tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17987402777023550742024-03-12T21:15:02.872-04:00Little Boys, Little Boys! Everywhere I Look I Can See Them!Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-67866783991624078872022-02-17T12:50:00.000-05:002022-02-17T12:51:21.752-05:00Beep Beep Beep<p><span style="font-size: 10px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjw_TWN73mkT6kYasrrqShuJZ_MQY3xdyIddf2r7FpNs5wHYD7I-diZfmem3xi19OzyBX0E_a2HWAYFWQ-QtJ9OCvo0NeVTx8903_wyAPAF1SpQ1GNb9ocDMyLdOLKI5YvuNbiumkcJgsiO2bxYcNrNrrm3pAyU-XKzVv7mklkO-9RGBL5yqkRGfOI0sA=s2287" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Nyy5RX-8PxnN2a6-AwVLZpIKlWZByp6RD5ctECUxN-cyicuJ73tbarx5EuaQZaxFKIcphay_1KoLSQb3Si3SHxZf8Qk8-qXjZY5Mtffr_gQXPqhi9M19zu0C3sODkqOT-Qm_qSfmMFpU/s1600/1645120273991049-0.png" width="400">
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</div><br></div><div>Beep, beep, beep. Most days, if I am hearing little beeps, it's from a precious 4-year-old playing with cars on our classroom rug or one of my co-teachers reading "Little Blue Truck." When I hear a little whine followed by a complaint, it's usually "Billy won't play with me" or "Sally is using all the red blocks." These days, it's a beeping IV machine saying infusion complete, and my husband's not as precious complaints about pain (or hunger or boredom or restlessness-but mostly pain). Yup, a backache, a fever, and a really grumpy man landed us right here in room 505 at the hospital with the best view known to man. Now, instead of looking up-promoting preschoolers' emergent writing on my phone, I am searching words like osteomyelitis (for the infection in his spine), sepsis (for the infection in his blood), and endocarditis (for the infection in the mitral valve in his heart). My medical degree may be from google, but when things like rare, critical, and requires immediate medical attention pop up on your search, it's not ideal. AND if you know anything about Rachel or Charles, for that matter, you know we tend to be procrastinators. Immediate medical attention will get even the most ardent procrastinator to hop into action. And by hop into action, I mean beg, cajole, scream, threaten, and basically push your 6-foot 3-inch husband into your tiny little car and dump him off at the ER door. So here we are... in room 505 of the hospital with the best view known to man...with choruses of beep beep beeps and diagnoses of some very scary, very medical sounding, very serious conditions. We've been here since Sunday, and it doesn't look like we will be busting out anytime in the near future. But, the antibiotics, doctors, nurses, and CNAs are working around the clock to get the numbers looking better, and right this minute, they are doing everything they can do to avoid surgeries. It's going to be a very long road to recovery, but it is road, and Charles is the best darn driving instructor I know.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-90528461097385807642018-01-04T18:39:00.000-05:002018-01-04T18:39:39.083-05:00Things I Have Learned About Snow (by a very southern girl)I don't know if you all know it but I am a very South Carolina girl. I was born here. (Actually I was born in Savannah and brought to South Carolina mere days after but that is another story for another time that I probably will not be sharing anytime soon) (But Savannah is still southern so my point doesn't change) As a matter of fact my grandmother was born here. The southern in my blood is thick. I have not had many White Christmases. One to be exact. I haven't built many snowmen. I am not a very good person to have on your snowball team. (Really, I am not a good person to have on any ball team) I just don't know a whole lot about snow. BUT...I have learned a ton about it in the last two days. AND since I am Rachel I figured I'd share with all of you.<br />
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<u>It's Beautiful</u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1Iv6fS6BEt3kr-AbqYIL2BYpzO67tOMKrfUJFfZla-BlujjQPWFmTalsdvvBxItneuKZNjqjv7rm031vn8RFJoU4JkAcoFge9ne3bml6Q6-TSEwdErvDwKmC4Np7t0gwHaax2dSOnGMd/s1600/20180103_133812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1Iv6fS6BEt3kr-AbqYIL2BYpzO67tOMKrfUJFfZla-BlujjQPWFmTalsdvvBxItneuKZNjqjv7rm031vn8RFJoU4JkAcoFge9ne3bml6Q6-TSEwdErvDwKmC4Np7t0gwHaax2dSOnGMd/s320/20180103_133812.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There is just something so serene and beautiful when everything is covered in white. I may have already known this but when you see your own house and neighborhood blanketed in snow really shows just how beautiful it is. </div>
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<u>Your Children May Actually Get Along</u> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjRcZClzlvEtgecHOQSVXSCNfuC7JGvyY-56GjLd7tawIpvqRyDwxwg5LGVDyKM7ElwyJD0erbyhPFMkpSh4e0TgvbgGBNv68wTxAbATuL7n3ur1IxdF5AlurgqfKuTqg2W1zKQq7ppX0/s1600/20180103_145212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjRcZClzlvEtgecHOQSVXSCNfuC7JGvyY-56GjLd7tawIpvqRyDwxwg5LGVDyKM7ElwyJD0erbyhPFMkpSh4e0TgvbgGBNv68wTxAbATuL7n3ur1IxdF5AlurgqfKuTqg2W1zKQq7ppX0/s320/20180103_145212.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKUbJTScBMF2Dpl9LcTJlZBAcM1d1evP0mMLgY3nvEyMDYN6DBmrxXDeCJuvx87fu1_cajleUDoo_GlSNl4d2bsFV738x5DMkY1ZPAw1829eK9UJeYVVRl3dmyVWWW09MhP-1oQ9lGNun/s1600/20180103_145409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKUbJTScBMF2Dpl9LcTJlZBAcM1d1evP0mMLgY3nvEyMDYN6DBmrxXDeCJuvx87fu1_cajleUDoo_GlSNl4d2bsFV738x5DMkY1ZPAw1829eK9UJeYVVRl3dmyVWWW09MhP-1oQ9lGNun/s320/20180103_145409.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">YES! You read that right. They may actually get along for more than 3 minutes at a time since they have something new to do that has nothing to do with screens. I took pictures for proof. </span></div>
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<u>The Young Adults and Teenagers Who Live in Your House May Acknowledge Your Existence </u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKfQAgcQRkzJMdvX0sbEBlnc-QsfTahidYHHX8DBIjYfAxyPBlU6EkzeIEnbLKWGHabmHzTsSoehfP8puBy0V3E8LbNJbdlEKK2w9sxIvTEQ-rdgLo0TPoROcYJ2ltEbodgOS5hOjgFJJ/s1600/20180103_145918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKfQAgcQRkzJMdvX0sbEBlnc-QsfTahidYHHX8DBIjYfAxyPBlU6EkzeIEnbLKWGHabmHzTsSoehfP8puBy0V3E8LbNJbdlEKK2w9sxIvTEQ-rdgLo0TPoROcYJ2ltEbodgOS5hOjgFJJ/s320/20180103_145918.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4phMxtrKeTvSjGoWnR1_sQViNGMklb4g9d6J3kg8r-CNzGouweQ7Y6BPaCb7EsuR27a5_LB0qjhYwpuUsUtQsEKqcWzzHofPM_6S4qCHLSDav2WhmVRbVFi93xMMOujHEt4s0fQpCrWzH/s1600/20180103_145735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4phMxtrKeTvSjGoWnR1_sQViNGMklb4g9d6J3kg8r-CNzGouweQ7Y6BPaCb7EsuR27a5_LB0qjhYwpuUsUtQsEKqcWzzHofPM_6S4qCHLSDav2WhmVRbVFi93xMMOujHEt4s0fQpCrWzH/s320/20180103_145735.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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They may even go for a walk with you. No promises but they may even let you take their picture. </div>
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<u>Boogie Boards Make Decent Sleds</u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlMIKIKQ_3cbI93sOsxJ36b-cfbTLP40MsqAKJp5vLESJqDuKqaH6TzMfah9Dz5ZIcYuShb5Tzb-1mScDPw-jGtgEWjzX6xgNlt18GvY-LWbGkGQ6JsG_3fUJhu5wU48rLMx2XTlGj7hbU/s1600/20180103_134628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlMIKIKQ_3cbI93sOsxJ36b-cfbTLP40MsqAKJp5vLESJqDuKqaH6TzMfah9Dz5ZIcYuShb5Tzb-1mScDPw-jGtgEWjzX6xgNlt18GvY-LWbGkGQ6JsG_3fUJhu5wU48rLMx2XTlGj7hbU/s320/20180103_134628.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Finding a hill is more problematic for children in South Carolina. </div>
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<u>Snowball Fights Are Fun</u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3HDTPgDWkmj3avcy9UxcXxwFj_qxf0wNo4jtwflR8kd1ee88BVdABmw9Y9HhTx5Sdu1j220PcvTkoVlXbPpB8YOUcorYJS-QyH502fm2F8H-g501qULoIlCOJWUU6I9C_bS-dZ-ouSDlx/s1600/20180103_145750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3HDTPgDWkmj3avcy9UxcXxwFj_qxf0wNo4jtwflR8kd1ee88BVdABmw9Y9HhTx5Sdu1j220PcvTkoVlXbPpB8YOUcorYJS-QyH502fm2F8H-g501qULoIlCOJWUU6I9C_bS-dZ-ouSDlx/s320/20180103_145750.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtqqi5XSXni78xh-zRiNvb6LaC7WfIZJDohg7uPom7RqD3enYlBHVTn4Tu3fg80XrVKINcIfA5G3LBfKqEJTyb9N0FuH7EsYqAO7V4hDBn-szITrSz6h_2hH8JM9NE59lGCB_Q8qCAiiN/s1600/20180103_145757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtqqi5XSXni78xh-zRiNvb6LaC7WfIZJDohg7uPom7RqD3enYlBHVTn4Tu3fg80XrVKINcIfA5G3LBfKqEJTyb9N0FuH7EsYqAO7V4hDBn-szITrSz6h_2hH8JM9NE59lGCB_Q8qCAiiN/s320/20180103_145757.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And also hard to photograph. But fun. Until you get smacked in the face. Or back of the head. Maybe they are not fun. </div>
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<u>Snowmen Are Too Much Work (for a 44 year old out of shape woman who doesn't like to bend)</u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufWA0-KRePbGeZ1aYjbX9UToFkVdFVslWVbHrvZzMVXeg6c4rEEK4sfS950FGVwy-d17EUBQDWPcQXNlYR_HeCKd50WxNWK64vuj36RaiSLoJrC0lkjNa85OARz1hE681qEWC-B0_oyaN/s1600/20180104_165021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufWA0-KRePbGeZ1aYjbX9UToFkVdFVslWVbHrvZzMVXeg6c4rEEK4sfS950FGVwy-d17EUBQDWPcQXNlYR_HeCKd50WxNWK64vuj36RaiSLoJrC0lkjNa85OARz1hE681qEWC-B0_oyaN/s320/20180104_165021.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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This could also be titled "8 Year Olds Don't Have the Attention Span to Make a Decent Smowman." Just give it up man. Building snowmen stinks. </div>
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<u>Oh The <strike>Humanity</strike> Laundry!</u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkAlY92v8-DyBfu1tB9hKFGodgVzxQHbs-Ay_2FHfCmBoNAY0U3QU2zH685nTLxIcpgPPGG8522scGNJnpKzg_eO9aAWVte2BM4MnKp9VuvROiQB_H8nm2yl7BMFYljdCB2sSsqsxstWh/s1600/20180104_164935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkAlY92v8-DyBfu1tB9hKFGodgVzxQHbs-Ay_2FHfCmBoNAY0U3QU2zH685nTLxIcpgPPGG8522scGNJnpKzg_eO9aAWVte2BM4MnKp9VuvROiQB_H8nm2yl7BMFYljdCB2sSsqsxstWh/s320/20180104_164935.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz2OhpjuJFte4WQuD5twWEET0ZuuT1eKWpgS5hElZAvRUPIKhbtf6z-qFWTIiva62IKoQQ_5doj_jqGzzsrItWLH38wbesciX5tdJDMHDZpY1XLIWLDQifrOFhy_eRJDMQA-orCz4at1g/s1600/20180104_165001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz2OhpjuJFte4WQuD5twWEET0ZuuT1eKWpgS5hElZAvRUPIKhbtf6z-qFWTIiva62IKoQQ_5doj_jqGzzsrItWLH38wbesciX5tdJDMHDZpY1XLIWLDQifrOFhy_eRJDMQA-orCz4at1g/s320/20180104_165001.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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You get cold outside so you come in and the snow melts and your clothes get wet and then you take it all off and leave it on the bathroom floor for your mother to pick up and throw in the dryer while you take a bath to warm up and then you use 3 towels to dry off so you can put back on your semi-dry clothes so you can go back out and get all snowy again. It is a vicious cycle. And I am not sure if I like any of it. </div>
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<u>Snowflakes That Stay On Your Nose and Eyelashes Will Forever Be One of My Favorite Things </u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtfFxl4NYmCBJ0gYAELLdYpgwN4hU9jn5PH4IrXAAUtOax4j0hbBBMuVTrQiqfjN9UlUcbId8pFsxiQH123fHUFIDsGfDU415D0L7B7yegdtaOWRensXCyNGdstBIzHNEdOGHZsn1jMJS/s1600/20180103_134935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtfFxl4NYmCBJ0gYAELLdYpgwN4hU9jn5PH4IrXAAUtOax4j0hbBBMuVTrQiqfjN9UlUcbId8pFsxiQH123fHUFIDsGfDU415D0L7B7yegdtaOWRensXCyNGdstBIzHNEdOGHZsn1jMJS/s320/20180103_134935.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Thank you Maria Von Trapp (or Rodgers and Hammerstein to be more exact) for putting this into words for me. I don't know if I could have expressed it any better. <br />
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So to recap... Snow is a very messy sibling bonding outside cold activity that I am very thankful for. I am also very thankful that it doesn't happen very often. </div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-62891032420088584372017-10-21T23:02:00.000-04:002017-10-21T23:02:26.145-04:00XX Annos, Hace 20 Años, Vor 20 Jahren, 20年前, לפני 20 שנהNo matter what language you use it all says the same thing... (well at least according to Google Translate) 20 Years Ago. I can't quite believe it was 20 years ago since I feel like I am only 32 and if was 20 years ago I must have been like 12 when this all happened. But I wasn't 12, I was 23. And I have a 20 year son. (And if you are a math wiz like I am you know this means I am now 43.)<br />
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Most of you have heard these stories from 20 years ago. Probably even more times than you really wanted to, but alas I am Rachel. (You do remember my father and grandmother, right? They liked to spin a web every now and then too) In case you were wondering I am going to share them one more time. 20 years ago we experienced just about every emotion known to man. Almost. Every. One. I can still close my eyes and feel what I was feeling then. I can smell the smells and hear the sounds. I think maybe this always happens when your life changes in a heartbeat. Even in an out of synch, very sick heartbeat. Such emotions...</div>
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Pure Love</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8ozPzF0AurjZv27J3Vn6kYO9e3eVBLtBkQGo-6Jjs8oP4-0TzJnZEoMzFNi190mBPCFPieZoDcTOvjwB0BnL1O_YcXg_WG0wqc53sB50B3SCLlUs3IBjDylXoVY8rDJDOBNfcTbePik5/s1600/20171021_202753-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1335" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8ozPzF0AurjZv27J3Vn6kYO9e3eVBLtBkQGo-6Jjs8oP4-0TzJnZEoMzFNi190mBPCFPieZoDcTOvjwB0BnL1O_YcXg_WG0wqc53sB50B3SCLlUs3IBjDylXoVY8rDJDOBNfcTbePik5/s320/20171021_202753-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Man, there is nothing like holding your newborn baby. Looking into their amazing eyes takes you to a new place in your world. You have looked forward to this moment for 9 months. The weight of a baby in your arms is something so satisfying that I find it hard to put into words. There are lots of other words that can describe this moment...wonder, awe, astonishment but when I think of it, it's love that bubbles up.</div>
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Confusion</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kKd82x3q2Xb8Ns6TDVeS-oMW6a5ji_m6NsgVnw9uvRrAiL3dT9vWg1zClTMHhhxueTMprPOGDHWDOU4GNO-mAhCH7l3Gej2m6NvOe6ZGZaI07vJsW9aeVmW0exMnoyB2xoh3pqzxwuDI/s1600/20171021_202808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kKd82x3q2Xb8Ns6TDVeS-oMW6a5ji_m6NsgVnw9uvRrAiL3dT9vWg1zClTMHhhxueTMprPOGDHWDOU4GNO-mAhCH7l3Gej2m6NvOe6ZGZaI07vJsW9aeVmW0exMnoyB2xoh3pqzxwuDI/s320/20171021_202808.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Oh, our best laid plans. They can change so quickly. Nurse Jenny didn't really go over what could go wrong during our childbirth class. Nurse Jenny didn't show us this room during our tour of the birthing center. Nurse Jenny didn't really explain that if you have an epidural (and something goes wrong) (and you have to go to this room) that you really won't be able to move or feel your legs much less walk to be with your baby. Nurse Jenny didn't tell us that (if something goes wrong) (and you have to go to this room) this hospital doesn't have a level 2 nursery, this hospital can't do an intubation on a baby, this hospital can't do much for a baby who isn't healthy (if something goes wrong) (and you go to this room). Nurse Jenny didn't think she would have to be explaining this to a <strike>12 </strike>23 year old first time mom (when something went wrong) (in this room) (where this hospital can't do an intubation).</div>
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Helplessness </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7QYWATQ0TEYGIU-dc0ak8skWRiSf9cX4JxlneWCZMqawWviGQ5_HDt1Es6G2v8P3YfcuMhaxOsPWAcWcwHx2Ff8A4dAN2AOnlG3dh1m8K4UnEiVwUMAG94ZkOIKggXBOvZu2feMZBTQ2/s1600/20171021_202826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7QYWATQ0TEYGIU-dc0ak8skWRiSf9cX4JxlneWCZMqawWviGQ5_HDt1Es6G2v8P3YfcuMhaxOsPWAcWcwHx2Ff8A4dAN2AOnlG3dh1m8K4UnEiVwUMAG94ZkOIKggXBOvZu2feMZBTQ2/s320/20171021_202826.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is what I felt the most during the next 3 weeks of this story. We couldn't help that it was storming and the helicopter couldn't fly. We couldn't help the ambulance get there faster. We couldn't help that our baby was under a plastic hood that looked like a cake plate. We couldn't help when the team from MUSC got there and very quickly shut the door and the blinds and stuck a tube into our itty bitty bitty baby, packed him up in an incubator, snapped a polaroid and whisked him out of our sight, into a waiting ambulance to drive through a storm. Charles couldn't help me when he had to leave with my dad to get up to the NICU to fill out paperwork and answer a million questions he didn't know the answers to. Amy couldn't help the tears that poured out of her eyes 36 hours later as she wheeled me out of the hospital with flowers and balloons but no baby in my arms. Helplessness is not a good feeling.</div>
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Trust (is that an emotion?)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhErEF6P-WwLqHxzJAShI0uG3IwNGRSj2ZsN1yyJ9YJJ_rzDyxQ0oaMSdOGmtqXhpk4yzcZGKwIBgbtJsnxk9HaqxE1sYC3bd29M5EHp9I19V-buezbysoISBreNMxC5RGTbJdRB5THaK3H/s1600/20171021_202844-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="1600" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhErEF6P-WwLqHxzJAShI0uG3IwNGRSj2ZsN1yyJ9YJJ_rzDyxQ0oaMSdOGmtqXhpk4yzcZGKwIBgbtJsnxk9HaqxE1sYC3bd29M5EHp9I19V-buezbysoISBreNMxC5RGTbJdRB5THaK3H/s320/20171021_202844-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2ofv9f0Eh2yeoXm1Tw0hyphenhypheng9lDMvScPt2aV87J-9zckbk9wYjCv7WzkkLvRz9L13cX2AXzHNh84zZHMrc5IED0fuVl0ZA9MvpG73YW4AwczcfNWhirUUMSFo2uWuOPXSbLOAj3v_-bEaG/s1600/20171021_202919-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="984" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2ofv9f0Eh2yeoXm1Tw0hyphenhypheng9lDMvScPt2aV87J-9zckbk9wYjCv7WzkkLvRz9L13cX2AXzHNh84zZHMrc5IED0fuVl0ZA9MvpG73YW4AwczcfNWhirUUMSFo2uWuOPXSbLOAj3v_-bEaG/s320/20171021_202919-1.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9B-Ty9CfNkrwHvUg3SBFJvcmR2-40NfS0Q2pdhRy6XA-ZYYpCvhtrzsD7WsXD29DvqsagFAXqDwd7kjyqS8vyhnEqHsr_CkfxA49J1BvNK4U9AKv7JKEEn4BIjkvM3h6K0sD2zDbB2t-B/s1600/20171021_202939-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1583" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9B-Ty9CfNkrwHvUg3SBFJvcmR2-40NfS0Q2pdhRy6XA-ZYYpCvhtrzsD7WsXD29DvqsagFAXqDwd7kjyqS8vyhnEqHsr_CkfxA49J1BvNK4U9AKv7JKEEn4BIjkvM3h6K0sD2zDbB2t-B/s320/20171021_202939-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Trust in God, trust in doctors and nurses, trust in technology, trust in machines. Because WE were helpless we had to trust. It's not always easy that trust thing. Trusting that God loved our baby more than we did was hard. Trusting doctors and nurses we didn't know was hard. Trusting technology that we didn't understand was hard. Trusting machines that were actually keeping our baby alive was almost impossible. </div>
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Fear</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wQocihyphenhyphen0aRpmQg9gM2cie2yx-hGuex_Tphj17lS07rDLu9aAqTHu1QEjKXOHetW-jKiMdD-ys6rddT6aBGeQH-kAJMR_CdAvAlExwBzQrovYD_kW4F-deed7ZTnXqoRnB_obKfR2tgsL/s1600/20171021_202951-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="871" data-original-width="1600" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wQocihyphenhyphen0aRpmQg9gM2cie2yx-hGuex_Tphj17lS07rDLu9aAqTHu1QEjKXOHetW-jKiMdD-ys6rddT6aBGeQH-kAJMR_CdAvAlExwBzQrovYD_kW4F-deed7ZTnXqoRnB_obKfR2tgsL/s320/20171021_202951-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7u04yLp9BaoJJeNYyb3ELM_O94bSbmikS_n8frn8GzljRs5cML77EV0Tah7g3ZK2mbO6mgCxBhX8WQm2mqYyqq_5cT59HasL0dv5UUGRAs8kzBx3N08fkEYpCQvlC7nKANXVhhlzmei_J/s1600/20171021_203004-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1177" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7u04yLp9BaoJJeNYyb3ELM_O94bSbmikS_n8frn8GzljRs5cML77EV0Tah7g3ZK2mbO6mgCxBhX8WQm2mqYyqq_5cT59HasL0dv5UUGRAs8kzBx3N08fkEYpCQvlC7nKANXVhhlzmei_J/s320/20171021_203004-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I probably don't need to say anything else (but alas, I am Rachel). Was this the last picture we were going to get to take with him? If we bump something will we mess up all the settings that are so hard to get just right? In the NICU everything is scary. The beeps and the flashing lights are scary. The hums of machines and the woosh of the ventilator is scary. The whispers of the attending physicians to the residents is scary (although the fussing and dressing downs were more scary). Let's just say the NICU is a scary place.</div>
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Disappointment</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTk5nrB3bp4tb31MwB3OUcvmUPnkQDs0ylh7LWe3M1Q-mawQGUeaOeuugpms71v_xcjYCYopVllvqq-f-VMhr4GDbOUBkP0CXaacjzxFfGp6rNI67CGh-Q-RSQj-yrGZNhxF5EItBiAKgd/s1600/20171021_203016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTk5nrB3bp4tb31MwB3OUcvmUPnkQDs0ylh7LWe3M1Q-mawQGUeaOeuugpms71v_xcjYCYopVllvqq-f-VMhr4GDbOUBkP0CXaacjzxFfGp6rNI67CGh-Q-RSQj-yrGZNhxF5EItBiAKgd/s320/20171021_203016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This wasn't how Halloween was supposed to be. We were supposed to be able to dress him up in the four different costumes we had picked out for him. This wasn't how being a grandmother for the first time was supposed to be. We were supposed to be able to snuggle him and kiss his sweet smelling head. We couldn't couldn't snuggle him or kiss him. Ha! We couldn't even touch him or talk to him. Our baby had a bad habit of having seizure-like brain activity and shutting down his heart pump when he had any stimulation. Imagine that....stubborn even then. </div>
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Utter Joy</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCV8EnRkW1d9QJh4BEtKR1jM-3_c2osHZiD89csy8tHk8M3Fzk8SIwA1vIn16bf6AwloaG-4etmOlmmyJoDndpFP6GSxke0KG_PRG_YWaGor-Y0hi6277xXp0OutXmO-Q9kiLWayUuGG4/s1600/20171021_203035-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1079" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCV8EnRkW1d9QJh4BEtKR1jM-3_c2osHZiD89csy8tHk8M3Fzk8SIwA1vIn16bf6AwloaG-4etmOlmmyJoDndpFP6GSxke0KG_PRG_YWaGor-Y0hi6277xXp0OutXmO-Q9kiLWayUuGG4/s320/20171021_203035-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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To see your baby off of life support is another one I have trouble putting into words. No more tube in his mouth, no more seeing his blood outside of his body and going through a machine, no more blue lights, no more cannulas sticking out of the veins in his neck, no more sticky things on his head measuring brain waves. (Ok so he has 2 iv's sticking out of the top of his head which in all honesty was kinda creepier than some of the other stuff but hey we were going to get to touch him) JOY!</div>
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Hope</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8AFDNj8OcegSbMBor6elUZk3Jp-F_04XBCGmC81LAFD8Q83WjV0V6Y4Ob2ESK7Xu434pa4epCfdszxoPajGaEq4SxOB_HoQ9X19AN0njkCFjy3C743comP5fFNsvFgkNMveC4kvSs-4h/s1600/20171021_205540-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1323" data-original-width="1100" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8AFDNj8OcegSbMBor6elUZk3Jp-F_04XBCGmC81LAFD8Q83WjV0V6Y4Ob2ESK7Xu434pa4epCfdszxoPajGaEq4SxOB_HoQ9X19AN0njkCFjy3C743comP5fFNsvFgkNMveC4kvSs-4h/s320/20171021_205540-1.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Once again in our arms. And that was just enough for us.</div>
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Peace</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijK_MHuiSwDopI7pZoh57xleWTU-nsTeaUGL-FG3myFogHAG4FBAN-c0rhAYrlUFCa3ffBFSi0P1ZxsrnJliaUt7AqhAxhEI58l18Sc1QzM36ulD6JeLVr2TOb-REtcIeXlXlwl9SFRIde/s1600/20171021_203121-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="1155" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijK_MHuiSwDopI7pZoh57xleWTU-nsTeaUGL-FG3myFogHAG4FBAN-c0rhAYrlUFCa3ffBFSi0P1ZxsrnJliaUt7AqhAxhEI58l18Sc1QzM36ulD6JeLVr2TOb-REtcIeXlXlwl9SFRIde/s320/20171021_203121-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Everything after this we can handle together. </div>
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20 years ago Noah fought and won. 20 years ago our family stood by us. 20 years ago our friends prayed. 20 years ago the doctors knew what to do. 20 years ago they had the technology and machines to save his life. 20 years ago God loved my baby more than I did. </div>
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Thank you for these 20 years. I love you Noah Squires. You changed my life and I will be forever grateful. </div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-39568677931238506202016-06-08T13:18:00.000-04:002016-06-08T14:06:32.618-04:00A Light Summer Read (or not really light at all but Rachel feels the need to get real this summer)I have some important news to share...<br />
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Life is not easy.<br />
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Now I know that it may come as shock to some of you that I do not have my life all together. What with my amazing laundry skills, my willingness to give up control and let things just happen naturally and my innate ability to always say just the right thing... I should be whistling Dixie on a yellow brick road somewhere. Ummmm, not so much. <br />
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There is a whole lotta good over here in boyland don't get me wrong. It's summer. I have air conditioning. There are chips ahoy cookies in my freezer as we speak. I can take a hot bath and stalk people on facebook until my heart is content. I don't even think we need to discuss Candy Crush. (I really need some sort of candy support group) (or I could just delete the app)<br />
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However things in testosterone world are flying by. How did 12, 11, 10, 8 and 1 turn into 18, 17, 16, 14 and 7 so quickly? In boy time that should seem like 252 years but seriously...it was yesterday. I know you guys have all read articles and books about the last time you will do something for your kids or when the little boy grows up and rocks his momma instead of the other way around. Such good advice! Life happens fast. Cherish it! <br />
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What I never paid attention to is the lessons little boys need before it is too late. I am sure the blogs are out there. I am sure there are many books on the subject. I might have been a little too sure of myself, a little too controlling to pay much attention. Or maybe you just never think the bad things will happen to your kids. Or that your kids will be the bad things that happen. <br />
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Don't get me wrong...my sister and I have never been ones to downplay our children's ability to be trouble. Have you read this blog? But how do you forsee the how great the need is to teach them things like...<br />
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<li>Make good friends early. Surround yourself with kids who have the same ambitions in life that you do because once you are 18, video games and you tube videos make for a very lonely existence if that's all you have. </li>
<li>17 comes quickly and it is a magic number. Magic is not always good. 17 is when the stupid, childish, impulsive choices you make at 16 become something totally different. 17. You can't smoke or drink or vote or live on your own but you can make a choice that others will hold you accountable for...not just your parents. </li>
<li>School sometimes sucks. Sometimes you get teachers who aren't great. Sometimes you get teachers who don't like you. But guess what? Those teachers aren't the ones who will have to get up at 7:30 and do 7 hours of geometry for 18 days of their precious summer vacation. They are no longer 16. They put in their time. They are on a beach sipping mixed drinks not even thinking about the fact that you have to put on a collared shirt and khakis. They are not thinking about the fact that you didn't do the work in their class because of your indignant attitude that they should be doing more. And guess what? They are still getting a paycheck. Look out for yourself. Work hard for you. </li>
<li>14 seems young. It seems so innocent. BUT WHAT YOU DO NOW CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE! Please, please, please watch the mistakes others have made and choose differently. There is time. </li>
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I walked into the living room today and saw this...</div>
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A game controller and a brown blanket. You may recognize the blanket. It belongs to my last baby...<br />
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For 7 years it has been right here. He is growing. He falls asleep without it. He goes to school and doesn't think about it.<br />
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Oh, Gabe! Embrace the controller...grow up...it's so fun. There is so much to learn and so many great things to do. But sweet boy hold on to that blanket a little while longer. There are hard, crappy lessons ahead too. </div>
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Friends, life is not easy. It is not what we pick and choose to share on social media to make others think we are perfect. </div>
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It is messy. </div>
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It is lonely and depressing and sad.</div>
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It has laws and locks.</div>
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It has people who don't always live up to your expectations of what a leader should be. </div>
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It has people who let you down. </div>
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But it also has seasons. </div>
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It has family. </div>
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It has people who love you no matter what you do. </div>
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It has hope.</div>
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It has a God who has plans for your future. Plans of welfare not of evil. </div>
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It has brown blankets. </div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-2400165976908899922015-10-23T19:44:00.002-04:002015-10-23T19:44:35.201-04:00The Day My 6 Year Old Back-Talked Me With A Bible Verse (and how I had no response...oops)I will not keep you in suspense. The day was today... and I am MIGHTY ashamed! Also, I am pretty sure my Training Union teachers are probably turning over in their graves...except they are not technically in their graves-more like they were sitting in the pew in front of me two Sundays ago. I guess we could say they are turning over in their pew. Anyway all of that is beside the point of this post. The point is my sweet Gabey Baby is no longer sweet Gabey Baby. He has become sassy, back talking, whiney behind, stinky six year old Gabe. Gabe, who at this very moment is watching Matty B Raps videos on Youtube in the living room refusing to allow his older brothers any access to the TV. We created a monster who thinks he rules the roost. He is still pretty stinking cute...<br />
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AND HE KNOWS IT!</div>
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I did it to myself. He was my last baby. Let him have the paci longer...he's my last baby. Oh it's ok if he doesn't want to eat at the table...he's my last baby. Let him watch what he wants to...he's my last baby. Now I will say he has at least one saving grace. His school. He is going to a lovely Classical Christian School where the expectations are clear, the standards are high and sassy, back-talking, whiney-behind behavior is just not tolerated. (There is not much they can do about the stink...that is just part of being 6.) I couldn't be happier (at school at least).</div>
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Now, he is also learning the Bible. Not just memorizing verses, but really learning what it means. Hence that catchy title up there. As we were driving home today I was giving him his daily dose of mommy bossing (I know it shocks you that anyone finds me bossy) and let's just say he was pretty tired of hearing it. From the back seat comes this very sarcastic response..."no man can serve two masters mom". I could almost hear his little eyes rolling up in his head. I am dumbfounded...to be honest it doesn't even register. The rest of the conversation went like this...</div>
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Me: (not expecting an answer that makes any kind of sense) What does that even mean Gabe? </div>
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Gabe: (still in his whiney, sarcastic, last nerve inducing voice) It means that God is my master and how can I serve him if I am listening to you?</div>
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Me: (crickets chirping)</div>
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I mean, really. ABSOLUTELY NO REPSONSE. How did all those Bible Drills in elementary schools fail me? How could I not think of ONE intelligent response for my SIX YEAR OLD? Oh, I can think of them now...</div>
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Me: (now, in my imagination) "Children obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right." Ephesians 6:1</div>
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Me: (and this a good one) "Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord." Who is your master by the way...Colossians 3:20</div>
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Me: (throwing it back to the old testament) "Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land that the <span class="sc">Lord</span> your God is giving you." Exodus 20:12</div>
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Instead...nothing. </div>
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I encourage you all to look into a Classical Christian education...I promise you it will pay off. BUT before you do you might want to brush up on your Bible Drill skills...just sayin. Here he is on the first and last day of Kindergarten...</div>
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For an update on Noah and Wil...</div>
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Noah is EIGHTEEN and has been enjoying his courses at the technical high school. He especially enjoyed his agriculture classes and he may just be the cutest deaf FFA member ever!</div>
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Love that boy!</div>
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Wil has decided that pictures are from the devil and may just absorb your soul (or maybe he is just related to his mother). He also has come to the conclusion that the longer his hair is and the more that it is in his face and the more it stresses me out... the more he enjoys it. He is still a joy. He plays the cello and the double bass. He is witty and quick and makes me smile. He also had kidney stones this summer so I was able to snap a picture since he was attached to an IV. <br />
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The top of his head his precious, is it not? </div>
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Anyway I hope you enjoyed this post. I hope it was worth the wait. I like to build the anticipation you know!</div>
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PS- I know its not worth the wait...also I know you probably weren't actually waiting but its not in my narcissistic nature to admit that to myself! </div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-13052069263324413842012-06-29T16:16:00.000-04:002012-06-29T16:16:02.371-04:00I Am Pretty Sure You Had Eyebrows When I Went to Church This Morning...and other thingsI really do not even know where to begin. I am not even sure I remember how to write much less anything that anyone would find interesting. I can't remember what happened yesterday so I went back and checked my Facebook to see if there was anything to write about. Problem is I have been on Facebook about as much as I have been blogging so yeah...not much help.<br />
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Here is what I know...<br />
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<li>VBS is going on this week so pretty much that tells it's own story.</li>
<li>Yearly River Rat Party? Good Times!</li>
<li>Started working part time and still don't have enough time to do all my laundry. I do however have enough time to watch many, many episodes of <i>Ghost Whisper </i>and <i>Storage Wars. </i>I do not think we even need to mention <i>Duck Dynasty</i>. </li>
<li>Gabe has taken up fishing. Do you think I am a bad mother because I make him fish for leaves in my backyard with only a sinker? He thinks he is going to catch dinner. I am not telling him any different. </li>
<li>3 of the 5 Squires' boys will be at Beaufort Middle next year. Which teachers would like to put in for a transfer now?</li>
<li>God is punishing me for not making Noah go to church on Sunday mornings. I now come home to things like this...</li>
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He also is now into making predictions for the future. Just so you know when Amy turns 43 she will be teaching "Yogo" at the "house with the hot pool and the pool outside where Amy teach the yogo and maybe granmomma will go and bring us to the hot pool and where Heyward play the basketball and then we go to the hot pool and can swim". In other words according to Noah, Amy may be teaching Yoga at the Y in a few years. </div>
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Oh, I will try to do better in the coming weeks on updating every mundane detail of our lives. But for now- just remember if you don't take your children to church with you they may shave off their eyebrows. </div>
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-9733128149386248362012-05-11T13:07:00.000-04:002012-05-11T13:07:11.410-04:00The Guilt...It Has Been Eating Away At Me!I can't tell you how many times I have sat down in the past <strike>week month </strike>month<u>s</u> to write a new post. Then I would think about how long it had been since I wrote a post that the pressure to come up with something good overwhelmed me. Then when it got to be such a ridiculously long time since I posted I couldn't even log on to blogger to read my favorite blogs. So to avoid any more pressure I am going to just post me favorite Mother's Day video and be done with it. Happy Mother's Day Ya'll!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bhcA4Ry65FU" width="420"></iframe>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-57934187697671522712012-03-15T09:09:00.000-04:002012-03-15T09:09:05.270-04:00Not Even An Airplane...Has it really been almost a month since I posted? Just call me inconsistent. Sorry!<br />
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I have to be honest and tell you that I am a terrible speller and count on spell check quite often. I was really off on the word inconsistent and the word that popped up was incontinent. I am so glad I caught it or you would all been sending me some Tena pads.<br />
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There is going to be some real randomness in this post because I cannot seem to connect two thoughts in my head much less weave them altogether into some humorous story that has some point. I think I will use bullets just so we can all be sure that nothing in this post relates to anything else.<br />
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<ul><li>Update (because you are all on the edge of your seat waiting for updates)...Gabe has a new favorite song now and I am not sure if he got it from the M&M's commercial or Glee but he is constantly telling us "Girl, look at that body! Girl, look at that body....I work in". So obviously we do not use gym vocabulary very often around my house and work out has become work in. Please know that Gabe is sexy and he knows it. </li>
<li>The official countdown to my big night with Margaret is on. 7 days 15 hours and 19 minutes to "The Hunger Games". (I am just a tad bit obsessive-can you tell?) I have actually been counting down for a little more than 5 months but what can I say? It is almost here. May the odds be ever in your favor.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Went on a little field trip with Noah and the other deaf kids yesterday to the Audiologist. Now, Noah hears great with his cochlear implant (he cusses great with it to-just so you stay very aware of that fact). Once you put the implant in, the person loses any residual hearing in that ear. It is recommended that you keep the auditory nerve stimulated in the other ear by wearing a hearing aide. That way if you ever decided to implant bi-laterally the nerve is still stimulated. Ya'll know I am not very good at taking direction right? Now, Noah did not ever have much residual hearing. He could however hear low frequency sounds at very high decibels. Think lawn mowers and bass drums. We put him in the booth yesterday and did a quick check on his right ear. Nothing. Now, I know he is deaf. I have known for the last 13 and a half years. I was never mad about it. I never blamed God for giving me a child who was not perfect (what child is?) but somehow this is so final to me. Why am I sad now that he can't hear an airplane without his implant when he CAN hear a lizard moving through leaves with his implant? What is wrong with me? Pray for me people, I may be moving backwards. </li>
</ul><br />
Now since it has been almost a month since I posted I need to go and think about somethings, like that bag full of stuff that needs to be returned from my last trip to Savannah. I only have 30 days to get a refund so I better plan a trip. Not sure if St. Patrick's weekend is the ideal time to head that way but what can I say? I am just no good at following through.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-27317332689304414812012-02-21T18:54:00.000-05:002012-02-21T18:54:28.702-05:00See The Thing About Legos Is Sometimes They Are A Bit GraphicA little update on my future country music star...<br />
<br />
We went to Texas Roadhouse to eat Sunday (not a fan) and we sat in the Willie Nelson corner. Gabe was quite thrilled with the whole affair (again- Rachel? Not a fan. A fan of Texas? Yes! Fan of Willie Nelson? Yes! Fan of the Roadhouse? No! I think I'd like to go to Texas and eat at a real Texas Roadhouse because I am sure that it is better than the fake Texas Roadhouse in Savannah, Georgia. We may be able to pull off Paula Dean but Texas is a big nono). Anyway- Gabe can not only break out in a wonderful rendition of <a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2012/02/red-solo-what.html">Red Solo Cup</a>, he can also do a very convincing Tush Push.<br />
<br />
OK we will review...<br />
<ol><li>I hate country music.</li>
<li>I don't like country food (obviously- see above paragraph)</li>
<li>I certainly do not like line dancing.</li>
<li>My child likes all of the above!</li>
</ol>He is so precious and if my phone worked I would give you a little video of the solo line dancing champion of the Squires family. But as you know...<br />
<br />
Anyway, we had a big weekend with 952 children attempting to spend the night at my house... in reality it was really just one child per Squires boy plus the cousins but doesn't that equal 952? Only about half of those actually succeeded in staying the entire night. Gabe's friend Cal (one of those who did not make the entire night) brought his new Bible. It is called "The Brick Bible" and on first glance it is the most fabulous thing in the ENTIRE Bible world! It is the Old Testament illustrated in Legos. So very very cool! Noah took to it like a fish to water! (How do you like that country term thrown in there? You'd think I was born in the south or something God willing and the creek don't rise. Oh wait- I was born in Georgia? My bad.) He studied that Bible for at least an hour.<br />
<br />
I <i>SHOULD </i>have wondered about the snickering I heard going on.<br />
<br />
I <i>SHOULD</i> have taken a look when he called Jake and Wil over to take a look.<br />
<br />
I <i>SHOULD </i>have paid a little more attention when they started laughing out loud.<br />
<br />
but no...<br />
<br />
I had to wait to check out what was going on until I heard Noah shout (and have I mentioned how well Noah talks when it is a curse word coming out?) "<i>WHAT THE H-E-Double Hockey Sticks Is THAT?"!!???</i><br />
<br />
It was the story of Abram's covenant with God and how God was going to change his name to Abraham and Sarai's name to Sarah and how she would give birth at the age of 90- which is ALL WELL AND GOOD what with it being in the Bible and all. The problem is Abraham's part of that covenant- the whole "cutting off the flesh of your foreskins" part of the covenant. The whole Abraham being 99 and Ishmael being 13 when this happened part of the covenant.The whole IT WAS ILLUSTRATED IN LEGOS part of the covenant.<br />
<br />
Now I don't know about you but circumcision in itself is a difficult thing to explain to a 14 year old (hence the reason we had it done as an infant- you know to NOT have to explain it to him) but explaining it to a deaf 14 year old when you have not quite finished ASL 3 is next to impossible.<br />
<br />
I may have scarred him for life. <br />
<br />
I took a look back at some of the other illustrations so I could maybe find out what all the laughing and snickering was about. I can only assume that the "Daughters of humankind" giving birth to babies of "the Sons of God" caused quite a stir as well as the story of Lot's daughters and The Ten Commandments- most specifically the sixth commandment- all of which may I reiterate is ILLUSTRATED IN LEGOS people!<br />
<br />
I wish I could show you some pictures but after some research into the illustrator of said Bible I certainly do not want to infringe on anyone's copyright. <br />
<br />
Anyway- it is a very very cool book and Biblically based- I am just not sure if it is a Bible that you would want your 14 year old boy to have his greedy little palms on.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-85726157271332570652012-02-15T10:01:00.000-05:002012-02-15T10:01:48.862-05:00Red Solo What?I am going to be quite honest with you...I am NOT a country music fan. Oh, I used to be. I loved Little Texas (do they still exist?) and that cute little guy with lupus who sang about her voice still answering his phone. Clay something or other. ANYWAY I loved country music. I had friends in low places and my love was higher than the pine tree standing high upon a hill. I listened to nothing else (well I did listen to lots Amy Grant even after she wore her leopard print jacket that caused such a huge scandal- because we all know you can't be a Christian and wear leopard print. And also maybe marrying Vince Gill even if your husband is a big drug addict gives the Christians lots to talk about over Sunday dinner. But I digress- a lot). Then I went on a trip with Charles before we had kids and CD's were still the way to go. I bought a Shania Twain CD and Charles bought a Green Day CD and by the time we got home I had had enough whining to last a lifetime and The Boulevard of Broken Dreams seemed like just the thing to transition me to pop 40.<br />
<br />
What I am trying to say in way, way too many words is that country music has no home in my life.<br />
<br />
The Squires Boys are another story. Even the deaf one likes the country music. I didn't consider it a problem until this morning.<br />
<br />
Sweet Gabey Baby was looking at his chocolate milk and said, "Red Solo Cup, You're not just a cup. You're my friend." And then he broke out into a rousing version of the chorus. <br />
<br />
Number One- I do not serve Gabey Baby his chocolate milk in a red solo cup. Let's face it...McDonalds serves it to him. In a jug. We can no longer take a cup in the car. I act like it is a big deal that he now drinks out of a big boy cup at home when in reality it just means I have lost all of the sippy cups. <br />
<br />
Number Two- How does he know this song?<br />
<br />
Number Three- Should I be worried that he was slurring his words when he said it?<br />
<br />
Number Four- Where are the<a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2010/11/frozen-fowl-or-christian-music-police.html">The Christain Music Police</a> when you need them?Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-47521087997362963712012-02-14T11:31:00.000-05:002012-02-14T11:31:41.074-05:00To Which I Can Only Say I Am Quite EmbarrassedHow is that a girl with big dreams of blogging and pinning wonderful things to Pinterest and blogging and writing a novel and painting murals only can seem to accomplish one post a month? What is that?<br />
<br />
I think I should blame it all on the fact that the track pad on my Blackberry won't work.<br />
<br />
Sad but true.<br />
<br />
I can post no pictures.<br />
<br />
I can no longer update my status. (Although to be honest I seem to only think in status updates these days. My life in 140 characters or less.)<br />
<br />
It is a tough life but someone has to do it.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-56386125564404337742012-01-27T10:23:00.001-05:002012-01-27T11:15:07.988-05:00Introducing...My Much Cooler Friends (Tyson Edition)Please forgive my lack of posting in the last few months. You see <insert lame excuse here>. I know you are all on the edge of your seats just waiting for a new blog post. Remember the days of my blog when I went months on end posting everyday? What? That didn't happen? Oh, my bad. I meant to. I am just not so good at the whole following through part of...life.<br />
<br />
So a <strike>few months</strike> a year ago I wrote a post about <a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2011/02/introducing-my-much-cooler-friends.html">my much cooler friends</a> that you may remember introduced you to some super cool people who make my life look like Laura Ingalls (who to be honest had a much more exciting life than me what with the fool's gold and her nemesis Nelly). I then promised that I would introduce you to a few more. The problem is (please see above) the whole following through thing.<br />
<br />
BUT I did want to tell you about a particularly cool friend named <a href="http://tysonjennette.com/">Tyson Jennette</a> (who is technically the brother of a good friend BUT we have had like 5 conversations AND he sent me an announcement card so in my eyes that makes us BFF's forever) <br />
<br />
This is Tyson...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTq7dn0ms1_zBjOidhdFDv35R4wHV9WjM6ynJfrNxLuZIIUrN5UK0A7z-78iRNToBbZDhAwa-oeyd14miQGb4VlTXs8XPcxELyaHsjokfSFq1Vkb0JVjL8hGq4t8iepgsjJkawWYKvOSG/s1600/Very+handsome+indeed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTq7dn0ms1_zBjOidhdFDv35R4wHV9WjM6ynJfrNxLuZIIUrN5UK0A7z-78iRNToBbZDhAwa-oeyd14miQGb4VlTXs8XPcxELyaHsjokfSFq1Vkb0JVjL8hGq4t8iepgsjJkawWYKvOSG/s320/Very+handsome+indeed.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>And he is a swing in...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwySDnmwwh6b405LzwmFondaKtHnujMM-qWhNX3lAOJof0nHe3xiO2s771MAlK3bZPp8VOLPBUXlPyN6HP3mhJ23TkXZMUA60prPkinKrDbbpoQHwRAEf4G8c1j2qGpkP5EINz2TPibgEU/s1600/The_Book_of_Mormon_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwySDnmwwh6b405LzwmFondaKtHnujMM-qWhNX3lAOJof0nHe3xiO2s771MAlK3bZPp8VOLPBUXlPyN6HP3mhJ23TkXZMUA60prPkinKrDbbpoQHwRAEf4G8c1j2qGpkP5EINz2TPibgEU/s1600/The_Book_of_Mormon_poster.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Which if you don't know is the Tony Award (as well as many other awards I am sure) winning Broadway hit that many a celebrity has been to see.<br />
<br />
Want proof? How about...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHLM1rs4UWwi_-3oOFUGyxKYFJ6xAGSXE7pvdRj6Wcs5HxOjlO08NRKlPw_Jc8X0YAyj4qRR2-Bb7-m4U9z08kDREW_lfQAd_ni60SWH_XILUoRbzGQWBk2g7yBUgFfmDG-MsqFZixgF-/s1600/It+is+my+favorite+TV+Assistant+District+Attorneyand+oh+yeah+Angela+Bassett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHLM1rs4UWwi_-3oOFUGyxKYFJ6xAGSXE7pvdRj6Wcs5HxOjlO08NRKlPw_Jc8X0YAyj4qRR2-Bb7-m4U9z08kDREW_lfQAd_ni60SWH_XILUoRbzGQWBk2g7yBUgFfmDG-MsqFZixgF-/s320/It+is+my+favorite+TV+Assistant+District+Attorneyand+oh+yeah+Angela+Bassett.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Yes even TV Assistant DA's are enjoying the show...and hello? Angela Bassett? Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Want more? How about...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvY5obTfve0ZtLCn-Sh5LKtEhvZI8n-p7w5OeMd19DTm_B9yFVbIWz4Lj8PnyjVlpKJaVbcqX2ruZntsiaaPPmHjjAnVxxQ1zEwJXqV9o28XPY3HXd0yfDoUpzdkOHGDM3-X-cE3QnGOf/s1600/She+looks+pretty+good+after+popping+out+a+baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvY5obTfve0ZtLCn-Sh5LKtEhvZI8n-p7w5OeMd19DTm_B9yFVbIWz4Lj8PnyjVlpKJaVbcqX2ruZntsiaaPPmHjjAnVxxQ1zEwJXqV9o28XPY3HXd0yfDoUpzdkOHGDM3-X-cE3QnGOf/s320/She+looks+pretty+good+after+popping+out+a+baby.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>She is very pretty don't you think?<br />
<br />
And if you would like (I would)...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkDIX2939MoqERX5fGyZOGKE4dXnauII_QPhW51f3SbaVW0BRVGapZZVlYrVT_EgfzZ6dl-i_4KsKJ4p0-RLXWX-eTtpMw56fdHO0WFIUcjOTrcBgaBB_HIXBmFDxxThx42Yuib8bJus6/s1600/A+Little+Darth+Vader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkDIX2939MoqERX5fGyZOGKE4dXnauII_QPhW51f3SbaVW0BRVGapZZVlYrVT_EgfzZ6dl-i_4KsKJ4p0-RLXWX-eTtpMw56fdHO0WFIUcjOTrcBgaBB_HIXBmFDxxThx42Yuib8bJus6/s320/A+Little+Darth+Vader.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>He looks like he enjoyed it!<br />
<br />
And they have Pretty Women stopping by all the time...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbGFLmdQ0NCAEruOVQ7VyxyIgyImAzPBeJbKbYOlxdiWwmVCXsL0WXdzbdHq6LtrwU6jA7dp2qMOj8pGGD4rG5Sser5NnxgoGUkpwnID6vKhrX1Zc0RNtWw0Cbng6p7YwEL8T1x3ILEm_/s1600/A+Pretty+Woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbGFLmdQ0NCAEruOVQ7VyxyIgyImAzPBeJbKbYOlxdiWwmVCXsL0WXdzbdHq6LtrwU6jA7dp2qMOj8pGGD4rG5Sser5NnxgoGUkpwnID6vKhrX1Zc0RNtWw0Cbng6p7YwEL8T1x3ILEm_/s320/A+Pretty+Woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>And if you need a bit more star power how about...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXXuWktfTLLdSFHrkXxWJaCk0aUMpd3cBlPbyGW9OzEM4PcFcf_gzMfYQdLEG4Kh79FwrcG_5JDz-RoZSh_x5zMK9yC4qfFXN5APzn7czJ7frv_ZuDtnTF7B-bIEPy7YikXvzJkcGUo6N/s1600/Well+Hello.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXXXuWktfTLLdSFHrkXxWJaCk0aUMpd3cBlPbyGW9OzEM4PcFcf_gzMfYQdLEG4Kh79FwrcG_5JDz-RoZSh_x5zMK9yC4qfFXN5APzn7czJ7frv_ZuDtnTF7B-bIEPy7YikXvzJkcGUo6N/s320/Well+Hello.jpg" width="274" /></a></div><br />
Don't you just love how they picked their outfits in the same tone?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So as you can see my Kevin Bacon number has improved greatly since Tyson got such a great gig!<br />
<br />
I am just the tiniest bit obsessed with the music and tend to listen to it more than my children would prefer. (I do have to skip a few songs since they are inappropriate for <strike>my</strike> the children's ears.) We were headed down the road the a while back and we saw two Mormon Missionaries riding down the road on their cute little bikes with their cute little helmets and I told Wil "Quick! Let's put in the Book Of Mormon CD". He looked perplexed (and maybe a bit horrified since it is so not the taste of most 12 year old boys in South Carolina) and said "Why?!" I pointed out the two fellows on the bikes and he said...<br />
"Oh, I thought those were Jebidiah's Witnesses".<br />
<br />
I think we may need to do a little research on religions of the world.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-3239080348069721722012-01-17T10:26:00.000-05:002012-01-17T10:26:32.902-05:00Why I Should Not Let Gabe Hold My Phone While I Am In The Tub (or Why I Should Not Let Wil Load The Washing Machine Part III)As you can tell by that wonderful title I am out of a phone yet again. Seriously!? I do not understand what the deal is with me and electronics. (Did I mention here that I have been through 4 Kindles in a year?) I swear it has everything to do with the fact that Noah has a magnet in his head.<br />
<br />
Or maybe it's the fact that I let a three year old play with it or leave it on top of a car or maybe it is the fact I don't clean out pockets before I load the washing machine.<br />
<br />
Whatever.<br />
<br />
Anyway my phone can dial and my phone can receive calls. NOTHING ELSE! In the 1900's (as Wil likes to refer to my childhood) this would not have been a problem. HOWEVER now in the 2000's it is a major issue. What?<br />
<br />
2000's- A phone that can't text?<br />
<br />
1900's- What is a text?<br />
<br />
2000's- A phone that can't check Facebook?<br />
<br />
1900's- What is Facebook?<br />
<br />
2000's- A phone that can't email?<br />
<br />
1900's- What is email?<br />
<br />
2000's- No Internet?<br />
<br />
1900's- Have you seen the new paint program? It is Awesome!<br />
<br />
See what I mean? I should not have a problem with a phone that can dial. But I do have a problem because my smart phone has taken away my ability to remember phone numbers. I can tell you my phone number from when I was in the 2nd grade (524-9144) but I can't remember my husband's office number to save my life. So even if can dial...I do not remember any numbers in which to dial! I am going to have to live with it for a while though because heaven knows I can't afford another deductible! I so could have paid for an iphone by now.<br />
<br />
Onto less depressing mundane facts about me... Gabey Baby is about to turn three! He has a cool best friend that he has been having some play dates with. I went to pick him up yesterday and Gabe decided that he need to ride with. Problem is I only have one carseat. I do however, have a belt positioning booster seat that I threw in. Now I have no idea what the law is on belt positioning booster seats versus the 5 point harness deal and I certainly wasn't going to let someone else's child ride in what may or may not be an illegal booster seat so I did what any rational mother would do...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx7jUrVy8fv5_IJqYYENkCG6Sp6U_95B6SnsjOpdrd_ikjFgrDyHxVjX0IvyGwanCrwwI7TLzOwGYvaq78Kd5qazDlByOK2v2Mrdzt-rDElLilk1aHgvR5ZdMtTF4FOujm80Fe1SeGqWic/s1600/I+MAY+be+a+tiny+little+bit+overprotective.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx7jUrVy8fv5_IJqYYENkCG6Sp6U_95B6SnsjOpdrd_ikjFgrDyHxVjX0IvyGwanCrwwI7TLzOwGYvaq78Kd5qazDlByOK2v2Mrdzt-rDElLilk1aHgvR5ZdMtTF4FOujm80Fe1SeGqWic/s320/I+MAY+be+a+tiny+little+bit+overprotective.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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He is THRILLED!Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-41976897459774453242012-01-10T15:24:00.000-05:002012-01-10T15:24:31.308-05:002012- It Will Be A Year!Well...sorry for the unintended bloggy break. I will catch you up on all things December soon. Right now I am going to beg forgiveness for this short post and just tell you that my GG (Grandma Gracie) is in the hospital. My mind has not figured out a way to make visiting her in the hospital amusing in any way.<br />
<br />
So...just pray for sweet GG and that hopefully I will get my mojo back.<br />
<br />
Unless you would rather pray that I won't get my mojo back and that I will keep boring you to tears with the same post popping up every time you open this page.<br />
<br />
I am of course operating under the complete assumption that people actually open this page.<br />
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But for GG's sake, I hope people do.<br />
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Happy 2012!<br />
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(10 days after it started)Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-8907679554237709072011-12-21T10:08:00.000-05:002011-12-21T10:08:20.991-05:00Let's Compare! A Christmas ChecklistSo for some reason I feel very in control and unworried about this Christmas Season even though I have no presents under my tree. Last year felt wacky and wild so I have decided to compare Christmas 2010 to Christmas 2011.<br />
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Category 1- Out side holiday decorations:<br />
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2010<br />
<br />
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2011<br />
<br />
One strand of lights, a Santa flag, no pumpkin but no picture.<br />
<br />
Winner- 2011<br />
<br />
Category 2- The Tree<br />
<br />
2010- December 19th- Tree is in the house but no lights <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXfqEWZfN8qqt7_TJ_yfue5SfrQ1PFgi1Gq_s_iJou91mJIww1ZG2rAOyCGVrLDiPknHQGp7XtvJuimZSluSfNPFzr_j9Wf8cBknKEaXQwIb1vMAt60PN-xAOzex6KlXtvji8c3HNqyB2/s1600/THE+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXfqEWZfN8qqt7_TJ_yfue5SfrQ1PFgi1Gq_s_iJou91mJIww1ZG2rAOyCGVrLDiPknHQGp7XtvJuimZSluSfNPFzr_j9Wf8cBknKEaXQwIb1vMAt60PN-xAOzex6KlXtvji8c3HNqyB2/s320/THE+tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
2011- December 20th- Tree is up and decorated, but again...no picture.<br />
<br />
Winner- 2011<br />
<br />
Category 3- Christmas Shopping<br />
<br />
2010- The 23rd<br />
<br />
2011- The 22nd<br />
<br />
Winner- 2011<br />
<br />
Category 4- December Blog Posts<br />
<br />
2010- 5 <br />
<br />
2011- um counting this one? 1<br />
<br />
Winner- 2010 (sorry)<br />
<br />
So as you can see I am FAR better prepared this year than I was last year. Let's just overlook the fact I have no presents under the tree (or in my house for that matter).<br />
<br />
Gabe on the other hand was NOT prepared to eat "Breakfast with Santa"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></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/AVvXsEgbjUIztgUbUpTsxyG6PXYA8TkbkeFYrcSiqQeiU49XBCFsnOWlqzGtoi6PLwlF90knAdKbRSfEOZdOwwgX9BNiZaTRd9XbNq-65dyMWC9qTwU6MZi40Ea9niewyLdAwWg6eiTrdRKTld-g/s1600/IMG-20111210-00128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjUIztgUbUpTsxyG6PXYA8TkbkeFYrcSiqQeiU49XBCFsnOWlqzGtoi6PLwlF90knAdKbRSfEOZdOwwgX9BNiZaTRd9XbNq-65dyMWC9qTwU6MZi40Ea9niewyLdAwWg6eiTrdRKTld-g/s320/IMG-20111210-00128.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We ended up with a GREAT picture of Gabey with Santa...He just isn't actually on Santa's lap (or in the same room for that matter) <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqRDNela7ONFEq1tte-dGi4FYSodte74WoB0ffw0ye6Nc84-W3AICWAMJHKaj_syN9lyBldkGP56_bEpNt0CgvWFRcM95Ri2sIJ8ns3EQ8J6Y2jY4L5ZP2v0eI9FTInfMiyYshbSnoSnR/s1600/IMG-20111210-00133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqRDNela7ONFEq1tte-dGi4FYSodte74WoB0ffw0ye6Nc84-W3AICWAMJHKaj_syN9lyBldkGP56_bEpNt0CgvWFRcM95Ri2sIJ8ns3EQ8J6Y2jY4L5ZP2v0eI9FTInfMiyYshbSnoSnR/s320/IMG-20111210-00133.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Look out for 2012 because the Squires may just have a tree up BEFORE the week of Christmas and Gabe may just sit in Santa's lap!Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-10920296425381088292011-11-30T14:12:00.002-05:002011-12-05T14:51:03.894-05:00The End Of A Fairy Tale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
So...Gabe has a special friend. Her name is Harper Katherine (Harper Kate Kate to those of us who love her). At about 8 months old their cribs were right next to each other and they loved to kiss through the bars. They find each other no matter what they are doing!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEutwiNSvyW7t4ejSWUd3FJiRk9IlUOiCVG017XKU-Jm1F_KSP7IXa74Lw401vB9ANShVTkHe3WN2z7GrDXZJBdVBIu0mCRgEWV7tiFwiMrdxw02H_d3ByTuPGrZNin-_SqIUZNcDQ1tM/s1600/A+little+whipped+cream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEutwiNSvyW7t4ejSWUd3FJiRk9IlUOiCVG017XKU-Jm1F_KSP7IXa74Lw401vB9ANShVTkHe3WN2z7GrDXZJBdVBIu0mCRgEWV7tiFwiMrdxw02H_d3ByTuPGrZNin-_SqIUZNcDQ1tM/s320/A+little+whipped+cream.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>They like to get messy together.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlaG8bIRmm0aL-btuWTVCq3UM-B57mHqMsGIOV-a0oJW_-48XPXOmK3v8wwIqkANOT35hLIEY-gT6_bQSbYhKEhFxcA2Q4fIWkygbNboDsNd9IiWiZjaIh1T5ZgwN97YM_Pmvq_Sgb_IE/s1600/Eating+a+little+sand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlaG8bIRmm0aL-btuWTVCq3UM-B57mHqMsGIOV-a0oJW_-48XPXOmK3v8wwIqkANOT35hLIEY-gT6_bQSbYhKEhFxcA2Q4fIWkygbNboDsNd9IiWiZjaIh1T5ZgwN97YM_Pmvq_Sgb_IE/s320/Eating+a+little+sand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>They like to eat sand together.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaqQnf5Oq0i-X7eGRGxiIiKj_06MjJCgp21SvLby5I9GKLIVx1zvjMMcoGi3lstoSn6eyXeLMKPehFcQeuRIE5vbxxqOGzx08d4zNkkXMU0m1vHOYnn6i0Tiv4bGa8kFiW3j2nV9-gdPF/s1600/Out+on+the+town.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaqQnf5Oq0i-X7eGRGxiIiKj_06MjJCgp21SvLby5I9GKLIVx1zvjMMcoGi3lstoSn6eyXeLMKPehFcQeuRIE5vbxxqOGzx08d4zNkkXMU0m1vHOYnn6i0Tiv4bGa8kFiW3j2nV9-gdPF/s320/Out+on+the+town.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>They like to ride together.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilpUMmU3o0n82JM-2FKoAYX8qjKCxr3vvltQw6GN_FtktPaCzSmtPMv0ylmxeichomi4E12oAwDkxDlHlD9vVsWdJeV7Lnsjub73X65SL9SDws2hPz-_5tAh9W7IiRj_WwvhnuOD0fH9FN/s1600/Bonnie+and+Clyde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilpUMmU3o0n82JM-2FKoAYX8qjKCxr3vvltQw6GN_FtktPaCzSmtPMv0ylmxeichomi4E12oAwDkxDlHlD9vVsWdJeV7Lnsjub73X65SL9SDws2hPz-_5tAh9W7IiRj_WwvhnuOD0fH9FN/s320/Bonnie+and+Clyde.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>They like to role play. Here they are doing a darn good impression of Bonnie and Clyde in time out on the wall. They had a child in between them pushing her back and forth back and forth! (I am channeling the "I'll Love You Forever book here...unfortunately they were not saying<i> I'll like you for always </i>or anything to that matter)<br />
<br />
If you ask Gabe who his girlfriend is he replies quite happily "Harper Kate Kate".<br />
<br />
That is until yesterday.<br />
<br />
Yesterday they were playing with cars and Harper Kate Kate had one he wanted so he ever so gently reached over with his mouth and bit the first thing he could come into contact with...which happened to be her "private" (boobie).<br />
<br />
She looked at Ms. Becki and said, "He is NOT my boyfriend anymore!"<br />
<br />
I had high hopes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">****Update!****</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4_cojoyogXs8jFLFGMUX0otREkRq7-6NDg_r0108k5pkNyfbdjJU6h1nn4N6sFT_cS3ZBn8QVFC_s3_MqluBeFev_p7mY2R7zs_kynKqagl4mioE6aXTPrumWwtNC8-BIYd266mwrlDF/s1600/Together+Again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4_cojoyogXs8jFLFGMUX0otREkRq7-6NDg_r0108k5pkNyfbdjJU6h1nn4N6sFT_cS3ZBn8QVFC_s3_MqluBeFev_p7mY2R7zs_kynKqagl4mioE6aXTPrumWwtNC8-BIYd266mwrlDF/s320/Together+Again.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I guess the romance was too good to let go. Christmas Parades can heal all wounds!Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-14481714175867639532011-11-28T11:49:00.000-05:002011-11-28T11:49:16.745-05:00I Am Thankful! (For Four Day Weekends)After last year's <a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2010/12/little-holiday-confusion.html">holiday confusion</a> I decided to get a jump on holiday preparations this year...meaning I spent this four day weekend actually cleaning my house. I say this because I really feel like the delay last year was because the house was such a wreck I just could not bring myself to decorate it.<br />
<br />
Or maybe I am just lazy.<br />
<br />
Anyway, after a very disappointing Black Friday (on Thursday) experience (the short of it- Walmart, line, 7:30 PM, 10th in line for a PS3- they only had 9. The 20 year old guys in front of me buying it for themselves. Jerks. So irritated I can't write in complete sentences. The ONLY upside? GREAT COMPANY with my bestie Jiffiner) I couldn't bring myself to get into the Christmas Spirit. I moped around the house and unfortunately in moping I did a lot of looking down. AND when I looked down I unfortunately noticed how disgusting the house was.<br />
<br />
AND you know me I can't do anything in a small way.<br />
<br />
Instead of just cleaning I decided I needed to:<br />
<ul><li>Clean out my junk room so Wil could have his own room.</li>
<li>Clean out a dresser so I could give it away.</li>
<li>Move Wil's bunkbed into the newly cleaned out junk room.</li>
<li>Wash<u><i><b> all </b></i></u>of my laundry (which consisted of, no lie, 53 loads)</li>
<li>Go through all of our clothes and get rid of everything that doesn't fit. </li>
<li>Move Gabe's bed into Noah's room (because Noah doesn't like to sleep by himself but he drives whoever is trying to sleep in the same room with him slap crazy)</li>
<li>Train Gabe to sleep in his own bed so Noah doesn't have to sleep alone.</li>
<li>Scrub the Koolaide stains off of my counter.</li>
<li>Wrangle all of Gabe's toys into one corner of our house.</li>
<li>Work on potty training.</li>
<li>Try to rid the bathroom of the remains of said potty training.</li>
<li>Grocery shop. </li>
</ul>Pat on my back- I did all of those things. Wil got to sleep in his new room on Saturday night. Gabe spent all of Saturday night in his BIG BOY BED! Noah was so happy to have a new roommate. My closets are very nice looking and organized. I was a proud housewife and Momma!<br />
<br />
For exactly one night.<br />
<br />
Wil spilled red Koolaide all over the counter Sunday morning. Gabe peed right on the floor of the bathroom Sunday afternoon. Noah acted like a fool at church Sunday night. Wil decided the bunk bed was too hot for sleep and spent last night in Gabe's old room. Gabe decided he really liked mommy's bed better than his BIG BOY BED. Noah stayed up half the night because he had no one to sleep with him.<br />
<br />
AND now I have exactly SIX loads of laundry waiting for me when I get home. <br />
<br />
My children may end up sleeping in tents in the back yard.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-27806759830813279682011-11-16T09:58:00.000-05:002011-11-16T09:58:59.947-05:00Have You Tried The Chicken-In-A-Biscut Cracker Because I Am Thinking That May Be EasierI have noticed lately that we have been going through an inordinate amount of chicken flavored Ramen Noodles. I didn't think too much about it because I figured that I since I now have a teenager and a tween (or as Wil likes to think...two teenagers who should be able to stay by themselves and walk downtown by themselves and hang out on his friend's boat with no parents by themselves) because when I was that age I was all about the Ramen noodles. (I actually thought I was pretty classy eating something from a different country- I lived a very sheltered chicken, rice and peas existence. I also thought bagels were high class since you could buy them on the street in New York.)<br />
<br />
Anyway.... I noticed Noah opening a pack the other day and I watched with interest as he put the whole brick-o-noodles onto a plate. He opened the chicken flavor and sprinkled it onto the top, then picked up the whole thing and took a big old bite. Like he was biting into a piece of pizza. No bowl. No water. Not even a set of chopsticks. He looked at me and said...<br />
<br />
"This a good cracker".<br />
<br />
I don't even know what to say about that.<br />
<br />
It reminds me of the other day when Gabey Baby was tapping very hard on my non-touchscreen Blackberry (that thankfully has not fallen off the top of any cars or taken any dives in the washing machine) and he looked at me with the most forlorn look and said<br />
<br />
"My Ipod not working".<br />
<br />
Why does my almost three year old know what an Ipod is but my 14 year old doesn't know Ramen Noodles are soup?Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-53325730326970221612011-11-10T10:45:00.001-05:002011-11-14T14:12:07.562-05:00Watch the Alpacas- They SpitI went WAY out of my comfort zone yesterday and DROVE the bus for our field trip to <a href="http://www.beecity.net/">Bee City</a>...which my 4 year old friend Sam Brown pointed out really it wasn't much of a city since it had no towers (Tall buildings)-more like a farm. Driving a bus is not my idea of a fun field trip. Sitting on the back of the bus singing Sippin' Cider is way more up my alley! When I pulled back into town I realized my jaw was hurting because I had been clinching my teeth so hard. I had to take 4 motrin! I hope those kids appreciate those @#!* bees!<br />
<br />
Just kidding.<br />
<br />
Kinda.<br />
<br />
Anyway, Bee City was so fun. We got to see a working hive (behind glass so no accidental stings). We could not find the queen...because really what 3 and 4 year old is going to look for more than 2.8 seconds for a queen bee? Maybe if it was a princess bee with a pink ball gown we could have feigned a little interest. Alas- no queen. We did however learn that all the girl bees are worker bees and the boy bees' only purpose in life is to go on dates with the queen and that they are the drones. I took this information home with me and have begun to refer to Charles as a drone. I am not sure how well our hive will produce honey since, as you well know, THERE ARE NO WORKERS BEES in this here hive!<br />
<br />
We made many new friends at Bee City, which could technically be called <i>Bee (Along With Some Marsupials, Farm Animals and Even a Couple of Gators and Prairie Dogs</i>) <i>City. </i>I was very tempted to bring home a Billie Goat (they were only $40.00 versus the $60.00 price tag of the Nanny Goat). The roosters were a steal @ $4.00 a piece but I am not sure how they would have made the bus ride. (Did I mention the bus ride?) My favorite by far was a very special animal. His (or her since I didn't check) beauty is beyond words. The sweet way it ate the feed from my hand and nudged me when it wanted more. I don't know why more of the children wouldn't feed him (or her).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkh40nSQNFoKDY0qfSLz-bTy4K4ULY6eBFUObksdS3LS0wlTDykw12JKpcj75jZKFxnbH-ik9PCpkk-WZ3DLpdYBQyiOHWPDsO-q-CZ_MmD39MJ-wq2WMvk5-_Ux0k44Z0M06vy3QNuBRJ/s1600/You+really+should+visit+the+dentist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkh40nSQNFoKDY0qfSLz-bTy4K4ULY6eBFUObksdS3LS0wlTDykw12JKpcj75jZKFxnbH-ik9PCpkk-WZ3DLpdYBQyiOHWPDsO-q-CZ_MmD39MJ-wq2WMvk5-_Ux0k44Z0M06vy3QNuBRJ/s320/You+really+should+visit+the+dentist.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXod3XSfldgaV_JTqlyoS_puXnaylA9Fq6pioM8V5zh5pSxYAeS-nhvuzRLGScgixF47jS1O3JtFUySVBugkhInIqBfgFGZYO0Ap87pKR2hqJ2j35hOeFv27j2PzQe323Bcjp5peM6vPB6/s1600/Some+serious+dental+issues.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXod3XSfldgaV_JTqlyoS_puXnaylA9Fq6pioM8V5zh5pSxYAeS-nhvuzRLGScgixF47jS1O3JtFUySVBugkhInIqBfgFGZYO0Ap87pKR2hqJ2j35hOeFv27j2PzQe323Bcjp5peM6vPB6/s320/Some+serious+dental+issues.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Look at that smile. And the crooked head. Oh LOVE!<br />
<br />
I will take him home and name him (or her) Fred.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-39606650190808517442011-10-31T09:58:00.000-04:002011-10-31T09:58:23.824-04:00Why I Should Not Put My Phone On Top Of A Car (or Why I Should Never Ask Wil To Load The Washing Machine Part II)So I am phoneless again! I very brilliantly set the phone on top of the car while I buckled Gabe into his car seat. Then we drove off and heard the kerplunk. Unfortunately we didn't realize what the kerplunk was until we were in Charleston. By that time either the world's smartest raccoon had decided to start doing some Blackberry Messaging or some random jogger figured the could use a new phone. I am guessing at some point today I will call and report my own stupidity and pay the ridiculous deductible and get a new phone. Maybe God is telling me I don't need a Blackberry. Maybe he thinks I should upgrade to an Iphone. Just a guess on my part.<br />
<br />
So onto my lack of a post last week. At least this time I had a good reason...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpmmO8bdHmeda_c3Xzr8m7Ke7K1S-oddTG3fg6IlVfTq3ZjvBuIx-nPAFjtMU6Wh7TuzN702zsIWPFYuhx0DJv-__KktGyg3pqIdNzgCUPYcyB0uB1fITgN1O1_29vhdPIu7ouWeGDiFD/s1600/My+Sweet+Angel+Baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpmmO8bdHmeda_c3Xzr8m7Ke7K1S-oddTG3fg6IlVfTq3ZjvBuIx-nPAFjtMU6Wh7TuzN702zsIWPFYuhx0DJv-__KktGyg3pqIdNzgCUPYcyB0uB1fITgN1O1_29vhdPIu7ouWeGDiFD/s1600/My+Sweet+Angel+Baby.jpg" /></a></div>I tell you what, me and this hospital are getting to be on some bad terms! I honestly can't even tell you what went wrong. I walked down to Gabe's room at daycare and he was just a'fussin! It was a weird fuss so I knew something was wrong. I told him to walk with me and I took his temp and it was only 100.2. He climbed up on my couch and he started crying "my back, my back" like an 82 year old man. Now most two year olds do not complain about lower back pain so I made him an appointment at the pediatrician. I took his temp again before we left 102.1. Ooops!<br />
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We got to the pediatrician's office and he just went downhill from there. He couldn't go pee pee so they put a catheter in. Still no pee pee. So we got a nice little admit slip to go across the street and get a nice comfy bed and exactly no sleep.<br />
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I must admit I was a bit freaked out at this point because who really goes to the doctor and expects to be admitted to the hospital? I called Charles and asked him to meet me at the hospital. The conversation went like this...<br />
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Me: Gabe is getting admitted to the hospital can you meet me there?<br />
Charles: Oh my goodness! Is he ok?<br />
Me: Yes, but he really doesn't feel good and is having trouble going to the bathroom.<br />
Charles: Well then can't you just get him in and I will be by in a little while?<br />
Me: I need some help because I will have to get him registered.<br />
Charles: Well how does everybody else get registered?<br />
Me: Well everybody else may not have a sick baby when they register.<br />
Charles: Rachel, everybody is sick when they register at the hospital.<br />
Me: JUST MEET ME AT THE HOSPITAL!<br />
Charles: Do you just want me to get you a good parking space since I am in my police car?<br />
Me: Click.<br />
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He met me at the hospital. He just takes a little time to come around. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> </div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-36083845831602868432011-10-24T12:23:00.000-04:002011-10-24T12:23:34.944-04:00As Long As It Is Not A Double Barrel Shotgun Wedding....Can you believe it has been a whole year since I wrote <a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2010/10/13.html">this?</a> Yes, my Noah is now 14. For some reason it feels so much older than 13. 13 was a big change but Holy Smokes (or as Gabey Baby told me the other day..."Oh My Holy Cow"- I am not sure if holy as in Holy Cow should be capitalized but the way he said it leads me to believe it should be. And maybe even in a bold font) 14 is so very very different. 14 is almost driving age. 14 is almost dating age. 14 is one year closer to my being in an old folks home. <br />
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Anyway, I asked Noah what he wanted to do for his birthday. He piped up with the "I want to go to Aunt Anne's because she a <a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2010/09/redneck-girl.html">redneck girl who cook good.</a>" So I called my sweet sister-in-law Anne and asked her if we could party down @ Chez Trezevant. She heartily agreed and told me to ask him what kind of cake he would like (because let's face it I don't do cakes). He said that he would like, not a chocolate cake, not a vanilla cake, not a confetti cake...he wanted a shotgun cake. Wait not just a shotgun cake...a double barrel shotgun cake. And Anne, being Anne, took the challenge and ran with it!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaNrKJI4sOcoK6yU3b3akFUeuoKknaLOV4m-xutvnNK5Y1MKokAa8CMKVnewvceP-v8D1T1DUN7SP4AfsGy6wwdIzs0LrPik4aaxcR9eix_iR_liCQAEk2NQlz8hyphenhyphensuWFA4oxM-xOTO0cf/s1600/IMG-20111023-00071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaNrKJI4sOcoK6yU3b3akFUeuoKknaLOV4m-xutvnNK5Y1MKokAa8CMKVnewvceP-v8D1T1DUN7SP4AfsGy6wwdIzs0LrPik4aaxcR9eix_iR_liCQAEk2NQlz8hyphenhyphensuWFA4oxM-xOTO0cf/s320/IMG-20111023-00071.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>He really enjoyed his cake. Now since he is 14 and 14 year old boys are not the easiest things in the world to buy birthday presents for, Noah received quite a bit of cash. Here is where I need to take this blog and make a very serious confession. When my children get birthday money (or Christmas money or Easter money or Halloween money for that matter) they put it up in a safe place and try to save it. AND then they want McDonalds or Wendy's or (my favorite) Chik-Fil-A and they bug me and bug me and I have no cash so of course I just take their birthday (or Christmas or Easter or Halloween) money and take them to wherever they want to go. My name is Rachel and I take my children's money. I feel better now (not really).<br />
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So after 14 years Noah has caught onto this and he gave his money to his brother (who he had just gotten into a fist fight with) for safe keeping. Wil is better at hiding things than Noah so I guess we will not be going to Chik-Fil-A until payday.<br />
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</div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-70864899804274427392011-10-19T13:44:00.000-04:002011-10-19T13:44:09.936-04:00A Day in the Life...I have been snapping a lot of grainy cell phone pictures of Gabey Baby these day.I thought I would put together a little show for you so you can see (and maybe take notes on) what a great mother I am. We usually start the day like this....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_1sen03QBLtmMZCSvT3MUwFdYG6wx_7FI5XyKLDlEu4GaidT8Il8gCvb5dcqg5IzTtU7SuQv1_toEb2svueXyrWzUPqh-62NM4J_ePZ2tvM7t-tm6b-jBpL013tBqHhGMQcvMG6XxgJw/s1600/IMG-20111019-00061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_1sen03QBLtmMZCSvT3MUwFdYG6wx_7FI5XyKLDlEu4GaidT8Il8gCvb5dcqg5IzTtU7SuQv1_toEb2svueXyrWzUPqh-62NM4J_ePZ2tvM7t-tm6b-jBpL013tBqHhGMQcvMG6XxgJw/s320/IMG-20111019-00061.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As you may remember <a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2010/12/cold-side-of-pillow.html">(because of that dang owl)</a> Gabe has been sleeping in our bed. I know, I know! Oh the shame of it. I will admit it is easier and let's just admit... I am all about the easy.<br />
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We go to school and work and sometimes we get to take great little fields trips together...like this one to the pumpkin patch<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1AGvdE9RmAY254uWPGubqMzrlvaGyfTD81mQpMgI446KWao76yy6L5iXrVgZr7PkuB0q0y8jJ3yVVoMzKQXB8icBJMQlLS3Rr0rB9feecm1ynwl94oUueBYJ3ReyzQUHZRpXQNGydLpEn/s1600/Dawson+and+Turner+pics+419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1AGvdE9RmAY254uWPGubqMzrlvaGyfTD81mQpMgI446KWao76yy6L5iXrVgZr7PkuB0q0y8jJ3yVVoMzKQXB8icBJMQlLS3Rr0rB9feecm1ynwl94oUueBYJ3ReyzQUHZRpXQNGydLpEn/s320/Dawson+and+Turner+pics+419.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Ok I take no credit for this since it is obviously not a grainy cell phone picture! Thanks Suszanne for taking this!<br />
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When it is raining we like to jump in puddles...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yC8KBQuB5034VDxZE0Lipxrt9Y_SclyNwkVIfqI-grMvdhrI7uvhDBsBwLAyq-26cNVKMMlk2Luh6x1hiywau4ztnVii52fnPf7uQutuNBc5pkzX0VpuJzAmIxxdHXxLrpmrjLSi0tCi/s1600/IMG-20111018-00060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yC8KBQuB5034VDxZE0Lipxrt9Y_SclyNwkVIfqI-grMvdhrI7uvhDBsBwLAyq-26cNVKMMlk2Luh6x1hiywau4ztnVii52fnPf7uQutuNBc5pkzX0VpuJzAmIxxdHXxLrpmrjLSi0tCi/s320/IMG-20111018-00060.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH6I4vZr8h4TUgztWmDp0dWPS1yuIKFywszPBl03d7PBPnA198pjb2i8x71uR3cfOFeSvknUrQfTHsjyAul8L_KQJrIZG-tLaZGbSQiAT8a6rSV0uBoZ0UBQ2uDDOdjPQkakYrvpDbEkg/s1600/IMG-20111018-00059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH6I4vZr8h4TUgztWmDp0dWPS1yuIKFywszPBl03d7PBPnA198pjb2i8x71uR3cfOFeSvknUrQfTHsjyAul8L_KQJrIZG-tLaZGbSQiAT8a6rSV0uBoZ0UBQ2uDDOdjPQkakYrvpDbEkg/s320/IMG-20111018-00059.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
That second shot reminds me of some of the better Big Foot shots I have seen. Not that Gabey Baby has a big foot.<br />
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When we get home we usually have more than a few of these...<br />
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Oh ow I love temper tantrums. They make my life complete.<br />
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Every once in a while we will do something fun at night...<br />
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He loved his first football game AND he loves his Ya-Ya! (Laura is my next door neighbor who I have turned into my personal nanny. God love her! I could never make it without her!)<br />
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And then of course, because I am who I am, we ALWAYS push it too far and do things like go to IHOP after the football game. Who doesn't take their 2 year old for pancakes at midnight? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWfb7xMQQQf3QsyHGAjBBd82TJ7gKGWo3v9K0OWeBPG-az1INRkZi6q7X1E0nF2OmOuvHfyhw_SJcLoi6q-ILMadLBkRlf1iXUvQqpl0fTpKOkKfzQpkeHY3uPtx272Wmdy1j0WZExxVQ/s1600/IMG-20111014-00058%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWfb7xMQQQf3QsyHGAjBBd82TJ7gKGWo3v9K0OWeBPG-az1INRkZi6q7X1E0nF2OmOuvHfyhw_SJcLoi6q-ILMadLBkRlf1iXUvQqpl0fTpKOkKfzQpkeHY3uPtx272Wmdy1j0WZExxVQ/s320/IMG-20111014-00058%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">AND then we start all over again!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_1sen03QBLtmMZCSvT3MUwFdYG6wx_7FI5XyKLDlEu4GaidT8Il8gCvb5dcqg5IzTtU7SuQv1_toEb2svueXyrWzUPqh-62NM4J_ePZ2tvM7t-tm6b-jBpL013tBqHhGMQcvMG6XxgJw/s1600/IMG-20111019-00061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_1sen03QBLtmMZCSvT3MUwFdYG6wx_7FI5XyKLDlEu4GaidT8Il8gCvb5dcqg5IzTtU7SuQv1_toEb2svueXyrWzUPqh-62NM4J_ePZ2tvM7t-tm6b-jBpL013tBqHhGMQcvMG6XxgJw/s320/IMG-20111019-00061.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-40281250802800468642011-10-13T13:47:00.001-04:002011-10-13T15:35:53.648-04:00Nyquil (I Mean Calgon)-Take Me AwayHave you ever had one of those <strike>months</strike> nights when nothing seems to go your way? Last night was one of those nights for me. It started with Noah and this...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHi0wofAxd7enS_QhbgayiUYDzH7WUCkzKvRPYC0s2dd0WaTCl5wLgMLieXVn_Y6g9cTdVzO3wbpiXRyzYfT8GH-YYaN_UCQVgYrz8SzJQt-SRwvOdPeB9hJcQyrBmW6E8nLgtZpx-NXu3/s1600/the+first+straw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHi0wofAxd7enS_QhbgayiUYDzH7WUCkzKvRPYC0s2dd0WaTCl5wLgMLieXVn_Y6g9cTdVzO3wbpiXRyzYfT8GH-YYaN_UCQVgYrz8SzJQt-SRwvOdPeB9hJcQyrBmW6E8nLgtZpx-NXu3/s320/the+first+straw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Just so you know he thought he saw a fire. On the concrete floor. Under the steel stairwell. I am going to get his eyes rechecked along with the hearing next time. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then, as if the fire wasn't enough... I forgot to leave Gabe's bag in the nursery. AND if you recall we are in the deep and dark depths of potty training. Um yeah. He pooped in his pants. AND no one could find me to tell me so those poor nursery helpers (shout out to ya Jeff and Candi) had to deal with it. At least they didn't have a <a href="http://littleboyslittleboys.blogspot.com/2011/09/so-this-potty-training-thing-is-going.html">Walmart bag with a hole in it.</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">After I got Gabe all ready to go home I turn around and see two more mischievous Squires' boys followed by an angry Royal Ambassador teacher. The look on his face should have been enough to send a blood clot straight to my brain. He said, in his deep voice..."Rachel I need to talk with you". I looked from Wil to Heyward and then to Gabe. Then I looked at Gabe's diaper bag and thought about those poopy underpants (and pants and socks and shoes) and asked that deep voiced Royal Ambassador teacher if he could possibly just call me because if he couldn't tell I was on the verge of a very large breakdown. (FYI I haven't gotten my call yet and honestly I still can't promise there won't be a coronary).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I got four of the five Squires' loaded into the car (plus a friend-who I will add was quite well behaved) and looked around for the fifth. Yeah NOWHERE to be found. Did you even need to guess? I screamed across the parking lot when I saw his little pop out of the door and then try to sneak back in and thoroughly humiliated myself. </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I got home and the artist formerly known as Gabe drew this for me...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQrKa6PhiDF804Z7APZOm1ko_S1tk0GL-5obIWMl8uF_zo4OejWd4B-qG6R-YMelLmZO1mNB6CV2p9N46NZGQqsQrqbwC-zM9tr31719CpHkm3psrL4nCeIOf0sLtntcJO8IcP7nLJcvK/s1600/What+a+Sharpie+can+do.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQrKa6PhiDF804Z7APZOm1ko_S1tk0GL-5obIWMl8uF_zo4OejWd4B-qG6R-YMelLmZO1mNB6CV2p9N46NZGQqsQrqbwC-zM9tr31719CpHkm3psrL4nCeIOf0sLtntcJO8IcP7nLJcvK/s320/What+a+Sharpie+can+do.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>on the kitchen floor...with a Sharpie. And I might add that he is a performance artist...he did it in the nude.<br />
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The last straw came when I did this...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz84Lj3nSBTTsv5NpIOIjX7OE3chxfXJ3HaHf6TKC6LhtFAI15gKR9hcJOnTgPCCN4Zgc_aJ50YBA4AeYZv6j9t5GTjc0hX6S9s7EluvwJGR7RwUhdf3d0l1DkhDCVr0IB5Je3TZo537cA/s1600/The+last+Straw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz84Lj3nSBTTsv5NpIOIjX7OE3chxfXJ3HaHf6TKC6LhtFAI15gKR9hcJOnTgPCCN4Zgc_aJ50YBA4AeYZv6j9t5GTjc0hX6S9s7EluvwJGR7RwUhdf3d0l1DkhDCVr0IB5Je3TZo537cA/s320/The+last+Straw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>That is a cup full of chocolate milk. You can't really tell but the majority ended up in between the counter and the stove. Just where you want all of your chocolate milk to end up.<br />
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I gave up and climbed into bed and turned on a rerun of Dance Moms to make the world go away. If you have never watched Dance Moms (and why you haven't is beyond me because it is trashy TV greatness) you may not know but the teacher ranks all of the girls in a pyramid every week with the best on the top of the pyramid on the top and the rest dwindling down below her. SO I have decided to do my own pyramid...<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As you can see my pyramid is not based on who was the best performer of the night...more like who was in the most trouble.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-31666394736732404472011-09-30T09:54:00.000-04:002011-09-30T09:54:03.331-04:00A Better ManSo BIG news! My eleven year old has a (shh don't tell him I told you) girlfriend. We will call her Sally. Now, Wil and Sally have gone to school together since 3rd grade. So imagine my surprise when he informed me that he and Sally had decided to "go out". I wondered aloud how this happened and he told me "Oh Jada hooked us up". (Jada is a good friend who rides home with us most days of the week and they have LOTS of time to talk about things such as "going out") Then I asked him what did "going out" in the sixth grade look like. His response? "Oh we just kinda hang out in the courtyard at lunch". I asked him what they did before they started going out. "Mom! We still just hung out in the courtyard together!" I am so glad that is cleared up for me. I wonder what is going to happen to the courtyard hang out when they break up.<br />
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Jada told me that she and Wil had a long conversation about Sally in the library yesterday. This was the conversation (and I SOOO wish I could have been there)<br />
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Wil: You know Jada, Sally has made me a better man.<br />
Jada: How so Wil?<br />
Wil: Well before Sally I just stood under the water in the shower and now I actually use the soap.<br />
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I always wondered why I never needed to buy shampoo.<br />
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So dear Sally... thanks for opening up my child eyes to wonder of hygiene. I hope he wears deodorant in the courtyard on the hot days.<br />
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And just for all of you who can't make it to the BCOB/LCCC production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat here is a preview of the "Hairy Ishmaelites" AKA Wil, Pheobe, Lydia and Christy. They could use a little soap themselves.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMYazQ_OEAlwebLIZUkXlCNmSLYRQkNxdsY1IeTXksel-UsnW3RGgG0j9XoOMmW0Rsn5XZDEGHvdkWk5yWWmDV2K8HHe78dJQe3wvcO4sPBLIvGLnktYRl_7oTfsrwUdAEKF7Kvk-Yt9k/s1600/The+Hairy+Ishmealites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMYazQ_OEAlwebLIZUkXlCNmSLYRQkNxdsY1IeTXksel-UsnW3RGgG0j9XoOMmW0Rsn5XZDEGHvdkWk5yWWmDV2K8HHe78dJQe3wvcO4sPBLIvGLnktYRl_7oTfsrwUdAEKF7Kvk-Yt9k/s320/The+Hairy+Ishmealites.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1798740277702355074.post-79632684873103882242011-09-27T12:48:00.000-04:002011-09-27T12:48:14.652-04:00So This Potty Training Thing is Going to Get Easier...Right?I know it has been a while since I went through this whole potty training ordeal with Noah and Wil. I didn't think I had forgotten the horror of the accidents. Apparently, as in child birth, my brain has decided to block certain aspects of the <strike>intense pain</strike> smelly remains of the potty training deal. OR maybe it is the fact that Sweet Gabey Baby may indeed be just a tad bit spoiled. (I know that if his teachers hear me say "He's my last baby" one more time they will revolt and kick him out of the older two year old's class and put him right back in the "He is really an older two but his mommy treats him like a baby so he is spoiled rotten" younger two year old class) He has decided that it is just way easier to have mommy and his teachers change his whole outfit than to stop what he is doing and go potty.<br />
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At one point the other night (after a particularly terrible day at work that I am just now able to talk about) I had changed so many pairs of Nemo, Thomas and Lightning McQueen underpants that I gave up and let him just wear a pair of pajama bottoms. AND it was in that time frame he decided that pee pee wasn't the only thing that didn't need to go into the toilet. It only got better when I picked the Walmart bag with THE HUGE HOLE in it to put the mess into. Now cleaning it up once is bad enough...but twice is when I give up for the night...put the child back into a pull-up and make cinnamon rolls for dinner.<br />
<br />
Last night when I was packing his bag for school today I asked which underpants he wanted to which he replied..."I just want the diaper".<br />
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I may have hit my limit. I can only hope he doesn't go to college in a diaper.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05634593982102078039noreply@blogger.com1