tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098857133224929062024-02-19T00:30:45.597-07:00~Containing the Crazy~The Adventures of Hayden & LucyKimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469670104811432626noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-48696280840786563642012-12-16T14:26:00.002-07:002012-12-16T14:26:58.328-07:00Dear GirlsDear Hayden & Lucy,<br />
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A few days ago, an unimaginable nightmare took place in a small town called Newton, CT. A sad and disturbed young man shot his way into an elementary school and proceeded to kill 26 people...20 of whom were young children, like yourselves. Our entire country, and much of the world, is grief stricken and mourning over the loss of such innocence. Mommas and Daddies everywhere are holding their own children tighter than ever and grieving for those parents in Connecticut who are unable to do the same. </div>
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But you, my sweet daughters, are able to live in blissful ignorance of all that is going on around you. You are unaware of the pain, the loss, the helplessness. You are still running and skipping about with growing excitement about Christmas and presents. You are oblivious to the knowledge that there are presents under trees in CT that will never be ripped open by tiny eager hands. </div>
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For this, I am envious. To have the fortune of being untouched by this nightmare and unscathed by the horror it has caused is a gift that many would love to have. I am also saddened to think that somewhere down the road, you will realize that the world is not perfect and that life can be brutal sometimes. It makes me want to pull you close and never let you go. </div>
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But I can't do that forever. For now, while you are so innocent, I can shelter you and protect you. I can make sure that our home is safe for you and that it is filled with happiness, laughter, and love. In time you will feel heartache, you will be scared, frightened, disappointed, or hurt. Now is not your time. </div>
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<b>Now </b>I will hold you closer, make you laugh harder, and love you more than you can imagine. I will do this for you, for me, and for the parents who lost their children. I will try to remember when you draw on the walls that it is just a wall and we have plenty of paint. I will remember that the pain of stepping on a toy in the middle of the night that you left there, is an insignificant pain. I will not get annoyed when you interrupt what I'm doing because you want me to play with you or listen to you. I will read you a second bedtime story...a third...a fourth. I will always hug you and kiss you goodnight. I will never go to bed or leave the house angry. </div>
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I will love you both with every ounce of my being every minute of every day.</div>
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Love,<br />
Momma<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpRWDxQ6b8HLO0R6n85L3QDRRMXLjMez9W4tjTGtjIhkbBUpgdmtZoimysUE8ftwAcAPuBd2uDGd0dmz0XK2NDxfWOtWCJcAuCU8ZdWY87_kT8Nr5_O5rJwDZjT2zAtAKF7S4xRtEY253/s1600/Girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpRWDxQ6b8HLO0R6n85L3QDRRMXLjMez9W4tjTGtjIhkbBUpgdmtZoimysUE8ftwAcAPuBd2uDGd0dmz0XK2NDxfWOtWCJcAuCU8ZdWY87_kT8Nr5_O5rJwDZjT2zAtAKF7S4xRtEY253/s400/Girls.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sisterly Love</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-19757403309493482172012-12-12T16:43:00.000-07:002012-12-13T16:43:58.434-07:00Happy Ho-Ho-Holloways! <div style="text-align: justify;">
It's that time of year again. The time of year when we force our children to go to the mall, stand in line, and sit on the lap of some fat old guy wearing a fake beard and a Santa suit that smells like stale whiskey, Cheetos and Ben-Gay. And please, children, don't forget to tell <i>this </i>man what you want for Christmas. </div>
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We are not the "dress up in frilly things and sit pretty for the camera" kind of people (shocking, right?) so I've never bothered to put the girls in anything other than what they were already wearing to go visit Mr. Claus. </div>
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In 2011, both girls were SO excited to go see Santa! You could practically hear their thoughts. </div>
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"This man can get us <b>exactly </b>what we want for Christmas! We can totally by-pass Momma and Daddy! Who <i>cares </i>if they are happy? We just need to please <b><i>this </i></b>man in the red suit! <i>Suckolios</i>..." </div>
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We stood in line for maybe 10 minutes which was tolerable for them both. When it was our turn, Hayden went running for Mall Santa and was thrilled to climb in his lap and smile like the <strike>manipulative little shit</strike> sweet little angel that she is. I swear I could <i>hear </i>her eyes batting. </div>
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Lucy? Not so much. Lucy was happy until about the time I placed her on Santa's other leg. Now, she didn't cry, she didn't scream, she didn't get down or run off. No...not Lucy. She sat frozen on his leg and refused to make contact with anything but the ground. </div>
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The photographer, Brad & I all jumped around and waved our arms like crazy. We called her name, we made stupid noises, we said "smiiiiiiiiiile Luuuuuuucy". Nothing worked. We did this for an hour! Ok, we did this for like 90 seconds and she finally looked at us for the picture. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstvMAmf3U-rFkleEROSwLnGdxODalvUh9YP6DeyZCTUaPl2kP8RDs_AAfdsjRFAwf1SADAsA1ShDSZ1jOy1tqwLkdTaMMyjSn3qHxilikswWTN7xJZnz0qFnsDB7WcHs0dMzLb22SpwbJ/s1600/2011+Santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstvMAmf3U-rFkleEROSwLnGdxODalvUh9YP6DeyZCTUaPl2kP8RDs_AAfdsjRFAwf1SADAsA1ShDSZ1jOy1tqwLkdTaMMyjSn3qHxilikswWTN7xJZnz0qFnsDB7WcHs0dMzLb22SpwbJ/s400/2011+Santa.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pissed. OFF.</td></tr>
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<br />Not to mention the fact that she looks freaking <b>enormous</b>. I mean like, front page of the National Enquirer enormous. Like she <b>ate </b>the last idiot that tried to make her pose for this picture.<br />
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<i>*sigh* </i></div>
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2012 was different. This year, the girls actually requested that they wear their "beautiful dresses" they had worn over Thanksgiving when we went to see The Nutcracker. They had baths, brushed their teeth, combed their hair, got dressed and ready to go without even a little fuss. Apparently they want to please Santa this year. Ok, offspring o' mine, game on. </div>
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We got to the mall about the same time as Santa which was nice because there was only one person in front of us. Both girls were on their best behavior <span style="font-size: x-small;">(for a change)</span> and were pretty content to just hang out and wait. The excitement about being able to see Santa from where they stood was almost too much to handle. Hayden asked me about 4.9 million times "can I see Santa now?" </div>
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<i>If I had a dollar for every time I have uttered the words <b>"in a minute"</b> over the past several months, I'd be retired and spending my time in one of four houses scattered throughout the country. </i></div>
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"In a minute, Hayden." </div>
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Then it was our turn! Once again, Hayden rushed to Santa's side and was more than happy to be sitting on his lap. Lucy? Oh no...not again. Instead of putting her on his lap this year, I put her on the bench <i>next </i>to him. She looked at the floor...looked at me...gave a very Lucy-esque sideways stare to Santa and then looked at the photographer. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8nci3w5isyk4rNKI3iCfyhVlApYF-jZ3tsUmgDRT-woRwuS8tej1bb2z-dShsciwEago7-VZEiQxVFdO-Ktf8iKa-jjL_bjrrPNOBZaz9gOr0DrrntEB5CwmGUeoPnRw4xeNS_8uxw-z/s1600/2012+Santa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8nci3w5isyk4rNKI3iCfyhVlApYF-jZ3tsUmgDRT-woRwuS8tej1bb2z-dShsciwEago7-VZEiQxVFdO-Ktf8iKa-jjL_bjrrPNOBZaz9gOr0DrrntEB5CwmGUeoPnRw4xeNS_8uxw-z/s400/2012+Santa.JPG" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They all have on the same boots! </td></tr>
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I'm fairly certain that Lucy is thinking "you f*cking people are as ridiculous as this asshat in the Santa suit sitting next to me." That's not a smile..it's a <i>smirk</i>.</div>
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Happy Holidays. Pass the Tylenol. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-42402539877543679302012-12-09T21:33:00.001-07:002012-12-09T21:33:31.800-07:00Chugga-chugga CHOO CHOO! Lucy is obsessed with trains. Actually, she's obsessed with all things that "go". Trains, planes, "helo-cockers", firetrucks, police cars, ambulances, et cetera.<br />
<br />
The other day I took her shopping with me and after we were buckled safely into the Jeep Grand Cherokee she said "Momma! We're on a train!"<br />
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I said, "Lucy, it's our Jeep." Her response was "No, Momma. We're on a train!"<br />
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Ah, she wants to play. Last time we did this I had to say "chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-CHOO CHOOOOOO" for about 8 miles. It was <i>awesome</i>.<br />
<br />
Usually this game has me starting everything off by opening the garage door and yelling out "ALL ABOARD!" <br />
<br />
Today was different.<br />
<br />
Lucy started if off instead. I opened the garage door and turned to her and said "what do we say now?!"<br />
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"ALL THE BOYS!!!!!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bradley.chattablogs.com/time%20story%20on%20boys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://bradley.chattablogs.com/time%20story%20on%20boys.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eh?</td></tr>
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Maybe locking her up until she's 35 isn't long enough...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-6744197016347104962012-12-06T20:00:00.000-07:002012-12-07T09:50:19.430-07:00Tis the season...It's not the holidays until the kids start begging for presents every minute of every day. This is the first year where both Hayden and Lucy completely understand the concept of Santa and Christmas.<br />
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Our Elf on the Shelf, Story, has been hanging out for the last several days...though I'm not particularly "into" the whole thing. For instance, I'm not interested in Story being "bad" while we sleep. I saw one blog where the <i>Elf</i> supposedly spent the night baking cookies and left the whole kitchen a mess. <br />
<br />
Um, no thanks. First of all...I don't want to be up all night baking a bunch of damn cookies and two, that stupid red Elf isn't the one that has to clean it. <b>I</b> have to clean it. I have plenty of floors, tables, clothes and kids to clean without a destructive Elf adding to the mix. <i>Santa's Helper, my ass.</i> Where's Momma's Helper?!<br />
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/rant off<br />
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I took Hayden shopping so she could pick out her own present for Lucy and her Dad. It was almost too much for her to handle. Lucy just had to have a La La Loopsy doll ("<i>well actually, Momma, I want one..</i>.") and Daddy? Daddy needed a toy. Or a "boy mirror". Or a Nutcracker (*<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>snicker</i></span>*)<i>. </i>Or a Barbie Dream House.<br />
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I'm not entirely certain that Hayden totally understood she needed to pick out something THEY want, not something SHE wanted them to have. It's okay though, we compromised and she did a good job. Can't tell what she bought though! It's a secret!<br />
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On the way home we discussed Christmas and presents and Santa's list.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">"Momma, if Santa slices your head off, you are on the Naughty List." </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCvj3ORe_yQdnRCBBuiCsVuamka4Pe0ZMxk8Sep3uO4UVDtfwPiekRbUFH3tzwCXb2N4ImGcVRU_8vg3UzwAYQFjpswcpUOIMgoUjwyNOO90qUrbQjGoWB5oq5RUGtgzAvY0DPDKx2iTz/s1600/killer+santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCvj3ORe_yQdnRCBBuiCsVuamka4Pe0ZMxk8Sep3uO4UVDtfwPiekRbUFH3tzwCXb2N4ImGcVRU_8vg3UzwAYQFjpswcpUOIMgoUjwyNOO90qUrbQjGoWB5oq5RUGtgzAvY0DPDKx2iTz/s400/killer+santa.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ho. Ho. CHOP. </td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-19435825614707351862012-12-04T14:36:00.000-07:002012-12-13T14:48:34.524-07:00Sharpies = not for kids.My girls love to draw, color, paint, fly their art flags! <br />
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Far too often, their canvas has been a wall or a door or the dining room table. Like last week when Brad thought it would be a good idea to give them assorted Sharpie's for coloring ornaments at the dining room table. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Seriously - how did he think this was a good idea?</span></i> <span style="font-size: small;">After they had the <span style="font-size: small;">Sharpie's in their<span style="font-size: small;"> ho<span style="font-size: small;">t little hands (unbeknown<span style="font-size: small;">est to me), he came over and sat on the couch with me to go through digital pictures. For 30 minutes. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ima<span style="font-size: small;">gi<span style="font-size: small;">ne MY surprise when they were finished and I went over to find the <b><span style="font-size: small;">entire</span> </b>dining<span style="font-size: small;"> room table colored with Sharpie. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>There were several portraits of our family, some hearts and a lot of "H's". Brad started to yell at them...something about "you know better than that!" to which I immediately went off on <b>him </b>with my own version of "YOU should know better than that!" </div>
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In related news, rubbing alcohol and a soft rag rubbed gently on a table will remove Sharpie from stained wood. </div>
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Please, pass the wine. </div>
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<i><b>Yes</b></i>, the whole bottle. </div>
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But...the writing and practicing is a good thing ultimately because Hayden is getting good at writing her name.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGk2qb43Gv7vqqdQ3Ou2pMQOSwi-uqY41rE_Cj5Fk-FHS5nZmlnHcNaZh1bMaTen2ex0u7oSY7IlHPFCevn2cI-2ylA3qqAYQpDFjmpMAE-d72p7yBzvxlT2JcvrCvt4SmL_auw1zkzdo/s1600/Hayden+and+her+name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGk2qb43Gv7vqqdQ3Ou2pMQOSwi-uqY41rE_Cj5Fk-FHS5nZmlnHcNaZh1bMaTen2ex0u7oSY7IlHPFCevn2cI-2ylA3qqAYQpDFjmpMAE-d72p7yBzvxlT2JcvrCvt4SmL_auw1zkzdo/s400/Hayden+and+her+name.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proud of herself</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEy2jogA6Is9bhf7x_U14TDUQvCIxXzFrrmDXQS4FbU7P_nyJEMHtDy6N_gAlsVu8H8pIlpfXAuSeHeSfwYho5PUE6h1t5RFLFnYCdy3GNeoOlAk92trb6wfO6sC36321dg_I3Kbeg6f2P/s1600/H+name+and+portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEy2jogA6Is9bhf7x_U14TDUQvCIxXzFrrmDXQS4FbU7P_nyJEMHtDy6N_gAlsVu8H8pIlpfXAuSeHeSfwYho5PUE6h1t5RFLFnYCdy3GNeoOlAk92trb6wfO6sC36321dg_I3Kbeg6f2P/s400/H+name+and+portrait.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She told me that's a picture of her. That's my little one eyed, spiky haired, giant eared, freckled, no body kid.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-13848974911371759142012-11-17T20:00:00.000-07:002012-11-19T09:04:34.656-07:00"I'm sorry, Momma""I'm sorry Momma, but I think that Cinderella is my mother."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtzK7lMW5jySBKsU0MV6v8p4NkdP7AIDVNNChndDURvKOFziwTO5TVyEVWPMlPfqOB9eH9QZ5WlL2T6zBNW2JNbWwskbd28JsgD4jOw3tybAkPFySDaUY5jxGRONLqLfwvEdLhFDMO26W/s1600/cinderella2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtzK7lMW5jySBKsU0MV6v8p4NkdP7AIDVNNChndDURvKOFziwTO5TVyEVWPMlPfqOB9eH9QZ5WlL2T6zBNW2JNbWwskbd28JsgD4jOw3tybAkPFySDaUY5jxGRONLqLfwvEdLhFDMO26W/s1600/cinderella2012.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*sigh*</td></tr>
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Well...bibbity bobbity boo to you too, kiddo. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-18924594462154687742012-11-17T17:00:00.000-07:002012-11-19T09:05:05.000-07:00Cat-Griz Game: EAT CHIPS! <div style="text-align: justify;">
Montana State Bobcats vs. University of Montana Grizzlies - the longest running rivalry in college football. There is no love lost at all between these two. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
With Brad being an MSU alum (with both is undergrad and Masters from there), we are most definitely a Bobcat household. It's not a far cry for me to root for them as my college mascot was also the Bobcats. </div>
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Our girls, since pretty much Day 1, have been clad in MSU Bobcat gear. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFhouvn7lkuVbVGBGAiBfSsJ4wYrJNQtglOUWOmbQOK3c-BenFhmU3vbqOpJ1xs2VBkE6D6zhsgqhdxnTPvaJmDFSpkL88pMTbOTfEpBQiVnVOhaQowBTsipHOdGt6f8bZvp-tK7VKh25/s1600/Lucy+MSU+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFhouvn7lkuVbVGBGAiBfSsJ4wYrJNQtglOUWOmbQOK3c-BenFhmU3vbqOpJ1xs2VBkE6D6zhsgqhdxnTPvaJmDFSpkL88pMTbOTfEpBQiVnVOhaQowBTsipHOdGt6f8bZvp-tK7VKh25/s400/Lucy+MSU+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucy ~ our Montana State <i>Cutie</i>...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp4GzhyH6-2YOvmZ_kigWpThfKBJMWq-rlmRo8G-BnasF8gGl_LQJZ2HFmCt0Btesrzf-IsQOEEQvdjLgaXGBpPGCTy6c4YfPTyQwblodbN1AvblAUSQVR9c9hl2fjLVvA_nDnqyM07Wjj/s1600/Girls+MSU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp4GzhyH6-2YOvmZ_kigWpThfKBJMWq-rlmRo8G-BnasF8gGl_LQJZ2HFmCt0Btesrzf-IsQOEEQvdjLgaXGBpPGCTy6c4YfPTyQwblodbN1AvblAUSQVR9c9hl2fjLVvA_nDnqyM07Wjj/s400/Girls+MSU.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's all sweet. :) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeLO9zUO-M5F-PmlBT7c3esAhPTtU96BIGBK_ecDymq9S0NHdzIJyENuYDYid5hQ75Z8WmEFyWqWkSXducUdC3DBQvBkOPj2eyoK6oEJqSUYMQjWFru5E1w8VuVRm6TpMQaQNnJSNDR0T/s1600/Lucy+MSU+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeLO9zUO-M5F-PmlBT7c3esAhPTtU96BIGBK_ecDymq9S0NHdzIJyENuYDYid5hQ75Z8WmEFyWqWkSXducUdC3DBQvBkOPj2eyoK6oEJqSUYMQjWFru5E1w8VuVRm6TpMQaQNnJSNDR0T/s400/Lucy+MSU+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go Cats! </td></tr>
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There's also a little cheer that the MSU folks do about the Griz. A little something like "Eat shit Grizzlies, GO CATS GO!" </div>
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Of course we had to teach our girls...but we did adjust the words ever so slightly...because it's not totally appropriate to teach them to curse. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">It's always better when they learn that by example...haaaa</span></i></div>
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Hayden last year: </div>
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<br />
And both of the girls this year: </div>
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*sniff* </div>
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Great Moments in Parenting, right? </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-63631768896209612782012-11-14T15:56:00.000-07:002012-11-15T15:57:31.442-07:00Haircuts & Happy Meals<div style="text-align: justify;">
Back in the spring, Hayden had gotten her hair trimmed. She'd never had one so she had about 4 inches chopped off to get it nice and healthy. Her hair is beautiful and silky and long. She's good about pulling her hair up to brush teeth, eat, dance, et cetera. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lucy? Not so much. Every day since her hair was long enough, I have pulled it back in a rubber band. And every day that I did that, she took it out within 30 minutes. Unlike Hayden, Lucy's hair does not fall beautifully to the side of her face in a natural part and wave. Lucy's just straggles and hangs in her eyes, her snot, her mouth, her food, stuck to her face...you get the picture. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I made a decision to take her for a haircut and install some bangs on that forehead of hers. I spoke of sparkles, juice, and a treasure chest of goodies that the Salon offers good little girls who sit still in the chair. Hayden remembered this and told Lucy all about it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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"You have to sit still because she has scissors and you will cut your ear if you don't sit still. I got a beaUTIFUL pink butterfly ring because I was a good girl and sat still all by myself!" <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Half truth. She was not well behaved at all and she sat on my lap the whole time.</span></i></div>
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As we sat on the couch waiting for Lydia the Haircutting-Cutter (Hayden's term), the girls were kind of quiet and checking things out. Finally Lydia said "who wants to be first?" </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lucy: "I DO!!! It's MY turn and I go FIRST!!!" And off she ran, hopped up into the chair and immediately sat still and straight. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjot17E2hi0ae_lvImEIGNncTTc8tijJ1laEDaJheWS1yG5z23pxqjXzFrKxsYFTEY4h8rECczJmqw0BuYSnYy_qjsaj2v8nNUjK3pX0uqMarYanvRtR8_rP4UfeWvzSxmIjJRNntks8P1j/s1600/Lucy+haircut+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjot17E2hi0ae_lvImEIGNncTTc8tijJ1laEDaJheWS1yG5z23pxqjXzFrKxsYFTEY4h8rECczJmqw0BuYSnYy_qjsaj2v8nNUjK3pX0uqMarYanvRtR8_rP4UfeWvzSxmIjJRNntks8P1j/s400/Lucy+haircut+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Off goes the back scraggle. </td></tr>
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<b>wtf</b>. <i>I can never get her to sit still. </i></div>
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This salon is awesome - it's very shabby chic inside and it changes every time I go in. It is in an old warehouse and <i>very </i>"shabby chic". They do the coolest things! Plus, the staff is amazing and they pamper you. But anyhoo...</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lucy kept a constant eye on the mirror and what Lydia was doing. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCjl9kMDZrGQYpGopjYeaytoBU2ZyOkjim26qExKIdcPqZ6HxeX-MWRlWdiLRHrXaGDl-LwMyl8FOP31GrPkCJB5BGuKV0HzekOakumdcjLth11AOH3e0q0rOSxdXcE5fgYesW4BaWH-i/s1600/Lucy+haircut+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCjl9kMDZrGQYpGopjYeaytoBU2ZyOkjim26qExKIdcPqZ6HxeX-MWRlWdiLRHrXaGDl-LwMyl8FOP31GrPkCJB5BGuKV0HzekOakumdcjLth11AOH3e0q0rOSxdXcE5fgYesW4BaWH-i/s400/Lucy+haircut+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? Shabby chic. Just like Lucy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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When the cutting was done, Miss Lucy had some rockin' bangs, a shoulder length bob, a pound of silver sparkles in her hair and a new semblance to Cleopatra. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxjsaPW5_h1X6aL_76nVdZ0DkF88kPdXC8xtqKgQwZszwaq7NqAh_pmKgQEO9L9rPULxsauCacGPeZLsKKYBwIZsAH6NJ7LXsDw476z08KiXsP1jpBuB1ASrU1D8EWL9S4fXunqpzMM88/s1600/Lucy+haircut+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxjsaPW5_h1X6aL_76nVdZ0DkF88kPdXC8xtqKgQwZszwaq7NqAh_pmKgQEO9L9rPULxsauCacGPeZLsKKYBwIZsAH6NJ7LXsDw476z08KiXsP1jpBuB1ASrU1D8EWL9S4fXunqpzMM88/s400/Lucy+haircut+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Queen of Denial. </td></tr>
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I have to get use to it. Cutting her hair made me want to drink massive quantities of wine. She looks adorable but she looks so different. Older, wiser, more mischievous (oh shit). </div>
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Hayden had a quick trim and also received a pound of sparkles (which are now all over Brad and Brad's truck). </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfemwEcB9JB54FYcvpYli7OMoBYNDlUnCuHfEZRFAA2AEIRcw4yCU2MO9Pm_5d-p1o6JMI-P7dYhHkab-jxl4eVifUNRJWYJPFHA2-L22kjnTGs_KqFaDgTyskxsFzTwNdFoZi3htYIzXB/s1600/Hayden+Trim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfemwEcB9JB54FYcvpYli7OMoBYNDlUnCuHfEZRFAA2AEIRcw4yCU2MO9Pm_5d-p1o6JMI-P7dYhHkab-jxl4eVifUNRJWYJPFHA2-L22kjnTGs_KqFaDgTyskxsFzTwNdFoZi3htYIzXB/s400/Hayden+Trim.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No bangs for THIS ballerina.</td></tr>
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I had promised Happy Meals if they behaved in the salon...secretly hoping they would not behave. They chose this night to behave and were rewarded with Happy Meals and time to play in the McD's playhouse thingy.<br />
<br />
Bad idea. SCREAMING children everywhere. Mine refused to wear the required socks because they were slippery. At one point Lucy was stuck in the very top, looking out of the plastic window banging and crying "MOOOOMMMMMAAAAA!" Fortunately, a sweet older girl went up and got her for me. We didn't stay long after that.<br />
<br />
That place makes me itch.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-65256008403436033972012-11-05T18:00:00.000-07:002012-11-06T13:57:07.102-07:00Crazy = NOT containedNew favorite past time for my fearless little monsters:<br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Gvo5GftzQb8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
o_O<br />
<br />
At least Brad knew Hayden was coming this time around. Usually there's no warning. <br />
<br />
And how she doesn't just go from one cast to the next is beyond me...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-83405701276976070912012-11-03T18:45:00.000-06:002012-11-04T18:45:52.798-07:00America's Next Top ModelCousins.<br />
<br />
Playing a game.<br />
<br />
A game called "America's Next Top Model". <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Makes my hair turn gray just thinking about it.</span></i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglghHSR3RfSfbjJIc9uKK9taA3zdCUNFtt-8G8n7Mma4lSW_c0oboc0CxVhbg-WjMrfkMUIWfleuBgYbxA4gGhnVIlhn-i6FE82j-dyzo9ClKklcy21U9YXuvIsXKOo1E51QFQyyITnMXN/s1600/ANTMgirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglghHSR3RfSfbjJIc9uKK9taA3zdCUNFtt-8G8n7Mma4lSW_c0oboc0CxVhbg-WjMrfkMUIWfleuBgYbxA4gGhnVIlhn-i6FE82j-dyzo9ClKklcy21U9YXuvIsXKOo1E51QFQyyITnMXN/s400/ANTMgirls.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Only four of you remain..."</td></tr>
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For the record, that little blue dress on Hayden is not suppose to show toddler-cleavage like that. She totally has it on backwards.<br />
<br />
Good thing she's cute.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-46772282761219980972012-11-01T18:38:00.000-06:002012-11-04T18:39:24.073-07:00Trick or Treat, smell my feet...<div style="text-align: justify;">
Can't decide on a costume? Wear them all! Or at least have a daytime option and then a nighttime one. The girls decided to wear one outfit to daycare/school and another for Trick or Treating would be a good idea. I wasn't opposed to this since they are inside during the day but late fall in Montana can be chilly in the winter.</div>
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Daywear: </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLXZjTFXIRlnTV7aF35MHjNNqQgD1I_R0lvLxpwZ0tD8oWh7hFtl8MXAIsNmRIk9LbWa4NIr29V7LexzVIFc5GMs1PKer_9EsCblqxHFWGZOhxwoRLgZXFAt1sNOc-RVYpzPfmdfdULabV/s1600/tortday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLXZjTFXIRlnTV7aF35MHjNNqQgD1I_R0lvLxpwZ0tD8oWh7hFtl8MXAIsNmRIk9LbWa4NIr29V7LexzVIFc5GMs1PKer_9EsCblqxHFWGZOhxwoRLgZXFAt1sNOc-RVYpzPfmdfdULabV/s400/tortday.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never roam alone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lucy was ROCKING the garden gnome outfit. It could possibly be the most perfect costume ever for her. Hayden opted for La la Loopsy but got pissy and did <i>not </i>want her picture taken so she's sulking with a bag of Goldfish. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Moving on to the evening wear: </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOH1eYQhKOdwA1xmTe6yzul_OgG4142d7O8gLEwl6jAlRF7wipg5wJyvZboPGnVHpbHOw-CGoUzGjxNuI4QeAAK-PffKwgxo0KZI_FtjUbjWg1rqq8Oqwl_4xC-tj4KpRMNcI0IBjPz2UC/s1600/tortnight1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOH1eYQhKOdwA1xmTe6yzul_OgG4142d7O8gLEwl6jAlRF7wipg5wJyvZboPGnVHpbHOw-CGoUzGjxNuI4QeAAK-PffKwgxo0KZI_FtjUbjWg1rqq8Oqwl_4xC-tj4KpRMNcI0IBjPz2UC/s400/tortnight1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cupcake. Firewoman. </td></tr>
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Hayden's mood improved significantly when she realized that a candy windfall was imminent. Of course, getting her to stand up straight and smile is impossible. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9deYDEHGip5AVKLYUBDB2smqnmJe_vPmkzpSjxH-9ks5v8dD1fQ8TnyvXE_v7Sn0pwtWJLkGcnCPIgvGGbQFJzGgIAoTyurF7KN4dUCrA7mvYTrNFWY2QoMAis8QWOgUqcOXArPLd3O5/s1600/tortnight2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9deYDEHGip5AVKLYUBDB2smqnmJe_vPmkzpSjxH-9ks5v8dD1fQ8TnyvXE_v7Sn0pwtWJLkGcnCPIgvGGbQFJzGgIAoTyurF7KN4dUCrA7mvYTrNFWY2QoMAis8QWOgUqcOXArPLd3O5/s400/tortnight2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Argh.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
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Ok, she's standing up straight and semi-smiling. Lucy's hat didn't quite stay on her head though. Not much stays on a head that's in the 97th percentile for size. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(I totally pushed that thing out - screaming the entire time)</span></i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXW4v4MV_5XZtQ-ZhF6UigRpYE7EjBm4aOSgUR9RllWy7B-F4ZlX6NLXU3xgsqM3UYcSsuiKYjXz5JjkbeveYW_8LRJHGNniiysWWwwwLBJk1IWWwkf1BV8_q_iDWTm9-mOgZQNxpPCWxJ/s1600/tortfiretruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXW4v4MV_5XZtQ-ZhF6UigRpYE7EjBm4aOSgUR9RllWy7B-F4ZlX6NLXU3xgsqM3UYcSsuiKYjXz5JjkbeveYW_8LRJHGNniiysWWwwwLBJk1IWWwkf1BV8_q_iDWTm9-mOgZQNxpPCWxJ/s400/tortfiretruck.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Firetruck say "WOO WOO"!!! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Brad pimped her Radio Flyer...at the last minute. Hence the <strike>garden </strike>fire hose and 4 foot ladder on the 3 foot truck. She also had blinking red lights. I don't look forward to the day when things like this no longer get the "<i>OMGSOEXCITINGILOVEITSOMUCH</i>" reaction that this did. </div>
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Loot: </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZKQ479gjnmrzWEWnZvYbXM-FTt6GvPRRTpaUsddimM5Fm8GQYst6LNaobnKoUpABFqLNRkIqp97o7v4w2WC7sifmCJtaWMgmKaTQKy1PDL7SDsgSFLL78r-9zySf_Ng4GoHlxGXp4jGV/s1600/tortloot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZKQ479gjnmrzWEWnZvYbXM-FTt6GvPRRTpaUsddimM5Fm8GQYst6LNaobnKoUpABFqLNRkIqp97o7v4w2WC7sifmCJtaWMgmKaTQKy1PDL7SDsgSFLL78r-9zySf_Ng4GoHlxGXp4jGV/s400/tortloot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar 'em up and let 'em loose.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The Reese's Peanut butter Cups were confiscated. I believed them to be a danger to my beautiful children so I sacrificed myself and ate them. </div>
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MOTY! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-76048097498037215372012-10-29T17:00:00.000-06:002012-10-29T17:00:07.429-06:00Cinderella, Sinderella, Cupcake, Firewoman<div style="text-align: justify;">
Halloween is stressful. Some of this has to do with the fact that there is already Christmas stuff in stores (WTF, right?!) which means I can't just enjoy Halloween because I'm instantly stressed about all the crap I have not yet started for Christmas. Like I need that. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But also, picking a costume is apparently a <i>huge</i> deal. HUGE. I don't remember this being the case last year. Hayden picked Cinderella right off the bat and stuck with it. Lucy wasn't really old enough to decide so I turned her into a little red devil and decided right before they went Trick or Treating that she was "SINderella". They were the cutest pair ever. </div>
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</div>
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Look ---> </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPI7qtaQH7Lly0QCcC9ZFOxotpZVIOUOh7agsd5nV0YrFKoA71zPAjJDd6dFFZPjqmRbTxxRbDvPBvUZtb8HWaGzbfQbsBE-u3bml-q7OucO9YZdxMtulU77hUmokUlXOSKRSb1FlSoanh/s1600/Cinderella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPI7qtaQH7Lly0QCcC9ZFOxotpZVIOUOh7agsd5nV0YrFKoA71zPAjJDd6dFFZPjqmRbTxxRbDvPBvUZtb8HWaGzbfQbsBE-u3bml-q7OucO9YZdxMtulU77hUmokUlXOSKRSb1FlSoanh/s400/Cinderella.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cinderella ♥</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6q578PxKcH8OfYpNjmxPFdV-FEeAc_lZRZBoHtpv7RuxS0iVi4JFvt-L2jrnOUaulk19yUOKGdpS1YEbUyAnmpcZmz-KzLnAbLW_xbmOfgY4VKIB3ynxu2s-KCdw5MEtSPUNFt3xZKYN/s1600/Sinderella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6q578PxKcH8OfYpNjmxPFdV-FEeAc_lZRZBoHtpv7RuxS0iVi4JFvt-L2jrnOUaulk19yUOKGdpS1YEbUyAnmpcZmz-KzLnAbLW_xbmOfgY4VKIB3ynxu2s-KCdw5MEtSPUNFt3xZKYN/s400/Sinderella.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SINderella! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's funny how this about sums up their personalities. Sweet, innocent and wanting to please you vs. mischievous, playful and wanting to trick you. </div>
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So I thought this year would be kind of easy but I was <strike>wrong</strike> not right. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<u>Hayden's costume choices: </u></div>
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1. Lalaloopsy</div>
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2. Princess Frog</div>
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3. Butterfly</div>
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4. Fairy</div>
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5. Ariel</div>
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6. Lalaloopsy (yes, again)</div>
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7. Rapunzl</div>
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8. Princess Fairy</div>
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9. Cupcake </div>
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</div>
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<i>Lather. Rinse. Repeat. </i></div>
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<u>Lucy's costume choices: </u></div>
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</div>
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1. "NO!!! I don't want pick one! Gimme witch broom! NO DRESS UP!" </div>
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<u> </u>2. Fireman. </div>
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<br /><i>*sigh*</i></div>
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<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I have one cupcake and one fire<i>woman</i>. Coming riiiiiiight up. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-5690246404020971682012-10-28T18:00:00.000-06:002012-11-01T13:43:03.109-06:00Elm trees & swing sets<div style="text-align: justify;">
Back in July, we had to bid farewell to the enormous Siberian Elm in our backyard because it was, uh, diagnosed (?) with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dutch_elm_disease" target="_blank">Dutch Elm Disease</a>. It was a sad day when we scheduled the removal because we had hoped to build the most epic tree house ever for the girls. There was going to be a suspension bridge, pulley's, a rope ladder, zip lines and even electricity. At least that had been the plan. Saying good-bye to the tree meant saying good-bye to the tree house dream as well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHZQHm7MW6khpk0_lCEgUNwELkove67I2-2ynooD6NI4WOQStZ-_KoB5FHQ0a-Hdhux4PJJNXuh118GNNbazIOu9t6R01mYknF6PhohKbvtZTkut0kzxYlcrInO-z5T__blH6I8aQ0vnC/s1600/elm+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHZQHm7MW6khpk0_lCEgUNwELkove67I2-2ynooD6NI4WOQStZ-_KoB5FHQ0a-Hdhux4PJJNXuh118GNNbazIOu9t6R01mYknF6PhohKbvtZTkut0kzxYlcrInO-z5T__blH6I8aQ0vnC/s400/elm+tree.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That HUGE mass off branches is all Siberian Elm. It was enormous.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With the tree coming down, we opted for Plan B. A shiny new play set with a climbing wall, rope ladder, slide, swings, trapeze, and tower. After delivery, the giant boxes sat in the garage until after the tree was down (another 2-3 weeks). Poor Hayden and Lucy would go into the garage and sit on the boxes, looking at the picture of the set and saying "can we swing and slide now?". We kept telling them, "as soon as the tree is down, we will put the set up. We <i>promise</i>!"<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDJYUijiEYsR33G9LHoryGFuaJResNzUuhN84T6E3KcZ6c-yJNUXUvSUYUPgLPMHfWNuyiS-Y_0ODytCXI9mbB9KMii3X6i0ogAyPbbB4fN7jP80VgHpmAyYukJQY6qr-vB4zf5Uc0tXH/s1600/stump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDJYUijiEYsR33G9LHoryGFuaJResNzUuhN84T6E3KcZ6c-yJNUXUvSUYUPgLPMHfWNuyiS-Y_0ODytCXI9mbB9KMii3X6i0ogAyPbbB4fN7jP80VgHpmAyYukJQY6qr-vB4zf5Uc0tXH/s400/stump.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stump ~ beautiful ~ but it had to go too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Eventually, the tree was down and the new swing set was up and all was right in toddler world.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpuh4ytH3djPR8jKajyvFZkxF8pIPENBwFqv2O2BNSjHgd49RNMsZESG6xD4YKl5v4zcMmGu44PZEz6aGzBHC8FRmpd1DvxzrL34w1sB7rcmOExpOAlHi7h5PmfODb4pWDAQb1ueK4KG6/s1600/play+set+partial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpuh4ytH3djPR8jKajyvFZkxF8pIPENBwFqv2O2BNSjHgd49RNMsZESG6xD4YKl5v4zcMmGu44PZEz6aGzBHC8FRmpd1DvxzrL34w1sB7rcmOExpOAlHi7h5PmfODb4pWDAQb1ueK4KG6/s400/play+set+partial.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not quite finished - tower, rope ladder, 3rd swing and accessories had not been installed yet.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Fast forward to this afternoon. Brad and Hayden had gone for a walk through the neighborhood. We had some heavy snow last week; not a lot of it but enough to break some branches. Throughout the area there are many Siberian Elms, most of which probably need to come down as well. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As father and daughter walked along, they came to a tree that was indeed being taken down. Hayden stopped and looked at Brad and said "Are they getting a new swing set too?" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because when a tree comes down, it must surely be replaced with a swing set. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-64123672446709789842012-10-27T17:00:00.000-06:002012-10-29T14:05:11.582-06:00Parenting: Illustrated With Crappy Pictures<div style="text-align: justify;">
Several weeks ago, one of my most favorite blogs on the planet held a little contest. Amber at <a href="http://crappypictures.com/" target="_blank">Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures</a> asked her readers to submit a story that they would like to see "crappified". She would then select three winners and use their stories, her pictures, and create magic. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<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://crappypictures.com/images/old/6a01538f62421f970b01543411e78d970c-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://crappypictures.com/images/old/6a01538f62421f970b01543411e78d970c-800wi.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Illustration by Amber Dusick</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I submitted a couple of stories because I happen to think the my children are <i>hilarious</i>. When I received the email that she picked on of my stories, I was so stinking happy that I couldn't see straight. I think my return email to her was something along the lines of "OMFGHAHAHAHHAOMGHAHAHAHA"...<span style="font-size: x-small;">or something</span>. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So anywho ~ she selected one of the favorite stories from Hayden when she was learning to talk. Here is Amber's post: </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://crappypictures.com/ridiculous-crappy-contest-winner/" target="_blank">Ridiculous </a></span></span></b>The story was the brief explanation I gave to Amber, the drawings are <i>all </i>her. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is <i>so </i>getting printed out and hung on a wall. A huge thank you to Amber!<br />
<br />
p.s. This blog has just sort of been my place to keep stories I want to remember and show my girls when they grow up. I was fine with Amber posting the blog link to the post she did but I did not expect 1700 visitors to show up in two days. So...<b>hello</b> people that came to visit! Since I know you are here from Crappy Pictures...I know you are fabulous and funny because the comments on her blog are just as great as the blog most days! </div>
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-36587432669043254722012-10-19T18:57:00.001-06:002012-10-19T18:57:30.217-06:00Bags of JuiceI was driving home with my girls and some, uh, <i>person</i> cut me off. It's possible that I <b><i>may</i></b> have used an expletive at this time (which is of course, a complete shock to those that know me).<br />
<br />
Shortly I hear a small voice in the back seat.<br />
<br />
"Momma? What's a 'juicebag'?"<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMHkPCGd-6IEjJUvL6k23LzRt3BR_ISmjB5-L_JhtsrnZ-NrNq4ZAoY1lGe4aibLAHfhZ86czU1gseyqq8jf8PIYnJtzzUw-mDkubYGP0qopQCWFh0NoshUjy_oVTm2NL9fgx5hAvY11Mu/s1600/juice-bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMHkPCGd-6IEjJUvL6k23LzRt3BR_ISmjB5-L_JhtsrnZ-NrNq4ZAoY1lGe4aibLAHfhZ86czU1gseyqq8jf8PIYnJtzzUw-mDkubYGP0qopQCWFh0NoshUjy_oVTm2NL9fgx5hAvY11Mu/s400/juice-bag.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">???</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-40506235733666895952012-10-19T17:54:00.002-06:002012-10-19T17:54:53.980-06:00Mother of the Year<div style="text-align: justify;">
Both girls like to mess with things. They aren't particular about what their messing with either. It could be a chair, a book, my face while I'm trying to read, something I've specifically said to not touch, buttons, et cetera. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today their daycare was closed so I stayed home most of the day and had Zoee come over for 3 hours to watch them so I could go to the office for awhile. After I left work, we dropped Zoee off and went to the store to find Lucy's Halloween costume. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I pulled out of the driveway and went to the gas station to fill up (6 miles to empty! Ooooops). The traffic was bad at that intersection so I went back up the road, past our house and out to the main highway from there. I was going very slow through the residential area and past the two schools. I stopped at the traffic light and waited for green. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The giggling in the backseat probably should have tipped me off, but it didn't. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Light turned green. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I stepped on the gas and made a quick left turn. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I hear a noise. A scream. A giggle. A "MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAA" </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh shit. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfE6bDld2GMUPYWoYELpKOtzsINWsZ6gji4xaRYvjEEyg9yVddVFBIntRjuywGNKbabXVyWSJ59H5VRtAXw0aEg5uByrdSNb_6cbtOHlIbPpYLgUOVuitBg-2MLrn3fipTJI9TmphxGgZ3/s1600/Lucys+carseat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfE6bDld2GMUPYWoYELpKOtzsINWsZ6gji4xaRYvjEEyg9yVddVFBIntRjuywGNKbabXVyWSJ59H5VRtAXw0aEg5uByrdSNb_6cbtOHlIbPpYLgUOVuitBg-2MLrn3fipTJI9TmphxGgZ3/s400/Lucys+carseat.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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At <i>some </i>point, unbeknownst to me, Lucy had unbuckled the seat-belt that holds her car-seat in place. Not only was it unbuckled, her car-seat was just sitting on the back seat not attached to anything. </div>
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Just one step closer to Mother of the Year (MOTY). </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-58442818182501984542012-10-15T13:50:00.003-06:002012-10-15T13:54:39.684-06:00Great moments in parenting.<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have had a few of these throughout the four years I have been a mom. I don't always recognize the moment as great right away. Sometimes it takes a little bit of time. A friend of mine posted a status update about how when is child was born, he swore he'd never lie to her. Apparently, their goldfish has been away at summer camp for 5 months now. Hey, it happens to the best of us....</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few years ago, one of the <strike>obnoxious</strike> noisy toys that Hayden was playing with finally stopped working. She was getting a little frustrated with it because she was not done playing. I finally explained to her that it needed batteries to run and the batteries were dead. The only way to get it working again was to buy <i>new </i>batteries. She completely understood me and it made sense to her. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>"Mom, we need to batchries. We go to the store for batchries?" </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BG83xWmJC3GjfH1N2bFhExg29mdBYvyR5hdCifntpjT6y38YEwczs0mpyXtEnm9deDI_fytpAydyfMI2xNHLU6JO6BIeCk8Ooh7cEWjjCOjJ9XMk-MLVKlxUMcN-m7fGnQCzkxFt2c8H/s1600/batteries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BG83xWmJC3GjfH1N2bFhExg29mdBYvyR5hdCifntpjT6y38YEwczs0mpyXtEnm9deDI_fytpAydyfMI2xNHLU6JO6BIeCk8Ooh7cEWjjCOjJ9XMk-MLVKlxUMcN-m7fGnQCzkxFt2c8H/s320/batteries.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Soon, Hayden. The store is out of them right now. But we'll go soon. I promise. <i>Ahem</i>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few days later we are in the car and I'm driving them to daycare. Both girls are madly clicking their power window buttons. I lock these intentionally because I can't stand the change in pressure when the windows are going up...and down...and up...and down...or God FORBID if one window is only a few inches down because that's when my eardrums feel like they are going to explode. To avoid exploding heads, I lock the windows. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The girls sense something is wrong and tell me 45 times "Momma, the window is broken!" and finally a lightbulb goes on and I say "No, honey, it's just the window isn't working anymore because it needs new batteries." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Oh," she says. And she is <b>satisfied </b>with this answer. I feel like I won some sort of parenting-secret jackpot. Now, the minute anything stops working, it needs new batteries! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Flashlight won't turn on? It needs new batteries! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The candy drawer is stuck shut? Definitely needs new batteries!! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The markers dried out? They need new batteries! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Great moments in parenting come back to haunt me sometimes though. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One morning we were on our way to daycare and I was singing along with the radio. Miss Hayden says "Momma! Your singing is <i>broken</i>. It needs new batteries." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well played, Hayden. Well played. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-51839195105704764732012-10-12T08:30:00.000-06:002012-10-12T16:34:46.241-06:00♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫I got a song stuck in my head this morning and couldn't rid myself of it.<br />
<br />
♫ The stars at night<br />
are big and bright<br />
<i>*clapclapclapclap*</i><br />
Deep in the heeeeeart of Texas! ♫<br />
<br />
I was singing it over and over. Just that part though, because I don't know the rest.<br />
<br />
Driving the girls to daycare, they were sort of singing along...Lucy did her best.<br />
<br />
♫ Stars at night!<br />
Big and bright!<br />
<i>*clapclap.....clap* </i><br />
Deep in the hard of <u>breakfast</u>! ♫<br />
<br />
Mmmmm....<i>breakfast....</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmj9GordIJy04zkAtlcEeAtDpzfSXPuEEznNYrv530n_jGiNtGk-SAFoyBX04tWep6UuUrXOTrDmxqtTI1PF95mLoSwF-0Zjg-ptt0nxcyGEuUCGRwLAxH8c_BPfEy7YjHxmGnVKxkL4v/s1600/breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmj9GordIJy04zkAtlcEeAtDpzfSXPuEEznNYrv530n_jGiNtGk-SAFoyBX04tWep6UuUrXOTrDmxqtTI1PF95mLoSwF-0Zjg-ptt0nxcyGEuUCGRwLAxH8c_BPfEy7YjHxmGnVKxkL4v/s400/breakfast.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">bacon♥</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-10392459261675117592012-10-11T07:30:00.000-06:002012-10-11T08:56:15.889-06:00"Are you going running?" The scene:<br />
<br />
It's 7:00am.<br />
Lucy is sitting on the kitchen floor putting her shoes on.<br />
Brad is in the refrigerator getting his lunch ready for the day.<br />
Hayden is carrying a pumpkin cookie around the kitchen and saying she's taking it to show "the kids" at school.<br />
I've had a frazzled, throw my hair in a ponytail, get dressed quickly, forget my lunch kind of morning.<br />
<br />
Until Hayden speaks.<br />
<br />
"Momma, are you going running?" <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Aw, cute! She sees my ponytail and thinks I'm going running</i>. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"No...why?" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"Oh. Your hair looks like crap." </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8WHv0O2juTGqMXkxXoByMVGiRdC_ZtGA89UyAmAnDqfmmzPtk54eoUgX_eNJnIyEgMQOwjXq6_-Uzc51z9wavx4hR-3SbxzuPwZrPN5Ejh6kCvoFbQQwV6ZPljpUM5SUFdJ5tKRdftnY/s1600/crappy+hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8WHv0O2juTGqMXkxXoByMVGiRdC_ZtGA89UyAmAnDqfmmzPtk54eoUgX_eNJnIyEgMQOwjXq6_-Uzc51z9wavx4hR-3SbxzuPwZrPN5Ejh6kCvoFbQQwV6ZPljpUM5SUFdJ5tKRdftnY/s400/crappy+hair.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy Hair.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> And then my husband pipes in to stick up for me: </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"Hayden! You can't say that to your mother!" <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Aw, he's so sweet ♥ </span></i>"Only <b>I</b> can say that to your mother!" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Ouch. </i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I found this really funny because yesterday, one of my favorite blogs, <a href="http://crappypictures.com/" target="_blank">Parenting: Illustrated With Crappy Pictures</a> did a collaboration post with <a href="http://www.divinesecretsofadomesticdiva.com/" target="_blank">Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva</a> about <a href="http://crappypictures.com/2012/10/insulting-compliments-non-crappy-collaboration.html" target="_blank">"Insulting Compliments"</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Things like "My favorite shape is a circle because that's the same shape as you!" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I had no example to share because my children don't do the insulting compliments. They just go for the direct hit, as they did this morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-48922242403358358282012-10-07T14:53:00.000-06:002012-10-09T14:53:35.997-06:00"I want to be like Daddy" <div style="text-align: justify;">
My little girls aspire to be like their Daddy...and they should. He is smart, kind, generous, funny and has a million other qualities that the girls would be lucky to possess. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The other day we were getting ready to go to the store and I reminded Hayden that she needed to go to the bathroom before we left. She is always okay with this and that day was no different. Except it was. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She went into the bathroom and dropped her pants and undies into a heap. She then proceeded to put the lid up. This is where things went a little bit awry. Rather than turning around and climbing up to pee, she decided that she had to pee like Daddy. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So there she stood, facing the toilet and searching for the body part that she simply does not have. I told her she'd need to sit on the potty because that's what girls do. What I got in return was an emphatic "NO. I PEE LIKE DADDY. I'M STANDING UP TO GO PEE." <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Oh please, let there be wine in the wine rack...</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We don't have boys...we don't have Tinkle Toys! We have a little princess potty for Lucy and the big girl potty that we all use. How do I explain that girls don't have the parts we need to pee standing up <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(without making a giant f*cking mess)</span></i>?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ergh. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I try again and tell her that she needs to sit down but she is insistent that she must. pee. standing. up. At this point, she's bent over and searching her girly parts for anything that she can get a grip on to "aim" at the toilet. I'm a little panicked and waiting for a question I really don't feel like answering. She's searching. I'm sweating and trying to figure out what her next move will be. She's <i>really </i>searching and I'm at a complete loss. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just when I think she's going to ask me something or just start peeing and hope for the best, she looks at me. She shrugs. Then she climbs up on the toilet and pees...like a girl. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Ohhhhh </i>thank you. I had visions of being the first mom in history to have to teach a 4 year old how to use a <a href="http://www.go-girl.com/" target="_blank">Go Girl</a>. Of course, she would use it as some sort of new-fangled princess telescope. Or a hat. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvuUl6trn07pdky-pO8SurHruYuqgr7OxfrpEMZCNIFdZ7K_ldzPF15jqLNEnEclmFG6NjhKIyVchFNPxu7IBGJU7iaEF1NRZJcY4OsjfWOogNZyLInxqlqpauGNIv9AD4qcFx-tO2lHJ/s1600/go-girl-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvuUl6trn07pdky-pO8SurHruYuqgr7OxfrpEMZCNIFdZ7K_ldzPF15jqLNEnEclmFG6NjhKIyVchFNPxu7IBGJU7iaEF1NRZJcY4OsjfWOogNZyLInxqlqpauGNIv9AD4qcFx-tO2lHJ/s320/go-girl-01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But it doesn't "look like Daddy's".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-27400812112081532392012-10-06T19:48:00.000-06:002012-10-09T13:54:06.634-06:00The future is bright ... <div style="text-align: justify;">
Do you ever have one of those moments with your children where you look at them and can see their future as clear as day? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You know what I mean. Little Johnny is putting the finishing touches on the most epic Lego skyscraper that has ever been and in that moment, you see it. You see Big Johnny, 25 years down the road, sitting at a drafting table and finalizing the blueprints that will become the most popular building on the planet. Ever. It will be award-worthy and he will be wildly successful. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Have you had these moments? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had one this afternoon: </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Vwkt9Soz1iDUY9sf40QHsLPs9cgEiB8jvoTlUMzJwgY0nuBbwg-qzxHujOf1lG4aArTR1bG9Q8GSAadbFJDWfTLFYrmU6bLmBdkcsnVZvW8RaSeVpYSH0sc5O9lA7PO56PPSk6anEpe1/s1600/KPD+squad+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Vwkt9Soz1iDUY9sf40QHsLPs9cgEiB8jvoTlUMzJwgY0nuBbwg-qzxHujOf1lG4aArTR1bG9Q8GSAadbFJDWfTLFYrmU6bLmBdkcsnVZvW8RaSeVpYSH0sc5O9lA7PO56PPSk6anEpe1/s400/KPD+squad+car.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"woo woo!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sitting in the back of a KPD squad car. They were just a little too happy to be there. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-26079621356172190432012-10-02T19:52:00.000-06:002012-10-03T07:54:56.726-06:00"I'm gonna color on your head..."<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Lucy: "You don't speak like that and say shut up!"</span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Hayden: "If I had a million dollars you could still not say shut up!</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">L</span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">ucy: "I can't pick it up - YOU pick it up." </span></span></span></span><br />
<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> Hayden: "I'm going to pick up ALL these markers because you are being a ding dong"</span></span></span></span></h5>
<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Lucy: "I'm. Done. I'm going to color on you" </span></span></span></span></h5>
<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> Hayden: "No NOooooooo!! MOOOOOO-OOOOM! Lucy colored on my foot." </span></span></span></span></h5>
<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Lucy: "I'm gonna color on your head."</span></span></span></span></h5>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovjgWe_xWaTpCFxm_ozNrNrbjNEeBIYHFgoPiXex0ybOGrkDqnVZ2utNUwNAA0Rl8Rf2AP3xRW7pKpkRJ_pzWHOTkUEsOj_UNtLBbmm5AmumGxNQTV-KcEJ7C-SZQKvK5baswd7ciAAaG/s1600/washable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovjgWe_xWaTpCFxm_ozNrNrbjNEeBIYHFgoPiXex0ybOGrkDqnVZ2utNUwNAA0Rl8Rf2AP3xRW7pKpkRJ_pzWHOTkUEsOj_UNtLBbmm5AmumGxNQTV-KcEJ7C-SZQKvK5baswd7ciAAaG/s1600/washable.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you for being washable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">I am really not completely sure what that was all about because I was <strike>checking Facebook</strike> doing housework. I am often amused by the conversations that they have with each other. I am also often <i>horrified </i>at how perfectly they mimic my husband and I when we are scolding them or impatient. Arms on hips, head cocked to the side and the tone, <i>omg the <b>tone</b></i><b> </b>of her voice. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Do I really sound like that? </span></i>Shit. </span></span></span></span></h5>
<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><br /></span></span></span></span></h5>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-32464975886063123072012-10-01T20:20:00.000-06:002012-10-03T08:02:19.574-06:00"You like that?" <div style="text-align: justify;">
Once again, Hayden was in the bathroom and hollered for me to come see her. "Momma! Come here!" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm not sure her obsession with carrying on a conversation while pooping, but she thinks it's great. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I went into the bathroom and sat on the floor so she could tell me whatever she needed to get off her chest. As she chatted, her hind end was acting like a little machine gun. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Rat-a-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I couldn't do anything but laugh. When she realized I was laughing at her tooting, she looked at me with her chin jutting out a bit and said:<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"You <i>like </i>that? You want some <i>more</i>?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRqM7gor4ESHtwbWVyMoOYOReNQSyIbKszljK8N6DRIq9_gwEoP51yjBeWrDv2iOk9hYrqC0ANmbW4tr0-O3CThtSnOsBsF7e15_nK7p-U_r8Pi_CgEVGz-DNHYiKs8tZ0rAaaPevBdmi/s1600/weird_moments.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRqM7gor4ESHtwbWVyMoOYOReNQSyIbKszljK8N6DRIq9_gwEoP51yjBeWrDv2iOk9hYrqC0ANmbW4tr0-O3CThtSnOsBsF7e15_nK7p-U_r8Pi_CgEVGz-DNHYiKs8tZ0rAaaPevBdmi/s320/weird_moments.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">wtf</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If that weren't enough, when she was done with here rapid fire, she ran out into the living room to inform her daddy that she is "Tootie McFartPants". </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Class-<i>y.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-76000066725280052932012-09-29T14:54:00.000-06:002012-10-03T07:59:34.971-06:00CHEESE<span style="font-size: small;">No, really. It's string cheese. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gVifRnRMkUOje4FtP82GlpWid1W9t8iDlFpDeb6TuyIQZ7hCWXl0Oct9mxGYnDLbK46-1S7oqgjDqzYluaNnD3xOCZ4i8oJXR_wqIoJH4U-O_wd36PNzuEwWU-5aVUtpCk2LAtasoBtO/s1600/String+cheese+Lucy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gVifRnRMkUOje4FtP82GlpWid1W9t8iDlFpDeb6TuyIQZ7hCWXl0Oct9mxGYnDLbK46-1S7oqgjDqzYluaNnD3xOCZ4i8oJXR_wqIoJH4U-O_wd36PNzuEwWU-5aVUtpCk2LAtasoBtO/s400/String+cheese+Lucy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>cheeeeeeeeese</i></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-809885713322492906.post-47154018837104474472012-09-20T15:35:00.004-06:002012-09-20T15:35:52.151-06:00Wellness checkups<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Dr. D: "Hayden, what is your favorite green food to eat?" </i></div>
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<i>Hayden: "Kale chips." </i></div>
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<i>Dr. D: *long silent pause with raised eyebrow at me* "I've never had a 4 year old, or any kid for that matter, say 'kale chips'" </i></div>
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Nut luvs her some kale chips. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmg6UND8cVIhEYoUzVf3yNZECCD1nM6QZ9-W4i_DixQQLqDHIB2hGOU2sVeWiH4I9VJ8H48ZPNWO0pqDK2vbvBmRMMAecapSk-Vzz0sJFqlOeQdOpdMLniV58Ko4ZW5MfQ4hBdFb2oRKO/s1600/parmesan-kale-chips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmg6UND8cVIhEYoUzVf3yNZECCD1nM6QZ9-W4i_DixQQLqDHIB2hGOU2sVeWiH4I9VJ8H48ZPNWO0pqDK2vbvBmRMMAecapSk-Vzz0sJFqlOeQdOpdMLniV58Ko4ZW5MfQ4hBdFb2oRKO/s320/parmesan-kale-chips.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parmesan Kale Chips (nom nom nom)</td></tr>
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38.8 lbs</div>
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40 ¼" tall</div>
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Perfectly healthy child with great vitals, perfect hearing and so far, perfect sight. ♥</div>
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Dr. D did suggest that we meet with the fine folks at Glacier Neuro to be evaluated since Hayden's tonsils are ridiculously humongous! We have had a few issues with her sleep and snoring so it's a precaution to get her checked out. Depending on the outcome, she may have a sleep study done and then we'll go from there. I'm not worried ~ she's a little trooper. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00246156846057790398noreply@blogger.com0