tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18432052945528211272024-03-18T21:09:18.228-07:00Musings of Mommy DearestKristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.comBlogger405125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-32896782364578211602012-09-16T15:45:00.002-07:002012-09-16T15:45:48.953-07:00Little thingsI was folding laundry and heard music coming from his room. This is a normal occurrence ever since he started piano lessons four months ago, but the music was different from the lesson book pieces he practices daily. He was playing a Beethoven piece, Moonlight Sonata.<br />
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We had spent some time studying Beethoven a few weeks prior, and we learned the story behind the sonata. Ethan listened to it over and over and he did an analysis and critique per my request. I think he understood (as much as an 8-year-old can) what Beethoven was going through when he composed the song and why it sounded so melancholy yet beautiful.<br />
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So when I heard him playing it on his keyboard in his room my heart raced a little. He was not learning it in class, and it was not something his teacher mentioned he should try at home.<br />
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He was learning it for me.<br />
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Countless times I gushed emphatically over this piece of music. Apparently it had an effect.<br />
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He smiled when I walked in his room and asked him what he was just playing.<br />
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Heart officially melted by an 8-year-old.<br />
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<br />Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-16307262441927525102012-08-10T16:59:00.000-07:002012-08-10T16:59:53.209-07:00School time (and a Dear Ethan and Clemmie)I hadn't fully made up my mind until two days before she actually started preschool that she was going to go at all. But as the day grew closer, someone asked her when she was going to start school, and she looked a little puzzled (since we hadn't mentioned it in quite a while - and for good reason; will tell below). Then her face lit up and she turned to me for the answer.<br />
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An answer I didn't really have at that point, but made up on the spot based on her eager little face and her going, Mommy, when do I go to______? Like I'm gonna tell her she's not going after we registered, took the tour, and got all excited about it for a while. But for a month or so I thought for sure she was staying home and I would just homeschool her. It made the most sense - I would already be homeschooling Ethan, so I could just include her. And besides, I already have the curriculum to do it - all that would be missing is the preschool atmosphere of other kids, a new teacher, and snack time.<br />
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But then she gave me that face and that was the end of that idea. Besides, her preschool is about as awesome as you can get for a preschool - and it's only a couple hours every day. She gets to hang out with her peers and I get some quiet one-on-one time with Ethan to do some of his schoolwork; which I totally need since we are still adjusting to the homeschooling lifestyle.</div>
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<i>Clemmie, a little about you now at 4 years, 4 months old. </i></div>
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<i>You can count to 100 by 1's, 5's, and 10's (we're working on 2's right now)</i></div>
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<i>You're interested in Spanish and can count to 20 en Español without any help.</i></div>
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<i>You talk in an Irish accent. It's one of the cutest things I've ever seen/heard.</i></div>
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<i>You put spells on your brother with your wand and pretend you're Luna Lovegood.</i></div>
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<i>You know the first 5 presidents of the United States and are currently working on the next 5.</i></div>
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<i>You love <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWDovIdyeOI">this</a> song you heard in Cancun. And sing it all the time.</i></div>
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<i>And...you are so excited for school.</i></div>
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<i>Your first day.</i></div>
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<i>And Ethan, I am so proud of you - you are handling the adjustment</i></div>
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<i>of learning at home very well. I get to spend so much more time with you. </i></div>
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<i>You have more time to practice your piano and</i></div>
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<i>are learning more than ever!</i></div>
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<i>And next week, you are getting fitted for your violin. Two instruments! Good thing</i></div>
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<i>you have some extra time on your hands....</i></div>
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<br />Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-22083533789172354642012-08-03T21:09:00.001-07:002012-08-03T21:09:07.580-07:00I'm having daydreams about summer.<br />
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It's triple digits over here and the sun still shines 'til almost eight o' clock, but summertime - real summertime (late mornings, swimming in the middle of the day, vacation) is behind us now.<br />
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So I'm dreaming of this.<br />
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Cancun, 2012.<br />
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June, to be exact.<br />
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<i>Our first day. </i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>On the way to Chichenitza.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Or, as the tour guide said "the Americans" call it,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"Chicken pizza."</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Ethan got a kick out of that.</i></span></div>
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<i>Sailing and snorkeling day. The waters were amazing,</i></div>
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<i>but my favorite part was sitting on the bow with the loud Mexican music blaring out </i></div>
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<i> the speakers and a Tecate in hand. It was quite lovely.</i></div>
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<i>She was not a beach girl this year. This year it was all</i></div>
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<i>about the pool. See below.</i></div>
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<i>The Pool.</i></div>
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<i>This is where they could have spent the</i></div>
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<i>At Xcaret on our last day. I love this picture.</i></div>
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<i>And finally, the fish. I was obsessed with him. He liked my phone. </i></div>
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<i>I liked his smile. We almost exchanged numbers.</i></div>
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<i>Really, though - he is so cute with his little smile.</i></div>
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<i>He kind of made my day.</i></div>
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<i>And that - is a very condensed story of our </i></div>
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<i>Cancun trip. Very condensed.</i></div>
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<i>Now it's time to join my babes for a movie - we just got Netflix and I feel</i></div>
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<i>like a kid in a candy store! (a very nerdy one with taped up glasses </i></div>
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<i>and headgear. Don't believe me? I (unfortunately) have the pictures to prove it.)</i></div>
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<i>Goodnight.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-43429708351857085862012-08-02T16:02:00.003-07:002012-08-02T20:04:55.461-07:00I vividly remember my first day of 7th grade. Seriously - like it was two weeks ago. I had just recovered from a bad case of chicken pox about two weeks before and still had the red inflamed craters on my face to show for it. I might as well have grown an extra eye in the middle of my forehead for the amount of stares directed at me. I remember a boy I had known since I was about 8 had the gall to ask just what was on my forehead and did I know it was there? Oh, David - you had no idea.<br />
<br />
Ahh....the wonderful memories of middle school. And even though it wasn't the ideal first day, (or first 30 days, for that matter) I loved those two years. Forget high school, it was all about junior high. And last week - it was Sebastian's turn.<br />
<br />
The thing about Sebastian is, his experience in middle school will be so unlike mine for a variety of reasons. For one, (and the most obvious) he's a boy. For two, (this one is the bigger reason) he's a jock and he's funny and he's handsome and he's got really good hair. (Guess those were a FEW reasons. And Ethan, you'll have to excuse my overuse of conjunctions - I'm only trying to make point here.) But really - hair is a big deal. At least for my boy it is. I actually spent a good part of this morning and the past few mornings since school began, helping him out with it - yunno, actually "doing his hair." I won't go into details as I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate my putting it out there, but let's just say it's a <i>very</i> important part of him. As I gelled and sprayed, encouraging this idiosyncrasy of his, I just hoped I wasn't helping him form some sort of identity with his hair - a la Danny Zuko or something where in the near future he might be caught with a comb in his back pocket or a small can of hairspray tucked into one of the little pockets of his backpack. Not that that would be a <i>bad</i> thing....<br />
<br />
But I have digressed. His experience will be different not just because he's a boy or a jock, is cute or has amazing hair. It's because 20 years have passed since I had my experience.<br />
<br />
And so much has changed.<br />
<br />
Kids have cell phones (with texting and web surfing capabilities), iPods, iPads, stacks of M-rated PS3 or XBOX games, computers and TV's in their rooms....and I'm sure the list goes on. None of this is groundbreaking news; I'm not going to enlighten anyone of the repercussions that will come from all of this endless technological candy that kids have at their disposal day in and day out. That's for another day.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm just being a concerned parent with all this "stuff" that's around now for kids to use to hurt one another, gain a little attention, or humiliate themselves. As a witness on Facebook, there are <b>adults</b> that don't even know how to properly act within their social media circles, and yet kids are given that opportunity everyday.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, it's every parent's choice when and if his/her kid gets a Facebook account, cellphone, or play violent video games for hours a night after homework is done. I get that, I really do. For a worrier like me, it's a little scary to be entering the realm of all that. He's growing up right before my eyes and I want him to make the right choices whether his friends are or not. I suppose his venturing into 7th grade has made me a little uptight and worrisome.<br />
<br />
That's normal, right?<br />
<br />
Whatever the case may be, whether I'm too overprotective, or not protective enough, he is his own person. I can drill and plead, cajole and bribe if I wanted to, but in the end, he is his own person. And he's a great person. I should just sit back, parent the best way I know how, and not worry. and not worry. and not worry. and not worry. 7th grade is going to be a great year for him - and I can say that even knowing "things" will happen. He will test his limits. He will make mistakes. He will get in trouble. But that's life - that should be expected; it's as it should be.<br />
<br />
Whew! Why have I taken so long to blog? This is like therapy!<br />
<br />
I <i>just hope</i> our experiences don't parallel with this next little tidbit -<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I had my</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">first real kiss in 7th grade</span>.<br />
<br />
<br />
yikes.<br />
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<br />Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-211965731267071822012-06-23T15:48:00.000-07:002012-06-23T15:48:03.847-07:00vent. iphoto sucks.iPhoto just ruined my week. I'm not sure I'll be able to make sense right now with the amount of anger and disappoint radiating from every pore in my body. But I'll try.<br />
<br />
I was given some hefty news yesterday - hefty as in shitty. All.....now let me be sure this is very clear.......<u>ALL</u> movies I've taken with my iPhone in the past two years is gone.<br />
<br />
I didn't know this but, (and it would have been really cool if iPhoto had a pop-up or SOMETHING to alert me) apparently when a movie is exported to some other place on your computer (in my case, an external HD) if you export it along with the rest of your photos only the first still image of the movie is saved and the rest of your movie is sent to oblivion to rest with Dr. Frankenfurter. Sure, I know I'm to blame for assuming all media was there - but how was I to know the "still" photo I was shown in thumbnail previews was just a picture and not the whole movie?<br />
<br />
Anyway, Vega will be two in October. I will have had my iPhone for two years in August. Needless to say many videos were taken of her on my iPhone and.....<br />
<br />
.....so it's a sad day. The loss is huge.<br />
<br />
HUGE.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-39221959061754160102012-06-23T14:52:00.004-07:002012-06-23T14:52:50.330-07:00Oh, You Beautiful Doll!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Clemmie had her first dance recital last weekend. It was on a huge stage at the Chandler Center for the Arts in front of a packed audience. I was so nervous and anticipated a crying and clinging Clemmie, but I got a brave and excited one, instead. She forgot a few steps but she kept going - being the beautiful doll she is.</div>
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<strike>Shirley</strike> Clementine Temple after her smashing performance.<br />
Grandpa and Grandma Tina came. So did mom - we were all so proud of our tiny dancer.</div>
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The night before at dress rehearsals. Way to go, my love.</div>
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<br /></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-54017667942728281252012-06-09T21:47:00.001-07:002012-06-09T21:47:45.144-07:00Dear Clementine,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You were whiny today. I guess you've been that way lately. But today - whew.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was ready for your bedtime.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I put Vega to bed first and then came back to you in your room, but you were crying in bed. Sobbing, I think, would be a more appropriate term. You looked so small and I could barely see your face in the dark.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I went to you and asked what was wrong. You were sad because "the brothers" were still watching TV downstairs and you wanted to be a part of it, too, but Daddy said no.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So I lay down with you because I knew that would make you feel better. You were so tired. You closed your eyes and I sang Norah Jones songs to you. I put my forehead to yours, and even though I knew you were sleeping, I gushed about you - to you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then it was time to go, and I thought about your day and how tomorrow would be better. I kissed your nose and lips and thought how perfect you look when you sleep - like an angel.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Albeit a whiny, sometimes bossy one. </span><br />
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<br />Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-29750927524867514932012-06-09T20:28:00.002-07:002012-06-09T20:28:47.737-07:00New CarIt's bad out, it's hot -<br />
and I've got<br />
the air turned up high.<br />
It's kind of cool in here,<br />
yunno.<br />
Sitting in my new<br />
swagger wagon -<br />
feeling a little old<br />
but I'm not wearing mom jeans<br />
so I guess it ain't so bad after all.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-62934256718546646892012-06-08T15:58:00.003-07:002012-06-08T15:58:35.842-07:00Mayday, maydayThis past week was an overflowing melting pot of extreme emotions, deadlines, lists, irrational fears, and endings.<br />
<br />
Sounds fantastic, I know.<br />
<br />
And yet even though it wasn't all sunshine and chocolate, some of it was - and those parts were like little kisses from baby Jesus thrown at me from above, landing on my head like little drops of rain. Or confetti. Yeah, definitely confetti.<br />
<br />
See, last week was Sebastian's last day of elementary school. Although the boy is a "mature" 12-year-old, not at all like the naive 12-year-olds of a bygone era, it still put an aching in my heart that I couldn't deny. Yes, he knows about things in life that I wish he didn't yet know. Despite that, I also know that he has a little boy heart and spirit inside of him - and he is growing into a young man right before my eyes. He must be 4 inches taller than me now.<br />
<br />
I just hope junior high is kind to him. He's been the big fish these past 7 years in elementary. I'm sort of hoping it either stays that way or he adjusts easily if it doesn't. I guess I know either way he'll be fine - he will just have to figure it out like the rest of us. But figuring it out sometimes really, really sucks. And since I'm his mom, figuring it out better be fucking cool to him.<br />
<br />
So where does the confetti come in? Well, we went on vacation right after! Yay! That is like super sparkly rainbow confetti! We went to Puerto Morelos, which is basically Cancun, just a little more private and authentic. We had 7 days of beach, pool, mojitos, cervezas, pina coladas, cool ancient ruins, and the bluest waters around. It was beautiful, the kids had an amazing time, and we all brushed up on our Spanish. Speaking of - I was so thankful to have my Spanish speaking husband there - I know Americans go to Latin American countries all the time, but seriously - to truly communicate with the locals makes for a much better experience. Much easier, too.<br />
<br />
That bit of confetti was really nice.<br />
<br />
I won't go into the rest of the ickies - fears, emotions, etcetera. Let's just say I suck at flying. I especially suck at flying over water. And I double especially with whipped cream and a cherry on top suck at flying over water with my kids. I made myself physically sick the day we flew back and probably aged about 5 years.<br />
<br />
But that's all I'll say about that now. It's actually incredibly boring and I'd rather forget the whole thing completely. Focus on the good - focus on the good.<br />
<br />
Which is reminding me - I need a new therapist. This last guy hasn't returned my email. Maybe I scared him off with our phone conversation. Hmmm...... I always divulge too much, too fast, talking 100 miles an hour. But he's a therapist.....shouldn't he be used to weirdos like me?<br />
<br />
Okay - I think it's time to sign off. Adios.<br />
<br />
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<br />Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-38978309178197567732012-03-04T19:17:00.000-08:002012-03-15T17:00:05.499-07:00TAE KWON DO<div><br /></div><div>I took Ethan to his first ever Tae Kwon Do tournament today. We were ALL supposed to go, but I read the fine print on the flyer the morning of, and decided that an all day event probably wouldn't go over well with Vega.<div><br /></div><div>I was definitely sad that we all weren't going to be there to support him on his big day, but sometimes that's just the way it goes and there's nothing to be done about it. Turns out I made the right decision since half the tournament was held outdoors in full sunlight.</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AlwW6Qhzb1tZJGiyQ9_mjwJl1lbL1B3H4pFwMNWrlOWcj7GfH_HadZaaP-PUTWBzt4EshEpDkrSp3cJaLJxAD0gG81LrcZgiqmRqeNtzesyljhQ_dUaMWPH8-iscguuIAMoaqgfM0i9h/s1600/DSC_7608.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AlwW6Qhzb1tZJGiyQ9_mjwJl1lbL1B3H4pFwMNWrlOWcj7GfH_HadZaaP-PUTWBzt4EshEpDkrSp3cJaLJxAD0gG81LrcZgiqmRqeNtzesyljhQ_dUaMWPH8-iscguuIAMoaqgfM0i9h/s800/DSC_7608.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720276798923190754" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlC7nYQJoztrVFIe-WDAHVL8Ic6RdnifyT1kZCRHMfphzEkrK016VxHf0o5UUXK0LmITHiP6JD0QUVxmxF8En3T8T0yOBEoyAV4T_Qbbfabha1vftkLvrfu2N3GoYXhoPocLw4hpx82Nk/s1600/DSC_7661.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlC7nYQJoztrVFIe-WDAHVL8Ic6RdnifyT1kZCRHMfphzEkrK016VxHf0o5UUXK0LmITHiP6JD0QUVxmxF8En3T8T0yOBEoyAV4T_Qbbfabha1vftkLvrfu2N3GoYXhoPocLw4hpx82Nk/s800/DSC_7661.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720276672241041698" /></a><br /><div>My feet are nice and brown from being baked for a few hours, but it was well worth it to see Ethan demolish a couple of boards and hold his own in the sparring sessions (which were held indoors, thank God!!)</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88kP4Ri9qIdqgiDGeINddZspfDmlgOmC30C4CePjjE-y_DLsdOEKu3eRpwgyIl2SygML1ed1ZhADIbRYaIhjUbS77_lGvb9a8jzhSoTITq0TGl_7ySYcfz7J_ddMjkMeQvL2ElYH1y9jr/s1600/DSC_7664.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88kP4Ri9qIdqgiDGeINddZspfDmlgOmC30C4CePjjE-y_DLsdOEKu3eRpwgyIl2SygML1ed1ZhADIbRYaIhjUbS77_lGvb9a8jzhSoTITq0TGl_7ySYcfz7J_ddMjkMeQvL2ElYH1y9jr/s800/DSC_7664.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720276664109939026" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QCLPIFAuHq19XePT0fBlT4ik1d_AQLlBzoo5wpQfCET8acK-GdOTuBEGOqYjEERf8qMEZscj8nJUkpie0MbJYiog9JACSSOtM9lr9RJDnDuIFRYG2RMnhs1fkO935PQy___nHyV0fdsp/s1600/DSC_7677.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QCLPIFAuHq19XePT0fBlT4ik1d_AQLlBzoo5wpQfCET8acK-GdOTuBEGOqYjEERf8qMEZscj8nJUkpie0MbJYiog9JACSSOtM9lr9RJDnDuIFRYG2RMnhs1fkO935PQy___nHyV0fdsp/s800/DSC_7677.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720276654699961378" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">And here he is - super happy with his trophies. 2nd place in board breaking and 2nd place in his belt rank sparring division.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Go Ethan!</div></div></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-37093379357381675822012-03-03T17:48:00.001-08:002012-03-15T16:40:59.512-07:00Sunshine? Clementine? Same thing.<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6NT54YhfN3r8hY_yKZZC73zd2POpoXA4inhcxrtejlZysRaz5opJRpAPh4xW9kqamAZks6qzXKHlLTJKHX2qGQc8tUKzaBa6A6YFdTUy1wHxSBjHFYkwz09PNDKgZ2sPhMYYnb8KEI1O/s1600/DSC_7520.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6NT54YhfN3r8hY_yKZZC73zd2POpoXA4inhcxrtejlZysRaz5opJRpAPh4xW9kqamAZks6qzXKHlLTJKHX2qGQc8tUKzaBa6A6YFdTUy1wHxSBjHFYkwz09PNDKgZ2sPhMYYnb8KEI1O/s800/DSC_7520.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720271426416746114" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">to be</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zNmHw5-cVJ5haVXQbzZYdovKGmXiBEhM7X3i8o-sWRdU7jttWKDUxmDqkV1cJM0c-RMk9sf5gFh_A-20jPgnvliZ_xb74s_TLORZPxTZAr_oYhtHMb3m6Fj_hM-6s6-Oq_2DvPfjmObP/s1600/DSC_7521.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zNmHw5-cVJ5haVXQbzZYdovKGmXiBEhM7X3i8o-sWRdU7jttWKDUxmDqkV1cJM0c-RMk9sf5gFh_A-20jPgnvliZ_xb74s_TLORZPxTZAr_oYhtHMb3m6Fj_hM-6s6-Oq_2DvPfjmObP/s800/DSC_7521.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720271418819481522" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">a kid again...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHx4HXJjjEcV4inlVi61I4NeEE-jhXIU_jTGSPjUUa5ITQfWHXaKrCzM6BZ1Uh5eXBxB1xlEYGXsAAkheLsVQ7YNO0j3-2UgmEBtzt_C57qjswYbETaoH-GTPt3atG_nqvXJ6FuX6pNdZ/s1600/DSC_7522.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHx4HXJjjEcV4inlVi61I4NeEE-jhXIU_jTGSPjUUa5ITQfWHXaKrCzM6BZ1Uh5eXBxB1xlEYGXsAAkheLsVQ7YNO0j3-2UgmEBtzt_C57qjswYbETaoH-GTPt3atG_nqvXJ6FuX6pNdZ/s800/DSC_7522.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720270945988052754" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">with a smile so lovely,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfxf7rgxZltvvFFt3F00kn7wjHZT4J0A5pJnsfSOZbBWLQg7qJpHwl1_qvgp4eZm0c2x1rVtEjba_ux3OVMtisj2HTMe20FrNY5OPSgmbj35DEBNmMYS1MWipn9vLrTv48IasAZ4GP1wx/s1600/DSC_7524.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfxf7rgxZltvvFFt3F00kn7wjHZT4J0A5pJnsfSOZbBWLQg7qJpHwl1_qvgp4eZm0c2x1rVtEjba_ux3OVMtisj2HTMe20FrNY5OPSgmbj35DEBNmMYS1MWipn9vLrTv48IasAZ4GP1wx/s800/DSC_7524.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720270933538624034" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">and eyes</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh8dla-Svge8YipazVQUD1eDIEfJSvxwRceTt_ilE9WE-ULrifEmctj1UyOMtuAkU0UVFTMueQYkKzCsbn57P3XD1FB9lYnidi6I8zlN5DKvnWfJpYgkknoApKmFDBIIcDXE-tqOc3sFc0/s1600/DSC_7526.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh8dla-Svge8YipazVQUD1eDIEfJSvxwRceTt_ilE9WE-ULrifEmctj1UyOMtuAkU0UVFTMueQYkKzCsbn57P3XD1FB9lYnidi6I8zlN5DKvnWfJpYgkknoApKmFDBIIcDXE-tqOc3sFc0/s800/DSC_7526.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720270931801468722" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">so bright!</div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-80021077086514398842012-03-01T16:22:00.001-08:002012-03-05T16:51:13.412-08:00Freedom!<div><br /></div><div>The baby gate is gone. </div><div><br /></div><div>Vega is free.</div><div><br /></div><div>She now has the entire house to explore. Does that frighten me? Yes, of course it does. So every morning I make sure all the upstairs doors are locked so Miss Investigation doesn't find Ethan's legos or Clemmie's wooden pepperonis and stuff them in her mouth. </div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2r23syZy4aeB1WkdUxY63Uy1l4C8TurK5zv-O-hGlDMJGIi5d8wXvdc2_FkNQsZw-1jVRrkRbEtbEb4JvlGfje4TS0XwduDVJLes0wLCTZGU1VxTuCm9v0cT6v1jHcZifjoksWszhqUQO/s1600/DSC_7570.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2r23syZy4aeB1WkdUxY63Uy1l4C8TurK5zv-O-hGlDMJGIi5d8wXvdc2_FkNQsZw-1jVRrkRbEtbEb4JvlGfje4TS0XwduDVJLes0wLCTZGU1VxTuCm9v0cT6v1jHcZifjoksWszhqUQO/s800/DSC_7570.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716573322471886098" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Where you goin?</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2v2S7uVEdMi4Sqc3ed77f6LFZG8uleuO4UZUITaBZz8DyLiRFLDP9gkkApYGR3GQ0xADeBJCiHCKttXQH2cr1uXSZQQU5K7wBE29_UTM_OPI24cLYMClPptWe0LnpTN0wB4TnmCzYSNY/s1600/DSC_7586.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2v2S7uVEdMi4Sqc3ed77f6LFZG8uleuO4UZUITaBZz8DyLiRFLDP9gkkApYGR3GQ0xADeBJCiHCKttXQH2cr1uXSZQQU5K7wBE29_UTM_OPI24cLYMClPptWe0LnpTN0wB4TnmCzYSNY/s800/DSC_7586.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716573321128695650" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The upside down world is a fine world, indeed. </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQI7z8sH1fa9G-UbMOOlS1_mZW9q0dUysjygC6LJlZpvLBtSo1eYDSc-eglkSU3RjgIa9xD3DlgNhd5aUjIaf2ddOktDFsZlynSBF-WqLM_MDbU1GR6NmVP7CoCN_nkhrQ8aktvu6HRRQ/s1600/DSC_7593.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQI7z8sH1fa9G-UbMOOlS1_mZW9q0dUysjygC6LJlZpvLBtSo1eYDSc-eglkSU3RjgIa9xD3DlgNhd5aUjIaf2ddOktDFsZlynSBF-WqLM_MDbU1GR6NmVP7CoCN_nkhrQ8aktvu6HRRQ/s800/DSC_7593.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716573312904648050" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>In this case, I think the grass is greener.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Until the novelty wears off, anyway.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-55549159471677373422012-02-29T13:13:00.005-08:002012-02-29T17:43:17.876-08:00The BEG (Big Ethan Giant)<div><br /></div><div>Today we're going to the bookstore. I love the bookstore. Like LOVE. The bookstore.<div><br /></div><div>I bought Ethan a set of Roald Dahl books at the beginning of the school year, and he finally started to read them about a month and half ago. He was totally doing the whole judging a book by it's cover thing, so I said, fine - I'll read this to you (it was Matilda) and I promise you'll like these books. He was so skeptical. But when I say "I'll read it to you", it could be War and Peace for all he cares. Like any kid, he loves his mommy reading to him. And like most kids, it's the time spent together he loves so much. The reading is a close second.</div><div><br /></div><div>So he finished Matilda, (his favorite so far) then read The Witches (2nd favorite) and most recently completed The BFG (which stands for Big Friendly Giant, in case you were wondering.)</div><div><br /></div><div>And now -- I keep hearing, "Can we go to the library/bookstore, please? I want a new Roald Dahl book."</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, since it's a book he's pleading for, we shall go....</div><div><br /></div><div>....and most likely, in the end, I'll have purchased new books for everyone. Because that's how it goes.</div></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVacNyT-WPdKYRENj0p0T1xOAoNIkIBEP4HSxAVDAJ5iFXvUJgE7OrOX5-0a4oJgipJeuH8XAi0KqDjL1gL4jvsHGluZlXpS1bzdyMYNhTRyF0cvmX8-ycbb6bX53lL22DoBAJ-wpX6RDZ/s1600/DSC_7542.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVacNyT-WPdKYRENj0p0T1xOAoNIkIBEP4HSxAVDAJ5iFXvUJgE7OrOX5-0a4oJgipJeuH8XAi0KqDjL1gL4jvsHGluZlXpS1bzdyMYNhTRyF0cvmX8-ycbb6bX53lL22DoBAJ-wpX6RDZ/s400/DSC_7542.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714736348910126706" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Show me your book."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6SE5IHlIxGrrSWwx6W5WE2W6UHJzVEPlU-kUeRILqaZ47wq2hVmLxyZ7lKklYLKEBJXtzyqzxhHTmAU5IZ83cXGS6xwGMpOim7LrFbzpVEqA16y_o7oTalsUex7lNDlK0q-w_pubabaN/s1600/DSC_7549.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6SE5IHlIxGrrSWwx6W5WE2W6UHJzVEPlU-kUeRILqaZ47wq2hVmLxyZ7lKklYLKEBJXtzyqzxhHTmAU5IZ83cXGS6xwGMpOim7LrFbzpVEqA16y_o7oTalsUex7lNDlK0q-w_pubabaN/s400/DSC_7549.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714736340128496994" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh, Ethan. Never a dull day...or an expressionless face.</i></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-70062969686492535552012-02-28T15:28:00.000-08:002012-02-29T15:52:00.080-08:00Wind, Light, and Dust<div><br /></div><div>Today was windy and dusty. So much so that swim practice for the boys was cancelled. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Not like I heard any complaints there! </span></i>As much as they enjoy swimming once they get there, GETTING THERE (i.e., dragging them away from playing outside with their friends) is torturous. But this IS Arizona, after all. Guess dust and wind is part of the protocol. <i>And a little Godsend for kids who desperately wanted a break from swim practice.</i><div><br /><div><div>So because we had more time on our hands than usual, we took a trip to Costco to pick up our favorite oatmeal, frozen chimis, and a few other staples. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">(Yes, chimichangas are a staple in my house, and no, I'm not proud of it.) </span></span>Getting my kicks easily these days, it turned into a really good time. Both girls sat in the cart eating a dozen samples, and I learned that Vega is a fish girl (at one point double fisting fried fish sticks) and although Clemmie didn't like them all, she was adventurous enough and at least tried them all. The boys were happy to eat for free and luckily Sebastian was around to grab a bag of spinach from the walk-in refrigerator because I was not dressed to freeze. Before we left, we grabbed some ice cream sundaes and warm churros from the snack bar. We enjoyed our treats and the company <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(well, mostly - about 85% due to some hogging of the one Sprite we shared</span></i>) .</div><div><br /></div><div>As soon as we got out of the car, Ethan took Vega to play in the front yard. She immediately ran down the sidewalk - toward the street, of course. He chased after her and grabbed tight of her hand. I watched them for a minute, standing in my driveway with 2 big boxes of lentils in my arms, and just felt - happy. Like, here is life. Here is my reason for living. These two little people -- one happily taking care of the other.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I darted inside, threw the boxes on the counter, and grabbed my camera only to see a big "E" on the display window. No card. Shit. I ran to my office, grabbed a memory card and went outside hoping they were still in the moment.</div><div><br /></div><div>They were, and I did my best. The light was fresh and hazy. They are sweet pictures; ones I can look at months or years from now and smile and remember the way she toddled, fresh from learning to walk just a few months prior. I'll be able to remember how he held her hand and his patience with her - never bothered by her pace, only happy that he was able to guide her, finally given some "Vega" time of his own, free from Clementine's interruptions or Sebastian's well-meaning pleads to leave her alone. I realize it was the joy I that I loved about that moment. His joy at being with her, and hers at the freedom of a walk in the neighborhood. The pictures are sweet, endearing even. But it's never the same in pictures, is it? There's something missing....the sounds, the smells, the light, the LIFE. But at least I have something to bring the memory back to life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Something to help me remember these simple moments of life and how thankful I am to be alive. Life has no guarantees of being easy, and this struggle I'm going through is enough to prove that over and over again without a doubt. Everyone has times of darkness and I know my struggle may seem insignificant to what so many others go through everyday, but no matter how big or small the struggle is, there IS light. Even if it's just a small flicker around every other corner, even if you have to squint to see it, it's there. I get glimpses of light all day long....Bobby giving me a hug even when I don't know I want it but I desperately need it, Clemmie walking up to me with a fresh-picked flower and saying, "this is for you!" My boys laughing and having fun with one another. It's not always easy to see it when you're in the deepest shadows. But it is there - you just have to find it - and when you do, grab it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I do - and it fills me. I'll take what I can get. Dark or light, this is life. There are no promises of happiness around here, there's not even a promise for that next breath.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the winds may change -- one day dusty and strong, the next still and clear. Both winds are beautiful in their own way. Life is still happening when the weather is bad - people still laugh, people still love. I guess maybe I'm trying to write something that will help me remember what is real and true and worth it, so when the weather is dark and stormy I can say "a-ha! There it is, remember? Yes, now stop feeling sorry for yourself and go on with your bad self!"</div><div><br /></div><div>So - a weather analogy? Okay - slightly hokey and stretching a little, but I'm okay with that. I'm okay with being hokey, or whatever. This is life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes hokey is just what you need. And maaaybe a big ol' box of frozen chimichangas. Yunno, for good measure.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWNM_sXiu70ygFeOSi8vD9E1faRUh0zuTT8fqNhCde-a6ZunMjozjT64cvSHcsX2MYuHwUqCXUK8nj575Kn26fi5EcgilNgtnl-4pvBJ_EuyY9lTHSRr3gjQAzSmXNlz3HRPkuG1zD9Ovf/s1600/DSC_7286.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWNM_sXiu70ygFeOSi8vD9E1faRUh0zuTT8fqNhCde-a6ZunMjozjT64cvSHcsX2MYuHwUqCXUK8nj575Kn26fi5EcgilNgtnl-4pvBJ_EuyY9lTHSRr3gjQAzSmXNlz3HRPkuG1zD9Ovf/s800/DSC_7286.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714705414219597346" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The way it should always be.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFk8XazCqaeCnBphi4ONQg2xsFwAkER0HXN0RR6LUkeghjZHVoBaVLYJ2OztMG0wLaVPvk9IAAvcAAPXERQJY2ruDHKnxD2TEKL6-G7otKa4mH6ji42lBp6War8HeQRv6w27trzUQPFwM2/s1600/DSC_7290.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFk8XazCqaeCnBphi4ONQg2xsFwAkER0HXN0RR6LUkeghjZHVoBaVLYJ2OztMG0wLaVPvk9IAAvcAAPXERQJY2ruDHKnxD2TEKL6-G7otKa4mH6ji42lBp6War8HeQRv6w27trzUQPFwM2/s800/DSC_7290.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714705404114741906" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJhU5LFM0aPjZG7oQXdB1UR77StDQmrR1cC3G92nVZuAeJcsGOSCFjBARijwFqbGbop6c98k0N_zfA5IkhYmDrvJ6QxszDV2XZ2dCVqvsz519JAFvybIX8RXN7HO3dLPWQz4l20Yh5p1l/s1600/DSC_7311.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJhU5LFM0aPjZG7oQXdB1UR77StDQmrR1cC3G92nVZuAeJcsGOSCFjBARijwFqbGbop6c98k0N_zfA5IkhYmDrvJ6QxszDV2XZ2dCVqvsz519JAFvybIX8RXN7HO3dLPWQz4l20Yh5p1l/s800/DSC_7311.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714705399572510210" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hello, Beautiful!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5x26md5Q0opuKOriLLWPmN115D4wU3g5ETq5SS6n9c6CA-j6VQ7OLVZonuSZAbR1Q1ZumZjZ_ZgjXeO6NjD1Ba9kpyxtuxkDqExzgaf6aCfVDnaiOlJy4L1GsJLQ4HuTdO2_WBYoX4lIw/s1600/DSC_7349.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5x26md5Q0opuKOriLLWPmN115D4wU3g5ETq5SS6n9c6CA-j6VQ7OLVZonuSZAbR1Q1ZumZjZ_ZgjXeO6NjD1Ba9kpyxtuxkDqExzgaf6aCfVDnaiOlJy4L1GsJLQ4HuTdO2_WBYoX4lIw/s800/DSC_7349.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714704926296949938" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Spin me, Sebbie!!!"</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPwxNRROA2qvPZdcje9eGwX0FbzZgjPUboAYWBY78yt8hfWZB7oBBinQ_fjaSkSEpRHlcU7VQoSRabQ1BryGJRMJJTDkYJEUBHQ9N7bh3GwHazBisD69WMU368rLB3CeWEEWs_4tHCdFQ/s1600/DSC_7352.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPwxNRROA2qvPZdcje9eGwX0FbzZgjPUboAYWBY78yt8hfWZB7oBBinQ_fjaSkSEpRHlcU7VQoSRabQ1BryGJRMJJTDkYJEUBHQ9N7bh3GwHazBisD69WMU368rLB3CeWEEWs_4tHCdFQ/s800/DSC_7352.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714704918640165474" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Dizzy</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52ci7WtWHpxooJl32AVFCaQkgWep0VmmkVAzBRQyBf_PFmfhEx86o69HB_vnoKD_h-QLcPQUH47vUsz1kv9Dz-XZ2WTrDCsbwvtIF9p8VZm0kPuRzKvQJno0j6Sfxt99QefPY81UcRsLE/s1600/DSC_7454.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52ci7WtWHpxooJl32AVFCaQkgWep0VmmkVAzBRQyBf_PFmfhEx86o69HB_vnoKD_h-QLcPQUH47vUsz1kv9Dz-XZ2WTrDCsbwvtIF9p8VZm0kPuRzKvQJno0j6Sfxt99QefPY81UcRsLE/s800/DSC_7454.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714704912635838226" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgQFHoNLO6OxbI7opjoyubDjgMenQw2pewJFmYPWqutyUX2kpw6-fE3uHszxh4ok8uy3r2NGjxSU1FL2DIhBxlrmX8Rxr_5fL-zT7l6_zmEzOikIk165xyKv3TX0A7ndCEz17jimBFusS/s1600/DSC_7493.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgQFHoNLO6OxbI7opjoyubDjgMenQw2pewJFmYPWqutyUX2kpw6-fE3uHszxh4ok8uy3r2NGjxSU1FL2DIhBxlrmX8Rxr_5fL-zT7l6_zmEzOikIk165xyKv3TX0A7ndCEz17jimBFusS/s800/DSC_7493.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714703709740410002" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Her favorite shoes.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn4ohWabpBDfXek8hffxU8rq1vJq7GDsT4acaf0QoUDAB6FUUfohmSvl0tpye799fn3vNT-oA0ZiPd2C9JX6H_DdoEkDzTjVo5Qw_1sPu34izElcfA8c3bWZpGHHXrkuK1bg0LimvFBOe/s1600/DSC_7499.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn4ohWabpBDfXek8hffxU8rq1vJq7GDsT4acaf0QoUDAB6FUUfohmSvl0tpye799fn3vNT-oA0ZiPd2C9JX6H_DdoEkDzTjVo5Qw_1sPu34izElcfA8c3bWZpGHHXrkuK1bg0LimvFBOe/s800/DSC_7499.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714703706537598418" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Riding his sister's Barbie bike. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>He doesn't care what people think of him and doesn't know how so very cool that is.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhte22m9Uz7e-eQJYUFQlrQ5wktpPh_-bm10IJKgucAJsBxeNB6NYmdHAgx3ZKMmmJtU0gcxvAl4Sw_RnYz7TBz1pYrdYx_taYeDjOdfe0VK0Uh3WSknp9PrEQaYwT1hIRyPl9pQNoaFfwg/s1600/DSC_7511.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhte22m9Uz7e-eQJYUFQlrQ5wktpPh_-bm10IJKgucAJsBxeNB6NYmdHAgx3ZKMmmJtU0gcxvAl4Sw_RnYz7TBz1pYrdYx_taYeDjOdfe0VK0Uh3WSknp9PrEQaYwT1hIRyPl9pQNoaFfwg/s800/DSC_7511.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714703697737003426" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-60159402696171247882012-02-23T12:42:00.002-08:002012-02-23T13:13:37.501-08:00k stuffI don't know if there's any blog rules about posting more than once a day, but I'm at posting number 3, and I don't know if I'll stop here. For now, I'm present - here at my blog where I've wanted to be so badly this past year, but for one reason or another, stayed away. Sure, I've dabbled a bit here and there, but I'm sure Vega won't be happy at my lack of updates on her growth, especially since I wrote so much about her sister at the same age.<div><br /></div><div>It's not intentional. If all was well in my world, I'm sure I'd be posting away. Revealing her favorite toys and foods and what makes her smile (ride on car, oatmeal, being chased). But OCD is back in my life and December and January (ok, February, too) was/is seriously hell on Earth.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think my blog is read by anyone anymore which may be a good thing since I'm using it more as a journal for myself. So if by chance someone is reading this....you have been warned. I will be posting personal stories on here, and will at sometime or another sound like the most whiny, depressed, most annoying person ever. Because that's what having OCD does to me - it makes me angry, sad, and angry and sad. Just pissed off that I have to deal with this. </div><div><br /></div><div>So. I'm at a point right now where I'm trying to tackle this. I'm in therapy right now with a really good OCD specialist who pushes me really hard and has me doing these crazy ERP exercises which just freak me the f*** out, but I do anyway. I think it's helping. I also take a million different supplements so I don't have to take meds. All those anxiety/SSRI meds scare me for some reason. I just hate the idea of continuously putting something unnatural in my body every single day. But I'm not ruling anything out! If after a few months I don't notice an improvement, I will definitely be revisiting the idea of meds, so we'll see. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure why I'm choosing this blog as a place to vent, but I just know that I need it. I won't always post this kind of material. I will definitely try to update more often on the kids, but it <i>will</i> make an appearance. Again - you are warned. haha</div><div><br /></div><div>So now I'm off to teach Clemmie to read. BOB books are the best, right? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-80965237784966062362012-02-23T12:24:00.005-08:002012-02-23T12:39:39.528-08:00Sisterly Love.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9-nHWaAX0KU58YQ8iKQkPVYZi7gyVxX__ZQgxxY1UDSnHInV1MW2bBjBCVMatSAH7dam6BCvj7uJei96TLmB35Fthnbq9ETVFYPFyfuivrFe7FmoZ_NENdrIACQ9La-fGLAFg6q8SkR_/s1600/DSC_7002.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9-nHWaAX0KU58YQ8iKQkPVYZi7gyVxX__ZQgxxY1UDSnHInV1MW2bBjBCVMatSAH7dam6BCvj7uJei96TLmB35Fthnbq9ETVFYPFyfuivrFe7FmoZ_NENdrIACQ9La-fGLAFg6q8SkR_/s800/DSC_7002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712432782090576818" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Kisses for Vega</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS30QiHL1hpFataD0pxzGmUCfFIt77MybzUsi0JXyH2-O3m2IWjDdjqMif9cc9oIVT0Ps71H3RWbGUblZSMpZ_hXtmrPwmHoZXcaQgN1wJbiDnhkq4cKmkxa3lPJeYSOEpvNKvhK7bQGKY/s1600/DSC_7003.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS30QiHL1hpFataD0pxzGmUCfFIt77MybzUsi0JXyH2-O3m2IWjDdjqMif9cc9oIVT0Ps71H3RWbGUblZSMpZ_hXtmrPwmHoZXcaQgN1wJbiDnhkq4cKmkxa3lPJeYSOEpvNKvhK7bQGKY/s800/DSC_7003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712432754426714034" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">"Now give me kissy!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvm9T8pThFzDOgGD1tuDGTnPSLrJjrGZTXl09-nOkAIPa2rrwwaja1EUOk8cAgQY91hNcH_Yj_UOwtTA0o-ZgPyARLMqvkIo-NN804yes2DWubFgRbT-bMX3JYBbraobltUapvGufij6u/s1600/DSC_7005.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvm9T8pThFzDOgGD1tuDGTnPSLrJjrGZTXl09-nOkAIPa2rrwwaja1EUOk8cAgQY91hNcH_Yj_UOwtTA0o-ZgPyARLMqvkIo-NN804yes2DWubFgRbT-bMX3JYBbraobltUapvGufij6u/s800/DSC_7005.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712432333129662018" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">"mwaaah."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmJPQVW5Qb78XMc8TujccWDfI5A5jn3v4nEJbTTqX0FpKz3vdtNvpx9GRSerpv9z7Z-Jrn0Xa3q9YfCc9Kc-lP4LL8sYqlsVmwigiMQY4hUHyThmqJ5gSLzF2cCCmZoQOEuofOvQLTRjk/s1600/DSC_7006.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmJPQVW5Qb78XMc8TujccWDfI5A5jn3v4nEJbTTqX0FpKz3vdtNvpx9GRSerpv9z7Z-Jrn0Xa3q9YfCc9Kc-lP4LL8sYqlsVmwigiMQY4hUHyThmqJ5gSLzF2cCCmZoQOEuofOvQLTRjk/s800/DSC_7006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712432302887614642" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">"Thank you!"</div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-3678866231772664872012-02-23T11:32:00.004-08:002012-02-23T12:19:35.110-08:00Clemmie's got a brand new bed.<div><br /></div><div>It was totally overdue. She'll be 4 in a couple of months, so a big girl bed was in order. I just wish now that I had taken a picture of her the day before we transitioned to the BGB, so someday she could see herself sleeping in a crib. At 3 years old.<div><br /></div><div>She's baby number 3, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" is our attitude most of the time. And besides, it was really cute to see her climb in and out of her crib just like a little female Tarzan or something.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok - maybe it was more than "totally overdue," but now she's sleeping like the big girl she is and really, she couldn't be more thrilled about that.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ce8T_zDdk7DXB7j_KKuXBWKwdwyYcgb74Rl2VE-2uwLIC5NNkEIgkyPdJlaNldsqRkQhVKrpGJcUrlv01iLa7RHXHaKtkaCMfXu-Y4x5GJHNiUSLZArXgLWNc5_i8bh_cgyua-9MS0qC/s1600/DSC_6885.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ce8T_zDdk7DXB7j_KKuXBWKwdwyYcgb74Rl2VE-2uwLIC5NNkEIgkyPdJlaNldsqRkQhVKrpGJcUrlv01iLa7RHXHaKtkaCMfXu-Y4x5GJHNiUSLZArXgLWNc5_i8bh_cgyua-9MS0qC/s800/DSC_6885.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712424847255580082" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">This just proves how much she loves her bed. She Capital H - Hates posing for me lately, so for her to get up there and just do this....well, let's just say she's proud. And oh-so-happy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK6DsOZSSK53oUHRlbEvfWdbIIb8uEGAlL48DthZnCDmQSK0qUfGapKm67TJEHcqNilk8srrsP8Er8HRkc5NXi5EeFxBOiwPF-cqHKkx9cHVop2skjkHR9-uZSXlhmIRALmMT_6kBTvmu/s1600/DSC_6905.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK6DsOZSSK53oUHRlbEvfWdbIIb8uEGAlL48DthZnCDmQSK0qUfGapKm67TJEHcqNilk8srrsP8Er8HRkc5NXi5EeFxBOiwPF-cqHKkx9cHVop2skjkHR9-uZSXlhmIRALmMT_6kBTvmu/s800/DSC_6905.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712424818886198146" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Taking pictures got old really fast, so she sat down to make us some lunch. Isn't her bed so pretty? We just need to find a cute comforter or duvet and she's set.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmpJL9-leIzuEJePYKpIUl6XiqadkXmI8Dd3cMlH_JVZjlOaTPcgmmpYTo6ZFXymreFg3QBzojJzbepNktEcKPoLJMgxxJAPwxk090wsWJCS8Lvn-QB_BA_VxnwleO1dBCPQgY4dtK4A-/s1600/DSC_6912.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmpJL9-leIzuEJePYKpIUl6XiqadkXmI8Dd3cMlH_JVZjlOaTPcgmmpYTo6ZFXymreFg3QBzojJzbepNktEcKPoLJMgxxJAPwxk090wsWJCS8Lvn-QB_BA_VxnwleO1dBCPQgY4dtK4A-/s800/DSC_6912.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712424044159931266" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Dear Clemmie, always play pretend, ok? Even when you have your first apartment somewhere and you're eating Ramen noodles for weeks, (besides calling me to bring you food) play pretend. It makes life a little easier and way more fun.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KEISPQd439DzwIe8bmqcp_ap6NetPOa2LY9ROVTfSIf6KQ4U_S6H0Vz75eSW4l3X_g_rpG2kFhYpigPW8BsUCpLA4G5VX9hP3ojqVLx3Bd7fSTbOpqrI6cDzDvi1JV7cGmmTGcKLc_f8/s1600/DSC_6937.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KEISPQd439DzwIe8bmqcp_ap6NetPOa2LY9ROVTfSIf6KQ4U_S6H0Vz75eSW4l3X_g_rpG2kFhYpigPW8BsUCpLA4G5VX9hP3ojqVLx3Bd7fSTbOpqrI6cDzDvi1JV7cGmmTGcKLc_f8/s800/DSC_6937.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712424029617105858" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">You are an angel.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Glad you love your bed.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now if I could only convince you to take a nap....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-70517462442519767542012-01-26T22:03:00.001-08:002012-01-26T22:11:01.264-08:00SleepySometimes it's fights and forced apologies.<div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm sorry.</span></i><br /><div>Sometimes it's 3 bowls of oatmeal and hungry bellies.</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I want some more honey in mine!</span></i></div><div>Sometimes it's homework and I forgot my book in Science class.</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Really?</span></i></div><div>Sometimes it's driving to practice.</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Be safe and have fun.</span></i></div><div>Sometimes it's would you please be nice to your sister?</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She's annoying!</span></i></div><div>Sometimes it's kisses goodnight and don't forget to bring your book tomorrow!</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(I won't)</span></i></div><div>But right now I'm tired, and sometimes is resting. I'll kiss your faces in the morning.</div><div><br /><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-79561456661664794892011-10-09T18:30:00.001-07:002012-02-29T17:47:37.418-08:00Big ol' 12-year-oldSebastian,<div><br /></div><div>You turned 12 today. You woke up really late because you were exhausted from playing paintball with your friends the night before. We sang Happy Birthday to you when you came downstairs and after you thanked us you're all, "technically I turn 12 at 11:07 p.m., so I'm not so sure it's really my birthday yet." Then I was like, "Well if that's the case then you get less than an hour to celebrate, my dear." </div><div><br /></div><div>So we decided that because family was coming over and we wanted to give them a good reason to celebrate, that today is indeed your birthday. I made you albondigas because you love them and I made strawberry cupcakes, too. They weren't gluten-free, but I let you eat them anyway because frankly, the ones that were gluten-free also happened to be vegan and sugar-free and tasted like dirt. Or at least that's what Mirella said - and although it hurt a little to hear, I think she was kinda right. So I let you indulge a little because you only turn 12 years old once, right? </div><div><br /></div><div>I really can't believe it's been 12 years that we've known each other. You're my baby! My BABY! And now you're taller than me and growing so fast. I miss the days when I could pick you up in my arms and take you upstairs to bed. I miss combing your hair for you because it always had to be so perfectly coiffed, even at 5 years old. I miss your miniature teeth and singing the "brushy brushy" song to you as we brushed at night. Most of all, especially right now, I miss your voice.....the one that was around until a few months ago. I watched some old video last night of you, Ethan, and Clemmie sledding in the snow - and there it was. Your voice so soft and clear, so childlike. Now it's getting deeper everyday - changing just as you are.</div><div><br /></div><div>Although I miss all those parts of you - the ones that represent you as a little boy - I love you now more than ever. I appreciate who you are becoming. Your views on life, how you see the world. You're such a cool person. You don't even have to try - you just are. I hope you know that. I hope you realize how special you are and how f***ing lucky the world is to have you in it.</div><div><br /></div><div>My wish for you today is this: Enjoy being 12. Enjoy NOW. There is a time for everything - don't rush to grow up - that time will be here sooner than you think.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And remember, Sebbie - </div><div>"I simply love you more than I love life itself." </div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-13977606911057691732011-09-19T12:09:00.000-07:002011-09-19T13:25:34.360-07:005 reasons why I love today....<div><div><br /></div><div>....just in case I get all melancholy for some reason and forget.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>1. Ethan received an award at school "For always setting an excellent example to others, showing great participation, and having a positive attitude!" I mean, I couldn't be more proud of him. Attitude goes a long way and I'm thankful that a good one comes naturally to him.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4qipamTdUKr5OIYQVfIYczrR-UEeQcbYTNec4AF4CkC3OcZDCk_JrzOC36N6FMR-H6gjhrdGIJsdmk_fCI4IFOQVi0e-_ce_gz7l_5SIwNQr37XR3Pr1N821D1oD-F2ufL3hUE_uZg2lA/s1600/ethanaward.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4qipamTdUKr5OIYQVfIYczrR-UEeQcbYTNec4AF4CkC3OcZDCk_JrzOC36N6FMR-H6gjhrdGIJsdmk_fCI4IFOQVi0e-_ce_gz7l_5SIwNQr37XR3Pr1N821D1oD-F2ufL3hUE_uZg2lA/s800/ethanaward.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654160204198861506" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">4th one in from the left.</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>2. Clemmie is getting over the sickies. Not sure what she had going on, but she threw up Saturday night, had a 103.5 fever, and actually took a nap - during the daytime! I wouldn't mind if she stuck to that last one. But as long as she's feeling better I'll gladly take her awake for 13 hours straight.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. I don't have a million loads of laundry to do! Bobby and the boys folded all the laundry this weekend so I have 1 <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">maybe</span></i> 2 to tackle. Easy peasy - I'll just fold it while one of the "Housewives" is on (hopefully Beverly Hills or NJ).</div><div><br /></div><div>4. I found the perfect mask for Sebastian's Egyptian costume he has to make for school. </div><div><br /></div><div>5. Gonna start the Fluenz CD's I borrowed from a girlfriend. Se habla Español? Sí!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-91741970419971946262011-09-16T13:37:00.000-07:002011-09-19T12:55:06.072-07:00TMI. And I don't care!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcgXRgz91nEpvIyOHzNB9QIgE4xe1VQifKblSprebiyz_M4gZUHy_vKGJpIeOIjadUxaHSzHfIBJ4l1_-eKfvmwWheNt4fxEXv8zaTUUiFa3KJmXtyKyIxGnsPrFcxqkM4pu-u8t_MadF/s1600/vegatooth.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcgXRgz91nEpvIyOHzNB9QIgE4xe1VQifKblSprebiyz_M4gZUHy_vKGJpIeOIjadUxaHSzHfIBJ4l1_-eKfvmwWheNt4fxEXv8zaTUUiFa3KJmXtyKyIxGnsPrFcxqkM4pu-u8t_MadF/s600/vegatooth.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654161063516473874" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's tiny - but there!</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Vega's first tooth has finally graced us with its presence. After 10 months of bare gums, I can now feel the jagged ridges of a baby tooth. Her left one on the bottom, to be exact - just in case someday she might wanna know that.</div><br />She still looks the same - you would never know she had a tooth unless you were searching for it. But it's there - and it's legit. She'll be a year in a month and a half. Guess it had to happen sometime.<br /><br />In addition to all the hooplah surrounding her new tooth, I think I'm done breastfeeding her. It wasn't planned this way, and if you know me, you would know how a piece of me is devasted that my nursing days are over<em><span style="font-size:85%;"> because I am the biggest sentimental on earth</span></em>. But with the addition of this new tooth of hers, maybe it's a blessing in disguise. I have some shudder-inducing memories from when the other kids were babies - they would turn their heads abruptly and pull away with my nipple firmly planted between their spiky little teeth not letting go until I screamed with pain. Only then would they let go and look at me like I was crazy.<br /><br />But I really wanted to breastfeed her until she was 2, teeth and all. I just wasn't producing enough milk to keep it going. And YES - to all the ignorants out there - and you know who you are - breastfeeding past the age of one has MANY benefits. Do your research and please don't mistake your opinion from truth. <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>I'll step down from the podium now, thank you</em></span>. She won't benefit from them, but she's healthy and that's all that matters. I gave her nearly a year's worth of antibodies and perfect nutrition. I think she'll be good.<br /><br />And my nipples will be, too. Thanks.<br /><br /><br /><div></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-90833637093216404242011-09-02T16:27:00.001-07:002011-09-08T22:33:43.302-07:009/2/11<div><br /></div><div><div>Clementine's going through my phone right now, squealing with delight as she comes across old pictures of herself. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There she is, wind-blown hair sailing out to sea on the fake wooden boat in the back of grandpa's house. Oh, and there's one of her and Vega lying on my bed together - Vega still fuzzy on top and more round in the cheeks than she is now. Clemmie's "bob" still very "Madeleine-ish" and fresh. 5 months ago.</span></i></div><br />5 months ago, and now the two of them - they are a changin'.<br /><br />Clemmie is still Clemmie for the most part, lounging around the house most days in undies and a saggy ponytail, purposely stepping on Vega's fingers or playing with her miniature castle and plastic princess figurines. She can play with them for a very long time - all by herself - and sometimes I think, so THIS is what it's like. No longer a baby, toddler days are a thing of the past.....I now have a full-fledged, hardcore, so smart it'll knock your mismatched argyle socks off, darling little GIRL.<br /><br />Yeah, she can be a meanie to her little sister. And yeah, it can really piss me off <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">even though I know she's just jealous of all the attention Vega needs. All the attention that was once ALL hers.</span></i><div></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div>But I know she loves her. Those kisses and squeezes that are given through gritted teeth are kisses and squeezes nonetheless, and for a girl whose heart is as big and beautiful as hers, they are coming from a place of love. No doubt about it. Vega will sometimes return the favor and give Clemmie one of her famous slobbery open-mouthed kisses that we all covet so much.<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Lucky!</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>She doesn't give them super freely, but when she does it's like whatever you think is the best thing in the world <b>x 100</b>. She still doesn't have any teeth so there's no pain involved, just the sweetest breath and lots of slobber surrounded by a smooth, round happy baby face peering right at you from less than an inch away. Ain't nothing better.</div><div><br /></div><div>But ask her any day to give HERSELF a kiss <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">which is done in the mirror</span></i>, and her whole face lights up, her body convulses with happiness or eagerness or both, her mouth opens, and she plants one on the cold hard surface immediately, and sometimes twice.</div><div><br /></div><div>Guess I can't blame her.....she <i>IS</i> really cute.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aS-cn-pTQFA2dThGAbjv9hGEorSPmI5ki9BMCvXpFS82Hu2pXrW393x05HGKawktx_eVUf_GDNYK2fL4qzKEOgWTp772fN003NqkJpIqUGCyy6-hV3XQ7KmAhD6WxRRQ82Qg83itt5wY/s1600/DSC_8733.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aS-cn-pTQFA2dThGAbjv9hGEorSPmI5ki9BMCvXpFS82Hu2pXrW393x05HGKawktx_eVUf_GDNYK2fL4qzKEOgWTp772fN003NqkJpIqUGCyy6-hV3XQ7KmAhD6WxRRQ82Qg83itt5wY/s800/DSC_8733.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650227685801879634" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">10 months. already.</span></i></div><div><br /></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-70101895681473196122011-08-01T10:36:00.000-07:002011-08-01T13:45:26.167-07:00August 1st, 2011<div>There is a baby on my boob. Or is it a little monkey? I can't tell these days - because Vega is my Curious Georgina. Not because she's curious, but because she reminds me, physically, of a cute little baby monkey.<div><br /></div><div>I think it's her long limbs and the way her ears slightly stick out from her perfectly round head.</div><div>Oh, and possibly her wispy hair that sticks straight up when she's done napping.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I mean it in the most endearing way possible, of course.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Mon petite singe</span></i>. My little monkey.</div><div><br /></div><div>She fell asleep while nursing so I'm getting some work done. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(and blogging. Whoopee!) </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Time is flying with her. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">She's getting so big, so, so, (too) fast. </span></div><div><br /></div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXRymUiL-5_tgOOMvjPAYO7FFP-kXvgKQscNIeQPItIL1Zocf0pk0uw6OeiuJ9t0JvHEflr8wCFHVdZmbc-xkEUV24ihvTbDSUtBZlQ6NbDnUtQQvEEkCnzNx0a2t62PVccbtq-guMwHA/s1600/DSC_4373.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXRymUiL-5_tgOOMvjPAYO7FFP-kXvgKQscNIeQPItIL1Zocf0pk0uw6OeiuJ9t0JvHEflr8wCFHVdZmbc-xkEUV24ihvTbDSUtBZlQ6NbDnUtQQvEEkCnzNx0a2t62PVccbtq-guMwHA/s400/DSC_4373.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635987442246181250" /></a><div><br /></div><div>So is she. Clementine started preschool this past week, going a few hours three days a week. She loves it. I knew she would. She's making new friends, socializing, learning, and I get to spend some one-on-one time with Vega. A win-win, if I do say so myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>She's easily the funniest little girl I've ever known. I think she's taking improv classes at night when we go to sleep because she is drama x 100. But I love it. I always wanted a girl with some spunk.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36H_IE4T4pJai3B4p_Mtfx7Bttr3OmadFKM9kT3hc7R9TH0cSUXc-570LJfFjf_Q334VffR7NTWmUSyxkA6kaMKnYudYdLJo7XzgyiJLxiN9w4YMO4BjFd2-AfXZlj3m3bYJZ9eXUAtvC/s1600/DSC_6287.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36H_IE4T4pJai3B4p_Mtfx7Bttr3OmadFKM9kT3hc7R9TH0cSUXc-570LJfFjf_Q334VffR7NTWmUSyxkA6kaMKnYudYdLJo7XzgyiJLxiN9w4YMO4BjFd2-AfXZlj3m3bYJZ9eXUAtvC/s400/DSC_6287.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635987438311533874" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Ethan is a 2nd grader now - obsessed with recording shows off the DVR, and currently wants <a href="http://www.buyslushymagic.com/Default.asp?TCode=PI8&Tag=google&gclid=CMmrzpT6rqoCFQQ_bAod-Exj7g&bhcp=1">this.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>That boy. Got his sweet tooth from his mama. </div><div><br /></div><div>And there isn't a 7-year-old boy sweeter to his baby sister than this one. </div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnLJlf7tNt4rpqS1f4txei-pgiYAjSKkdyqWEbtid6TW3jXc8VBtSurvWbI3w5uxEdksw_lmP1ufBdNXiuCTe30A2w6RRps5AO9iBrGU5hMTCzXTvpYR2WXrhirltPv0USwKZfDGaj1fr/s1600/DSC_6301.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnLJlf7tNt4rpqS1f4txei-pgiYAjSKkdyqWEbtid6TW3jXc8VBtSurvWbI3w5uxEdksw_lmP1ufBdNXiuCTe30A2w6RRps5AO9iBrGU5hMTCzXTvpYR2WXrhirltPv0USwKZfDGaj1fr/s400/DSC_6301.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635987433926349954" /></a><div>....but there is an 11-year-old who gives him serious competition. They fight over her - over who can make her smile more, over who she'll crawl to first. I just roll my eyes cause I know she loves them both so much!</div><div><br /></div><div>He's in the 6th grade now. Almost 12 years old. Loves shooting hoops and is trying so very hard to convince me that he needs a cellphone and a facebook page.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>NOT anytime soon, my dear. Although I do admire his tenacity.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hear about one or the other, or both......every - single - day.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFaVuNc7b3NwYirIcs1xAIg0gpYurjlXYbIiEvd6zRu4H0vJuiX4IHf7J8wgPoqUezAB5cT9JPCkHUw5M5tpo4j6BQoKJE4GD_yvOkgqzgankhkXaMJQF5l0DMxtTiBkT5Z1NymUbEdUy/s1600/DSC_6314.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFaVuNc7b3NwYirIcs1xAIg0gpYurjlXYbIiEvd6zRu4H0vJuiX4IHf7J8wgPoqUezAB5cT9JPCkHUw5M5tpo4j6BQoKJE4GD_yvOkgqzgankhkXaMJQF5l0DMxtTiBkT5Z1NymUbEdUy/s400/DSC_6314.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635987428297729554" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Working on his ballin' skills. </div><div style="text-align: center;">You go, Sebbie.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Can't wait for bball season.</div><div style="text-align: center;">They better watch out!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-16888482870618427172011-07-11T21:41:00.000-07:002011-07-11T21:59:00.986-07:00July 11Dear Vega,<div><br /></div><div>I just put you down to sleep about 25 minutes ago. I would have jumped on the computer sooner, as my heart was about to jump out of my chest, full of emotion for what I just experienced with you, but as is typical around here, I had your sister to put to bed, a dinner table to clean off, and other miscellaneous to-do's that have to get done around this time. </div><div><br /></div><div>But now I'm here - and let me tell you my little 8-month-old baby girl, you are THE sweetest thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Daddy gave you a bath and dressed you in your jammies. I grabbed you and took you to the mirror. You like to look at yourself (and any other baby, for that matter). We played with you for a few minutes and soon it was time for bed. Daddy wanted to lay you down, but I held onto you and sang you a made-up song as we danced slowly in our room.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Goodnight Vega, Goodnight Vega.....</div><div>Goodnight Vega how I love you, love you, love youuuuu."</div><div><br /></div><div>Your cheek was pressed against mine and you were so still, so quiet. I danced with you over to the mirror so I could see what your face looked like and you had your big, beautiful eyes wide open. I knew that at any minute they would probably close, so I kissed you and laid you down in the pack-n-play. You didn't make a sound as I left the room and all I could think about was how lucky I am to be your mommy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just an ordinary moment. But it was special. And I won't ever forget holding you like that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sweet dreams, my love.</div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843205294552821127.post-15128478434620691052011-05-30T22:51:00.000-07:002011-05-30T23:19:47.552-07:00Little lunch story<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZty0M5eJrwlPZJ-3VEGNmOMaA9fjM8vvyuwVLTqmfWnigIWKEpp-QgL1mBBg5GP2Cy2u8gehSq6f5mI_j7rEtCqLPtqgDIOQG8n7dTcpz9teiTfmwuCiHg267hv3PmL9kE-4FG66N1CX/s1600/hummus.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZty0M5eJrwlPZJ-3VEGNmOMaA9fjM8vvyuwVLTqmfWnigIWKEpp-QgL1mBBg5GP2Cy2u8gehSq6f5mI_j7rEtCqLPtqgDIOQG8n7dTcpz9teiTfmwuCiHg267hv3PmL9kE-4FG66N1CX/s400/hummus.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612760599084534450" /></a><br />I took the family to <a href="http://www.pitajungle.com/">Pita Jungle</a> for lunch today. I had been craving their mixed beans since I last had them a few days ago - like could -not-get-them-off-my-mind-type-craving, so I pitched the idea to Bobby and off we went.<div><br /></div><div>I ordered plain hummus for an appetizer since Bobby's salmon salad was gonna hold up the rest of our meals for a good 20 minutes and HELLO, we have four kids! Food - any food - and fast. We almost <i>never</i> order an app. Just seems unnecessary and I always get way too full when I do get one. The waitress suggested veggies when I asked what else besides pita bread they have to dip with. Yunno, because of Seb's gluten allergy and all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Immediately after she left the table I heard a groan and something along the lines of "I HATE THIS GLUTEN FREE LIFE!" Of course, that hurt. No one wants to hear their child say they hate <i>any</i> part of life, even the gluten free parts, and I empathized with him. I <i>know</i> it sucks to not have any regular bread. I get it. I should have just made some of "his kind" at home and brought it with us to dip into the hummus, DUH! But I didn't, and Seb was not thrilled at the thought of dipping vegetables.</div><div><br /></div><div>So the veggies come, and so is the point of my story - I swear! And we all dig in. All of us except for Sebastian, that is. I pass out the cucumbers, tomatoes, and pita bread to Ethan and Clemmie. I ask Seb if he wants any. He declines.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally I lifted a hummus-topped cucumber to Sebastian's mouth and said, "Try it." </div><div><br /></div><div>He accepted it.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Do you like it?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mmm-hmm."</div><div><br /></div><div>"See! I told you!" <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And it really was good. In fact, I liked dipping the veggies better than the pita bread.</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Then Ethan goes, "Can I have some more cucumbers? They're really good with the hummus, Mommy!"</div><div><br /></div><div>And I'm all, "Pass me your plate." <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Of course you can have some more. So glad you like it! YAY!</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>And the next few minutes were filled with us <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">(S<i>ebbie included)</i></span></span> enjoying our appetizer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later when we got home, Ethan came up to me as I was preparing dinner and whispered in my ear, "You know how I said I liked the cucumbers with the hummus today? Well, I really didn't like it that much, but I just said it so Sebbie wouldn't be sad, because you know, he can't eat the bread."</div><div><br /></div><div>And right then and there I just wanted to grab his face and kiss him and tell him he was such a sweet boy and to thank him for loving his brother.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so.</div><div>I did.</div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04291943186837343185noreply@blogger.com2