tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356314182024-02-20T02:41:36.153-08:00Young, Rushing, and CrazyThe adventures of this little family-that-can. We can!Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.comBlogger307125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-49796051227771945462012-03-31T07:53:00.001-07:002012-03-31T08:04:22.849-07:00We busted out of the hospital!!We have survived the week of the VA hospital!!<br />
<br />
Checked in Monday morning, took Aiden off of all of his anti-convulsant medications, and sat us in the bed. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7sjoKPH4LjjrVMzDe3ztbKu5k49PViXhn73OGYkYZWdgFICTyc2GckOFsbucUvyL7wz_hLHDonkaPn07mjoV4Aez3iAAveaOH1Qkr9EMSt-N9TY-_9e4a-cvtWoqLG9Gfw2bIg/s1600/Aiden+rockin%2527+the+EEG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dea="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7sjoKPH4LjjrVMzDe3ztbKu5k49PViXhn73OGYkYZWdgFICTyc2GckOFsbucUvyL7wz_hLHDonkaPn07mjoV4Aez3iAAveaOH1Qkr9EMSt-N9TY-_9e4a-cvtWoqLG9Gfw2bIg/s400/Aiden+rockin%2527+the+EEG.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br />
Aiden looked so funny with his leads all over his head. Sadly, the only picture I got was after the put a bandage wrap on the whole thing to keep the leads on there better. They don't allow cell phones to be on in the room so the fact that I got any pictures was contraband.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We noticed that Aiden was completely out of it for the entire first 24 hours. They told us later that it is because of his pain meds that he is having these narcoleptic-like episodes. Basically, they claim he is stoned out of his mind. Ha ha! </div><br />
The morphine was also to blame for some of his jerking and spasming, apparently.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure that all of this behavior is to be blamed on the pain meds, he was also having these episodes before he had morphine or hydrocodone but they were less severe and less often so I guess I will be happy if we just get back to that place.<br />
<br />
Anyway, no seizures were happening. So we played PS3 games. We started with Pinball for the blinking lights. Sure, this will bring on a seizure, right?<br />
<br />
No. But we did replace all of the high scores. And I don't think anyone will ever catch us. On Medieval Madness, we scored 49 million points in one turn. That's not an exaggeration, it's a fact. 49 million points.<br />
<br />
Sadly, it was the most exciting thing to happen all week. <br />
<br />
Because Aiden continued to be unhelpful in the seizure department, in spite of flashing lights on games, sleep deprivation, high levels of caffeine and sugar, strobe lights in his face, and forced hyperventilation, the doctors wanted us to stay until Saturday. We politely declined, having decided that our sanity and our backsides could not handle one more day of sleeping there. A was confined strictly to his bed and while I was able to leave the room if I needed/wanted, the bed was basically my only choice of where to sit in the room. And they both sucked.<br />
<br />
So we busted out (with doctor's permission) of the VA on Friday afternoon. We have a new anti-convulsant for the next 3 months, a follow-up scheduled for then, and no diagnosis. Which is the best thing that could have happened, really. They are looking to chalk it up to the 'perfect storm' of stress in December, and if he remains seizure-free for the next 3 months, we will wean him off of all the anti-epileptics and officially close this door in our lives. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGjbE_qVANSNDpmJ8mtYNuVyZU2J-prhDZCwy4yXGw8yO0nMmvIDVfpvo36NLtQZxrAUPuGTZd9R7kkL60HoQ2t6AhkSl0hC34hgq5EaWOv9FEgFnx2dDx94JUTHBJDznld14Fhg/s1600/Aiden's+EEG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dea="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGjbE_qVANSNDpmJ8mtYNuVyZU2J-prhDZCwy4yXGw8yO0nMmvIDVfpvo36NLtQZxrAUPuGTZd9R7kkL60HoQ2t6AhkSl0hC34hgq5EaWOv9FEgFnx2dDx94JUTHBJDznld14Fhg/s400/Aiden's+EEG.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every one of those wires goes to a different spot on his head. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I'm not sure I will ever trust him to drive again, though. <br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-25126846381439260362012-03-16T04:14:00.000-07:002012-03-16T04:14:44.036-07:00Bad Dream. Very BAAAAAAAD Dream.You don't need to read this, just skip to the happy post about Alex and Odyssey of the Mind. It's all ready for you, just below this therapy session for myself. <br />
<br />
I was sleeping, like normal people. I hadn't been sleeping well for months. We have tried a lot. Finally Aiden turns the mattress around and tonight, I was sleeping! He's so darn thoughtful.<br />
<br />
Then, in the sleeping, I have the dreaming. And I dream that Aiden and I are walking down the sidewalk on the 4th of July. Then he suddenly stops walking and seems to fall asleep standing up. This is not unusual anymore. Normally I just say his name kind of loud and sudden and he wakes up out of it. I am 2 steps ahead of him and I turn around. I say his name and he does not wake up, he falls over backward and hits his head on the ground. Then he seizes. <br />
<br />
A police officer calls for an ambulance and he is taken to the ER. Suddenly I am at the park for fireworks (it may not be the 4th of July, but there is preparation for fireworks so I don't know what else it is). There are a lot of very old people there and they are all worrying. It seems that Aiden's health was on some kind of broadcast or something but everyone knows. The kids are also there and my friend, Keegan, is babysitting for me. I keep telling everyone I have to leave to get to the ER. Suddenly Aiden is there and asking someone for a chair.<br />
<br />
I find him a chair and sit down. I ask why he didn't go to the hospital with the ambulance. He says he did go to SMMC but they already released him. I ask if they knew he hit his head. He looks at me and suddenly I see a very old man. He tells me that he didn't care what the ER docs had to say; he told them he wanted to go back home to me and the kids for the few weeks he has left. Then he tells me that he signed up for hospice care. <br />
<br />
I am now awake. Sitting here thinking about the scary things we might go through in the next 2 weeks. Reading young widow websites, trying to prepare for the thing that you can't really prepare for. <br />
<br />
I think that this dream is really pulling all of my fears into precise focus. I am scared that I will lose Aiden through this. So many things happening in the last 3 months have probably been symptoms of something larger that we ignored the small symptoms to. When you have as many health issues as Aiden, I think you can easily chalk things up to other things and just miss larger problems hiding until they refuse to be ignored anymore. (Or we are reading into things).<br />
<br />
I am glad we are finally going to get some answers, hopefully, in our week in Portland, or at least shortly afterward, right? I am also scared that we will get answers. Scared of what the answers might be. I am also also scared of not getting anywhere.<br />
<br />
They have scheduled the next MRI. Luckily they are able to do it the day before A starts his week long EEG so we are going to Portland anyway. I am hoping they get the answers this time. Or at least know before we leave town that they need to do it again before we go.<br />
<br />
Anyway, our time is up. Welcome to the crazy things I get to worry about. I am 32 years old and not ready to be a widow. So Hospice will really just have to wait until I am good and ready. Like 85. They can have him then.Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-26323243100942272242012-03-16T03:51:00.001-07:002012-03-16T04:16:03.366-07:00Odyssey of the Mind... 20 years laterI have to get up in an hour to get ready for work and then take Alex to his school to drop him off for his first Odyssey of the Mind competition. His group chose to write a play where one member has to be mute during the play. We went last week to watch them perform to make sure they are ready for tomorrow's competition; it's such a cute play! The thing about Odyssey is that the kids do it all themselves. They wrote the play, they built the backdrops, they forgot to think about costuming... it's all very precious. <br />
<br />
I'm sad that I can't go with his group to watch them perform. I was going to be a chaperon but then I used up all of my sick leave and annual leave in December to stay home with Aiden and now I am sending him off instead. We thought about going down tomorrow to see them compete but for many reasons have decided that it's time to cut the apron strings a little bit and let him have his time with his group. <br />
<br />
Alex is a funny kid. He is in that awkward age where he wants to snuggle and hold hands at home or at the store but NEVER could he admit that he even knows who we are if we are within 100 yards of his school! I'm pretty sure that would extend to Odyssey of the Mind competitions as well. <br />
<br />
I have had so much fun watching Alex and his group plan their performance. I did Odyssey of the Mind from 4th to 8th grade and it was always so exciting and nerve wracking to get to the actual performance!! I'm having such a great time seeing it through the eyes of a parent this time.<br />
<br />
So Alex, we love you, we are proud of you, we want you to do great!<br />
<br />
Please don't eat all of your bus munchy foods in the first hour. Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-36689866868990675502012-03-03T07:19:00.000-08:002012-03-03T07:19:50.816-08:00Clearly this blog has gone by the wayside for some time now. I try to update. I think about updates. I fail to update. But here is what I am hoping will be the mother of all updates. <br />
<br />
Also known as "my big fat excuse for not updating for so long". <br />
<br />
December 1st I got a phone call at work. It was Aiden. He said "I think, um, that I, um, passed out? Um, yeah. Could you, come? Now? I don't know what happened. I'm bleeding."<br />
<br />
I got in the car and came home to find all three kids ready to give me an update and one very freaked out Aiden sitting on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on his lip. Now, I have a first aid card so I looked at the cut and thought it looked a little big. Mostly, though, I was concerned with the part where he passed out. I called a triage nurse at the VA and, after a bunch of questions, she recommended we go to the ER. So off we went to SMMC. This was a natural choice between the 2 hospitals since Aiden had just spent 4 days in the ICU for a bleeding ulcer in November in the same facility. (awesome)<br />
<br />
The doc at the ER said he thought the passing out (syncope) was caused by a new prescription. Yes, Aiden had started a new script that day but he had been on this drug for 4 years before and it had only been 2 years since he stopped it. And he had only taken 1 pill, 4 hours before this happened. But okay, we knew. Don't take the pill. Follow up with primary care physician within a week. <br />
<br />
We go home. Aiden already had an appointment for the 7th scheduled with his doctor so we just get on with our lives. <br />
<br />
December 6th. It's a Tuesday. Aiden had a math final he was going to take in the proctoring center at the college. He needed the car so he was riding with me to work so he could take the car. I pull up to a stoplight. Aiden goes into full tonic-clonic seizure. (This is what we used to call grand-mal seizures. They changed the name. )<br />
<br />
I freak out after I figure out he's not playing some seriously jacked up game. I pull over, call 911, and take him directly to SMMC. Again. On the way, he regains consciousness. He's very confused about where we are going and why. He says he is fine, even as he is still dripping spit and snot from his face. He is not yet aware of these fluids. <br />
<br />
I pull into the ambulance bay and Aiden tries to get out of the car. Um, no. I force him to sit until the nurses come out with a wheelchair. They take him into a room and I go park the car. By the time I get into the ER with him, they have decided he is clearly a drug-addict. The inability to answer questions with any authority has NOTHING to do with him having just had a seizure. Nothing related to him having been unconscious. All they can see is that he has piercings and tattoos. He is transgendered and so he MUST be ON SOMETHING. The doctor just kept repeating "what did you take? What did you take, Ai-DEN?" <br />
<br />
Later I found out that he ran a tox-screen to find out for himself what Ai-DEN had taken since neither he nor his "WIFE" (which is exactly how it's written in his notes in the ER report) would tell him truthfully. <br />
<br />
After the tox screen came back, we only saw the doctor one time. He came to do an ultrasound of Aiden's heart as he was holding a steady heartbeat at 149 for about 2 hours. <br />
<br />
He said that I clearly did not know what a seizure looked like and that I had brought A in because of a syncopal event. That there is often twitching and shaking to accompany passing out (syncope is fainting) and that I was wasting their time. He did treat the elevated heart rate with some adenosine. He discharged A with a heart rate at 99 and said we should really get in with a cardiologist as he had heard a murmur.<br />
<br />
The next morning Aiden had an appointment with his doctor's fill-in (doc is on maternity leave). Ms. Rupe, NP, had all kinds of things to say about what was going on. She immediately told us to go home and pack a bag; we were going to Portland to the seizure clinic. She sent us to SMMC to get an MRI and had a massive plan of action in place. She also told us he cannot drink, take antidepressants, or drive (duh) until further notice. <br />
<br />
Later that week we were told that we would go to the seizure clinic on January 5th since this wasn't that big of a deal and they were closed due to holidays and the days they were open were fully booked already. This is the first time I let myself cry about this whole thing. There was no help and I was being told that he utter and unrelenting confusion and disorientation was normal and I needed to just deal with it. Um, I AM NOT A NURSE!!<br />
<br />
Saturday, December 10th. My birthday. Aiden dinks around all day and is very shaky and just... OFF. He decides to take a shower. I get in with him since he is so very shaky and unbalanced. I get his hair washed and rinsed. I put the shower head back in the holder and turn around just in time to catch him as he falls into a tonic clonic seizure. <br />
<br />
I have Alex call 911 as there is NO WAY that I can get Aiden out of the tub on my own. I get his robe and some clothes in a bag and get the kids ready to go to the hospital. The EMTs help A out of the tub and take us to General hospital. After the last visit to SMMC, no way was I headed back there.<br />
<br />
General has a great ER doc who is quite serious about fixing this. He points out that A's eyes are still seizing even after the major event is over. He does some poking and prodding and makes other parts of him seize also (feet, hands, etc). This man gives us a prescription for ativan and says to take one if any pre-seizure activity starts. Like the jerking and shaking all morning. It will help ward off any major activity. YESSS!!!!<br />
<br />
The next morning, Aiden bounces out of bed at 6 am. He says it's time to rise and shine. He says he feels bright eyed and bushy tailed. I sense that something is very wrong. Aiden is NOT a morning person. I have never heard him say "bright eyed and bushy tailed" without saying "fucking" in front of it while mocking someone else who says it seriously.<br />
<br />
I tell him if he wants to get out of bed, he needs to go see if Alex is awake and can babysit him; I have not showered or slept in 2 days and I am damn tired. I can't go back to sleep and as I finally drag my ass out of bed, Alex comes running in the room to say that he thinks Aiden needs one of his pills, he is jerking and shaking. <br />
<br />
Now up to this point, none of the kids have seen a seizure. I have not heard Aiden hit the floor though so I know he's not seizing yet. I get him one of his pills and make him sit in the recliner. He starts to calm down so I tell him I am going to go to the bathroom and I will be back. I tell Alex to watch him. 2 minutes later I am peeing and hear the chair go all crazy. Alex comes running down the hall to say he thinks Aiden is having a seizure, should he call 911? <br />
<br />
I get Aiden loaded up the car and make an executive decision that Alex is old enough to babysit a sleeping Ashley and an Annie that had come running down the hall to catch the end of the seizure show. The kids stay home this time. <br />
<br />
We are in and out of General in 1 hour and 14 minutes. While this is record fast, it is frustrating since there was no real help. The doc this time tells me that I need to call 911 after a seizure so the EMTs can draw blood in the back of the ambulance to check for prolactin which is apparently produced in the body during a seizure but only lasts for 15 minutes in the bloodstream. Without a prolactin level, he says, no one will ever take me seriously about it being a seizure.<br />
<br />
As a fun part, Aiden is hallucinating. A lot. He is very apologetic to the IV pole that it is not a person. He keeps seeing children sitting in and on things in the ER room. The doctor tells me this is just from the ativan and I should get used to it. <br />
<br />
I am tired of people telling me to get used to it.<br />
<br />
The next day, I call Ms. Rupe. She is my only ally in this. She gets us in for an EEG at SMMC. It takes 9 hours from entry to exit. I haven't been to work since the 5th. I miss work. No one seizes there.<br />
<br />
The doctor finally gets the results from the EEG from Spokane. They didn't see anything except slow brain waves. Well, maybe that's from Aiden sleeping through the whole thing, right?<br />
<br />
We go to Ms. Rupe the next day. She is pissed. She wants answers. I love her. She uses the F-bomb and is not shy about it. She is scattered and flustered with me and I love her. She acts how I feel and I love her.<br />
<br />
She gets on the phone with the seizure clinic. She tells them this is unacceptable to wait until January 5th. <br />
<br />
2 days later, we go to Portland. (I love her)<br />
<br />
The neurologist, Dr. Motica, is patient and curious and thorough as anything I have ever seen. He leaves us in the room and watches the MRI films. He says there is a shadowy place in the right temporal lobe. The original doctor to read the films says it is old blood. They say it is benign. Dr. Motica says that they didn't run the type of contrast needed to be able to say that with any authority. He orders another MRI with epileptic protocol. And an angio-gram of the brain. <br />
<br />
It takes a little time for us to get back into SMMC to get this MRI done. Aiden is now on anti-seizure meds (thanks, Dr. Motica) and wears a medic-alert unit ("I've fallen and I can't get up") *(Thanks Ms. Rupe.) (I love her). I go back to work.<br />
<br />
Since the beginning of the year, Aiden has continued to have break-through seizures but they are very small. No tonic/clonic seizures. We are still a shit show but we are a more put together shit show. Finally, some sense of normalcy. I must have gotten used to it.<br />
<br />
The cardiologist in Portland had Aiden wear a portable heart monitor for a month. They did a skype appointment where the doctor said that even though his heart rate is not normal, it is not a problem. He says Aiden is just incredibly out of shape. (I was not in on this appointment but later I point out that I am incredibly out of shape. My heart rate is not this crazy).<br />
<br />
The second appointment with the seizure clinic came with another EEG before it. They really want to see Aiden seize on command. He fails to. Dr. Motica's NP, Collette?, tells us he wants us to come in for a week long study. It is scheduled for the last week in March (they want me there and I cannot afford to take more time off of work so this is during my spring break).<br />
<br />
Last weekend, we went back to Portland. Why? Because SMMC screwed up the second MRI, too. So Dr. Motica had us come to his facility at OHSU and get it done by his people in his hospital his way. (I love him, too. But I don't love driving to Portland).<br />
<br />
So yesterday he calls to tell Aiden that there is something on the new MRI from this weekend. He says it is possible that it is just an artifact or maybe Aiden moved during the scan. It is in the same place as the "benign" shadowy place from SMMC's films. They don't want to alarm us. It could be nothing. We need to go back and get it done again. <br />
<br />
They haven't said it yet. I'm pretty sure it's going to be in Portland. <br />
<br />
What is really fun is that with all of this appointment-ing, we still live day-to-day with reality. Reality has become that there are days when Aiden cannot sleep for anything. He tries and tries but eventually will realize there's no hope and he gives up. <br />
<br />
There are also days where he will pass out standing up from being so tired. He describes it as narcoleptic. It seems to be true. Mid-sentence, he will just zonk out. In a restaurant, walking, it doesn't matter, he is just OUT. This week, he spent 48 hours, almost straight, in bed, asleep. But it's not sleep. It's just like dead. He cannot wake up for anything. <br />
<br />
Half of the time I am convinced Aiden is having the world's slowest stroke. He loses words, says the wrong words, stutters more than he ever did, and gets confused about everything. <br />
<br />
The other half of the time, I pretend like this isn't happening. I block out the part where his brain might never work right again. I ignore the neurologist having said "mental retardation". I try really hard not to think about the future. It's a scary idea. <br />
<br />
Also, I don't talk to anyone about this. Every Monday, the ladies at work ask how Aiden is doing. I tell them the latest news and they get these looks on their faces. These looks make it hard to pretend it's not happening. I really want to not tell them anymore. But I have to talk about it with someone. I don't have time for therapy (which I'm sure I need, too). I don't have any friends or time to make any friends in Walla Walla. My friends that live so damn far away, when I talk to them, I don't want to just rag on about how awful life is. So I tell the ladies at work. And they are kind and say "oh that's awful" and then I go cry in the bathroom and then get back to work. <br />
<br />
The kids, they have been amazing through this. They have had some behavior changes and made me want to run away... but they have also gotten used to it. They know the reality is different and we have had over 3 months from the first seizure now. (that original event on December 1st, they decided it was a seizure, too). They have adjusted as well as they can. <br />
<br />
And poor Aiden. He has gone through all of this. Doesn't remember December at all. Has stopped asking me to tell him the story because he thinks he is stressing me out. Every time he does ask me to tell him, I do. And then a couple of days later he always tells me how this has made him consider his own mortality and that he is at peace with his life. He says he wouldn't change anything. He says he loves his life and he is happy and loves me and the kids and Walla Walla (and Ms Rupe) and our friends all strewn across the state and the country. He says he hopes that everyone knows that he loves them even when he forgets to tell them. He talks about missing his Coastie family (Leanne, Rachel, Laura, I'm talking to you guys, especially).<br />
<br />
.........<br />
So, I've got a pretty good excuse for not updating very regularly but also a great reason that I should be updating regularly. <br />
<br />
And if anyone wants to move to Walla Walla so we have some friends, I will introduce you to Ms. Rupe. You will love her!Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-21121011314748536222011-12-24T16:38:00.000-08:002011-12-24T16:38:25.589-08:00Easy Bake OvenAnnie and Ashley both asked, nay begged, for an Easy Bake Oven this year. Their dad and Morgan got one for them to share. They each also received some Easy Bake packets, too.<br />
<br />
I remember getting my Easy Bake Oven as a little girl. I was so excited to open the packets and get to baking.<br />
<br />
"Oh yes, cooking on a light bulb" is the over-whelming memory I have of my mom on that day. <br />
<br />
The girls opened their oven a week ago at their dad's house for their Christmas there. Morgan was sick the rest of the week so there was no chance to break in their cooking skills. <br />
<br />
Today, we got out the Easy Bake Oven. They decided that they were going to make a pretzel pack while I got other cookie dough ready for later tonight. By the time I put the last batch of dough into the fridge, there was flour EVERYWHERE (think: ceiling), pretzel nubs stuck in the pretzel pan, a couple of singed fingers, "hot" pan on my table, nacho cheese sauce in 14 million bowls, and 5 dirty bowls. <br />
<br />
Side note: have you ever seen an easy bake oven recipe pack? A cereal bowl is more than enough bowl; I think you could mix it in a 3 oz. Dixie cup. There were ALL of my large mixing bowls with 2 sniffs of stuff in each.<br />
<br />
The girls are so proud of the half-raw, coated in salt, stuck in the pan pretzel nubs they made. They can't wait to cook their dessert dippers package. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.budget101.com/content/attachments/2798d1291057301-easy-bake-oven-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="http://www.budget101.com/content/attachments/2798d1291057301-easy-bake-oven-7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guarantee that none of the foods shown here came out of the devil contration also shown here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm just wondering which part is supposed to be EASY???Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-6723041938677957912011-12-03T11:04:00.000-08:002011-12-03T11:04:32.059-08:00Annie assures me that's not what they say<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0aFahRJmgaNwyZhrOXwo8DFUFUu6VgKfGF20L3YEsmILeIm-UtzZcFYiRZ7idX4IwQ6iSKwJ7Nxu4u_OJ1hc8a6Ul7RcyeE9Qzm9QgJVfUN-Ukk6w5Dzpy5a0O2hvpXh3MZCivw/s1600/family+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0aFahRJmgaNwyZhrOXwo8DFUFUu6VgKfGF20L3YEsmILeIm-UtzZcFYiRZ7idX4IwQ6iSKwJ7Nxu4u_OJ1hc8a6Ul7RcyeE9Qzm9QgJVfUN-Ukk6w5Dzpy5a0O2hvpXh3MZCivw/s320/family+tree.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>Alex and Annie are both in the Explorer's program at their schools. It's the program for smarty-pants kids they have here. For Alex, that means he has one teacher for the last 2 classes of the day, Social Studies and Literature. It turns out, Alex is really smart with zero motivation or gumption. He pulled a C+ in literature for fall quarter. And got grounded. Apparently, he really likes to do the projects that she assigns based on the books they read but he doesn't like the writing piece. So he just doesn't do it. <br />
<br />
I thought he was doing much better so far this quarter so when we went to turn in the family tree project <strike>I made</strike> WE made, I was shocked to hear his teacher tell us that he has an F in literature at this moment. <br />
<br />
Actually, shocked doesn't cover it. I was mortified. "HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?!?" I seethed through clenched teeth. "I just forgot."<br />
<br />
His teacher filled in the words I could not come up with at that moment (my eyes were spinning in their sockets too fast) "That is not acceptable".<br />
<br />
He is now grounded from everything. Forever. He tried to placate me with the fact that one assignment which he never turned in, she gave him 50/100 since she knew he had started it. Then he said "And I got 100% on my family tree. So now I have a D+. Can I be un-grounded now?"<br />
<br />
He was completely unbelieving that I would require a solid B before he will be ungrounded. Incredulous, even. "That's going to take, like, forever!!!" <br />
<br />
"But so will my embarrassment at you having had an F," was my only reply.<br />
<br />
Explorer's for Annie happens at another elementary school in town. Two days every week, Annie rides a bus to the other school for 3 hours of smart-kid fun. She wasn't loving the idea of working hard or having homework for the first time in her life, but she has grown to enjoy the idea of extra learning and applying herself. It does, however, mean that she misses parts of her regular class. <br />
<br />
The Christmas program is coming up which means there is extra music class. Annie is missing some of the practice sessions. Her teacher sent home a CD with all the songs from her program for Annie to learn and practice to. Annie firmly believes that they must be practiced at full volume on a continuous loop. <br />
<br />
She thinks she is doing a kind thing by closing the bedroom door while she listens. All it does is distort the noise coming through to the rest of the house. <br />
<br />
I'm super looking forward to the Christmas program. The girls love singing and performing and all the little kiddos make for a great entertainment each year. <br />
<br />
And I'll finally know why they say "We are 8 tiny reindeer working from Sesame Street!"Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-61404750552359483632011-11-09T06:34:00.000-08:002011-11-09T06:34:57.873-08:00Hey, we can hide the bodies on the ride home...Title lyrics from <a href="http://youtu.be/54rf5AQbrNI" target="_blank">Blue October</a>. It's what I have running through my head today.<br />
<br />
It's 6 am and I have been awake since 1:30. Sadly, this is my norm anymore. and I am freaking exhausted. <br />
<br />
Sometime after I stopped trying to sleep, I went to cnn.com. I ended up reading <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2011/11/07/opinion/crump-gps/index.html" target="_blank">this story</a> about how the government and police agencies can track you anywhere anytime if you are carrying a cell phone that is turned on. And not just in real-time, the phone companies are holding records of where you have been- sometimes for years!<br />
<br />
Fear not, this is not a new consipiracy blog.... I will come back to that, join me now on an adventure in my work life:<br />
<br />
Some things that happen at work, I cannot talk about with people due to privacy issues. But some things I can. In very vague terms, <em>they are falling the fuck apart. </em><br />
<br />
It's making work a whole lot of stressful. So are the families that are holding together with bandaids. <br />
<br />
And remember, I can't sleep. Ever.<br />
<br />
So I am driving home from work last night, thinking things over and this song comes on the cd player. "Hey, we can hide the bodies on the ride home..." <br />
<br />
-<br />
<br />
hmmmmm... I could solve some problems.<br />
<br />
....<br />
<br />
I quickly sketched out my strategy (Please tell me I am not the only one that does this) of how not to get caught. You know how you do it, it's a thought process that takes half a second to complete. Before you start, you're done. But it involves driving down roads unknown to me at this time that I have never gone down before so I could hide the bodies on the ride home and not have it tracked back to me because I frequent that area. <br />
<br />
So, I could hide the bodies on the ride home. BUT CNN WILL CATCH ME!!!Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-63911696586219688142011-06-08T19:59:00.000-07:002011-06-08T19:59:52.939-07:00<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=AD6v5dz7wlkAeWKspYPzlr75-RsKuTb7p110oUYdPEfPc3O4BuDFhE7ickHJx_DzQXd1iGME26PmImNpCQk' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-16234019488553989052011-06-08T18:00:00.001-07:002011-06-08T18:00:28.541-07:00Hair growing WHERE?!<p>Annie is 8 and convinced she is in the throws of puberty. This all started when we were driving to their dad's house. Out of nowhere Annie puts her book down and sagely announced "I am starting puberty. For reals. There's hair in my armpit!"<br> She was undeterred when I told her that everyone has armpit hair. "No Mom, this is CuRLy!" Oh yes, I was finally sufficiently impressed and let out of the conversation. <br> Until...<br> Tonight Alex said Annie has hair on her lip. "Oh my gosh, you're growing a *moustache*!" he announced.<br> Thus the hair conversation starts again and I am once again scouring her skin under her arm searching for any signs of puberty. </p> <p>Of course, if she's really like me, she'll abhor puberty once it actually arrives. But for now, we are content to wear training bras and search vigilantly for hair in the armpits of an 8 year-old. </p> <p>Sigh. </p> Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-66178252815734447792011-01-29T13:19:00.000-08:002011-01-29T13:19:42.971-08:00small thoughts todayThe problem with having your children 2 years apart is that by the time one of them gets through whatever crazy phase they've been in, the next one is starting it. Only you don't remember that they are just being [insert age here] and you think the next one has really lost her ever loving mind. So you spend about 2 months trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with this child?!? and then you remember this seems hauntingly familiar. This doesn't really help you very much though because the way you handled it with the last one will not work with this one because God has a twisted sense of humor and made each one of your children so very different from the others.<br />
<br />
In some ways, however, the differences save their tiny little hides. I don't know if I could handle having 2 of any of my children. That doesn't mean I would ever give up the chance to have the three kiddos I have, just that it is both the rise and fall of parenting these days that they are all so very individualized. Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-49955792016388629182010-12-17T23:18:00.000-08:002010-12-17T23:18:50.932-08:00What we've been up to...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxYD0IKVJBkytuyF5vxYnaBT4jEAACFs0Yq_9ZwYJTRuYcDA-Gw_nwjYMnJlPb50UIy3OgsZ8euDwWuzwI82eP2HOPRLnthGOKijgds1V3ZAgzSMD91MoyUZHLloLNhKCENWsnuA/s1600/IMG_0722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxYD0IKVJBkytuyF5vxYnaBT4jEAACFs0Yq_9ZwYJTRuYcDA-Gw_nwjYMnJlPb50UIy3OgsZ8euDwWuzwI82eP2HOPRLnthGOKijgds1V3ZAgzSMD91MoyUZHLloLNhKCENWsnuA/s320/IMG_0722.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All dressed up for our Christmas program. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcjTz42ruRWnPD180RFh74dKJmulJ3iXTEs49m6azvEHRSkumIHloDy1Fl4nJ_Ws3oJoBupP3m-UefQvdXEeC54hwMEXe-W_zyh2OrAqeooMGk1Gy0qAIvzZe1mAuXLtW8L28AA/s1600/IMG_0723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcjTz42ruRWnPD180RFh74dKJmulJ3iXTEs49m6azvEHRSkumIHloDy1Fl4nJ_Ws3oJoBupP3m-UefQvdXEeC54hwMEXe-W_zyh2OrAqeooMGk1Gy0qAIvzZe1mAuXLtW8L28AA/s320/IMG_0723.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie's having a particularly hard morning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WewsbSJwFX8a2ydrgWfvbELEGhUWvrHexXsCf_re1sH-glEwoJEvZGEykzv_CouruiBhpDyp3T68ow9Ox9d3GjURhb_YYVX3Wz_0mkaXKPJp-SMIO6ED1RcDq1CP7KxFodG3vA/s1600/IMG_0724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WewsbSJwFX8a2ydrgWfvbELEGhUWvrHexXsCf_re1sH-glEwoJEvZGEykzv_CouruiBhpDyp3T68ow9Ox9d3GjURhb_YYVX3Wz_0mkaXKPJp-SMIO6ED1RcDq1CP7KxFodG3vA/s320/IMG_0724.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And no one understands her!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_bbmqqcBFt5hyphenhyphen41qGPibwW2Yto0a8SprGMomuVm-p7h7oShgng22Sn6Hn76cA3XvnzJSnO6jqfCJZDVWK3xlXwE59FXEjC6iQj9GVQDxrXn32EXe-uNpyjH95MAxLXpqTChrhA/s1600/IMG_0725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_bbmqqcBFt5hyphenhyphen41qGPibwW2Yto0a8SprGMomuVm-p7h7oShgng22Sn6Hn76cA3XvnzJSnO6jqfCJZDVWK3xlXwE59FXEjC6iQj9GVQDxrXn32EXe-uNpyjH95MAxLXpqTChrhA/s320/IMG_0725.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At all. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHOojnmYPPzgCDzEKocYwrXqt3b__IJgk9OhMrjMBgBAL1obvsHKzq7hZ_pgn0sQY0D3nCIKoVZs5i-UnBfFKs69Kg7Ss5K6Z5t6ET67ifIzogNXnyYMzEIQKhHnuBYU-iq9m3Q/s1600/IMG_0726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHOojnmYPPzgCDzEKocYwrXqt3b__IJgk9OhMrjMBgBAL1obvsHKzq7hZ_pgn0sQY0D3nCIKoVZs5i-UnBfFKs69Kg7Ss5K6Z5t6ET67ifIzogNXnyYMzEIQKhHnuBYU-iq9m3Q/s320/IMG_0726.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ashley rubber-necks for the camera and gets that smile back on quick! In between shots, she kept staring at Annie like she was an alien. But as soon as that camera started to click, she flips on like a lightbulb.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaFTlL119k5BK9y3BVQkvpfjofT-TmMpSuSqCc8AdVSiRAVS-nGm7dL4hGa7v7aGFRNzx_lOtQrpKRlgD6a3fZoGMsHwo5cYfJyAx7mC_FVEgcwsgn7VreYkAJk_1EEuyHfCGjQ/s1600/IMG_0727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaFTlL119k5BK9y3BVQkvpfjofT-TmMpSuSqCc8AdVSiRAVS-nGm7dL4hGa7v7aGFRNzx_lOtQrpKRlgD6a3fZoGMsHwo5cYfJyAx7mC_FVEgcwsgn7VreYkAJk_1EEuyHfCGjQ/s320/IMG_0727.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"If you don't come and smile right now, I'm going to send this to Grandma to see what you are really like..."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwhE5pysVlzMrgMHwrJoAePm38zPNY57zr0mMQzvwtudllp3Tg5GpQ_mku79o75n93g_Xbn_g4KsCjEsGkLGJkKlztHCToi01P_K2qNg5wRTgDtV5RzE4DX4dtLx3Vx98Xj4oQQ/s1600/IMG_0728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwhE5pysVlzMrgMHwrJoAePm38zPNY57zr0mMQzvwtudllp3Tg5GpQ_mku79o75n93g_Xbn_g4KsCjEsGkLGJkKlztHCToi01P_K2qNg5wRTgDtV5RzE4DX4dtLx3Vx98Xj4oQQ/s320/IMG_0728.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Put on your big-girl pants." <br />
"I DID!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBddtb0aW803N14TRgg_TxzAyKXpuqrJgfKjKYByKWunSEFvIE4Fj0HKeTxlI7CFixafq2mYOsImEAiAEb799f4na6RlvNSNCftxCO1TGT_PNrPSM6fxYG0DVUDub_6ek3L0KZQ/s1600/IMG_0729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBddtb0aW803N14TRgg_TxzAyKXpuqrJgfKjKYByKWunSEFvIE4Fj0HKeTxlI7CFixafq2mYOsImEAiAEb799f4na6RlvNSNCftxCO1TGT_PNrPSM6fxYG0DVUDub_6ek3L0KZQ/s320/IMG_0729.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fine. I'm smiling See? (See Ashley, too?)<br />
Through the whole thing, Alex just held perfectly still and waited for it to be over. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_IfFIvvMFaViOgkNKox4l8R8Tpakkk6KzdRbUHcpCgvTKvhZFGNcemVRtj2yWKKDSrg7Tu-dgbhirAkl5ytm5DQMhs7mw1F7rD0lF_myAvRrdiK9B0H77gwzJix-9-i86HKD2Q/s1600/IMG_0730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_IfFIvvMFaViOgkNKox4l8R8Tpakkk6KzdRbUHcpCgvTKvhZFGNcemVRtj2yWKKDSrg7Tu-dgbhirAkl5ytm5DQMhs7mw1F7rD0lF_myAvRrdiK9B0H77gwzJix-9-i86HKD2Q/s320/IMG_0730.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love these kids so very very much!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM03n1zfri94h4hcPdCjRM8MRIVedJFPxZEhxFPnOKK-dbdICq5ueAeqfXtPz0PKP7JOihEIggEm1pIJq_ks7J7wA5mkmWBWXrjvAn7E5Bm1ttLcNy6RwY2iiMH-qnJsG4vV7HgQ/s1600/IMG_0626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM03n1zfri94h4hcPdCjRM8MRIVedJFPxZEhxFPnOKK-dbdICq5ueAeqfXtPz0PKP7JOihEIggEm1pIJq_ks7J7wA5mkmWBWXrjvAn7E5Bm1ttLcNy6RwY2iiMH-qnJsG4vV7HgQ/s320/IMG_0626.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Day of School<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBwesMp5XBPwNUEpgzgyOUc-mdZJLkASMoQDbzidNFIbWExCiduSTsaViOUe0pxVPrJfGrzKF25F3h_QhUltfIagGqRS98OioUw3Z8V2M5k-L4pVFE_nnI0DB7DdGb4B1KQVUKA/s1600/IMG_0715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBwesMp5XBPwNUEpgzgyOUc-mdZJLkASMoQDbzidNFIbWExCiduSTsaViOUe0pxVPrJfGrzKF25F3h_QhUltfIagGqRS98OioUw3Z8V2M5k-L4pVFE_nnI0DB7DdGb4B1KQVUKA/s320/IMG_0715.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 2010<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-56210705501917033062010-09-19T22:45:00.000-07:002010-09-19T22:46:06.565-07:00Babes in the woodTonight I am using Google to remember Grandma. First, a song she used to sing to us at bedtime:<p> Babes in the Wood<p>Oh, don't you remember, a long time ago,<br>Those two little babies, their names I don't know<br>They were stolen away one bright, summer's day<br>And left in a wood, so I've heard folks say.<br>Pretty babes in the wood<br>Pretty babes in the wood<br>Oh, don't you remember<br>Those babes in the wood<br>Now the day being gone and the night coming on<br>Those two little babies sat under a stone<br>They sobbed and they sighed, they sat there and cried<br>Those two little babies they laid down and died<br>Pretty babes in the wood<br>Pretty babes in the wood<br>Oh, don't you remember<br>Those babes in the wood<br>Now the robins so red, how swiftly they sped<br>They put out their wide wings and over them spread<br>And all the day long on the branches they throng<br>They sweetly did whistle and this was their song<br>Pretty babes in the wood<br>Pretty babes in the wood<br>Oh, don't you remember<br>Those babes in the wood <p>You have to imagine it in a warble-y old woman voice for the full effect. <br>This all started by my saying something about the teeny-tiny something or other. And then googling that story. I don't remember the end in Grandma's version but the point is made:<p> Teeny-Tiny<br> ONCE upon a time there was a teeny-tiny woman who lived in a teeny-tiny house in a teeny-tiny village. Now, one day this teeny-tiny woman put on her teeny-tiny bonnet, and went out of her teeny-tiny house to take a teeny-tiny walk. And when this teeny-tiny woman had gone a teeny-tiny way, she came to a teeny-tiny gate; so the teeny-tiny woman opened the teeny-tiny gate, and went into a teeny-tiny churchyard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had got into the teeny-tiny churchyard, she saw a teeny-tiny bone on a teeny-tiny grave, and the teeny-tiny woman said to her teeny-tiny self, 'This teeny-tiny bone will make me some teeny-tiny soup for my teeny-tiny supper.' So the teeny-tiny woman put the teeny-tiny bone into her teeny-tiny pocket, and went home to her teeny-tiny house. Now, when the teeny-tiny woman got home to her teeny-tiny house, she was a teeny-tiny bit tired; so she went up her teeny-tiny stairs to her teeny-tiny bed, and put the teeny-tiny bone into a teeny-tiny cupboard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep a teeny-tiny time, she was awakened by a teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard, which said:   'Give me my bone!'   And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head under the teeny-tiny clothes and went to sleep again. And when she had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice again cried out from the teeny-tiny cupboard a teeny-tiny louder,   'Give me my bone!'   This made the teeny-tiny woman a teeny-tiny more frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head a teeny-tiny further under the teeny-tiny clothes. And when the teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard said again a teeny-tiny louder,   'Give me my bone!'   And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny bit more frightened, but she put her teeny-tiny head out of the teeny tiny clothes, and said in her loudest teeny-tiny voice, 'TAKE IT!' <p>Good night. Sweet dreams.
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-24613903230687153032010-08-17T23:13:00.000-07:002010-08-17T23:14:07.131-07:00Holy Hell, it's hot!Welcome to August in WW, I guess. It's 11 pm and still almost 90 outside. All I can say is thank all that's awesome that we have a/c!
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<br>I wish I could say I wasn't sleeping because of the heat. In reality, I start work in the morning, orientation, name badge (hope it's a good hair day!), etc. So no preschool kiddos until September 7th but actual new job in about 9 hours.
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<br>I just need to go to sleep as there is not enough Diet Coke in all the land to keep me awake enough to not yawn all day tomorrow if I don't sleep tonight.
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<br>I have never slept well the night before anything big, especially school starting. So you could say that I am as excited/nervous about tomorrow as I was about Kindergarten 26 years ago.
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<br>Yay!
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-77208356628935725702010-08-16T13:01:00.000-07:002010-08-16T13:01:09.437-07:00Goat... Nyah!This weekend the kids went with Brandon to go to a family reunion for his mom's side of the family. Brandon's got an Uncle Bruce that lives in Bremerton, is a fantastic carpenter, drives Harleys, and has a penchant for strange animals that he likes to bring on vacation when he drives said Harley to Spokane to visit his family. <br />
The kids got in the car Sunday afternoon and started telling us about the goat that was at the family reunion. All of the stories matched up; Uncle Bruce had his goat at the family reunion, if you hold onto the horns, it thinks it is playtime and will start butting at you, they had the goat on a leash by a pile of rocks so it could climb around, a video was made and posted to YouTube featuring the goat and the men of Brandon's family, etc. <br />
This was all just fine. Except for one thing: Uncle Bruce brought his motorcycle to Spokane for the family reunion. He has a sidecar, I know. But I just had this crazy picture of a goat in aviator goggles with a scarf tied around its neck riding along in the sidecar of a Harley all the way from Bremerton to Spokane. <br />
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It turns out, Uncle BRI-AN, who hosted the reunion this year, is the one with the goat. Which is probably a much safer way to have the goat appear at the family reunion. But I still can't stop laughing about that damn goat in the sidecar riding across the state.<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://tptglobal.com/storage/flying%20goat%20sketch%202.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1270753563983" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" ox="true" src="http://tptglobal.com/storage/flying%20goat%20sketch%202.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1270753563983" width="320" /></a></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cheezpictureisunrelated.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/wtf-pics-goat-sidecar.jpg?w=331&h=500" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://cheezpictureisunrelated.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/wtf-pics-goat-sidecar.jpg?w=331&h=500" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe like this?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-28830734427490502472010-08-10T22:02:00.000-07:002010-08-10T22:02:30.920-07:00Croquet...the gentleman's sport?<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.toy-tma.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/Croquet-Game-Oldies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" mx="true" src="http://www.toy-tma.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/Croquet-Game-Oldies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Since we moved to a new place in a new town with a new yard, which does not feature the ability to use the hose or have any playground equipment, we have had to become creative in our outside time. Especially since it's hotter than hell out here in Walla Walla. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">One thing our new place does have is a pretty, thick, luscious lawn in a decent size yard. So we got some Splash Bombs that we use with a bucket of water. We found the kid pool at the park that only charges a buck per kid for four hours a day and lets parents in for free. We found shaded parks with awesome playground equipment. And after living here and whining about it for a month straight, I wore Aiden down and we got a croquet set. (He's the budget-monger and I am the spender. It's what happens. I like to buy things. He likes to throw things out. We balance pretty well.)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Soooo, I brought home our new croquet set and we played it that very night. All the kiddos did alright but Aiden really stomped all of us by winning when the next closest person was only halfway done with the course. Once I got over my major loss (because, really, it's all about me), we played again. This time we started to notice a couple of things. First, the grass here is SO long and healthy that the croquet balls get stuck in holes and it sometimes takes several good whacks with the mallet to get the ball to even move out of it's home. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie-inspired "Inspirational" Poster</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Annie's attempts look a little like a lumberjack aiming for a tree. I can see that we may go through several sets of croquet mallets by the time she learns to not "high stick" them anymore. The fourteen hundred practice swings are always slow and careful and exact. And are always followed by the actual hit which has a 20% rate of contact with the ball. When those contacts actually take place, she is more likely to hit the ball and send it 45 degrees off-course than to get it anywhere near where she wants it to go. We have tried to coach her through this by having her stop the golfer's stance and try the position that resembles the granny bowling stance. Then we watch her go through another round of wind-ups and misses, reposition her feet CLOSER to the ball (because the whole pendulum effect is clearly lost on Annie) and she still misses. </div>In a moment of clarity tonight, she realized she was still on the second wicket while the rest of the family was almost done with the game and she took her turn by taking the granny stance and hitting the ball blind-backward-and accurately! Only my child could find better success without looking at what she's doing and by doing it backwards than to be conventional and actually control her movements!<br />
In all fairness, the both Aiden and I, besides being adults and having the thinking skills required to hit the ball hard but not too hard and with aim, grew up playing croquet. Alex is horrible at the game, but he has a great time being awful. He keeps saying "This game hates me!" so finally I suggested, with all the love a mother can proffer, that maybe it's because he sucks so bad at it. (This is how it is in our house, we are not flowers and sunshine and unicorns. Just the rainbows, if you please!) Luckily, he just laughed and laughed. This is because we giggle and tease a lot in our house.<br />
Ashley got a little further than Annie but I think this owes to her figuring out that she can sort of shuffle-board/sweep the ball where she wants it to go. This begins with turning the mallet sideways and then sweeping it along. But at least she gets contact with the ball, unlike Annie. Unless she does it like a backwards old woman.Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-91459772345377200932010-08-08T18:40:00.001-07:002010-08-08T18:40:16.539-07:00Magical thinking......is alive and well in our house, courtesy of Ashley. So what if she's going to be 6 in a couple of months, she's still happily buying into the idea that things happen by magical power.
<br>Yesterday she was trying to enjoy some cherries for snack. As she munched along, she commented that it would be "funner" if cherries didn't have those "seeds" in them. I think they slow her down.
<br>All of the kids are really into the idea of planting all the seeds they come across in food and her remark made Annie remind her that when we buy a house, we can plant those seeds.
<br>Ashley kept eating her cherries and said "well, what if it could be funner by having no seeds -BUT- if you ate all the cherries you bought at the store, you get seeds!"
<br>Um, yes, that would be neat. I have a couple of questions, though. First, where would these seeds come from? Just magic? And how do they know when to show up?
<br>Second, where does the idea of having to eat all of them come from? We are not "clean your plate" people. We have been known to say you have to eat at least a certain amount of the fruit or veggie pieces but never ALL your food. It's just a question I have about her motivation for the magic to kick in and make the seeds show up.
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<br>In other Ashley news...
<br>I asked her what we should have for dinner the other day while we were at the pool. She said "fish sticks! No, Mom!". I wondered what the last part was all about so I asked. "We should eat YOU for dinner" was the explanation. Then she pretended to take a bite of me, chew it up, make a face of ick, spit me back out, slap it back onto my face, pat it in, and say "nope, you don't taste good. Fish sticks!" And then swim off.
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<br>That kid is one funny ball of giggles.
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-91025185925663594502010-08-08T16:12:00.001-07:002010-08-08T16:12:51.030-07:001 bathroom woesWe have moved to Walla Walla, in case you hadn't heard. We really like our new place, for the most part. We have only 1 bathroom in our new house.
<br>Why the people building 3 bedroom homes thought 1 toilet would be enough is beyond me, I think they should get to live in one of these units for a week, with 3 kiddos, and see just how impractical it really is.
<br>Some of the things we have learned in the last couple of weeks:
<br>1. Yes, it is okay to use the bathroom while someone is in the shower or bath, as long as the curtain is pulled. I claim the priviledge of taking a bath the other day and had to amend this idea. It is still okay to use the toilet when someone is in the bath or shower, with the curtain pulled, but if you have to poop, and if mom is the one in the bath, with a good book and a long soak going on, do not feel the need to have a conversation with Mom whilst you do your business. The book, I promise you, is enough to keep her entertained. She'd really like to pretend that you're not actually taking a crap 6 inches away from her, anyway.
<br>1a. Courtesy flushes are a great idea. Employ them.
<br>2. When no one has to use the bathroom for over 2 hours, suddenly, and at the end of the movie, all 3 children will magically go from "no need to pee" to "peeing their pants right now" in approximately 2 minutes. The child who also has to poop will be the first one in the bathroom while the other two dance in the hallway. Prioritize between the 30 seconds of movie lost and the 25 minute pee-pee dance and subsequent bladder pain.
<br>3. Knocking is all the sudden not just a neat idea the parents have talked about for 10 years but is, in fact, a courtesy that each user of the bathroom wants extended to them. Even if they have never done it for anyone else. Ever.
<br>What fun stories can you add?
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-6806750932389396272010-04-11T21:12:00.000-07:002010-04-11T21:12:47.996-07:00Want to laugh?We taught the kids to play Charades. It was funny. I wrote out cards like "washing your hair" and "Cinderella". Alex got the card that said "ballerina" and decided to dance an arm-flailing head-shaking dance. Amazingly, no one could guess what he was. When I suggested he could end the charade by doing some of the "right" dance moves, he put his hands above his head and spun in circles. Right away the girls knew he was a ballerina. <br />
Ashley got "Cinderella". After 5 full minutes of prop planning and putting on her "fancy" shoes, she walked from the kitchen to the living room, kicked one of her shoes off, and kept going. She was utterly successful which was made even more perfect by the fact that our friend, Rob, had already drawn that card and didn't know how to do it. Way to show up the grown ups, Squeak!<br />
Annie was fantastic in the entire game. She remembered the rules of no talking, she acted with ease and flair, and she guessed right off the bat and with gusto. We may be finding ourselves with an actress on our hands. Keep your eyes peeled for Annie starring on the silver screen.Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-72146765166313271402010-03-31T23:23:00.001-07:002010-03-31T23:23:55.792-07:00FYII am graduating from Washington State University with a BA in human development, a certificate in early childhood, and a minor in general science this semester. I walk on May 8th at 1130 am.
<br>Hooray for me!
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-88514004247520684182010-03-31T23:21:00.000-07:002010-03-31T23:22:06.048-07:00I did, I do, and I'd do it againit's April Fool's Day again. Or it will be in 45 minutes. That means that in 45 minutes I will have officially been married to my best friend for 2 years.
<br>I love my Aiden. I love his bravery, I love his drive. I love that he takes such good care of our family. I love that he likes cleaning (seriously BIG bonus in that one!).
<br>I love that I have been happier than I knew I could be for the past 3 years that we have been together. Everything I have had to lose to find happiness and love that is truly unconditional has been worth it. I wish everyone could have a life as great as this. But since not everyone gets to, I sure am glad it's me that got it!
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<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-5278182390263635742010-01-09T13:42:00.001-08:002010-01-09T13:42:48.847-08:00Cue the Jeopardy theme songIs it no longer recommended that people involved in an argument or discussion (which is just code for "argument", really) stop and think before they fly off at the mouth? Because I have been the reigning champ of fly off at the mouth my whole life. So I decided to try this "gather your thoughts before you proceed method" lately. I have tried it twice and both times the "argument" ended without me.
<br>These were both fairly large "discussions" (one way the heck larger, to be sure) full of emotion and feelings. So maybe it is really just seen as a way to surrender to the other side? But I have more to say. And I am not very likely to bring the whole thing up again, with either party, so now these issues will just sit and fester, unresolved, until the next time.
<br>Maybe I need to think faster or just remove my feelings from the situation.
<br>Or maybe everyone should just remember what even my ex finally found to be true which is that I AM ALWAYS RIGHT!
<br>Hmm...
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-43835821450209714432010-01-05T21:23:00.001-08:002010-01-05T21:23:55.692-08:00So much to sayBut I'm going to wait until I can be clear and not strictly emotional.
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<br>The problem with blogs is that they are not just online journals where you can say everything you want to, people who kind of know you read this, too, and then there's that fallout.
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-64008742680382356602010-01-04T09:29:00.000-08:002010-01-04T09:30:06.317-08:00The doctor is in.But the receptionist's minds are out!<p>Ready for this fun bit of oversharing? I am having a lady problem so I called my doctor's office to order a prescription of diflucan to clear it up. (I warned about oversharing). They have this receptionist who is somewhat new (less than 6 months-ish) and irritates the living crap out of me. She's about 60 and has this reallllllly short hair which she then puts little tiny bow barrettes in.<br> In the bangs. <br>"Seriously?" You ask<br>Seriously. <br>So she answers the phone and I smother my dry heave when I hear her duck voice (like when someone's tongue is too big for their mouth?) and say I would like to order a prescription for a yeast infection pill. "Hmmm... Is this a prescription you normally get?"<br>Uh, when I need to!<br>"Well, when I need it, I call in and order it. It's not like it comes with refills or anything"<br>I can see she wants me to call and order it through my pharmacy. I also know, because I have dealt with this doctor's office more than she has, that they won't fill this prescription that way. <br>It took 3 minutes of discussing how I only need it sometimes and what her job should now be with that nugget of information before she moved on. (Yes, I timed it)<br>"Well," she said in that sensual voice of hers (seriously, you hear it from the bottom of her throat but it's all phlegmy. It's just sooo lovely), "what symptoms are you having?"<br>..<br>Normally this is not an out of line question, right? IF YOU ARE A NURSE!!! This lady is NOT a nurse. She is not even close to a nurse. She is a receptionist who can't, after 6 months, ask questions in the right order. (She asked my birthdate, then my issue, then my name. Every OTHER receptionist goes birthdate, name, issue. So guess how I believe the system works)<br>By now, my kind, patient, placating mood had worn thin. <br>"YEAST INFECTION type symptoms!!!"<br>"Oh. And what medication do you normally take for that?"<br> <br>My question is, are there really NO other candidates to fire from that job? No one lasts more than a year anyway. Can't we skip ahead to the next dingleberry brained person and get rid of this twit? (I just called an old person a twit. Accurately.)<p>She eventually decided that I had been tormented enough and informed me that my doctor I regularly see is in today so she would forward all this to her nurse, that the forwarding wouldn't be a problem, and that the nurse would call with questions. <p>I felt like King Arthur, searching for the holy grail of oral diflucan, trying to cross the troll's bridge. "WHAT are your symptoms?!"<br>In fact, she may now be synonomous in my head with Dora the Explorer's Grumpy Old Troll song<br>"I'm the grumpy old trollll who lives under the [desk], Hey! I'm the grumpy old trollllll who lives under the [desk]. "<p>You think the fun is over? Oh no! It's only half done. Because then I had to call Alex's doctor to refill his meds. <br>The receptionists there are usually fantastic. Not so much, today. <br>First, they wanted my name. Before his name. Uh, okay. <br>"Holly Young"<br>"Hmm, how do you spell your name?"<br>What?!? It's reallllly hard. <br>"H-O-L-L-Y" pause "Y-O-U-N-G"<br>"Okay, and what's your last name?"<p>WTF is it today??? Is there some receptionist brain sucking alien out there? Because I seriously doubt they all got together and made the resolution to be significantly dumber on the phone. <p>
<br>Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-56593357169009308452010-01-02T15:03:00.000-08:002010-01-02T15:14:37.428-08:00Female Pattern Baldness<a href="http://www.hairtherapyforwomen.com/images/androgenetic_alopecia_lg.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 360px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.hairtherapyforwomen.com/images/androgenetic_alopecia_lg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>So, do you want to know all the things wrong with me? I'm going to type and maybe some will come out. We'll find out together. </div><div> </div><div>I had my gallbladder removed a year and a half ago. After that I lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. It started in May. In August, I went to my doctor and asked why my hair was falling out. She placated me and tested my thyroid but said the handful of hair was "totally normal hair loss" for one shower. Um, <span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;"><em>NOT FOR ME</em></span>, or I wouldn't have bothered coming in. </div><div>That would be like going to the doctor because my eyes are <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#663300;"><strong><em>STILL BROWN</em></strong></span>!</span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>*shocked and appalled look*</em></span></div><div> </div><div>Whatever, after that, I started back to school, packed on a bunch more fat (all I had lost plus some, for extra fun). Well, when I started this diabetic-esque diet this fall, I started feeling like I was losing weight. Turns out, I was. About a month ago, I found I was again holding handfuls of hair by the end of my shower. It was the craziest thing. </div><div> </div><div>FINALLY, I put it all together. When your body loses weight, it also loses hair. Something about how the hair cycle gets interrupted and then when you begin maintaining a weight again, your hair resumes growth and actually comes in healthier and thicker than before. So that's good, now if only I can make sure I don't take so long to lose weight that I go totally bald before it's able to grow again!</div><div> </div><div>PS, that picture is NOT of my head. </div><div> </div><div>PPS, I did not share some of the things I thought I might so you're safe. :o)</div>Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35631418.post-24054517244084386712010-01-01T15:05:00.000-08:002010-01-01T15:43:06.733-08:00Resolutely Unresolute.I think I am going to start a new year's resolution about blogging more often.<br /><br />Now I just need to find something fun to say.<br /><br />Last night we went to Goretti's house for New Year's Eve. The kids laid around on the floor watching movies while the adults crocheted and were, generally, OLD about the whole evening.<br />I have never understood the draw to celebrating New Year's. It just seems really unfair to the rest of the months. Why don't we stay up and watch a ball drop and have fireworks to welcome in any of the other months? And then? Then we take the first day of the year off. We close the stores that don't HAVE to be opened, management always takes the day off, and we set a FANTASTIC precedent for the entire new year! Oy!<br />Anyway, before we went to Manzo's house we were playing the Moulin Rouge soundtrack and singing along like crazy people, <a href="http://drhollyoung.blogspot.com/2008/07/to-elephant-and-other-melted-ideas.html">as per usual</a>. Aiden told Annie she's not allowed to marry anyone until he loves her as much as Aiden loves her mom (ME!). She very reverently accepted this rule. It was funny, though, that he said that because I was thinking about how the girls won't be allowed to marry anyone who is not willing to sing Come What May to her. Or any of the other fantastical love songs. Great minds, we are, thinking alike.<br /><br /><br />Last night was the first time ever that any of the kids made it to midnight. Alex and Annie both made it. The cute part was that Ashley came and crawled up on my lap and said she was ready to go to bed. I love it when she, or any of the kids for that matter, listen to their bodies and admit they are tired.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />On a completely different note, but still all about me, I lost 25 pounds, give or take, this semester. I was given a diagnosis of being pre-diabetic (stupid fat fat FAT) in September and then lost my insurance until December. So I have not actually gone to the doctor to get all my blood sugar devices yet (I go on Tuesday). Anyway, since I had gestational diabetes with Ashley, I sort of knew what I was doing without the dang finger pokes and just went to a somewhat modified diabetic diet.<br /><br /><br />For those of you that don't know, that basically means low carb. I can SOOOO do low carb. It's like a game. And while I cannot lose weight for the life of me (literally), I can win games! So I didn't weigh myself until Christmas break. And I was down 25 pounds before you account for heavier clothes and boots and stuff.<br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 197px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://johnsonfarmsonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/25-lb-weight.JPG" border="0" /><br />(I do my weighing on the scale at Rite Aid and was not in the mood to stand there and take off as much as possible to still be decent in public while weighing in. Hence, the boots and coat and stuff stayed ON)(which is also why this is not being posted from JAIL!)Hollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10995870000087255700noreply@blogger.com0