdUg-EkyoPI/AAAAAAAABSk/IT5pRQk0jg4/s1600/145.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608425161711853810" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nQWOGr2608c/TdUg-EkyoPI/AAAAAAAABSk/IT5pRQk0jg4/s400/145.JPG" /></a><br />I always try to remember to get family pictures when we're together like this. For every 20 we take, we're lucky if we get one in which we are all even looking at the camera. We actually got two good ones this weekend! Here's the one the kind lady in front of us took pre-concert.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LjujBoy5WaY/TdUg9qga_sI/AAAAAAAABSc/SYFg8nxwEl8/s1600/149.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 286px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608425154714205890" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LjujBoy5WaY/TdUg9qga_sI/AAAAAAAABSc/SYFg8nxwEl8/s400/149.JPG" /></a><br />Abby's ballet dance was to <em>We Are Siamese</em>. Her teacher applied her cat makeup, which of course warranted another picture.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lP_uYRKoiJk/TdUgVJDyCII/AAAAAAAABSU/6XITfnl-e8I/s1600/152.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608424458540943490" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lP_uYRKoiJk/TdUgVJDyCII/AAAAAAAABSU/6XITfnl-e8I/s400/152.JPG" /></a><br />For most of her ballet performance, she was on the far side of the stage from where we were sitting so I didn't get a ton of great pictures. This is a pretty good one, though. She's the third from left if you can't tell. Somehow her headband got positioned on the very front of her head so it looks a little strange, but she's still lovely.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-riKZ4c3gtWY/TdUgU11KtAI/AAAAAAAABSM/hvKNk8SzA2M/s1600/185.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 286px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608424453379372034" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-riKZ4c3gtWY/TdUgU11KtAI/AAAAAAAABSM/hvKNk8SzA2M/s400/185.JPG" /></a><br />Abby was actually in 4 dances at the recital. Aside from her ballet performance, she was in the opening and closing dances along with all the students. But then. Her other dance was a daddy-daughter dance. Six young girls from the studio performed a routine with their dads. That's right. Matt, my sweet, quiet, behind-the-scenes husband went to practices all spring and got up on stage in front of a thousand people to dance. A little known fact about my husband is that he is a skilled ballroom dancer and has excellent rhythm. The dance was 50's style, to a song called <em>Daddy Cool</em>. Abby's best pal Audrey and her dad, Chad, also performed. Watching my husband up there, stepping WAAAYYY outside his comfort zone to dance with his little girl was one of the best moments of the weekend. </div><br /><br /><div>I got crazy lucky with where I was sitting and got some fantastic photos of the daddy-daughter dance:<br /><br />Abby and Audrey in position before the song started. I LOVE this picture.<br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RU_yLGw5x7c/TdUgUR8BwWI/AAAAAAAABSE/0qj2K3-ASK8/s1600/191.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608424443744469346" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RU_yLGw5x7c/TdUgUR8BwWI/AAAAAAAABSE/0qj2K3-ASK8/s400/191.JPG" /></a><br />This is the only picture I have of the whole group. Just look at those six brave dads!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lE7qQzE93m8/TdUgULf09NI/AAAAAAAABR8/Q6UWe-76Zls/s1600/195.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608424442015577298" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lE7qQzE93m8/TdUgULf09NI/AAAAAAAABR8/Q6UWe-76Zls/s400/195.JPG" /></a><br />Some of their best dance moves:<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZV6Ra_eHIvU/TdUgT2jqtDI/AAAAAAAABR0/V_EQL3gij4w/s1600/201.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608424436394538034" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZV6Ra_eHIvU/TdUgT2jqtDI/AAAAAAAABR0/V_EQL3gij4w/s400/201.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RJ5YTVvIUl4/TdUf37k_l3I/AAAAAAAABRs/6rt7SJkT9qo/s1600/205.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608423956705941362" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RJ5YTVvIUl4/TdUf37k_l3I/AAAAAAAABRs/6rt7SJkT9qo/s400/205.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P_MRdQnLuh0/TdUf3t4NnLI/AAAAAAAABRk/tv10aXa8Q-A/s1600/207.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608423953028455602" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P_MRdQnLuh0/TdUf3t4NnLI/AAAAAAAABRk/tv10aXa8Q-A/s400/207.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f9qIBLE3LL8/TdUf3FUfYXI/AAAAAAAABRc/t7UtohflKII/s1600/218.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608423942141206898" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f9qIBLE3LL8/TdUf3FUfYXI/AAAAAAAABRc/t7UtohflKII/s400/218.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xiFlyWSR2-I/TdUf2wKZdnI/AAAAAAAABRU/1JICS6YZU4A/s1600/219.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608423936461731442" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xiFlyWSR2-I/TdUf2wKZdnI/AAAAAAAABRU/1JICS6YZU4A/s400/219.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wASoM59dRqI/TdUfmEzQuII/AAAAAAAABRM/_efnfrHcCUo/s1600/224.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608423649944057986" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wASoM59dRqI/TdUfmEzQuII/AAAAAAAABRM/_efnfrHcCUo/s400/224.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div>I mean, come on. How can you not love that?</div><br /><br /><div>After the show, Matt gave Abby her flowers. She knew they were coming, I'm sure, but she was still so thrilled and thankful. </div><br /><div><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2FiM4GDJig/TdUfltclY0I/AAAAAAAABRE/50B_VNF6w74/s1600/257.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608423643674927938" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2FiM4GDJig/TdUfltclY0I/AAAAAAAABRE/50B_VNF6w74/s400/257.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YbLDFxvoLS0/TdUflcXwc9I/AAAAAAAABQ8/MoFQL0pyUB4/s1600/262.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608423639091278802" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YbLDFxvoLS0/TdUflcXwc9I/AAAAAAAABQ8/MoFQL0pyUB4/s400/262.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div>Oh my goodness! What a night. The kids didn't get in bed until almost 11, but it was worth every minute. I am so glad it went well, and I am equally glad that recitals are only once a year.</div><br /><br /><div>Up next: AAMEN's last first birthday party!</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-61224990691507670552011-05-17T09:05:00.013-06:002011-05-17T09:40:43.048-06:00The weekend, part 1Let it be said that I am still recovering from our crazy weekend, but I want to start blogging about it or I'll never get it done. First, let me tell you that last week I bought a new camera. This was a purchase that was VERY long in the making, and I was crazy excited. Thanks to my good friend <a href="http://www.cameronmagee.com/cm/home.html">Cameron</a> I was educated on my options and got a fantastic, fancy thing that makes me feel very professional. I only know how to take pictures on auto really, but I WILL learn more. I will. Fortunately for me, the auto mode on this camera produces pictures that are ridiculously good and as a result I have wonderful pictures of our weekend.<br /><br />Friday, Aaron turned one. I still can't deal entirely with that. He wore the same t-shirt that Ethan wore when he turned one. I REALLY can't deal with that.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pfC2dr4Li5o/TdKTTojOQEI/AAAAAAAABQ0/c2ru6zXgWsY/s1600/093.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607706451541639234" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pfC2dr4Li5o/TdKTTojOQEI/AAAAAAAABQ0/c2ru6zXgWsY/s400/093.JPG" /></a> Please excuse his puffy red nose. The boys in our family suffer from allergies and he is no exception. </p><br /><br /><p><br />It was also a big day for Abby. She's been taking ballet this year, and her recital was this weekend. Friday she had dress rehearsal from 4:00 to after 8:00. She was one tired girl. Parents don't go to the rehearsal, but before I took her I used her as a test subject with my camera. This photo is unrelated to anything about our weekend, but I had to put it on here because--look at her arms!! She is cut. I guess all that monkey bar play has its advantages! She was not trying to show her physique in this picture--she was actually in the middle of some dance move and I just happened to catch her buffness. </p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-90lnZpbY62w/TdKTTRoXWAI/AAAAAAAABQs/BLMxUOevVmg/s1600/020.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607706445389191170" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-90lnZpbY62w/TdKTTRoXWAI/AAAAAAAABQs/BLMxUOevVmg/s400/020.JPG" /></a><br />This kid had a pretty easy weekend, but he's so dang cute I thought I had to at least give him this.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s-ujjfs0mhY/TdKS8NUHECI/AAAAAAAABQk/ZyIXmZluIUY/s1600/112.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607706049093505058" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s-ujjfs0mhY/TdKS8NUHECI/AAAAAAAABQk/ZyIXmZluIUY/s400/112.JPG" /></a><br />And a couple more pictures of the one year old. His big trick these days is clapping and saying "YAY!" Only his is more of an "AY!" which makes him sound kind of like a New Jersey cabdriver. It's charming.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0YpFP29lTCw/TdKS7tlQD5I/AAAAAAAABQc/oQ1apkFag0w/s1600/109.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607706040575463314" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0YpFP29lTCw/TdKS7tlQD5I/AAAAAAAABQc/oQ1apkFag0w/s400/109.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rQY5uqtSjhE/TdKRH3hE1II/AAAAAAAABQU/GuTC7eY4rFA/s1600/072.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607704050377479298" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rQY5uqtSjhE/TdKRH3hE1II/AAAAAAAABQU/GuTC7eY4rFA/s400/072.JPG" /></a><br />Soon I'll post about Abby's recital and Aaron's birthday party. And I'll also probably post a really sappy, mother-ish something about my baby turning one. Did I mention I'm still not handling that very well?AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-5018414240513902432011-05-13T20:15:00.003-06:002011-05-13T20:21:18.413-06:00Happy Birthday, AaronThis is the busiest weekend AAMEN has had in a long time, and it's probably for the best. We have a 4 hour dance recital dress rehearsal and 2 1/2 hour recital, a soccer game, church and two birthday parties, one of which we are hosting. Oh, and MY BABY TURNED ONE TODAY.<br /><br />That's why it's good for us to be busy. It's kept me from spending the entire day staring at pictures of him and crying.<br /><br />I want to write a post about Aaron that is worthy of my sweet, quirky third-born, but I am so tired right now that I am typing with one hand and holding my eyelids open with the other. So I'll write that post next week, and for now we'll just meditate on the deliciousness that is Aaron Matthew.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ylLI05s3FYY/Tc3m5ITCNEI/AAAAAAAABQM/1yk7YNjQx2c/s1600/285.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606390980300387394" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ylLI05s3FYY/Tc3m5ITCNEI/AAAAAAAABQM/1yk7YNjQx2c/s400/285.JPG" /></a>AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-43037941502275348112011-05-12T08:23:00.000-06:002011-05-13T14:42:56.870-06:00What do they know anyway? They named their band Toto.Yesterday while I was driving, one of my very favorite songs came on the radio: Toto's <em>Africa</em>. I have always loved that song. I started to sing along, and then I remembered what I always remember when I start to sing along to that song--I don't really know very many of the words. I kind of go, "Hmmm-ah-na-ooohhh-things we never haa-aaa-aad."<br /><br />Of course, now you can look up lyrics to any song on the internet, but I've never thought to do it until now for <em>Africa</em>. There's one specific line that I really wanted to know. It's right after they sing "It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you. There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do."<br /><br />What do YOU think they say next?<br /><br />Now, don't cheat. I'll give you the answer in just a minute. But really--what does it sound like they say next? Because I'll tell you, even after I looked it up I'm still not sure.<br /><br />Here are the various possiblities I had come up with before looking it up:<br /><br />- I'll catch some rays down in Africa<br />- I've got to raise down in Africa<br />- I caught some rings down in Africa<br /><br />None of them really made sense, but look, we're talking about an entire song that doesn't make much sense. So I looked it up with great anticipation. You know what the real line is?<br /><br />I bless the rains down in Africa.<br /><br />What?<br /><br />What does that have to do with anything? And how do you bless rains? I think my ideas were better.<br /><br />Also, in related news. Until Matt corrected me, I always thought the line in Abba's <em>Dancing Queen </em>was "feel the beat from the jamboree." Turns out tambourine and jamboree sound a lot alike.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-87061386295643084142011-05-06T13:21:00.004-06:002011-05-06T13:54:28.604-06:00Who a mother REALLY isThe other day, I saw someone post this quote on Facebook in honor of the approaching Mother's Day:<br /><br />A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. ~Tenneva Jordan<br /><br />I've heard it before, but for some reason this time I stopped and thought about it for a minute. I quickly came to the conclusion that Ms. Jordan, while very well intentioned, simply has it wrong. Here's why.<br /><br />1. Moms do a lot for their kids, no question. I've lost sleep rocking sick babies. I've watched Dora the Explorer instead of what I wanted to watch countless times. I've played Candy Land until I had the color order memorized. This doesn't make me a selfless saint, though. It makes me a woman with a brain. I do love my kids and want them to be happy; however, I also know that quiet, content children is the most direct path to my sanity. If I have a choice between watching a show I like while a child whines in my ear or watching Dora and Boots try to outwit Swiper in total peace, guess what? Vamanos, Dora. So while the quote implies that moms sacrifice their wants for those of their children purely out of love, I say there are other forces at work there.<br /><br />2. Last time I checked, most mothers are women. And women need their desserts. If this quote was about lasagna or scrambled eggs, maybe I could see it. But pie? Sorry.<br /><br />Of course, a mom in this predicament would have to do something drastic. She would know that being short one piece of pie would cause at least one tantrum and probably a sibling throwdown or two. So I have created an alternative quote, one that I think much more accurately depicts the moms of today:<br /><br />A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly hides the pie on top of the refrigerator and serves Twinkies for dessert, then eats the pie after the kids are in bed. -AMENMomAMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-40999964276342503332011-05-04T11:45:00.003-06:002011-05-04T12:00:50.695-06:00Proud to be that thingI am in absolute and total denial that Aaron is turning one in just over a week. It cannot be happening.<br /><br />Here's the thing. Aaron's my baby. My last baby. My last chance to hold my own tiny, squishy, smells-like-heaven itty-bitty person. I have loved it, and I don't want it to end. I don't want this sweet, curious, snuggly baby to turn into a moody, sneaky, dramatic (and fine, probably really cute too) toddler. I don't NEED an older kid. I have two of those already. <br /><br />Because of some circumstances with my c-sections, it would be too risky for me to have any more children. I have told Matt repeatedly that if it were left up to me, I'd have 18 more. He points out that while Aaron is an exceptionally well behaved, low maintenance baby, there's no guarantee that if we had another it wouldn't be the exact opposite. He also points out that maybe the reason I want to have more babies so badly is just because I've been told I CAN'T. Huh. He may have a point or two, I suppose. Still. Just one more?? Okay, fine.<br /><br />I fear that I am going to become that thing that I have mocked--the mother that dotes on the "baby" of the family. All right, so maybe I have already become that thing. I'm sure it will get better as he gets older. <br /><br />Just in case, though, stage an intervention if I'm still carrying him on my hip when he's 5.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-69283600612969335462011-04-11T14:31:00.005-06:002011-04-11T14:56:15.723-06:00The biggest lie I've ever toldOne night last week, I was getting ready to tuck Abby and Ethan in for the night (they share a room). E was already in his pajamas on the top bunk, but before Abby changed I needed her to try on a new shirt. It was too big in the neck, but otherwise fit okay. I asked Abby what she thought. Here's the conversation, EXACTLY as it happened: <br /><br /><strong>Me</strong>: Abby, do you like it? <br /><br /><strong>Abby</strong>: Well, no. Because it's big at the top and it might show my boo....um...what am I allowed to call these? <br /><br /><strong>Me</strong>: It's okay. You can call them your boobs. But you know, you don't really talk about those with anyone. Except me if you need to, but that's something private that we don't talk about with other people. <br /><br /><strong>Abby</strong>: Oh, I know. I would be embarrassed. (GOOD to know, since she rarely has any vocal filter). But, um, what are they REALLY called? Like, what's their official name? <br /><br /><strong>Me</strong>: Well, I think you must be thinking of the word "breasts." <br /><br /><strong>Abby</strong>: Yes! Breasts. That's what I was trying to remember. But girls still don't talk about their breasts, except with their moms. <br /><br /><strong>Me</strong>: Right. <br /><br /><strong>Ethan</strong>: Mom, do boys ever talk about breasts? <br /><br /><strong>Me</strong>: No. Never. Not EVER, son.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-16460870144293420062011-03-29T06:47:00.008-06:002011-03-29T12:45:41.781-06:00Couldn't have planned it any betterNOTE: I wrote this entry hours ago with paragraph breaks at all the right places. For whatever reason, it will NOT publish any other way than as one big glop of words. I hate that, but who knows when it will be fixed, so the glop will have to do. ACTUAL POST: I babysat a LOT in college. I loved it. I distinctly remember having, at any given time, a few upcoming dates reserved for people who had called me and asked me to babysit. Sometimes they had tickets to an event, sometimes they were just going out to dinner. We are not like those people. Occasionally, we get it together to secure one of our two regular babysitters in advance. This is rare, though. Usually, both the girls are used to getting a call at about 5:30 on a Saturday night from me. "So, uh, this is TOTALLY last minute, but do you by any chance want to babysit in, like, 20 minutes?" Why anyone would give up a free Saturday night to come to our house and hang out with three hooligans is beyond me, but somehow we've convinced them, and this past Saturday night just such a thing occured. Matt and I found ourselves free! Earlier in the day we'd been watching Anthony Bourdain eat Asian food that looked crazy good on The Travel Channel, so we decided to eat at Shogun. If you aren't familiar, it's one of those Japanese places where you sit in front of a grill and watch a guy cook your food while doing all kinds of fancy food-related tricks. We sat with three prom couples and a large family celebrating the olderst daughter's 15th birthday. The prom couples were fun to watch. One of the boys had a fedora with a big red feather in it, and I had to resist the urge to call him Yankee Doodle out loud. The boy directly next to me kept using his chopsticks as drumsticks on the table, and I had to work even harder to resist the urge to snatch them out of his hand and beat him over the head with them. Shogun is a nice restaurant--architecturally beautiful, dim lighting. You know, the kind of place people go for prom. This is why I find it rather odd that when they acknowledge a customer's birthday, they do so by turning on 50 strobe lights all over the ceiling and playing a random pop song at full volume (think Michael Jackson or Katy Perry). When it was the girl at our table's turn, they cranked up some Bieber. The girl's mother stood up and started singing and dancing, totally feeling the groove. It was both amusing and tragic to watch the girl's horror. We had a lovely time and ate ourselves silly. Every time we have a real date, we say that we love it, that it's so important to make sure we keep doing it, that we need to schedule a regular date night. But what's the fun in that?AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-34435593319784806322011-03-05T08:16:00.003-06:002011-03-05T08:21:51.843-06:00And the winner is...MELANIE!! Congratulations, Melanie! You are the winner of a $5 Sonic gift card, to be mailed to you directly.<br /><br />To ensure a fair contest, I put numbered pieces of paper representing each comment into one of Abby's Hannah Montana cups. Then I interrupted the game of Phase 10 that she and her dad were playing to have Matt (who is still grateful that I didn't write a haiku about him) pick a number without looking. Abby watched and demanded to be the one to pick next time. He pulled the number 7, and the seventh comment belonged to Melanie!<br /><br />This was really fun. I will have to do it again soon. Sonic appears to be an internationally accepted incentive! Thanks to everyone who entered!AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540940522557431674.post-88631838832755253702011-02-28T20:55:00.007-06:002011-03-01T09:26:24.914-06:00Poetry? Yes. Poetic? Not so much.I was an English major in college. Did you know that? Probably. I don't hide the fact that I am a grammar freak and that misspelled words and absurdly placed apostrophes raise my blood pressure. I refuse to use shorthand while <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">texting</span> (I mean really, is it SO much quicker to type <em>u </em>than it is to type <em>you</em>?) and I use capitalization and punctuation at ALL times--<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span>, a scribbled note to Matt, whatever. It's a standard I have.<br /><br />As much as I was born to be an English major, there were some classes I didn't like. At all. Like poetry classes. I had a very good reason not to like poetry classes--I don't much care for poetry. There's some stuff out there I don't mind, of course. We had to memorize Rudyard Kipling's "If" in high school, and I believe it to be the sagest bit of rhyming advice I have ever heard. But most poetry, to me, is just silly and over-dramatic. (I'm sure someone out there is reacting to this statement the way I react when I see someone write <em>there</em> when they clearly mean <em>their</em>.)<br /><br />However! As I thought about what kind of blog post I needed to write today, I realized that poetry is the perfect mechanism for getting everyone up to date on life for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">AAMEN</span>. I speak specifically of that strange, random, efficient form of poetry, the haiku. A few <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">haikus</span> are all I need to get everyone in the loop!<br /><br />Also, I still feel the need to make up for my slacker pace of blogging lately. So this post will have my FIRST EVER BLOG GIVEAWAY! Yahoo!!! Here's the plan. Comment on this blog and tell me which haiku you like the best. All comments posted by this coming Friday, March 4, at noon CST will be entered in a random drawing to win A FIVE DOLLAR SONIC GIFT CARD! Okay, so it's not a new car or a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">KitchenAid</span> stand mixer, but give me a break. We're raising three kids here. Play your cards right, though, and that's an entire work week's worth of Happy Hour Route 44s!!<br /><br />The nominees:<br /><br />1. Aaron's cast is off!<br />It was earlier than planned.<br />So thrilled to be done.<br /><br />2. Our church just turned one.<br />We had a celebration.<br />I love The Harbor!<br /><br />3. Love Steven Tyler.<br />He and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">JLo</span> saved <em>Idol</em>.<br />Still glad Paula's gone.<br /><br />4. Abby's birthday looms.<br />Eight years old just can't be right.<br />What is she thinking?!<br /><br />5. Matt loves his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">iPad</span>.<br />Abby and I love it too.<br />We steal it. A lot.<br /><br />6. Thin Mints are my joy.<br />Girl Scouts, why not sell year round?<br />Life would be perfect.<br /><br />7. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> sucks my time.<br />I need status updates though!<br />Because I...um...well.<br /><br />8. Annie is our dog.<br />Aaron thinks she is his toy.<br />Annie disagrees.<br /><br />9. Toys blanket the floor.<br />Carpet's somewhere under there.<br />At least I think so.<br /><br />10. It's March already!<br />March of Twenty-Eleven!<br />Wow, I feel so old.AMENMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16139536474758919020noreply@blogger.com23