tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25992892305537230272024-03-04T20:12:02.500-08:00Grape TaffyKPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-60359070553260495112021-02-24T15:37:00.001-08:002021-02-24T15:37:13.921-08:00A LOOK BACK... <p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">How?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>How has it been 3 years since I wrote anything on my blog?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>I’ll tell you how – the busiest and most confusing 3 years
on Earth happened. I started (and am now finishing) my FINAL degree ever, lost (and
then grieved the loss) of my best friend, watched the world try to heal a
historic (and not new) racial divide and then BOOM- pandemic and the total
implosion of my job as I knew it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">None of that provided a great headspace for creative
writing.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But I think I might be back. One of my 2021 promises to
myself is to keep writing. I love writing. It’s a release for me and I need to prioritize
it. This last year has been so eye-opening in so many ways…</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Though I am not waxing particularly poetic this evening, I
will highlight my top five lessons from the madness.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Things
are hard. You either make excuses or you make progress. The choice is entirely
ours and I certainly have made both. This year, I am actively working on both
my physical and mental wellness without excuses and also delving deeply into
anti-racist/inclusionary culture. Again, no excuses. Put up or shut up.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>People
you never thought would betray you, can. People you never thought would leave
you, might. People you never thought could stop loving you, could. It’s not
pessimistic. It’s fact. See #1. But love is always worth it and I have no
regrets about the way I have loved or the people to whom I freely gave it. Every
man must lie with his own choices and I am at peace with mine. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>A
job I used to love turned into something else this year in the form of tiny
black boxes and silent participant strangers. The best part of my job (the reciprocal,
soul-filling energy that led to REAL relationships built on trust, which led to
learning) was replaced with a dark, depleting silence that penetrated every hour
of every day. I didn’t think I would get through it and wanted to lay down and
quit many times. Instead, I (like so many of my colleagues) adapted and
refocused and created a new normal at work. I infused my classes and lessons
with laughter and music and dancing and fun, even thought it was completely (almost
absurdly) a one-way stream. It isn’t perfect, but I’ll be darned – those relationships
have blossomed anyway. I don’t love this method and I can’t wait until loads of
surly, complaining, NOISY teenagers invade my personal space again – but I am
proud of what’s been created and know it can sustain me until normalcy
reappears. Again, see #1.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Tough
times reveal true character. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been
repeatedly slack-jawed at the “abstain or complain” mentality that I have seen
around me in the face of this global pandemic. The level of abstaining (calling
off, refusing to acknowledge truths, denying one’s own role in chaos, not
showing up for a role you agreed to, or are being paid for) and complaining (mostly
online toward school districts and teachers and schedules and plans) is utterly
embarrassing and at times, suffocating. The effort to rise above and “be it
anyway” has been notably harder. The effort to remain patient and kind - almost
heroic. My respect for those in the boat paddling has grown exponentially larger.
My disdain for the dead-weight anchors – record setting. I pray this snapshot of
the worst has not changed my long-held belief in the overall goodness and humanity
of people. I fear I won’t really know until this is over. Right now, I am still
in survival mode, filtering everything and everyone who enters my space. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Everyone…
and I mean… EVERYONE looks worse in Crocs.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p> T</o:p>he last year has been a trip. The hardships and struggles
have been offset by the blessings of ample family time. We are all standing on
the precipice of change. I pray it finds us all BETTER than it left us.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Happy Covid-versary, folks! Here’s hoping we NEVER celebrate
another one!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-23276978210220421632018-11-13T17:25:00.000-08:002018-11-13T17:25:17.714-08:00What you don't change, you choose. <div class="MsoNormal">
“Stress-reducing activities help eliminate anxiety and promote better overall health – especially in extreme situations” (prohealth.org). <o:p></o:p></div>
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Some people exercise to reduce stress. Some eat. Some go for long night drives. Healthy activities that make your anxiety levels reduce are consistently advised to people enduring stressful scenarios. It took me a few years to figure out what, exactly, those were for me. I used to run and found that didn’t do it. I tried eating and that didn’t bode well for the waistline, to the tune of 14 extra lbs I worked hard to lose this summer. I even tried dancing – something I have always loved. Ultimately, I found that only 2 activities really help to curb my stress levels. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Acts of kindness. It sounds cliché, but doing nice things for other people really works for me. It allows me to focus outside of myself and put things into perspective. Plus, bringing joy to others selfishly spills over onto me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->The second thing is writing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And so, here I am – someone who always preaches silver linings and second chances and better days a’comin - admitting publicly that <u>this school year has been roughhhhh</u>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am not sure 5 more understated words have ever been written, but that’s the truth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Right from the start, it was three student funerals. It was walking straight into a traumatic experience at work for which I was wholly unprepared, even though I was so grateful to have been there for someone else. It’s been delicately managing a few really tough students who, at first, seemed wholeheartedly opposed to the love I want so much to give them. It’s navigating really difficult times with my own son, where my heart breaks for what I cannot endure for him. It’s 15 hours a week of fulfilling, but extremely challenging Doctoral classes and another 10 hours on assignments. It’s trying to make sure everyone is celebrated. It’s purposefully and intentionally bringing joy to places where darkness likes to reign. It’s facing hurtful, non-constructive criticism. It’s financial worry. It’s seeing social media repeatedly being used to implode a human spirit. It’s people being unkind with no regard for the absolutely catastrophic results. It’s worry about young people who need more than I can give them. It’s a fight with no mercy. It’s a player battling injury. It’s a levy failure. It’s a football loss. The list goes on…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sleep became a distant memory and for about 2 weeks, I couldn’t sleep at all, waking at all hours feeling an anxiety and a worry that I couldn’t pinpoint. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Throughout, I have been acutely aware of the importance of self-care, which admittedly is challenging on a very limited time schedule. Thus, I have made do, with quick singalongs in my car, a fast toenail paint on a Sunday night, a hurried building of my Christmas tree 4 weeks too soon, preserving the sacred circle of positivity I covet, quick date nights with my best friend and text-exchanges with my besties to make me laugh. I have gobbled up every bit of bucket-filling I could find, in any place it was offered, quenching that thirst like a man in the desert. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But this is not unique to me. We have all felt this way. Rough patches are a fact of life – unavoidable valleys. I remember a student coming to me recently, upset after a bad breakup, and I told him, “I promise that right now, in this moment, is where you will learn the most about yourself. How you handle heartbreak and struggle will ultimately define who you will become...because <i>who we are at our worst, is WHO WE ARE</i>.” As I spoke to him, I realized that my own words applied to me too. The mindset you rely upon to get through hard times is a CHOICE. And in reflection, I am proud of my actions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have CHOSEN, every single day, through every single thing mentioned above, to be remain focused on my ultimate goal – making people’s lives better. That is why I’m here. That is why we all are here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, my last 5 months have been challenging in ways I could have never predicted… but in every situation, I have <u>chosen</u> to face it directly and remain kind in the process. I have not hurt others, even when I disagreed. I have reached out to people I think are hurting, even while battling my own demons. I have NOT given my energy to things that do not deserve it. I have intentionally given 100% of myself to my family, even on days I was emotionally depleted. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t say this for accolades. I have certainly not always practiced this and my gut instinct was definitely not kindness, compassion and consideration. I do not need validation. It is my hope that if you are reading this, and facing similar worry or struggle, you know that you are NOT alone. If the ‘highlight reel’ of my online life looks in any way envious to you, I am here to say that everything positive I post is a CHOICE. Seeing the gorgeous sunrise or humor in a situation is a deliberate, stone-cold, relentless, daily choice. I certainly had the urge to dwell on something else. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Will you also make a conscious effort to DECIDE your mindset? Are you a <i>victim</i>? Or will you be <i>victorious</i>? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Whatever you are not changing, you are choosing. And I plan to win this thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-1881854909571972332017-07-20T08:38:00.000-07:002017-07-20T08:38:22.786-07:00Mamas<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
I warn you- this may ramble.</div>
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Today, I took Q and a friend to a local pool to swim. As pre-teens often do, they took off to go have fun almost immediately, so I settled into a chair in the front row where I could watch them and get some sun. Shortly after, a young girl (maybe 20?) arrived with two babies and took the seat next to me. Her children were (I am guessing) about 15 months old and 6 months old. At first, I didn’t pay her much attention, as I was wrapped up in my own world – but soon, she caught my attention. First, she applied sunscreen to each child, covering every open patch of skin – hanging onto one child with one arm and slathering the other child with her other hand. Once both were covered, she took them both to the shallow waters in front of me.</div>
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For the next 30 minutes, I watched her playing with her children. The 15 month old was walking, which made things more difficult, as she wanted to go, go GO and explore. The 6 month old, when seated in the water, would often fall over as various waves hit him, and she would have to catch him to bring him back to sitting. This mama never stopped working. She laid on her belly and kicked her feet with the girl, all while keeping one hand on the boy’s belly to protect him from falling. When the girl would dash off, she would lunge for her, without ever taking an eye off her son.</div>
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I started thinking about her morning (shoot – her EVERY day). This girl (again, BARELY 20) had every reason to stay at home today. It certainly would have been EASIER. I thought about the days when Q was 15 months old and into EVERYTHING. There is no WAY I could have handled that with a 6 month old on my hip too. AND I HAD HELP! This girl is (if my gut is right) most likely, doing all of this alone. </div>
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I know. I know. Some of you are thinking, “Well, she shouldn’t have gotten pregnant, much less so soon after the first one!” I get it. I am certain her life is ten times harder because of her situation with TWO babies, so small. But you know… I can’t do anything but give her FULL respect for the way she was mothering them. She was attentive and selfless and loving on those babies like she was super-wealthy and had a full-time nanny at home, to give her a break when she got back. Maybe she ISN’T in a terrible situation. Maybe I’m stereotyping in the worst way. Maybe the father of her children is involved and loving and present and the four of them are SO happy. Maybe my own extensive experience with young mamas has jaded me into believing that it is ALWAYS difficult and the situations are ALWAYS unhealthy.</div>
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I certainly hope I am wrong.</div>
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Also at the pool, I saw three of my former students from Rogers there with their babies too. All of them were SO attentive to their sons and daughters. I watched each one of them keep a careful, watchful eye on their children, even as they hugged me and we caught up on their lives. A pool is a dangerous place for children, especially little ones – and every one of my beautiful students was treating it that way. </div>
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Some of you know that I have had one of Q’s friends at my house all summer. I don’t mean that he plays here. I mean he has lived here. He has not been home since July 5. On July 9, I finally bought him his own toothbrush. Nobody calls here for him. Nobody checks with me to see how he is, if he needs anything, if he’s okay. Radio silence. For 14 days. The boy is wonderful. He is smart and funny and polite and wonderful. We love having him. And yet, as one day leads into the next, my heart breaks for the attention he ISN’T getting from the people in his circle.</div>
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Shortly after Sean and I got married, I remember seeing an episode of The Rosie O’Donnell show one day after work. She was talking about her children and she said, “Motherhood is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”</div>
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A short year later, I completely understood what she meant. Having my Q put that into FULL perspective.</div>
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Being a mama is something that takes 100% effort every second, when done correctly. (Dads too! No disrespect to you guys! I just can’t speak to that feeling, personally, because I am not one!)</div>
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As I was leaving the pool today, I stopped at that young mama’s chair. “Hey,” I said. “You’re doing such a great job.” She looked confused, so I said, “I’m sorry. I have been watching you love on them all afternoon and I just needed to tell you – you are such a great mother.” She looked overwhelmed and thanked me, saying, “I’m exhausted.” </div>
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“I know.” I said. “We all are. That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”</div>
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She thanked me, and ran off to chase down baby girl, who was bee-lining for the pool again.</div>
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She will be in my prayers tonight – as will all of you, who are exhausted…but doing it right.</div>
KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-11368021365620015472017-07-20T08:37:00.001-07:002017-07-20T08:38:54.989-07:00Community<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
Some of you might not know this, but my uncle died when I was 2. My mom's little brother. He was young and died very unexpectedly, riding his motorcycle. </div>
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Story has it that at his funeral DOZENS of bikers showed up. They didn't know my Uncle Larry. It's just what bikers do when one of their own suffers. The day of the funeral, they rode in on Harleys by the mile and was it ever a sight to see! I'm told that my grandfather personally shook EACH rider's hand at the gravesite and thanked them profusely for coming. My mom says that Grandpa was overwhelmed and touched that they cared enough about HIS SON to ride for him, one last time. "Larry would have LOVED it," he said. </div>
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The biker community banded together to stand behind the family of 'one of their own.' </div>
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I saw this same concept repeat itself when my friend, Joe Boyle (an AVID runner) was told that because his cancer had spread and treatment would be fierce, he couldn't run anymore. Joe had always wanted to run a marathon -another thing, it seemed, robbed from him due to this ugly disease. But Joe decided that, although he hadn't properly trained, and it was the DEAD of winter, he was going to run that damn marathon anyway. Before his treatment began, and while he still felt good enough to do it, he was going to do it. He and a few friends planned the course out and set a date.</div>
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And just like at my uncle's funeral, the runners showed up. Dozens of them. And again, not all of them knew Joe. I would argue that MOST of them didn't. It didn't matter. </div>
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One of their own was suffering. And showing up is just what you do.</div>
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Joe ran the race with dozens of runners, through the ice and snow and freezing temps - and he ran it completely buoyed by the love of the running community. </div>
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I was thinking about these things today as I pondered the importance of community. We have all seen it. Benefits, dinners, rides, auctions... events to support a person, a school, a fire station, a political candidate.</div>
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The power of community. </div>
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As a teacher, I have worked in places where community was undervalued. I now work in a place where community is #1. And I have to tell you - having a supportive circle is bar none, the most powerful inspiration someone can have. I hope you all surround yourselves with a community of people who have your back. I know I have that. </div>
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I appreciate the independence that people brag about. ("I don't need anybody. It's me/us against the world. I got here alone.") But folks, communities carry us. If you're meandering through the world, bragging about how alone you are... I think you're missing out. </div>
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KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-33001700176787620872017-07-20T08:34:00.001-07:002017-07-20T09:12:22.754-07:00Parenting for Nothing?<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
Confession: I never wanted to be a mom. </div>
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Growing up, I was NOT the kid who babysat (willingly) or looked at baby dolls and immediately felt the urge to pamper and nurture them. Oh, I had baby dolls, but I treated them more as my friends. I would dress them cute, brush their hair and then set them up on our piano bench in the living room as the audience for whatever performance I was going to put on, or they acted as my students as I played school. </div>
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Growing up as children, my sister and I went on vacations, had huge Christmases, EACH got to bring a friend EVERYWHERE we went (including out to dinner and on special trips) and lived in one of those households where we got whatever we wanted for dinner – even if it wasn’t what anybody else was eating. (Read: my parents would cook 3 different meals some nights.) </div>
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Even through high school and college, (both requiring tuition and both funded by my parents), even as my appreciation for their sacrifice grew enormously, I still never wanted to do the whole parenting gig. </div>
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I looked at my parents – who both worked full-time, long hours, still asked us about <span class="_4yxo _4yxp" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">our</span> day after a long day working, kept a clean house, allowed us to participate in whatever activities we wanted and saved scrupulously for the above-mentioned luxuries – and always thought, “That seems like a lot of work.”</div>
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By the time Quinn was born, (a completely planned baby), I had decided I maybe might sort of possibly could see myself as a mom. Maybe. In other words, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I didn’t want to regret it either. A friend once told me that the decision to have a baby was “just a decision to love someone.” For some reason, put that simply, I couldn’t NOT do it. I loved loving people!</div>
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I recently read a book, recommended by my sister, called “A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy.” It is the story of Sue Klebold – the mother of Dylan Klebold, known for his role as one of two shooters in the Columbine Massacre. In her book, Sue painstakingly describes the absolute, complete SHOCK that her little boy could EVER do something so heinous. Dylan had shown no signs. She and her husband, happily married, had been attentive, involved and open with their son. How, she repeatedly asks, could he DO THIS?</div>
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I think that is the aspect of mothering that so scared me. My parents had done, by most people’s standards, everything right. They had set my sister and me up on a path that *should* lead to success. But there were any number of times that either of us could have chosen something that would have completely diverted their efforts. <span class="_4yxo _4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">At the end of the day, the outcome of my life was completely out of my mother’s hands. </span></div>
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It is no different with my son and I hate that part of it.</div>
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Life has the ability to throw something at him that seems appealing and no amount of maternal preparation can guarantee that he will make the choice that is BEST for him. All I can give him are the tools to see the bigger picture and still – he will have the chance to screw it all up.</div>
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We all had that chance. I could list dozens of people who had every reason to succeed…and they didn’t. Some are dead. Some are in jail. Some are living beneath their own potential. Some are being mistreated. Some have chosen friends/partners/circles who don’t appreciate their value or worth. Some have accepted a false truth about themselves that has completely diverted their lives.</div>
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I look at Quinn and so far, (*fingers crossed*), he is racing, full-steam ahead toward a future that takes my breath away sometimes. The kid is destined for greatness and when I look at him, my heart EXPLODES with how much I love him. Rich/Poor, Married/Single - we don’t give a HOOT what his adult life looks like, as long as he is HAPPY.</div>
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His father and I have painstakingly laid every cobblestone for him to walk upon toward the life of his dreams.</div>
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But we never really know, do we? </div>
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It’s terrifying. We, all of us as parents, could be investing our ENTIRE lives to something that could end up being a colossal waste of time. Sue Klebold certainly feels that way. One choice... one poor decision… one moral slip… could implode years of attention and love and training. </div>
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But when I lay in bed at night, reflecting on ALL the ways my Quinn makes me proud and happy and the joy he brings us… I know that it will be worth it. No matter what. Even if the evils of this world take my dreams for my son away, <span class="_4yxo _4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">he has been worth every second</span>. There is no way I would have rather spent the last 12 years. </div>
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And when I was younger, looking at my parents, I was right. It’s a TON of work. But it’s the best work ever. </div>
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KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-53352527356172519642017-07-20T08:31:00.002-07:002017-07-20T09:18:50.025-07:00Content Doesn't Matter<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
As another school year closes, I always reflect upon how my year went and what I can do to better serve my kids. After much thought this year, I have come to an important conclusion. I am going to say something controversial. As a teacher, I know that my opinion won’t be looked upon fondly and I understand why it might be taken negatively, but here it is anyway: </div>
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Content doesn’t matter. </div>
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I know, I know. I can hear it already: “Well, then what are they in school for? Without content, nobody would learn anything! Do we want our children to be stupid?! We need to raise the bar! We need higher content standards! We have got to prepare kids for the future.” I hear all of that. And I still say, we’ve got it all WRONG. </div>
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My contention is that we should want more from our children than academic achievement. </div>
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Now, I’m NOT saying that you should spend your school year as a teacher, singing Kumbaya and hugging one another. Of course not. First of all, teenagers especially hate when you touch them and secondly, that would make for a VERY long 90 minutes each day. Caring about kids is not just emoting the warm and fuzzies. </div>
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<span class="_4yxo _4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">CARING implies a continuous search for excellence. When you CARE about someone, you want to do the BEST for them. </span> </div>
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Caring makes me a better teacher. </div>
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Through my lessons on persuasion, Poe, MLA format, grammar, transcendentalism and such… I include a genuine care for their LIVES into each unit. When I teach Poe, I make sure we talk about how excluded Poe must have felt as an adopted boy, without a family who adored him, and when WE have felt excluded in our own lives. When we discuss the transcendentalist thinkers, we talk about what aspects of nature make US feel calm, at peace, free. What soothes YOUR spirit? Even when we cover the BORING parts like MLA format, plagiarism and the proper way to set up a works cited page, we have a lengthy conversation about a time in our lives when someone made us feel like our words didn’t matter or stole our idea without giving credit. Once they care, once they SEE themselves in the material, only THEN does content matter. Only THEN does real, long-term learning happen. </div>
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I have worked with many teachers through the years who skip this part. Their job, as they see it, is to present material and it is the kids’ job to learn it. I would argue that these teachers’ job descriptions should be “PRESENTER.” If you’re just going to put material up on the board or read a book aloud, you’re presenting. There is no teaching. The word “TEACHER” means you teach it! </div>
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“I am not an entertainer. It’s not my job to sing and dance for lazy kids who don’t want to learn.” they say. But I disagree. </div>
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I think it 100% IS my job to not only present material, but to CONNECT them to it. It’s absolutely my job to make it relatable to them, through pop culture, their own lives and yes, sometimes even rapping.</div>
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The subjects I did the WORST in were those that I could not see the relevance. I did not see ME in any of it. Thus, it became the equivalent to learning a foreign language. As an adult, I am finding that I really like learning about history. But as a student, I hated it. I finally know why. I heard story after story about white men from the 1800s, in whom I could not see myself or my experiences. Nothing stuck. </div>
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And I get it- teaching the way I describe is EXHAUSTING. I leave work most days feeling as if I have literally performed on stage for 7 hours. My poor husband watches me fall asleep most nights before 9:30. It is certainly easier to do it the other way – focus on content and just present. But is that really what is best for kids? Are they really learning it? </div>
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More importantly, when you care enough to show your students love, they are learning a secondary lesson from you - a BIGGER one about love and kindness. THAT is the one I pray they learn, even more than MLA format. Be kind. Love others. Show compassion.</div>
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Of course I know that many “presenters” also care about kids. I am not unique in loving my kids. MOST people in this profession care about their students. (You would have to, to endure some of the days we do!) But, I challenge those people to SHOW that love in a different way. Show your kids you love them by showing up in their worlds. They’ll never forget you for it. In my opinion, (and really, who am I?) you will be better at your job when you demonstrate you love them enough to meet them in the middle.</div>
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I pray my son gets teachers who care about him enough to connect material to his life – not present it as a necessary evil to pass a test. </div>
KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-85822583360132120662017-07-20T08:26:00.000-07:002018-05-02T09:42:12.095-07:00A Letter to Jamie's Mom<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
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Dear Catherine-</div>
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I know that you don’t know me, but I know you. </div>
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I know that yesterday was your birthday. </div>
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I know that you turned 34. </div>
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I know that you have worked full time since you were sixteen and even today, you work long hours at two different jobs to support your family. </div>
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I know that those jobs are not jobs you enjoy or love because you didn’t graduate high school. </div>
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I know that you got pregnant at age 17 and your parents did not offer their support to you any longer after that announcement. </div>
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I know what you named your baby and how you raised him in a small trailer, making it a family rule that ‘everybody reads after dinner’ which birthed a love for words in him. </div>
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I know that manners and respect are very important to you and you teach them in your household passionately.</div>
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I know that one year, because you couldn’t afford a vacation, you set up a tent in your backyard and made it a camping adventure where your son got to cook marshmallows over a fire and tell scary stories in a lawn chair while his feet swung nowhere near the ground. </div>
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I know all of this, you see, because I know your son. You are ingrained within him, so deeply immersed that your souls are woven like a thick braid. Though fiercely protective of you, he has allowed me to know pieces of you, unintentionally, through his written words and stories.</div>
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His love for you is glaring and pure, and even in the silly stories he tells, (“I once jumped off the roof of our trailer on a dare and my mom was so heated, she grounded me for two weeks!”) he affirms how present and guiding you have been to him. </div>
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You see, I am your son’s teacher.</div>
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I have never met you because you cannot afford time off work to come to conferences. You do not have a computer at home to email me. Unless your son is bleeding or in big trouble, you do not have time to talk to me about a missing assignment. You are too busy worrying about last month’s missing car payment. </div>
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I want you to hear me: It’s okay. </div>
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I’ve got him. </div>
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I love him too and I won’t let him slip.</div>
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You are doing the best you can and your son’s polite disposition and smiling face tells me that you’re doing a pretty fantastic job. </div>
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I know you must feel guilty sometimes about not being able to volunteer for field trips or help him with his narrative assignment because you have neither the time, resources or possibly even the academic capacity to do so. </div>
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That’s okay. That is my job. </div>
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What you clearly DO have time for, is his emotional stability and love.</div>
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He is smart.</div>
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He is funny.</div>
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He is kind.</div>
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And that’s ALL YOU. </div>
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Let me handle the assignment. You’re handling a much bigger one –making him into a man the rest of this world will want to know.</div>
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Thank you for all you do. We’ve got this. </div>
KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-70135188797665955792015-12-29T17:35:00.000-08:002015-12-29T18:21:53.936-08:00Hello Internet World!<br />
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Today is December 29th, almost five years to the day I started this blog. It also marks the end, for me, of a much-needed social media hiatus. I decided to take some time off after a somewhat brutal 4 months of social media turmoil. I won't bore you with specifics, but suffice it to say that somehow I allowed myself to be deeply affected by the negativity and (in many cases) PURE EVIL of some online interactions that were in my face, daily. These were not posts directed at me. In fact, they had nothing to do with me. But seeing the constant, relentless, mean-spirited nature of some, REALLY impacted me. I tend to live my life in a state of perpetual blindness to evil. I know it exists and I am aware it is out there, but I never choose to give evil power. This time, however, I could feel the weight of their hateful words crushing my spirit and suffocating me. I started to feel like MY own joy was being drained by the sad realization that people could be so cruel to one another. I decided to take some time away (target: 2 weeks) to surround myself with everything and everyone I love, to wipe out the negative energy. And boy, did it WORK! Today is a little shy of the 2 week mark, but I feel energized, enthusiastic, refocused and READY to, once again, use JOY to combat the ills of this world. I have used my break to fill my bucket back up with some serious soul-soothers.<br />
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A quick summary: This break, I...<br />
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1. DELIVERED SUPPLIES TO A FAMILY HOMELESS SHELTER. Quinn and Sean and I did this on Christmas Eve. It was a great reminder of how fortunate we are and made me want to volunteer there in the future.<br />
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2. ATTENDED OUR ANNUAL "FRIEND-MAS" CELEBRATION WITH OUR VERY BEST FRIENDS. We are lucky to have these people in our lives. These are the "3am, we don't care if you haven't showered or if your house is messy, what can we do?" friends.</div>
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3. SIPPED HOT CHOCOLATE, DECORATED MY HOUSE AND TRIED TO SEE THE ZOO LIGHTS (but failed due to the lines- hence the sad faces). </div>
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4. HAD A WARM, AMAZING CHRISTMAS MORNING AT HOME, EATING OUR ANNUAL BREAKFAST CASSEROLE AND LOVING ON EACH OTHER, AS WE LOVED ON OUR NEW GIFTS.</div>
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5. WENT TO MY OUR FAMILIES' HOUSES - one on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas Day, surrounded by people who love and support us.</div>
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6. PLAYED WITH OUR FAVORITE NEW TOYS/GIFTS</div>
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(mine being my brand new red dishes and silverware!)</div>
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7. ATE DINNER BY CANDLELIGHT DUE TO A MULTIPLE HOUR POWER OUTAGE, WHERE WE ONLY HAD EACH OTHER TO ENTERTAIN US! :)</div>
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8. AND THIS WAS IN ADDITION TO MEETING MY FAVORITE CO-WORKERS FOR LUNCH, HAVING A DATE NIGHT WITH AN AWESOME CO-WORKER COUPLE, WINNING OVER $100 AT THE CASINO, SEEING A HIGH SCHOOL BESTIE FOR A LONG OVERDUE LUNCH DATE, SEEING TWO MOVIES IN THE THEATRE, SPENDING AN ENTIRE DAY WATCHING NETFLIX WITH MY HUBBY, AND SPENDING ANOTHER DAY OUTLET SHOPPING.</div>
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... My bucket is replenished!</div>
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<br />KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-49416097469981872752015-08-11T16:48:00.002-07:002015-08-11T16:48:41.555-07:00Work Funk PreventionI don't know about you, but after heading off to work everyday for an extended period of time, I start to notice that I gravitate toward basic staple pieces that I know are easy, comfy and functional. I make it a point to avoid wearing the same outfit twice all year long, but that sometimes ends up meaning that I just rotate the same pieces over and over in slightly different ways. I have a full closet of clothes that never get worn because frankly, I'm just not that creative at 5:30 am.<br />
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Today, I started putting together pieces I do not wear all that frequently so that when I reach for my favorite khakis for the 3rd time in one week, I have pre-generated ideas I can look at here, to get me out of that rut! This is just a start, but it's a start!<br />
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<b><u>This sweater is very comfy and paired with navy pants, looks cute!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnFewwfBPXf66MGrOeW5BTI4pxA2rQ13WeW__-RwgAWVciwdpXZnlTCrpqwJtdbmK7xZX6VTAWylvMA8JmCUwy8sxTNOJV6E0hdavr7sgxwg6dq1fvBd8NQ-2TxmhQMxancEFhaGmz5k/s1600/20150811_093440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnFewwfBPXf66MGrOeW5BTI4pxA2rQ13WeW__-RwgAWVciwdpXZnlTCrpqwJtdbmK7xZX6VTAWylvMA8JmCUwy8sxTNOJV6E0hdavr7sgxwg6dq1fvBd8NQ-2TxmhQMxancEFhaGmz5k/s320/20150811_093440.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Again, with navy pants, lime green is cute!</u></b></div>
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<b><u>I never wear this shirt with a cute hip bow, and it looks great with navy pants.</u></b></div>
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<b><u>I have always loved yellow with navy pants too. I love my yellow pumps. </u></b></div>
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<b><u>It's a bold shirt, but with orange and navy, it's cute.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqqjg5MBFuwOqFFHijqsrXpxQmTEAZnXE9l4mi6pvNfNksgoTG_yoj_vhOauKvilyjAXd6wZEFyfTnzD6xc7M2QGRpom5947-40R7LMuQwr3K4gbrLYootHNMLfyvpwxGr2W6QFcskBo/s1600/20150811_092529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqqjg5MBFuwOqFFHijqsrXpxQmTEAZnXE9l4mi6pvNfNksgoTG_yoj_vhOauKvilyjAXd6wZEFyfTnzD6xc7M2QGRpom5947-40R7LMuQwr3K4gbrLYootHNMLfyvpwxGr2W6QFcskBo/s320/20150811_092529.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I love this green striped blazer and with a pop of red (shoe and necklace), I think it is cute!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3dPlgxOgI6WJCl9vRuJJKOnpRqjndtHdGsuJCCqAqSiFcFAi7osWLml35CGBPGe6J8tvj1OEvIDrgKi-G3ZlSQzYLS_jFBRErs4HLPscod39laD0RHyw95su9iWuhcLjqbBcI5EBpXM/s1600/20150811_092803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3dPlgxOgI6WJCl9vRuJJKOnpRqjndtHdGsuJCCqAqSiFcFAi7osWLml35CGBPGe6J8tvj1OEvIDrgKi-G3ZlSQzYLS_jFBRErs4HLPscod39laD0RHyw95su9iWuhcLjqbBcI5EBpXM/s320/20150811_092803.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I love coral. End of story. And a nude pump goes with anything!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtgvNFCuFqutypPYTVZU7AObs_8bitrCG8FdIQoibhzCOTVuqromfkHA2A668zB8QlDjrAywE0HWsKPhQ_AtxAh0p06ge9jtb0z3XknndjCc4dxKO1VsYiw2q5Pe8n9-_KkDEUSJYYoE/s1600/20150811_093201+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtgvNFCuFqutypPYTVZU7AObs_8bitrCG8FdIQoibhzCOTVuqromfkHA2A668zB8QlDjrAywE0HWsKPhQ_AtxAh0p06ge9jtb0z3XknndjCc4dxKO1VsYiw2q5Pe8n9-_KkDEUSJYYoE/s320/20150811_093201+%25281%2529.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I love navy blue and beige.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTz3UNs9LKfeVU0uc0KCu3n0w6fGnIZSb6BRVsBumbf4DzUO47Pn-dRVCyn4yB6Lb3e30b4aQT5v0iuenlI5wOIZl_xF1YeA22NgKTvpeih4dWHquBkajSYW5ahvt2iBq-7QvE8Sxm1Uo/s1600/20150811_093705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTz3UNs9LKfeVU0uc0KCu3n0w6fGnIZSb6BRVsBumbf4DzUO47Pn-dRVCyn4yB6Lb3e30b4aQT5v0iuenlI5wOIZl_xF1YeA22NgKTvpeih4dWHquBkajSYW5ahvt2iBq-7QvE8Sxm1Uo/s320/20150811_093705.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Pink and navy is fun.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Ca85v4oOQkqIpCw6wRo2fu7s9A790c5eO6TCSW_39-Pgbj-IzIWujbbgDdHhmiYt6lFji2mxwEKtvmZIoUd-HcH_OUaG-MQYkwpq4P1eQqcXFVQ8dsSzdsCQ-KsAQf-YIGf_WfzVPIY/s1600/20150811_093846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Ca85v4oOQkqIpCw6wRo2fu7s9A790c5eO6TCSW_39-Pgbj-IzIWujbbgDdHhmiYt6lFji2mxwEKtvmZIoUd-HcH_OUaG-MQYkwpq4P1eQqcXFVQ8dsSzdsCQ-KsAQf-YIGf_WfzVPIY/s320/20150811_093846.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>You can get away with a simple t-shirt if you pair it with a solid capris and some knockout pumps! :)</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePSHC9JTjBn3znXBG6XCtCy3s6PrwwlJCUjpwsHhKKLYvoWQ49OoGpmzArUCdwFCNnNKSln-FtfFfrwblAABc1lSozo_9w7r6aarRNKixBJQsEHBmhh0DOrAtgIp-r3VjTtSZLCCnHZ0/s1600/20150811_094203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePSHC9JTjBn3znXBG6XCtCy3s6PrwwlJCUjpwsHhKKLYvoWQ49OoGpmzArUCdwFCNnNKSln-FtfFfrwblAABc1lSozo_9w7r6aarRNKixBJQsEHBmhh0DOrAtgIp-r3VjTtSZLCCnHZ0/s320/20150811_094203.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Same pants, dressier shirt and shoes.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQNw6K-exklOB3v1uNNuhTMt-_z888pmjvccsjjzDIlqcJn_j-r58EACWHzLE1PhtouzEO7lDuNsq5VPfjusp8m6R-i3c6nXdyZYS1g4QPEEVR9dZicSw-SUsOez3wHp0ER2BOW_BkpI/s1600/20150811_094321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQNw6K-exklOB3v1uNNuhTMt-_z888pmjvccsjjzDIlqcJn_j-r58EACWHzLE1PhtouzEO7lDuNsq5VPfjusp8m6R-i3c6nXdyZYS1g4QPEEVR9dZicSw-SUsOez3wHp0ER2BOW_BkpI/s320/20150811_094321.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Same pants with sparkly flats.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_PMFL6yfdickXjkEkLX3zPK8jET21Al0ePEDHkAtwKJuxQ8OR-rtCIgp6X4nDco28PFUu3vGKVH2t0-l9VFsaUroL_QEaH2fJgQdkE1Bfn2QQSagWi13gWg6MbAUmR7lCLjl9j_XV658/s1600/20150811_094514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_PMFL6yfdickXjkEkLX3zPK8jET21Al0ePEDHkAtwKJuxQ8OR-rtCIgp6X4nDco28PFUu3vGKVH2t0-l9VFsaUroL_QEaH2fJgQdkE1Bfn2QQSagWi13gWg6MbAUmR7lCLjl9j_XV658/s320/20150811_094514.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>A printed pant is fun, as long as tyou keep it simple on top!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsmYAAjCYzgeLpvFThAejIBCPacXGkph4YTqGlPu4Zu2YNQMwd9bmL5KtgIbncuJdieefuZSyAd1-I7xg6B19ya1Mw9K4U0etRX3ZP60ljAa6UBVo4Mv6JnuF6qBaAtT2_J7R5Iy_hnM/s1600/20150811_094733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsmYAAjCYzgeLpvFThAejIBCPacXGkph4YTqGlPu4Zu2YNQMwd9bmL5KtgIbncuJdieefuZSyAd1-I7xg6B19ya1Mw9K4U0etRX3ZP60ljAa6UBVo4Mv6JnuF6qBaAtT2_J7R5Iy_hnM/s320/20150811_094733.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>But simple doesn't mean dull! #hotpink</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihp0_E610yp8IqjV_Oe4zl6yTfThkt91c2hlWnB89nTgFSUiOWdMp7Zew180IWqN0tIVwJ-M2SCnjKgLSCzgF_OP2XPDjcA3Nf70oZoLNguUB6v_iwl8KN_AcvKk5O8M2YJ1jQOHaE52c/s1600/20150811_094915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihp0_E610yp8IqjV_Oe4zl6yTfThkt91c2hlWnB89nTgFSUiOWdMp7Zew180IWqN0tIVwJ-M2SCnjKgLSCzgF_OP2XPDjcA3Nf70oZoLNguUB6v_iwl8KN_AcvKk5O8M2YJ1jQOHaE52c/s320/20150811_094915.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I bought these pants for 99 cents at JCPenney. Someone thought the black and red checked print was too much, but that someone wasn't me~!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtyqpvyZQUGC0N-KUDtnZW8dRUN7Y5rpMJ1GY36ByIAs957SXlp1_z45f8z6xBieaUApPq0z5rNWa2iVpAGL5UkgUB9UXod-jReq3AttZ3YzOvB7yzJUiZVtf2AKXeLyZSaqW9-j8wOZY/s1600/20150811_095129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtyqpvyZQUGC0N-KUDtnZW8dRUN7Y5rpMJ1GY36ByIAs957SXlp1_z45f8z6xBieaUApPq0z5rNWa2iVpAGL5UkgUB9UXod-jReq3AttZ3YzOvB7yzJUiZVtf2AKXeLyZSaqW9-j8wOZY/s320/20150811_095129.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9nW2xw2c5lqnYYVWbLt-t1wgrKWbP7ZJcRIR-vrGb0X_AZyWJAMdikLXH6jRRc06etLzR21vP3zaoFThGsL2UQ9xfosiOjizyxdwHwKKnfPhKOm4LRUnbwDBCI6_mV9CoA9FD8Y0E9BM/s1600/20150811_095140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9nW2xw2c5lqnYYVWbLt-t1wgrKWbP7ZJcRIR-vrGb0X_AZyWJAMdikLXH6jRRc06etLzR21vP3zaoFThGsL2UQ9xfosiOjizyxdwHwKKnfPhKOm4LRUnbwDBCI6_mV9CoA9FD8Y0E9BM/s320/20150811_095140.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>A variety of solid color cropped pants means I should be wearing more variety!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOiG3U2Dw5a6rsacy3X9zV8v4JUO4DdYKmkZ-bZyLu4FhnwQjI2s54CbDhSWfaTdQhzQwVROTdA89i-yQvkfY9fjxm1QuQzUxR2zeOGfAexTP2inD6G4On5j1p0QurKgZIUINBNabbQw/s1600/20150811_095341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOiG3U2Dw5a6rsacy3X9zV8v4JUO4DdYKmkZ-bZyLu4FhnwQjI2s54CbDhSWfaTdQhzQwVROTdA89i-yQvkfY9fjxm1QuQzUxR2zeOGfAexTP2inD6G4On5j1p0QurKgZIUINBNabbQw/s320/20150811_095341.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Printed patterns are so fun too.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqp4iFcaOn3Iaj2EESAZbS3tMziR6ELNKjKQtZL44NkpYlEsoPFkKzjuaJiglBi9jlavb0pREhpiT0PTqXeDu64Es5uVjc21XsX1YkYvbe7ImQT_zKsmjjROYZ4voj-W7OvdlVaeL4Co/s1600/20150811_095421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqp4iFcaOn3Iaj2EESAZbS3tMziR6ELNKjKQtZL44NkpYlEsoPFkKzjuaJiglBi9jlavb0pREhpiT0PTqXeDu64Es5uVjc21XsX1YkYvbe7ImQT_zKsmjjROYZ4voj-W7OvdlVaeL4Co/s320/20150811_095421.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I like plain pieces with a pop of color!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHfY9lBUdkVwRelA3xmvF_0gM7PvNwNBZTg9d0elD-3d2igNgtE2IPWLszndfDgZEkfTstKUhDoTE0m4AJmyLBlTKxcD4Znd3M9E3dsUuiT2pCZYXSB7fJxYmr4S-dVxGcV2YF4LlWKE/s1600/20150811_095555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHfY9lBUdkVwRelA3xmvF_0gM7PvNwNBZTg9d0elD-3d2igNgtE2IPWLszndfDgZEkfTstKUhDoTE0m4AJmyLBlTKxcD4Znd3M9E3dsUuiT2pCZYXSB7fJxYmr4S-dVxGcV2YF4LlWKE/s320/20150811_095555.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>...like red shoes!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImuf4Nibf-jjHiHXSuDE1YsCBOJyC2wmeABvFOgy-Rwj_z_Z1bOtmab-XfUrc2_t3eWs2Qyp_GHcKD7AAN-ObC7v53l7aJIIRmrmqrsycu8x2h2t4Vq2LDEo3YrwsExkLfUQbmac7cFo/s1600/20150811_095713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImuf4Nibf-jjHiHXSuDE1YsCBOJyC2wmeABvFOgy-Rwj_z_Z1bOtmab-XfUrc2_t3eWs2Qyp_GHcKD7AAN-ObC7v53l7aJIIRmrmqrsycu8x2h2t4Vq2LDEo3YrwsExkLfUQbmac7cFo/s320/20150811_095713.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Polka dots. Yes, please.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHWyTXGwLN_rEtBkz_N3YMIQ7ZJTv9geYeaxWDBJx1VlXTZ3xXLEx5MsWjnlSHJQdztRHxiB7rHhv2yK25bComlxJkk3r2_2jQ4QGuoHLmsPL8WgN2Qmwssmp6l3nk0TK7NybJQtaRFc/s1600/20150811_100101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHWyTXGwLN_rEtBkz_N3YMIQ7ZJTv9geYeaxWDBJx1VlXTZ3xXLEx5MsWjnlSHJQdztRHxiB7rHhv2yK25bComlxJkk3r2_2jQ4QGuoHLmsPL8WgN2Qmwssmp6l3nk0TK7NybJQtaRFc/s320/20150811_100101.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I'm in love with this printed jacquard skirt. I've had it THREE YEARS and never worn it!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-MRwoWACOwAY7Ac9VzclI6FtZh0G2bcmdJHUi2mBiF5AucqyQ7hkQMjy6fYyryu1euykBewLisMz68PRl-rpD0VgmIMu7scEVwAzRUWXV8VtldoFCMQE9PbThpETsq82Vfbh5vZ5EjZU/s1600/20150811_100313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-MRwoWACOwAY7Ac9VzclI6FtZh0G2bcmdJHUi2mBiF5AucqyQ7hkQMjy6fYyryu1euykBewLisMz68PRl-rpD0VgmIMu7scEVwAzRUWXV8VtldoFCMQE9PbThpETsq82Vfbh5vZ5EjZU/s320/20150811_100313.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I love baby blue but it also washes me out, so a chunky necklace helps add color.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N8k4e-cREa_VKXtqaILKaeLIBr3qHag-EWCkTqckES4AKnt866R6qlkFzMY_NNrFaD_RRGQIq_u-BNtcvapLSmq-MtXOB_frevZmXGTX5zTgla7jNKK-UGk302SwpFw0i_Aw2FLWiR8/s1600/20150811_100908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N8k4e-cREa_VKXtqaILKaeLIBr3qHag-EWCkTqckES4AKnt866R6qlkFzMY_NNrFaD_RRGQIq_u-BNtcvapLSmq-MtXOB_frevZmXGTX5zTgla7jNKK-UGk302SwpFw0i_Aw2FLWiR8/s320/20150811_100908.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>I like dresses with boots, but this one *might* be too short.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Jr90u9PIb9oQ0hGqz4_oadVW1EHgAfoFyjrPkfRDw_hth3lXB1THYUbqc5A5k87HQ_6J9vpFwO9YT5JBLCQPVlruLXP1EA8L7md8oSSr11F2BpkhzTenZEy5mbYSAKuawhXHhdZmcc/s1600/20150811_101234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Jr90u9PIb9oQ0hGqz4_oadVW1EHgAfoFyjrPkfRDw_hth3lXB1THYUbqc5A5k87HQ_6J9vpFwO9YT5JBLCQPVlruLXP1EA8L7md8oSSr11F2BpkhzTenZEy5mbYSAKuawhXHhdZmcc/s320/20150811_101234.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>You can't tell me ANYTHING about myself in this high-waisted skirt. I feel like a million bucks!</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTb1jDP1zIoSlUGS8AB_QJAdSdLcVQdiwK0VQSiBYemvJstU9UkZx4lkSHv_CI2fhiN4SOZcf2JT5UJPyoFCVL6tbn35h0I6vJfCuhyphenhyphen808XarLcRvRedypmsKG5DZUCOGmmpeHR6r5oI/s1600/20150811_101753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTb1jDP1zIoSlUGS8AB_QJAdSdLcVQdiwK0VQSiBYemvJstU9UkZx4lkSHv_CI2fhiN4SOZcf2JT5UJPyoFCVL6tbn35h0I6vJfCuhyphenhyphen808XarLcRvRedypmsKG5DZUCOGmmpeHR6r5oI/s320/20150811_101753.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUgVlyBR_KEJJYDkOD7VuSi2-_4l6nSqWF6tofZND72qMHRaIsH2BskXZFBJ3tjkGJ-B0AsOSAmAIKrPCOqNQOQdp5Vht7_qncaN7JnQ_oqQIyy8HNRt3reWl1DzdDvhyphenhyphenoxpBN6OhL7U/s1600/20150811_101815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUgVlyBR_KEJJYDkOD7VuSi2-_4l6nSqWF6tofZND72qMHRaIsH2BskXZFBJ3tjkGJ-B0AsOSAmAIKrPCOqNQOQdp5Vht7_qncaN7JnQ_oqQIyy8HNRt3reWl1DzdDvhyphenhyphenoxpBN6OhL7U/s320/20150811_101815.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Love this coral pairing with black and white skirt.</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2iaPq9v3N6T_JnkXv1RSAcgsfAdhyphenhyphen9FfSK13Qc9UTgWJ0zQ95iS-hGbfO-rwME4aWS5JIlVY1zGYqJHab_cTbPp-9FjJAuJYxxIlF8jPh4flIb5OG-MJ3wvWAIVkKbtgxAEayrQuYUs/s1600/20150811_102056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2iaPq9v3N6T_JnkXv1RSAcgsfAdhyphenhyphen9FfSK13Qc9UTgWJ0zQ95iS-hGbfO-rwME4aWS5JIlVY1zGYqJHab_cTbPp-9FjJAuJYxxIlF8jPh4flIb5OG-MJ3wvWAIVkKbtgxAEayrQuYUs/s320/20150811_102056.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-26827841705724483342015-01-09T10:03:00.000-08:002015-01-09T10:03:41.313-08:00Who doesn't love YOU? <div class="MsoNormal">
One of my favorite books to read with my classes is the play
“FENCES.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I absolutely love it and look forward to teaching it every
year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The kids love it because it has everything teenagers want in
a book – a smart-mouthed teenager who feels disrespected by his father, a
grumpy old man who loves dirty jokes and alcohol, and obvious themes of betrayal,
deceit and lust. Plus, let’s be honest – it’s short. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I love it because there is a scene in that book that gets me…every
time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As is true in many teen/parent relationships, Corey (the
son) has trouble relating to his father (Troy). The two often struggle even to make
pleasant conversation and don’t see eye-to-eye on anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In this particular scene, Corey is trying to get his dad to
see his point of view and Troy is barely even listening to him – so caught up
in his own views and logic, as we parents sometimes do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point in the story, Corey says to his dad, “Can I
ask you a question? . … Why you ain’t never liked me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Troy, ever the hard-lined old man, blows a gasket. “Like
you?” he bellows. “Who the HELL say I got to like you? What law is there that
say I got to like you?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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From there, Troy goes into a lengthy lecture about people who
have a responsibility to you (i.e. a father’s responsibility to take care of
his son), and how it shouldn’t matter who likes you, <b><i>“as long as they doin’ right by
you.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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My students and I always have a profound discussion about
this scene. They are quick to explode at Troy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“What kind of crappy father says that to his son? Poor
Corey,” they bemoan. I always let them get their feelings out before I ask
this:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It’s true – a teenager like Corey probably wanted his dad
to gush about how much he likes him, but what was the bigger lesson here? What
was Troy trying to teach him?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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They never have any problem identifying the bigger message. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>“Stop worrying about what other people think of you. Make sure people
aren’t taking advantage of you; that is all that matters.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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As I teach this every year, I am always struck by how much I
still need to work on this. Even as an adult, I tend to find myself upset or
even angry when I feel that someone doesn’t like me. I ponder all the reasons
why, whether they are justified, what I can do to change that impression… <o:p></o:p></div>
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This year, God has decided that, in the immortal words of
Kevin Hart, I’m “<b><i>gon learn today!”</i></b> <o:p></o:p></div>
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This year, I have really been faced with the decision of <b><i>how
much</i></b> to allow the opinion of others to affect my actions. This is not
to say that a whole slew of people have suddenly come out of the woodwork to
hate on me. Not at all! I am <b><u>surrounded</u></b>
with kind, loving people with whom I enjoy spending time and I am constantly
uplifted and encouraged. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>But there will always be the opportunity to question myself</i></b>
when I feel someone is undervaluing me, my strengths or my intentions. In those
times, I must admit – I sometimes allow their perceptions to affect me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I think when you are a person like me – someone who is introspective
and self-analytical to a FAULT – you grow up believing that whenever someone
thinks poorly of you, it must be something you did. It is usually a really
great thing to step back and look at yourself and critique your performance. But
in this case, it becomes an Achilles. It must ALWAYS be my fault.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This year, I have made the decision that, it’s not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes, you know what? It’s THEM. <o:p></o:p></div>
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People who know me well know that I always say, “Nobody has
the right to steal your character.” That means that even if others act badly,
you have the right, the <b><i>obligation</i></b>, to do the right thing,
according to your morals and beliefs. Otherwise, you have allowed someone
NEGATIVE to pull you right down with them.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is no different. As long as I am causing no harm to
others and staying true to my spirit, I shouldn’t be worryin’ bout who likes me.
I “<i>best be sure they doin’ right by</i>”
me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And you know what? How arrogant to assume that everybody
WOULD like me. I’m not perfect. I’m not SO SPECIAL that the WORLD is required
to adore me. I’m just like anybody else- with quirks and bad habits and things
to improve. People have the right to choose their own circles and I’m not
required to be in them. As long as I’m working on being better every day, that’s
all I can do. Making mistakes is better than faking perfection.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i>“What law is there that say I got to like you?” <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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None<i style="font-weight: bold;">. </i>None whatsoever. </div>
KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-17150941904161866032014-07-22T20:03:00.000-07:002014-07-22T20:03:19.976-07:00A dozen reasons I love Pinterest.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
So, lately I have been seeing numerous funny posts on Facebook where people have attempted Pinterest ideas, only to have them turn out to be utter failures. (*see below*)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlWGxvmccXwPLjQZKGq59Ddoo4pmX2U2YpCYs6wHNkULu3Y9rnKVNtsGYyGr2pgqPPyfnm17M8_-42NhDc16ukLKDxj39Q7TKy3-2Jgo6D5S-AbptVGbHJfO3wcV9qszTrMdLlKeEUqI/s1600/hilarious-pinterest-fails-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlWGxvmccXwPLjQZKGq59Ddoo4pmX2U2YpCYs6wHNkULu3Y9rnKVNtsGYyGr2pgqPPyfnm17M8_-42NhDc16ukLKDxj39Q7TKy3-2Jgo6D5S-AbptVGbHJfO3wcV9qszTrMdLlKeEUqI/s1600/hilarious-pinterest-fails-31.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZ6pN1gU1Pw64zCdbSUu-rVxY7BGpHm_pCUIJFhzprJ31ObICQdMC-xRkqXRcNZtdh6zc4avXK9VkSjsWGKKBHrEMDMDBBn9jGy_JB25v0QcNT2bqh_2v63I5PaCfkk70JRQ8J4IyAic/s1600/pinterest-craft-fails-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZ6pN1gU1Pw64zCdbSUu-rVxY7BGpHm_pCUIJFhzprJ31ObICQdMC-xRkqXRcNZtdh6zc4avXK9VkSjsWGKKBHrEMDMDBBn9jGy_JB25v0QcNT2bqh_2v63I5PaCfkk70JRQ8J4IyAic/s1600/pinterest-craft-fails-1.jpg" height="320" width="170" /></a></div>
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I have to admit - I have had several of these myself and have cursed Pinterest more than once for making me feel like I have two un-crafty thumbs and cook blindfolded. However, if there is one thing I can attest to, it is the FASHION section of Pinterest. Whenever I need a new look or have an event, I immediately hit my keyboard to scour Pinterest and check out what looks have been posted. This has proven successful for me more than once, and I often find myself saying, "I would never have put those together!" </div>
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Pinterest is fashion catnip for me.</div>
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Typically, I will find an outfit I like on there, and assess three things:</div>
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1. Do I already own any of the pieces?</div>
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2. Would I make any changes for my own style/taste?</div>
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3. What are my chances of finding it at Goodwill/Savers or a resale shop?</div>
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More often than not, my answer to all 3 are positive. From that point on, I search for the individual items of that outfit whenever I am out, (even at Meijer!) until I have located all the pieces. </div>
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Look, I know this makes me a copycat. But I do not have very good ideas when it comes to fashion, on my own. I desperately need a starting point, which Pinterest gives me.</div>
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Thus, because I am a huge dork, and to prove that not ALL of the "Pint" is a fail, I have put together a compilation of some of my favorite Pinterest fashion success stories. Full disclosure- my favorites are the last two.</div>
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<u>Here we go....</u></div>
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1. I loved the yellow pop of this outfit, but could NOT find a yellow belt. Thus, I made do with a yellow scarf instead. I already had the silver pants and yellow pumps (some of my favvvvs). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZx-WfNZ0qDurBBXyyksQETSEe3l1eB4A_QevOVT3Jj7M1y92EU9Sk2duFybWBuBjleD3oS37VhJoEvN9urHL0HACtf__J2mFdQlefcE_U9AILwsH170wSoH0eZndZIJSMEysV1ASz0Q/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-44-55.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZx-WfNZ0qDurBBXyyksQETSEe3l1eB4A_QevOVT3Jj7M1y92EU9Sk2duFybWBuBjleD3oS37VhJoEvN9urHL0HACtf__J2mFdQlefcE_U9AILwsH170wSoH0eZndZIJSMEysV1ASz0Q/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-44-55.png" height="320" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpTLc8MQPaiM0p5iGSbSnWIOkUJ1iUPv5dSzdhRbMyTCJdgq-x6u6elFu_0kJS_UM3GhVD8-YVsXgL5t8ZXgJ4tyudQawbMCEw4g1P8KGSDNgkzdUhcI_T6G1RBXV-bv4-noe8oqvFhU/s1600/20140722_204754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpTLc8MQPaiM0p5iGSbSnWIOkUJ1iUPv5dSzdhRbMyTCJdgq-x6u6elFu_0kJS_UM3GhVD8-YVsXgL5t8ZXgJ4tyudQawbMCEw4g1P8KGSDNgkzdUhcI_T6G1RBXV-bv4-noe8oqvFhU/s1600/20140722_204754.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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2. This outfit was so simple, I already had the pieces in my closet. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2mdluRHTprZlNgj0YpxeFwySLrIpHd2x6fACK5uAaaUY6aFqst72Mj1HEvIcISAd1HZUq-7WUCPPtdXIP_UMTMEOUWjrgn-rg3wy7nCB4SJ6pv_O96_7byqs2HqkE7A11AHL3RIGQTqw/s1600/20140722_205024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2mdluRHTprZlNgj0YpxeFwySLrIpHd2x6fACK5uAaaUY6aFqst72Mj1HEvIcISAd1HZUq-7WUCPPtdXIP_UMTMEOUWjrgn-rg3wy7nCB4SJ6pv_O96_7byqs2HqkE7A11AHL3RIGQTqw/s1600/20140722_205024.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fGdHH-NV0D144Xl9DtmB1BOiegKXnRaBYzEqPWE5wMoDjGWyPJTrnS44aWSspvnTZi2nh8aq-UTh0rMD1PLDNoF9Y8zEyw4NueeQ71Gq2UegIBFvkMe75io5XtBX8mv9pjikIJQrqJ0/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-49-20.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fGdHH-NV0D144Xl9DtmB1BOiegKXnRaBYzEqPWE5wMoDjGWyPJTrnS44aWSspvnTZi2nh8aq-UTh0rMD1PLDNoF9Y8zEyw4NueeQ71Gq2UegIBFvkMe75io5XtBX8mv9pjikIJQrqJ0/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-49-20.png" height="320" width="180" /></a><br />
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3. Again, I had both of these pieces already, but never paired them together.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfZcnbO91D_w2qOIDmwKvMRB5YfEvLQzxQdqFUT53Ke91L_RODqA16LtvSHqDOtD8VRPCF0iag-MD23eaeJ5otlAGga5-6lgMKMdNxHJz9d2JPVq3jqxrejNaPqbSSKKjURA7HwOunTs/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-03-54.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfZcnbO91D_w2qOIDmwKvMRB5YfEvLQzxQdqFUT53Ke91L_RODqA16LtvSHqDOtD8VRPCF0iag-MD23eaeJ5otlAGga5-6lgMKMdNxHJz9d2JPVq3jqxrejNaPqbSSKKjURA7HwOunTs/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-03-54.png" height="320" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitre-a6PUNC5k5xrHqUn5C5RPaM5Gx9RLDwhv10V_LHnR6i1ufRPilR3JVRoWGIEwiRBAdMPI81Bw8sKStgluDyDB3FboPdy8UKbARYuVK0e6EGmMqD38I0_iGtzmUkdLDXT3Y6yubBXE/s1600/20140722_210539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitre-a6PUNC5k5xrHqUn5C5RPaM5Gx9RLDwhv10V_LHnR6i1ufRPilR3JVRoWGIEwiRBAdMPI81Bw8sKStgluDyDB3FboPdy8UKbARYuVK0e6EGmMqD38I0_iGtzmUkdLDXT3Y6yubBXE/s1600/20140722_210539.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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4. Whoda thunk of sequins over denim? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FqWa2D11Ujgx2BbzOh21WACNbjTT3kByVuR1WyqxIRz4heBnKYmVRH7u75d58qveii2mcd2B1VGew7EAcHrSM1MaqurlqSxoA8ww9DdDoVWyRIubey69MTMNvm21AezDJ4A0uv_bUYU/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-17-09.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FqWa2D11Ujgx2BbzOh21WACNbjTT3kByVuR1WyqxIRz4heBnKYmVRH7u75d58qveii2mcd2B1VGew7EAcHrSM1MaqurlqSxoA8ww9DdDoVWyRIubey69MTMNvm21AezDJ4A0uv_bUYU/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-17-09.png" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrna8sW8qYJ8VGm0wS3ZzKWJaeO9xmri4nHlmQbEr8J-hhtcrJt_K7-2B13Z01rIpJ9U3U5pwYAGGzDxUTkvGmYStBXO8jmNYeYv5cOY5S7c8_uNpt54Tv7_0W6iwTCUYLnnbxTo-Pik8/s1600/20140722_211645-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrna8sW8qYJ8VGm0wS3ZzKWJaeO9xmri4nHlmQbEr8J-hhtcrJt_K7-2B13Z01rIpJ9U3U5pwYAGGzDxUTkvGmYStBXO8jmNYeYv5cOY5S7c8_uNpt54Tv7_0W6iwTCUYLnnbxTo-Pik8/s1600/20140722_211645-2.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a><br />
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5. Love this one.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4JQrS0EHXG8ANYcVXsTAbrhxUCvF80i2JyMmXkFbXqHxkTgzeIVICPZ8Ogpq3Tpz_v5o2g1kGEQKrA1JDZZcu3gNFEJKERqfeI7TTEtejh9jQh_RAGEC7h71IpnjH3BNqWmZqZ_atbw/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-00-25.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4JQrS0EHXG8ANYcVXsTAbrhxUCvF80i2JyMmXkFbXqHxkTgzeIVICPZ8Ogpq3Tpz_v5o2g1kGEQKrA1JDZZcu3gNFEJKERqfeI7TTEtejh9jQh_RAGEC7h71IpnjH3BNqWmZqZ_atbw/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-00-25.png" height="320" width="180" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rblEHG_HxrvG0U2BHqAIk7STxp94NoEwfWO_0YUQ_oFK-PMbswow0W70kGBz6cyEusm6juoA1aVWqSFbrh4qxkA0U6Kj0Mdd3hF6HfLHphM7ux1yWSUSTh4WyNXc9Xkqd8FFagFpL3Q/s1600/20140722_210135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rblEHG_HxrvG0U2BHqAIk7STxp94NoEwfWO_0YUQ_oFK-PMbswow0W70kGBz6cyEusm6juoA1aVWqSFbrh4qxkA0U6Kj0Mdd3hF6HfLHphM7ux1yWSUSTh4WyNXc9Xkqd8FFagFpL3Q/s1600/20140722_210135.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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6. I find this awkward still. Trying to fix it...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxTBL3NxDJW9XICO8F6tH7nNSmyCTN2W870QPAEV4XxFnctasxYXNcE6YT2HpC5PF6LOUjXiLvtSWR1EMLzrbXAx7kZMW5T7a09g2aKJnu89kWeQVYuktuxovh6SlV-eoF1R76-NCpNw/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-14-24.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxTBL3NxDJW9XICO8F6tH7nNSmyCTN2W870QPAEV4XxFnctasxYXNcE6YT2HpC5PF6LOUjXiLvtSWR1EMLzrbXAx7kZMW5T7a09g2aKJnu89kWeQVYuktuxovh6SlV-eoF1R76-NCpNw/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-14-24.png" height="320" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbaobQA5KAjZvqx2mwDm42ivMq_nd90KqW8n8Ln4_vKxK1g6Q0Nhlf0Cbf7PnRThB1dhmUq9bazlUe20hNpXfXWkfwmYF1VJ1z4YHoP5_j2QUuWrP_vu_Bb5VxD3P4bptSoEhs3oe9Vw/s1600/20140722_211337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbaobQA5KAjZvqx2mwDm42ivMq_nd90KqW8n8Ln4_vKxK1g6Q0Nhlf0Cbf7PnRThB1dhmUq9bazlUe20hNpXfXWkfwmYF1VJ1z4YHoP5_j2QUuWrP_vu_Bb5VxD3P4bptSoEhs3oe9Vw/s1600/20140722_211337.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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7. I don't look good in button-up shirts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yvD6Popi1CnZHaYQSMzvtzrx0qSgGY5SZYpGu9q7-qA5KWFpnIrf4ehGZYrK0KdvQiS7xkgFVH8Z3IQ6cLx__cR1VjR0Kx7VSyxRh59l8EAta8PO9k0Ba0Ywi6DqJbCafaIJrr39H-M/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-34-24.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yvD6Popi1CnZHaYQSMzvtzrx0qSgGY5SZYpGu9q7-qA5KWFpnIrf4ehGZYrK0KdvQiS7xkgFVH8Z3IQ6cLx__cR1VjR0Kx7VSyxRh59l8EAta8PO9k0Ba0Ywi6DqJbCafaIJrr39H-M/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-34-24.png" height="320" width="180" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqo4WZJvh3nntZpCDaupprcXahUE0WFg2JkPteSlYUfM_69evDqya6GFXxySUNmODIb1lFCdj3wPOlsIc52_UbCM-XSOvT64LLn5mkpxXI6jzyKTi9J22oDLOqJVZn5TcYCD2fVUsBsuI/s1600/20140722_203505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqo4WZJvh3nntZpCDaupprcXahUE0WFg2JkPteSlYUfM_69evDqya6GFXxySUNmODIb1lFCdj3wPOlsIc52_UbCM-XSOvT64LLn5mkpxXI6jzyKTi9J22oDLOqJVZn5TcYCD2fVUsBsuI/s1600/20140722_203505.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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8. I don't have a pink blazer (yet?) and I don't like white skirts, so I tweaked this. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKN2E39KuqGwIniWofJ1nlc4NsLNOAYX1cc9Sqjmxv5on3R7EW4SPSe0Ftasi3v-yIAVtJcwvmnhx_ezAbrnRjE0jwWTUw2X1UMMrdkiXM-rzCWoq8JMG5SZRQ29Slla3cB_HTgrBMEs/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-40-20.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKN2E39KuqGwIniWofJ1nlc4NsLNOAYX1cc9Sqjmxv5on3R7EW4SPSe0Ftasi3v-yIAVtJcwvmnhx_ezAbrnRjE0jwWTUw2X1UMMrdkiXM-rzCWoq8JMG5SZRQ29Slla3cB_HTgrBMEs/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-40-20.png" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxIU5itFcXeyqTpXfinoFWhe4xS_fOaftVO_cfombvmqCfbG1GIiPuenGWQoRW3JeteY28fwCuSnae3ilNQytuENuaXN2ySWF2E0me7d2Egati6GTOrqTvWV2-tFdeu8WuxSMKaruu3o/s1600/20140722_204108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxIU5itFcXeyqTpXfinoFWhe4xS_fOaftVO_cfombvmqCfbG1GIiPuenGWQoRW3JeteY28fwCuSnae3ilNQytuENuaXN2ySWF2E0me7d2Egati6GTOrqTvWV2-tFdeu8WuxSMKaruu3o/s1600/20140722_204108.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
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9. I was thrilled to find this skirt at Goodwill, after seeing this outfit. The blazer was expensive, but I have had it for a few years.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEb0CB-ldIwNQqVylkQKpA5pUSji23irsT_2QVkYabu0nzIXGNKEd-yNFhM81gwUCAmsak-8QjdKiXSjxcgj3jp9Zjr5Pu_euJCmQtesPrpdSGg-48ZQrnmLmWMul1aJnyBkvKzq-xF7c/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-40-57.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEb0CB-ldIwNQqVylkQKpA5pUSji23irsT_2QVkYabu0nzIXGNKEd-yNFhM81gwUCAmsak-8QjdKiXSjxcgj3jp9Zjr5Pu_euJCmQtesPrpdSGg-48ZQrnmLmWMul1aJnyBkvKzq-xF7c/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-40-57.png" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxgZnykIRxOYISEYk3A0BzUoGs3FQ7dtAisueN8YVP6Df4Qiufz-Ps-O_O54chhnbV9cXbw_gzuZQfDfLZG8ZqlI5DnFfVElLTnEUFcdXeM7PSswa_nUeF50E8kWQvme0QA07WmJQSa4/s1600/20140722_204336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxgZnykIRxOYISEYk3A0BzUoGs3FQ7dtAisueN8YVP6Df4Qiufz-Ps-O_O54chhnbV9cXbw_gzuZQfDfLZG8ZqlI5DnFfVElLTnEUFcdXeM7PSswa_nUeF50E8kWQvme0QA07WmJQSa4/s1600/20140722_204336.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RE_rTzdfroyb1q1KsjLC4eKZNiQ1zEmIxhc1u0Ci90SUz9jweiSH7wO4ThKADiKO8mr10JrliCeHnoxXDSdq0ad-iRFAioF1gG-LCsSVubBvJ483pLHOnCG7RcmK13fzbozBMlkWlPE/s1600/20140722_204341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RE_rTzdfroyb1q1KsjLC4eKZNiQ1zEmIxhc1u0Ci90SUz9jweiSH7wO4ThKADiKO8mr10JrliCeHnoxXDSdq0ad-iRFAioF1gG-LCsSVubBvJ483pLHOnCG7RcmK13fzbozBMlkWlPE/s1600/20140722_204341.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
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10. This isn't exact, but I used what I had.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEianlb0xr7RitsedTuU2Ki5a-12YcdnewVYmaI_AMJfNTRprLLxBkMH1LysieIFzhfVMGjSE4EnnebLlL2DzGkLGCFlvSEz4N72FxHtyQDI_7b3L2vDAMPW-hwElGWoRJhA2Ufa07E8qrg/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-56-21.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEianlb0xr7RitsedTuU2Ki5a-12YcdnewVYmaI_AMJfNTRprLLxBkMH1LysieIFzhfVMGjSE4EnnebLlL2DzGkLGCFlvSEz4N72FxHtyQDI_7b3L2vDAMPW-hwElGWoRJhA2Ufa07E8qrg/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-20-56-21.png" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnCj0vCsOoSawlpvZFSfRI8ipqUXHXIalb9pcLVXBzXT5Qj8Etdoj3xKmbDineAF4aPtg0w6wcJ7aH1gFHuJpW5OFlBPgufA3miDPyS_gKfeVBASzfvaKzEmLKLDMUNUkrfXYRrFGfc-E/s1600/20140722_205416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnCj0vCsOoSawlpvZFSfRI8ipqUXHXIalb9pcLVXBzXT5Qj8Etdoj3xKmbDineAF4aPtg0w6wcJ7aH1gFHuJpW5OFlBPgufA3miDPyS_gKfeVBASzfvaKzEmLKLDMUNUkrfXYRrFGfc-E/s1600/20140722_205416.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxTBL3NxDJW9XICO8F6tH7nNSmyCTN2W870QPAEV4XxFnctasxYXNcE6YT2HpC5PF6LOUjXiLvtSWR1EMLzrbXAx7kZMW5T7a09g2aKJnu89kWeQVYuktuxovh6SlV-eoF1R76-NCpNw/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-14-24.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div>
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11. ONE OF MY FAV PINTEREST LOOKS. I was obsessed with this from the moment I saw it. After much searching, I found some cute shorts from the Victoria's Secret catalog and then got this shirt, which still has the tags on it. I just can't find the right place to wear it yet. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuBRgSU-UGaX66N_VDH0qRL6-eXlFq623Rd7JotSKUxL-S0Cs6kEel2KnP394MhytYmsj63xCSdl2_90FR7dBK0s4UGsLfM3ZK9NY1ZkQAnm-1lpweMiGJvSYNmeXla3_zvCRPEOrfe8/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-59-07.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuBRgSU-UGaX66N_VDH0qRL6-eXlFq623Rd7JotSKUxL-S0Cs6kEel2KnP394MhytYmsj63xCSdl2_90FR7dBK0s4UGsLfM3ZK9NY1ZkQAnm-1lpweMiGJvSYNmeXla3_zvCRPEOrfe8/s1600/Screenshot_2014-07-22-21-59-07.png" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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12. I loved this look. Took me a month to find a similar blazer (on clearance!) but I love the look.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">Sean and I are leaving for Mexico in 35 days for a much-anticipated, long-overdue tropical island vacation getaway for our 10 year anniversary, which isn’t actually until this June, but who needs “tropical” in June? February seemed much more rewarding, which is why we are going then.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Probably because of the pending anniversary trip, I have been thinking a lot lately about the last ten years. I cant believe it has gone so fast. It feels like yesterday that he was down on one knee in front of me, with a gorgeous, Princess cut diamond in a box, held by very wobbly fingers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Since I have been so lost lately in my ten year memories, I am jotting down some of my absolute FAVORITE memories of our life together. These are those moments when he would do or say just the right thing and remind me how lucky I am to be his wife. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Shortly before we got married, Sean and I were robbed at gunpoint in my apartment. He was pistol-whipped and I was dragged around by my hair and forced to give up all the money we had. It was terrifying. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><b>*I remember when the detectives arrived to fingerprint my home, he asked Sean if he was okay, referring to the open head wound he was bleeding from, and without hesitation, he tearfully said, “No, I’m not okay. They could have hurt her and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” I was the only thing on his mind, despite BLEEDING from the HEAD. <span> </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In 2002, we were married in June. We bought our house two months before our wedding and right after the wedding, we used some of our wedding money to buy the plans and wood for an enormous, gorgeous deck that Sean built on the back of our new home. <span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst"><span> </span><b>*I remember coming home on one ridiculously HOT afternoon where he had been working outside on it, all day in the hot sun, and I saw that he had power-washed “I will love you forever” into our new deck. It lasted the whole summer and I loved it. </b></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2003 – Our most difficult year, to date. My first pregnancy ended in a rest stop bathroom and I was wrecked. Sean was so supportive during that time. I remember having to explain to my students at the time, after some time off, that I was no longer expecting a baby. I also remember one particularly difficult day when a student naively asked me, “What did you do to make your baby die?” after hearing I was no longer pregnant. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b>*The next morning, Sean left a card on my windshield that said, “That one wasn’t perfect enough. You will be an amazing mommy.”</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b> <span> </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Eventually, obviously we did get pregnant again and I gave birth to beautiful, wonderful Quinn. Although this was the happiest moment of our lives, those first few months were BEYOND difficult. Neither one of us had any baby experience and we were tired, emotional and totally overwhelmed – with love, with worry and with fatigue!<span> </span>I put my head down on the dining room table and just wept my eyes out one night. Sean begged me to tell him what was wrong and I struggled, in between gasping and sniffing and severe post-partum depression, to explain to him that I missed it being just “us.” I missed having dinner with him, and going on dates and feeling like a wife and not a milk machine. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b>*That night, he made me stay in my bedroom. He took care of feeding Quinn and putting him to sleep and told me he would call me when I could come out. I heard strange noises and had no idea what he was up to. When he came to get me, I saw he had transformed our entire living room into a Hawaiian oasis. There were leis all over, drinks in coconut glasses, pineapple candles set out burning, <span> </span>a hot plate of my favorite meal on a candle-lit table and even Hawaiian music playing in the background. “Tonight,” he said. “We are in Hawaii. Just the two of us, on a very special date.” He danced with me and made me feel like we were “the old us” again.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of course, I was just learning to be a new mommy and not lose myself in the process.<span> </span>That wasn’t the only time I “lost it” either. When Q was about 3 months old, I remember breaking down crying (I sound like I was a blubbery, weak mess a lot, don’t I?) one night as we were getting ready to go to some family party. My clothes looked terrible on me. I was too small to fit in my old maternity clothes and way too big still to fit in my “regular” clothes. Every book said that weigh loss after pregnancy can take up to a year, but I was impatient and feeling ugly. <span> </span>He, of course, told me I looked beautiful and that my body was still changing and he said all the right things, but I was not to be consoled. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>*<b>The next morning, he woke me up, told me he had a secret plan and to get dressed. While I was getting ready, he dropped Quinn to my mom’s house and then whisked me off to a HUGE shopping mall in Michigan where he told me to buy whatever made me feel good. He knew that it would be a big waste of money (and it was) because my weight was still changing and I was still losing, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was making me feel pretty. I bought a few new outfits, felt like a million bucks and even though I donated them to Goodwill a few months later, he smiled and said it was worth it. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These are just some small examples. <span> </span>There have been hundreds. Like the time he bought us dancing lessons, even though he HATES to dance, because he knew I would love it.<span> </span>Or the time he nonchalantly told our priest that I had changed his life and without me, he knew he would have ended up in jail or dead. Or the time he made matching shirts for himself and Quinn, that said “MY WIFE/MOM ROCKS.” <span> </span>Or the time he showed up at my school unexpectedly with a bouquet of flowers just because.<span> </span>Or even recently, when he climbed up on the roof and sprinkled fake snow on Christmas morning because it was all I wanted for Christmas. Or how when we talk about other couples who are having difficulties, he always says, “Well, you and I are different. We have something special that those people don’t have,” and his words rest on my soul and reassure me that I’m NOT imagining it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have lived 10 yrs of love that many women DREAM about. I am lucky, lucky, lucky. Lucky to be in love with someone who isn’t afraid to show me how much he loves me, all the time. <span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ten years. And we’re more obsessed with one another now than we have ever been. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s to ten more!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk5hLxPdCtTqKk-a_m6lnMglA-Qow5QXBQlxFBx37Z29UU1kqphpi6Dl6wc1pQdCO3Tl_ZXWig4hhi5WoONd7dJfJ9IG4QbLLy1xB-7IWb_MNeeCzDydJmhf-PZxJKAeyyzlyEQA5sy4/s1600/usssss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk5hLxPdCtTqKk-a_m6lnMglA-Qow5QXBQlxFBx37Z29UU1kqphpi6Dl6wc1pQdCO3Tl_ZXWig4hhi5WoONd7dJfJ9IG4QbLLy1xB-7IWb_MNeeCzDydJmhf-PZxJKAeyyzlyEQA5sy4/s320/usssss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-3918065396791138962011-12-17T20:00:00.000-08:002011-12-17T20:00:34.124-08:00Nothing profoundThis post has no real purpose, other than simply having an itch to write/compose/create. As someone who grew up on stage pretending to be characters from the various plays/musicals I was in, I sometimes feel an overwhelming urge to pamper that side of my brain in creative ways. As a teacher, though, I must admit- I get to "act" all the time. I act EXCITED about a novel I have read 23 times and don't actually really like that much. I act enthralled by a student's horrendously LOOOOONG story, even though I already know in the first 5 minutes that it is going to end with some ridiculous fight and details about how hard she hit someone. I act out the parts in the various short stories we read, for purely entertainment purposes. Hell, sometimes I even have to paste on a cheery smile and act excited to SEE some of my kids.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I love my job and my students remain some of the funniest, brightest people I know... for the most part. But I do have that one kid (or in this year's case, 5) who tests my patience every day, and for whom I have yet to find one=godforesaken redeeming quality. "Good morning! I'm so glad you're here! I had heard you were suspended! Well, come on in! We have a lot of fun stuff today!" (inner monologue: holyhellnottodaywhytodayicouldhaveswornhewassuspended)<br />
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Alas- I digress.<br />
<br />
Life in Petersville has been busier than ever. Quinn has started playing on a basketball team, which pretty much looks like football at this age - lots of hogging the ball and running (what's dribbling?). It's a hoot and he is loving it. My husband being quite the basketball star in high school sits on the sidelines, ever so patiently, DYING to scream things like, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! ARE YOU BLIND?! THAT GUY WAS WIDE OPEN!" but holding it in as he should.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5bYBhyphenhyphen2GloD0Cxb1omWogAHDV0rpDYdvL05ASXjiknE_5OgQPOfGS8T7ma8JyR7n69Wb3q3hP0ea67Nfd-bMPkQ_CReX4PREF4-HKc869E1HAafDiEu3a2WKUIqRlMHEYS98iuMZ_CA/s1600/Q%2527s+early+birthday+celebration+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5bYBhyphenhyphen2GloD0Cxb1omWogAHDV0rpDYdvL05ASXjiknE_5OgQPOfGS8T7ma8JyR7n69Wb3q3hP0ea67Nfd-bMPkQ_CReX4PREF4-HKc869E1HAafDiEu3a2WKUIqRlMHEYS98iuMZ_CA/s320/Q%2527s+early+birthday+celebration+009.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Work has been a whole new can of worms this year. I would not be lying if I reported that this year has been my MOST challenging year to date, including my very FIRST year, which made this one look like a trip to the circus. I have started teaching the "babies" again, as I call them (i.e. sophomores) after 4 yrs of having a strictly SENIOR schedule. I clearly had gotten rusty at how to manage the youngins. I cannot believe I still have to say things like "We don't flick boogers on people" or "Don't make me put your name on the board." I came home every night for the first 2 months and literally collapsed. I have one particular class of misfits who include jailbirds,3 time-repeaters, ADHD poster children, pharmaceutical specialists and 8 month pregnant girls who still say "ax" instead of "ask" and "LI-BERRY." Now, however, dare I say, I am enjoying it? I have FINALLY established a working class order where they know I am Head Hefe and they aren't. And I kind of like them a little bit... okay, I love them. This would be my classic "I'll wait..." pose to get them quiet:<br />
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Sean and I leave for Mexico in exactly 60 days and I couldn't be more excited. I can hardly believe it has been 10 years since we got married. It has flown by in the blink of an eye and I wouldn't trade a moment of it- even the harder years. I can't tell you how many times we have both commented how lucky we are to have the friendship we have. I look at some unhappy women my age and I can see that their relationships aren't friendships. They are partnerships, sure. But let's be honest - I have a partnership with my gym. I need more than that to sustain me, and I am so lucky to have it. When I look at this picture, I cant believe how much I had NO CLUE what great blessings were in store for us.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRPq_UbaimhMsKjXSrfSISzYwAtKR0KxVYG1_OeB9_UmEnJsZPG4VUl5qR2n18NYUWn1nqDdeII_rBunklQPXMTuBGnRv1RhZsQRSEPIlttniDT8FDkRBCjk1jOa2c_55u-O3xKRvJ8k/s1600/wait2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRPq_UbaimhMsKjXSrfSISzYwAtKR0KxVYG1_OeB9_UmEnJsZPG4VUl5qR2n18NYUWn1nqDdeII_rBunklQPXMTuBGnRv1RhZsQRSEPIlttniDT8FDkRBCjk1jOa2c_55u-O3xKRvJ8k/s320/wait2.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
That is enough for tonight. I had a profound thought earlier this week that I would like to expand into a blog, but for now, I will only say this... I cannot BELIEVE how much of my EARLY life was preparation for the life I live NOW. There are so many examples of how God laid a path for me before I ever even knew it - experiences I had that have come in so useful now, knowledge He planted in me juuuust before I would need it, love He taught me to show for people who would benefit... I have never doubted that God drives my life - but it hit me last week just HOW much He set me up to succeed. Crazy.<br />
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Love and blessings for this holiday season!!KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-79861034745628619122011-09-11T15:06:00.000-07:002011-09-11T15:08:35.932-07:00From the mouths of babes...So, yesterday, my husband and I received some bad news - news that we had heard was coming, but until 11am yesterday, was only speculation. <br />
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We received a certified letter from our mortgage company, stating the FEMA had randomly and arbitrarily decided that our street is now located in a flood zone. Mind you, the propery was built in he early 1970s and has NEVER, not once, EVER had a drop of water standing on it, but FEMA considers this just insignificant detail and has given us 30 days to pony up flood insurance to the tune of $1200 year. <br />
<br />
More than the extra $99/month added onto our expenses after a nearly 8% paycut from my job, we are devastated by the fact that the odds of our home selling at a decent price are now slim to none. Let's face it- who is going to buy our home at a fair rate, knowing they ALSO have to shell out an extra Benjamin in totally unneccesary flood protection? They arent. <br />
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We had a 3 year plan that included waiting for the market to turn slightly and getting out of our house and into a new one. Now, for that to happen, we will almost certainly have to sell our home for LESS than we owe and take a total hit, thereby severely limiting our options, as far as a newer, better home. <br />
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From the moment we both saw the letter, we were outraged. I did what I do best and cried. Sean did what he does best and flew completely off the irrational deep end, cursing the government as crooked and demanding we move to Mexico. For real.<br />
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We both fell into a pity party that lasted a good hour and included the following:<br />
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*further discussion about moving to Mexico<br />
*disgust at the totally brazen way the "good guy" always gets screwed<br />
*FEMA bashing<br />
*consideration of the option of just saying "Screw our great credit history" and walking away from the house altogether, just to stick it to FEMA<br />
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AND FINALLY....<br />
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*my suggestion that we fight back and dispute the sudden change in requirements. Sean quickly refuted this, saying that it was impossible to win against a huge corporation like FEMA. "It will never work," he said. "They are in the hole after what happened with Katrina, so they changed their guidelines to force more people to have to pay them." I suggested we gather our whole block and try to host a group effort to contest the ridiculous changes, and again, Sean reiterated how futile it all would be, the money it might cost to fight back and ultimately, how FEMA would still win anyway because the government always wins.<br />
<br />
During all of this, we had been unaware that Quinn was listening to every word. All of a sudden, a little voice said, "Daddy, can I say something?"<br />
<br />
Surprised, Sean told him to ahead, and Quinn said,<br />
<br />
"Well, it's just that David fought Goliath. And Goliath was way bigger and stronger. But David still won, because when you have God on your side, you always win. Right?" <br />
<br />
Right, buddy. My sweet little boy.<br />
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We have a land surveyor coming out this week to have our own assessment done... because what does it hurt to fight Goliath when God is on your side?KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-43625771415015420032011-08-16T09:19:00.000-07:002011-08-16T09:19:36.840-07:00Don't worry. Be happy.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>I worry</strong>. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hmph. When stated so simply, it seems so non-threatening.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I assure you, though – that <span style="color: black;">statement</span> has pretty much dictated my entire life. In fact, I’m not sure the words “<em><strong>I worry</strong></em>” even fully encompass what I mean. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I dwell. I wonder. I obsess. I lie awake. I toss and turn. I play out scenarios. I tense. I am <strong><em><u>consumed</u></em></strong>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those are closer. To say that I worry is as big of an understatement as saying that Donald Trump has spare change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fall into the depths of the “what if” despair daily and although I am able to function quite normally, the knot in the pit of my stomach grows every day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Examples. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We took Quinn to an amusement park – a bona fide amusement park – not one of those “put-together-by-rubber-bands-in-the-mall-parking-lot-carnival” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>jobbies. A real amusement park, mandated by state laws and safety checks and thousands of satisfied , gleeful riders every day. He was completely un-terrified and wanted to ride every single ride, (including upside down ones) front car, every time. I was happy about this, considering I had spent the majority of my life too afraid to even get CLOSE to a roller coaster and never wanted him to know that kind of fear. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, did I enjoy our day, as he exploded with joy and energy and fun, riding everything for which he was tall enough? Oh, no.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I worried. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>What if the ride breaks? What if that hinge comes loose? What if the safety belt snaps? What if his harness isn’t tight enough? What will I do? Are there doctors on site? Where is first aid? Would it even matter? </em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mind raced faster than any one of those coasters, totally irrationally. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it isn’t only Q. I worry about people I don’t even know. God help us if we drive by someone homeless with a “feed me” sign. I can pretty much guarantee you that at some point, as I am lying in bed that night, I will wonder (and worry!) about whether or not someone fed that poor soul.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My family. My job. Stories in the newspaper. Weather. You name it, I will worry about it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have always been this way, but it has definitely gotten worse in the past 2-3 years, and because I knew it wasn’t healthy, I tried to fix it – did some yoga, practiced meditation, tried an herbal remedy and ultimately, saw my doc.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She says that this is completely normal in women ages 29-37 (obscure ages?) and that hormonally, we ebb and flow in the worry department. She says in a few years, I will likely “return to normal” which I find questionable, as I was never really ‘normal’ to begin with. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are working together to discover a remedy to my angst, and I am hopeful that we will find it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until then, I will be over here, worrying about it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-9337266853654533842011-06-26T17:50:00.000-07:002011-06-26T17:50:04.644-07:00In honor of Sean's birthday tomorrow...Sean and I have been together since 1999, which means we have been "an item" for 12 years. When I met him, he was this little, goofy kid who made my stomach jump because I just thought he was the cutest thing ever. When I met him, he had a pierced lip, eyebrow, toungue and ears. My parents almost fell unconscious when I brought him home.<br />
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Because it was 1999, his hair had frosted tips a la Justin Timberlake, which I obviously found completely adorable. <br />
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We dated for a few years before we got married and when I look at those "dating" pictures, I cannot believe how young we both look - but him especially.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3i_DxPMAUeqmV9fY63Hzl1NBwS06osTD4_x3p6ny9xZmNFgUecqRBIMJPPlmPzU1h7zOL3DeeF2GG0mlpInxkjgLYRo-Spi-jNaCTSrZ8p8gWkwV0ySTPV01BPGLDe-XwFaCqbr_5W4/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3i_DxPMAUeqmV9fY63Hzl1NBwS06osTD4_x3p6ny9xZmNFgUecqRBIMJPPlmPzU1h7zOL3DeeF2GG0mlpInxkjgLYRo-Spi-jNaCTSrZ8p8gWkwV0ySTPV01BPGLDe-XwFaCqbr_5W4/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>He asked me to marry him in the exact place that we met and nine years ago last week, I married my very best friend in the world. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy33x-Z-mz9LD7lNEOG82zieJ-9Ij49KH5SzU8IhfkHmKVaICmsKtuzkoFPo_RLVVYgFFDR228olhLrfMfnce9NO8wUJHPKQxnxrjv8kzPCRk50QVxKxVU5J1maF1DzB7G7utIAW364g/s1600/usssss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy33x-Z-mz9LD7lNEOG82zieJ-9Ij49KH5SzU8IhfkHmKVaICmsKtuzkoFPo_RLVVYgFFDR228olhLrfMfnce9NO8wUJHPKQxnxrjv8kzPCRk50QVxKxVU5J1maF1DzB7G7utIAW364g/s320/usssss.jpg" width="198" /></a></div><br />
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It is no secret that the moment I had Quinn, my best friend had a new best friend. LOL. They were INSTANT buddies and I couldnt have been happier. Today, they are the best of friends and I am lucky if they invite me to dinner. ;) In honor of his birthday tomorrow, I am posting some evidence of my best friend, finding a NEW best friend. :) <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDHGwCu1tufVxh0CHy9-1UxLWRoHYFmMRqEpUn0h53-v1-EEcYf6Gfikjb8g0v2HUov03zPm66qFkDy9gzy1clsQeaEmQh7_oD4GfnfyufZIagByaj9ATVjRf9hKnXHwk2SN23_yMu9Y/s1600/l_16ea38a8256341c4b9b06b3137224d64.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDHGwCu1tufVxh0CHy9-1UxLWRoHYFmMRqEpUn0h53-v1-EEcYf6Gfikjb8g0v2HUov03zPm66qFkDy9gzy1clsQeaEmQh7_oD4GfnfyufZIagByaj9ATVjRf9hKnXHwk2SN23_yMu9Y/s320/l_16ea38a8256341c4b9b06b3137224d64.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRb6s-hCygAQ_-RvQFaoUWPLMBIsGM_mFnMEZfkP3gu5EmSZNHtuEmWQ38q5fKYxDTIvlACxVsLg_Yr9QcDe5K7DjrRq99VACO1oj_J6bedLpweb1w1QMge8-aKbt14-uNMgnA01Vc4I/s1600/34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRb6s-hCygAQ_-RvQFaoUWPLMBIsGM_mFnMEZfkP3gu5EmSZNHtuEmWQ38q5fKYxDTIvlACxVsLg_Yr9QcDe5K7DjrRq99VACO1oj_J6bedLpweb1w1QMge8-aKbt14-uNMgnA01Vc4I/s320/34.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBrekB3ohUS09lJ-JpJLLKWuslDso1wrGWW1d4EntkMbSs8lwAaizZ7Hj5kOsQ9qdWLxBbKbPj24bqmupbVOtnDl9AfPF5UMU2P9ahYblpngZlOQwam4Z5iqkpl7yQ3GltQKodW00o7I/s1600/109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBrekB3ohUS09lJ-JpJLLKWuslDso1wrGWW1d4EntkMbSs8lwAaizZ7Hj5kOsQ9qdWLxBbKbPj24bqmupbVOtnDl9AfPF5UMU2P9ahYblpngZlOQwam4Z5iqkpl7yQ3GltQKodW00o7I/s320/109.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZyP9mpsyzyfPSKzRuco8Nc_Zl2KxPkkCKQpIa3jJPoZvwqSbDawx7FhPoEMFBFv3dsBgBds2nuX-ao4B0zQMr4d5pLe0iOxxwzrRSOeN1PUhyphenhyphenkR_E3atthqXrVmYTYimCu2YgPsmrVo/s1600/l_21fa5f32cfd53e955ad75ffac314fcb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZyP9mpsyzyfPSKzRuco8Nc_Zl2KxPkkCKQpIa3jJPoZvwqSbDawx7FhPoEMFBFv3dsBgBds2nuX-ao4B0zQMr4d5pLe0iOxxwzrRSOeN1PUhyphenhyphenkR_E3atthqXrVmYTYimCu2YgPsmrVo/s320/l_21fa5f32cfd53e955ad75ffac314fcb1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwKJQSBhD7aBgrTn2BxdnZV1W9QPtRB6lhHTH-rtr_Koyqq7Rtsiu2DWTuewF8SwHw3RWeQDjd3nobG8Rdz8fpgeaQ7ezIkeLyKW-P01tJY5cpvqGkj9S7iQkk9NqpGuscQvnoEmTqFA/s1600/zman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwKJQSBhD7aBgrTn2BxdnZV1W9QPtRB6lhHTH-rtr_Koyqq7Rtsiu2DWTuewF8SwHw3RWeQDjd3nobG8Rdz8fpgeaQ7ezIkeLyKW-P01tJY5cpvqGkj9S7iQkk9NqpGuscQvnoEmTqFA/s320/zman.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR BEST FRIEND!KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-39977371104210735962011-05-01T18:10:00.000-07:002011-05-01T18:10:29.636-07:00This house is our home.As some of you might know, Sean and I have been going back and forth on whether or not to put our house up for sale. There are no real issues with where we live now - we love our home, we have fantastic neighbors, the payments are bearable, etc. We just live far from everything. That said, we started entertaining the idea of moving. This process included meeting with realtors and discussing all the steps. With every realtor meeting, I kept hearing the same thing: "Tell people about your home." I know that they want us to describe the typical stuff. "When was your roof put on? How old is the hot water tank? How much are the taxes?" But this is what I really want to say...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3mXLimqNP9zyW7EbsbRGuTs5u-mXGhAfw5NoCuzTYQDybDtuV8qszo9utRqvUOb3JR45JxaNPDgNnIpUAs6YA_cqeLsgapWQVeJt2WMOMpNSdEw1OHJzwxU_kopSd_GuxFuxuIZm0og/s1600/DSC03990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3mXLimqNP9zyW7EbsbRGuTs5u-mXGhAfw5NoCuzTYQDybDtuV8qszo9utRqvUOb3JR45JxaNPDgNnIpUAs6YA_cqeLsgapWQVeJt2WMOMpNSdEw1OHJzwxU_kopSd_GuxFuxuIZm0og/s320/DSC03990.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
You see this stain right here on the sunroom carpet? That is fruit punch. It got there the day my sweet little boy was so sick, he could barely hold his own head up and he didnt make it to the bathroom in time when he had to throw up. Right after, he immediately apologized and said, "Mommy, I messed up your carpet." This stain reminds me how sweet his heart is.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8-MsrtUJ6uVjh1pp-oKW687sSeS7jF9VIpRS3HsIAnAIv5Abr3HYZ7WS2U_J7Z3w4UkZO-2S1yQ8CGEDvLud-Gacf3aTz7JPQVaeco4I2XmQ5OhXLwJmLgxLPw1J8ndseoGd9_tdaQU/s1600/DSC03991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8-MsrtUJ6uVjh1pp-oKW687sSeS7jF9VIpRS3HsIAnAIv5Abr3HYZ7WS2U_J7Z3w4UkZO-2S1yQ8CGEDvLud-Gacf3aTz7JPQVaeco4I2XmQ5OhXLwJmLgxLPw1J8ndseoGd9_tdaQU/s320/DSC03991.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>You see this railing? It used to have a gate on it. That kept our son from falling down the stairs when he learned to walk and wasnt very steady on his feet yet. When we finally removed it because he was big enough to manuever safely, I cried.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAi65LI589vgdqln8uosuBTM8Dm0_U3e0cKSJcRgl38x7X6wK2GeKZzAfFuK0GoeUZW7Kp1tHqzspiWLS_qjGC8gPK5HQ5LJRg0T3BZS0tgVBaHO1WXP-ndhVHC1bl7oCxdQ7x74TERLg/s1600/DSC03994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAi65LI589vgdqln8uosuBTM8Dm0_U3e0cKSJcRgl38x7X6wK2GeKZzAfFuK0GoeUZW7Kp1tHqzspiWLS_qjGC8gPK5HQ5LJRg0T3BZS0tgVBaHO1WXP-ndhVHC1bl7oCxdQ7x74TERLg/s320/DSC03994.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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This jewelry case was my mother's day gift after Quinn was born. I had seen one in someone's house and loved how it fit right into the wall, had so many slots for necklaces, earrings and bracelets and even had a mirror and locked. I came home one day to find that my husband had searched for hours to find me one and installed it as a surprise. I was so excited, I tackled him and spilled all the jewelry that he had painstakingly laid delicately on my bed. We spent the next two hours finding earrings on the floor and laughed the whole time.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SQXpoLeAAEqJEL-EdNyGmsuoq6TlxqkgmO_Ji9bGnh4vIeJXbtw9JclsomaNHRuVss9enxVHFNuSr8G_czyCou-JIQI0jSU3k8JGErawC0IDj0rldgXML18jitiF2hrO4HmDNk0m64M/s1600/DSC03997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SQXpoLeAAEqJEL-EdNyGmsuoq6TlxqkgmO_Ji9bGnh4vIeJXbtw9JclsomaNHRuVss9enxVHFNuSr8G_czyCou-JIQI0jSU3k8JGErawC0IDj0rldgXML18jitiF2hrO4HmDNk0m64M/s320/DSC03997.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
You see this gap in our bathroom tile? This happened because I wanted to surprise my husband and lay the floor for him. I had never done it, but he works so many hours and his free time is so limited - I desperately wanted to relieve him of the burden. I read the instructions and thought I could do it, and it looked good at first. But I didnt know not to leave ANY space at the wall, or the tiles would 'walk' as they were used. Within 3 days, this gap appeared and I cried and Sean told me you "couldnt really tell" just to make me feel better.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5Bf8-WLFClnBSauL5gzKiz5KnBPSXtnQLDop7HwMIaKmrcU80LPycyYkT3rvJINFRCz3-BMz-kYJqI2o92dGoHh7eA-adzF48zwpnb6f3rd0UzA7re_O9sfd8k8WjQYu17tM-LOxXns/s1600/DSC03998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5Bf8-WLFClnBSauL5gzKiz5KnBPSXtnQLDop7HwMIaKmrcU80LPycyYkT3rvJINFRCz3-BMz-kYJqI2o92dGoHh7eA-adzF48zwpnb6f3rd0UzA7re_O9sfd8k8WjQYu17tM-LOxXns/s320/DSC03998.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Ah yes. The floor in front of our fridge. This is where Quinn has spilled hundreds of gallons of everything. Milk, juice, punch, pudding... you name it. He has dropped it here. I have mopped this area easily over 1000 times.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrwRyTtNlaHmtg6HKgbwGezuPW_95T3BF0kNcS6PW4g5BLsW6LTEU3o0h3D82jCyjQTetF3A683sq6NTnwv7NGtO-N6sOF7y05PcIcgKx0iNPkfp-Em2VOlAQXz1EplMIKV0Te3hIb1w/s1600/DSC04000.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrwRyTtNlaHmtg6HKgbwGezuPW_95T3BF0kNcS6PW4g5BLsW6LTEU3o0h3D82jCyjQTetF3A683sq6NTnwv7NGtO-N6sOF7y05PcIcgKx0iNPkfp-Em2VOlAQXz1EplMIKV0Te3hIb1w/s320/DSC04000.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I have always wanted a red kitchen. So, one day, on a whim, I painted it. I didnt realize how hard the area above my cupboards would be, and by the time Sean got off work, I was using Q-Tips to gently get the corners. Labor.of.love.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Eel2RqjmSm8o202w41_0Lia0A0IXmPfVnbp6orIg96_9Y_jO4MLllqkdrai_Rechd-solG9HRwuC04Uz0ZZUm_V88k2k-3HeQLYqQHbPEfNFvrT_u5YR09sK2DJYtYXkAFE85oBt_Ko/s1600/DSC04001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Eel2RqjmSm8o202w41_0Lia0A0IXmPfVnbp6orIg96_9Y_jO4MLllqkdrai_Rechd-solG9HRwuC04Uz0ZZUm_V88k2k-3HeQLYqQHbPEfNFvrT_u5YR09sK2DJYtYXkAFE85oBt_Ko/s320/DSC04001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
When our stove went out, we went shopping for a new one and were supremely bummed that we had to get a gas one. We liked the look of the electric better and the prices were beter too. But since we had a gas hookup, we got a gas stove. Only, when they delivered it and Sean went to hook it up, he discovered that we had a hookup for both gas AND electric behind the old stove. We contemplated sending it back, but ultimately decided it was to much work and just laughed at ourselves for not checking beforehand.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Bl__1sDAUEOYFosRKdGkxkWPVtFK9hljsR5egf5K_v5y5GMOx41PM5ELCgaltFY4NrbAYGDev4vPFtjtS11W1zxoC0oxBqgzlsOWVcd9dhRHfnOIeZON2FnRHeZVxeb5Gc27iiMl-n0/s1600/DSC04002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Bl__1sDAUEOYFosRKdGkxkWPVtFK9hljsR5egf5K_v5y5GMOx41PM5ELCgaltFY4NrbAYGDev4vPFtjtS11W1zxoC0oxBqgzlsOWVcd9dhRHfnOIeZON2FnRHeZVxeb5Gc27iiMl-n0/s320/DSC04002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I begged Sean to buy me this spice rack from IKEA. He claimed I didnt need it and wouldnt use it, but when we got to checkout, there it was in the cart. He lives to make me happy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczyFwU8hCMxLFnRLu8FBbvStn0tI-VWfRUqNMFbYvN5cdMEkvyZbWC83hTHnn_bePa3kGBJE-gJkzOgrE7si21DheQWntfM5xaPd-9Hfs8rvvqvIBUg_oTxh0bkHFH2yA94ai2eJA_PA/s1600/DSC04008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczyFwU8hCMxLFnRLu8FBbvStn0tI-VWfRUqNMFbYvN5cdMEkvyZbWC83hTHnn_bePa3kGBJE-gJkzOgrE7si21DheQWntfM5xaPd-9Hfs8rvvqvIBUg_oTxh0bkHFH2yA94ai2eJA_PA/s320/DSC04008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This garden stone was made for me by Q when he was 4. It was a mother's day gift. He was so proud of it and he couldnt WAIT for me to open it. When I did, one of the gems had fallen off and he was just devastated that it wasnt perfect. I marched it straight to the front yard and told him it was the most beautiful handstone I had ever seen and my flowers were ALREADY growing better just because of it. He was very happy at that and every time we came home, he would say, "Mommy, you see your stone?" so I could "ooh" and "ahh" all over again. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjeIviKPRFxhEiQJVdrdeDPmhOoxHO5BW7OLDpKdmWs3a_fhxIc8Nm6f-bsFDkrLZytKb6Tl176-mTUhZBVVArO70nHqbJ-hg5ncXzdh2OImEmZpxIQNLVCjzBKZ1TSXU70wbrGe8E5Xk/s1600/DSC04017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjeIviKPRFxhEiQJVdrdeDPmhOoxHO5BW7OLDpKdmWs3a_fhxIc8Nm6f-bsFDkrLZytKb6Tl176-mTUhZBVVArO70nHqbJ-hg5ncXzdh2OImEmZpxIQNLVCjzBKZ1TSXU70wbrGe8E5Xk/s320/DSC04017.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>When we moved into this house 9 years ago, tulips were planted along the side of the house. Although tulips are my FAVORITE flower, I pulled them all up b/c they dont last long enough and I wanted the area to be pretty for the whole summer. However, every year, without fail, this ONE single tulip grows. It is red and gorgeous and big and tall and strong. I dont ever pull it. It's kind of a reminder that it was here first. It doesnt last long. But I love that tulip. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XZ8ETkGah5KEwZBrMEotFOTUIcHKFZvK6fmLGczDboLLnI2sCXELNwlmsIEXm9DtlM9WrJ2sf2dJ0LMeiVGg6DA2mZmIf6wKe1B8CNRnHT96nLt943FmHyS_hZASQtc6PYe6hStNivY/s1600/DSC04006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XZ8ETkGah5KEwZBrMEotFOTUIcHKFZvK6fmLGczDboLLnI2sCXELNwlmsIEXm9DtlM9WrJ2sf2dJ0LMeiVGg6DA2mZmIf6wKe1B8CNRnHT96nLt943FmHyS_hZASQtc6PYe6hStNivY/s320/DSC04006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This sign hangs above our front door. I bought it at a craft show (which my husband calls a "crap" show) and every time I leave this place, I see it. I believe we can tell the universe what to bring to us, and I kind of feel like by proclaiming this every day, we are writing our final chapter ahead of time. I love this sign.<br />
<br />
I love this home.<br />
<br />
Those are the things I want new owners to know. Screw the roof.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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TODAY I AM THANKFUL FOR: a place so filled with love and memories that we dont really WANT to leave it!KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-65969074932217330202011-04-08T07:46:00.000-07:002011-04-08T07:46:25.051-07:00Roadblocks and SignsI apologize for the morose sound of this entry. I am writing this more for me, acknowledging a feeling I have been trying to deny. <br />
<br />
Ask anyone what I think about my job and everyone I know will tell you the same thing: KP <u><strong>loves</strong></u> her job. <br />
<br />
A few of my closest friends, however, know that I have been having a struggle lately in that area. I still love my job. I don't dread going to work and the faces of my amazing kids still uplift, inspire and buoy me most days. <br />
<br />
That is why it is so difficult for me to understand my recent feelings. I have been feeling buried and defeated and down about the difference I make in the world. I am not fishing for compliments here, and of course I can spot isolated kids/instances where my words or love or attention have positively affected someone. My struggle lately has been with the words "So what?" <br />
<br />
I help a kid or two find their potential. So what?<br />
I provide a hug for a kid who needs one. So what?<br />
I teach a difficult concept in an easier way. So what?<br />
<br />
In the GRAND scheme of things, do those things make a worldly difference? <br />
<br />
An event that happened a few weeks ago <em><strong>definitely</strong></em> precipitated these feelings. Without going into much detail, the event made me realize that, in many cases, no matter what my kids achieve in my classroom, the deck is stacked against them everywhere else. It doesn't matter that they have made progress or can conjugate a verb or are loving individuals in my room, if they are forced (by circumstance, ignorance, home training or choice) to be different people the other 1393 minutes of every day. <br />
<br />
Why work SO hard to create an environment of love and support and caring in my room when they dont (or cant?) carry that over into "real life?" <br />
<br />
I might just be burned out because Spring Break is so late this year. I may simply need a break. A respite. But, the feelings scare me. If there is one thing I have always held onto, it is my belief (however rose-colored) that I am changing the world, one student at a time. The event a few weeks ago made me realize that maybe one student at a time isnt tangible enough anymore for me.<br />
<br />
There is so much evil and hatred and malice in the world. Even my well-meaning students dont have very good odds of success, when their families, environments and support systems are encouraging the wrong path. And there are SO many.<br />
<br />
I do not know where this will leave me. As I said, the feelings scare me. <br />
<br />
Today, however, I am choosing to focus on a single positive. I keep a notebook on my desk of EVERY SINGLE letter a student has ever written me. Today, I dropped it by mistake and opened right to one in particular that FELT like a sign to me. It was a note written to me by Jason Kroetz, one of my favorite former students who unfortunately passed away a year ago. In it, he wrote these words:<br />
<br />
<em>"In conclusion, I want to let you know that if ever in your life you regret the path you have chosen, or fel that you havent made a difference in any way, you have. You have created a huge impact on me, and I am only one kid. There are dozens of others like me." </em><br />
<br />
Ironically, he is an example of a good kid with a smart brain and amazing heart, who didn't carry my lessons out into the real world, made a terrible choice anyway and died as the result of that choice. <br />
<br />
Thanks, J, for the sign. I'm trying. <br />
<br />
TODAY I'M THANKFUL FOR: getting to know kids who have touched my life like Jason.KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-87915490279031266862011-03-24T05:49:00.000-07:002011-03-24T05:49:20.297-07:00The Human SpiritI have never been what most would call "religious." <br />
<br />
I go to church every week, I live an honest life and God and I are definitely BFFs, but religion is not all-consuming for me. I eat meat during Lent. I can't recite scripture. After 13 years of Catholic School, I still am not sure if Mary Magdalene is the mother of Jesus, or if she was some other Biblical lass. Whatever. I know God and He knows me.<br />
<br />
See, the thing is, I have an aversion to the term 'religious.' For me, it connotates someone who is aggressively pursuant of other followers and quick to verbally attack someone who isnt living a Christian life. My experiences with "religious" people have always been pompous and self-righteous. Obviously not all 'religious' people are this way, but it has been my experience.<br />
<br />
I prefer to think about being Spiritual. I like to think of my spirit as a real, tangible thing - almost like my brain or heart. Something inside of me that needs nurtuted, watered and taken care of. Sometimes this can be accomplished from time talking to God, but other times, it just needs a great song or a clean house or a night out dancing. When my spirit is sick, all of me is sick.<br />
<br />
I also believe that communities can have a spirit. Ever since I began teaching at Rogers High School, I have felt that our school's spirit was sick. We, as a unit, do not support, uplift or energize this school's spirit enough and as a result, teachers get morose, kids start not believing in themselves and the very building smells stale and boring. We have moments of fun or energy, but the majority of the time, things feel like WORK all the time. I have opted to handle this by creating my own classroom spirit - and I work very hard at keeping it upbeat, fun, laughing and sensory filled. Without tooting my own horn, I really believe that kids like coming to my room. We laugh. We learn. We love.<br />
<br />
And then, typically, the bell rings and they go back to being submerged in the hollow feeling of our halls. <br />
<br />
Lately, it has been so different. Our basketball team is heading to the State Semi-Final Championship game today and the energy and movement and love has been palpable in this place. The kids are smiling, the adults are proud, the walls are covered in posters praising the team and the RAMS in general... It is the best feeling I have ever experienced in my 10 yrs of teaching in this place, and win or lose, I dont want it to come to an end.<br />
<br />
Our spirit is so nurtured and cared for in this moment, that it brings tears to my eyes. A positive spirit is contagious, and now I can only hope that we are proud enough of this feeling that we continue to give it tools to grow. <br />
<br />
I dont know about tomorrow, but Ram Spirit is alive today. <br />
<br />
Go RED!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0G4-CQsjRk7n_DO94Sl9syHJzDDK8fZ4FCyejkZ0tWaTX7DEsTBMxnzfVN2Dlhym4aZnOyBpeEx1LNiu_LE9DnHlr7LaEYsniFDohs9YLzGxLVXC6YR7EMnoVqsMybTsARyk0Ksv244g/s1600/rogers1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0G4-CQsjRk7n_DO94Sl9syHJzDDK8fZ4FCyejkZ0tWaTX7DEsTBMxnzfVN2Dlhym4aZnOyBpeEx1LNiu_LE9DnHlr7LaEYsniFDohs9YLzGxLVXC6YR7EMnoVqsMybTsARyk0Ksv244g/s1600/rogers1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCKHuLNrmWFxks0AgvNJw8EEgzTkE1kmWbpXBpoc4UEAkHmCPs8XuRZaKUhU7KrvfAhFZwJ1LO680X3XajmobLwBz4afwpN0AofSTTmWxWn3r3dZC1gc6na5s0J7nOh8kJzWdjk_7GFs/s1600/rogers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCKHuLNrmWFxks0AgvNJw8EEgzTkE1kmWbpXBpoc4UEAkHmCPs8XuRZaKUhU7KrvfAhFZwJ1LO680X3XajmobLwBz4afwpN0AofSTTmWxWn3r3dZC1gc6na5s0J7nOh8kJzWdjk_7GFs/s320/rogers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIaWAegGRaixNSrNT8OykzLGn7y6V0pk0WuE6RZeTYVPvh1aAGsSZIt4gW3NIU5lanxkpqRforftLrn0TN3TuzUJ6SwiENt48XMl0RwBDGP0e2UY8HOvUXE7FSmMq6hpedyy6_SABCzNg/s1600/rogers+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/AVvXsEgIaWAegGRaixNSrNT8OykzLGn7y6V0pk0WuE6RZeTYVPvh1aAGsSZIt4gW3NIU5lanxkpqRforftLrn0TN3TuzUJ6SwiENt48XMl0RwBDGP0e2UY8HOvUXE7FSmMq6hpedyy6_SABCzNg/s320/rogers+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>TODAY I AM THANKFUL FOR MY WONDERFUL STUDENTS, WHO DESERVE THIS!KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-74673869109906743972011-03-01T11:25:00.000-08:002011-03-01T11:30:02.923-08:00Teacher FunniesAs a high school teacher, I suppose it is no secret that I love teenagers. I mean, you kind of have to in order to do what I do. Most people who find out I am a high school teacher say one of two things: "Why?" or "God bless you." <br />
<br />
The truth is, I absolutely love this age. Yes, it has its drawbacks. There is nothing quite as nauseating as the smell of high school boys coming straight from gym class (*vomit*), or a student with very little regard for personal space asking you one million questions while their acne-filled face lingers inches from your own. <br />
<br />
But for me, the rewards far outweigh the drawbacks. For instance, teenagers love to laugh, in between all of their morose brooding. They love a corny joke. They still think farting is funny. One good "Your mom" or "That's what she said" can have an entire class reeling with giggles. This might annoy some people. It does not annoy me.<br />
<br />
The truth is, I am generally annoyed by adults who have forgotten how to laugh, so I appreciate the youthful benefits of a day spent enjoying, laughing, energizing... even when they are laughing at me!<br />
<br />
Throughout the last decade I have been a teacher, I have kept a journal on my desk of the funny things my students say or do. I write in it whenever a 'funny' happens and I take it out to read on days where I have had ENOUGH of teen angst and drama. It is the perfect antidote to a bad day and I still laugh at the entries. <br />
<br />
A few samples: <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b>1. *after having trouble reading out loud in class* </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Student (genuinely frustrated): Dang! How many brain cells does smoking pot make you lose? Don’t they ever grow back? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><strong>2.</strong> <span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>Me: (in hallway between classes)</strong> Excuse me, sir.You need to tuck your shirt in.<br />
<strong>Kid:</strong> Huh? I never received a recommendation of that.<br />
<strong>Me: (pause)</strong> What?<br />
<strong>Kid:</strong> I didnt use that word right, did I? I just learned it today.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>3. </strong><span style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><strong>Me:</strong> In Chapter 2, what does Jack keep doing that demonstrates he has a </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New';">violent streak? (<em>Answer: He keeps taking out his knife and stabbing the t</em></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><em>rees</em>)<br />
<strong>Dushon</strong>: Uh... he keeps ... drowning the fish?<br />
* LONG PAUSE *</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: x-small;"> <strong><span style="font-size: small;">Me: HOW DO YOU DROWN A FISH?!</span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>4. </strong><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>Boy:</strong> This calculator be dumb. The numbers are, <br />
like, invisible.<br />
<strong>Girl</strong>: Turn it on.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>5. </strong><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>*overheard by me at the end of class*</strong><br />
Boy 1: Mrs.Peters should be a Dallas Cowboys <br />
Cheerleader.<br />
Boy 2: She's missing two very important <br />
qualities.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><strong>NEED I SAY MORE? </strong></u></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OSBYeGfCMLa6ZhEoUNOEGFnKPRXhWakaPzYf7kKdnNhBsOTLVoMMzCscnhLT6_8vL5xJE2cTrLE5UW60vbS6JWcKEdVAdDfA94HW11LPYsrz-nOOGf5dvx6zHl4j2JG8BHHdwMwdrmQ/s1600/100_4860[1].jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OSBYeGfCMLa6ZhEoUNOEGFnKPRXhWakaPzYf7kKdnNhBsOTLVoMMzCscnhLT6_8vL5xJE2cTrLE5UW60vbS6JWcKEdVAdDfA94HW11LPYsrz-nOOGf5dvx6zHl4j2JG8BHHdwMwdrmQ/s320/100_4860%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">TODAY I AM THANKFUL FOR: A JOB THAT MAKES ME LAUGHHHHHHHH!</span></span></span></div>KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-61631791288873404442011-02-16T16:43:00.000-08:002011-02-16T16:43:54.875-08:00Broadway Baby!If you know me at all, you know I am a musical theatre nut. Love them. Even the bad ones I love, albeit a little bit less than others. <br />
<br />
I didnt first experience my first taste of theatre until I was 12 years old, but from that first moment, I was hooked. From the first musical I saw, (Meet Me in St.Louis) to the first musical I was in (42nd Street), to my first real leading role (South Pacific), I only grew deeper and deeper in love. I immediately "got" the magic of live theatre. It enraptured me and I deeply FELT for the leading ladies and forlorn men. Unlike most theatre-lovers, I dont love being IN them any more than I love going TO them. Being in the audience is just as gratifying for me!<br />
<br />
My taste is bizarre - I love the classic shows, like West Side Story and Evita, but I also appreciate the modern (Rent / Spring Awakening) and the fluffy shows (Legally Blonde, Jersey Boys). Basically, as long as I can sing it, I like it. (Sorry, Oklahoma. I havent found a redeeming quality in you yet).<br />
<br />
So, it should come as no shock that when I found out I was having a boy, I was slightly unsure of how to reconcile my love for theatre with a boy's "typical" hobbies. I wondered if a boy who loved sports and wrestling could also appreciate costumes, stage makeup and jazz hands.<br />
<br />
I needn't have worried.<br />
<br />
From the time he could barely speak, he fell in LOVE with The Wiggles. Telling a story through singing and dancing just CAPTURED him, and I knew he had what I had - the theatre bug.<br />
<br />
His first musical was "The Wiz" at the Toledo Rep when he was barely 3 yrs old and he was in a TRANCE during the whole thing. His eyes never left the stage and during intermission, he even got annoyed at how long it was taking people to pee and grab a drink. Back to the SHOW, people! <br />
<br />
Since that time, he has seen Seussical (he liked!), Mary Poppins ("This one is for girls, Mommy.") and most recently, "In the Heights." My husband and I saw In the Heights in NYC and brought home the soundtrack. Within 2 weeks, he knew every word of every song (and some are in Spanish!) and was BEGGING us to take him to see it. When we found out it was coming to Detroit, we knew we HAD to let him see it, despite it costing us nearly a month's salary to do so.<br />
<br />
Last weekend, we saw the show and it was every bit as fabulous as the first time we had seen it. Quinn loved it so much, he barely spoke. When his favorite song came on, he looked at me and actually said, "Isnt this the BEST?!" and I wanted to cry. Yes, dear son, it is the best. <br />
<br />
I hope he always carries this appreciation for the arts. He is stereotypically a boy in every way (pees everywhere but the toilet, wrestles anyone who is willing and yelling obnoxious sports terms at the television every NFL game), but he also carries a soft spot for the beauty of a story, told through gorgeous melodies. I hope this is making him into a well-rounded man someday, but at the very least, it's making his mom love him more. :)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAj1VR8DroXFY5wbRuSxG-zuDAzss4eOIReLxASs_VO6QHxK_RdCSMH2C8rL2QnG7Qc6IEsEhX5bct1kI9V_4ps9u9_naSoAemnOn8DbtHNPKZw_aX6blPAiXsFh69ndLkfb8XHwuhuY/s1600/DSC03771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAj1VR8DroXFY5wbRuSxG-zuDAzss4eOIReLxASs_VO6QHxK_RdCSMH2C8rL2QnG7Qc6IEsEhX5bct1kI9V_4ps9u9_naSoAemnOn8DbtHNPKZw_aX6blPAiXsFh69ndLkfb8XHwuhuY/s320/DSC03771.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Heading in to theatre!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbljau4kkSkUYv4op3eKhfi96xJ1EQyQ8u6oWd3dZ9egosizi8W_pCAnAINePDq3w7DM52xJghqZMhgDWqArUL-Fd2HzzXocvzjGierzsLlArQlzBYTBvhyphenhyphenTjy_hVaf737mHnb5NTiIs/s1600/DSC03762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbljau4kkSkUYv4op3eKhfi96xJ1EQyQ8u6oWd3dZ9egosizi8W_pCAnAINePDq3w7DM52xJghqZMhgDWqArUL-Fd2HzzXocvzjGierzsLlArQlzBYTBvhyphenhyphenTjy_hVaf737mHnb5NTiIs/s320/DSC03762.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Quinn spotted the sign and squealed. :)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylXu_pzoobysigGrmvXrfhwzFLJeewCkWxHQs16zHS11SsRcVbSOrGwE_lmXGnpSUdm3hfqBTzqW6IwbRa1a72ryD9BtTcbITUfcHdd5X9spHOTk3apzzimK4EN_ukJl6C_7pGYLzbIQ/s1600/DSC03764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylXu_pzoobysigGrmvXrfhwzFLJeewCkWxHQs16zHS11SsRcVbSOrGwE_lmXGnpSUdm3hfqBTzqW6IwbRa1a72ryD9BtTcbITUfcHdd5X9spHOTk3apzzimK4EN_ukJl6C_7pGYLzbIQ/s320/DSC03764.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Swaggggggg</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuegqpRmsxqplJnJYE0AW_zwxcb6W4TaP0nXyB0xeKUhKFVSdKL_-qKe42edl5MSXjy3yzUZsz2ONCzxL4pkNY7maLutFVWCTszXB9RysVWSKuk7ggXrgRAVWHddfs_qqimsK3GRNmh8/s1600/DSC03765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuegqpRmsxqplJnJYE0AW_zwxcb6W4TaP0nXyB0xeKUhKFVSdKL_-qKe42edl5MSXjy3yzUZsz2ONCzxL4pkNY7maLutFVWCTszXB9RysVWSKuk7ggXrgRAVWHddfs_qqimsK3GRNmh8/s320/DSC03765.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Daddy and Quinn wait for the show to start!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2ZxxHY4MGaRYBVjoK07w0o-T4gMQw6Zh7CqwLv8OkuDKalOBcG0Q-MBUwhXP_zd2OapEctL8V-fM4m82znrht71txmNVh6Z2l4JZ6loZzt3jVZikHK3mVnt5nbPGGDPK5cNnN4HCgRA/s1600/DSC03766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2ZxxHY4MGaRYBVjoK07w0o-T4gMQw6Zh7CqwLv8OkuDKalOBcG0Q-MBUwhXP_zd2OapEctL8V-fM4m82znrht71txmNVh6Z2l4JZ6loZzt3jVZikHK3mVnt5nbPGGDPK5cNnN4HCgRA/s320/DSC03766.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">One excited family!</div>KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-12667739914762184642011-02-01T11:21:00.000-08:002011-02-01T11:29:13.714-08:00Snow DazeWell, today is day one of the "Blizzard of 2011" as it is being billed. We got about 3 inches last night, enough to cancel school today, and are expected to get an additional 8-10 tonight overnight, amounting to another snow day - most likely. I am, of course, elated because I love snow. My husband - not so much. (coughsnowgrumpzillacough) :)<br />
<br />
When I was little, I loved snow days. My sister and I would immediately begin jumping up and down at the merest mention of a delay and not stop bouncing until every flake had fallen. Because my parents worked, and we were such responsible children, we stayed home alone on snow days. This meant endless episodes of Full House, cooking our favorite lunch ("noodles with green things" we called it - It was really Lipton Butter Noodles) and (of course) sledding. Our backyard had a natural hill that we thought was epic (and now looks like a bump in grass). We would hurl ourselves down that "mountain" over and over until our fingers were burning from the cold and then race in the house to shed our 50 layers of clothing and drink hot cocoa or play games together.<br />
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As a parent, I worry that Quinn will be jipped of these experiences both because I am a teacher and he has no sibling. I mean, sure, we can do all of those things together still - but part of the fun was being 'on our own.' He wont ever get a break from me on a snow day. If he is home, I am home! This morning, he wanted to do a puzzle, play Old Maid, watch Spongebob and have Macaroni and Cheese for lunch - all of which I obliged. But let's face it, this lady tires out. <br />
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I am also sorry he doesnt have a sibling to play with and I am his only choice....but not sorry enough to give him a sibling. :) I mean, currently he is dressed as Harry Potter (full out in the robe, glasses, tie and carrying a magic wand and broomstick) and there is no chance I'm playing THAT with him. He's on his own there...<br />
<br />
I would like to believe that being an only child will make him more creative, more independent, more... well, more something. But I also know about all the things I learned from having a sibling - how to get out of a headlock, how to eavesdrop on a telephone without being heard, how to cover a stain on my mother's carpet strategically and then blame my sister...<br />
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You know...come to think of it - I think he's going to do just fine growing up alone. At the end of the day, a child surrounded by love is a successful child - whether he has siblings or not. Right? <br />
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Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to be "Hermoine." <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhyxFjC8dzhlZ0DVkQtpWyKBLbaaMe_tj8NgN3zc28TKcY9MBlq52uDPCUaNk_YzPMjxRfW2y89flE5gxHWerIT_WsMaqhd-jncK-ZdBnUPdxF_EA9Cy9Yi9dLa_s5Xk8a4CZ8a9pH_o/s1600/DSC03659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhyxFjC8dzhlZ0DVkQtpWyKBLbaaMe_tj8NgN3zc28TKcY9MBlq52uDPCUaNk_YzPMjxRfW2y89flE5gxHWerIT_WsMaqhd-jncK-ZdBnUPdxF_EA9Cy9Yi9dLa_s5Xk8a4CZ8a9pH_o/s320/DSC03659.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4mUcTjnjxPyjDMUjCLXsYcOl8ejhiYNQoXRElLCSwC7SB8kfPYipkulxbfC2DnK5xPPy1JIUlT2bKp8zukX_ebyLT7ppeI8xt8urR760fRvONnvVbO9xsZhbhld_Esg_9t-9Ge7XVgs/s1600/DSC03662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4mUcTjnjxPyjDMUjCLXsYcOl8ejhiYNQoXRElLCSwC7SB8kfPYipkulxbfC2DnK5xPPy1JIUlT2bKp8zukX_ebyLT7ppeI8xt8urR760fRvONnvVbO9xsZhbhld_Esg_9t-9Ge7XVgs/s320/DSC03662.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu9DF-S4uizioT1bHdlY0LTX9Mg3H5MPIaEYcnOHUFyX4GgsoxFQanZl7cRl8BGaTUmkN3YsT5G-7k31oItEb9HASbT1Mu7__3j-kD_K7zddr5r6p1WSF50eJByfz84JzybXW2IsJgwe0/s1600/DSC03663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu9DF-S4uizioT1bHdlY0LTX9Mg3H5MPIaEYcnOHUFyX4GgsoxFQanZl7cRl8BGaTUmkN3YsT5G-7k31oItEb9HASbT1Mu7__3j-kD_K7zddr5r6p1WSF50eJByfz84JzybXW2IsJgwe0/s320/DSC03663.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> God, I love him.<br />
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TODAY I AM THANKFUL FOR GORGEOUS, PEACEFUL, SPARKLY SNOW!<br />
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</div>KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-10514138816679251042011-01-27T14:55:00.000-08:002011-01-27T14:59:18.044-08:00Random Ramblings...It's snowing.<br />
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But not enough. I know many hate the snow, but I don't. In fact, you know that seasonal depression disorder people have, where their spirits literally feel depressed because it's been winter too long? Well, I have whatever the OPPOSITE of that is. I need the snow - like in my soul. Frankly, I am disappointed that the most we have gotten at one time this season has been a couple of measly inches. I want a big daddy, 8 incher storm.<br />
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Despite my disappointment in the weather, life otherwise is going swimmingly.<br />
<br />
My sister's shower went off without a hitch. It was hands-down the most beautiful shower I have ever seen and she looked so happy all day. I can hardly wait for the next month to hurry up so we can get to the big wedding day! <br />
<br />
Quinn started indoor soccer a couple of weeks ago and it's been really fun. I especially enjoy seeing him becoming more aggressive as an athlete, which I believe translates into a passion and aggressive goals in real-life too. He is more confident (sometimes TOO confident?) in social situations and I love seeing the person he is becoming. He is a perfect blend of my husband and me. He has both of our best qualities and we're so lucky to be his parents.<br />
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This weekend is the Rogers Parent Prom. This event began 5 yrs ago after I had a dream (I know it sounds all Martin Luther, but I really did!). After noticing the severe lack of parental support we see at our high school, I had a dream that we hosted an event (in my dream, it was called a Mom Prom, similar to what I believe St.John's high school does) where our kids could have the chance to bond with their parents and have a good time. So many of our kids rarely see their parents and when they do, their time together is not relaxing or fun. So, I brought the idea to our Asst.Principal (at the time) and she supported it wholeheartedly. So, the Parent Prom began. The name is misleading - it is a very laidback dance. Most attenders wear jeans, which is exactly what we wanted. If we had made it like a "real" prom, the majority of our parents would not have been able to afford the outfit alone, much less the dance ticket. We kept the cost very affordable (only $5) and we offer cookies, punch and some rockin oldies. :) It is, in my humble opinion, the very best event our school has all year. It just warms my heart to see our "tough" kids cutting loose to some Marvin Gaye or Temptations with their grannies, moms, dads and foster families. I cant wait!<br />
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TODAY I AM THANKFUL FOR... parents who are doing a great job, despite their circumstances, and loving their babies exactly how they should!KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-59412378929808241552011-01-18T17:04:00.000-08:002011-01-18T17:04:29.005-08:00I love weddings. <br />
<br />
And by saying that, I mean I am a wedding freak, in every way possible. I love the dress, the cake, the flowers, the songs... I love, love, LOVE weddings. I have never turned down a wedding invite and I'd probably go to a wedding, even if I wasnt invited - and even if I didnt know the couple. In fact, I may have already done that. ...Twice.<br />
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I just love them. I used to think it was the symbolism of it all - the vows, the forever, the commitment... Now, I realize I am just a sucker for pretty things and weddings have a lot of pretty things. I have been in 8 weddings, not including my own, and loved every one.<br />
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It should come as no surprise that when my sister got engaged 6 months ago, my wedding pulse began to rage. I could barely stop myself from dragging her to the bridal store the very DAY she got engaged, and I'm pretty sure I shoved her fiance out of the way to see the ring. New brother-in-law be damned, there was bling to see.<br />
<br />
Planning my OWN wedding was not nearly as fun as being a spectator. That was work. I can remember sitting there with 100 swatches of colors in front of me as we chose our invitations, my husband-to-be staring blindly at the colors with me, (as if he had a real say anyway, or cared what color they were), and I realized that it was much more fun NOT to be the chooser. <br />
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So, with Sarah's wedding, I am getting the best of both worlds. I get to be surrounded by all things BRIDAL 24/7, but never really have the pressure of the decision on my shoulders. I think she should stay engaged forever. Her wedding is in 56 days and I'm not sure what will occupy my time once it passes. I may be weeping at the altar just BECAUSE it is over. <br />
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I fear that my sister's wedding may be the last wedding in which I am a part. Most of my friends have been married off or arent the type to have a bridal party, which leaves me relishing in my "maybe-last" experience in one. (I am available for rent at a nominal fee. You can pay me in pew bows and I make a helluva bridesmaid.) Just saying.... <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8P-aZdjTMNG4r6agXUzWm78t1nf9AA8GHI8txl5-1JXJ1FvvEY_BSoTHHe-LmkwvuwNLpo2rqg_uwx-sQZdz45QP5qZK1mHGcbwjkP0r4EYw0L6vjoxVhbAkumW09zlFHjQvwAAUOAQ/s1600/usssss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8P-aZdjTMNG4r6agXUzWm78t1nf9AA8GHI8txl5-1JXJ1FvvEY_BSoTHHe-LmkwvuwNLpo2rqg_uwx-sQZdz45QP5qZK1mHGcbwjkP0r4EYw0L6vjoxVhbAkumW09zlFHjQvwAAUOAQ/s320/usssss.jpg" width="198" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My hubby and me at my (okay "our") wedding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECXWAOmOMnzOpDmWJKIuRcZMZiB7-mgTma-43hEPKp2MUQKKGJvVyhz03IOs25L0zUUPYmz5qC6oWoyeNkBmoB7QOp1OTpzVMeWmjNXKAPKxYyFVDmqpCByPtv4vroV9dOb2za7ay5YU/s1600/DSC02315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECXWAOmOMnzOpDmWJKIuRcZMZiB7-mgTma-43hEPKp2MUQKKGJvVyhz03IOs25L0zUUPYmz5qC6oWoyeNkBmoB7QOp1OTpzVMeWmjNXKAPKxYyFVDmqpCByPtv4vroV9dOb2za7ay5YU/s320/DSC02315.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> My sister showing off her bling, last July.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkLSz0uPz4qT0RsWzwUuxiYqivN-YxEgfAL6VniZPgmpvssuzvQ9Qe2rb77-SG4TRrfbMli5jp0wuO4byWk85TG0mojhrK1vdVCHT9SsbGBwdHiX3mjKxlggIZTb0JZuNbqa6yWACdRI/s1600/x.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkLSz0uPz4qT0RsWzwUuxiYqivN-YxEgfAL6VniZPgmpvssuzvQ9Qe2rb77-SG4TRrfbMli5jp0wuO4byWk85TG0mojhrK1vdVCHT9SsbGBwdHiX3mjKxlggIZTb0JZuNbqa6yWACdRI/s320/x.bmp" width="234" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Allibird and Me on her weding day :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvR5A12e-YtFjbN2ZBeuy_kWhxov5yrHzY34CRqYtV2NpC81Lm2A43yEmpt5XoF0mwYOlqZSJuwZwwVCoenvZLqcmt731OKuwIY9x6C9dZu_l1oAK84Df9C47TDVyiibG-mwqCbx06GA/s1600/x.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvR5A12e-YtFjbN2ZBeuy_kWhxov5yrHzY34CRqYtV2NpC81Lm2A43yEmpt5XoF0mwYOlqZSJuwZwwVCoenvZLqcmt731OKuwIY9x6C9dZu_l1oAK84Df9C47TDVyiibG-mwqCbx06GA/s320/x.bmp" width="320" /></a></div> Kirsten and Scot on their gorgeous day.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICQKlr2b4F2aBY2BveOyhlAFR1huWoc8dQR397_-dW7Rp4wgCWV6F74ShIjhe1-bqeJ2a1ri39GTcu2yprOUEFcfsm_X3edvQw0h2nk6fUH-swH2pVD-eSvNOdMG4Nea6phoNK-BEgdg/s1600/x.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICQKlr2b4F2aBY2BveOyhlAFR1huWoc8dQR397_-dW7Rp4wgCWV6F74ShIjhe1-bqeJ2a1ri39GTcu2yprOUEFcfsm_X3edvQw0h2nk6fUH-swH2pVD-eSvNOdMG4Nea6phoNK-BEgdg/s320/x.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Prayer around the groom </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAc6y_hYq84rwN0FWzbThLrMgVphj3fB3oQAQPLjgqaNMyH2Qc934wyEUPyDCt0hqi1yiWlhKUQGfmb1yCRqXhKemKUp1yumUwjKpTAriQtwTuDIhmnwSe1hRWWWUvfLBUtFQfqiWnjdI/s1600/x.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAc6y_hYq84rwN0FWzbThLrMgVphj3fB3oQAQPLjgqaNMyH2Qc934wyEUPyDCt0hqi1yiWlhKUQGfmb1yCRqXhKemKUp1yumUwjKpTAriQtwTuDIhmnwSe1hRWWWUvfLBUtFQfqiWnjdI/s320/x.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> So much joy at weddings!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAc6y_hYq84rwN0FWzbThLrMgVphj3fB3oQAQPLjgqaNMyH2Qc934wyEUPyDCt0hqi1yiWlhKUQGfmb1yCRqXhKemKUp1yumUwjKpTAriQtwTuDIhmnwSe1hRWWWUvfLBUtFQfqiWnjdI/s1600/x.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2599289230553723027.post-82866551745202673192011-01-04T11:26:00.000-08:002011-01-04T11:26:35.806-08:00Love Breeds Love - The OutcomeWell, it happened. "Letters of Love" day came and went and was a huge success. I consider the day a success for the following reasons:<br />
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1. I had the single largest turnout of parental support I have ever had, with 52% of parents participating. I know it doesnt seem like a lot, but hey- I'm grateful for a rising number and over half who took the time. I'm optimistic enough to hope it means a change for the better in the future.<br />
2. I had the largest number of kids who were genuinely SHOCKED by receiving their letters. Because so many of my students run their households themselves, typically, a pretty significant quantity have already discovered the secret by the time the "big day" arrives. This year, very few admitted to having known about it and those who <u>did</u> know about it, opted NOT to share it with their peers and risk ruining the surprise.<br />
3. There were so many tears, I had to run to the bathroom to get more tissue! <br />
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To say that my students were grateful would be a giant understatement. They were positively OOZING gratitude, with one even saying to me, "We know our parents love us, but sometimes it is nice to hear why."<br />
<br />
: * )<br />
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Even those whose parents did not participate were teary-eyed and thankful for the letters they did receive. One of my quietest little loveys said to me, "I cannot believe that Mrs. __ wrote me! I always loved her class!" <br />
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But perhaps my favorite quote of the day, came from an individual who said nothing in class when he received his letters. Instead, I got a private email from him later that night that said, "The letters I got today made me realize that people do notice me." <br />
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And again, if that isnt the point of the assignment, I dont know what is. :)<br />
<br />
KP<br />
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TODAY I AM THANKFUL FOR A SOFT PLACE TO LAND WHEN I FEEL LIKE NOBODY CAN HEAR ME.KPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06000783799333461664noreply@blogger.com0