tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19486949879629153972024-03-05T00:18:21.775-08:00The Binge LadyMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.comBlogger228125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-71419980168884844542012-04-30T19:50:00.000-07:002012-04-30T19:50:47.231-07:00Tres Chic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have this memory of an early morning during my first grade - that would make me 6 or 7 - in which I cried down in my room and decided I couldn't go to school that day because I had "nothing to wear!" Kind of sad that I was worried about my lack of outfit options so early in life, right? I guess I have always been particular about my clothing.</div>
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Well, I think I passed the trait on... and I am not really sure how I feel about that. On one hand, I don't love the idea of my child being like me; I don't want her to stress about her appearance as much as I do. There are so many other things to stress about in life - much more important things. On the other hand, I love that she has an opinion about what she wants to wear each day and there is no swaying her. She definitely knows how to make a statement.</div>
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No one knows how to mix prints quite like Ruby Roe. Honestly, I would rock this look if I had it in my size.</div>
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Cable-knit all the way.</div>
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Monochromatic.</div>
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Yes, that is a red feather in her hair.</div>
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Mini on a mini.</div>
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Miss-matched socks as gloves. Classy.</div>
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And, of course, Wonder Woman!</div>
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<br /></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-62728271180290291952012-04-24T19:04:00.000-07:002012-04-24T19:04:44.457-07:00Take me home...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This weekend we drove out into the Blue Ridge Mountains of Shenandoah National Park. We packed what seemed like the entire house into our car but still managed to forget a lighter, batteries for our flashlights and enough clothing to keep us warm in the cold mountain air. But that didn't stop us from having a great time. </div>
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We went on a couple of hikes - ones that a 2-year-old could tromp through - and camped. Well, we slept in a tent... that we pulled out of our car ten feet away... with bathrooms and electricity 50 feet away... my parents would be ashamed. </div>
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And actually we didn't really sleep. For some reason we figured we would all fit on our queen-sized air mattress - all four of us. Somehow I forgot that at home I can't sleep with ONE child in my queen-sized bed, let alone TWO sideways sleepers, both with strong propensities to knee me in the back every hour or so. Why I thought that in the wilderness, where it was windy and freezing and there are strange noises, my kids would sleep sounder and somehow stiller, is beyond me. Oh, they were crying, kicking, switching places, pulling my hair. At one point I turned and faced Ruby so she would stop yanking on my long strands. Just as I began to drift off to sleep, she punched me in the face. And she was asleep through all of this. I can't even imagine what she was dreaming. When she did wake up, which I am guessing was about 3 a.m., she sat right up. Ryan told her to lie back down. She said forcefully, "I will not do that. I am getting out of this tent." She climbed over Ethan and Ryan, down off the mattress and unzipped the door of the tent. Feeling the cold air rush in, she didn't go outside, but chose to scream at us instead. Ryan, the quick thinker that he is, told Ruby that there were people out there just like Kathy (our neighbor, who used to knock on the wall when Ruby would wake up at night) who would be very unhappy if she woke them up. (Bad parent points for Ryan) She climbed right back in bed next to me. About 20 minutes later, her head was pushing directly into my back.</div>
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There I lay, perfectly lined up with the very edge of the mattress, you know, right where the velveteen meets the plastic sides. I was directly on top of one arm (which had fallen asleep from my body's weight), my other arm wrapped around my body as if to hold it up from falling right off onto the cold floor of the tent. </div>
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Strangely, I want to go camping again. The trip was wrought with all sorts of mishaps, including only buying one bushel of firewood and hoping it would last us through the night and into the morning and half-burning our tin foil dinners (do those ever really work?). We ended up foraging for firewood, which actually turned out pretty well. And crunchy Cheetos and a Symphony bar topped off our stomachs.<br />
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We were also potty training on this trip since Ruby decided last week that she was ready to go in the toilet. Only she means in <i>her</i> toilet, a little portable blue thing. All I can say is <i>thank goodness we took that thing with us.</i> We did have to tote it into a Potbelly's bathroom on the drive out because she refused to sit on the big potty. That was embarrassing. And about 1/2 mile down into a steep hike she mentioned that she needed to go. I tried to help her go in the forest, you know, tilting her back just right. She would not have it. We knew we needed to get back to the car, which contained that lovely porta-potty, stat. The problem was that turning back meant the hike was now straight up the mountain, and while Ruby runs down mountains (with us holding our breath between crashes), she treads quite slowly up them. We knew we needed to hurry. Ryan offered his shoulders. Ruby is quite particular and refused, then settled on my shoulders. I hiked quickly, trying to keep thoughts of her soaking the back of my neck out of my mind. I was a hot mess when we got up to the top but, guess what? She made it to the potty! In fact, she had zero accidents on that trip.<br />
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I know Ethan loved this trip because as I put him into bed (that air mattress) that night, he asked, "Are we going to sleep over here again tomorrow?"<br />
I answered, "No."<br />
He didn't even hesitate to say, "Well it will still be the best day of my life."<br />
I think his favorite part of the following day was when he hit a baseball with his bat and it landed right into the cup holder of his camp chair. He was thrilled and called it his "best hit ever." He is not one to shy away from sweeping statements. And his new thing is to do something crazy with his hands whenever I point the camera at him. Funniest kid ever!<br />
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Ryan and I spent all of this time without our phones, the Internet, the television and all of the other things that suck us in every day. After the kids went down, we just sat around the campfire and talked. I am going to go ahead and pull an Ethan and say this was the best family camping trip ever!<br />
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Yes, that is chocolate on her face from the drive. Bad parent points for me.</div>
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The chocolate is still there several hours and an outfit change later. The bad parent points are piling up.</div>
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We found her in the car with the Chex Mix.</div>
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Ryan cooked this awesome breakfast over the fire. How's that for a tenderfoot?</div>
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<br />Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-13846487424142328382012-04-19T08:25:00.003-07:002012-04-19T08:25:30.917-07:00Faux fair... a year later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last year we ended up at <a href="http://bingelady.blogspot.com/2011/05/while-back-ethan-saw-photo-of-ferris.html">this fake little fair</a> in the mall parking lot. When Ethan spotted the ferris wheel from the road last week, he begged to go again and we just couldn't resist those rusty old rides. So we had a re-run of last year (I was even wearing the same shirt!), though this time, Ruby wanted to join me and Ethan on the wheel. Motion sickness-prone Ryan opted out again. </div>
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The kids had a blast. After one go-round on my lap, Ruby insisted on sitting by herself in the bucket. I could tell she felt like such a big girl, which was good since she wasn't tall enough to do anything else at the little mini fair. Ethan, on the other hand, had barely enough inches on him to ride the rickety old Magic Carpet and somehow got Ryan to take him on it. At this point, Ruby and I had left the fair and made a beeline toward the Chic-Filet in the mall food court so I didn't get photos, but if you ask Ryan, he will tell you he feared for his life on that ride. Ethan will tell you that it was awesome. </div>
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<br />Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-47113486624287104672012-04-17T19:43:00.000-07:002012-04-17T19:49:11.137-07:00Farewell to Discovery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today we watched the space shuttle Discovery on its final flight. Piggybacked on a jumbo jet, the spacecraft circled the Washington, D.C. area a few times so we could bid it, and the space shuttle program, farewell.<br />
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A couple of weeks ago I mentioned to Ethan that the newly-retired shuttle would be making a fly-over. Every morning since then, he has asked if that day was day of the flight. This morning I gave him the option to go to preschool instead of seeing the shuttle. He loves preschool but he wasn't about to pass this up. I, too, was looking forward to this. I can't necessarily call myself a space nerd, but, as discussed here before, I am fascinated by the what lies beyond this world, beyond my comprehension.<br />
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So we braved the traffic and crowds at Gravelly Point (our go-to plane-watching spot adjacent to Reagan National Airport) in order to partake in that historic moment.<br />
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Oh, and here's a gratuitous photo of my crazy floral jeans. On the days I wear these, I have to really talk myself into it. :-)</div>
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<br />Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-18309224346717443792012-02-15T04:00:00.000-08:002012-02-15T04:00:06.203-08:00Bowling birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Ethan is 5 today! Saturday he had a birthday party to celebrate at his favorite place: the bowling alley. You might remember that we partied at the bowling alley for his 4th birthday last year. That was a family party (the four of us). This year he picked a few friends to bowl with him. </div>
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The other day Ethan said that when he grows up he wants to be a "bowling guy." </div>
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"You want to be a professional bowler?" I asked.</div>
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"No, I want to be the guy who fixes things at the bowling alley."</div>
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I told him he will need to work really hard in school (wink,wink), but that I believe he can do it!</div>
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Good times were had by all. Happy Birthday, buddy!</div>
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<br /></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-7968491005784401402012-02-14T11:21:00.000-08:002012-02-14T11:26:00.346-08:00Happy Valentine's Day!<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ubiWZfxHiBY/TzqunD4J8-I/AAAAAAAAInU/4QqRaPrdcmA/s1600/DSC_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ubiWZfxHiBY/TzqunD4J8-I/AAAAAAAAInU/4QqRaPrdcmA/s400/DSC_0257.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we are "suckers" for a cheesy holiday like this one</td></tr>
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Tonight we are headed to the Chick Fil A Valentine's dinner. I am not making that up. </div>
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May your day be just as awesome as (albeit a little more romantic than) mine :-).</div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-40562350728833995472012-01-12T11:03:00.000-08:002012-01-12T11:13:40.219-08:00Christmas crafting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Thanks to mind-numbing boredom, the kids and I became serious crafters last month. Here's how we spent December knocking off other peoples' ideas. </div>
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We followed <a href="http://www.fancyhouseroad.com/2011/07/20/tutorial-diy-christmas-ornaments/">this tutorial</a> and took clear, plastic ornaments, poured craft paint in them and rolled it around until it covered the inside surface of them. We used paint we already had, though I think I would have gone with a different color scheme if they were all for my tree. I thought they were pretty cute plain, but since we were giving them away individually, I decided to add gold dots for a little more interest. To do this, I placed little scrapbooking glue dots on the outside surface of the ornaments then passed them to Ethan, who poured micro-glitter all over them.<br />
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I think they turned out pretty great. And, thanks to my 4-year-old, the carpet in my basement was sparkly for days.<br />
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We acquired quite the collection of pine cones, acorns and other tree nuts on our walks throughout the Fall and we didn't want to just throw them away. So we found <a href="http://www.womansday.com/home/craft-ideas/pinecone-skier-23137">these awesome skiers on Pinterest</a> and tried to make them ourselves. Kind of cute/tacky, huh?</div>
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Our biggest fail of the month was the popcorn garland. The garland got about 13 popped kernels; my kids' stomachs got the rest of the batch.</div>
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We made a<a href="http://grosgrainfabulous.blogspot.com/2011/09/gift-ideas-3-fort-kit.html"> "Fort Kit" </a>for our Israelsen cousins across the country. Sadly, they didn't get it until after Christmas. USPS Fail.</div>
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The kids loved the <a href="http://thefrugalgirls.com/2009/12/how-to-make-christmas-tree-cones-fun-edible-craft-for-kids.html">upside-down ice cream cone Christmas tree</a> decorating, but I think making the Gingerbread house (and stealing its delicious decor) was their favorite activity. My neighbor brought over a kit that she bought from the store, complete with pre-made gingerbread. Sadly, I didn't get a photo.</div>
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<br />Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-15249322311033492842012-01-09T20:22:00.000-08:002012-01-09T20:22:14.604-08:00Finally<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ethan has talked about making a snowman ever since the leaves started falling off the trees in October. The snow fell today and it was very wet and perfectly packable- ideal for making snowmen<br />
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When only an inch falls, you end up with a very dirty snowman. But we will take a dirty snowman over no snowman.<br />
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Ethan was very proud of the body of the snowman, which he rolled around until it was so heavy it wouldn't budge.<br />
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He may not be the most handsome snowman, but he made a couple of kids very happy today!Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-84062706165760626882012-01-04T13:30:00.000-08:002012-01-04T13:30:00.787-08:00Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-31814620788116926842012-01-03T10:45:00.000-08:002012-01-03T10:45:21.046-08:00Our Elf on the Shelf: Bootchie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Like almost everyone else on this planet, an elf from the North Pole visited our house last month. Ethan named the poor guy Bootchie. Each night in December, Bootchie would go back to talk to Santa and then make the long trip back to our house. Upon arrival, he would get into mischief around our home. The kids caught him more than once in precarious situations; one morning he was holding on for dear life after a tight-roping fall; another time they found him riding on the back of Toothless, our toy dragon. He did all the token elf things like make snow angels in the flour, eat food from the cupboards and play board games with the other toys. </div>
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Some days the kids found him in the same position as he was the day before. The kids were confused but we think he was just too tired that night to get to the North Pole and back so he just stayed. Or I blamed his apparent laziness on the fact that one of the kids touched him (a big no-no) the day before. It definitely had nothing to do with mom being a space case and forgetting about him.</div>
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Of course, the kids most enjoyed finding their noses painted neon pink on Christmas Eve morning thanks to our resident elf. Well, he is no longer a resident. He's back to the North Pole. We hope he comes back next year!<br />
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<br />Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-7705832977246144832011-12-30T11:16:00.000-08:002011-12-30T11:16:25.247-08:00Christmas Eve<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We saw Santa three times this year. After he first appeared at our church party early in the month, Ethan turned to me and with a skeptical looked asked, "Is that really Santa?" I told him that the old man with an attached ivory facial hair was just one of Santa's helpers since Santa has sooooo many kids to visit.<br />
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A couple of weeks later, Santa rode through our neighborhood on a fire truck and threw candy to the kids. Before his annual ride though, Santa sat in front of the first truck to talk to the kids. Ethan told him what he wanted and, despite that Santa's real dark mustache peaking out from underneath his fake white one, Ethan seemed to be trying to convince himself that this was, in fact, the real Santa. I didn't argue with him.</div>
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On Christmas Eve, we decided to head down to the White House and visit the big guy at his special little workshop on the Ellipse. Of course, this time, Santa had a real beard and mustache and these translucent blue eyes. He seemed really exhausted and though I was put off by that at first, I think the kids read that as genuine. Santa is, after all, the busiest man on Earth... at least at this time of year. Ethan even commented on how his beard was really stuck to his face. I think they were convinced this time.</div>
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After seeing Santa, we walked around the National Christmas Tree, which was, sadly, pathetic. It was really nothing more than an enormous shrub weighed down by a net of lights. In the Nation's defense, I believe the real National Christmas Tree is down by the Capitol; but I guess I expected a little more from the Obama family. ;-)<br />
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By far the best Christmas tree was inside the Botanic Gardens, which we visited later that day. The displays there are always amazing. This was the only photo I took, unfortunately, but if you ever visit the District during Christmastime, don't miss this.<br />
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<br />Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-6147776986351075132011-12-30T10:52:00.001-08:002011-12-30T10:53:05.216-08:00Hope your holidays have been...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-28874691651460885562011-11-28T11:03:00.000-08:002011-11-28T11:04:50.641-08:00What couches are really made for<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-keZCLk1FLL8/Ts0YrY741sI/AAAAAAAAG0E/2-kk_ax4KSY/s1600/DSC_0168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-keZCLk1FLL8/Ts0YrY741sI/AAAAAAAAG0E/2-kk_ax4KSY/s400/DSC_0168.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">This is what it looks like at my house most days: kids and cushions flying all over the place. Good thing I don't have the guts to buy a new couch.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I wanted to try a little photo shoot with Christmas lights - an idea I got off of Pinterest (they should really start paying me for how much I rave about them). Of course I don't know what I am doing so the photos are pretty grainy. My kids are cute though!<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbD1d1OoP_lSXOeDpU8kKxmsF00I4vYFdKAeWAq7wEubbOGeocpziRaXYs0b4JNWayGqZEpZlh1TLlWexMhzvWNo7l3vQsFeNLrmVS1nmKOKvX_oujUrQxTYhusg-zBxGLATcc80DtlOj/s1600/17459454814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbD1d1OoP_lSXOeDpU8kKxmsF00I4vYFdKAeWAq7wEubbOGeocpziRaXYs0b4JNWayGqZEpZlh1TLlWexMhzvWNo7l3vQsFeNLrmVS1nmKOKvX_oujUrQxTYhusg-zBxGLATcc80DtlOj/s400/17459454814.jpg" width="265px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkFOLAxYHbSH9_YtVyxOCOsVoo44ySsmTH_g9zOqy5xgXBS12SIQQy2XPhc1_5txaMxPaJ2hw5im-aEGyAhlBvHPmkw1At4H4vwVJkgfgVk0wjSiUBWKAOSwzEzH0Et8FX2dfAWXVLQ73/s1600/17459379543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkFOLAxYHbSH9_YtVyxOCOsVoo44ySsmTH_g9zOqy5xgXBS12SIQQy2XPhc1_5txaMxPaJ2hw5im-aEGyAhlBvHPmkw1At4H4vwVJkgfgVk0wjSiUBWKAOSwzEzH0Et8FX2dfAWXVLQ73/s400/17459379543.jpg" width="265px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcV4EIA7zVikMm4LTp0Y1h4EZ7dyJ-QANgTCjH-xShggU23BgAxPfkreO6edjILrbES4wTPuNBKPd-VDBPTg6l34arac3-oIDS5an6TwP4D_N7EcVl2JT7mQ_MFj-HJ_mMLnkYWlimEvj/s1600/DSC_0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="265px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcV4EIA7zVikMm4LTp0Y1h4EZ7dyJ-QANgTCjH-xShggU23BgAxPfkreO6edjILrbES4wTPuNBKPd-VDBPTg6l34arac3-oIDS5an6TwP4D_N7EcVl2JT7mQ_MFj-HJ_mMLnkYWlimEvj/s400/DSC_0129.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-75580507980438688722011-11-23T08:34:00.000-08:002011-11-23T08:34:08.633-08:00The Farm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9Ulu-qCUT3fhcKgz5HeNA2AmsnKLM9TWCPEcoKBQro9RQWMZnNRyuYoG8C0V8YgpaaxnAi49B84CqvlVqjUyDeIqFuIb_t6HsDDFo60oQwNiTRS0ykH6MY0q9ZnWninBuc6_Nc5U4NBf/s1600/DSC_0224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="265px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9Ulu-qCUT3fhcKgz5HeNA2AmsnKLM9TWCPEcoKBQro9RQWMZnNRyuYoG8C0V8YgpaaxnAi49B84CqvlVqjUyDeIqFuIb_t6HsDDFo60oQwNiTRS0ykH6MY0q9ZnWninBuc6_Nc5U4NBf/s400/DSC_0224.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> When October rolls around out here, "farms" become little carnivals. Admission is $10 to $15 each and you go inside to pet and feed live animals, take hay rides through haunted forests, ride slides and get photos behind wooden facades.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-akN4I1UM_iCXGA58Y4h9nN6aqpbKoJ3QGukZU_Qy3k8NEbmqy50ynYHDQzQ1YDcdmWxZDUzVallq0_fJw-NQbadhhpgv2my0u_kj3S6DtnD0EQdHMu_TxvDsHX9DjJX-NqMOuJ1clLQ/s1600/DSC_0101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-akN4I1UM_iCXGA58Y4h9nN6aqpbKoJ3QGukZU_Qy3k8NEbmqy50ynYHDQzQ1YDcdmWxZDUzVallq0_fJw-NQbadhhpgv2my0u_kj3S6DtnD0EQdHMu_TxvDsHX9DjJX-NqMOuJ1clLQ/s400/DSC_0101.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP31qtoE2c19DU1Rc3KdE1y_BbnSp9N4XHJvRWXVTC7tFr0zglrVQmQHx-Fewet6wXaE7VoYHK9pK46WmfuYDdYPZ77Daccdg4A5cAkbTOYP2JseVViMoAaDUS2T7gCtrEcZTrh_v4FiDX/s1600/DSC_0105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="265px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP31qtoE2c19DU1Rc3KdE1y_BbnSp9N4XHJvRWXVTC7tFr0zglrVQmQHx-Fewet6wXaE7VoYHK9pK46WmfuYDdYPZ77Daccdg4A5cAkbTOYP2JseVViMoAaDUS2T7gCtrEcZTrh_v4FiDX/s400/DSC_0105.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> On the hay ride Ruby said, "Look, it's Jesus!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia65_T2QGX_S_diFsALa0uZ8NcrzOurDLMMQP9StBUPzmN080ld2ln9mbP1EzLJf1QIyBaIHPgyQIDdpwqNwEW4BMTqwGlPQZfOjiLlcbKfDPrG42EICRVYPRYJI79zKH9xvn8AdK8Pqq-/s1600/DSC_0114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia65_T2QGX_S_diFsALa0uZ8NcrzOurDLMMQP9StBUPzmN080ld2ln9mbP1EzLJf1QIyBaIHPgyQIDdpwqNwEW4BMTqwGlPQZfOjiLlcbKfDPrG42EICRVYPRYJI79zKH9xvn8AdK8Pqq-/s400/DSC_0114.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> I barely got a photo as the wagon rode past "Jesus." Who knows? Maybe he would have looked like that had he come across the Atlantic on the Mayflower and lived longer than 33 years.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifElmsv91yoeuoj_YB-Q7EkDDb45_iNEsHsGUiVHMxAFWgY7aXSj1PSOl4jkBIQNMFV0mQ2WOn-sBUSjnf-WAwcfoC7jojqs0PtzDeBFe-KUW4qke6e6cu7XFGhpAyeiQhUpnEPsNf6OXu/s1600/DSC_0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifElmsv91yoeuoj_YB-Q7EkDDb45_iNEsHsGUiVHMxAFWgY7aXSj1PSOl4jkBIQNMFV0mQ2WOn-sBUSjnf-WAwcfoC7jojqs0PtzDeBFe-KUW4qke6e6cu7XFGhpAyeiQhUpnEPsNf6OXu/s400/DSC_0127.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">She was not a fan of the odor coming from the cow stall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBtb2-KzaPlQbNRWcdQe1ewXLCmpIoTCi2Fuf_wfvY0W5Z5RmPA_Ql-LHs0q1a6EjZ82B7Eg6PnmYRk4C4jWUA5qnAaf758l0NJs737b-N3wvAHvQxdJ7duvouVfO5Yg391yPKqBop8y9/s1600/DSC_0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBtb2-KzaPlQbNRWcdQe1ewXLCmpIoTCi2Fuf_wfvY0W5Z5RmPA_Ql-LHs0q1a6EjZ82B7Eg6PnmYRk4C4jWUA5qnAaf758l0NJs737b-N3wvAHvQxdJ7duvouVfO5Yg391yPKqBop8y9/s400/DSC_0129.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJDzjABvTSf8Q8rEoti56ynZBjufHmL5Zydzy-tt625QKbh6mZ51Q_HnYMmb3Q-x2MPqnir57mlwR56PjLFMZFMwI2wnDAv0Dsd2-PtxhRpsAsXuVDLdOpnvupdM9LJN7t933xoyERHsb/s1600/DSC_0148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="265px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJDzjABvTSf8Q8rEoti56ynZBjufHmL5Zydzy-tt625QKbh6mZ51Q_HnYMmb3Q-x2MPqnir57mlwR56PjLFMZFMwI2wnDAv0Dsd2-PtxhRpsAsXuVDLdOpnvupdM9LJN7t933xoyERHsb/s400/DSC_0148.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> My kids were tolerable, at best, of the goats. Check out Ethan's reach to pet the animal while keeping a safe distance from it. I thought the little goats were adorable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQuAUChI6AV9pSE60L9xUkJhftYOGa3o42yCwg4mpUeskus477YO_0WngIs3KzAU01xfua3TEGCijZ-povJ0rBsX90_n5GX-h9Viw7qWruSipb-FGxorrBlRAP86jJsf6TtdtME0A63qT/s1600/DSC_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="265px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQuAUChI6AV9pSE60L9xUkJhftYOGa3o42yCwg4mpUeskus477YO_0WngIs3KzAU01xfua3TEGCijZ-povJ0rBsX90_n5GX-h9Viw7qWruSipb-FGxorrBlRAP86jJsf6TtdtME0A63qT/s400/DSC_0154.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUkRcJpZIlVY9UZHnRoP6vpZqBuyqmB0-S8nqEzS0g1Ar09akxaRgKKgbxYIKfCghnh3BSC2SxuyD2zx8gdpEieq9UlRhjSQ-n88Q3_yiT0NbNwxRILHNlh2QYzfsUYWBjP9gF60nXs7p/s1600/DSC_0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="265px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUkRcJpZIlVY9UZHnRoP6vpZqBuyqmB0-S8nqEzS0g1Ar09akxaRgKKgbxYIKfCghnh3BSC2SxuyD2zx8gdpEieq9UlRhjSQ-n88Q3_yiT0NbNwxRILHNlh2QYzfsUYWBjP9gF60nXs7p/s400/DSC_0183.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn8sVivPFD2J36emJNP6OSiKbFKZMUJEaNChl70km4wdkbdcqFL01u_l4ZlkFTwL4R-QZtvGO8cTWJyKPH1veNhCgDOyxAymsldwL3UZGwCXHh9IjhmWvpvzuO6iZoF-C8-UvmXD2CQ6K7/s1600/DSC_0191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn8sVivPFD2J36emJNP6OSiKbFKZMUJEaNChl70km4wdkbdcqFL01u_l4ZlkFTwL4R-QZtvGO8cTWJyKPH1veNhCgDOyxAymsldwL3UZGwCXHh9IjhmWvpvzuO6iZoF-C8-UvmXD2CQ6K7/s400/DSC_0191.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ethan wasn't so sure about going down this one (but made us go do it again once he finally tried it).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwVgaGlJfZ5BIybCMvh2vuAZ1KcVado3KJqNYMB_odhHi_OuxBo3g4JR1nUSDItDKLkAr7z1F0IYZhCvYoKXon_3_J-aobp05fHoQ0ocMZirgmfyALyTCNUe8Oke-qQdM4c7TzNvayprp/s1600/DSC_0193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwVgaGlJfZ5BIybCMvh2vuAZ1KcVado3KJqNYMB_odhHi_OuxBo3g4JR1nUSDItDKLkAr7z1F0IYZhCvYoKXon_3_J-aobp05fHoQ0ocMZirgmfyALyTCNUe8Oke-qQdM4c7TzNvayprp/s400/DSC_0193.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72aNH2avzZXfsJcp8x1uqNquXRZzioX_aZm-tJmWSMy3pc_skbCqmAqDdRQPKDEfeZkdhdZWFZhyphenhyphenaIIuHM4ZlC7iTIsQQX_psi8ZFopdHwaRbHYIma3hXNmwJ62RB5awqsILBNCTmsYZS/s1600/DSC_0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="265px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72aNH2avzZXfsJcp8x1uqNquXRZzioX_aZm-tJmWSMy3pc_skbCqmAqDdRQPKDEfeZkdhdZWFZhyphenhyphenaIIuHM4ZlC7iTIsQQX_psi8ZFopdHwaRbHYIma3hXNmwJ62RB5awqsILBNCTmsYZS/s400/DSC_0019.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-681443219768286282011-10-11T18:33:00.000-07:002011-10-11T18:35:13.847-07:00Ruby's Two day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9m6FNPHMQ7ocBMd5Enilp-5DZvx8Hw4sjvCLkY2RhetTTVuKvJhppicaiUuG1xC8HM9PyaZkU7R841W3Qbq-gNKjUtNSu0PJo7ZWris7m9KDHtN3jroXyof-q1oTwrjRUg1Rt87Cm83a/s1600/bgirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9m6FNPHMQ7ocBMd5Enilp-5DZvx8Hw4sjvCLkY2RhetTTVuKvJhppicaiUuG1xC8HM9PyaZkU7R841W3Qbq-gNKjUtNSu0PJo7ZWris7m9KDHtN3jroXyof-q1oTwrjRUg1Rt87Cm83a/s400/bgirl.jpg" width="265px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A while back my good friend thought it would be cool to have a party for Ruby's second birthday and call it Ruby's Two day (you know, sounds sort of like the restaurant). She's pretty clever, my friend. I thought that was awesome so I threw a shindig to celebrate our little Ru finally reaching two years. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Z5eMvzcwAg4vC86RvOOgPJwiJsJyAOn7J95E2e30bPTclgFC8Tez4FSZ2d9nRp0G0VLyaXzSrJtp1c3W6I8fY4YvgSBJtgRyP78wIiHUE7ZtRuZbClfy7rXwWOvs6_ddE1Q-ie8rhz6v/s1600/bg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Z5eMvzcwAg4vC86RvOOgPJwiJsJyAOn7J95E2e30bPTclgFC8Tez4FSZ2d9nRp0G0VLyaXzSrJtp1c3W6I8fY4YvgSBJtgRyP78wIiHUE7ZtRuZbClfy7rXwWOvs6_ddE1Q-ie8rhz6v/s400/bg.jpg" width="400px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0bkwZGueEeF8xUln9TuPgUs0Z-_fpQ6k3OYIyn74r4p-4h2hXvumWpj9HZfHO5z2aLoJ405QpSPyWxsKOuVWKhvU7dsjE_JvgZXQXj4wfPhs1qSulOabwUQlTf15EtSswz-lAHhMe2Yc/s1600/bg9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0bkwZGueEeF8xUln9TuPgUs0Z-_fpQ6k3OYIyn74r4p-4h2hXvumWpj9HZfHO5z2aLoJ405QpSPyWxsKOuVWKhvU7dsjE_JvgZXQXj4wfPhs1qSulOabwUQlTf15EtSswz-lAHhMe2Yc/s400/bg9.jpg" width="265px" /></a></div><div align="center">p.s. Yes, the pinata is, fittingly, a ruby. It was lovingly created by Ryan and was a huge hit.</div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-2663631481770409442011-10-10T17:11:00.000-07:002011-10-10T17:11:11.976-07:00Ruby is two!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ruby woke up last Wednesday thinking it was just another mundane day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIswFUWXC3PoIAGwsEV6j-BPEUXRfc8jv3AVBMIIq_ShNgYDBX-tEsaEdSypsZbOtzpFzdx9v8PvR25Zie0fHZxI2AADOgDomNi7CC9N3zRlZ1VKFAKYbljyJthIgL_v89WK7J7C49jtbj/s1600/cake10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIswFUWXC3PoIAGwsEV6j-BPEUXRfc8jv3AVBMIIq_ShNgYDBX-tEsaEdSypsZbOtzpFzdx9v8PvR25Zie0fHZxI2AADOgDomNi7CC9N3zRlZ1VKFAKYbljyJthIgL_v89WK7J7C49jtbj/s400/cake10.jpg" width="265px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And then she saw this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9O41S5hyphenhyphenJFKzxDGiQea332khWmxPge6f0tD6e1UX5P61SKzPDhl-MxkdBP4VLbtYsnzvi0kGeQ3gzJKpSotK_knyWbmLdC7Q1jzTtHDftnmfh9APc4bNMY5l2CmLB6S7PVqVKIUZ6J06/s1600/cake11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9O41S5hyphenhyphenJFKzxDGiQea332khWmxPge6f0tD6e1UX5P61SKzPDhl-MxkdBP4VLbtYsnzvi0kGeQ3gzJKpSotK_knyWbmLdC7Q1jzTtHDftnmfh9APc4bNMY5l2CmLB6S7PVqVKIUZ6J06/s400/cake11.jpg" width="265px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Her exact words were, "What da heck?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgGVYjGPBaQtN9Gy0eeiShzGrvUE60VVKQYYTXj-pWnLVqIXrYKS2o3Ibjkf4zriDrGfeklsJ70trCTGuKrEJyh7R7wbGR2bGd1RqjeVEIh1kKg8yGXboAa2Ck4xrCT7byEUOW7E_TbNe/s1600/cake12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgGVYjGPBaQtN9Gy0eeiShzGrvUE60VVKQYYTXj-pWnLVqIXrYKS2o3Ibjkf4zriDrGfeklsJ70trCTGuKrEJyh7R7wbGR2bGd1RqjeVEIh1kKg8yGXboAa2Ck4xrCT7byEUOW7E_TbNe/s400/cake12.jpg" width="265px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">She was very excited about her new kitchen, though it seemed to have lost some of its luster after she opened Ethan's present, which was a small, electronic puppy that barks and walks. Later in the day, when her uncle Rob said, "Happy Birthday, Ruby," she answered, "Thanks. I got a puppy."</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Ryan stayed home from work so we made a family trip to the zoo. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiVLVUdDF9l1ipPfBxKYaM_Sbb8ub7UGXcr7MY3M_UW7FzmDJtWZ3dF-DvcCQuotxk590cmjZUqVX90Q_zspBrXzUaxelQY_LEYHkKPnK3ZqaHQBCXRoKJpj7_CLD2AG6mBq8bIOkqwIC/s1600/cake15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiVLVUdDF9l1ipPfBxKYaM_Sbb8ub7UGXcr7MY3M_UW7FzmDJtWZ3dF-DvcCQuotxk590cmjZUqVX90Q_zspBrXzUaxelQY_LEYHkKPnK3ZqaHQBCXRoKJpj7_CLD2AG6mBq8bIOkqwIC/s320/cake15.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
Ruby loved all of the animals, except for the elephant. He made her a little nervous.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was a great day but I'm not sure any of it made sense to her. If you ask her how old she is, she still answers, "four."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-88598975331804605152011-09-26T11:29:00.000-07:002011-09-26T11:29:38.354-07:00For some quality time, schedule a tee time<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQbzU3q_-LALhW-Qbx9RNrav6CChm02V9s7JFzt9BAi8cLgHjIQeGobBV8my6NPuIBZo2URRVJuZ5ev1kr4q0XTULXRGoLs4oZN7fH09aVnTfI7Ayllh-dIaxngdzL61kopN_o6eSBt-_I/s1600/golf4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQbzU3q_-LALhW-Qbx9RNrav6CChm02V9s7JFzt9BAi8cLgHjIQeGobBV8my6NPuIBZo2URRVJuZ5ev1kr4q0XTULXRGoLs4oZN7fH09aVnTfI7Ayllh-dIaxngdzL61kopN_o6eSBt-_I/s320/golf4.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Lately my friends have been revealing a lot about MY personal life. They educate me on things like Ryan's job changes, future moves or if we are going to have more kids... some things I don't even know about. I usually shrug and laugh and inform them that "Ryan doesn't talk to me." </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Honestly, Ryan does talk to me. We talk about these important life decisions, but those conversations often don't come to a conclusion. We never actually decide on an answer, probably because we get distracted by kids, work, callings, the latest episode of Friday Night Lights on Netflix, etc.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As friends clue me in on my life, I have started to realize that Ryan does, on his own, come to conclusions about our future decisions; and then he tells his friends, the husbands of my friends; who go home and inform my friends; who blab it all to me.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As a group of friends, we were laughing (because I really do think it is funny) about how far in the dark I really am about my future plans and my friend's husband said, "Megan, if you want to get Ryan talking, you need to go golfing with him."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It suddenly all made sense. If you have four hours alone with someone on a quiet golf course, you are bound to get some dirt, and I am not talking about stray divet shrapnel. So you know what I did? I told Ryan to schedule a tee time. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-SZzryoGdNkJoPqoicvk0-9XMBqWHYfVa90eFxVZ5uuTIIKlS6vu__dLY65s4XlBzk-a6-6-88hRl3DLq4WGLrYGQZdl4dJAPG5zsQVJ7XFGCBHqaCGKdTaPzbY2nMGgh-HDuLl2tNEt/s1600/golf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-SZzryoGdNkJoPqoicvk0-9XMBqWHYfVa90eFxVZ5uuTIIKlS6vu__dLY65s4XlBzk-a6-6-88hRl3DLq4WGLrYGQZdl4dJAPG5zsQVJ7XFGCBHqaCGKdTaPzbY2nMGgh-HDuLl2tNEt/s320/golf.jpg" width="191px" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">It has been more than five years since I picked up clubs, but I was willing to sacrifice my pride if it meant having some serious grown-up talk.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1x20fmZAyjfAdeVkBqfmo60TK1yDmg4nxT6n1oCraSNvA2_8Y-4NOLdEnoSVwcitysu31wuLLtBDCI9RaFyVthRApbCTZZoAgRFRVTaqFi5fLx8twmJXaCKqZ2mDN73NNhpBbIrCazyfV/s1600/golf2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1x20fmZAyjfAdeVkBqfmo60TK1yDmg4nxT6n1oCraSNvA2_8Y-4NOLdEnoSVwcitysu31wuLLtBDCI9RaFyVthRApbCTZZoAgRFRVTaqFi5fLx8twmJXaCKqZ2mDN73NNhpBbIrCazyfV/s320/golf2.jpg" width="191px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(I know, right? I make this sport look good)</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">I was a much better golfer than I ever remembered. It was a par-3 course so it didn't take four hours and it wasn't so discouraging (I never hit 10 strokes!). I even beat Ryan on one of the holes (celebration pictured below). </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">We ended up joking and laughing the entire time. We actually didn't discuss anything serious at all. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VIgk47D1JQyDl4xf55VCx-rgCW_2qjEZCPpAwurJbKDBb7k2LhudyuEsQ8C8TFiG_5gq4y_ndyNwPmruyLGSSxiM0WK49V26SoNnnJIHfjfFLIgP4CRp8y4BpaAnzX8eFUzsOFW2vBlj/s1600/golf3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VIgk47D1JQyDl4xf55VCx-rgCW_2qjEZCPpAwurJbKDBb7k2LhudyuEsQ8C8TFiG_5gq4y_ndyNwPmruyLGSSxiM0WK49V26SoNnnJIHfjfFLIgP4CRp8y4BpaAnzX8eFUzsOFW2vBlj/s320/golf3.jpg" width="240px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">I guess I have to schedule another tee time.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Disclaimer: This is a light-hearted post that has been exaggerated slightly for effect. Don't think my marriage is on the rocks or anything from reading this... unless, of course you hear that from Ryan. ;-)</div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-3989920117040366462011-09-20T10:37:00.000-07:002011-09-20T10:37:35.868-07:00OBX - post-vacation deflation and backLast week it was cold here in Arlington - like late October cold. My laundry was so backed up, the stench filled my house, I swear. You couldn't tiptoe on my wood floors without feeling the crunch of crumbs or sand underfoot. We ate out five of seven days. I had a nightmare that my unanswered e-mails somehow escaped from my inbox and were climbing all over me (OK, I made that up, but I swear my inbox was bulging). I woke up during a few quiet, black nights solely because the sand in my sheets was scratching my feet.<br />
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It's still cool and today's rain makes it even worse.. but my laundry is all washed, dried and folded. My floors have recently been vacuumed. There is food for tonight's dinner in the fridge. I responded to a few e-mails today; I even authored a few this morning. My sheets are crisp and clean!<br />
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It always takes me a little over a week to get over the shock of my personal monotony following a particularly awesome vacation. The first few days back, I don't do much. My mind ruminates over the fact that there is little adventure in mommyhood and certainly no more hot sun, waves to push me around and excuses to drink endless Sonic drinks (which, by the way, are disgusting but give me some sort of nostalgic satisfaction). <br />
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After seven days at the beach, I was ready to come home; It only took a few hours at home for me to want to go back. So looking at photos of the trip was awesome/painful. I am finally ready to face them and maybe post a few (OK, every single one of them). I can describe our trip all I want, but the photos tell a much better story. Like last year, we had some <a href="http://www.jonandmelissaphotography.com/">amazing photographers</a> with us. We are so lucky. I have plenty of my amateur photos to sift through as well. Some people warn about "photo-heavy" posts. This one won't be, but I am not promising anything about any posts following this one.<br />
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Anyway, while I was feeling bad for myself last week, I remembered something my friend, Rachel, told me at the beach. I was telling her how I hoped I could find things to look forward to after the vacation and she said she doesn't need things to look forward to; she just tries to enjoy every single moment (said in a much less pretentious way). That's a good outlook, and now that I am back to laundry and preschool and wiping pee off the toilet seat, I am hoping to adopt it. <br />
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<div align="center"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BexGqvZrbyc/Tnfl3SxPbCI/AAAAAAAAEiM/4GrBHED4lWQ/s1600/DSC_0273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" rba="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BexGqvZrbyc/Tnfl3SxPbCI/AAAAAAAAEiM/4GrBHED4lWQ/s400/DSC_0273.JPG" width="265px" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItXglRcQNexM4mQUX8OuMncgiqWNGc_CduofSKjsx2DcquCHp9F_2TKBPfPTqkfJloFESjgPyl4lWiWEOTUYHKm5JLV6X54P9ft2n4h34PXDllTH-sCdQ9NpvTgeYPprCPWCK6_lrb-rs/s1600/DSC_0398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItXglRcQNexM4mQUX8OuMncgiqWNGc_CduofSKjsx2DcquCHp9F_2TKBPfPTqkfJloFESjgPyl4lWiWEOTUYHKm5JLV6X54P9ft2n4h34PXDllTH-sCdQ9NpvTgeYPprCPWCK6_lrb-rs/s400/DSC_0398.JPG" width="265px" /></a></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-42781401481218128512011-09-15T12:18:00.000-07:002011-09-15T12:19:41.550-07:00Very cool<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=10,0,0,0" height="245" id="msnbc13fa63" width="420"><param name="movie" value="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32545640" /><param name="FlashVars" value="launch=44515316&width=420&height=245" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="wmode" value="transparent" /><embed name="msnbc13fa63" src="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32545640" width="420" height="245" FlashVars="launch=44515316&width=420&height=245" allowscriptaccess="always" allowFullScreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.adobe.com/shockwave/download/download.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash"></embed></object><br />
<div style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; margin-top: 5px; text-align: center; width: 420px;">Visit msnbc.com for <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/" style="border-bottom: #999 1px dotted; color: #5799db !important; font-weight: normal !important; height: 13px; text-decoration: none !important;">breaking news</a>, <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032507" style="border-bottom: #999 1px dotted; color: #5799db !important; font-weight: normal !important; height: 13px; text-decoration: none !important;">world news</a>, and <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032072" style="border-bottom: #999 1px dotted; color: #5799db !important; font-weight: normal !important; height: 13px; text-decoration: none !important;">news about the economy</a></div>I love stories like this. This rescue occured just outside the business building at Utah State University, my alma mater. The people who rushed to the scene to lift the burning vehicle were from places like Ghana, Uzbekistan and of course, Cache Valley, and were construction workers, students and random passersby.Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-15687049878054610832011-09-13T21:00:00.000-07:002011-09-14T08:57:56.634-07:00Ethan's second first day of preschool<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikY62rCnKgIkzwxoPfX4FbYQmPLiYbdtclqEsCV26BwDrenOcHSWyvS7o8vU0smpYLiZG05Hpf9OJtkdf5eVLy41ZKcfmKam2Mc8g2uEG-8zmY9D4ROU6X9lWdQVnbgXFEfbXPXZW39wH2/s1600/DSC_0439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikY62rCnKgIkzwxoPfX4FbYQmPLiYbdtclqEsCV26BwDrenOcHSWyvS7o8vU0smpYLiZG05Hpf9OJtkdf5eVLy41ZKcfmKam2Mc8g2uEG-8zmY9D4ROU6X9lWdQVnbgXFEfbXPXZW39wH2/s320/DSC_0439.JPG" width="212px" /></a></div>Today Ethan started preschool all over again. One more year and then he hits kindergarten - full-day kindergarten. I'm telling him to live it up while he can.</div><br />
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Ethan also finally figured out how to pump on the swings yesterday and perfected it today. I am so proud of him (and glad I can get back to sitting on my butt at the park). Now if I could just get Ruby to follow suit...<br />
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Oh, and our beach house survived the storm and we had an amazing week in Nags Head, N.C. last week. More photos to come...</div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-5152110292055114892011-08-25T11:43:00.000-07:002011-08-25T11:46:03.888-07:00Mother Nature likes to mess with me<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzrTIDVbPh0hAWPa2w94lq0uDEXgsGFXNC8B2OCCAY0w6SqL64vWr22yeAvvx9cY6vDKGIyKqpKcW7ab-hmLmANUUV1Y_PL1JU6tnS4FisaZUrCyAx_4i_aNZq3UEVsqpBwajBuRFxLdP/s1600/DSC_0004.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzrTIDVbPh0hAWPa2w94lq0uDEXgsGFXNC8B2OCCAY0w6SqL64vWr22yeAvvx9cY6vDKGIyKqpKcW7ab-hmLmANUUV1Y_PL1JU6tnS4FisaZUrCyAx_4i_aNZq3UEVsqpBwajBuRFxLdP/s400/DSC_0004.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Things are a little shaky around here... in more ways than one. Of course, you have all heard by now that we finally got to experience an earthquake. By finallly, I mean that I have been prepared all my life for an earthquake, since smack down the population center of Utah, my old home, lies a humongous fault line. Since it was discovered, scientists have warned of a catastrophic event that would likely topple just about everything :-). So we had earthquake drills in school all of the time and, I'll admit, I hoped more than once that the quake would come and destroy my middle school (after we all got out and ran to the soccer field, of course). There was a definite lack of excitement in middle school. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, to say the least, we were excited when something literally shook up our boring August afternoon. To truly fascinate you, though, I have to tell you about earlier Tuesday morning, before all the fun began, when Ethan approached me and asked, "Mom, how do earthquakes work?" </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We had a little discussion about plate tectonics; how the Earth's crust is made up of plates that are shifting and moving as we speak. I told him that on those plates are rifts or faults that, when movement occurs, rub together or bump into each other, causing the ground to tremble. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">When the Earth actually began to tremble a few hours later, it took a second to realize that the low rumble and jarring vibrations were not caused by a bulldozer knocking over the townhouse to my left. It hit me and I looked at Ethan and said, "Ethan! I think this is an earthquake!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">After we scrambled under the dining table, I remembered that I have another child. I told Ethan to wait and as I got out from under the table to go snatch Ruby out of her crib, the shaking stopped. I immediately got chills, first at the thought that an earthquake had just occured in Arlington, Virginia; and second that we had an entire conversation earlier that morning about earthquakes. It was an amazing hands-on learning experience. Thank goodness it was a mild quake and no one was seriously injured because, for me, it was an amazing 15 seconds.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Beyond the earthquake, things are just off this week. Today - and the past few days - I have been unable to muster much energy to do anything at all. I can't really pinpoint why. I have got to get going though, because we are almost a week away from our Outer Banks vacation... that is, if there is one.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hurricane Irene is focusing all of her fury straight toward the Outer Banks. Her Category 3 winds seem intent on whipping our rented beach house and her storm surge aims to flood it. I am scared, not that we will be anywhere near the carnage. No, we aren't scheduled to travel there until NEXT Saturday. I am just terrified that the Ferrari II, our beach house that is supposed to house eight families including us, will be nothing more than a memory. I have been planning, scheming and dreaming about this Outer Banks trip since the day I left the Nags Head, N.C. last September. All summer long I have been antipating the lovely beach, warm waters and dance parties with my crazy friends and if this trip is canceled, I might implode. Outer Banks, you're all I' got. Don't fail me now.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Looking past my shallowness, I hope no one is seriously injured in this event. Clearly my vacation is the least of their worries. I'm praying she will weaken to a tropical storm. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh, and here are some photos of my kids after just one of the many thunderstorms we have had in this very wet August. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnd_9779TGkXYLPz5JTW0Walc8qAZ_ecjnUst23QiIzAMuW853k9mlvKkCif5jnGT2o62IswBSoJkzgFXS1GT1M_4AjLytNqIYa0pfMhyphenhyphenlhQcYo6et_IPzyARij4mMsHSDrMkIdEKnOdf/s1600/DSC_0021.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnd_9779TGkXYLPz5JTW0Walc8qAZ_ecjnUst23QiIzAMuW853k9mlvKkCif5jnGT2o62IswBSoJkzgFXS1GT1M_4AjLytNqIYa0pfMhyphenhyphenlhQcYo6et_IPzyARij4mMsHSDrMkIdEKnOdf/s400/DSC_0021.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzTHDNKX07z7Nj-FfU2M1vg_gHri6r5twSzjdyzWsBJFTF0YkXeifUsUSrgywFv5gkQMJMn33ipRqSQ55d1-gxzyF18MeEl18DznVCejTV3ep2mYtcdMIMDUjS9G0C2ccKBd6w_po8K2M/s1600/DSC_0026.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzTHDNKX07z7Nj-FfU2M1vg_gHri6r5twSzjdyzWsBJFTF0YkXeifUsUSrgywFv5gkQMJMn33ipRqSQ55d1-gxzyF18MeEl18DznVCejTV3ep2mYtcdMIMDUjS9G0C2ccKBd6w_po8K2M/s400/DSC_0026.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
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<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mptjsqovjeFK5xgUS-eF-iI-YSZJqWzCybhKLLzWTLar-DwisFS2uLPbW4B8STVJdEbYJcCM-_fRCuIbFydlh0gWaW-nuvagLvOMdUQivpaEkFBAZfs3OCqnl7njLku8kpJvsOw4G_q3/s1600/DSC_0030.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mptjsqovjeFK5xgUS-eF-iI-YSZJqWzCybhKLLzWTLar-DwisFS2uLPbW4B8STVJdEbYJcCM-_fRCuIbFydlh0gWaW-nuvagLvOMdUQivpaEkFBAZfs3OCqnl7njLku8kpJvsOw4G_q3/s400/DSC_0030.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
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<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTYqdhVwEyf8IpTSddBDdF7z1LIzFNMENts_xHK6wkJtKp0YgEga4DAr3-zEzbZYidJ5txWraucpqXMkZpgb8OId_VNen7dQs7e7vsEJbMXYQeTtk3OOpHEt_trdTI7JxYs_7_d-mHvl-/s1600/DSC_0043.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTYqdhVwEyf8IpTSddBDdF7z1LIzFNMENts_xHK6wkJtKp0YgEga4DAr3-zEzbZYidJ5txWraucpqXMkZpgb8OId_VNen7dQs7e7vsEJbMXYQeTtk3OOpHEt_trdTI7JxYs_7_d-mHvl-/s400/DSC_0043.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
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<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhl2mLVg76lO1pKsTat77KLu7K_Pvvm5kQhVOx_SVRw9qseyV-amADUhl9UQL4nwAqBdnlMnSLnSacBrycIfgXV9LBQXSes7er4f0L_pCXOhIxbAlx58gKzysoiv_vcXo20G9w_H5ruS7e/s1600/DSC_0034.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhl2mLVg76lO1pKsTat77KLu7K_Pvvm5kQhVOx_SVRw9qseyV-amADUhl9UQL4nwAqBdnlMnSLnSacBrycIfgXV9LBQXSes7er4f0L_pCXOhIxbAlx58gKzysoiv_vcXo20G9w_H5ruS7e/s400/DSC_0034.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: 0% 50%; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></a></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-17812143229782638342011-08-08T09:29:00.000-07:002011-08-08T09:33:11.360-07:00Another dress<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURJF8K0Vk-NdOj_2b-pFRwPM2w-syHlH4yq4Nr877qfZhK5atcSAPVoMSRu9Tba2HO2QFJQdgEsn8UmZo4ojeELQ_zq3HOpVr0P55UOPR3UeG6CU-2ySS87n9iO3c2rYK3pwPdfy7g72d/s1600/DSC_0010.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="640px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURJF8K0Vk-NdOj_2b-pFRwPM2w-syHlH4yq4Nr877qfZhK5atcSAPVoMSRu9Tba2HO2QFJQdgEsn8UmZo4ojeELQ_zq3HOpVr0P55UOPR3UeG6CU-2ySS87n9iO3c2rYK3pwPdfy7g72d/s640/DSC_0010.JPG" width="425px" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">I never realized how much fun sewing could be until I had a girl. I remember the pre-Ruby days, when my friends with daughters would discuss all of their little projects and I would roll my eyes. My friend Val told me, "You just wait until you have a girl and you will catch the bug too." I really didn't believe her but she was dead on. Not long after Ruby was born I started imaging little things I could create for her and when I finally made something I found it to be very rewarding.</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpprWGhYUaWblb1teqSjFmdRvegXtI9Y6YljnLfCaAD7itzLyxifRAGLIceG2tDYo2Bp7RyTPL-QYXqObvo4kD2dD7Rs_o1Qr-dkR9rC55fh25vW4RBx_XdXrrVZCpO7O1cN0cpl5-69TU/s1600/DSC_0009.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="640px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpprWGhYUaWblb1teqSjFmdRvegXtI9Y6YljnLfCaAD7itzLyxifRAGLIceG2tDYo2Bp7RyTPL-QYXqObvo4kD2dD7Rs_o1Qr-dkR9rC55fh25vW4RBx_XdXrrVZCpO7O1cN0cpl5-69TU/s640/DSC_0009.JPG" width="425px" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">I often feel guilty that I spend all my time on Ruby projects and don't make anything for Ethan. My motto has always been that there is nothing you can make for boys that will look better than something you can buy in the store. However, my friend LuAnn has recently proved me wrong. She makes some really amazing clothing for her boys. She is going to help me create a T-shirt for Ethan so wish me luck.</div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPEKG-VPwoXsKMdDhA1yhWBbaG_Va1nbqN64OKQu72WppO235V4ICR6hbzyejvrwF3BEG8ARTV7ZSDHrIH2H10yPNVlYC3waV7MB2KO1IeAaylqd7P8a98Gl5mfafRvYPSM6K12fqA_Wv/s1600/DSC_0517.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="640px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPEKG-VPwoXsKMdDhA1yhWBbaG_Va1nbqN64OKQu72WppO235V4ICR6hbzyejvrwF3BEG8ARTV7ZSDHrIH2H10yPNVlYC3waV7MB2KO1IeAaylqd7P8a98Gl5mfafRvYPSM6K12fqA_Wv/s640/DSC_0517.JPG" width="425px" /></a><br />
Back to the dress. This was, of course, an Easter dress a few months late (to the tune of late June). It took a lot of effort to make sure all the stripes were lined up correctly and it's still not perfect. I also really screwed up a sash that I obviously had to remove. I just tacked a bow on at the time but realized it didn't look so great. While I was in Utah my sister said, "Did you make that dress? At first I thought you got it at Target or something but then I looked at the bow and realized that you made it." I could have taken this comment to mean a lot of different things but I decided it meant that it looked well-made enough to be sold at the store but the bow needed a little work (love you, Kenz). I have since sewn on a ribbon from each side so it looks a little better (sorry, no photos of the improvement). <br />
I'm proud of this dress despite its flaws and I hope that one day I can look back at all of Ruby's homemade clothing (poor girl ;-)) and see my sewing evolution. </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: 0% 50%; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></a></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-89082332228085362912011-07-26T20:24:00.000-07:002011-07-26T20:24:26.126-07:00A good shot<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpstWNjVeaEvf_gZ5PlXUeCdOnDPWSHZ5op4BqGTpcuktAbARJD4OjHBJPQl8wASuFI-JL77SInpNheHU33t9vqUvbrlX3befhcvPDfskoTT8Fai0oIP81tlMPVmCSOy6xb75iEKeTww39/s1600/DSC_0743.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpstWNjVeaEvf_gZ5PlXUeCdOnDPWSHZ5op4BqGTpcuktAbARJD4OjHBJPQl8wASuFI-JL77SInpNheHU33t9vqUvbrlX3befhcvPDfskoTT8Fai0oIP81tlMPVmCSOy6xb75iEKeTww39/s400/DSC_0743.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Ryan told me he liked this photo and I figured it was because it illustrates his love of shooting at motionless objects. He later secretly (not anymore, hah!) divulged that he liked this shot simply because it proves he is not balding in the back. </div><br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: 0% 50%; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></a></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1948694987962915397.post-82721495441496192392011-07-25T05:22:00.000-07:002011-07-25T05:22:00.955-07:00Jumpin'<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTtANwzme5zveI7pehFS8lEGQNbp7hknqZe1O5IwMfno8FnL0-a1omvdmDF0vTkKXOQhKNDUVbjoIK7ZZZm2BbeOP1rp6hUeEdBrjVUniokqadZSaB914cQCCNGeUxGTC3WjsgvQd2bJjf/s1600/DSC_0898.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="640px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTtANwzme5zveI7pehFS8lEGQNbp7hknqZe1O5IwMfno8FnL0-a1omvdmDF0vTkKXOQhKNDUVbjoIK7ZZZm2BbeOP1rp6hUeEdBrjVUniokqadZSaB914cQCCNGeUxGTC3WjsgvQd2bJjf/s640/DSC_0898.JPG" width="425px" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">This is all our little Ruby girl wanted to do at Grandma Maughan's house.<br />
Whether she was on or off the trampoline, she constantly jabbered about "jumpin'." She certainly reached new heights. We had to drag her off the octagon kicking and screaming (and biting!). </div><br />
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</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: 0% 50%; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></a></div>Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17174404354416041328noreply@blogger.com5