tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27542915006688184742024-03-19T00:20:32.530-04:00takens-tidbitsits the little things in life...Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-7330095255068612852012-07-24T13:31:00.000-04:002012-07-24T13:31:10.078-04:00Aurora, COWhat a tragedy. I can't imagine what friends, family, strangers are going through in the aftermath of this senseless violence. But you know what I can imagine?<div>
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Living there. This town has shown me more about what all towns should be like in pictures and interviews and random filming. This is what I've learned from the people of Aurora:</div>
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Help others - I'd like to say this would happen everywhere. You grab the person next to you and hurry them out. You think of others before yourself. But how many 13 year old kids do you know that would think to stay in the theater and try to help her 6 year old friend? How many 17 year old kids would think to put a hand over her friend's spurting neck wound and help get her to safety? How many strangers would help grab someone's kids to help them get out of the theater alive? I can't say that I would have the mindset to do that. And that shames me. </div>
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Love others - I know its naive to think, but racism seems dead in Aurora. Everybody was hugging and comforting everyone else, regardless of age, creed, gender, and race. I thrilled to see interviews of a young black man standing vigil outside of his friend's hospital room. The love felt in the pictures and video was evident. Not just love for friends, but for each person. </div>
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Pray - Oh my goodness! How the people of Aurora lean on God! It is an inspiration. Since 9/11 I have not seen so much <span style="background-color: white;">openness and lack of fear to pray like I have in Aurora! Thank the Lord that some communities are still open and actively seeking Him! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">So to the people of Aurora, my most sincere sympathies and prayers stay with you these coming weeks and months as the city tries to process the actions of a madman. But also a resounding thank you, for standing steadfast and being such an amazing example of community and togetherness for this country.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.cnn.com/2012/07/21/us/gallery/colorado-mourning-victims/index.html?hpt=hp_t1">http://www.cnn.com/2012/07/21/us/gallery/colorado-mourning-victims/index.html?hpt=hp_t1</a>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-37268914861571998672012-05-25T11:10:00.001-04:002012-05-25T11:10:08.356-04:00The Poop Chronicles, ContinuedIn all fairness to the girl, I need to keep the stories equal and post one of my favorite stories about the boy from the archives. This happened about 2 and a half years ago, but still just as funny as the day it occurred.<br />
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So, here it is:<br />
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I brought the kids to work with me due to a snow day. In the late afternoon, both of my children need to go to the bathroom, so like any good mother who drags her two kids to work I told them where it was and let them go off on their own. <br />
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About 4 minutes later, the girl comes running back to the office. She can't open the door and I hear my friend Nikki, who's sitting at the front desk, directing her through the door. 'You need to turn THEN push.' Nikki, bless her heart, realizing she was not going to get the concept, walked to the door and let her in. The girl looked up at Nikki and said, "Johnny needs help wiping." Without missing a beat, Nikki tells her to 'go tell your mom'.<br />
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The girl comes running back to give me the dreaded news. I go to the restrooms and see how I can assist my 5 year old. I get to the door and knock. I hear some shuffling and the door opens a crack. <br />
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Once he sees its me, he opens the door and lets me in. I walk in and my jaw drops. Here's the boy with his pants around his ankles and poop smeared down his leg, on his underwear and his sock, looking at me like the world might end. I just start laughing. I can't help it! What else could a mom do at work with no change of clothes for her poop-covered boy?!<br />
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I ask, "What happened?!" <br />
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He looked at me so innocently and said, "I was peeing and thought I had to fart, but I pooped instead."<br />
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I cannot stop laughing. I thought I was going to have the next accident! This is one of those moments where you take a step back, and try to make a game plan for the best approach. Commando? Um...yes - definitely. No socks? No brainer. <br />
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I clean him up the best I can, while telling him a lot of guys have the same problem and he wasn't the only one to do this. <br />
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Hoping the others couldn't smell the boy, I ushered my kids back into the office, quick sent an email about taking a personal day and shooed my kids out the door and home so the boy could take a bath. <br />
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All in a day here The Poop Chronicles.<br />
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-87526640328687143412012-05-24T11:04:00.001-04:002012-05-24T11:19:52.335-04:00The Poop ChroniclesThe music is blasting, I've got tube socks on up to my elbows covered in stain; I am busy refinishing all the kitchen cabinets at the new house when I hear the dreaded call from the bathroom.<br />
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"Mom!!! I need help wiping!"</div>
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Really? You JUST went. I walk into the bathroom with my hands in the air like a surgeon who just got done prepping for surgery. </div>
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It's a blowout. How does a 6 year old have a blowout?! There's poop everywhere! She looks at me in a panic. Because I haven't slept more than 4 hours each night for the last 3 nights, I am in no mood to deal with poop. Especially in the middle of a time crunch. Now the logical thing to do is take off the gloves and tube socks and help her. My brain on vapors is not logical. My hands are still up in the air as I try to walk her through how to clean this up. </div>
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First of all, this girl is my clogger. She can clog a toilet like a hungover frat boy. So I give her a lesson in courtesy flushing. </div>
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"When you have this much going on, its polite to turn around and flush the toilet. It helps get rid of the smell and makes room for the clean up." </div>
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"But it will get my butt wet!" </div>
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"Um - how much worse is a wet butt than what you have going on here?!"</div>
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She does what I ask and slides off the toilet, leaving a trail. At this point, I'm really glad for the vapors from the stain. They have put a damper on the effects of what I'm looking at.</div>
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"Now you need to clean yourself up." I leave her to wipe and go back to staining.</div>
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Three minutes later... "Mom! It's not coming off!" I yell back, "How does this even happen?" Meant to be rhetorical of course, but she yells back "I think I ate too much and it pushed my poop out". </div>
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Our windows and doors are open. In a new neighborhood. With people who don't know us yet. And we're talking about poop. From three rooms away. Of course, it STILL doesn't dawn on me to take my gloves off and help or to even walk into the bathroom to have this conversation. That's what sleep deprivation does to you. </div>
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Let me mention at this point, the first time she was in the bathroom, she was screaming for toilet paper in that blood-curling high pitch yell as I was introducing myself to the new neighbors. I had to apologize and excuse myself to bring her a roll.</div>
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The thought to turn down the music and have this conversation in the same room finally creeps into the foggy grey mass in my head. Yup. The caffeine has done its job. Emma looks up at me. "The toilet's stuck." What? I look. Sure enough. The girl has christened the toilet. It wouldn't be a home if she can't managed to clog it. </div>
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Of course we don't have a plunger. While that thought is slowly rolling around in my noggin, she interrupts and points her butt in my direction. I'm still dirty. WHOA. You're telling me! Plan B - since toilet paper isn't doing the job (and since we have none left thanks to Ms. Smears-a-lot), get in the tub. With my hands in the air still, being careful not to touch anything. I direct her to put the plug down. Wait - that'd be nasty. Put the plug back up. We want the water to drain out. Now turn on the water. If its too hot, turn that knob. No! Not that one. That's how you turn it on and off. Yup, that one....No...the other way, towards the blue. There you go. Now turn around and put your booty in it. </div>
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I glance at the progress. The water isn't doing its job. Dang it. Ok - you're going to have to use your hands to help. She looks at me HORRIFIED! What? I have to touch poop?! Well, little one. Shit happens. (No, I didn't say that...I don't even think I thought that. ) I said, it will be ok - I do have soap here. </div>
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Which triggers another thought. Yes, we have soap, but no towels. Not even paper towels. Awesome. I turn back to her. Um...yeah - You're going to have to drip dry. When the booty is clean, hop out of the tub and get dressed. I go back to staining.</div>
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I hear her turn the water off. "MOM?!" </div>
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"Yes, dear?" "Do I have to put my poopy underwear back on?"</div>
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"No. Just put your pants on. No one will know."</div>
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(Still yelling 3 rooms away with the windows open.) "Don't tell anyone, ok? I don't want the other kids knowing."</div>
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Sure. </div>
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<br /></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-23202610746620427072012-05-16T14:34:00.001-04:002012-05-16T14:34:24.662-04:00Shark Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hubs almost got kicked out of the house today.<br />
Our conversation:<br />
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Him: How goes shark week?<br />
Me: Still flowing like the EAC<br />
Him: My buddy's girlfriend had hers for a full month.<br />
Me: The poor girl<br />
Him: Yeah - he was mad they couldn't do it. She said, 'what do you want me to do about it?'<br />
Me: Yeah - the poor thing. Suck it up big boy and realize she doesn't want shark week to last longer than a week any more than he does.<br />
Him: He asked her if she had chap stick.<br />
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(Pause - silence - realize what he's referring to as he does the motions and then laughs)<br />
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Me: Do you want me to kill you now or later? That's not funny. We have enough crap to contend with than to try and make you happy during our little slice of hell on earth.<br />
Him: He was just kidding<br />
Me: He's lucky he's not here or he'd get throat punched. I'm tempted to throat punch you just for sharing your not funny 'joke'.<br />
Him: (Silence)<br />
Me: (Give him the look of 'try me')<br />
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Moral of the story - That crap is not funny during shark week.<br />
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-50683603477204837702012-05-11T08:55:00.001-04:002012-05-11T08:55:13.989-04:00InspiredMy friend Alisha is such an inspiration to me. She is dedicated to everything she puts her mind to. <br />
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Her Family:<br />
She has two boys that adore her that she encourages to play sports, be active and be loving. She's supportive of her husband and they work so well together as a team.<br />
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Her Church:<br />
Alisha is involved in her church's orchestra, playing violin. She puts countless hours in during Christmas for the huge Festival of Lights program. Not only that she has practices during the week and plays every Sunday in the services.<br />
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Her Health:<br />
This is where I am most inspired by Alisha. This year she is running the <a href="http://www.53riverbankrun.com/">Fifth Third River Bank Run</a>. Its the 35th year for the marathon and her 2nd time running it. This year she was chosen to be a Road Warrior. A Road Warrior is a representative of the race. They not only train hard, but also spend many hours promoting it. This is Alisha's application for becoming a Road Warrior:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>I want to be a Fifth Third River Bank Road Warrior because I want to inspire. I have been on a 13-year journey of health and wellness and I want to show others that anything is possible if you put your mind to it. In 1998 I joined a weight loss program, tired of being the person I was, overweight and unhealthy and only 22 years old. I weighed 240 pounds and over the course of 1 year I was able to lose 112 pounds with diet and exercise. In the fall of 2009 I had a co-worker challenge me to run my first 5k. And I thought to myself - run? Are you kidding me? I was still hanging on to baby weight that had me so out of shape there is no way I could do that. I was never much of an avid exerciser, walking was pretty much all I was willing to do. Hesitant at first, I started training for the 5K. I'm proud to say that I successfully completed the Irish Jig 5k in 2009 and from that point on, I was hooked. I instantly noticed changes in my physical health and wanted to keep pushing myself to new challenges. Since then I have completed many 5K, 10ks, 2 half marathons, and in May of 2011, I ran the River Bank 25K! Why choose me? I want more! Accomplishing the RBR 25k last year gave me more determination and motivation to reach higher. Can I be faster? Can I train harder? Can I raise more money than last year for my charity? Not only will this experience allow me the opportunity to achieve personal bests but also be an example for others. I would be honored to represent the Fifth Third River Bank Run as a Road Warrior and lead others to achieve their goals. </i></span><br />
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I am completely inspired by her dedication, her family's support and her positive attitude throughout this whole thing. In fact, she has inspired me to set a goal for myself: 75 miles in 30 days. Why am I telling you about this? <br />
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The charity Alisha is supporting is <a href="http://www.gildasclubgr.org/">Gilda's Club of Grand Rapids</a>. Gilda's club is a free cancer support center. It was started by Gilda Radner, from Saturday Night Live, who faced cancer and joined a support group. Her goal in starting Gilda's club was to give a place for everyone to find the support she had while facing cancer. <br />
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Alisha is almost to her goal of raising $1000. I'm asking that you consider helping by clicking <a href="http://www.active.com/donate/gcgr2012/AlishaRW2012">HERE</a> then clicking on 'donate'. You can give any amount you desire from $1 to the $210 needed to meet her goal. Your donation is tax deductible. Let's help Alisha support Gilda's Club and continue to inspire others to greatness. <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/AVvXsEhN_UsXYdrfKrMEkjJ0UhanByePo1jzez-dR0W31GsWNM1Yr6ilaUQmAhwSCb1Pjclkv4gR-9itPwz_gNVhU8iOYb3K3TYtruNl7vQMsN3JmQLQv7nLMWdir3ci3i52kEzSCNSmnWt929A4/s1600/alisha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_UsXYdrfKrMEkjJ0UhanByePo1jzez-dR0W31GsWNM1Yr6ilaUQmAhwSCb1Pjclkv4gR-9itPwz_gNVhU8iOYb3K3TYtruNl7vQMsN3JmQLQv7nLMWdir3ci3i52kEzSCNSmnWt929A4/s320/alisha.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Alisha at the <br />2012 Aveda Institutes' Pamper Yourself event <br />for the Fifth Third Riverbank Run. </td></tr>
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-25714076978087314392012-04-25T22:23:00.000-04:002012-04-25T22:30:38.100-04:00Behind the Scenes FunAs some of you know, we applied to HGTV's House Hunters!<br />
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The hubs and I were super excited when we were contacted and learned we needed to do some home interviews as part of the process!<br />
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I thought it would be fun to share our videos with you and get your feedback on them. Don't be afraid to laugh! We think they are hillariously dorky!<br />
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So...cheers to House Hunters and making home videos after children are in bed.<br />
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Wait...not like that. I mean it is filmed in the bedroom and all, but. <br />
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Wow. Yeah - just watch. Rated G.<br />
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I'm right, right?! I know. Totally dorky....but still fun! </div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-48123288200603358562012-04-05T14:51:00.001-04:002012-04-06T15:19:54.879-04:00Tips for selling a home with kidsI don't mean selling home with kids as in 'free gift with purchase', but as in 'maintaining your sanity inbetween showings.'<br />
We listed our home 34 days ago and yesterday we received a signed acceptance to a counter-offer. Our home is officially sold (barring any issues we haven't seen that their inspector stirs up). <br />
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Before we listed we took a good month (all of February) to declutter and prep for sale. Here's a list of some tips, just from personal experience, that I found so handy in the process of getting the home ready, the process of showing, and getting the offer you're hoping for. *I am not a professional realtor, stager, or any thing else.* Just a realist who couldn't have asked for a better journey for home sale.<br />
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<u>Beginning Stages</u><br />
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1. Declutter until it's painful. Pack up anything and everything you do not need for the next 6 months. If you have Holidays coming up, label your boxes well and neatly stack them in your storage area. If you don't have storage, consider renting a storage unit. The result of people being able to 'see' your home by getting rid of extra items will give you the best offers. <br />
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2. Declutter again. Once you think your house is clutter free, walk through again. Is it really? Are there even more things you can live without for a few months? How about the DVD rack? Can you pick out your 10 favorites and pack the rack and the rest of the movies away? What about the extra dishes/cups/small appliances you rarely use? Everyone is looking for more kitchen space. Can you make it look like you have room to spare? Get your kids in on the act. Have them pick their 10 favorite toys and books and pack the rest away. You can always rotate in a few weeks/months if they start getting bored. (This makes it a lot easier to do quick showings if the kids only have a few toys/books to mess the house up with.) Pack up clothes you don't HAVE to have to make your closet look big. You want space inbetween all your clothes to make the closet seem huge. <br />
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3. Depersonalize. This is a huge one on all the 'tips for selling' lists. Get rid of anything that would tip the buyers to who you are. Take down all family pictures, kids artwork, etc. Try to set the scene for someone walking into a vacation resort. If you have a lot of nails in the walls, either pull them and touch up or if the wall seems empty go to a thrift store or Big Lots and buy some inexpensive artwork to hang.<br />
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4. Paint. Touch up all scuff marks, doors, and scratches. If you have a dark colored room (my son's room was a deep ocean blue), repaint it a neutral color. Make your house as gender neutral as possible. <br />
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5. Clean. This is a no-brainer, yet I've seen some pretty nasty houses in the past. Deep clean your home. Wash all the walls whether they need it or not. Wash and wax your vinyl and wood floors. (The waxing will help tremendously on the quick clean days while showing.) Shine your stainless steel. Bleach your tub. Wash your windows and dust your blinds. Get the deep cleaning done before you list. It will make your house seem fresh, and move-in ready. Even if you have rooms that are outdated (or dark storage rooms), getting them clean will make them seem more managable and livable for the next buyers.<br />
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6. Fix anything broken or things that look out of place. If you can spend a couple hundred dollars before you list your home to get maximum return, do it. Spend it on things like paint, updated hardware, a new front door, or a new porch light. Fix the little things that are cheap to do, but noticable. We repainted our ceiling tiles in the basement to make them look fresh. We also bought a comforter set just for showings that didn't have dog drool all over it. <br />
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7. Stage your home. Take time to look at home magazines...what sticks out to you? The tables are set (but not overly), the counters are empty, the living rooms look like you could curl up with a book in comfort and the bedrooms look like hotel rooms. Try to mimic what you see.<br />
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8. Take a couple days to enjoy your updates. We had our house ready a week before we listed it. It was nice to walk around and notice how fresh everything is. <br />
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<u>On the Market</u><br />
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Now your house is being listed. If your realtor doesn't have a professional photographer, find one to take pictures of your home. We used my friend Paul, (<a href="http://www.pbomers.com/">www.pbomers.com</a>) and he made my house look editorial. <br />
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I am a firm believer that pictures are what gets the traffic, traffic is what produces leads, leads are what gets you offers, and well, the rest is history. If you have grainy pictures or if your pictures do not show your house on its best day, then people will skip past your home and go see others.<br />
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We had 14 showings in the first 17 days. We had an offer after 9 days. (It was a joke, but still an offer.) It was HECTIC. Trying to get the kids from school, get the dog, get the lights turned on, making sure everything was in its place. Sometimes, I would have 15 minutes to get the house ready. So, these are some of the tricks I discovered.<br />
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1. Every night before bed, make sure everything is picked up. You can still live in your house, just go to bed with it ready for showing the next day.<br />
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2. Sweep and mop high traffic areas every other day. Whether you have a showing scheduled or not, it makes it a lot more buyer friendly to have the house ready at a moment's notice. I used a wash cloth on a swiffer mop and Murphy's Oil spray and Mop. It gives the floors such a high end shine and the house smells so clean for hours afterwards. <br />
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3. Get the dog out of the house BEFORE you wipe down windows. Send the kids, dog, and whatever else you need to take with you out of the house and do a final spray and wipe of the entry floor, windows, and bathroom mirror before walking out. This ensures no nose prints, dirt nor water marks will be left behind after you leave. <br />
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4. Bribe your children. I gave the kids $1 per week (they are 5 & 7) to keep their rooms clean. I also promised to make their beds and put their laundry away if they took care of their dirty clothes and toys each night. <br />
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5. Pack your trunk with favorites. I carried sidewalk chalk, a football, baseball gloves and a ball, snacks and chain for the dog so we could go somewhere close and just chill out for an hour. This keeps you from having to think of 'where can we go with the dog' and makes it a little easier to get out of the house quickly.<br />
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6. Take the easy way out. Buy the wipes in the can for dusting and counters. Yes, its more expensive and not as good for the environment, but your schedule will thank you for being able to get it done quickly without extra laundry. <br />
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To keep from going nuts remember this: spontanious showings often result in spontanious offers. If someone wants to see your house NOW...they might need to make an offer NOW as well.<br />
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<u>You Have An Offer</u><br />
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Its okay to be scared. This is a huge step. If you haven't seen the offer yet, most likely its not what you were hoping for. Its okay. It never is. 98% of the time, the offer will not make you smile. Our first offer, I wanted to punch the person in the throat. Here's how to get through it:<br />
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1. Have a bottom line in mind. After all is said and done, what do you absolutely have to walk away with? Do you just need the morgage covered? Do you need a certain amount for a down payment on the next place? If it isn't what you were hoping for, can you adjust the amount you need for the next house?<br />
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2. It's okay to say no. This is your decision. Don't let anyone pressure you to accept an offer you are not completely at peace with. <br />
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3. After you counter-offer, keep your house in showing condition. Not only will it be easier to pack up, but there are added benefits. If their financing falls through or they back out, you can continue to show the home for back-up offers. When the inspector comes through and they see a clean home, they won't be as critical in their review.<br />
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4. If you continue to get low offers, be objective...is your house listed competitively or a little high? Do you have to move now or can you let it sit a little longer to pay off more of your mortgage or to let your equity build? <br />
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Just remember to breathe through the process. It can be stressful, or you can roll with the showings and enjoy the feedback. <br />
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Its good to be able to laugh as well. Our house does not have a garage. The running comments on showings were 'Love the house - but we don't want it because there is no garage.' Pretty obvious when you look at the pictures. We could handle it a couple different ways. Get mad and be mean or laugh and joke about 'Hey - did you know we don't have a garage?' <br />
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We decided to be light-hearted. Good luck and hope this helps! Feel free to comment on any tips you have for prepping for sale and moving! (Now that it's sold...we need the moving tips!)<br />
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-32765391170225191322012-03-29T10:08:00.003-04:002012-03-29T10:08:18.677-04:00Content of CharacterIt's all over the news...Trayvon and George....Martin and Zimmerman...Race Issues...Black Panthers...Spike Lee...<br />
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Let me give you MY bottom line and then I'll back up and tell you why.<br />
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George Zimmerman needs to at least be tried. Could this have been a tragic mistake? Yeah - but George brought it on himself. <br />
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Did you hear me?</div>
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Trayvon would still be alive today if ol' Georgie didn't play cops and robbers. So what if he was the neighborhood watchman. So what if he tutored 'young african american' kids. That made him even more responsible. Remember spiderman? 'With great power comes great responsibility.' George Zimmerman had even more responsibility to not make a harsh judgment call. He should have been the last one to judge 'a black kid in a hoodie' since he tutored them and probably has had conversations with these kids about how they feel being racially profiled. </div>
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You know what else? Too bad if he did have a broken nose and a gash in his head. This 17 year old boy was being followed by a dude he didn't know. If someone approached me in a dark alley on a rainy night, flight or fight would kick in for me too. Remember Stranger Danger? I hope he did get hurt by Trayvon. If someone approached me, I'd probably do some damage too! I walk downtown everyday and I am just waiting for a person to try and grab me. That ain't gonna fly far. They'll be hurting a lot more than me. Unless they take the easy way out like Mr. Zimmerman. Easy to be a tough guy when your the one with the gun. I bet those skittles were going to leave some real damage, huh? </div>
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So you have an option...you can start hating me now or wait until the end of this post. </div>
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I have seen some things in the news lately that have made me sick to my stomach. Like, seriously ill, I want to throw up or at least punch someone. </div>
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First of all - let me put THIS rumor to rest:</div>
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Have you seen this pic floating around? Yeah - IT'S NOT TRAYVON. </div>
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Now that that's been handled...let me tell you about my background.</div>
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I grew up in a school that had a wonderful mix of ethnicities. Did I realize it growing up? Not in the least. As a kid, I was oblivious to the fact that someone was supposedly 'different' than me because of their skin tone. I can't imagine having gone to a school that was any different. In fact, my parent's moved out of district my junior year and I still chose to stay at Godwin. </div>
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I remember one year the school brought in a traveling drama group to point out the differences in each other and how we should all get along. I remember walking out of the school auditorium in a daze because until that moment, I hadn't noticed skin color. I remember I sat next to my friend Latrice and after it was done I looked over at her and said, 'Whoa! You're black! When did that happen?!' I never realized my friends were of any different background than me. I only knew we all lived in the Godwin district, grew up together and the only differences we had were some lived with their grandparents and we played different sports.</div>
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It never dawned on me that most of our football team was 'black' because it was MY football team. We were blue and gold, the fighting Wolverines.</div>
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It never dawned on me the kids in the ESL class were different than me. They just grew up in a different country and hadn't learned English completely yet. </div>
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It never dawned on me the boys I had crushes on I 'probably shouldn't date'. People would look down on us because our skin color was different. You know what I say? SCREW THEM. </div>
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And I look at the world now and think...why are we still dealing with this?! Why is the color of our skin still an issue?! Why hasn't Martin Luther King, Jr's dream come true yet?!</div>
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“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.</div>
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I used to be embarrassed to say I went to Godwin...but now that I'm older, I can't be more proud to come from a school where race wasn't an issue. If it was, I had no clue, because I considered everyone a friend. </div>
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I read this blog post today and am still in shock: <a href="http://deborah-bryan.com/2012/03/28/our-baby-is-going-to-experience-racism-someday/">Our Baby is Going to Experience Racism Someday</a></div>
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WHY?!</div>
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And what about The Hunger Games racial issues flying around. I haven't read the book or seen the movie so I'll let Jen explain the angst surrounding that whole stupid issue: <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/03/hunger-games-racists-who-cant-read.html">People who can't read</a></div>
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I know I'm just 'some white chick' who doesn't have a clue about what people really face. But I do. Just because I haven't experienced it first hand, I've seen it. </div>
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And it breaks my heart.</div>
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I found this video a couple weeks back and I thought it was such a great illustration for kids to learn the difference between races. You want to know what it is? Watch this video.</div>
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<a href="http://www.answersingenesis.org/kids/videos">Click this link - then 'The Origin of Races'</a></div>
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This is what we should be teaching our kids about the differences in each other. The other differences should solely rely on Dr. King's dream - Judge the content of character. Of each individual's character. This will eliminate racial profiling. </div>
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Please people...stop looking at people on the outside. Get to know them first and then make a judgment call based on character. </div>
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And one final note: If you're told to step off by dispatch...step off and let the real law handle it.</div>
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<br /></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-20165265361749310562012-03-27T12:36:00.000-04:002012-03-27T12:36:32.184-04:00Stranger DangerDo your kids know the phrase Stranger Danger?<br />
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I've been working actively with my kids on this. I do not want my kids to be so innocent and naive that they fall prey to an abductor. <br />
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Last night we had quite a scare when a deputy from our county sheriff's department called. She stated that my kids had been left alone in the vehicle outside the grocery store by their dad. Immediately I started panicking...<br />
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Where are my kids?<br />
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Did someone take them?</div>
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Are they alright?</div>
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Did they remember stranger danger?</div>
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They were safe, luckily and by the time the sheriff arrived, they had already been scooted out of there by their dad. </div>
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But still...</div>
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As parents not only do we have the responsibility to make our kids aware of their surroundings, not so they are scared, but that they notice things. Things that may be out of place, things that might not seem right to them. People acting a little weird (well...weirder than me.) But we also have the responsibility to protect our kids. </div>
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I don't care if you are only in a store for two minutes. That's one minute and 30 seconds more than someone needs to break a window, unlock the door, pull your kids out and take off in another vehicle. You can teach your kids to be as observant as a private eye, but that doesn't mean they are immune to being taken or hurt.</div>
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Immediately I began to think of all the what if's:</div>
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What if....</div>
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another car did a hit in run?</div>
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there was a shooting in the parking lot?</div>
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the dog got hostile towards someone and took it out on the kids?</div>
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one of them needed to go to the bathroom, so got out, went into the store (or got hit on the way into the store?)</div>
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I could literally sit here all day and write what-ifs. We as parents need to be just a diligent at protecting our children as we are about teaching them about strangers.</div>
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On a side note, not all stranger-danger is related to strangers...it could be as simple as your child wandering away in the store or in the woods or as complex as a relative or friend that has ill-intent for your child. Be aware. </div>
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This post isn't meant to scare you. I know I was scared last night. Who wouldn't be getting a call from a sheriff 'regarding your children being left alone', but it was a good reminder to be attentive to my surroundings rather than my to-do list. </div>
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For tips on child safety here are a few resources that I found today:</div>
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<a href="http://www.missingkids.com/missingkids/servlet/PageServlet?LanguageCountry=en_US&PageId=200">National Center for Missing and Exploited Children</a>
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<a href="http://www.kidpower.org/child-kidnapping.html">KidPower</a>
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<a href="http://www.pollyklaas.org/safe/talk-to-strangers.html?gclid=CPz7jre_h68CFYuK4AodvUXnAQ">Polly Klaas Foundation</a>
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Here's a link to order a Child-ID kit for free:</div>
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<a href="https://secure.pollyklaasaction.org/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=142">Free Child ID kit</a>
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On a final note...</div>
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Teach your children that its okay to scream as loud as possible, punch, bite, kick, poke the eyes, the ears, the nose, anything to cause enough pain for the abductor to drop your child so they can run away. </div>
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-45413912207848840022012-03-26T10:13:00.001-04:002012-03-26T10:13:56.265-04:00On the Road Again...This morning as I stepped on the scale, I came to a new realization...<br />
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I sabotage my weight on purpose. Not 'on purpose' like Kirstie Alley, on purpose, but I get in these moods where I just don't care how I look...until I do. You know what I'm saying?<br />
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I get down to the weight I want (or at least I'm close) and I think SUCCESS!!! I feel invincible, ready to tackle the world, nothing can get me down except all the crap I shove into my body. Then I start thinking I still have my 15 year old body that can go to the gas station at lunch and grab a sleeve of Oreos and a Slurpee and keep weighing 114! <br />
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It's not until I can't button my dress pants again that it dawns on me...oh yeah!...I don't have a metabolism anymore. DER-DER-DER. My 31-year-old-two-babies-later body is A LOT different than my high-school-I-have-not-had-babies-or-discovered-the-true-power-of-hormones body.<br />
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I wish I could go back and tell my high school self to get out of the habit of fast food. My first real struggle came my senior year, dating the big football linebacker and matching his diet, bite for bite. I went from 114 pounds to 152 pounds in the course of a year! <br />
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After a nasty break-up (mostly on my end), I focused all my attention on weight-lifting and running, even taking the morning weight training class with the entire GVSU football team, headed by Coach Kelly. He would joke about me coming to practice to show the guys how to perfect good form in a Clean. In 5 months I dropped back down to 118. <br />
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Then I met a guy, got married and a 2 years later, baby #1 was on the way. At this point, I would also like to go back and talk to my 23 year old self and say 'having a baby is not permission to eat everything you see and crave.'<br />
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I managed to gain a whopping 48 pounds with that baby. I had about 4 chins. Surprisingly, I didn't get gestational diabetes. Looking back, I have NO IDEA how I avoided that when my diet consisted of (again) Oreos, ice cream (every night), potato chips and Taco Bell. Not surprisingly, baby #1 is my junk food child. He wants chips for every meal and (if I let him) would eat his entire stash of holiday candy in one sitting. Because of that, I'm stingy at Christmas and Easter. They get just a couple candy items, and the rest is toys, books, games, etc.<br />
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After baby #1 was born, I only lost about 20 pounds and then got stuck. When baby #2 came along (SURPRISE!), I resolved to eat healthy and BANNED ice cream from the pregnancy diet. I had a horrible pregnancy with her and had morning sickness almost the entire 9 months. I only gained 15 pounds with her. She happens to be my fruit and veggie lover and hates chocolate. (Did you hear me? She HATES chocolate...Sometimes I wonder if she's really my kid!)<br />
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I really resolved to lose weight after her. Again, I lost 20 pounds after pregnancy, but that left 23 pounds to lose to get back to pre-baby weight. I joined Curves (what a joke!) and thought that would help. With postpartum, outside factors affecting my marriage, and really low self-esteem and self-image issues, I started gaining weight. I ended up putting on another 8 pounds. My 5'3" frame was now hovering just under 150, a place in college I promised myself I would never return.<br />
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My marriage failed, I moved back in with my parents, with two kids in tow. Grief does amazingly wonderful things to your body. You forget to eat; you almost forget how to breathe. I got down to 124 within about 3 months. It was a struggle to remember how to brush my hair, my teeth, dress my kids, change a diaper. I mastered the art of crying myself to sleep and did so often.<br />
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When I finally surfaced from the divorce process and got back on my feet, I took a good look in the mirror. I realized, that although I looked good, I was very unhealthy. My new body shape looked sickly. So a new goal was put in place. I needed to be an athletic build 127. <br />
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I found relief in running. I could pray, have time alone and get the exercise I needed while hitting the pavement everyday. Whatever was stressing me, could be handled in each mile and at the end of my runs I had a new outlook on life. <br />
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Then hubs entered the scene 2 1/2 years ago... with a whirlwind romance and marriage I forgot to workout. Motorcycle rides to the shore were more fun. My weight slowly crept up and I again, weighed 145 by the wedding date.<br />
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I hated myself for letting it happen. I hated that I didn't pay attention to what was going in. I hated that I lost myself again. I don't blame the hubs. This time it was all on me. I know better. I know my body and what works and what doesn't.<br />
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I began working on myself again last March. Slowly, (my body doesn't bounce back as fast anymore) I started dropping the weight. It wasn't so much the weight I was concerned about since I was lifting heavy weights as well, it was the inches I wanted to lose. I have a size 4 pants that I want to get back into. <br />
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Then life got in the way again. I managed to drop down to 135 only to gain 10 pounds back since February. I was on the right track and starting to look shapely again. I managed to get my waist back to 28 inches! I was almost there. Then we decided to put the house on the market. <br />
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It took all my attention. Cleaning, sorting, purging, then showing after showing. Our monthly fees at the Y might as well be donations for the lack of time I've spent there. In 2 months, not only did I put on 10 pounds, I gained 6 inches in my stomach. SIX FREAKING INCHES!!! I cried because my Spanx no longer fit, and if they didn't fit then my dress pants FOR SURE didn't fit. I had to throw the Spanx away and switch over to dresses. <br />
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Two weeks ago, I started again. Started first with the eating process and yoga, to get my flexibility going again. Then 3 days later, started my 3 miles runs. In two weeks, I've lost 4 inches on my waist and 2 pounds. <br />
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And I'm going to keep going, because not only do I need the exercise, I need my time alone to talk with and listen to God. <br />
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I'm happy to report that I am wearing dress pants today (with a belt!) A big help in my weight loss is seeing what I put in my mouth every day. I'm tracking everything on <a href="http://www.myfitnesspal.com/">My Fitness Pal </a>. If you want to join me (its free!) my screen name is Sarahjean222. I leave my food and exercise diaries open so that my friends can see what I'm eating and doing and call me out when I'm starting to slip. Plus I can look back and see what meals worked and were low calorie. The most important part of tracking food is being brutally honest about portion sizes and calories. <br />
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Hopefully now that I have realized that I am a self-sabotager (new word), I can now be aware of lifestyle changes that may cause me to slack off. Its a new day and its time to get on the road again. <br />
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I'll leave you with a video that we saw in church yesterday. It had so many touch points for me for my relationship with Jesus (run the good race) and physically - finish strong, no matter how many times you fail!<br />
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-12737718708528814572012-03-24T20:47:00.000-04:002012-03-24T20:54:34.394-04:00Running is for the dogs.The pup and I ran 3.5 miles tonight. She is such a good girl running next to me, keeping my morale and pace up. Tonight we made it in 32:48. We survived two dog attacks (one looked a wolf) and almost getting ran down by a Ford Escape. <br />
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Pretty exciting stuff...<br />
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if you are into that kind of thing.</div>
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There are pros and cons to running with the pup.</div>
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On the upside, her pace stays constant, so when we get to hills she pushes (or rather pulls) me to keep my pace up. The downside is I feel like I'm going to DIE when I finally reach the top. (Where did all the oxygen go?!)</div>
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Another perk is she keeps me entertained/distracted. Let's face it...running can be boring. This is why I hated track and loved cross country. I am not a sprinter, but running around the track 12 times was an absolute BORE. With the dog, I can focus on what she's doing rather than the constant thump, thump, thump of my feet. </div>
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But the downside of the dog is she loves birds...Robins in particular, who seem to have an understanding that she loves them. These birds fly up ahead 100 feet and wait until Zoe gets 10 feet from it just to fly up ahead again. They seem to enjoy this little game more than I do. </div>
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While this keeps our pace going, I also have to keep a tight hold on her leash, which sometimes gives me shoulder cramps while trying to keep her from making the bird pillow stuffing. </div>
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I can hear you: Why don't you leave the dog home? You'd get a better run and not have a shoulder ache at the end. </div>
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Well, I'll tell you. When I get back from a run without the pup. A 45 pound mass of pissed-off pup charges at me and pushes me into a corner, giving me the what-for for not taking her. So...the dog comes. And will continue to come for as long as <strike> she</strike> I can keep up. </div>
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Or else, I will have to face this look every day:</div>
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And who can say no to that pouty lip?!</div>
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</div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-19699205679266861012012-03-24T15:33:00.000-04:002012-03-24T20:50:13.300-04:00Good enough for who it is for...Good enough for who it's for.<br />
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I used that phrase almost everyday.<br />
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The only problem is...<br />
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I wish I actually felt that way sometimes!</div>
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We are in the middle of trying to sell our home. It has been on the market for 24 days. We have had one open house, 15 private showings, 3 of them being repeat visits and an offer that I will get too angry discussing to even begin. </div>
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We have our house listed for a modest $104,900. Peanuts in East and West Coast markets, decent for the amount of updating I did on this house as well as the market we're in. </div>
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I have spent countless hours on my hands and knees mopping and waxing. Used many paper towels for washing and rewashing windows. Gone through so much cleaner, you'd think we were at a hospital. </div>
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I wish I could shrug and say, eh - it's good enough, but everytime I turn around I see something else that needs to be touched up, cleaned better, repainted...</div>
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...when actually, it really doesn't.</div>
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The hubs teases me because I don't really care about a clean house, when in reality, its not that I don't care, its that if I start to clean it, I get OCD with keeping it clean. It has to be spotless 24/7. While I'm cooking, I will stop and wipe counters, wash floors, dust, and whatever else I see that needs to be done in the vicinity of the stove. I AM A FREAK.</div>
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So when the realtor's partner pointed out that a ceiling tile in the basement was water stained and I should probably do something about it...I sighed. </div>
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It's not that I didn't want to or hadn't tried. It's just that I knew me, and I knew...this was going to become an all day project. What I didn't know was the people before had no problem saying:</div>
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GOOD ENOUGH FOR WHO IT IS FOR.</div>
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Instead of fixing a leak like they should have, they threw it together, called it good enough, and put a pie pan up there to catch the water drips. I however didn't know that until the day I wanted to fix the janky water-stained tile, went to take it down and got a face full of 3 year old water and mold. After what I have been through last week, I'd like to find the people that sold this house to me and clunk their heads together.</div>
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Its not bad enough that their parents smoked in this house for 40 years before I bought it. Somehow they were able to hide the smoke smell for the showings. I don't know how, but they did. As soon as I moved in I smelled it. I didn't know just how bad it was until I took a closer look. The cabinets were coated in tar, but you couldn't tell because they were honey oak stain. The vents were filled with brown, caked dust. So bad, that the people I hired to clean them wouldn't do the sanitation spray because it would only melt into a gooey mess at the bottom of my vents. So bad that the bathroom ceiling fan I took down to clean was actually chrome instead of the brass I thought it was! <br />
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The house still has the smell of smoke every once and a while, and it makes me realize I don't ever want to use that phrase again. NOTHING is good enough for who it's for. Everything should be better than the person you are offering it to, because no one should be sold short. <br />
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I don't understand how anyone can feel good about selling a place full of lies. Of course I wouldn't have bought the house if I known about the smoking. Why would anyone want to subject their kids to that? We've sealed every inch of these walls with primer and paint. We sanded down the cupbards and painted them. I could not, in good conscience try to sell this house with issues like that. I couldn't possibly sell the house with leaks or other problems and just 'cross my fingers' hoping the buyers wouldn't find out. <br />
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It's time to say: we can do a little more - or - It's okay if it takes a little longer to get it right. Because I don't want to be treated as if I don't matter. Really, no one does. Whether a person deserves it or not, they are getting my best...from my attention, to my support, as well as this house. The next people who get this house will sigh in relief because I will not leave anything done halfway. I want to make sure when I do a job, its done well, done right, and done to my expectations. <br />
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It's time as a society to step it up too. It's not about us, it's about others. When we learn to give our best to others, other will give us their best. And even if we don't, it's always good to remember:<br />
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</div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-34744468411056451102012-03-23T09:46:00.000-04:002012-03-23T09:46:00.727-04:00Happy days are here again!So my snarky personality has gotten really carried away with all the stress triggers in my life right now. Who knew that having so many things going on at once would make someone this strung out and cranky?! When my friend Robert told me I was out of line to be weirded out <a href="http://takens-tidbits.blogspot.com/2012/03/yes-we-see-your-kid-hes-not-that.html">this kid's family</a>, I knew I needed to look into something. I'm not normally that judgmental. <br />
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I was getting sick of myself. I figured if I was sick of me, how must everyone else feel?! So I went in search of a way to fix me.<br />
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Hearing all the horror stories of anti-depressants, I didn't even want to attempt to go on them. My luck I would have every symptom you could possibly have with them, whether real or imagined! I didn't want to put on 10 pounds, sleep all day, be in zombie mode, etc. I do that enough without prescription drugs! So I went in search of a natural remedy. I studied articles, read through all the new age health crap for something that I could find credible and believable. <br />
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Well, this is what I found to be the most realistic option for me.<br />
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Rhodiola Rosea </div>
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AKA Artic Root</div>
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Here's a link to the first article I read on this stuff: <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/health/2012/03/07/rhodiola-rosea-natures-anti-depressant/">Rhodiola Rosea: Nature's Anti-Depressant</a></div>
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It got me really excited, but I'm a researcher by nature and I needed to know if this stuff really worked for the general population. I then went to each company's supplement site and read the reviews on this stuff. My analysis? Guys don't feel a difference: girls do. Well, that's good news, cause, like, I'm totally a girl! (I went to mega 80's last week - must still be in my system)</div>
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Anyway...</div>
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So I went to my favorite pharmacy - Meijer - and guess what... They don't carry this stuff in a stand-alone supplement. </div>
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But I did find this: </div>
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<a href="http://www.drugstore.com/applied-nutrition-healthy-brain-all-day-focus-tablets/qxp325735?catid=183274&fromsrch=brain">You can buy it here...(or at Meijer)</a></div>
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Here's what it claims:</div>
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<strong>Healthy Brain All-Day Focus</strong></div>
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Healthy Brain All-Day Focus is unlike any other product on the market. This unique combination of brain-boosting nutrients is specially formulated to provide benefits in three specific areas:</div>
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<li>Short-Term: sharpens your mind for enhanced focus and concentration right away.*</li>
<li>Long-Term: improved memory and information retention, while supplying powerful brain antioxidants to keep you at your best as you age.*</li>
<li>Plus: supports healthy brain chemistry to promote a positive mood throughout the day.*</li>
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Now I'm a skeptic. I always expect the worse, because its normally what happens. I figured this would be a waste of money and I wouldn't feel a difference, just like everything else I've tried in the past for weight loss, sleeping, weight lifting, endurance, PMSing, etc. </div>
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But because I like to live on the edge, I bought it. It has 3% extract of the Artic Root in it, which is the percentage the stand-alone supplements had. I figured the other stuff was just bonus vitamins.</div>
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No kidding...I wanted to blog on this stuff the first day. It has been a game changer for me. I am no longer Negative Nancy. </div>
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I used to say things like this: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfp6aLxKm47Yu9IO4m9tcC3OllraqeNRWZgzmi9cqREEjM62zmnfJhyphenhyphene_763BK5k4aElOpl8DtrzEUpLibg-hSDfiyddoIM8tk50ZE__O1NBqslZisD-eW36KHt-Vm5Nms07HPK3Aoo4d/s1600/sarcasm.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfp6aLxKm47Yu9IO4m9tcC3OllraqeNRWZgzmi9cqREEjM62zmnfJhyphenhyphene_763BK5k4aElOpl8DtrzEUpLibg-hSDfiyddoIM8tk50ZE__O1NBqslZisD-eW36KHt-Vm5Nms07HPK3Aoo4d/s320/sarcasm.bmp" width="281" /></a></div>
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And mean it. Really, I was no longer passive aggressive...just aggressive.</div>
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Now i say things like this:</div>
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And just giggle.</div>
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hee. hee.</div>
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Not only has my mood changed. Stress triggers are almost non-existent. I'm not emotionally eating anymore. I'm not making my children run for cover by stomping around the house like Godzilla just moved in. I'm actually quite pleasant to be around now! (Poor hubs and the kids had no idea what had hit them.)</div>
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Beyond the mood change, I can actually focus at work. Am I still making mistakes? You betcha ya! But its more because of the type of work (mind-numbing boredom) than the amount. I'm not getting bogged down by callers who are rude and worrying about people who are trying to ruin my day. I'm back to being able to let go and not take it personally. Which is good when you work in Bankruptcy. Money, or the lack of it, does strange things to people and being the calm voice of reason on the other end of the line is of utmost importance when talking to some people! </div>
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Is this pill a miracle worker? For me, yes...I didn't take it yesterday on purpose just to see if I'd notice a difference. I didn't feel like it 'wore off'. You know when you take some pills and then forget and you can instantly tell you forgot to take it? Yeah...none of that business here. </div>
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Before I started taking this, I felt weighed down. I took on every worry and was afraid to stop and have fun or live life. I finally feel like it's okay to laugh again. It's okay to enjoy life. It's okay to have fun. </div>
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I finally know what my friend Cat means by: <a href="http://catthepainter.blogspot.com/2012/02/choices.html">Live to Love, Love to Live. </a></div>
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Have a spectacular day. You deserve it! </div>
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<br /></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-69722124791588005662012-03-20T13:49:00.001-04:002012-03-21T08:44:31.718-04:00NOT grandparents day...No, today isn't grandparents day, but I feel the need to toot the grandparent horn. When I was divorced, I worried about my kids going back and forth and essentially having 2 separate families. The kids and I lived with my parents while I was getting my feet back on the ground and saving money for a home. I am so grateful for this time, not only because we had stability and a familiar place while we went through this time of adjustment, but because my kids got to know their grandma and grandpa so well. <br />
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Did I have times where we played, 'who's the real mom?' Of course! I have slowly learned that it sometimes takes a village to raise my monkeys. It takes 6 pairs of eyes to make sure they are following rules, staying on track, etc. <br />
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Now that I'm re-married, I can't tell you how special it is that the kids have another set of grandparents who spoil them relentlessly. Grandpas who take them for lawn mower rides, grandmas who sugar them up. Grandparents that, with enough notice, take the kids overnight with no questions asked and plan a whole night of activities full of fun that I know my kids will remember for the rest of their lives, just like I remember my awesome visits to the farm and the lake.<br />
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I can't imagine not having grandparents and it makes my heart ache for kids who's grandparents have passed away or who are kept intentionally (or out of sheer laziness) from knowing their grandpas and grandmas. <br />
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Speaking of that...Who does that?! Seriously? Who keeps their kids from experiencing the excitement of going to grandmas house or the fun of waiting in the window for grandma and grandpa to show up? Shoot! Even I still get excited FOR my kids when I know grandma and grandpa are coming for a visit! It is so fun to watch them get all hyped up, dancing in the window, running out of the house for a big hug (or in the girls case, getting excited just to hide from them when they do show up!)<br />
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AND PARTIES!!!!! I wouldn't even be able to have birthday parties without the grandparents making it fun! It is the one time of year, both sides of the family get together. Now, my family has never really celebrated birthdays for the kids of the next generation, but the hubs side has grandmas, grandpas, aunts (to-be) uncles and even dog-cousins! I would feel terrible having this big shindig for my kids and not letting my parents join in on the fun!<br />
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Anyway...I'll leave you with some pics of the kiddos and their b-day celebrations! Happy un-birthday to you!<br />
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P.S. Click <a href="http://takens-tidbits.blogspot.com/2011/03/tradition-continues-on.html">HERE</a> for the blog post on fun on the farm and at the lake.<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/AVvXsEjMOswBQKhb3WJ3N957H3MVv4vyCz-fEzPu5iTELnyYJ9PI5aHyGoTFtj8lmmctxf06KuMqB_td3Zsf5A71qr1eAC-A4B8zdo8VHohRhLHhRn-xwTCfBhWILjsUXQVbENLOFTBZ9FeunGYN/s1600/Johnny-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOswBQKhb3WJ3N957H3MVv4vyCz-fEzPu5iTELnyYJ9PI5aHyGoTFtj8lmmctxf06KuMqB_td3Zsf5A71qr1eAC-A4B8zdo8VHohRhLHhRn-xwTCfBhWILjsUXQVbENLOFTBZ9FeunGYN/s320/Johnny-2.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boy at 2 years old. <br />
We had a party at church with the family and <br />
celebrated with a pinata and ice cream. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxs2jkd18XYxEG6lROG610NveJ2DzZD1vvz29IC8bePmcmctzIPuDeejq1M81YJKT7entJbG9y1HFf2nAH7hk6JtWOG8p3_JVNYustyuZ_a7VczYHrTDTreJunCMoh5Btg_f6L8hqbdEw/s1600/Johnny-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxs2jkd18XYxEG6lROG610NveJ2DzZD1vvz29IC8bePmcmctzIPuDeejq1M81YJKT7entJbG9y1HFf2nAH7hk6JtWOG8p3_JVNYustyuZ_a7VczYHrTDTreJunCMoh5Btg_f6L8hqbdEw/s320/Johnny-5.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boy at 5. All about spiderman. This is at my parents. <br />
We made homemade pizza! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBfQAABe04Hd0Q1CHZjEOTEqLOHoJtsF0_rwX7reyAU3QxG24RMizl7wruycWuVr-lcAvsT_sUjizs_1NcLBgcJSqepLtDIBObWDt1CqXY4fkfqdKcpxGTb1jt98rGTuKm5hpM2xcxXgtx/s1600/Johnny+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBfQAABe04Hd0Q1CHZjEOTEqLOHoJtsF0_rwX7reyAU3QxG24RMizl7wruycWuVr-lcAvsT_sUjizs_1NcLBgcJSqepLtDIBObWDt1CqXY4fkfqdKcpxGTb1jt98rGTuKm5hpM2xcxXgtx/s320/Johnny+6.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boy is 6! as you can see by his hands. <br />
We went to an apple orchard, picked out pumpkins (fall birthdays!) <br />
and celebrated at the in-laws with Costco cake! YUM!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYouagqsjQK_dmm0Zs4yQEUQWeqyRHGCTPy6MtPUgkHmVKIgEJAK9EGvw9pqF4GVGfSqZrOfokhVQJqpTNGQOpM7hKIZK8O_bL96n6mzm2hODKyp42nXn6rHWHuAg6ZUmRX6Y5C3-ylXwH/s1600/emm-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYouagqsjQK_dmm0Zs4yQEUQWeqyRHGCTPy6MtPUgkHmVKIgEJAK9EGvw9pqF4GVGfSqZrOfokhVQJqpTNGQOpM7hKIZK8O_bL96n6mzm2hODKyp42nXn6rHWHuAg6ZUmRX6Y5C3-ylXwH/s320/emm-2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the girl at 2! We went to the Battle Creek zoo for her birthday. <br />
This is in my parent's backyard after we returned. <br />
The best memory is when she started crying because a fly landed on her hotdog. <br />
She thought it was going to eat it all and she wouldn't have any left. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSO7JvfNZgq7bUx67f6ueZrAap3uK-p2BBTMWqU41qgJYFEYwagMAhRoZE3l6sLdT2c46gTSq7PI0bdarTvLDTOLuK2XSmlz5-O-47Ap2f1dxdy8cwc092sk-03e57WuP0BAsYOk09gJxo/s1600/emma-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSO7JvfNZgq7bUx67f6ueZrAap3uK-p2BBTMWqU41qgJYFEYwagMAhRoZE3l6sLdT2c46gTSq7PI0bdarTvLDTOLuK2XSmlz5-O-47Ap2f1dxdy8cwc092sk-03e57WuP0BAsYOk09gJxo/s320/emma-4.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girl at 4 and oh-so-girly! She wanted all dress up items. <br />
This is at our house. (my mom and the boy in the back!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLmuZrH3aSRuqmRUKScHKOUIMendCEUEO0jFYRc-bdle0qjGqe5o8leZeUXTbY7KChMp3ioWABWZjE8y9pNYSqzaV0XV0xhCKrNbBJYihNWe0qJowtQ2bwGLNvYd-bROAv3odzH9NfVKB/s1600/emma-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLmuZrH3aSRuqmRUKScHKOUIMendCEUEO0jFYRc-bdle0qjGqe5o8leZeUXTbY7KChMp3ioWABWZjE8y9pNYSqzaV0XV0xhCKrNbBJYihNWe0qJowtQ2bwGLNvYd-bROAv3odzH9NfVKB/s320/emma-5.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girl at age 5. <br />
We did a luau theme in the back yard. (Spring birthday!) <br />
This was ALOT of fun and now the girl wants <br />
kabobs at least once a week. </td></tr>
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Feel free to add your memories or those your parents create for your kids as grandparents in the comment section below! Thank you, Lord, for grandparents!<br />
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-43855470851832323072012-02-13T12:43:00.000-05:002012-02-13T12:43:00.394-05:00It was the best of times...it was the worst of times.<br />
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My weekend fast food experiences.</div>
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I am a fast food junkie...Go ahead...I'll give you three lines to tell me how awful fast food is for me. How I'm on the road to high cholesterol, stomach fat, and way too much sodium intake: Ready.....Go:</div>
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Now if you're done, I'll go ahead and tell you about my new favorite yummy goodness.</div>
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You'll never guess where you can get it at:</div>
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Burger King.</div>
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I know! I thought the BK was stuck in the 80's too! But they've finally re-invented one of their products and I am HOOKED.</div>
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Have you tried this yet? </div>
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Its BK's new ice cream. </div>
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Watch out McD's because the BK moved in with this delicious treat. It is so creamy, smooth and just plain out of this world experience, the hubs might actually get jealous at the noises I make when I eat it. </div>
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It is so good, that when I drove past the student walkway to GVSU while eating this heaven in a cup (get it in a cone if you can...you get more), I actually envisioned hitting a student, pulling over to the side with the student underneath my Edge and finishing this cup of ecstasy before getting out to see if they are OK. </div>
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Yeah - it's that good. </div>
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And its only $1 .</div>
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I believe I hear angels singing.</div>
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This was THE BEST move that Burger King could make to attract dessert junkies like me. Because their burgers and fries suck. (Yes, I know they have new ones and I stand by my opinion of suckiness.)</div>
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Everything else about BK from their atmosphere to their menu and the coupons are sub-par. But when I get the craving for ice cream, this is my go-to place. And I will eat their suckiness just to get the ice cream and not have to make a second trip to a different restaurant. And their employees, although a little strange in appearance, are nice people. They get the award for being down-to-earth and not fake. Congratulations.</div>
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However....I did mention it was the worse of times...</div>
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And by that, I mean McDonalds fake perkiness can suck an egg. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7JfdvvBxOnhewYxiCd8w7EszAatcgxmRe0h-C6BRYZLMPN-m0OOPsPvrv86hBEsGaDsDwe0RimYx2RDXN54tuXWNjQ2OZve9EoanbxUb7QXhDnDyMPwQSSwoWZLOQ6aPnvqucJs1GNK7/s1600/perky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7JfdvvBxOnhewYxiCd8w7EszAatcgxmRe0h-C6BRYZLMPN-m0OOPsPvrv86hBEsGaDsDwe0RimYx2RDXN54tuXWNjQ2OZve9EoanbxUb7QXhDnDyMPwQSSwoWZLOQ6aPnvqucJs1GNK7/s320/perky.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I especially don't do perky before my coffee that I'm trying to get from you.</div>
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The hubs and I pulled up to the speaker to order. </div>
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Welcome to McDonalds! What can I get for you?</div>
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The hubs ordered the first meal and out of polite etiquette, (and because everyone knows if you order too fast for fast food employees, they make you repeat the whole thing three times anyway) he paused to give her time to enter the meal into the computer.</div>
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Then she says, anything else? </div>
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Which is fine! It's good to ask if you'd like anything else! You never know if the person is done or just not sure! Thank you for asking the first time!</div>
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BUT....</div>
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Don't ask so quickly that you start asking over top of what we are ordering. This chick seriously gave us the total after each menu item. Like we were trying to stay under a certain amount. </div>
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OK! Your total is $6.02. Anything else? Your total is $9.38. Anything else? Your total is $11.24. Anything else? Oh yeah. I forgot to ask for a side of shut the hell up so I can finish my order.</div>
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The hubs, who HATES ordering at a speaker without a screen adds two of the $1 sandwiches to the list and adds...and that's it. (We were buying for 6 people...don't judge.) She says OK - your total is $15.92, pull around to the first window. So we do. </div>
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I grab the receipt from hubs because she spent more time interrupting and asking 'anything else' in such a perky way, (it reminded me of the Office Space receptionist. 'Just a moment') I thought for sure she'd miss something.</div>
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Sure enough - perky Peggy forgot to add on the two sandwiches. So we pull to the next window. </div>
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Hubs and I get in a fight at this point over whether he should knock on the window and tell her or wait til she brings the food. He said if we knock it gives them time to charge us, but if we wait, then its their error. I said if we wait, they're still going to charge us AND we'll have to wait longer for them to make the sandwiches. </div>
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He knocked on the window.</div>
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So hubs said, you forgot to add the two sandwiches. </div>
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She replies, they're on there. There just part of the meal.</div>
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He retorts, no, they are the extra dollar menu sandwich. </div>
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She replies, anything else?</div>
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At this point, the hubs puts his hand on my knee. I don't know whether it was to keep himself calm or to hold me back from jumping through the drive through window and showing her what else.</div>
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He said, nope, nothing else...Just what we ACTUALLY ordered.</div>
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Seriously? So proud of his snarky comment at that point.</div>
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As usual he handled it much better than I did. I probably would have asked 'Anything else?' when she handed me the bag of food. </div>
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I'm guessing perky Peggy is a relative of <a href="http://www.takens-tidbits.blogspot.com/2012/01/loud-talkers-go-home.html">Kimmy</a>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZM_Bv2g27arW9i_oGvVRTqRl_Bjs38_e1bRxxnWeOYeYs98rPm1Qvr3xaePT4_WR-4dYSsX5sPVxCadx6zm0C3ifWiD8bSmtO4yZYYXMaRablwZk7KtBySzWZb76TZW9WHuNw8dXxxUU/s1600/loud+mouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZM_Bv2g27arW9i_oGvVRTqRl_Bjs38_e1bRxxnWeOYeYs98rPm1Qvr3xaePT4_WR-4dYSsX5sPVxCadx6zm0C3ifWiD8bSmtO4yZYYXMaRablwZk7KtBySzWZb76TZW9WHuNw8dXxxUU/s320/loud+mouth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-61346022290726307172012-02-09T09:14:00.001-05:002012-02-09T09:54:11.419-05:00Hey you guys!You've heard me talk about the hubs before, but I'm not sure if you really 'know' the hubs. You see, the hubs is a whole different character than anyone I've ever met. I mean this in the best and worst of ways. <br />
This is the hubs:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-TriLabSuWjzo1Vx-wW4vyL7Cs8jD88L4E7yDh96atwKdjYdfhk7dNP_SDyrIUsOVENIrw0TTxt0CSYYYIu_esgK8VmBqlBANxpGHus2kcsV4TBoNphAPvQh8RgUEpss7jdxcBJOk_0O/s1600/normal1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-TriLabSuWjzo1Vx-wW4vyL7Cs8jD88L4E7yDh96atwKdjYdfhk7dNP_SDyrIUsOVENIrw0TTxt0CSYYYIu_esgK8VmBqlBANxpGHus2kcsV4TBoNphAPvQh8RgUEpss7jdxcBJOk_0O/s320/normal1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Or at least that was the hubs 2 years ago when I met him. Clean cut. Handsome. Serious. You can tell he's a little rebellious, but still has a good heart. (I stalked the facebook pictures - he was normal.) </div>
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Then he met me.</div>
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I don't know if it is me who does this to guys or if I just allow guys to relax so much that it brings out the - interesting - side of them. </div>
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My ex-husband used to dress like a typical guy that has no clue about fashion. Now when I pick up the kids, he's never out of his Aldo's and looks like a lost member of n'sync. My ex-boyfriend...well, we won't even go there. </div>
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This dude. I met him and honestly, it wasn't love at first sight. Maybe its because I'm too much of a realist to fall for a guy in a uniform. (Or maybe it was something about the FedEx black and purple.) Either way...I didn't want to give him chance. Yeah, he was cute, nice, polite, and shy. Some of my favorite characteristics in a guy, but I had just gone through a batch of speed dating and I was ready to swear guys off for good. </div>
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Then he tells me he'll be gone for two weeks on a mission's trip. Something in me clicks on. Hmmm...OK - maybe he's not your typical guy. </div>
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The two weeks hubs is gone to Guatemala, we email back and forth. I stalk facebook. I stalk friends of his on facebook. He seemed like a normal guy...</div>
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...until he got me on his hook.</div>
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Somehow he weaseled his way into my heart and that was the end of it. I knew I would marry him, no matter how kooky either one of us was. </div>
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Slowly he started showing his true colors, but by then, I was already his:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0ZfM91w2MGC9n_2b2UpJTn-xEjZtcRZCmhvSHCWOIK7FMxXrwC5-NphduMhm5BzOBbiJp3jirk6rRwIbehv4ZaYHhaUmUF34NgsFGsQq0FmoX731MfFvcWfq65Mlwv-d9jDJkT1Am3K4/s1600/normal3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0ZfM91w2MGC9n_2b2UpJTn-xEjZtcRZCmhvSHCWOIK7FMxXrwC5-NphduMhm5BzOBbiJp3jirk6rRwIbehv4ZaYHhaUmUF34NgsFGsQq0FmoX731MfFvcWfq65Mlwv-d9jDJkT1Am3K4/s320/normal3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Awe. Isn't he handsome...in a clueless sort of way?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-TriLabSuWjzo1Vx-wW4vyL7Cs8jD88L4E7yDh96atwKdjYdfhk7dNP_SDyrIUsOVENIrw0TTxt0CSYYYIu_esgK8VmBqlBANxpGHus2kcsV4TBoNphAPvQh8RgUEpss7jdxcBJOk_0O/s1600/normal1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-TriLabSuWjzo1Vx-wW4vyL7Cs8jD88L4E7yDh96atwKdjYdfhk7dNP_SDyrIUsOVENIrw0TTxt0CSYYYIu_esgK8VmBqlBANxpGHus2kcsV4TBoNphAPvQh8RgUEpss7jdxcBJOk_0O/s320/normal1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Take a look at this picture again. See that sparkle in his eye? No the other eye. Yeah. That's the one. The one that says: I will drive you absolutely crazy most days. Yeah. I missed that one when I was stalking.</div>
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So let me share some things about the hubs.</div>
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The hubs has 4 topics of conversation: work, motorcycles (Honda VTX's - don't try to talk to him about HD's or he'll offend you with his opinion), tattoos, and the next great thing he found on Craigslist (which I normally can talk him out of before he buys it). THANK GOODNESS!<br />
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He used to smoke but has been a non-smoker since the beginning of the year.<br />
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He has horrible teeth (which he has no insecurities about) but somehow manages to have a great smile.<br />
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He's a prankster and if he finds out you don't like something...that will be the topic of conversation for the next HOUR. (We won't get into hair petting, the word 'moist', scissoring, my best-friend's new nickname: Malaroni & Cheese, and my all-time biggest pet peeve...quoting movies wrong.) <br />
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Let's talk about the reason for today's blog: The reason for this blog is his over-use of 'Hey you guys!' from Goonies, done in the worst voice and wrong pitch. For anyone who knows me, I'm CONSTANTLY quoting movies. I really don't mean to. I'll be talking with someone and a movie quote, fitting the conversation will pop into my head. I'll say it, smile, and say - what movie was that from? Half the time I don't even know, so I'm asking legitimately...because if I don't find the answer, it will haunt me until I do. But I regress...<br />
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The hubs has also taken to quoting movies...but not in a way that is recognizable to anyone. Sure...he gets the words right, but the voice, tone, pitch and mood are WAY off. I made the mistake of calling him out on this last night. Seriously....for the next HOUR, the only words he said to me were 'HEY YOU GUYS!' but not in a funny, Sloth-like way. No. Every way BUT like Sloth. At one point I posted on facebook that I was going to throat punch him. <br />
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He thought I was kidding. </div>
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I wasn't. </div>
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So, as I warned him last night...paybacks are hell. Here's a side of hubs most of us try to ignore.<br />
Unless hubs is being posed for pics (like this one), he looks absolutely, 100% homo-sexual. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBaf8-B1SNMReo4jLsmBbfTn9dgQQJPTp3xExFGdxEoAHeuPFy9cRJQ7ZnRL0lO1nCjVxuVXHE6BFLIRSwFMktOW8geWvwMXMe05MCb7byYe1j6tw4OELonF7YtV7n4hMJA9ur_gQ2O_4/s1600/josh.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBaf8-B1SNMReo4jLsmBbfTn9dgQQJPTp3xExFGdxEoAHeuPFy9cRJQ7ZnRL0lO1nCjVxuVXHE6BFLIRSwFMktOW8geWvwMXMe05MCb7byYe1j6tw4OELonF7YtV7n4hMJA9ur_gQ2O_4/s320/josh.bmp" width="320" /></a><br />
POSED.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGfdgow7A9a9xYkdp9xskqHLeN5WuepbLvnKmxn4KeN3ZjjBm-2ZPPPzbV_M0CoQhXFEUMH29655YFCwyZgjkCt3RZ1qfSrmV4pADmYtxP9bf8ENvvOkd4GEeX1Y26fX73LlZk-aWHd4T/s1600/0096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGfdgow7A9a9xYkdp9xskqHLeN5WuepbLvnKmxn4KeN3ZjjBm-2ZPPPzbV_M0CoQhXFEUMH29655YFCwyZgjkCt3RZ1qfSrmV4pADmYtxP9bf8ENvvOkd4GEeX1Y26fX73LlZk-aWHd4T/s320/0096.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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NOT posed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHH_jMtNbxJLcLG0mTtkMA9uAcY1gOdGFSFQXxetxADzd7-9bITCSSyiIv9uTNKBWqbjD6Gk5hBEAhio0yvJEIpOlPYQa5_wtuWdLwM9LtfPm-NFMWh3QVSCDHOwpaMeBvSOToDyDFBoFZ/s1600/creeper2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHH_jMtNbxJLcLG0mTtkMA9uAcY1gOdGFSFQXxetxADzd7-9bITCSSyiIv9uTNKBWqbjD6Gk5hBEAhio0yvJEIpOlPYQa5_wtuWdLwM9LtfPm-NFMWh3QVSCDHOwpaMeBvSOToDyDFBoFZ/s320/creeper2.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>
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Fun in his mom's shorts. </div>
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Wait...what? </div>
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He's wearing his mom's shorts? </div>
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Yes. Yes, he is.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1CJx5MKp-MjC0_hMbFCaITmqoDtY5OsxSB3guR73MGUqa-IstX2uXQUwNPC9mp3iahCS-9if07FTOlZL58lew-PYfNlbEI18961soYZ5X321Z0Righh4-HguXgoHYLjOHB3bQ6TxNk1v/s1600/creeper3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1CJx5MKp-MjC0_hMbFCaITmqoDtY5OsxSB3guR73MGUqa-IstX2uXQUwNPC9mp3iahCS-9if07FTOlZL58lew-PYfNlbEI18961soYZ5X321Z0Righh4-HguXgoHYLjOHB3bQ6TxNk1v/s320/creeper3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Even a cup of coffee can't get that grin off...or is it the daisies in the corner?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwSUpv5srGw5hpCe1oqZe4jGJCA1iEmfy77eSP96iXJquUVDdOVYuiDW4X3K7TiqLfHhO0VDhWAOytza80nDZpGH7Az5YiT22c3TO2fy6r-2KPuWQfZSclH5YURsC_J8uq94d2gFNyw_yN/s1600/creeper+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwSUpv5srGw5hpCe1oqZe4jGJCA1iEmfy77eSP96iXJquUVDdOVYuiDW4X3K7TiqLfHhO0VDhWAOytza80nDZpGH7Az5YiT22c3TO2fy6r-2KPuWQfZSclH5YURsC_J8uq94d2gFNyw_yN/s320/creeper+1.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
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Maybe a masculine Miami Ink shirt...oh wait. Nope.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4Ecah8qGpc1oVJ-q3ME2u6xuQd_86Rpsg9tct4xybProBDlxemZ4sdKKhA_GSgg0DV2TdNU8W2OREP7rqZRHurUkYhLmShj0qNAZ8GWzxPdBNFH04jxKOhfNYNhZ6kYHQiXZEH5akpm-/s1600/creeper4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4Ecah8qGpc1oVJ-q3ME2u6xuQd_86Rpsg9tct4xybProBDlxemZ4sdKKhA_GSgg0DV2TdNU8W2OREP7rqZRHurUkYhLmShj0qNAZ8GWzxPdBNFH04jxKOhfNYNhZ6kYHQiXZEH5akpm-/s320/creeper4.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
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I know...the backside...oh wait...that's just creepy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxuPQ0qut3dX3-KSCozxVXJZMJ_NDCdfu-wPLvt0ElNLD6vt81zRISHPA7yyLW2i8QP7ZgQ6hi772e0OBBGCCloWjoCYzIj6rHd_RYIdFj18jRufbveOd7tsxHRNUc2emYQ3ZLXIsaBTa9/s1600/creeper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxuPQ0qut3dX3-KSCozxVXJZMJ_NDCdfu-wPLvt0ElNLD6vt81zRISHPA7yyLW2i8QP7ZgQ6hi772e0OBBGCCloWjoCYzIj6rHd_RYIdFj18jRufbveOd7tsxHRNUc2emYQ3ZLXIsaBTa9/s320/creeper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Oh here we go! Halloween...oh, yeah. That...yeah. </div>
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No. No words.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyfvcleb2rzsp_pzBbMEmqrBueNgDLMOk8npDOj-jP3PVEHfTB3U2IxsJ4fvr65Rv2dzNaAaJhHy_Wm4e7JKG93bkvglOFQwhhKaGUObgEaePZYvpoLZtFYoBWFqa0KykShEcYf9Ee-4pV/s1600/creeper5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyfvcleb2rzsp_pzBbMEmqrBueNgDLMOk8npDOj-jP3PVEHfTB3U2IxsJ4fvr65Rv2dzNaAaJhHy_Wm4e7JKG93bkvglOFQwhhKaGUObgEaePZYvpoLZtFYoBWFqa0KykShEcYf9Ee-4pV/s320/creeper5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Maybe a group shot of the guys in the family...</div>
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Well...at least 3 of the 4 look uncomfortable with it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingWaEMsZ-wXiqXoc5IR3mFRxO2MHH8aNxpJn-Hu0i6zGjw1v9L9l8gEHnKB_sH33-pBbWVjsubgRfQiu7ooF7RjRF1uFTOe9dHyuRAkmeL462EqzIiRG07Svu_mJnR2vOUCKCrzHzoZhD/s1600/creeper7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingWaEMsZ-wXiqXoc5IR3mFRxO2MHH8aNxpJn-Hu0i6zGjw1v9L9l8gEHnKB_sH33-pBbWVjsubgRfQiu7ooF7RjRF1uFTOe9dHyuRAkmeL462EqzIiRG07Svu_mJnR2vOUCKCrzHzoZhD/s320/creeper7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Finally a male-bonding picture! Is..is that...wait...is that a</div>
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COLORING BOOK? {shakes head}</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLfslsmSNszJkG0VU9lFHUiB9BFM1swl19693gMZsjGCT8Qh8IM7p47aPyRlDxWreUd4-XAms9gHPbpqtnuYmzewn9MWaGkjItXQvlVEArq9kgsudZ8ckWeyrmZrcjyWiAApewHQ1Q76D/s1600/creeper6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLfslsmSNszJkG0VU9lFHUiB9BFM1swl19693gMZsjGCT8Qh8IM7p47aPyRlDxWreUd4-XAms9gHPbpqtnuYmzewn9MWaGkjItXQvlVEArq9kgsudZ8ckWeyrmZrcjyWiAApewHQ1Q76D/s320/creeper6.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
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Sigh. At least he's good with the kids.</div>
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Real men get pedicures.</div>
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In all seriousness, he is really good with the kids. He takes them to school every morning and has more patience in his pinkie, than I do in my entire body. <br />
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He puts up with my snarky personality on a daily basis and takes it in stride. (A feat I would like to see any other man try to do.)<br />
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He also knows how to get on my nerves like no one else. Which I guess is his way of getting paybacks. SO...<br />
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What do you say, hubs?<br />
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TRUCE?!</div>
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for now?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlctZKw5a1gZLBREfqAi-Pw2NCpUTVaF6yck8G09pS4oXI6UyrKkyQWM2gh02HW2rMn3pRpS2NQ1QE6KSJsKtK1AWzRm3ytsx6cCKlsXNJ7VGfIm4MILY6DMBgf3NCXc92x_yXDV1GWd8-/s1600/normal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlctZKw5a1gZLBREfqAi-Pw2NCpUTVaF6yck8G09pS4oXI6UyrKkyQWM2gh02HW2rMn3pRpS2NQ1QE6KSJsKtK1AWzRm3ytsx6cCKlsXNJ7VGfIm4MILY6DMBgf3NCXc92x_yXDV1GWd8-/s320/normal.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-9767666380647130282012-01-17T09:33:00.001-05:002012-01-17T09:33:22.954-05:00Loud Talkers - Go HomeIt is one thing to spend two hours at the vet because your dog needs that much care. It is another to spend two hours because the person with the appointment before you decides she and her dog are so important that she needs to hold a seminar with the doctor discussing all the wonderful skills, personality traits, habits and general obedience perks her dog has. Let's add to the fact that I'm sitting in the office, trying to hold my boxer back from wanting to play 'king of the mountain' with the office cat (who, incidentally would have been the mountain), and I can hear EVERY WORD this woman is saying so clearly, that she might as well have had the door open and been talking directly to me.<br />
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"Oh no, Doctor, our Lexi is a great dog. She's amazing. Our dog can do anything. Why are we here? Oh no reason. We just like attention and because no one will listen to us because we are so damn annoying, we have to pay your office just so we can have un-divided attention and tout all of our wonderful attributes, which are none."<br />
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I'm sitting in the waiting room, listening to this woman go on and on and on about nothing to do with the reason she's there. (Which, never did come up in the conversation.) I'm thinking something to do with her dog's menstrual cycle since I heard her say, "let's go ahead and get her fixed. No more puppies for you, Lexi! Guess you're done being a mom. No more play time in the barn with Baxter." (<i>I know you're wondering and yes - I was trying not to laugh out loud.) </i>But seriously...you've been in there for an hour at least! Shut the F up or at least pipe down so I can assume there is something seriously wrong, that being the reason you are so disrespectful by taking up my appointment AND the cat lady's who came in after me. <br />
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By the time she FINALLY left the room without dear, sweet, Lexi, her dad had come into the waiting room. I'm assuming he got sick of waiting in the car for his obnoxious offspring. I really don't feel I'm doing justice to this woman's ability to make every person she meets cringe and want to take a fist to her face. <br />
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Imagine if Gilbert Gottfried and Kathy Griffin had a child. <span style="font-size: xx-small;"> (<i>Images from Google Search</i>)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9iONaFBZkuDGum0GH-aFQFXP8HWkEscSNyuoDvnGdHK422gQQZ-49U7djnbCwKbkdY5Q3gVBLYge1pq4-W80-eRUA4RriN_hFlOgjj7ywqpOI0DFTCDlqXYj6irjsVPLYf_H0Cqi1Aez/s1600/gilbert-gottfried.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9iONaFBZkuDGum0GH-aFQFXP8HWkEscSNyuoDvnGdHK422gQQZ-49U7djnbCwKbkdY5Q3gVBLYge1pq4-W80-eRUA4RriN_hFlOgjj7ywqpOI0DFTCDlqXYj6irjsVPLYf_H0Cqi1Aez/s320/gilbert-gottfried.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9RK4TNa5JycYhAtSM1gGC9y7uuBu89GkWX49DhEOLaZULQKC5IFBe4pXCn4rX6FJh5PmnXEpgEBFzehgTvlmhNe5Wv28bFi4brcnx_X_LUF7wmg6G8jchkvhKWOyG-FvE-Nvq7LidH9h/s1600/kathygriffin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9RK4TNa5JycYhAtSM1gGC9y7uuBu89GkWX49DhEOLaZULQKC5IFBe4pXCn4rX6FJh5PmnXEpgEBFzehgTvlmhNe5Wv28bFi4brcnx_X_LUF7wmg6G8jchkvhKWOyG-FvE-Nvq7LidH9h/s320/kathygriffin.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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And then gave it up for adoption, because even they couldn't stand how obnoxious it was. And then this sweet, loving, gentle man, who has always had a soft spot in his heart for children (and not in a Jerry Sandusky way), brought home this red-head and tried to raise it to be loving and kind, but because her birth parents were the most annoying people on the face of the earth, she had no choice but to be rude, crass, loud, and think everyone always cared about what she was saying so used her outdoor voice everywhere. If you can imagine this, then you are pretty close to this woman at the vet.<br />
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I know, I know, I did it too. At first I pictured Kimmy Gibbler:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioH8f7nRkeIxjAQW1QuKqRJWAb4rNkAvgv7eTACtV_SD4PbloydueabhyphenhyphenE_wGDdVsws109q1wME6VdZZNdgIFabwYu3-tkyOZnY-FobHcMAG4YeZYJ9NsEIwy9tQEk4TIBBdkUSeqyk5fV/s1600/kimmy+Gibler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioH8f7nRkeIxjAQW1QuKqRJWAb4rNkAvgv7eTACtV_SD4PbloydueabhyphenhyphenE_wGDdVsws109q1wME6VdZZNdgIFabwYu3-tkyOZnY-FobHcMAG4YeZYJ9NsEIwy9tQEk4TIBBdkUSeqyk5fV/s200/kimmy+Gibler.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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and then I realized, that was too nice of an image. </div>
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Just to get on with our story - picture the person you want to punch the most and times it by 10. </div>
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That's her.</div>
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So Kimmy (what I'll call her, just so she has a name), is in the office waiting room, telling her dad all about sweet, Lexi and her choice to let Lexi go under the knife, when her dad starts grimacing. And by grimacing, I don't mean, the 'shut up, I can't take anymore of your voice' (that's the grimacing I was doing). I mean the 'I'm in pain and can't breathe' type. I'm watching him out of the corner of my eye and getting more and more concerned. First off, his daughter is oblivious to the fact that her dad has anything happening because she so wrapped up in her own story, looking around to make sure everyone else is listening as well and secondly, this guy's face is red, arm is blue and he's straightening out like a board, about to fall out of his chair. </div>
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Finally she ends her story and looks at her dad for his reaction. Then she uses her awesome deductive powers and realizes that something is wrong with her dad. Seriously, this is the direct quote:</div>
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"DAD! Dad, are you listening to me? Dad, is something wrong? (<i>No, shit, Sherlock - what made you come to that conclusion?</i>) DAD! I WISH YOU WOULD ANSWER ME!' </div>
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At this point, the man is about to pass out. He is in so much pain, its radiating across the room and I'm starting to feel like I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm exchanging glances with the receptionist and we're making a plan. Gibbler keeps going:</div>
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"DAD! YOU NEED TO STOP. Just tell me what's wrong." (<i>Really?! REALLY?! You want him to just stop the heart attack?! - Sure, daughter...anything for you. Let me just take a deep breath and you can continue on with your story - cause it was amazing.</i>)</div>
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At this point, something needs to happen. Its been about 3 minutes of her yelling at her dad. I speak up 'Maybe we should call an ambulance.' You know I'm not a genius, but the normal reaction to heart attack is to get medical attention. Oh no...instead of saying, yes, let's do that, Kimmy keeps yelling:</div>
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"DAD! DO YOU HEAR THAT? DO YOU WANT THAT TO HAPPEN? HUH?! YOU WANT THEM TO CALL AN AMBULANCE? You know mom is waiting for the car."</div>
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OMG! Really?! Did you just usurp your dad's heart attack with 'mom's waiting for the car'?!?! I was about to slap this lady. Kimmy, you just went too far. I reach for my phone and start dialing, when the receptionist speaks up and says she has 9-1-1 on the phone and needed the Gibbs to answer some questions.</div>
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So the story comes out: because Kimmy doesn't care about others, especially her elderly dad who came over to drive her and her hooker dog, Lexi to the vet, she allowed ice to build up on her steps. So her sweet, father - taking Lexi to the car for his obnoxious adopted daughter, fell on the icy steps and landed with a step hitting directly in the middle of his back. Now all of us at the vet's office (because all attention is on her and her dad) are realizing is he's probably not having a heart attack (<i>Yay!</i>) but we can all be rightfully pissed at this woman for being so negligent that her dad fell on her steps. Seriously...sprinkle some table salt if you are too cheap to by de-icer. My first thought - hopefully you have home insurance because this is all coming back on you, Kimmy. </div>
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This news brings us all out of our emergency stupor and they call me back into the exam room with Zoe, who is now panting so hard from trying to pull away from me for the last hour and 30 minutes while sitting in the waiting room. I don't mind, because I know I'll still hear Kimmy's play-by-play through the closed door. </div>
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Within 5 minutes the EMS arrives, straps in Gibbler's dad and asks him questions. Kimmy, of course, answers FOR her father, which I'm assuming she's done since she learned the word 'mine' at a year old. I hear the tech ask the gentleman if he's in pain. He says, 'a little'. What a guy. Reminds me of my dad. (<i>Doesn't want to inconvenience anyone</i>.) Then, just before I can smile at this thought, Kimmy's voice interrupts my thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. "That's dad-code for yes." The tech turns to her and says, "excuse me?" I laughed. He might have been the first person who has dared to question Kimmy. She goes on without batting an eye. "Yeah - that's what my dad says when he's in pain, but doesn't want to admit it." Whatever lady. I think we all figured that one out without your quality deduction. </div>
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The bell dinged over the door, indicating they were wheeling him out. I hear him struggle to say, 'Take the jeep and go get mom.' </div>
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It is seriously sad that he had to tell his daughter this. I'd like to take this moment to jot a little note to Ms. Gibbler:</div>
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Dear Kimmy,</div>
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Just because you are loud and obnoxious and laugh at your own jokes, doesn't mean people like you. They put up with you. And we all talk about you behind your back. Do yourself a favor and pay attention to your surroundings. 1. If no one else is laughing, your joke isn't funny. Shut the hell up. 2. If people aren't making eye contact with you, they are looking for an escape from your god-awful stories. Shut the hell up. 3. Your dog is just like every other dog. Apologize the the vet the next time you go in there and stop taking up other people's time. Oh, and shut the hell up. 4. You're over 35. Grow up, take care of your parents, sprinkle some salt on your steps and shut the hell up. </div>
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Love, </div>
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Me. </div>
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P.S. Zoe is fine and it only took 30 minutes to have 3 things checked out. </div>
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-5258214888994208292012-01-13T08:34:00.001-05:002012-01-13T11:08:36.506-05:00How not to approach women at the GymFor the last six months I've been a gym rat. With the exception of the last two weeks, I've managed to get to the gym 5-6 days a week, on average. (The last two weeks I have spent in a Christmas/New Year sugar/adult beverage stupor. Note: I wasn't kidding when I said what the #1 rule for surviving a holiday party - consume a half a bottle of wine. Leelanau Blueberry. Just saying.)<br />
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Back to the story....<br />
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It never fails when I go to the Grand Rapids YMCA I am approached by all sorts. <br />
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I've read the articles in all the cutesy I'm-trying-to-be-a-fitness-magazine-but -clearly-just-a-sub-par-fashion-magazine-in-hiding. I know all the steps to attract a guy in the gym and purposely DON'T do them to avoid the awkward conversations. <br />
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I'm realizing its a lot more fun just to soak in that awkwardness. If you, as a guy, are going to approach me, who is CLEARLY giving the F off sign while working out, then I am going to make you miserable. By the end of our conversation, you are going to wonder if you are so off on your female radar that maybe you would be better off hitting on guys. I love watching a guy trying to get out of the conversation once I've dropped the 'my husband' and 'my two kids' bombs. <br />
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They try and play it cool. I see them try to keep the 'oh shit, my bad' look off their face. The way their eyes shift, looking around the room for a quick way out. Oh no, buddy. You are not leaving. Not after the way you called me, 'hey baby' and 'yo mama'. Clearly we're family now and I will talk your ear off as if we've been old friends. At the end of the conversation, you will know nothing about me and everything about my husband's shoe size, where he works, what's great about him and all my kids favorites as well as the last funny thing they did. Don't blame me for this. You are the one who stepped into the no fly zone! I was giving the signs and the fact that i jumped from being startled when you approached me should have been the icing on buzz off cake. <br />
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So let me make it easy on you. These are the signs a girl gives when she just wants to sweat it out at the gym without you creeping up on her: <br />
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1. The outfit does not match and she is fully covered. If she is wearing a baggy sweatshirt, do not approach. If her shirt does not show off cleavage, do not approach. If She has on oversized sweats and a baggy t-shirt, clearly, you should not approach. <br />
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However, if her tight low-cut hot pink tank matches her capri leggings that have a cute matching pink stripe running down the side or, better yet, matches her short, tight, black, v-ball style, could-possibly-be-boy-shorts-underwear shorts, then you have appropriate clearance to throw your 'hey baby' approach at her. <br />
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2. She has no earrings or just studs. Women who wear hoops, or anything flashy while 'working out' are not at the gym to 'work out' if you get my drift. <br />
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3. She has no make-up on. If She looks like she just stepped off a Maybelline advertisement, she is not ready to sweat. (For the men saying, huh? Maybelline is a make-up brand. And no, she was not born with it. There's no maybe about it. It's the Maybelline.) If a woman wears makeup to the gym and within 20 minutes, does not look like Brandon Lee as The Crow, you have permission to approach. She's there for guys like you. <br />
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4. She's paying attention to what she's doing. If she spends more time watching what's going on rather than actually working out, she wants you. I'll add here that if she makes repeated eye contact, its possible that she's into you. Its also possible that all the grunting and dropping of the heavy weights you are doing is really pissing her off and she trying to give you some non-verbal clue about what a douche canoe you are being. (thanks for the new word, Jen.)<br />
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5. If her music is on, loud, and both earbuds are in, leave her alone. If she has an ipod on but the ear buds are around her neck rather than in her ears, guess what? She's just waiting for a 'yo mama' (Side note: why would you call me mama and then act surprised when I have two kids?)<br />
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6. If her hair looks like she stepped out of a wind tunnel, she is not there for your viewing pleasure. Lucky for me, my giant mass of frizz always looks this way. However, if every strand is in place before and after (or she's wearing it down) she would like your phone number. Seriously...who can work out with hair flying everywhere?!<br />
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7. She's staying on task. If she moves to multiple areas of the gym and its not for circuit training, the girl is checking her options and giving an obvious sign that you could be the dreamboat behind door #1. <br />
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8. She looks intense. If she's constantly smiling, she's clearly not getting her sweat on. No girl who's working out to burn calories smiles in her 3rd set of heavy weights. This brings me to the two final clues:<br />
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9. If she's in the weight area, but only lifting 3lb weights, she's in there for you. And i'm judging her for not staying on the lady's only side. <br />
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10. If she is not sweating, not winded and is missing red blotches from her face, she is there for a social call, aka you. <br />
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I hope this helps the boys out there looking for the next booty call (or for the romantics, the love of their life) to walk into the gym. Read the signs. And if you must approach, make eye contact. I should take this opportunity to point out one last thing: Our eyes are not located on our ass or our breasts. <br />
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This concludes today's PSA. Any questions? <br />
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<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPP3vX6bRk3grPq7IEq_SZeF37cTihr9Sr4aocKLL6wB51pt9AcYT-Q8PzUjA6pKZCpVSRmDzT1x060wc5Y7b3F0qymryHpKVB79Hy_YTYee3a6z4L35du5UqKxss47hF9qoKaWukXQbMo/s640/blogger-image-1201402958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPP3vX6bRk3grPq7IEq_SZeF37cTihr9Sr4aocKLL6wB51pt9AcYT-Q8PzUjA6pKZCpVSRmDzT1x060wc5Y7b3F0qymryHpKVB79Hy_YTYee3a6z4L35du5UqKxss47hF9qoKaWukXQbMo/s640/blogger-image-1201402958.jpg" /></a></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-56274331566209477352012-01-12T14:01:00.001-05:002012-01-12T14:25:31.811-05:00New Year - Different Me.Sure. Why not, you know?<br />
<br />
Why not be who I really am on this thing? I love to be creative. But I'm far from a perfectionist and my only camera is currently an outdated iphone. That'll get me far. I'll not be able to keep up with the pro-stay-at-home-mom who has blog posts like:<br />
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'<i>How I get 101 things done in a day and still have a spotless home with 12 kids</i>'<br />
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'<i>How I made a 15 course meal in 10 minutes</i>' (but she leaves out the little detail that she spent 2 months preparing for those 10 minutes)<br />
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I especially like the blog postings titled:<br />
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'<i>My perfect Christmas</i>' and her home is a $500k with perfect decorations as if Martha Stewart moved in for a month. Yeah - my $80k home $50 fake tree the cat and dog have trashed really photographs well. <br />
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'<i>How we gave Christmas away</i>' with pictures of them volunteering in Guam for the month of December since her husband owns a Fortune 500 and let's the CEO's do everything while he makes bank. (Side Note: I don't even know where Guam is...it was just the first place that came to mind.) <br />
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If I had blogged since, oh SEPTEMBER...my titles would be:<br />
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'<i>How I almost killed my husband/kids/cat/dog/neighbor/friend/random stranger but didn't</i>.'<br />
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'<i>How to half-ass it at Christmas</i>' - I think this may still need to be posted.<br />
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'<i>Tips for surviving the Holidays'</i> (#1 would have been drink a half a bottle of wine before EVERY event.)<br />
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'<i>How to have a fight with your Ex while at work</i>' - Yeah. That happened.<br />
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And then I got to thinking...why be fake? Why pretend to be the neighbor on the street with her crap together? I mean, isn't she the one that we all talk smack about? Why not be the neighbor that people say, 'yeah - there's always an adventure with THAT one. Then I 'met' <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/">Jen</a> - virtually, of course. Jen gave me such an epiphany...OMG! I can be REAL on my blog! I don't have to be Ms. I'm-so-perky-and-can-whip-up-anything-in-an-hour! Thank you, Jen. You are my hero.<br />
<br />
So...the blog has been re-designed. I've taken off all the dumb, stupid posts I made trying to keep people interested in coming back to see the sub-par craft I made, hoping someone would comment on the blog, thinking I've actually inspired you to mediocrity. (Did my 'I blog for comments' comment line make anyone else throw up a little?)<br />
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What will you find here? Not a fricken clue.<br />
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Might be a craft. Might be a rant. Might be just a picture and a random note.<br />
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So those expectations that you had when you saw I posted again...bury them deep down and deal with the fact that - I'm snarky and you'll never know what you get when you click on this link. For now...enjoy a picture of my dog Zoe. Because...what's a blog posting without some dumb picture?<br />
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<br />Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-37409063000081199642011-09-25T22:56:00.000-04:002012-01-12T13:30:40.444-05:00How does Asian become Italian?!WARNING: Post contains high quantities of sarcasm. If you do not speak sarcasm, I urge you NOT to continue.<br />
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Do you ever have a hankering for something that sounds so good, its all you think about? Tonight was one of those nights. I could taste the peanut dressing on the salad. I felt my body relax as I thought of the warm, mushroom soup. My mouth started watering just visualizing the noodles and sprouts. Only problem is....there isn't a Thai restaurant around me that's open after 9pm.<br />
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So I did what any person as random as myself would do...I went to store and bought tomatoes and basil to make homemade bruschetta. I know! I know! I had the same thought. Asian and Italian taste almost the same. But that's beside the point. <br />
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I'm standing there decided on the best batch of basil when the cilantro caught my eye. Then I thought - Hey! I'm already making Bruschetta, why not whip up some fresh salsa at the same time. Because when I think of some good Italian Bruschetta, Mexican Salsa is always my very next thought. <br />
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So here's a walk through both... <br />
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FRESH BRUSCHETTA:<br />
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Small Sweet Grape tomatoes, quartered</div>
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Fresh Basil</div>
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Salt</div>
Pepper<br />
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Garlic powder (I threw in som extra fresh garlic as well...My motto? You can NEVER have too much garlic)</div>
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Olive Oil</div>
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Basically....Mix it all together, drizzle the dresssing and BAM! </div>
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Side note: Have you ever met this cheese? It has become my new favorite. Who needs the powder parmesean, when you have THIS!?</div>
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When you put the two together, you can get something real nice...Looks professional, I know, but don't let it fool you. It was just me.</div>
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While the Bruschetta was busy mixing its flavors, I whipped up some fresh salsa. </div>
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I bought three of these babies, (Salerno Pepper, anyone?) but after I cut up one and did the taste test. I decided to let the other two live long and whole lives, outside of the salsa.</div>
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Want to know my other motto? You can NEVER have too much cilantro...</div>
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Well, maybe you can. This is what's left AFTER making the salsa! My next job will be to research recipes with Cilantro in them. Hmmm...</div>
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Fresh Salsa:</div>
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Tomatoes </div>
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Onion</div>
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Garlic</div>
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Cilantro</div>
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Salerno Pepper</div>
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Lime Juice</div>
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Salt</div>
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Pepper</div>
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Mix to taste preferences</div>
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Bruschetta recipe curtousy of M.A.Kovac. </div>
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<br /></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-11206419350367579002011-03-23T13:35:00.000-04:002011-03-23T13:35:10.835-04:00A final Ode to HondaI don't know where to start...or even how to put this post together. Our family is still struggling with the 'whys' of it all. <br />
<br />
Why did he have to start biting?<br />
Why does Michigan have to have such strict laws on it?<br />
Why does specialized training cost so much?<br />
Why couldn't a Boxer rescue group take him? (After all, isn't that what rescue groups are for?)<br />
Why is it so difficult to make that decision and follow through when you know its the only one left and you've exhausted all other options?<br />
Why do people give you such a hard time about putting a dog down when you HAVE no other option?<br />
Why does it feel like such a personal attack?<br />
Why has this caused so much anger?<br />
<br />
and finally...<br />
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Why does it hurt so much...he's just a dog right?<br />
No. He was more than a dog. He was more than a step-dog. He was our son. Even though I've been tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic about Honda on the blog, I really did love him. He was a member of the family. He was a cuddle-bug, a friend, and a brother. <br />
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The back story: Josh got Honda as a puppy and poured himself into training him. Honda was a great dog. He was an alpha male, so when around other dogs, he liked to prove he was the best, but around family, he was sweet, gentle, and lazy. He was our 65 pound lap dog. <br />
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Honda and Josh went through so much together before meeting me and the kids. Once we were married, Honda moved in and quickly became a member of our family. Around October, Honda started getting annoyed with the kids. We set some ground rule for them, basic dog care: don't ride the dog, don't pull his ears, don't squeeze his face between your hands and talk baby talk to him. The essential directions to keep dogs happy.<br />
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The kids followed those rules, although at times, after getting excited about playing with him, forgot that they can't play keep away with his bone. Eventually, through multiple annoyances, he started lashing out at the kids. <br />
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One time he was laying on the bed between Josh and Johnny who were playing video games and Emma was jumping on the bed. I believe he was annoyed with Emma, but he lunged at Johnny instead, and headbutted him in the face, leaving a bruise and making him cry.<br />
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Another time they were playing with one of his tennis balls and he lunged at Johnny's face again. That was when I said, this has got to stop. So we put some more rules in place. No playing keep away with the dog. If he brings his toy to you, then you can play with him, do not approach the dog, let him approach you.<br />
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Three weeks ago, Honda was laying in Johnny's room, chewing on a bone. Emma bent down to ask him 'Does your bone taste good?' He lunged at her and got her in the face with his teeth, putting a bloody gouge less than a half inch from her left eye and left a nasty bruise above her right eye and on her cheek. I was scared. <br />
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I was scared, for the kids and for Honda. I treated it the best I could and kept her home from school that day. Luckily she didn't need stitches and luckily it wasn't infected. I asked Josh to send Honda to his parent's house while we thought of a solution. <br />
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We were scheduled to pick him up on Wednesday, but on Tuesday, without arriving at a solution, his parents called and asked us to pick him up early. They already had a Boxer and a Sheltie at their home and adding Honda in the mix was just too much rowdiness, understandably. So against my wishes, we had to bring Honda home again. <br />
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At this point, Mama bear (me) was in full protection mode of her cubs. Yet again, new rules were in place. no playing with the dog, no looking at the dog...Basically, pretend the dog doesn't exist. Josh and I were on pins and needles, calling rescues, researching dog bite law, calling expensive behaviorists. <br />
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The law in Michigan is extremely strict when it comes to biting dogs. Exaggerating a little here, but basically, anyone who knows the dog can be held liable if he goes to another home and bites someone else, when he was known to be a biter. <br />
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Our hands were tied. We couldn't risk keeping him. We couldn't give him to someone with a kid. We couldn't give him to someone with another dog. His parents couldn't take him. The rescues legally couldn't take him. And we couldn't get a guarantee from the behaviorists that wanted $650 for training that he wouldn't bite again. Our only option was to put him down and honestly, that option sucked. Especially since he was an AMAZING dog, when the kids weren't around. We actually had someone jokingly ask us, why don't you get rid of the kids?<br />
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Stupid thing is, some of the people we heard from, seemed to think that was a fine solution! Why else would they tell us we were doing the wrong thing, that it was mean to put him down, that there had to be other solutions,etc. They made our life miserable that last week. I would post on facebook about our lack of options and they would tell us we weren't trying hard enough. We were already hurting so much, and they seemed to want to make sure we felt the pain in every area. Interestingly enough, all the people saying we were doing the wrong thing never had a realistic option. <br />
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We cried all weekend. The day came on Tuesday to put Honda down. We cried all morning. We watched movies with Honda cuddled up between us in the morning. Then we decided to give Honda a great last day.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifo6wUjnFXxCRIX2GD1K3u91HCLowi6hvCZ0LiShpl2NOXu4kQpIK0D7OY5KRwIgLlrZ6fSFu8bnYoxW3WmT8zPPG85Qlxy4EuojEAaxm3B79CsJa3oL5zxNwCLgF4g8mDPsEHuZVOL-6L/s1600/photocouch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifo6wUjnFXxCRIX2GD1K3u91HCLowi6hvCZ0LiShpl2NOXu4kQpIK0D7OY5KRwIgLlrZ6fSFu8bnYoxW3WmT8zPPG85Qlxy4EuojEAaxm3B79CsJa3oL5zxNwCLgF4g8mDPsEHuZVOL-6L/s320/photocouch.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center"><br />
</div>We started with Biggby coffee. Honda loves coffee, so I let him have half of mine. Then we loaded him in the car. Even though it was cold, we put the window down, so he could enjoy the wind in his face.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzvqWmPG5jJ_eezDhy7Jcbm3ahMI8ixBnrGp0TrLqChN9IEjhMW3pkhgutG6Lzefhd2mIEOmrKBtTKThhh-Ta1WGHpAsDFGsAOzT-uo1f_7MaNdxHgnkTyg351tKhliGRoBpWv9kkvIYY/s1600/photocar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzvqWmPG5jJ_eezDhy7Jcbm3ahMI8ixBnrGp0TrLqChN9IEjhMW3pkhgutG6Lzefhd2mIEOmrKBtTKThhh-Ta1WGHpAsDFGsAOzT-uo1f_7MaNdxHgnkTyg351tKhliGRoBpWv9kkvIYY/s320/photocar.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8IJ11qMHK_Dh6gnK6qC3MnYJ1kVUkXwaMp2kEn9hjMgKy7ex6M1C63YGQnd3HS22yrjWYEIRwrz2LEK4VfkE58WcwhJmWiwi5uGShbYreNO07ZUuRmo7n2B86bGDkfIXC_f8ea_ahSgB/s1600/photorideJPG.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8IJ11qMHK_Dh6gnK6qC3MnYJ1kVUkXwaMp2kEn9hjMgKy7ex6M1C63YGQnd3HS22yrjWYEIRwrz2LEK4VfkE58WcwhJmWiwi5uGShbYreNO07ZUuRmo7n2B86bGDkfIXC_f8ea_ahSgB/s320/photorideJPG.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">We took him over to say good-bye to his brother.</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/AVvXsEil-91d-DkCiGbhFdqDJA1FNoqyYdscZFSxA6DJTi4C_C8BTRQhlR9qf9oHYHLGrWdNp_3ILEkkW_As2n2j5X_gEKYCGMf3bCUUJP9m7TrVttDpmzp02Pxb9YkuXPsKxpFEPMpkzF-aF_b7/s1600/photobro.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-91d-DkCiGbhFdqDJA1FNoqyYdscZFSxA6DJTi4C_C8BTRQhlR9qf9oHYHLGrWdNp_3ILEkkW_As2n2j5X_gEKYCGMf3bCUUJP9m7TrVttDpmzp02Pxb9YkuXPsKxpFEPMpkzF-aF_b7/s320/photobro.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We took him to Burger King for a burger. (If we would have planned ahead, we would have taken him for a beer, since he loved it, but its one of those things you think of afterward.)</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/AVvXsEgykdglQUE-xfUvRc4Gmx8ZUzILdrdtKA22SYXjvPZXEdgz9q54eNhDCpZB9_cxOmt7FnwELAgs4lr9GBDunOCv5BG-vhS-UiLNqSI2VI7csJt-o88R41skyenPZVU1QwH1PmsnEGoIKSKj/s1600/photobk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgykdglQUE-xfUvRc4Gmx8ZUzILdrdtKA22SYXjvPZXEdgz9q54eNhDCpZB9_cxOmt7FnwELAgs4lr9GBDunOCv5BG-vhS-UiLNqSI2VI7csJt-o88R41skyenPZVU1QwH1PmsnEGoIKSKj/s320/photobk.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center"><br />
</div>We ended up getting to the shelter early so we took him for a long walk. The entire day, he was such a good boy, and it made what we had to do next that much harder.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcLAzHZpyLcykLtfzB4nBvz4BDdu1oolAp840LnVb6VVJGsQUCKCMuu5Nu-5NG0yuQhvZjULfM5opvcom3fRLmeo4pdlGv0VyJILvNUnXZuFsg8BfyuSe17uAxrUs7lL8SFeDfR_qtlQU/s1600/photowalk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcLAzHZpyLcykLtfzB4nBvz4BDdu1oolAp840LnVb6VVJGsQUCKCMuu5Nu-5NG0yuQhvZjULfM5opvcom3fRLmeo4pdlGv0VyJILvNUnXZuFsg8BfyuSe17uAxrUs7lL8SFeDfR_qtlQU/s320/photowalk.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
The time finally came to say good-bye. It was one of the hardest moments in my life. We took his collar off and he was led away by the shelter staff. After crying in the car for a good 10 minutes, we finally were able head home. <br />
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We hadn't told the kids our decision, mainly because we came to it over the weekend while they were with their dad. Now we had to compose ourselves enough to pick up the kids and tell them what happened. And to do it in a way so they know they are not to blame in anyway for the biting. <br />
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After about 2 hours sitting at home, I felt composed enough to pick up the kids. We had picked up all Honda's things and put them in the storage room, so that we wouldn't have the reminders that our boy was not with us anymore. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2p1gFkmSCKnrZccvp5hUsQhlJyuxJlb3BM4xhyphenhyphenxRigwYQBTYK926_yh-cr-L1TnaLuFiev-97ey4VE6T1mUngbxbeEb_XrVp-EKsNaxBY8j739qDufNDtMgUJXE7We-TzLZwIFdobQVyM/s1600/photo_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2p1gFkmSCKnrZccvp5hUsQhlJyuxJlb3BM4xhyphenhyphenxRigwYQBTYK926_yh-cr-L1TnaLuFiev-97ey4VE6T1mUngbxbeEb_XrVp-EKsNaxBY8j739qDufNDtMgUJXE7We-TzLZwIFdobQVyM/s320/photo_2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center"></div>At school, as I was gathering their things., Emma ran up to me with cut outs of two animals she drew. "Look mom! This is Honda and this is Evan!" I lost it and could...not...stop...crying. So much for being a strong parent for my kids! They were worried asking me what was wrong. I couldn't answer them. I couldn't stop crying long enough to tell them. Finally, after hugging them both and kneeling down to be close to them, I told them we had some sad news. That Honda was no longer going to be with us and that he was with Jesus now. <br />
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Johnny took it the hardest. He ended up putting himself to bed an hour after we got home. The next day, I had to pick him up early from school, because he had worked himself into a fever, being so sad about Honda. <br />
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He's doing a little better but I can tell he still misses his best bud. We purchased from Build-a-Bear online this little pup and had a message attached to it from Honda. He now brings 'Honda' with him everywhere.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGximBU7bZOdRS5L9LLJgBrJCpMgiRRk3fg9ZtMHetKrTEf0JLYICEzKaIWFJa2GXFqj-K5CHkkza9pRF67PDNFOC20gnIWEPGdPgBc-cB5IxiVak6CTWWKkau55mvO5UdU4oF-bIXEgW/s1600/boxer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGximBU7bZOdRS5L9LLJgBrJCpMgiRRk3fg9ZtMHetKrTEf0JLYICEzKaIWFJa2GXFqj-K5CHkkza9pRF67PDNFOC20gnIWEPGdPgBc-cB5IxiVak6CTWWKkau55mvO5UdU4oF-bIXEgW/s1600/boxer.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Josh and I both had our moments yet when we started tearing up again. I was laying on the couch, really missing Honda yesterday. It was eerily silent. He used to curl up with me and be a little heater in the cold weather, while I stroked his ear and read a book. I miss the sound of his breathing and light snoring.<br />
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On Sunday, we were at the grocery store when a strong storm came through. Without even stopping to think, Josh said 'Honda must be scared with this storm'. I looked at him and he realized what he said, and began to tear up. <br />
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It's been over a week now, since we put Honda down, since I started working on this post, and it has gotten a little easier. It was the hardest decision I have EVER had to make. It took everything in me, not to run back and and scream STOP!!!! before they put him to sleep. <br />
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But he is gone and we must move on. Before we do...here's one last video of Honda, the step-dog, for you...Giving his best performance yet on his last day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwNQLuPIY7iyUad9qJ9KT2dCjbY6gsMl9GCBC11XBPOxOuYDzSa-e7dKsGCnydxRytHcf1od7S7TaX0BNOj' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div align="center"></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-71719899327526380032011-03-10T09:11:00.002-05:002011-03-10T09:15:39.022-05:00The tradition continues onDo you have any of those special memories from grandma and grandpa's house that you just cherish? I have lots. I loved visiting my grandparents.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My mom's parents lived on a lake. Grandpa had made a tire swing for us on one tree. On another, he hung rope swing and built a ladder so we could swing over the lake and jump off. My grandpa also made a floating dock that we could swim out to and play king of the mountain on. Whenever I spent the night at their house, my grandma would make grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner, and in the morning, we'd take the paddle boat around the lake, looking for secret hideouts, and wildlife. I spent many hours sitting on the end of their dock fishing. Now, I love seeing my kids continue that on. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggknkM09tQxOJJEElckOiWgPt2kGAR333_ZvmasDtieUn_Yw8wejkoQ7Diply3rsXyrYwZMEih4PdiKOu_zeUEClMXp2_f7zP4FvASfuMSbs5D4ucF2Apk9wWBkLGREqI-xjmQLYRkPkY/s1600/fishing2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggknkM09tQxOJJEElckOiWgPt2kGAR333_ZvmasDtieUn_Yw8wejkoQ7Diply3rsXyrYwZMEih4PdiKOu_zeUEClMXp2_f7zP4FvASfuMSbs5D4ucF2Apk9wWBkLGREqI-xjmQLYRkPkY/s320/fishing2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIUqKOfO0BwXnpw6ogQ6-QFiZjdVHvSEQwl6n4Gan_erv53cSsIQprzImaWAXrnZ5FyTy6rhszQoag6BF6NiSF80I4wfJ3wCc_cKKzuGsxNggOEX_RSNEZzIdbVRIOySoKjp9oG7puoRs/s1600/fishing3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIUqKOfO0BwXnpw6ogQ6-QFiZjdVHvSEQwl6n4Gan_erv53cSsIQprzImaWAXrnZ5FyTy6rhszQoag6BF6NiSF80I4wfJ3wCc_cKKzuGsxNggOEX_RSNEZzIdbVRIOySoKjp9oG7puoRs/s320/fishing3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6J062kS_IJcuN490BrSqvOqJ2W124r6_9aAJw-f6O7d4D-IEzgWCe1FvbSzf-YFlCcHocZus7ZL_HrBtZHDzaQkcopKTBYLn3tJLY1Tpl_cFmscYb_bJtSai6G_RhrIM4QWGDcvdsT30/s1600/fishing4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6J062kS_IJcuN490BrSqvOqJ2W124r6_9aAJw-f6O7d4D-IEzgWCe1FvbSzf-YFlCcHocZus7ZL_HrBtZHDzaQkcopKTBYLn3tJLY1Tpl_cFmscYb_bJtSai6G_RhrIM4QWGDcvdsT30/s320/fishing4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These are the great grand kids (my mom's grand kids). Now grandma has a whole new group to teach about the lake. Love watching the traditions continue on...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrLroU5Fd0IN0jWAOSgYmCDIDPqLbgmSPIrTcYe17NefDLLPThM4FMJTB8bJCfsxxlAvfYFH0kEhN0Qn3mdvUWh40rEmqg3LY4IptWJTnVdvFCwMSeLBIxBiA7RQ1iWut-kUFXsGTEyNU/s1600/grandma.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrLroU5Fd0IN0jWAOSgYmCDIDPqLbgmSPIrTcYe17NefDLLPThM4FMJTB8bJCfsxxlAvfYFH0kEhN0Qn3mdvUWh40rEmqg3LY4IptWJTnVdvFCwMSeLBIxBiA7RQ1iWut-kUFXsGTEyNU/s320/grandma.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On my dad's side, we grew up going to my grandparents' farm. They had a large beef farm, and produced corn and hay. I LOVED my trips to the farm. I wandered around the pastures, the woods, and the barns for hours. My uncle trapped Muskrats in the creek. My cousin took me for rides on the four-wheeler. We would climb to the top of the haystack and jump off. We fed the cows and the kittens and ran around with the Springer Spaniels. Grandpa always had friendly bulls. I remember naming one of them after my first boyfriend, Brad. He was gentle and kind and a red head, just like him. Silly, the things you can remember from childhood. One of my favorite memories were the cowboy boot glasses that grandma kept in the freezer. When I would visit, I would always be allowed to get one and fill it with soda from her fridge. I loved watching the cup turn frosty. For some reason, everything tasted better from those cups. I was at Salvation Army a couple weeks back and found glasses just like those. And now, the tradition continues on...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPf9AIa_TQSZDCpX8w08TbyF9tTOxRpeBXWfOUCzvzTzFvMgOuWWJpwg8_rwW6N5_c9YxU0DgErU6vkqlGKdB5t14M5VgxUN9aLLtFU72OzTGfyBZUd2R9Uw3qgjbqw5Jo7KhzKpTcVkP/s1600/DSCF6747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPf9AIa_TQSZDCpX8w08TbyF9tTOxRpeBXWfOUCzvzTzFvMgOuWWJpwg8_rwW6N5_c9YxU0DgErU6vkqlGKdB5t14M5VgxUN9aLLtFU72OzTGfyBZUd2R9Uw3qgjbqw5Jo7KhzKpTcVkP/s320/DSCF6747.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGno0wJXEHNoxGPVblHSrmrD0GLdaSodE7EogGeUZlrKBQaBTB8Y34jZlrjj0oySGrvA2A0TxKGOZhiGFMy2VdeAv7Xwd2fW9-1BQpK-TdIw8BJuVx4AVoBZlSTJDEffCuu1lyfY2DMZj/s1600/DSCF6744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGno0wJXEHNoxGPVblHSrmrD0GLdaSodE7EogGeUZlrKBQaBTB8Y34jZlrjj0oySGrvA2A0TxKGOZhiGFMy2VdeAv7Xwd2fW9-1BQpK-TdIw8BJuVx4AVoBZlSTJDEffCuu1lyfY2DMZj/s320/DSCF6744.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCc_Kt5yqhlm-3zHybvvWdibufZkVGL5wLbhBCeZW17Y7J7KmLhX6LsgiXlVfrf23Uzhjr-2POQa2qegPAXAfS5KI6QeGamtAuGk5HMhhv6uxxApum5wzVfFWSW9IwnGOyEG9rF3h3O8OB/s1600/DSCF6745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCc_Kt5yqhlm-3zHybvvWdibufZkVGL5wLbhBCeZW17Y7J7KmLhX6LsgiXlVfrf23Uzhjr-2POQa2qegPAXAfS5KI6QeGamtAuGk5HMhhv6uxxApum5wzVfFWSW9IwnGOyEG9rF3h3O8OB/s320/DSCF6745.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Grandpa died my freshman year of high school, and grandma recently has been moved to a nursing home. I don't get out to visit the farm as often as I like, but I enjoy taking the kids there whenever I can. My uncle and his family run the farm now, but the tradition continues on...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5nARthLimGT18dSYZqInhHbEXWvwHQP2OjD_zjmOYl24xeSq-XcO17KCa7ojScR4LWOKyLzctBbB5zajg6lxyeWQ1D6w5nB99saIOhXE37DiCWTP88P9fAst8SdZOOAWOzjS0zIg_71M/s1600/farm3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5nARthLimGT18dSYZqInhHbEXWvwHQP2OjD_zjmOYl24xeSq-XcO17KCa7ojScR4LWOKyLzctBbB5zajg6lxyeWQ1D6w5nB99saIOhXE37DiCWTP88P9fAst8SdZOOAWOzjS0zIg_71M/s320/farm3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtE9CFoVQpZBjF6X3_D4W576q5ixkkq1znXENs9OeWNMvRVrXF5u2hcxDbLQz79QCciCj6vZ2mhbUbCfHAfSWhxZmZRBLIURNjOnEoxoLICwOQcfmCkkWZsVRqX3a4c1xkIunL_6EW4Zk/s1600/farm2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtE9CFoVQpZBjF6X3_D4W576q5ixkkq1znXENs9OeWNMvRVrXF5u2hcxDbLQz79QCciCj6vZ2mhbUbCfHAfSWhxZmZRBLIURNjOnEoxoLICwOQcfmCkkWZsVRqX3a4c1xkIunL_6EW4Zk/s320/farm2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tzW4H5fg5ts0iLEKojzNTRyNDy7LKoPZxoMQBWPJ5BRJNEa2Th6-89STAEsv95ph3-vIgzwNLhn38E986OMsha15PE8dbo-mrXFktbuWwenoZn3cJTDBaVUP24izG7rIQMlbtOesaAEc/s1600/farm4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tzW4H5fg5ts0iLEKojzNTRyNDy7LKoPZxoMQBWPJ5BRJNEa2Th6-89STAEsv95ph3-vIgzwNLhn38E986OMsha15PE8dbo-mrXFktbuWwenoZn3cJTDBaVUP24izG7rIQMlbtOesaAEc/s320/farm4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My cousin Brian teaching the next generation how to treat the cows extra special.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4u2_n5_fAIanHdHdF4w93pPkOLi9qCRKroDshH6qRakv56ZknPr7wKImalDqEu7TRBeFtuTf6O-RTF_l-kQ3_Bzif1F3sHrNwXyjMGFoRT3JvLWutmOKQurasX1IItRC82vxOshY7bdIt/s1600/farm.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4u2_n5_fAIanHdHdF4w93pPkOLi9qCRKroDshH6qRakv56ZknPr7wKImalDqEu7TRBeFtuTf6O-RTF_l-kQ3_Bzif1F3sHrNwXyjMGFoRT3JvLWutmOKQurasX1IItRC82vxOshY7bdIt/s320/farm.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Baling the hay - one of my favorite things was to sit on the wheel well and 'help' grandpa with the tractor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIj153vEkCiO2x6rEFYeybj93XtU02AMnD5FxiZGiDaYShF_NJ_OOW-cdWi4zT7XYuPW-NT812BANhzsZmih7fVOXDEESGd2ppay66y4R17fyHW40sZJDTb1-qBHo7XBOayQsUfQGhqiZO/s1600/farm5.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIj153vEkCiO2x6rEFYeybj93XtU02AMnD5FxiZGiDaYShF_NJ_OOW-cdWi4zT7XYuPW-NT812BANhzsZmih7fVOXDEESGd2ppay66y4R17fyHW40sZJDTb1-qBHo7XBOayQsUfQGhqiZO/s320/farm5.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A beautiful sunrise over the cornfield and woods.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-63804015331163749762011-02-23T13:35:00.000-05:002011-02-23T13:35:35.433-05:00Life.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We're doing a study at church on The Journey. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our journey out of our Egypt into our Promised Land. </span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Can I be real with you for a moment? </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(I know blogs are supposed to be <span style="font-size: small;">sunshine</span> and <span style="font-size: small;">roses</span>,) </span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">But I don't <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">feel</span> </span>like sunshine and its not smelling like roses.</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">More like a backyard full of dog poo on a warm, rainy day. </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My journey has taken me to the <span style="font-size: large;">desert</span>. In the past two weeks, partly my doing, but mostly situations beyond my control (<span style="font-size: x-small;">or those I have let go control of</span>) have taken me from feeling secure in who I am, where I am, and what I am to feeling <span style="font-size: large;">about ready to snap. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">My mind no longer shuts off. I'm dwelling on the same issues over and over again. No solutions come to me as much as I pray. I feel...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Defeated.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And frankly, I'm just not sure where to turn. I feel walls building up around my heart to keep me from getting hurt.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I feel my fists clenching ready to come out swinging at any possible predator.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I want to run away rather than stay and wait it out, or the very least - <span style="font-size: x-small;">just zone out for awhile. </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Things I use to do (crafting, reading), hold no joy.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There seems to be nothing to look forward to.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Yes. I am in the <span style="font-size: large;">desert</span>. And I want out.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I want the promised land. I want to see the fruit of my obedience. I want to hold tight to the promise of <span style="font-size: large;">Psalm 23</span>:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">The LORD <i>is</i> my shepherd;<br />
I shall not <span style="font-size: large;">want</span>.<br />
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NKJV-14238"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">2</span></strong></sup> He makes me to lie down in green pastures;<br />
He leads me beside the still waters.<br />
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NKJV-14239"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">3</span></strong></sup> He <span style="font-size: large;">restores</span> my soul;<br />
He <span style="font-size: large;">leads</span> me in the paths of righteousness <br />
For His name’s sake. <br />
<br />
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NKJV-14240"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">4</span></strong></sup> Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,<br />
I will fear no evil; <br />
For You <i>are</i> with me; <br />
Your rod and Your staff, they <span style="font-size: large;">comfort me</span>. <br />
<br />
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NKJV-14241"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">5</span></strong></sup> You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;<br />
You anoint my head with oil; <br />
My cup runs over.<br />
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NKJV-14242"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">6</span></strong></sup> Surely <span style="font-size: large;">goodness and mercy</span> shall follow me<br />
All the days of my life; <br />
And I will dwell<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></sup>in the house of the LORD <br />
Forever.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-53560454299786667762011-02-18T10:01:00.001-05:002011-02-18T10:06:18.860-05:00The step dog, again.Yes, I feel the need to discuss the step-dog with you again. <br />
<br />
I know you are wondering, so let me answer your question....yes, he's still sleeping on the bed and yes, he still lets off a noxious gas that the military would be smart to replicate as a option for gas bombs.<br />
<br />
But that's not the topic for today's step-dog post. No. No, no, no, no, no.<br />
<br />
The step-dog (Honda, as most anyone but me calls him), not only has taken over our bed, but has taken over people as well...not by jumping, though. He stays down and is a really good boy in that respect. (Did I really just give the step-dog a compliment?!) <br />
<br />
I can't really explain it in words, so here's a few pictures I've taken in the last couple of months to help me set the scene:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiep1MrcHYuCrTHto8-__97gVGl2wb_caq5dEJymYx3VS7V5va1x7NXvDVoJ4c0c_Xq9_yVVyFzLaMey2w5mkaje7TPZdLpAPuh3Q9YTx5U8G7kJhYnGfb08TID2eAmrAXvlYZJUBr31BI/s1600/the+couch.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiep1MrcHYuCrTHto8-__97gVGl2wb_caq5dEJymYx3VS7V5va1x7NXvDVoJ4c0c_Xq9_yVVyFzLaMey2w5mkaje7TPZdLpAPuh3Q9YTx5U8G7kJhYnGfb08TID2eAmrAXvlYZJUBr31BI/s320/the+couch.png" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Its not bad enough we get to view interesting poses like this...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCpAvSnCidcXIHuLbjd4tVn98du7Cm78ki2G_VytMkUTmGxoGmOo07K0W9jE8IYCp0LQQQYu2dIvPEGvrn4RyyQy5F48E9-MSDq463bscJ_tz6zWcwYa8iEB2Ml77Y0kLmlWIBu8-7as/s1600/johnny%2527s+bed.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCpAvSnCidcXIHuLbjd4tVn98du7Cm78ki2G_VytMkUTmGxoGmOo07K0W9jE8IYCp0LQQQYu2dIvPEGvrn4RyyQy5F48E9-MSDq463bscJ_tz6zWcwYa8iEB2Ml77Y0kLmlWIBu8-7as/s320/johnny%2527s+bed.png" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But he makes himself at home everywhere. This is in Johnny's fort. Notice - he has to be TOUCHING someone at all times.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlmh_wqWH5pYlgcaaJf20kIPfxLU3_sUb4E6FEVYGuIwhqu1gsTwkVRBcys2VutnJ67nv3LArKT6dfG8TVwv50f38OqWmPvrT1AOMo-SL11lUnOq_9OeXgG_mRHMsOUSxHsG83tPjWUk/s1600/emma+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlmh_wqWH5pYlgcaaJf20kIPfxLU3_sUb4E6FEVYGuIwhqu1gsTwkVRBcys2VutnJ67nv3LArKT6dfG8TVwv50f38OqWmPvrT1AOMo-SL11lUnOq_9OeXgG_mRHMsOUSxHsG83tPjWUk/s320/emma+2.png" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Emma sick = a perfect pillow for Honda</div><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/AVvXsEjZRyHM1Bj2-DElZHE-gLHhb0DsQk0kiAaUBFI4Z3qdo1TGm0bqQSn0pghfOZ_VN2hTM5j_OS9GQyQAca7pfusU8Sbree7WjRHdrWao30cqm4zlOka12VBGACtb_u2VOrc-6bb1PeKref8/s1600/malari.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRyHM1Bj2-DElZHE-gLHhb0DsQk0kiAaUBFI4Z3qdo1TGm0bqQSn0pghfOZ_VN2hTM5j_OS9GQyQAca7pfusU8Sbree7WjRHdrWao30cqm4zlOka12VBGACtb_u2VOrc-6bb1PeKref8/s320/malari.png" width="240" /></a></div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Malari watching TV = a perfect pillow for Honda</div><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/AVvXsEgrw36JNOLgypWfjWPlR2i55DuhE-fb4_7yPzgUShndfmmXNHSSWinpVvmve7AObOBcnk7iw4tWZmdT7W8JzyJKWJKocYWNyCZjwtR5jLtkTm22v6a_BshBIxLjEYI2-62UvSqol3POZ2E/s1600/emma.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrw36JNOLgypWfjWPlR2i55DuhE-fb4_7yPzgUShndfmmXNHSSWinpVvmve7AObOBcnk7iw4tWZmdT7W8JzyJKWJKocYWNyCZjwtR5jLtkTm22v6a_BshBIxLjEYI2-62UvSqol3POZ2E/s320/emma.png" width="240" /></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;">Emma laying down = a perfect pillow for Honda</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="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/AVvXsEjzWo0DT9Rg9p_fmEYSN6vtCdETN6QXmfbWGTKQib2OXu8_eV9oaFrUlfY26Qgo3tyGM_WKEAW8Ww_y9nDlsyfN9eJoBMO_PLX7pBZziWE250FLt2or78-oVb1HSxT5FGNtJD2wXtynCpg/s1600/whitney.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWo0DT9Rg9p_fmEYSN6vtCdETN6QXmfbWGTKQib2OXu8_eV9oaFrUlfY26Qgo3tyGM_WKEAW8Ww_y9nDlsyfN9eJoBMO_PLX7pBZziWE250FLt2or78-oVb1HSxT5FGNtJD2wXtynCpg/s320/whitney.png" width="240" /></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;">Whitney getting pushed over = a perfect pillow for Honda.</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;"><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;">But sometimes, he takes people being a pillow too far... (as if above wasn't enough of an example)</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;"></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/AVvXsEh-WCpSAFDUpyvQAeTgPeBMHpNLj7SXankEwE6P80-Vd8VZuboVmtnKoEYtDG9L0_PkFVYs5R5FRQb3gQRyvMizcBg1C29k2Qip73RWEdnR8JmtDKLbHwqcsRcXUQ9z4U-UGB-xrn4nNZ0/s1600/johnny.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-WCpSAFDUpyvQAeTgPeBMHpNLj7SXankEwE6P80-Vd8VZuboVmtnKoEYtDG9L0_PkFVYs5R5FRQb3gQRyvMizcBg1C29k2Qip73RWEdnR8JmtDKLbHwqcsRcXUQ9z4U-UGB-xrn4nNZ0/s320/johnny.png" width="240" /></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;">Johnny's HEAD = a perfect pillow for Honda.</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;">Sigh. What to do with this step dog...</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;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Please forgive the horrible picture quality...these were all snapped with the iPhone)</span></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2754291500668818474.post-13770402323950806052011-02-15T11:14:00.001-05:002012-01-12T09:13:16.555-05:00My epiphanyI don't know if we can fit anymore into a night. I honestly wonder how some people manage to go home after work, make a sandwich, and sit down in front of the TV for hours, then head to bed. Seriously you did THREE things...sandwich...TV...bed. I bet you didn't even take care of the plate, did you? Which, I'm not belittling you about. At. All. I'm proud of you! I'm a little jealous, in fact. I would love to learn how to turn my to-do list off and veg out, but my multi-tasking brain honestly would explode if I tried it. And then I'd have this big mess to clean up and it just would keep me from enjoying any sort of relaxation. I leave the house to relax. In fact, I think I just had an epiphany! <br />
<br />
While my husband can easily tune out the to-do list and just relax with some popcorn in front of a movie, I sit there thinking: need to do a load of laundry, need to put the dishes away, need to make the kids lunch, need to scrub the tub, need to find a topic for the blog, need to vacuum, need to find a carpet cleaner, need to pay this bill, need to prep the taxes, need to GO TO BED. I get so tired just sitting there during the movie, thinking and feeling guilty about all the things that need to get done at home, that I don't enjoy myself and normally by the halfway point, I'm so fed up with myself just sitting there that I get up and get to work on the chores. <br />
<br />
However, if I can leave the house, I also leave the to-do list. I can clear my head. I can spend two hours in the thrift store, perusing books, looking at baskets, scrounging through aisles of aisles of clothes looking for something incredibly unique or with up cycle potential. My mind is still going, but now its excited, thinking about crafts, and creativity. This is where I think back on that great posting from <a href="http://littlemissmomma.blogspot.com/">Little Miss Mama</a> or <a href="http://peasandcrayons.blogspot.com/">Peas & Crayons</a>, or that funny story from <a href="http://kimboscrafts.blogspot.com/">A Girl and her Glue Gun</a>. I remember that great little tip from <a href="http://www.crapivemade.com/">Crap I've made</a>, or how fabulous a basket would be for that organizational post from <a href="http://creatingahouseofgrace.blogspot.com/">House of Grace</a>. This, my friends, is my relaxation technique: sifting through your old stuff passed off as tax deductions under the guise of a Mission thrift store. Weird, I know. I've been called that since elementary school. I take it as a compliment now.<br />
<div align="right"></div>Sarah Takenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15708908983123552812noreply@blogger.com2