tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48676306012432543682024-03-19T07:44:41.299-05:00My Becktacular LifeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-4767491932206078182015-01-01T20:52:00.002-06:002015-01-01T20:54:07.764-06:00The Circle of Life, With FudgeMy daughter learned how to make my late mother's fudge. I just polished off 4 pieces. The circle of life [of fudge] has been completed. I thought I would share the recipe with you all, because, well, nothing beats perfect timing like a fudge recipe <i><b>after</b></i> Christmas.<br />
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<b><u>Becky's Mom's "Award-Winning* " Fudge Recipe</u></b><br />
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4 C Sugar<br />
1 C Milk<br />
1 tsp Vanilla<br />
1 C Butter<br />
1-6 1/4 bag mini marshmallows<br />
EXACTLY<br />
13 oz semi-sweet chocolate chips<br />
13 oz milk chocolate chocolate chips<br />
2 oz Bakers unsweetened chocolate<br />
1 C chopped nuts (optional)<br />
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Mix sugar, milk, vanilla and butter in saucepan. Bring to a boil for exactly 2 minutes. Turn off heat. Add marshmallows. Stir or beat until completely melted. Add chocolates, one at a time until melted (can use electric mixer). Spread into buttered 12x10x1 pan, or use several smaller pans, and chill.
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<i>* it didn't technically win any awards, but it's different than any fudge you've ever tasted. Everyone says it. For real.</i></span>
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<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-88115992224044046472014-12-31T21:07:00.002-06:002014-12-31T21:07:46.493-06:00The Time I Caused Stress.. With SocksI bought my husband socks for Christmas. Yes, I know, I am a giver like that. I was pretty proud of myself, since I splurged and got him actual <i><b>Nike</b></i> brand socks. He's usually happy with any kind of socks, as long as they fit (he has a size 14 foot!). It gave me a little thrill to think that he, who can never find socks that fit well, would enjoy the name-brand socks (with built-in extra support, even!). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRNSd4WUbKkIIIVxX71MSGKjs7R9RWyZHp2h9OOUb7IT89OzgZt-dHZrxwRuYggFsNI53HEJZwfyec4L2otCL6HO7Hn1oU8oWMyHZYAvjjxqBho85JUxWWnVpTQZ_2Cpt8i36GxXhkgU/s1600/nike+socks.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRNSd4WUbKkIIIVxX71MSGKjs7R9RWyZHp2h9OOUb7IT89OzgZt-dHZrxwRuYggFsNI53HEJZwfyec4L2otCL6HO7Hn1oU8oWMyHZYAvjjxqBho85JUxWWnVpTQZ_2Cpt8i36GxXhkgU/s1600/nike+socks.png" height="176" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from Nike.com</td></tr>
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Christmas morning, he opens his gift. He sees the socks. I watch his face to see the gratefulness I expect for the <b><i>NAME BRAND</i></b> socks. To my dismay, he says thank you, but not in a way that seemed impressed. "Huh," I thought. I reminded him that they were <b><i>NIKE</i></b> socks. He was less than impressed. I assumed he didn't realize the greatness of <b><i>NIKE</i></b> socks! <br />
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The next day, we were sitting on our bed, and I said "Aren't you going to wear your new socks?" He looked at me and said "You DO realize, don't you, that these have RIGHT and LEFT on them?" I said "Yeah, that's kind of cool." He just rolled his eyes. <br />
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I started giggling as I realized that I had just cause my dear sweet husband extra stress when he said, "Now I have to worry about what freakin' foot I put my <i>socks</i> on! Oh, thanks <i><b>Nike</b></i>, for deciding that my life isn't complicated enough, that I had to make sure my SOCKS are on the right foot! Can't you imagine me going through my day with the <i>left</i> on the <i>right</i> foot? Heavens no! Or what about two left socks?! My OCD would drive me insane."<br />
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I couldn't stop laughing, as he informed me that generic socks would be ok in the future. <br />
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So much for name-brand socks! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-75518363607567913712014-12-31T20:47:00.000-06:002014-12-31T20:47:11.416-06:00Happy New Year<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4e7YbiyYpcvT_A7MTpkIvvITaGOoAKMG1WCDhRV2X7xkRejPpZnEestJGBZcdTIEWUenJ8YbUzQCBJpiaYAHi2pf1nClrxun6sLr5qlDhtfGC4_32Ps1LlPTIgJqGRiRWWKI7G9C1wiY/s1600/10410604_581795515254926_2375865148339758393_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4e7YbiyYpcvT_A7MTpkIvvITaGOoAKMG1WCDhRV2X7xkRejPpZnEestJGBZcdTIEWUenJ8YbUzQCBJpiaYAHi2pf1nClrxun6sLr5qlDhtfGC4_32Ps1LlPTIgJqGRiRWWKI7G9C1wiY/s1600/10410604_581795515254926_2375865148339758393_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Anthony Melchiorre's FB</td></tr>
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Happy New Year's Eve, and a wonderful 2015 to you all. I have some really lofty goals for my blog in the new year, and I'm hoping I can learn enough to make them a reality. <br />
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I recently purchased the book <a href="http://designyourownblog.com/landing/blog-beautiful-tips-fixes-make-your-blog-glow/" target="_blank">Blog Beautiful - 50 Tips and Tricks to Make Your Blog Glow</a>, by <a href="http://designyourownblog.com/" target="_blank">Marianne Manthey</a>, and she has inspired me SO much. I'm already designing my own blog template<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YISkY7PkPiRx9ChLv53sLDKD3nu1hOr6d9f9h2Vd8Vjpp79EUd437iWOIx7AYi538WYK4R9ugrNwx-tofia4mMehVcrMvGhYHRFygJGHD6sOX395TKKLgfnHmTU2iv1zabmUSLwos0U/s1600/blogbeautiful.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YISkY7PkPiRx9ChLv53sLDKD3nu1hOr6d9f9h2Vd8Vjpp79EUd437iWOIx7AYi538WYK4R9ugrNwx-tofia4mMehVcrMvGhYHRFygJGHD6sOX395TKKLgfnHmTU2iv1zabmUSLwos0U/s1600/blogbeautiful.png" height="126" width="200" /></a>on Wordpress, and will be rolling that out soon. I highly suggest the book if you are a new blogger, or even a seasoned blogger who needs a little design help in order to create more revenue through your blog. One of my biggest ambitions is to make money for my family through my blog. I hope to use Marianne's suggestions to help enhance my blogging experience. <br />
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Meanwhile, my family and I are eating hors d'oeuvres and watching Netflix on this cold New Year's Eve in Texas. <br />
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Here's wishing you all a happy and prosperous New Year!
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The stockings are hung, the presents are wrapped, milk and cookies are out for Santa. Yes, we still have one who believes, and probably always will. </div>
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Merry Christmas to you all, and thank you for reading. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-46587714813669723122014-12-23T09:48:00.000-06:002014-12-23T09:51:53.071-06:00How To Change the Username Of Your Facebook PageI was noticing the other day, that my Facebook Page for my blog was not just "Facebook.com/myblogname." I also noticed that other people's pages didn't have all the extra letters after their blog name that mine did. I did a little research, and thought I'd pass it on:<br />
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How to Change the URL of your Facebook Page for Your Blog</blockquote>
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1. Go to "Facebook.com/yourusername" You should see this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZhKfMieOAo4WcpVdx237gfdGmN4DlYOOwVB4NgJcejFBJXFt0m5-kuPP2BGvD8OsNlO1z7L5QFFKMkph6s__u4U2QrpBpplL96_G0cipTUG-cAEzPK__daUgciKT1LWQijjMcnbloN4/s1600/step1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZhKfMieOAo4WcpVdx237gfdGmN4DlYOOwVB4NgJcejFBJXFt0m5-kuPP2BGvD8OsNlO1z7L5QFFKMkph6s__u4U2QrpBpplL96_G0cipTUG-cAEzPK__daUgciKT1LWQijjMcnbloN4/s1600/step1.png" height="257" width="640" /></a></blockquote>
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The top box is for my personal Facebook page. You will need to look at the second box, and select your Blog page from the drop down menu.<br />
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2. A box will pop up, asking if you want to rename your blog page. Change the address to : "Facebook.com/yourblogname"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Lg_GKyzmEuNPBELoYOR2IxmEBFKyVu4GHMEyNBvgMmWKnFaqM8EWgoRXYN-RxTRaW1LoGzxCjUHx5VgO4ChsrBGd1OrMbfLEiOSKugU-DxkxB6tXhoecAiNO7GMtRS37a8T66UF88eE/s1600/step2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Lg_GKyzmEuNPBELoYOR2IxmEBFKyVu4GHMEyNBvgMmWKnFaqM8EWgoRXYN-RxTRaW1LoGzxCjUHx5VgO4ChsrBGd1OrMbfLEiOSKugU-DxkxB6tXhoecAiNO7GMtRS37a8T66UF88eE/s1600/step2.png" height="243" width="640" /></a></blockquote>
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Remember that you can only change the Facebook blog address once. </div>
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3. You will get a confirmation box similar to this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9tK5zgl78LPTAfDeS_3lCiVzWmKxqGUppvwSBgxYQgsy6wq2sji3v9w1iiAEJUG6YR7bKUeW6CYdWRK1czZWy0BkjIpkISUJJac63YLavWkWZ29tVJLabcpQxr7OR6N2MykUYKqFVLw/s1600/step3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9tK5zgl78LPTAfDeS_3lCiVzWmKxqGUppvwSBgxYQgsy6wq2sji3v9w1iiAEJUG6YR7bKUeW6CYdWRK1czZWy0BkjIpkISUJJac63YLavWkWZ29tVJLabcpQxr7OR6N2MykUYKqFVLw/s1600/step3.png" height="315" width="400" /></a></blockquote>
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You have now changed the URL of your Facebook page to directly reflect your blog name. </div>
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Easy peasy! Hope this helps!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosbWDspD1gJ9nvN7fELYXmDtqRvnmoAr54S-NXt5d6mh0aSs_p2D-ToPzw7pG5CPYUg4YEwaQOulrYHW1SzJBfAdys-ha5DASIp0CJHZ5c4egSiXtTQ9ghWAgvki9S57IejNNLJGSeH0/s1600/siggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosbWDspD1gJ9nvN7fELYXmDtqRvnmoAr54S-NXt5d6mh0aSs_p2D-ToPzw7pG5CPYUg4YEwaQOulrYHW1SzJBfAdys-ha5DASIp0CJHZ5c4egSiXtTQ9ghWAgvki9S57IejNNLJGSeH0/s1600/siggy.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-66580702747034942212014-12-16T23:03:00.000-06:002014-12-16T23:17:22.064-06:00Why I Hate December 16th | Missing My Dad<br />
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December 16th is my second least favorite day. Thirteen years ago today, I lost my dad to a sudden heart attack. He was only 60 years old, and had no major heart problems. Ten years later (my least favorite day), I lost my mom, so I am truly a middle-age orphan. Being only 47 and having both parents gone is something I never imagined. I also never imagined that my kids would not have <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlNwkI0i8iWueNYTy8HpxofpBs0-USwW7D6gc7LxiutQ7iLEVo4FLRnrBVdgCu3XDaHri7K-UijO5s2SBFUIlhu_wR8JnpO4SpbPos3iOu7tyilCyr7acOGdK2BUPARKE2FPOIWa2G58/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlNwkI0i8iWueNYTy8HpxofpBs0-USwW7D6gc7LxiutQ7iLEVo4FLRnrBVdgCu3XDaHri7K-UijO5s2SBFUIlhu_wR8JnpO4SpbPos3iOu7tyilCyr7acOGdK2BUPARKE2FPOIWa2G58/s1600/dad.jpg" height="320" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad with all three of my bio kids</td></tr>
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grandparents alive as long as I did (mine all lived into their 80's). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0vW4X5MqQX9tx7lXtMYxif7DFjyUk4yP9cTWiHiIbL6ehhRa9Mr8vaSQd2ZNrXXM51Q6GSohZdLzLsJQ81LTvSezTLsTLcVijaa8nZoZYBQ1A-ku-P9TuA26rHT80U8cYrIVfqa2wsQ/s1600/19740_274186003809_6763678_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0vW4X5MqQX9tx7lXtMYxif7DFjyUk4yP9cTWiHiIbL6ehhRa9Mr8vaSQd2ZNrXXM51Q6GSohZdLzLsJQ81LTvSezTLsTLcVijaa8nZoZYBQ1A-ku-P9TuA26rHT80U8cYrIVfqa2wsQ/s1600/19740_274186003809_6763678_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1981. I'm in the back</td></tr>
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My dad, I've come to realize since his passing, was my hero, and my greatest protector. Sure, he was my biggest nemesis when I was a teenager, but after I became an adult, he and I had a lot in common, and most of all, he protected me. He always protected me.<br />
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My parents divorced when I was 11, and my dad had custody of my sister and me. He moved us from Illinois to Texas smack dab in the middle of fifth grade, for me. It was tough. My dad had an agenda, though, about moving us. He wanted us away from my mom, mostly out of anger and spite toward her. Eventually, she ended up moving to Texas, too, so it all worked out in the end, but I spent most of my adolescence and teen years with my dad (and step-mom, who was and still in a huge influence in who I am). My dad was really strict, growing up. He was always on top of our school-work, and would give his last breath to keep mine and my sister's reputations intact (and, as far as he knew, he succeeded!) ;) . He was hard on our boyfriends, yet to this day, each one of them, now fathers themselves, tells me how much they admired him. You definitely couldn't have convince me of that in high school!<br />
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Dad was always there with advice though. He was quirky guy, having strong opinions on things that didn't bother most people, but he backed up his reasons thoroughly, most of the time, and he was pretty smart. As a teen, I resented him a lot, but as a young adult, I realized that the things he did for us, and the reasons behind it all made a lot of sense.<br />
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I am truly envious of my friends who still spend time with their daddies. Not being able to share the ups and downs with either one of my parents is hard on the heart. Luckily for me, I have a large family of my own, so being lonely is never an option. <br />
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I still will never like December 16th. I love you, Dad. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3u4V3_MIB2daKn4lCTfcAypmp8NTorgblnXv7MfuH_Rm5o7G2v8ajN5NheEh1yzWiPn8NMW8VwNMptrpxh9qi7Ot7Wx5kS-nX-wOfAHXYK35lfMy5vvNRcqFXVv_N4O17BTcBaG4nwBg/s1600/156304_478695228809_2279844_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3u4V3_MIB2daKn4lCTfcAypmp8NTorgblnXv7MfuH_Rm5o7G2v8ajN5NheEh1yzWiPn8NMW8VwNMptrpxh9qi7Ot7Wx5kS-nX-wOfAHXYK35lfMy5vvNRcqFXVv_N4O17BTcBaG4nwBg/s1600/156304_478695228809_2279844_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1995</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Circa 1972</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-37596404594985148462014-12-14T22:34:00.003-06:002014-12-14T22:49:03.626-06:00My Own, Personal, Jesus Santa ! <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;">Santa and all of the kids, Christmas 2014</td></tr>
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I have always loved Santa. For the last ten years, this has a double meaning for me. You see, Santa, at least in our family, is my husband. He has been playing Santa at my mother-in-law's Christmas every year. He is a natural, as he, ahem, fits perfectly into the suit! ;) He is also very jolly, and is awesome with the kids. He also happens to be my favorite husband. ;)<br />
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What's fun for us is that as the kids are getting older, one by one, they are "figuring it out." All of our teens have, but they love to surprise the littler ones. This year, the little girl in front (with the Santa hat and blue shirt) came up to me and said "I know the secret!" Of course, I asked her what it would be, and she said "I know who is dressed like Santa." She's almost 10, so I said to her "Well, now you know the <i>grown-up's</i> secret. What's fun is NOT to tell the other little kids. It makes us grown-ups happy to surprise the little kids. Now, you're like a grown-up." She just smiled, and ran away. I didn't confirm or deny her suspicions, as I remember how devastated I was at about her age, when my whole class knew the "secret," and spoiled it for me.<br />
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What are your family holiday traditions? Does anyone in your family dress as Santa? Please share.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-11337104151435779492014-12-13T00:53:00.003-06:002014-12-13T01:19:41.350-06:00My Kids Are Mean, aka Why I'm Skipping "Rudolph"Being afraid of things when you are a 47 year old mother is kind of embarrassing, especially when your teenage children learn of these fears, and use them to torment you. Last night, my kids were watching Rudolph, for the millionth time. They know that I have always been afraid of the Abominable Snowman. Seriously. I always hated that part of the movie when I was little, and I'm not too impressed that now they make stuffed animals of the thing, and pass them off as "cute." <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d1d1d; font-family: latoregular, Arial; line-height: 22px;"> I mean, look at him! He has those big, huge eyes, he doesn't talk, and he's just...scary. Ok, maybe not </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #1d1d1d; font-family: arial; line-height: 22px;">that</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d1d1d; font-family: latoregular, Arial; line-height: 22px;"> scary any more, but I'm not a fan. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId-rXkHbHehy8_IkZhrszUMxAoy8U7K1l_XNzVjajDr0Xfg9W2SHcuQ-7DBgEOWV_VCOxtV-aJTzT2Loe0D8jTEGS8bCdX1qjPXsli3kjEx-z49-njrgR8ugN297IGLh0v2jgq_gbTyc/s1600/10351228_10152864035318810_2121174628981041737_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId-rXkHbHehy8_IkZhrszUMxAoy8U7K1l_XNzVjajDr0Xfg9W2SHcuQ-7DBgEOWV_VCOxtV-aJTzT2Loe0D8jTEGS8bCdX1qjPXsli3kjEx-z49-njrgR8ugN297IGLh0v2jgq_gbTyc/s1600/10351228_10152864035318810_2121174628981041737_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a>Last night, as I was sitting in my bedroom, I get a Facebook message from three of my darling children. This is what they sent: <br />
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Yes, that's ME with the Rudolph body. They are SO not right.<br />
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So yes, I'll be skipping Rudolph again this year, and plotting revenge against my kids. That's the Christmas spirit!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-6388208493520574852014-12-09T23:00:00.000-06:002014-12-09T23:24:17.520-06:00How Technology is Trying to Embarrass Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXm-bNBkWaNp4VryBLvpR4lelRVYLWwXtl_ZAacfKiMVz4iLUuuXYTJvuaQwVOQ6iSf5j0KEUN_kK2K1OAP7eQk6Zby4-aqpAGKIOWHMEDuQzycGeC8LcJZvfRhmsnqYcuJ5vGGx0Mnk/s1600/Macintosh_classic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXm-bNBkWaNp4VryBLvpR4lelRVYLWwXtl_ZAacfKiMVz4iLUuuXYTJvuaQwVOQ6iSf5j0KEUN_kK2K1OAP7eQk6Zby4-aqpAGKIOWHMEDuQzycGeC8LcJZvfRhmsnqYcuJ5vGGx0Mnk/s1600/Macintosh_classic.jpg" height="170" width="200" /></a>They used to call me "Becky Techie." I have been interested in technology since my first computer class, "Computer Math," way back in 1985. I had my first personal computer, a Mac, in 1995, and taught myself a lot. I was the first person my friends turned to for computer help, and many times, I regretted not getting a degree in that field. When I was teaching, I was a certified teacher technology trainer, and helped each teacher I knew integrate a new "online gradebook," back when it wasn't even commonplace. I loved desktop publishing, and started with Print Shop, before Photoshop was even a big thing. I even taught myself HTML and made entire websites with it. I stopped doing that in about 2005.<br />
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But. <br />
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The following is a list of things that I have said or done recently, that show me that technology is trying to embarrass me:</blockquote>
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<li>Yesterday, I asked my oldest son if he'd "bought the new Garth Brooks CD yet," to which he replied, "Um, Mom, I <b><i>downloaded</i></b> it the day it came out." Oh yeah. That's a thing. </li>
<li>I actually said to my kids "I don't even need a smart phone. All I use it for is to call you guys, or text Dad. I have the computer at home." eye roll</li>
<li>After moving the monitor from one room to another (and falling down while carrying it, but being lucky and it landed on the bed), I came back in to move the CPU. Yeah. The CPU is built into our monitor..it always has been. </li>
<li>Realized that we don't have <a href="http://enlightenme.com/what-is-dsl/" target="_blank">DSL</a>. It's not, nor has it been in awhile, hooked up to our phone lines. Our internet is through UVerse, so it's through their network. Or something. I <b>do</b> know it's not dial-up, so there. </li>
<li>After installing my <a href="http://www.oldversion.com/windows/paint-shop-pro-8-0" target="_blank">JASC PaintShop Pro 8</a> on our new computer, and looking for updates, I realized that JASC isn't even the owner of PaintShop any more. It's <a href="http://www.corel.com/us/" target="_blank">Corel. </a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmu8Ui4CLtwhc7eXL_UjgPf89B0-cQJXozTs2IGI8zm2egM2RnJyeXYe6iKbqVI39uZ5yaP0zys6HfDKqp4KSo6E2eJ2RlkUFtqG_8uDFDBlJZR4q_0pxnk5x0jUsxIxfn2Ee0oDufPo/s1600/jasc.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmu8Ui4CLtwhc7eXL_UjgPf89B0-cQJXozTs2IGI8zm2egM2RnJyeXYe6iKbqVI39uZ5yaP0zys6HfDKqp4KSo6E2eJ2RlkUFtqG_8uDFDBlJZR4q_0pxnk5x0jUsxIxfn2Ee0oDufPo/s1600/jasc.png" height="148" width="200" /></a></div>
And the the current version is <b>X</b>7. There were at least 10 versions made since my PaintShop Pro 8 (no X).</li>
<li>I just realized yesterday, that people actually make "vlogs," which would save a helluva lot of time! </li>
<li>I still tell the kids I "taped" shows for them. </li>
<li>I keep calling DVDs "CDs,"</li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftkOxNuX1qakh7PeXuk5w7-mOecyW-x-A7BysvpeeMWDBDZomaCVMt_DahGg9pfYgV5Y9WqL7CkNcurNTV4Vh4fTk10Qo0NrZNwkb27TTxYLeo-XzJ3to53CG42ytASPjusIY_R4z_fc/s1600/cartoon_frazzled_worker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftkOxNuX1qakh7PeXuk5w7-mOecyW-x-A7BysvpeeMWDBDZomaCVMt_DahGg9pfYgV5Y9WqL7CkNcurNTV4Vh4fTk10Qo0NrZNwkb27TTxYLeo-XzJ3to53CG42ytASPjusIY_R4z_fc/s1600/cartoon_frazzled_worker.jpg" /></a>This isn't even the complete list, but it's enough to make me realize that it's really true about "snoozing and losing" with technology. Good gravy...I need a nap. ;)</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-26256930685630505882014-12-03T12:02:00.001-06:002014-12-03T17:28:37.213-06:00Grandma Becky<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 class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My gorgeous granddaughter</td></tr>
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Today is my granddaughter's 4th birthday. Yes, you read that right, my <i><b>grand</b></i>daughter. It's so very weird to be a grandmother, and have four teens under 18 still living in my home. It's like two generations colliding! No, my granddaughter does not belong to one of my teens (<i>ptl</i>, and over my dead body). She is the daughter of our oldest son and his wife (who also have our grandson, who will be 3 in February). Technically, she's my step-granddaughter, but I think that's ridiculous to say, so we don't.<br />
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Becoming a grandmother at 43 was surreal to me, but as soon as I held the precious bundle, any weirdness and awkwardness disappeared. I truly understood why grandparents have a feeling that they can't quite describe. Since I became a grandmother, many of my friends from high school have had the pleasure as well. It's like a private, exclusive club with a membership what should be coveted, well, when the time is right! ;) <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"S" and me, December 3, 2010</td></tr>
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I tried to think of all kinds of cutesy "grandmother" names for them to call me, but after all that work, I just like being traditional, and "Grandma" is my name. I honestly wouldn't care if they called me "Old Hag," as long as it's out of love! <br />
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I had a set of wonderful maternal grandparents, and a sweet-as-pie paternal grandmother. My paternal grandfather was a bad man, however, so I will gloss over him. I also had some wonderful <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsfsyYEHIhPUINrXwdIygbvhdly2CubHUfbNCMfTXnTQqHWhJb9PxR91J4_S3BflfYTRor6S-M-ab_EtsBvLeu2ptaNbWf7zD6IfGXS3C50VajXMZGT0np3rr-iQ_N_ubZ2Cz0fIwSLI/s1600/scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsfsyYEHIhPUINrXwdIygbvhdly2CubHUfbNCMfTXnTQqHWhJb9PxR91J4_S3BflfYTRor6S-M-ab_EtsBvLeu2ptaNbWf7zD6IfGXS3C50VajXMZGT0np3rr-iQ_N_ubZ2Cz0fIwSLI/s1600/scan0001.jpg" height="200" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maternal grandma, grandpa, mom, and<br />
me (in the front). Grandpa holding <br />
my baby sister</td></tr>
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step-grandparents, so I was pretty fortunate in that matter. Unfortunately for my children, my ex's and my parents died in their 60's, so my kids have no biological grandparents left. I can't believe how sad that is for them. As with me, however, they have a great set of step-grandparents, who stepped up without question and treat my children like their own. I love them for that. <br />
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Times have changed, however, since I was a child. I visited my grandparents a few times a month, if not more. We rarely see our grandchildren, and they only live about an hour away. This is partly our fault, and partly theirs. Unfortunately for us, the grandkids are very close to their maternal grandparents, both figuratively and literally. This makes it hard for us to have the same bond with them. Also, our son and daughter in law work crazy hours, so them bringing the kids over just doesn't happen. It makes me sad, but right now, they are circumstances we can't control. It truly hurts my heart, though. <br />
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Sorry this turned out so "journal-ly", but that's partly the purpose of my blog. <br />
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Hey. At least I didn't get run over by a reindeer...yet... ;)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-17970423668040092102014-12-01T11:07:00.001-06:002014-12-01T13:13:51.736-06:00Organize, Schmorganize<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5obO_skuX4KnUZyjV_VUeB_Kse2KevlZx-VJ3j0ZMxCLMsHD0L9JTIoQmxiyixZJtGTlzjU1Y-ghNqUz_Ls5cUEPx4AXWBDJO65MTeyqqD3qxDBS5QKH3LhtdxYPCeLtlZtOLlyrajs/s1600/myplanner3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHXrzMn43i0WhoQ8p3YTkCeN64StUkRyhBMXECJj0YCf_ieY_L0deIqF51OwqHYlX4eoay94BIemLFNsc2Y2fzuFgzuUC4jZAQmAg6zSu60aTMYZwoicVQ0ojfMmh7I-YaTlmRwsmtCs/s1600/myplanner2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHXrzMn43i0WhoQ8p3YTkCeN64StUkRyhBMXECJj0YCf_ieY_L0deIqF51OwqHYlX4eoay94BIemLFNsc2Y2fzuFgzuUC4jZAQmAg6zSu60aTMYZwoicVQ0ojfMmh7I-YaTlmRwsmtCs/s1600/myplanner2.jpg" height="183" width="320" /></a><br />
As I sit here today, printing out pages and pages of <a href="http://www.bloggymoms.com/group/bloggy-moms-insider-perks/page/cybermonday-100-off-tools4wisdom-planner-bloggy-moms-insider-aler#.VHvlysncRrw" target="_blank">blog organizational ideas</a>, I have to laugh at the fact that even though I mean well, I won't use any of them. I am the world's <b>best </b>organized mom <i>wannabe</i>. If you looked at all of the binders, organizers and calendars I purchase per year, you would conclude that my life is perfectly scheduled down to the minute. Things are color coded, I have special pockets for colored pens, multi-colored post-its, scissors and a hole-punch. I searched and searched for the cutest and most practical calendars and filled my Pinterest boards with <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/beingbeckyp/planners/" target="_blank">ideas</a>. I went to Staples and copied and bound organizers, perfect, cute, <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/beingbeckyp/organize-me-good-luck/" target="_blank">just-for-me organizers</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5obO_skuX4KnUZyjV_VUeB_Kse2KevlZx-VJ3j0ZMxCLMsHD0L9JTIoQmxiyixZJtGTlzjU1Y-ghNqUz_Ls5cUEPx4AXWBDJO65MTeyqqD3qxDBS5QKH3LhtdxYPCeLtlZtOLlyrajs/s1600/myplanner3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5obO_skuX4KnUZyjV_VUeB_Kse2KevlZx-VJ3j0ZMxCLMsHD0L9JTIoQmxiyixZJtGTlzjU1Y-ghNqUz_Ls5cUEPx4AXWBDJO65MTeyqqD3qxDBS5QKH3LhtdxYPCeLtlZtOLlyrajs/s1600/myplanner3.jpg" height="188" width="320" /></a></div>
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And I haven't used a one. </div>
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I meant well. I used it for a week, and boy did I do a superb job at writing everything down. Then I missed a day. Then, two. Then, a whole week. Finally, I just resigned myself to the fact that I suck at being organized, but I look pretty dang good doing it! </div>
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So, here's to the new pages I printed out, and the <i>intent</i> on working on them. Unfortunately, in a few weeks, I'll be looking for newer, cuter pages, just, well...in case....<br />
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I was watching the AMA awards a few nights ago, and admired how Taylor Swift makes parodies of herself onstage. Her latest song, "Blank Space," really makes me smile. <br />
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However, the video for the song is a little too creepy. She takes a knife and slices his picture, hacks up his [I have no idea what make of an expensive] car with a golf club, and sets his clothes on fire because he is, I suppose, texting another girl while on a picnic with Taylor. Oh yeah, and she might have murdered him and is kissing his dead corpse. I guess I know of a few girls who have gone that batsh*t crazy over a guy. <strike>Not me, however. Never, </strike>but come on, Tay! We might not want this image of women seeming <i>normal</i>!<br />
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Then I saw Selena Gomez sing her song "The Heart Wants What it Wants." Oh, Sweet Sassy, dear girl. If the title isn't enough to make us rethink every "I shouldn't still feel this way,' relationship we've had, then there she is, showing <i>the world</i> that women CRY over men. <i>Psht.</i> She sobbed at the end, Taylor Swift (her bestie) cried at the end in support. Boo hoo. (and it's over Justin Bieber, nonetheless). Come on, gals. Suck it up. Can't we just, I don't know, go back and hit his car with a golf club? <br />
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I'm not sure which girl is worse, but I do know that the messages we send to the opposite gender have got to be so crazy confusing, it's a wonder they even want to have relationships.<br />
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I hope, in most of us, there is a happy medium between these two extremes. <br />
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For your consideration:<br />
<br />
Taylor Swift<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-47723463606930467262014-11-27T13:34:00.001-06:002014-11-27T13:35:04.574-06:00Happy Thanksgiving! Wishing you all a happy Turkey Day!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-4257351018028247102014-11-25T11:09:00.002-06:002014-11-25T11:16:19.572-06:00Thanksgiving and Teenagers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZCbsfmPU8iYJKaxXxUkIopQBzX-ixrK2DgcDS4Z2SCUrYQoU8HR_wlAwO-iVNvzgtvt-GSjjtyeH-P6GMUY5T5PC8yMDn-aS3WYzM4idcqwd52upyW-rRT_BhqsQ3kt7GEjRHRO9EM8/s1600/lunchable_hamswiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZCbsfmPU8iYJKaxXxUkIopQBzX-ixrK2DgcDS4Z2SCUrYQoU8HR_wlAwO-iVNvzgtvt-GSjjtyeH-P6GMUY5T5PC8yMDn-aS3WYzM4idcqwd52upyW-rRT_BhqsQ3kt7GEjRHRO9EM8/s1600/lunchable_hamswiss.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>Here's I sit, getting ready for Thanksgiving (and by "getting ready," I mean watching "Friends" on DVD, eating my 2nd Lunchable, and tweaking my blog), I am thinking about what I am thankful for <br />
this holiday season. Some of the things aren't very traditional, but I am thankful for them, nonetheless.<br />
<br />
(for quick reference:)<br />
<b>D</b> - 17 yr old autistic son<br />
<b>C</b>- 16 year old son (junior)<br />
<b>A</b> -15 yr old daughter (sophomore)<br />
<b>J</b> - 15 yr old daughter (freshman)<br />
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<ol>
<li>I am thankful that the kids are going to be off of school tomorrow, because their bathroom is really disgusting, and they need to clean it. </li>
<li>I am thankful that for the next three days, I don't have to </li>
<ol>
<li>Get up at 5:30 am to wake up A, then go back to bed</li>
<li>Get up again at 6 to wake up D and J, and wake C up for what will be the first of three to four more times</li>
<li>Turn on the coffee pot, turn on the radio</li>
<li>Start doing dishes that I left in the sink last night after I was too exhausted from making dinner</li>
<li>Make J's lunch, because she can't be bothered with standing in the lunch line at school, even though all we have is stuff for a PBJ sandwich, and maybe 3 grapes. </li>
<li>Wake up C again, because evidently the first two times were just warning shots</li>
<li>Supervise D, and answer the question of "Where are all of my clothes I put in the washer last night?" To which I reply: "They are still there because you didn't tell anyone that you needed them washed." Dig out a pair of jeans that are only a day old, and start the washer, full of his clothes</li>
<li>Go into C's room and lecture him about the fact that EVERY DAY I have to wake him up 3 or 4 times, and that I'm going to stop doing that (wait..that's what he'd want), and to "GET UP!"! To this, he rolls over and says "Did you wake me up before?" </li>
<li>Help solve A's "issue of the day," usually something that hurts. </li>
<li>Hug J, who has just gotten up and told me she's exhausted (yes, that happens every day), and gently nudge her back into her room to "get freakin' ready," to which she replies "But, I'm soooooo tiredddddd" </li>
<li>See C walking around the house looking for a towel (there are 14 on the floor of his room...from the last 2 days), tell him there are some in his bathroom (where he never looked)</li>
<li>Finish dishes</li>
<li>Tell both girls that they look beautiful, because they ask. And compliment them on their hair, because even though it looks mostly the same each day, TODAY it "makes them crazy," and "it looks like crap" and they "can't even" </li>
<li>Remind D that since he is ready 45 minutes before everyone else, to please take the trashes out of the can (yes, I have to remind him every day, even though he does it every day) and get them ready to take out. No need to remind him to put new bags in the trash, since nobody every does that but me. </li>
<li>Tell C to stop walking around in his towel after his shower, barely covering everything from his belly down, because "the girls don't want to see that nonsense..." and to "get dressed, since we have 10 minutes before we have to leave," to which he yells "I AM!!!"</li>
<li>Hear J tell me again that she's tired, her hair looks like crap, and she has a big zit. </li>
<li>Finally have everyone ready, except C, when it's time to leave. Go ahead and start walking out, telling C we're leaving, to which he replies, "I'm COMING!!!" He's not coming. </li>
<li>Finally leave the house at 7 am, and head to the high school. </li>
<li>Chat - or not- with the kids, depending on their moods, about topics on the radio</li>
<li>Arrive at school, only to have them sit in the vehicle until I am EXACTLY where they want to be let off, instead of them getting out farther back. </li>
<li>Come back home, fully intending to get something done around the house, but taking a nap instead because....I have four teenagers. </li>
</ol>
<li>I am thankful that someone else is cooking most of the dinner I will be eating, and there are enough options that I don't have to deal with "I don't want that AGAIN!!"</li>
<li>Most of all, I'm thankful that I have a family to love and complain about, and that we all get to spend Thanksgiving together. I love them all. </li>
</ol>
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Happy Thanksgiving, friends!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-68975807076408471032014-11-21T23:29:00.002-06:002014-11-25T10:30:27.363-06:00Not So Gauche!My "mother of girls first:" Trying to explain, to my teenaged daughter, the difference between "Louis Vuitton" and "[Christian] Louboutin." I never realized how close those names sound, and that some people pronounce them the same!<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-1226081875335505002014-11-20T04:11:00.004-06:002014-11-29T02:52:04.505-06:00Wash Your Underwear, Cheaper!Well, here we are again. 3:35 am in the morning, and I'm here, sitting at my computer, writing a blog. As you might have read in the post before this, this is the point of no return for me. I have to decide if I'm going to bed for 2 hours, or if I'm going to stick it out just go back to sleep later. I bet you can guess what I did.<br />
<br />
Today, I want to talk about something I've tried and loved;<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Making my own laundry detergent</span>.</b> <br />
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We have a family of six, and with 1/2 of them being teen boys/men, and two more being teenaged girls who change A LOT, we have a lot of dirty laundry. We were going through at least a bottle or two of laundry detergent every week. I finally saw some recipes on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" target="_blank"><b>Pinterest</b></a>, and gave one a try. The <i>hardest</i> (if you want to call it that) part is grating the Fels-Naptha soap. Usually, I let one of the kids do it. I highly suggest grating it in VERY small pieces (you know, the side on your grater that has the little bitty holes? Yes, it will take longer, but yes, that's it). Now if you're fortunate to have a food processor (LUCKY!!), then you could just put the Fels-Naptha in that, and grind it up. Or whatever you do. I'm not a Suzy Homemaker here, so hopefully you know what I mean.<br />
Anyway, the batches usually last <u><b>us</b></u> about 4 months. We did learn quickly, though, that you need VERY LITTLE...like a tablespoon, per load. If you use too much, you will get little white chunks on your clothes (which is soap). They come out with another wash (no soap), but it's a pain in the patootie, for sure.<br />
It was easier for me to just go by the picture, so here is that:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmomt3aGmrmjn2oIaiNwC6mSS06htSFVECKJ6UG98sufxjuxa0diZIkLWBpzYRBAGnYnLWZ_VLyK5iWDHmKVpsLnQNrYD8UbJBV38XDqwYTMTF30MR4VGxJA7ppMVRgsf345nRfmxTMM/s1600/Soap-10.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmomt3aGmrmjn2oIaiNwC6mSS06htSFVECKJ6UG98sufxjuxa0diZIkLWBpzYRBAGnYnLWZ_VLyK5iWDHmKVpsLnQNrYD8UbJBV38XDqwYTMTF30MR4VGxJA7ppMVRgsf345nRfmxTMM/s1600/Soap-10.jpg" height="213" title="Homemade Laundry Soap" width="320" /></a></div>
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And here is the actual list: (we shop at Wal-Mart Neighborhood Markets, and it's all together in the detergent aisle. <i>YMMV</i>)</div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">3 </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">Fels Naptha bars</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"> (I've also heard of people using Zote, if you can find it)</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">1 box </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">Arm & Hammer <b><u>Washing</u></b> Soda</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"> (55 oz) yes, it's different than baking soda</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">1 box </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">Arm & Hammer <b><u>Baking</u></b> Soda</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"> (4 lbs) </span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">1 box </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">20 Mule Team Borax</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"> (4lbs 12oz) </span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">1 tub </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">Oxi-Clean Stain Remover</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"> (3 lbs) </span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">1 or 2 </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">Purex Crystals</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"> (28 oz) (I also saw someone used <a href="https://howdoesshe.scentsy.us/Buy/Category/1660" target="_blank"><b>Whiffs from Scentsy</b></a>, if you have access to that)</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">All you have to do is grate the Fels-Naptha bars as fine as you can, and then mix everything in a large bucket by hand (or a large stick if you have one). Seriously, if you have allergies, wear a mask. It's get's very "sneezy" while you're mixing it. Then, separate it into whatever containers you want. Make sure they sealed pretty tightly, though, or your detergent will harden. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">Make sure you show your washing "helpers" (yeah, as if..) that they only need a tablespoon or two of detergent. Yes, add bleach if you use it, and of course fab softener (or <a href="http://www.greenideareviews.com/2012/04/25/using-vinegar-as-fabric-softener-review-does-it-work/" target="_blank"><b>vinegar</b></a>). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.6000003814697px;">And there ya go. I am going to give some out as gifts. Here are some <a href="http://www.howdoesshe.com/wp-content/uploads/HowDoesShe_laundry_detergent_tags.pdf" target="_blank"><b>really cute tags</b></a> you can print and use if you want to give gifts as well. </span><br />
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Enjoy, y'all!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"><i>*Note: this is NOT my invention, and was found from various places on Pinterest and the interwebz! </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 25.6000003814697px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-76998226913881084582014-11-12T03:16:00.002-06:002014-11-12T03:16:59.228-06:00Insomnia and Gobbly-GookIt's 3:00 am. I have to be up in 2.5 hours with the kids, so it's always at this point at night that I try to decide if I should sleep for a few hours, or just stay up and go back to sleep after they leave for school. And, I feel guilty about not blogging, so here I am. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvQiKw2d2YLWITkA0zcEc8e7fCVwShdxSaZLb6D-6Em-HjQak8YtRwfsPVL71VY3mRwQrLDE0HrehZg5iXQHtMovNlfe_EhWYzrtW1hgQh2MneE-Ua4xvxW17jjoT9nP63Qj19xrXMVY/s1600/Crazy_Eyes866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvQiKw2d2YLWITkA0zcEc8e7fCVwShdxSaZLb6D-6Em-HjQak8YtRwfsPVL71VY3mRwQrLDE0HrehZg5iXQHtMovNlfe_EhWYzrtW1hgQh2MneE-Ua4xvxW17jjoT9nP63Qj19xrXMVY/s200/Crazy_Eyes866.jpg" width="133" /></a>I am such a dweeb. Oh good lord, that's not even a word these days, is it? Well, I don't care because I am one. If you have been reading my blog at all, you'll see that I have changed the design, like, 10 times in the last few days. I'll find one I really like, customize it, and then decide I hate it. I'm using Blogger right now, but I want to buy my own domain name, and move over to WordPress. I think. <br />
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I have a few things I'd like to write about, but I can't really visualize them into a post yet, so I think I'll make a list. Maybe some day I can cross these off. <br />
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<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3b0AZ4dDl5vUKTdXXaI2p2iW7fX7K-C4jMttHPFg4uHbh5KaVkYwyyAoSAiilbzJMycotKtMVPH6uDLmFOP-0Yi5GAjBQmJB_jPALb3AKea6DVrpYrE3NFTqF10Avf-nqoNzjd8FnF4/s1600/_62419349_theofficewithsags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3b0AZ4dDl5vUKTdXXaI2p2iW7fX7K-C4jMttHPFg4uHbh5KaVkYwyyAoSAiilbzJMycotKtMVPH6uDLmFOP-0Yi5GAjBQmJB_jPALb3AKea6DVrpYrE3NFTqF10Avf-nqoNzjd8FnF4/s320/_62419349_theofficewithsags.jpg" width="320" /></a>
<li>I really love "The Office." Half of my life quotes are from this show. </li>
<li>I have ADHD</li>
<li>I'm scared to go back to work.</li>
<li>I'm scared that posting this blog will be dangerous to my identity</li>
<li>I cannot WAIT until my kids are out of high school. After then, I think I will feel like I successfully parented. From then on, it will be just supporting them in THEIR life choices</li>
<li>In six days, it will be 3 years since my mom died. So much to talk about</li>
<li>Girls seem to get sick a lot more than boys</li>
<li>Periods suck. </li>
<li>I need a domain name and/or a blog name. I can't think of anything unique</li>
<li>I worry about my health. I don't have insurance</li>
<li>I think I am allergic to dairy</li>
<li>My sister and I are estranged. My brother and I aren't, but we've talked as much as I have with my sister in the last 2 years. </li>
<li>I am content with my marriage. It's the first time I have said that in a really long time. </li>
<li>I hate being an orphan, and feel like I don't have siblings. My only family is who lives in the house with me. Then again, I don't hate that fact. </li>
</ul>
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That's all for now. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-30639751547235170572014-11-09T23:58:00.002-06:002014-11-10T07:35:21.217-06:00Sunday night<br />
Just doing more twerking = tweaking and networking! ;)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-50458413210611842302014-11-08T03:07:00.000-06:002014-11-10T03:35:38.013-06:00"You Don't Understand High School Talk"I've been tweaking and networking my blog. HEY! Is that where they got the word "twerking?" Well, in my mommy world, that's what it's going to mean. <br />
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Speaking of slang, the other day, my 16 year old son sent me a picture on SnapChat (I hate that app, but will not soapbox it just yet!), with the caption "Chem squad feat bae and teach."<br />
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What the ever-loving hell was that? <br />
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It was a picture of him, a cute girl, and a teacher. I really had no idea what he was trying to say, but as a mom, we learn to decipher spelling-impared-and-or-lazy kids' writing. I gathered that it broke down as follows:<br />
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<b><u>chem</u></b> = chemistry class. Pretty self-explanatory<br />
<b><u>squad</u></b> = I see no cheerleaders nor football players, so this must not mean the typical "squad." This son never proofreads anything, so I thought maybe he meant another word. "Squat?" No, nobody was squatting. "Square?" I suppose there might be a thing called chemistry square. I don't know...it's been a few years. I finally gave up, and moved onto context clues for the next words.<br />
<b><u>feat</u></b> = Ok, again, he can't spell. I assumed he meant "feet," yet didn't see anything except torsos, since they are either sitting at, or standing up near a desk. Then I wondered if the cheerleaders' feet were there. Could there possibly be a "chemistry squad?" And where were their feet? I knew this son did not belong on any kind of academic squad (remember this description?), so I was baffled. <br />
<b><u>bae</u></b> = I unfortunately know what this means. I have been properly schooled on that fact that "bae" refers to one's boyfriend, girlfriend, celeb crush, or any person the speakers finds attractive. In this case, I'm going to assume he meant the pretty girl, whose name I have never heard speak of in my house.<br />
<b><u>teach</u></b> = Well, there's another girl standing at the table. I see a name badge, yet all of the high school kids wear one. She's looks a TAD bit older than the girl sitting down (previously assumed to be "Bae.") I'm going to assume this means teacher. <br />
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Now it's all as clear as mud. <br />
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Finally, when he got home, I said "What in God's Green Acres did you send me?" <br />
He responded "WHAT?? It was me and my bae in Chemistry."<br />
I said, "First of all, I wasn't aware that you had a "bae," and second, why didn't you just write that on the picture."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAuuytoClbx92-iddY2vs6qD0hJEDxxgESvMzMTv_anknhi-F6vp7ZacEaIAFaL1wTC8LlltEieBRzXc8Yu-76HpMfYbvQM4sQMS5hmGpN0VTULpoaNOJaehqHghxnEyG3qXd4RuyanI/s1600/roll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAuuytoClbx92-iddY2vs6qD0hJEDxxgESvMzMTv_anknhi-F6vp7ZacEaIAFaL1wTC8LlltEieBRzXc8Yu-76HpMfYbvQM4sQMS5hmGpN0VTULpoaNOJaehqHghxnEyG3qXd4RuyanI/s1600/roll.jpg" height="144" width="200" /></a>At this point, I must have become the most under-educated, un-hip, out-of-touch parent in my son's eyes. He gave me the most annoyed look and said "Because that's how we talk in <b>HIGH SCHOOL</b>, MOM! <i>SORRY THAT YOU DON'T KNOW HIGH SCHOOL PEOPLE TALK!" </i><br />
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The nerve of me. <br />
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Grated, growing up in the 80's, we had our own "high school slang." I can remember cringing any time my dad tried to be "hip" and used "peachy-keen" and "groovy" in place of the "awesome" and "bad" we used then. He had no idea how <i>HIGH SCHOOL PEOPLE TALK</i>!<br />
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My son informed me that his caption meant "This hot girl, me and [featuring]the teacher in Chemistry."<br />
Ah, I see now. "Chem squad feat bae and teach."<br />
THAT clears it up. <br />
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Things are totally hizzy up in the jizzy, my friends. Be cool with yo bad self, and hug all your "squad" tightly tonight. ;)<br />
<br />
<br />
PS: Being the "hip" mother that I am, I decided to look up "squad" in <a href="http://urbandictionary.com/">Urban Dictionary</a>. I'm telling you, if you need to know ANY kind of slang term, it's in there. Grated, it's written mostly by the people who use the terms, so the definitions are quite...colorful, but it works. Here is the definition of "squad:"<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/AVvXsEjbbvWvOSsbGqknXHZ8ednDjUniDPRJ64lSlXQ6diS86sZaZHpscvdnyaomaLvHz4cbJuzwJ75ebCwz8e8_ZWNl-rRdzCCoO73pzzmeVI0gaqDiOtK1DLb20WVB3IBSbMmO3cl1kzZistg/s1600/squad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbbvWvOSsbGqknXHZ8ednDjUniDPRJ64lSlXQ6diS86sZaZHpscvdnyaomaLvHz4cbJuzwJ75ebCwz8e8_ZWNl-rRdzCCoO73pzzmeVI0gaqDiOtK1DLb20WVB3IBSbMmO3cl1kzZistg/s1600/squad.jpg" height="132" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="text-align: center;">..but why would they need to score "paper?" We have plenty left in the homework bucket at home? Oh...</span><br />
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Word. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-39482979514320245512014-11-04T00:40:00.001-06:002014-11-10T03:12:00.172-06:00My YOUNGEST is 15 !! <div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
It's my baby girl's birthday today. It's so hard to believe that her birth was 15 years ago. I can't even imagine my life without her in it. I'm so proud of her. <br />
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_uHezgJn19s/VFh0xXXlzeI/AAAAAAAAAFE/S9h_oMtzk6Y/s2560/1415083201940.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_uHezgJn19s/VFh0xXXlzeI/AAAAAAAAAFE/S9h_oMtzk6Y/s350/1415083201940.jpeg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;">posted from </span><a href="https://market.android.com/details?id=pl.przemelek.android.blogger" style="font-size: xx-small;">Bloggeroid</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-5513633602620235112014-11-01T23:00:00.004-05:002014-11-01T23:06:17.530-05:00Penises and Sugar SkullsI like to eat. I don't like to gorge myself, but I don't like to be told what I can and cannot eat. Of course this does not lead to a svelte figure for me, but I kind of deal with it. Everyone always seemed to be on a diet, or healthy eating quest, and sometimes I feel really guilty for not being so. It's not that I won't EAT healthy; I'll eat just about anything if it tastes good. It just stresses me out to have to count calories, or know that I can't eat something because I've "used up points for the day." I am fortunate to have a husband who thinks this way, as well. <br />
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<a href="http://www.papamurphys.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1SXN3bRQFenV9nY-XUBEVzE7T-Fz38Q7y50e4hvc4HPV-s8Y5UVRdg6pA4Ss2xvVnuzKtp6iwXUW0xGccaP93H2-4HgnZPP7zAbWZZEojSsc4dT3vznO9DvJX9W5Rv2eDlzlPs-GdNQ/s1600/pumpkin.jpg" /></a>Yesterday, I called our Autistic son, D into the kitchen. We had gotten a pumpkin shaped pizza from <a href="http://www.papamurphys.com/">Papa Murphy's</a>, and I wanted him to come and see it. I asked him what it looked like, and he said "OH! A <i>PIZZA</i>!" </div>
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I said "Well, yes, but what does it look like?" </div>
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He said "AHH! A <i>HEART</i>!!" </div>
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Finally, I said "Look again, what is it?"</div>
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His eyes glazed over, obviously not seeing anything, and said </div>
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"AHH. A <i>PENIS</i>." </div>
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I said "Really?! Really?! This big round thing looks like a penis to you?" </div>
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He just gave me a blank stare. Sometimes I get impatient with him, and probably shouldn't, but I can't even fathom how he came to the conclusion that it looked like a penis. That reminds me of a knock knock joke he told us once. We were all sitting around our bed laughing about something, and D interrupted and said </div>
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I said "Who's there?" </div>
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He loudly proclaimed "PENIS!" That was the extent of his joke.</div>
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We all died laughing, and to this day, just say "penis" if we're trying to be funny. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9DhYLq3rAIkWmC5N2h2922af90hACyG4fX0GCx1QKQYZ0injv9rwZcBbD8GoLG_q9eceqOsd7JKR4kJeAEkHKi2MagsOvDcRSi2XeeYHymMPvLACT38OyonnbQyzfVb3LZGgbKq6YFo/s1600/sugar-skull-flower-848x1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9DhYLq3rAIkWmC5N2h2922af90hACyG4fX0GCx1QKQYZ0injv9rwZcBbD8GoLG_q9eceqOsd7JKR4kJeAEkHKi2MagsOvDcRSi2XeeYHymMPvLACT38OyonnbQyzfVb3LZGgbKq6YFo/s1600/sugar-skull-flower-848x1000.jpg" height="200" width="169" /></a>We didn't have any of our kids trick-or-treating last night. They have finally outgrown it, I think. The sad thing is that they still want the candy!! We didn't have any trick-or-treaters in our complex, either, which seems odd. There are always lots of kids outside playing. I guess the did what we used to do...go hit up the rich neighborhoods for better candy! ;)</div>
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I wish I celebrated Dia de los Muertes. I love sugar skulls, and I think it is a great tradition to honor those people who have passed on in our lives. Here's to my mom, my dad, my former in-laws, my aunts and uncles, Lisa Bell, and all of the other important people in my life who died too soon. </div>
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Thanks for wading through my gobbly-goop of a post. All kinds of nonsense goes on in my mind constantly. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-54611584087918909912014-10-31T03:11:00.003-05:002014-10-31T05:58:49.029-05:00I Like the Night Life..<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 class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-tonight-show/segments/946">Jimmy Fallon and Michelle Obama </a><br />
<a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-tonight-show/segments/946">"Evolution of Dance for Moms"</a></td></tr>
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...no, I don't like to boogie. Actually, yes I do. I love to dance. Granted, I dance as well as I sing, and know that I can't sing. Like, at all. So there you go. I have always liked to dance. I don't exactly like to share this, but as a teen I used to go into my bedroom at night and make up elaborate dances to songs I had recorded (on a cassette tape, mind you, it was the 80's). I would even "choreograph" dances that I would rehearse over and over again. I also had quite a few "friends" with whom I conversed about how hard "our" dances were. Ok fine, I talked to my dang self! I was a good friend, though, and I tell you, my "partners" were dang good dancers. As was I.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_q46kpdONgFauYVpti1Ecbs7DLnSmcdZIuOhGwFEwjPbKz2HfdwDUVlm9L-3GklYNKj_F95rcCF_m7p6ZaNFh3h5940QRLrE-utabPG3d1TVcH3T6AeJh4vzDoZqlCeJtnnRPv7pSg14/s1600/Face-Blush-120px.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_q46kpdONgFauYVpti1Ecbs7DLnSmcdZIuOhGwFEwjPbKz2HfdwDUVlm9L-3GklYNKj_F95rcCF_m7p6ZaNFh3h5940QRLrE-utabPG3d1TVcH3T6AeJh4vzDoZqlCeJtnnRPv7pSg14/s1600/Face-Blush-120px.png" /></a> I <i>might have also</i> played school and other various things while locked away in my room. Yes, I was teenager when I was doing these things. I was bizarre. I was skinny though, and always active. I was a baton twirler (majorette) and also in flag corps (aka color guard) during high school, and I liked to put my boom box in the front window of the house, and then go into the front yard and practice. I was such a nerd. Regardless, I never was very good at any of it. Mediocre was the norm for me, no matter how much I practiced my various "crafts." I'll admit though, if I could, I would turn on the TV and make up dances to things. I know, I know, I could just do it anyway, but since I am almost 48 years old, I'm not too sure I could "bust a move" comparable to the ones in high school. I'd more likely "bust a <i>hip," </i>or in some other way render myself incapacitated for at least a few days. Plus, my downstairs neighbors would probably think we had adopted a bear or something similar in size. <br />
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I never really have a topic when I write this blog. I do pretty well by just writing from the top of my head. I'd like to think I'm kind of funny, and that's something else I'd like to practice in this blog. From my audience, all I need is a giggle or two, or an "oh my god [...Becky, look at her butt... I digress] I can totally relate to what she's saying." And she's gorgeous to boot. Is that too much to ask? By the way, I just realized, and I'm a freakin' English major, that ellipses are only three periods. I really missed <i>that</i> memo in my 4000+ English classes. <br />
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It's 3:02 am and I'm not remotely sleepy. This will probably be an all-nighter for me. Maybe I could go make up a routine and practice until I get tired...nah. I'll probably just watch TV. Same difference.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-27891914459426912632014-10-30T16:14:00.002-05:002014-11-01T23:05:50.033-05:00Share and Share Alike<center style="text-align: left;">
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As I sit here eating my homemade lobster bisque, I ponder the reasons why people feel the need to use Facebook as a sounding board for every minute detail of their lives, and it seems that the most common reason is when they want to vent about someone who has upset them. I have a particular friend whom I love dearly, but her posts have venom, even a lot of times when she is <i>happy</i> about something. </center>
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I've learned some valuable lessons myself about sharing things on Facebook that seem innocuous at the time, but are clearly not. Once, I shared my opinion that Planned Parenthood should remain open and funded. I found I was naive to think that everyone I knew would share my views. See, I never thought of Planned Parenthood as an "abortion center." I've always know them as a low cost place to get birth control and other reproductive health assistance. That they provided abortion information seemed the least reason that I used them. I didn't even know they did! After sharing my views on keeping them funded on Facebook, I was dumbfounded and almost embarrassed that so many of my girlfriends had an opposing view. From then on, I've made a few more misjudgments that assured me that people with extremely religious views and I are not copacetic. Facebook is just not the place for political and/or religious opinions, and as in the case with my friend, venting about another person. </center>
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I found the graphic above on Pinterest. It unbelievably describes what I have been thinking about the situation. </center>
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Stepping off, now...</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14226433836021698629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4867630601243254368.post-48717698065896995932014-10-29T04:03:00.000-05:002014-11-10T03:10:47.691-06:00In the BeginningIt's been a long time since I started blogging. I'm doing this mostly to become a better writer, and to hone my writing skills. I also have a lot of funny and exasperating experiences being a mother of 6 children, so I want to document as much of that as I can. At present, all four of my youngest children are in high school. J is a freshman, A & D are sophomores, and C is a junior. If the Lord is willing and the creek don't rise, C will graduate next year. Getting him through high school is comparable to pulling a tyrannosaurus rex through quick sand. Yesterday he even said "Hey Mom, at least I'm only failing 3 classes now instead of 4 !" We're told to celebrate the little moments, right? How little is little? <br />
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Currently, I spend my time sleeping during the day, and watching TV and keeping myself entertained <br />
at night while everyone sleeps. Sometimes I think it's the comfort of having them all home that makes me feel more productive. In less than 4 years, most of them will be gone. I can't honestly say if I'll be thrilled or sad that our house, which has been chaotic and loud since 2002, will be quiet. Then again, the lack of ambition in most of the kids may result in them living here for much longer than I anticipate. At least then they will be working, and can worry about themselves. Still, I've been a mom with kids at home since 1988. 26 years. I don't know much else. <br />
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In less than a month, it will be 3 years since I lost my mom to cholangiocarcinoma (bile duct cancer). I documented it <a href="http://www.beckysmom.blogspot.com/">here</a>. There seriously isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her. In all essences, I'm glad she is relieved of all her ailments. She never really was very healthy after her 40's. Even if the cancer hadn't killed her, I think something else would have. She had also become very anxious, and was afraid to leave her comfort zone, mostly her home. Again, I think that eventually, something along those lines would have taken her. Still, it's hard to be without a mother. I miss my dad (who died suddenly in 2001), but dads are different, I suppose. I got to spend a lot more time with my dad, since he raised us, mostly. <br />
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I'm going to end for tonight/this morning. Welcome to my blog, I guess. :)<br />
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