tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28247175303510556272024-02-20T10:14:31.011-06:00The Crazy Key Familythe crazy key family: an attempt at documenting the lives of the crazy keysdanajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.comBlogger377125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-63988174903499732502013-10-09T06:00:00.000-05:002013-10-09T06:00:06.684-05:00Fergus: The Artist?Fergus is totally a puppy. You can't walk without having a little head attached to your shoe. He is always ON. Full speed. 100 miles an hour. OR he is off. You know, in a puppy coma. Every day when he wakes up he is SO happy! Every day is the BEST DAY OF HIS WHOLE LIFE! Every food is the best food he has ever tasted, even if it is just dirt. You have to admire that puppy attitude. If we could ALL be that happy, think how awesome our world would be.<br />
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And puppies are not scared to try new things, either.<br />
Fergus is willing to do anything. <br />
Make a break for the street? Sure!<br />
Climb in the tub to try and get the water off your feet after your shower? Sounds like fun! <br />
Attack that plant in the flower bed? Awesome!<br />
Bark at the strange puppy in the mirror?<br />
Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! Arf!! <br />
Jump from the couch to the coffee table? Yeesssss... Ouch. <br />
Try jumping from the couch to the coffee table again? Okaaayyy... Ouch! <br />
Try jumping from the couch to the coffee table again? <br />
No, Fergus!<br />
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So when I noticed his recent interest in the arts, I tried to encourage it, while also keeping a close eye on him. One man's paintbrush is another dog's snack.<br />
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He helped Jessa work on her poster for <a href="http://thecrazykeyfamily.blogspot.com/2013/09/4th-grade-politics.html">Student Council</a>:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F6wLyEKHnM0/UlL5VP6Fu9I/AAAAAAAAFkI/b0ottGbG03w/s1600/poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F6wLyEKHnM0/UlL5VP6Fu9I/AAAAAAAAFkI/b0ottGbG03w/s320/poster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And he is totally willing to try any medium. <br />
Pencil on the poster board, of course.<br />
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Markers are always a fun choice.<br />
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Or colored pencils: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ueS3Vhwgi8Q/UlLy4Uwu2rI/AAAAAAAAFi0/jzHIaBBtTDg/s1600/DSC00820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ueS3Vhwgi8Q/UlLy4Uwu2rI/AAAAAAAAFi0/jzHIaBBtTDg/s320/DSC00820.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He seems to like yellow. Bright and sunny, like his personality.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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And then there are crayons, these are his favorite...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTKU5OGH2-rK0oet3q4BfpbJl0qcsks-rf_mkyf0buUzpwjEnUtKhVZjA5Ld0kFnqtD0Ginm9oh2zvq66DmEHWd2S1tkr6PD1xTI9MKFi2A1L-W1jKM7rNQGR0PkdlHMWVFPyOTRnKI8/s1600/crayon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTKU5OGH2-rK0oet3q4BfpbJl0qcsks-rf_mkyf0buUzpwjEnUtKhVZjA5Ld0kFnqtD0Ginm9oh2zvq66DmEHWd2S1tkr6PD1xTI9MKFi2A1L-W1jKM7rNQGR0PkdlHMWVFPyOTRnKI8/s320/crayon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Y'all, I couldn't figure out where he was getting these tools for his "artwork." I would come home and there were <strike>crayons</strike> bits of crayon all over the place. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p7xLlK7CENA/UlLt_BD6kAI/AAAAAAAAFiU/oDaGje-jf7A/s1600/DSC00816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p7xLlK7CENA/UlLt_BD6kAI/AAAAAAAAFiU/oDaGje-jf7A/s320/DSC00816.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He is carefully choosing his color. Is it pink enough? Too pink? Is it Blush or Bashful?</td></tr>
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So one evening, I found him chewing on a crayon. I know I should encourage him and nurture his gift, but I hate when he devours his tools, so I took the crayon and threw it away. <br />
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He was not the least bit upset. So when he walked away, I followed him and discovered his "stash." A cup of writing and coloring utensils from Spencer's desk had fallen. They were spilled everywhere on the floor under his desk, but the chair was pushed in! I couldn't even see the tools, but Fergus could. I would take one away, and he would simply go back to his hidden treasure and choose another color. I have now moved the utensils. I am trying to control how much of his time he spends creating. I want a well-rounded puppy, after all.<br />
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Now, when he got out the paintbrush, I had to draw the line at fetching him some paint.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vd5kJbSb2o0/UlL5ND0t4CI/AAAAAAAAFj4/IdJj4fPFC4c/s1600/paintbrush.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vd5kJbSb2o0/UlL5ND0t4CI/AAAAAAAAFj4/IdJj4fPFC4c/s320/paintbrush.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not staged. I promise!</td></tr>
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Before I close, may I take this opportunity to give a shout out to Crayola for keeping it real, keeping it colorful, and most importantly, keeping it non-toxic. <br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-30127764559720290002013-10-07T11:47:00.001-05:002013-10-07T11:47:53.699-05:00It's all French to me!Ever since I was little, there have been little bits of German sprinkled into conversation. You know a "danke" here or an "auf wiedersehen" there. And my parents NEVER said "Bless you" when we sneezed. Nope, we were firmly in the "gesundheit" camp.<br />
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And of course all of these common German words were reinforced when David and I lived in Germany. We added more phrases and words to our repertoire. I even have this sign on the back of our front door:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_xmKSoDM8sU/UkeM4eCHkhI/AAAAAAAAFfY/s0sAByMsD6w/s1600/DSC00825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_xmKSoDM8sU/UkeM4eCHkhI/AAAAAAAAFfY/s0sAByMsD6w/s320/DSC00825.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We like telling people "bye" in German without saying a word.</td></tr>
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The kids, especially Jessa, LOVE to hear stories about Germany and see pictures of places we visited. Jessa loves to eat brotchen and feel like she is a cool German kid! And even though they both take Spanish in school, we still use lots of random, broken German at home. "Want some milch with your cereal?" "Set the table, bitte."<br />
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So Jessa took this little thing we do to school. When her teacher would hand back a paper, she would smile and say "Danke." Her teacher was intrigued. She asked her what did it mean. Jessa told her "Thanks" in German. So her teacher asked her, "How do you say, 'You're welcome.' in German." Jessa told her "Bitteschön." Other children sitting near her heard this. Other children started saying "Danke" and the teacher started saying "Bitteschön."<br />
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Now, I think that is pretty neat, don't you? Our little trendsetter! Teaching her teacher and classmates a little bit of German. And they must think she is pretty cool to want to emulate her. Isn't imitation the highest form of flattery??<br />
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The other afternoon, Jessa says, "Mom. Do how do you say thank you in French?" I thought for a minute and said, "This is more Daddy's area, but I think it is 'Merci'." She said, "Oh, OK, Mom. Do you know how to say "You're welcome in French?" "No, honey. I know how to say it in Spanish." She looked disappointed and said, "I don't need Spanish." I didn't think much of it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-AVd0Cne7i0P0f4-kPrt_nZ0JDogSJN6ZRmnsSGJPHfVr1JR7rtn3dmeAP7AniRQOUhFcsd7ga2On6yZu2MawUCGDZaAq4MKoAspJCjkDaYAlab1OQLYjbMsYDH94ul7nrScyXFRIfQ/s1600/dictionary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-AVd0Cne7i0P0f4-kPrt_nZ0JDogSJN6ZRmnsSGJPHfVr1JR7rtn3dmeAP7AniRQOUhFcsd7ga2On6yZu2MawUCGDZaAq4MKoAspJCjkDaYAlab1OQLYjbMsYDH94ul7nrScyXFRIfQ/s200/dictionary.jpg" width="123" /></a><br />
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A day or so later, Jessa asked, "Mom, do we have a French and English dictionary?" I told her, "No, I don't think we do, honey, why?" "I just wondered," she said.<br />
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The next day, she asked me again. So I finally said, "Jessa! What gives? Please tell me what you need it for."<br />
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She looked pained and said, "Well, Mom, now everyone around me is saying thank you and you're welcome in German." I said, "Uh, OK, and?" And she paused and said, "Well, now it isn't special anymore. <i>Everyone</i> is doing it. So I was thinking about starting to use French to say thank you and you're welcome. Then I will be special again."<br />
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Bless her heart! I tried to convince her it was super cool that she started something neat in her class. And to be proud of herself for teaching everyone something new.<br />
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Nope.<br />
She wasn't hearing any of it.<br />
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So here's to our special girl!<br />
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I may need to start learning some Mandarin to keep up with her.<br />
How much is Rosetta Stone again?<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-20978564712475804192013-09-30T21:37:00.002-05:002013-09-30T21:46:30.161-05:00Special DayI am a sucker for anniversaries. I always think, at this time last year... Or at this time 5 years ago...<br />
Please indulge me while I stroll down memory lane. Since I cannot celebrate "our special day" this year with David, I am just going to tell you about it.<br />
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So today, I am thinking:<br />
On this day, 16 years ago, I was student teaching. But David invited me to have supper in Dahlonega with him. (Y'all know I robbed the cradle and graduated before him!) It was a special day because it was the one year anniversary of when David gave me his lavalier. So I finished with my classes and headed from McIntosh High School all the way up GA 400 to meet him for supper. I kind of knew something was up because a couple weeks before, David had talked with my parents. Alone. And after their talk, Mom made a funny comment about finally getting rid of me...<br />
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So I met him at his dorm. I parked my car and hopped into his car, presumably to go and eat. But first, he drove me back to the parking lot. At the time, it was called the Green zone. And it was the place where we first met. My roommate and her boyfriend had set us up so he could go with me to a sorority formal, and I knew he was amazing because he agreed to go before even meeting me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLbFIdSlFf0/Uko0mxbXmNI/AAAAAAAAFhM/xuf6KAUxFss/s1600/ngc+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLbFIdSlFf0/Uko0mxbXmNI/AAAAAAAAFhM/xuf6KAUxFss/s320/ngc+pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah formals! College was so much fun! </td></tr>
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I was totally unprepared to meet him then. I had a HUGE zit on my forehead. The kind of blemish that today, years later, he jokes about the extra nose growing out of my forehead. But not on that day. We shook hands and chatted, all while I was nonchalantly trying to hide my forehead. Mom said on that day when I told her the story, "Wouldn't it be funny if you married him and told your children that story about how you met?" Indeed.<br />
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So we parked in the parking lot and he handed me a red scrap of paper that said, "We started here in the parking lot. Your head was a little red and uncertain."<br />
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Then we drove over behind Donovan Hall, the dorm where we were RAs together during summer school. I was the RA of some super cool NGC girls. And he was the RA to the GA Tech Football Team who had to attend summer school with us that year because of the 1996 Olympics being in Atlanta. We spent a lot of time hanging out every night, just talking and laughing.<br />
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We walked to our "spot," and he handed me another red scrap of paper. It said, "In rough, difficult times and places, our love grew."<br />
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We hopped back in the car and started driving. We ended up on Crown Mountain. This was another landmark at NGC. The cadets always ran up the hill on the last day of Frog Week. It was a long standing tradition. And when my parents were at North Georgia, my Daddy gave my Momma his lavalier on top of crown mountain. My sweet D knew that, and so that is where he gave me his lavalier.<br />
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We walked off to the side and he handed me another red scrap of paper.
It said, "On the mountain, we went higher to the next step, your
lavalier." <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmYqndN3Y7T9dFO3ARqP8q4SHl6eb7e0KUTeOEdTfHPXt70zCo3GMDm7Vcnh0wsP-_ocROa_U1yU1nLy0hGVFoi4Yh_Qn6u5-aLROWCWs6Es_Qh6HD6yiWeC8uRx0K3trcQCugn2Ctkk/s1600/candlelighting.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmYqndN3Y7T9dFO3ARqP8q4SHl6eb7e0KUTeOEdTfHPXt70zCo3GMDm7Vcnh0wsP-_ocROa_U1yU1nLy0hGVFoi4Yh_Qn6u5-aLROWCWs6Es_Qh6HD6yiWeC8uRx0K3trcQCugn2Ctkk/s400/candlelighting.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My lavalier candlelighting<!--3--><!--3--><!--3--><!--3--><!--3--><!--3--></td></tr>
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We were back in the car and started driving. The way we were heading, I thought we might be going to Pine Valley, a popular place for parties and socials. But then he turned off. <br />
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We were headed to Amicalola State Park, a favorite spot for us to hang out and sometimes study and picnic. He drove to the top and we walked out onto the bridge over the falls.<br />
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He handed me another red scrap of paper. It said, "Now we are higher than before, and you now have all of my heart."<br />
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It was at that point that I realized that the scraps of red paper were actually like a puzzle that he made. And now that I had all of them, they formed a heart!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0vPUI7N0nrU/UkoxZecSewI/AAAAAAAAFgk/m0C32XFqYXA/s1600/proposal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0vPUI7N0nrU/UkoxZecSewI/AAAAAAAAFgk/m0C32XFqYXA/s320/proposal.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can be a little slow...</td></tr>
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He got down on one knee right there on the bridge and popped out the ring. Strangers were gasping and watching and giggling!<br />
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I was crying and so excited, he said, "Will you marry me?" And I immediately hugged him. He put the ring on my finger. And I think we were back in the car before he said, "Um, I don't think you answered me. Will you?" And I said, "YES! OF COURSE!"<br />
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I so wish we had a picture of that night, but that was in the dark ages before cell phone cameras.</div>
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Here is one of our engagement photos, though. </div>
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Infants, we were!</div>
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So 16 years ago today, he asked and I said YES!</div>
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Happy Special Day, D!</div>
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(And thanks for letting me tell our story.) </div>
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-14966419509985428132013-09-26T17:00:00.003-05:002013-09-26T17:00:51.787-05:00Life with Jack HandeyI may be dating myself a tad, but who remembers <a href="http://www.deepthoughtsbyjackhandey.com/index.html">Deep Thoughts</a>, by Jack Handey? We used to love those things! My whole family would look forward to them every week on Saturday Night Live.<br />
<br />
Well, I live with Jack Handey. Well, not <i>the</i> Jack Handey, but our own smaller version of Jack Handey. We just call him Spencer.<br />
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Spencer is always thinking. And always planning. I never know what questions are going to come out of his mouth, what questions I will then have to answer, or what plans he is making. Here are a few recent topics that <strike>little Jack</strike> Spencer has wanted to discuss.<br />
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<br />
S: Mom, what is the difference between a Catholic and a Methodist? Or what about someone who is Jewish?<br />
This led to a lengthy discussion where I explained Protestants and Martin Luther. To which he said, Martin Luther KING? And I said, no. And he asked again, oh, you mean Martin Luther KING JUNIOR? It took some time, but I think he eventually got it...<br />
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S: Mom when I grow up, I want to have a cat.<br />
Me: OK, buddy. That sounds good.<br />
S: Do you think I should have him micro-chipped?<br />
Me: I guess so, that is probably a good idea.<br />
S: Yeah, that's what I thought, too. <br />
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S: Mom, I know that we have to move because of the army. Can people who are not in the army move, too?<br />
Me: Of course they can, it is just a little harder because the army pays for our moves and schedules everything for us.<br />
S: Aw. But when I am a grown-up, I want to move. But I don't want to be in the army.<br />
Me: Son, you can still move. Daddy and I will help you.<br />
S:Oh, OK, good.<br />
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S: Mom, when I grow up, will you be upset if I don't live in the same state as you?<br />
Me: No, son, but it would make things more convenient when you visit me the required once a week.<br />
(he grinned at my joke)<br />
S: OK, well, I think I want to live in either Illinois or South Carolina.<br />
Me: Alright, where in Illinois?<br />
S: O'Fallon.<br />
Me: Perfect! And you already know where to go to church!<br />
S: Yes. Wait, what was the other place I said I wanted to live?<br />
Me: South Carolina<br />
S: Oh, yeah. What's in South Carolina? Would I like it there?<br />
Me: Oh yes! There is Charleston and the beach and it is close to GA.<br />
S: OK, then. I will live in Illinois or South Carolina.<br />
****************************************<br />
S: Mom, I am going to open a school when I grow up. And I will be the Principal.<br />
Me: That is a great idea, buddy.<br />
S: Do you think that I can still teach at my school, even if I am the Principal?<br />
Me: Of course! It will be your school. You can do whatever you want, I think.<br />
S: Good. I think I will teach Pre-K.<br />
Me: OK. Why Pre-K?<br />
S: Well, that is before the kids start to get rough.<br />
Me: Son, do you need to tell me something about school?<br />
S: No, why? <br />
****************************************<br />
S: Mom, when I grow up, do you think I could go to Niagara Falls?<br />
****************************************<br />
And he has planned his future dogs. They will be one boy names Gulliver and one girl named Constance. <br />
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S: Mom, can I ask you a question, since you know, you are a grown up?<br />
Me: Ok, sure.<br />
S: Can 2nd graders be boyfriend and girlfriend?<br />
Me: Well, I think that 2nd graders can have crushes and like each other and be really good friends. But y'all are a little too young to be too serious.<br />
S: OK. It's just that my friend Chris LOVES someone in our class a lot. And he said that you can are boyfriends and girlfriends until you are 18 and then you get married.<br />
Me: Well, maybe it is OK to get married when you are 18 in Chris's family, but in this family you can't get married until you graduate college.<br />
S: Oh, OK.<br />
Me: You have to be able to take care of your wife. You need a good job, so college first, OK?<br />
S: That makes sense.<br />
*****************************************************<br />
I was in the middle of writing this post when Spence struck again:<br />
While I was cooking supper, he was hanging in the kitchen with me. He ran his hand along the wall.<br />
S: Mom, I think I know why our walls are white. I think that a lot of Christians all have white walls.<br />
Me: Why do you think that, buddy?<br />
S: Well because white walls are like clouds.<br />
Me: Yep, they are.<br />
S: And clouds are very peaceful. And if you are a Christian, you are peaceful.<br />
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This kid!<br />
I pray that I can always answer his questions and appreciate his thoughts.<br />
And I pray harder that he is always as receptive to my answers, even if they aren't exactly what he wants to hear.<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-58323235760517685562013-09-22T18:00:00.000-05:002013-09-22T18:00:02.856-05:00Still my little girlJessa cannot wait to grow up one minute, and then wants to be a 4 year old the next. She wants to be in college and preschool all at the same time. I can remember wishing I was little again, too. And I also remember wanting to be older. This is the story of life, though, right? We can't wait to grow up and then when we are grown, we long for the carefree days of childhood. (I mainly just wish someone would make me take a nap.)<br />
<br />
Jessa has taken to wearing these shoes that are almost high heels. They are wedges, and they are fancy. Someone made her feel bad about how tall she was last year, so now she always tries to make herself look taller. The wedges fit the bill, but they make her look so grown-up. Sometimes I can't believe how much. Most of the time when I look at her, I still see my baby, you know?<br />
<br />
So this morning, we went to church. She wore her fancy shoes, of course. And it was an absolutely perfect day. After church, we went to Subway and picked up lunch. Then we took it to a playground to eat. They hurried through their sandwiches to get to the playing part of our impromptu picnic. <br />
<br />
As they started to run toward the play area, Jessa realized that wearing those fancy shoes was not the best choice for playing. So even though she looked so pretty and so grown-up in her church clothes and those fancy shoes, at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to still be a little girl. <br />
So she kicked off her shoes and off she went.<br />
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And I enjoyed watching her play a little bit more than I usually do. Because she is growing up. She is learning so much. She understands so much more. Every day, I feel so proud of her accomplishments and her amazing spirit. But every day, I also feel sad because she is a little less my baby girl.<br />
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So on this beautiful first day of fall, I watched my girl play.<br />
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I watched her hair blow in the wind. I watched the sun shine on her hair.</div>
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I heard her rich imagination as she described avoiding the lava covering the playground <br />
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and the kid Olympics that she and Spencer were competing in. I celebrated her victories when she made it across the balance beam with no hands. <br />
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And when she climbed all the way to the top of "Mt. Everest." <br />
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I listened to her make beautiful music on the drums.</div>
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And I loved looking at her feet.<br />
Her sweet bare feet. <br />
With dirty bottoms from playing without her shoes.<br />
With chipped toe nail polish.<br />
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And I savored the afternoon with my Jessa, who is still my little girl, no matter how fancy her shoes are or how much she can't wait to live in the dorm.<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-51656004209742903362013-09-20T00:57:00.001-05:002013-09-20T00:59:01.272-05:00Put a fork in me...You know how when your husband is deployed for a year? And you are sad when he leaves, but you are super determined to put on a brave face and "soldier on" at home? And there are a few days, especially at first when you feel weepy and little things make you cry like a baby? But then you get in a routine and the kids are busy and school is busy and you are doing great. And you know how you are super proud of your husband and what he is doing for our country?<br />
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And how proud you are of yourself and your kids for not falling apart and for being tough and courageous, even though some days are just plain hard?<br />
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Then you know how one day, you look up and say, "You know what? I am done. I am over it. Let's just end this now." Yeah. I had one of those days.<br />
<br />
Nothing happened out of the ordinary. The kids were in good moods. We got lots done at school. I bought groceries. I cooked supper. The dogs were nice, and Fergus did not have one accident all day long (KNOCK ON WOOD). The kids did their homework without a fuss. Things were just fine. Normal. Above average, even.<br />
<br />
We are doing OK. But then a wave comes over me - and I am just done.<br />
Where in the heck is my husband??<br />
<br />
Every deployment has those moments. Every military spouse has those moments during every deployment. The crazy thing is that you don't usually see them coming. There are those obvious times that you miss them. I can vividly remember holding a 2 year old Jessa at 2 AM after she threw up all over my bed, while 8 months pregnant with Spencer. I actually said outloud on the verge of tears, "Where is my husband?" No one answered. But I changed the sheets. Jessa was OK. I was OK. We survived, but it would have been awesome to have him there. Or perhaps the most obvious moment of all, the moment that I am laying in labor and delivery about to meet Spencer.<br />
Without him. <br />
<br />
I am not talking about <i>those </i>times.<br />
I am talking about the times when you are running into the PX to pick up a couple things around lunch time and you see nothing but couples meeting for lunch at the food court. And your heart actually hurts for a split second.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Props for Spencer's photo bomb :)</td></tr>
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<br />
Or you are just walking out of the school building and you see a Daddy headed to the car holding the hands of his children. And you almost can't breathe.<br />
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Or those times when you can't decide what to cook for supper and the thought crosses your mind that today would be a perfect day to grill...<br />
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But your master grill chef isn't here.<br />
<br />
Or you are looking out the window and you see a family walking their dogs after supper. And you wish your family could do something as simple as take a walk. All together.<br />
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Or when the house is quiet. The kids are asleep. I am laying in bed trying to go to sleep. And Fergus wants to go out. Odds are, even if David were here, I would be the only one who heard him get up. But I miss being mad at him for not hearing Fergus!<br />
<br />
Now, even though I had a "moment," by the time I woke up the next morning, I was thrust back into the daily grind. I had my head down, powering through another day. Make lunches, pack snacks, fold clothes, drop off, pick up, feed dogs, clean out cat litter, take out the trash, cook supper, grocery shop, all the day to day "stuff."<br />
<br />
And before I know it, the day is over.<br />
I erase another day from our countdown board.<br />
And I smile because we are one day closer to this<i> actually</i> being over.<br />
<br />
And I then I smile even bigger because I realize that when David gets back he will be on my nerves within a week. The laundry will double. I will trip over boots in the middle of the night. He'll forget to tell me he'll be late. He'll be frustrated with me for not getting gas in the car until the light comes on. He'll sigh as I tell him a story that should take 5 minutes, but when I tell it, it takes 20. He'll toss and turn trying to go to sleep because I need the TV on for noise, but he wishes it was quiet.<br />
<br />
But I will also get to enjoy watching him help Jessa with her homework or help Spencer with a computer game.<br />
And we can take a walk after supper.<br />
All together.<br />
And then all will be right with our world.<br />
<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-81074191135038409252013-09-16T06:00:00.000-05:002013-09-16T21:01:10.236-05:00Good Boy Fergus?When we got Fergus this summer, I was wondering how long it would be before he figured out the doggie door. Molly picked it up pretty quickly, but her older dog example was Max. And he was not too big on going in or out or getting up or being awake.<br />
<br />
So Molly didn't really "get it" until she was around Abby and Cooper while May and Bay were visiting. But Fergus had crazy Molly to teach him. And even though he was only 6 weeks old when we got him, and even though he only weighed 4.5 lbs, he was throwing himself out that door within about 2 days.<br />
This is the 3rd day after we got him:<br />
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So with the doggie door comes freedom. Molly figured this out pretty quickly. Freedom to go out anytime you want. Freedom to come in anytime you want. And freedom to take whatever you can drag through the hole in the door outside. <a href="http://thecrazykeyfamily.blogspot.com/2011/01/keep-away-puppy-style.html" target="_blank">Molly</a> loved this part the most. <br />
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So it was only a matter of time before Fergus figured out the dragging things outside thing, too. Sometimes it was things that he wanted to eat/play with/chew up without us trying to stop him. Sometimes it was shoes. Sometimes it was trash or yarn or water bottles or snacks. You name it, he wanted it outside.<br />
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One time, he dragged yarn in and out and all around to create a simulated laser maze.<br />
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And I will be honest, I knew that he was continuing to drag stuff outside. But unless it was a shoe that one of us wanted to wear right then, I had the tendency to just leave it out there. But this week, I realized that I hadn't cut the grass in months. (The backyard is really shady, so it hadn't needed it. But then David just informed me that it is just like hair and I need to trim the dead ends. Who knew?!) Before I could cut the grass, I needed to go on a scavenger/ Easter egg hunt: Fergus Style.<br />
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I tried to take a picture of what it looked like before I picked everything up.<br />
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I am not sure if it makes the severity of this situation clear.<br />
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So I started just putting everything that I picked up on the table.<br />
Well, I think that you can tell from this picture that he has a problem.<br />
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Apparently, there are few things he will not try to take outside.<br />
One day I saw this when I got home:<br />
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Thank goodness we didn't get the large doggie door! But can't you picture that 9 lb dog trying to get that pillow that is bigger than him out that door???<br />
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Oh and a day or so after I cleaned up the yard, I went to the grocery store.<br />
That Fergus! Apparently, he wanted to help me unload the bags.<br />
Later that afternoon, I found these out in the yard.<br />
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Bless his heart! <br />
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He was trying to help me clean!<br />
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I guess I'll keep him.<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-88440973619526599972013-09-13T07:01:00.000-05:002013-09-15T13:34:33.633-05:00Froggie Door?We have a doggie door. We have had one since we lived at Ft. Stewart, the second time. It is in the storm door, and we move it with us. David has to figure out how to get it installed at each house. He does this with incredible skill, many trips to Lowe's, and some choice words.<br />
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I love this darn thing. It makes life so easy. I never worry about getting stuck somewhere and the dogs not being able to go out to the bathroom. It does have a few drawbacks. On occasion, Molly has been known to catch birds. Sometimes she brings in dead birds. Sometimes she brings in live birds. On these days, I rethink the convenience of the doggie door. I have made great strides in my <a href="http://thecrazykeyfamily.blogspot.com/2013/09/swiffer-not-just-for-cleaning-anymore.html">dealing with unwanted creatures in the house</a>, but things with skeletal systems are a problem for me. Birds are new, since we got Molly. But I have had to handle lizards and frogs when we were at Ft. Stewart, the first time. (I may be using the word <i>handle</i> loosely. In this case, it may mean screaming and crying like a 2 year old, trapping them under Tupperware, asking David to come home (from Iraq), and paying neighbor children to help.)<br />
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I don't like dealing with frogs or toads <a href="http://thecrazykeyfamily.blogspot.com/2010/04/how-to-catch-frog.html">outside</a>, and certainly not INSIDE. So imagine my <strike>surprise</strike> panic, when my sweet boy came into my room after the whole house was in bed to report that there was a frog in the house. He saw it in the kitchen when he went to get some water. And he thinks it must have come in through the doggie door. Oh. Crap.<br />
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I would love to tell you that I kept my cool. And that I sprung into action. Picture me calmly walking down the hall, telling Spencer about all of God's creatures being precious. I lean down, I say, "Come here, little fella." I carefully lift the sweet little frog up. Spencer pets him on the head. We smile, and share a moment. Then Spencer opens the front door while I carry Freddie (because that's what we named him, of course) out into the front yard. We put him down in the wet grass. We wave to Freddie. He starts to hop off, back to his froggie family. Then he stops, looks over his shoulder back at us, his saviors. And we could almost swear he winks at us as he hops out into the night. I put my arm around Spencer. He puts his arm around me. And we walk back into the house together, basking in the glow of this precious moment in time.<br />
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That my friends in NOT what happened at our house tonight. I immediately started freaking out and telling Spencer he is a boy. Boys are supposed to handle things like this. I had children so that I would not have to deal with this sort of thing. A hundred years ago, my kids would have been working in the fields on our family farm. Now, all I ask is that they take care of stray critters that wander into the house. Dang it, I don't ask much! Put your clothes in the hamper and catch frogs. That's it! You are letting me down, son.<br />
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So he and I are both talking fast and sweating. We were relieved that the dogs were already in bed. I closed my bedroom door to keep it that way. Our first order of business was containing it. See, neither one of us were willing to just pick up the little frog. So while we formulated a plan, we needed to make sure he couldn't hop away where we couldn't see him. How could we sleep with a rogue frog hopping around willy nilly? So we cornered him with a framed picture, a card table, a box, and a poster.<br />
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So we needed to trap him. A cup would be too small, and it would require precision. I went for a bowl. <br />
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And then we decided that we needed Jessa. She is the toughest of the 3 of us. She was already asleep. So being the caring, amazing mom that I am, <strike>I let her keep sleeping</strike> I tiptoed in her room and woke her up. Go ahead and give up ladies, Mom of the year, right here!<br />
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My daughter, who has caught frogs and begged to keep them, who is my tomboy wannabe, was not interested in helping. She wouldn't even leave her room.<br />
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So Spencer is on one side of the dog gate. He was not taking any chances on my barrier failing. I offered him $10 to pick it up. He said he would with gloves. I said, "Really? If I search and find gloves, you think you can pick it up for me?" He thought for a minute and said, "No. I don't think so." Thanks for your honesty son.<br />
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Then I offer to buy them a new game they have been wanting. I was desperate people. It was 10:30. On a school night. I needed to get this situation under control. The time for drastic measures had arrived. The frog has moved a couple times. He was glaring at us with those shifty eyes. He was planning something. We needed to move.<br />
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Once the game was on the table, the kids were way more excited about helping.<br />
Jessa changed clothes and put on gloves.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On of my shirts and gloves - frog germs, don't ya know?!</td></tr>
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She crept up behind the frog,<br />
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and she was able to toss the bowl on top of it. Progress!<br />
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Then she scooted it over to the rug using the bowl, while it was trapped under. Then I propped the front door open, risking 52 other frogs bum rushing the house. And Jessa held the bowl down while Spencer pulled the rug closer to the front door.<br />
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Then they decided to try wrapping the rug around the bowl. Then Jessa picked it up and hurried out to the front steps. Then Spencer hollers from inside, "There's another one!" So Jessa and I peek under the bowl. It was NOT another one. In the shuffle, they let him out.<br />
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So we are back to square one.<br />
But Jessa REALLY wants that game.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvNfHZSESNOrHUZz1pNc0_i1U0X3f5P5uoe1LvThRTBNBaHJdIJqilxgAq8LV3gN6ydoodWdZdMMdpbP4WuuJaYlRmHQ8PAioR54nP5W0-HywhqYYJnsyEG4UrC8FmtfrL4zFk_pO-f8/s1600/discussing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvNfHZSESNOrHUZz1pNc0_i1U0X3f5P5uoe1LvThRTBNBaHJdIJqilxgAq8LV3gN6ydoodWdZdMMdpbP4WuuJaYlRmHQ8PAioR54nP5W0-HywhqYYJnsyEG4UrC8FmtfrL4zFk_pO-f8/s320/discussing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Formulating Plan B?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So she tosses the bowl back on it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgno1T-GavNDpdbtGflVsoLZeF8O30JtPgYO8RxuSv-A9hNQl1h3ChAtFN52DLdMc30xQVtN6BYRcE2CMhyphenhyphenPq-kzAMM58FreIvJsp7WG6pf6bf4DanD9fVAkOyTpMypGv9-wfSAiZcX5lU/s1600/2nd+attempt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgno1T-GavNDpdbtGflVsoLZeF8O30JtPgYO8RxuSv-A9hNQl1h3ChAtFN52DLdMc30xQVtN6BYRcE2CMhyphenhyphenPq-kzAMM58FreIvJsp7WG6pf6bf4DanD9fVAkOyTpMypGv9-wfSAiZcX5lU/s320/2nd+attempt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
But now the rug is not in play because it is still on the front porch. Spencer wants to get another rug, but I convince them that we would risk him getting out. The rug didn't work so well the first time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2xxozbAYKgtlTyAzxEMLTa6IBEZpdrYns2eb2w1BkgzSBv4obxrsVJ-4PL4sISbd8aVnoiSpjdViBf_mt30_V_mn8g8DbnGTDDBaQV_GLaue3_glJLFJ94X6kVPovBJCelQW8h0HF-Y/s1600/broom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2xxozbAYKgtlTyAzxEMLTa6IBEZpdrYns2eb2w1BkgzSBv4obxrsVJ-4PL4sISbd8aVnoiSpjdViBf_mt30_V_mn8g8DbnGTDDBaQV_GLaue3_glJLFJ94X6kVPovBJCelQW8h0HF-Y/s320/broom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Then we used the broom to slide the bowl over toward the front door. But the door jam stopped us. Then Jessa lifted the bowl slowly. She pointed the open part toward the door. Once she lifted the bowl, we all cheered and shook the broom to make sure he kept heading on OUT the door.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqtEYW-L4E804tMaj4hfYUUThqXT4DNxwFe8by4zDHGEjtf3-tg-fNWUZeTxps8VLTjvaOxsZDRfHOP8w19g25V-3iV0U0ibE3b-l2DvnXi58z3WIgmKfWWTfHWomUfxzSbbueDT9lyQ/s1600/cheering.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqtEYW-L4E804tMaj4hfYUUThqXT4DNxwFe8by4zDHGEjtf3-tg-fNWUZeTxps8VLTjvaOxsZDRfHOP8w19g25V-3iV0U0ibE3b-l2DvnXi58z3WIgmKfWWTfHWomUfxzSbbueDT9lyQ/s320/cheering.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go frog go! See him on the door jam?? (Jessa fell asleep with wet hair, can you tell?)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
He did!<br />
<br />
And all of this only took like 40 minutes.<br />
Impressive, no? <br />
We high-fived each other and started down the hall to head back to bed. Jessa said that she was going to write about this in her writing journal. Spencer said he was going to choose "Work on Writing" as his first Daily 5 to write about the 2 frogs in the house. (He was still pretty convinced there were 2 of them.) I am thrilled to provide near death experiences for them to write about. Not a near death experience, you say? Did you <i>see</i> the size of that thing? The cold look in his eye? We are lucky to be alive, I tell you!<br />
<br />
We hadn't made it 3 steps, when Jessa said, "Now, about that game you promised to buy..."<br />
It will be worth every penny. <br />
<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-81354487354080685102013-09-12T20:47:00.002-05:002013-09-12T20:47:18.319-05:004th Grade Politics<br />
So, our Jessa had a tough time adjusting to the move from Scott to Ft. Campbell last summer. She is a classic "grass is always greener" child who fondly recalls every aspect of life in Illinois through a lovely shade of rose colored glasses. To be fair, I <i>may</i> have a touch of this as well... It was a wonderful assignment, but here is good, too! Last year, she just refused to see it, though. And every tiny issue she had would make her wish she wasn't here. She wanted to be back at Scott. Her best friend in the world, Lauren, moved last summer, too. But she just couldn't seem to get past the fact that all of her problems (at least in her mind) started when we moved.<br />
<br />
I had anticipated this. They both started to school at Scott. Jessa went there for 3 years - and that is a long time in the life of an Army kid. But I did not know how difficult her adjustment would be. She liked her teacher a lot, and she was involved in activities. Her grades were good. But most days, she begged me to let her stay home. We persevered, though and finished 3rd grade. Jessa was THRILLED to have summer stretching out before her. <br />
<br />
So when it was time to go back to school, I was a little nervous. My heart couldn't take another tough year. I always knew she was fine once she got to school. Last year, I checked on her lots during the day without her ever knowing it. But those mornings were ROUGH.<br />
<br />
Before school started, she met her teacher because we were at school with the PTO serving the teachers a welcome back breakfast. And she was instantly excited! <br />
<br />
School started. She didn't complain.<br />
She still didn't enjoy getting up early, but once she was awake, she was in a half way decent mood.<br />
She didn't fuss about homework.<br />
She was overall, in a good mood.<br />
<br />
Then she came home and told me that she wanted to run for Student Council. As a former Student Council Rep myself, I was so proud. And ever since she found out about that, she has been pumped! Even more excited to go to school. She wrote her speech the day she brought home the permission slip. She made her poster that weekend.<br />
<br />
She came up with her slogan - "Jessa is the Key to Success!" I told her that I married her Daddy with the thought in mind that someday she or Spencer may need to campaign for something. Talk about planning ahead!<br />
<br />
She came up with ideas of things to hand out to her class to help them remember to vote for her. I helped with the technical parts, but she really did all the hard work herself. She even solicited a campaign contribution from May and Bay. Campaign Merchandise does not come cheap! <br />
She was so focused! So driven! So excited!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVSp6RsqiryX8C1WFwUbjfU2qqRKF9ybyKXUqNvl9gByu7ZEm8SXjdYe33U8QtnjEM51dha-Hql_XvFsfRjuPia4bj6Q7C0SbW8S8323n2683R0EW9pUgXnsQfXgfcP7annz0AJNSX9Y/s1600/bookmarks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVSp6RsqiryX8C1WFwUbjfU2qqRKF9ybyKXUqNvl9gByu7ZEm8SXjdYe33U8QtnjEM51dha-Hql_XvFsfRjuPia4bj6Q7C0SbW8S8323n2683R0EW9pUgXnsQfXgfcP7annz0AJNSX9Y/s200/bookmarks.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bookmarks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwPxxCRv7tMA8_0bLyzE1W8G0Qpy88E6Cai99GmQ4yVfvqJriNkPpwf7c60hFbnHnlKpXd8wU0_7Eh_LI0txGFbNQbdjnopuaMI2RNkCxOiGfNrRqU8Ns3yzK2BiK1jg9zz81xkuWItc/s1600/buttons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwPxxCRv7tMA8_0bLyzE1W8G0Qpy88E6Cai99GmQ4yVfvqJriNkPpwf7c60hFbnHnlKpXd8wU0_7Eh_LI0txGFbNQbdjnopuaMI2RNkCxOiGfNrRqU8Ns3yzK2BiK1jg9zz81xkuWItc/s200/buttons.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buttons</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hyphenhyphen16qJ8bEPVhq19GEYcBtORF3noAiCfuDGmTo_C5i-DftvpbokHl9GenvOLzS07by2tCYiwZLG-3EXZv-FMj7nf-mAo-T5AQ40kPtU91GNWwIYVZNzL5WGuOW4kXtqPOW5j34-PHFkQ/s1600/key+chains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hyphenhyphen16qJ8bEPVhq19GEYcBtORF3noAiCfuDGmTo_C5i-DftvpbokHl9GenvOLzS07by2tCYiwZLG-3EXZv-FMj7nf-mAo-T5AQ40kPtU91GNWwIYVZNzL5WGuOW4kXtqPOW5j34-PHFkQ/s200/key+chains.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Key Chains :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EcDRSqqjSmZ7rhYc7-YTne2E2HBTyBFc6NCjH8UKvxRQ4FkO2Dq2fpl1MQRbDGQHtdPuX__aRNuaup5MBn2-CPZTNcAJ9f0DM_v9U60tAtOjGbjfpYxGiGRj01en3jwQMbvZdKm82BI/s1600/smarties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EcDRSqqjSmZ7rhYc7-YTne2E2HBTyBFc6NCjH8UKvxRQ4FkO2Dq2fpl1MQRbDGQHtdPuX__aRNuaup5MBn2-CPZTNcAJ9f0DM_v9U60tAtOjGbjfpYxGiGRj01en3jwQMbvZdKm82BI/s200/smarties.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smarties</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Mgy_zW-1WcfloIrI1fBbfFiCBrijXTCPZz0mcWkGG7dH_4sRrZQKgaXE8obh0Pn7hL77PFwAOe1tMrBTITXNUHIXrtSYt8QnORS32hHnkz6JfItMsJd5UwNUK0Z1ZQVlNdKgXtPJ6tw/s1600/pencils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Mgy_zW-1WcfloIrI1fBbfFiCBrijXTCPZz0mcWkGG7dH_4sRrZQKgaXE8obh0Pn7hL77PFwAOe1tMrBTITXNUHIXrtSYt8QnORS32hHnkz6JfItMsJd5UwNUK0Z1ZQVlNdKgXtPJ6tw/s200/pencils.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pencils - to cast their vote!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu93bAZ8Y02I-RbD0TMAQ8DeS7AFGqLu-vB7B2rVNJaeB2UMIjCVgkrMQwGqq_dgXwFNkTHysLt0jYOGfMVBXiVuSk-pAq9wREVRC8JhiOzhB-UiWuDPI9YaTiDWShYalOXbTJd0OYJO8/s1600/poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu93bAZ8Y02I-RbD0TMAQ8DeS7AFGqLu-vB7B2rVNJaeB2UMIjCVgkrMQwGqq_dgXwFNkTHysLt0jYOGfMVBXiVuSk-pAq9wREVRC8JhiOzhB-UiWuDPI9YaTiDWShYalOXbTJd0OYJO8/s320/poster.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her POSTER!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
She practiced her speech. A LOT. She read it to David in Afghanistan more than once. She read it to May and Bay. And let's just say that Spencer and I could probably give the darn thing without looking at the notes.<br />
<br />
She paid attention to how she dressed every day. Her goal was "professional." As her mother, I LOVED this because once she started dressing herself, I am not always totally impressed with her <a href="http://thecrazykeyfamily.blogspot.com/2011/08/fashion-tips.html">choices.</a><br />
<br />
After a week of campaigning, Monday was the speech. There were 6 children in Jessa's class running. And all of their speeches were really good. They were all so brave - they didn't even look nervous.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5CjhXevhqeC8pwjR0FoAJ3HBOnENyIn65LH5nwlKIqNA-wpvx64z7mJsB00-FNRFcOLF8gHkVGb8J7F43q6_EPQyjJgwp_yYjHTdKL-1j2hYl9RIpbeCo1JzlaNn03RsaS5jf5zgvWs/s1600/9-9-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5CjhXevhqeC8pwjR0FoAJ3HBOnENyIn65LH5nwlKIqNA-wpvx64z7mJsB00-FNRFcOLF8gHkVGb8J7F43q6_EPQyjJgwp_yYjHTdKL-1j2hYl9RIpbeCo1JzlaNn03RsaS5jf5zgvWs/s320/9-9-13.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note how professional she looks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Immediately after the speeches, they got out a piece of paper and voted. Each kid could vote for 2 people to represent their class. I promise you that I cannot remember the last time I had so any butterflies in my stomach! After the vote, her teacher said that it would be announced FRIDAY. <br />
<br />
FRIDAY!? We have to wait 4 more days? Really?<br />
I was afraid I might not makes it. But it was kind of nice to be able to relax and know that it was all over, one way or another.<br />
<br />
Then this afternoon, just before dismissal, there was an announcement. <br />
The newly elected Student Council - the announcement we had been waiting for.<br />
A DAY EARLY! <br />
<br />
5th grade went first.<br />
Torture! <br />
Hurry up! <br />
<br />
Now 4th Grade!<br />
JESSA KEY WINS! <br />
<br />
Whew.<br />
She is beside herself.<br />
And I am so relieved. <br />
Her hopes were up really high. <br />
I was really concerned about nursing her bruised ego if she did not win. <br />
She worked so hard.<br />
I am glad that she can see her hard work pay off. <br />
Plus, she gets to roll up her sleeves and get started right away.<br />
<br />
Her first meeting is Monday.<br />
Morning<br />
At 7:30.<br />
AM.<br />
Yay. <br />
I am happy for her, really I am.<br />
<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-21271109273440308952013-09-11T06:51:00.003-05:002013-09-11T06:51:56.465-05:009-11-01 reposted<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;"><i>Previously posted in 2011</i></span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">We
were in Germany. David was at work. At the time, he worked in
downtown Mannheim and he wore civilian clothes. He was the only
American Military person who worked in his office. I was at home in our
stairwell apartment. We lived on the second floor. Our housing area
was open. And we did not have to show an ID to enter. There were no
guards at the gate. There was no gate. </span><br />
<div align="left">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I
loved the time difference because I could watch the Today show live
broadcast on AFN (the Armed Forces Network), but it didn't start until 1
o'clock in the afternoon. It was a normal, beautiful Tuesday afternoon
in Germany. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Katie
Couric interrupted a story to inform us that a plane had hit one of the
towers of the World Trade Center. I thought, just like everyone that
someone must have fallen asleep of had a heart attack. It was sad,
sure. I was a tragedy, of course. But it had to be an accident, right?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">They
changed the course of the show and began broadcasting live views of the
tower that had been hit. There was smoke. And everyone was
speculating about what could have happened. As the talked, the screen
was still on the live shot. I was still watching when the second plane
came into view and hit the second tower. At that point, like everyone
else in the world, I knew this was big. I called David. I called
Momma. And my best friend Tonya came straight to my apartment. And
along with a friend of hers from home, we were glued to the television
all day and all night. Pretty quickly, the American Military switched
our security status to Delta. This hadn't happened
since David commissioned. They started closing the streets to protect
us. There was even brief talk of evacuating dependents. We had no
idea what was going to happen next.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">In
the days that followed, I was in awe of the outpouring of support that
the Germans. They placed candles and flowers at the edges of the post,
at the newly formed gates. They had services of remembrance. They were
truly heartbroken for all Americans that day. And while I missed being
on American soil with my fellow Americans, we were safe in Mannheim
with our wonderful German friends and neighbors. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I
will never forget how it felt. I will never forget the images that I
could not stop watching flash across my television screen all day and
all night from more than 4,000 miles away. Or being in the post chapel
holding candles with all of the other Americans who were with us in
Germany. The feelings of helplessness and sadness and grief and fear
and anger that were mixed with pride and patriotism and adoration of all
of the heroes that emerged.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">And I will always be so grateful to our men and women in uniform who have been fighting back ever since. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Y2Q0FxlL86gba9HNYBY1AVyy6vUqaStEeLqnpzx0l-NSebH_iOlmybqPYFdVu7ADZ7C-dQ35nhVUiunYqLJzv4J0Ws6NCc6xlb2H3jNWb8oA90Ag1LFYCH7y9TW_jHZjBKBkYDwtdBM/s1600/a+flag.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Y2Q0FxlL86gba9HNYBY1AVyy6vUqaStEeLqnpzx0l-NSebH_iOlmybqPYFdVu7ADZ7C-dQ35nhVUiunYqLJzv4J0Ws6NCc6xlb2H3jNWb8oA90Ag1LFYCH7y9TW_jHZjBKBkYDwtdBM/s320/a+flag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Below
is a copy of the text of the address that President Bush gave on
September 11, 2001. In my opinion, these words capture the feelings
that we all felt on that day; the feelings that we all still feel today,
10 years later. May God Bless everyone affected by the horrible acts
of September 11. May God Bless all our military who continue to protect
us and our freedoms. And may God Bless America.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Good evening. <br />
<br />
Today, our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came
under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist acts. The
victims were in airplanes or in their offices: secretaries, business
men and women, military and federal workers, moms and dads, friends and
neighbors. Thousands of lives were suddenly ended by evil, despicable
acts of terror. The pictures of airplanes flying into buildings, fires
burning, huge -- huge structures collapsing have filled us with
disbelief, terrible sadness, and a quiet, unyielding anger. These acts
of mass murder were intended to frighten our nation into chaos and
retreat. But they have failed. Our country is strong.</i></span></div>
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>A great
people has been moved to defend a great nation. Terrorist attacks can
shake the foundations of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch
the foundation of America. These acts shatter steel, but they cannot
dent the steel of American resolve. America was targeted for attack
because we're the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the
world. And no one will keep that light from shining. Today, our nation
saw evil -- the very worst of human nature -- and we responded with the
best of America. With the daring of our rescue workers, with the
caring for strangers and neighbors who came to give blood and help in
any way they could.</i></span></div>
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Immediately
following the first attack, I implemented our government's emergency
response plans. Our military is powerful, and it's prepared. Our
emergency teams are working in New York City and Washington D.C. to
help with local rescue efforts. Our first priority is to get help to
those who have been injured, and to take every precaution to protect
our citizens at home and around the world from further attacks. The
functions of our government continue without interruption. Federal
agencies in Washington which had to be evacuated today are reopening
for essential personnel tonight and will be open for business tomorrow.
Our financial institutions remain strong, and the American economy
will be open for business as well.</i></span></div>
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>The search
is underway for those who were behind these evil acts. I have directed
the full resources of our intelligence and law enforcement communities
to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. We will make
no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and
those who harbor them. </i></span></div>
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Tonight, I
ask for your prayers for all those who grieve, for the children whose
worlds have been shattered, for all whose sense of safety and security
has been threatened. And I pray they will be comforted by a Power
greater than any of us, spoken through the ages in Psalm 23:</i></span></div>
<i><br />
</i><br />
<blockquote>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil for you are with me.</i></span></div>
</blockquote>
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>This is a
day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for
justice and peace. America has stood down enemies before, and we will
do so this time. None of us will ever forget this day, yet we go
forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world.<br />
<br />
Thank you. Good night. And God bless America.</i></span></div>
<a href="http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/gwbush911addresstothenation.htm">http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/gwbush911addresstothenation.htm</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a><br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-73309046929090189382013-09-09T22:57:00.001-05:002013-09-09T22:57:32.258-05:00My little boy, I mean man, I mean boy...Spencer is a pretty funny little dude. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzImDIBhPqtgTigrvOj2_A26xi8vGyNfRxMoP3nOKP6DEuRw84IbFYv5f6MrUpQ7OZGARn8sItUhaoSQltiK9VdRzhhpXnLlK4KLugy3_MWsgJs5SEfoOwRMXv7vNKPozTNeaQwFkDSM/s1600/silly+spence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzImDIBhPqtgTigrvOj2_A26xi8vGyNfRxMoP3nOKP6DEuRw84IbFYv5f6MrUpQ7OZGARn8sItUhaoSQltiK9VdRzhhpXnLlK4KLugy3_MWsgJs5SEfoOwRMXv7vNKPozTNeaQwFkDSM/s200/silly+spence.jpg" width="165" /></a></div>
Many times when I recount things that he has said, I <i>know</i> that people aren't sure if I am exaggerating. I assure you that I am not. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgHp5LLTyRWGntNDGJd8qvMr5Gjm4qEZkrdGsVzJ7LLqiDHXTLWPk8PA8owSPPtcRi09exvqqYGHbP1cHSZvw3GjhgJyrDT3bhuUCvtD6dn2HuIgugISURj_trkY-1U1koI_jhfL4zb0/s1600/silly+sjk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgHp5LLTyRWGntNDGJd8qvMr5Gjm4qEZkrdGsVzJ7LLqiDHXTLWPk8PA8owSPPtcRi09exvqqYGHbP1cHSZvw3GjhgJyrDT3bhuUCvtD6dn2HuIgugISURj_trkY-1U1koI_jhfL4zb0/s200/silly+sjk.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Then even if people believe me, it does lose a little something in translation. <br />
So please know that even as I type, I am aware that no matter how hard I try, I can never fully capture the silly nuttiness that is Spencer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZCR0t45IG67bt-sCWWkzx8bKENoLj5JDffYBZtme3gzUXC803X-6rXD8wTgMN36DLDTXbaHkYzH6FGuDT_heCo-M0DA0H8kOcLFX7ovU0YRgoq2u-Lvk-NR8eJBzQY-KPwAPWVwH-Ow/s1600/spencer+4+eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZCR0t45IG67bt-sCWWkzx8bKENoLj5JDffYBZtme3gzUXC803X-6rXD8wTgMN36DLDTXbaHkYzH6FGuDT_heCo-M0DA0H8kOcLFX7ovU0YRgoq2u-Lvk-NR8eJBzQY-KPwAPWVwH-Ow/s200/spencer+4+eyes.jpg" width="165" /></a></div>
<br />
One of the funny things he does these days is distinguish himself as being a "man" or a kid." And of course, it always suits his needs. For example, I am fussing at them to stop acting up in a store. He looks up at me with puppy dog eyes and says, "Mom, we are just kids. Kids having fun." - which momentarily makes me question my fussing. Am I being too hard on them? They are just kids, after all. WAIT A SECOND! Then I snap back to reality and realize that they can still be "just kids" without Spencer giving Jessa a piggy back ride while she pushes every button on every toy on the entire row while singing "My Diamond Sword." They can be "just kids." Just well-behaved kids.<br />
<br />
On some days, he will want to be "manly." "Boy am I hungry mom, I need a manly snack." Then 20 minutes later, I ask him to kill a spider, you know, something "manly." Then he comes back with "Manly? No, mom, I a not manly. I am 'kidly.' I can't do that!"<br />
<br />
He recently started subscribing to a magazine. He thinks there are certain times and places that "men" need to be able to read their magazines. He is relieved to finally always have a magazine to take with him into the certain place at that certain time to read his magazine. You know, like "men" do?<br />
<br />
As we all sit down to supper some nights, he will say, "I am starving! Hurry up and say the blessing. Mom! A man's gotta eat!" He does indeed.<br />
<br />
Now this last one makes me giggle every time I think about it. <br />
At supper the other night, he said, out of the blue,<br />
"Mom. Remember when we lived at Scott?" <br />
Of course.<br />
"And I was in Kindergarten?" <br />
Yes. <br />
"And I was in Mrs. K's class?" <br />
With you so far.<br />
"And I had a locker?" <br />
Yep, still tracking.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiljx2AjUngC3wx5-VBid6Lg6V6hA8XdI9dtIAhWthgCog6-B0W2tX781SZV8FH8SL7kSMSigzGJC4uCjPYQVcWraHWImeI4DoNtK9e3R-favT4fMICsn9Q7eYbmwfkpZX5W6MbH1GDdok/s1600/locker1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiljx2AjUngC3wx5-VBid6Lg6V6hA8XdI9dtIAhWthgCog6-B0W2tX781SZV8FH8SL7kSMSigzGJC4uCjPYQVcWraHWImeI4DoNtK9e3R-favT4fMICsn9Q7eYbmwfkpZX5W6MbH1GDdok/s200/locker1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"Did you know I had to share my locker with someone else?" <br />
Sure, I guess so.<br />
"I did not like that."<br />
Um, OK, what a random thought over tacos. <br />
I wonder why you didn't like sharing a locker, son. <br />
Please, do tell.<br />
<br />
"Well, a man needs his own space." <br />
(trying not to laugh) <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju2DQJQIhOR5SAymnoAW7-nCNUKhJqkHRRBUmRkwKspgdLfJzIKWRZlfzBUzZizXHvbZ-sOxPjE3YYRwXTbtspMahcvX5MZO87M8Zae4440jsmmrtMw7Jez8AJgAzT9QMJDJFAfcyq6UM/s1600/sjk+close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju2DQJQIhOR5SAymnoAW7-nCNUKhJqkHRRBUmRkwKspgdLfJzIKWRZlfzBUzZizXHvbZ-sOxPjE3YYRwXTbtspMahcvX5MZO87M8Zae4440jsmmrtMw7Jez8AJgAzT9QMJDJFAfcyq6UM/s200/sjk+close+up.jpg" width="169" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
"But don't worry, Mom. I don't mind sharing here. I mean, we do have 3 hooks."<br />
<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-60006532959802734232013-09-08T13:59:00.000-05:002013-09-08T13:59:00.341-05:00SocksSocks. You need them. You like them. They keep your feet warm. The can help you express your style. They keep blisters away. They can aid in the prevention of stinky feet.<br />
<br />
I always buy the kids way more socks that they need. The have a habit of losing them. They take them off all over the place: the den, the kitchen, the car, the front yard, the back patio.<br />
<br />
Last week, Jessa's drawer was full of clean pairs of socks.<br />
Tuesday morning, when it was time to get ready for school, she was in her room getting ready. And she hollered to me, "Mom, I don't have any clean socks!" I was taken aback. Less than a week ago, she had ALL clean socks. I went into her room and saw this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5c58-EmRPPvZfQ4MWtd2Gzweds7ZIrShVXXidHnQnpbkp-VMoCAJj7DNzwzULbI2269lvtC1BYijzRb9Hb3gbbfoBpCkRcwwRatByNZcZg_OiiCUjKfLgD3LFNxNRkJ5jTdg7DfMoAg/s1600/jessa+drawer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5c58-EmRPPvZfQ4MWtd2Gzweds7ZIrShVXXidHnQnpbkp-VMoCAJj7DNzwzULbI2269lvtC1BYijzRb9Hb3gbbfoBpCkRcwwRatByNZcZg_OiiCUjKfLgD3LFNxNRkJ5jTdg7DfMoAg/s1600/jessa+drawer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5c58-EmRPPvZfQ4MWtd2Gzweds7ZIrShVXXidHnQnpbkp-VMoCAJj7DNzwzULbI2269lvtC1BYijzRb9Hb3gbbfoBpCkRcwwRatByNZcZg_OiiCUjKfLgD3LFNxNRkJ5jTdg7DfMoAg/s200/jessa+drawer.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Looks pretty barren in there, huh? She was right. But where could they all have gone? She has 50 pairs (I am guessing, but I am sure it is close to that.). It has only been 4 days. What is up?!</div>
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<br /></div>
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I checked Spencer's drawer.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6n2nDdFVQsOW5rCEIG2IVk9vS1Fol5_WB1p9zikr2270cJbAvf9s9o6qqJNiw43miJNc1DR5h3NdwmZQUDwSNgG1N4_ZxYL2Mv9r5gIbPf93F16TfefP8jG1G5sbwg4MmmDWgkLpf08/s1600/spencer%2527s+drawer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6n2nDdFVQsOW5rCEIG2IVk9vS1Fol5_WB1p9zikr2270cJbAvf9s9o6qqJNiw43miJNc1DR5h3NdwmZQUDwSNgG1N4_ZxYL2Mv9r5gIbPf93F16TfefP8jG1G5sbwg4MmmDWgkLpf08/s200/spencer%2527s+drawer.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Hmmm... Jessa's should look like that, too.</div>
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I checked her dirty clothes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7TPgykv7IVaTbWmPUORv61CR96GsHUEoKme_8Odxla3bW20kjAb2RzVktvmnw38QTamLfv0vIyT1qWYWGWxahVD0GpSYPtXtv3Nxx7R1EWNpwZTsicenaWKWrt9AihfTljXYSMOP7M8/s1600/dirty+socks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7TPgykv7IVaTbWmPUORv61CR96GsHUEoKme_8Odxla3bW20kjAb2RzVktvmnw38QTamLfv0vIyT1qWYWGWxahVD0GpSYPtXtv3Nxx7R1EWNpwZTsicenaWKWrt9AihfTljXYSMOP7M8/s200/dirty+socks.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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AHA!</div>
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FULL of socks.</div>
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I asked her what happened. She explained that she had gotten out of the shower and put on socks. Then she walked around and decided that those socks were now too dirty for her bed. So she got a new pair. And then she went into the kitchen. And that dirtied the new pair. So she got another new pair. And this went on all of the 4 day weekend. And now it is Tuesday, time for school, and no clean socks. Luckily there were clothes that I had folded and not had a chance to put away yet. Those socks got us through the week.</div>
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Now it is the weekend.</div>
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I am doing laundry again.</div>
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Guess who is helping me wash socks??</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6dwRM8KTWcG9btCIBJE8TfDC19jQJCpkVui8bjx7CIcp1htChTWzjuUqnoq_67QPwp5vpHwc3BrAFXz8wfhOwDpojjHAz_X5iLQ59EY9pTkC9gnF_HsD20wd_Rhsl8fMfS3uBN_LDrg/s1600/jessa+basket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6dwRM8KTWcG9btCIBJE8TfDC19jQJCpkVui8bjx7CIcp1htChTWzjuUqnoq_67QPwp5vpHwc3BrAFXz8wfhOwDpojjHAz_X5iLQ59EY9pTkC9gnF_HsD20wd_Rhsl8fMfS3uBN_LDrg/s200/jessa+basket.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>
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And now I am considering keeping her socks in the strong box...</div>
<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-82853454987030711682013-09-07T13:58:00.001-05:002013-09-07T13:58:37.536-05:00Swiffer: Not just for cleaning anymore<br />
I love Swiffer! I have loved Swiffer since they first came out with just the dry pads. They are awesome for dusting and cleaning the floors. I love Swiffer wet pads, too! Perfect for cleaning up small sticky messes which shockingly occur quite often at my house. (and sadly, it isn't usually the fault of my kids. OK, fine, you can still tell what I had for lunch by looking at my shirt...) I also LOVE those 360 dusters. They are perfect for cleaning the air conditioner vent in my den. AND the kids think they are cool, thus inspiring them to help around the house. All awesome! I cannot get on board with the Wet Jet. The kids used to "help" Bay clean his floors at Scott with his. Way messier than it was worth with my helpers. But overall, I am a Swiffer super fan!<br />
<br />
And now there is <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/22/swiffer-couple_n_3795192.html" target="_blank">Lee and Morty Kauffman</a>. I love those two! The commercials are just adorable! Jessa and Spencer even stop fast forwarding through commercials when they see Lee and Morty... <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xw9Bp2AszNw" target="_blank">Watching them</a> just makes you smile!<br />
<br />
BUT even with all of those amazing things that I LOVE about Swiffer, I have not even told you what I love THE MOST. Wanna know what my favorite part is?? <br />
Bug killing.<br />
<br />
Please bear with me as I meander to my point -<br />
So I used to be super scared of bugs. I would scream and call for my Momma or Daddy to come and kill them. Then I grew up and went away to college, and darn if my parents couldn't drive an hour and a half every time I saw a tiny spider. I had to get over it, mostly. I would throw a shoe or a book on the bug and move on. This practice continued after I got married. In Germany, David would come home from a couple of weeks in the field, and there would be heavy books all over the floor. See, I mastered the killing of the bugs, but not the disposing of the carcass. How gross! David would shake his head, pick up the books, and clean up the nasty dried bug remains.<br />
<br />
Once the kids were born, I had to get over it. I mean, I can't raise them to be afraid, can I? Plus, I need to be their hero. And also, I may have run out of books during year long deployments...<br />
<br />
So now, I can do it! Do I like it? No! Do I have to psych myself up and sometimes bite my tongue to keep from screaming like a girl? Absolutely. I even bought a fly swatter! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh270GwczWyLcrIHg_LHS96KKJlZkoefAHyQMS4R1n01uSfHZmBk4U4V3ePqOmHgU7wvIEEbAQYchyphenhyphenLKY_5pz9SzmRf6BMEaV_JcBEUssNisHzQd7aE5jugzPe-UGW1EsymJU8fSifgSHg/s1600/DSC00563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh270GwczWyLcrIHg_LHS96KKJlZkoefAHyQMS4R1n01uSfHZmBk4U4V3ePqOmHgU7wvIEEbAQYchyphenhyphenLKY_5pz9SzmRf6BMEaV_JcBEUssNisHzQd7aE5jugzPe-UGW1EsymJU8fSifgSHg/s200/DSC00563.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
I can smack them and keep moving! I am tough! The other morning, I pulled back the shower curtain at 6 AM and saw a ginormous cricket. I calmly turned around, went into my closet, put on a boot, went back to the bathroom and stepped on it. Did I think, "Man I wish David was here!"? Yes, but the truth is, even if he were not deployed, he probably would have already been at PT.<br />
<br />
Now. What does this long, wordy story have to do with Swiffer?? Well, I can step on things, throw books on things, and swat things, but what happens if the bug is on the ceiling?? A wily roach? Or even worse a wasp or hornet?? Swiffer to the rescue!<br />
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The Swiffer mop is PERFECTION when it come to killing things to high to reach. This morning, I went into the kitchen. There was a HUGE hornet on the ceiling. My initial response was "Oh crap! How did that get in here?" and "How fast can I move to a new house?" But once I got my bearings, I walked into the laundry room to retrieve my Swiffer mop. I stealthily crept back into the kitchen and slowly raised my Swiffer mop to the ceiling. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErl7Cy4nvReJyi_r6n7AJa6I0G3KkSFsRi0evphdGZ4SnZ-DmHZaTO_NeIZn8s45zWcLrEymjSbscCe507UEEZ3SY78r88wolrVar8v4zeZhAourxxwWSR-BHGbvE2Dy7P2qhQZWSMC4/s1600/DSC00562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErl7Cy4nvReJyi_r6n7AJa6I0G3KkSFsRi0evphdGZ4SnZ-DmHZaTO_NeIZn8s45zWcLrEymjSbscCe507UEEZ3SY78r88wolrVar8v4zeZhAourxxwWSR-BHGbvE2Dy7P2qhQZWSMC4/s200/DSC00562.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a dramatic reenactment... I would never risk not properly disposing of the enemy by pausing for a photo op!</td></tr>
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And I squashed it! I may have stood there for 6 minutes or so to make sure that it was really dead. Then I lowered the Swiffer mop and disposed of the carcass. Just like that!<br />
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I know what you are thinking.<br />
Isn't she clever? <br />
Isn't she brave? <br />
Boy, does she have nerves of steel. <br />
You're right, of course.<br />
I am pretty much a super hero.<br />
Off to clean my cape in a hornet free house!<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-39944752575554125142013-09-05T13:46:00.000-05:002013-09-07T13:47:05.304-05:00Pssst. What's the password?Passwords are a part of our every day life these days, right? Most people have to keep a list to keep up with all of them. And then the Army makes you change it on a regular basis. But with technology the way that it is, passwords are here to stay.<br />
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Not too long after both children figured out computers, they started watching our fingers as we entered passwords to get them to places they wanted to go. Sometimes, we would consult them if we were having trouble remembering because they knew them so well. They know Bay's passwords and May's passwords. And of course, J<a href="http://thecrazykeyfamily.blogspot.com/2011/10/computer-savvy.html">essa had a little bout with passwords several years ago</a> ... Now, our iTunes passwords are TOP SECRET, though, and we make them turn their heads before we enter it. Don't need to pay for any more premium Angry Birds games, thank you very much.<br />
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And at school, both kids have to remember several logins and several passwords and even a pin code for lunch. So one would think that sweet Spencer had this all figured out, right??<br />
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Well, he came to me a few days ago, all forlorn. <br />
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"Mom," he said, "I am locked out of my computer." I was confused, how in heaven's name could this child be locked out of his computer. He doesn't have it password protected. It is HIS. It never leaves the house. "Why would it need a password?" I thought to myself. And then I looked at my sweet child's sad face and asked him, "Son, when did your computer get a password?" He replied, "Oh, I put one on it." So I assumed that it was one of the passwords that he has seen us use before. I typed a few. They didn't work. I asked him, "OK, Spence, what do <i>you</i> think your password is?" And my smart, creative little boy did not bat an eye nor did he crack a smile. As serious as he could be, he said, "Well, I am pretty sure that it is JaguarPajamaPants." Um, well, I was not expecting that! So I tried hard not to laugh because he was as solemn as a judge. "Spencer, why in the world do you think that would be your password? What would have made you pick that?" And he looked up at me, and all matter-of-fact-like said, "Well, it has always been my dream to see a jaguar wearing pajamas." There you go. It was as simple as that.<br />
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I was trying to Google this and find a solution. David was attempting to help me long distance. The other night, I even had him lay on my bed with his eyes closed and try and remember. I was trying to pull a Cliff Huxtable making Vanessa retrace her steps and helping her find her report. (spoiler alert: it was in the freezer.) And he said, "Well, it used to be MagicOfMagic. But that was before I changed my user name to Dog Lover 152." I asked, "Honey, why DogLover152? Were DogLover1 through DogLover151 taken??" "Oh no," he said, "I just like the number 152."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Oh, DogLover152! What is your password??</span></td></tr>
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So I asked him for other ideas. "Maybe it had a 5 on the end or maybe it was 55 or wait, 15." he said. I tried that. All three. He said, "Try, YayMeBooYou33." That wasn't it, either. In the end, retracing his steps didn't help. I am no Bill Cosby. So, I had to take this expensive paper weight across the street to my computer fixer. I felt like I was giving up, but with Spencer's little brain, we may NEVER think of it. I am sure David would have already figured it out, but I am not a computer wizard like he is. After about 4 minutes and $19.38, the computer was unlocked and the nice computer man made me the admin, and I am the only one who knows the password.<br />
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And FYI, even after I told him NOT to put a password on ANYTHING else or he would become a sweet little Amish boy who only plays with wooden toys, he sheepishly informed me that he had put a password on his iPod.<br />
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I took a deep breath to keep from being angry. <br />
"What is it, son?" I asked.<br />
"Oh, Mom, don't worry. It is really easy to remember," he said.<br />
"Spencer, what is it?!" I implored.<br />
"PopTartCode45" he replied.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good thing he is cute...</td></tr>
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Oh. My.</div>
<br />
"Hey, mom?"<br />
"Yes, Spencer."<br />
"Maybe the password was JaguarPajamaShirt or it could have been JaguarPajamaNightCap?"<br />
"Good night, Spencer."<br />
<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-84351262124203954332013-09-02T22:57:00.001-05:002013-09-02T22:57:15.329-05:00My Drama Queen<br />
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My Jessa is precious to me. She is silly and funny and smart and beautiful. She can be sweet. She can be nasty. And I love her more than life. She makes every day fun. Fun and challenging because oh boy is this child dramatic!<br />
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She is our drama queen FOR SURE. She worries and makes mountains out of mole hills on a <strike>daily</strike> <strike>hourly </strike>minute to minute basis. When Jessa is happy, all is right with the world. And not just her world, but everyone who is in her immediate area. Birds sing, flowers bloom, the sun shines. But should anything, and I mean ANYTHING not go her way, heaven help us!<br />
<img alt="http://stjent.pinnaclecart.com/images/products/13142.jpg" class="decoded" height="154" src="http://stjent.pinnaclecart.com/images/products/13142.jpg" width="200" /><br />
<a href="http://stjent.pinnaclecart.com/index.php?p=product&id=8522">(^sign found here)</a><br />
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To illustrate this point, I will tell you about our day.<br />
It is Labor Day. No school! Yay!<br />
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We slept in, and had a lovely morning. We were getting ready to go to a friend's house for a cook out later in the day. I, being the on-the-ball mom already packed a bag with bathing suits, changes of clothes, towels, sunscreen, bug spray, hand sanitizer (for Jessa, of course), etc. When Jessa saw which towel I packed. The world almost ended. It was not the towel she wanted. It was not the right towel. How could I have been so wrong?? She proceeded to remove the towel that I had packed (on the bottom of the bag) and take it back to the linen closet and carefully select the perfect towel. I love repacking bags!<br />
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Next, I suggested she wear her Crocs since they are perfect for pool and creek playing. She looked at me like I had two heads. Her Crocs? Her CROCS?! "MOM! They are outside and they most definitely have bugs <u>and</u> spider webs in them. Spider Webs!" So I told her we could clean them. She had to get a paper towel to touch them and bring them in for me to wash. In the sink. With soap and HOT water. Then hand dry. She inspected them and thankfully they passed muster. But she didn't want to <i>wear</i> them. She wanted to pack them. But not in the bag with everything else. In their own bag. *sigh*<br />
(So she wore her "high heels" instead)<br />
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Later they were swimming. She was jumping off the diving board over and over. She was having fun. But several times, when her head would pop out of the water and she would holler "Oh My! I was not breathing!" Well, yes, when you HOLD YOUR BREATH, you are not breathing. The next time her head popped up, "I almost didn't make it!" Luckily, the near death experiences did not prevent her from continuing to jump into the pool over and over and over.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPy3D7luL31HrYd7_kGJECvGd1NyY0ug10pPpf2eEzm8VUx-TRVT35Prh4gQTv_44Mgt3D-8Ac7YNEZHniKC6GeqJU0Ohoz-wrfnZYBCf3x6oIrrhrwJILCuIYpPsoq4AIgHgNrqjdPE/s1600/DSC00478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPy3D7luL31HrYd7_kGJECvGd1NyY0ug10pPpf2eEzm8VUx-TRVT35Prh4gQTv_44Mgt3D-8Ac7YNEZHniKC6GeqJU0Ohoz-wrfnZYBCf3x6oIrrhrwJILCuIYpPsoq4AIgHgNrqjdPE/s200/DSC00478.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJEIBr1yoaUyGz-C7WtXzbhW2P0kWhjwHr9wjxLpJlDv9IxNEIlqjlSTlrAieg6obfEQXwF7AvZ1-hTZ5Ew0oyhCVQUA6piyYwpl8GvcTcTodaAn9uAGXNAXALLEUGOOgvRML7qsv3co/s1600/DSC00475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJEIBr1yoaUyGz-C7WtXzbhW2P0kWhjwHr9wjxLpJlDv9IxNEIlqjlSTlrAieg6obfEQXwF7AvZ1-hTZ5Ew0oyhCVQUA6piyYwpl8GvcTcTodaAn9uAGXNAXALLEUGOOgvRML7qsv3co/s200/DSC00475.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZSQnPm1n0ZKPGjqKWlkHHBlf9gdF9frI2Ahyphenhyphen9Kqe5d_91TTXc8l1qeaKxK_2fLqg6rBzf9R_25D4zhIfU7vAztpjIDU8Cezvr_tzYm_6KZsUykNbHYdF8z7NuesD_cHDKwYt-7ppgZU/s1600/DSC00476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZSQnPm1n0ZKPGjqKWlkHHBlf9gdF9frI2Ahyphenhyphen9Kqe5d_91TTXc8l1qeaKxK_2fLqg6rBzf9R_25D4zhIfU7vAztpjIDU8Cezvr_tzYm_6KZsUykNbHYdF8z7NuesD_cHDKwYt-7ppgZU/s200/DSC00476.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Before supper, they were playing in the creek. She slipped on some rocks. She did scrape her knees and her ankle. And she had a pretty big cut on her shin. But Spencer came tearing up to where we were sitting to tell me. Everyone briefly got worried until I explained that it was just Jessa, and it probably was not that serious. By the time I got to her, she was limping along. I asked her if we needed to amputate it. She was not amused. As we walked into the house to clean up the wounds, she sighed and said, "Mom, I don't think I am going to be able to go to school tomorrow." That's our Jessa!<br />
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And finally, after supper, she limped over to play on a swing set. She was barely gone a minute when she limped back. She saw spider eggs. She cannot be near spider eggs. And once we got home, she was in tears because she knew those spider eggs were all over her. She hurried into the shower and used 2 soaps and 2 shampoos, just to be sure.<br />
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And as she was heading to bed, after changing her bandages, she hollered back, "Can you at least write me a note to excuse me from PE?"<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-53741721683180150652012-08-01T12:07:00.001-05:002012-08-01T12:10:10.647-05:00Where's Stewart?We have been married for 14 years. We have been on active duty in the Army for 14 years. Thus, we have just completed our 9th military move. We always operate a little differently each time we move. This time, we chose to let the children have a fun 2 weeks at Camp May and Bay while we packed and cleaned and loaded and unloaded and unpacked. They have a short summer anyway, and I wanted them to have some fun. We also opted to let Stewart stay in GA with May and Bay as well. I have heard too many horror stories of frightened cats getting packed in a box or hiding in the underside of furniture.<br />
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After the allotted 2 week period, I couldn't wait to see the babies and Stewart! I brought them all back to the new house. The house that was full of boxes, except for 3 spaces that were all ready. Jessa's room, Spencer's room, AND Stewart's area were unpacked and set up. The new baby gate was in place to keep Stewart safe from Max, who wants to eat him. So he will spend the days safely in the back of the house, and at night, when the dogs are in bed, he will have the run of the house. Everything was as it should be. But still, I always worry about all of the furries adjusting to a new home. And I hate the "unsettled" feeling that I have when there are still boxes everywhere.<br />
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I needn't have worried about Stewart. Each morning for the first few days, we had a great time trying to find him. He was always somewhere in the house, in an odd spot. He LOVES all the empty shelves and boxes and oddly placed furniture. He may not wear a hat, glasses, and a red and white striped shirt, but we are enjoying searching for him way more than silly old Waldo!<br />
Here are a few shots of the cutest places we have found him. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Empty bookshelves? So comfy!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Sideways couch? Yes, please!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoj3jM6hhVFZqUlI_8-zI2lP5woi-jadvFTh4MX-X-FDCh2G2o2UGZJQ9UEIo8JaBXegRjhLoR3mLJGrMwTNGmlj6mOZTQTsukKIQjaznuGcavZybCra0CE5858Cn00T9mR4UpwPnn4A/s1600/DSC03616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoj3jM6hhVFZqUlI_8-zI2lP5woi-jadvFTh4MX-X-FDCh2G2o2UGZJQ9UEIo8JaBXegRjhLoR3mLJGrMwTNGmlj6mOZTQTsukKIQjaznuGcavZybCra0CE5858Cn00T9mR4UpwPnn4A/s200/DSC03616.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Desk, smesk! I need to rest!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpSSeIt_R3cmx9wwUs84MXbARDiCAwx_Po00eMIZ3S1Onv2GohLgmYe3PP40s-k9w0T9hf2Gvb5f1A5_UGAYlSr8qEk2g6fZK-6KBRIVpZeEt5bt9gr_R89kRpgmPq5dFSBRGN0EtKjk/s1600/DSC03707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpSSeIt_R3cmx9wwUs84MXbARDiCAwx_Po00eMIZ3S1Onv2GohLgmYe3PP40s-k9w0T9hf2Gvb5f1A5_UGAYlSr8qEk2g6fZK-6KBRIVpZeEt5bt9gr_R89kRpgmPq5dFSBRGN0EtKjk/s200/DSC03707.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Now this is the best spot. I kind of like the top bunk!"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Moving is such fun, wouldn't you agree??<br />
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<br />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-46025964326325402012012-01-04T13:32:00.000-06:002012-01-04T13:32:10.277-06:00The big spoonOn my birthday, back in November, I wanted to go to O'Charley's for supper. David wasn't in town, so it was just the kids and me. I felt sure that I could talk them into going wherever I wanted. It was MY day, after all. So I was talking all week about wanting to go to O'Charley's. I love the potato soup, the sweet tea, and of course caramel pie for dessert. The perfect birthday meal, at least that is what I thought.<br />
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No, Spencer was adamant that we should go to Red Robin (that is HIS favorite place to celebrate HIS birthday). I was still pushing for O'Charley's until my awesome friend Tricia delivered O'Charley's caramel pie to my door during the day. So no matter what, I was getting my pie. At that point, I let go of my plan and decided to go with the flow.<br />
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So we headed to Red Robin where my son wanted to take me for my birthday supper. <br />
We walked in and before the hostess could ask us how many, Spencer announced that it was my birthday. She laughed and seated us.<br />
The waiter approaches our table and before he could even introduce himself, Spencer made sure that he knew that it was my birthday. He laughed and went to get our drinks.<br />
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I was a healthy mix of embarrassed by his calling so much attention to me and touched that he was so happy to celebrate with me.<br />
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We got situated in our booth and the kids brought out the items that they had packed to bring. <br />
(They grab things as we leave the house. They always act like we are never coming home again.)<br />
Jessa unpacked her La La Loopsy friends and got them all settled. I believe they ordered an omelet.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WlpozI96h7M/TwShybQ0knI/AAAAAAAAEmw/UCZAFnXEk6s/s1600/bday+post2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WlpozI96h7M/TwShybQ0knI/AAAAAAAAEmw/UCZAFnXEk6s/s320/bday+post2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Oh, and her ponies, of course. Because what is more fun than ponies!<br />
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Then Spencer started playing with what he brought.<br />
I was puzzled. <br />
But then again, this is the kid that wears one blue rubber dish glove to the store and carries a soup ladle to a meeting.<br />
I don't question him.<br />
And I was happy because the thing he brought blended right in with some other items on our table.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8lWKHTE-p_U/TwSkH5nEdmI/AAAAAAAAEnE/9xCEqTclqn0/s1600/bday+post+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8lWKHTE-p_U/TwSkH5nEdmI/AAAAAAAAEnE/9xCEqTclqn0/s320/bday+post+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I mean, the large spoon he brought immediately bonded with his Red Robin knife and Red Robin fork.<br />
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We all ate our suppers. And Spencer kept a close eye on the kitchen throughout the meal.<br />
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Then, the moment he has been waiting for, a group of Red Robin employees headed for our table to sing and clap and call attention to me.<br />
As soon as they finished singing and deposited my ice cream, it all became clear to me.<br />
Spencer did not want to make my birthday special.<br />
Spencer did not want to help me celebrate.<br />
Spencer did not randomly choose a strange item to take to supper with us.<br />
Nope.<br />
It was all premeditated.<br />
He had a plan.<br />
The kid brought the big spoon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jbEAs4o-eoE/TwSmoIYx7mI/AAAAAAAAEnQ/cw0QItyXP1o/s1600/bday+post4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jbEAs4o-eoE/TwSmoIYx7mI/AAAAAAAAEnQ/cw0QItyXP1o/s320/bday+post4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Happy Birthday to ME!<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-25464486493791495362011-12-27T18:36:00.001-06:002011-12-27T18:40:26.327-06:00Road Trips for childrenWhen you are little, you cannot wait to grow up. Being a kid seems like such a bummer, right? Grown-ups are always trying to boss you around and tell you what to do. You don't get to be in charge of what you want to do, where you want to go, or anything. I can remember that feeling very well. I could not wait to be "big enough to ________ (fill in the blank)."<br />
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I would venture to say that most adults have moments where we wish we could be children again. Probably because as grown-ups, we are very aware of how good kids have it. Maybe they don't "get" to do whatever they want, but they also don't experience worry or stress or even planning things. And I know I am not the only one who would give my eye teeth to have someone MAKE me take a nap any day of the week. Are you with me??<br />
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Well, I recently came to the realization that road trips are one area where kids have it pretty darn easy - at least my kids do, anyway.<br />
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Here is a breakdown of the preparations for one of one of our recent road trips.<br />
First, take a look at what Spencer was doing while I got up early to pack, load, and get us ready to<br />
head back to IL.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Here are the toiletries that I packed for all of us.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span> </div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xxMYVIkEnfI/TvpPJzqBi5I/AAAAAAAAElg/Js_ZaLYyK1o/s1600/j+sleeps1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xY2UGm5p5DA/TvpOuJL6WWI/AAAAAAAAElA/tV-MpI4HUTo/s1600/toilitries.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xY2UGm5p5DA/TvpOuJL6WWI/AAAAAAAAElA/tV-MpI4HUTo/s200/toilitries.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">The Nintendo DS that I charged. Well, actually, I charged 2.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_SVHWvNl4oE/TvpNLSKevbI/AAAAAAAAEjQ/bgL190-Ke5c/s1600/ds+charging.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_SVHWvNl4oE/TvpNLSKevbI/AAAAAAAAEjQ/bgL190-Ke5c/s200/ds+charging.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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The computers that I packed up - after locating the adapters that were scattered all over the house.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBI7HnpG3bb9RCW2ikVbrO_o67zHfh3hDr8gkqA1IvXQlSz5ZyAZnadHUX7sljo2U4B8dBGs3Ppc7tN36hIc2t67cf9I3lyE9Q_3GGgAKjGQBdlvC7p8MckWPAqUU2_YJf45ent50SuPQ/s1600/computers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBI7HnpG3bb9RCW2ikVbrO_o67zHfh3hDr8gkqA1IvXQlSz5ZyAZnadHUX7sljo2U4B8dBGs3Ppc7tN36hIc2t67cf9I3lyE9Q_3GGgAKjGQBdlvC7p8MckWPAqUU2_YJf45ent50SuPQ/s200/computers.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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Just a reminder, here is what Jessa and Spencer were doing while all of this was going on.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-91t5TxyRWqM/TvpPQO6mt8I/AAAAAAAAElo/qD1gXpjPl8A/s1600/j+sleeps2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-91t5TxyRWqM/TvpPQO6mt8I/AAAAAAAAElo/qD1gXpjPl8A/s200/j+sleeps2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KrIetPkTVts/TvpOCK-lUFI/AAAAAAAAEkQ/QMo65RfNSVE/s1600/s+sleeps2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KrIetPkTVts/TvpOCK-lUFI/AAAAAAAAEkQ/QMo65RfNSVE/s200/s+sleeps2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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While they snooze away, their suitcases are magically packed. . . <br />
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I also had to pack for Julie, the American Girl.<br />
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And there was the cooler, with drinks for our trip, it had to be packed, too.<br />
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Then I packed a snack bags for each kiddo.<br />
I try to have plenty to eat and drink, so we can make the fewest number of stops possible <br />
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I usually let them start off the long day in the car still wearing their jommies. BUT most of the time, they want to change at some point on the road (OK, fine, so it is me that is embarrassed to go traipsing into gas stations all over the country with my kids still in their PJs). It doesn't matter whose idea it <i>really</i> is, I also pack a change of clothes for each child.<br />
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Oh, and also, guess what the kiddos were doing at this point in the process?<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HHwG--Ttu_s/TvpPDBaVZrI/AAAAAAAAElY/xDmoc19QJ4o/s1600/j+sleeps.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HHwG--Ttu_s/TvpPDBaVZrI/AAAAAAAAElY/xDmoc19QJ4o/s200/j+sleeps.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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And I cannot forget to pack my own suitcase, right?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAii4DXqfDJUdoV0nQWXHKnQzwTvaXIxX6lvzF2R3nW8RHR3jr6gqKf6jfnbftPgwxKrz5AHyBVK1ipGjeqQrlk0w6MRDIRbSq5kNI1y6IwXv93h0kcBpRzfaMRJfYPoCA8W-VvzEJbYg/s1600/my+suitcase.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAii4DXqfDJUdoV0nQWXHKnQzwTvaXIxX6lvzF2R3nW8RHR3jr6gqKf6jfnbftPgwxKrz5AHyBVK1ipGjeqQrlk0w6MRDIRbSq5kNI1y6IwXv93h0kcBpRzfaMRJfYPoCA8W-VvzEJbYg/s200/my+suitcase.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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Then the car must be loaded with all of the aforementioned things that I have gathered.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YtYOuyarWts/TvpMwBjKKwI/AAAAAAAAEi4/U7BNmirT5jQ/s1600/car+loaded.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YtYOuyarWts/TvpMwBjKKwI/AAAAAAAAEi4/U7BNmirT5jQ/s200/car+loaded.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> And then children themselves must also be loaded.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbNRhGdLh77NY11QdU-1HHitNq4-zhX_TaQFi60Y4GQ5DklyN17rIoJG1JCxIy8554xcqaEJOo855NBBuZtuoYTIiKdrRgkZNBpSawnEEA9k26vmQ0_-j2crXUojnRlk23uXpRdurOiU/s1600/s+carried.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbNRhGdLh77NY11QdU-1HHitNq4-zhX_TaQFi60Y4GQ5DklyN17rIoJG1JCxIy8554xcqaEJOo855NBBuZtuoYTIiKdrRgkZNBpSawnEEA9k26vmQ0_-j2crXUojnRlk23uXpRdurOiU/s200/s+carried.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David carried one,</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHXjhduh4SE/TvpO0_JGy_I/AAAAAAAAElI/txjEyN7gAOk/s1600/j+carried.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHXjhduh4SE/TvpO0_JGy_I/AAAAAAAAElI/txjEyN7gAOk/s200/j+carried.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and Bay carried the other.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> And then the precious angels can be tucked in for a nice long trip complete with their luggage, their snacks, their drinks, Jessa's DS, Spencer's DS, their computers, their toys, their blankets, their pillow pets, their change of clothes, their movies, and about anything else that I might need for a 9 hour trip.<br />
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<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/AVvXsEhoHTjmUHi8QFP4a394PsURqkk2rax6rG1rdk3YidVNtIiIx1i94uUuN2Y94teGagkMbFHb2WVnsVe0t4HAjNtoyLdfrEJ6aLTbkQhcjviypo0GWcR8S-h3r5Xj8Fnhvd1Q5YTDYI2fOhI/s1600/j+in+car.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHTjmUHi8QFP4a394PsURqkk2rax6rG1rdk3YidVNtIiIx1i94uUuN2Y94teGagkMbFHb2WVnsVe0t4HAjNtoyLdfrEJ6aLTbkQhcjviypo0GWcR8S-h3r5Xj8Fnhvd1Q5YTDYI2fOhI/s200/j+in+car.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w_SnVZjbItY/TvpNsjoGmPI/AAAAAAAAEj4/1BfrY5do00Y/s1600/s+in+car.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w_SnVZjbItY/TvpNsjoGmPI/AAAAAAAAEj4/1BfrY5do00Y/s200/s+in+car.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> Oh wait, what about these guys?<br />
They have to go, too.<br />
And they have pillows and a water bowl and leashes. . .<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FHpM2MUoq3U/Tvpho1pMhlI/AAAAAAAAEmk/5OMDcBJNtVc/s1600/DSC07529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FHpM2MUoq3U/Tvpho1pMhlI/AAAAAAAAEmk/5OMDcBJNtVc/s200/DSC07529.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><br />
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So it makes sense that I might at times want to take a road trip as a child.<br />
Or maybe I should be more specific, I want to go on a road trip as one of <i>my</i> children.<br />
Heck, I wouldn't even mind traveling as one of <i>my</i> dogs!<br />
<a href="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-24054424017605389562011-12-07T07:00:00.000-06:002011-12-07T07:00:00.514-06:00Almost Wordless Wednesday<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><i>(OK, not even close to wordless, but it is Wednesday. . .) </i></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">When I decorated for Christmas</span>, I added one of my favorite vinyl tablecloths to the kitchen table.<br />
The kids were wearing their new Christmas jommies.<br />
They were alone in the kitchen.<br />
I heard giggles and the words "look, we're camouflaged!"<br />
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They were kind of right.<br />
At least I think so, anyway. <br />
Well, you be the judge.<br />
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Here is the table before:<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70Bl1FsLjeCmrZ37VmLKEiOyQsyxJAm5OR87im9mjhjpBYHZ5YVM_xVRDfmt2nO1_RzmluN80AJURYqQVun-Lais5GF7Ivha8Ti3OG1I-5GZvS7-DBfyLhrcEcZ6fOlTixmzFO8WdtNA/s1600/table.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70Bl1FsLjeCmrZ37VmLKEiOyQsyxJAm5OR87im9mjhjpBYHZ5YVM_xVRDfmt2nO1_RzmluN80AJURYqQVun-Lais5GF7Ivha8Ti3OG1I-5GZvS7-DBfyLhrcEcZ6fOlTixmzFO8WdtNA/s400/table.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To be clear, this is the picture WITHOUT the little children in it.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><br />
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Here is after -<br />
can you find the two sweet children in this picture?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibYMwaK9ypLqivYy2MpPCoIEK7Yts8wxdOyUQJjWTd1UvRaNk3pgJuTnrAanbg9FTpGBiLez7L0b6fYfDvLM1tgJeMgxE_y-Q0PK1nhPIO7HI6PV0NHT0wqkr7dTZgwycyOJwJnbWWk3Q/s1600/where+are+they.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibYMwaK9ypLqivYy2MpPCoIEK7Yts8wxdOyUQJjWTd1UvRaNk3pgJuTnrAanbg9FTpGBiLez7L0b6fYfDvLM1tgJeMgxE_y-Q0PK1nhPIO7HI6PV0NHT0wqkr7dTZgwycyOJwJnbWWk3Q/s400/where+are+they.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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See, they are camouflaged!<br />
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Merry Christmas from the camo kids!danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-33641188838640411532011-12-05T17:01:00.001-06:002011-12-05T17:02:24.418-06:00I'm not readyJust now, my sweet 8 year old baby girl asked me a question. See, she has several little buddies. She calls them her BFFs (which totally cracks me up). And she has even had sleepovers with one of these BFFs a few times. Her first sleepover was pretty tough to handle. That is something that big girls do, right?? You mean, I have a big girl? How did this happen? She was little. She drank from bottles. And now she is giggling in sleeping bags watching movies and eating popcorn?<br />
<br />
Well, today, we had another big first.<br />
She walked in holding the phone in her hand and said, "Mom, can I call _______?" And I said, "For what?" And she said, "I don't know, just to talk."<br />
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And so it begins. I remember spending HOURS on the phone every single day of my life. I remember when we used to spend all day at school together, and then we'd hurry home to talk some more. I got my own phone line on my 12th birthday because we were not in an area that had call waiting yet. Ah, the phone.<br />
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Well, let's give it up for my over achiever.<br />
Chatting with her BFF on the phone at age 8.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAT7_eHOl_tguG5ZQRCXQeq8TwRQ3SEXbM7Gd5WeLYGmJDhi3U8-8JLwr0VCLz3OMPq3W58qf9GgrGKeVDDkKEe0fY8NGwDsOMbrYStnnFhCiUsxBoLkga2IhokCixIT9_qDIhnJFwyg/s1600/jess+phone.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAT7_eHOl_tguG5ZQRCXQeq8TwRQ3SEXbM7Gd5WeLYGmJDhi3U8-8JLwr0VCLz3OMPq3W58qf9GgrGKeVDDkKEe0fY8NGwDsOMbrYStnnFhCiUsxBoLkga2IhokCixIT9_qDIhnJFwyg/s320/jess+phone.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
When she is a teenager, boy, are we in trouble.danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-80609419576634881552011-10-24T08:00:00.001-05:002011-10-24T08:00:07.394-05:00Computer Savvy?Our children are growing up with so much technology at their fingertips. I can remember floppy disks that were actually floppy. I did not get an e-mail address until my senior year of college, and to be honest, I didn't really understand it even then. I have mentioned before the my children have had net books of their own for more than 2 years. They can figure things out more quickly than I ever could. They are just so much more technologically advanced. I mean, I had a Walkman that just played the radio when I was Jessa's age, and that kid has an ipod! I didn't even get a CD player until college. You get the point, right? I am ancient, and my children are spoiled.<br />
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BUT all that technology cannot change my sweet daughter from being a very literal child.<br />
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Whenever they want to play on a website that requires an account and password to log in, I always register them. I make sure that only I know the password. I don't want them to have too much freedom, right? So there are times that they are in desperate need to play a game that I am busy. So we have moments of impatience as Jessa and even Spencer have to wait on me to log them into their game. Jessa finds this terribly frustrating. She is always looking for a way to speed things up.<br />
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The other day I found a piece of paper where my too clever and way too literal daughter had jotted down the password to a website. At first I did not understand why she wrote it down - it did not make sense. But I kept looking at it, and then David saw it. We both got so tickled as we realized what she had done.<br />
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You know how sometimes it matters if you have caps lock on? Sometimes the logins and passwords have certain letters capitalized? And you need to pay attention to this or you will be denied access? Like <em>Dana </em>is correct, but <em>dana</em> is not? <br />
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Are you with me?<br />
Do you get it?<br />
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Well, I better just show you her scrap of paper so you can see for yourself:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtSjI4rhSyFo-uoArnfzT3zmqdHwWc4G1ikB-qHubqQ3LSq6tOpYwCKisiJujHxkCWukzbsD_ap6ogL0imUyAYfJrOyW8tSvjvFJZi7luswHnGNqvg5tpJ3JKV36T_my5JuOErxHTRnI/s1600/password.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtSjI4rhSyFo-uoArnfzT3zmqdHwWc4G1ikB-qHubqQ3LSq6tOpYwCKisiJujHxkCWukzbsD_ap6ogL0imUyAYfJrOyW8tSvjvFJZi7luswHnGNqvg5tpJ3JKV36T_my5JuOErxHTRnI/s320/password.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Sometimes "clever" and "literal" don't mix. . .<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-4356729845832114452011-10-05T07:58:00.000-05:002011-10-05T07:58:59.735-05:00Almost Wordless Wednesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jessa sure is lucky to have a Mimi that shares her salad. . .</span></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/AVvXsEhh5YwTc1qrwkYWLFLlte5bZvauWMRjgruyObJEg3FcO76cAqC3dtrube3LhTA6UiiUdK4JutBi69DqB2brSLu9fUV0wwPFNNfnGWkCxWVdGlQNJQ6RuaohOv5hnQHnKW2LXT4vWmSBHeM/s1600/mim+and+jess.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5YwTc1qrwkYWLFLlte5bZvauWMRjgruyObJEg3FcO76cAqC3dtrube3LhTA6UiiUdK4JutBi69DqB2brSLu9fUV0wwPFNNfnGWkCxWVdGlQNJQ6RuaohOv5hnQHnKW2LXT4vWmSBHeM/s640/mim+and+jess.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-79561888144770309562011-10-03T08:00:00.001-05:002011-10-03T08:00:15.139-05:00Birthdays in heaven<div style="text-align: center;">On September 26, 1929, my wonderful grandfather was born. It is one of the best days to ever happen because it brought him into the world to eventually be my Poppy. This September 26 was the first birthday that we have had since his death. In fact, it was 3 months and 1 day since we lost him.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">This concerned Jessa and Spencer both a lot. They had many questions. Will he get to celebrate his birthday? Will he get to eat cake? What if we want to get him a present? What if we want to send him a card? As always, I was touched and challenged by their many questions. I told them that he would have a wonderful birthday in heaven with Jesus and all of his friends and family. But they were still sad. They wanted to be able to make him a card. So I thought quickly and suggested that we make him cards and send them to heaven.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">The day came last week.</div><div style="text-align: center;">When they got home from school, they both got right to work making him the perfect card. The cards were both so sweet AND so different. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Jessa is a little older, and she thinks a little more deeply. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Here was her card:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5uDuhU0MyCgkTMJDCpiw-Jgpvzr5DWG5hyDJOF9Ntz0dkupMXoi0jVKt_6Ii2GoFtk8mSSWgX7AnGLvOs5UASTlsf4jaCPfcaFfHgHBB9rUoykoSg1GosIMSAPDR03fnRlLbVnCMmcYE/s1600/jess+card.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5uDuhU0MyCgkTMJDCpiw-Jgpvzr5DWG5hyDJOF9Ntz0dkupMXoi0jVKt_6Ii2GoFtk8mSSWgX7AnGLvOs5UASTlsf4jaCPfcaFfHgHBB9rUoykoSg1GosIMSAPDR03fnRlLbVnCMmcYE/s320/jess+card.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Spencer is just as sweet, but a little more simple at this point.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here was his:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpmr8S85PMo38ZLQ1XdnLEOZVUHeI75UgPZGIInCEGfRC0I2QpCjgh1VKrPCrZktXHZ3ZEI13Pv6kr-xeovUBTx4G-EzOHRlYmF1BnjtKhkjfmDIvk6GHFEMxlLZvP6fD2oGBfGUh3Tw/s1600/spence+card.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpmr8S85PMo38ZLQ1XdnLEOZVUHeI75UgPZGIInCEGfRC0I2QpCjgh1VKrPCrZktXHZ3ZEI13Pv6kr-xeovUBTx4G-EzOHRlYmF1BnjtKhkjfmDIvk6GHFEMxlLZvP6fD2oGBfGUh3Tw/s320/spence+card.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Once we were finished, we shed a few tears together. Then we rolled up the cards into small little scrolls. And we headed to the florist shop on base. They were so patient with us and so nice. They had some trouble getting the scrolls into the balloons. But they worked at it and got them both safely into the balloon. They filled them with helium, and we were ready to go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlVImqNgY_skDW8rP0_0DeTXCWedg96DmGgwWg5tDMNjhhR4nq1ijtLG8AmNh3NNwqWONpjRRCttGYsXEnTWLYAu2RQ2dh81m5cNNQQS2xEQqUVw2luZ1IicT8VNLzq0MguuAL77Bo-s/s1600/balloon+with+card.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlVImqNgY_skDW8rP0_0DeTXCWedg96DmGgwWg5tDMNjhhR4nq1ijtLG8AmNh3NNwqWONpjRRCttGYsXEnTWLYAu2RQ2dh81m5cNNQQS2xEQqUVw2luZ1IicT8VNLzq0MguuAL77Bo-s/s320/balloon+with+card.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">We headed home to release our balloons so they would go straight to Poppy in heaven. </div><div style="text-align: center;">It was a beautiful, if windy day - perfect conditions for our launch.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAB9vk3DzO6V84Pbj2BUUDGbrEdE8unhvwsgNf0hJT54KaSBg5OaYVvN1dKpbB_5xFfr-cgUQlTbHlot6hO7C4hIN041iR5JGJYt3Vl_syCVg1Hw6O_8ohdb9CNAYMRkMBKFa5iY2teh4/s1600/jess.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAB9vk3DzO6V84Pbj2BUUDGbrEdE8unhvwsgNf0hJT54KaSBg5OaYVvN1dKpbB_5xFfr-cgUQlTbHlot6hO7C4hIN041iR5JGJYt3Vl_syCVg1Hw6O_8ohdb9CNAYMRkMBKFa5iY2teh4/s320/jess.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusxHyxkGoDQ5cwYs7bq55BANd1u8ABIuA4fh29t8mQgo-GNYmyBje_-ZwXux4c1sZTxjjxm_ztdPZdlEQvp62_NYA_VFcUv2msWDoKR7ObvHGrWDRjcnRgDYEj_ZWxEtUoetbhWfEg5I/s1600/spence.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusxHyxkGoDQ5cwYs7bq55BANd1u8ABIuA4fh29t8mQgo-GNYmyBje_-ZwXux4c1sZTxjjxm_ztdPZdlEQvp62_NYA_VFcUv2msWDoKR7ObvHGrWDRjcnRgDYEj_ZWxEtUoetbhWfEg5I/s320/spence.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgFwqmz4LHusKIaoeD3lSjmVmrBZRvXnymMIeEUVsoE3Q76ozQvyu7YhJ32vZVDLoHUBjNebad1F3_rYqiFEa1nEPJuoAJnzrG5Wa2w-DxoVkyYQO8crTUBUfBo5tmgqSI6Reb9bjnVrk/s1600/d.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgFwqmz4LHusKIaoeD3lSjmVmrBZRvXnymMIeEUVsoE3Q76ozQvyu7YhJ32vZVDLoHUBjNebad1F3_rYqiFEa1nEPJuoAJnzrG5Wa2w-DxoVkyYQO8crTUBUfBo5tmgqSI6Reb9bjnVrk/s320/d.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It was a small tribute that we all shared together. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHKg8KHNT3HynJRB9f54nxIBwyybtlf7UmkWqI_0t5pLXTDXJ9JjYRasVQANNuCpkVnioH7HavwFzongvoesg818wuAsF5CF-CK3HUFn_T68EkV2cNotjQnsDxklPwT1NSZGb9QvW6cg/s1600/sjk+balloon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHKg8KHNT3HynJRB9f54nxIBwyybtlf7UmkWqI_0t5pLXTDXJ9JjYRasVQANNuCpkVnioH7HavwFzongvoesg818wuAsF5CF-CK3HUFn_T68EkV2cNotjQnsDxklPwT1NSZGb9QvW6cg/s320/sjk+balloon.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKU7_1-xM1w9Our0Ok9uEsMghCi8pHbUGCdy5A5XNGfKHQoIouIjw4At7patxlxY8l_3fhChx44EdArOVkRAOUwfMoOZ48b9jh3dDcST62cbkEFFlUx5b-eszouLY8a4ZDm-GEhjNDlY8/s1600/jess+balloon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKU7_1-xM1w9Our0Ok9uEsMghCi8pHbUGCdy5A5XNGfKHQoIouIjw4At7patxlxY8l_3fhChx44EdArOVkRAOUwfMoOZ48b9jh3dDcST62cbkEFFlUx5b-eszouLY8a4ZDm-GEhjNDlY8/s320/jess+balloon.JPG" width="240" /></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/AVvXsEgx4G8yMqDqpk3MkJPvVTBUNb1YK7AHEgWgwPESEt1mi_pCjXwgoQSruC8suEQjZ-lVMYRCKxcnNFPMmf9XhPkp1ISarKVpckMGuyx6nWN43aOuT6JqQSTIAt3GLhpRF3sJwHdmBj1vMwA/s1600/another+balloon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4G8yMqDqpk3MkJPvVTBUNb1YK7AHEgWgwPESEt1mi_pCjXwgoQSruC8suEQjZ-lVMYRCKxcnNFPMmf9XhPkp1ISarKVpckMGuyx6nWN43aOuT6JqQSTIAt3GLhpRF3sJwHdmBj1vMwA/s320/another+balloon.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
David, Jessa, Spencer, and I had our own little party on earth celebrating one of the best people we all know in heaven.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday Poppy!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCBXQlvZ-iynhsbYUHrxAe_cshILasMF7cptjAZgBtFGJtn21Bmy4GWer3Q1jGI4AjDORSdld0nPUhoN7oSY_vjn4XwgCjpSUllc34D4CJlHsW8UNNAsGheDocy50fk36izNNJvoTPfo/s1600/j+and+s.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCBXQlvZ-iynhsbYUHrxAe_cshILasMF7cptjAZgBtFGJtn21Bmy4GWer3Q1jGI4AjDORSdld0nPUhoN7oSY_vjn4XwgCjpSUllc34D4CJlHsW8UNNAsGheDocy50fk36izNNJvoTPfo/s640/j+and+s.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>We miss you.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-7160907428544554932011-09-30T08:24:00.003-05:002011-09-30T20:29:40.651-05:0014 years ago today. . .<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">. . .standing on a bridge at the top of a waterfall in North Georgia,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I said YES!</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pmMifqODkMQD6a6duAYZTwZwyKO7CDvHFiTgeOAaL0wBp-PmLVn1IkvoXEnOdPswB22XYiDaRBpbudqOSOR63NnQwnfaMIVjhpI4ulIaJnpxlDK6g66EzDpJrmZW5GrYkguENtBDnQQ/s1600/amicalola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pmMifqODkMQD6a6duAYZTwZwyKO7CDvHFiTgeOAaL0wBp-PmLVn1IkvoXEnOdPswB22XYiDaRBpbudqOSOR63NnQwnfaMIVjhpI4ulIaJnpxlDK6g66EzDpJrmZW5GrYkguENtBDnQQ/s320/amicalola.jpg" width="145" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Amicalola Falls</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Engagement Day, D!</div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2824717530351055627.post-30120559381784205752011-09-28T08:00:00.000-05:002011-09-28T08:00:11.092-05:00Almost Wordless Wednesday<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We got Molly a new bed. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think she likes it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Well, maybe not the pillow part. . .</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlzoF54cs2g-RQBEckGCEjXnadNGChxQ8qlr3L91MITauHoU677Qxw1svtmItP5F6ZCHiRg8CnTBoIkLq93CbLul1A0mlc2OT1dl3PcuIi4BRqkHJBOYjP7IZ5mTVmANzNj52gwEnc1k/s1600/molly+bed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlzoF54cs2g-RQBEckGCEjXnadNGChxQ8qlr3L91MITauHoU677Qxw1svtmItP5F6ZCHiRg8CnTBoIkLq93CbLul1A0mlc2OT1dl3PcuIi4BRqkHJBOYjP7IZ5mTVmANzNj52gwEnc1k/s640/molly+bed.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGso7aa7vsonOToEdUaK86F1IWswyyzgx6KKLiE9gNR7EsyeJiXq0SqXsk-KavDQ2uTNFJT449QMclvXzRGENKxq28F-B5V8IrgWaDPMro_mDHhn3YvicJPFpFRVScDm1eC3rjH81O9sQ/s1600/no+pillow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGso7aa7vsonOToEdUaK86F1IWswyyzgx6KKLiE9gNR7EsyeJiXq0SqXsk-KavDQ2uTNFJT449QMclvXzRGENKxq28F-B5V8IrgWaDPMro_mDHhn3YvicJPFpFRVScDm1eC3rjH81O9sQ/s640/no+pillow.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85751/danajk/506464cb4b8b5af3a940097663532219.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>danajkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07262465137225394325noreply@blogger.com0