tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48995117290161962712024-02-06T23:21:33.320-06:00North 40 RenegadeRenegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-65280183405534562992014-10-09T23:44:00.000-05:002014-10-10T00:08:17.710-05:00Wearing her ring: failing and flying in First Grade"How much is it worth?"<br />
<br />
"Worth?"<br />
<br />
"How much is the ring worth? What's the value of it?"<br />
<br />
"Oh... it's worth nothing, but it's priceless to me."<br />
<br />
<br />
I guess I was around 10 years old the first time I saw the ring. My grandmother wore it on the fourth finger of her right hand. We had many things in common, my grandmother and I. Our love of sewing, our fondness of a good book, our affinity for cheese (even though she was more of a pimento cheese lover and I stuck to goat), our belief in education, and our birth month. <br />
<br />
One day I was at her house, getting crochet lessons, and I noticed that she had to take it off when she crocheted. The yarn was getting caught on the prongs. <br />
<br />
"Do you know what this stone is, Jessie?" "No, ma'am." "It's an opal. It's my birthstone. It's our birthstone." <br />
<br />
Over the years, I would see the ring from time to time. Sometimes she wore it, sometimes she didn't. She would always remind me that it was "our" ring. <br />
<br />
Towards the end of her life, her memory came and went. One day she would recognize me, then next day she would fully believe that I was the 27 year old version of my mother. She would go from asking me about my pregnancy, to telling me that I gained too much weight since the last visit. The day came when she began dividing her belongings. The ring came into my possession and was tucked away into the bottom of my jewelry box. Within a few months, she was gone.<br />
<br />
Days and weeks passed and eventually, I went looking for the ring. I had initially tucked it away because it wasn't wearable. It was too small, the opal was broken, and three of the garnets were falling out. I had just decided to go back to school and something about the idea of wearing my grandmother's ring resonated within me. She was a wonderful teacher. She believed that an education was a person's greatest asset. Part of me felt that if I wore the ring, I would absorb some of her magical teaching powers. But I wasn't ready yet. I wasn't an official teacher. It didn't feel right. <br />
<br />
Another year went by and I was offered a job teaching. A real job. I was ecstatic. I was finally going to be a teacher. I promised myself that I would use my first paycheck to fix the ring and carry on her legacy. <br />
<br />
Only there was a problem. Being a teacher did not start out all apples and No.2 pencils. It was hard. I was new. I was lost. I left work every day with the feeling that I had failed. Every minute, of every day, I felt less like a teacher, and more like a disgrace. I began to believe with all my heart that I was not the teacher that she would have wanted me to be. I wasn't sure I was a teacher at all. <br />
<br />
I will never forget the look on my sister's face when she found me one Friday morning, on the bathroom floor, sobbing over the prospect of another day in the front of the classroom. She looked at me like I was a stranger. I was slowly turning into a different person. A defeated person. My first paycheck came and went and I didn't fix the ring. I couldn't. I didn't deserve it.<br />
<br />
I'd like to say that one day I woke up, jumped out of bed, and was suddenly the most bomb-diggity-est teacher that ever lived. <br />
<br />
It didn't happen quite so easily. <br />
<br />
The up swing started with my father. After two weeks of school, I had decided I was done. I was driving to work with the full intention of quitting. I decided to call my dad. This was a mistake, or maybe a blessing. <em>At the time it was hard to tell</em>. It was that morning that my dear Poppa had finally had enough of my crying and moaning. To paraphrase him, I was told to pull my head out of my ass and start being the woman that he raised me to be. There were other words, but I'll skip those for today. I needed to hear them, you don't. <br />
<br />
I decided to stick it out. <br />
<br />
<em>You really don't have much of a choice when your dad tells you to stop being a candy ass. </em><br />
<br />
The weeks went by and I slowly found my place. I spent every spare minute learning my trade. I poured over pacing charts. I studied ELA assessments. I watched more videos of veteran teachers than I can recall. I asked questions. I asked more questions that my poor principal had ever been asked in her entire career. I became a nuisance to the guidance counselor. A women with a wealth of knowledge and a heart big enough to share everything she knew with me. I grew and I learned.<br />
<br />
I honestly don't know who learned more that year, my students or myself. I look back now and it feels like we fought a battle together. Me and my little eagles. I think about them daily. I wonder how they are doing in their classes. I pray that I did them justice and that they look back on our year together and have fond memories. I hope they remember the Ms. Jessie who liked to sign and dance, and not the Ms. Jessie who cried and cried. <br />
<br />
My first year as a teacher ended as quickly as it began.<br />
<br />
In no time it was summer and I was getting a new classroom ready at a new school. I felt an excitement that I didn't have my first year in the classroom. My first year, I was hired two days before school started and into a grade level that I had ZERO experience with. My second year, I had months to prepare. A WHOLE summer to get a room ready. I painted. I decorated.<em><strong> I came up with a theme</strong></em>! I planned. I made copies ahead of time. I had beautiful "Open House" paper work all ready for new parents and my new little friends. In short, I finally felt like a teacher. <br />
<br />
I knew it was time. I went to my jewelry box and dug out her ring. It was still there, broken but beautiful. I sent it to the most highly recommended jewelry shop in our area. The lady asked me how much it was worth. I honestly had no way to explain to her the "worth" of this particular ring. I left the ring at the shop to be repaired.<br />
<br />
Today I received a phone call that it was ready. After all this time, both the ring and I were ready. <br />
<br />
So here I sit, thinking about her, wearing the ring and knowing that I finally deserve it. Tomorrow will be her birthday. I can't think of a more perfect day to wear her ring, to school, for the first time. <br />
<br />
Happy Birthday Granny! <br />
<br />
I hope you are proud of me; and thanks for the sewing lessons. They sure came in handy making curtains for my classroom. <br />
<br />Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-91257561226644960792012-11-16T13:57:00.001-06:002012-12-13T12:39:34.693-06:00The longest walk in the history of all time<em>***It has taken me months to write this because it makes me emotional just to think about it. It was the greatest most difficult experiance of my life and I can't wait to do it again. Disclaimer- This won't be very funny. Cancer sucks that way.***</em><br />
<br />
Two years ago, I had the pleasure of watching my sister walk in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. It was heart warming and emotional and being newly pregnant didn't help the emotional part of the situation. I brought my daughter and we made posters and set up camp outside the lunch area to wait for her. What we saw was indescribable. I cry now just thinking of the women (and men) that we saw walking and struggling and pushing themselves, all to raise money for breast cancer awareness and research. That day I told my husband that I was going to walk the following year. <br />
39.4 miles and $1,800.00 was a large hill to overcome. I thought the money would be the hard part, but it wasn't. The support I received from my family and friends was overwhelming. In a matter of months, I had the money I needed and had started walking to prepare. Nothing, I repeat <em>NOTHING</em>, could have prepared me for that weekend. <br />
I started off the weekend with one goal: to finish. I didn't care if I came in dead last, I just wanted to finish. I'm not in great shape, I bake the worst banana cookies in the world, and my house looks like a hurricane came through it. All I wanted to do was start something and finish it. <br />
I rode to Houston with my gracious friend and her husband. I was thankful to have him to drive us because I knew that after walking almost 40 miles, I wouldn't be in any condition to drive. Looking back he was our own knight in shining armour! Checking in was wonderful and the event eve could not have been better. Our group showed up with about $250 extra dollars and we were able to pass it on to another walker who was just shy of her fundraising goal. We had a nice dinner out, and a less than nice conversation about the air conditioner setting in the hotel room. <br />
<br />
<em>Me: I hope you like to sleep cold. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Ria: Not really. Like how cold are we talking?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: Really cold. You're lucky I didn't bring my travel fan. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Ria: Shit, that's cold. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: OH MY GOSH! Just put on some more clothes and go to sleep!</em><br />
<br />
The morning of the walk, I was buzzing. Literally, because it was freezing cold Medina outside and I was in shorts and a short sleeve shirt. We rode the buses to the starting line and huddled together in an effort not to freeze our ta-tas off. During the opening ceremony, we stretched and listened to various women speak. I was crying before I ever took one step. Listening to these women talk about their struggles and triumpts and losses to cancer was sobering. It had been almost two years since losing my grandfather to cancer, and the weight of the grief still knocks me over sometimes. I was a hot (freezing) mess. Never in my life did I feel like I had such purpose just walking. When it was time to go, they cut the rope.... or dropped the gate... or something else really symbolic. <em>I was way in the back so I'm not sure exactly what happened, but people started moving. </em><br />
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By the first quick stop, all of the women I came with were ahead of me. My sister hung back to walk with me, but I know that I was slowing her down. After a few more miles, she slowly made her way further and further ahead of me. Within the first two hours, I was walking alone. There were women in front of me and women behind me, but I knew not one person. The miles were falling away and I wasn't bothered to be in my own company. I knew that my sister was out there somewhere, and that was enough for me. I listened to the conversations around me. At the rest stops, I was greeted by young men and women who had lost so much in their short lives, but continued to cheer us on as we walked in honor of their mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters, and all the women that had lost the fight before us. Their spirit was invigorating and their cheers corny as all get out. They were wonderful. <br />
At the first official rest stop, I was introduced to something that changed my life. The peanut butter and jelly graham cracker sandwich in the little purple wrapper. I swear, next year I'm walking again just to get the chance to eat another one of those sandwiches. They also gave us the <em>coldest, most refreshing orange slices</em> I've ever had in my ENTIRE life. Maybe it was the heat or the miles getting to me, but everything was just so wonderful. By the time I left the first quick stop, my friends were getting to the lunch stop. My sister waited for me at lunch and we sat down and inhaled a sandwich, got some medical attention and headed back out on the road. This was when I started to hurt. I don't know if it was because we stopped so long for lunch or if the miles were catching up to me, but it was getting harder. When we reached the halfway mark for Saturday (13.1 miles), my sister called it a day. She was walking a half marathon each day for one complete marathon over the course of the weekend. As much as I wanted to go back to the hotel with her, I made up my mind that I wasn't stopping. In hindsight, I probably should have. Once I was back on the road, I found myself walking alone again. The women in front of me were getting further ahead, and there were fewer women coming up from behind me. Then, out of nowhere, I heard this car honking as it was coming down Post Oak. People had been honking and waving and cheering us on all day, so this was nothing new. I threw out a quick wave and kept walking. But the crazy woman in the car kept on honking. When I finally turned to look, it was the most amazing sight in the world. It was my mother! My mother and my crazy Aunt! They pulled into the quick stop to sit with me for a bit. We hugged and cried and hugged some more. Seeing them, and knowing that they were in the city was enough to keep my pushing forward. They left to go shopping and look for some blister pads and I kept walking. It was turning into a bad episode of Finding Nemo. <em>"Just keep walking. Just keep walking. What do we do? We wallllllllkkkkkk</em>." When I hit mile 16, I had to tell myself, "This is it. You only have 10 miles to go. KEEP WALKING FORWARD."<br />
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Then I got to the park. There should have been a sign when we entered the park that said, <u><strong><em>"You are entering the park. You will not see another walker or sweeper van for the next 100 years. Stop walking now and get in a sweeper van!!!</em></strong></u>" There was no such sign, so I entered the park. The park was my breaking point. There were no other walkers. I was becoming convinced that I was the end of the line. I was getting text messages from my friends that they had crossed the finish line and were heading back to the hotel. Even though we weren't supposed to talk on our cell phones while walking, I tried calling some of my friends. I kept getting voicemail. Never in my life have I ever felt so alone. Alone and on the verge of death. I'm known for being dramatic, but I will tell you I seriously contemplating laying down and just waiting for someone to come find me and take me home. Every step was a struggle. I had to literally start repeating in my head, <em>left foot, now right foot, now left foot, now right foot</em>. As I walked along I started hearing singing. The worst singing I had ever heard in my life. Coming up behind me were six walkers. They were delirious, like me. When the reached me, we all sat down together and cried and laughed. (It was a weekend of crying!) I felt so much better knowing that I wasn't the last one and that they were struggling, just like me. Not long after we sat down, the official Avon Walk caboose bike rider came along. It was official, we were the last seven women on the course. There was no one behind us, and all the rest areas ahead of us were closing down. As much as I grew to hate that women and her bike, I never would have finished if it wasn't for her. She got us all back on our feet and pushed us ahead. It didn't take long before my group of six was slowly pulling ahead and separating from me. Out of almost 1,000 women, I was the lone ranger. When we emerged from the park, there was a sweeper van waiting for me, but I refused to get in the van. I know that was their job but I had made a deal with myself and I was determined to finish. Another mile down the road, another sweeper van. I was walking and crying and could not even begin to try to explain to these women that, as much as I appreciated their help and support, I had to finish. Please just let me finish. Please? PLEASE???<br />
That van left, but another one took its place. It wasn't just any sweeper van, it was the head of all the sweepers. He was nice and caring, but I wasn't having any of it. He finally stopped the van and got out on the street with me. After briefly explaining that it was getting darker, and the neighborhood was becoming unsafe for me to walk alone in, he managed to get me in the car. When he closed the door an entire day of emotion and physical stress came pouring out of me like Niagara falls. I'm not talking about slowly falling tears and a slight frown, I'm talking FULL ON UGLY CRY! Like, Kim Kardashian and Julia Roberts combined UGLY CRY. All I wanted to do was finish. That was my goal all day long, just to finish. I JUST WANT TO FREAKING FINISH! As we rode past the dark building and made our way to the closing ceremony, I began to hatch a plan. <br />
<br />
<em>Me: So, that was a bad area of town?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Captain Sweeper: Yes. It's really not safe for you to be walking alone over there. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: Where are we now?</em><br />
<br />
<em>CS: Getting into the Rice University area. This is a great area of the city. The Wellness Village isn't very far. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: So this is a safe area?</em><br />
<br />
<em>CS: Yes. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: Great, stop the car. </em><br />
<br />
<em>CS: Excuse me?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: You said I couldn't walk over there because it wasn't safe. This is safe area. PLEASE let me finish this walk? Please?</em><br />
<br />
<em>CS: Alright lady. You've got about a mile and half left to the Wellness Village. Think you can make it?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: Nope. But I'm damn well gonna' try. </em><br />
<br />
And so I started walking again. My feet and legs felt like jello. Extremely painful and sore jello. At one point, my mother and aunt found me again. My aunt even got out and walked with me a little while. Once in the center of Rice University, I started hearing signing again. The absolute worst singing in the world and my heart exploded! It was the six women who sat with me in the park. They were waiting for me! Through my tears, I hugged them all and I had no words to express what it meant knowing that these women had waited for me. <br />
Together, we turned the corner and walked that last 100 yards hand in hand. At the end of the day, I crossed the finish line with six of the most wonderful women I've even had the honor to meet. I finished last, but I wasn't alone. I had never met them before that day, and I've never seen them since, but that day we were sisters. United as one and walking towards a common goal. Waiting for me at the finish line were my wonderful mother, my crazy aunt, my devoted sister, and my two beautiful twin nieces. Seeing those baby girls, I prayed that our efforts over the course of the weekend would not be wasted. Every dollar raised and every step taken was another step in the fight against breast cancer. Maybe if we keep walking, those girls won't have to grow up in a world full of cancer. Just maybe. <br />
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My wonderful brother-in-law drove us back to the hotel and all I wanted was a long bath and a soft bed. I got neither. There was no bathtubs in the hotel. Seriously? What. The. Hell. My only complaint to Avon over the course of the entire weekend was the lack of bathtubs at our host hotel. After walking over 25 miles in the course of 12 and half hours, I think the least I deserved is a freaking bath. Standing in that shower was almost as hard as walking all those miles. Our friends came to see me once I was back at the hotel. Apparently, the girl who nearly fell over and died while walking was a sight to see.<br />
<br />
<em>Chris: How are you feeling?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: Like I've been walking for the last 12 hours. How the hell are you feeling? </em><br />
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<em>Jess: We are just so proud of you! This was a long day and I know it was really hard at the end. We are going to go. We'll let you get some rest. </em><br />
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<em>Me: Please, just let me die in peace. </em><br />
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<em>*** Did I mention I get cranky sometimes. Because I do. Very. Cranky. ***</em> As I lay in bed, I found myself unable to move. My back hurt, my arms hurt, my legs hurt. There were parts of me that I didn't know existed that hurt. AND I still had another day of walking ahead of me. After a few minutes of laying down, Ria came back to the room to come to bed. <br />
<br />
<em>Ria: Shit girl. It's so cold in here!</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: It's really not. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Ria: Well, I'm turning it down. And if you don't like it, you can get up and change it yourself! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA</em><br />
<br />
***It's possible she didn't laugh quite like that, but it's been a few months and I'm the one with the blog, so I get to write what I want. This could also be where I insert the <em>HORRENDOUS</em> picture that she took of me passed out, but again, my blog, my rules.***<br />
<br />
<br />
Look for the conclusion of my Avon Walk experience in the next post. <a href="http://info.avonfoundation.org/site/TR/Walk/Houston?px=5935258&pg=personal&fr_id=2180" target="_blank">If you are interested in donating to the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer and to my fundraising efforts, here is a link!</a>Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-88284032606887631782012-05-11T09:21:00.000-05:002012-05-11T10:12:50.237-05:00Zooing it up with a smart ass (Alternate Title: My cousins are better than your cousins.)Last weekend we (husband, cousin, cousin-in-law and myself) took five children to the Zoo. The Zoo was fun and the animals were cool, but the best part was spending the day with three of my favorite smart asses. <br />
<br />
I'm almost immune to my husband's wise cracks. After 13 years, it just rolls over my head most of the time. My cousin Blaine however, I don't know that I'll ever stop being surprised and humored by him. <br />
<br />
<em>***Walking side-by-side pushing strollers and pulling wagons***</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: aaaacchooooo. aaaacccchoooo.</em> (That's me sneezing.)<br />
<br />
<em>Blaine: (silence)</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: God Bless me. God Save me. </em><br />
<br />
<em>Blaine: What the fuck? You're gonna die if I don't say it? You're gonna die from an unblessed sneeze?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: YES ASS FACE! I could die and you don't even care!</em><br />
<br />
<br />
I laughed for the next 100 feet or so as I thought about the remarks we exchanged. <br />
<br />
A little further down the path we came across a snow cone vendor. <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Me: Holy hell, a snow cone would be amazing right now. </em><br />
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<em>Becc: I know. I wonder what flavors they have?</em><br />
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<em>Me to snow cone man: How much is a small snow cone?</em><br />
<br />
<em>SCM: We only have one size. (</em>Of course you do. <em>) It's $2. (</em>$10 for each kid to have one, I can deal with that.)<br />
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<em>Me: Ummmmm, do you have any clear flavors?</em><br />
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<em>SCM: No. Sorry. (</em>yep, I'm not returning home with five kids, three not belonging to me, with ruined clothes from snow cones<em>.)</em><br />
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<em>Me: Thanks anyway. </em><br />
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<em>Little B: Look Aunt Jessie Snow Cones! Mama, I want a snow cone. </em><br />
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<em>Me: Sorry buddy, all they have is strawberry. </em><br />
<br />
<em>***I should mention that he is allergic to strawberries.***</em><br />
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<em>Little B: Oh, okay. </em><br />
<br />
<br />
Crisis averted. But of course, Blaine realizes that this is an awesome way to divert the kids attention away for a desired item. <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Little B: Can I have a candy?</em><br />
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<em>Blaine: All we have is strawberry candy?</em><br />
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<em>Little B: Can I have some of your drink?</em><br />
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<em>Blaine: It's strawberry drink. </em><br />
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<em>Little B: Can I have a pony?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Blaine: Sorry dude, ponies are made out of strawberries.</em><br />
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<em>***I am making most of this up. I just assumed this is how the child's life has been since our zoo trip.***</em><br />
That's the thing about cousins. When you family is as big as ours, your cousins are usually your only friends growing up. Until you get to school and start branching out, they are the people that you get stuck with every weekend. You love them, you hate them. You grow incredibly close, then you grow up and drift away. I was lucky to have some of the most amazing people I know for cousins. Being the middle cousins out of 15 on my dad's side and the baby cousin out of 10 cousins on my mom's side, I've had everything I ever needed in my family. Older cousins to look up to (or to learn from their mistakes!), cousins my age to play with and on occasion really screw up their hair with a home-dye kit (sorry 'bout that Pook!) and younger cousins to help take care of and watch them grow into amazing young men and women. <br />
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At any point in time, I know that if I need something I have a cousin to help me. Got a flat tire? Call your cousin. Need to borrow a bow? Call a cousin. Want to drink beer and talk about the time Marty got a goose for Christmas? Call all your damn cousins and have a freaking party. <br />
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For me, it's amazing to go places with my cousins and all of our kids and see them making new cousinly memories. Because one day, the kids will be talking about their trip to the zoo. Maybe by then I'll be an old Aunt who gets to tell the truth behind all the stories of their youth. It might go something like this:<br />
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<em>Big Little B: Hey, remember the time we all went to the zoo and we got to pet snakes and alligators?</em><br />
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<em>Me: Yep, and you asked for a snow cone and Jettie said it was strawberry.</em><br />
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<em>BLB: Yeah, that sucks that they only had strawberry snow cones. </em><br />
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<em>Me: Sorry B. They weren't strawberry. Jettie is just a little cheap and a lot bad at laundry. Life sucks that way sometimes.... Could you fix me another Lemon Drop?</em>Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-36267540086238313242012-04-26T09:12:00.000-05:002012-04-26T09:12:12.261-05:00Today I'm thankful for a life that rocks. Hope you can say the same.<em>*** This is one of those post where I ramble on about nothingness. It won't be funny or witty. You've been warned.***</em><br />
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On occasion, I get wicked bummed out and think about how sad my life is. But it usally doesn't take much for me to snap out of it. Just yesterday, I was filling in my calendar with baseball games, wedding events, baby showers, water aerobics, etc. I started getting overwhelmed and thinking that I just needed a few days off. Just me and my little family to unwind and enjoy life. I went on about my day and forgot about my fantasy vacation for a few hours. <br />
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After work, we picked up the kids and headed home. Regular afternoon events occured. Water the plants and threaten to spray the kids. Fed the baby and had to change because the little rugrat grabbed the jar then gave me a hug. Adelaide and I packed some ice pops and headed to ball park to watch my nephews play t-ball. Small talk with cousins, handed out ice pops, cheered on the best little t-ballers ever and then back in the car to head to the high school. The Speech and Drama department was putting on Cinderella and I wanted to take my daughter. We laughed and clapped and chatted with old friends. A few pictures in the carriage and a mean mug with Cinderella then back home for quick baths and bedtime stories. Leftovers for dinner while chatting with the hubs and another late bedtime. <br />
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Some of you might be thinking, "Yep, just another boring, mundain night. I can see why she needs a few days off." Except that it wasn't. Because the hug from the baby was worth a change in clothes. The enormous smile on my nehpews faces when they realized that so many people came to watch them play ball was heart warming. The small talk with my cousins was the one chance we've had to talk in weeks because we've grown up and have our own familes. The trip to the musical brought back more memories than I could count, including the one when I met my now husband. <br />
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The next few days will contiune with long afternoons and late bedtimes, but I'm okay with that. Because, this weekend I'll get a new sister-in-law and she happens to be one of the coolest ladies I know. We'll also be celebrating the birthday of one of the coolest little dudes I know. <br />
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Sometimes I think I need a break from life, but then I look around and realize that my life rocks. I have the best neighbors in the world and a family that can drive you crazy from all the love and support they cover you with. It's Thankful Thursday and today I am thankful for the simple life. What are you thankful for today?<br />Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-48136844352798090662012-02-03T12:15:00.003-06:002012-02-03T12:52:58.260-06:00My one monthaversary and my blessed crumb snatchersSo, it's been almost a month since my second wedding and things couldn't be better. We are crazy in love (mostly because we are both a little crazy) and still in the honeymoon phase of life. You seem confused. Let me explain. While this was my second wedding, it's still part of my first marriage. Two weddings, one marriage. Still confused?<br /><br />Basically, we were married for the first time five years ago at a charming little bed and breakfast. We were married by the Justice of the Peace, who I'm pretty sure is a cast member on Swamp People now. Five years and two children later, it started to feel like something was missing. We were not married in the church, because back then it wasn't important to us. Over the years, it has become important. We decided to baptize our children and bless our marriage. I arrived at the church expecting the priest to say, "Join your hands. *<em>insert short marriage prayer here</em>*. Welcome to Jesus' house!" That is not what happened.<br /><br /><br />It was a <u>complete</u> marriage ceremony. Starting with "Dearly Beloved..." and everything. Standing on the alter with my already husband, my very pregnant sister, and my full-bearded brother-in-law, I began to laugh. This seemed utterly absurd to me. I was wearing a purple dress from Burlington Coat Factory and the guys had on blue jeans. I laughed because I was <em>already married</em>. It was ludicrous to believe that we would stand up in front of a handful of friends and family and this would be just as important as the wedding we had five years ago. And you know what, it wasn't. It was more.<br /><br /><br />When my husband began reciting his vows, with the "better or worse, richer or poorer", I suddenly became overwhelmed. Because, this was a man who had now seen me at my worse. This was a man who had stood at the kitchen counter with me, staring at an empty bank account and realized that we were poor. At our first wedding, we had no idea what was waiting for us. We had never lived together and we were in the processing of moving 200 miles away from everyone we had ever known. This time around, he knew what all these words would mean. He knew all about the late nights with sick babies and the early mornings with crappy jobs. He was fully aware of what our life would be, and before God and my grandmother, he firmly vowed to be mine, all over again. When it was my turn for vows, I went from laughing to almost crying. It was terribly unexpected and completely wonderful. There we were five years later, still agreeing to be part of each others lives. One kid pulling at my dress and one kid crying in the pew. We are a family..... <em>I got all my sister with me!</em> (Sorry, I couldn't help it. )<br /><br /><br />After we got re-married, we proceeded to bless our cranky children in one of the worlds most unorganized baptisms. Trying to bless two children who want nothing more than to go home is nearly impossible. One child crying and one trying to run away. We finally made it through and headed home with our new Christians in the backseat. Adelaide promptly changed into her Tinker Bell dress and we undressed Julien and put away his gown. It was the same gown that I was baptized in 27 years ago.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 394px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704982702151388434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs2ZmIA8FpbBhw7KYszZX52DueM1lz8bhCIVtBY-e9m05IIdXYmN7rmcEuadK5W7dhKr0GKL7I6dvztvxrwvYECzXcBUnbZi65VZHMa7IE6B0881DMAhPe6dPptt3JBJSWm7LDluf2QA/s320/IMG_0669.JPG" /><br /><br />Our life is back to the same routine now. Messy house, crazy kids and fights over socks being left in the couch cushions. I never thought I would get married twice, but I did. And both times, the groom was smokin' hot. Lucky me!Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-37125956029022101112012-01-18T08:46:00.003-06:002012-01-18T09:15:35.612-06:00Wanting a star and being a dork.Hello humans. It's been a while. In short, I've had a baby (he's awesome BTW) and survived an epic day of paintball. Other than that, things are pretty much the same. Now that we are all caught up....<br /><br />I'm a Weight Watcher. I am not ashamed of this. It is a fantastic program and it helped me lose a great deal of weight after my daughter was born. Now that Big Jules is here, I'm back on the plan and looking to get healthy for good. As a motivator, I've signed up to walk in the <a href="http://info.avonfoundation.org/site/TR/Walk/Houston?px=5935258&pg=personal&fr_id=2140">Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Houston, TX in April</a>. More on that in an other post.<br /><br />Last night was my WW (that stands for Weight Watchers, keep up people) meeting. My weigh in went something like this:<br /><br />Friendly Staff Member: Okay, I've got your weight. Are you staying for the meeting?<br /><br />Me: (assuming she wanted me to stay for the meeting because I had skipped last week and gained some weight) Yes, I'm staying.<br /><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">FSM</span>: Great! Would you like your rewards now or in the meeting?<br /><br />Me: I get rewards? Hell yeah I want them! And I want them in front of EVERYONE!<br /><br />I sat through my meeting super excited. I peeked at my weight record after weigh-in and realized that I had hit the 10lbs down milestone! At the end of the meeting, my leader started handing out rewards and I was ready. She got to me and handed me a 5lbs star and everyone clapped it out for me. Apparently, you get a 5lbs star each time you lose 5 lbs. There is no 10lbs star.<br /><br />This was not acceptable. At the end of the meeting, I went to the front of the room and had a talk with my leader. It went something like this:<br /><br />Me: I'm sorry, but is there a 10lbs star?<br /><br />L: No, you get a 5lbs star each time you lose 5lbs, until you hit 20lbs down.<br /><br />Me: That's cool, but here's the thing. I wasn't here last week, so I kinda got shorted a star because I hit both milestones since the last time I was here.<br /><br />L: So you didn't get your first star? Would you like one?<br /><br />Me: Well, if you're offering... HELLS YEAH I WANT MY STAR!<br /><br />She laughed and gave me another star. Because really, I'm working my butt off (seriously, this big ass HAS to go) to lose this weight and I feel like I've earned those freaking stars!<br /><br />I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">texted</span> my husband and my WW buddies to tell them the good news and I headed off to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Rousse's</span> to stock up on more fruits and veggies. I felt so good walking through the produce department. I made witty conversation with ladies near the apples. I smiled at the cute boy in the melon section. I felt like, even though these people had never met me before, they could see that I was 10lbs thinner and they were so proud of me! I even ran into a couple WW ladies from my meeting. We talked about fruits and new ways to prepare Kale (<a href="http://http//www.hungry-girl.com/show/surprises-shockers-and-swaps-baked-kale-recipe">bake it like a chip, BEYOND DELICIOUS). </a><br /><br />The girl inside of me is funny and smart and outgoing and for a long time I feel like the heavy girl I've become has suffocated her a little. With every pound lost, I feel more and more like the person I want to be. Because that person is pretty awesome. Just ask my husband!<br /><br />Walking back to my car, I was giddy. I had my new fruit and my smaller figure. I jumped in my car, ready to head home. As I was putting on my seat belt, I noticed a giant white sticker on my left boob. It was my name tag from my meeting. My gigantic Weight Watchers name tag. I'll say it again, I'm not ashamed of the fact that I go to Weight Watchers. However, nothing makes you feel more like a dork than realizing that the cute boy in the melon section was probably smiling at me because he was amused by my name tag.<br /><br />Oh well, I had two even cuter boys waiting for me at home.Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-64199728681677742492011-09-22T14:04:00.002-05:002011-09-22T14:11:38.945-05:00Not ready for that one.Conversation with the kid last night:<br /><br />Me: Baby Julian is almost here. Are you ready to be a big sister and help mama with Julian?<br /><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: Baby Julian in you belly. I got food in my belly, Nanny has two babies in her belly and you got Julie in you belly.<br /><br />Me: That's right. Mama has baby Julian in her belly, but he's going to come out soon. And we are going to love him and play with him. You are going to teach him how lucky he is to have such great parents.<br /><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: Mama, how baby Julie gonna come out you belly?<br /><br />Me: <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Uuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmm</span>. He's. Just. Gonna. Come. Out.<br /><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: Yep, he just gonna come out. (Long pause) I want juice.<br /><br />Me: Awesome, let's get juice.<br /><br />So not ready for that conversation. I figure we can revisit the subject again in about 30 years. You know, she is ready for her first boyfriend.Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-31865206468931367792011-08-16T10:51:00.008-05:002011-08-16T16:31:52.668-05:00I'm the best mom ever, or I have scarred my child for life...<div>
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<br /><div>Today was the first day of "big girl" school for the kid. As <a href="http://north40renegade.blogspot.com/2011/07/losing-sally.html">previously noted</a>, Sally can't go to school. For a while it seemed like this would be the end of the world, especially when <a href="http://north40renegade.blogspot.com/2011/08/wordless-wednesday-step-in-wrong.html">two Sally's became a night-time thing at our house. </a>Being the laid back mother I am, I chose to simply ignore the issue and let it play out on it's own. (<em>I know, I should totally write a parenting book!)</em> We never told the kid that Sally couldn't go to school, we simply told her that school was so awesome that unicorns would rain from the sky and she would get to play all day long. In my head, I've been trying to find a way to cheat the system... I mean... make the transition easier for the kid and I came up with a <u>brilliant</u> idea. </div>
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<br /><div>I dismembered Sally. </div>
<br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641484040569107762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwG8w_hKwbbjLkbnlqvmg_QYzReoNUCrND_qo3MCFHcSynDMXQjs5amyX1Ee7xaOSAmdWdQMKBKvhrjSjW7bcfFgLT6hM-sDShyQG9K_veGQInohYaCcmzHeldBMP_YXkWATi9QeRsw/s400/dismembered+sally.JPG" /></div>
<br /><div>Calm your freaking horses people. I didn't do it in front of the kid and this is Sally #5, so we've still got Sally's to spare. I came up with the idea of a "Sally Blanket" that she could bring to school. The rules, as I choose to understand them, are that they cannot have any stuffed animals that go back and forth on a daily basis due to germs and lice being carted around by such play things. I figured a small blanket with a little hippo patch does not fall into that category. </div>
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<br /><div>I give you, Sally Blanket!</div>
<br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641488359117523442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6GBArnzdTORmr_CRWRtdz1q5abCs2-gkJLrsgmddynHL4acF5D5fAAlyMvq2155WNEYEBdGUapD0ygBHCoUm6iCR5QZEJ27Ar7HX_4U6gBESG9y-rKPbJ_C_D_3XhQ6fS1wPpZi457A/s400/awesome+blanket.JPG" /></div>
<br /><div>Sally Blanket has all the hippo-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">ness</span> of Sally Doll but without the stuffing, or the body, or the limbs, or the music box. Basically, it's just a flat Sally head sewn onto a beach towel. The kicker is the neck tie. Miss Adelaide wraps her little fingers around Sally's neck tie as she is falling asleep. It is my hope that this decapitated, flattened Sally will be comfort enough for her during nap time. Either that, or she'll flip her freaking lid and be forever traumatized by the floating hippo head that haunts her nap time. It dawned on me last night that perhaps I didn't think this through.</div>
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<br /><div>Nevertheless, she awoke this morning <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">uber</span></em> excited about going to school! She pretended like she wanted to stay in bed all day with her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pappa</span>, but I know deep down inside she was overcome with the joy of play-school. Can't you tell? <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641488458705675554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofDFnrvaG3vYCs47rOaXwH328dHqZAooMG0e5xr4MDyfhFlLweKTY84Y80kuYLVKAGE_i0rUJuKTtG1RpLaLPdbLGyreyCknr2vDE7-T7KXdQwwOKDQWzHvSBdA4SuvAaYrWAFMEOcA/s400/grumpy+addie.JPG" /></div>
<br /><div>I would like to note that she was showing off her "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Stally</span> Blanket" this morning. She had some minor issues getting dressed. I gave her the purple shoes, she wanted the pink shoes, and so on and so forth. Eventually, I got her dressed and in the car with all her school paraphernalia. Half way to school this happened:</div>
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<br /><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: Where my Tally Mama?</div>
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<br /><div>Me: She's at home baby. Sally can't go to school.</div>
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<br /><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: Her can't go school?</div>
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<br /><div>Me: Nope. Only big girls like Addie Jo and big boys like Adler get to go to school. </div>
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<br /><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: Yep, I go to school. </div>
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<br /><div>And that was it. I was clearly more worried about this whole "no Sally" policy than she seems to be. We got to school and grab her bag (which contained the awesomely awesome Sally Blanket) and she grabbed my hand as we walked inside the building. You should know that my daughter hates to hold my hand ANY where we go, so I began to get nervous. </div>
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<br /><div>We walked in and she saw all the elementary kids getting ready to walk to the BIG big kid school and she had a minor freak out. "Pick me up! Pick me up!" When we got into her classroom there were a few other children playing and this terrified the living out of her for a moment. <em>Because what's scarier than toddlers playing with building blocks?</em> She dug her head into my shoulders as I walked around doing the look-how-awesome-this-is-and-don't-you-want-to-play-with-it game. We stashed her items in her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">cubby</span> and she was still clinging to me. After a couple more minutes she picked up her head and actually looked around. </div>
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<br /><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: (in a very low voice) I see dinosaurs. </div>
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<br /><div>Me: Yeah, they have LOTS of dinosaurs! (I was unaware that dinosaurs would be the thing to perk her up.)</div>
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<br /><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: MAMA! HER HAS BABIES!!!!</div>
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<br /><div>ME: Heck yeah she has babies! Which are basically the coolest little toys since sliced bread!</div>
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<br /><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">AJ</span>: I get down. I go play! <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641495919770323106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKcaG9nrjFYK1cypGtbf033wBW7Usq6yJANdXJT_gbpxRz8yiIuQZVSuIK7MZhBSwz54Nm-kJ-MLEDsgOdvnEfTYeKNfIDRsWxTmBAvuuPz9ynE3q-7PKNB39umA950grxKfMoSrB9Q/s400/found+babies.JPG" /></div>
<br /><div>That was it. No fussing. No crying. A few minutes of hesitation and then she was off. I told her I was leaving and she gave me a hug and kiss and went back to her playing. Neither one of us cried. </div>
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<br /><div>However, that was hours before nap time so I'm not sure how the Sally Blanket went over when put to the test. Last I heard she was playing outside and loving life. Which makes me miss my tiny baby just a little. Which makes me want to eat strawberries and ice cream a whole lot. </div>
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<br /><div>UPDATE: <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Aaaaaaaannnnnnnnnndddddd</span>, because I'm a mom, I called to check on her and she had a GREAT day. Although, her teacher did note that she spent most of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">nap time</span> rubbing the patch on her blanket. </div>
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<br /><div>Guess I'm kind of a genius after all. </div>
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<br />Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-62889007612302118522011-08-10T09:42:00.002-05:002011-08-10T09:46:03.451-05:00Wordless Wednesday- A step in wrong direction
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<br /><div><a href="http://north40renegade.blogspot.com/2011/07/losing-sally.html">Sally</a>- we have a problem. </div>
<br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 299px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639238489382266706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ_oqRPDP8Ujw_qUgSWTCkxrQHVGtf6kmlmCjq-cqWoI5yE1e9vtBg876FZOeqqBUz207bcJ7balLLTz6TC_hruVNmdZW64kUNzU6vJXOTIuW3BbTkINW-t_LlNZq1oZZVJgUKwbK-Pg/s400/two+sallys.JPG" /></div>
<br />Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-32140503722479167662011-08-04T08:11:00.002-05:002011-08-04T08:31:28.512-05:00It's Thursday. Be thankful humans!Time for our weekly round-up of Thankfulness! This week I am extremely grateful for the following:<br /><br />-Words with Friends. It gives me something to do while sitting at the doctor's office waiting out the hour long "do you have diabetes while you're pregnant" test. Now I'm just hoping I don't fail again, cause the three hour test is a bitch.<br /><br />-Calendars and day planners. If you know me, you know that these help make me <em>slightly</em> less forgetful than normal.<br /><br />-Frozen grapes! It's like a little <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Popsicle</span> in your mouth. Try it, you'll thank me later.<br /><br />-The little fan behind my desk that was graciously loaned out to me by a co-worker. Big Mama is melting in this heat and that little fan keeps me from sweating all day.<br /><br />-The little old lady who has kept the kid since we moved home. Miss Adelaide starts big girl school in less than two weeks and I'm going to miss the way she smells when I pick her up in the afternoon. It's a mix between rice and gravy and rose perfume.<br /><br />-The Vampire Diaries. Don't judge me. The guys are hot and it's fun to escape for an hour at a time. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Seriously</span>, they are really really hot. No, really, molten lava hot.<br /><br />-Uncle Bill. He gives my husband work on his days off.<br /><br />-Pop-up Post-It note <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">dispenses</span>.<br /><br />That's all people. Hope you are all <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">having</span> a great week!Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-27795491970895761262011-08-01T14:56:00.004-05:002011-08-24T10:52:48.827-05:00Beware of the sun...screen
<br />At some point in the last few months, my husband stumbled across a documentary about the dangers of sunscreen. Apparently, it's killing coral reefs, increasing cancer rates and shrinking men's penises all over the world. I googled it and just in case you're interested here is <a href="http://www.skinbiology.com/toxicsunscreens.html">the page </a>that tells you just how horrible sunscreen is. Apparently, it also has a "gender bending" effect. <em>(Well, the same could be said about Liza but she isn't banned from our house. Yet.)</em>
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<br />The hubs is of the "olive toned" humans while I am of the "burn like a shrimp on a grill toned" humans. For example, before we got married we went on a cruise with 22 other couples. I applied SPF 70 (it was the highest at the time) four times a day AND wore an obnoxiously large hat and still got a sunburn so severe that my skin whelped up and formed large nasty blisters. I spent the second half of the cruise stuck under deck bitching about the lack of towel animals we received in our room.
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<br />Luckily, our daughter has taken his skin tone, along with all his other physical traits <em>(seriously, sometimes I wonder who her mother is)</em> and she has had very little issues with sunlight exposure. Never the less, I still slather her up with SPF 50 each time we take her swimming. My darling husband feels this is unnecessary.
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<br />Hubs: Hey babe. You girls went swimming today?
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<br />Me: Yep. We had lots of fun frolicking in the water. I used SPF 100, reapplied twice and still got sunburned. I only put SPF 50 on the kid this morning before we left and she got a shade or two darker? It's so not fair that she has better skin than me. I guess I'm glad she doesn't have my...
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<br />Hubs: WHAT?! YOU COATED MY CHILD WITH THAT POISONOUS SLIME? DIDN'T I TELL YOU ABOUT THAT SHOW I WATCHED?!
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<br /><em>*** did I mention we have a pension for over-reaction at my house***</em>
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<br />Me: Good lard! I'm not going to leave her with no sun protection just because you watched some ridiculous show about the awfulness that is sunscreen.
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<br />Hubs: AND YOU PUT ON SPF 100?!?! That probably soaked into your skin and is shrinking our unborn son's penis RIGHT NOW!
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<br />Me: Well, the last thing this world needs is more giant penises!
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<br />Since my husband is not a scientist, I will continue to slather my child and self with the highest level sun protection available on the market. Maybe it is dangerous <em>(if you drink it in large volumes), </em>but as long as the <a href="http://www.cancer.org/Cancer/CancerCauses/SunandUVExposure/SkinCancerPreventionandEarlyDetection/skin-cancer-prevention-and-early-detection-u-v-protection">real scientist tell me to use it</a>, I'm going to use it. And if by some chance my testicles shrink, then so be it.
<br />Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-3522165418600651002011-08-01T11:54:00.007-05:002011-08-01T12:54:58.122-05:00Jesus H- it's not a bloody steak.<div>Saturday morning the kid, the hubs and I all slept late. We ended up skipping breakfast and meeting my family for lunch at the local diner. The kid ate some fruit and a few french fries, but nothing that could be called a meal by anyone's standards.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>When we got home after lunch, she said, "<em>I wanna eat, Mama."</em> After staring into the pantry and refrigerator for almost 15 minutes, she announced her desire for a peanut butter sandwich.<br /></div><br /><div>Since my child eats only fruit snacks and rice and gravy, I was a little more than shocked.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><em>Me: Addie Jo- are you SURE you want a peanut butter sandwich?<br /></em></div><br /><br /><div><em>A: I wann pea-butta!</em></div><br /><br /><div><em>Me: If I fix you a peanut butter sandwich, you WILL eat it. Do you understand?</em></div><br /><br /><div><em>A: Yes, ma'am. I EAT PEA-BUTTAAA! Please!</em></div><br /><br /><div>And so, I fixed her a one slice-folded over peanut butter sandwich. She licked it and decided it was not the sandwich she wanted.<br /></div><br /><div>The rest of our day went something like this:<br /></div><br /><br /><div><em>A: I want snack, Mama.<br /></em></div><br /><div><em>Me: You have a peanut butter sandwich to eat. </em></div><br /><br /><div><em>A: I want chips, Mama. </em></div><br /><br /><div><em>Me: I fixed you a peanut butter sandwich , Adelaide. </em></div><br /><br /><div><em>A: I don't like pea-butter. </em></div><br /><br /><div><em>Me: Well, that's what you asked for AND THAT'S ALL YOU CAN HAVE!</em></div><br /><br /><div>At this point she took a bite of the sandwich and the look on her face told me that she was utterly offended by both the taste and texture of this vile sandwich I was forcing her to eat. In her defense, the bread was getting hard around the edges from sitting on the counter all day. In my defense, <u>SHE ASKED FOR A DAMNED PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH!</u></div><br /><br /><div>At some point, the movie "Mommy Dearest" started playing in my head. For those of you who weren't required to watch this movie in high school (I can't remember, but it was either shown in Home Ecc as a "How not to raise children" video or in Drama Class as a "How to over-react to wire hangers" video), the rest of this post may not make sense to you. </div><br /><br /><div>There is a scene where Joan Crawford serves her children not-quite-yet-dead steaks for lunch.</div><br /><br /><div><em>Joan: Eat your steak!</em></div><br /><br /><div><em>Christina: It's raw. </em></div><br /><br /><div><em>Joan: It's not raw, it's rare.</em><br /></div><br /><br /><div>The things are bleeding all over the table and her daughter refuses to eat it. Later that night, the steak is again offered to the child, who still refuses to eat it and so on and so forth. In this case, I can understand a child not wanting to eat a half-dead animal that she didn't ask for. However, a peanut butter sandwich is perfectly cooked, and quite freaking delicious if you ask me. </div><br /><br /><div>And so, the battle of the peanut butter sandwich wore on. She asked for food and I keep offering her the sandwich. And I would have kept offering her the sandwich, except when her father got home he walked in, saw the sandwich and ate it himself. Clearly, he was not aware of the lesson I was attempting to set forth. </div><br /><br /><div>When I die, I might leave them both out of my will. For reasons that will be clear to them.</div><br /><br /><div>(Again, if you didn't see Mommy Dearest, that last line isn't nearly as funny.)</div><br /><br /><div>Also, if she keeps giving me these eyes, we may have a "no wire hangers" situation erupt at our house soon. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 299px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635944962357022434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSu-qvAW_nBbVNjOcpeVjFdwhjQ-VgKFLL17XA6j8W7vKR-7VBUmBFo8mz-7WPKQIS0ze67YT0zkFgvpefXpzy7Ql7Kd-O4eCdQGxhyphenhyphenSuQW_1OCyGdU9eqznx5DSDRxRM96KP3fot-Q/s400/meaneyes.JPG" />***Note the use of <a href="http://north40renegade.blogspot.com/2011/07/losing-sally.html">Sally</a> to push away the plate with the offensive sandwich on it. *** </div><br /><div></div>Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-2359348995684018072011-07-28T09:07:00.002-05:002011-07-28T09:21:28.762-05:00Thankful Thursday PeopleThe history of thankful Thursdays is long and awesome. It started with about five women having shitty days and deciding it was time to force ourselves to be thankful about something, ANYTHING. It has grown over the years and our email chain contains anywhere from 20-30 women, depending on who is participating. I shall share my thankfulness with you now.<br /><br />Today I am thankful for many things. I have to be to keep from focusing on the throbbing pain in my right breast from having been stung SEVEN times last night by a wasp. Good for nothing insects.<br /><br />-For Bonkie, who is getting a chance to be an annoying woman who thinks of nothing but babies and motherhood. I still expect you to come pole-dancing with me after these babies are born.<br />-For Amanda, Kristen and Roy- who watch Swamp People and make me laugh.<br />-For my in-laws, who finally came home from California. I no longer have to tell the kid she is too young to go to "Caliporniya".<br />-For watermelon. I swear I've eaten 20 pounds in the last two weeks, but it has to be better than 20 pounds of cake so I'll keep eating.<br />-For curling irons, because my hair is not so cooperative without one.<br />-For Everything Bagels with WW Cream Cheese and a tall glass of milk. It's the only thing in the morning that doesn't make me what to vomit.<br />-For beaches. Even though I can't seem to make it to one this year, I know they are out there. Someday I hope to be sitting on a beach with a cold drink and a trashy book.<br />For return policies. Bought the kid a pair of size 6 shoes for school only to get home and realize she's in a size 7.<br /><br />Peace, Love and Curling Irons.Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-31506494231172249112011-07-25T13:55:00.010-05:002011-07-25T15:01:47.979-05:00Losing Sally<div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div>This is Sally.<br /><br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 153px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 198px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633365919410742994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvFkH_9lhJyZMWYdUPzhXEQaUNN6BbK5jTu-nkNRxrYoDkrqgk0vlTTVc-FghyphenhyphenNy_pbVxQvjemSQAZHfmXsNQkbp15TDPz2VOP7945Jv4tqUUAjcmAGC7wrM57pKu2t7u_fAKjTggHw/s320/sally9.JPG" />Sally joined our family on May 29, 2009. For those of you in the know, this is also Miss Adelaide's birthday. When the doctor said, "It's a girl.", (<em>I'm not using an exclamation point, because she didn't use one. My doctor was a bitch, but that's another story</em>.) my sister ran out and bought a host of lovely pink things to welcome her god-daughter. Among the lovely outfits and pink hats, was Sally. She plays "Braham's Lullaby" and has been adored by the kid since day one.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQZpoSGI8Fb4hpIMOnvobLxC0d4IkAkXIAWUVMYKhqqb8MXNrxLDvb-6iW6d9qLzZ8rzeUZljIoPa-zLSDV7Y-z0ma0cejynepuaXDqSWjxwL_b0Srv4QJafUEmqaMW_8H9Q9o0ZRgQ/s1600/sally11.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633368044812241826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQZpoSGI8Fb4hpIMOnvobLxC0d4IkAkXIAWUVMYKhqqb8MXNrxLDvb-6iW6d9qLzZ8rzeUZljIoPa-zLSDV7Y-z0ma0cejynepuaXDqSWjxwL_b0Srv4QJafUEmqaMW_8H9Q9o0ZRgQ/s320/sally11.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUHSKQS2Pq4N9b0MhRht-hxNWue57rZ_ARjJyfmTLbkWvRzDZrScrFxJFD8xgr9YBg18yYwwhT3-9Tic3mEZ1eJz8gghTyR5vQ5W2_l2gG1MbyPgaZTC5SspGkixwvPADSOzqojFwvg/s1600/sally8.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 309px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633371966629681634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUHSKQS2Pq4N9b0MhRht-hxNWue57rZ_ARjJyfmTLbkWvRzDZrScrFxJFD8xgr9YBg18yYwwhT3-9Tic3mEZ1eJz8gghTyR5vQ5W2_l2gG1MbyPgaZTC5SspGkixwvPADSOzqojFwvg/s320/sally8.JPG" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><p align="left">Now, I have been told in the past that we need to work on separating her from Sally, but I have had no desire to do so. Miss Adelaide loves Sally. Sally comforts her. Also, I know that one day she will grow up and no longer cling to Sally the way she does now. <em>Me, however, she will always need and adore</em>. I figure she'll only be two for so long, so why rush it. Sally has been known to cure hurt fingers, mend broken hearts, fix sad faces and lull Miss Adelaide to sleep within minutes. Note the sleepiness:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5MMVUcM0HZl9aOo2sdK-tORj6ecslZ7y-gkhWcqagTSIoOwAkMnnxcxUmHGOWndZR-fBnW96XiWSHoP8PheY2naEOHjBIMC3MvtXhEpybYJUr5I_DXhRmDTSieGqU7lj0fgAq3QGFUw/s1600/sally3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633374357070800018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5MMVUcM0HZl9aOo2sdK-tORj6ecslZ7y-gkhWcqagTSIoOwAkMnnxcxUmHGOWndZR-fBnW96XiWSHoP8PheY2naEOHjBIMC3MvtXhEpybYJUr5I_DXhRmDTSieGqU7lj0fgAq3QGFUw/s200/sally3.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgij_pqGYrmFCtG2i7JMrsBlImkmBIEd7O2PclfYUrZTQx1SuTFGNv4-4QAVjOoG-9OuwMdUaV5BvhwxPV5pyBQZ-1VFTlsP7oFKnkCutJEExcsxL9s-Wqu_uOzf8Dwi6wGEljuYoVV4A/s1600/sally19.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633374701274685506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgij_pqGYrmFCtG2i7JMrsBlImkmBIEd7O2PclfYUrZTQx1SuTFGNv4-4QAVjOoG-9OuwMdUaV5BvhwxPV5pyBQZ-1VFTlsP7oFKnkCutJEExcsxL9s-Wqu_uOzf8Dwi6wGEljuYoVV4A/s200/sally19.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjneNRSbz6WeI1AtSn4PXtv46rpjm9gvHX4wM5G0WQboGMtALwSGklBy9uxzWopmOOb2W0WQDLiqWfvELsO4z_Wp1wNwm2fHeau-nv_oGxK9yC-KZJNKK2BoIMSCC3TGot_IS-nlKp2xA/s1600/sally15.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633375035937371858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjneNRSbz6WeI1AtSn4PXtv46rpjm9gvHX4wM5G0WQboGMtALwSGklBy9uxzWopmOOb2W0WQDLiqWfvELsO4z_Wp1wNwm2fHeau-nv_oGxK9yC-KZJNKK2BoIMSCC3TGot_IS-nlKp2xA/s200/sally15.JPG" /></a></p><br /><br /><p align="left">Why am I going on about a pink stuffed hippo like some animal obsessed freak? Because the kid will be starting "school" in three weeks time and I was notified on Friday that Sally will not be allowed to attend. Apparently the state feels that small stuffed items carry lice and germs, so the child care facility has banned all such items. "But surely she can have her during nap time?" Negative. No Sally. No way. No how. </p><br /><br /><p align="left">Being the pregnant, overly-emotional mother I've turned into, I cried. And it's not because I'm upset about having to take Sally away, and it's not because I think she will have a total hissy fit when it comes to nap time (okay- so I kinda think she will, but at least I won't have to be there to see it). I'm sad because I'm not ready for her to be old enough to not need Sally anymore. I knew there would come a time when she wouldn't need Sally (like when she gets married), I just didn't think it would happen so soon.</p><br /><br /><p align="left">So parental units (or whoever else is listening to my obscure ramblings), any suggestions? We never had a pacifier issue, so I've never had to work to take anything away from a child before. I'm sure there are a few hard-core parents who are thinking, "Just take the damned thing from her and don't look back." You're suggestion is dually noted. Thanks so much for that helpful insight. </p><br /><br /><p align="left">Any other suggestions?</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyl97JH0X2zjp7ZsfNXtuyw-fHN4tklkH_pA1ey9z_YGYZTAiUXDIfpVQTMIde1U7F7VfHklM3WUHZ709I0wSbXYaR27gHFEqTBWApV_gaARqbbbTT6QVnLzaHoffNkCiYVWrRBQkKA/s1600/sally10.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633378393276393154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyl97JH0X2zjp7ZsfNXtuyw-fHN4tklkH_pA1ey9z_YGYZTAiUXDIfpVQTMIde1U7F7VfHklM3WUHZ709I0wSbXYaR27gHFEqTBWApV_gaARqbbbTT6QVnLzaHoffNkCiYVWrRBQkKA/s400/sally10.JPG" /></a> </div></div></div></div>Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-13711428716715082572011-07-19T10:49:00.002-05:002011-07-19T10:58:58.670-05:00The kid is getting too smart.The kid has been asking to go to California. Her Nana and Poppy are in California and she doesn't seem to understand the distance between Louisiana and California. We've been telling her she can't go because she is too little.<br /><br />That prompted this conversation:<br /><br />Kid (packs a bag of crackers and Barbies, puts her baby in the stroller): Bye mama. See you later.<br />Me: Bye Addie Jo. Where you going?<br />Kid: To <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Calipornya</span>.<br />Me: You can't go to California. You are too little. It's time for bed, come over here and pick up your toys.<br />Kid: <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ummmmm</span>, I too little to pick toys.<br /><br />Awesome. So now our days go like this:<br /><br />Me: Let's go potty.<br />Kid: I too little to potty.<br /><br />Me: Can you come help Mama with the clothes? (which she does, in fact, love to do.)<br />Kid: I too little to help clothes.<br /><br />Me: Time to brush you teeth and get your <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">jammies</span>.<br />Kid: I too little to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">bru</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">teet</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">jammies</span>.<br /><br />We may have created a monster. A very <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">litte</span> monster.Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-91605876700855816742011-01-26T12:34:00.002-06:002011-01-26T13:13:18.888-06:00Cucumbers and Wednesdays<div>Today is Wednesday and I found myself craving a cucumber. Since I have recently re-joined Weight Watchers, I knew I had some in the office fridge. I grabbed all the proper cucumber cutting tools and mindlessly began making myself a snack. Then it happened. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>There I stood, in the kitchen at work, cutting a cucumber and holding back tears. Because today is Wednesday and no one could grow a cucumber like my grandfather. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Every Wednesday, for many years, my family picks up the grand kids and goes visit at my grandparents house. It's a day to laugh and visit and love. But it's not the same anymore. When my grandfather passed away everything changed. While others rejoiced over the mid-week hump, I often find myself sad driving home and knowing he won't be there. </div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fhpMkeZMANYsrdb1VyU97pe8Szvx-YKW961PuoBBbyPcEEuU6OUY03CRTxVhoFDfBSn1BCstkzcl5-VNmNPmihP2dOzduM9m5il7b8U9D7AhyphenhyphenuenR5rMvNs-SGhpGxbpSv4vIlwFPQ/s1600/photo.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566574653002293634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fhpMkeZMANYsrdb1VyU97pe8Szvx-YKW961PuoBBbyPcEEuU6OUY03CRTxVhoFDfBSn1BCstkzcl5-VNmNPmihP2dOzduM9m5il7b8U9D7AhyphenhyphenuenR5rMvNs-SGhpGxbpSv4vIlwFPQ/s320/photo.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>When someone dies we go through many stages of sadness. There is the initial sadness that haunts you 24 hours a day. The sadness that you can't escape even in sleep. Then there is the day to day sadness. Those moments when you realize that they are really gone and your life is forever changed. After a few months it's the creeping sadness. You feel it on holidays and birthdays, trying to beat it back while you strive to enjoy the day. After a few more months it's the memory sadness. I think this one is the worst. It's driving past the Mowata store and having a craving for boudin and not knowing why that makes you want to cry. It's setting up the chairs at the campground and feeling that your still waiting on the rest of your family to arrive. It's Moe Bandy on the radio and having to pull over on the side of the road because you can't see through the tears. And today, it's cutting a cucumber on a Wednesday and knowing that I'll never have one of his cucumbers again. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>My grandfather was amazing. He was funny and caring and he pinched really hard. He had false teeth that he would scare the children with. He was a diabetic and our family would often catch him at the grocery store buying sweets. One day he was caught in the grocery store parking lot eating a small loaf of french bread in his truck. My grandmother watched his food intake, so he would have to eat his goodies in the truck between the store and his house, which was less that one mile. He loved to camp and we loved to camp with him. He is the man I was named after, and I couldn't imagine a better person's name to have. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>There is a campground in heaven and he is there. Walking around with his fly-swatter, listening to Moe Bandy, sneaking candy in the camper and giving cucumbers away to all who visit. I know he watches over me and I know that someday we'll sit together and visit again. And I already know just what I'll say when I see him again......</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Heellllllooooo, J.C."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-77482939174511026552010-11-18T08:18:00.000-06:002010-11-18T08:19:01.565-06:00It's Thursday, be thankful dammit.Let's get this day started!<br /><br />1. I am thankful for heating pads and ice packs. Without them, I wouldn't have been able to get out of bed this last week.<br /><br />2. I am thankful that Jake, Amanda, Kristen and Nick will all be coming home shortly! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Yay</span> for cousins coming to town!<br /><br />3. I am thankful for Fuji Apples. They are the best tasting apples ever and they make a great little snack around 10am.<br /><br />4. I am thankful for Layla who made a kick-ass chicken salad for dinner and saved me from a dinner of cold cereal.<br /><br />5. I am thankful for Peggy. She helps so much with Adelaide and I was able to help Layla and Ryan last week while she played with Addie Jo.<br /><br />6. I am thankful for my mother who invited me to the beach for Thanksgiving. Still trying to figure out my calendar and really hoping we can make it!<br /><br />7. I am thankful for a great job with an understanding supervisor. They take care of me and allow me to take care of my family.<br /><br />8. I am thankful for my Pops. He lets me live in his house and is letting me take the time to pay off my bills in order to buy his house later.<br /><br />9. I am thankful for underwear. I wish more people would wear it (I'm talking to you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Wal</span>-Mart <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">skanks</span> who bend over in ya' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hoochy</span> suits and flash your cookie to God and the world. You ain't hot and no one wants to see that crap.)<br /><br />10. I am thankful for blue suede shoes.<br /><br />Peace out chickens! Have a great day!Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-43772210057248742532010-09-23T13:01:00.002-05:002010-09-23T13:05:33.274-05:00Thankful ThursdayFeel free to take a moment to jot down your thankful-ness today.<br /><br />I am thankful for my mother who kept the princess this weekend. <br /><br />I am thankful for Amanda and Kristen who bought a new house and let me come stay in it for a few days. <br /><br />I am thankful for color pens. They make my notes at work a little more festive. <br /><br />I am thankful for Val and Jordan and that they are having a birthday party this weekend. Can't wait to see my pals!<br /><br />I am thankful that I no longer live in Texas. All the events coming up in October would make me very sad if I couldn't be there. <br /><br />I am thankful that in a few short weeks I'll get to meet my new niece or nephew. <br /><br />I am thankful for Kristen (again) for knowing the medical anti-dote for anaphalatic shock. She kept me alive after consuming foods that don't like me. <br /><br />I am thankful for side-walk chalk. The princess still tries to eat it sometimes, but she also scribbles on the concrete and gets really excited when it leaves a big blue mark behind. <br /><br />I am thankful for my bike and trailer. Haven't been very good the last couple weeks and feeling pretty blah. Can't wait to get back on the bike today and sweat out some gross-ness. <br /><br />Lastly, I am thankful for Smuckers Uncrustables in Strawberry. They are fun to eat and keep me fuller longer during my day. <br /><br />Peace Out!Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-61552000918287995752010-09-07T12:20:00.003-05:002010-09-13T12:52:36.501-05:00The over use of the exclamation point.Okay humans, some of you need a lesson on the proper use of the <a href="http://www.nationalpunctuationday.com/exclamationpoint.html">exclamation <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">point</span></a>. Please note the following excerpt:<br /><br /><br /><br />An exclamation mark, exclamation point, or bang (!) is a <a title="Punctuation" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punctuation">punctuation</a> mark usually used after an <a title="Interjection" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Interjection">interjection</a> or <a title="Exclamation" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exclamation">exclamation</a> to indicate strong feelings or high volume, and often marks the end of a sentence. Example: "Watch out!"<br /><br /><br /><br />It should go without saying that one (1) <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">exclamation</span> point is enough to convey your sense of excitement (or other strong feelings). However, it has become acceptable to place multiple (and by <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">multiple</span>, I mean over five) <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">exclamation</span> points behind a statement.<br /><br /><br /><br />This is getting ridiculous!<br /><br /><br /><br />*** See how I used one and still got my point across.<br /><br /><br /><br />A sentence written like this means I'm really excited!<br /><br /><br /><br />This sentence means I got a huge <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">promotion</span> and my boyfriend asked me to marry him!!!<br /><br /><br /><br />A sentence written like this means I had 16 red bulls for breakfast and a shot of cocaine for lunch!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br /><br /><br />And I'm on a sugar high!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br /><br /><br />Or, a ninja attacked me in a dark alley and now my broken finger won't get off the keyboard!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br /><br /><br />Another over-use of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">exclamation</span> point:<br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">LOL</span>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">LMAO</span>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! U <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">crzy</span>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">OMG</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">ROLFLMAO</span>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />Seriously? Those aren't real words people.<br /><br /><br />Some things do require an exclamation point. For those of you who have seen <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3rd7j-aSqFU">"The Sniffing Account" episode of Seinfeld,</a> you should know that I agree with Elaine. There is certainly a need for this punctuation mark, I just relish the overuse of it.<br /><br /><br /><br />You may now return to your <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">regularly</span> scheduled Monday.Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-9439704079876817682010-07-06T16:19:00.003-05:002010-07-06T16:22:17.696-05:00Almost a year.... wonder if that's a record.Hello, Universe!<br /><br />It's been almost a year since my last post and many things have happened.<br /><br />I produced a child. She is awesome, she dances and she says "no" to everything.<br /><br />I moved back to the North 40 and couldn't be happier to say "Suck It" to the great (cough, cough) state of Texas. We sold our house and are officially homeless. Thank you Pop, for letting us live upstairs for minimal rent.<br /><br />That's all I got for now, let's hope another year doesn't go by before I make my way back to you.<br /><br />Peace~Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-69510870371207403792009-09-28T22:56:00.002-05:002009-09-28T23:00:59.028-05:00Seriously?Hello all, its time for another edition of "weird things I see at Kroger's"...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2d3SJ3koDrTC4TelZap-tZpSNAVCL4CtqyKwqg4ePt2CSshyhkSLMhnlehmSIMTZO8Nvl7tus6iJD-hwUwe59M7LLxrNI_xZhgkLy3Z240grEmZ4-sG2sWA-jCieeyTg3j_Pbm19vA/s1600-h/kroger+half+pants.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2d3SJ3koDrTC4TelZap-tZpSNAVCL4CtqyKwqg4ePt2CSshyhkSLMhnlehmSIMTZO8Nvl7tus6iJD-hwUwe59M7LLxrNI_xZhgkLy3Z240grEmZ4-sG2sWA-jCieeyTg3j_Pbm19vA/s320/kroger+half+pants.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386734312283746146" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Take a good look at the girl on the right. I imagine this how their conversation went....<br /><br /><br />Bad friend- Hey, you know <span class="il">what</span> would cool?<br /><br />Wanna Be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Fashionista</span>- <span class="il">What</span>'s that?<br /><br />Bad Friend- If we took your jeans, cut off the legs right under your butt, and then you wore the pant legs as leg warmers... A la <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Flashdance</span>!<br /><br />Wanna Be- Awesome! I'll wear the cut offs with the pant legs and go for the whole denim look! Thanks for being a great friend!<br /><br />Bad Friend (thought to herself)- great, now all the boys will think <span class="il">she</span>'s an idiot and wanna hook up with me instead!<br /><br /><br />Seriously! <span class="il">She</span> walked around the store pulling her makeshift leggings up because they kept sliding down. Maybe <span class="il">she</span> <span class="il">was</span> trying to beat the Texas heat by creating her own ventilation system?!?!<br /><br />Sorry the picture isn't better. I <span class="il">was</span> trying to be sneaky with my camera phone. I <span class="il">was</span> afraid if <span class="il">she</span> caught me <span class="il">she</span> would think <span class="il">she</span> <span class="il">was</span> on to something and this sad trend would spread!Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-29970249229823492902009-09-28T22:52:00.002-05:002009-09-28T22:53:14.589-05:00Condiment Gun?<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Get-Organized-NG-4001-CONDIMENT/dp/B002673RWS?ie=UTF8&s=home-garden&qid=1253753807&sr=1-1">Food Fight anyone?</a>Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-13089806070983770282009-01-31T12:32:00.000-06:002009-01-31T12:39:22.774-06:00Saturdays Five ThingsOk- So, I've been on an extended hiatus for quite some time. Long story short- lost a job, found a job, getting ready for baby.<br /><br />I've been playing the "what are you greatful for" game with my family all week, so I'm coming back with Fridays Five Things... Yes... I know it's Saturday.<br /><br />1. Maternatity underwear. Don't knock 'em till you try 'em.<br /><br />2. Ross. Awesome baby clothes at crazy low prices.<br /><br />3. My husband. He cooks spagetti, lays tile and builds nursery furinture.<br /><br />4. My mom. If you knew her, you would know why.<br /><br />5. My sister... See above note about Mom.<br /><br />That's all for now. I'll make an effort to keep more up to date... No promises!Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-4959456640382467812008-12-11T10:53:00.000-06:002008-12-11T10:55:37.015-06:00Snow Day!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBXUtB4dIWPdjPBE8LdrgkZl7wwKr1IwcW-JQ5OporHSZ7ps0CNT9zIuLW-cmqbhpp3_ouNePxV8y1jJIzNAueWzT9ljxFEZo4WxTyHpEOQMvtRQkxTaEWYdVt-JNI2tYnisgrvRt9ow/s1600-h/101_0845.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBXUtB4dIWPdjPBE8LdrgkZl7wwKr1IwcW-JQ5OporHSZ7ps0CNT9zIuLW-cmqbhpp3_ouNePxV8y1jJIzNAueWzT9ljxFEZo4WxTyHpEOQMvtRQkxTaEWYdVt-JNI2tYnisgrvRt9ow/s320/101_0845.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278577207164883282" border="0" /></a>Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4899511729016196271.post-3308782413515203062008-11-19T13:51:00.002-06:002008-11-19T13:59:14.942-06:00Smores...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ok</span>... so... I have never had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">smores</span>. Not that I can remember anyway. It seems like every child should have had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">smores</span> around the campfire (I've certainly been around a few of those), but I couldn't remember eating them.<br /><br />Therefore, yesterday I stopped at my neighborhood <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Kroger's</span> and picked up all the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">smore</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">essentials</span> (and some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pickles</span>... but that's really a pregnant thing and nothing to do with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">smore</span> making). I waited for the sun to go down and the cold air to come through. Husband made me a handy little <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">marshmallow</span> roaster out of a stick and I was good to go.<br /><br />My first few <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">marshmallows</span> caught fire and were therefore deemed unfit for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">smore</span> use. When I finally toasted one to perfection, I placed it on the chocolate and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">graham</span> cracker and took a big bite....<br /><br />My <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">expectations</span> were much higher. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Maybe</span> it's one of those weird pregnancy things where things don't taste like they should, maybe it was the wood we were using in the fire... <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">either way</span>, I was not impressed by the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">smore</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">phenomenon</span> and I'm a little <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">baffled</span> at it's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">longevity</span>.<br /><br />Maybe I'll try again later, with different wood and different chocolate. My <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">roommate</span> says that the Hershey's Cookies and Cream candy bar is the way to go. I certainly have enough <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">marshmallows</span> left over to try.Renegadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374725198253682836noreply@blogger.com3