tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19964320647855025552024-03-13T19:39:21.836-07:00The Good LifeMary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-17326751494933480452011-08-04T13:27:00.000-07:002011-08-04T13:27:00.459-07:00I've Moved! The Blog, That Is...Scott helped me move the blog onto our home server, and I am cooking up some catch-up posts with actual photos. I know, it's been all text and no play. So check it out! The Good Life is now at <a href="http://www.scottnmary.com/">www.ScottnMary.com</a>. See you there!Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-89325711137833548572011-07-21T12:11:00.000-07:002011-07-21T12:11:36.005-07:00UpdatesOkay, so everything is changing at lightspeed right now. Which is ultimately okay, I am just trying to separate out what is good for our family, in regards to Scott's work, and what we just want to do (which is stay put). If I had to narrow down my goals in life to one tagline, it would be: Be Brave. I just want to be brave and have the courage to change, and live, and grow, and make the tough decisions. I want to be brave enough to choose love. I want to be strong enough to swallow my whining and do the work. I want to be brave and not run out and try to "save" other people when I am afraid. I want to be strong enough to drop the things that aren't important, or that do more harm than good. Be brave enough to make good choices, even when that is hard. <br />
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But sometimes figuring out what the right choices are is complicated, and deciding whether taking risks with Scott's job is brave or just childish is a tough one right now. It's also hard to know whether we are, in fact, taking big risks or simply doing the next right thing for us. No idea right now. <br />
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The job in San Diego is not really open yet, is what they are telling us. Scott's end date here and their start date leave a gap in the middle that needs filling. How we want to handle that is the current debate. We need to handle that gap with care, and the other people on Scott's team and their best interests are also in our hearts. We may not be able to jump on that opportunity at all, especially when you weigh it against perhaps being able to stay here (which is <em>such</em> a gamble), it all feels a little overwhelming.<br />
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I don't want this wavering over when we may need to relocate, or how, to stop me from changing the things I want to change. I want to move out of this house. I want to have another child. Those things are going to take huge amounts of work and stress, and I don't want this Hokey Pokey game with Scott's job to make us feel like we can't handle our life at home. Because ultimately, our family is first. So we either need to do the safe thing (which isn't our ideal choice) because it will lighten the stress on our personal life, or decide that we will take it on and be fine with whatever happens. Be brave enough to do the work (move with kids, deal with ambiguity and risk and toddlers) with the hope that we will get what we want out of it, which is to live here on the Central Coast. Or in San Diego.<br />
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Anyway, blah blah. The simple obvious truth is that I am severely tired. We will figure this out. The other update is that I am figuring out the blog and it will be up and functional with pictures, as soon as I get some time and energy back. It's in the works. <br />
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Think pretty-blog thoughts! Be back soon.<br />
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Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-2850591203867535592011-07-12T15:54:00.000-07:002011-07-12T15:54:34.164-07:00Ch-Ch ChangesChange is in the air. I am such a planner, I like to think I can only deal with change if I've prepared myself, and consequently, I am compelled to know every detail in advance. I've come to accept that this is neither realistic nor possible, but still. I can't help but get antsy anyway! Especially when you hear all of the open-ended, who-knows-maybe type of stuff we have going on. You will understand. Here are some of the changes bumping around my head.<br />
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<strong>1. Scott's Work Contract Ending</strong><br />
This is the biggie. Maybe I should have put it at the end, because the other things on my mind pale in comparison. To clarify, Scott's contract has been ending since he got the job six years ago. We have had one close call in the years past, where we thought we may need to relocate, but this is pretty serious. It's getting close to the end of the project that Scott works on, (close as in, early September) and the opportunities for more work coming to that site seem to be coming and going, with nothing really taking off. As much as we want to stay in the area, everyone knows that jobs around here, in Scott's field, are slim pickins. We were very blessed to find Lockheed and they are a great employer. So we just have to wait and see what happens. More work could be earmarked for the site here, or we may have to make a move- perhaps a drastic one. It's a strange time, but I'm kind of excited. I love my friends and I love my location, but we will just have to wait and see what's in store for us. I hate the wait and see part.<br />
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<strong>2. More Kids? When? </strong><br />
We go back and forth, haven't decided whether we want our kids close together, or farther apart. Pregnancy was no picnic for me, so as much as I want more kids and sometimes want them all in one batch- it's tough to actually pursue being pregnant again. No thanks. Can I have someone else do it? Scott is still mostly in a one-kid state of mind, but if/when he does want more, he wants me to carry them if possible. It's just another part of my life that will definitely change, but the timeline is up in the air. Fun.<br />
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<strong>3. We Need to Move</strong><br />
We have definitely grown out of this house and are itching to get into something with a more open living space and a less strange layout. Not to mention another bedroom would be greatly appreciated. It's a shame, though, as I really love our location. Driving down the hill to our house, the ocean is everywhere, it takes my breath away. I feel very attached to our little community and am hesitant to leave it, for any reason. But, we spend a lot of time at home, and it's just not going to work for us much longer. Plus, if we stay in the area, we could afford to live more comfortably just a few miles closer to where Scott works... if he still works there, of course.<br />
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<strong>4. Blog Changes</strong><br />
I have reached my photo maximum and have to figure out how to proceed. I can clean out my archives, but obviously that's a short term fix. I can switch to a new host, or host it myself, or I can try out the advertising thing, to try to pay for more space. I don't know but I need to talk it over with my technician (the hubban) and figure out an answer, but until then, no more photos. Boo. I know. I promise I will try to think fast, and I love to blog, so no fear of me disappearing. <br />
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Okay, all! Think good thoughts about me figuring out the answers to all these questions asap. Just because, I'd like to know now. Or at least sooner rather than later. Or... now.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-12735391493622852212011-07-09T21:13:00.000-07:002011-07-09T21:13:47.907-07:00Our Beautiful Growing Boy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlCxUtuXjP26wHOQ2oYqMpLbqq8mkqEKMnBnZplmqmIpa76n922JG5zt1T2N1O-0HTRmXCX-yjO2v9fXVBXwagtCNr_dxYgh5k1ABzoLIIpK4zurOjBeAyaS72-Ui3UqW55aei_6aUn3c/s1600/2011_07_09-151215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlCxUtuXjP26wHOQ2oYqMpLbqq8mkqEKMnBnZplmqmIpa76n922JG5zt1T2N1O-0HTRmXCX-yjO2v9fXVBXwagtCNr_dxYgh5k1ABzoLIIpK4zurOjBeAyaS72-Ui3UqW55aei_6aUn3c/s640/2011_07_09-151215.jpg" width="426" /></a></div> Happy Weekend! Just checking in with some photos that I love from this week. Ben has been up and down lately, mood swings all over the place. Sometimes he will sleep easily, wake happily and learn in leaps and bounds. Then there are days like today, where he wakes up crying and his patience is short for the rest of the day. He wants to walk and crawl now. A toy being just out of reach is enough to make him start crying. Poor kid.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvobbLINXizGsL6vtbBliyO6ogSVLxLdtlNL0YzexRYNRRbqzum5owql01PPTtgb5WEJW1dL-XeDL5lOyDJ60sQqSMHv-0Nk0SGFRNZxCIcsmQLnS86vhYUUYGmbhfFzF7kZ1qi8EFHSD/s1600/2011_07_08-172043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvobbLINXizGsL6vtbBliyO6ogSVLxLdtlNL0YzexRYNRRbqzum5owql01PPTtgb5WEJW1dL-XeDL5lOyDJ60sQqSMHv-0Nk0SGFRNZxCIcsmQLnS86vhYUUYGmbhfFzF7kZ1qi8EFHSD/s1600/2011_07_08-172043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvobbLINXizGsL6vtbBliyO6ogSVLxLdtlNL0YzexRYNRRbqzum5owql01PPTtgb5WEJW1dL-XeDL5lOyDJ60sQqSMHv-0Nk0SGFRNZxCIcsmQLnS86vhYUUYGmbhfFzF7kZ1qi8EFHSD/s640/2011_07_08-172043.jpg" width="640" /></a>One more beauty from swim class on Friday. Happy guys.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrEGIlXq8UF-WfirRCdCI-K-9CF9E8HN8E5bpb3a1qrFHtfggOv7UsdFqFA8hkZUL5LoUo9crVqtsw7MLZ7VCnzLgLuynksmi9loWDrOY336_7oCwaiCkUrXyzCISrzAavneYYP_ACeOG/s1600/2011_07_08-181741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrEGIlXq8UF-WfirRCdCI-K-9CF9E8HN8E5bpb3a1qrFHtfggOv7UsdFqFA8hkZUL5LoUo9crVqtsw7MLZ7VCnzLgLuynksmi9loWDrOY336_7oCwaiCkUrXyzCISrzAavneYYP_ACeOG/s1600/2011_07_08-181741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrEGIlXq8UF-WfirRCdCI-K-9CF9E8HN8E5bpb3a1qrFHtfggOv7UsdFqFA8hkZUL5LoUo9crVqtsw7MLZ7VCnzLgLuynksmi9loWDrOY336_7oCwaiCkUrXyzCISrzAavneYYP_ACeOG/s640/2011_07_08-181741.jpg" width="426" /></a>We went out to dinner for our fifth wedding anniversary last night. It was a beautiful dinner, at a restaurant posed right on a cliff in Shell Beach. We waited on the balcony, watching the waves crash into the rocks, talking about parenthood and whatever came to mind. Our table was in the middle of a wall of windows, where we could watch the sunset while we ate. It was sublime.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrisrgVlcFTUKEqIKxYNSyi4qUXl6jwhDb1mbgdbXfyenNIMWDWMRb4WTGnkLx4CKV_YGBZrU-Blm3Dx2I7SVwA_PA-qIkOa1hA_HQ_gcsdxAtEP731SRiPYeo3PmrlmYdQzU9vle_pc5K/s1600/2011_07_09-120742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrisrgVlcFTUKEqIKxYNSyi4qUXl6jwhDb1mbgdbXfyenNIMWDWMRb4WTGnkLx4CKV_YGBZrU-Blm3Dx2I7SVwA_PA-qIkOa1hA_HQ_gcsdxAtEP731SRiPYeo3PmrlmYdQzU9vle_pc5K/s1600/2011_07_09-120742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrisrgVlcFTUKEqIKxYNSyi4qUXl6jwhDb1mbgdbXfyenNIMWDWMRb4WTGnkLx4CKV_YGBZrU-Blm3Dx2I7SVwA_PA-qIkOa1hA_HQ_gcsdxAtEP731SRiPYeo3PmrlmYdQzU9vle_pc5K/s640/2011_07_09-120742.jpg" width="426" /></a>Geez I love this kid. Even when he is acting bipolar. Check it out- cheerful...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir1Dbl8DUc55hl45EE0Hh_2AIo-c2Mx-C-xKz-z0U9K0UoHvo6bTtFZHOqxcb9ncGo9ReHxhfGUl0iJabBczXHsXLourMCvr-f0QSyAx6G6ftnwGcM3Ea1JZsUOCfV7XVWE7CpitLLBHM-/s1600/2011_07_09-121441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir1Dbl8DUc55hl45EE0Hh_2AIo-c2Mx-C-xKz-z0U9K0UoHvo6bTtFZHOqxcb9ncGo9ReHxhfGUl0iJabBczXHsXLourMCvr-f0QSyAx6G6ftnwGcM3Ea1JZsUOCfV7XVWE7CpitLLBHM-/s1600/2011_07_09-121441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir1Dbl8DUc55hl45EE0Hh_2AIo-c2Mx-C-xKz-z0U9K0UoHvo6bTtFZHOqxcb9ncGo9ReHxhfGUl0iJabBczXHsXLourMCvr-f0QSyAx6G6ftnwGcM3Ea1JZsUOCfV7XVWE7CpitLLBHM-/s640/2011_07_09-121441.jpg" width="640" /></a>Pouty. Two seconds flat.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38hzmvdbSPUY71nhkqMFij4PRBmr03t72jW18waWt8hKmC2KDFoiSeq2VhhinEZVJbJpmQ9moxMQpwctC48ua7LqqYb8DskJEaFAnJ0xLSOtx5wBdDeQWlGOkfSRmGHrndhgK1L1polnF/s1600/2011_07_07-114101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38hzmvdbSPUY71nhkqMFij4PRBmr03t72jW18waWt8hKmC2KDFoiSeq2VhhinEZVJbJpmQ9moxMQpwctC48ua7LqqYb8DskJEaFAnJ0xLSOtx5wBdDeQWlGOkfSRmGHrndhgK1L1polnF/s1600/2011_07_07-114101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38hzmvdbSPUY71nhkqMFij4PRBmr03t72jW18waWt8hKmC2KDFoiSeq2VhhinEZVJbJpmQ9moxMQpwctC48ua7LqqYb8DskJEaFAnJ0xLSOtx5wBdDeQWlGOkfSRmGHrndhgK1L1polnF/s640/2011_07_07-114101.jpg" width="640" /></a>These are some shots of last week's Super Baby Squad play date, at Colleen's cute house. It is so great meeting up with them every week, I think I would go crazy without Ben and I spending some time with our friends. Especially a nice big group. Amazing food doesn't hurt, either!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5yV09wKlInusbNKIfpkvKf94uHQW8DdtLPDl9nz2suuhcWGW0zPFlpgAI7ED9W8L-eMm1Dcmdc0JdHPL-vERGzUEJ7n1l3UG2r7Jl4fYN9OLbXwtZQ8ifSOWTt3OOk56CPz3mWsleimE/s1600/2011_07_07-113919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5yV09wKlInusbNKIfpkvKf94uHQW8DdtLPDl9nz2suuhcWGW0zPFlpgAI7ED9W8L-eMm1Dcmdc0JdHPL-vERGzUEJ7n1l3UG2r7Jl4fYN9OLbXwtZQ8ifSOWTt3OOk56CPz3mWsleimE/s1600/2011_07_07-113919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5yV09wKlInusbNKIfpkvKf94uHQW8DdtLPDl9nz2suuhcWGW0zPFlpgAI7ED9W8L-eMm1Dcmdc0JdHPL-vERGzUEJ7n1l3UG2r7Jl4fYN9OLbXwtZQ8ifSOWTt3OOk56CPz3mWsleimE/s640/2011_07_07-113919.jpg" width="640" /></a>Niccole and Landon<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaARezC1Vqztk_YkirSSTI7zevlDF3yF1XGkPepqw_1PyGriBp9x1zhPbnq8Gl5GQn5BQUgsB5u2P_ahyphenhypheneIRS_SjREJQ7qGDnI5guuT0UmXUT_iuI8OFp0wvt9MqPr8ZdltJdwEl4dILA5/s1600/2011_07_07-113953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaARezC1Vqztk_YkirSSTI7zevlDF3yF1XGkPepqw_1PyGriBp9x1zhPbnq8Gl5GQn5BQUgsB5u2P_ahyphenhypheneIRS_SjREJQ7qGDnI5guuT0UmXUT_iuI8OFp0wvt9MqPr8ZdltJdwEl4dILA5/s1600/2011_07_07-113953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaARezC1Vqztk_YkirSSTI7zevlDF3yF1XGkPepqw_1PyGriBp9x1zhPbnq8Gl5GQn5BQUgsB5u2P_ahyphenhypheneIRS_SjREJQ7qGDnI5guuT0UmXUT_iuI8OFp0wvt9MqPr8ZdltJdwEl4dILA5/s640/2011_07_07-113953.jpg" width="640" /></a>Elena and Julie... and a gaggle of babies.<br />
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Scott and I are in bed, watching X-Men 2. Can you believe I can blog at the same time? Probably because it is scaring the heck out of me. In a good way, though. My sister is on her way to visit right now, I'm so excited to see her! Scott is taking care of the boy tomorrow (he golfed all day today)- what do you think we should do?Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-38869620945532439932011-07-09T07:52:00.000-07:002011-07-09T07:52:57.751-07:00Top Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rlJxQo76lQR88KeldB25zgRK3YO6T073TihZ3zwXon-0sV5xNjhml5X85eanTNtgvi3Da6Wq09n7QQzsE00oAVuq9aUzWJecZbnNfvCedULKano76hoGhGgNVVN5Y7RmiQ-d0eZEchej/s1600/get+your+own+table+top+three+july.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rlJxQo76lQR88KeldB25zgRK3YO6T073TihZ3zwXon-0sV5xNjhml5X85eanTNtgvi3Da6Wq09n7QQzsE00oAVuq9aUzWJecZbnNfvCedULKano76hoGhGgNVVN5Y7RmiQ-d0eZEchej/s640/get+your+own+table+top+three+july.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<strong>Strange thoughts while feeding Ben:</strong><br />
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<strong>1.</strong> So glad we accidentally bought a real wood table. Because Ben likes to chew on it. I hope they also accidentally used a lead-free stain. No seriously, I can't get him to stop trying to eat the table.<br />
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<strong>2.</strong> Scott was opening jar after jar of baby food, when Ben was especially ravenous (and I hadn't cooked), and he commented that he may as well be feeding him one dollar bills. Maybe one dollar bills coated in sweet potato.<br />
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<strong>3.</strong> So this morning I started singing "Forever Young" in my head while I was getting ready to feed Ben. To answer your burning question, I have no idea if it was the original or the remix because I was just singing the chorus over and over again. After breakfast I turned on 30 Rock and they started playing the song- so clearly, I am now psychic. Probably not in a way that is useful.<br />
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<strong>Actions that have led to my obvious feelings of superior intelligence:</strong><br />
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<strong>1.</strong> <strong>Choosing a new carseat with care.</strong> This kind of attention to detail is important. It ensures that his next carseat will include a cup holder. However, it does not ensure that the carseat that you had shipped to your house will be able to be installed rear-facing. Extra points if you are informed of this by the police officer attempting to install it in your car. Nice.<br />
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<strong>2. Choosing age appropriate products for my child. </strong>We have a bunch of level one nipples and <strong>one</strong> level two nipple for Ben. One day it took so long for Ben to drink his bottle that he just plain gave up. Not ever thinking about this we finally looked it up and realized that for his age he should be using a level four. We got about six of them, loaded one up, and he immediately drowned his own eyeball in milk. Hmm. Back to our single #2. We use it for every bottle. I could probably go to the store and buy more.<br />
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<strong>3.</strong> <strong>"Home" Making.</strong> We have the "water guy" (water softener) and the gardeners (a new and much appreciated addition). They both come on Thursdays. However, we can't figure out which Thursdays are which, and for whom. There is more than one morning I went running down the stairs without so much as throwing a robe on, to unlock the garage door just in time for the water guy. The first month we had the gardeners, we called them, all concerned that they didn't show that day. Their response was... they came <em>last</em> week. Seriously. It's a good thing the biggest thing I have to manage is a house.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-48092662985914809672011-07-08T06:00:00.000-07:002011-07-08T07:58:18.757-07:00Marital Bliss Times Five<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIaUafBZegoaIYfInVeR37veGf6p8_3xqEMiAzRrGYnq1PvzYswl1XL7iQOJUA55f2FAJ8OZWEYrodkTl6aVBmrbYfF5m42jno0mnIrUAqUDPSEmx-UsVr3waGPB_J7UJ7KbmqvQ05WEQO/s1600/thanksgiving..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIaUafBZegoaIYfInVeR37veGf6p8_3xqEMiAzRrGYnq1PvzYswl1XL7iQOJUA55f2FAJ8OZWEYrodkTl6aVBmrbYfF5m42jno0mnIrUAqUDPSEmx-UsVr3waGPB_J7UJ7KbmqvQ05WEQO/s640/thanksgiving..JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From the beginning he put me first. We are a team. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_slSamPVP9TDIaPE6iNbEODrvmau4_qhLk_cb7-1YPD5Pdv_Bg4YKIQTrYlb_uN_fiQwZvhRGxWTcUXIH-g0ZvIThpoOaAmW_qClpqz6TXvIM3DIJjcej3MF7hBTjlW5SCYpBxIgQU7d/s1600/2004_0507AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_slSamPVP9TDIaPE6iNbEODrvmau4_qhLk_cb7-1YPD5Pdv_Bg4YKIQTrYlb_uN_fiQwZvhRGxWTcUXIH-g0ZvIThpoOaAmW_qClpqz6TXvIM3DIJjcej3MF7hBTjlW5SCYpBxIgQU7d/s640/2004_0507AA.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> He is hilarious. Every so often he will say something when the room has fallen quiet that sets us all laughing. Especially at home, he is always cracking me up. He has a special talent for poking fun at the wife, I think that's where he gets his best material.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7PQpeBowehrUyKWdGE3F5NbsgHXws5iLsay9s7Ax2yG4g9ASLxJrFVkXENMwaAa_cUSZ0PPQC5laqJnf1jmbx6gzizAMOADHpB95oaUGYNB9obEWPnB0X0Np2KNUk9xObNbCCySzZHSJ/s1600/2006_0708_153702AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7PQpeBowehrUyKWdGE3F5NbsgHXws5iLsay9s7Ax2yG4g9ASLxJrFVkXENMwaAa_cUSZ0PPQC5laqJnf1jmbx6gzizAMOADHpB95oaUGYNB9obEWPnB0X0Np2KNUk9xObNbCCySzZHSJ/s640/2006_0708_153702AA.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">copyright Apps Photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table>He likes to cuddle with me even though he says I'm like a heater. The only part of him that ever gets cold are his feet.<br />
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He says the best part of being a Dad is the cuddling. He likes to take naps with Ben on the couch.<br />
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I love that he had details he wanted when it came to our wedding. He wanted me in a big white dress, he wanted a veil. See more about that in <a href="http://scottnmary.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-do-i-really-really-do.html">my big wedding post</a>. <br />
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I love that he chose the song for our first dance as husband and wife. We didn't have a song that was significant to us when we were dating. Broken Road by Rascal Flatts came on the radio one night as he was heading home from work and he said it made him think of us. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDMOaZlprdUrv0_drRqhyphenhyphenoJPdyOJVO4hyPTZQnW2R-bU0KDfFkWd0LSmw3ZgFcDrp504d_-k1STVliXrm1RIFV4WPE73KC3QAN4yF6Lrtt1HvjZzFNizPh3BCmVuJzfNau-Pa05C4K0j0/s1600/2008_0519_122942AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDMOaZlprdUrv0_drRqhyphenhyphenoJPdyOJVO4hyPTZQnW2R-bU0KDfFkWd0LSmw3ZgFcDrp504d_-k1STVliXrm1RIFV4WPE73KC3QAN4yF6Lrtt1HvjZzFNizPh3BCmVuJzfNau-Pa05C4K0j0/s1600/2008_0519_122942AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDMOaZlprdUrv0_drRqhyphenhyphenoJPdyOJVO4hyPTZQnW2R-bU0KDfFkWd0LSmw3ZgFcDrp504d_-k1STVliXrm1RIFV4WPE73KC3QAN4yF6Lrtt1HvjZzFNizPh3BCmVuJzfNau-Pa05C4K0j0/s640/2008_0519_122942AA.JPG" width="640" /></a>I love travelling with him. I just love that he always remembers things that I forget, and has a talent for noticing details and checking things in advance. He just makes everything that much easier. We both like the same kind of travel- a little bit of planning and a lot of flexibility. Scotland and Ireland, that was an epic adventure. We had such a great time together and saw so much. In addition to being crazy for each other, we truly are great friends.<br />
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<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhmIpCuJLCQpSKapU2dMfSLXNSAXpiTz-t35yqXsHRX7ImHYw6aMFq0FhZYFB_GzOMdJmLeZ2iy9lXuF6PMtPwjWm9A7Y0405yjCWVLtwzx1shPZLDr2mt4kmORO1dcw4h2Lvh_9Sy4TK/s1600/IMG00001-20090704-2009.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/AVvXsEhEhmIpCuJLCQpSKapU2dMfSLXNSAXpiTz-t35yqXsHRX7ImHYw6aMFq0FhZYFB_GzOMdJmLeZ2iy9lXuF6PMtPwjWm9A7Y0405yjCWVLtwzx1shPZLDr2mt4kmORO1dcw4h2Lvh_9Sy4TK/s400/IMG00001-20090704-2009.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Fourth of July in DC can't be beat. I love that we were both as excited as a couple of fifth graders to be up on a roof in DC watching fireworks. There was even ice cream! Ryan Yates may as well have been a movie star, the doors he was opening for us that night. So much fun. <br />
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Plus, I love that before we had kids, and we would stay with friends- he would play with their kids, and jumps in to help. He will read to them, help them get their shoes on, play made-up games with them, whatever. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">copyright Dan Shaw Photography</td></tr>
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I love that we have a system for shutting down the house when we go to bed. Hehe, yes, really. There are a sequence of lights that are turned on and off in a particular order, doors locked, things gathered. If he is first into the bedroom he never remembers to turn on his lamp, but that's alright. It's pretty ridiculous that we go climb in bed together at the same exact time and wait for the other person to finish what they are working on so we can turn out the lights and cuddle up together, too. I love it, it's cute.<br />
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Getting pregnant- now that was a challenge. I am so proud of us for getting through that with very little strain on our relationship. It's a heavy thing to go through and I know there are strong bonds out there that have been battered and broken by infertility. It was tough but it made us stronger and ultimately, happier. We learned a lot from that journey and Ben is such a sweet reward.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWYWsr5bE8ouhI6uhZkbCIe39p5o8dxVqz3frZGWfA39KWMmbNxcv01YcGBraSpzKu1eTZ3Hzt1y0unnh3kZtf_QOTOn-n7zoQWqc0LnigGmtxXwlvRKQeXRMgCcnKcVQEk2-Ay2qOo6y/s1600/2010_09_04-082136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWYWsr5bE8ouhI6uhZkbCIe39p5o8dxVqz3frZGWfA39KWMmbNxcv01YcGBraSpzKu1eTZ3Hzt1y0unnh3kZtf_QOTOn-n7zoQWqc0LnigGmtxXwlvRKQeXRMgCcnKcVQEk2-Ay2qOo6y/s640/2010_09_04-082136.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMNL0jM2oNan9FJiweiBTr97SyOGP_LZ_PeQbouQYce7d1Kao5B6fzAdnKwqav6sj2egHHgJLYnWyc-KEQXdDOM5_z4cHQGUmE_StHqW4a-4WgtNqyogJ3gU6AU5kqu90XEnuIcX6wE-0/s1600/thomas_family-108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMNL0jM2oNan9FJiweiBTr97SyOGP_LZ_PeQbouQYce7d1Kao5B6fzAdnKwqav6sj2egHHgJLYnWyc-KEQXdDOM5_z4cHQGUmE_StHqW4a-4WgtNqyogJ3gU6AU5kqu90XEnuIcX6wE-0/s640/thomas_family-108.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">copyright Dan Shaw Photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I love that he sings to our baby.<br />
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I love that he takes care of the cats and gives them medicine when they need it.<br />
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I love that he can take care of Ben for an entire weekend with no fear if needed. <br />
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I love that I can tell him absolutely anything. Anything.<br />
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Happy Anniversary, Babe. Five more seems easy. A lifetime doesn't sound long enough.<br />
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<strong>This is our happily ever after.</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKxeR0YIJ06n7xudKJ5P4jBFcBcF7YIYEpFKC4zr1_NSojAHCM53ogmwJEdh70X_3Ph0ZeBTw-y3j0kvL__qMFnIYD4vYzsNbhwl0fL1Hmmzz0Jvp6LKTNWNN2uDhAuDOXzBfuMAsInJF/s1600/thomas_family-125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKxeR0YIJ06n7xudKJ5P4jBFcBcF7YIYEpFKC4zr1_NSojAHCM53ogmwJEdh70X_3Ph0ZeBTw-y3j0kvL__qMFnIYD4vYzsNbhwl0fL1Hmmzz0Jvp6LKTNWNN2uDhAuDOXzBfuMAsInJF/s640/thomas_family-125.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">copyright Dan Shaw Photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-39735337496731856372011-07-07T19:29:00.000-07:002011-07-07T19:29:45.703-07:00Happy Summer!I hope you guys are out and about in this gorgeous weather! Well, it's gorgeous here, anyway. The perfect temperature for shorts or a skirt, the skies are clear, even here at the beach! I think I may get a book or something and take Ben to the beach. Who knows, maybe I can get some friends to go with me.<br />
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In honor of summer, I thought I would include some photos from swim class that I took last week. The batteries ran out just before class started, which was a bummer, but I still got some cute ones. I was in such a foul mood right before we left, but seeing how happy Ben and Scott are at swim class never fails to have me back to my chipper self in no time. It's so stinkin' cute, all those babies flapping and splashing around. It would make anybody happier. It's like petting puppies in a pet store. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXq7a7sqTp8pZ-sqb_lT_ggYiGJsZpQeyfRLLabgIZzsxYvQMMymrcVEDYKEooderUsq1gcQfmkTrjm1s5DzX8I8QVCx3ZRKK9pqBmJ_372ziWCGu6CGp8S3Fs6rVT8raTH96d93cL3L5u/s1600/2011_07_01-170352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXq7a7sqTp8pZ-sqb_lT_ggYiGJsZpQeyfRLLabgIZzsxYvQMMymrcVEDYKEooderUsq1gcQfmkTrjm1s5DzX8I8QVCx3ZRKK9pqBmJ_372ziWCGu6CGp8S3Fs6rVT8raTH96d93cL3L5u/s640/2011_07_01-170352.jpg" width="426" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtJKLKsiHvf-0LngRCfm9kWdL1a5iamgTmtLJO9D_y9URvJU7QoVes2K_rp33YZDnykpEFq16Fwn2Xj_wrzSc2rgWjvOIvKqli9__FYIiWSGbcAp26Pf5oRkgZjBb_eHSAm8ctpRrNBNJ/s1600/2011_07_01-170423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtJKLKsiHvf-0LngRCfm9kWdL1a5iamgTmtLJO9D_y9URvJU7QoVes2K_rp33YZDnykpEFq16Fwn2Xj_wrzSc2rgWjvOIvKqli9__FYIiWSGbcAp26Pf5oRkgZjBb_eHSAm8ctpRrNBNJ/s640/2011_07_01-170423.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDb4owcCfM-Y_aVYkGzC9WFnL9LWJMRbEYtRGFhU65JrXncWVj_5GnKLtJBhylIca5d0-bguO_rXK_3MtSTV04taOBAY6CjeU-C9EGJM3Cbg8LH-pdtMPZ_DGp5FA1oYidnZpSbU2MDv5/s1600/2011_07_01-170429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDb4owcCfM-Y_aVYkGzC9WFnL9LWJMRbEYtRGFhU65JrXncWVj_5GnKLtJBhylIca5d0-bguO_rXK_3MtSTV04taOBAY6CjeU-C9EGJM3Cbg8LH-pdtMPZ_DGp5FA1oYidnZpSbU2MDv5/s1600/2011_07_01-170429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDb4owcCfM-Y_aVYkGzC9WFnL9LWJMRbEYtRGFhU65JrXncWVj_5GnKLtJBhylIca5d0-bguO_rXK_3MtSTV04taOBAY6CjeU-C9EGJM3Cbg8LH-pdtMPZ_DGp5FA1oYidnZpSbU2MDv5/s640/2011_07_01-170429.jpg" width="640" /></a>I think its so adorable how amped up he gets right before he "jumps" in. Arms out to his sides like airplane wings, jaw clenched, everything quivering with excitement and anticipation, and then, when Daddy says three.... squinch face!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrVUYkyugauGZrr0iv8LI9OHQzwApNbcsVFdC1mq4arNK7EOlyKgcYNfgQbMZd0gpUXzNM37jOs7vFRsAQg_Kcd6TjY8iscNGhyUk9R0Ceebc-pncYyPGNDAbOjBJ4niBPKGBMe3FkWQA/s1600/2011_07_01-170601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrVUYkyugauGZrr0iv8LI9OHQzwApNbcsVFdC1mq4arNK7EOlyKgcYNfgQbMZd0gpUXzNM37jOs7vFRsAQg_Kcd6TjY8iscNGhyUk9R0Ceebc-pncYyPGNDAbOjBJ4niBPKGBMe3FkWQA/s640/2011_07_01-170601.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2F7XoCU4RHwHYJ6D0baW_DoI_M-Efq_TNf2mazlTMfh8OrJDfJEwYP-9VfYSSdAL_cC_AGE5b5E316YZzHXSbseBR7UXOldtilakFDL46SPXcP5wd8YN44GiRHOyMu33einThy8TwRDRy/s1600/2011_07_01-170602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2F7XoCU4RHwHYJ6D0baW_DoI_M-Efq_TNf2mazlTMfh8OrJDfJEwYP-9VfYSSdAL_cC_AGE5b5E316YZzHXSbseBR7UXOldtilakFDL46SPXcP5wd8YN44GiRHOyMu33einThy8TwRDRy/s640/2011_07_01-170602.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRaWxgxjYwZuSIIQAbw-xFGs8ROC8GgevobzootL5U2nlQlbfCC_vihaNbbrwvRXjLWRU3KMCjNtSRrmcft4j4ytCO4OWfyEwXk6B2j9f68overm7XHIFD-2Mf9_pAq82Niz8ebHrbhWK/s1600/2011_07_01-170603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRaWxgxjYwZuSIIQAbw-xFGs8ROC8GgevobzootL5U2nlQlbfCC_vihaNbbrwvRXjLWRU3KMCjNtSRrmcft4j4ytCO4OWfyEwXk6B2j9f68overm7XHIFD-2Mf9_pAq82Niz8ebHrbhWK/s1600/2011_07_01-170603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRaWxgxjYwZuSIIQAbw-xFGs8ROC8GgevobzootL5U2nlQlbfCC_vihaNbbrwvRXjLWRU3KMCjNtSRrmcft4j4ytCO4OWfyEwXk6B2j9f68overm7XHIFD-2Mf9_pAq82Niz8ebHrbhWK/s640/2011_07_01-170603.jpg" width="640" /></a>Whew! Fun! They do this over and over throughout the swim lesson, and he loves it. It's pretty amazing to watch him go underwater and blink off the water like it's no big thang. What a big boy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dNPhJmRpnSs72RDisFiE3kpg3jnFZTLNEz8F2SX19yv_kDFPTW5ed30M5q3G4DVs8G2CHR3f0bNy24DgwmLr8Nd_vjewMF0pM4YIR6plktx6keSszT67olK1DPbYVPG93BDt6ME56kaR/s1600/2011_07_04-135507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dNPhJmRpnSs72RDisFiE3kpg3jnFZTLNEz8F2SX19yv_kDFPTW5ed30M5q3G4DVs8G2CHR3f0bNy24DgwmLr8Nd_vjewMF0pM4YIR6plktx6keSszT67olK1DPbYVPG93BDt6ME56kaR/s1600/2011_07_04-135507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dNPhJmRpnSs72RDisFiE3kpg3jnFZTLNEz8F2SX19yv_kDFPTW5ed30M5q3G4DVs8G2CHR3f0bNy24DgwmLr8Nd_vjewMF0pM4YIR6plktx6keSszT67olK1DPbYVPG93BDt6ME56kaR/s640/2011_07_04-135507.jpg" width="640" /></a>Speaking of, this big boy just turned ten months old. He is so darn cute. He can pull up and cruise all over the living room. It won't be long now before he is toddling around getting into everything. He has special interest in things with sharp corners. Yippee.<br />
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</div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-60979951582642948412011-07-01T20:01:00.000-07:002011-07-01T22:02:33.113-07:00Five Years Ago...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKFkMxz6dQUAqyzwteYsCGqxZ-yqNOAClZBDPG-rdREUp9jOSoaoBAtXWkuKCYk9K9rQb8KpQja6XzSPgeBZa6R2ETtlwMDax2Q8L68f2I3Bqz0I2hyhGpbxi7EPk3R2e1U5lwYLWqB6l/s1600/2006_0616_150637AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKFkMxz6dQUAqyzwteYsCGqxZ-yqNOAClZBDPG-rdREUp9jOSoaoBAtXWkuKCYk9K9rQb8KpQja6XzSPgeBZa6R2ETtlwMDax2Q8L68f2I3Bqz0I2hyhGpbxi7EPk3R2e1U5lwYLWqB6l/s640/2006_0616_150637AA.JPG" width="510" /></a>My sister graduated from highschool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv54rFdyNwvgWMYTGivMBMf0JkS_gYg8P87aB0mSSh7te9KsH48Dg0_j0CSjso9HEw0PNvsAtRC6GmNbX1J7NxZpAtz_Te2AW9lqVCG-fX9mgPjH7TzjoybwPVKQyVYEMM4hdcfg7tA8BD/s1600/2006_0616_170610AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv54rFdyNwvgWMYTGivMBMf0JkS_gYg8P87aB0mSSh7te9KsH48Dg0_j0CSjso9HEw0PNvsAtRC6GmNbX1J7NxZpAtz_Te2AW9lqVCG-fX9mgPjH7TzjoybwPVKQyVYEMM4hdcfg7tA8BD/s1600/2006_0616_170610AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv54rFdyNwvgWMYTGivMBMf0JkS_gYg8P87aB0mSSh7te9KsH48Dg0_j0CSjso9HEw0PNvsAtRC6GmNbX1J7NxZpAtz_Te2AW9lqVCG-fX9mgPjH7TzjoybwPVKQyVYEMM4hdcfg7tA8BD/s640/2006_0616_170610AA.JPG" width="480" /></a>I was so proud. She has since finished her bachelor's degree and half of her graduate degree. In just five years. Unbelievable.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJz8IRbOuvEtRPpEeDlx-Z406s5enwF8BKYt64HV4UQSKwNK6-yVcMcy7q0Kom-kuMNwmqDElTdOkUClyKhYsqaMO0AZhTxMeYlK-z4_EXYAJyCDZ1aX9g5bPLAUyFgqJ2qMw1XyXp4CyF/s1600/aba.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJz8IRbOuvEtRPpEeDlx-Z406s5enwF8BKYt64HV4UQSKwNK6-yVcMcy7q0Kom-kuMNwmqDElTdOkUClyKhYsqaMO0AZhTxMeYlK-z4_EXYAJyCDZ1aX9g5bPLAUyFgqJ2qMw1XyXp4CyF/s1600/aba.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJz8IRbOuvEtRPpEeDlx-Z406s5enwF8BKYt64HV4UQSKwNK6-yVcMcy7q0Kom-kuMNwmqDElTdOkUClyKhYsqaMO0AZhTxMeYlK-z4_EXYAJyCDZ1aX9g5bPLAUyFgqJ2qMw1XyXp4CyF/s640/aba.JPG" width="640" /></a>Five years ago I had the most amazing bachelorette weekend in Lake Tahoe. Epic.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Five years ago we bought our house. We've since redone the front yard, but the rest is still home sweet home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ArckVyE-gS2PCjD5sDdMEkRNckk_Dg7OVbpmhztcD4dU1LAQauMgucuFpAHXrz7KIps2ORuPDAj9oxHw8Nf-FO5qy6zHTdPqC9di2O-vJ6ck3Fd2U8dSz6c6Z0nsulg4xz1T9wb2qfy1/s1600/2006_0708_162823AA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ArckVyE-gS2PCjD5sDdMEkRNckk_Dg7OVbpmhztcD4dU1LAQauMgucuFpAHXrz7KIps2ORuPDAj9oxHw8Nf-FO5qy6zHTdPqC9di2O-vJ6ck3Fd2U8dSz6c6Z0nsulg4xz1T9wb2qfy1/s640/2006_0708_162823AA.JPG" width="428" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">And five years ago, we got married. It was a very busy and wonderful year, and I think about it all the time...</div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-26951042038884771752011-06-30T08:20:00.000-07:002011-06-30T08:20:07.699-07:00It's a Simple LifeIt's been pretty quiet around here, and for the most part we have just been hangin at home, solidifying a routine and trying to get into the habit of being active every day. So, I am working on a <a href="http://scottnmary.blogspot.com/search/label/top%20three">Top Three</a> for July, but in the meantime, I thought I would update you on our latest photos and happenings:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizAa6CuGo7-d2hMg8-ufp3Tbt_Z_VWXb5oCXW735b29lLnWscPiovQqmM6fZkGGHYw2BYdkdZUHMeyFrZUopG2BgjtZ0906vwW7lwGlLnB4F39smQagaE90moThi7BfXaQPGbZzPSklbj/s1600/2011_06_13-075800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizAa6CuGo7-d2hMg8-ufp3Tbt_Z_VWXb5oCXW735b29lLnWscPiovQqmM6fZkGGHYw2BYdkdZUHMeyFrZUopG2BgjtZ0906vwW7lwGlLnB4F39smQagaE90moThi7BfXaQPGbZzPSklbj/s640/2011_06_13-075800.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56Ln97S1JfLHKfaKkNjPTMPlp02yWb7tOxUVE7i1FMD4wpq_sXcWPawBDHzcNteH-3xniLkbeBISNd6-pFhUVpeQr6bi8w0oe2obR3zg3sHb7NgA-uZw7DMB0vEyVCgZI2tINPqGvDTBL/s1600/2011_06_13-084952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56Ln97S1JfLHKfaKkNjPTMPlp02yWb7tOxUVE7i1FMD4wpq_sXcWPawBDHzcNteH-3xniLkbeBISNd6-pFhUVpeQr6bi8w0oe2obR3zg3sHb7NgA-uZw7DMB0vEyVCgZI2tINPqGvDTBL/s1600/2011_06_13-084952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56Ln97S1JfLHKfaKkNjPTMPlp02yWb7tOxUVE7i1FMD4wpq_sXcWPawBDHzcNteH-3xniLkbeBISNd6-pFhUVpeQr6bi8w0oe2obR3zg3sHb7NgA-uZw7DMB0vEyVCgZI2tINPqGvDTBL/s640/2011_06_13-084952.jpg" width="640" /></a>I've been a little obsessed with these rise overnight TJ's croissants, don't they look yummy? I couldn't wait, I ate one before I even grabbed the camera.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipggnUvWmRUHWFRWgVxjZn5WV0sonP3PdwJz7zy5ymupuzCxij7csoMsA-Bm8t2WdQd7mLeX4ahsSma87edZQZCT09aVCw4bQBaBIjwTgILbK4hzi_VqwHfY4ioV9uqk6S_tjEC_tuakzW/s1600/2011_06_13-140310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipggnUvWmRUHWFRWgVxjZn5WV0sonP3PdwJz7zy5ymupuzCxij7csoMsA-Bm8t2WdQd7mLeX4ahsSma87edZQZCT09aVCw4bQBaBIjwTgILbK4hzi_VqwHfY4ioV9uqk6S_tjEC_tuakzW/s1600/2011_06_13-140310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipggnUvWmRUHWFRWgVxjZn5WV0sonP3PdwJz7zy5ymupuzCxij7csoMsA-Bm8t2WdQd7mLeX4ahsSma87edZQZCT09aVCw4bQBaBIjwTgILbK4hzi_VqwHfY4ioV9uqk6S_tjEC_tuakzW/s640/2011_06_13-140310.jpg" width="640" /></a>I love these faces he makes, they are just hysterical!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-QKgG3_a_-tBXVIdbkdoWs_V8kJq3P0orVoJbiO3zM1WMFoFE5LRm-jM64pkbjLGC98uwnL7tOLFa9GFfHyfuaKimnYr0x7Dr-c66ypnCxyXbnWJsPIdIlYGKC0cKz90aLMYMv26aaQQ8/s1600/2011_06_23-081256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-QKgG3_a_-tBXVIdbkdoWs_V8kJq3P0orVoJbiO3zM1WMFoFE5LRm-jM64pkbjLGC98uwnL7tOLFa9GFfHyfuaKimnYr0x7Dr-c66ypnCxyXbnWJsPIdIlYGKC0cKz90aLMYMv26aaQQ8/s1600/2011_06_23-081256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-QKgG3_a_-tBXVIdbkdoWs_V8kJq3P0orVoJbiO3zM1WMFoFE5LRm-jM64pkbjLGC98uwnL7tOLFa9GFfHyfuaKimnYr0x7Dr-c66ypnCxyXbnWJsPIdIlYGKC0cKz90aLMYMv26aaQQ8/s640/2011_06_23-081256.jpg" width="426" /></a>On a beautiful morning last week, Ben just didn't want to say goodbye to Daddy. When he walked away from his crib that morning, he cried out for him! When Scott left for work, I opened up the front door so that he could watch him pull away.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqwLwmFw3qdKtH4CgT8BkZ5e5Vhe-5pqWkcWVi_fSAgyAruhkCCqXNEMlWuaWP5JgEVkgw20WoD0ivwxeauUui7NooDvz8737n9OFuV_K3aG3qjd5HZADyO633hIyXgaRwCxMEWFFKg84/s1600/2011_06_23-081420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqwLwmFw3qdKtH4CgT8BkZ5e5Vhe-5pqWkcWVi_fSAgyAruhkCCqXNEMlWuaWP5JgEVkgw20WoD0ivwxeauUui7NooDvz8737n9OFuV_K3aG3qjd5HZADyO633hIyXgaRwCxMEWFFKg84/s640/2011_06_23-081420.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXhUZRtcNL0zymK3MZHkRmFKMuWacTxoIoFsZp7fWA3kHAe9Ni1UMtnfIT-z0ekW-RHyXC397hkZoNZ_ubs7pLcpBWWDgi4w_AV6nlpX__xTcIWHV1WWo-Pr-8XWVdp4MWrBsn-W5Hnk8/s1600/2011_06_23-080810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXhUZRtcNL0zymK3MZHkRmFKMuWacTxoIoFsZp7fWA3kHAe9Ni1UMtnfIT-z0ekW-RHyXC397hkZoNZ_ubs7pLcpBWWDgi4w_AV6nlpX__xTcIWHV1WWo-Pr-8XWVdp4MWrBsn-W5Hnk8/s1600/2011_06_23-080810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXhUZRtcNL0zymK3MZHkRmFKMuWacTxoIoFsZp7fWA3kHAe9Ni1UMtnfIT-z0ekW-RHyXC397hkZoNZ_ubs7pLcpBWWDgi4w_AV6nlpX__xTcIWHV1WWo-Pr-8XWVdp4MWrBsn-W5Hnk8/s640/2011_06_23-080810.jpg" width="640" /></a>And then he waved goodbye! So sweet. I wish Scott could have seen it. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdUY6Oo5GGzLwKJF8uSJo8ebOY7zwkPwEURy6Oh33yoJ3j-AzjCTcIGoaI5JK4hGst2HUPZAWYnYzYB46kEOS4KHwbXGc6vA3mQ-Pqfv8VjlB29EkRC7KctUrPdyn_FZCFOPqBIiHFdSe/s1600/2011_06_23-132746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdUY6Oo5GGzLwKJF8uSJo8ebOY7zwkPwEURy6Oh33yoJ3j-AzjCTcIGoaI5JK4hGst2HUPZAWYnYzYB46kEOS4KHwbXGc6vA3mQ-Pqfv8VjlB29EkRC7KctUrPdyn_FZCFOPqBIiHFdSe/s1600/2011_06_23-132746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdUY6Oo5GGzLwKJF8uSJo8ebOY7zwkPwEURy6Oh33yoJ3j-AzjCTcIGoaI5JK4hGst2HUPZAWYnYzYB46kEOS4KHwbXGc6vA3mQ-Pqfv8VjlB29EkRC7KctUrPdyn_FZCFOPqBIiHFdSe/s640/2011_06_23-132746.jpg" width="640" /></a>We got Ben a new highchair awhile back. It's just like the restaurant highchairs, except that it's stain is dark and it matches our dining set. It was only forty bucks at Target and the height is perfect. He pulls right up to our table and he loves that. We have family dinners together at about six every night and we try to give him what we are having, plus a bit of baby food to fill him up, he's quite an eater.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This last weekend we headed up to the Bay Area for a wedding and Ben stayed with Grandma and Grandpa for the evening. We had a wonderful time out together and I know those three had a ball, too. Ben has gotten to the age where I would bet that he even recognizes the smell of his grandparents' house. When we bring him in from the car and transfer him into the playard, he just rolls over and goes right to sleep until morning. I think he knows exactly where he is and if he wakes during the night he isn't afraid. He is all smiles when he sees his grandparents and immediately lets them take over. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDlkRJdlzBYDk3caq4VgxRC_QwvUqEFDxxGfGe3e1ZdTZVTI0nnFbfF75UUC-tVFtVbkV6yDq8y4N71ORYYEjis8nGw4SiCKob2cLa4hzSirNarOqpFIl3nYYs8-EVm5Qr0Bb-zI2XqtK/s1600/2011_06_24-093503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDlkRJdlzBYDk3caq4VgxRC_QwvUqEFDxxGfGe3e1ZdTZVTI0nnFbfF75UUC-tVFtVbkV6yDq8y4N71ORYYEjis8nGw4SiCKob2cLa4hzSirNarOqpFIl3nYYs8-EVm5Qr0Bb-zI2XqtK/s640/2011_06_24-093503.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpaj9kwsZnR-U_qg_5vXrfxXtY9nbChvYVZiG1Sh-JECa9ecfFAoaT2w0d3zwy-3Dppgl1wGproJiB8iSGNuNa9mebCr4nttSv7dNrabnFDbN-sUGyKDlvci4JKAeDdCyFgmAEqLfgB1i/s1600/2011_06_24-182024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpaj9kwsZnR-U_qg_5vXrfxXtY9nbChvYVZiG1Sh-JECa9ecfFAoaT2w0d3zwy-3Dppgl1wGproJiB8iSGNuNa9mebCr4nttSv7dNrabnFDbN-sUGyKDlvci4JKAeDdCyFgmAEqLfgB1i/s640/2011_06_24-182024.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkAG3F5tALU67_BoxOIf-JQbvjLLQQwmujdnjtITgPVXYHR5tczWWuJkxb0NJtPJCctdXDBcDlInxkOXHr_nBxOaqquW3ytAYb2hfTmhb6LIpH4fHbPr3oXtGLGnAEvzm5462RsFRd7uP/s1600/2011_06_24-192051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkAG3F5tALU67_BoxOIf-JQbvjLLQQwmujdnjtITgPVXYHR5tczWWuJkxb0NJtPJCctdXDBcDlInxkOXHr_nBxOaqquW3ytAYb2hfTmhb6LIpH4fHbPr3oXtGLGnAEvzm5462RsFRd7uP/s640/2011_06_24-192051.jpg" width="640" /></a> We had a great time at Mike and Renee's wedding. It was beautiful, and fun, and the food was delicious. I even got Scott out on the dance floor! So we have been having a wonderful couple of weeks.<br />
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This week, Ben is extremely fussy even as he is making huge leaps and bounds learning how to crawl. No matter if he has a clean diaper and a full tummy, he is just fussing the whole time he is playing. His teeth are all in, so who knows what's going on with him. He must be having some growing pains. Mama is having some growing pains, too, now. He is so darn cute, though, I think we will get through it. Hope all of you are enjoying your summer!Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-61879954065639207162011-06-24T10:35:00.000-07:002011-06-24T10:35:10.205-07:00Night RiderI love to travel. That being said, I am not a seasoned world traveller by any stretch of the imagination. I've been to Europe twice in my life, and loved it each time, but that's it. I can't even claim to have seen more than a handful of states in <em>this</em> country. But California? I know California. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOA9c7LxFjO9vv0ejFexfEQmETC0DwCHtbZnl9oRSTI6LKHfE81t_ZYmaAHqlY5YnJ918Xg2kwvSS3knwzqmpzFYXGsGbKBou7ATTDK6mw7DH6pqWarWj-_0FYthrzlZ_7jDgpgjugUMK2/s1600/I5-view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOA9c7LxFjO9vv0ejFexfEQmETC0DwCHtbZnl9oRSTI6LKHfE81t_ZYmaAHqlY5YnJ918Xg2kwvSS3knwzqmpzFYXGsGbKBou7ATTDK6mw7DH6pqWarWj-_0FYthrzlZ_7jDgpgjugUMK2/s1600/I5-view.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from <a href="http://www.deepgreen.com/news02/prius-1/prius-1.htm">here</a></td></tr>
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Among other routes, I used to drive I-5 from the central coast to Chico, over and over for a couple of months. This was about ten years ago. My car didn't have air conditioning. I would buy a gallon of water and put it behind the passenger seat. Every twenty minutes or so I would grab it by the handle and slosh it over my head, drenching my hair and the entire front of my body, plus the cloth seat. In the dry heat of Sacramento traffic, everything would be dry in about fifteen minutes. However, with all the windows rolled down, you had fifteen minutes of homemade air conditioning!<br />
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Understandably, now my favorite time to drive long distances is at night. Despite the fact that I now have air conditioning. I love the community of drivers on the road in the evening. They are mostly long distance drivers, they aren't late for work, and they are more generous than daytime traffic. I love the colors of the evening, my favorite time of day. The silvery metallic blue of the flat freeway, sparkling like a mirage where it meets the glowing horizon. The Salinas river, carving out the landscape like a bright mirror laying in the dark. The headlights sparkle like Christmas lights as the stars start to emerge and the moon rises. Long distance driving is one of the activities that seems to force me to live in the moment. I do my best thinking on the road at night. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikACQ6fDfKCb9uDoWaTDCOpJoiJpnd1krHl7VrVVx5cDIww6qUO5nqVCeBj7JHIAqER0ZHhb7YMFsqjYybo5I3c_z8e2JEAO9DwGhPwOfkb9flpe6hAw2HAFKSEWhwkk-r_d_N0qkFTr92/s1600/21686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikACQ6fDfKCb9uDoWaTDCOpJoiJpnd1krHl7VrVVx5cDIww6qUO5nqVCeBj7JHIAqER0ZHhb7YMFsqjYybo5I3c_z8e2JEAO9DwGhPwOfkb9flpe6hAw2HAFKSEWhwkk-r_d_N0qkFTr92/s1600/21686.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from <a href="http://photosbygarth.com/travels/summer05_IL-ND-MT_Photos.html">here</a></td></tr>
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One of the best things I learned from Al-Anon, a support group I belong to, is the metaphor of the rear view mirror. Examining your past is good, and looking to the future is good, but only in short glances. Staring into it for too long is as dangerous as never looking at all. A few glances every so often is just right. I always think of this when I'm driving, for obvious reasons, and I take that opportunity to think about my past, my future, and if my present life is everything I want it to be.<br />
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Life for me right now is both peaceful and exciting. I have never felt so aware, empowered and blessed ever in my life. With my husband tapping away on his laptop, my baby fast asleep in the backseat, it feels great to sink into that cozy feeling of fulfillment. Or is that just my seat warmer?Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-42587927203254717872011-06-20T06:28:00.000-07:002011-06-20T06:28:26.147-07:00A Date to Play<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH53dPvQc5WL_iCoxCXrVkLU2HOTPy_MWiZiISPlsP842jLa-xZuyNg6DUz0NjiJJ76Of0SBRg9_tCFvKKJtEP1xNOOB6WgHp44tbPjhTgWf48X69zdxmBZGYrbKaj2BNSzxvLA8eQWpNY/s1600/2011_06_16-102706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH53dPvQc5WL_iCoxCXrVkLU2HOTPy_MWiZiISPlsP842jLa-xZuyNg6DUz0NjiJJ76Of0SBRg9_tCFvKKJtEP1xNOOB6WgHp44tbPjhTgWf48X69zdxmBZGYrbKaj2BNSzxvLA8eQWpNY/s640/2011_06_16-102706.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4yJiYG4nVsuQJ81KjcbtnhBdXf6xguI93peTJpnpgwozN7amATN80huwriljYDE6-TLAr9QoPWqg3FDDoKBYFYrNle_yJyYznHH5Bl6HrFKWZrikBJVh8pBKU4I5LgxadffysesWrgYc/s1600/2011_06_16-102807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4yJiYG4nVsuQJ81KjcbtnhBdXf6xguI93peTJpnpgwozN7amATN80huwriljYDE6-TLAr9QoPWqg3FDDoKBYFYrNle_yJyYznHH5Bl6HrFKWZrikBJVh8pBKU4I5LgxadffysesWrgYc/s640/2011_06_16-102807.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Ben and Matti playing together is so fun. Basically they try to hug slash bite slash grab each other constantly. It's kind of been like that since the beginning. Here they are doing their normal thing. We are pretending that Matti just wants to give out some kisses. We are all on board with that version of things. They are good friends. What's wrong with a little grab or a nibble between friends? Especially if you're nine months old.<br />
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This was our first of a string of summer playdates with our Super Baby Squad (as we fondly dubbed our Facebook group). Four of us started hanging out when the babies were really little, and then our crew expanded three times over when we started a Mommy and Me class. We have a great group and since we kind of dropped out of class for the summer (lots of mobile babies, a small space that seemed to be getting smaller) we started up a weekly get together on Thursdays.<br />
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<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQDjEzeSTkIONtbbURhZtjmFPW11Dxde0UZfIEV-nt1Essz8zUYdSojC6HCqkY_GqntjUDlRw-qjcVjR4TF7EIcCU_rWyCceG5e1BY0Rq5Nhkz_qIljQw3sbul3TWIOLbwBGUhpbPcRix/s1600/toy+grab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQDjEzeSTkIONtbbURhZtjmFPW11Dxde0UZfIEV-nt1Essz8zUYdSojC6HCqkY_GqntjUDlRw-qjcVjR4TF7EIcCU_rWyCceG5e1BY0Rq5Nhkz_qIljQw3sbul3TWIOLbwBGUhpbPcRix/s640/toy+grab.jpg" width="305" /></a></div>Taking turns grabbing the same toy. Just to have it. Because the other kid had it. The baby equivalent of tweeting. Or online shopping. Maybe a combination. <br />
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It's actually kind of mezmerizing. Plus you have to watch with one eye anyway, in case your kid tries to pull an ear off of somebody.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zTgSrbEjVkP4ms8npvqTQL_JHo2fW3jwK47zcH2MPPl5_pAxBLzn48roMFLxlf78fK7lFuzKufbsF5wBe7209pBEzSk6OlvcoXIGYL7luA0Hd7aXvb2VESiw_PsyvlAcubJ9q3nCdWDo/s1600/2011_06_16-102825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zTgSrbEjVkP4ms8npvqTQL_JHo2fW3jwK47zcH2MPPl5_pAxBLzn48roMFLxlf78fK7lFuzKufbsF5wBe7209pBEzSk6OlvcoXIGYL7luA0Hd7aXvb2VESiw_PsyvlAcubJ9q3nCdWDo/s640/2011_06_16-102825.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Check out those eyelashes! Why do boys always get the great eyelashes? My sister and I complain of this <u>often</u>.<br />
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<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5E88HDUnc_Udp-fN9Z9Hmz83RoFErWgVCnTeQH4nZgDl3d2yK-7PVGy8n1f3jNQHDixaLL6hedAqmyNpJamanQ-RZ4nZj7QZMP9Usab9SY8Q8LxYbNtqh2vHO7rsFimvpbwmO3QZfhGZy/s1600/2011_06_16-103634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5E88HDUnc_Udp-fN9Z9Hmz83RoFErWgVCnTeQH4nZgDl3d2yK-7PVGy8n1f3jNQHDixaLL6hedAqmyNpJamanQ-RZ4nZj7QZMP9Usab9SY8Q8LxYbNtqh2vHO7rsFimvpbwmO3QZfhGZy/s640/2011_06_16-103634.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>Meanwhile Ben is fixated on Jess's buttons. I swear we are having meaningful adult interaction while all this is going on. I won't lie and tell you we were discussing politics and current events, but there was food! I know, trust me, you wish you were there. Enchiladas and sour cream, guacamole and brownies... it was heaven. I should have photographed the food.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKmPYUyrf_u1ibV1SCO-vlpMrFSXHegEpUdqzmOEb91ZF3IiCc5ATAnMLe9ahv0QSmDftp_VU2F84AxIttjjOBhbp10AQIvlq23DR3WRSlUwto0VKkXp_Ol9uSYwXgI26nEW8p-mzDX3k/s1600/2011_06_16-102912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKmPYUyrf_u1ibV1SCO-vlpMrFSXHegEpUdqzmOEb91ZF3IiCc5ATAnMLe9ahv0QSmDftp_VU2F84AxIttjjOBhbp10AQIvlq23DR3WRSlUwto0VKkXp_Ol9uSYwXgI26nEW8p-mzDX3k/s640/2011_06_16-102912.jpg" width="640" /></a>But I was pretty taken with the cute babies crawling everywhere.</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/AVvXsEiOsVRUv85VBLzv-26a4tOrwbxi9HPuVAxJim8qWWiZjKl_P6lRAX3JoFVd7ECbcaFiESQF8XlHJTCSvCp7T1JkREWjVKH1NH3d8Q6tYWr8EmgLFqcMP2MFBHxL6g23sCKGDw-vJAm8WL2U/s1600/2011_06_16-103647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOsVRUv85VBLzv-26a4tOrwbxi9HPuVAxJim8qWWiZjKl_P6lRAX3JoFVd7ECbcaFiESQF8XlHJTCSvCp7T1JkREWjVKH1NH3d8Q6tYWr8EmgLFqcMP2MFBHxL6g23sCKGDw-vJAm8WL2U/s640/2011_06_16-103647.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5k404-ZsDWrgUySCE0vBJHB26CHlV2Gz-PEuzA7uJiSKQUUlX2qYZOzk-h-KGewksW8ycg58gWh2BmpH5_a3bd177dTa1xT6lfre85jhzrG07Tn7QuLCTPRxoSexuAN5enZC-SjN0z2r/s1600/2011_06_16-104332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5k404-ZsDWrgUySCE0vBJHB26CHlV2Gz-PEuzA7uJiSKQUUlX2qYZOzk-h-KGewksW8ycg58gWh2BmpH5_a3bd177dTa1xT6lfre85jhzrG07Tn7QuLCTPRxoSexuAN5enZC-SjN0z2r/s640/2011_06_16-104332.jpg" width="640" /></a>Ben reeeeeally wants to crawl like the other kids. He is so close.</div><br />
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5X3b3lN7gvQRZ_3ewHCzRNR36wxneOUWAWETS7vspzMb1pdJL_9OJ5ol6o1cB26QIlxHrJTL4vWjVt1Xdp9807VSb5oHZ0LKM3gSApHGt4jZXslzrRKLGHXJSBV-dHuCJujHu7mwjcxVB/s1600/2011_06_16-104442.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5X3b3lN7gvQRZ_3ewHCzRNR36wxneOUWAWETS7vspzMb1pdJL_9OJ5ol6o1cB26QIlxHrJTL4vWjVt1Xdp9807VSb5oHZ0LKM3gSApHGt4jZXslzrRKLGHXJSBV-dHuCJujHu7mwjcxVB/s640/2011_06_16-104442.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>Elana, such a smiley, happy girl!<br />
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJsK6u8rXmyUSqD_qR27fU_BIb1lG-y-x4_n8oAeKVQs6ZjjnQTgINzkv3BFJIclXCjmvzEauEU04uPEytx6oe2lwfk34ZWZkTrJjaTbeJQ-WyjgrUuSvghcDWMqmQfVfLc3qmLSUuDORW/s1600/2011_06_16-105824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJsK6u8rXmyUSqD_qR27fU_BIb1lG-y-x4_n8oAeKVQs6ZjjnQTgINzkv3BFJIclXCjmvzEauEU04uPEytx6oe2lwfk34ZWZkTrJjaTbeJQ-WyjgrUuSvghcDWMqmQfVfLc3qmLSUuDORW/s640/2011_06_16-105824.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>So here is where Cindy put us over into the Playdate Olympics. She brought scrapbooking papers and tools and inkpads to do hand/footprints for Father's Day! <br />
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Incredible foresight was not possible just months ago. We are evolving into the kind of moms we only once dreamed about being. The kind who can wrestle fat hands and feet with ink all over them in the name of tearjerking, priceless memories! It was super freaking cool to bring home frameable, giftable prints. So cool.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSHrcAkN-JtWvrFNU86f7qx3VWpc9BKyyP5BxlnwsSW5Y4_bug_ud-M096gcfmCgKa8Gj0c9I2ckCueQLtPO9NYymy-kF0F1xOhjhGBj74s6H2RcPlCtXfXcuJhmBmsvqgW1T2hyphenhyphenxfiKb/s1600/2011_06_16-105742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSHrcAkN-JtWvrFNU86f7qx3VWpc9BKyyP5BxlnwsSW5Y4_bug_ud-M096gcfmCgKa8Gj0c9I2ckCueQLtPO9NYymy-kF0F1xOhjhGBj74s6H2RcPlCtXfXcuJhmBmsvqgW1T2hyphenhyphenxfiKb/s640/2011_06_16-105742.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I did his feet, too, but haven't gotten a photo of that yet. They came out beautifully.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuYK7wUlWL2iMPtSV3nqpq23L4tUwE18C83GO-0xDcaES2GtIgqHhfF9pH4HG7CFRx6cBuD9vuunlsZhEUSttytqaS2EkGRulMsMgUNMC9i0p3ODnF1LEKJSKhwXeei0xGWHg1x7doXh9/s1600/2011_06_16-105835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuYK7wUlWL2iMPtSV3nqpq23L4tUwE18C83GO-0xDcaES2GtIgqHhfF9pH4HG7CFRx6cBuD9vuunlsZhEUSttytqaS2EkGRulMsMgUNMC9i0p3ODnF1LEKJSKhwXeei0xGWHg1x7doXh9/s640/2011_06_16-105835.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-u3CbGX0HSQu7bvzovkzomnkXBmSm283QrK_JpkPa3v2AOpqNO9nidx_SZMNoFeIZaNXaUiT4qR2Ru4uc2wMVITXScFwcfjNSQy7HY6x2LUatWHeyfLiWT1ObKdhjcFCpAJtPyTB-w4FI/s1600/2011_06_16-122433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-u3CbGX0HSQu7bvzovkzomnkXBmSm283QrK_JpkPa3v2AOpqNO9nidx_SZMNoFeIZaNXaUiT4qR2Ru4uc2wMVITXScFwcfjNSQy7HY6x2LUatWHeyfLiWT1ObKdhjcFCpAJtPyTB-w4FI/s640/2011_06_16-122433.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjallR7atuA_d3seVIpeARbs_hDh8pIjclzTdf3pkJigorCNfeD53NRkLl067kXFqbXF76LMYOI_EYXp1FHL5s3s2ewjVnKrB_Z692W-c9W-qqI3Boq3OANJVH-EicjvAMIY2-uVt5wUcf/s1600/2011_06_16-122441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjallR7atuA_d3seVIpeARbs_hDh8pIjclzTdf3pkJigorCNfeD53NRkLl067kXFqbXF76LMYOI_EYXp1FHL5s3s2ewjVnKrB_Z692W-c9W-qqI3Boq3OANJVH-EicjvAMIY2-uVt5wUcf/s640/2011_06_16-122441.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, my mom friends are all kind of lovely. Makes a girl want to brush her teeth and get her hair cut once in awhile!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJ8uA2datO2PTb-4QJq-dYBzi5zOvufOxXE4wchCDbMizQTba7PzIM3RvZ8wiMpRkSZIbQ6eY2DE-JU27rGTRvfgyaKJKojNWF2ZSg14tlJdgI1x-toghYPQKuA0acdLMY-cKLzZo8PP5/s1600/2011_06_16-122454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJ8uA2datO2PTb-4QJq-dYBzi5zOvufOxXE4wchCDbMizQTba7PzIM3RvZ8wiMpRkSZIbQ6eY2DE-JU27rGTRvfgyaKJKojNWF2ZSg14tlJdgI1x-toghYPQKuA0acdLMY-cKLzZo8PP5/s640/2011_06_16-122454.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uo32lBuRu86VCfOSdUwgNdiMual3WnsPshxUXS4pIYuHr8j0ZzyOfVMnuin5SJ_0dlXumvtOEjgZt8LhyphenhyphenHMM2DNMpW7BL6jfWbxQA-qKmdk3p_Uj-0TOVR7PMvWeD5Ibkn6S7aQlIqbh/s1600/2011_06_16-122537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uo32lBuRu86VCfOSdUwgNdiMual3WnsPshxUXS4pIYuHr8j0ZzyOfVMnuin5SJ_0dlXumvtOEjgZt8LhyphenhyphenHMM2DNMpW7BL6jfWbxQA-qKmdk3p_Uj-0TOVR7PMvWeD5Ibkn6S7aQlIqbh/s640/2011_06_16-122537.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhrJD_2oeWH2ug4DHeuX-rDGA_1KLi8jMkkX9j0YiK4BNAtY6UoK2k7VtewKzljqaU4MZlt5d42s9ssy1bBK4Z9r-SooHm9p0qQDOv3JzoV9XH08ptfqpw_TzaBn8_nejmAewTZRwwJoz/s1600/2011_06_16-122551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhrJD_2oeWH2ug4DHeuX-rDGA_1KLi8jMkkX9j0YiK4BNAtY6UoK2k7VtewKzljqaU4MZlt5d42s9ssy1bBK4Z9r-SooHm9p0qQDOv3JzoV9XH08ptfqpw_TzaBn8_nejmAewTZRwwJoz/s1600/2011_06_16-122551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhrJD_2oeWH2ug4DHeuX-rDGA_1KLi8jMkkX9j0YiK4BNAtY6UoK2k7VtewKzljqaU4MZlt5d42s9ssy1bBK4Z9r-SooHm9p0qQDOv3JzoV9XH08ptfqpw_TzaBn8_nejmAewTZRwwJoz/s640/2011_06_16-122551.jpg" width="426" /></a>Cutie pie Rollin!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhfpW3Q0jBji9nD3-ZJqyqYyLN54OnTgvQXwWKmcpCa_JI-JP-7TMh0wyS_1SdLi6ps7nMtABp_eLX5LjiJP9Mq2hUe0jXXdrX1w2_pLVDxvwCrElhTMC66qG1XdmBtA2-Fj9bksgr_jQ/s1600/2011_06_16-122523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhfpW3Q0jBji9nD3-ZJqyqYyLN54OnTgvQXwWKmcpCa_JI-JP-7TMh0wyS_1SdLi6ps7nMtABp_eLX5LjiJP9Mq2hUe0jXXdrX1w2_pLVDxvwCrElhTMC66qG1XdmBtA2-Fj9bksgr_jQ/s1600/2011_06_16-122523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhfpW3Q0jBji9nD3-ZJqyqYyLN54OnTgvQXwWKmcpCa_JI-JP-7TMh0wyS_1SdLi6ps7nMtABp_eLX5LjiJP9Mq2hUe0jXXdrX1w2_pLVDxvwCrElhTMC66qG1XdmBtA2-Fj9bksgr_jQ/s640/2011_06_16-122523.jpg" width="640" /></a>This is one of my favorite things about Ben. If he wants a nap, he will fall asleep in a tornado. I love that. The babies are just starting to really enjoy playing together, and thats great. But pretty much these dates are for the mommies. It makes me feel sane to listen to everyone else having the same worries, struggles and joys. I can't wait for the next one- beach day!<br />
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</div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-10140970282483479672011-06-17T16:04:00.000-07:002011-06-17T16:04:01.242-07:00Lazy Weekends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgub0sQEqpQXuhMhEiLhoQjw4JrYyIZOvKf8H7dbKYbYZcThtYbtw6oxx5GIy9-UhGn5Aft_VoPCw5KLnuvNceEio83i7367WcITBUBf3RK6Z0c4GxkJpX4XsnKiFBOsCw2hyphenhyphen1yuGS_zLBG/s1600/2011_06_11-130336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgub0sQEqpQXuhMhEiLhoQjw4JrYyIZOvKf8H7dbKYbYZcThtYbtw6oxx5GIy9-UhGn5Aft_VoPCw5KLnuvNceEio83i7367WcITBUBf3RK6Z0c4GxkJpX4XsnKiFBOsCw2hyphenhyphen1yuGS_zLBG/s640/2011_06_11-130336.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brace yourself for a wild and exciting peek into our lives! My favorite type of weekend is the one with no plans. Or maybe one barbeque planned for Saturday, but the rest is just ad lib. These are the weekends we are most likely to jump in the car and drive around. I love running errands with my boys on the weekend. It's just as relaxed as being at home, but we get to explore and get things done. Ben calls Grandpa from the back seat, Scott holds my hand, I smacktalk about other drivers even when I'm not driving.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1dIa-IVJCgdqGKab4EeJqXWS9W2NsTHJMdYnjJULwf_IHbV8TlLbXXt5RcCmrMDOrSIgj0yoMULO15HCb1KK8EuwPGWvtpccLzAqp_27PkcpEnrVl3bUiSo2Pgb8BaIYyOsMLcAijezt/s1600/2011_06_11-133734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1dIa-IVJCgdqGKab4EeJqXWS9W2NsTHJMdYnjJULwf_IHbV8TlLbXXt5RcCmrMDOrSIgj0yoMULO15HCb1KK8EuwPGWvtpccLzAqp_27PkcpEnrVl3bUiSo2Pgb8BaIYyOsMLcAijezt/s640/2011_06_11-133734.jpg" width="640" /></a>This is Scott after admitting he was going the wrong way. Hates being wrong. I told him to make his best "I'm lost" face and he wouldn't do it. He didn't want to be caught on the blog in front of you nice people. I caught him pulling this move a bit down the road. "Gotcha!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We usually get some good catching up done in the car, on the weekends. We talk about why Ben has been waking up the last few nights, whether we should buy a new carseat, hire a realtor, and are we spending too much on groceries? During this trip, besides returning a dress to Old Navy (and ahem, buying more stuff...) we drove around listening to a parenting CD my mommy group had given me and comparing notes. Pretty much I trapped Scott in the car. Captive audience. But still, he listened and made comments. Awesome guy that he is.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKjamkYIe5PoebenBWbqq6T-ffjl2UY4m2w15lNkwlohH06fvMD52iH42MMdrtl4To6Oy2gVdgN8Pp6C_OPzl_mnoB00mYUDs7wH1-8X7yV1Y4leueIQLsbcvRtYx98lMroZuZlvdMbTU/s1600/2011_06_11-133409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKjamkYIe5PoebenBWbqq6T-ffjl2UY4m2w15lNkwlohH06fvMD52iH42MMdrtl4To6Oy2gVdgN8Pp6C_OPzl_mnoB00mYUDs7wH1-8X7yV1Y4leueIQLsbcvRtYx98lMroZuZlvdMbTU/s640/2011_06_11-133409.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Scott killed the last keg of beer in our kegerator last week, so we were off to get some brewing ingredients from Doc's. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYEdus9j15fwt_XYqDlsvqyCv0ZbEKlgsCY3ts-_-DErYzHwSJ73eHZADFGn-JNsVI8R949TslcwRJLp0B4KQerdWQdIrW-3PgCVkFaCJy95FD2bczgULOHutC_zX1B1wm7rLriiGRams/s1600/2011_06_11-133415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYEdus9j15fwt_XYqDlsvqyCv0ZbEKlgsCY3ts-_-DErYzHwSJ73eHZADFGn-JNsVI8R949TslcwRJLp0B4KQerdWQdIrW-3PgCVkFaCJy95FD2bczgULOHutC_zX1B1wm7rLriiGRams/s640/2011_06_11-133415.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ben loved trying to open those lids with his fat little hands. Super cute. So after our fun little stint around SLO (with a detour or two for no reason- still fun) we came home and lounged around the house, just the way we like it. This is one of my favorite pictures of all time below- for some reason the mundane, everyday, constantness of this subject matter cracks me up. Smell for poopies. What a life.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNMz2sk6-71Vk1aO7CZ3JciV3E1X-badoQRTWo_18KKe0BGUtz-cAgJjGEc6B9axH8roeREP3t3LVRyuyR9LmENfup1cc0pVtq_pi1LHkRwhioORLg-HAYbJTbsrIjjFIf8egZINei46s/s1600/2011_06_12-162321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNMz2sk6-71Vk1aO7CZ3JciV3E1X-badoQRTWo_18KKe0BGUtz-cAgJjGEc6B9axH8roeREP3t3LVRyuyR9LmENfup1cc0pVtq_pi1LHkRwhioORLg-HAYbJTbsrIjjFIf8egZINei46s/s640/2011_06_12-162321.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How cute are his little kicky legs? Please excuse my husband's weekend wear. I prefer him this way, but you know. I love him. So this weekend is Father's Day, Scott's very first. He's got a tee time (but of course) on Saturday and then Sunday I figure I'll just wait on him hand and foot, that should work, right? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pretty glad there's a holiday about him. He's hot.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Have a great weekend!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-66798961647854355032011-06-15T08:40:00.000-07:002011-06-15T08:40:21.667-07:00Baptism Day!It was a beautiful day, and went by like a blur. So many wonderful friends and family came out and showed their support, I wish I had an hour to talk to each of them. We got to catch up with a few that we hadn't seen in awhile, like Mike and Renee, so that was special, and we even ran into Deauna at church before the service! {all photos by Kerry Ko}<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ21Esb-0FAWxDbc7VSDyIY125TZv8_pR1cQS-HKuYVkkSbohi8pmlklvkpa-JtFGlwn2Xf2LxKxuY8Vlh_t3pQMnyHfXBUOaptEU6iinI9slJTlbShtAOGVRhKN0VbzEvcyC1HRvbWnes/s1600/2011_05_29-103236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ21Esb-0FAWxDbc7VSDyIY125TZv8_pR1cQS-HKuYVkkSbohi8pmlklvkpa-JtFGlwn2Xf2LxKxuY8Vlh_t3pQMnyHfXBUOaptEU6iinI9slJTlbShtAOGVRhKN0VbzEvcyC1HRvbWnes/s640/2011_05_29-103236.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtOnlB6yW18JnAQYHTljvoUn7rDgeICUxKjwvDkQnR6hVBY8bDIRNl3vvesfj4nHRc5XhoyZrt7B25nOgBwlp-qzMlcoI3FH36lVix5LU6Dp6ab0-BnntdtAPEjORtFt5OICb-2BF6myI/s1600/2011_05_29-103624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtOnlB6yW18JnAQYHTljvoUn7rDgeICUxKjwvDkQnR6hVBY8bDIRNl3vvesfj4nHRc5XhoyZrt7B25nOgBwlp-qzMlcoI3FH36lVix5LU6Dp6ab0-BnntdtAPEjORtFt5OICb-2BF6myI/s640/2011_05_29-103624.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYbKOlmkSIYkmgOnfNdYSvzRNlcsMdbUQ3Zgv8ZYJNiLFurtR50nxnJLxh1NkLNLHWKBMii5ynvZ30_Hh3kKgSGvVafiupEF7HxHMj7ZHboGNHdsG4F9WsAQD-z2uzuoIDd7FHUtaZUve/s1600/2011_05_29-103835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYbKOlmkSIYkmgOnfNdYSvzRNlcsMdbUQ3Zgv8ZYJNiLFurtR50nxnJLxh1NkLNLHWKBMii5ynvZ30_Hh3kKgSGvVafiupEF7HxHMj7ZHboGNHdsG4F9WsAQD-z2uzuoIDd7FHUtaZUve/s640/2011_05_29-103835.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgN0TQ41OIH8j4zNFx8U_ul7fuAhwYJ47hDo16kJZFDNWSksDM1GC8haLzGzV1vX9zweuXYDX9SvQHKrL8OSGHikThY9_kpDZvXeEEFgX7C24DrBwMBsFDtyDbtug9nyI8czaR3LFerCpX/s1600/2011_05_29-110053a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgN0TQ41OIH8j4zNFx8U_ul7fuAhwYJ47hDo16kJZFDNWSksDM1GC8haLzGzV1vX9zweuXYDX9SvQHKrL8OSGHikThY9_kpDZvXeEEFgX7C24DrBwMBsFDtyDbtug9nyI8czaR3LFerCpX/s640/2011_05_29-110053a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Ben loved it, no problems with the water, he seemed relaxed. Immediately afterward he took a nap. He loved seeing everyone smiling back at him from the pews behind ours. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdfRvJmkOGS3k7n3Yq6RiwX7jHVngw6wfWi7_-e596myQJHN-9R61WQrqCCzdrVszKG5HPjqIqIW4Nu9mqg7wt5R8Q7USh4QxIBjQ7aKcWu7t0puAHDxmaZq7Z_1l52LE1Oq9_wtklb91/s1600/2011_05_29-110405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdfRvJmkOGS3k7n3Yq6RiwX7jHVngw6wfWi7_-e596myQJHN-9R61WQrqCCzdrVszKG5HPjqIqIW4Nu9mqg7wt5R8Q7USh4QxIBjQ7aKcWu7t0puAHDxmaZq7Z_1l52LE1Oq9_wtklb91/s640/2011_05_29-110405.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjG_1UMOUPSVFfDCn1QmH5vrFkqRF_bXXVZoBEENEz4B05MLVTnrfFfqmJTX9_XmYJtKp-pRFAQnCCRajO4tV0DUVibppaNfgI9gKAaklMlvLeG3QGgSEJ5cZFAv6atK9i4woW6xI9-jeM/s1600/2011_05_29-222036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjG_1UMOUPSVFfDCn1QmH5vrFkqRF_bXXVZoBEENEz4B05MLVTnrfFfqmJTX9_XmYJtKp-pRFAQnCCRajO4tV0DUVibppaNfgI9gKAaklMlvLeG3QGgSEJ5cZFAv6atK9i4woW6xI9-jeM/s640/2011_05_29-222036.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>A big thank you to everyone, there are a couple straggling thank you notes (address issues) but they are coming!<br />
<br />
All our love.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-31858653759630853732011-06-14T09:44:00.000-07:002011-06-14T09:44:58.102-07:00Dear Ben<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6x8sGjk173lg839e0grJ7Uej23LYtWd1Zq34BmQKKNOXpP_eX-1baHguvx_Kd1FuAhardmsDX1TGbEQLrDhZsbREd9-TL-mCcGMXdDw1_jv02g9HGfiSRbSVtRX3SXZxzfJr8nSLyrpL/s1600/hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6x8sGjk173lg839e0grJ7Uej23LYtWd1Zq34BmQKKNOXpP_eX-1baHguvx_Kd1FuAhardmsDX1TGbEQLrDhZsbREd9-TL-mCcGMXdDw1_jv02g9HGfiSRbSVtRX3SXZxzfJr8nSLyrpL/s640/hat.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />
Dear Ben,<br />
<br />
Saturday night we left you with a babysitter for the first time. When we got home she said you had some trouble going down to sleep. You woke up to the sound of the garage door and I went running up to get you. I love spending time with your Daddy but I missed singing to you and tucking you in. It was wonderful to feel you melt against me and relax to the sound of my voice. You went instantly to sleep and stayed peacefully quiet in your bed until morning.<br />
<br />
You laugh little hiccup laughs when Daddy lets you touch his hair. He shakes his head around and you think this is so funny. When you two nap together your straight wispy hair goes all different ways for the rest of the day, like the spokes on a bicycle wheel. You say Da-Da-Da all day long and forget how to say Mama.<br />
<br />
You know just what to do with each of your toys, but you never seem to get tired of them anymore. The ring stacker is for chewing, the rings are for drumming your drum, and the shape shorter is for launching little plastic squares and triangles under the couches where Mama can't reach them. When I pick one up and tell you it's purple, you look joyous and flap your little arms. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzia1_vY1U-ZXTPsiIyp8DPujaqOB4LgebfkhPaUpI2nZyNMdOh6uHLR88_w9JPw1faAbpvJly4nfWImIOg_AxFsK6a1Zh0ZIbWhrISswiQRvuLytzlvzyUKWHzKXkC4l31bs8M4ny_eZ/s1600/eating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzia1_vY1U-ZXTPsiIyp8DPujaqOB4LgebfkhPaUpI2nZyNMdOh6uHLR88_w9JPw1faAbpvJly4nfWImIOg_AxFsK6a1Zh0ZIbWhrISswiQRvuLytzlvzyUKWHzKXkC4l31bs8M4ny_eZ/s640/eating.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />
<br />
You still love it when I sing to you and you immediately look around to find my eyes with yours. Your face is complete fascination and seriousness. And you want to take my lips off, but you're getting better about that.<br />
<br />
You talk to us all day long. I wish I could memorize all the funny sounds you make and the sound of your sweet baby voice. We have short, one-syllable conversations. I try to pretend you are actually speaking English. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TQodF6a8oXNDNzXwLJ-3jNMJutf0tUgA-FQ0To560pvmtAtV5d2vzagAytAChuneFaVyej5NYCFp7JJtxfFqcX4OOjQq9nLsSlMd4KYer6LY3nU0G7Y_ReaiT-oG2D6c6eJaNmBm_-_x/s1600/hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TQodF6a8oXNDNzXwLJ-3jNMJutf0tUgA-FQ0To560pvmtAtV5d2vzagAytAChuneFaVyej5NYCFp7JJtxfFqcX4OOjQq9nLsSlMd4KYer6LY3nU0G7Y_ReaiT-oG2D6c6eJaNmBm_-_x/s640/hand.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I know you are supposed to be learning things like cruising and scooting, but it still looks like the seventh world wonder when you start doing something new. It always feels so sudden.<br />
<br />
I wish I could explain how excited you get about grown-up food. When we let you have bites from our plate, or make you your own plate, you just go absolutely crazy with enthusiasm. Burritos are your favorite. When you take a bite you almost close your eyes in ecstasy. I can't help but let out a laugh every time. Your looks of deep appreciation are enjoyable, too.<br />
<br />
I hope that heaven will be a place where I can come back and visit these moments of your life when I want to, forever. To be warm cheek to super-soft cheek with my baby boy, feel your head roll heavy on my shoulder and hear your baby breaths whenever I choose. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAcyXBSZeL4CBiLIOEK_lw9x-w6swyjT2hPMWdbsCtDOpFXQHWfmzkdY6fp27BvRyV3wgryhVwTb0WFWfIR8_0hykjKr-QSyUy03QMr6VbOIZJoA7xITJUkJd101Xj7bGuZMl2Y26T6Jn/s1600/table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAcyXBSZeL4CBiLIOEK_lw9x-w6swyjT2hPMWdbsCtDOpFXQHWfmzkdY6fp27BvRyV3wgryhVwTb0WFWfIR8_0hykjKr-QSyUy03QMr6VbOIZJoA7xITJUkJd101Xj7bGuZMl2Y26T6Jn/s640/table.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Heaven.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-37019173655402228572011-06-13T09:20:00.000-07:002011-06-13T09:20:45.545-07:00Dear Iranian Reader I was kidding around about <a href="http://scottnmary.blogspot.com/2011/04/um-can-we-talk-about-this-for-sec.html">who could possibly be reading from Iran</a>, because I figured that it was some kind of wide web search engine mess up and somehow they got here without realizing it. I reasoned that no one from Iran would want to read the musings of a random American stay at home mom anyway and probably didn't look twice at it.<br />
<br />
I was wrong.<br />
<br />
Remember how <a href="http://scottnmary.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-always-feel-like-somebodys-watchin-me.html">obsessed I am with my stats page</a>?<br />
<br />
So just to clarify, I am <em>really</em> happy that you are still reading, you are probably a truly regular, interesting person, and my joking was done with the knowledge that I actually know very little about Iran in reality, and even less about who has access to international blogs like this one. That was the longest sentence ever. Wow.<br />
<br />
So welcome, Iranian reader! And please, <em>please</em> tell me who you are! I am insane with curiosity. <br />
<br />
xo<br />
<br />
Mary<br />
<br />
<br />
PS. The same goes for my readers in Malaysia, Germany, France, Ukraine, Canada, Italy, Australia, Japan, Singapore, Colombia, the Bahamas, and Denmark. Comment! Tell me who you are! I am <u>so thrilled</u> to have you, you have no idea.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-7382684910779921352011-06-12T20:09:00.000-07:002011-06-12T20:16:26.367-07:00Top Three<strong>Possibilities For The Next Thing Ben Masters:</strong><br />
<br />
<strong>1. Crawling</strong><br />
He is doing that rocking thing, and is flailing around on his tummy and kicking his feet. <br />
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<strong>2. Pulling Up</strong><br />
He just needs me for balance now, he really almost has it.<br />
<strong>3. Flying</strong><br />
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If he would just flap his arms a little faster, or maybe he just needs to lift his head a bit more. <br />
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<strong>Signs That Scott is Still Pretty OCD:</strong><br />
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<strong>1. There are rules for loading the dishwasher.</strong> <br />
He should probably make a laminated layout so that we can attach it to the front for guests.<br />
It would look something like this:<br />
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<strong>2. Even hobbies should be quanitifiable. </strong> What makes a hobby even more fun? Oh, ya. Spreadsheets and graphs. Don't you think? His latest is BrewPal, the app for my iTouch:<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pdroms.de/media/upload/images/news/20090210_Brew_Pal_v1.0_(iPhone_Application).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="460" id="il_fi" src="http://www.pdroms.de/media/upload/images/news/20090210_Brew_Pal_v1.0_(iPhone_Application).jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.pdroms.de/media/upload/images/news/20090210_Brew_Pal_v1.0_(iPhone_Application).jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.pdroms.de/news/iphone/%3Fpage%3D54&usg=__B8P4cp9aznkBdKxCCGYT_sHPVE4=&h=460&w=320&sz=48&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=vwpz2BEuGVnFpM:&tbnh=140&tbnw=97&ei=N6vzTc30PIimsQOUueWZDQ&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dbrewpal%2Bapp%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26rls%3Dcom.microsoft:en-us%26biw%3D1230%26bih%3D880%26tbm%3Disch&um=1&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=507&page=1&ndsp=41&ved=1t:429,r:3,s:0&tx=59&ty=84">here</a></td></tr>
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Looks fun, right? Well, maybe to some of you it does. Looks more like a buzzkill than a hobby to the wife.<br />
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<strong>3. Once something belongs somewhere, it needs to stay there.</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gargantuan clock</td></tr>
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He has decided it is illegal to re-arrange. Specifically, the two things I have ever moved are: the paper towel roll and one of the three clocks we have in the living room. Three, people. Three. One of them is gargantuan and hangs over the fireplace. You can figure out the time from <em>anywhere</em> in here. But, still, both of us check the new picture frame for the time before we leave.<br />
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<strong>Frustrating Baby Things:</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMMReLRV-zQu5XN5rA6xL9GJKsNrGEg0d0D8DHdZ1ZUZg6By87A26spwu1B0sGeE_kO-3Y79vB8O8mRE9lJZm5Datt4MfRrREnFShvLv6VH3LE4V0Gxe6bDzlb5H3xhSFbM1r1TiOVznA/s1600/2011_06_12-163353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMMReLRV-zQu5XN5rA6xL9GJKsNrGEg0d0D8DHdZ1ZUZg6By87A26spwu1B0sGeE_kO-3Y79vB8O8mRE9lJZm5Datt4MfRrREnFShvLv6VH3LE4V0Gxe6bDzlb5H3xhSFbM1r1TiOVznA/s400/2011_06_12-163353.jpg" width="266" /></a><strong>1. Baby wipes</strong><br />
They don't wipe anything, more often it just looks like I'm trying to paper mache Ben's little baby butt.<br />
<strong>2. Formula</strong><br />
DIS. GUSS. TANG. Lumpy, sticks to everything from the microwave to the floor but avoids water or the inside of the bottle. Smells horrid. On the up side, Ben seems to like it.<br />
<strong>3. Bottles.</strong> <br />
Making them, and cleaning them, specifically. I have nothing more witty to say on the subject other than this is CONSTANT and BOOBS ARE WAY EASIER! <br />
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<strong>Random Bonus Funniness:</strong><br />
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Scott wrote me a program to title my pictures with the time and date. He named it Autosave. Recently I found a bug that prevents it from working with more than 100 items at a time. Worse, it will randomly choose those items, which makes the result confusing. To make a living, he works on a huge launch program for the Air Force. Thats a simplified way to explain what he does. So, when I came to him with my fix-it needs, he told me I should fill out a bug report. This is how it looked when I was through with it:<br />
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<div>what happened: it gave me crap.</div><div></div><div>what should have happened: it shouldn't have given me crap.</div><div></div><div>what computer were you using: your mom.</div><div></div><div>steps to reproduce the problem: try to use it.</div><div></div><div>recommended severity: threat to national security. code purple.</div><div></div><div>impact: I got really pissed off.</div><div></div><div></div><div>in short- it will only autosave a limit of 100 items. so I have to split up the photos/videos into two folders and do it twice. I didn't really get pissed off. that part was a lie. And also, the computer I was using had nothing to do with your mom. That was also a lie.</div><div></div><div>-------I'm nothing if not honest.<br />
</div><div></div><div>Scott is obsessed with Tiger Woods Golf lately and he says the game cheats. I don't understand why that comes as a surprise to him. It is Tiger's game, after all. <br />
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</div><div></div><div><strong>We either have mice, or I need to stop handing things to Ben at the grocery store.</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqDUPAt9bTir88gD05QVc4LwfCT5DfY5Je3DetHP0hc-UTrGpJxEaKJZKwkNTZCHIeAIPuezO8Ea74Os4Wi3c21BO0BCpnGC_ckJ72GuOraBYlZIm9YDllbgcgnY9io0Xw877vAc0WJEau/s1600/2011_06_08-150653.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqDUPAt9bTir88gD05QVc4LwfCT5DfY5Je3DetHP0hc-UTrGpJxEaKJZKwkNTZCHIeAIPuezO8Ea74Os4Wi3c21BO0BCpnGC_ckJ72GuOraBYlZIm9YDllbgcgnY9io0Xw877vAc0WJEau/s640/2011_06_08-150653.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-2076298148027192822011-06-11T12:42:00.000-07:002011-06-11T12:42:20.946-07:00New Family Photos!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZHEprTbttWJVYmWP744HAtu-WeTh9JfJ5-0jXBTdG4zBzHRjvczBpbcnZ4JbaZiLECPoBSLef8aLkxrb3yzGv-dMkF3Eh1-rUUSoW6_sleSMy3d3rO6vC0EjQMpcBvNnXNFpcVbfOA76/s1600/thomas_family-130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZHEprTbttWJVYmWP744HAtu-WeTh9JfJ5-0jXBTdG4zBzHRjvczBpbcnZ4JbaZiLECPoBSLef8aLkxrb3yzGv-dMkF3Eh1-rUUSoW6_sleSMy3d3rO6vC0EjQMpcBvNnXNFpcVbfOA76/s640/thomas_family-130.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>The day before Ben was baptized, we met up with our great friend Dan, of <a href="http://www.danshawphotography.com/">Dan Shaw Photography</a>, and took some new family photos at Lake Elizabeth in Fremont. These are most of my favorites. <br />
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It's really making me want to take down everything in my home, put in new pictures, spray paint frames, make new art, and put it all back up. Sounds exhausting. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Mom and Dad and his Godparents, Scott (Smalls) and my sister Stephanie, who were also <br />
our best man and maid of honor.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0qoa_TluGl5o9PpzoZzfIrtho_HOjSCZzonwG6bsEtJWdkAaxRWk5vodUXg8r7f93IFaSU_w6dJ19ISqArqHhwCYa2656T4jkbn1P75tGtsu2kQ2nPV30dlRAHLDU5GSd1d9OdI3wWyH/s1600/thomas_family-105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0qoa_TluGl5o9PpzoZzfIrtho_HOjSCZzonwG6bsEtJWdkAaxRWk5vodUXg8r7f93IFaSU_w6dJ19ISqArqHhwCYa2656T4jkbn1P75tGtsu2kQ2nPV30dlRAHLDU5GSd1d9OdI3wWyH/s640/thomas_family-105.jpg" width="426" /></a></div> This is squinch face. We see it a lot these days. I don't know where it comes from, but he will squeeze his eyes shut and breathe really fast in and out of his nose, its so adorable and funny. Check out the "gelled" hair (baby wipe gel). We had a little bit of crazy bedhead goin on before the photo shoot and had to slick that wispy stuff down.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUu_J4gcwB_2x86F6gW4YtHUR89wYSwaWxkh573voIe7nCSjvM9Y0FSjhf5GPcngLiA0oFfbECnJGjr3Tx0ir1zl3_0WDBbg1Dqr70Euy5zqxszVp2fy5YEqPoIbeDpNtqvC-hbf_h5dd/s1600/thomas_family-106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUu_J4gcwB_2x86F6gW4YtHUR89wYSwaWxkh573voIe7nCSjvM9Y0FSjhf5GPcngLiA0oFfbECnJGjr3Tx0ir1zl3_0WDBbg1Dqr70Euy5zqxszVp2fy5YEqPoIbeDpNtqvC-hbf_h5dd/s640/thomas_family-106.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKrAk8Q4nZMINuBXiQw9lJFlazgk3fuFOYHafe3jlSnV1d6dtYL0wV3mkFEvdOVtCVT0DWKBm5aOERIZAzVKnFe4P-vKYNBfnZjAfWXO6vrSbaj3vHEr0MjO1RgukEDp8lX0x7A7IvaI6/s1600/thomas_family-117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKrAk8Q4nZMINuBXiQw9lJFlazgk3fuFOYHafe3jlSnV1d6dtYL0wV3mkFEvdOVtCVT0DWKBm5aOERIZAzVKnFe4P-vKYNBfnZjAfWXO6vrSbaj3vHEr0MjO1RgukEDp8lX0x7A7IvaI6/s640/thomas_family-117.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>My tired boy was ready for a nap the minute we got there. What you don't see is the five other people literally jumping up and down behind Dan, yelling and shaking toys in the air. Ben cracked about two smiles and was spent. Oh well!Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-51807579465277017562011-06-10T08:49:00.000-07:002011-06-16T08:31:49.275-07:00I Always Feel Like... Somebody's Watchin' Me...I love blogs. I read them over breakfast when my phone-call-away friends aren't awake yet. Because I shouldn't be awake yet. I've listed some of my blogsessions to the right over there. But they are sponsored and generally expect creepersons to be reading regularly. Other than that, I read my friends' wonderful blogs to catch up on what they are up to. So here comes a confession: recently I stumbled across a blog written by someone that I don't know. I knew her husband like a million years ago, and he was/is hilarious. Well, so is she. And now I am obsessively reading life details about this girl who wouldn't know me if we met face to face and shook hands. But I would be jumping up and down wanting to hug her and make inside jokes about her dog, or something equally awkward. It's shameful! I feel like such a crazy stalker! Is this where my obsessive blog reading has led me? I should just go back to reading tabloids, that's so much more acceptable. I love her blog. I mean, laughing so hard, by myself, on the couch... reading it aloud to my husband kind of love. I am a crazy person. <br />
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I finally just called myself out and told my friend from a million years ago that his wife is awesome and writes a killer blog. I am such a stalker. I made the mistake of telling Ben and he won't stop looking at me with disapproval:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXKrBhxY244iTV2pB_vyTfCNKwJiIPGZ-qhtFOSLq-J9TRZM_MrAFg2qyV0ZfOLRXd3avV1pTZ0QKc5PmynEgBdhV3_PJF_Ax3Fj9rJQItDbVHi33DeFtteSEr-xqraXjuX8rzRB97H8cG/s1600/2011_05_29-221518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXKrBhxY244iTV2pB_vyTfCNKwJiIPGZ-qhtFOSLq-J9TRZM_MrAFg2qyV0ZfOLRXd3avV1pTZ0QKc5PmynEgBdhV3_PJF_Ax3Fj9rJQItDbVHi33DeFtteSEr-xqraXjuX8rzRB97H8cG/s640/2011_05_29-221518.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Kerry Ko</td></tr>
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Judgy McJudger.<br />
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So I can't be the only blogger in the world who finds the stats page addictive and insanity-inducing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrmkh65YIfVFkpLc9BGy4dIVTBRniD4kLy-6d_4XqhhVG55FICtSOTkQ6HpOTQaJK7_UYIuNZVBd09Z06gAimjxsv9gzTNMq6zAikzpqNkY4wBW7xMNjL76JiV3ClLtensgjOF5CAZ8bt/s1600/stats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrmkh65YIfVFkpLc9BGy4dIVTBRniD4kLy-6d_4XqhhVG55FICtSOTkQ6HpOTQaJK7_UYIuNZVBd09Z06gAimjxsv9gzTNMq6zAikzpqNkY4wBW7xMNjL76JiV3ClLtensgjOF5CAZ8bt/s640/stats.jpg" width="640" /></a>You can find some really crazy stats, but they are super general, like what country people are reading from. I know three people that live in Australia, so chances are that's who is reading down under. But four hundred views from the US of A doesn't really narrow it down. So, no, usually I don't know if you're reading. Unless you are Keturah. Pretty soon here my readership from the UK is going to plummet by one and be replaced by a small Swedish following. Psychic? No, I just know my adventurous friend is about to move. And <a href="http://scottnmary.blogspot.com/2011/04/um-can-we-talk-about-this-for-sec.html">who in the heck has access to an American blog in Iran??</a> I try not to think about it.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thanks to my friends who post a link to my blog on their blogs. You can see them right up there above the map, and how often they are used to click over here. This is also where I can see the random and hilarious search keywords that lead people to my blog. I talk about them in last month's <a href="http://scottnmary.blogspot.com/2011/05/top-three.html">Top Three</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I try not to get too caught up in how many people are reading and when, but lets be real. That's really hard!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwCWlt2mWs-3eTCHsP6txsjeBHNbzfJsfxqskno-9v7PMAZZLWW3o2oRuhQSf9q_llfQHBJak9Xcl5Qp3Il5-Frheh-IToLiNFMu2gMuKXwFZ3v2tEHgcHBw0H3DY31GsB0rYr5KsPVZY/s1600/self+esteem+graph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwCWlt2mWs-3eTCHsP6txsjeBHNbzfJsfxqskno-9v7PMAZZLWW3o2oRuhQSf9q_llfQHBJak9Xcl5Qp3Il5-Frheh-IToLiNFMu2gMuKXwFZ3v2tEHgcHBw0H3DY31GsB0rYr5KsPVZY/s640/self+esteem+graph.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, thanks to my unhealthy addiction/reader feedback, I can tell you that I have around fifty readers that read every single post. Some of them comment on Facebook, which is great. And honestly, they are probably made up of family and friends. But now that I have my random-obsession blog, I am thinking that maybe one or two are having the same stalkerish guiltfest that I have been having lately. SO. If that is you-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Dear Random Reader That I Would Not Recognize Even If We Were Shaking Hands,</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Don't feel bad! I get an irrational jump in self esteem out of the fact that you read my random musings, and it's great. Feel free to follow my blog even if I don't know you. Feel free to comment on every single post, even the older ones, I will make giggly sixth grader noises if you do and show my husband. Then I will attempt to act super cool and smooth about it when I comment back. If you are taking the time and patience to read a little of my craziness, you are probably a very cool person and I'm happy to have you in my Blogiverse. Oh God. I'm such a nerd.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Okay, l<em>ove you</em>! Oops. I mean, catch you 'round... sometime. Maybe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">xoxo</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mary</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-6357333384019247122011-06-07T15:07:00.000-07:002011-06-07T17:11:36.871-07:00Those Days... You Know The Ones...I've been having Those Days lately. You know the days to which I refer. The ones you have to capitalize because they are horrible-terrible-no-good-very-bad types. No good really isn't true, because as crazy as things get, Ben just wafts happiness and light and fresh-baked cookie smell. Well, aside from the times he wafts teething and spit up smell. Moments, really. I continue to smell like vomit but he goes back to being impossibly adorable. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE1WKJcB-e3dq-13GLbtPhuP4WjFiuXrLPMqO8NbknPvNKzqKIM_TIVlCIs4YfppNO3XN5NpxcBSS8DmNCegNPwZhC4-ORViuNhOyOFAI_Ak5zKZK-3ghiZEB9KsV0drr5mCkIK0T-yVD2/s1600/2011_06_05-122110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE1WKJcB-e3dq-13GLbtPhuP4WjFiuXrLPMqO8NbknPvNKzqKIM_TIVlCIs4YfppNO3XN5NpxcBSS8DmNCegNPwZhC4-ORViuNhOyOFAI_Ak5zKZK-3ghiZEB9KsV0drr5mCkIK0T-yVD2/s1600/2011_06_05-122110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE1WKJcB-e3dq-13GLbtPhuP4WjFiuXrLPMqO8NbknPvNKzqKIM_TIVlCIs4YfppNO3XN5NpxcBSS8DmNCegNPwZhC4-ORViuNhOyOFAI_Ak5zKZK-3ghiZEB9KsV0drr5mCkIK0T-yVD2/s640/2011_06_05-122110.jpg" width="426" /></a>I digress. So, lately, here has been my schedule: wake up from a deep, deep sleep around 4:30 or 5am and lay there, either arguing with someone I've made up, or just dealing with the chest pounding hangover I got from a really bad nightmare. This morning I was being chased, trying to call the police. Called them, hung up. Relief. Followed by the head-smacking realization that I didn't tell them where I <em>was</em>. Thankfully I woke up before I had to figure out how to get back to the phone. Scott was so engrossed by this turn of events that he kept his eyes closed and patted me nicely on the arm as I told him the whole shocking tale. Maybe it will sink in after his morning meeting and he will call me: "Darling, you<em> poor thing</em>!" No, just kidding, he doesn't call me darling, that would be weird.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">So, attempting to learn from yesterday's hour-long argument with nobody, this morning I just got up and took a shower. I gave the baby a bottle in his crib, and then let him play in there for an hour while I made breakfast, and coffee, and read my blogs. They do not bring me important world news (thankfully) but they make me feel less insane. A laugh after a breathless middle-of-the-night run is good medicine. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga93Z5jsEL0c-8eShRLMFfVcb8ZS9snKrAG3pZhuPJLGj-ylfWqQPBojqK47z3Dv0598GQWd2FvRUPf46XzQpZ2uo_ZIY9cil4LxG08Pvno_g_sotk22cAl9Z2aOfSS7jTV9LqWm9fdEBn/s1600/2011_06_05-121957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga93Z5jsEL0c-8eShRLMFfVcb8ZS9snKrAG3pZhuPJLGj-ylfWqQPBojqK47z3Dv0598GQWd2FvRUPf46XzQpZ2uo_ZIY9cil4LxG08Pvno_g_sotk22cAl9Z2aOfSS7jTV9LqWm9fdEBn/s1600/2011_06_05-121957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga93Z5jsEL0c-8eShRLMFfVcb8ZS9snKrAG3pZhuPJLGj-ylfWqQPBojqK47z3Dv0598GQWd2FvRUPf46XzQpZ2uo_ZIY9cil4LxG08Pvno_g_sotk22cAl9Z2aOfSS7jTV9LqWm9fdEBn/s400/2011_06_05-121957.jpg" width="400" /></a>How perfect are little baby feet? Ugh I never want to forget how round and fat they are! Love them.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScYXHzgLVxzbjSOss9p4KsyCRWatpQFIffWe3lzy5L-jUe-GqOVzYb5Jg2nL46mIb4mSBRrTzFcrqVbUXWdYfHjUVG7hyphenhyphen5qWEv3Lq_sGJLWA2qFeFwWy8uTaXGjt1Q0FsZo-aRpanVtxD/s1600/2011_06_05-122316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScYXHzgLVxzbjSOss9p4KsyCRWatpQFIffWe3lzy5L-jUe-GqOVzYb5Jg2nL46mIb4mSBRrTzFcrqVbUXWdYfHjUVG7hyphenhyphen5qWEv3Lq_sGJLWA2qFeFwWy8uTaXGjt1Q0FsZo-aRpanVtxD/s400/2011_06_05-122316.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">We are out of food. To be more accurate, we are bored with the canned food we have at the bottom of the barrel. Bad, bad. Anyway, to prevent a take-out night, the other day I scooped Ben up on an impulse and tried to fit in a run to the store... I put him in a cart, picked up a nice looking plant, and checked my phone to see that my friend was on her way over. Darnit. Put down the plant, put the cart away and carried a puzzled looking Ben back to the car. This was the kind of day it was. I've been thinking of that little plant (and how nice it may someday look in the living room) ever since. Oh and Scott got this text: "i love YOU! wait til i tell u my hilarious trip to TJs! i got one potted plant, put it back, and drove home. wanna pick up dinner? lol" This is how take-out won and I was thwarted. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh and we are down to our last Snappi. Let me illustrate:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeagHG3C_4s9ebgcF4FB3IWIe4YvelW-z2h9wkuxgN0JzK69V3QBWg-tdfzjzN5KzdbMX058P1zWWETHJH4LrDxNMXfOWkoo6jnB7onzKTANA8qtrLrfNFvb67IEvF2Wmv59cBprby2p5/s1600/2011_06_07-100120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeagHG3C_4s9ebgcF4FB3IWIe4YvelW-z2h9wkuxgN0JzK69V3QBWg-tdfzjzN5KzdbMX058P1zWWETHJH4LrDxNMXfOWkoo6jnB7onzKTANA8qtrLrfNFvb67IEvF2Wmv59cBprby2p5/s640/2011_06_07-100120.jpg" width="598" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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It's that thing that holds the diaper on. It works like one of those clips you put on an ace bandage? With the little teeth? It's kind of stretchy and it's genius trifecta thing keeps the diaper tightly squeezed onto Mr. Squirmy's little behind. Well, it broke. That little skinny handle part. Diapering a child trying to learn how to crawl is hard enough, I tell you. Trying to pinch some little tab because the handle is missing- it's too much. Especially if you haven't made coffee yet. So yesterday, Ben had pooped his usual quota amount for the day, and I thought- forget it. I'll just lay the diaper in the waterproof shell and he can pee in it to his heart's content for the next hour and a half. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I know, it's like a horror flick where the blonde chick just has to go downstairs to see what that noise was.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Soooo.... poop disaster. Soft, explosion type stuff. Ben is trying to cut his fifth tooth. I can see it up there, on top, on his left side, right next door to the front two, which are already huge. It's juuuuustthisclose to the skin and has to be absolutely killing him. So he is not a big fan of the diaper changes at the moment and is kicking and screaming. The minute I open up the disaster zone, he sticks an entire socky heel into the thing and as I'm trying to grab it, flailing about in the air, my hand gets streaked, and he manages to paint up his other leg, in under one friggin' second. After some strong, firm, OhmyGods and StopIts, I manage to get the diaper into the pail, the shell and the sock quarantined and a new diaper (with broken Snappi thankyou) onto this writhing little butt all without bringing harm to either the other sock <em>or </em>the changing pad cover. Olympic gold medalist? I believe so, yes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisg6ojOncg0S9Pkh9oO_ukkyhyvp5iXsHUchTn9qqf71ym-dxlnHANoDBNU-smEO5Xc0McGUH9wPEmgymjmcXWae1gS-D5nYhe7brVyYWM_JUGlzXLXOiN2Qn27Fvpa7hFb0z5jupT9GHA/s1600/2011_06_07-100057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisg6ojOncg0S9Pkh9oO_ukkyhyvp5iXsHUchTn9qqf71ym-dxlnHANoDBNU-smEO5Xc0McGUH9wPEmgymjmcXWae1gS-D5nYhe7brVyYWM_JUGlzXLXOiN2Qn27Fvpa7hFb0z5jupT9GHA/s640/2011_06_07-100057.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Further reasons that it has been a couple of Those Days: if there is a cap that belongs on something, it needs to fall on the floor three times first. If I need to hide some laundry upstairs, Ben instantly becomes afraid of the Roomba and must be carried as well. I always somehow think this will work until half of the nice, neatly folded laundry does not make it all the way to point B but instead remains strewn across the stairs. The zipper on my pants has <em>one</em> broken tooth. At the bottom. Once you're past it, you're fine. It just takes about three beats too long to get past it, every single time I run to the bathroom. No biggie. Just chippin away at my sanity. After I took that headstart shower this morning, Ben's first order of business was to puke on my sweatered arm. Which I thought would be fine but now the smell is getting to me. Ugh. Sweater #2 on the way. Over breakfast, he puked again (???) right onto the table. Scott got this text message: "throw up is more fun than cheerios. says your son."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCeuKAe1xRZM-kQ_L9hrs941tyk2TKgmCLh29lCkqA0ZAHcNj3FtBtEhj8zIfkkDSk64llL1jnd445i_CP-_SyloNFwiHjTC68sWUnw3rFBKp55EAmk0kWos-HJ5_dpCYn2dLptQz_g5E/s1600/2011_06_05-122059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCeuKAe1xRZM-kQ_L9hrs941tyk2TKgmCLh29lCkqA0ZAHcNj3FtBtEhj8zIfkkDSk64llL1jnd445i_CP-_SyloNFwiHjTC68sWUnw3rFBKp55EAmk0kWos-HJ5_dpCYn2dLptQz_g5E/s640/2011_06_05-122059.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">However, this kid could not be any more fabulous, even if he pooped and puked less often. As much as I get excited about someday having more, just having him feels like a puzzle piece found and in place. It's more than enough for now, just the way things are. I know from experience that I need to get a headstart or I will never get a chance to put on clothes and deodorant. But most mornings I just want to watch him wake up, scoop him up and take him to bed with me, where we can lay forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Where I can hear his loud little breaths and hold his little hands and kiss that spot right next to his tiny mouth. Watching him splash around at swim lessons, stare open-mouthed at the cats, and obsess over his cardboard airplane, is non-stop entertainment. He started scooting backwards last night and Scott and I just watched, riveted, giggling like crazy people. </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrf4tcp_cZHMt8Fa9unJu5Fglnj0kTlN3J4U0LYO2xeIpgL4mAWZ1wqJdxyJpxHsexvrRpNBoxFb1UhUiIM_zSNcTfiYRXn_zf8rn_0vCkpyD0edr-qVCunB00wF7_d59yi5aFunhuEQuN/s1600/2011_06_05-122124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrf4tcp_cZHMt8Fa9unJu5Fglnj0kTlN3J4U0LYO2xeIpgL4mAWZ1wqJdxyJpxHsexvrRpNBoxFb1UhUiIM_zSNcTfiYRXn_zf8rn_0vCkpyD0edr-qVCunB00wF7_d59yi5aFunhuEQuN/s1600/2011_06_05-122124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrf4tcp_cZHMt8Fa9unJu5Fglnj0kTlN3J4U0LYO2xeIpgL4mAWZ1wqJdxyJpxHsexvrRpNBoxFb1UhUiIM_zSNcTfiYRXn_zf8rn_0vCkpyD0edr-qVCunB00wF7_d59yi5aFunhuEQuN/s640/2011_06_05-122124.jpg" width="426" /></a>He's trying so hard to talk. He's trying so hard to pull up and sit down (without falling on his melon and crying). He's trying so hard to crawl. He's obsessed with grown up food and literally yelled at his auntie for not sharing her fries last week. You should have seen it, the boy does not need words to communicate, just some grunt/scream hybrid noise and a withering look. Maybe some clenched fists thrown in for emphasis.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">He's <em>my</em> baby, which is just a crazy dream come true. I honestly just want him to freeze right here and just be a baby for about a year more. I will probably feel like that next month, and the month after that. I would want him and love him no matter what, but I still try to stop and absorb that he is healthy, energetic, curious, and learning everything with no problems whatsoever. How crazy is that? I ache for the medical trials other families are going through right now. Nothing stays perfect forever, but this has been a blessing, and I recognize how huge it is. Every normal, drop-that-thing-three-friggin-times day that goes by, I appreciate it for what it is. Living the dream. Living the Good Life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintM_R5ql5YfIIiGx2AiHRysX93k8haqDTjq5lbN5OMjlnUYTT1VZAET3Hhoon-rqamzdYS8cblTpiJQp5P4qxryGwjpQVL_2e6fYOfS84Lc9ArJAuY7LeaeLTqIWo2l9RthAJV2QU5H6D/s1600/2011_06_05-122135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintM_R5ql5YfIIiGx2AiHRysX93k8haqDTjq5lbN5OMjlnUYTT1VZAET3Hhoon-rqamzdYS8cblTpiJQp5P4qxryGwjpQVL_2e6fYOfS84Lc9ArJAuY7LeaeLTqIWo2l9RthAJV2QU5H6D/s640/2011_06_05-122135.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkm4dxyYuwp4zc9WcREW03ILs4eFgnUcMK-PWfgqrLrRvKLfIgZwh8977RLpYV8yMjY3RDzEr7GALJH-3zSS8G94o_vE9QBb-T2vj8tE3UgzfyCwSK06P433hbOPM9dAaWhHlI8UDIq1H/s1600/2011_06_05-122157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkm4dxyYuwp4zc9WcREW03ILs4eFgnUcMK-PWfgqrLrRvKLfIgZwh8977RLpYV8yMjY3RDzEr7GALJH-3zSS8G94o_vE9QBb-T2vj8tE3UgzfyCwSK06P433hbOPM9dAaWhHlI8UDIq1H/s640/2011_06_05-122157.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-59586042290636449942011-06-06T21:08:00.000-07:002011-06-06T21:08:29.321-07:00Gift Card Giveaway- Show Some Teacha-Luv!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIe2NbFb8zPp6NynNwkETFIEJNPlYLp6P6NLWxJBUbf_0JBHAyOjvzaJLq1YcZF8Wgzv5Yf3LeE2Cbao9qmCMs_Dg5_DqIQMyGbKRJhFhlc7NJZKY0cb2pO9Y3Qp-MCwR-bL4XFfYk_zlF/s1600/donorschoose_org.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIe2NbFb8zPp6NynNwkETFIEJNPlYLp6P6NLWxJBUbf_0JBHAyOjvzaJLq1YcZF8Wgzv5Yf3LeE2Cbao9qmCMs_Dg5_DqIQMyGbKRJhFhlc7NJZKY0cb2pO9Y3Qp-MCwR-bL4XFfYk_zlF/s1600/donorschoose_org.gif" /></a></div>So, ever heard of <a href="http://www.donorschoose.org/">Donors Choose</a>? Well, basically its a charity system online that connects the donator (you) with a specific classroom project that a teacher has submitted for funding. You can search for a specific school or area, you can find projects that are the closest to completion, or schools that are located in high-poverty areas. I use the site fairly often, and every now and then they send me a <strong>$25 gift card</strong> to donate however I'd like. This time, <strong>they sent me FIVE!</strong><br />
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When a project is completed, DonorsChoose purchases the item or items and delivers them to the school. Then the teacher posts photos of the kids using the materials and sends you a thank you letter. I recently chose a school in a high poverty area just outside my community. It was wonderful to think I could reach out and help kids in my own backyard who did not have access to seemingly basic learning tools. Here is the thank you letter I received:<br />
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<div class="salutation"><strong>Dear Mary,</strong> </div><div class="messageBody"><br />
We have been using the Weekly Readers on Wednesdays in class to lead powerful discussions on current events. The first set of articles I had the students read came the week of the November elections and it was so more useful to have students read the articles before asking them any questions about the election results.<br />
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Each Wednesday my students look forward to learning about events taking place beyond the classroom walls. We have had some interesting results from our discussions. As well they are able to make connections from one current event to another. For example, how violence in the war of drugs effected our political races, is just one of many connections the students are now making.<br />
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I continue to look forward to the magazines each week for the rest of the school year to see what impact they have on my students understanding of the world. In order to insure future learning I have been saving a digital copy of each magazine so that I can refer to the events in future years.<br />
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Thank you so much for helping my students understand more about the big world in which they reside. Everyone's support means so much to myself and my students.</div><div class="messageBody"> </div><div class="messageBody"><strong>With gratitude,<br />
Mrs. I.</strong></div><br />
If you would like a gift card, comment on this post and I will send you the link and code through a facebook message (if we aren't facebook friends, let me know and we will figure it out). If there are more than five I will pick five using one of those fun random number generators... but since my average number of comments is usually three, it seems there for the takin'! <br />
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I have no qualms about using any unclaimed cards for myself. It's super fun.<br />
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Show some Teacha-Luv!!!Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-80106376249631297292011-06-03T15:31:00.000-07:002011-06-03T15:44:13.728-07:00Cute Cuddly FlawsIf you are a regular reader of this blog, watch out, this is a <strong>huge spoiler</strong>: I have flaws. Glaring ones. I know, I know, your jaw is in your lap right now. Give yourself a moment to recover. You would have probably found this out sooner or later on your own (if you haven't already) but cheers to getting <em>that</em> out of the way so that you won't smack into it unawares sometime later down the road. <br />
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I used to think my flaws were meant to be hidden, pushed under water like baloons. When they finally broke the surface after a struggle, my face would burn and my palms would sweat. I have really found that by ignoring them, they seemed to multiply and become larger in their ambiguity. Due to the hazy nature of my relationships with them, they had more power over me because I could not call them by name. In addition, I lumped in other people's lists of what my flaws were- not questioning, just adopting those lists as my own. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRflNb0nqh1IlkFmFGbGwOIKk1kQZzTUtolFiP3UrJSDnMxKu1B9as-2EXxsMrEfbo7u05ZoGPOTqYCex7jTlF5RbKRGSPVmTNZqTz8oS0uycJUyQ1ke2JwuWQYu1xMYDuoPTmdjmzQ6F/s1600/strip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRflNb0nqh1IlkFmFGbGwOIKk1kQZzTUtolFiP3UrJSDnMxKu1B9as-2EXxsMrEfbo7u05ZoGPOTqYCex7jTlF5RbKRGSPVmTNZqTz8oS0uycJUyQ1ke2JwuWQYu1xMYDuoPTmdjmzQ6F/s640/strip.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>My old self, as I knew her, had these flaws:<br />
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<strong>1. Clingy</strong><br />
<strong>2. Oversensitive</strong><br />
<strong>3. Analytical</strong><br />
<strong>4. Judgemental</strong><br />
<strong>5. Naive</strong><br />
<strong>6. Weak in Math, Science and Logic</strong><br />
<strong>7. Talkative</strong><br />
<strong>8. Unused Potential</strong><br />
<strong>9. Not Witty</strong>... no wit? nitwit? Are those things related?<br />
<strong>10. Body Flaws-</strong> don't get me started...<br />
<br />
To name a few. Some of these are my own, some are other people's. Here is how I view this list now:<br />
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<strong>1. Clingy:</strong> also goes by the name High Maintenance. My boyfriends used to throw this one at me when I was younger. Some friends may come by it when they want to spend less time with me and I am still happily in the honeymoon phase. Not so much a problem when you have kids and have less time for everybody, including your partner, but still. I am not clingy. I may be less independent than some, and I feel- to each their own. I do like to spend time alone, I really enjoy that time and crave it. But I love to spend lots of time with my friends and my partner and you know, others don't as much. That's fine. It doesn't have to be better or worse than some other guy who's like "I am a rock, I am an iiiiiiiisland..." You want to be an island? Fine, dude. Don't rain on my love parade, just take your thang somewheres else.<br />
<strong>2. Oversensitive: </strong>This is a popular one when someone is just plain being mean and doesn't want to 'fess up to it. I am not the person who asks you twenty times whether you are sure you really like me, or if you're just saying that to make me feel better. But I am the person who is going to call you on your <em>hilarious</em> joke about my complete lack of fashion, etiquette, or ability to be a decent human being. Thanks, but I can clearly see that you are trying to dress up mean in funny's clothing. Fail.<br />
<strong>3. Analytical: </strong>This one I can own. It's a recreational activity for me and some people just hate it. If you hate it, then you'll see it as a flaw of mine. Even worse if I am having a really off day and combine it with the next one on the list. SSSSssssss..... bad, bad. But sometimes, when I'm around others that love it, it is a jam sesh and totally wonderful! So... flaw? Eh, may not be your thing and I'm good with playing whatever you want to play. Unless its in the blog world, then just skip the blogs labeled "Philosophizin'"... cause you'll hate those.<br />
<strong>4. Judgemental: </strong>Ooo. Sometimes. It's usually inadvertent or a blurty moment. I'm a normal person and I have moments where "what's cool" gets confused in my head with "what's right". It's not good and when I catch it I try to correct it. I want to be a compassionate and open person, and make sure you know that I am aware your life is your own. Period. Not to be controlled by me. <br />
<strong>5. Naive: </strong>Hm. Could be true of certain subjects. I mean, a lifetime isn't long enough to be seasoned in everything, not even most things. More often I hear this from people who think it equals friendly and optimistic. Not so. I am quite aware of the potential people have to make bad choices. I try to avoid focusing on bad choices, in most situations. In fewer situations, I try to avoid focusing on those that make them often. They have their reasons, but masochism is not my jam.<br />
<strong>6. Weak in Math, Science and Logic: </strong>I was told this a lot, but it's not true. I was good at math in school, and enjoyed it, but I enjoyed English and Art more, plus that was what I got the most help with at home. I stopped studying math and it became an unused muscle. So yes, it's not my strong suit, but it's not an inate flaw.<br />
<strong>7. Talkative: </strong>Yep, I looooove to talk! I don't see it as a flaw, this is one from someone else's list. If it's too much for you, I understand that. I don't know, cut back? Try smaller doses? I do try to listen, there is more value in that, really. But it's hard when I'm extra chipper or really fired up.<br />
<strong>8. Unused Potential:</strong> I heard this a lot in school from my teachers. I had a hard time feeling motivated to get my work done. I understand that more now. I hear a lot from the media that my place in life isn't successful. I don't use my degree to make money and I stay home with my child. Blessed, but not impressive. I choose to view my life and what I do as a huge success. First, because it is an incredible challenge. Second, because it makes me unbelievably happy.<br />
<strong>9. Not Witty: </strong>Geez, if I can't make you laugh, that is a huge bummer. But ya, maybe you prefer more cynical humor, or slapstick comedy (can't fall on my face over a blog... well, maybe if I figured out how to imbed video...) that's fine. I'm fine with it. I crack my<em>self </em>up and that is enough. Plus, every time someone tells me I am funny, I try to hear that instead. I am funny to <em>them</em>. Awesome.<br />
<strong>10. Body Flaws: </strong>Oh, wow, I know everyone has a list! Mine started getting smaller the day I stopped blaming my body and started blaming myself for not taking good enough care of it. My body is doing it's best. Now, I believe that I can achieve most of the things I want (defined abs?) but I don't want to put in the time. So, I let it go. At least for now. Plus, there are things that don't make it on the front of magazines- a face covered in freckles, for example? But I saw a dermatologist last week who called my skin "perfect". Ahem, what? Clearly I am paying her enough...<br />
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My mission in this all-zits-revealed post is to send you this message, from me to you: if there is something other people don't like about you, don't just add it to your list. I did that, mostly without thinking, for a long time. I'm done with it. Look at the whole picture. Maybe you needed that trait to grow, protect yourself, cope with a hardship, or whatever. Be gentle and understanding. If you no longer need it, work on letting it go, but if it's something that is fine with you- go find someone that appreciates it. I promise you, there are a ton of people packed into this little world, and you are somebody's jam. Don't hang around letting someone else tell you what to add and trim. You're the only one that has to live in there, after all. Let it be a place you want to be.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99mqGDJEXdA_WSAGpNro5HC6Cv26rel62yj7c7FYIDG-CHwFCLfEN0dlI9TTuC1ZbBxI_1sNBU7lx3JsTOMh5lCMIcgCkQgA8fkxI-ICzMLUg_DorO7sKCIIlJTKFWT1TIxmLA_63LtIW/s1600/DSC_0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99mqGDJEXdA_WSAGpNro5HC6Cv26rel62yj7c7FYIDG-CHwFCLfEN0dlI9TTuC1ZbBxI_1sNBU7lx3JsTOMh5lCMIcgCkQgA8fkxI-ICzMLUg_DorO7sKCIIlJTKFWT1TIxmLA_63LtIW/s640/DSC_0013.JPG" width="640" /></a>Lots of Love.</div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-81707491104520605012011-06-01T15:09:00.000-07:002011-06-03T21:12:30.580-07:00Shaky Booty Time!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTgFY0r3whfdteVOykfKmgKQBMBkPjV0KvjzeITfUPJjoTlB_tgR4golGkZRWQWFnunE0QbRkDWermxlFIgod6uYNRIZAclProsIL5jBqX4m7-olhsH6iJMdzjFrUTHZJAEhT_86f47xc/s1600/2011_05_28-110608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTgFY0r3whfdteVOykfKmgKQBMBkPjV0KvjzeITfUPJjoTlB_tgR4golGkZRWQWFnunE0QbRkDWermxlFIgod6uYNRIZAclProsIL5jBqX4m7-olhsH6iJMdzjFrUTHZJAEhT_86f47xc/s1600/2011_05_28-110608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTgFY0r3whfdteVOykfKmgKQBMBkPjV0KvjzeITfUPJjoTlB_tgR4golGkZRWQWFnunE0QbRkDWermxlFIgod6uYNRIZAclProsIL5jBqX4m7-olhsH6iJMdzjFrUTHZJAEhT_86f47xc/s640/2011_05_28-110608.jpg" width="640" /></a>So, we are going to have a flood of wonderful, beautiful photos courtesy of our bestie Dan Shaw over at <a href="http://www.danshawphotography.com/">Dan Shaw Photography</a>, in a couple of weeks. So I am holding off on the big Baptism post until I have those to share with you. It just seems incomplete without that day. But this one above is a little sneak peek. This little guy just <em>loves</em> being with Grandma and Grandpa.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikUOYCoJlmo_ZIljV8CgyTsVzz0WP-ahE1DluBOqgESej9zUTMIxo4vSULDCpeHiW64sjHHudhMUsE7V72lqxfbfypVgK3Cm8qJzqk5H4V13fXvyXnH0a6H96Skml452ysUIhLnuXBsqFv/s1600/2011_05_28-131834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikUOYCoJlmo_ZIljV8CgyTsVzz0WP-ahE1DluBOqgESej9zUTMIxo4vSULDCpeHiW64sjHHudhMUsE7V72lqxfbfypVgK3Cm8qJzqk5H4V13fXvyXnH0a6H96Skml452ysUIhLnuXBsqFv/s1600/2011_05_28-131834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikUOYCoJlmo_ZIljV8CgyTsVzz0WP-ahE1DluBOqgESej9zUTMIxo4vSULDCpeHiW64sjHHudhMUsE7V72lqxfbfypVgK3Cm8qJzqk5H4V13fXvyXnH0a6H96Skml452ysUIhLnuXBsqFv/s640/2011_05_28-131834.jpg" width="640" /></a>In the middle of the Baptism Weekend Extravaganza I had a wonderful visit from my Chico girls, Ali and Kris and their little ones, Evie and Wyatt. We went to the park, and played with blocks, and then began.... Shaky Booty Time. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Basically the game was that I stay on my hands and knees and chase Evie around while she does laps around the living room. Everytime I "miss" catching her, she stops in the kitchen and strikes some pose, like the one below. Then she says "Shaky Boooooty Tiiime!" and turns around and shakes her booty. Hysterical. I am ordered to follow suit, and then she runs again. Every now and then she declares "Fishy Tiiiime!" and I get a water break.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLwgXD8rqOthC3m0_e2Z9RcSp9DPSN4fucJebUsppuHE9VWnU6GozKf9cMst10ncAg8kGsTtaqQAQv1zV6fGZq-gVEtU6h3YMRF1aanoBREZhKJR0PzrB2fRPE-wphGx29FmTA210x4eN/s1600/shaky+booty+time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLwgXD8rqOthC3m0_e2Z9RcSp9DPSN4fucJebUsppuHE9VWnU6GozKf9cMst10ncAg8kGsTtaqQAQv1zV6fGZq-gVEtU6h3YMRF1aanoBREZhKJR0PzrB2fRPE-wphGx29FmTA210x4eN/s640/shaky+booty+time.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEpZLto3QwWvd2aBs-JaE5C-um0lKezuDtjIg50FC94HrjU6E7XamO3PhyTXcs9Zstw47qc1nZ5Yak-Pfo687ayFYn_hYeUBcSRM259NA0hCa_UgBsw8RetqDp8bAFpAmFSKg8XIt49Y4/s1600/2011_05_28-154816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEpZLto3QwWvd2aBs-JaE5C-um0lKezuDtjIg50FC94HrjU6E7XamO3PhyTXcs9Zstw47qc1nZ5Yak-Pfo687ayFYn_hYeUBcSRM259NA0hCa_UgBsw8RetqDp8bAFpAmFSKg8XIt49Y4/s640/2011_05_28-154816.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-56934989785004312342011-05-26T20:35:00.000-07:002011-05-26T20:58:59.354-07:00Scott's HDMI Hobby House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrFE0ilCFk7Z9Ss4wxf1HWVZadgxgzS343zgKg0_JF1wk9gw3ta2V-a8rp9rsXZhE6B2vdt-wvPRemWoGEPSeTpVet06JD-yCdrvbWAHCz8kwICz_51syDATAGhTH3WoYC1xe3V_wykBu/s1600/2011_05_21-202300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrFE0ilCFk7Z9Ss4wxf1HWVZadgxgzS343zgKg0_JF1wk9gw3ta2V-a8rp9rsXZhE6B2vdt-wvPRemWoGEPSeTpVet06JD-yCdrvbWAHCz8kwICz_51syDATAGhTH3WoYC1xe3V_wykBu/s640/2011_05_21-202300.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Okay, so the overall goal of this whole thing is to get rid of any type of TV payment subscription. Lots of people have been asking us how we plan on doing this (Scott, really, I don't plan on doing anything). So I thought I would document his work, which is experimentation, trial and error at times. Oh, and he gets to use fun tools and the biggest drill attachment you've ever seen.<br />
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Part one consists of figuring out how to get our PS3 (which is downstairs) to work with our TV upstairs, so that we can run Netflix up there, and also Blu-Ray movies. We (Scott) plan on doing that by splitting the HDMI output of the Playstation using an HDMI splitter and run one cable to our TV downstairs and a fifty footer all the way upstairs. Remember how we weren't going to put any more work in this house? Ya. Well, that doesn't count if the work is fun, I guess.<br />
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Part two is going to be putting a TV tuner card into our server, which lives upstairs in the very tippy top of the baby's closet. It doubles as a white noise machine. Okay, so that was Scott's first plan, but now they have a separate box available that you plug the antenna into and it connects to the server over the network. But the concept is the same. The server is going to receive all the programming and push it out to the entertainment centers.<br />
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Ya, so did I mention that we have a server and a home network that connects all (five) of our computers? (which includes the server). This is what happens when you graduate from the computer science department, and the wife is more than happy to go along for the ride. We also have a family emergency 24-hour IT customer service phone center in our living room.... haha nah just kidding, although it does seem that way, and since I reap the benefits of quick and easy installs and bug fixes I am all too happy to pester Scott into helping out. He spent half an hour on the phone with my sister the other night when she caught a virus while studying at school.<br />
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The software we are going to use on the server is really meant to communicate with computers at each TV. Instead of the satellite box that we have, we would have an actual computer. But we don't want to do that, because we are trying to save money. So we will record the shows into a format that can be played by the Samsung TV and the Playstation. There's a program called Myth TV which is a free Linux program that will do that for us.<br />
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We also have an eighty inch directional antenna on top of our house. SO ugly. I had rules about where he could put it so that it would bother me the least. But we got it up there, and it picks up the big stations, mainly from Santa Barbara, and connects to our server, feeding those in. <br />
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So yesterday, Scott used a mighty, mighty drilling tool and takes like hours and hours to run the HDMI cable about twenty five percent (hahaha) from the PS3 to our room. It has to run from the attic down into Ben's room, then down from Ben's room to the PS3. Then in another step, he will run it from the attic down into our room. So far, he dropped it down into Ben's room and that took all day. He also cut a bigger hole where a speaker wire was already feeding through to the downstairs center, and fit it with a special panel so that he could use it for the future HDMI cable.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqT5cFcW-sOcJFK-cQwstHX0V0xmyTBxEeCoQmi_rcjj9ebbw3wFDA7LqXO6THl39PLxSDwD2LmNkbwS79DmMVThQeZTJrySbhjVhevYjnVPLDMktFmqN451yFlXVQQDO8Vn9Hs_sq1Z8x/s1600/hole+to+panel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqT5cFcW-sOcJFK-cQwstHX0V0xmyTBxEeCoQmi_rcjj9ebbw3wFDA7LqXO6THl39PLxSDwD2LmNkbwS79DmMVThQeZTJrySbhjVhevYjnVPLDMktFmqN451yFlXVQQDO8Vn9Hs_sq1Z8x/s400/hole+to+panel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Before he even started he figured out that nothing in the walls lined up like he thought it would. He ran into about a foot and a half of solid wood that he hadn't anticipated. Solution? More holes in the walls.<br />
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Then, While trying to run the cable from the attic into our bedroom, he runs into another issue. A very... skinny wall?<br />
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Ya. Those are matching holes on each side of the wall from where Scott was laying down up in the attic. So... this is not an easy straightforward process. So far we have the PS3, downstairs, connected up to our bedroom TV. I am about to go up there and watch some Netflix right now! I'll get back to you with the rest in another post (ahem, when he actually finishes). There are bits of attic sprinkled around (thank goodness Ben is not yet a crawler) and dust and stuff all over him and in his hair. But despite all the griping and complaining, this is what he thinks of as <em>fun</em>. Crazy person.<br />
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Good times.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-13450583273691060192011-05-22T16:41:00.000-07:002011-05-22T19:06:31.292-07:00Top Three<strong>Search Keywords That Will Somehow Take You To This Here Blog. (Or it did for these poor people)</strong><br />
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<strong>1. the middle of a relationship</strong><br />
Well, I guess I am technically in "the middle" of my relationship. With Scott, I'm assuming? I don't quite remember broadcasting that assumption at any point, but if you guys see a subtitle that includes this little phrase, that would explain things. I have no idea what answers this person was looking for, but maybe looking around this little spot <strike>scared them off</strike> helped them out with that.<br />
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<strong>2. "knight flight batman" remote doesn't work</strong><br />
Sigh, yes it does. The thing is, it eats up all the power its battery can hold in about five extraordinary, crash-into-all-your-lamps-and-plants minutes. <a href="http://scottnmary.blogspot.com/2011/04/top-three.html">Check this out</a> if you're confused.<br />
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<strong>3. ie goodlife pest repeller worth it</strong><br />
I could just start using these as post suggestions. Please write your next post about pest repell...er... because apparently that is what your target demographic is really looking for. Noted. Thank you, gentle reader.<br />
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<strong>Scott's Guilty Pleasure TV Shows.</strong><br />
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<strong>1. Chelsea Lately</strong><br />
He says sometimes he thinks she looks good and sometimes... "not good". He doesn't get what that's about. That may be what keeps him coming back. Gotta see if Chelsea looks hot today. He asks me to analyze her look and tell me why this inconsistency continues. My only idea so far is perhaps she has a manic depressive stylist?<br />
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<strong>2.The Dish Earth Channel</strong><br />
Seriously, a live video of earth from space. He will leave it on in the background all day. The guy just loves space. He will just stare at space. Or, more accurately... take a nap in front of space.<br />
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<strong>3. TMZ</strong><br />
It all started with Tiger Woods and his whole infidelity scandal and suddenly he's addicted. Tiger was like his crossover hit. It also kind of happened around the time he got hooked on Top 40 music. And started loving Justin Bieber... maybe he's having a mid-life crisis. Now he wants to grow out his hair like The Bieb and I am telling you I will cut it in his sleep if he tries it. I mean, come on...<br />
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I just can't let it happen.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996432064785502555.post-45025437529961676162011-05-18T20:00:00.000-07:002011-05-19T10:13:46.652-07:00You Know Someone Who Has Been RapedThree rapes were reported this week here on the Central Coast. Our community is, thankfully, outraged and afraid. In a great article from the college newspaper, they pointed out that actually the statistics on rape occurences are at least one a day so actually three in one week is not unusual. What is unusual is the fact that they were reported, and publicized. It is unusual that the victims were brave enough to go forward with that. The victims, not surprisingly, were women. That's because rape is a crime born, raised and fed by sexism. 90% of victims are women. That's right. 9 out of 10. We like to think that as a society we are making a lot of progress toward equality, but we think about rape as a crime just like any other- we don't seem to consider the fact that it is overwhelmingly aimed at women. Men like to say "stop blaming the men for everything". Well, of reported cases it has been stated that 96% of the perpetrators are men. They need to realize that this is a problem that exists amongst them, in their social circles, and that if they expect to keep their mothers, sisters and daughters safe in this world, they need to address it there, where it lives. I will talk much more about what men <em>and</em> women can do to bring about change toward the end. Stick around.<br />
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<div></div><strong>What is the issue? </strong><br />
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<div></div>The majority of rapes are date rapes and acquaintance rapes, and one of the main issues is consent. Giving and receiving consent before sex is seen as unromantic, not sexy and excessively inconvenient. Well so is putting on a condom. But since AIDS, we have been forced to think again about the importance of safe sex. Well, AIDS is estimated to affect about 1 in 300. Rape affects at least an estimated 1 in 4 women in the US. 1 in 10 men will commit rape. And we can't reconsider our attitudes about consent? This is more than an epidemic, clearly. It is an emergency. <br />
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<div>These women are not being attacked in majority by sociopaths or men with obvious mental health issues. The majority are date or acquaintance rapes. That means, the completely typical guy they know through a friend, who offered to walk them home from a party. The guy who also decided to crash at a mutual friend's house. Especially the guy who thinks its okay to have sex with someone who can't stand up on her own because she had too much to drink. </div> <br />
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<strong>But let's stop talking about this like it's health class.</strong><br />
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<div>One in four is here. In your neighborhood, within your friends, within your family. If you have three hundred Facebook friends and don't know anyone who has been raped, why is that? If you are my friend, or if you are just here reading my blog, you know someone who has been raped. You know me. Honestly, you probably know many women who have been raped, but they haven't told you about it. The main thing that I took away from my encounter with the male police officer who took my complaint was that I had been drinking the night that it happened (read: "intoxicated and unconscious"), so I did not have much of a case. Many of my close friends, who loved me very much, tried to find reasons why it happened to me. Maybe to make themselves feel safer? Maybe to make them feel like this couldn't possibly be something that could happen to just anyone? They know the guy that raped me. Trust me when I say that he is a normal guy. The kind of guy you could be friends with. The guy that I would have been friends with. What does that mean? That surely I didn't realize I had somewhere in there given my consent? I must have had some part in it that I could take responsibility for? It was excruciating to have these conversations with people I trusted, who suddenly had no trust in me that my account was the truth. People that knew me dissappeared. Good people. People that love me and are in my life today. Why? They just plain didn't know what to do or what to say. It's not an issue that is talked about, so of course we have no idea how to respond. That's why you don't know the stories of the many women around you who have been raped. We are told that it is our fault, because we were drinking, because of what we were wearing, or whatever. It is implied that there must have been something we did to deserve it, or at the very least something we could have done to prevent it. And when you share your story, you meet absolute radio silence.</div><br />
<strong>Here is why extensive cautionary measures aren't helping nearly enough:</strong> because the majority of rapes aren't by strangers. Thank you, world, for the monthly forwards I get about how I should be more "alert" (aka terrified) in parking lots. I should hold my car keys between my fingers and not remove the flyer from the back window of my car. Thank you, but no thank you. Most girls are raped where they feel like they should be safe- at a friend's house, with a family member, or in their own bed. Locking a door would work, if you knew that your friend who asked to crash on your couch was going to attack you. But you don't. This is why women, and all victims, cannot do anything to prevent rape from happening. Statistically, they are the most vulnerable to it when they feel the safest, and it's impossible to accurately predict <em>which</em> someone you feel is trustworthy will become your attacker. Even behind five locked doors, absolutely stone cold sober, it will still happen because the person that becomes the perpetrator is the one she would have let in anyway.<br />
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<strong>My Story</strong><br />
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<div></div>Don't think for one second that I don't feel terrified, nauseated and alone when I share this story. I live a full, happy and fulfilled life now, and thank God for the fact that I have coping skills to deal with this. Lots of us don't. But it cannot take away the feelings of raw violation that I have and will always have buried deep in a nicely locked up place. Feelings that come roaring to life when I hear the offhand remarks that people make when they hear these recent victims reported as "intoxicated and unconscious" and imply that they should have known better. You are speaking in my presence. I was that girl. I would appreciate it if you would not assume an entire story of your own based on those words. You who do not understand what it is like to have to live on and rebuild.<br />
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<div></div>If you don't know me well, here is some background. I was twenty. I was having a long term, very confusing, on and off sexual relationship with my boyfriend. It's really anyone's guess if we were on or off at the time. Off would have been my guess, but if you had asked us then, we probably would both have shrugged and rolled our eyes. I had just gotten back from a long trip south with my friend Amy. My roommate had invited some people from her class over that night, including my (ex)boyfriend. The drinking probably started around seven. I averaged about one beer an hour, drinking more in the beginning and less in the end. We sat around the coffee table and played a few drinking games, listened to some music and talked. There were seven people there total, including myself. I hardly noticed this guy in particular, but he seemed very nice, funny and just like anyone else. I didn't pay much attention to him, other than the very friendly attitude I would direct toward anyone I met.<br />
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<div></div>I said that I was heading to bed, somewhere around eleven or twelve and said goodnight to everyone. I remember the whole night pretty clearly, especially considering it was ten years ago, but of course the reasons for this are probably obvious. I vividly remember asking if my (ex)boyfriend was coming to bed with me, so that we could talk things out. He was flirting heavily with the girl I had just met and said that he <em>might</em>. I know, I know, ridiculous. I should have just blown him off and gone to bed, but I figured he might come in, so I lit candles (ugh, I know) and laid in bed awake for about twenty to thirty minutes. After that, I got up and blew them out, and took some time to fall asleep, thinking about how crazy mad I was that he was out there undoubtedly hooking up with someone else. <br />
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<div></div>In the middle of the night I was in bed with, I thought, my boyfriend. I thought he had joined me sometime earlier when I was sleeping. We were having sex, but I still had my eyes closed, reluctantly pulling myself out of my dream and beginning to wake up. I would say sex in the middle of the night, especially the way things were, was unusual, but in my experience at the time, not really cause for alarm. I said his name, not for the first time, and I was answered. He said "I am not ___". That woke me up in a heartbeat(duh) and I completely freaked out. I did not feel afraid of this guy, I was too angry. I screamed at him to get out of my bed, out of my room, to leave me alone and go and get my (ex)boyfriend and send him in. He tried to soothe me, saying, "Come on, come on, don't be weird about this," or something to that effect. I looked at him like he was nuts and screamed at him that I would feel however I wanted to feel about it and that he needed to stop talking and get the *&%$ out of my room. He left, finally. I just sat there and tried to quell my own panic. Then he came back into my room. He said my (ex)boyfriend would not come in and that there was nowhere else in the apartment to sleep, so he had to sleep in my room. I said, "Fine, if you won't leave, then I will," and I got in my car and left. One of my friends saw me getting ready to leave and asked to come. I parked down the street and cried and told her what happened and she was shocked and sympathetic. I took her back to the apartment and went across town to my cousin's house, I had a key and let myself in. My cousin came down and I told her the whole story (for the second time) and then went to bed.<br />
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<div></div><strong>In the Morning</strong><br />
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<div></div>I knew I didn't want to press charges. I knew what that would mean- having to defend myself over and over again against a guy who seemed to be an upstanding citizen. I didn't feel that I had the support system at the time that I would need to be interrogated by a defense attorney, lose all my friends in a town I had only been in for less than a year, be headline news and have to cry for days in front of a courtroom full of people. I told the whole story (for the third time) to a male police officer, who directed me to the rape crisis center and reminded me many, many times that I had been drinking and therefore did not have much of a case. I took a shower. I spoke to some people close to me, and relayed the story several more times. A few were completely amazing. Some believed me, and didn't know how to act, what to do or what to say. Some didn't believe me and said that perhaps I just didn't remember what happened clearly enough. I had friends that spoke to him about what happened, and argued in his defense. It was the most painful and depressing thing that had ever happened to me.<br />
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You know what the strange thing is? Before I was raped, I thought the worst part would be the physical attack, the paralyzing fear. Although I am sure that would have been absolutely traumatizing enough, that wasn't an issue in my case. The worst part for me was the knowledge that after the time I had spent trying to grow respect and trust in my romantic relationships, building up a sense of value and self worth... that someone could come along and just take what they wanted from me and treat it as cheap and worthless. I felt like I had been treated like trash- disposable. Something to be used once and thrown away without a thought about me being a complete person- with a childhood, a mother and a future. That frail, empty, burglarized pain still echoes through me. Someone actually thought that they had a right to try their luck- to come into my room, not knowing me at all, and turn back the covers while I was fast asleep. It still makes me want to cry.<br />
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<strong>As Promised, Here is How You Can Help</strong><br />
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<ul><li><strong>Both men and women need to make the two C's part of our safe-sex checklist:</strong> condoms, and consent. Both are sometimes inconvenient and can feel like a buzzkill, but they are essential to safe sex. This is a problem so huge that we cannot possibly go overboard with consent. A girl who has had too much to drink cannot give consent. Same with guys. So don't have sex when you or your partner has been drinking too much. "You're okay with this, aren't you?" and other heavily coercive language is not okay. There are sexy ways to ask if someone is interested in going further: "Do you want me to stop?" can be hot, I'm telling you. Try it. You have to pull back if they say slow down. You have to be ready to stop physical contact at any time. This means every time, even in long term relationships. Ever heard of a safety word? Killing the mood is nothing compared to the consequences of STDs or date rape. Neither are ever worth the risk. </li>
<li><strong>Men and women need to make changes in the way they talk to their peers about this issue.</strong> Men, if you have ever been in a conversation where a friend of yours has referred to a girl as a "tease", you need to let them know you don't buy into that. Women, if you and your friends are referring to other women as sluts based on their outward behaviors or what they are wearing, put a stop to it. We have all taken part in conversations like these, I know I have, and it's a part of the problem. If you don't know why, get educated. But in the meantime, these little changes can make a huge difference, and the safety of our loved ones is well worth it.</li>
<li><strong>Women: </strong>choose the women you know to protect you over the men that you don't. </li>
<li><strong>Men:</strong> if you see a guy leading an obviously drunk girl away (and I don't care who he says he is), intervene and get that girl a cab or into the arms of her friends. Do not fail. </li>
</ul><strong>If Someone You Know Is Raped</strong><br />
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Everyone is different in the way that they grieve, but showing support of some kind is infinitely better than dissappearing or pretending like it didn't happen. Here are some ways you can offer support:<br />
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<ul><li>Show them how angry you are, and make sure that you tell them that it should not have happened.</li>
<li>Make sure they know that you in no way hold them responsible for what happened to them, even if they feel responsible. Continually remind them that it is never okay for someone to do this. Not ever.</li>
<li>Do not make contact with their rapist, ever. Do not listen to his side of the story, do not suggest a reconciliation or an opportunity for redemption. This is their business and you are are either completely supportive of them or you are not. Showing sympathy towards the rapist can make the victim feel undermined and alienated. Many times suggesting contact or referring to the rapist can threaten their very delicate sense of safety and make them panic.</li>
<li>Offer to go with them to their local rape crisis center, or to get together with them after counseling sessions for a treat- a coffee, a movie or an ice cream, something to distract them. </li>
<li>Comfort them as if they had suffered a death. They may grieve in really unusual ways (for example, being afraid of public places, physical contact, or social situations), but if they are a close friend, pick them up essentials at the grocery store, bring them flowers and sit with them. Bring a movie. If they aren't a close friend, drop off a meal and a hug, and <em>keep coming back</em>. Sometimes rape victims feel rejected by society, or that people see them as damaged. They aren't sure who to trust. Reminding them every few days or every week that you are there, and willing to listen and be with them is reassuring. My friend Amy did that for me, and remembering her kindness during that time can still bring me to tears, even ten years later.</li>
<li>Support them if they want to press charges, and support them if they don't. Those girls that reported those rapes this week- I cannot tell you how impressed I am by their incredible bravery. If this blog or any media coverage reaches them, I only want them to hear words of support, sympathy and awe for what they are going through. Going forward with a legal process is an immense amount to ask of someone. There is so much focus on the responsibility of the victim, and it can be a traumatizing experience. Defend your friend's choice and let them know that you realize it is theirs to make and are there for them either way.</li>
<li>Remind them from time to time that you don't mind talking about it. Remember, it is much harder and more painful for them to live through than for you to listen to. Do not suggest solutions or ways in which you think they may have avoided the outcome, or could avoid it in the future. Just listen.</li>
<li>It is never too late to offer support. Never ever. The pain is still there, the potential for love and support is still there.</li>
</ul><br />
<strong>If You Have Been Raped</strong><br />
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You are not alone, and it was absolutely not your fault. If you haven't taken advantage of resources in your area, do it now. It is never too late. I did three months of therapy, and I was sure that it wasn't having any affect, until the end, when I really did feel better. I didn't have to talk about the rape, I just talked. The counselors at rape crisis centers are uniquely qualified and it is a place where you can go and know that you are among people that understand what you have been through. Also? It gets better. It really, truly does.<br />
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<strong>A Special Note to Men</strong><br />
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Please do not feel the need to defend your gender. Rape victims feel blamed and terrorized by the gender wars that erupt from conversations about date rape and acquaintance rape, and as you know, they are all around you, whether you know who they are or not. You do not need to defend the poor choices of other men, you are not them. Drop all the talk about extensive cautionary procedures. Support these women and their right to safety by expressing your anger about what happened to them among your friends and family. Be an example to the following generations by practicing safe sex and avoiding use of demeaning language. Women should always feel as safe as the men feel in their communities, and you can help to make that a reality. Visit <a href="http://www.mencanstoprape.org/">MenCanStopRape.org</a> for more resources and information.<br />
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This was a really painful thing for me to write and talk about but I am fiercely proud that I could. I shouldn't have to hide it. I did nothing to deserve it, it came and hit me in the face. The fact that victims feel like they have to hide this from their communities like a dirty little secret is wrong. It will eat them from the inside. It is my dream that girls like me will see this and feel seen and acknowledged. It is my dream that men and women will read this and find some tools to begin showing their support to those they love, because I know they want to. We need to be surrounded and embraced, and men and women need to gather together and be on the same team about this. We can do this. Begin trying in your small circle today.<br />
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Thank you for taking the time to read this, or pass it to a friend. I appreciate each and every one of you for the time and thought that you have invested in the message I have to share.Mary Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986707247016920534noreply@blogger.com10