tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71196553239719427642024-03-13T08:45:24.811-04:00Notes from NaptimeCalliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.comBlogger293125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-43135287893579798012011-09-14T18:22:00.000-04:002011-09-14T18:22:46.177-04:00My SpaceJesse surprised me with a little piece of the internet to call my own, so I'll be hanging out over there now. Come visit, won't you? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.calliefeyen.com/">http://www.calliefeyen.com/</a>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-87638867364512465802011-09-09T07:27:00.000-04:002011-09-09T07:27:08.355-04:00Clumps of MomentsThis post is inspired from an excerpt of the poem <em>Small Things</em> by Anna Kamienska:<br />
<em>It's not from the grand</em><br />
<em>but from every tiny thing</em><br />
<em>that it grows enormous</em><br />
<em>as if Someone was building Eternity</em><br />
<em>as a swallow its nest</em><br />
<em>out of clumps of moments</em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n0A-HRJMq4Y/TmiSJi_PdAI/AAAAAAAADsg/e1by94bMshE/s1600/IMG_5810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n0A-HRJMq4Y/TmiSJi_PdAI/AAAAAAAADsg/e1by94bMshE/s640/IMG_5810.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YCAZrTe95Gc/TmiSdi1XcaI/AAAAAAAADsk/NPzXGTX7xpw/s1600/IMG_5807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YCAZrTe95Gc/TmiSdi1XcaI/AAAAAAAADsk/NPzXGTX7xpw/s640/IMG_5807.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cm-Nd-bejCs/TmiSrvgTa6I/AAAAAAAADso/Pvmrc8BqUns/s1600/IMG_5814.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cm-Nd-bejCs/TmiSrvgTa6I/AAAAAAAADso/Pvmrc8BqUns/s640/IMG_5814.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IyELNjl2P0A/TmiTEZn1FNI/AAAAAAAADss/nW1bLYiDyyU/s1600/IMG_5831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IyELNjl2P0A/TmiTEZn1FNI/AAAAAAAADss/nW1bLYiDyyU/s640/IMG_5831.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9qUFEzuE2OQ/TmiUbALW7KI/AAAAAAAADs0/Vcntq7bxPrs/s1600/atthemovies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="488" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9qUFEzuE2OQ/TmiUbALW7KI/AAAAAAAADs0/Vcntq7bxPrs/s640/atthemovies.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
some of our "clumps of moments:"<br />
a special place to look at letters with a fancy pen<br />
eating a waffle drenched in "seeeryup" with a blue fork on a blue plate<br />
from a mixture of tulle and paint<br />
a Sunday afternoon hike<br />
spending a rainy afternoon at the moviesCalliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-87165073932342727062011-09-08T05:47:00.000-04:002011-09-08T05:47:12.971-04:00LostI got lost on vacation. It wasn't anything serious, although for awhile there I imagined my face popping up on one of those AP articles when you log onto your Yahoo email account. Here's what happened: I went for a run one morning and instead of going down the main road, I went behind the house we were staying in, and into the woods. <br />
<br />
I realize that was my first mistake. Going into the woods is comparable to scuba diving. Everything starts to look the same. In scuba diving, you don't know which way is up or down, whereas when you're in the woods you don't know which way is left or right. And when I write "you" I mean me. I'm no John Krakauer for crying out loud. Although I did write him once to tell him how much I loved his book about that kid who ran off to Alaska and he wrote me back! John Krakauer, not the kid. The kid died. It's very sad. I'm digressing.<br />
<br />
I ran off into the woods because when I started out on the main road there was a bear-like dog having a fit in regards to me running towards his territory. So I turned around and ran like h-e double hockey sticks into the woods. <br />
<br />
(Readers of this blog know I'm terrified of bees, but I'm also afraid of dogs. Yes, really.) <br />
<br />
I think it's safe to conclude from reading the previous paragraphs that I am not an outdoors person. My idea of "roughing it" is sitting outside at a restaurant with kids. I know nothing about being outside which leads to panic and overreaction. So while I was running around what probably was a five foot patch of land with lots of trees, I was getting a little scared. OK I was a lot scared. And maybe I was crying a little bit but it could've been sweat. I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
Jesse's uncle found me. Actually, he and his wife (Jesse's aunt) were a bit concerned that I might not know where I was going because we'd arrived at their place in the dark and I'd yet to scope the place out in daylight. Rookie mistake. So at a point when they either had to assume I was training for a marathon or lost, he decided to go out looking for me. We laughed it off as he showed me the way home.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-imOKCuzxgyM/TkwA7dEBqQI/AAAAAAAADp8/itNDZH95uvY/s1600/IMG_0591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-imOKCuzxgyM/TkwA7dEBqQI/AAAAAAAADp8/itNDZH95uvY/s320/IMG_0591.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I've been lost before. I got lost on the way home from Kindergarten once. In high school it took me a good six weeks to remember where my locker was. I was lost at Calvin too, but that was more metaphorical.<br />
<br />
Being lost makes me uncomfortable. I don't pay attention too well when I'm uncomfortable. I think, <em>I'm no good in this place, </em>or, <em>I'm not going to try this again</em>. I think that's the real danger. Letting one experience determine what you can and cannot do. <br />
<br />
I think in most cases, it's always good to go back and take a second, or third, or thirty-sixth look. <br />
<br />
Enough times as it takes until I've begun to pay attention again:<br />
<br />
to the excitement one child has for holding a fish, and the fact that the other just wants to throw it back in water...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jofT5SjRkS0/TkwJZVOXuwI/AAAAAAAADqA/OIFNB4o27mo/s1600/IMG_5740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jofT5SjRkS0/TkwJZVOXuwI/AAAAAAAADqA/OIFNB4o27mo/s320/IMG_5740.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>...or the satisfying thunk the blueberries make after I've plucked them off the bush and dropped them in a bucket....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMSN7WKG4ZY/TkwKyBTA9bI/AAAAAAAADqE/jzzYLnHqFW8/s1600/IMG_0616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMSN7WKG4ZY/TkwKyBTA9bI/AAAAAAAADqE/jzzYLnHqFW8/s320/IMG_0616.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aZfv41dKLeA/TkwLGDPaN8I/AAAAAAAADqI/lQrGN62Jrp0/s1600/IMG_0624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aZfv41dKLeA/TkwLGDPaN8I/AAAAAAAADqI/lQrGN62Jrp0/s320/IMG_0624.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
...and then taking those blueberries home and scouring recipes for blueberry scones, tarts, pies, and smoothies...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zGE_mViWyog/TkwMKz43NkI/AAAAAAAADqQ/56mU2KXLUMY/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zGE_mViWyog/TkwMKz43NkI/AAAAAAAADqQ/56mU2KXLUMY/s320/IMG_0658.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>...or deciding you've had enough baking and it's time to dance...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RSFpo-z5yqc/TkwMnrWNWRI/AAAAAAAADqU/WbU8CJWXo5I/s1600/IMG_0602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RSFpo-z5yqc/TkwMnrWNWRI/AAAAAAAADqU/WbU8CJWXo5I/s320/IMG_0602.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lg6K4FvzpuI/TkwM3oiEJSI/AAAAAAAADqY/H2HpL9mRNtw/s1600/IMG_0603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lg6K4FvzpuI/TkwM3oiEJSI/AAAAAAAADqY/H2HpL9mRNtw/s320/IMG_0603.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sehI9WBDcRc/TkwNBU9J8hI/AAAAAAAADqc/KOT1cha4JBw/s1600/IMG_0606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sehI9WBDcRc/TkwNBU9J8hI/AAAAAAAADqc/KOT1cha4JBw/s320/IMG_0606.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Because eventually, you get comfortable. You start paying attention. You decide to try new things.<br />
Like ride around a lake on a bicycle built for two.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QCPQ-Zgb2hk/TmaDypjd9PI/AAAAAAAADsQ/ljoSGUp9YNA/s1600/IMG_0534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QCPQ-Zgb2hk/TmaDypjd9PI/AAAAAAAADsQ/ljoSGUp9YNA/s320/IMG_0534.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I can't really be lost with family. Whether it's with my in-laws or the Lewises and Ayanoglous. They've always made me feel at home. The great thing about that is when it's time to go off on my own, I have the confidence to check out that new place and see what's what. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SGqaf_HkHb8/Tme9p27CYKI/AAAAAAAADsY/jtdvEC8lCLU/s1600/IMG_0615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SGqaf_HkHb8/Tme9p27CYKI/AAAAAAAADsY/jtdvEC8lCLU/s320/IMG_0615.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It's good to get lost every now and then. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XTWiToX5A84/Tme-Q8GYBpI/AAAAAAAADsc/6WdchvS1IbA/s1600/IMG_5725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XTWiToX5A84/Tme-Q8GYBpI/AAAAAAAADsc/6WdchvS1IbA/s320/IMG_5725.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I've found some great treasures when that happens.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-82740068141236955052011-09-06T06:44:00.000-04:002011-09-06T06:44:20.315-04:00A Phase?For the most part, I think Hadley's a pretty miled mannered kid. She rarely loses her temper, is friendly to everyone, and is generally a go with the flow kind of gal.<br />
<br />
Except when we start playing Phase 10. Hadley cannot handle losing this game. She slams her hands on the table. She growls. She throws cards everywhere.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4XfjDe3ETXs/Tl90Bd8cX9I/AAAAAAAADsA/uuVhgFb2mmA/s1600/IMG_5796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4XfjDe3ETXs/Tl90Bd8cX9I/AAAAAAAADsA/uuVhgFb2mmA/s320/IMG_5796.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Even if she is winning she'll chant things like, "I am winning and Mommy is a loser." Note that she calls me a loser. Not "Mommy is losING." No, I am a losER.<br />
<br />
It's tons of fun.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dBgeG8ykuc8/Tl90b0SSCKI/AAAAAAAADsE/2ppvqU6PJm4/s1600/IMG_5799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dBgeG8ykuc8/Tl90b0SSCKI/AAAAAAAADsE/2ppvqU6PJm4/s320/IMG_5799.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
One night, Hadley asked me if I would play Phase 10 with her. <br />
<br />
"I will, but are you going to get mad if you lose?"<br />
<br />
Hadley thinks about this for awhile and then responds, "Yes, I will get mad. But I will bang my hands on the table <em>lightly</em> like this."<br />
<br />
She demonstrates. <br />
<br />
For the record, I wouldn't describe what she did as "light."<br />
<br />
But we play, and at one point we are tied. Hadley is not happy about this but I can tell she is trying hard to stay calm about it.<br />
<br />
"Hadley? You OK?"<br />
<br />
"I'm not happy that we're tied, Mama, but I am happy about something."<br />
<br />
"What's that?"<br />
<br />
"I'm happy that my name is longer than yours."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MVBjLBgR5VQ/Tl91ZSJuyeI/AAAAAAAADsI/5AXw_6Am3Q0/s1600/IMG_5795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MVBjLBgR5VQ/Tl91ZSJuyeI/AAAAAAAADsI/5AXw_6Am3Q0/s320/IMG_5795.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-71461086100794419932011-09-02T08:02:00.000-04:002011-09-02T08:02:16.310-04:00Summer Hangouts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FGk_DqVfoS8/Tl6fW-Ef1oI/AAAAAAAADrg/N1QQAYh7Cr0/s1600/Image08232011163245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FGk_DqVfoS8/Tl6fW-Ef1oI/AAAAAAAADrg/N1QQAYh7Cr0/s640/Image08232011163245.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2nQwIDEe0g/Tl6fhXNdSFI/AAAAAAAADrk/AYhfModPsIw/s1600/Image08302011101730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2nQwIDEe0g/Tl6fhXNdSFI/AAAAAAAADrk/AYhfModPsIw/s640/Image08302011101730.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S1iKNlum8JQ/Tl6f5uiHrnI/AAAAAAAADro/p7p7IBbfoI0/s1600/Image08152011162059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S1iKNlum8JQ/Tl6f5uiHrnI/AAAAAAAADro/p7p7IBbfoI0/s640/Image08152011162059.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t190tGmiHus/Tl6gdkEgL8I/AAAAAAAADrs/PGE8OFB3aPk/s1600/Image08312011143950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t190tGmiHus/Tl6gdkEgL8I/AAAAAAAADrs/PGE8OFB3aPk/s640/Image08312011143950.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bwsM-SoqbzY/Tl6gxUMEK3I/AAAAAAAADrw/5AlbvD5QCAk/s1600/Image08312011151525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bwsM-SoqbzY/Tl6gxUMEK3I/AAAAAAAADrw/5AlbvD5QCAk/s640/Image08312011151525.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EK1a8pkeI1o/Tl6hDkNCGRI/AAAAAAAADr0/lQaYAn_6iqE/s1600/Image08152011162117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EK1a8pkeI1o/Tl6hDkNCGRI/AAAAAAAADr0/lQaYAn_6iqE/s640/Image08152011162117.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XZOKnQjcRag/Tl6ha8rl_oI/AAAAAAAADr4/occ0whRlvmI/s1600/Image08232011164720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XZOKnQjcRag/Tl6ha8rl_oI/AAAAAAAADr4/occ0whRlvmI/s640/Image08232011164720.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NgdhalBteyY/Tl6hpteu4FI/AAAAAAAADr8/It413gjhvvU/s1600/Image08152011163844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NgdhalBteyY/Tl6hpteu4FI/AAAAAAAADr8/It413gjhvvU/s640/Image08152011163844.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
There were afternoons spent at the ice-cream shop,<br />
and mornings spent dressing up.<br />
There were days gratefully spent in the shade at parks,<br />
or cooling off at Starbucks reading books,<br />
writing first letters<br />
and practicing old ones.<br />
We peeked at the sun through trees<br />
and took long walks home without strollers.<br />
The afternoon nap seems to be a memory,<br />
but there are remnants that we like to take with us.<br />
<br />
It's been a nice summer.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-86285616186755016252011-08-31T07:52:00.000-04:002011-08-31T07:52:55.326-04:00300th PostHadley loves to hear stories, and she likes to hear them over and over again. It can be a story from a book, which she'll memorize, and repeat to her stuffed animals, or it can be a "real" story - something from when she was younger or when Jesse and I were kids. The one she asks me about most these days is about a time when I was in first grade standing in line to go out for recess and a bold lad decided it'd be OK to kiss the hood of my winter jacket. It was not OK. <br />
<br />
I told Hadley this story in the first place to illustrate that not everyone likes to be kissed, or pursued for that matter. Hadley can be a bit of a kissy kisserson and while I don't want to blow out the candle of friendliness, I also want her to understand that there are other ways to say, "Hey! I had fun with you at the park!" besides giving smooches. For crying outloud, this isn't France. Don't they do stuff like that in France?<br />
<br />
On Monday night, Hadley wanted to hear a story from when she and Harper were younger. Because, you know, they're so old now. So I told the two of them the story of the time when both were still in diapers and we went to the park. I said, "All was going well until both of you pooped at the same time."<br />
<br />
Folks, it's not just boys that think pooping and tooting and butts are hilarious. I am sure to break up a fight, stop tears, turn the entire day around just by using any of the aformentioned words to my girls. And I don't even need to use them in a sentence. I can just say, "butt!" and the day just got better. Needless to say, this story about me having to change two poopy diapers in the backseat of our car while the girls screamed was a real crowd pleaser with the H's.<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm not always sure what Hadley as well as Harper, will take away from the stories I tell them. For example, I wonder what they think of what happened to us yesterday and how they'll re-tell it one day. Here's what I have to say:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vi0Gemsyxiw/Tl4cVeCtAxI/AAAAAAAADrc/mFAcWLMCypU/s1600/Image08302011113544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vi0Gemsyxiw/Tl4cVeCtAxI/AAAAAAAADrc/mFAcWLMCypU/s320/Image08302011113544.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
This is a picture of a balloon in Target. It's Harper's balloon. But that's not where I want to start this story. I want to start this story a few hours earlier when the three of us got in the car to go to Romp n Roll. As I'm getting read to pull out of our parking spot, there is a car that is driving in the lot, so I wait for it to pass. Except it doesn't. The car, moving at the quick clip of a turtle, stops behind my car. When I write "stop," I mean the driver of the car turned her car off, and got out of it. I just want to make it clear that she was in the middle of the street, stopped her car, and walked away, thus leaving me blocked in.<br />
<br />
I roll down my window and say, "Excuse me, m'am? I need to get out."<br />
<br />
She turns around and says, "Oh, OK. I'll be back in just a minute," and continues her stroll.<br />
<br />
Would it help to illustrate my reaction here? Perhaps some thoughts that went through my head at this moment? Maybe it'd be best to just write what I said next.<br />
<br />
"I need to get out now." I tell her.<br />
<br />
Without turning around, the lady waves her hand over her head - AS IF TO BRUSH ME OFF - and says, "You can get out."<br />
<br />
To which I reply, "You're a jerk."<br />
<br />
Also? This lady was maybe 70 years old. <br />
<br />
I felt so bad I texted my cousin Tara to tell her what happened and, always knowing the perfect thing to say wrote, "I just taught Aquazumba to a bunch of 70 yr olds....I get it."<br />
<br />
<br />
After the girls class at Romp n Roll, they each get a balloon. This balloon is played with and carried around for the remainder of the day. Every Tuesday, for the entire summer, I have had lovely afternooons because Hadley and Harper play with a pink balloon with a purple string all day long. When it runs out of helium, it becomes a dog to pull around on a leash. When that gets old, I'm asked to cut the string off and it becomes a volleyball. It's endless fun, I tell you.<br />
<br />
We go to Target after the class and I say to Harper as I'm taking her out of the car, "Can we leave the balloon in the car so it doesn't get lost?" <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vi0Gemsyxiw/Tl4cVeCtAxI/AAAAAAAADrc/mFAcWLMCypU/s1600/Image08302011113544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vi0Gemsyxiw/Tl4cVeCtAxI/AAAAAAAADrc/mFAcWLMCypU/s320/Image08302011113544.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Because that would be AWFUL if it got lost. But losing a hold of it and watching it float up to the ceiling? That's much better.<br />
<br />
We're standing in line paying for computer paper when just that happens. I see it float past my face and think, "Oh, that's Harper's balloon. That's not good." I don't attempt to grab it, though. My reflexes aren't what they used to be.<br />
<br />
Harper watches it and then says, "Mommy? Can you reach your hand up to the ceewing and get my bawoon?"<br />
<br />
"No, Harper, I can't. I'm sorry. We've lost the balloon." <br />
<br />
Harper turns around to take Hadley's balloon. Because, gee, I lost mine, so Hadley won't mind if I just grab hers. This was not OK with Hadley.<br />
<br />
Then, as if she's been practicing for this moment all her life, Harper screams, pushes me as hard as she can, then throws herself to the floor. At the same time, the cashier tells me, with a friendly smile, "You lost your balloon."<br />
<br />
I'm sorry Harper lost her balloon. I really am. But I'm thinking the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we'll be able to forget this whole thing. That's not what happens. Soon, all the cashiers are noticing the balloon as well as several patrons. Then maintenance is called. It's a whole "to-do." There are walkie talkies and everything. All the while, Harper's screaming and reaching for her balloon, Hadley's holding on to hers for dear life, and I'm laughing slash crying because of the scene I've caused in Target.<br />
<br />
Call me a suburban mom, but Target is my happy place. When Hadley was first born, and I wasn't sure what to do to get the crying to stop, we'd go to Target. I'd put her in the Bjorn, get a cup of coffee, and we'd walk around the store checking out the goods. Once, I ran into another mom doing the same thing. We were in the hair product section. We smiled at each other, and then she said, "You looking for anything in particular?" I said, "Nope. Just walking around." She said, "Me too." We both laughed and I felt so much better knowing I wasn't the only person who had no clue what to do with an infant; that there were others who were just figuring it out as they went along, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
"We can get the balloon for you," a maintenance main tells me.<br />
<br />
"It's OK," I tell him.<br />
<br />
"It's not a big deal," and he walks to the back of the store.<br />
<br />
Harper, Hadley, and I stand against a wall facing the checkout lanes. Every single patron is looking at the balloon along with all the cashiers. Mostly moms, I hear things like, "Oh man, that's not good," and "Who's crying? Whose kid is screaming like that? What is WRONG?" I even heard, "Well. What mother lets her kid bring a balloon into the store? At least tie the thing around her arm!" <br />
<br />
When the man comes back with a claw type wand and begins to reach for the balloon, the moms have all kinds of advice, "That's not gonna work," "He should've put a piece of tape on it so the string can stick to the claw." I'm sure he can hear all of it, as I can, standing there holding Harper whose eyes are bugged out with hope that this man will save the balloon.<br />
<br />
And he does. He brings the balloon down, and walks it over to Harper while the ENTIRE CHECKOUT AREA of Target is clapping: cashiers, kids, moms, everybody. It was a scene straight out of a Nora Ephron movie.<br />
<br />
"Thank you so much," I say to the guy, but I almost blurted out, "I called a 70 year old a jerk a few hours ago. I don't deserve this." <br />
<br />
I guess that's not what it's about, though. Even those of us who are in fact the jerks are shown kindness. Whether we deserve it or not.<br />
<br />
We get back in the car, and I turn around to the girls and say, "Whew! What a day." Harper eyelashes are crusted over from the dried tears and Hadley is thudding her balloon against the window.<br />
<br />
"I think we should go to the park. You guys think that's a good idea?"<br />
<br />
"YEA!!!!!"<br />
<br />
"But Mama?" Hadley says.<br />
<br />
"Yes?"<br />
<br />
"I really hope me and Harper don't poop at the same when we're there."<br />
<br />
I'll try to keep my cool if that happens.<br />
<br />
Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-54029180460269698492011-08-23T11:42:00.000-04:002011-08-23T11:42:24.346-04:00What To Do When Daddy Goes to Hawaii For a WeekDrown your sorrows in ice-cream.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3xP9tbRlAqQ/TkwZfT2jyZI/AAAAAAAADqg/y5Z2wgDaRRM/s1600/Image07262011114747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3xP9tbRlAqQ/TkwZfT2jyZI/AAAAAAAADqg/y5Z2wgDaRRM/s320/Image07262011114747.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Spend his per diem at Toys R Us<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4FklyVrG_Q4/TkwZxasIwWI/AAAAAAAADqk/8Jpe7PTKyKs/s1600/Image08012011160438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4FklyVrG_Q4/TkwZxasIwWI/AAAAAAAADqk/8Jpe7PTKyKs/s320/Image08012011160438.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ePvocQmT61E/TkwZ-NqZ8WI/AAAAAAAADqo/wbXHiiPzY1g/s1600/Image08012011165847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ePvocQmT61E/TkwZ-NqZ8WI/AAAAAAAADqo/wbXHiiPzY1g/s320/Image08012011165847.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Go out with your six and under friends where the food and balloons are free and people are riding around on unicycles.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_cwsz1ctJ2c/TkwbGGdIDQI/AAAAAAAADqs/iYlHQN0iU5E/s1600/Image08022011181527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_cwsz1ctJ2c/TkwbGGdIDQI/AAAAAAAADqs/iYlHQN0iU5E/s320/Image08022011181527.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Du6S6P9X9WE/TkwbgK1GuAI/AAAAAAAADqw/qOwv6uzNQmU/s1600/Image08022011181608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Du6S6P9X9WE/TkwbgK1GuAI/AAAAAAAADqw/qOwv6uzNQmU/s320/Image08022011181608.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YKXjsqgJcS0/TkwbsuZrZDI/AAAAAAAADq0/GrVgCmglcsQ/s1600/Image08022011181741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YKXjsqgJcS0/TkwbsuZrZDI/AAAAAAAADq0/GrVgCmglcsQ/s320/Image08022011181741.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cA78xwePMM4/TkwcebGPurI/AAAAAAAADq4/plBNupGlv-o/s1600/IMG_5699.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cA78xwePMM4/TkwcebGPurI/AAAAAAAADq4/plBNupGlv-o/s320/IMG_5699.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpSS8YIl8B8/TkwcpO36G-I/AAAAAAAADq8/yqRjFjHAhh0/s1600/IMG_5704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpSS8YIl8B8/TkwcpO36G-I/AAAAAAAADq8/yqRjFjHAhh0/s320/IMG_5704.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q5941tW8oms/TkwcwPh9jaI/AAAAAAAADrA/IjmSkYPMMQo/s1600/IMG_5706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q5941tW8oms/TkwcwPh9jaI/AAAAAAAADrA/IjmSkYPMMQo/s320/IMG_5706.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s8-fnxLXXl4/Tkwc810Wv9I/AAAAAAAADrE/lXze4SZDoWQ/s1600/IMG_5714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s8-fnxLXXl4/Tkwc810Wv9I/AAAAAAAADrE/lXze4SZDoWQ/s320/IMG_5714.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uDyYidKHmRs/TkwdGSGRLdI/AAAAAAAADrI/gP8Ivg_0Xok/s1600/IMG_5715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uDyYidKHmRs/TkwdGSGRLdI/AAAAAAAADrI/gP8Ivg_0Xok/s320/IMG_5715.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It makes the time go by much faster.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-87299328849831932452011-08-17T07:36:00.000-04:002011-08-17T07:36:46.378-04:00Hadley- 4,576 Momma - 0<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K3b8lEQWOY8/TkumlvQQlDI/AAAAAAAADpU/Yf4HrYjjGR0/s1600/IMG_5746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K3b8lEQWOY8/TkumlvQQlDI/AAAAAAAADpU/Yf4HrYjjGR0/s320/IMG_5746.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Hadley: My skirt is prettier than Harper's.<br />
<br />
Me: Hadley! Don't say stuff like that. It hurts peoples' feelings.<br />
<br />
Hadley: Harper? Did what I say hurt your feelings?<br />
<br />
Me: Hadley!<br />
<br />
Hadley: Did it, Harper?<br />
<br />
Harper: Nope.<br />
<br />
Hadley: Well, then I'm sorry to Mama.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BqNlzBH68v8/Tkuno90TyeI/AAAAAAAADpY/IjdB0sJlhos/s1600/IMG_5747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BqNlzBH68v8/Tkuno90TyeI/AAAAAAAADpY/IjdB0sJlhos/s320/IMG_5747.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-90120800692608682202011-08-01T22:16:00.000-04:002011-08-01T22:16:00.969-04:00EssayerEarlier this summer Jesse came home from work and said, "This weekend I'm going to paint our table." We've had the table since we were married in 1999, so I think he wanted to do something a little different with it. <br />
<br />
I knew that once Hadley saw what he was doing she would want to help. She'd been wanting to paint her wooden dollhouse for awhile, so just as she was beginning to ask Jesse what he was doing and did he need any help, I set up paints, the house, and a bunch of newspaper. <br />
<br />
I encouraged her to plan out how she wanted to paint the house before she dipped her paintbrushes in the paint. Hadley likes to mix all the colors thus creating black. This would be fine except I knew she would be upset and not want to play with the house after it was finished. Although, I could've stored it away and brought it out for Halloween. <br />
<br />
Hadley agreed to make a plan of how she would paint the house. I was pleased to have the opportunity to teach my children the importance of a well laid out plan.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w9Rom9CwkME/TjBgcruRqAI/AAAAAAAADoY/MS6kfh4f0qc/s1600/IMG_5369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w9Rom9CwkME/TjBgcruRqAI/AAAAAAAADoY/MS6kfh4f0qc/s320/IMG_5369.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pCjurr0fpfE/TjBgpd-5O8I/AAAAAAAADoc/I0X_ILbhqCI/s1600/IMG_5372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pCjurr0fpfE/TjBgpd-5O8I/AAAAAAAADoc/I0X_ILbhqCI/s320/IMG_5372.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Then she started to paint.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VeEJuh9mhGk/TjBg_CQMYZI/AAAAAAAADog/xcgQzmN54ks/s1600/IMG_5371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VeEJuh9mhGk/TjBg_CQMYZI/AAAAAAAADog/xcgQzmN54ks/s320/IMG_5371.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tkL2xxNnkfY/TjBhXPTB7YI/AAAAAAAADok/mYTAhNVzy6A/s1600/IMG_5374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tkL2xxNnkfY/TjBhXPTB7YI/AAAAAAAADok/mYTAhNVzy6A/s320/IMG_5374.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kpBt1UKau1I/TjBhpLiOFRI/AAAAAAAADoo/die-g7Mot4U/s1600/IMG_5376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kpBt1UKau1I/TjBhpLiOFRI/AAAAAAAADoo/die-g7Mot4U/s320/IMG_5376.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Meanwhile, Jesse worked on the table.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SwjuPI_q62s/TjBh1ts2XBI/AAAAAAAADos/Ca20EBIvy8U/s1600/IMG_5385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SwjuPI_q62s/TjBh1ts2XBI/AAAAAAAADos/Ca20EBIvy8U/s320/IMG_5385.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I kept thinking of the end of the book <em>Fahrenheit 451</em> when Granger and Montag are reflecting on their part in the world. Granger says, "Everyone must leave something behind when he dies....A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched....It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away." <br />
<br />
I love that everyone in our little family leaves their mark around the house and on each other so that we are a little bit more like the other. <br />
<br />
I love that now that Hadley painted the dollhouse she plays with it more and the stories she makes up when she's playing with it are so much more detailed and (pardon the pun) colorful.<br />
<br />
I love that after a week away I came home and saw the table and said, "Oh yeah!" with a smile, forgetting what it looked like and pleased at how nice it looked in the playroom.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OcRp6VoWnCc/TjBlhyhlXKI/AAAAAAAADow/PBMHehUWsP8/s1600/IMG_5433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OcRp6VoWnCc/TjBlhyhlXKI/AAAAAAAADow/PBMHehUWsP8/s320/IMG_5433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Harper's been creating, too. She's begun making "guys" and oh, do I love them.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hpNkH8_W2Pw/TjBmI1iLB2I/AAAAAAAADo0/rm3k5A2vWI0/s1600/Image07202011102504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hpNkH8_W2Pw/TjBmI1iLB2I/AAAAAAAADo0/rm3k5A2vWI0/s400/Image07202011102504.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>I love that she gives them all shoes. And look at the hair. It's all slightly raised and not touching the head. The above picture is of our family. Note that Hadley, Harper, and Daddy all have large eyes and Mommy has....well, where are my eyes? <br />
<br />
Here's the artist at work.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tmt99PM3thA/TjBmzLvFeCI/AAAAAAAADo4/UK7M2lYY7yY/s1600/Image07202011102703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tmt99PM3thA/TjBmzLvFeCI/AAAAAAAADo4/UK7M2lYY7yY/s400/Image07202011102703.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YzyqK5V61I/TjBm8zEEr2I/AAAAAAAADo8/CU8fFkTQPNc/s1600/Image07202011102714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YzyqK5V61I/TjBm8zEEr2I/AAAAAAAADo8/CU8fFkTQPNc/s400/Image07202011102714.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IOLvn128g0A/TjB_86NXf8I/AAAAAAAADpA/Mah50fM9KJI/s1600/IMG_5687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IOLvn128g0A/TjB_86NXf8I/AAAAAAAADpA/Mah50fM9KJI/s320/IMG_5687.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is a picture of Hadley working on shape puzzles early in the morning. She studies a picture like an apple, or school bus on a worksheet then tries to duplicate it using magnets in the shape of triangles, squares, etc. While she was working, I was reading my book for the Creative Nonfiction class I'm taking. Hadley likes to be wherever the other family members are. She doesn't necessarily have to be talking to them, but she likes to be near them. So I sat on the kitchen floor and read while she worked on her shape puzzles.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkjCtXj2Ogs/TjVAy5NACpI/AAAAAAAADpE/uX0B0JaQ6ow/s1600/IMG_5686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkjCtXj2Ogs/TjVAy5NACpI/AAAAAAAADpE/uX0B0JaQ6ow/s320/IMG_5686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I learned in this lesson that "essay" comes from the French verb essayer, which means <em>to try</em>. I highlighted the following words written by my teacher, <a href="http://lindseycrittenden.wordpress.com/">Lindsey Crittenden</a>: "An essay is an attempt, a trial...essays 'figure out'.....A successful essay doesn't need to answer the question it poses - but it does need to address and explore it."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hope everyone in our family understands the thrill and the peace that comes with trying, with exploring. I hope that each time we come back to a favorite toy, a piece of furniture, or a piece of writing we're working on that we find something new we hadn't seen before. Maybe a different way to play with it, or that a table looks lovely next to a certain window. Or maybe the next time we try to draw our "guys" we'll add fingers or perhaps a hat. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Whatever it is, it's wonderful to be able to see a thing that's more like you after you've taken your hands away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NNNLZ5EIEP8/TjVF2S1tfRI/AAAAAAAADpI/R4OcrnG9yXo/s1600/IMG_5675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NNNLZ5EIEP8/TjVF2S1tfRI/AAAAAAAADpI/R4OcrnG9yXo/s320/IMG_5675.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-23122915148271471332011-07-27T06:29:00.000-04:002011-07-27T06:29:12.463-04:00Aint Nobody Be Likin' ItHave I shared this story before? I was teaching 7th graders and I had one kid who was a bit of a donkey. He gave everyone - teachers and students both - a hard time. I had the pleasure of having him in class during the last period of the day. One afternoon this kid must have taken an extra dose of obnoxious vitamins because he thought it'd be funny to take a spray bottle I had on the chalkboard ledge, and spray me in the face with it.<br />
<br />
One thing led to another and he was sent to the principal's office. This happened at the end of the class period so after I dismissed the rest of the kids, I walked downstairs, fists clenched, to the office. To say I was mad is an understatement. This kid had been driving me crazy for months and this incident was the last straw. So when I walked into the office and saw my administrator (who knew what had happened) I said in what might've been an overly loud voice, "HE IS GOING DOWN!" (Who am I kidding? I sounded like I was an announcer at SMACKDOWN.)<br />
<br />
And then I turned a corner and saw him. He was curled up in a seat sobbing. This monster of a kid who literally terrorized classrooms was crying so hard I barely recognized him. He wasn't crying because he heard what I'd said (although, that couldn't have helped), and I'm sure it wasn't because he felt terrible about spraying me in the face with a water bottle. He was probably crying because he knew he was about to get punished and it probably would be severe. <br />
<br />
All I wanted to do at that point was sit down next to him and tell him it would be OK. That he didn't have to be scared. I couldn't remember why I was so angry, and actually, I felt foolish for being so angry in the first place.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dPkveEA6E8s/TixhKKajAsI/AAAAAAAADnM/m7soMntTmZw/s1600/IMG_5569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dPkveEA6E8s/TixhKKajAsI/AAAAAAAADnM/m7soMntTmZw/s400/IMG_5569.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Hadley and Harper were invited to a birthday party on Saturday. There was swimming.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>"Oh heyyyyyyy guys! I'm in here too!"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T54E-uckRO8/Tixh3OAKYAI/AAAAAAAADnU/jotTiPAxidw/s1600/IMG_5579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T54E-uckRO8/Tixh3OAKYAI/AAAAAAAADnU/jotTiPAxidw/s400/IMG_5579.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Big shots - <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S_iQ3daprQY/TixilvU9tRI/AAAAAAAADnY/FVAnxGMpyVw/s1600/IMG_5602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S_iQ3daprQY/TixilvU9tRI/AAAAAAAADnY/FVAnxGMpyVw/s400/IMG_5602.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
There was pizza.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nq7iQegKKbQ/Tixi03VeGNI/AAAAAAAADnc/RJsXbJsK8TU/s1600/IMG_5604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nq7iQegKKbQ/Tixi03VeGNI/AAAAAAAADnc/RJsXbJsK8TU/s400/IMG_5604.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
There was an Ariel cake.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FLUyS_3YkhY/TixjIC5O3rI/AAAAAAAADng/wPOsFlEiCeI/s1600/IMG_5619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FLUyS_3YkhY/TixjIC5O3rI/AAAAAAAADng/wPOsFlEiCeI/s400/IMG_5619.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
"Where'd everybody go? Y'all don't want any more cake?"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KoX02VWVBMc/TixjrUUygLI/AAAAAAAADnk/HyOp7x7-KDA/s1600/IMG_5625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KoX02VWVBMc/TixjrUUygLI/AAAAAAAADnk/HyOp7x7-KDA/s400/IMG_5625.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
There was a pinata!<br />
<br />
"What do you mean I have to give this bat to her? I don't care who's birthday party this is."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7jrJKFdjHik/TixkCOcXvpI/AAAAAAAADno/z-1ZvqxA8WA/s1600/IMG_5633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7jrJKFdjHik/TixkCOcXvpI/AAAAAAAADno/z-1ZvqxA8WA/s400/IMG_5633.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>"That's cool. I'll just stand here."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L9pFIbrmDSs/TixkUyYhOZI/AAAAAAAADns/-q1JZM9K5xk/s1600/IMG_5634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L9pFIbrmDSs/TixkUyYhOZI/AAAAAAAADns/-q1JZM9K5xk/s400/IMG_5634.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>"Not gonna move."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j4Lqug7_aPA/TixkmBQBuVI/AAAAAAAADnw/qXbd9I65Cfk/s1600/IMG_5635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j4Lqug7_aPA/TixkmBQBuVI/AAAAAAAADnw/qXbd9I65Cfk/s400/IMG_5635.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
"I'm having a hard time understanding the taking turns aspect of this game."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qBaaqJl_MuA/TixlCutgANI/AAAAAAAADn4/_1RJKnkuckQ/s1600/IMG_5637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qBaaqJl_MuA/TixlCutgANI/AAAAAAAADn4/_1RJKnkuckQ/s400/IMG_5637.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
CANDY!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G1iEZlAomIk/Tixk7xWhFEI/AAAAAAAADn0/pXYwxO9kPBA/s1600/IMG_5647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G1iEZlAomIk/Tixk7xWhFEI/AAAAAAAADn0/pXYwxO9kPBA/s400/IMG_5647.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PKF6aamJruU/TixljxOX_KI/AAAAAAAADn8/aA9CjuzsfwM/s1600/IMG_5648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PKF6aamJruU/TixljxOX_KI/AAAAAAAADn8/aA9CjuzsfwM/s400/IMG_5648.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>"Hold up, girls! Let me get in on this!"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zJboILCDhTo/Tixl3l04oVI/AAAAAAAADoA/6LYCO2M12_g/s1600/IMG_5653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zJboILCDhTo/Tixl3l04oVI/AAAAAAAADoA/6LYCO2M12_g/s400/IMG_5653.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>"That's what I'm talking about."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UnPOWyIsrDM/TixmHRSIZvI/AAAAAAAADoE/DnL_OCDVm_I/s1600/IMG_5656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UnPOWyIsrDM/TixmHRSIZvI/AAAAAAAADoE/DnL_OCDVm_I/s400/IMG_5656.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>And then there was this perfect shot of summer:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NuMSkrl84ys/TixmZ6dIFkI/AAAAAAAADoI/UCX6cwbgYiU/s1600/IMG_5662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NuMSkrl84ys/TixmZ6dIFkI/AAAAAAAADoI/UCX6cwbgYiU/s400/IMG_5662.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Does it get any better then letting the sun dry out your bathing suit while you swing and eat a lollipop?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zPYRo4H-DgA/Tixm4S5sywI/AAAAAAAADoM/0opUPyXr8A4/s1600/IMG_5667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zPYRo4H-DgA/Tixm4S5sywI/AAAAAAAADoM/0opUPyXr8A4/s400/IMG_5667.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, it's nice to have your sister share in on the joys of summer, too.</div><br />
<br />
And then. <br />
<br />
It was time to go home and Hadley and Harper decided they were having none of that business. Harper screamed SCAAAREEEEEMED bloody murder letting the greater DC area know there is nothing wrong with her vocal chords. And Hadley? Hadley argued her way out of the pool as I dragged her out. She clawed, pinched, and screamed at me while I dried her off, and while I turned to put the towel away, she jumped back into the pool.<br />
<br />
Oh yes she did.<br />
<br />
The girls screamed all the way through the parking lot while Jesse and I tried to collaborate on discipline.<br />
<br />
Jesse: OK, I told Hadley no TV and no treats tomorrow and you told her no TV for a week, plus no chocolate milk.<br />
<br />
Me: I canNOT believe she jumped back into the pool after I dried her off. What have I done wrong that prompted this kind of behavior? I NEVER acted like this....especially at 4.<br />
<br />
Jesse: I think we need to focus on what we're going to do about it.<br />
<br />
They didn't seem to care that they weren't going to watch TV or get any treats, but we did find something that proved to be a worthy punishment.<br />
<br />
We told them we were throwing away their party favors.<br />
<br />
When I told Hadley we were going to throw them away her screaming turned to sobbing. Hadley rarely cries, and when she does it's the saddest cry you ever heard. Through tears she asked, "Can I look at the party favors before you throw them away?"<br />
<br />
And that's when I rememberd my student crying in the principal's office. It just didn't seem to matter what she did. She was so sad and I am her mother and now I've made her miserable. <br />
<br />
I wish we could do it over. I wish I could find the perfect thing to say so that the girls won't scream and yell and treat me like Voldemort when I say that it's time to go. I wish I could've managed the classroom better or been a better teacher so that I never had discipline problems. <br />
<br />
I took a "Writing for Children" class taught by Erica Perl a few years ago. We wrote stories and shared them with the group. I wrote a story with the student I'm writing about in this post as one of the main characters. I called him Steven in my piece, and he was wild and obnoxious and funny. I shared my first draft with my classmates and then did some revisions. I took Steven out, and after sharing the second draft everyone said, "Where's Steven? Why'd you take him out? We loved him!"<br />
<br />
I have a hard time with discipline. The hardest part is that I see that Hadley and Harper and the boy I'm calling Steven aren't who they are so much more than their actions in these instances. I hate treating them based on their actions but I guess sometimes I have to do it. That doesn't mean I love or admire them any less.<br />
<br />
It also doesn't mean that these things don't make for great stories, and maybe they're a teeny bit funny a few days (years?) later.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-46193344381684725182011-07-25T14:07:00.000-04:002011-07-25T14:07:00.231-04:00Sing AnywayI was terrified of Psalm 23. It wasn't the shadow of the valley of death part, or the eating with one's enemies part. It was this: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want." When I was memorizing that as a six year old, all I could think was, "Why on earth would <em>anyone</em> want to say they don't want the Lord?" Seemed like we went to church to tell God how much we <em>did</em> need Him and here I was saying that even though he was my shepherd, I didn't want him. And what <em>was</em> a shepherd anyway? <br />
<br />
Despite my lack of understanding of Psalm 23, I memorized its verses and said it on a Sunday morning with my fellow first graders in Mrs. Stevens' class. I said them because I loved Mrs. Stevens and I liked the phrases "green pastures" and "leads me beside still waters." I liked that scene. I also liked being in a group saying the words together.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until later that I realized the idea that <em>because</em> God is my shepherd, I don't need to want. It was quite a relief to me when I understood that I didn't have to proclaim I didn't want God (Although, I haven't kicked the habit of wanting......a bigger house, to be a writer, to know how to highlight my own hair, to have my children listen to me.....). Today, I am thankful for both my understanding of the Psalm as I am for the memory of me saying it when I was a first grader. <br />
<br />
Hadley went to VBS last week. When we sign-up, we get a t-shirt and a CD on the first day. We did the program last year and the CD has been in our car ever since. She and Harper loved the songs and were thrilled to get another CD with new songs on them. We were listening to the songs on the way to VBS Tuesday morning, and I could hear Hadley murmuring the words. I looked at her from the rearview mirror and smiled because she had her signature "I'm learning this stuff" face on: eyes sort of glazed over, mouth open, eyebrows burrowed. I knew that by the time Friday rolled around she'd be singing these songs loudly and with a passion. <br />
<br />
I was right.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzxMAgvXHzqAZko_sSjLj5r3viq497wX0nxCuWwqW-wxlfqYclpHw1MRbWdiKQACDMk5-Siw25wGe0V-TqX9Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
I don't know how much of these songs she understands, but I do know she loved singing and dancing on stage with the other kids. I know that she loved screaming "THANK YOU GOD" after learned phrases throughout the week such as "God Listens," or "God Loves You No Matter What." And while she was playing at home it was lovely to hear her singing the words to bits of the songs: "I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, your power throughout the universe displayed" or "God is watchin', watchin' over you." <br />
<br />
Her experience with VBS reminds me of the book <em>The Song of Francis</em> by Tomie DePaola. (Perhaps this should be a post for my Sit a While blog, but I'm beginning to get confused about where to write what.) In the story, Francis of Asissi is filled with the love of God and wants to sing. However, there is no one to hear him. An angel tells him to sing anyway. So Francis does and soon, different parts of creation come to listen and eventually join in. <br />
<br />
I think Hadley (and Harper too - she knows the songs even though she didn't go to VBS) experienced that "sing anyway" concept this week, and I think I first experienced it in Sunday School years ago. We won't always know the words to the songs we sing, and quite honestly, I'm not sure I'll ever understand God's love, His grace, His forgiveness.....for me the list goes on. But we should sing anyway. Or write. Or dance. Or bake something delicious. I think it's in the trying and the joining in that we understand a little more of God.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxZr-Z82-sUsuiYDGKeSeUQq--tD5DPsqFg4Y5Sv4zWXQrNVOA23CSpVuvLTZ5t8SB4X-csOhhGnvdsS4_K4A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-36702476455793426052011-07-20T18:25:00.001-04:002011-07-20T18:30:51.849-04:00My Kind of TownLast week while we were in Chicago, Hadley and Harper found two of my favorite spots in my parents' home.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-axVKRsQGBMg/TiazNbvLS8I/AAAAAAAADmM/f01cWlyyvHA/s1600/Image07112011203136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-axVKRsQGBMg/TiazNbvLS8I/AAAAAAAADmM/f01cWlyyvHA/s320/Image07112011203136.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VjbnJ8vZeTk/TiazksFJfMI/AAAAAAAADmQ/G0nWIr7dkpI/s1600/IMG_5523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VjbnJ8vZeTk/TiazksFJfMI/AAAAAAAADmQ/G0nWIr7dkpI/s320/IMG_5523.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>A vent and a window might seem surprising favorites, but here they are all the same. That vent sits in what was my brother's room, and another one is on the other side where I would whisper to him from my room. This was usually during time - outs when my mom sent us to our respective corners and it was through those vents we'd continue the fight. Well, I would continue to harass Geoff while he simmered. I loved lying on my stomach talking through what I viewed as a secret passage. Even in a time - out I loved being in my home and exploring. <br />
<br />
One night last week I was shuffling through some of my stuff in a bag that was next to that vent after I'd put the girls to bed. Hadley strolled in the room, but instead of looking at me, she was looking at the vent. <br />
<br />
"What's up?" I asked her in a "you better have a good reason to be out of bed" voice. It's very menacing.<br />
<br />
"I'm a...." she only half acknowledged me but continued to look at the vent.<br />
<br />
"Yes?"<br />
<br />
"Well, I'm.....just wondering how you're doing."<br />
<br />
"I'm doing fine, Hadley, go back to bed."<br />
<br />
Hadley took one more look at the vent then walked back into my old bedroom to go to sleep. I went back to shuffling through my bag but because I was right by the vent, I heard Hadley's feet stop on the other side. I realized she had discovered that she could hear me through it. <br />
<br />
Harper, on the other hand, discovered one of my bedroom windows. Every night, when she was supposed to be sleeping, I found her kneeling on her bed, lookng out of that window. When I walked in to tell her to go to sleep, she'd say, "It's getting wate (late), Momma." I agreed with her and glanced out the window to notice that Harper was watching the sky turn darker shades of blue. I wondered if she was listening to the el shoot past as well, and if it lulled her to sleep like it had me.<br />
<br />
If you were to ask Hadley and Harper what their favorite part of the trip was, or where their favorite spot in my parents' house is, I am sure they would not mention the vent and the window. I have a feeling they'd mention with shouts that they loved going to see the dinosaurs,<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4iWvw_fPC-I/Tia5NWw0H3I/AAAAAAAADmU/FclzcPFrex4/s1600/IMG_5501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4iWvw_fPC-I/Tia5NWw0H3I/AAAAAAAADmU/FclzcPFrex4/s320/IMG_5501.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D2GFCPNuN1c/Tia5bZmB0bI/AAAAAAAADmY/8YbhrkKYMg0/s1600/IMG_5503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D2GFCPNuN1c/Tia5bZmB0bI/AAAAAAAADmY/8YbhrkKYMg0/s320/IMG_5503.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGDqzvRVy2k/Tia5oTml0wI/AAAAAAAADmc/s6kCYDAkT2c/s1600/IMG_5507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGDqzvRVy2k/Tia5oTml0wI/AAAAAAAADmc/s6kCYDAkT2c/s320/IMG_5507.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AObHptJMr10/Tia5xhe3byI/AAAAAAAADmg/lR-rA3EHpWE/s1600/IMG_5514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AObHptJMr10/Tia5xhe3byI/AAAAAAAADmg/lR-rA3EHpWE/s320/IMG_5514.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>or visiting the aquarium,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gyNGY6MDxeU/Tia6jm4FwvI/AAAAAAAADmo/0Qce7MDZnUY/s1600/Image07132011111951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gyNGY6MDxeU/Tia6jm4FwvI/AAAAAAAADmo/0Qce7MDZnUY/s320/Image07132011111951.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H-XgJscX_b4/Tia6-tLABUI/AAAAAAAADms/J36YE_WK-Wk/s1600/Image07132011103011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H-XgJscX_b4/Tia6-tLABUI/AAAAAAAADms/J36YE_WK-Wk/s320/Image07132011103011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and the zoo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MWUNJxYR0ek/Tia7Z0DCLII/AAAAAAAADmw/pkQ7KLv1n84/s1600/IMG_5547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MWUNJxYR0ek/Tia7Z0DCLII/AAAAAAAADmw/pkQ7KLv1n84/s320/IMG_5547.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fz9RXSNOXr8/Tia7t_fDNJI/AAAAAAAADm0/J4s2uN6lzuE/s1600/IMG_5538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fz9RXSNOXr8/Tia7t_fDNJI/AAAAAAAADm0/J4s2uN6lzuE/s320/IMG_5538.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jHT1JgP8gIE/Tia73F171TI/AAAAAAAADm4/08wlwj_-JuA/s1600/IMG_5537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jHT1JgP8gIE/Tia73F171TI/AAAAAAAADm4/08wlwj_-JuA/s320/IMG_5537.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I liked all those trips as well. However, watching my girls discover and enjoy something that I enjoyed from my childhood was my favorite part. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We can show them the Chicago skyline, walk over the bridges over the Eisenhower and tell them not to be afraid of the rickety whoosh of the trains. We can show them museums, take them swimming and out for ice-cream. All great things. But I think what's most important is that we provide our kids with a safe place to explore. It's nice when we share a common joy in finding a treasure in an otherwise everyday item.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-42104436893197093952011-07-08T21:07:00.000-04:002011-07-08T21:07:38.170-04:00Wonderfully OrdinaryGive me....<br />
<br />
a morning at Starbucks...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--SQVn_It4dM/Thenm6iXWUI/AAAAAAAADkk/IZM5AawGtjQ/s1600/Image06282011094103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--SQVn_It4dM/Thenm6iXWUI/AAAAAAAADkk/IZM5AawGtjQ/s320/Image06282011094103.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6M08XvFfhNo/Then00QEqcI/AAAAAAAADko/_5HlmsokBo0/s1600/Image06282011094402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6M08XvFfhNo/Then00QEqcI/AAAAAAAADko/_5HlmsokBo0/s320/Image06282011094402.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
and painted toenails....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-avmz9BNZFvo/TheoJaoH1lI/AAAAAAAADks/5dJMwXfQkVU/s1600/Image05072011122032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-avmz9BNZFvo/TheoJaoH1lI/AAAAAAAADks/5dJMwXfQkVU/s320/Image05072011122032.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NT560X6huK4/TheoWpPme2I/AAAAAAAADkw/Q-p7AXFuyqw/s1600/Image05072011122054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NT560X6huK4/TheoWpPme2I/AAAAAAAADkw/Q-p7AXFuyqw/s320/Image05072011122054.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
maybe some time to look for caterpillars.....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v817dKTdY7w/TheowiYSnTI/AAAAAAAADk0/V6M1bg1VyAQ/s1600/Image05102011162307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v817dKTdY7w/TheowiYSnTI/AAAAAAAADk0/V6M1bg1VyAQ/s320/Image05102011162307.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
and a little time to write.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NUTdGCqG5hc/ThepAldFlcI/AAAAAAAADk4/SsDpbR64NfU/s1600/IMG_5466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NUTdGCqG5hc/ThepAldFlcI/AAAAAAAADk4/SsDpbR64NfU/s320/IMG_5466.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vq7Ku1qS_KU/ThepPUnslgI/AAAAAAAADk8/KtNu760Fp98/s1600/IMG_5468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vq7Ku1qS_KU/ThepPUnslgI/AAAAAAAADk8/KtNu760Fp98/s320/IMG_5468.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Seems like a fine set of priorities to me.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-16019350198969910542011-07-05T15:34:00.000-04:002011-07-05T15:34:06.572-04:00Independence Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hMjRMGjRvfA/ThNM4a6QDnI/AAAAAAAADjo/jsrU8U2xnL0/s1600/IMG_5449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hMjRMGjRvfA/ThNM4a6QDnI/AAAAAAAADjo/jsrU8U2xnL0/s320/IMG_5449.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hadley and I decorated cupcakes yesterday. She was going to bake them with me, but was busy serving a big old T.O. for a fast one she's been pulling on the family for who knows how long. It's to do with keeping oneself clean, but I'm going to give you a little history before I break the day down for you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's the thing: I can't do it all. So in order to help keep the day moving foward, I instruct my kids to do things. I think I read somewhere that giving kids things to do helps them feel like they're a part of the family. Whatever. I want them to CLEAN UP AFTER THEMSELVES. I also expect them to at least <em>try</em> to put their clothes on and wash their hands. These seem like skills one needs to know how to do in order to live in the world. Harper needs a lot of help, but Hadley is perfectly capable of doing these things. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Except she won't do them. The other morning I was cleaning up the dishes from breakfast and I told Hadley to go and get dressed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"OK, Mama." And off she goes leaving me thinking I'm totally in charge of my life these days. Minutes later, Hadley has rolled herself up in a blanket and is scooting down the hallway towards me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Look, Mama! I'm a caterpillar!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will give her some credit. She had taken off ALL her clothes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But the washing the hands task is something Hadley and I have been fighting over for months. Until recently. For quite some time now, I will say, "Hadley, go wash your hands." And she'll say, "OK." She walks happily to the bathroom, turns on the sink, and minutes later walks out. Again, leaving me thinking I can totally control my children.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And that their hands are clean.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q-NGM5Efry4/ThNSW5nSi5I/AAAAAAAADjs/YIbFAzlkbIw/s1600/IMG_5451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q-NGM5Efry4/ThNSW5nSi5I/AAAAAAAADjs/YIbFAzlkbIw/s320/IMG_5451.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>All that ended yesterday when Jesse happened to be walking down the hallway while Hadley was in the bathroom. Oh, Hadley turns the sink on all right. She even uses soap. It's just that the soap doesn't go on her hands. She puts a little bit in the sink to make it <em>look</em> as though she's used some. She even gets her hands a little wet so the towel will be damp after she uses it. <br />
<br />
I have so many questions. Why go through all that effort and <em>not</em> wash your hands? Where did she come up with this plan? What, in the past 4 and 1/2 years, have I done to show this kind of behavior? Was it the time she caught crouching behind the kitchen cabinets eating a cookie? <br />
<br />
Most importantly, <em>how long has this been going on?</em> Like I mentioned, Hadley and I stopped having the wash your hands fight sometime around April. <br />
<br />
It's like I'm Bob Ewell.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zqjSEyUS7QU/ThNh62r45vI/AAAAAAAADjw/yn4H2d1hWOc/s1600/IMG_5450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zqjSEyUS7QU/ThNh62r45vI/AAAAAAAADjw/yn4H2d1hWOc/s320/IMG_5450.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
So Hadley was in timeout because apparentely she hasn't washed her hands for the better part of 4. It was the manipulation that led me to write this post, however. I admit, I took (am taking?) it personally. I think that this somehow reflects on me as a parent. <br />
<br />
But we frosted the cupcakes together; and I let her have one later that day. We sat down at the table together and I said, "Hadley, before you eat a cupcake you have to wash your hands."<br />
<br />
"OK."<br />
<br />
"And really do it this time."<br />
<br />
"OK." <br />
<br />
I thought about sneaking down the hallway to see whether she was going to do it. But what was that going to do? Make me mad? Put her in timeout again? That's not how I wanted to spend the afternoon. So I sat and waited for Hadley to come back so we could have a cupcake together. <br />
<br />
I suppose the thing about independence is we have to give life a go every once in awhile. When we break the rules, though, it's nice to know we have the support and love of our family no matter what.<br />
<br />
That's probably what makes kids feel as though they're a part of the family.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-81146048684157986022011-07-01T06:29:00.000-04:002011-07-01T06:29:20.871-04:00Happy HourThere were Friay nights when Jesse and I would end the work week, and decide that we were due for a trip to Corby's in South Bend, or Cactus Cantina in D.C. Some nights we would go to one place and then end up at the Hammes Bookstore or Politics and Prose looking through magazines, reading books, or, ehem, doing work (what would we do without work?). I was reminded of those nights last Friday night when we went out for a different kind of Happy Hour.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SU7KAG-k3yc/TguubNEN1eI/AAAAAAAADjI/lVilRpj_YUQ/s1600/Picnik+collagepark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SU7KAG-k3yc/TguubNEN1eI/AAAAAAAADjI/lVilRpj_YUQ/s400/Picnik+collagepark.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We picked up some dinner, packed it up and headed for a park for the evening. There were monkey bars, swings, a hiking trail, and plenty of picnic tables. And Hadley learned a new trick!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5A_aLbnATH4/TguwG2Qm1_I/AAAAAAAADjM/SbBsPHas27Y/s1600/Picnik+collagepark2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5A_aLbnATH4/TguwG2Qm1_I/AAAAAAAADjM/SbBsPHas27Y/s400/Picnik+collagepark2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Jesse, too. <br />
<br />
If I had to name a favorite thing about motherhood, I think it would be something along the lines of this: Watching your children experience the world and having a good time doing it. Even if it's hard work, or learning a new trick like sliding down a pole or figuring out how to run without tripping. It's lovely to be a part of it. I think that's the best way to start the weekend.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2NmgTXGgPac/Tgux5KoiNTI/AAAAAAAADjQ/juLlTwfu6Ng/s1600/IMG_5325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2NmgTXGgPac/Tgux5KoiNTI/AAAAAAAADjQ/juLlTwfu6Ng/s320/IMG_5325.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Happy Weekend to you.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-22017575219775277622011-06-29T07:18:00.002-04:002011-06-29T22:37:56.653-04:00Something Old, Something NewI bring all the old reliables out to the blacktop: bikes, chalk, bubbles. They serve as a nice rotation when Hadley and Harper are out here.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KzEFJYgqovg/TgN3dMw5hBI/AAAAAAAADhk/A6nRgXO5Xbg/s1600/Picnik+collageblacktop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KzEFJYgqovg/TgN3dMw5hBI/AAAAAAAADhk/A6nRgXO5Xbg/s400/Picnik+collageblacktop.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I bring my camera out just in case there will be a good story to tell, but assume it'll just be more of the H's chalking and biking it up.<br />
<br />
But then Hadley goes and writes the alphabet. Backwards.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5z7FJNdS5sI/TgN5PF8KRsI/AAAAAAAADho/EeWJqlFRxPo/s1600/Picnik+collagealphabet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5z7FJNdS5sI/TgN5PF8KRsI/AAAAAAAADho/EeWJqlFRxPo/s320/Picnik+collagealphabet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And Harper figured out how to blow bubbles without swallowing (too much) bubble juice.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xRyyqt9hp9k/TgN5gVydzZI/AAAAAAAADhs/pyi_k79kXtk/s1600/IMG_5295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xRyyqt9hp9k/TgN5gVydzZI/AAAAAAAADhs/pyi_k79kXtk/s320/IMG_5295.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ggeUxZ3iplo/TgN5uNZBt4I/AAAAAAAADhw/vOC_Qz_LJ1A/s1600/IMG_5294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ggeUxZ3iplo/TgN5uNZBt4I/AAAAAAAADhw/vOC_Qz_LJ1A/s320/IMG_5294.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And we found some friends to join in on our hopscotch game.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wn81yptWwxM/TgN6HpMdzrI/AAAAAAAADh0/x_5qV3_nGgc/s1600/IMG_5298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wn81yptWwxM/TgN6HpMdzrI/AAAAAAAADh0/x_5qV3_nGgc/s320/IMG_5298.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mqWFt0XWKXg/TgN6TramDyI/AAAAAAAADh4/bkNdHP5lB5s/s1600/IMG_5297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mqWFt0XWKXg/TgN6TramDyI/AAAAAAAADh4/bkNdHP5lB5s/s320/IMG_5297.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UrkWkghSYjw/TgN6d4SNvZI/AAAAAAAADh8/BAc7NztFwjA/s1600/IMG_5299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UrkWkghSYjw/TgN6d4SNvZI/AAAAAAAADh8/BAc7NztFwjA/s320/IMG_5299.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>You might notice that there's not really an <em>order</em> to what's in the hopscotch squares. The kids used letters, numbers, and just left some blank. Why not? <br />
<br />
It was a good day out on the blacktop. I'm glad I broght my camera.<br />
<br />
I'm linking up to Becky's blog over at "Rub Some Dirt on It," and adorable blog that's worth checking out!<br />
<br />
<a border="0" href="http://vermontwhitneys.blogspot.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://i238.photobucket.com/albums/ff65/bdp4life/BlogHopButton.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /></a>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-5148046342581584382011-06-28T06:51:00.000-04:002011-06-28T06:51:33.556-04:00Why I Think I Won't HomeschoolDuring quiet time, Hadley sometimes likes to practice her letters and words. The worksheets she currently works on have the two solid lines and the dashed line in between to help write the letters correctly. Hadley doesn't follow those lines, and she also likes to fit as many words as she can on one line. Very much the engineer, this one.<br />
<br />
Recently, after completing an exercise, Hadley showed it to me and I told her that while it was good (Great! Spectacular! Outstanding!), she was supposed to write the words out using the lines as guides....not smooshed up making it difficult to read them.<br />
<br />
"Would you like to re-do this, Hadley?"<br />
<br />
"Sorry Mom, I only do things once."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FAcC3hjhP_o/TgKLj9r5OiI/AAAAAAAADhg/IIkqzY5mXG0/s1600/IMG_5275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FAcC3hjhP_o/TgKLj9r5OiI/AAAAAAAADhg/IIkqzY5mXG0/s320/IMG_5275.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-4513086337058536652011-06-24T06:37:00.000-04:002011-06-24T06:37:54.714-04:00Overheard At The Playroom Table.....The conversations between Hadley and Harper are currently the best argument to have more than one kid. The following conversation occured while the girls were coloring together, and I think what's important to point out is that it was completely quiet before Harper began talking. As far as I know, nothing except what was in her brain prompted this discussion. And after the conversation ended, it was quiet again. The only thing you could hear were their crayons nubbing along on the paper.<br />
<br />
I was laughing a little bit, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MZ5uBi56sUI/TgKFgUsS3tI/AAAAAAAADhY/kqxrj-j4Ees/s1600/IMG_5261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MZ5uBi56sUI/TgKFgUsS3tI/AAAAAAAADhY/kqxrj-j4Ees/s320/IMG_5261.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>"Hadwee, panda bears eat shampoo." <br />
<br />
"Huh?"<br />
<br />
"I said, 'panda bears eat shampoo.'"<br />
<br />
"No they don't, they eat bamboo."<br />
<br />
"Oh."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oUVfcH5i0XY/TgKGH13I0hI/AAAAAAAADhc/WMfPAmWudPw/s1600/IMG_5260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oUVfcH5i0XY/TgKGH13I0hI/AAAAAAAADhc/WMfPAmWudPw/s320/IMG_5260.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
That's what older sisters are for, Harps.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-49840899233073670832011-06-22T19:56:00.001-04:002011-06-22T19:58:32.110-04:00Probably Won't See This On The Food Network<em>I'm taking a creative nonfiction course through the folks over at <a href="http://imagejournal.org/page/blog">IMAGE</a> and I'm halfway through it. I was looking at some of the earlier things that I wrote for the class and thought that the following piece would match the pictures I took earlier of me and Hadley baking chocolate chip cookies. (Note that in my piece we are making raspberry crumb bars, not chocolate chip cookies. I'm not sure that's super important because the theme of the piece holds no matter what we were making.)</em><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XPumRSyIAIE/TgJ-X3Z6ApI/AAAAAAAADhE/EcsRYGqmIGk/s1600/IMG_5255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XPumRSyIAIE/TgJ-X3Z6ApI/AAAAAAAADhE/EcsRYGqmIGk/s320/IMG_5255.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Mama, can I help you cook?” Hadley asks me when she spots me with my finger on a recipe for Raspberry Crumb Bars from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Magnolia Bakery Cookbook</i>.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">She sits cross legged on the kitchen counter, hunched forward working on writing words she knows: “Hadley,” “Harper,” “Mom,” “Dad,” “No Boys Allowed.” Her hair is swept up in a pink ribbon to match the black and pink sweatshirt and leggings she’s wearing. I keep my finger on the ingredient list for the Raspberry Crumb Bars and look towards her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her four year old fingers grip the marker she’s writing with and her eyes are lowered so I get the full effect of her eyelashes.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GkD5yEIUmak/TgJ_kcob9VI/AAAAAAAADhI/18NxwXMFCY4/s1600/IMG_5254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GkD5yEIUmak/TgJ_kcob9VI/AAAAAAAADhI/18NxwXMFCY4/s320/IMG_5254.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, you can help me cook.” I say.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Great!” she puts the marker down, and swings her legs around to let them dangle off the counter.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The sun pours into our condo, and I see shadows of tree branches on the walls above the bookshelves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look for buds.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Can you help me get down, Mama?”</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Sure.” I place my hands under Hadley’s armpits and hoist her on my hip. I should put her on the ground, but just because I can still do it, just because she still fits perfectly on my hip, I hold her for a second and give her a kiss on her cheek.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“OK, so what ingredients do we need?” Hadley asks, all business.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I put her down and we step over to the pantry to get the flour and sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Never Say Never” by The Fray plays on the radio. The lead singer pleads, “don’t let me go” over and over.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“I love this song.” I say as I dump a pound of butter into a saucepan.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Mmmmm, I don’t really like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not fast.” Hadley’s at my hip standing on tip toes with her hands on the oven door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reaches her neck out as far as she can to see what’s going on.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I put my hand on her head and say, “OK, when this melts, we’re going to mix it with the flour then pat it down to make a crust.”</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“OK.” Hadley says, and then begins to pick her nose.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“OH, Hadley, yuck!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t do that if you want to help me!”</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Sorry.” She says.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KCqmEvNo5Us/TgKAA8d75oI/AAAAAAAADhM/J_TMwkpGLW0/s1600/IMG_5253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KCqmEvNo5Us/TgKAA8d75oI/AAAAAAAADhM/J_TMwkpGLW0/s320/IMG_5253.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“It’s OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to the bathroom and wash your hands.” I say. I move the butter around the pan so it won’t brown.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Hadley comes back and shows me her hands are damp from being washed.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Thank you, Hadley.” I say, and hand her a spoon and a bowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She puts them on the counter next to the stove where I am, then brings over a stool to stand on.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“I’m sorry I picked my nose, Mama.”</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I pour a cup and a half of flour in her bowl, and then add the melted butter.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Stir that together.” I tell her. </span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“OK.”</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“The most important thing to know about this recipe is that nobody wants boogers in their Raspberry Crumb Bars.” I take the spoon and scrape the sides of the bowl.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Hadley shrugs her shoulders and says, “I might.”</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">On the radio I hear violins string out the first short, confident notes of “I Used to Rule the World” by Coldplay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The radio sends me all sorts of messages today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like motherhood.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E3uHR1-r6t0/TgKAUd0Ha1I/AAAAAAAADhQ/qA1Sb12dMMg/s1600/IMG_5256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E3uHR1-r6t0/TgKAUd0Ha1I/AAAAAAAADhQ/qA1Sb12dMMg/s320/IMG_5256.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rkOUbT8Uo9U/TgKAc-gv9YI/AAAAAAAADhU/ZLARDLF3ntE/s1600/IMG_5257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rkOUbT8Uo9U/TgKAc-gv9YI/AAAAAAAADhU/ZLARDLF3ntE/s320/IMG_5257.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-27670746108011422742011-06-20T08:01:00.000-04:002011-06-20T08:01:23.864-04:00New Toy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a75JqRbOKRU/TflANSNEQXI/AAAAAAAADg0/iPBtVCPNh5s/s1600/IMG_5236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a75JqRbOKRU/TflANSNEQXI/AAAAAAAADg0/iPBtVCPNh5s/s320/IMG_5236.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This is a picture of the Polly Pocket Ice Cream Waterslide Pool....or something close to that title.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3kbLXibxHeE/TflAoRTj4BI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6EhyVe_xFw/s1600/IMG_5234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3kbLXibxHeE/TflAoRTj4BI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6EhyVe_xFw/s320/IMG_5234.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It's Hadley's new toy for getting 10 stickers. Why did she earn 10 stickers, you ask? Because she stayed in bed past 7am 10 times. We told her if she could do that, each morning she would get a sticker. When she got 10 stickers, we'd buy her a treat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--LZpx-042bU/TflC31XCNvI/AAAAAAAADg8/hcLIGmY-J8Q/s1600/Picnik+collagepollypockets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--LZpx-042bU/TflC31XCNvI/AAAAAAAADg8/hcLIGmY-J8Q/s320/Picnik+collagepollypockets.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I don't know. It probably seems like too much to get your kid to sleep or just STAY IN BED until 7am. But I need some time to prepare for the creation that is four. Four is non-stop. Four talks A LOT. Four doesn't ever seem to run out of questions. There isn't strong enough coffee for me to drink to keep up with four.<br />
<br />
So we bought Hadley a clock.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ovwvNa8DqV8/TflD2SZoNRI/AAAAAAAADhA/-XjRxHqH0gU/s1600/IMG_5238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ovwvNa8DqV8/TflD2SZoNRI/AAAAAAAADhA/-XjRxHqH0gU/s320/IMG_5238.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We showed her how to tell when it is 7. We put it right next to her bed. We started drilling her about four hours before she went to bed that she was not to come out of the bedroom until that clock read 7am. <br />
<br />
"How can you tell it's 7, Hadley?"<br />
<br />
"When the little hand is on 7 and the big hand is on 12."<br />
<br />
"That's right. And when do you come out of the bedroom?"<br />
<br />
"Seven."<br />
<br />
"Exactly."<br />
<br />
Monday morning, Hadley's in our room at 5:45am. A.M.!!!!!!<br />
<br />
"Hadley!" I say. "Look at your clock! It's not seven yet!"<br />
<br />
Hadley goes back to her room and a half an hour later she comes in carrying the clock.<br />
<br />
"Momma, it's 7 o'clock."<br />
<br />
"No it's not, Hadley."<br />
<br />
"Well, my clock says 7. I think pink clocks are faster."<br />
<br />
Anyway, she did it 10 times and we bought her a Polly Pocket Ice Cream Waterslide toy. On the way home from Target, I asked Hadley if she remembers why she has this toy. <br />
<br />
"Yes, because I stayed in bed until 7 o'clock."<br />
<br />
"That's right, and I really appreciate that."<br />
<br />
"Thanks, Mama. But Mama? Can I tell you something?"<br />
<br />
"Sure."<br />
<br />
"I really don't like to sleep in. I don't want to miss anything. I don't know how much longer I can do this."Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-51807572141867876012011-06-17T15:34:00.000-04:002011-06-17T15:34:37.576-04:00Swim LessonsSometimes when something's hard,<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1kKIeiWj-hg/Tfk-6zM9POI/AAAAAAAADgs/zgITn3nEvEo/s1600/Picnik+collageswimming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1kKIeiWj-hg/Tfk-6zM9POI/AAAAAAAADgs/zgITn3nEvEo/s400/Picnik+collageswimming.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">it's best to do it with friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oupkmBi4oq8/Tfk_J2wU3OI/AAAAAAAADgw/bPifsOTe1pc/s1600/Picnik+collagegirlsswimming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oupkmBi4oq8/Tfk_J2wU3OI/AAAAAAAADgw/bPifsOTe1pc/s400/Picnik+collagegirlsswimming.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(P.S. Hadley pushed off and swam to her swim teacher in the last picture. Just in case anyone's concerned Harper dunked her.....which could've happened.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-74196976557755291102011-06-15T19:04:00.000-04:002011-06-15T19:04:37.093-04:00What She Took With HerThroughout the year, when I would pick Hadley up from school, our conversations would go like this:<br />
"Hi, Hadley! How was school?"<br />
<br />
"Good."<br />
<br />
"What'd ya do?"<br />
<br />
"I can't remember."<br />
<br />
Finally, after being asked this <em>clearly</em> way too many times, Hadley suggests, "Mamma, you always ask that question and I always tell you I don't remember. I think you should come up with something else to say."<br />
<br />
Minutes later the conversation turns to boogers and poop, and I am sneaking looks at Hadley's folder on the way home to catch a glimpse of what went on while she was away from me.<br />
<br />
So I don't know all that went on this year while Hadley was in school, and I'm fine with that. It seems as though part of learning about oneself consists of having some of one's own memories to wonder about. But it is part of who I am to mark things down as time goes by. It's why I write a blog. It's why I have all my planners from 1990.<br />
<br />
Besides, if left to Hadley's devices, this is what would be "remembered" of her 2010-2011 school year. <br />
<br />
Driving to Royal Crown Bakery for breakfast on the last day of school: "So Hadley, what do you remember about preschool this year?"<br />
<br />
"I remember when I was 3 and I went to school with an orange dress with pink polka dots."<br />
<br />
"I don't remember that dress."<br />
<br />
"Right. You don't remember that dress because it was in my dream."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VCCXmzGn-98/Tfk0JjHU-OI/AAAAAAAADgc/W80WMVVDKhM/s1600/IMG_5240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VCCXmzGn-98/Tfk0JjHU-OI/AAAAAAAADgc/W80WMVVDKhM/s640/IMG_5240.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I kept most of Hadley's artwork from the school year, but the thing that I can't throw away is her carpool number. I know I made fun of it when I first got it, but it has become a badge for me. I was proud to be in line with the other parents dropping our children off and picking them up from school. It made me feel like I was a part of something, like we were all sharing a part of this parenting thing together. <br />
<br />
I've started writing down little things that I remember on the sheet: the toys Hadley brought for show and tell, the songs we sang on the way to school, the story she and I read on the first day of school (<em>Dotty</em> by Erica Perl - a must read for all children and anyone who can't find their imagination), the day I hit a turtle on the way to school and Hadley said, "It's OK, Mama. He has a hard shell. I don't think you hurt him." I'll keep this along with Hadley's artwork so I don't forget.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kIUDhaYXYv8/Tfk2r1clD8I/AAAAAAAADgg/SJf5HBUT8Pg/s1600/Image06092011083850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kIUDhaYXYv8/Tfk2r1clD8I/AAAAAAAADgg/SJf5HBUT8Pg/s640/Image06092011083850.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
I told Hadley I'd take her out to breakfast anywhere she wanted for the last day of school. She decided on the Royal Crown Bakery.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X0VV4Wk-SLA/Tfk3LR3zARI/AAAAAAAADgk/T1FUI9q8ZEI/s1600/Image06092011083905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X0VV4Wk-SLA/Tfk3LR3zARI/AAAAAAAADgk/T1FUI9q8ZEI/s640/Image06092011083905.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>The thing you have to know about this place is that everything they make is delicious. The bagels are New York style bagels, the cannoli will have you saying, "Keep the cannoli" for the rest of your life, and the sandwiches are out of this world. The other thing you need to know is that the people behind the counter, scare me a little bit. They're nice, but they don't mess around. <br />
<br />
"Whadya gettin'?" one of them will say and I'm never sure whether they're talking to me. I'm so afraid I won't answer in time and then I won't get my bagel or donut (or bagel AND donut, because they're THAT GOOD and I can't decide).<br />
<br />
On the morning Hadley, Harper and I were there, a customer struck up a conversation with one of the ladies behind the counter. The customer told her that she looked very similar to another lady who worked there. <br />
<br />
"YEA, THAT'S MY SISTER. (I'm typing in all caps to convey a sense of volume.) SHE'S SO LOUD. SHE'S ALWAYS LIKE, 'WHADYA WANT?'"<br />
<br />
I started laughing and Hadley looked at me. She started laughing too. I don't think she was laughing at the same thing I was laughing at, but it was nice to be together at the Royal Crown Bakery sharing a laugh before she went to school. <br />
<br />
Even if we remember the memory differently from one another. It was nice to be together.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pjkzyWrGzfE/Tfk5gUcSY3I/AAAAAAAADgo/tMajxXWpmKE/s1600/Image06092011082838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pjkzyWrGzfE/Tfk5gUcSY3I/AAAAAAAADgo/tMajxXWpmKE/s640/Image06092011082838.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-31606859777841763542011-06-13T07:31:00.001-04:002011-06-13T07:32:26.652-04:00How to Get Through a Maze According to HadleyHadley is really into word searches, crossword puzzles, and mazes these days. One afternoon, while helping Tinker Bell get through a maze, she said, "Mama, if there's a line in the way, I just go through it."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JhaKsy4oka8/TfX02brATkI/AAAAAAAADgY/60B0NpRxcXk/s1600/Picnik+collagego+on%252C+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JhaKsy4oka8/TfX02brATkI/AAAAAAAADgY/60B0NpRxcXk/s400/Picnik+collagego+on%252C+girl.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Seems like excellent Monday morning advice to me.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-6568925030571001932011-06-10T06:55:00.000-04:002011-06-10T06:55:14.447-04:00Say W.H.A.T.?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iJQAxrwEmk4/TfAdz9ozJLI/AAAAAAAADgE/kCgt5B2690Q/s1600/Picnik+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iJQAxrwEmk4/TfAdz9ozJLI/AAAAAAAADgE/kCgt5B2690Q/s320/Picnik+collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Here we are in a Jeep cruisin' on the beach looking for wild horses. You know, just your typical Thursday afternoon type of errand. The Tour was called W.H.A.T. and the first two letters stand for Wild Horses, but I can't remember what the A and T stand for. Are Tooting? No, that can't be it. Anyway, it was a really cool tour.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1sSFQqgSYZE/TfAg-VNDaeI/AAAAAAAADgI/WX68zcn7-Bc/s1600/Picnik+collagewildhorses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1sSFQqgSYZE/TfAg-VNDaeI/AAAAAAAADgI/WX68zcn7-Bc/s320/Picnik+collagewildhorses.jpg" width="350" /></a></div><br />
These guys are all over the place in this part of the Outer Banks. By the way, this is as OBX as you can get. There are no paved roads. It's all beach. And people live here. It's pretty much as <em>Into the Wild</em> as I'll ever get. The houses are gorgeous, but Mama needs a Target and a Starbucks. <br />
<br />
The funniest part of the tour for me was the conversation between Jesse and our tour guide. Because we told him we weren't from North Carolina, he thought he'd fill us in on what it's like living in an area where there are a lot of hurricanes. <br />
<br />
Tour Guide Guy: "Hurricanes don't effect us. We live in a bubble."<br />
<br />
Jesse: "Oh yeah?"<br />
<br />
Tour Guide Guy: "Yeah. The weather and where we are makes it so the hurricanes just can't get at us like in the other parts of OBX."<br />
<br />
Poor Jesse. It was like watching that scene in Friends where Pheobe tries to convice Ross that maybe evolution isn't exactly what all his research says it is. <br />
<br />
Ooooo! But we got some really great pictures!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WxcQfCSX69E/TfAm85XK09I/AAAAAAAADgM/OaD-3uZrcSk/s1600/Picnik+collage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WxcQfCSX69E/TfAm85XK09I/AAAAAAAADgM/OaD-3uZrcSk/s320/Picnik+collage2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Fun tour. I highly recommend it if you're ever in the Outer Banks.Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119655323971942764.post-46699420720186451822011-06-08T20:14:00.000-04:002011-06-08T20:14:37.378-04:00Just Like We Do ItIt's really important to make sure your child eats healthy. Introduce fruits and vegetables early on so they'll become used to the taste of things like peas and carrots and watermelon. Sometimes you have to introduce a food to your bundle of joy 14,345 times before she will eat it. But it's so worth the nagging and screaming because you know you are doing the right thing and your daughter will totally thank you for it later.<br />
<br />
I suppose it's OK to give them a treat every now and then. But be warned: things like chocolate and sugar can alter the behavior of your offspring.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzD6tGWDnrnzS4by8d2LdepRJaS3peIg32L6Z-EvzLBhXSWy4pRLc9Ke3cXZuuiQMI3lVhIYDTLMbOL1HeEOg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
It's also important that you set a good example and eat healthy, too.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pZPIBDWAYD8/TfAP0ys0FqI/AAAAAAAADfs/6yQ-dp7oL1M/s1600/IMG_5068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pZPIBDWAYD8/TfAP0ys0FqI/AAAAAAAADfs/6yQ-dp7oL1M/s320/IMG_5068.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Calliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03993423798893537026noreply@blogger.com2