tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61980907286152544852024-03-12T21:45:07.527-05:00Verge of Twinsanity: The Rantings of a Twin MomEveryone needs to know that one person in life crazier than they are to feel better about themselves...so pull up a chair, you've just met that person...Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.comBlogger265125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-40081742092321192212013-07-11T23:07:00.004-05:002013-07-11T23:07:44.923-05:00Testing 1,2,3 Does This Thing Still Work?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy 7th Birthday!<br /><br />Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-59166654600980602002012-11-11T11:00:00.000-06:002012-11-11T11:00:11.153-06:00Go Ahead. Write.Me.Up.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Even though I can’t really see and I’m supposed to be working, I just have to take a time out from everything and type (with my eyes closed due to recent PRK surgery and eye irritation) my frustration out. </div>
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I am damn mad that mothers are being punished in our culture for staying home with sick children. Do you know how many moms I talk to as a clinician who have been either written up for staying home with sick children, or who are fretting being written up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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And here I thought I was the only one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just had eye surgery. I should be home recovering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sight is so bad that I am not allowed to drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am high as a kite on narcotics and opiates for eye pain AND I have a doc note to take time off. </div>
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But still I come to work. </div>
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Why? </div>
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Because I don’t want to be written up for being out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I know that if I have one more absence due to one of my children being sick between now and February – and it will happen -- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be written up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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As a professional, I’m not a slacker. I don’t call in just because. I come to work and I work. I work as hard as I can. I don’t diddle around. I am focused and on my game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My supervisor recently told me I pulled the most crisis calls from cue. </div>
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But none of that matters. </div>
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If you are absent more than 4 times in a 12 month period, you will be written up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will you be fired? Maybe. If they feel like it. </div>
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Any person who is a parent of small children knows that kids get sick. They get sick A Lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And daycares, preschools, and elementary schools all have rules that no child can come back unless they have been fever free, puke free, and/or on antibiotics for 24 hours. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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So fuck you, you motherfricking non-family friendly work culture in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>F you, F you, F you. </div>
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And with this rant suddenly giving me some balls, I am leaving work today, just after lunch, to take care of my eyes. I am not employee of the year. Before I had kids, it was my goal to be a superstar at work, but when I came back to work as a mom, my goal was just to get by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew my family responsibilities would limit me. (That’s not a very fair thought to myself, but it was one that crept up unconsciously.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a mother, I am someone recovering from surgery, and if my kids get sick and you want to write me up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then go right. The. Fuck. Ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I will proudly join the ranks of many other women who appear to be less than stellar employees all because they are simultaneously raising the next generation and who don’t really care what their workplace does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go ahead. Write us up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s a systemic problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We working mothers and our sick kids who then make us sick ARE NOT THE<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>PROBLEM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter how many times you want to write us up and blame us and verbally counsel us, we are NOT THE PROBLEM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our culture is the problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m feeling like a bad-ass little rebel suddenly. And so I say, to the beady-eyed, mustached supervisor who would marry a policies and rule book if he could and who I cannot STAND, take that pen, after you are done writing me up, and shove it up your yahoo. </div>
Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-12674126924287389032012-10-21T11:08:00.002-05:002012-10-21T11:11:39.657-05:00One Year and Counting<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I hit the one-year mark at work last week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is hard to believe I have been back in the workforce for the past one year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The original plan was to return to work for a year, pay our debts down, then resume stay-at-home motherhood. </div>
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Scratch the plan. </div>
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I like my schedule, I like (most) of my co-workers and my manager. I like the work that I do triaging people in withdrawal from substances, or who have suicidal or homicidal ideation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are in a moment that is ripe for change and opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I like that Andi and the twins can hardly wait to go to school and that for the most part, they seem to have adjusted well to having a mom who has her own career. It’s been a good balance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I feel like I’m a better role model than I was as a stay-at-home mom. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I am not slamming stay-at-home moms, I am just saying that I am not a particularly good stay-at-home mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither choice is better and I don’t like the whole “who works harder?” debate and I’m not taking a stance on that, either.) </div>
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I also like that after I find pee all over my counter, dripping down the cupboards and into the mixing bowls and onto the (just mopped for god’s sake!) floor because my three year-old couldn’t stop her hunt for the hidden tootsie rolls long enough to take herself potty – again – that I can hand my children off to someone else and go deal with other people’s crisis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gives me a chance to calm down and laugh at how Andi responded when I asked that she not let peeing her pants happen again... <br />
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She changed clothes and put a panty liner in her underwear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Apparently she wasn’t taking any chances, though I don’t think a panty-liner could absorb the whole contents of her bladder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ll give her points for effort. </div>
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But going to work makes this blogging awfully difficult to get to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know that I will keep up the blogging. I originally started it so family could see pics and read stories about the girls, but with an ipad that takes and sends pictures so easily and quickly, it’s made blogging less needed for keeping extended relatives mixed into the lives of the girls. </div>
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And while I do like writing, between cooking a weeks worth of homemade dinners during my three days off, getting all the errands run and bills paid and house cleaned and then trying to “just have fun” with my kids, Oh! and do the yard work, brush the dog, hit the gym and pump-it-up at Zumba twice a week, there just isn’t much time for writing.</div>
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But somehow, life feels better balanced – for right now…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-78092086748214755412012-10-07T09:19:00.001-05:002012-10-07T09:19:21.128-05:00Skinny Corneas <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I fear there is a chance that -- if I am able to vote at all on Nov. 6<sup>th</sup> – that my skinniness may cause me to vote in a harmful manner towards the general public. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that’s a big jump, but I promise you the thought makes sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s the story…</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may vote Republican, vote for VOTER ID in MN, and VOTE for ONE MAN ONE WOMAN marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brother -- who loves to freak me out -- pointed this out to me in a one line e-mail this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had not considered that my <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“non-functional vision” the day of surgery could have a worse outcome than my not voting at all – the lack of vision could lead to me misreading and accidentally voting anti-woman, anti-minority, and pro-separation, pro-racism, pro-discrimination, pro-disenfranchisement. </div>
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Oh dear. </div>
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But I have no choice. The surgeon has 2 surgery openings left in 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And only one day worked with Dave’s and my schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That day is voting day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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On November 6<sup>th</sup>, I go in to have PRK done on my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just typing that out has made my throat constrict, I cannot breathe, and I am getting dizzy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The recovery time is long, and I am told that for at least three days I will not be able to see in a functional manner and will likely want to sit in a dark room with my eyes closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I fall in line behind all the horror stories on the internet, it could be much longer than that. </div>
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<strong>Note to self: STOP reading PRK experiences on the internet! </strong></div>
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Last year, I had the bright idea to put a big wad of money into a health or flex spending account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reckoned the “use it or lose it nature” of such an account would make me follow through on getting either my stomach surgery done or my eyes fixed with Lasik.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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It did not occur to me that I would not be a candidate for Lasik.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though, it probably should have... </div>
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All my life my feet have been <em>too narrow</em> to wear the shoes I want, my waist <em>too thin </em>and legs too long to wear the clothes I like, my earlobes <em>too tiny and thin</em> to wear more than a diamond or pearl stud, my boobs <em>too “lacking in tissue”</em> to breast feed one baby, much less twins. </div>
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One time I tried on a very cute outfit at Banana Republic – a long skirt and v-neck skin-tight shirt. It was fashionable at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked out of the dressing room and my mom and sister erupted into laughter…</div>
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The kind of laughter that brings tears rolling down their faces and wields their speech –non-understandable as they try to tell you, “You look just like Olive Oil!”</div>
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Oh Lordy. </div>
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So it should have been NO surprise when the opthamologist said, “Your corneas are <em>too thin</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will have to do PRK to protect your eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lasik is not an option.” </div>
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Shit. </div>
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Luckily, I have two personalities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is highly neurotic, anxious, pessimistic, anxious, controlling and, did I mention anxious?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The other personality is a licensed therapist who is calm, kind, patient, and a tad more realistic about things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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So while I am FUR-REAKING out about: </div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Dave not taking care of …everything…while I am down for the count</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Not being able to exercise, clean, and cook – my normal coping tools.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Being able to work</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Being able to drive</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Potentially never having the vision I want and completely regretting this decision or having long term negative side effects</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Preparing to have horrible panic attacks</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Catastrophizing about *just sitting* OH GOD I HATE SITTING! for three days</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Wondering will I get to vote if I can’t see immediately after surgery on VOTING DAY? What if the republicans win? What if marriage becomes restricted and I.D.’s become a requirement of voting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’ll be ALL MY fault!!!!</li>
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And doing something that Dave would NOT be okay with since it is a “really, really bad idea,” </div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>Driving around without my glasses on to *test* whether or not I can function with poor<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found that if I just focused on the fuzzy white lines ahead of me, I was able to drive to work and back home again – in the dark no less!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The soft-spoken therapist is action planning by seeking out positive coping tools such as:</div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Listening to comedy shows on Pandora Radio</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Finding audio books</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Developing mantras such as, “I will get better. This pain is temporary. This blurry<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>vision is normal and it will get better. Breathe and calm down. There’s no reason to think you will have a negative outcome.” </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Taking Omega 3’s and Vit C to help with recovery and really focusing on staying well hydrated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going into the surgery as healthy as possible – emotionally and physically as that helps with recovery. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Planning ahead to have meals frozen. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Giving myself permission to use sitters for extra help instead of chastising Dave for not helping. </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Replacing intense workouts during recovery by identifying little stretches and gentle movements safe for and conducive to recovery.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;">Shopping for NON PRESCRIPTION sunglasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who doesn’t love shopping? Actually, I’m not a huge fan of shopping. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It costs too much. And the temporary high of something new is not worth the depressed, guilty feeling of a dwindling bank account.</li>
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PRK was the vision correction surgery done before LASIK/LASEK came into play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>PRK is what the military still uses, so should I take that as a vote of confidence?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>PRK does not “have the wow factor that Lasik has” according to the eye surgeon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vision with Lasik is clear 24 hrs later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vision with PRK is blurry for days, if not weeks, or even months (yes, I was reading horror stories online) and there is a pain element as well given that they burn off a layer of your cornea which has to grow back – slowly – hence causing vision disruptions. </div>
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Lasik removes a flap, but then puts it back. But this causes a person to permanently lose 20% of their corneal thickness. (If I understood my doctor correctly.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I have skinny corneas, this is not a good idea. </div>
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And so, once again, my skinniness bites me in the butt again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The plastic surgeon who did my tummy surgery eval did say he’d give me a discount, “you aren’t going to need any lipo when I sew your muscles back together. There’s no fat on you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Well that’s something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps I can put the saved money in an envelope, along with my apology letter to the democratic party… </div>
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I’m very sorry I voted for the enemy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Olive Oil Pippi Longstocking gangly skinniness is – in short -- the reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please accept this monetary donation and spread it amongst all the populations that are suffering now that the Republicans are in charge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Sincerely, </div>
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The Skinny Democrat Burning in Hell<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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P.S. I thought Hell was supposed to be full of gays, women who aborted babies, welfare-crack-whores, and people who got divorces?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out I am sitting with a bunch of CEO’s, bank executives, Republicans, and judgmental Evangelical Christians!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who’d have thunk it?</div>
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Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-79291495709458847162012-09-09T23:27:00.000-05:002012-09-09T23:41:43.732-05:00Apple Orchard 2012I took Saturday off from work. I put in 50 hours the week before and since Saturday was Dave's birthday, it seemed a good time to take back time with the family. Since whooping cough is going around the twins school, Dave and I decided the whole family should head out to the Target clinic and get updated on whooping cough shots (mommy and daddy) as well as get our annual flu-shots. With Dave's birthday off to a sharp start, we headed out to lunch, then the orchard. <br />
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When all was said and done, we had picked two bushels of apples. I'm pretty sure that the $60 worth of apples is enough to make apple pies, caramel apples, baked apples, apples and peanut butter for snacks, apple sauce, and more. I love fall...if it wasn't followed by MN winters, I'd probably declare it my favorite season.<br />
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Dave took off for the evening. He headed out to watch a soccer game somewhere. I stayed home, cleaned up, and spiked a low-grade fever in reaction to my shots. It was a pretty low-key day, but that's how we roll...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clover helps daddy open presents</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone starts the apple hunt with the grumpies</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh good! She found giant apples and her silly smile!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good work farmer Ella!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half way done</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, grumpies are definitely gone!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andi and daddy pick Honeygold</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave thinks this is the main shot for a movie about three little superheroes atop a mountain (of hay).</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy "Natal Day," Dave -- as Nikki says.</td></tr>
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<br />Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-37719662388143628782012-09-04T22:08:00.001-05:002012-09-04T22:19:55.809-05:00Sophie and Ella: First Day of 1st Grade -- 2012Start the day with a miniature egg casserole...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hug Clover bye-bye </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ELLA</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SOPHIA</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't believe they are leaving...for the whole day....what to do?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bake them some cupcakes. Andi picked rainbow colors.</td></tr>
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They both came home with all positive things to report. Even Sophia who has a locker buddy -- known as a "bully" as he stabs children with "sharp pencils and has to go see" the principal. I'm glad Sophia didn't get stabbed today. I know she was a little concerned about that. Oh dear.<br />
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Once off the bus they devoured their cupcakes. As soon as they ate their cupcakes, it was off to Andi's preschool for open house. I almost cried when I found out Andi has Miss D. Sophia and Ella had Miss D when they were three. I love Miss D. Andi was SO angry that she couldn't stay in her classroom tonight; and she wasn't very into doing the treasure hunt. She was more into checking out all the toys and busying herself with drawing and in the play kitchen area. Another little girl came to play with a toy Andi wanted and I held my breath...was she going to scream. She didn't. She just let it roll off her back. <br />
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First day of preschool is two days away and Miss D has instructed Andi to bring her smile. Andi was too shy to smile or say hi to Miss D, but she did let her hug her. I'm pretty sure Miss D is going to be a fabulous teacher for my Panda Bear -- just patient enough, but also able to gently push her. Fingers crossed.<br />
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On the way to Culver's after the preschool open house the girls nearly fell asleep in the car. All three were exhausted from their big day. But they did mention they can't wait to go back tomorrow. And Andi seems VERY ready to go to preschool.<br />
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I don't think I can ask for more. :)Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-48565647577676438872012-09-01T11:18:00.001-05:002012-09-01T11:19:34.129-05:00The Good-Byes of Summer Ending<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I am agitated and depressed. Last night I was ready to crawl out of my skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, struggling through work <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told myself it will pass, so just … be. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be in it, don’t fight it thereby prolonging it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I couldn’t figure out why I was having such a mood nose dive and then I took an overall look at things now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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******The nanny was done Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was reliable and kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kept our children active, and she – for the most part – kept up with household responsibilities. (I’m a bit Kate Gosselin-ish – no one is going to meet my expectations 100%). </div>
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******The twins begin full-day school in four days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, I am having doubts about Sophia’s teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially in direct contrast to Ella’s teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a disgruntled parent in a school system that is supposed to be fabulous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is wrong with me?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Andi starts preschool. I will be alone at home on Tuesday afternoons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other days it will just be Andi and I.</div>
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As much as I bitch that my children are going to make me crazy, let’s be honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started out crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when it comes to children at foot vs. silence, it will be the silence that makes me crazier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Oh God I’m scared of getting OLD and having no children in the home…and not being able to stay active.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I get dementia? Or have a stroke? Or can’t move around on my own?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which then led me to researching whether human euthanasia is legal. Hello Crazy Woman Starting a Mid-Life Crisis. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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And it really is mid-life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m half way to dead if the average age of death is still 73.” (is it?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave tells me I’m such a sunny thinker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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******Dave put in very long hours at work for almost two weeks – including two all nighters – leaving me with the responsibility of EVERYTHING.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Which isn’t too terribly different than normal, actually.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hello Martyr.</div>
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******We spent my three days off this past week <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>running to the zoo, the orchard, the children’s museum, eye appointments, hair cuts, school open-house, first day of gymnastics (for all three girls).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With every single thing we did, the fact that is was the “last” time we would do that – all three together on a week day -- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>nagged at my brain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hello Sentimental Drama Queen.</div>
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For my kids, it was a chance to have fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, it was a chance to say good-bye to the days of mothering children too-young for school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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If Sophie isn’t home, who is going to ask me, “Why are you so freakishly annoying?”</div>
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And laugh at me when my hands are shaking due to too much adrenaline and coffee as I try to paint a french manicure on her tiny fingers.</div>
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Who will stroke my ego in only the way that Ella does when she announces, “Mommy. Clover smells like you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you smell like a vampire.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sophie adds in the zinger, “And vampires STINK.”</div>
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Or</div>
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“Mommy, you should be a witch for Halloween,” Ella advised. </div>
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When I asked why and reminded her that they also make princess costumes in my size she brushed it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“Because you look like a witch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have pointy teeth.”</div>
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As I write this, it is clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am grieving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This depressed agitation is actually grief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter what it is, the fix is still the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let it be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will pass, as all things do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I have made peace with good-bye, I can say hello to the things that come with raising grade-school age children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Or –- light bulb moment! -- I could put off good-bye and have another baby and start all over again. </div>
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Nah. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hello Puffy Red Eyes. </div>
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Someone pass me a hanky, I think I’m gonna stick with grieving.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Children's Museum after they painted their faces at another exhibit</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even Andi showed signs she is growing up. The little boy in red threw sand that hit Andi in the face. I held my breath as her eyes narrowed in his direction. Then exhaled as she used her words to tell him, "You are NOT very nice." She calmly went back to playing. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a cool exhibit....rocks set up in a stream with paint brushes....</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our harvest of Cukenuts...and Ella's new bobbed hair.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our harvest of greenbeans and Sophia's bobbed hair. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the zoo shortly before leaving after two short hours. Going to the zoo in the 90 degree temp was not that much fun. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andi does homework with Natalie.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last day with Natalie...The girls always thought she was like a princess, Ariel, to be exact, because of her long red hair. </td></tr>
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<br />Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-88963071107237191702012-09-01T10:23:00.002-05:002012-09-01T10:23:56.931-05:00Soccer Match: Mother-of-the-Year v Clinician Mother<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As a mom, part of my job is giving my kids choices and supporting them in the activities they enjoy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least that is what I righteously believed when the girls were engaged in activities I liked – ballet and gymnastics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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While I had acknowledged to the girls that team sports existed as well the martial arts, I put more hype and enthusiasm around my presentation of all types of dance and gymnastics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was going well and I was feeling like I had it made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only were they happy in dance and gymnastics, they were excelling and recommended onto invitation-only pre-team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going to make it through their childhood without having to watch them play the games I detested in all those horrible phys ed classes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Then their father entered the picture with his growing fondness for soccer…. </div>
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I am not ashamed to say that I prefer the “girly” sports or loner, non-competitve sports like running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nothing wrong with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To say there is would be to devalue the athletic skill and rigor that dancers and gymnasts go through. Those sports take both major strength and skill. It might be cool to be a girl and conquer the so-called male dominated sports, but that shouldn’t take away from the cool-ness of doing something stereotypically reserved for girls such as dance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Power to the pink, I say.</div>
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I am happy to dress my girls in pink tutus or shop for sparkly tiny-hiney shorts for gymnastics. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can coach them on <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“butt in, chest up” pliaes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will put their hair up in buns, and smear bright red lipstick on their kissers for the end-of-year dance recitals. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waiting outside of dance class I will (sometimes) tolerate small talk with the too-perky, Mercedes-driving blonde mother of Brittany “who just LOOOVES to dance and is SOO ready for pre-competition<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dance because she’s ALWAYS wanted to be a dancer and cheerleader.” </div>
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But I cannot for the life of me pay attention when anyone – even my own children -- do anything that involves a ball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t get me wrong, I understand that being engaged in team sports can have beneficial effects on any child’s development.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get that. And I get that I am very much in the minority when it comes to detesting team sports and the competition that goes with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sound of the theme song for Monday night football brings tears of sorrow to my eyes and unleashes “Oh my God! I thought football just ended and it’s starting again?! Turn it off or shoot me, please.”</div>
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I get Dave’s irritation with me when I spaced out during our (then) 4- year-old twins’ soccer games and claimed, “I AM paying attention” despite the fact that I was not even facing the soccer field. What I don’t get, are all the rules and regulations of these games and how passing a ball </div>
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back </div>
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and forth</div>
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back </div>
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and forth</div>
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back </div>
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and forth… </div>
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For what seems like hours on end…</div>
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Is able to hold anyone’s attention. </div>
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There are no pretty colors to look at. </div>
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No fun music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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No fun shoes to buy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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No pretty leotards. </div>
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No glitter, rhinestones or sequins.</div>
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No pink…</div>
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or purple. </div>
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What there is, is an UGLY blue and yellow mesh reversible shirt. </div>
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And ugly black soccer shoes…they don’t come in pink. </div>
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Trust me. I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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There is also wet, dew-y grass to sit on at 9 AM on a cold fall morning with plenty of bugs to swarm your hair as it begins flattening from the humidity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a dirty wet ball that occasionally flies in your direction, eliciting the leftover panic and trauma of failed kickball days of grade school. </div>
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I was always the last one picked for the teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And rightly so. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hated playing all those stupid games and usually just stood there and let the ball fly by me and let someone else chase it. If I caught it, it was only because it had bounced off my face or head and then landed in my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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God, I hated PE class…</div>
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And team sports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just a game and there was not a single ounce of me that cared if we won or lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it’s all for “fun,” then why are people screaming and getting so worked up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is NOT fun. </div>
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It’s too much pressure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I don’t wanna play.</div>
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And the male PE teachers with their pot-bellies and whistles hooping and hollering “GET IT! RUN!”</div>
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Like. Really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who the fuck cares? I was pretty sure I had better things to do than get worked up and chase a god-damned ball up and down the grass. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to wonder who the hell these old fat guys were to tell me to run like the wind when it was obvious they were the ones who could use a little exercise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you want the ball in the goal, YOU do it, I used to think.</div>
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The summer is winding down, swim lessons are wrapping up, and I asked the girls what activity they want to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“Soccer,” Sophia told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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My girl-y little brain must have misheard her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or perhaps she doesn’t understand what I’ve asked so I try again. </div>
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“It’s fall and ballet and gymnastics are starting again. Do you have a favorite?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“Yes. I like gymnastics.”</div>
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Relief flooding me, I swipe my brow realizing that was a close one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost ended up having to trade in enjoyable May dance recitals and mock gymnastics meets for watching a bunch of un-coordinated kids chase a ball </div>
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back </div>
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and forth</div>
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back </div>
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and forth</div>
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back </div>
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and forth. </div>
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“Ok, Sophie. So you want me to sign you up for gymnastics?” </div>
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“Um. I think I’ll do soccer.”</div>
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Son of a bitch!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begin cursing in my mind at Dave for his new found enthusiasm for fricking soccer. Not only does it distract him from his responsibilities, it’s now spreading down to our children. </div>
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Mother-of-the-Year begins tapping furiously on my shoulder telling me to lie to Sophie and tell her that soccer isn’t a fall sport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The Clinician Mother with two degrees specializing in human development and healthy <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>psyches who practices as a mental health crisis therapist sticks her damn big nose into the scene and reminds me “you have to support your children. This isn’t about you.” </div>
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Bitch. </div>
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“Ok Sophie. You know what? I’ll make an exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll do two activities this fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How about soccer and gymnastics? Or maybe you’d like to do ballet and gymnastics?”</div>
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She doesn’t even think about it before agreeing that gymnastics and soccer sounds great.</div>
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“Are you sure? If you want to really excel at something it’s best to stick with it so you get really good at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve been in dance and gymnastics for a few <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>years…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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And Mother-of-the-Year jumps in, “If you don’t do dance, you don’t get to have the end of year recital. Or wear make-up and get a costume.” </div>
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The Clinician Mother jumps back in, “But if you want soccer….I can talk to daddy about signing you up.”</div>
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“Ok.”</div>
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Rats!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m going to cry and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mother-of-the-Year has all out lost it. She’s set off to find Dave and blame him for distracting her budding ballerinas.</div>
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The Clinician Mother grabs <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mother-of-the-Year by her arm and asks her to hold off on the witch hunt for a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We must put this in perspective because things could be worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not like the girls are shooting up heroine, dying of cancer, or voting Republican – an offense which would warrant disowning them.</div>
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Clinician Mother calmly asks self-centered Mother-of-the-Year who hates all things involving balls and bases to let go and allow the girls to follow their passions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is by following their passions that they are most likely to succeed and, more importantly, be happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Mother-of-the-Year feels her heart sink far, far down and sighs.</div>
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So just as another mother may get annoyed that I favored all-things pink and girly for my girls, I get annoyed when people put down “girly” things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, isn’t that just the same offense, only in reverse? </div>
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The twins start soccer in a couple weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe one season will be enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if not, maybe the coach will be willing to consider pink and purple shirts for the girls with the numbers outlined in sequins and a round of Zumba dancing as the warm-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This blue and yellow mesh really has to go. </div>
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And I can always stare blankly at the </div>
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back </div>
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and forth</div>
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back</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and forth</div>
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back </div>
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and forth </div>
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of the ball and meditate on the fact that things could be worse….</div>
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At least they aren’t voting republican</div>
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At least they aren’t voting republican</div>
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At least they aren’t voting republican.</div>
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Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-15335106485265481202012-08-22T22:23:00.000-05:002012-08-22T22:23:14.491-05:00CharlieLast week I took the girls home to Iowa where they celebrated Uncle Pancake's and Gramma Bobo's birthdays, took a couple private swim lessons, and spent time with their new little cousin. In the 24 hours that we were there, we of course made time to go to the local Dutch bakery, the chocolate store, and stroll down Main Street. <br />
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Fun in Gramma's pool<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clover helps us pack</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-81739169468934572402012-07-15T18:55:00.000-05:002012-07-15T18:55:02.109-05:00Paisley May 1999-July 14, 2012<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<place w:st="on">Paisley</place> was a brindle Boxer with a kind, gentle spirit who rarely barked, loved to lay in the sun, and earned the name Tigger for her vertical bouncing as she greeted you back home. She had a stump of a tail that wasn’t big enough to express her happiness so she resorted to wagging her whole rear-end. She loved running at the dog park and had kisses for everyone she met. So powerful were her kisses, that you could hear her tongue as it thwacked her nose. </div>
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She came to live with Dave and Shannon at the age of eight weeks-old for their first wedding anniversary on July 18, 1999. It was <place w:st="on">Shannon</place>’s gift to Dave. <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> spent the better part of her puppy obedience classes walking around the ring backwards trying desperately to greet whoever was behind her. <br />
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Paisley spent her last few years living with <place w:st="on">Shannon</place>’s parents. Shannon’s parents were able to give <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> the walks and attention she deserved. When Paisley still had energy and good mobility, she loved to watch Judy (<place w:st="on">Shannon</place>’s mom) swim laps in the backyard pool. <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> would race from end to end, licking Judy’s hands as she touched the wall to turn for her next lap. When <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> got too hot, she would sit on the steps of the pool in the shallow end to cool down. </div>
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Paisley would take nightly walks with Art, <place w:st="on">Shannon</place>’s dad. “She’s kind of a chicken,” Art had said about his walks with <place w:st="on">Paisley</place>. <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> had been known to be spooked by her own shadow and in her scramble to get behind whoever was walking her she’d nearly trip whoever was on the walk with her. </div>
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<place w:st="on">Paisley</place> was a sensitive soul. If someone got mad at her she’d slink away and pout for extended periods of time. She was a sneaky girl when it came to the comforts of furniture and loved to spend her time sitting on the furniture she wasn’t supposed to sit on. If caught, she would move in slow-motion off the couch or chair which broke the tension and evoked laughter. It is hard to stay mad at someone with brown puddles for eyes. </div>
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Shannon recalls the time 65-pound <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> and three-pound Alli the Pomeranian joined forces. Alli showed <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> where the treats and food were kept at Art and Judy’s home. <place w:st="on">Paisley</place> then clawed the closet door open. Both of them enjoyed their team effort thoroughly and were found with their heads in a bag of dog food stuffing themselves silly. The family often joked that those two dogs, big in heart and little in brain, shared a bond and a brain and together made a good pair. </div>
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Paisley joins Mocha, Alli, JoJo, Rusty, and Mindy at the other end of the proverbial <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Rainbow</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Bridge</placetype></place>. She and her gentle spirit have left a hole in everyone’s hearts and a trail of tears glistening on sun-kissed cheeks. </div>
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<i>"(S)He took my heart and ran with it, and I hope (s)he's running still, fast and strong, a piece of my heart bound up with (hers)his forever"<br /> Patricia McConnell</i><br />
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</div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-34444293544394562772012-07-13T22:27:00.001-05:002012-07-13T22:28:31.182-05:00Our Own Little ToothfairyElla has had a front top tooth hanging by a thread for a few days. I don't pull teeth out. Makes me woozy. She doesn't like teeth pulled out, makes her woozy.<br />
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The tooth fell out on it's own today without her knowing it. <br />
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Thinking Clover was chewing on a squinkie, Ella ran to fish it out of his mouth. Turns out he had found her top front tooth on the floor after it quietly exited her mouth. Clover was playing with it, perhaps trying it on for size as his puppy teeth have recently started falling out. Were it not for his fascination with eating tiny things off the ground -- as well as butterflies, moths, and earthworms -- we might never have found the tiny front tooth for Ella to stick under her pillow tonight. <br />
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<br />Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-85130428773265533722012-07-06T15:52:00.000-05:002012-07-06T17:53:31.643-05:00Lasik, Tummy Tuck, or Bust<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I need surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For five years I have known that I need to get surgery on my belly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Various doctors have talked to me and told me to get it done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A full-term twin pregnancy left me with with “severely separated” muscles and a hernia. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recently, doing a crunch in the gym, something twinged painfully and I thought my insides were coming undone. </div>
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Last fall when I re-entered the corporate world as a clinician, I elected to put a large chunk of my pre-tax salary into a use-it or lose-it account to cover medical expenses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I reasoned that if I tucked away that much money from my paycheck that my desire not to waste the money would propel me past my fears of going under the knife. </div>
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I reasoned wrong. </div>
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Here it is, 2012 is half over, and I have not moved forward with my surgical plans and I have plenty of excuses not to get it done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am beginning to wonder, am I really going to lose all my money because I haven’t any courage?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Not only do I need my stomach repaired before I completely burst open, but I would like to get LASIK so I can lose the nerdy glasses that I hide behind – it’s totally psychological – my idea that I am hiding, but still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am afraid to get the procedure done, and afraid not to have anything to hide behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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In an effort to reassure myself LAKIK is safe, easy and a wonderful thing to do, I googled for people’s experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I learned about doctors botching surgeries, people’s vision being distorted, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>permanent eye damage and even the risk of going blind! Holy shit!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Thinking that maybe I should hold off on Lasik, I googled abdominoplasty pictures and recovery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I found pictures of women with drains and tubes coming out of the freshly operated on bellys, horror stories of the pain and the feeling of being sewed back together so tightly they “can’t breathe.” </div>
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I thought maybe if I added in a boob job with the tummy surgery that it would serve as an incentive to get the work done; and of course Dave was supportive, “You deserve it,” he told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Visiting the plastic surgeon’s office, I tried on different sizes of boobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In stead of looking in the mirror seeing a buxom beauty, I saw myself as top-heavy and fat and asked the nurse for a smaller pair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Those are the smallest ones we have," she informed me. "We rarely use those.” </div>
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Oh dear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why must you make everything so difficult, I asked myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have really got yourself in a pickle now. </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I should use the money and check into a chemical dependency rehab in <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Florida</place></state> or HI or CA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that I have an addiction, but I am sure I could fake one, and then it would be like a vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are treatment centers have serve lovely meals, offer massages and meditation times, all set on a private beach, not to mention the meetings with the therapists in which I could talk about myself guilt free, the opportunity to sleep in without children pestering me, and the fantastic psych drugs that may be prescribed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could probably afford at least a few days rehab with the use-it or lose-it money tucked away for medical expenses…</div>
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<br /></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-40483388756434629402012-05-02T07:22:00.001-05:002012-05-02T07:22:26.147-05:003 MonthsClover headed to the vet yesterday on his 12 week birthday. He weighed in at 2.6 pounds. Andi was recently overheard saying, "I love you forever. And I like you, too." Clover didn't mind his shot at all; the girls became more upset than he did. The vet found him to be a calm, good little dog, but reminded us to stay on top of things by doing obedience training because, "These little guys have big personalities."<br />
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As if the nights aren't full enough since the girls got recruited to pre-team at gymnastics with classes twice a week and dance class one of the other nights, Clover starts his puppy class in a few weeks on Tuesday nights. We had to wait a little longer to start class because I was going to be damned if I took him on Zumba class nights. <br />
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He is a mellow little guy who is getting the hang of going for walks on his leash, is still working on potty training, and who doesn't get the big deal about potty training. He runs up the stairs, but doesn't like to go down them. <br />
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In the midst of raising the new puppy, we headed to the girls art show at school... <br />
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I better get the pictures posted and get on with the day. It's 7:20 AM and per protocol, I have overscheduled myself with things to get done before heading back to work...but this is far better than the endless, boring, somebody kill me days of stay at home motherhood. <br />
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<br />Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-22889464297615481172012-04-14T10:30:00.000-05:002012-04-14T10:30:53.395-05:00But What About PFB?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">After my post on Clover I am getting messages asking what happened with Princess Fluffy Butt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">We are not getting her. And I don’t exactly know what happened to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">I was dealing with Wisconsinpoms.com, formerly known as Tristaspoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A googling of the woman’s name – which she never gave to me, but I found through investigating her on paypal after giving her a $100 deposit – tied her to a permit violation of some sort, a domestic violence charge, and a comment thread about her being a backyard breeder at best, and a puppy mill at worst. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">In my interactions with her, she often didn’t directly answer my questions, she would usually respond with a one line response, and she never signed her name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was not in any way forthright about herself or her dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">I began to get concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After seeing firsthand the effects of puppy mills on the dogs that we provided fostercare for – as much as I wanted a new pom puppy -- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to give my money to someone who was mistreating animals. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">I delicately sent her an email indicating that I was concerned and needed more information from her about herself and her set up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was non-compliant with our request to visit. She was only available on the days I had stated we absolutely could not come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Convenient? Or perhaps a coincidence?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">Anyway, that email set off a rage in her AND her husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a nasty defensive email from them and they refused to sell their puppy to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">Very fishy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">Princess Fluffy Butt has never reappeared on their website as being for sale to another family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daily I get a sick feeling inside wondering what is going on there….wondering if I should never had said anything and just taken the dog and run and not looked back at whether I had funded a bad woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">So that’s the long answer…I don’t know what happened to Princess Fluffy Butt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Stone Serif"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Stone Serif"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-10909115479253623332012-04-13T21:47:00.000-05:002012-04-13T21:47:50.078-05:00Our Lucky CloverIt seemed that finding a pom puppy was nearly impossible, nevermind finding one from a reputable breeder. But after contacting a family member with canine connections, we finally found a man who loves poms "like they are his children" according to one source. I called him right away and he had one little boy puppy available. That little boy loved giving kisses, being held, and hanging out with people. <br />
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Bringing him home today, it is clear that the breeder of our puppy was very in tune with his personality. This little 9-1/2 wk old 36 ounce ball of fluff seems pretty happy so far...and we love him already. <br />
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Introducing...Clover<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UEMuopwyxxE/T4jk-AZ3TCI/AAAAAAAABNg/f-pBILg1MKo/s1600/048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UEMuopwyxxE/T4jk-AZ3TCI/AAAAAAAABNg/f-pBILg1MKo/s400/048.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-61924112760946084532012-04-05T20:06:00.000-05:002012-04-05T20:06:06.519-05:00Observations by Andi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> Andi has had a few observations this past week....<br />
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<ul><li>"I have tiny boobies," Andi said to Dave as he walked around the bedroom with his PJ bottoms on, grabbing clothes for work, "And you have big boobies. Like a monkey." </li>
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<ul><li>Andi pee'd her pants three times one afternoon after I got her a rare treat -- a slushy from the gas station. The first time I wiped up the mess and said nothing. The second time I reminded her to listen to her body and go potty when it tells her it needs to potty. The third time I was mad and told her to go clean herself up and I left her in the bathroom. </li>
</ul> ......She came down five minutes later with a pantyliner in her underwear. I guess she hoped it would absorb any future accidents.<br />
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<ul><li> Andi sat with me as I got dressed and of course verbalized her observations, "Your boobies are too short." I asked her if she meant they were too small. "Yes. They are. And cover that up," she said as she poked me on my stretch marked belly. </li>
</ul>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-77917638227896420202012-03-31T14:04:00.000-05:002012-03-31T14:04:21.776-05:00Princess Fluffy ButtThe PFB now has her eyes open. Our home is eagerly awaiting her arrival. In other dog related news, Larry found his forever home two days ago...as did little Maggie. Big Daddy says no more fosters for a while; he needs some canine free time (actually "don't pee on the floor!" time) before the fuzzy bundle of tiny-ness arrives in another month. That's okay with the girls since we have something else to distract us at the moment. Two days age we all overruled big daddy and plan to paint their room pink. "No pink walls. This is my house," he said, putting his foot down as if he had any say in the matter. "It's their room," I argued, and then set off for the paint shop to select the perfect shade of pink.<br />
<br />
Judging by the updated pictures we received of PFB, she is a fan of pink, too. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8Omc1HdN4qM/T3dSEnvG2AI/AAAAAAAABMg/hwW9ftDFH7U/s1600/01+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dea="true" height="302" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8Omc1HdN4qM/T3dSEnvG2AI/AAAAAAAABMg/hwW9ftDFH7U/s400/01+(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xVmzlcRPmaY/T3dSFSwtD0I/AAAAAAAABMo/oPix_pUSLZI/s1600/02+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dea="true" height="302" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xVmzlcRPmaY/T3dSFSwtD0I/AAAAAAAABMo/oPix_pUSLZI/s400/02+(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-43577564880367369702012-03-30T13:37:00.002-05:002012-03-30T13:38:06.341-05:00Oh No He Didn'tThe girls have had this nasty little respiratory bug for the last few weeks. Dave came down with it a week ago, and it finally hit me this week just in time to head back to work. <br />
<br />
As clinicians on the crisis team, we've noticed that the universe is really unsettled...all is not well with folks out there. The pace of our work just doesn't slow down. But, it never hurts to ask and so as I walked into work yesterday, I sent a message out, "Dear universe, please be calm today." <br />
<br />
It listened to me as well as my children do and not only did I put up with cranky clients, an incompetent therapist trying to send an actively suicidal and psychotic client to residential treatment (good lord how does she keep her license?!), the carpet measuring guy copping an attitude with me when he showed up to measure the house and found me not home when I told him I would be at work, and the rescue organization throwing a hissy fit that I wasn't home and they needed Larry the foster dog NOW for a home visit they planned but didn't tell me about, but...<br />
<br />
I almost got run over as I walked into work. <br />
<br />
By a mercedes driving insurance executive -- aka satan. <br />
<br />
That is the second time in two weeks that I have nearly been run over by a luxury car driving executive as they race out of their heated parking garage. <br />
<br />
The damn pecker heads. <br />
<br />
I'm fine being run over by someone driving a clunker...or who is high...or drunk...or some mom who is turned in her seat screaming at her children as she drives...because, hey, that happens. Wrong place, wrong time.<br />
<br />
But getting run over by some hoity-toity beemer driving executive who hasn't the maturity to drive under 60 miles an hour in a parking garage because he has a little penis and a big ego is not going to be cool with me. <br />
<br />
And because I have taken the liberty of naming myself Karma's right hand woman I will rise from the dead and haunt him until the day he dies, at which point, if there is a gate into heaven, I will, in starfish fashion, stand in it blocking his entrance until God or whoever is the official guard of the gate wrestles me out of the entrance. But since he is an insurance executive, I doubt (if there even is a heaven) that he will be welcome there. And running over a tiny social worker with a case of the sniffles in a parking garage doesn't earn points for heaven, either.Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-53164681068664144472012-03-24T09:12:00.000-05:002012-03-24T09:12:35.233-05:00FunThe girls cannot get enough Fun. <br />
<br />
Driving to ice skating lessons "We are Young" began playing. "That was awesome!" Sophia called up from the back seat of the van, "Can we hear it again?"<br />
<br />
And so again, and again, and again it played...<br />
<br />
Fun<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/FQLGhPHzxjc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-23897258818750486272012-03-21T20:57:00.000-05:002012-03-21T20:57:16.497-05:00Big Daddy Says Yes Sophia can hardly leave Larry alone. She carts him around, though she nearly falls over backwards trying to lug his fury butt around. He isn't a big dog; maybe 15 lbs give or take, but that is just under half of what Sophia weighs. The girls want him to walk on a leash, they want him to play, they want him to cuddle...He just isn't down for that right now. He's got some trauma to work through and they get it.<br />
<br />
Larry, I think, just wishes we would go away, but we just won't. We hound him and try to show him it's safe to be the 9 month-old puppy that he is. <br />
<br />
We kiss him... <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JqSW4UJBewc/T2p_n_uS2zI/AAAAAAAABLY/ELn1oLTbuA4/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JqSW4UJBewc/T2p_n_uS2zI/AAAAAAAABLY/ELn1oLTbuA4/s400/008.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>We hug him...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ecnPZWRH-fI/T2qALusRBjI/AAAAAAAABLg/cbCTwt5rvkU/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ecnPZWRH-fI/T2qALusRBjI/AAAAAAAABLg/cbCTwt5rvkU/s400/007.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And Sophia leaves him notes (go potty) to help with his potty training...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j9vBlLrNoM4/T2qAhSYIAuI/AAAAAAAABLo/6BIloXzNIXc/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j9vBlLrNoM4/T2qAhSYIAuI/AAAAAAAABLo/6BIloXzNIXc/s400/018.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
There is a family who has applied to adopt Larry, fingers crossed this family works out, so Larry will likely be leaving very soon. <br />
<br />
And the weather has finally turned warm making it a good time, not only to break out pretty spring clothes....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UU93Npke0k0/T2qBPwaTD2I/AAAAAAAABLw/YYynXKbijtc/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UU93Npke0k0/T2qBPwaTD2I/AAAAAAAABLw/YYynXKbijtc/s400/009.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SGbRN8hl5jg/T2qBX5-7cMI/AAAAAAAABL4/DWAIWY_mTI8/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SGbRN8hl5jg/T2qBX5-7cMI/AAAAAAAABL4/DWAIWY_mTI8/s400/012.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
... but to potty train as well...<br />
<br />
<br />
And since it is very clear that these children need a dog -- a spirited, energetic dog who is small in stature but big in every other way -- it's time for a pomeranian. <br />
<br />
You know, for the girls sake. <br />
<br />
Fresh out of the oven, please meet the newest member of our family...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wnLyYPO8tRo/T2p8ZgYY4GI/AAAAAAAABLQ/PifNe_-kNr4/s1600/Pom+puppy+eyes+shut.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wnLyYPO8tRo/T2p8ZgYY4GI/AAAAAAAABLQ/PifNe_-kNr4/s400/Pom+puppy+eyes+shut.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
She is set to be released from her mommy in April or May...And we need a name. Here are a few suggestions I have received...<br />
Princess?<br />
Princess Mimi?<br />
Jasmine?<br />
Cinderella?<br />
Gracie -- this is what the breeder named her.<br />
Daphne?<br />
Lulu?<br />
Pickles?<br />
Princess Puffy Pants?<br />
Princess Fluffy Butt? <br />
Pixie?<br />
Clarabelle?<br />
<br />
<br />
We may not have a name, but the girls have selected everything else -- including bling for her collar and a tutu so she isn't left out at the tea parties that the girls anticipate her coming to...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eHteXiPf6s8/T2qCZ4CxAhI/AAAAAAAABMA/-3xKOYrvaGk/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eHteXiPf6s8/T2qCZ4CxAhI/AAAAAAAABMA/-3xKOYrvaGk/s400/016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-87lbnvoP6ZA/T2qCg7G61OI/AAAAAAAABMI/bapipibZz-g/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-87lbnvoP6ZA/T2qCg7G61OI/AAAAAAAABMI/bapipibZz-g/s320/017.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> And because Ella says, "She has to have something blue." A new set of dishes...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ww8wi9XvmhE/T2qDjzO11EI/AAAAAAAABMQ/ObwUPVeluQc/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ww8wi9XvmhE/T2qDjzO11EI/AAAAAAAABMQ/ObwUPVeluQc/s400/019.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Thank you Big Dave. :)Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-42015594609190726752012-03-18T22:32:00.000-05:002012-03-18T22:32:31.783-05:00Larry (Minus Darryl and his other Brother Darryl)I just can't say no to certain things. And so when the email came asking for help with homeless dogs for 2 weeks, I couldn't help it. Yes, please! We'll take one. The home is incomplete without a dog -- but I'm not ready for a new one. Everything still feels like it is Mocha's. Her bed still sits waiting, as does her bowl of water and food. I can't put them away. I guess I'll get to it when I'm ready. Her ashes sit next to my bed...sigh...sad.<br />
<br />
But, my heart did say it was ready for a foster, so...<br />
<br />
Nine month-old Larry the cocker spaniel arrived yesterday. He arrived with a bad name, a bit of a stink, a blue Hawaiian collar... <br />
<br />
And the hair...I'm working on a grooming appointment for him this week. The poor man. A bad name and a bad hairdo is really no good for someones self-esteem. His tail hasn't raised up once. I'm sure once he feels prettier things will head in a better direction for him. He is very quiet and shy, not at all puppy-like. He's a sitting duck for the girls who dressed him in a leprechaun hat while Dave was doing laundry and I was at work. But Larry took it like a man. Not helping his self-esteem is that we keep calling him "her." <br />
<br />
We just aren't used to males in this household. Case in point...Andi found it shocking -- just as the girls did at her age -- when she barged in on Dave getting dressed after his shower, "Look at your funny vulva," she observed to Dave. <br />
<br />
"It's not a vulva," Dave tried to tell her. "It's a penis."<br />
<br />
"A peanut?"<br />
<br />
So now we have two nuts in the house for the next two weeks. (P.S. MN readers, spread the word that a very sweet brown cocker needs a home.)<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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LT1oAjV4mhU/T2aniUo3A-I/AAAAAAAABLE/I_k4aEVb4Yc/s1600/061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LT1oAjV4mhU/T2aniUo3A-I/AAAAAAAABLE/I_k4aEVb4Yc/s400/061.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Male bonding time</span> <span style="font-size: small;">-- I think they are good for each other. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w_MZIujgEOc/T2anO364JzI/AAAAAAAABK8/Au1w7MN5WWU/s1600/057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w_MZIujgEOc/T2anO364JzI/AAAAAAAABK8/Au1w7MN5WWU/s400/057.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-71778613393012776432012-03-11T09:35:00.000-05:002012-03-11T09:35:20.986-05:00Flight Rage<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">There are more than a few things that get under my skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And one of them is kicking screaming kids off a plane. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">There are a few reasons that Dave and I have not flown anywhere with our children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of them has been my paranoia that we’ll get kicked off a plane and become a national news story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do hate to be the center of attention and prefer to remain a wall flower in most instances. A national news story about Andi thrashing and wailing on Sun Country airlines to the point that the pilot returned the plane to the gate and called security is an experience I’d rather avoid. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">Reading the recent news story about the tantruming two-year old kicked off Jet Blue made me angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart pounded and because I was already in a bad mood and looking for a fight I chose to read the comments knowing full well there would be a fair amount of kick the brat off the plane hurrah going on. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">I didn’t respond to the righteous grandmas and stupid single males because I’m not going to change those people’s minds...And there were a fair amount of feisty mom’s of toddlers who gave the kid haters a one, two punch with words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">Don’t get me wrong I do hate listening to the screaming of children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there anyone who does like the sound of it? It boils my blood, escalates my heart rate and my cortisol level rises with each increased octave produced by the rapidly vibrating vocal cords of a two-year-old who is not getting their way. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">But, I’m not going to support kicking families out of public spaces because their child is engaging in developmentally normal behavior that some bitter asshole doesn’t want to deal with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes a village to raise a family; we’re all in this together. And if you can’t deal with it, well, then get your stinky, fat ass off the plane. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise take your own advice for the toddler and sit down and shut the fuck up because the only thing this mama likes less than a toddler whining is a grown adult whining. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Stone Serif;">And that’s about all I have to say about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-241146655093623002012-02-28T08:54:00.002-06:002012-02-28T09:14:35.254-06:00The Good-Byes of the Last WeekOn Friday we said good-bye to the nanny. Ok, the kids said good-bye, Dave said, "This is your last night. Go get the car seats out of your car, you won't be coming back to work for us," after finding out that Nanny Nightmare locked the twins outside on a MN winter day for over two hours without supervision because the twins had had a fight. (We found this out thanks to some observant neighbors.)<br />
Bitch.<br />
<br />
Also on Friday, I cleaned out my Facebook likes (still a work in progress) as well as "friends." Why in the world did I accept friend requests from bullies of my past? Now the friend list is a more intimate circle of close friends, close neighbors, and family. And it feels better. <br />
<br />
<br />
On Saturday we said good-bye to Maggie. Her peeing, pooping (multiple times an hour inside despite just seconds ago relieving herself outside!) and onset of seizures were growing too much for us to address as a family and the rescue organization was unhelpful and unsupportive. It broke our hearts to return her.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ImJPWQSGJ-I/T0zpvhd046I/AAAAAAAABKk/cP729KwVtto/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ImJPWQSGJ-I/T0zpvhd046I/AAAAAAAABKk/cP729KwVtto/s320/020.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JraBYj7f1E/T0zp27YlNXI/AAAAAAAABKs/H8-bi6zOZTk/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JraBYj7f1E/T0zp27YlNXI/AAAAAAAABKs/H8-bi6zOZTk/s320/011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NPC83I8F5eU/T0zqA_SuSTI/AAAAAAAABK0/jjfADMooDBQ/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NPC83I8F5eU/T0zqA_SuSTI/AAAAAAAABK0/jjfADMooDBQ/s320/024.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
On Tuesday at 4 AM we said good-bye to Daddy as we headed to Washington, DC for the week.<br />
<br />
On Tuesday night we said good-bye to Mocha.<br />
<br />
On Thursday we said good-bye to Bobo and Kelli. They arrived on Weds to do childcare while mommy worked; but Kelli was sick and mommy said, "You have to go, we can't chance being sick." Thus possibly starting WWIII with my mother. Ay yi yi.<br />
<br />
On this most recent Friday we said good-bye to all weekend plans including the last day of gymnastics and two birthday parties when Sophia got sick.<br />
<br />
On Monday we hopefully said the beginning of good-bye to the strep germs making Sophie sick when the doctor gave Sophia a shot of penicillin. It doesn't appear Kelli has strep, though. I am not sure she was actually tested for strep and she is still sick. Whatever it is, let's hope Kelli gets better soon. <br />
<br />
On Tuesday, we say hello to our new nanny who has a BS in elementary ed, is licensed as a teacher, and can stay with us til the fall (fingers crossed) when we say good-bye to her as she enters the teaching profession full-time.<br />
<br />
I'm not a song writer, but if I was, I'm pretty sure the life events in the past week would have been the makings for a country hit.Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-54320153355108046452012-02-28T08:30:00.002-06:002012-02-28T08:39:12.025-06:00Parent Night at Ballet and Tap 2012Last night was Parent Night at ballet and tap. I can't get the tap video to download. Ella is the one in all back, pony tail with arms rounded above her head. (Sophia missed the special night, she was (and still is) on death's door, practically, with strep throat.) As usual, though, Andi takes over with Ella somewhere in the background...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1EJxS4KYWmU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198090728615254485.post-50690836223899577172012-02-21T23:04:00.000-06:002012-02-21T23:04:29.130-06:00Mocha 1995-2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aDua5brjANU/T0RxHrU8E2I/AAAAAAAABI0/RBKgnEjSxRQ/s1600/Pix641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aDua5brjANU/T0RxHrU8E2I/AAAAAAAABI0/RBKgnEjSxRQ/s400/Pix641.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Mocha -- AKA -- <br />
Mo<br />
Pipsqueaker<br />
PoePoe<br />
Sister Mary Margaret<br />
EMMA JEAN LOUISE!<br />
Pip Pip<br />
Pippi Lou Harris<br />
<br />
died on Tuesday Feb. 21st, 2012. She was euthanized in her mommy's arms due to poor quality of life stemming from dementia, arthritis, and a collapsing wind-pipe. Mocha was just a few weeks shy of her 17th birthday. <br />
<br />
She was preceded in death by her sister Alli and aunt Jojo. <br />
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Mocha is survived by her Frien-emy, Paisley who is now living in IA with Bobo and Grampa<br />
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Mocha was "her own dog" as many put it. Mocha was the alpha bitch in the household (I know this is surprising to many of you who'd have thought her owner claimed the title). Mocha came before Dave and as such, she hated him and didn't often miss a chance to bite him -- especially if he tried to get anywhere near Shannon. <br />
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Mocha hated being apart from Shannon and would cry and chase Shannon out the door, biting Shannon's ankle as Shannon used her foot to push Mocha back in the door. Since Mocha was so attached to Shannon, the pair of them earned the Canine Good Citizen Award so that Mocha could travel a few more places with Shannon that she may not have gotten to travel otherwise. Doesn't it look like she is smiling in these pics?<br />
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Mocha was smart as a whip, spirited and athletic. In her younger days, she loved to swim and fetch "SQUEAKIES!!!!" out of the water. She would jump off the side of the pool, rafts, and the diving board. Nothing could keep her from her object of obsession. Mocha usually destroyed every single squeaky toy she had within minutes.<br />
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Mocha was also a runner and would run with Shannon -- or without her. Funny story. Mocha got loose while brother Patrick was supposed to be watching Mocha at Shannon's parents house. Mocha ran all the way back to Shannon's condo. Patrick arrived shortly after Mocha did -- he was panting, out of breath, and pissed. "She made me chase her and she took the LONG way back to your condo!" (Ok. Maybe that's only funny to me. Still.)<br />
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<div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i><b> </b></i></div>Mocha is eight pounds but never backed down from any fights she started at the dog park, no matter how big the dog was that was shaking her around by her neck. She loved riding on Shannon's lap on car rides, biting Paisley's boxer-jowels, and going for walks. Shannon doted on that dog, grooming her, fluffing her, and kissing her smack on the lips...<br />
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<div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i>"I have caught more ills from people sneezing over me and giving me virus infections than from kissing dogs."</i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i> <b>-Barbara Woodhouse</b></i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i><b> </b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UuRM2lZjM-E/T0RyNSx_7zI/AAAAAAAABJM/bQVNFuQWPN8/s1600/DSCN0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UuRM2lZjM-E/T0RyNSx_7zI/AAAAAAAABJM/bQVNFuQWPN8/s400/DSCN0013.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i><b> </b></i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i><b> </b></i></div>Until the twins showed up. Then Mocha faded to the background. Gradually dementia set in and Mocha no longer wished to be touched. She was not groomed in the last couple years of her life. (Hello, guilt). Walks went away when she couldn't keep up and she spent most of her time in her bed. Ignored. Actually, forgotten about in the chaos of things. (Guilt, please, I beg you, go away.)<br />
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<div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i>"He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion."</i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i> <b>- Unknown</b></i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><i><b> </b></i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: left;">Memorial services will be held at a later date. <i><b> </b></i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: left;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div><div class="content" style="text-align: center;"><div class="quotes"> <i>"Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, </i></div><div class="quotes"><i>these quiet friends, </i></div><div class="quotes"><i>is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives." </i></div><div class="authors"><i> John Galsworthy </i></div><div class="authors"><br />
</div><div class="authors">And one last time...</div><div class="authors"> Night night Mocha, night night. <i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jl_d1Ig_32U/T0R1APaGQAI/AAAAAAAABKc/o1_dKXj2D5I/s1600/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jl_d1Ig_32U/T0R1APaGQAI/AAAAAAAABKc/o1_dKXj2D5I/s320/013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Bumbling Introverthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13462320734855019682noreply@blogger.com0