tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13593533281415751692024-03-13T11:33:08.687-07:00One girl in a house of men.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-87962844620716856342012-01-07T05:32:00.000-08:002012-01-07T05:32:37.057-08:00A year in the life of One Girl...This has really got to stop...this writing once a year...with the plethora of fascinating things happening in this house of men...I'm wasting quality writing opportunities.<br />
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In my defense, I started working outside the home last February, adding another ball to the 5,372,894 already looming over my head, and I was lucky to find time to floss my teeth, much less sit and write. (Okay, I never <em>really </em>try to find time to floss, but I think the dentist bought it.)<br />
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It was an interesting year, trying to fit it all in, and while I wish there were things I had done better, (I'm sure Little Boy and Baby Boy probably wore their underpants for two days in a row a couple of times), no one seems the worse for wear. <br />
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Could there have been more green vegetables offered (note: "offered", not "eaten")? Probably. <br />
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Was my house dusty enough on occasion to be designated as part of the National Parks Division of Deserts (Is there one of those? It sounds good, anyway...)? Most assuredly.<br />
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Did all the men's cell phones get cut off twice because I forgot to pay the bill? Unfortunately.<br />
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But did we all survive it? Indeed.<br />
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Lots of big happenings here this year for the men...I will try my best to keep up-to-date...Oldest Boy continues in college and work endeavors, while dating a girl I WANT as a daughter. Middle Boy is graduating from high school and possibly going to the Naval Academy (!). Little Boy continues to excel in music and is growing in leaps & bounds....and then there is Baby Boy...<br />
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The Blue-Eyed Wonder never allows a dull day in the Men Household. He is the happiest person on the planet, I think, and keeps us all (his 1st grade teacher included) on our toes.<br />
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Thank you for checking in, sorry to have been gone for so long. I promise I won't be a stranger.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-81356050398039061262011-01-29T04:35:00.000-08:002011-01-29T14:10:39.609-08:00Family Fitness Day! I'm so (not) excited!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TUQIJbSl50I/AAAAAAAAAVo/q_NrdCNPQKA/s1600/imagesCAP28B45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TUQIJbSl50I/AAAAAAAAAVo/q_NrdCNPQKA/s1600/imagesCAP28B45.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Today is "Family Fitness Day" at Littleboy and Babyboy's school. I'm over the moon with excitement...really...can't you just feel it?<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I am all for encouraging these kids to move around, and alot of parents need to do some moving too, but honestly, do we all have to do it in front of one another? The three-legged race? I don't have appropriate, "work out in front of everyone" clothes for that. Not to mention the fact that I am, by far, one of the least-graceful humans on the planet.<br />
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Will I humiliate my sons if I do a lousy job? Will the kindergartners snicker behind my back when I go in to help them paint penguins on Thursday?<br />
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Please understand, I work out. Alot. In a gym that 1.) is women only, and 2.) is very supportive of women and all different body types, etc. Not alot of judging going on there, no one cares if you gained 10 pounds in the last 3 months (thanks, crappy thyroid), you have old sweatpants on or if you turn bright red in the face every time you work out. They know me there, they accept me, my ugly sweatpants and my red face. This is a totally different thing.<br />
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I always try to look presentable when I go to the school, cute t-shirt with the school motto on it, cute shoes that the little kindergarten girls and I giggle about when I go in...I can't look presentable if I'm wearing worn-out sweats, am extremely red-faced, and performing in a very non-graceful, non-cute sort of way.<br />
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One day my sons will look back on days like this and either a.) think their mom is a great sport who showed up at all sorts of school activities or b.) think their mom is a great sport who really should have invested in better workout attire...<br />
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Oh and hey! I just remembered, they are bringing in a photographer too...I think I just pulled a hamstring...One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-3362451503144413652011-01-21T04:36:00.000-08:002011-01-21T04:52:52.492-08:00Sea Monkeys...a purchase you might regret...Alright, so color me "unprepared" or better yet, color me "bad at doing research before I purchase Christmas gifts for my children that are going to end up being gross and/or a pain in my butt".<br />
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Littleboy asked for Sea Monkeys for Christmas.You've seen them, they've been around since I was young. (I could never understand why my mom wouldn't buy them...now I know.) They come in a cute little package at toy stores, just look at how cute:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTl68B8JS9I/AAAAAAAAAVc/HjoYRwiFsK8/s1600/seamonkey3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTl68B8JS9I/AAAAAAAAAVc/HjoYRwiFsK8/s1600/seamonkey3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Little tiny tank, little feeding spoon. How adorable, how bad can they be? Right? Wrong.<br />
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Allow me to show you a couple more pictures...if you haven't eaten breakfast yet, let me just apologize now.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTl7PJtqpUI/AAAAAAAAAVg/tZt9hYa0Hi8/s1600/seamonkeys2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTl7PJtqpUI/AAAAAAAAAVg/tZt9hYa0Hi8/s1600/seamonkeys2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Sea Monkeys are actually brine shrimp...or some such thing. (Of course NOW I do my research on them. After Littleboy and Babyboy have their tanks thriving on the bathroom counter.) Still, not too bad, right? Kind of cute and minuscule, no big deal.<br />
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But then there's this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTl7kKtDqQI/AAAAAAAAAVk/F7bGeFvztLc/s1600/sea_monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTl7kKtDqQI/AAAAAAAAAVk/F7bGeFvztLc/s320/sea_monkey.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br />
This is what you end up with, apparently. These suckers are breeding, and grow to <strong><u>3/4 of an inch long.</u></strong><br />
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I think I might just have to vomit. It looks like a tank full of swimming fleas, or bugs, omg, what have I done?<br />
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I work extremely hard to maintain tight border security between myself and the flora and fauna that live outside. And I've just shot myself in the foot.<br />
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These guys are going to come to some unfortunate demise before we get to this point. I'm going to start planning the assassinations now. Maybe the "cat" will knock over the tanks while they are at school. That might work, they'll still love HIM if he kills the seamonkey-shrimp-bugs...One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-27144732435116077592011-01-16T05:35:00.000-08:002011-01-16T05:46:29.921-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTLuhYTs3xI/AAAAAAAAAVU/DwzSs4RbAxI/s1600/BP_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTLuhYTs3xI/AAAAAAAAAVU/DwzSs4RbAxI/s320/BP_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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I'm really needing a personal assistant...not "sorta" needing, not "wow, it would be nice to have one" needing...but really, truly, desperately needing a personal assistant.<br />
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Keeping track of one business, one household, one husband, four children and one pet (two, if you count the goldfish we are fish-sitting...he needs to eat, doesn't he??) is pushing the limits of my brain memory storage. Hubby will ask me things like "Do you remember that plan that we did, that we needed the signature on, back in September? What did we do with it?" <i> I do not know</i>. The amazing thing is...he DOES know. He can remember things he did 4.7 years ago, who he spoke to, and what they said. I can't do it.<br />
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How does a woman that God blessed with such a miserable memory get handed so much to do and remember? I've got to send in brownies for the teachers on Wednesday this week, get everything done this weekend so I can mail out 1099's to people we worked with last year, call the dentist to set up appointments for two of the four boys, and check on a Jeep we own that apparently prefers life at the repair shop to the comforts of our cozy garage. Not to mention, we have no juice in the fridge, are out of ibuprofen and canned cat food (he prefers to have both, wet and dry food, excuse YOU) and I think the dishwasher needs soap...<br />
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I need someone to stand behind me in the morning, with a clipboard and a calendar and say "Here are your lists of things you need to do today, Onegirl." and then make sure I get it all done.<br />
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Instead I have this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTLxtfN8-aI/AAAAAAAAAVY/abgfZD3vRf4/s1600/IMAG0046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TTLxtfN8-aI/AAAAAAAAAVY/abgfZD3vRf4/s320/IMAG0046.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
...and yes, you guessed it, one of those post-it notes says "BROWNIES WEDNESDAY!!".One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-26908542451672515632010-12-13T04:10:00.000-08:002010-12-13T04:10:26.950-08:00Smart boys and their reasonably intelligent mother...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TQYMd2CGYMI/AAAAAAAAATg/DAWKagBJ0wk/s1600/genius.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TQYMd2CGYMI/AAAAAAAAATg/DAWKagBJ0wk/s1600/genius.bmp" /></a></div><br />
The other night I recorded a debate between Oldest Boy and Middle Boy. It was an impromptu debate...standing at the island in my kitchen...on something to do with Calculus.<br />
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I say "something", because I have no idea what they were talking about. I mean no idea. They might as well be debating in Japanese...oh wait...<em>they both speak Japanese</em>...and I don't.<br />
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Everyone knows that teenagers always ASSUME they are smarter than their parents, but what happens when they really are? Do you acknowledge their mathematical prowess, or just nod your head and say "Sounds about right to me" when they ask you a question from their Physics class.<br />
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Of course, I'm glad that God gave these kids some decent brain power...they will end up supporting us I'm sure, (just looked at the 401k, yipes!)...I'm very grateful for that.<br />
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But when do I cave and tell them "You've got me on that one, kid." and more importantly...<br />
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Why doesn't "smart" = "the ability to see dirty clothes laying all over a bedroom floor" ?One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-37836028751331872752010-12-08T03:07:00.000-08:002010-12-08T03:07:04.468-08:00Are the comments still "snarky" if you only say them in your head?Okay, I'm not talking about being "snarky" to anyone in particular. (You DO know what "snarky" is, right? Comments that you KNOW you are only saying to make yourself feel better...that really fall under the "If you don't have something nice to say...don't say anything" category.)<br />
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My biggest "snark" is regarding girls and their weight...or lack thereof. Now, mind you, I honestly only say this is my head...but I've been catching myself doing it alot lately. I know I shouldn't, but my mind goes right there...<br />
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Victoria's Secret girls...the girls at my gym...any of these girls around with no stretch marks...I always say to myself...<br />
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"Yeah, let me see them after they have had four kids!"<br />
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Is that bad that I do that? Am I only justifying the continual 10 pounds I struggle with ALL THE TIME? Should I be happy for them, that they are fortunate enough NOT to have stretch marks from here to there? I don't know...I've just never been one of those girls who wears her stretch marks proudly...I'm glad for you if you can do that...I WISH I could do that...but I just can't.<br />
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So, in light of the Christmas season, and everything that means to me...and looking at the bigger picture of my life and how <em>many</em> blessings I have to be thankful for...I'm going to refrain from saying that phrase in my head (at least until January..baby steps, you know, like running a marathon). <br />
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Everytime I want to compare myself and my body to some other girl's...I'm going to remember my blue-eyed boy, and my other three too...<br />
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...and try not to think about the egg nog I indulged in yesterday.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-54449004240151850232010-12-06T04:04:00.000-08:002010-12-06T07:37:01.898-08:00Oldest Boy and his quest for two quarters...Oldest Boy works as a life guard for one of the large theme parks near our home. He loves his job, loves it...but sometimes comes home with stories that would curl your hair. Thank God he has never had to save a drowning child, but some of the things he says do involve blood (ugh) or bathing suits toooo small to be worn in public (ewww). <br />
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Last night he told me about something that happened between a disabled teenager at the park and himself. It was C-O-L-D yesterday, and yet there were people going down the water slides, etc. (Well, I guess it's cold to us...not necessarily to people from say, Greenland.) OB had on long pants over his swim trunks and a long jacket with a hood...just counting the minutes until they close, so he can get inside in the heat.<br />
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A boy that he knows from high school (this child attended classes at the school for kids with disabilites, but they knew each other from around school) was there with his mom. This boy came up to my boy and said "I dropped something on the slide and I can't get it!" So, OB is thinking "Omg, I am freezing."...while at the same time, taking off the jacket and pants and getting into the water for this other child to retrieve for him...<br />
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...two dropped quarters.<br />
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OB was shivering and feeling hypothermia setting in as the other boy says "Thank you" and goes to find his mom.<br />
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THIS is exactly what I want from my sons. THIS. I am a huge proponent of "Think outside yourself." I am forever drilling into their craniums that the world is a big place and there are a lot of people in it who are in need. I'm so, so blessed to have children to whom God gave big hearts.. So grateful. So very grateful.<br />
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I'll remember this for the rest of my life (although I'm sure OB will forget)...in the meantime...<br />
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Here baby, let Momma make you a hot chocolate.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TPzPsDbQ92I/AAAAAAAAAO8/bKKEEyx2_d0/s1600/Hot_chocolate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TPzPsDbQ92I/AAAAAAAAAO8/bKKEEyx2_d0/s320/Hot_chocolate.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-84853235945461192722010-12-03T02:54:00.000-08:002010-12-03T03:03:12.103-08:00You know it's bad when...someone has to ask you "Hey! Do you do that blog anymore?"<br />
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Yes, well, I still consider myself owner of that blog...does that count?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TPjI1opDggI/AAAAAAAAAO4/JQMqGm6bb7c/s1600/blogdesk.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TPjI1opDggI/AAAAAAAAAO4/JQMqGm6bb7c/s320/blogdesk.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This might as well be me. Truly...throw four kids and a hubby in there, a laundry basket, (and don't forget to put the fattest cat in the universe under the desk)...and that's me. Although, she may have less gray hair than I...<br />
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I'm aware that everyone has stuff they have to do...women work outside the home and manage their households all at the same time. My mother (aka "Captain Amazing") held down more than one job, raised kids by herself...and somehow managed to wear clean underwear every single day. My mother-in-law (aka "Mother Invincible") was able to raise 8 KIDS, help with 1 million grandkids, and serve home cooked meals every night THAT ACTUALLY INCLUDED 4 FOOD GROUPS.<br />
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I know that I'm not the first or the last girl on this planet to juggle 15 full-time endeavors at once. I know this, and yet I'm still amazed at my friends who seem to pull it off so effortlessly. I'm drowning, man, and I show it.<br />
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Today's to-do list involves more work with our insurance company (self-employment surely has some downsides), and the amazing stack of medical bills I'm staring at...a trip to the elementary school to work on the teacher's Christmas present, grocery shopping, a run to the office supply store, and an attempt at doing some laundry.<br />
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Will there be 5 servings of vegetables involved today? Yes, I sure hope so.<br />
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..but will there be clean underwear...One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-71033377229487115512010-10-17T17:08:00.000-07:002010-10-17T17:09:21.342-07:00Florida bears and what not to say to your kindergarten teacher.<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TLuPQiRy1jI/AAAAAAAAAII/m1nmC61S9nY/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="316" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TLuPQiRy1jI/AAAAAAAAAII/m1nmC61S9nY/s320/untitled.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Baby boy saw this sign yesterday while we were driving through a very rural part of Florida. It had a small sign underneath it that said "11 mi."<br />
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He was so excited..."Mom, mom!...That sign says for the next 11 minutes there's polar bears!"<br />
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I thought it was the cutest thing.<br />
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Almost made me forget that he told his kindergarten teacher this week:<br />
"You are just trying to intimidate me."One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-59639984935252132342010-10-05T04:08:00.000-07:002010-10-06T17:57:59.927-07:00Tupperware cabinets and algebra class.Every night I go to bed and think "Stink! Another day, no blog post." I have all these great ideas and stories to tell of my life in this zoo, but my days are so freaking hectic lately...hectic in a "Did I take a shower today?" kind of way.<br />
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I'm room mom for my kindergartner's class, taxi driver for 2 little kids, laundress for 6 single-outfit-wearing impaired humans and chef to the pickiest eaters under the age of 9 you've ever seen. (Laundress...that almost sounds regal, doesn't it...kind of like "Countess" but with bleach spots on her pants.)<br />
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As I was cleaning my kitchen yesterday, I went to put away my Tupperware stuff. I have an entire cabinet devoted to these vessels, and try to keep my lids all in one place, while stacking the other pieces so everything fits. Now, I have to ask myself...."Am I truly being helped by having my boys unload the dishwasher every day, or am I just deluding myself?"<br />
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I submit evidence "A" :<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TKsEn4McgnI/AAAAAAAAAIA/LO2C4rE3x0s/s1600/IMAG0084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" px="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TKsEn4McgnI/AAAAAAAAAIA/LO2C4rE3x0s/s320/IMAG0084.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Get out your calculators, and think way back to algebra class, kids. If it takes me 45 minutes to re-organize everything in this cabinet, how many dishwasher "unloads" at 5 minutes each am I costing myself? Is it actually helping me, if it causes me MORE work down the line?<br />
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When you figure out the answer to that question, here's one more for you...<br />
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How many snack size Almond Joy bars will it take for me to not care about the Tupperware cabinet, and just shove it all in there and walk away?One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-4686316512563480742010-08-11T12:04:00.000-07:002010-08-11T12:29:52.597-07:00Chicago: a lesson in culture and diet abandonmentA few more pictures from Chicago...did I say it's my favorite place to go? I did say that I adore it, right?<br />
I... do... adore... it. <br />
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The Lincoln Park Zoo is always on the top of our "to-do" list when we go to Chicago. It's free, which is fantastic, (well, free to those of us that don't pay the ridiculous amount of taxes they have to pay up there) and for a family with this many kids, we seriously need some free activities. The boys love the lion house, the lions aren't separated from the humans by glass enclosures, but rather, iron (steel?) bars, so that when they roar, or even yawn, you can hear them. <br />
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There is an outside area to the lion house, and THAT does have glass partitions thankfully, because here's what we saw that day:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TGKUU2jlF8I/AAAAAAAAAGc/p2JkZCKDThI/s1600/Photo-0100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TGKUU2jlF8I/AAAAAAAAAGc/p2JkZCKDThI/s400/Photo-0100.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yeah, that's her face, right next to my kids' faces. Yipes.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>We also love to go to the beach. It's a beach unlike those here in Florida...nothing there wants to eat you, except for the occasional aggressive seagull (I think they might eat you, if given the opportunity). The water is FREEZING, but that's never stopped my kids from getting in it. It has stopped me every time, however...I'm not looking to have a heart attack there on the pristine shores of Lake Michigan. Here's my little darlings, leaping wildly over the crashing waves:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Okay, so I took a small amount of liberties with that description...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Now, don't think that this is, by any stretch of the imagination, the only things we do up there, there's a million things to do...but if I may, let's get right to the "food" portion of our virtual tour, shall we?<br />
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The food in Chicago is amazing. It is delicious, for the most part culturally authentic, and almost always inexpensive. (Except for the deep dish pizza, it's pricey, I'm not sure why that is.) I love to eat a hot dog with 11 items on top, or Indian food from a buffet on Belmont Avenue. There are so many places to choose from, well, lets just say I came back 5 pounds heavier. No lie...just ask my pants.<br />
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We ate at a <strike>high priced</strike> fancy hotel downtown one night, just me and my mom. My brother "J" runs the kitchen there, yep: Head Chef extraordinaire. You cannot imagine the thrill of sitting down to a beautiful table, in a gorgeous hotel and saying to your chef-brother..."Hit me". <br />
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He had two questions before we got started: <br />
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1. "Are you hungry?" (Cue very large grin on his face.)<br />
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2. "Is there anything you won't eat?"<br />
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Our replies: Yep and Nope!<br />
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Here's some of what we had...the photo quality is stinky, I know, I only had my cell phone.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is fois grais two ways...and there are zero ways to describe it's awesome-ness.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is lobster with forbidden rice and a curry sauce that would make you sell your best Brighton sandals in order to buy some more.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And this is sea scallop with pork belly and yes, those are<em> slices</em> of truffle you see. OMG. So good.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All of these wonderful things (and this isn't everything we ate, we felt a little foolish taking so many pictures..so kept it to a minimum) came with garnishes of the most wonderful vegetables: little tomatoes, baby eggplant and turnips, it was just beyond words it was so good.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Apparently (from what I heard) the waitstaff there were very impressed with our ability to eat everything from the numerous plates set in front of us. We try to excel in everything, you know.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Soooo, go to Chicago. Take your kids and your wallet, see everything you have time to see..</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> And don't forget your stretchy pants.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-6120887415039007292010-08-07T05:54:00.000-07:002010-08-07T05:54:21.712-07:00The importance of date night...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TF1XDHkd8GI/AAAAAAAAAGU/kxLdUU4OtR8/s1600/untitleda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="166" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TF1XDHkd8GI/AAAAAAAAAGU/kxLdUU4OtR8/s200/untitleda.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Last night hubby and I went out on a date. Finally. With 4 kiddos at home and everyone going in separate directions all the time, it's hard to find a spot on the schedule for "us". We went out for some sushi, and then went to see a funny movie. It was so nice. While we were sitting in the movie theater, waiting for the commercials to start (which stinks, by the way, what the heck??!!)...he looked at me and said "You are such a pretty girl."<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong...he is always very generous with the positives when it comes to me. He never fails to tell me I look beautiful (even just before or *gasp*<em> immediately</em> after giving birth to a kid), but something about the way he said that was just so sweet and kind. I don't feel very "girly" lately I guess, kids and work tend to run me down...but hearing him say it like that made me feel 10 years younger, 10 pounds lighter, and reminded me of just how great a husband he is.<br />
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"Date night"...I highly recommend it.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-15232545924660369552010-08-06T04:49:00.000-07:002010-08-06T04:56:58.101-07:00Middle Boy and the car dilemmaBefore I move on into insightful and witty discussions about the differences between big city Chicago living...and the somewhat hicksville (yet always classy) locale I live in...can I just say:<br />
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"OMG my 16 year-old is out driving himself all over the place!"<br />
<br />
Middle Boy turned 16 in May, and couldn't wait to get his driver's license. He watched his older brother get his, and get a car...and couldn't wait for his turn. Now, I was thinking it would be easier, watching the next child drive away...because, you know, I'd gotten through it once.<br />
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Wrong. I'm back to having stomach clenching worry and watching the clock (bleary-eyed) until 11, when he has to be home. <br />
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The one thing that really bugs me the most about this is: we have no money to buy Middle Boy a used car. When Oldest Boy was 17, we handed him the keys to a Mustang (yes, capitalized)...and not just any Mustang, it has red and black leather inside, that new "retro" body style, and looks pretty (sorry O.B., I said "pretty"). It wasn't new, just new to him, and he worked really hard in school and sports (not getting home each day until 7pm, only to start studying) , and we wanted to do this for him. And we could.<br />
<br />
Being in the residential construction industry...I guess you can imagine what my bank account looks like these days. It's been a tough couple of years. Middle Boy wants a jeep so badly, but Mom and Dad just can't swing it right now. (And we aren't talking "expensive, tricked out jeep"...the one he saw and would love to have is 14 years old.) We've made a deal with Middle Boy: since Dad works from home, how about if Dad and Middle Boy share the ride in the garage? He accepted the deal-i-o...go figure.<br />
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So if you happen to see this:<br />
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driving down the street...please keep an eye on it...and let me know if he changes lanes without signaling.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-7593885076836234082010-08-05T16:53:00.000-07:002010-08-05T16:53:00.099-07:00Goin' to Mom-mom's house...I recently took Little Boy and Baby Boy to see my mom "Mom-mom" in Chicago. Usually I take all four boys (this annual trip was created when hubby was in the military, and gone for a couple weeks each summer). This year I only took the youngest two because the older two had stuff going on here...and being self-employed, hubby doesn't get much vacation time (which stinks, but that can wait for another post).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TFtN_s_1dBI/AAAAAAAAAGE/UHNdANZTglA/s1600/chicago_skyline_illinois.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TFtN_s_1dBI/AAAAAAAAAGE/UHNdANZTglA/s320/chicago_skyline_illinois.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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I adore Chicago...love it, love it, love it. The kiddos also love to go there, but wow, is it a culture shock for them...in many ways.<br />
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For example, you can imagine the time it takes for little boys to learn to not stomp on the floor. We live in a house where the only things living below us are the fire ants that owned this property 20 years ago. When we go to Chicago, the kids have to learn not to jump down from 4 stairs up the staircase, or RUN to the bathroom at the last minute after drinking 83.5 ounces of juice. I feel badly for the family below us, if you are reading this: "Sorry, family in the first floor of Mom-mom's two flat, they drank alot of juice."<br />
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I'll be posting some pictures from the trip in the next couple of days...including the pictures from the dinner we had that my brother (the chef) made. Put down that ice cream scoop tonight because just looking at those pictures is going to put a couple of pounds on you...you've been warned.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-76570691150119202892010-07-10T07:25:00.000-07:002010-07-10T07:29:13.807-07:00Baby Boy and my failure to grasp proper English usage...I know that I've been gone alot lately, I'm trying to get some "work-related" things done, and frankly, I'm getting my butt kicked in the process...but I'm still here, and had to come and jot down this little tidbit...just to completely validate my feelings of inadequacy and ignorance.<br />
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I was talking to Baby Boy yesterday (the 5 year-old). He was setting up a bunch of matchbox cars on sofa pillows piled on the floor, trying to create a rugged terrain for them (or further destroy my pillows, one of the two).<br />
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As he's moving stuff around, making those little car sounds that can only come from individuals owning a "y" chromosome, he says "Oh man, all my cars just fell off."<br />
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Mom: "I'm sorry Baby Boy, are the pillows too wobbly to drive on?"<br />
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Baby Boy: "Don't you mean they're too <i>unstable</i>, Mom?" *eye roll*<br />
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Bottom line: If you are only 5 years old and thinking your mother is a complete ignoramus...it's only downhill for both of you from here on out.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-50133834357843590932010-07-02T12:05:00.000-07:002010-07-02T12:05:32.277-07:00Life lessons usually stink...A bummer of a post...well, maybe not a bummer, maybe thought-provoking and insightful...yeah, right.<br />
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Do you know how people say that phrase "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" ?? How accurate is that, anyway? I mean, does it literally come down to those two choices when handed something particularly painful in your life? Am I a stronger person because of this one thing or another, or actually weaker and more afraid of things?<br />
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And about this "killing"....what if damage has previously been done that actually kills off a <i>part</i> of me. Does that count in the equation too? How do you know if it's dead? Is it something that can be resurrected at some point? How exactly would you do that?<br />
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I understand that everyone has stuff in their life that isn't on their top 10 "Things that would be so great to deal with right now" list. I get it. And most people walk around with some part of themselves that's fragile, or damaged...and we just cope, right?<br />
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I know that in everything that occurs in my life there is a lesson I should be learning. I mean, I do really believe that...but sometimes I just have to ask "Why Lord, do I need to learn THIS, now?"One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-76199976639937965452010-06-23T08:57:00.000-07:002010-06-23T08:58:31.688-07:00The coolest chick from my high school days...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TCIu1xbpJBI/AAAAAAAAAF0/G2UfTpA2va8/s1600/941e9ade203e2a9c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TCIu1xbpJBI/AAAAAAAAAF0/G2UfTpA2va8/s320/941e9ade203e2a9c.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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I got to see an old friend of mine from high school yesterday. Old as in "from before"...not old as in "decrepit". Just to be clear. It had been many years since we'd last visited each other, 15 to be exact. She was my best friend in school, and the coolest chick around. <br />
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Sitting with her on my back porch, talking about what we used to do, people we went to school with, what's been happening since our graduation in 19*cough, cough*...was so much fun.<br />
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We laughed about her perfect hand with liquid eyeliner, and teenage knowledge of which brands you could wear for days at a time, remembered how we ate nothing but empty carbs and crap and still wore size 6's, spoke of her mother (who has passed away, and I'm so sorry), and my brother...who was a rugrat when we used to hang out, and developed a brain tumor at the age of 19 (and survived!). We basically covered 20-something years of separation in the couple of hours she was here, and I wished it could have been longer.<br />
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Next time it will definitely be a longer visit...and will include some sort of key lime pie-ice cream thingy, covered in chocolate...she swears it's amazing.<br />
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I love you, Deb. You are fab-u-lous.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-13018935105634330262010-06-20T05:07:00.000-07:002010-06-20T05:11:59.011-07:00Finally learning what a father should be...<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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TB38kcEkaXI/AAAAAAAAAFk/gfDm8JmNEG4/s1600/jacob+054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TB38kcEkaXI/AAAAAAAAAFk/gfDm8JmNEG4/s320/jacob+054.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Father's Day is a holiday I never really celebrated until I became a mother...go figure. I was never close with the men in my life growing up...my birth father, or the man that became my father after he married my mom. I never really understood what a father was supposed to do or be.<br />
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I learned about fatherhood from the man that I married. He came from a large family, 7 siblings, not including "step-siblings" and was enamored with every niece and nephew that came into his life. He loved the noise and chaos that came from every family get-together, and was always outside running with the little kids, instead of sitting inside with the "grown-ups". I remember sitting on the couch with my sister-in-law and laughing every time hubby would run past the window with a slew of kiddos chasing him through the yard.<br />
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We had our first baby when hubby turned 25, and then another three more within the next 10 years. Wow! That's alot of kids, right? But just two days ago he asked me... "Wouldn't it be nice to have just one more?"<br />
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This man has taught me what a dad really is. His sons love to hang out with him, go places with him, play video games and paintball with him. Hubby has spoken with the boys often, using words like: "respect", "integrity", "responsibility", and "love". He kisses and hugs them, even as they get older...Oldest Boy sobbed when his dad hugged him at the graduation ceremony. He has showed them what it means to love a wife, and has always been affectionate with me in front of them.<br />
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I am so grateful that my sons DO know what a father is supposed to do and be, and I am certain that they will grow into marvelous fathers as well...being taught by one of the best.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-8128993874186693272010-06-15T04:26:00.000-07:002010-06-15T04:30:18.803-07:00Fatigue and the quest for perfect parties!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TBde2Dqi6DI/AAAAAAAAAFM/6BF51r0Pspw/s1600/blogpic7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TBde2Dqi6DI/AAAAAAAAAFM/6BF51r0Pspw/s320/blogpic7.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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I'm exhausted...I woke up exhausted...how is it 7am, and I'm already tired?!<br />
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Actually, I know the answer to that question, and if you guessed "Your pregnant?!" just go ahead and wash your mouth out with soap right now. I'll wait...<br />
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I have been working on Middle Boy's 16th birthday party preparations for the last couple of days. Now that Oldest Boy's graduation is done, it's time to move on to the next "big thing" around here. You know, if you think about it, there are 6 of us in this house...even if you ONLY celebrate birthday's each year (and there is always more stuff going on than just birthdays), I'm still committed to doing something at least every other month. It can be exhausting.<br />
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Milestone birthdays are huge for me...Hubby's 40th birthday included a cook-out/pool party with a dunk tank and a movie I made for him detailing our history together. Oldest Boy's 16th party was luau themed, with surfboards and fishing nets and a cake in the shape of a beach house. The same child had a costume party when he turned 18, with custom printed candy bars, and cobwebs hanging from every chandelier and picture frame.<br />
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When I say "party", I mean "party".<br />
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Middle Boy requested a casino theme for his party tomorrow night. We will have two separate tables running tomorrow, one huge poker table that my husband will run, and one blackjack table that I will run...with Oldest Boy filling in when potty breaks are required (or when I have to pay the pizza guy).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I have TONS of casino decor to hang in my house, everything red and black...balloons, streamers, etc. I have automatic card shufflers for both tables, 1,000 poker chips (no lie!) and dealer costumes for the three adults to wear...I'll definitely post a picture. Buying a full sheet cake with just the writing on it, and then decorating it with casino things I've purchased...it's going to be amazing.<br />
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In the meantime, I've been mopping floors, cleaning glass, washing blankets and pillows (many of these kids will sleep here tomorrow night), and stocking up on AA batteries for the Xbox 360 controllers. I have even pressure washed the pool deck and cleaned out the fridge...you never know who will dig in your fridge at 2am after you've gone to bed.<br />
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This party is going to be really great! I just hope I don't collapse in my fancy new dealer suit...One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-13657555960376151462010-06-13T05:24:00.000-07:002010-06-13T05:24:25.473-07:00Trying to look at the positives...tired of the negatives.I have a ton of stuff that I need to get done around here in the next couple of days...Middle Boy is having his 16th birthday party here on Wednesday night. It's "Casino Night", and we have a poker table and a blackjack table ready to go...along with 50 million decorations, including dealer costumes for Dad and I (and Oldest Boy) to wear. Should be fun, he's excited, and I'm excited for him...<br />
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Frustrated though that in spite of that, I'm feeling so down this morning. And I hate to post about things that are sad...I try to be encouraging and uplifting...but maybe I require the uplifting today, I don't know.<br />
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A close family member and I haven't spoken in almost two years...August will be two years. The last time I saw him was at my grandmother's funeral...he has ignored me since then. I have called and written, and nothing. My kids have sent cards to him...still nothing. When I sent him an invitation to Oldest Boy's graduation, I put a note in there saying "Oldest Boy is really hoping that he will hear from you, you are greatly missed around here."<br />
<br />
Did Oldest Boy hear from him? Nope. Is my kid hurt by that? Yep. Does that tick me off? You betcha.<br />
<br />
We used to be really close, when Oldest Boy & Middle Boy were in elementary school, we used to see him often, and get cards, etc. from him. The kids adored him.<br />
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I am the queen of "Focus on those that love you."...."You have a million people who care about you."....."This is something wrong with (fill in name of hurtful person), it has nothing to do with you." So why is this bothering me so freaking much?<br />
<br />
I really do try to teach my sons that they can only control their own reactions, not the actions of others. I think it's a self-preservation technique really...I mean, you could go crazy wondering why someone doesn't love you, or care...but what good does that do? I'm always telling them to be the best person they can, and let the hurtful stuff roll off them.... Why is it so hard to practice what I preach? <br />
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I'm going to spend my day working on stuff for the party...focusing on this Middle Boy that I love so much...looking at the positives...hoping it helps.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-23979848157766078672010-06-09T14:14:00.000-07:002010-06-09T14:36:02.985-07:00"To shave or not to shave" or "Why must you drive your Momma crazy?"On a side note:<br />
<br />
As I'm writing my last post about Oldest Boy's graduation ceremony, I get a phone call from Middle Boy. Today was his last day of school, and he's hanging out with some of the guys on his crew team, at one of the boy's houses. Here's how the call went:<br />
<br />
<strong>Me</strong>: "Hey Middle Boy, what's up?"<br />
<strong>MB</strong>: "Is it okay if I shave my head?"<br />
<strong>Me</strong>: "Um...what?"<br />
<strong>MB</strong>: "We were all going to shave our heads. Well, actually, so & so is going to shave an arrow on the top of his head, but I'm thinking I'll probably just shave mine the same length everywhere."<br />
<strong>Me</strong>: "What about your big birthday party next week? I was planning on taking pictures?!"<br />
<strong>MB</strong>: "Well, let me see how so & so's hair looks, and then I'll decide what I want to do."<br />
<br />
Now, I live in what I would call a "Hair Household". We all take our hair pretty seriously around here, there's enough bottles of product to fill our swimming pool out back. For a child of mine to say he's going to shave his head...well, it's a pretty shocking proposition, it's just not something we do. Ever.... We. Never. Do. It.<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
<em>Please Lord, don't let them shave a birthday cake onto Middle Boy's head...</em>One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-63827914749349883342010-06-09T13:59:00.000-07:002010-06-09T14:02:01.253-07:00Graduation ceremony, and a momma trying not to cry.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TA_7W_8XcvI/AAAAAAAAAE8/JrKtrYvHKT8/s1600/IMG_3273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zX_PP8i7QxA/TA_7W_8XcvI/AAAAAAAAAE8/JrKtrYvHKT8/s320/IMG_3273.JPG" /></a></div><br />
It's been a whirlwind since I've last been able to post. Oldest Boy graduated from high school last Saturday. It was a great ceremony, at the sports arena by us, 600 or so kids in the group.<br />
<br />
Grandma (Mom-mom) came and so did Auntie, along with a couple of my girlfriends...(Oldest Boy has several "moms" that keep him in line - lucky kid), we had a pretty good-sized group. When we sat down we were looking through the program, and saw about six valedictorians. You could hear everyone in the seats...glancing at the program...all saying "Six?! Are you freaking kidding?! Omg, how long are we going to be sitting here??!" I envisioned a screaming bladder (mine), and two small children climbing the walls (also mine). I guess they were told to make it snappy with the speeches, because each one only lasted about two minutes. Perfect, if you ask me.<br />
<br />
And of course, they say, "Only applaud during such and such times"....and you KNOW I still yelled, albeit briefly, when they said my kid's name. So much for setting a good example for the kiddies.<br />
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Hard to believe he's done...I can so clearly remember the day that he started kindergarten, and how I cried then, too. It's been a tough couple of days for me, very bittersweet.<br />
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I love you, kiddo...more than I can ever say.One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-43520238428052161912010-06-02T05:28:00.000-07:002010-06-02T05:35:23.334-07:00A post to make YOU feel better about your stinky morning...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You're welcome.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>If you think you are having a bad morning...here, allow me to help you feel better about it, by telling you about mine.<br />
<br />
My morning started with sunshine and birdsong. Just kidding, it started in the pitch-black of 3:30 a.m., with me waking up in bed, worrying over money, school scheduling, insurance issues, birthday party to-do lists, and hunger pains (because I ate egg whites for dinner again last night).<br />
<br />
After spending a couple of hours paying some bills, and trying to find casino decorations online (birthday party), I started to get everyone up for work and school. As I'm running around the house like an asylum escapee, I hear a loud, weird sound in the kitchen. I walked in there briefly and didn't see anything but the cat, so I just figured it was him getting into something on the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">countertop</span>, which he does when I'm not looking.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The next time I came through the kitchen, I actually turned the light on and looked towards my pantry...a bottle of butterscotch liqueur had fallen from the top shelf, hitting the tile floor and exploding into THREE different rooms....kitchen, dining room and laundry room. This bottle shattered into amazingly minuscule pieces, and when mixed with sticky butterscotch libation, stuck to walls, baseboards, doors, you name it. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Oh, and did I mention that it took out a bottle of olive oil I had on the floor of the pantry? Yeah, liqueur AND olive oil, poured out in my pantry, soaking into everything else I had stored there.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Have you ever had to clean up something that was so mind-boggling you didn't know where to start? (Remind me to tell you about the time Little Boy smeared <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Desitin</span> all over the dark blue carpet.) This was one of those jobs. Lots of hot water, 1 1/2 rolls of paper towels...I'm sighing as I type this.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And then there's this:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">No kids, that's not a jewel encrusted pink apron for Mommy, that's my glass shard infested apron...one of three like that, that were hanging on the wall across from my pantry.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-86156618053554205062010-06-01T06:17:00.000-07:002010-06-01T06:17:43.003-07:00Middle Boy and his monstrous shoulders...Middle Boy turned 16 yesterday. He went with some friends to Disney World, came home to some grilled steak and cupcakes.<br />
<br />
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He was my biggest baby, <i>*cue nightmarish delivery story*</i> 9 pounds, 11 ounces...and a couple of weeks early. He was my only child that had a "shoulder delivery" as well as a "head delivery"...my mother-in-law, standing at the foot of the bed during the delivery said: "You had a toddler!"<br />
<br />
I had gone into the doctor's office for my checkup, and my blood pressure was through the roof (a common occurrence for me) and I was showing signs of preeclampsia. The doctor informed me that I wouldn't be going home at all that day, that a hospital bed had been saved for me, and to get my butt into it. I called hubby at work and said "You need to go home, pack my things, and meet me at the hospital." Of course, he thought I was kidding, poor guy. (I hadn't packed anything yet, wasn't anticipating having the baby early...oops.)<br />
<br />
The doctor started the induction, and again, a phone call to hubby's office: "Really honey, you need to come now, he broke my water." <br />
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In hubby's defense, my first delivery started on a Friday morning with an induction, with the child finally being born on Sunday morning...so naturally, he's thinking (we both did) "I've got time.".<br />
<br />
Turns out, he did have time. Time to go home and pack stuff...time to eat a couple of meals...time to wonder just how he was going to afford paying the college tuition for these kids....<br />
<br />
And then, there Middle Boy was. He only required a small convention of doctors and cheerleaders, some help from a suction-thingy...and threats made to a mom (by a loving sister-in-law) who was so exhausted from delivering his huge head, she wanted to quit before his shoulders made it out.<br />
<br />
<br />
This child is a blessing to me in every way. He is an athlete of the highest integrity, he works very hard in school and he's always wanting me to make him a sandwich.<br />
<br />
I adore him. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359353328141575169.post-23683190608041559182010-05-29T05:20:00.000-07:002010-05-29T05:22:07.085-07:00A train wreck of a bathroom...Oldest Boy and some friends went to Busch Gardens yesterday. They had planned this out during the week, figuring out who would drive, etc...celebrating the end of their senior year.<br />
<br />
Now I know that Oldest Boy told me they would all be meeting up here at our house yesterday morning, and I kind of did a quick run around the house, picking up used sippy cups, making sure Baby Boy didn't ditch his dirty underwear in the foyer (don't laugh, he's done that!). I figured it would be fine, they were just going to pull up, maybe chat me up at the front door, everyone check for sunscreen, and leave.<br />
<br />
I ran to the store after I dropped off Little Boy at school...and returned home to find them all still here, sitting on the couch, playing video games. "Okay, still okay, I think all the bedroom doors are shut, no one sees the messes....they should be leaving any minute now..."<br />
<br />
I was in the kitchen putting some things away when I noticed one of the girls had gone missing...my brain screams:<br />
"Omg, is she using the boy's bathroom?!" "Please tell me she isn't using the boy's bathroom!"<br />
<br />
As soon as she came around the corner, I knew...she had just visited the cursed "boy's bathroom". *sigh* I said "I'm so sorry you had to use that bathroom! I haven't been in to clean it yet!" "It's okay", she said...and yet had that dazed look about her, like someone who witnessed a train wreck or just stumbled across a dead body. <br />
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I went into that bathroom as soon as they left, and seriously, I wanted to weep. I have WALKED OUT of gas station restrooms that were cleaner than this!!! There were dirty handprints on all the white drawers, toothpaste hardened all over the sink and counter, one ratty towel dangling from the towel bar and...<br />
OMG!! did someone wipe their butt with the throw rug when they ran out of toilet paper????!!!!!<br />
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I feel like I should wear a sign around my neck everyday of my life...most of the time it would say "I'm really an organized and sane person, I swear." But for a special occasion such as yesterday's, maybe it should say "I DO clean my house, please believe me!"One Girl in a House of Menhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823562391974357385noreply@blogger.com21