tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69991826759915037592024-03-05T07:09:40.751-09:00Moose In My YardBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-83342543694543501392012-11-08T12:37:00.000-09:002012-11-08T12:43:55.208-09:00Moose amoreThis big guy finally came to eat the pumpkin innards we threw in the yard for him and his friends. Bob beat him to to the punch the first night and ate his fair share of pumpkin guts. Surprisingly, I didn't wake up to the charming sound of him regurgitating the latest treasure he ingested onto my carpet as I usually do. I'd read that pumpkin can be soothing to a dog's stomach and it seems to be true in this case. Thank goodness.<br />
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I love the way moose have to get on their knees to eat things off the ground. Those long legs are a bit of a hindrance when the prize is ground level. His head only reaches to about the second floor. I suppose this is why their natural diet consists of bushes, branches, and things that stick out of the snow.<br />
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It also seems their natural diet includes my flowers. At least they waited until they were dead this year.<br />
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After his snack he peered in the window to see who was spying on him. I was still out on the porch watching him watch us.</div>
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My friend Lori that was visiting had left a mere 12 hours before this bull showed up. She had been waiting to see a moose. We saw a cow and her calf earlier but I was bummed that she didn't see this handsome guy. </div>
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He came back later that evening with lady friend to finish off the jack o'lanterns that had been sitting there frozen since Halloween. No need to worry about our pumpkins getting rotten and moldy this year. They froze and hour after we stuck them outside and stayed that way. This bull was feeling pretty amorous towards his lady friend and I seriously thought we were about to witness some birds and bees moose action on our front walk and was worried that they would crush the bench that they kept running around. That would definitely be a first. Lady friend rebuffed his advances, or at least had the good sense to find someplace more private where they weren't being spied on by a family of four and their two watchful dogs, and wandered off into the woods with him close behind.</div>
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I hope it works out better for you next time, pal.</div>
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Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-55986932256137515372012-11-07T12:14:00.000-09:002012-11-07T12:14:49.396-09:00BFFsMy gorgeous friend that I've known since she was born came to visit. She and my father share a birthday. Our parents were out to dinner celebrating my dad's birthday when her mom went into labor. So when I say we've known each other since birth I'm being literal.<br />
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She has come to visit me in every state that I have lived in. No small feat considering I've lived on the Gulf Coast and the Gulf of Alaska and in between. Many many miles she has traveled to see me. She's one of those lifelong friends that has helped me get into trouble as many times as she has helped me get out of trouble. She's the one who convinced me that her parents were ok with us smashing all the eggs from the chicken coop. Really, we could throw them against the wall of the coop to see what happens, she says. We found out what happens.What happens is that her parents were not ok with that.<br />
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But she is also the one who bought me a pregnancy test and forced me to take it and held my hand and let me cry and drove me to the health department when I found out I was pregnant in college. She told me everything would be alright. She was right. Now I have the most beautiful family in the world.<br />
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I flew home six months ago to be in her wedding. I've never been more excited for a wedding than I have been for hers. I'd never seen her happier in my life. Her joy was my joy and no one deserves that happiness more than she. We are very different. We spent much of our childhood arguing the way sisters do, but we have the common bond of shared childhoods, joys, and heartaches. She conjures up a fierce sense of loyalty in me that I have reserved only for family. Which makes sense because she is not just a childhood friend. She is Aunt Lori to my kids. She <i>is</i> family.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-89057078760031371412012-09-04T12:32:00.001-08:002012-09-04T12:32:41.707-08:00Finally<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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All my Michigan friends and family are posting first day of school pictures of their kids today so I thought I'd join the party. I'm a little late considering my kids started school nearly three weeks ago but better late than never is my motto. </div>
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Speaking of better late than never, I made my husband a very happy man when I finally finished this project that I started <strike>nearly</strike> over a year ago. He just loves all my half finished projects taking up shelf space in his garage. It makes him all warm and fuzzy. </div>
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I fell in love with the wooden sunburst mirrors that had suddenly become very popular but didn't really want to shell out the money for one. I found several tutorials online for mirrors made with wood shims. I used some of their ideas, added a few of my own, and I'm pretty happy with the finished project. Even DH is pretty impressed with it but I think he's mostly impressed that I have actually finished it.</div>
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So what started out as several packs of wood shims eventually became this. Buy way more wood shims than you think you'll need. Or be smarter than me and actually do the math and figure out how many you'll need before you go back to the store for the third time to get more.</div>
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This should have taken me about a weekend to make, and if it had, I may have actually been on trend instead of behind, but I still love it. I still love chevron too and I'm not ashamed to say it even though the home decorating blog world has moved on to newer and trendier things. </div>
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My favorite part of this whole project, by far, is the movement of all the thermostats to one side of the wall. Whoever built this house put three thermostats spread out over this whole wall like some strange homage to thermostat. I couldn't hang anything there. You try decorating around that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZHvV8xHWQD5_88hr09psFq9ohVlgG5PLALQsxa3hb1sQDz3hJRLNogt8uoirHxLMTzWCIZQq3BRMxqWLah1o1ZxxPxN17S3nKnSVFj5oE-OxEKO5jF8a3NEvE0PDAovM4d72Z3z1o3I/s1600/IMG_7331.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZHvV8xHWQD5_88hr09psFq9ohVlgG5PLALQsxa3hb1sQDz3hJRLNogt8uoirHxLMTzWCIZQq3BRMxqWLah1o1ZxxPxN17S3nKnSVFj5oE-OxEKO5jF8a3NEvE0PDAovM4d72Z3z1o3I/s640/IMG_7331.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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See them all lined up neatly and out of the way? It makes me ridiculously happy. If you are lucky enough to be married to a handy man, then you have someone who can dig through walls and go in crawl spaces and rewire things like this with out burning the house down. I am one of those very lucky ladies. The very luckiest of all. </div>
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Now to get to all those other projects that I've started. DH could use the shelf space.</div>
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-73754200249234880532012-07-23T16:46:00.001-08:002012-07-23T16:46:43.441-08:00Beaching itAfter three days of warmth and sunshine we finally decided to go to the "beach" with the kids. Gravel bar along a lakeshore may be a more appropriate term. My sister and I arrived with our troops and were greeted by clouds and warmish weather. We were sent on our way with a light shower. Oh well, you take what you can get up here. The kids were brave and jumped right in the cool lake.<br />
<br />
So far I stand by my resolve to not actually immerse myself in a body of water in this state. If the water temperature suddenly rises I may change my mind. I'll live vicariously through my children until then.<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbGIlBKclGTy51tAEWbAfoZwq7mNTf78oR2iC-3CvXUJ8IetYnlXg0l83mNkrM5iFhhjjhROwhaYLmTsft8Ppl14HSFNaUmJCO14VADdTvLOVnDVolqxPMG4FyS1k8SOUPgZTmb_dmEg/s640/blogger-image-617512056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbGIlBKclGTy51tAEWbAfoZwq7mNTf78oR2iC-3CvXUJ8IetYnlXg0l83mNkrM5iFhhjjhROwhaYLmTsft8Ppl14HSFNaUmJCO14VADdTvLOVnDVolqxPMG4FyS1k8SOUPgZTmb_dmEg/s640/blogger-image-617512056.jpg" /></a></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-48728921286495534552012-07-16T12:03:00.001-08:002012-07-16T12:03:28.450-08:00Sneaky<div style="text-align: justify;">
DH and I don't have many photos of just the two of us, so on a trip to Denali last month I gave the camera to Princess Blondie and had her snap a couple pictures. I learned two things. Don't give the camera to short people. You'll look like you have a Jay Leno chin. And second, my son is an expert photo bomber.</div>
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-36203637861815929692012-06-20T14:11:00.000-08:002012-06-20T14:11:10.446-08:00Thanks for the memories<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh, Alaskan slip n' slide. You are the best entertainment I get all summer. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8j3yKPbpSP8GU2dmBBKIk9YbhqSK2-bjG8-BNUP9Fn9ZHDUR1I7Dv_D4Xr_HXWhyphenhyphensCrK5UA2rLfyDWsTFPosMlik1Evz2sDndC7MoPpZ49omSohBgsSvfnfv9OpGWiqER9ihAtPcTue0/s1600/IMG_6373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8j3yKPbpSP8GU2dmBBKIk9YbhqSK2-bjG8-BNUP9Fn9ZHDUR1I7Dv_D4Xr_HXWhyphenhyphensCrK5UA2rLfyDWsTFPosMlik1Evz2sDndC7MoPpZ49omSohBgsSvfnfv9OpGWiqER9ihAtPcTue0/s640/IMG_6373.JPG" width="512" /></a></div>
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Your frigid Alaskan well water on warm summer days induce squeals of frosty surprise,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8hyphenhyphenQJFmwgcbAdy5YHKKjsOJNlkHD3RpBEcjyLHZr_NXzN1_kcRJk4Dmq-yGxd-qfKxsmeDWWn8h2m-G-l3y6a0dy-2TF5DcNEUbVScxyfYAsBrN9scRrbSKHU13xalbRxRB3zdfILeU/s1600/IMG_6382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8hyphenhyphenQJFmwgcbAdy5YHKKjsOJNlkHD3RpBEcjyLHZr_NXzN1_kcRJk4Dmq-yGxd-qfKxsmeDWWn8h2m-G-l3y6a0dy-2TF5DcNEUbVScxyfYAsBrN9scRrbSKHU13xalbRxRB3zdfILeU/s640/IMG_6382.JPG" width="456" /></a></div>
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draw in shocked breaths,</div>
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prompt peals of surprised laughter, </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoVCxXNZxYKmikOg-clpyQ-VbhbrVUEDAkY3KyacbrjeeCAQBlLxkbRvHdbE9u7P3OzjUQRvAmozGVQw236OMe7WVyI4jefKqyjmJob-mfjzYal1RfKyv7rJpCjPlxpTuTCDwH2cSI0o/s1600/IMG_6406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoVCxXNZxYKmikOg-clpyQ-VbhbrVUEDAkY3KyacbrjeeCAQBlLxkbRvHdbE9u7P3OzjUQRvAmozGVQw236OMe7WVyI4jefKqyjmJob-mfjzYal1RfKyv7rJpCjPlxpTuTCDwH2cSI0o/s640/IMG_6406.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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and contort faces into shapes before unseen.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh04vi65yhr1DyvyYtbuI2qx-c6LGt14963THI5XZG-SUkBwTGZEhiC_9TGkjI-KMlguqAo2_rzN9NVUC3w8EPFScOrP4sgifZSYEL3sv1Lfi68uDkKwxlLOeamA4NrrCW5mY_QIuFtUM/s1600/IMG_6441.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh04vi65yhr1DyvyYtbuI2qx-c6LGt14963THI5XZG-SUkBwTGZEhiC_9TGkjI-KMlguqAo2_rzN9NVUC3w8EPFScOrP4sgifZSYEL3sv1Lfi68uDkKwxlLOeamA4NrrCW5mY_QIuFtUM/s640/IMG_6441.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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You make babies happy,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1W7j5yKO_jPrEJqMkCAPseEBkTg2DvNoe4fAnq67O3_ZJpS5aCrW5_myQs97qi8SnyGtzY2OPQpxY9WQaKUQVD5K29x1_mi4RONAQCH4oczWaQW6RC702qkEy4jRPFnYUuzkRHglKiw/s1600/IMG_6455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1W7j5yKO_jPrEJqMkCAPseEBkTg2DvNoe4fAnq67O3_ZJpS5aCrW5_myQs97qi8SnyGtzY2OPQpxY9WQaKUQVD5K29x1_mi4RONAQCH4oczWaQW6RC702qkEy4jRPFnYUuzkRHglKiw/s640/IMG_6455.JPG" width="425" /></a></div>
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and cautious,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKADqG25WSUcSm5Ess19xVC2DCeEJXNwCuA32FDwc2PWpQsue7mtTYixiOvohgxfZQTcQBogqopejPnpJOVW9UVde0JF9Je1CLc4SFCVXziZGIbzWjtNIuUcYzbgIvA51b9M4qDPXpIww/s1600/IMG_6462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKADqG25WSUcSm5Ess19xVC2DCeEJXNwCuA32FDwc2PWpQsue7mtTYixiOvohgxfZQTcQBogqopejPnpJOVW9UVde0JF9Je1CLc4SFCVXziZGIbzWjtNIuUcYzbgIvA51b9M4qDPXpIww/s640/IMG_6462.JPG" width="425" /></a></div>
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and snuggly,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmX_KcJ9gkqJG1ivaSqQU1EKenRxhZYWFPhCfpjBqt4KAiFmg68Sw-Gbhgqv5SvNC402-o4Tjrd4_JySp2uW8pGvydduLPyZUgw0Yed7hUnQnUW2v3nQhCbKRZFLlpPn4SwNb7AxKR3I/s1600/IMG_6436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmX_KcJ9gkqJG1ivaSqQU1EKenRxhZYWFPhCfpjBqt4KAiFmg68Sw-Gbhgqv5SvNC402-o4Tjrd4_JySp2uW8pGvydduLPyZUgw0Yed7hUnQnUW2v3nQhCbKRZFLlpPn4SwNb7AxKR3I/s640/IMG_6436.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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and most importantly, tired.</div>
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Thank you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh04vi65yhr1DyvyYtbuI2qx-c6LGt14963THI5XZG-SUkBwTGZEhiC_9TGkjI-KMlguqAo2_rzN9NVUC3w8EPFScOrP4sgifZSYEL3sv1Lfi68uDkKwxlLOeamA4NrrCW5mY_QIuFtUM/s1600/IMG_6441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-43864776040132185532012-04-05T18:29:00.000-08:002012-04-05T18:29:33.362-08:00The new 20I've decided why I don't like doctors. Every time I go in for one thing and they find something else that's wrong with me. I went in for one problem and came out with two more. It's like being swindled by a shady mechanic. (Except my doctors aren't shady at all. In fact, for the first time in my life since the family doctor I had when Sonny Boy was a baby, I love both of my doctors. Military doctors are an acquired taste.) This time I went in for an MRI to see what was wrong with my neck and back and discovered I have a cystic lesion on my thyroid. More doctor appointments made to follow up with that. Blood work ordered to check out thyroidy things only to discover that I have low vitamin D levels. I now have to take 5,000 IUs of vitamin D a day. Until today when I got the super concentrated vitamin D pills I had to take a literal fistful of pills each morning. An even dozen. I felt a little geriatric. I guess it's glimpse into my future.<br />
<br />
I thought 30 was supposed to be the new 20, and yet today I took a fistful of pills, had an ultrasound on my thyroid, and discovered I have two protruding discs in my back along with a slight case of degenerative disc disease, which is apparently normal for my age(?!). Thirty, I'm disappointed in you. You are not living up to all the hype.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-44698722315779792652012-03-22T21:43:00.002-08:002012-03-23T09:07:07.489-08:00Panic buttonI had to get an MRI today. Two actually, and a bunch of x-rays for my back. Two years ago I fell and hurt my back while carrying my nephew across an icy parking lot. Using my super human auntie strength I kept my nephew from harm but my back and pride took a beating. Soon my leg started feeling weird and tingly and I started freaking out thinking I had deep vein thrombosis but prayed I was too young for that. The urgent care doc told me it was swelling and should go away but to see a doctor again if the numbness didn't subside. I put off actually doing anything about it because I generally don't like doctors, but mostly I just don't like picking up the phone and making appointments. <br />
<br />
So now it's two years later and my sister told me I finally needed to get my butt to her back doctor. She promised he was really nice and what do you know, he is! Pretty sure she's just tired of hearing me complain about my back. His first order of business was x-rays and MRIs, since I've never had any done, to rule out anything catastrophic like tumors. I love it when doctors use words like catastrophic and tumors. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. He didn't lose any points though because he somehow convinced TriCare to actually pay for the MRI. That is no small miracle.<br />
<br />
As I was talking with my doctor about having an MRI done he asked me if I was claustrophobic. I had flashbacks to childhood when I was buried in a hole up to my neck in our sandbox by my brother. I think I even helped him dig the hole with a post hole digger. My oldest sister used to pin me down, tickle me, and lick me until I finally screamed enough to get rid of her. I remember wrestling with my brother with these giant floor pillows in the basement. I also remember being on the bottom of that pile of pillows with him on top and being pretty sure that I wasn't going to make out alive. There is a picture of me, maybe 3 or so, wrapped in blanket, stuffed in a box (or perhaps a laundry basket) and then, just to make sure I couldn't escape, I was tied in it. At least they left my head out. Then they pushed me around the house like a bobsled. I'm just glad I didn't go down any steps.<br />
<br />
So answering the doctor's inquiry of my claustrophobia, I said, "Ummm... yeah, a little." His response: "Well, it's important to hold really still while you're in there." That was not the "here, take this sedative" answer I was hoping for. <br />
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I showed up this morning for what I was assured by my nurse sister would be a short MRI. I first lay on the table and the tech informs me that they have to put this metal bar over my neck to get a better picture. So now, not only am I going to be sent into a little body sized tube, I am going in strapped to the table by my head. Awesome. I've got headphones blaring Colbie Caillat, I'm sliding in the coffin sized machine making more noise than a construction sight, my head is strapped to the table, and please don't move, not even a finger, because that actually moves muscles all the way up my shoulder I'm told. Then I start wondering if I had in fact removed all of my jewelry. I have visions of a forgotten earring getting ripped out of my body. What if something metal was accidentally left in me from surgery long ago? That stuff happens. Why did the questionnaire ask about tattoos? Wasn't there a Mythbusters about tattoos exploding in MRIs? Maybe they just burned. The panic button is of little comfort.<br />
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I'm surprisingly unaffected by the small space, what is killing me is trying to hold still. I thought I was doing a pretty good job, but then they had to do the first one again because it was blurry. Moveyour arms to the side please, they are moving as you breathe. Then, after the second one was blurry--try not to take such deep breathes, just take shallow breathes, but still breathe, she tells me. Sheesh, now I'm afraid to breathe. I'm afraid to swallow because it will move my neck but I desperately need to. I feel like I'm about to drown in my own saliva. I wish I had one of those spit sucker things like the dentist uses. A muscle twitches in my side. Then in my arm. Then I notice how tense all my muscles are. I try to relax but realize that that would make me move. I try to distract my self from my breathing, and swallowing, and twitchy tense muscles. Try to think happy thoughts. I don't know if the tech actually got a decent shot of my neck or if she finally gave up and moved on to my lower back. Needless to say, I was in there for much longer than I anticipated.<br />
<br />
I knew I just needed a sedative. Who knew that I needed it just to hold still? I guess I'm not as claustrophobic as I thought I was, although my siblings tried their best. At least I didn't need to use the panic button.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-45923477718947352912012-01-06T17:51:00.000-09:002012-01-06T17:51:51.242-09:00Long NightA couple weeks ago I thought my Sonny Boy had appendicitis. Of course I sent him to school anyway. I'm that mom. The one who sends her kids to school when they say their stomach hurts. In all fairness, at that point I thought he was sore from gymnastics. I asked specifically if he thought he was going to puke, he said no it only hurts when he moves. That doesn't scream stomach bug to me. Besides, if he had to stay home he would miss his Christmas party at Scouts that evening and I would have to miss my Christmas party for preschool. Missing a party is the true test of sickness in a kid. He thought he would be fine for a party so off to school he went with 42 reminders from me to tell the teacher, tell the nurse, tell anyone who would listen if he truly thought he was sick and I would come get him.<br />
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He made it through school with two trips to the nurse and some antacids in his stomach. By the time he got home though he was pasty white with a slight greenish tinge. It still only hurt when he moved, but now the pain was only in right side. It also didn't help when his angelic sister punched him in that exact spot because he somehow slighted her. That dropped him to the floor in tears. This is also about the time that I have to go get pizza for the Scouts Christmas party at my house. My sister was coming in the house to check him out for me as I left to get the pizza. (Everyone should have a nurse for a sister. Just saying. It comes in mighty handy.) She said call the doctor. The thing was he had no symptoms except for the severe pain in his side. No fever, no vomiting, etc. I called the doctor and she said well, bring him in if that's what you think it is. Well, I don't know if that's what it is. That's why I'm calling you! I was feeling a wee bit frazzled. It was apparent. I don't have a poker face. I figured I would just give him some time and see how he was doing. He recovered enough from his sister's punch to sit through the party and seemed to be feeling all right so I just sent him to bed. Here's how the night progressed:<br />
<br />
I started doing internet searches on appendicitis. I should know better. Every time Web MD tells me I have cancer.<br />
<br />
I woke Sonny Boy up at 10:00 from a very peaceful sleep so I could rush him to the ER so he wouldn't die from appendicitis. Web MD decided he had it.<br />
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It was the easiest trip to the ER I've ever had. He was sent right back in to a room. We had two great nurses. They were funny. They seemed to think maybe he had appendicitis too. I felt pleasantly validated. Crazy likes company.<br />
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The doctor did not seem as sure. What do they know? He ordered x-rays and labs anyway. I like it when people placate me.<br />
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Sonny Boy's response to the news that he would get x-rays: "Yes! Finally!" He has apparently not led a full life yet because he's never needed x-rays or even stitches.<br />
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His response to the blood draw and urine sample was less enthusiastic but he is always a compliant little trooper. <br />
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We waited for a long time for the lab results. I read an entire Captain Underpants book to Sonny Boy. I really enjoyed that part. So did he.<br />
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Labs and x-rays reveal his appendix is fine. Just severe stomach cramps. My boy needs more fiber in his life. <br />
<br />
We head home at 1:00 a.m.<br />
<br />
I get pulled over at 1:10 a.m. Bummer.<br />
<br />
Headlight is out. Bummer. <br />
<br />
Can't find my proof of insurance. Only two expired ones. Bummer.<br />
<br />
Did find the manual to my camera that I've been looking for since August. Yay!<br />
<br />
I also found a spare headlight bulb. A burned out headlight is a chronic problem for our car. We come prepared.<br />
<br />
The very nice officer believed me that I really did have insurance and told me to get a copy of the <i>current</i> insurance in the car and get the headlight fixed. I didn't even have to give him my sob story of spending the night in the ER with my sick son. Yay!<br />
<br />
Finally get home and give my boy the meds they gave us at the hospital. Make it to bed around 2:00.<br />
<br />
I now pay my kids a dime for every water bottle they drink and everybody gets wholegrain high fiber everything.<br />
<br />
The end.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-971011014578633602011-12-23T20:07:00.000-09:002011-12-23T20:07:27.171-09:00Christmas card<div style="text-align: center;"> I love getting Christmas cards in the mail. I, however, did not send out a single Christmas card this year. At first I was feeling wonderfully freed from the burden of forced correspondence. I like to say that I simply had too much going on this year with an increased workload, scouts, the kids' gymnastics, and my most recent adventure in learning to knit (I'm slow meaning that it takes me longer than the average knitter to finish anything. Also, I often find that I've forgotten that I have this new hobby and find myself perusing Pinterest instead. Then I see something fabulous on Pinterest that someone else has knit and I feel guilty for spending my down time pinning instead of knitting.). But the truth is, I simply did not make time for Christmas cards this year. I really felt guilty when my cousin, who has two small girls and recently birthed twin boys all while in the midst of starting their own dairy farm, sent me a beautiful Christmas card. Compared to her I am a slacker of epic proportions. I have no excuse. Next year I promise to try harder. In the mean time, pretend these are photos on a Christmas card in your mailbox. </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">So Merry Christmas from DH and I, (not pictured. If I didn't take the time to get cards, you can safely bet I also didn't make time to figure out the self timer on my camera.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE5kJTGUm5i_6OtJdPJc4uOIjH1NmuhcugbMH1_WxI16J1V8HmBT9hfYmWRrMWg3SmipJR1vnJBWDXB6P28vlAyG7kOyzOjpBCuzB23s0djcIcDGd0ZZQmyoahzTfCxk9V8faMHGQfYw/s1600/IMG_5006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-ynYFf3_HLSeMVECieo5dtADD0Rdg1_9EWgYicj9hCwZ3gel-d90lJtqr5KWq080R2IwrKYzNLAYR8qDK6T0xTQtuHIS5owMwPe1NmIb_0q7KPkP82rEdjiLmKNYWQgdXWk743hrV2k/s1600/IMG_5010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-ynYFf3_HLSeMVECieo5dtADD0Rdg1_9EWgYicj9hCwZ3gel-d90lJtqr5KWq080R2IwrKYzNLAYR8qDK6T0xTQtuHIS5owMwPe1NmIb_0q7KPkP82rEdjiLmKNYWQgdXWk743hrV2k/s400/IMG_5010.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">and Sonny Boy,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZXvTPZhvo9oyFhv6gEjyA-MYmWol-5lIuE1mDda7ceUSQDbrV34zjtFi8QhfrWSYbnzNy2zonOkNHWEVVT2rA80XP-gKEJq2qI21Lw1HUJSmI1n04TZCOmgCyqAhkLPa8cDm6QHy3AU/s1600/IMG_5013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZXvTPZhvo9oyFhv6gEjyA-MYmWol-5lIuE1mDda7ceUSQDbrV34zjtFi8QhfrWSYbnzNy2zonOkNHWEVVT2rA80XP-gKEJq2qI21Lw1HUJSmI1n04TZCOmgCyqAhkLPa8cDm6QHy3AU/s400/IMG_5013.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">and Princess Blondie,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE5kJTGUm5i_6OtJdPJc4uOIjH1NmuhcugbMH1_WxI16J1V8HmBT9hfYmWRrMWg3SmipJR1vnJBWDXB6P28vlAyG7kOyzOjpBCuzB23s0djcIcDGd0ZZQmyoahzTfCxk9V8faMHGQfYw/s1600/IMG_5006.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE5kJTGUm5i_6OtJdPJc4uOIjH1NmuhcugbMH1_WxI16J1V8HmBT9hfYmWRrMWg3SmipJR1vnJBWDXB6P28vlAyG7kOyzOjpBCuzB23s0djcIcDGd0ZZQmyoahzTfCxk9V8faMHGQfYw/s400/IMG_5006.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
and this guy too. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-2962504035778599232011-11-06T11:46:00.000-09:002011-11-06T11:46:52.677-09:00This morning<div style="text-align: center;">The kids and I didn't make it to church this morning. Totally legitemate excuse though today. I lost the keys and locked myself out of the house. Again. I'm thinking it's time for one of those keypad thingies that you put on your garage doors and punch in a code to get in. People like me clearly need those things. After a quick yet thorough search through my purse and pockets I declared my keys lost and then checked all the doors to the house to see if I did in fact lock them all. I did. Sometimes I wish I weren't so thorough about that. Usually about once a year when I lock myself out I wish that. </div><div style="text-align: center;">This time I had my phone in my coat pocket so I could make an emergency call to my sister. Thank goodness she is always late for church so I knew I would catch her on her way. Her tardiness was a lifesaver today. The last time I locked myself out I wasn't so lucky. That time I got to meet some of my neighbors as I knocked on doors looking for someone to be home and willing to share their phone with me. Dennis, or "the blue house neighbors" as my kids like to call them, was my lifesaver that day. </div><div style="text-align: center;">While we waited in the cold truck for my sister, Princess Blondie informed me that one reason she doesn't like winter is because we always get locked out of our house (She was lucky enough to get locked out of the house with me the first time too). I tell her there is no correlation between the two other than her mother has crappy timing and a knack for misplacing things. </div><div style="text-align: center;">My sister and her family soon show up and let me in my house. They hurry off to church. I go in the house and still can't find my keys anywhere. I go out to tell my kids to get out of the truck because we aren't going to make it to church or anywhere else and find them screaming at each other with Princess Blondie in tears because her brother is copying her. My day just keeps getting better and better. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Now, my keys are always in my coat pocket so this is the time when I start to blame my husband because <i>clearly</i> he took my keys. It's always the man's fault. But usually if he takes my keys he at least takes my truck key off the ring so I can, you know, drive places. So now I think maybe he <i>didn't</i> actually take them and that I dropped them in the new five inches of snow that showered on us this morning.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNY7pH46o8uhz8na2TneEYFVeCRPkRBu6TuQxdBAZbb1mJSHYlN4DMF52Dw21SK67cSA3HlA1c68euHIEv1OhANqrpT4WEx5sPV2CV_7JtsPhtI-Gxz55IzZ7dBHuJ9yZbA5A9bBT3_e8/s1600/IMG_4883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNY7pH46o8uhz8na2TneEYFVeCRPkRBu6TuQxdBAZbb1mJSHYlN4DMF52Dw21SK67cSA3HlA1c68euHIEv1OhANqrpT4WEx5sPV2CV_7JtsPhtI-Gxz55IzZ7dBHuJ9yZbA5A9bBT3_e8/s400/IMG_4883.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> I go out and start digging around in the snow hoping I will somehow spot them. I don't. I try retracing my steps. I could have sworn they were in my hand when I walked out of the house this morning. Then I remembered I had also carried out a bag of broccoli and hotdog buns in that hand for lunch at my sisters after church. I had set those in the passenger seat. I go and check under the broccoli. There are my keys. Sitting there in the truck the whole time. I think I will try retracing my steps first next time. And I maybe owe my sister an apology for making them really, really late for church today for no reason at all.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-83066776552058049042011-10-22T11:24:00.000-08:002011-10-22T11:24:50.423-08:00Seeing things<div style="text-align: center;">A while ago I painted my bathroom. <a href="http://mooseinmyyard.blogspot.com/2011/01/toothpaste-explosion.html">I wasn't very happy with it at first</a>. I was a little stumped about how to deal with the Aquafresh color that had appeared instead of the breezy turquoise blue I had imagined. I didn't want to live inside a tube of toothpaste, even if it was a bathroom. I contemplated stripes but made a last minute game plan change and did a stencil instead. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9uPYzodStzgwre9QyK92b1LZ7JUmI7FBhVM-mUTTGLVdxbjUn6toHbE6OUy5kabUavE7bTAnTHTdt5n5ciWQLtnO-HSogCg-7JwPcslCJ2i-jAeTJEOdWrbaju7LnrstQt19iy2rGowc/s1600/IMG_1551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9uPYzodStzgwre9QyK92b1LZ7JUmI7FBhVM-mUTTGLVdxbjUn6toHbE6OUy5kabUavE7bTAnTHTdt5n5ciWQLtnO-HSogCg-7JwPcslCJ2i-jAeTJEOdWrbaju7LnrstQt19iy2rGowc/s400/IMG_1551.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It seems I was on to something. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnzkFuEbxRkxjBbpwi7T-YJlqblPvC3zbhOwSh3jlmLENk4AdoiS2cbWpoKfsHaegiYU2qXw1Id5jMNfOwe7qVWgOKob0xP2hsPHhjgbNzPdNK7Vn5Q8EKrCptrxGgINnvbXI2P2MVIY/s1600/mimosa-reversible-bedding-aquamarine-041808112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnzkFuEbxRkxjBbpwi7T-YJlqblPvC3zbhOwSh3jlmLENk4AdoiS2cbWpoKfsHaegiYU2qXw1Id5jMNfOwe7qVWgOKob0xP2hsPHhjgbNzPdNK7Vn5Q8EKrCptrxGgINnvbXI2P2MVIY/s400/mimosa-reversible-bedding-aquamarine-041808112.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Check out this bedding from <a href="http://www.zgallerie.com/p-10410-mimosa-reversible-bedding-aquamarine.aspx">Z Gallerie</a> that I found while perusing their site. It's the <i>exact</i> color and pattern from my bathroom! Who knew I could be such a trend setter? I was ahead of my time and didn't even know it. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-46130793898587996322011-10-20T22:32:00.000-08:002011-10-20T22:32:42.985-08:00Tonight<div style="text-align: center;">Tonight my little girl begged for just one more hug as I left her room after our goodnight prayers as she usually does. Then she told me: </div><div style="text-align: center;">Mom,I love you to the moon and back (as per usual, but then it got even better) a <i>thousand</i> times!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPImKTrPZsEae3q_tXFoC4Jc6jPmMp0yC5PsMLJVrB4xbqJ_wzQ7s9GrCpUZNpSv-g71nmicFFR_1gCGu8AQVBNToIMEY2f8xLf9I5VhZIFxjsH_quuUrSsMqnVm45LIxKOI_3GnXTL0/s1600/IMG_4725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPImKTrPZsEae3q_tXFoC4Jc6jPmMp0yC5PsMLJVrB4xbqJ_wzQ7s9GrCpUZNpSv-g71nmicFFR_1gCGu8AQVBNToIMEY2f8xLf9I5VhZIFxjsH_quuUrSsMqnVm45LIxKOI_3GnXTL0/s400/IMG_4725.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> I love you aaaallll the numbers in the world two <i>million</i> times. <br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMF0oMTvMuwcjfunCwAruzg65pOSwZrwf-VxZSVR_W38eNfSLF4DMor1W6CE4aQFv4i1XYeT3w-K5pf3tZIFIbGdLHocV4vJhCXFpF6Z7gTDQRr-kpZcoVH2Nf_uchXoEH4kenLwdfEUY/s1600/IMG_4734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMF0oMTvMuwcjfunCwAruzg65pOSwZrwf-VxZSVR_W38eNfSLF4DMor1W6CE4aQFv4i1XYeT3w-K5pf3tZIFIbGdLHocV4vJhCXFpF6Z7gTDQRr-kpZcoVH2Nf_uchXoEH4kenLwdfEUY/s400/IMG_4734.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">I love you all the things in the world, two hundred aaaaand fifty <i>thousand</i> times.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCGCQNpRV_vK-1KX2UkdBUyPT7hJBNcNpM5Fhjj_855AK1yu31Ml7iaTr53lTNNAw9lSAwThYSr02wJfqt1rLklsEhVA2eJUViL23A4bl9FJc4JA9QIbKFHy1E9bTqzHxOe3c9H35uCPU/s1600/IMG_4742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCGCQNpRV_vK-1KX2UkdBUyPT7hJBNcNpM5Fhjj_855AK1yu31Ml7iaTr53lTNNAw9lSAwThYSr02wJfqt1rLklsEhVA2eJUViL23A4bl9FJc4JA9QIbKFHy1E9bTqzHxOe3c9H35uCPU/s400/IMG_4742.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And then the kicker.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I love you as much as the dogs! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMke9_XYNfdO9D39F1XaTIIxw-y2EYaGgRGwBTHg3UVahME1Za5LoYXL4AFQYJvt56Wj2ERH7H2FOE1vccG8-HkrKNY7G3qVOLZIGo1Yrk2iImrleM1TZ8VpgPJBBx2NLIKW1n2Ku4M8/s1600/IMG_4720.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMke9_XYNfdO9D39F1XaTIIxw-y2EYaGgRGwBTHg3UVahME1Za5LoYXL4AFQYJvt56Wj2ERH7H2FOE1vccG8-HkrKNY7G3qVOLZIGo1Yrk2iImrleM1TZ8VpgPJBBx2NLIKW1n2Ku4M8/s400/IMG_4720.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I laughed at first, but that's actually a pretty big compliment coming from her. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-45461979160972928142011-09-29T11:06:00.000-08:002011-09-29T11:06:22.178-08:00My muse<div style="text-align: center;">I'm nearly exiting my third Alaskan autumn and it is by far the most beautiful fall we've had since we moved here. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUrV2bSXzDgCNUb8a8tdkF65-jlBjvuANkoEsAF3471JNzepWyGiBBdn2AcGNY1sM0frD9qLEAupFdwts2CzVH2Ze_NqzBny8ZIAC4N-oumSSB8Vw_QMHdJ2fr10jbr8CllnLsdr3BaM/s1600/IMG_4550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUrV2bSXzDgCNUb8a8tdkF65-jlBjvuANkoEsAF3471JNzepWyGiBBdn2AcGNY1sM0frD9qLEAupFdwts2CzVH2Ze_NqzBny8ZIAC4N-oumSSB8Vw_QMHdJ2fr10jbr8CllnLsdr3BaM/s400/IMG_4550.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Fall has always been my favorite season and it was what I missed most about Michigan during our time in the south.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_4ZbNm6ei9blOZIOlUMybHsT74Rd3rf4NKVAG-pGq1TrTcwxDIDviRBzGGDmZWr15GpAE46_IIOZDGiCXnZbsHJG5Vq4KpKb3gp1tZ7woLjh0cdjnKceArcohgsIzIdRcC3Ih0aLJ9M/s1600/IMG_4564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_4ZbNm6ei9blOZIOlUMybHsT74Rd3rf4NKVAG-pGq1TrTcwxDIDviRBzGGDmZWr15GpAE46_IIOZDGiCXnZbsHJG5Vq4KpKb3gp1tZ7woLjh0cdjnKceArcohgsIzIdRcC3Ih0aLJ9M/s400/IMG_4564.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">The fall this year almost compares to Michigan, but our color scheme is limited to dark golds, bright yellows, and browns,</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjar1vmQvIHAkXq6qHgCktyKre6NRuGbcbaQvUCiXpog4X_mRCA9dk_2UA9v307L9yqBEh_8LYkT71l5xJAdYsVdzVt7mEKrkkI3nxQDFfiTf1y0HaNXDNC93N_AYUXCD-0heeCTLwlVS0/s1600/IMG_4570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjar1vmQvIHAkXq6qHgCktyKre6NRuGbcbaQvUCiXpog4X_mRCA9dk_2UA9v307L9yqBEh_8LYkT71l5xJAdYsVdzVt7mEKrkkI3nxQDFfiTf1y0HaNXDNC93N_AYUXCD-0heeCTLwlVS0/s400/IMG_4570.JPG" width="285" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">at least when it comes to trees,</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uFnhqpyWBKdsVOeklvEmATg3RajGsxQhqaKqdkx0BHedoGO8_RQDienMafcW218jEKQ24nGXvrdHNBPuKkvFsmSUTlY97YLbybkYww2xQOsnbDs06KUzoHNTuzPmlMDNAxj-OTkT1HA/s1600/IMG_4574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uFnhqpyWBKdsVOeklvEmATg3RajGsxQhqaKqdkx0BHedoGO8_RQDienMafcW218jEKQ24nGXvrdHNBPuKkvFsmSUTlY97YLbybkYww2xQOsnbDs06KUzoHNTuzPmlMDNAxj-OTkT1HA/s400/IMG_4574.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> and I miss the orange and red hues that Michigan has to offer.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKfdzo5u9e4ZzohP6eDwfBzj9xbrxZEiiHNDKYajFTxPfJfGO8ZDVeFVnAyZqm7r03CVt87CDtVHAIR2paYxpvI3K7T54taEMWJuGTNNrmmJ5ss2Kr_cC-y5kLzraplYbZ7svw7XfDM0/s1600/IMG_4586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKfdzo5u9e4ZzohP6eDwfBzj9xbrxZEiiHNDKYajFTxPfJfGO8ZDVeFVnAyZqm7r03CVt87CDtVHAIR2paYxpvI3K7T54taEMWJuGTNNrmmJ5ss2Kr_cC-y5kLzraplYbZ7svw7XfDM0/s400/IMG_4586.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> I was waiting for a sunny day off of work to head down to my favorite spot, </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGP0tDiynvE_s8F8Ap87H3goowdQoumhvh41ISQy-MYycoLwq2CJQ3P0V0yGEiG7UInzcxwuzoRi2grwQH5EkrnHjAeQ3oGFoRgSDL2lbLxsInqSgsCrgfXxR2iFPVAX9NBqmfsbY_nL0/s1600/IMG_4588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGP0tDiynvE_s8F8Ap87H3goowdQoumhvh41ISQy-MYycoLwq2CJQ3P0V0yGEiG7UInzcxwuzoRi2grwQH5EkrnHjAeQ3oGFoRgSDL2lbLxsInqSgsCrgfXxR2iFPVAX9NBqmfsbY_nL0/s400/IMG_4588.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> the hayflats,</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG74dUNpFw0_3SUuc6rWWr-of1IjvVeNK0hKib1LJxSBtyUOUwS8YQYE8JTn6RTQE1ICvzctdH37koGu58sYm-ocv0eDEhkXXkylXgmT2-o23KbcS0b_mEp_ZZZcosh49RG1JNjOYuoX4/s1600/IMG_4592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG74dUNpFw0_3SUuc6rWWr-of1IjvVeNK0hKib1LJxSBtyUOUwS8YQYE8JTn6RTQE1ICvzctdH37koGu58sYm-ocv0eDEhkXXkylXgmT2-o23KbcS0b_mEp_ZZZcosh49RG1JNjOYuoX4/s400/IMG_4592.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">which has become my muse of sorts.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2NZMGPyKXIsFeFUB-DH1y4qugshK5aKKkEszeeW9favOrZcnK4nHRbBFRMrC3SG03H-W5re6meXDloR9WHOMEUMkOJrX1NAbCDqHAE2b8WDbmaNOjnKlpMlYNbj6uVh6NUoZhPlNHsc/s1600/IMG_4593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2NZMGPyKXIsFeFUB-DH1y4qugshK5aKKkEszeeW9favOrZcnK4nHRbBFRMrC3SG03H-W5re6meXDloR9WHOMEUMkOJrX1NAbCDqHAE2b8WDbmaNOjnKlpMlYNbj6uVh6NUoZhPlNHsc/s400/IMG_4593.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> It seems that I was not the only one with that idea.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlAH2HlSuxTuimcrsjaklaN8BWpqqvGFxTVQ6HUYLnRdMUY3cu_n2akYXSZkq6-AxTaFcyub7UOJ_AEw5CYpClTyJ3xktgYfLQxujO_QB8MSbkZutuXGftLg99y3hvIchkHlbRaL9W_I/s1600/IMG_4597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlAH2HlSuxTuimcrsjaklaN8BWpqqvGFxTVQ6HUYLnRdMUY3cu_n2akYXSZkq6-AxTaFcyub7UOJ_AEw5CYpClTyJ3xktgYfLQxujO_QB8MSbkZutuXGftLg99y3hvIchkHlbRaL9W_I/s400/IMG_4597.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> I've never seen the place so busy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRwwTdh0o_qjaLa8j01eJsy1AYAgsXT5x4efxpcCWg8aheAcO8RpJYtCuwKHQ08jbK0sXvGC_QD3kh1K_86oNSV0Buk1D5DU9ABf6amAdIp1514gk_g6X3haIHajERzCuVqb8jnZt_BE/s1600/IMG_4602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRwwTdh0o_qjaLa8j01eJsy1AYAgsXT5x4efxpcCWg8aheAcO8RpJYtCuwKHQ08jbK0sXvGC_QD3kh1K_86oNSV0Buk1D5DU9ABf6amAdIp1514gk_g6X3haIHajERzCuVqb8jnZt_BE/s400/IMG_4602.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Everyone was out to enjoy the beautiful weather and gorgeous views.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHtVhWYldRfYlv79FvfLUN2sIaVGH-aPzN7i6hl3kMPpXbVXDRM6GYRT8qcYl2XHzWdTmmQRuvTESAA1GOX3bmcbZafKsgd3j4er742191XWsoII9s40IwBKLUQnBxEpTTF731KgfSys/s1600/IMG_4607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHtVhWYldRfYlv79FvfLUN2sIaVGH-aPzN7i6hl3kMPpXbVXDRM6GYRT8qcYl2XHzWdTmmQRuvTESAA1GOX3bmcbZafKsgd3j4er742191XWsoII9s40IwBKLUQnBxEpTTF731KgfSys/s400/IMG_4607.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> I can't blame them,</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN8CLHwSSfpzC2S4iqxVp1GRDRLdpQ1-fYuTGs-fFR7ZgFQcmL761iXn8TWWKiZ2cTQW3axP7Z5BAmom6GKONgxn1-4y8o8lKfQQNpA_cjSgGYx90WD9Rj_AIBvCZ_ISa8hD36HmCSx4/s1600/IMG_4620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN8CLHwSSfpzC2S4iqxVp1GRDRLdpQ1-fYuTGs-fFR7ZgFQcmL761iXn8TWWKiZ2cTQW3axP7Z5BAmom6GKONgxn1-4y8o8lKfQQNpA_cjSgGYx90WD9Rj_AIBvCZ_ISa8hD36HmCSx4/s400/IMG_4620.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">although I kind of like having the place to myself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-50342587234063531852011-09-08T00:18:00.000-08:002011-09-08T00:18:18.128-08:00For my mom<div style="text-align: center;">Ah, where do I even begin? It's been a short summer with a lot packed in it and now it's over. The kids are back at school. I had my first day of class with my preschoolers today and my first Scout meeting tonight. The kids have both started gymnastics as well. Let the crazy school year begin! </div><div style="text-align: center;">Since I don't even know where to start with posts about everything that happened this summer, I decided to make my mother happy and put up some pictures of my garden like I promised her I'd do. So all who don't get a big kick out of flowers, I'm sorry. But my mom will be thrilled. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyU5ZNVsgThnCbyR3DDqz1ZI9H6E99rzeUkbdDaEeMlqvykQ1kXiFlXzHU88IfN1YRqxWgqk2ujYQrGuaR5TwLZOC2Ex998XLDfOZl_GDc8Zna9gc-zKNYtiMuKiSBWmPh4UynFmDDQA4/s1600/IMG_4366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyU5ZNVsgThnCbyR3DDqz1ZI9H6E99rzeUkbdDaEeMlqvykQ1kXiFlXzHU88IfN1YRqxWgqk2ujYQrGuaR5TwLZOC2Ex998XLDfOZl_GDc8Zna9gc-zKNYtiMuKiSBWmPh4UynFmDDQA4/s400/IMG_4366.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My hanging baskets have nearly recovered from my month long absence. DH told me he'd water them if I reminded him to. I remembered to remind him once. Can't say he didn't warn me. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSap_o4ERbcnu4NekAiBNQoMWhLT2zUY-hXVlbDRgW8lqx_24UmAlhV-37JGu9jgrckM6_tP8177QZ0dSZS1GLMyXKYp10NarWIIG8oJYUGHlvm4Yrrc9tEe1W6D2XPScdmPFQYMt5b8/s1600/IMG_4367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSap_o4ERbcnu4NekAiBNQoMWhLT2zUY-hXVlbDRgW8lqx_24UmAlhV-37JGu9jgrckM6_tP8177QZ0dSZS1GLMyXKYp10NarWIIG8oJYUGHlvm4Yrrc9tEe1W6D2XPScdmPFQYMt5b8/s400/IMG_4367.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I came back to find the rest of my garden had really taken off. That tends to happen with about 20 hours of daylight. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8I7aqLOZyvR2Y88CzQb1Mv4bxPrSgWesHSquiTs9o49pcjlK_RN7LltXCaoQpi8hsI8PN872Y1BBWsbFe2BBqU23AiVeUY30yPh524G9eXWtsHe0wauGLnA5qnhdxOdIi3qxSxhvft0A/s1600/IMG_4380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8I7aqLOZyvR2Y88CzQb1Mv4bxPrSgWesHSquiTs9o49pcjlK_RN7LltXCaoQpi8hsI8PN872Y1BBWsbFe2BBqU23AiVeUY30yPh524G9eXWtsHe0wauGLnA5qnhdxOdIi3qxSxhvft0A/s400/IMG_4380.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I threw some wildflower seeds down and they exploded! I had to weed about half of them out and my garden still looks like this. It's quite fecund. I think that's my favorite new word. I've been dying to use it. And I'm not sure that I used it properly, but hey, I gave it a go.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJ9mnYRDdOzqFMtUntUzUAav_LB_hnqep1U6CootEn-iP_XEHxILnakZMwOh6fPik9727NiIxq760OEF-9SB_jq2CDOEl_37wUsZHyZEF8SsD3ND9GqbB8kbw-o8pVeFQtw0ADpeOMas/s1600/IMG_4384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJ9mnYRDdOzqFMtUntUzUAav_LB_hnqep1U6CootEn-iP_XEHxILnakZMwOh6fPik9727NiIxq760OEF-9SB_jq2CDOEl_37wUsZHyZEF8SsD3ND9GqbB8kbw-o8pVeFQtw0ADpeOMas/s400/IMG_4384.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">This is the first time I bought snapdragons. I think they are a definite yes for next year. The kids loved them. And look, the pansies I started from last year's seeds actually grew. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIf5K8aGrhL626JkS4fomEaVavLfI6MpOJuhfQafWZ7mW9QWQ3kBF4ctJLLW4TaFEZEdNOPV37LF1qmDpxg0zrUiQEp58N9Ee37_CS-kM6f6c-X7ho5wJCpXuuW55EbHbi-GK7OInxcwY/s1600/IMG_4388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIf5K8aGrhL626JkS4fomEaVavLfI6MpOJuhfQafWZ7mW9QWQ3kBF4ctJLLW4TaFEZEdNOPV37LF1qmDpxg0zrUiQEp58N9Ee37_CS-kM6f6c-X7ho5wJCpXuuW55EbHbi-GK7OInxcwY/s400/IMG_4388.JPG" width="285" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Except for this one. This one I bought. I have a hard time walking by flowers and not buying them. It's genetic. Thanks mom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-81437154151370378422011-06-13T12:25:00.000-08:002011-06-13T12:25:42.653-08:00Leader (un)extraordinaireI have suddenly become the new Cub Scout leader to Sonny Boy's den and I'm not quite sure how that happened. Our leader had been threatening to move if her husband ever got a transfer back to the lower 48 and I just kept praying that it would never happen because: a. She's one of my best friends here and I really don't want her to go (wasn't all this friends moving away business supposed to stop after we left the military life?), and b. That meant one of us remaining parents had to fill in the leadership gap. Lo and behold he finally did get that new job and three weeks later he's moved to Nebraska and their house is on the market. Loose ends are being tied up and soon the whole family will be gone for good. All signs are now pointing to me. Honestly, I've been groomed for this all along. Never volunteer to help. It only causes trouble. And this people pleaser has a hard time saying no.<br />
<br />
What scares me the most is that I hate going into new situations not knowing every bit of information I could possibly know (and wearing the scouting uniform. Ugh. I thought my uniform days were behind me when I finally hung up my waitressing apron years ago.). I don't like feeling like I don't know what I'm doing and not knowing what the expectations are of me. I like it when things are the same. Change is scary. Good thing I've got DH to push me into new things or everything about me would be the same, same, same, and I would be the most boring person ever. I may still be the most boring person ever. I watch travel shows on PBS and documentaries often find their way into our DVD player. I'm in a book club and I blog in my free time. Every once in a while we actually have people who are not related to us come over for dinner. This is a big step forward in our attempt at having a social life. I think I'm secretly an 80 year old in a 29 year old body.<br />
<br />
However, if I've learned anything from this year of teaching preschool it's that most of the time you just have to wing it. I'm getting used to the idea that I will do this Cub Scout leader thing. I don't have to babysit my nephews come fall so that should open up a day that I can plan (and maybe even do some laundry). I've got plenty of great parents in our group to help me and I'm taking full advantage of that, so consider yourselves warned. This may be a great success as long as no one expects me to actually know what I'm doing. I can wing it with the best of 'em. Lets just see if everyone can survive camp this week first.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-15962313709405908812011-06-03T11:41:00.000-08:002011-06-03T11:41:01.411-08:00Summer<div style="text-align: center;">Another season is over.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7jL8DQlBgtJQQZcNfNQVSn_vcqNclLrsGJnVRUkpg4hNBsTH4DV4ej3KmCGnaiupnXc8sltfPkQuJI1jtds4d9QmsX5FJJabpahTAu3UDKzlaOe0bLSZsVE_x0PppMrqYhx1FcLjISM/s1600/IMG_3045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7jL8DQlBgtJQQZcNfNQVSn_vcqNclLrsGJnVRUkpg4hNBsTH4DV4ej3KmCGnaiupnXc8sltfPkQuJI1jtds4d9QmsX5FJJabpahTAu3UDKzlaOe0bLSZsVE_x0PppMrqYhx1FcLjISM/s400/IMG_3045.JPG" width="285" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Spring concerts have been sung.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpz0pjTfuNhvxtwbBAOlYSeIQgJvm4gBJpVHx1OXVbW7Eyk118fZWyVjjsijJqwS2Bqkp7-vzdsuJUpU7ZM8S_BXUaMBWWU8LPIJqTKfULi54TP3sv5AqJW7cTYhxUge-dyocsU28Vqo/s1600/IMG_3079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpz0pjTfuNhvxtwbBAOlYSeIQgJvm4gBJpVHx1OXVbW7Eyk118fZWyVjjsijJqwS2Bqkp7-vzdsuJUpU7ZM8S_BXUaMBWWU8LPIJqTKfULi54TP3sv5AqJW7cTYhxUge-dyocsU28Vqo/s400/IMG_3079.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Kindergarten programs are complete.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFudsrD7xif5zdKdzr0re1wlvt_m_47Mc7KP4LqSWWt9wax__g3lULzhmgELgNqwi18fdjsUo2JcGqVSESoz7PKram3Psf4WLetg0v0coR7Je09Z9_vJKxwuU0X4lIAiQtniOVHdg5N0/s1600/IMG_3157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFudsrD7xif5zdKdzr0re1wlvt_m_47Mc7KP4LqSWWt9wax__g3lULzhmgELgNqwi18fdjsUo2JcGqVSESoz7PKram3Psf4WLetg0v0coR7Je09Z9_vJKxwuU0X4lIAiQtniOVHdg5N0/s400/IMG_3157.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Awards have been handed out.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDNri9979KTGD5UqrFhXlNDlYSc7cy0D6v7Znm9D8BeR6OW1enzcepJ9i49mDwkdDD1i-UpjJPLNQ0q1cun9gTTcS9YPGDjRQl8GcvtX46W0VlA0f_VTSQjbHmqvcmevbjF_BoR2MnaM/s1600/IMG_3133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDNri9979KTGD5UqrFhXlNDlYSc7cy0D6v7Znm9D8BeR6OW1enzcepJ9i49mDwkdDD1i-UpjJPLNQ0q1cun9gTTcS9YPGDjRQl8GcvtX46W0VlA0f_VTSQjbHmqvcmevbjF_BoR2MnaM/s400/IMG_3133.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Graduation ceremonies are over.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymeXVGXdGIatoI7zyap_nOGgr0uyKDXG5IVIjyp3BxGZx_yxf4Zoq7Qvh0lvSahEIz4DXxCJ0If1yYxnKCkIs2mVlyfEj5Kf7vMT3CiDINixUZJEml4VYMSwmQp-vXaxz4XyVj9nmpaI/s1600/IMG_3164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymeXVGXdGIatoI7zyap_nOGgr0uyKDXG5IVIjyp3BxGZx_yxf4Zoq7Qvh0lvSahEIz4DXxCJ0If1yYxnKCkIs2mVlyfEj5Kf7vMT3CiDINixUZJEml4VYMSwmQp-vXaxz4XyVj9nmpaI/s400/IMG_3164.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> End of the year pictures have been taken.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmA96LQbrhuxCj7WDEwLwtZJkwfVMOgn1PD47pZN7AQScGJ6tNrwVX4UmWC2q1gXfOiYz7iQA0TiorbOod-VO_H1wMiBGKLaRvVgUg6pKKF8-hVDOIu4fydvUn9yxKi2O6F-1BVK-41f0/s1600/IMG_3149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmA96LQbrhuxCj7WDEwLwtZJkwfVMOgn1PD47pZN7AQScGJ6tNrwVX4UmWC2q1gXfOiYz7iQA0TiorbOod-VO_H1wMiBGKLaRvVgUg6pKKF8-hVDOIu4fydvUn9yxKi2O6F-1BVK-41f0/s400/IMG_3149.JPG" width="285" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Goodbyes have been said.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuj7iEj-1Wz5iETdaEkpp89IpuxRjptyoCSiKwqPYeXqZnxbw5RwQdmobB0yuokUPvP9f8LOsVYkovN4NOZGcuFaecM4q3f0iqnO9z9uqCgM-wbM_v8ch9Aox-pNWsF2gGSahNbMjl_SE/s1600/IMG_3121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuj7iEj-1Wz5iETdaEkpp89IpuxRjptyoCSiKwqPYeXqZnxbw5RwQdmobB0yuokUPvP9f8LOsVYkovN4NOZGcuFaecM4q3f0iqnO9z9uqCgM-wbM_v8ch9Aox-pNWsF2gGSahNbMjl_SE/s400/IMG_3121.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Young moose appear on a daily basis to eat my garden and trample the new grass that has been planted.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhhduhHTknMclaumEUDPV2vVzh6IhXSTeE3DYC-dFpctF-IeFdaac21jhwf4vVZrqawvwcpvWNKkNhO6y5R-D6UKsjqSwEoJiMteeJG7MBSzT5T8StVAplO2wCXTwocUGUKPDb0unMBw/s1600/IMG_3167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhhduhHTknMclaumEUDPV2vVzh6IhXSTeE3DYC-dFpctF-IeFdaac21jhwf4vVZrqawvwcpvWNKkNhO6y5R-D6UKsjqSwEoJiMteeJG7MBSzT5T8StVAplO2wCXTwocUGUKPDb0unMBw/s400/IMG_3167.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The slip and slide had it's christening while a naked nephew joins in the fun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Summer is officially here.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-38659423387608694592011-06-02T14:34:00.000-08:002011-06-02T14:34:17.052-08:00Worth it<div style="text-align: center;">My nephews are napping. I have a limited amount of time here. There are many things I should be doing instead of writing this.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Like folding the mountian of laundry in my living room.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sweeping. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Dusting.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Washing the dishes.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Vacumming. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Planting my garden. That's a big one.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mowing the lawn. Another biggie. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But I just had to share these pictures. Never a dull moment around here. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTzOAh5hEY7RYDsxQp90M2hTmn4AYno39rRmyWUbZLL3Dr6TNQcqh1P2bE8bhF5JrCKo10cYItbD_x0veCfiQdvCRs32WBTs5VRycuO3-34CAKBl7bJmNvS6zBnKu1vLEVBVuZxoWKRs/s1600/IMG_3233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTzOAh5hEY7RYDsxQp90M2hTmn4AYno39rRmyWUbZLL3Dr6TNQcqh1P2bE8bhF5JrCKo10cYItbD_x0veCfiQdvCRs32WBTs5VRycuO3-34CAKBl7bJmNvS6zBnKu1vLEVBVuZxoWKRs/s400/IMG_3233.JPG" width="266" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">This is my husband. No, he has not learned to walk on water.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgGpdZ-VtSpL9kjrqhN1omQx48VHXtO9wS_xyyore7jDmvu_e7wep7y4pe6dNQrkTVfzrvCFNd60_hrQ4Tx703QIyMMd6la6ehP6KAYgDSJHwRLSK3agdYIsYExKO5FkZw3xAWXsSaBo/s1600/IMG_3241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgGpdZ-VtSpL9kjrqhN1omQx48VHXtO9wS_xyyore7jDmvu_e7wep7y4pe6dNQrkTVfzrvCFNd60_hrQ4Tx703QIyMMd6la6ehP6KAYgDSJHwRLSK3agdYIsYExKO5FkZw3xAWXsSaBo/s400/IMG_3241.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">He is standing on top of his atv. </div><div style="text-align: center;">He got halfway across this bit of water when it started to float and then boycotted this particular adventure and quit. Right smack in the middle.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> There he sat swatting away mosquitoes until he was rescued. All those things you hear about the giant, bloodsucking, prehistoric mosquitoes in Alaska? They're all true. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT-r45Hhyphenhyphenk31kMxJXAynLe2M5QIHD_k8Dj8WKumMTr0s9IswL0fORV87O0Xc0w0YWG0IP29YdH1Ky6GfAnhnNbWS6GTHA9gSsh62_FV-2loAxbqVYu39X9mv8bNoXjsmp8rKWmLINKcaE/s1600/IMG_3242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT-r45Hhyphenhyphenk31kMxJXAynLe2M5QIHD_k8Dj8WKumMTr0s9IswL0fORV87O0Xc0w0YWG0IP29YdH1Ky6GfAnhnNbWS6GTHA9gSsh62_FV-2loAxbqVYu39X9mv8bNoXjsmp8rKWmLINKcaE/s400/IMG_3242.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Can you throw me a line?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6R_XkiyiaeBajKpIczK9UiGTskx7PPpvLvBSoCjLnzq-eBdubHjQbqCJH5KSy0weEkp3KBvCdGTXQvlkqP8oH4_vEJQfRSeBUNJt-J_Kr9VoT5ho9QWQHx-kx_mn_vF1bCXKHcGDojw/s1600/IMG_3244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6R_XkiyiaeBajKpIczK9UiGTskx7PPpvLvBSoCjLnzq-eBdubHjQbqCJH5KSy0weEkp3KBvCdGTXQvlkqP8oH4_vEJQfRSeBUNJt-J_Kr9VoT5ho9QWQHx-kx_mn_vF1bCXKHcGDojw/s400/IMG_3244.JPG" width="266" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Hmm....</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7nSSMCnEP5OveutFoqLNhnCayt_u6tq_2-7IfsaRcx2807bxtVqtHMnnDY-B4jVCFdrbSg4tAakEBkF2xPbaFlvWsWbLozGXB37pMS5rMeqHFfg7UxLBFqV6TTt-HMqGm76UNwvNox4/s1600/IMG_3250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7nSSMCnEP5OveutFoqLNhnCayt_u6tq_2-7IfsaRcx2807bxtVqtHMnnDY-B4jVCFdrbSg4tAakEBkF2xPbaFlvWsWbLozGXB37pMS5rMeqHFfg7UxLBFqV6TTt-HMqGm76UNwvNox4/s400/IMG_3250.JPG" width="266" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe I should take my boots off for this.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Luckily, we were on our way home when this happened. Some of his friends winched him out and then I towed him the 10 or so miles back to the truck and trailer. And somehow he managed to stay dry through the whole thing. That in itself is downright miraculous.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So what took us on this treacherous journey to begin with? Forty miles round trip through dust so thick we couldn't see (or breath!), water so deep we drowned a fourwheeler, and terrain so bumpy my muscles were aching. All so we could see this.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRI2vljqpI_7d03L6b8hVzheHIykVvhY9W_2OSSwafXrX1GsfgT89XRHyJxc3uBXQG1-tNKK8G1fFINJx7FUNoVSYrofFZzknzK2u76Y4TfJ1UlI-Wp63fLw5R5wY6pP2c04bBHAe4io/s1600/IMG_3208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRI2vljqpI_7d03L6b8hVzheHIykVvhY9W_2OSSwafXrX1GsfgT89XRHyJxc3uBXQG1-tNKK8G1fFINJx7FUNoVSYrofFZzknzK2u76Y4TfJ1UlI-Wp63fLw5R5wY6pP2c04bBHAe4io/s400/IMG_3208.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSADpD0CfvdVg2yv6FA_Cjwgxc66arTH3fZ-El2pA52J6cQc5vTSaOnXAYZL5SON3I4Dfk4y-NXWrm892JZ7cG8YDzPNk6VEH9z3y_LNIMR2S2HlJVptfUYAsQFrM2EyxRXWf1IjnOCjM/s1600/IMG_3200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSADpD0CfvdVg2yv6FA_Cjwgxc66arTH3fZ-El2pA52J6cQc5vTSaOnXAYZL5SON3I4Dfk4y-NXWrm892JZ7cG8YDzPNk6VEH9z3y_LNIMR2S2HlJVptfUYAsQFrM2EyxRXWf1IjnOCjM/s400/IMG_3200.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQA42G5vqpEhyphenhyphenZtA84tabSIyKptorL2jP3_dS4I5jCKLY48YNyZQLVuv2NUciNdNnq1XB7ja-HMmFSKKg2fOGPIai4yJax0akytTwmbuejqxOHhxrqUvhLXGjhbwKlnJKcrR9Rd4I9IS0/s1600/IMG_3204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQA42G5vqpEhyphenhyphenZtA84tabSIyKptorL2jP3_dS4I5jCKLY48YNyZQLVuv2NUciNdNnq1XB7ja-HMmFSKKg2fOGPIai4yJax0akytTwmbuejqxOHhxrqUvhLXGjhbwKlnJKcrR9Rd4I9IS0/s400/IMG_3204.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNA9FGOLx1ZAufQFXPIGbSJVhUGKmP-5pCUqgpRwwnaVDniNgJ2huwCSvJfUrs18Hd4Jami4sIc6NKY4ZECXlolBsPgU5ybsJaV5B2Spj4l-uXmtlxWac1XynN13Oue-yPOExPjpXk3A/s1600/IMG_3206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNA9FGOLx1ZAufQFXPIGbSJVhUGKmP-5pCUqgpRwwnaVDniNgJ2huwCSvJfUrs18Hd4Jami4sIc6NKY4ZECXlolBsPgU5ybsJaV5B2Spj4l-uXmtlxWac1XynN13Oue-yPOExPjpXk3A/s400/IMG_3206.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLt_gpefBXQXgqcC5es24cBsXZf8qcaTC-HlLt03tUFBxLDR7V7iN-qNPMhfCsE9a1aL4VcbO1VwmAS_4AoTgGWI5KY78sCI9utDuYTTLmE4SuvLHRG_q7FwfKVGeOzY_DbhIwhTS-Mqw/s1600/IMG_3213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLt_gpefBXQXgqcC5es24cBsXZf8qcaTC-HlLt03tUFBxLDR7V7iN-qNPMhfCsE9a1aL4VcbO1VwmAS_4AoTgGWI5KY78sCI9utDuYTTLmE4SuvLHRG_q7FwfKVGeOzY_DbhIwhTS-Mqw/s400/IMG_3213.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-ShZv6vLktv0lDVDlOEhEL96VCJOT39zH3YuXz_hin9DI8vtmoMYdE_cjD2XUe3B9foBHesYl5k6XnfLM46cveGhhyphenhyphenX_aM0hXJXf16QetH1ShmwKRhg-9MSy9wAYfDAZPCLkW0Oq2PI/s1600/IMG_3223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-ShZv6vLktv0lDVDlOEhEL96VCJOT39zH3YuXz_hin9DI8vtmoMYdE_cjD2XUe3B9foBHesYl5k6XnfLM46cveGhhyphenhyphenX_aM0hXJXf16QetH1ShmwKRhg-9MSy9wAYfDAZPCLkW0Oq2PI/s400/IMG_3223.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Knik Glacier.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">These views are definitly well worth the tired muscles, sunken fourwheeler, and the pound of dust I inhaled. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-5419180459980724022011-05-19T23:48:00.001-08:002011-05-19T23:50:40.498-08:00Feeling feisty<div style="text-align: center;">I witnessed my first moose fight the other day. I use the term fight here very loosely because it was mostly just a "go away, you're in my space" kind of a thing and not an all out brawl. It was still pretty freaking amazing though. And it all happened in my front yard. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXumjLcYUaL6TntEPsMl8Se2LGdaD3NGeLlepU9uGcAZUN655oZAkImlPuXds14YnVO_GNOEIRqe3YX-TmoCh58ISuqxpFD7NjixQKxREn4uQZagNPN6VQNlgRlL96MKO3GM8RjDDryMU/s1600/IMG_2639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXumjLcYUaL6TntEPsMl8Se2LGdaD3NGeLlepU9uGcAZUN655oZAkImlPuXds14YnVO_GNOEIRqe3YX-TmoCh58ISuqxpFD7NjixQKxREn4uQZagNPN6VQNlgRlL96MKO3GM8RjDDryMU/s400/IMG_2639.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">First DH spotted a moose, a bull I believe, hanging out in the backyard. I got the camera out because he was really close and I wanted some more pictures. Then that bull was really interested in something in the woods and <i>another</i> bull comes out to the yard. They regard each other warily with their ears pinned back like horses do when they're pissed off. The first lets the second pass with a glare. They wander to the front yard to find something to eat since our backyard is nothing but a giant dirt pit now that <a href="http://mooseinmyyard.blogspot.com/2011/04/breakup.html">the mud </a>has finally dried. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I cut through the house and go out to the front porch to spy on them and see <i>a third</i> moose, this one female. One male saunters up to her. "How <i>you </i>doin'?" (imagine my best Joey, from Friends, impersonation here). She was not nearly as nice as the two meeting in the backyard were. It is not mating season and she most definitely was not in the mood. She pinned her ears back, and then I was praising Jesus that I had my camera because she actually charged the bull and tried to kick him. He ran off and eyed her from afar while peeking out from behind a few trees. AND I got it on film. It's one of those moments that I can't believe that I was actually in the right place at the right time. It is my greatest feat to date aside from, you know, giving birth to my children and stuff. It. was. awesome. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-28841995216986994032011-04-26T00:27:00.001-08:002011-04-26T00:54:32.652-08:00Easter<div style="text-align: center;">Easter has come and gone already. It comes faster and faster each year. Maybe one of these years I'll actually remember to give something up for lent, but I have to say, I feel like I'm setting myself up for failure with that one. Unless I give up lima beans. In that, I could be a great success. But I suppose that is sort of missing the point of it.<br />
<br />
We started off Easter Sunday at church, and between the kids not having Sunday school and all the extra folks that come on Easter, the place was pretty packed. Sonny Boy was none too excited to have to sit through the adult service. It's just a warm up for summer when the kids will have to sit with us all the time when Sunday school is out until fall. It is not a great time for a very fidgety eight year old. Nothing makes the kids love Sunday school quite like sitting in the adult service all summer!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">After church we had a great dinner with friends and my sister and her family. It was really nice finally having people over, but I've got to brush up on my hostessing skills. I have none. People who come over here pretty much need to learn to fend for themselves since the only ones who are ever here are family, and well, they just fend for themselves the way that families do. You want a drink, well, start hunting around, you'll find something, because I surely won't remember to offer one to you. I think maybe I'll just call myself laid back instead of terrible hostess. It has a better ring to it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">After lunch another friend and her kids came over for an Easter egg hunt. The kids were chomping at the bit to get after the eggs. My friend and I were warned to stop chit chatting when we were supposed to be hiding the eggs. The youngin's were getting a bit hard to contain inside.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52TJue4tE0MjyKGLsgIyFXhKiGS2CTLdh02OU-BQaLcu11spHh5_E8uW2z4AtuppivvU3irg8LeVjwrwYrBoDKYRjbgi2xsInZpfL-IrCOhMYHZiOyzD9ICzsiXhVD5m_qh2PrT8xdXI/s1600/IMG_2509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52TJue4tE0MjyKGLsgIyFXhKiGS2CTLdh02OU-BQaLcu11spHh5_E8uW2z4AtuppivvU3irg8LeVjwrwYrBoDKYRjbgi2xsInZpfL-IrCOhMYHZiOyzD9ICzsiXhVD5m_qh2PrT8xdXI/s400/IMG_2509.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> We finished hiding the eggs. DH opened the front door and there was a mad dash for the treats.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXZdFD2YP8J-BNiHRi6VUkcVqKGZbMTRI9IehmdgKkxGjzbyQEETrLUrhZxams75OKj_AkRZJJCUfM96EeCEo_bjGGCmzrqdnedkbkmELajlGwRxleFNvpt7o-ceUw58f0CdC2-_hyFI/s1600/IMG_2511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCi82CebEipRZgUIJxotoQlAULaSwBZQQt8qSAwSBvdyFxFhq9xo1KAs8tpErFGMoC2Q20hA6RL3pL_oFsRLZoA-gs-Dh9LkR6xJM0sXX0ht8fxOjGcXfjKgq_f9I5ui4ZyNZryQmGaqg/s1600/IMG_2518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCi82CebEipRZgUIJxotoQlAULaSwBZQQt8qSAwSBvdyFxFhq9xo1KAs8tpErFGMoC2Q20hA6RL3pL_oFsRLZoA-gs-Dh9LkR6xJM0sXX0ht8fxOjGcXfjKgq_f9I5ui4ZyNZryQmGaqg/s400/IMG_2518.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> This was my nephews first egg hunt, but it didn't take him long to figure out what he needed to do. To say the kid loves candy is a bit of an understatement. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5SrvNvE_BqCj6lQQQ6Jr-hEOAIPOMUE-76Tlxrl4MI79k7ba72f1p1qZpBC9pvqCG-v_NjOG5T8_RpuEI2wEMNeMRnKbnLInUgJcC1ni6vuxVHm631fsUpyG5y3LC_1bPX7p-oPt0dQ/s1600/IMG_2530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5SrvNvE_BqCj6lQQQ6Jr-hEOAIPOMUE-76Tlxrl4MI79k7ba72f1p1qZpBC9pvqCG-v_NjOG5T8_RpuEI2wEMNeMRnKbnLInUgJcC1ni6vuxVHm631fsUpyG5y3LC_1bPX7p-oPt0dQ/s400/IMG_2530.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">It took all of about 3 minutes for the kids to find all of the eggs and to start mowing down on the candy. Notice Sonny Boy's already stuffed cheeks and Princess Blondie's protective posture. Bob won't be getting that candy, although he did try to steal a few of his own eggs during the hunt, of course. I would expect nothing less from Bob. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCQvS_Kojs-HEP-IbXdWQhOa1OJfaGVe3ovCcGc5fiO5KOGMFdKMgwUtGNodfyv0ncpiB5Xv977VCINhMVUaKteYtM4ZztEmwLxLqQBVVAtQzrcBJ8PDisfEchwEY8DPoP_yVRIkKjuU/s1600/IMG_2524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCQvS_Kojs-HEP-IbXdWQhOa1OJfaGVe3ovCcGc5fiO5KOGMFdKMgwUtGNodfyv0ncpiB5Xv977VCINhMVUaKteYtM4ZztEmwLxLqQBVVAtQzrcBJ8PDisfEchwEY8DPoP_yVRIkKjuU/s400/IMG_2524.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And then my favorite shot of the day. I can't lay claim to either of these two little cuties, but I wish I could. How sweet are they? Watch out for that little guy on the right. He's already a little ladies man. He'll have his game perfected by the time that he's a teenager. I know I'll be locking my daughter up. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">All in all, this was the best Easter I've had in a long time. I'm feeling thankful for friends and family to share it with. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-5031969599235532172011-04-21T14:06:00.000-08:002011-04-21T14:06:49.792-08:00Breakup<div style="text-align: center;">I have a bit of a love hate relationship with spring in Alaska. It is also called breakup, presumably because the ice finally starts to break up. I'm smart like that and I can put two and two together. I didn't even bother to google it this time. I'm sure someone will tell me if I'm wrong.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> So while I love the fact that the snow is finally going away and warmer weather is here, I hate the mud. I am so tired of muddy yards, muddy dogs, muddy boots, muddy children and the subsequent vacuuming, sweeping, and mopping. Because we all know how much I love housework to begin with. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The mud hangs around for a while up here while the melting snow tries to find a place to go. Permafrost creates a nice barrier and it just kind of sits on top for a bit while the water tries to find a place to drain. We learned this last spring when we buried the truck in the yard, not once, but twice while trying to do some yard work. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, well, let's just not go there. The first time a kind neighbor pulled us out, the second time involved a tow truck and a lot of shame. At least it was in the back yard so the neighbors couldn't see our truck stuck in mud up to the wheel wells. I'm pretty sure they saw the fleet of tow trucks that came to haul us out though. You know it's bad when more than one shows up. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Not everything about the mud is bad though. The boys have been having a great time on their four wheelers. Heck, I've been having a great time on the four wheelers too. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxuzcJt3NUJNH1iHli1u-ZXYUJshafTNBj-QT68W_vuW66YmN9gteFsrE4-F1zaYxXLQiDDQjZcstJp3yn5qQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">This is the backyard. This is what happens when you let a little boy with a new toy go riding around back there. Then DH decided to plow the yard because he wants to level it so we can finally plant some grass come June. It's much easier to move earth around when it's all soupy and muddy. I guess I get that, but all I know is that it has become one colossal mess of a mud pit. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Don't even get me started on the amount of dog hair that is piling behind bookcases and under chairs because of the warmer weather. Why does one more dog equal ten times more hair? Something is wrong with that equation. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-63954758263370662402011-04-18T11:14:00.000-08:002011-04-18T11:14:36.346-08:00Sheesh, Bob<div style="text-align: center;">You can add bar of soap to the list of things that Bob has eaten. I found him chewing on a little lump of soap the other night at bedtime and I had to pry it from his jaws. He just doesn't want to give his little treasures up. He must have stashed the rest of the bar somewhere because last night DH found half a bar of soap under his pillow. Bob likes to sneak up to our room and sleep on our bed when I forget to shut the door. So one half plus a little lump saved means about 1/3 of a bar of soap is in Bob's digestive system. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ4MpXbo7zLoQoqMSVsLMBL4F5mQf63aWGGmtnrmfulR90VfO3yjhgSlEsTMWY66zBoNsubgCYmaSOx8Sm8u8_EZXQhGwcZmQyKg5G__5FgmiAvWYpyA-WR9U5ndVbAq2IUYSM1Ticf4/s1600/IMG_2268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ4MpXbo7zLoQoqMSVsLMBL4F5mQf63aWGGmtnrmfulR90VfO3yjhgSlEsTMWY66zBoNsubgCYmaSOx8Sm8u8_EZXQhGwcZmQyKg5G__5FgmiAvWYpyA-WR9U5ndVbAq2IUYSM1Ticf4/s400/IMG_2268.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Maybe that explains the belching. I never knew dogs could burp, but Bob can. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-35269022026312006022011-04-16T10:36:00.004-08:002011-04-16T10:48:44.712-08:00Better than a scrapbook<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My iphone is better than a scrapbook. I was just browsing through pictures and it reminds me of all the little things that happened that I had forgotten about. It can also carry way more pictures than my wallet ever could. Here are a few goings ons that have been going on around here lately.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiux4p7FjKKuMZU-8mnZAplcDQKLTcSU5MS7LWWROdB0MgJW3N0_wVl4HdFGcRI8eWMDtttfKiomkQXO_dIqHoXSDJuZ-c0IS-t0YC-N6ys-eqnm_7XIyy-a218Yi63A_lDPLF-BuK2GBE/s1600/IMG_0539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiux4p7FjKKuMZU-8mnZAplcDQKLTcSU5MS7LWWROdB0MgJW3N0_wVl4HdFGcRI8eWMDtttfKiomkQXO_dIqHoXSDJuZ-c0IS-t0YC-N6ys-eqnm_7XIyy-a218Yi63A_lDPLF-BuK2GBE/s400/IMG_0539.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Bob got a boo boo. He doesn't have a cast on, I just had to wrap his foot in an ace bandage so he wouldn't bleed all over my floor. Because we all know the next place he was going to go was my new white rug. I think dogs' foot wounds are like head wounds on people. Tiny little cut means lots and lots of blood. Bob's just fine now. It was just a scrape on the bottom of his foot. DH took him out for a run with the four-wheeler and he lost a bit of skin on his paw from running on the side of the road. On the plus side, I don't have to trim his nails anymore. Asphalt = emery board. Lesson learned. Now Bob runs on dirt trails. </div><div style="text-align: center;">(p.s. You can now add modeling clay and library book to the list of things that Bob has eaten/chewed on.) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesYlKtD3baHqLBP5hHGjHOHT5tJ7c-n8eHeL-heni8x4c_xFS9OeuvMDz9WqGbv5sdv1H-9axxdh4k01yInos93buuXbgTW9uYymD1TanfPpF7ex5vzVgGsNhX7JhJ5g-0kHmA8ov7ew/s1600/IMG_0551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesYlKtD3baHqLBP5hHGjHOHT5tJ7c-n8eHeL-heni8x4c_xFS9OeuvMDz9WqGbv5sdv1H-9axxdh4k01yInos93buuXbgTW9uYymD1TanfPpF7ex5vzVgGsNhX7JhJ5g-0kHmA8ov7ew/s400/IMG_0551.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Derby car races. Sonny Boy has been very excited for this and has been praying every night that he would win. I tried to tell him that all the other boys were working very hard on their cars too and he might not win.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivw6gPeKb-BY2vi-Hmz0qYMqh8pLTcBLls_he_GcYIkxqvmnaBoVSSMexASfH6RwF6fAZpmwiu-wgWKTCR6giYwabe1Sxx1DopgzEskp3uEYGVfRvI5ypdHpEWBYaVJjzQcK3PJ2RHRyM/s1600/IMG_0562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivw6gPeKb-BY2vi-Hmz0qYMqh8pLTcBLls_he_GcYIkxqvmnaBoVSSMexASfH6RwF6fAZpmwiu-wgWKTCR6giYwabe1Sxx1DopgzEskp3uEYGVfRvI5ypdHpEWBYaVJjzQcK3PJ2RHRyM/s400/IMG_0562.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> But then he won. There goes that lesson. But, now we have to go to the Scout O Rama and he races against everybody from the whole valley there. He's been counting down the days. It's been marked on his calendar. I hope he does well there, but these things are really a bit of a crap shoot. There's a good chance I will have one very disappointed little boy on my hands. I may still have an opportunity for that lesson on good sportsmanship.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8VL0_-o-COmPGEh7PPcImbqP5MqzrEqItmXx3XCZPkJdI-TCvUxqewy63s-yqsA31xyZ1GVda1mKbBukoCmQRGmW4Kz0EU_tIb7QfnpKiWxyNc-g_WeAG1nog8kjTtvSdcVG0KsokpQ/s1600/IMG_0568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8VL0_-o-COmPGEh7PPcImbqP5MqzrEqItmXx3XCZPkJdI-TCvUxqewy63s-yqsA31xyZ1GVda1mKbBukoCmQRGmW4Kz0EU_tIb7QfnpKiWxyNc-g_WeAG1nog8kjTtvSdcVG0KsokpQ/s400/IMG_0568.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> My nephew loves to vacuum. I figured I would put that love to good use. It's not child labor if he wants to do it. At least, that's what my sister told me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RgM5AS41fY9jkkbBS4GpmB0OUtAKu14WaKiYBs5F4YsZ5wAedHz97kAcUaQmlCHsN5ulLNxLYmZ0dsS0u5T3mutTf-mAYd2deGljpy-rQiX94ts2zZ0Gdvv3N9ffTfwHjaDpwI5z-1g/s1600/IMG_0574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RgM5AS41fY9jkkbBS4GpmB0OUtAKu14WaKiYBs5F4YsZ5wAedHz97kAcUaQmlCHsN5ulLNxLYmZ0dsS0u5T3mutTf-mAYd2deGljpy-rQiX94ts2zZ0Gdvv3N9ffTfwHjaDpwI5z-1g/s400/IMG_0574.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This winter we had one four wheeler. Then my husbands dirt bike suddenly morphed into another fourwheeler (God bless craigslist and people who like to trade). Yay, now I can go to! But then this spring those two four wheelers were feeling a little frisky and they had a baby. Now Sonny Boy is the proud owner of his very own four wheeler. I think our family camping trips just got a lot more exciting! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWm8rfEIqvcne1C0gCyolE9UjEkVvCfD-6fLbxZ30nviaHiMb3X8j1D4BfxFuWJ9tqNVpoy31lfiloO-nNDByFqSMNoUU8RkFZXuK_Y0vGSsx2sB-Mbso6ttyqaJyyDQk31Yz53lE4-w/s1600/IMG_0578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWm8rfEIqvcne1C0gCyolE9UjEkVvCfD-6fLbxZ30nviaHiMb3X8j1D4BfxFuWJ9tqNVpoy31lfiloO-nNDByFqSMNoUU8RkFZXuK_Y0vGSsx2sB-Mbso6ttyqaJyyDQk31Yz53lE4-w/s400/IMG_0578.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Found out that Princess Blondie has strep throat. Again. This is the second time this year. I'm seeing flashbacks to my own childhood. She feels find except for her throat so we made the best of the gorgeous spring weather. I took her to McDonalds after the doctor and then we played outside. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2LmQMRz5Nx0z87qgfBIBvHn9DCVE4RmTQ4HxjXW6RQ08zOjwCcrJKqIDkqU5Nni2f3UIJ1c0E0HrR-9MRJG13AYV0TJfiKMUsxiGeDDemMSOScm3pp5-VABkcsiioNZ402GB5D1s0dk/s1600/IMG_0580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2LmQMRz5Nx0z87qgfBIBvHn9DCVE4RmTQ4HxjXW6RQ08zOjwCcrJKqIDkqU5Nni2f3UIJ1c0E0HrR-9MRJG13AYV0TJfiKMUsxiGeDDemMSOScm3pp5-VABkcsiioNZ402GB5D1s0dk/s400/IMG_0580.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> She said it was the best day ever. I agree.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-13141596988303331702011-04-06T10:22:00.000-08:002011-04-06T10:22:24.843-08:00Runner?I started running this week. I think I may have sort of lost my mind. I hate running. HATE it. Always have. Yet I've always wanted to <i>be</i> a runner. I wanted to be that person who would get up and put a quick three miles in every morning before I went to work. Enjoy the solitude of an empty road or the hum of a treadmill. What a great way to start the day! I never really set my hopes too high on actually attaining my goal of being a runner considering that I lacked one key factor. You know, that whole desire to run part.<br />
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I never really got the whole idea of running for the sake of running. What am I running after? I only ever ran when I had to. When I was in high school and involved in sports, I would run when the coach told us to to run. Or when I was playing a game that required me to actually run after a ball. Then I can do it. I was running <i>for</i> something.<br />
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I'm not quite sure what it was that sparked a little flame in me last week to start running. I think it was a lot of things.<br />
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1.) Maybe it was the guilt of not using the treadmill that has been sitting in our office for, gosh, well, for a few years.<br />
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2.) I've lost weight lately, but I need a bit of a jump start. I've been at this a while now and I need something different. Call me fickle, but after about 8 months of Weight Watchers I was getting a little bored. It was time to finally add some exercise to the mix. A gym membership just isn't going to happen right now and workout videos? Oh boy, workout videos. I think the one thing that I hate more than running is doing a workout video. I can do it once and then I don't want to hear the same lady telling me to do the same thing again, and again, and again, day, after day, after day because I start to feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog day. (Ack! So many commas! I just threw a bunch in there because I don't really know what to do with that sentence.) <br />
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3.) I saw a friend on facebook doing the <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml">Couch to 5k</a> program. I tucked that away in the back of my mind. If she can do it I can do it, right? I'd heard of it before and I finally looked it up. It was simple. Print out their training guide and do it. It's only three days a week. For the first week I only have to run for one minute intervals. Even I can do that. I like that it tells me exactly what to do-- I don't even have to think. It's like a coach yelling at me. <br />
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So here I am. Week 1, Day 2 of Couch to 5k. Way too early to call my self a runner, but at least I can call myself a person who ran today.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6999182675991503759.post-91007281688872709482011-03-31T09:48:00.000-08:002011-03-31T09:48:45.797-08:00Bob: a list<div style="text-align: center;"> This is the face of a guilty dog. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht93Ga4JRaNJ_ddrMDWMVmXjebDw6VHXDMANqIkBvihgZaldrWlqCc7PQob-Og85AsMXv6kLaTwnG9VI_vWvbm-8WOVXH-n3JX2JXtaE1qtXCpQml8VfMom3WnsX45cfwcwal4fCOscJ8/s1600/IMG_0538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht93Ga4JRaNJ_ddrMDWMVmXjebDw6VHXDMANqIkBvihgZaldrWlqCc7PQob-Og85AsMXv6kLaTwnG9VI_vWvbm-8WOVXH-n3JX2JXtaE1qtXCpQml8VfMom3WnsX45cfwcwal4fCOscJ8/s400/IMG_0538.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
He just got caught eating Sonny Boys toothbrush that he had stolen off the counter in the kids' bathroom. After this picture he put his head in my lap and begged for forgiveness.<br />
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Oh Bob, what am I going to do with you?<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOdkQO1q0x_wZ5aiWHq49ZUO1kzTOy_l8yaKsL_HLXjsmMrGG48IhhZlNtNBMK8pR_4r-ZTn0iFvwmM2QdNTmytF0joMZCJxT50vzOpcVAX0av8RKSAFSCNfAEgUldaA4ABASxoBtP1I/s1600/IMG_0539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>I've decided to start a running list of things that Bob has eaten because, well, it's a little weird and it makes me laugh once I see it all together. One lesson I've learned: nothing on the counter is safe. Pretty much nothing anywhere is safe.<br />
Here is the list so far. </div><ol><li>tube of toothpaste</li>
<li>steak off the counter</li>
<li>a pan of peanut butter bars left on the counter (loud crash that woke me up at two in the morning = Bob sending the pan flying to the floor)</li>
<li> my breakfast off the counter (do you see a trend here?)</li>
<li>a banana</li>
<li>apple slices</li>
<li>tomato </li>
<li>countless tubes of chapstick</li>
<li>Legos (where do I even start)</li>
<li>3, no wait, 4 toothbrushes</li>
<li>a bouncy ball</li>
<li>nerf darts--any time he can find one</li>
<li>lip gloss</li>
<li>enchilada seasoning packet (I actually had to learn to make enchilada sauce from scratch)</li>
<li>anything my 2 year old nephew has in his hand</li>
<li>something very, very red that he puked up on my new white rug, perhaps number 13. </li>
<li>barbie shoe</li>
<li>stuffed otter</li>
<li>anything he can haul out of the kids garbage cans</li>
<li>part of a loaf of bread</li>
<li>pineapple </li>
<li>Tinker Toys</li>
<li>any wrapper that once contained food </li>
<li>crayons</li>
<li>anything in my compost pile </li>
</ol><div style="text-align: center;"> At least he has nearly stopped puking at this point. He must finally be used to the dog food we have. All that crazy stuff he eats doesn't make him puke but switching his brand of dog food does. That just doesn't seem right. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><ol></ol><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0NAVbuJFvXximYH4wamMbna_6VHiOwzzcpLbgyYOsfDStLuLUFGCHcyE_viD37dDYGJoiMWl7J4xRG_wAAJGcfIgPJXtMBxTozXq5fOxXbiT6TqbF5a5zUq_5A9JhyYFLjlNrtyi2ag/s1600/IMG_0525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0NAVbuJFvXximYH4wamMbna_6VHiOwzzcpLbgyYOsfDStLuLUFGCHcyE_viD37dDYGJoiMWl7J4xRG_wAAJGcfIgPJXtMBxTozXq5fOxXbiT6TqbF5a5zUq_5A9JhyYFLjlNrtyi2ag/s400/IMG_0525.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Next up, things my 10 month old nephew has eaten (or at least attempted to eat) including, but not limited to: sandpaper, dust bunnies, napkins, diapers, paper, a screw, Bob's tail, and dog food. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Babysitting him was so much easier when he was immobile. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02488814921365414004noreply@blogger.com4