tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2192496128382698672024-03-05T13:25:02.657-06:00Green Green Grass of HomeWhat will you see on my blog landscape? Plenty of humor, life's unforgettable moments and occasionally bragging about my children!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger252125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-22302935448716578752010-10-04T18:25:00.002-05:002010-10-04T18:28:43.115-05:00Good newsMy scans came back clear. I am still cancer-free! I have decided to take my blog down, as I no longer have the time to commit to it. If you need to copy some of the other blog links on the sidebar, please do so soon. <br />Thanks for all your support!<br />Love,<br />MicheleUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-75259507546385891462010-08-24T15:36:00.001-05:002010-08-24T15:37:47.212-05:00Yearly Scans...Scans are scheduled for Sept 9.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-76905465742255653232010-06-12T07:46:00.002-05:002010-06-12T08:07:59.396-05:00It Could Be Worse...I am not a Supermom. I am just a girl trying to juggle 1 marriage, 2 kids and 3 jobs. I do not stack up to June Cleaver. Most of the time, Scott accepts that. But occasionally when he comes home and I'm sitting in front of the TV, watching a "Snapped" marathon on the Oxygen Network, with laundry and dishes piled up everywhere, he might make a comment about how I spend my time. <br />No, I will never have the parenting abilities of Michelle Duggar. <br />But there is one mom I always beat out in the parenting competition. <br />And I'm not afraid to use her to make me look better. <br />The conversation typically goes something like this:<br />Scott: "Wow, this house is really a mess"<br />Me: HEY, IT COULD BE WORSE! I COULD BE LAYING ON THE COUCH SMOKING CRACK!<br />See? <br />It always works. <br />Forget to pick up the kids? Didn't send lunch money? Neglected to return the field trip permission slip?<br />It could be worse!<br />Now, I don't want to offend anyone. If you are a mom that often finds yourself laying on the couch smoking crack...well, I'm sure there is a mom out there who does much worse. <br />But for me, I will always fall somewhere between June Cleaver and the mom on the couch engaging in illegal activities. <br />The way I see it, as long as I'm not starring in the next episode of "Snapped", I must be doing something right.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-7469554770299774432010-05-15T22:47:00.003-05:002010-05-15T23:55:09.646-05:00I'd Like To Buy a Vowel...In the fall of 2003, I began providing pediatric speech therapy in homes. My first assigned child had working parents so I would arrive once a week at 6:15 pm. It was a great home but I was always surprised that the television was left on during my time with the child. It was always tuned to the same station, which meant I listened to Wheel of Fortune for half of my session. It was not easy to try and elicit words from a child with "I'd like to buy a vowel" in the background. I was easily distracted by it and found myself trying to solve the puzzles. Turning my back to the tv did not help, as I was too tempted to turn around, so I positioned myself to watch at an angle. <br />I soon discovered that the majority of homes I visited had the tv on while I was present. Because I visited each home at the same time every week, I soon realized I had my own little television program guide at each house. Each week I listened to episodes of ER, Unsolved Mysteries, Little House on the Prairie and lots of soap operas. I quickly realized I could watch just 1 episode a week of Young and the Restless and still follow the storyline. One house I went to had closed captioning and it was so hard not to read that screen! I couldn't resist! I've also watched plenty of game shows, especially The Price is Right and my favorite, $100,000 Pyramid. I've watched countless episodes of Heartland News at Noon and seen more recipes from Mr. Food than I care to count. <br />I remember the day the Catholic Church was about to reveal the new pope. I went from home to home, watching it, and hoping to see the announcement. After 3 visits, I finally got to see it. I also remember what home I was sitting in when I watched the Columbine shootings. <br />Of course, there were plenty of homes with cartoons on the tv. Once I was forced to use the cartoon as a way to elicit words from a child in a home with no toys. <br />I've watched HBO, E!, BET, VH1 and MTV. I've watched enough Lifetime movies to know that when Patty Duke shows up, there's always crying and screaming. Over the years, I have tried to teach myself to tune it all out. But this week, I found myself completely unable to tune out what's on. Comedy Central was showing Loni Love's Standup Comedy. I found myself trying to do therapy between Loni's voice and all the "beeps" that censor out what you obviously know she is saying. Luckily I was in a home that I have been visiting for 6 years so I felt fairly comfortable laughing hysterically at Loni's humor. <br />Is it wrong to listen to the tv when I'm working with a child? Maybe. Is it wrong to laugh at Loni's jokes? Probably. I would have been better off watching Patty throw a tantrum than listening to Loni trash talk the President. <br />But nothing beats buying a vowel from Vanna.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-12020053311330945232010-03-12T18:57:00.002-06:002010-03-12T19:31:52.579-06:00Lenton promises...My friend Amy F. made a Lenten promise to stop drinking soda. Days after this promise was made, she gave in and bought a 44 oz soda at the gas station, placed it in her van's cupholder, turned a corner and the entire soda spilled out. I laughed and laughed at the irony. My Lenten promise was to give up ugly words. I don't need to give up soda since I only allow myself one a week anyway. I don't need to give up fast food b/c I hate fast food...with the exception of 1 "junk" food I can't live without...Casey's pizza. If you have not had Casey's pizza, you have not had pizza. Unfortunately, the stars have to align in order to get a slice b/c 2 things have to happen- you have to be near a Casey's gas station during regular lunch hours. Tuesday, the stars aligned quite nicely and I bought a slice of pizza and a 32 oz soda. As I am unlocking my car, the lid pops off the cup, soda spills on my shirt and I dropped my pizza on the ground. My Lenten vow to eliminate ugly words was immediately broken. Luckily, Casey's pizza comes in a nice little plastic triangular shaped sleeve, so just a smidgen of my pizza touched the ground and I was definitely going for the 5 sec rule. The spot on my shirt was the size of a half dollar but within 10 min, it had morphed into the size of a...well, personal pan pizza. Five miles down the road I dropped a piece of sausage on my shirt so I once again broke my Lenton vow to eliminate ugly words. By the time I reached my destination, my shirt had a large brown circle with bits of red sauce stuck right in the middle. <br />Is there a point to my story? Not really. But is is worth noting that spilling your soda can be the result of a broken Lenten vow or it may actually cause you to break your vow. <br />Next year, I'm giving up lunch behind the wheel. <br />MicheleUnknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-42327336028096252562010-02-24T22:15:00.003-06:002010-02-24T22:51:02.083-06:00GoHappy 15th Anniversary to Us!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaGsQdqbeDW5rp6nPuMyqT0YBlIXf3dIaYYZMt-wih8WJ9u7vmUhby6GkO0-SwF-YnnI1U2TnYublj0KbXupPwtMNjPl11Qyl-6Ef_rbxobeldddlbpZVBL10llr97ZzWH3x_WyEZiyA-/s1600-h/101_1403.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442030327972243426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaGsQdqbeDW5rp6nPuMyqT0YBlIXf3dIaYYZMt-wih8WJ9u7vmUhby6GkO0-SwF-YnnI1U2TnYublj0KbXupPwtMNjPl11Qyl-6Ef_rbxobeldddlbpZVBL10llr97ZzWH3x_WyEZiyA-/s320/101_1403.jpg" /></a>February 25th, 1995, we married at St. Vincent's Church, had the greatest party ever at the KC Hall in Jackson and then headed off to our honeymoon.<br />When we arrived, we opened a gift from my mother in law. It was the Dr. Seuss book, "Oh, The Places You'll Go!"<br />We had big dreams about all the places we would Go. We dreamed of traveling all over the country.<br />And we have.<br />We've been able to Go most directions, South, East and even West. We even had the chance to Go to Aruba a few years back. <br />We have been able to Go to many of the places we dreamed about.<br />And we've been to lots of places we never dreamed we would Go. <br />We never dreamed we would find ourselves Going to the hospital a month early to have a baby and getting there just in time to save her life. We didn't know that we would then Go to numerous doctors and other medical professionals a few years later to figure out what was wrong with her. <br />We never knew we would Go to the nursing home to face a grandmother who no longer recognized us.<br />We certainly never dreamed we would Go to the oncologist to see how we would fight cancer. <br />We surely never thought we would Go to the funeral of my sister's newborn son. <br />But the great thing about our marriage is that we Go together, hand in hand, to face what lies before us. The good and the bad. <br />It's a good thing Dr. Seuss didn't specify exactly where we would Go. We might have decided to just toss the marriage certificate and Go our separate ways.<br />Instead, we stayed together through all of the surprising places we would Go. And we will most likely continue Going places we never dreamed of Going. Both good and bad.<br />Hand in Hand. Together.<br />Scott, I love you and hope we have many years ahead of us.<br />Love,<br />MicheleUnknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-71513828414170194892010-01-22T16:47:00.003-06:002010-01-22T17:34:30.508-06:00Bringin' Home the Bacon...I've been providing in-home speech therapy for about 6 years. I often purchase or donate items for the families I work with. But in some cases, I end up leaving with items that have been given to me. Scott is no longer surprised to see what I am carrying when I walk through the door at the end of the day. Of course, I am often given treats while I'm there. Sometimes cookies... a piece of cake now and then...today I had some monkey bread made from biscuit dough. Once a week or so, I purchase fresh eggs from one family. They have tried to turn me on to raw milk and homemade butter...but I hesitate. Several years ago, I stepped in a large pile of dog poo at a home and when I arrived at the next home, I left my shoes on the doorstep. The Mom felt so sorry for me, she gave me a pair of shoes to wear home. I've been given clothes that were no longer wanted, picture frames, gloves, candles, air fresheners, books, toys...the list goes on and on. Scott has banned me from bringing home any more live animals...I have brought home cats, puppies and even a turtle. <br />This week I received a skillet. What dialogue led up to me leaving with a skillet? I had offered to make a dog bed for my friend B., who has a child that I provide services for. I recently got a sewing machine (that's another blog post coming soon). I am trying to practice my stitches so I thought I could easily sew a dog bed for her 2lb dog named Peanut. B. offered to pay me but I refused to accept so she comes out of the kitchen carrying a gigantic skillet, complete with glass lid. B. does not keep anything in her home that is not required for survival so she wanted me to have this skillet since she has 2 of them. So I bartered a dog bed for a skillet. Scott was thrilled! He loves skillets. I think it makes him feel like a real man to have a big skillet. <br />I have learned over the years to accept these gifts graciously. When someone comes to your home every week for 3 years to play with your kid, saying Thank You is not always enough. What's more important is giving someone a skillet to fry up the bacon they bring home.<br />And that's all the thanks I need.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-62999889055850553672010-01-12T18:11:00.002-06:002010-01-12T18:55:17.615-06:00Quick PostCongratulations to my friend Holly L. who had the best caption for our vacation picture! Holly, I loved it and your gift card will be on it's way soon. <br />I am still cancer-free! Scott and I saw Dr. G last week and things still look great! We did have a little communication block for a moment. Dr. G asked, in her accented speech, "how is your memory" and when I looked over at Scott and said "Why don't you tell her", I got a deer in the headlights look from him. Apparently, he thought she said "How are your mammories" and he thought I wanted him to tell her what he thought of my boobs. Otherwise, it was a great visit. Dr. G did say she wants me to see the neurologist again for my continued memory loss. I told her I would never return to the jerk I saw before, whose identity shall remain unknown but whose name is synonomous with the color of darkness. If you remember, Dr. Darkness told me I couldn't remember anything b/c I had too much anxiety and I kid you not, he said Take 2 pills a day and call me in 6 months. I knew I wouldn't like him as soon as I walked in the room. I do not like old doctors. And when I say old, I mean <em>old enough to date my great-grandma. </em><br />I continue to have very poor balance due to the neuropathy in my feet. I set a record last week for the most injuries sustained in the shortest amount of time. Tuesday, I fell on the gravel and to quote SpongeBob, "I ripped my pants!", along with the skin off my knee. Friday, I made the mistake of trying to catch myself while falling and ended up with a very bad sprained ankle. I would have been better off if I had fallen, then the knees in my pants would have matched, hole for hole. Instead, I will be limping around for a few weeks. <br />So that's all for now. Keep in touch!<br />MicheleUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-81679810043068145612010-01-03T19:09:00.002-06:002010-01-03T19:59:15.786-06:00Love, Honor and CherishTonight I told the girls to sit on the couch b/c I had a surprise for them. I went to the basement and brought up a box that hadn't been opened for nearly 15 years.<br />The box contained my wedding dress. I sent it to the cleaners after the wedding and they cleaned it and sealed it up in a box. <br />So I took the dress out of the box tonight and let the girls see it...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUV3hBEk7eaQtvq3Rh0n4hTO0RTb6o4zmMA0iR7gQaigHvZzMIWUh9AdSzARRcIg4P_dSDkBJIzYyKFGqcH-2GC2Ks-G16xqHTeuPG4CJKTiKQTJgWVM4-SqIu0kfQHx4-uQvpAUotWi6/s1600-h/100_3762.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422686113109098082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUV3hBEk7eaQtvq3Rh0n4hTO0RTb6o4zmMA0iR7gQaigHvZzMIWUh9AdSzARRcIg4P_dSDkBJIzYyKFGqcH-2GC2Ks-G16xqHTeuPG4CJKTiKQTJgWVM4-SqIu0kfQHx4-uQvpAUotWi6/s320/100_3762.jpg" /></a> They even tried it on...<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxQoToknYUt_17NUTQjXmu-TANLzw4AqW19sX0T_1pWPiEwiLkzdAkhSrK6y0RLo7dtsYu75zCK5AipmaOS7UML5Pm5jSx55Gh-ftsHUy-2mvZzNX5B2wcIZnDaO3sNqCrEe20FQW6Plg/s1600-h/100_3760.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422686106280048706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxQoToknYUt_17NUTQjXmu-TANLzw4AqW19sX0T_1pWPiEwiLkzdAkhSrK6y0RLo7dtsYu75zCK5AipmaOS7UML5Pm5jSx55Gh-ftsHUy-2mvZzNX5B2wcIZnDaO3sNqCrEe20FQW6Plg/s320/100_3760.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NGGXuaTOFjXgwEI_1Tsdn3-WZl_ANbfLXy7-TSbxNZre7IAKQuZIa3HuixsE-JuTHcjX3jUOrFYprXuhfH4kotdijgEFx0QSnb0IQD7aDo6Q0a5vnW3bt0WGjZtw-7WC6fjHIdbyr4n-/s1600-h/100_3757.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422686097023368274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NGGXuaTOFjXgwEI_1Tsdn3-WZl_ANbfLXy7-TSbxNZre7IAKQuZIa3HuixsE-JuTHcjX3jUOrFYprXuhfH4kotdijgEFx0QSnb0IQD7aDo6Q0a5vnW3bt0WGjZtw-7WC6fjHIdbyr4n-/s320/100_3757.jpg" /></a> Why would I choose to open it now?</div><div>Because I am donating it to a very special cause. The <a href="http://marymadelineproject.org/">Mary Madeline project </a> will use my dress to make outfits for the tiniest of babies that are born in hospitals across the country. The outfits are donated to hospitals and given to parents when their baby is born too tiny. This offers them a chance to have pictures taken in a beautiful outfit that actually fits their baby. I am donating the dress in honor of my nephew Declan who was born weighing just over a pound. Declan's name will appear in a card attached to each outfit. Some of the cards will also feature the name Kamryn Olivia, in honor of my friend's baby who was born too tiny. <br />When I first opened the box tonight, I whispered to Scott that I didn't think I could do it. But as I looked at the dress, I realized just how many outfits could be made from it. I am sure this is what I want to do. </div><div>I am so grateful I can put my dress to good use. I felt so helpless when Declan was born. All I could do was stand back and pray. Now I will know that the dress I wore on the day I vowed to love, honor and cherish will help other parents love, honor and cherish the memories of their tiny babies. </div><div>God Bless.</div><div>Love,</div><div>Michele<br /><br /></div><div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-57111023341342650202009-11-23T18:33:00.003-06:002009-11-23T18:56:36.576-06:00I'm organizing my tenna-structor!!!Megan was a super happy toddler but she did have her moments when the temper would flare. When she was around two years old, she began using a phrase that we couldn't translate. Whenever she would get really, really angry, she would stomp her foot, slap her hand down and stammer "I'm...I'm...I'm organizing my tenna-structor!" It was very dramatic and appeared to be completely out of nowhere. She would only say it when she was really angry at us. We had to hide our giggles b/c it was so darn funny to hear her say something so absurd. For months we tried to translate and/or find the source of her quote. We tried different variations on the phrase, with the theory that she was mispronouncing a word. <br />One day we were watching her Pooh movie. It wasn't her favorite movie but we watched it on occasion. Suddenly, there on the screen was Rabbit, angry at Pooh & friends, stomping his foot, slapping his hand and stammering "I'm constructing my turnip extractor!". Apparently Pooh & friends had greatly interfered with the construction of this so-called turnip extractor and Rabbit was really, really angry. I immediately jumped up and yelled to anyone who would listen that I had finally, after all these months, translated Megan's phrase! <br />But it was too late.<br />"Organizing my tenna-structor" was here to stay. It now defined our anger and frustration at a situation. Burn supper? Spill your drink? Forget something important? That might be enough to make anyone organize their tenna-structor. <br />Today, I organized my tenna-structor when someone hacked my blog and posted spam on the comments. If it happens again, I will have to eliminate Anonymous comments. So in the future, if you try to post anonymously, it may not accept it. <br />So tell me what makes you organize your tenna-structor?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-78132761084763242902009-11-15T12:30:00.006-06:002009-11-15T13:56:51.579-06:00I can't think of a title for this one......so I'll just tell you what happened.<br /><br />My profession requires I attend classes every year to keep up with my certification. I decided to attend one in St. Louis this week. I had registered just days before; when I asked on the phone if the course was full, the lady said "Oh, no, we have no limits! We register as many as we can!" The topic was Sensory Processing Disorder. This topic is not only helpful for my job, but I also happen to have a daughter with that diagnosis. I was looking forward to learning new information that might be useful.<br /><br />When I walked in the room, 50% of the chairs were facing the back of the room. The hotel had put chairs on both sides of the tables, thus resulting in only half of the participants facing the speaker. Remember the "No limit" policy they mentioned? They weren't kidding. I was given a chair in the back corner of the room, with no table to sit at but I thought, at least I can see the speaker. When the speaker arrived, he said No worries, you won't need to see me at all today, there's no Powerpoint, there's no reason to look at me, we're just gonna read from the manual! That was my first clue that I picked a bad course. Clue #2 came when he said All questions have to be asked during the breaks.<br /><br />I considered leaving but I knew that I wouldn't be able to count the hours, so I would be forced to attend yet another course. So I stayed. I played on my Blackberry, posted on Facebook, texted, whatever I could do to pass the time.<br /><br />At lunch, I decided to eat in the hotel restaurant. I sat with 3 women I didn't know. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. One woman disagreed with every word that came out of my mouth. Another woman responded to each comment with something along the lines of "I"m breastfeeding" or "I need to pump", or "My breasts are really full". I mentioned that my daughter has Sensory Processing Disorder and the other woman waved me away with Oh, we all have sensory issues! When the meal ended and I said I needed a piece of chocolate, they all looked at me like I said I just crapped my pants.<br /><br />So I found a hotel employee who informed me that the hotel did not have a gift shop but I could find chocolate in the laundry room.<br /><br />Before lunch, the speaker had ranted on and on about how artificial and processed foods are destroying our children's minds. When I returned from lunch, the hotel had placed packages of artificially sweetened and overprocessed cookies on the tables for us to snack on. I would have raised my hand to comment on it, but remembered he told us Sorry, no questions or comments except at break time. So I ate the fake cookies and the laundry room chocolate.<br /><br />The afternoon dragged on. I sat in bewilderment when he spent 15 min talking about the side effects of fluorescent bulbs in our schools. He suggested we ask the schools to replace the bulbs with floor lamps. He droned on and on about his research and his publications and his theories.<br /><br />I finally walked out, 45 min early and shortly after he made a joke about someone being bipolar. If you know me, you know I find no humor in anyone being bipolar.<br /><br />Of course, now that it's over, I'm glad I stayed. I got my 6 credit hours. I got a day off from work.<br /><br />And had some squeaky clean chocolate.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-41463041578807022932009-11-05T19:06:00.002-06:002009-11-05T19:41:39.396-06:00Cheez-its Love Me...This I KnowAs a mom/speech therapist, it's very important to me that my kids talk correctly. When they were little, I always listened carefully to their words and if they pronounced something incorrectly, I always provided a correct model for them. Neither of my girls could ever pronounce "crayon" and still today they say "crown" and it drives me crazy! We tried for months to teach Megan how to say "iron". She pronounced it "i-run". I tried not to be the speech Nazi but for goodness sake...if my kids couldn't talk, what kind of speech therapist was I? <br />When Megan was very small, there were 2 things (among many) that she really loved- Jesus and Cheez-its. Unfortunately, we were unable to discriminate between the 2 words. She could often be found standing at the pantry, asking for Jesus....please can I have a bowl of Jesus...I'm so hungry for Jesus. On Sundays, she would sing "Cheez-its Love Me, this I know" and she often professed to having Cheez-its in her heart. <br />Last night Scott and I did something we don't normally do. I started an argument and we fought in front of the kids. I was very angry about something and I really let loose. Luckily, it was brief and when it was over, Emily came into the office and asked me if I needed a hug. She leaned in and said "Mommy, I know why you and Daddy were fighting." My mind began to race. Had she really understood what we were talking about? So I said "Really?" She said "Yes, Mommy. I know that Daddy was talking to someone on the phone and he pronounced his words wrong." <br />All I could do was nod my head and say "Yes, you're right". <br /><em>And if I'd had a bowl of Jesus, I would have thrown it at your Daddy's head. </em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-11777191971097764482009-10-21T18:05:00.003-05:002009-10-21T18:18:10.477-05:00If You Give a Girl a GrandpaIf you give a girl a Grandpa, he'll want to take her to the fair. <br />He'll take her to the fair and she'll ask to see the animals.<br />He'll take her to see the animals and she will see the bunnies.<br />She will love the bunnies!<br />She will ask who the bunnies belong to and Grandpa will tell her they belong to 4H members.<br />She'll ask what 4H is and Grandpa will tell her all about it.<br />Then, she'll ask to join 4H. Grandpa will tell her that's a great idea. <br />She'll think she needs a project so she'll tell Grandpa.<br />Grandpa will buy her a bunny for her project. <br />She'll love the bunny and call her Grace.<br />Since she has a bunny and she joined 4H, sooner or later she'll need to go to the fair. <br />If she's gonna go to the fair, she'll need a Grandpa to go with her.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-14470220850063254562009-10-11T20:27:00.002-05:002009-10-11T21:03:51.140-05:00LessonsWhat do you get when you cross Fire Safety Week and a husband that left on a 4 day fishing trip? <br /><em>Frazzled nerves</em>, <em>sore knees and a vow to be very kind to my husband when he returns. </em><br />If you know Emily, you know that sometimes her engine gets stuck and it's really hard to get her back on track. This week was Fire Safety Week at school. Every day this week, she came home with new information on fire safety. Then the weekend arrived, Scott left for an extended fishing trip and I found myself flying solo as a parent for 4 days. <br />Shortly after arriving home from school Friday, Emily began sharing her fire safety knowledge...and sharing...and sharing. This morning she woke in a panic b/c our family had not devised a fire plan. I made a brief attempt at protesting, but to no avail. Before I knew it, the 3 of us were crawling through the house, looking for the nearest exit. <br />I was becoming very frazzled by this afternoon. I began to doubt my ability to make it through the rest of the weekend. Then we watched a Supernanny marathon. I began to feel smug at how well I raise my kids until I found myself snapping at them for squirming on the couch. <br />The Fire Safety Lessons continued until about an hour ago, when I tucked Emily into bed and I said a small prayer that we would never need all those lessons. <br />Meanwhile, I sit and wait for Scott to return so I can treat him with a little more kindness. The lesson I learned this weekend was Never Take a Spouse For Granted. <br /><em>And always test the door for heat by using the back of your hand. </em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-41263945439597988892009-09-23T21:38:00.003-05:002009-09-23T21:56:08.891-05:00I'm coming back......I promise. I can't even begin to tell all the craziness in my life in the past 3 months. But I have vowed to slow down...I actually told someone the other day that things will slow down in about 2 years...then I realized how ridiculous that sounded. <br />I started a new job but haven't yet given up my other two. I actually thought I could work 3 jobs and stay sane. Not sure what I was thinking. <br />I do have lots of stories to tell but for now, those stories will have to wait. I am facing the enormity of hosting a 7yr old fashion show birthday party for 25 girls and then coming home to host dinner for 16 family members. <br />Coming soon...Tales from the Sale...yard sale, that is. If you've ever had a yard sale, you know there are always stories to tell about the people that show up. Last week, I was in charge of a 20 family yard sale...I told you I've been busy...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-43630664451348479802009-08-31T20:50:00.004-05:002009-08-31T20:54:48.099-05:00Still Cancer Free...I have been so busy lately, I have not had time to post anything. <br />I had my CT scans last week and they were CLEAR. No sign of cancer. For hours, I found myself saying "Thank you Jesus" over and over. Hours after I found out the good news, Scott and I went to Little Rock for a Colon Cancer Awareness event. I met many people I have become friends with on the Colon Club. It was such a great weekend and I am so glad I went. <br />I will eventually post pictures of the weekend. I have added yet another job to my collection and I'm having difficulty finding time for anything right now. <br />Love,<br />MicheleUnknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-41784652969429405132009-07-17T20:20:00.003-05:002009-07-17T21:05:37.876-05:00Would you like a loan to go with that sandwich...This week I saw a Genetic Specialist. I went alone and it turned out to be an interesting trip. I was worried about going b/c I had lost all the papers and didn't have a family tree to turn in. I kept imagining the dr becoming angry and telling me to come back when my homework was done. Why didn't I have the paperwork? Because I made the appt last summer and they mailed the papers and I was supposed to go in January but 2 days before the appt, they called and said the Specialist had a baby early and could I come back in July. So of course, you can't expect me to find any paperwork in this house that came a year ago. So I show up and instead of a dr, it's a Genetic Counselor who comes in. I immediately go into the whole "I'm so sorry I don't have my family tree completed, I have no papers, I was supposed to come in January but someone had a baby...", to which she replied "that was me, except I didn't have a baby, I had 2 babies". And then she tells me she already has my family tree. I'm sure the look on my face was priceless. How in the world did she get my family tree. She then tells me she took a whole history over the phone and I didn't remember even talking to her, then I remembered, oh, yeah, this is the lady that asked if my husband and I are related in any way. So she spends over an hour with me, going over everything I needed to know and answering all my questions. Then the dr comes in and spends about 2 minutes, asking if I had q's and did I understand what the counselor had just told me and then she left. That really irritated me b/c I spent an hour talking with the Genetic Counselor, who probably doesn't make beans for a living, who confessed she is having trouble paying for childcare for her preemie twins, and I'll bet that dr made all the money for that visit. <br />So anyway, they took blood and told me to come back in 2 months for the results. Since I have Greta, my handy dandy Australian gps friend, I am very comfortable making the drive up to Barnes and back alone. However, I was worn out and hungry when I left the appt (I was, at this time, 5 days into my no-carb diet and I was really craving a sandwich...but that's another post). So Greta tells me to turn left and I begin to argue with her. She says turn, I say no, she says Recalculating, then she says turn, and I continued to argue with her until finally I gave in when I realized I was in a questionable neighborhood. <br />I'm so hungry at this point, I decide I have to have a sandwich. I know from my days of eating carbs that there is a Jimmy Johns in the corner of a strip mall at the Festus exit. So I take the exit, park on the side of the building, walk in and discover I'm at a bank, not a Jimmy Johns. That's right, I pretty much tried to order a sandwich at a bank. I had thought when I pulled up that it was odd to see a sign in a Jimmy Johns window that said "ask us about small business loans". But in my carb-deprived mind, I really thought I was in the right spot. So I had to get back in the car and drive over to the next strip mall to get my carb fix. <br /><em>And I didn't share any of it with Greta.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-52699592076029909402009-07-05T20:29:00.003-05:002009-07-05T20:52:14.378-05:00No Sip SirwhatCan you stand just 1 more work story? I am pulling this one out of the vault and then closing the doors for awhile. This is a classic work story I have told many times.<br />Years ago, when I was working at the outpatient clinic at the Hospital, I had a 4 yr old that came for therapy 3 times a week. If you know anything about therapy, you know that 3 times a week is a lot and that must mean this child's speech was REALLY delayed. He was basically unintelligible. One day, as we sat at the table, I stated something that was obvious and without even looking up, he said <em>"</em>No Sip, Sirwhat<em>",</em> to which I replied "what?". Again, he shrugged his shoulders and said "No Sip, Sirwhat". My mind instantly began to run thru the sounds this child could not say- sh, l, k. I then realized exactly what this child was telling me. <br />The kid's mom and brother just happened to be listening and watching thru the observation window. When I realized what he had said, I asked "where did you learn that", to which he replied "my brother". <br />Remember the scene in Christmas Story, when you can hear the mom on the phone, beating her son b/c he had taught Ralphie a bad word? That scene played itself out on the other side of the window. Big Brother was in Big Trouble. I could hear him trying to defend himself, but it was of no use. He was caught. <br /><em>No Sip Sirwhat </em>has become a common phrase in our house. The girls don't even know what it means or where it came from but it is a staple of our household vocabulary. <br />So leave a comment and let me know something so obvious, it will leave me shaking my head, saying <em>No Sip Sirwhat.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-8500260022351901462009-06-27T18:24:00.003-05:002009-06-27T18:59:28.763-05:00Say Busta!,Before I was an in-home speech therapist, I worked in an outpatient clinic at a hospital. One day, I had a new kid on my schedule. He had a long, complicated name but when he arrived, his mother provided 2 pieces of info: He goes by Buster and that's the only word he can say. I sat the kid down in the floor and attempted to elicit some words. Mom again repeated to me "He can say his name", which I noted she pronounced "Busta". Then she began her attempts to elicit the 1 word in his vocabulary, Buster. She began her attempts in an encouraging voice, as in "Say Busta!" As her child ignored her, she became increasingly frustrated and repeatedly said "Say Busta!" Her agitation increased as he continued to ignore her. She had great inflection in her voice, as it moved from encouragement, to frustration, to pleading, to complete "hands on the hips" agitation. My favorite was the "this is ridiculous" tone. I sat back and watched in silence, as I knew from years of experience that a)this child had no ability to talk and b)if he could talk, he wasn't going to do it for her anyway. But for 1 hour, I had to listen to her insist that her son could Say Busta! By the end of the hour, I found myself wanting to blurt out Say Busta!<br />I never saw Buster again, but his mom's words have stuck in my head. It's not really the words, as it is the variety of inflections she used as her frustration grew. "Say Busta" has become a popular phrase in our house. I can't really say that any specific situation makes us want to yell it out, we just find ourselves occasionally trying to lighten the mood by insisting that someone "Say Busta!<br />I guess I could tack on a moral of the story...but when it comes down to it, there's no moral. <br /><em>I</em><em>t was just really funny and I will never be able to control the impulse to yell Say Busta'!</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-89647735021661847262009-06-17T22:05:00.003-05:002009-06-17T22:28:14.016-05:00Just Another Day at Work...I was thinking today, as I drove down one gravel road after another, how different my job as an in-home therapist would be if I lived in another part of the country. I once had a friend who had been an in-home therapist in New Orleans. She carried a gun. I'll admit, there's been a few times I probably needed one too but most days, it's those low water bridges I'm worried about. When I show up for a visit and I'm greeted by someone covered in blood, I don't worry about violence- except the kind that involves butchering chickens. Today, I had a lengthy conversation about how it's been too wet to put up hay and I have 2 families that frequently send fresh eggs home with me. I sometimes drive so far out in the country, Greta's map tells me I'm driving in the middle of a field. These are not things I would experience as a therapist in the city. For example, I'm quite sure I would not have had this conversation several years ago, as I was starting my career as an in-home therapist:<br />Mom: <em>We're having a baby boy!</em><br />Me: <em>Do you have a name picked out?</em><br />Mom: <em>Johnnie Ray</em><br />Me: <em>Oh, are you going to call him by that name?</em><br />Mom: <em>Nah, we're just gonna call him J.P. </em><br />Me: <em>J.P.?</em><br />Mom: <em>Yep, that's right, we'll name him Johnnie Ray after his daddy but we'll just call him J.P.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-40254097679332621902009-06-12T20:46:00.003-05:002009-06-12T21:17:50.888-05:00I did not...I am not currently drinking a cup of coffee on a Friday night just so I can stay up long enough to enjoy a quiet evening at home. I have not already had a nap and I'm not about to fall asleep again.<br />It was not a busy week. I did not take on another (temporary) job, leaving me with a grand total of 5 jobs. I am not doing my part to keep the unemployment rate down.<br />I'm so glad I don't spoil my kids, I would never do that. Emily did not add to her boot collection today, making a grand total of 7 pairs. I am NOT enjoying Megan's new found love of shopping and luckily, she's not spoiled either. And since these things never happen to me, I'll tell you that Emily did not say, at the checkout line, as she is trying desperately to buy a trinket of some sort, "Mom, I know you're tired and I know you don't want to listen to my crap..." Of course, this did not make me bust out laughing!<br />My Facebook page did not get hacked this week and I did not have people emailing me, asking why I was sending them to adult sites. <br />My oil doesn't need to be changed and my tires are not about to blow. My brother in law did not tell me a month ago they were bald. I don't know which is worse, not having the time or the money to get them replaced? Right now, I don't have the time.<br />I did not struggle to keep a straight face this week when someone asked me if our new gecko can stand up and walk like the Geico gecko. Seriously!<br /><br />What have YOU not done lately?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-54015465473981468352009-06-09T17:46:00.004-05:002009-06-09T22:23:27.933-05:00Scammed!I've been scammed. As a matter of fact, millions of us have been scammed. Scammed into believing a blog story that was pure fiction. I fell for it completely, until the facts came out and of course, hindsight is 20/20. I'm not going to mention which blog it was, it's been removed from blogspot anyway. Luckily, I never posted the link on my blog.<br />I hope you will believe me when I say my blog is real! It all really happened- don't ever doubt me. I do not place ads on my blog, therefore I have no reason to profit from my story.<br />So in honor of my recent experience, I'm posting a new topic called "I've Been Scammed by a Fashion Statement".<br />Tonight's featured fashion scam involves those "no show socks" that everyone is wearing. What's the deal with those? They're the size of infant booties! I can only imagine the conversation that took place at the Hanes boardroom.<br /><em>Ok, folks, we need to cut costs. Any ideas?</em><br /><em>Yeah, boss, let's take our infant booties that require much less materials to produce, and market them as "Low Cut". Let's make raw, blistered heels a new fashion statement. Let's make it a faux pas for your socks to show. </em><br /><em>Great idea! We'll use 1/64 of the material actually needed to cover the average foot! </em><br /><br />I totally fell for this scam and bought several packages for Megan, upon her request. I didn't grasp the ridiculous notion of wearing infant booties until I started folding them in the laundry. I was stunned at how small they are! My friend KP said she got tired of the blistered heels on her daughter's feet and she got tired of fighting the battle so she threw them out!<br />My socks will continue to show around my ankles.<br />I will continue to buy infant booties for my daughter, all in the name of fashion.<br />I only regret not saving the ones she wore when she was 3 months old.<br />I could have saved a lot of money.<br />And avoided another scam.<br /><br />Now it's your turn. Tell me a Fashion Scam you have fallen for. Or just feel free to discuss a ridiculous piece of fashion that you wore.<br /><em></em><br /><em></em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-23784319753989007582009-06-03T21:22:00.000-05:002009-06-03T21:24:47.766-05:00New OrleansThere's 1 good reason to go to New Orleans...<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgbPRaamu1BYzfBumYRF0hylIHcC9w4jjwwGdh2nMM9DPWg9y0n2G7IUMwMCuA4SYH37hJqG5p2D7FlO5LjPPTwP4Jsfgt3-Jcv0ucp296hC3baIIZ0xOxbiHgSkioZkjXWROOJwAPze-n/s1600-h/101_2361.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343279770175701954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgbPRaamu1BYzfBumYRF0hylIHcC9w4jjwwGdh2nMM9DPWg9y0n2G7IUMwMCuA4SYH37hJqG5p2D7FlO5LjPPTwP4Jsfgt3-Jcv0ucp296hC3baIIZ0xOxbiHgSkioZkjXWROOJwAPze-n/s320/101_2361.jpg" border="0" /></a> Scott and I can't get enough of it. We ate shrimp 4/4 days we were there.<br />Of course, that's not all we ate...<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOF8MRWsfglULa7Viq4EdeZTpxFK3kpBo9PqDQ55EXBJe1XkN8_IHjcaAUhvbgSPlePrHEPLPOkA8tDIPy3OlTMdM6egt3_YZexuG5TdvkeQDh2xaptIWM_TxhvxEMz81upzp9DNwgTCqP/s1600-h/101_2400.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343279766872218786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOF8MRWsfglULa7Viq4EdeZTpxFK3kpBo9PqDQ55EXBJe1XkN8_IHjcaAUhvbgSPlePrHEPLPOkA8tDIPy3OlTMdM6egt3_YZexuG5TdvkeQDh2xaptIWM_TxhvxEMz81upzp9DNwgTCqP/s320/101_2400.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div>Imagine my excitement when we discovered a nearby Greek festival. (In case you've never met me, allow me to explain that I was Greek in my former life but sadly, I was reincarnated as a kid from the Missouri Bootheel, where ham and beans, cornbread and blackeyed peas are served on a regular basis.) </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ziOlV0-DBsXLYWkP_4XAmgY1UkRgqpyFAyIxt-xUxOpOlD2E_WR6KobAotBaVUbiuDvYO06qGNUv1zK1AZxHRsd2YfsUERDScLf2afWEHaV2EnTGTjVe3funwEkZhpxdwK5N-KMalm-d/s1600-h/101_2417.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343279761483667010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ziOlV0-DBsXLYWkP_4XAmgY1UkRgqpyFAyIxt-xUxOpOlD2E_WR6KobAotBaVUbiuDvYO06qGNUv1zK1AZxHRsd2YfsUERDScLf2afWEHaV2EnTGTjVe3funwEkZhpxdwK5N-KMalm-d/s320/101_2417.jpg" border="0" /></a> Greek beignets...<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5dxT-_BhdB6kC7E8gY4QV1ylxWhifsNVzHPthUMrU9e-BWQHB7jEivZbXxeFfrrzk6NDi6gEdwYZfU4gVMcxdJ_FNtMtbRN-pfXSnKeDMxeTL1Da3CsAKRXtlv740wu7QayvHxB5nxN1/s1600-h/101_2409.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343279757944367842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5dxT-_BhdB6kC7E8gY4QV1ylxWhifsNVzHPthUMrU9e-BWQHB7jEivZbXxeFfrrzk6NDi6gEdwYZfU4gVMcxdJ_FNtMtbRN-pfXSnKeDMxeTL1Da3CsAKRXtlv740wu7QayvHxB5nxN1/s320/101_2409.jpg" border="0" /></a> Gyros...<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuaWvIjDQVcwhrgNBeA2WpZzmL2ornpNnbGHPmmXu0Uw0D8u867Vrf2qryMpxaAHNpYzHegsTpPg2SJKjvZiWSciqcLIJFv33mQOnDjXwDzbnULe3CZ9xn49LSTGXuVW56Y7NsX7T2327r/s1600-h/101_2407.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343279755748704658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuaWvIjDQVcwhrgNBeA2WpZzmL2ornpNnbGHPmmXu0Uw0D8u867Vrf2qryMpxaAHNpYzHegsTpPg2SJKjvZiWSciqcLIJFv33mQOnDjXwDzbnULe3CZ9xn49LSTGXuVW56Y7NsX7T2327r/s320/101_2407.jpg" border="0" /></a> Souvlaki...</div><div></div><div>Then it was on to the French Quarter where we had French Beignets..<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SBrnUUXhiUX41d-JUiAJe6aUq3uUAytr-aGabeiLMNmSJytHYWlrtnwXSg0GK12sQT_Iq7jxWEpxkyv6TTWmcgwaL0BrSwx79xCeoCQYxX_v2VUwdO_QCMAoGH1p4SjpJgy5rZp92gdR/s1600-h/101_2393.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343278785052122130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SBrnUUXhiUX41d-JUiAJe6aUq3uUAytr-aGabeiLMNmSJytHYWlrtnwXSg0GK12sQT_Iq7jxWEpxkyv6TTWmcgwaL0BrSwx79xCeoCQYxX_v2VUwdO_QCMAoGH1p4SjpJgy5rZp92gdR/s320/101_2393.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Then we ventured to the brand new Insectarium...<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzV4LOLT5r7jvBPdc9fap08C2PMfol4PoJ2m4tctdErhD6567Cm82t0F23dDWX7xlsG2k75BgQpMKw1aP38mMiNWjHZFbiA5EUEkrx3ZHSIscK8bJtisJ1WjTK17JVq0DMSDafMUSu2R-8/s1600-h/101_2371.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343278778998507730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzV4LOLT5r7jvBPdc9fap08C2PMfol4PoJ2m4tctdErhD6567Cm82t0F23dDWX7xlsG2k75BgQpMKw1aP38mMiNWjHZFbiA5EUEkrx3ZHSIscK8bJtisJ1WjTK17JVq0DMSDafMUSu2R-8/s320/101_2371.jpg" border="0" /></a> Megan and Tinni were spotted in the Bug Kitchen, eating cricket pancakes and other disgusting foods made from creepy crawlies. I told Megan she could never again complain about what I cook for dinner. The girl won't eat beef but she ate a pancake full of crickets. </div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DATmJEXvGdt9zFOP8woRxrXO6HXQSEiTc3k0YTEsf5YEE1_VzTCJqKn58BSRakRbEc5NTPvyZOeVEVlN6QVVX2rTOOw3hqhoDg3qrLntF0CuhSc2S0Garjcbhns9u4WfkMstUrP_odLy/s1600-h/101_2373.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343278777406852690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DATmJEXvGdt9zFOP8woRxrXO6HXQSEiTc3k0YTEsf5YEE1_VzTCJqKn58BSRakRbEc5NTPvyZOeVEVlN6QVVX2rTOOw3hqhoDg3qrLntF0CuhSc2S0Garjcbhns9u4WfkMstUrP_odLy/s320/101_2373.jpg" border="0" /></a> Fried mealworms...</div><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIrX8K7PZF_V0QX3wzJ98CulewGmETfJ20Tll0eTCFRce7IW5XNj6bZPt-BG2_nBFrHSEzudgFRWgdIzAPeqInpAng-sw_vILKQIcdwgSTRNiT_-9hMVSTmrxFgFjAEj7KLj017At2oRDt/s1600-h/101_2374.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343278770587234274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIrX8K7PZF_V0QX3wzJ98CulewGmETfJ20Tll0eTCFRce7IW5XNj6bZPt-BG2_nBFrHSEzudgFRWgdIzAPeqInpAng-sw_vILKQIcdwgSTRNiT_-9hMVSTmrxFgFjAEj7KLj017At2oRDt/s320/101_2374.jpg" border="0" /></a> Superworm Salsa...</div><div><br />Minutes before we left, Emily and Tinni were roasting marshmallows and passing out smores.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSr1LORCa7-NtciJNWC1RBGMDH7UhztUXxEeeo8MkbyRMOqi7UgQD56rTMCfZnjP2bXii8_Kiym22DrR3Mz0SC2fFF2luIZ1oM3BdwI7DLirL2e_HxID-dkK_6NZu9jH-5Af2OlVj-vtWp/s1600-h/101_2419.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343278766741741058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSr1LORCa7-NtciJNWC1RBGMDH7UhztUXxEeeo8MkbyRMOqi7UgQD56rTMCfZnjP2bXii8_Kiym22DrR3Mz0SC2fFF2luIZ1oM3BdwI7DLirL2e_HxID-dkK_6NZu9jH-5Af2OlVj-vtWp/s320/101_2419.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div>When we came home and I unpacked my suitcase, I noticed an oily spot on my jeans. I am unable to consult my Stain Removal Chart b/c I don't know if it was the gyro, souvlaki, baklava, beignet (French or Greek, take your pick), crab cheramie, or shrimp. </div><div><em>It certainly wasn't the cricket pancakes.</em></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-31351453120583046522009-05-31T13:51:00.002-05:002009-05-31T14:03:13.649-05:00Meet our new baby...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0ppY-54KbtTvbPhCJOsTUMWdP4HPqMbvQhcwaCsXd6oW40FIxe5sxefONOK6mSe5cQ63z114ZCA5GnRZuN3bmPD3N9mwD5ES95TIar3-99AqwOptOvsgHi6OFQ6qcSVVCzz5Wi-DLWeu/s1600-h/101_2436.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342063366957311826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0ppY-54KbtTvbPhCJOsTUMWdP4HPqMbvQhcwaCsXd6oW40FIxe5sxefONOK6mSe5cQ63z114ZCA5GnRZuN3bmPD3N9mwD5ES95TIar3-99AqwOptOvsgHi6OFQ6qcSVVCzz5Wi-DLWeu/s320/101_2436.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7gt9bil_cS3puynT2w6RouyIa9gCJLJ1goigcNZzn0rNAMKXDd-0lGaeazvgdEMx4BDru6AAnSPhrO9pCvnA9ON0V68DFq6XjYNrEq4SlfoXmXmQ42X6ZxnkLiP8BcsQn_0Tx57pfN1b/s1600-h/101_2426.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342063362669489394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7gt9bil_cS3puynT2w6RouyIa9gCJLJ1goigcNZzn0rNAMKXDd-0lGaeazvgdEMx4BDru6AAnSPhrO9pCvnA9ON0V68DFq6XjYNrEq4SlfoXmXmQ42X6ZxnkLiP8BcsQn_0Tx57pfN1b/s320/101_2426.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Meet Liz, the newest baby in our home. The pics aren't real good, it's very difficult to photograph her. She's WILD! She can jump right out of your hands and she runs when we touch her. She's tiny, about 4 inches long. Emily chose her name, much to Megan's disappointment. I told Megan not to fret about it, it's not an original name for a lizard but we can tack on a last name and make her famous. Like Liz Claiborne or something. Send any suggestions for last names that will make her famous and we'll use the best one! <br /></div><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219249612838269867.post-88125337656814843302009-05-28T17:04:00.005-05:002009-05-28T17:32:56.694-05:00Zip 2005-2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0me9NkaPbd3_tBJ6Ps9CNSmIl4G28j8obWmLawqtHcMXvxN-Xh9F7poCh9k1bvqIbNCjbJoLHKnNPazWzBOHmIE2vs0QKbIxscM6LTUm58kdawr3725DD89kaoCTG8hEU8uu-sZTzNA5/s1600-h/101_2146.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341005438890476914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0me9NkaPbd3_tBJ6Ps9CNSmIl4G28j8obWmLawqtHcMXvxN-Xh9F7poCh9k1bvqIbNCjbJoLHKnNPazWzBOHmIE2vs0QKbIxscM6LTUm58kdawr3725DD89kaoCTG8hEU8uu-sZTzNA5/s320/101_2146.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I'm back! I had a post nearly ready to hit the presses but then we had a sad day and I don't feel like cracking any jokes. We had to have Zip, our 4 yr old leopard gecko, euthanized. It was very difficult to say goodbye to him. Megan is very upset. Emily is taking it well. I have to commend the staff at Deer Ridge. Although this is not our vet clinic, we were forced to use them, as they are the only exotic animal clinic in this area. Their kindness and professionalism will not be forgotten. They knew exactly how to handle the situation, from start to finish. </div><br /><div>4 years ago, we vacationed in Gulfport, Mississippi with Scott's brother Chris. When we returned from this trip, 2 things happened. We bought Zip and Hurricane Katrina hit. All in the same week. So I always associated Zip with Katrina. I never imagined that not only would it be 4 years before I would return to the area, but Zip would pass away when we returned. What a strange coincidence. </div><div>Goodbye, Zip. See you on the <a href="http://rainbowsbridge.com/Poem.htm">Rainbow Bridge</a>.</div><br /><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7