tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-152936642024-02-08T05:58:39.279-08:00SimplyVThis is my place to vent, philosophize, tell jokes, whatever comes to mind.
For travel tips go to: http://www.vikastraveldiaries.blogspot.com
Para português: http://www.lvjp.blogspot.comSimplyvee79http://www.blogger.com/profile/03975759704107220186noreply@blogger.comBlogger377125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-78047750849640088502019-07-01T04:06:00.001-07:002019-07-01T04:07:17.724-07:00 Quick to JudgeMany people are quick to say that homeschooled children are socially awkward. I know this bc I’ve actually been one of those. <div>What those people fail to consider is that socially awkwardness is more of a personal trait. Kids that are socially awkward will be exactly that whether they’re in public school or in home school. The difference is that in public school they will be labeled, excluded, made into the object of mean comments, chants and jokes, bullied, and made to feel bad about themselves. And they will go through life with those bitter memories and stigma of not fitting in. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I know this bc I’ve actually been one of those. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While in homeschool they will have the freedom to just be who they are and the unbridled support of the people who believe in them the most. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Both kinds of children might grow up to be successful adults. One of them will not have to deal with bitter memories of social ostracism. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Simplyvee79http://www.blogger.com/profile/03975759704107220186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-86716102731556080162018-06-28T05:53:00.001-07:002018-06-28T06:15:49.569-07:00The World Cup as My Civic DutyEven before I had children, I knew I'd like my kids to learn certain things in the old-fashioned way, before computers were part of our daily lives and did most everything.<br />
I wanted my kids to learn things the way I learned and then use modern technology as a way to make them easier. As I watch my first World Cup as a mom, I can't help to think of the many lessons they could learn from it, like I did. Even a most important one to me - to be Brazilian.<br />
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I grew up Brazilian, in Brazil. As you can probably guess, this means I grew up sitting in front of the TV with my family and friends every 4 years and cheering for Brazil. But more than that! It means a lot of my life during those days was populated by World Cup imagery, props and themes. Which means that a lot of my learning was done with World Cup imagery, props and themes.<br />
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Take geography, for instance. I learned country names and flags thanks to the little plastic flags that Nestle put inside their power milk cans (very popular Brazilian pantry item). I remember sitting at the kitchen table after my grandma got home from the grocery store and searching for the new flag with the country name on it. England is the one I can still see in my mind.<br />
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When I was 10, I learned that Rome was the capital of Italy and that the country was shaped like a boot and the island of Sicily was the boot's soccer ball.<br />
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Oh, and Math. I learned a little of logic and probability at 10 years old figuring out the World Cup schedule. Sitting in front of an empty chart at the dining room table, I figured how to fill out the Round of 16, Quarter-Final, Semi-Final, and Final games slots. What would happen if any two teams were tied for points? I had to figure such things out if were to fill that chart with probabilities.<br />
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I also learned about lamination. ... Well, yeah, my World Cup game chart was too precious. Folding and refolding was taking a toll on it, and I could not let it fall apart, could I? I laminated the whole thing with scotch tape just to learn I could have some kind of clear sticky paper bought at the office supplies store... The more you know.<br />
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Then civics... I learned to sing the national anthem, and learned what each color and symbol in our flag meant, I learned which were the northern-most and southern-most places in Brazil, I learned that in the 60s, when Brazil and Pele enchanted the world, we had a population of 90 million. All of that thanks to World Cup jingles. And that being a patriot meant getting together in front of that TV, dressed in yellow and green, waving the flag, cheering, and doing fireworks at every goal we scored. (Yes, We. The Selection and us, the 12th player)<br />
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And of course, love. I learned Argentina's flag and color scheme all too well, as they were the ones that broke my heart for the first time.<br />
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Some language lessons as well. New vocab words, such as rivalry. Writing skills, such as irony. I still remember my tears dropping on the white and blue striped bed sheet, the same colors of the team that had just shattered my dream as a 10-year-old.<br />
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Today neither the World Cup nor Selection Brazil have the magical effect on me that it once did. Why? Oh, maybe because since 1998 I just stopped believing that the World Cup was a candid tournament in which teams play soccer to show who's best, and began to wonder if it is all a show put up to fulfill political-commercial agreements made behind closed doors.<br />
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Today the magic is gone. My heart doesn't beat faster when the ball rolls into the penalty box, my mind isn't taken by soccer every minute of the World Cup year, I don't go to bed and dream I am holding the cup. Not anymore. I know... it's sad.<br />
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But somehow I still find myself turning on the TV at the time of the game. It's a family and friends gettogether. More than that. It's a civic duty. Somehow it feels as my civic duty to sit in front of that TV for every Brazil game with family and friends, popcorn, cheese bread, and soda. And I hope my children will learn that too.<br />
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So Go, Brazil! To the Hexa!<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Simplyvee79http://www.blogger.com/profile/03975759704107220186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-21207499736411455192018-02-18T21:12:00.001-08:002018-06-28T05:19:12.423-07:00Now I Know<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">So all this time I thought you were my friend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Now I know you were really just showing off to a faceless, soul-less name on a screen. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Just that you forgot that on the other side of that screen was a real person - flesh, blood, and a beating heart. Even worse - you actually knew me in real life. Even though you tried to convince yourself and me of the opposite, I wasn’t someone you met on social media. We were just using it to stay in touch ... or so I thought. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">But, hey, you don’t even remember who I am, do ya?</span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Now I know that you were actually just putting on a social media mask (a mask which you now claim to despise) to make you look good ... to me? Or to yourself? ... Not to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Now I know you never saw me as a person - much less as a friend. I was just a “distraction” from your “real life”. Your words, not mine. I am not sure what they mean. How could I not see that our friendship was "non-existent", because you need your friendships to be "authentic." What the hell do those words mean? </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Just that you were real to me. You were kind of a big deal to me. Because you were the first real friend I made in a long time. When you told me about your goals, your values, your family - I cheered for you. When I thought you were hurting, I wanted to help and listened to your complaints. When several times you promised a gettogether with our families, I believed you. Why shouldn’t I? And I believed you cared to know about my life, my husband’s ideals, my babies’ stories.</span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It isn’t personal, you said. Well, see: Quitting a job isn’t personal. Not talking to a stranger isn’t personal. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">However, telling someone who trusted when you said “we’re friends” that such friendship never existed... that, my dear, is far from “not personal”. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Questioning what my “intentions” are is pretty darn personal. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And (the icing on the cake) describing a friendship (which from the very start and all the way through was meant to be extended to our kids and spouses, as we both planned many many times) as “a married woman pursuing another woman’s man” is very much personal ... and cruel. Who the hell are you? "People change"? Really?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">You told me you’re usually the one getting hurt by others. Well, when I told you I was hurting, you pushed me away and did not want to talk to me. So congratulations! This time it was you who got someone hurt. Hope you’re proud of yourself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-41094073256696456472016-12-29T09:23:00.000-08:002016-12-29T09:23:52.301-08:00no one dies a day beforeThis is for those who are afraid to fly. No one dies the day before, gang. This stewardess died today, aged 66. in 1972 she was the only survivor of a plane that exploded mid-air. She was thrown thousands of feet and landed on a snowy hill. ONLY. SURVIVOR.<br />
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http://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/28/world/europe/vesna-vulovic-died-flight-attendant-in-plunge.html?partner=msft_msn&_r=0<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-2361149577356241112016-11-06T07:55:00.000-08:002016-11-06T07:55:03.074-08:00burning books<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Heinrich Heine, a German-Jewish poet, wrote: "Where one burns books, one will, in the end, burn people." This poet lived from </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">1797 to 1856</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">. Was he prophesying? It took 8 years from the burning of books (1933) to the burning of people (1941) in Nazi Germany. </span></span><br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-58638645829030839792016-09-10T04:34:00.001-07:002016-09-10T04:34:21.612-07:00Right before school starts<span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, that's it for me. That time of year when I wake up to the harsh reality that I am not a full time homemaker. The word of the day today is carpe diem. </span><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It's been such an exciting summer.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've learned so much. There's so much more to learn. The rooster killing was the height of my summer. I NEVER thought I had it in me. Me - born and raised city girl.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wish hubby could afford for me to stay home full time. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-27695108220694979482016-09-10T04:23:00.001-07:002016-09-10T04:31:48.355-07:00Out, baby!<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Please, no one tell me what's worse than being pregnant bc if there is such a thing, I don't want to know!</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Little known fact:</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The third trimester of pregnancy lasts 12 months. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As for the last month, it comes up to 365 days. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm at that point in the pregnancy where I begin to tell the baby, "Listen, kiddo, here's the tough truth - it's one person, one body. Non-paying renters not welcome."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">On the other hand - I can't stop being amazed. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That two people can simply grow another life is something I can't get over.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> There's nothing to it. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sex, a fun little thing every couple knows about. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Next thing you know, there's a new life. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Three weeks after conception, there's a tiny beating heart. That's a week after a girl misses her period. And that little thing will develop into something cute and cuddly we all know as babies. ... Well, ok, they're not cute and cuddly when they're first born. They have that knee face and that weird look that says, "ok... What the hell just happened here?" </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">.... Sorry, I know, babies don't swear. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-48428135399533938772016-08-17T03:31:00.001-07:002016-08-17T03:31:09.577-07:00Head cut offLife's been so hectic that just yesterday when I walked by the chicken coup I heard one of them come up with this gem, "I'm so tired of running around like Virginia with her head cut off."<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-5012195405451255772016-07-21T08:59:00.001-07:002016-07-21T08:59:48.349-07:00Before you have kidsSo before you have little mobile babies in the house, you simply don't understand certain things. For example, I thought I was having a baby, not a home inspector. <div>Alexandra gets into everything she opens every drawer she touches everything she puts everything in her mouth. A couple of nights ago she was looking under the carpets! I had no idea it to get so dirty under my carpets!</div><div>I also had no idea how many places in my house had spider webs. Well, they don't anymore. I vacuum early and often now. </div><div>Holy cow, I thought I was a clean housewife. </div><div>Also, where was my mind when I refused a baby gate "because I already have plenty"? There's no such a thing as plenty baby gates!!!!</div><div>I'm noticing I have no idea were baby safety locks. I always wondered why the heck people need baby safety locks why can't you just keep an eye on the baby? Well, newsflash, there's no such a thing as keeping an eye when the baby when the baby is mobile. No safety locks are enough. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-79243287334713035742016-07-11T13:41:00.001-07:002018-02-25T11:36:42.371-08:00I’ll keep my Redbull, thank you!<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Btw!!! Everyone be like, mimimi, you can't have caffeine while pregnant, mimimi! Guess what! I can have up to 200mg of caffeine a day!!! While preggo and while breastfeeding!!! A large sized redbull (16 oz!) has 150mg of caffeine! So guess what! I KEEP MY REDBULL! YOU KEEP YOUR MIMIMI! 😛 😛</span><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-78899804187240815192016-07-11T13:40:00.001-07:002016-07-11T13:40:18.857-07:00New class<span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Every time I register for a new class I get butterflies in my stomach. And I think, "what am I doing? I'm too old to learn anything!" </span><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Does it sound crazy?... Am I the only one who feels that way?</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-8980980888949596512016-07-11T13:39:00.001-07:002016-07-11T13:39:22.988-07:00Into a million pieces<span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The only reason babies survive their first year is that they are too cute. </span><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Little Alexandra managed to pull down and break into a million pieces the lamp we bought last year. Dean and I had spent 7 years looking for one of those lamps bc they don't make them anymore. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">7 years... Into a million pieces... Into the trash can. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And here I am thinking I'm just glad the destroyer isn't hurt. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-57624940071739040742016-07-11T13:38:00.001-07:002018-02-25T11:34:43.149-08:00Alex and Alex <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I will have Alexandra marry Alexander. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I actually mean George Alexander Louis...</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You know, Prince of Cambridge. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I still have to give my good friend Kate a call to make the final arrangements. As in, will she have to go to manners school? Do I have to kill off the loonies in my family? Etc etc etc. </span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-36825207107883285752016-07-05T13:28:00.000-07:002016-07-11T13:29:50.587-07:00Catch 22 - wait or not to wait<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It kind of bugs me that I waited so long to have children. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Dean and I had so much fun together - just us. The idea of children/responsibility terrified me. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I'm sad that that will make us pretty old grandparents. If my kids follow my example I'll be a 72 year old grandmother. :-( if I even last that much!!! </span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-59005538091883388682016-07-04T13:31:00.000-07:002016-07-11T13:31:54.885-07:00Sad Fourth<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It's a sad way to begin Independence Day - finding your strongest rooster killed by a hawk. Dean thinks he sacrificed himself for the chickens. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-47731333199633951442016-06-14T07:50:00.001-07:002016-06-14T07:50:35.133-07:00Friends, not foodSo, lately we have been trying to explain to Alexandra that books are friends, not food. She eats them very intently and passionately.<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-28433848496796836352016-06-13T11:22:00.001-07:002016-06-13T11:22:18.209-07:00Thought I was clueless<span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Watching 3 men and a baby. Laughing my pants off. And I thought I was clueless. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-12654772286790587612016-05-17T08:08:00.000-07:002016-07-11T13:30:28.487-07:00Chicks!<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">And so it starts. Dean brought home 7 chicks last night. His dream is coming true. That's so exciting!</span><img src="cid:67355484-63D2-425D-BFE5-E18657CA75B6@mobilenotes.apple.com" style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;" /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-43449382257162564002016-05-01T07:27:00.000-07:002018-02-25T11:38:15.701-08:00Fresh or Compost ?<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">One major thing to change after I had a baby. It used to be it's not growing mold on it let's eat it. Now it's more like "it's not super fresh ? That's going to the compost pile."</span><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-87093590396568772272016-05-01T07:26:00.000-07:002018-02-25T11:40:19.068-08:00Cute baby? Not so good. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I have to say this - having a baby as cute as Alexandra looks bad on me. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Everywhere I go with her someone’s probably asking: </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“How did THAT lady make such a cute baby?”</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Someone’s answering, “She's probably the baby sitter.”</span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-38069238112077765932016-04-22T07:41:00.000-07:002016-06-14T07:42:10.865-07:00Explain nonsense<div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Someone, pls, explain to me. Am I getting this all wrong?</span></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Why do people consider abortion to be a woman's health issue? Why would a Supreme Court justice talk about a woman's "fundamental right to terminate her pregnancy"? Why is it bad to offer those women alternatives to abortion? Why is it bad to make sure they see an ultrasound of the baby they are about to kill? Why are we making this about the woman and not about the human life - which doesn't belong to her - that she's taking away?</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I understand choosing between the life of the mother or the life of the baby. Keeping one life safe is perfectly good reason for taking another. But most of the time this is not what abortion discussions are about. It's about not WANTING a baby for one reason or another. Why is this a right that any human being should have - to kill another because it's unwanted? </span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-68213246259391567312016-03-31T06:47:00.000-07:002016-06-13T07:19:20.505-07:00Life regrets<div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Life regrets - according to a tv show I watched. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">1-be themselves</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">2-not work so hard</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">3-spend more time w/ friends/family</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">4-spend more time being happy </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Don't ask me where I found these, but I thought they'd go with this post:</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I don't laugh bc I'm happy, I'm happy bc I laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You don't stop playing bc you grow old bc you stop playing. </span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-23021086001809016692016-03-25T14:28:00.001-07:002016-03-25T14:28:38.754-07:00Baby in car seat<span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Word to the wise - don't load the baby into her car seat and then take off to the garage to load the car. </span><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My baby, who never cries.... Well she's got quite powerful lungs. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The poor thing might have thought she'd been forgotten. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I felt so bad. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Worst mother ever. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-35978148072131849092016-03-25T14:27:00.003-07:002016-03-25T14:27:47.133-07:00So I'm not crazy or evil after all<br><div><br></div><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I met another mom that told me felt just as as I did when she was pregnant. </span><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">She said she hated being pregnant, hated the thought of having this new person joining the family, and hated her body. She hated when people said congratulations, and hated when they commented on how pregnant she looked. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">She said she loves her baby girl, but she will not do it again in a million years. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And I was listening to her and thinking "Thank you God. I'm not weird." </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15293664.post-764923013930620162016-03-25T14:27:00.001-07:002016-03-25T14:27:03.522-07:00Hated being single<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">a friend told me she loved being single... She said she hopes her daughter doesn't get married till she's 30+!!! :-o</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I remember being single. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I HATED it! </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I mean, I didn't hate my life. But I hated not being married. Not having someone to come home to.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Besides, Dean and I have done so much together... Things neither of us could ever afford if we were single...</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I could never tell my daughter to not get married till she's halfway through her life. I hope she finds someone early in life. And grows old with that person. I say, wait to have children. Children tie you up. Spouses on the other hand... They are the best friend who never has to get up and go home.</div><div><br></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">subscribe to this blog</div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0