tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18123879575998386342024-03-19T01:52:13.965-06:00LIFE AS I KNOW ITWE OFTEN TIMES LET EACH DAY SLIP THROUGH OUR HANDS UNAWARE OF THE MANY PRECIOUS MOMENTS GOD HAS GRANTED US. LOVE AND CHERISH EVERY MOMENT AS IF IT IS YOUR LAST. ~~Maryann CroftsMaryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-58610610260403555332017-10-12T12:14:00.002-06:002023-09-15T08:19:52.775-06:00What do I do all day?<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The other day my oldest daughter living at home, asked me the question that all stay-at-home mothers dread. I could feel it coming. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> We had just sat down to have our weekly "family chat" to make sure that things are ok with our kids, their school, their friends, their feelings, etc. My turn had ended and Jacob asked me if I had anything important going on this week. I lit up and said, "YES, I'm getting my hair done, finally!" I could tell that this was something so NOT important to anyone else and that MY excitement for this occasion was definitely not releasing dopamine in anyone else's brain. After a moment of awkward silence, my daughter said, in a somewhat know-it-all tone, "What do you do all day?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> WHOA! Was obviously my first thought, but I took the offensive side and started to think of all the things that I had done that day, rattled them off to her and then said in a cheery, upbeat tone, as if I hadn't been offended, "And now I am here having a chat with you guys, so ya, that's what I do all day." I felt liberated! I had a complete breath of fresh air as I rattled off the errands, housework, yard work, car rides and phone calls, that I get done throughout the day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Today, as I thought about that morbid question that she asked me, I have a very different feeling. I would like to tell my sweet daughter a little something.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Let me tell you a little something about what I do with my sweet time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I picked up your socks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I picked up part of a package, that you left on the counter, from breakfast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I picked up your shoes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I wiped up the counter from your breakfast mess.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I swept the floor in the kitchen under the counter where you ate dinner last night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I put away your lunch box, that you left out on my counter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I put away your mug, that you left on my counter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I put your shoes back in the mud room. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I put away the Wii remote controls, that were strewn all over my sofas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I put your bowl in the dishwasher for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I moved your clothes out of the dryer, so I could dry mine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> So, as I watch the minute hand swing around and around the clocks, as I watch my sweet hours go by day by day, I often do wonder, "What DO I do all day?" I now have a very vivid picture of what I do on a daily basis. To my sweet daughter who begs the question.... whether it be out of curiosity, or out of jealousy. Might I ask you to someday read this little article. This isn't to rub anything in. This is only an earthly reminder to me, that I still get to clean up after you, for a bit longer and that I love it! It just might be a tiny glimpse into the future for you, that someday you will be in my shoes, running around doing all the things that I am now doing. Hopefully, one day you just might have someone ask you, "What do you do all day?" Then and only then, I hope you say to yourself, "I'm not quite sure, but I am sure that I love my kids more than anything in the world, and I LOVE what I do all day!"</span><br />
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<br />Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-85059242695368918112016-05-29T15:15:00.003-06:002023-09-15T08:22:04.868-06:00THE BENCH<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The sun, the sounds and sleep. I'm not quite sure how I managed to survive life, before our little patio in the backyard, here in Jerome. Then again, life WAS different 6 years ago.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Summers in Jerome can be amazing! They can also be just plain HOT. Spring, on the other hand, is miserable with a capital M. So, when the sun does comes out and the wind isn't blowing, I run out to the bench and claim it all for myself, as selfish as that is. You see, I am cold-blooded and basking in the sun is a must for me. This bench is my spot of serenity. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Almost like clockwork, my skin desires the burn of the sun. Almost like clockwork, my ears desire the sound of the birds, mowers, dogs and freeway. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Exactly like clockwork, my body desires the rest from the pain that my joints feel. The bench is my comfort and place of rest. I'm telling you, it truly is the best. If you ever feel cold or tired, just give this bench a try, you'll want to tell it, "You're hired". </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR92qmIUApzuI0Wc8XDPsxPA_usOnCDfV4bHeT73E9Tdpx0pOXyggGIj8OrVnWSSsb6siuDxM-U-xBYTyUdt_bbXoj4IbL8xsBulUbPAXaHm0zWg74d678j9PrMyxUbaSZGvmi-DaEc00/s1600/IMG_3310.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR92qmIUApzuI0Wc8XDPsxPA_usOnCDfV4bHeT73E9Tdpx0pOXyggGIj8OrVnWSSsb6siuDxM-U-xBYTyUdt_bbXoj4IbL8xsBulUbPAXaHm0zWg74d678j9PrMyxUbaSZGvmi-DaEc00/s640/IMG_3310.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-79958777707982954802016-05-18T23:42:00.007-06:002024-03-07T09:44:38.544-07:00THIS IS WHAT I SAW<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">I've learned to respect time. There was a period in my life when I didn't realize that time had such a grasp on this earth and the things living upon it. Plants, animals, me. That is the time I long for, the realm I wish I could go back to, for it seemed like this earthly journey involved eternity. </span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;">My childhood is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Perhaps, it's just the memory of being young, that sparks that longing for innocence and simplicity. With time pressing forward ever so fast, my soul aches to return to my childhood days, when time had less of an agenda. I ache to return to those days when, the sun didn't set. Instead, it hung high in the azure sky, at my request. It stung my skin as I bicycled, skateboarded, played catch with pa, or carved "I love dogs" in the Sycamore tree, that towered above all the other trees on Madrid Way. I long for those childhood days I experienced, where each season of the year came and stayed for good, because time didn't exist. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;"><br /></span> <span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;">Spring meant rain, wind and slushy streets. Occasionally, it meant the valley being covered with clouds for days, with accompanied brown, crunchy lawn, lining each neighborhood. Spring, meant an occasional snowstorm and one last snowman out front. It meant digging my shorts out far too early, only to find that the bitter air forced me to put them back. Spring meant the sun showing itself a little more each day and on occasion, it meant, dad helping me dig the trampoline out from under the rubbish in the garage, only to find that mother nature wasn't done bringing snow. Spring meant, hearing the birds beg for summer. Spring meant light.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;"><br /></span> <span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;">Summer meant, relentless heat and endless amounts of popsicles with friends. Summer meant, hearing neighbors outside BBQ-ing and Lisa and I laying out on the trampoline to tan. Summer meant, Utah thunderstorms rolling in from the west, without warning and gutters full of water, flooding Madrid Way. It meant hot, quiet days that lasted forever and when time ordered the sun to set over the Oquirrhs, it meant a neighborhood bike ride, or game of kick the can. Sometimes summer meant camping, or fishing and an occasional parade outing. Summer meant, slumber parties and it meant many days up in a Sycamore tree, pondering. Summer meant forever.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;"><br /></span> <span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;">Fall meant, returning to school and seeing friends. Fall meant, leaves on the ground, jackets, earlier sunsets, pumpkins and hot chocolate. It meant, piano lessons that I hated and split pea soup that my tongue didn't agree with. Fall meant, frost on the grass in the mornings and longer shadows in the afternoons. Fall always meant, leaves changing colors and hauling the wood back to the patio. Fall meant winter.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;"><br /></span> <span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;">Winter meant dark, cold, snow, shoveling, white mountains, coats, fires and worst of all CHRISTMAS. Winter meant an occasional day off of school and Swedish cocoa and coffee bread for breakfast. Winter meant, snowball fights and sledding at the school. Winter meant everything depressing, for me anyway. Winter meant, days getting longer, EVENTUALLY.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;"><br /></span> <span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;">As my childhood went on without any warning of what was to come, I soon found myself....NOW. I found myself sitting here, 162 seasons later wondering what time has done to me. I found myself wondering what time has done to my children. Children? When did I have children and has time unfairly done to them what it did to me? For this is what I saw...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls6L88taPL3HldEADqeV-E8eP1dtYl9LcOuMbZW449skQxiDcDmpKNCAhs3yPgTvh3UOt7ByYhy5iH6xdr24OU2g-7WLFt3v2bsHHShwdb9oULpdPTDmYrid029NQqH-5pt4KDM0oCTk/s1600/IMG_1228.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls6L88taPL3HldEADqeV-E8eP1dtYl9LcOuMbZW449skQxiDcDmpKNCAhs3yPgTvh3UOt7ByYhy5iH6xdr24OU2g-7WLFt3v2bsHHShwdb9oULpdPTDmYrid029NQqH-5pt4KDM0oCTk/s400/IMG_1228.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #134f5c;">I walked into the house today and glanced down at my kids' shoes, that were lying in the mudroom. What I saw startled me. What I saw shook my core. I stopped at those shoes and looked at them, as if I had never before seen them. I almost didn't recognize the very fabric that covers the feet of my loved ones. As tears welled up in my eyes, my thoughts quickly turned to THEIR childhood and the memories of when the sun would hang in the sky just a little bit longer for them. Or did it? Did time really pause for me, or was I fooled by the imaginary illusion of a timeless childhood, because a loving Father in Heaven knew how much I would cherish it? Have my kids experienced the same? Where have all the moments of my "little kids" gone?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What I saw took my breath away. What I saw reminded me to fight back against time and its agenda of carrying on. What I saw brought tears to my eyes, knowing that each of those shoes(minus Madison's), were once the size of my palm, but time has made them grow. Time has begun to take them on the path that I went down. It is a journey that everyone goes on, yet one that is unique to everyone. It is called LIFE. I believe a better term would be "TIME", because after all, time is what has a hold on us. Time is what makes us age and what makes us be. Time might be an illusion, but what I saw, I know was caused by time.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So, as I stared for a moment more at my kids' shoes, I plead with my Heavenly Father. I plead with Him that one day I could again, have those precious, palm-sized feet back, or that I could at least have all the memories that had once accompanied them. I plead with him to protect the kids, that belonged to those big size feet now. I plead with him to store their childhood memories in a heavenly vault somewhere, where time cannot destroy them and where they can one day, live their childhood again, just as lively as I live mine.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What I saw, humbled me. What I saw, awe-struck me. What I saw, amazed me. They love, teach, edify and serve. They are my children, my love, my life, my everything. Madison. Jacob. Ashley. Amber.</span></span>Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-26095457604852038272010-04-06T16:34:00.002-06:002023-11-14T08:37:51.166-07:00NINE AND COUNTING<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">She makes me smile in every way possible, that red-headed girl of mine. I get a bit choked up, as I think of all the butterfly kisses we'd exchange randomly. The many walks to the park hand-in-hand, looking for lady bugs on the way. The endless hours of bubble blowing, whenever the weather was nice out and sitting on her bed for reading time. The endless picnics It all just went by FAR too fast for my liking. So, I can't help but reminisce about this very day, nine years ago.</span></span><br />
<div><span style="color: red; font-family: courier new;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">(EDIT THIS WHEN YOU GET A MINUTE).</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">I was in love the minute I saw my little Ashley bean. Everything about her was so very perfect. Her eyes, lips, fingers, toes and nose were all so sweet. Little did I know that they would all tie in with her sweet personality, that would blossom a little later in life. I remember feeling extra protective for my daughter and for her well-being. I'd stay up in the hospital late at night to make sure that she was breathing or just to stare at her perfect face and wonder what kind of communication between her and her Heavenly Father might still be going on. I am positive that the veil was thin.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900; font-family: "courier new";">Thinking back now I long for that day and for those very emotions, and for all of those days that we would spend together doing mother/daughter things, but I am so thankful I have my daughter who is still that same small baby girl, but who has grown a bit, well grown a lot! Funny thing is, I still find myself checking on her at night just to make sure all is well and staring at her, wondering what is really inside of MY pretty little girl.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">I love you so much Ashley(Smitty). Love, mom.</span></span></div>
Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-30528080806488126722010-02-19T11:51:00.001-07:002023-11-14T08:42:19.890-07:00FOURTEEN....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Madison is fourteen and I am in denial, but I have every reason to be.......right? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">First, that means that I am, well, OLD.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> Second, my daughter is older than I'd like her to be and she already has a following and they all happen to have the Y chromosome attached to them!! She is so darn pretty and fun to be around, that I can't imagine it being any other way. Plus, it just makes me smile when I hear her tell them that she doesn't belong to anyone...at least for now!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"> Third, she will be driving in 6 months!! Yes, in 6 MONTHS Madison will be behind the wheel of an automobile!? I am pretty sure that it won't be any of the automobiles that are sitting on my driveway (sorry Maddy). It's got to be a car older that her, cuz that's the fun kind of car anyway (and don't let your friends tell you any different).</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Look, fourteen years ago my life was changed for the better, on that rainy, February evening in 1996. I couldn't wait to see my daughter for the first time. I was so nervous to become a mom (I am not going to lie), but I knew that this special little girl that was coming to our family, was meant to be with me and I was so excited to finally meet her. From the minute she arrived I stared at her taking in every detail she had to offer. I still catch myself staring at her in awe, of who she has become. She has so many wonderful qualities that I lack and I'd be lying if I said that I am not envious of them. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">I just wanted to let you know Maddy, that I love you to the moon and back. You are everything I could ask for in a daughter. XOXO I LOVE YOU, mom.</span></div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-61883711083002169962009-11-24T23:37:00.001-07:002023-11-14T08:43:50.716-07:00YEAR 10I couldn't let this day go by and I not acknowledge that 10 years ago, a young man changed my life. He not only changed my life, he changed me. <br />
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That fiery red-headed little bean that I gave birth to, quickly changed into a blonde toddler and before I knew it he morphed into a sandy brown school kid who finally ended up being a handsome, dark brown haired young man. It's been neat watching him grow for a whole decade now, but I sometimes find myself silently crying when I think back to those toddler years that I got to share with him. I miss it in an indescribable way.</div>
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It's written all over his face, his character is, and there is nothing about it that I dislike, in fact there is so much about it that I am jealous of. If I start to name specifics the list would go on and on and on. For those of you who know Jacob, you know what I am talking about when I say character. And for those of you who don't--you are missing out!! But, Jacob, I just wanted to tell you that I am one proud mom who loves you more than I can say. You are a great son and I wouldn't trade you for anything! I LOVE YOU JACOB. mom<br />
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-72414827177060986872009-09-14T23:59:00.000-06:002017-10-19T22:46:15.341-06:00MEET BELLA<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawBhHxzlpmXyW_3DpE1hOtfpbwTJ71auslZpKdyOlk_rew7FNyPMJd4AUGMYJ-ELYAQXt98HSAdN9guKuLjT4Nn3-nikSVT5awvBlHbit_C-olBRQwdIV-3XAAU-fa0kX067HPfnfBt0/s1600-h/IMG_3221.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386221029504619746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawBhHxzlpmXyW_3DpE1hOtfpbwTJ71auslZpKdyOlk_rew7FNyPMJd4AUGMYJ-ELYAQXt98HSAdN9guKuLjT4Nn3-nikSVT5awvBlHbit_C-olBRQwdIV-3XAAU-fa0kX067HPfnfBt0/s200/IMG_3221.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 150px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
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It just felt like the right time, yet again. I never get the paper, ever, but today was different. Perhaps I was searching for something, or I was simply curious, but whichever it was, I snatched the Register Guard from the rack in hopes to find what I was looking for.<br />
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With the weather changing, the shadows getting longer and the sun becoming farther away from the PNW, the drizzly and dreary days are not far off, so in my attempt to 'delay' the depression that inevitably lies ahead, my body desires something to soothe my soul. As they all do, fuzzy, black puppies always seem to help me survive the winters here in Oregon. Puppies do something to me that nothing else in the world can do.<br />
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The classified section contained only one listing for black Labrador puppies for sale and that's all it took. That's actually all it ever takes, for me anyway. An hour later we found ourselves in the car on our way to Oakridge, Oregon to pick a new pup. </div>
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Upon arrival, we spotted a chocolate mommy tending to her babies, with daddy dog not far off in the distance. A few of the puppies were a bit rambunctious and others very calm and laid back. I knew what I wanted and picked her up the minute I saw her disposition. </div>
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Night one: A few whimpers from our little gal who was wondering where here mommy was. One trip outside and one meal was all that she asked for. Just as I did with my other pups, she had the pleasure or should I say "I" had the pleasure to have her on my pillow so that we could share each others' warmth and hopefully she would feel safe and I could get some sleep.</div>
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Night two: Better. Less whimpering. No potty breaks and no feeding. Bella feeling a lot more comfortable being in her new home.</div>
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Night three: Bella on the bed, Bill and I on the floor!!?? (JUST KIDDING)</div>
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It has been 5 days now and I feel that I have chosen the best puppy ever. So calm. Very intelligent. Down right cute. In no way can I ever replace Tara, nor is that my intention, but I do believe in healing the heart through love whether it be new or old....it can happen.</div>
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My heart still aches from when Tara's time on Earth expired, but I'll have you know that I have not been hesitant to give it out again. I will do it over and over as long as I have a four-legged friend to give it to. Bella, as well as Daisy calm my storm when it gets a little too thunderous and helps me heal when healing is needed. I have said it once and I will say it again, "If you can't find room in your heart to love an animal, any animal, you are not human."</div>
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I know that many days of joy will come from my new lady. I pray that I can be the person that she sees me as. I thank my husband for knowing and understanding my desire to love the lil' critters. </div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-66045671623283628822009-09-06T00:45:00.001-06:002022-04-14T21:12:58.925-06:00FIRST DAY OF PRESCHOOLIt hasn't hit me yet and probably won't for a while........ maybe I just won't let it. <br />
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I never did like taking and dropping off my children at preschool. Something about letting my child be in someone else's care, triggered me to feel like I was neglecting them. Although it was a short, two hour time frame, when they went to preschool, without me, I still didn't like it. It was a given that I was far more nervous than they were, I am their mom. Amber's little pads seem too small to be going to school, on that first day that I slowly walked her into Mrs. L's classroom. It didn't help any that she is my youngest and that this was the last time that I was going to be doing this----- I didn't like the finalization of it. I have been waiting so long for what was now occurring, but now, I don't want any part of it!</div>
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Amber was excited though, I could see it in her face and body language. Amber loved her backpack, her shoes and her new outfit. She was so anxious to get to her classroom and to meet Mrs. L. "I have done this three times before, this can't be all that bad." I thought to myself, as I felt a lump swelling up in my throat. I watched my brave little girl walk right into that classroom without reservation, find her chair, say, "Hi" to Mrs. L, then went and sat down. She turned around and looked at me and smiled without looking the least bit nervous. So, as a mom would do, I walked in for one last hug and kiss and reassured her that I'd be back to pick her up. I lost it as I was walking out the door. My strong, independent 3 yr. old, held up better than me! </div>
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I love Amber and it's great to see her learn and love school. She is a smartie for sure!</div>
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Keep learning you smart little girl. I love you Amber Brooklyn. mom</div>
Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-78324426671927490232009-05-26T09:59:00.000-06:002012-12-06T18:44:08.953-07:00MY BABY IS THREE!!!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz7zhd9w3a91Dq-hD0vcphFQwy4wRWXm4tICi6PHMAW47OocD_z3SitRZvxZpf8i29CrljdZv-jZobo0VqI5dxxtLRak-EJl8v0waL50sfJ0cttMQQjBGh7s6X-_MCyZ4bKY9mDj541c/s1600-h/IMG_0480.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344059543925407010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz7zhd9w3a91Dq-hD0vcphFQwy4wRWXm4tICi6PHMAW47OocD_z3SitRZvxZpf8i29CrljdZv-jZobo0VqI5dxxtLRak-EJl8v0waL50sfJ0cttMQQjBGh7s6X-_MCyZ4bKY9mDj541c/s320/IMG_0480.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70I8nZTnhWnuRRVpvHGHmMOs9-dXn-411U1-ZBZUxxLZdZscausP51qDoGbx23lVH0hAqkUWwoPptaAqis11jI7o85-NZsDdWhI5vR6GJr5g4OjajoJcpRYs8yNXWkPkoCQAg6__8FF0/s1600-h/IMG_0498.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344055497609578962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70I8nZTnhWnuRRVpvHGHmMOs9-dXn-411U1-ZBZUxxLZdZscausP51qDoGbx23lVH0hAqkUWwoPptaAqis11jI7o85-NZsDdWhI5vR6GJr5g4OjajoJcpRYs8yNXWkPkoCQAg6__8FF0/s320/IMG_0498.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHOyT_4hYqGBbio-l38N_sLdAWayhfIA3rRbe1F2OJiNJKfnV79AntNdDrbRPuwh12iM3WyJthyphenhyphenmaOu6lM4z7lQm_RXEkRtKjGXf5cL_omSyTqWmiMFI1FtmxJNUFMBiKk82V3arP7B0/s1600-h/IMG_0494.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344055494327367874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHOyT_4hYqGBbio-l38N_sLdAWayhfIA3rRbe1F2OJiNJKfnV79AntNdDrbRPuwh12iM3WyJthyphenhyphenmaOu6lM4z7lQm_RXEkRtKjGXf5cL_omSyTqWmiMFI1FtmxJNUFMBiKk82V3arP7B0/s320/IMG_0494.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was a beautiful, sunny day when we dropped the kids off at grandma's house early in the morning. Then, we headed down to Alta View Hospital to deliver the sweet baby that I had been waiting for. <br />
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I had just endured what had seemed to be the LONGEST nine months of my life, this time around.<br />
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The air was already warm at 7:30 a.m. as it usually is at that time of year in Utah. I couldn't have been happier to deliver my last child and finally see and hold her on that Monday in May of 2006.<br />
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We were checked in, situated, water broken and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pitocin</span> injected......the wait began. With Bill by my side we chatted about life, family, birth, miracles, and about our other three kids and wondered how they would accept the new addition! It was pleasant to have time alone while waiting to bring this baby into the world.</div>
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The clock seemed to stand still as I lay gazing out the window into the Salt Lake valley at the hectic lives going on out there. It was quiet for me though at least for a minute. Before we knew it lunchtime had arrived. As usual I didn't feel contractions for about 7-8 hours, so I sent Bill to go get himself some lunch for I knew I'd be there a while.</div>
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The nurse came in around 5 P.M. and said, "You'll know when it's time. You will feel a major pressure on your bottom." I figured that she was right and that I'd know. She was right. Shortly after she left the room I had the urge to push. I told Bill that I was pretty sure that this was what the nurse was talking about. He called her back into the room and checked me and sure enough there was Amber, trying to enter into this world.<br />
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The nurse reassured me that Dr. Smith was on his way, but I thought to myself, "Why hasn't he been on his way this whole time?" Dr. Smith walked into the room, rushed to wash his hands, put on scrubs and gloves, assumed position. I pushed ONCE and there I saw for the first time, that precious face I had been waiting 9 1/2 months to see. At 6:09 p.m. Amber Brooklyn's tiny 6lb. 9oz. body was gently placed on my chest and at that moment I wanted her forever. I gave her my heart just as I had given it to my three other children.<br />
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Maddy, Jacob, Ashley and grandma Bird came to see our new addition and she was a hit! They all loved her and were so gentle with her. She was definitely a keeper. I made the stay at the hospital as short as possible and before I knew it I was home with my baby.</div>
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To celebrate her 3rd birthday....dinner at El Tapatio, cupcakes instead of a cake...(she knows what she wants)...and then opened presents, naturally. I shed a few tears knowing that she is my baby and she is already three! I love you Amber, to the moon and back! mom.</div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-63054642671816440102009-05-01T22:24:00.001-06:002012-12-06T18:50:14.809-07:00IT'S THE WAY IT IS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUf8DnnzlCTqBnGKHZegU2YlVdl7TL1M06s4p4nQHyZnStWzyK7rjvUSJfVxYTcdagww5e3GyrNl8leb4NEpBgHsEeM3ZHq-mGKraDKuL3I9Boong7dho_j5TkhQ5E7SKU0wf-3FxyRIY/s1600-h/IMG_2320.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331083607853414610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUf8DnnzlCTqBnGKHZegU2YlVdl7TL1M06s4p4nQHyZnStWzyK7rjvUSJfVxYTcdagww5e3GyrNl8leb4NEpBgHsEeM3ZHq-mGKraDKuL3I9Boong7dho_j5TkhQ5E7SKU0wf-3FxyRIY/s320/IMG_2320.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjd8CkI8_fuIukFXt_JoNzpMOtd525JlfEol0lDPMTdTLwqKIvtKcNeSGyLGu8qmu-wafdDmfXyVELHrXNc_5sxn2eRg4tN9cDlESrEW8PN1OP74u5wIsifFswJ4zPJpA3YtshrrW8KM/s1600-h/IMG_2315.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331083601756560418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjd8CkI8_fuIukFXt_JoNzpMOtd525JlfEol0lDPMTdTLwqKIvtKcNeSGyLGu8qmu-wafdDmfXyVELHrXNc_5sxn2eRg4tN9cDlESrEW8PN1OP74u5wIsifFswJ4zPJpA3YtshrrW8KM/s320/IMG_2315.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
I am not sure.....I haven't any information on how dogs are affected when one of their pack loses it's life. I am assured with that gut feeling though that they, too, grieve in their own doggie way.<br />
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Daisy has become very "clingy", much more scared, extra cuddly, but her hunting instincts have taken over. <br />
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While MY grieving may have lasted a bit longer than hers....and maybe still exists in me, Daisy has blossomed into a mouse/gopher eating maniac. I think that she is trying to prove herself, maybe get that extra praise that she had to share with Tara when she was round.<br />
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Daisy LOVED Tara, always wanted to be near her, touching her, nipping at her legs and just outright annoying her. Well, as Daisy has moved on in her wondering where Tara really has gone, she has found a new love. Stalking, catching, torturing and eating gophers! Just a little protein right? I usually see her out in the field tossing a lifeless body into the air and I have to tell myself that it must be a ball or one of the kids' socks filled with sand or something like that. NOT TODAY!<br />
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This is what my sweet dog brought right up to the front steps to devour. It is very disturbing, but those gophers have ruined our backyard, so Daisy is just earning her keep. Go Daisy! Just don't let me see.</div>
Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-77940092454508538152009-04-20T22:51:00.001-06:002012-12-06T18:54:03.681-07:00ASHLEY'S BAPTISM-April 19, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4F8YJVJ6akoBgmRIegKb-RxHqHNWG2O-LdcBsKh9MxzgKrjJopXCwxmpNYYlW8DbPFDttVv6KjdfFtBa25ljrmBTs4-GwuiamBr9Tjp1SJGiy529TL5SkySwhxktZ70ubObA7u3HPsMA/s1600-h/IMG_2242.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327376595149576978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4F8YJVJ6akoBgmRIegKb-RxHqHNWG2O-LdcBsKh9MxzgKrjJopXCwxmpNYYlW8DbPFDttVv6KjdfFtBa25ljrmBTs4-GwuiamBr9Tjp1SJGiy529TL5SkySwhxktZ70ubObA7u3HPsMA/s320/IMG_2242.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzRUUrFhtPSoAyNoUkEg9sZ0xBIhmYMa8X-WZyw-hDW2Pl-f0VKJd9TsmeWTp26M_eN7-dy9a_CKSmTRO443dh9D8DPYiZCJL-ruUBbfAnCfPjRM2gGzFATwL53oJ6SG7JRVko0993oE/s1600-h/IMG_2237.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327376592119688834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzRUUrFhtPSoAyNoUkEg9sZ0xBIhmYMa8X-WZyw-hDW2Pl-f0VKJd9TsmeWTp26M_eN7-dy9a_CKSmTRO443dh9D8DPYiZCJL-ruUBbfAnCfPjRM2gGzFATwL53oJ6SG7JRVko0993oE/s320/IMG_2237.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9zTL5Ne_AeYG6S6QynStBuFrr4xI_dbStUOkaONEJTq_IkMafpNSiWNuv3X3PYOqcP3VGcrGkim8PLYw-87eAAwdYNHoN4p6MGEP0cHm4_boGCAsRAqKxne-o8lVPLrwOT3NA-QbTZs/s1600-h/IMG_2232.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327375828562807954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9zTL5Ne_AeYG6S6QynStBuFrr4xI_dbStUOkaONEJTq_IkMafpNSiWNuv3X3PYOqcP3VGcrGkim8PLYw-87eAAwdYNHoN4p6MGEP0cHm4_boGCAsRAqKxne-o8lVPLrwOT3NA-QbTZs/s320/IMG_2232.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWPQkMY932ws0iSj1BieYBW25wiVz5yy-wSYu6lsXSISJzumEByiG1LIkqfH4PrhMBq-t4NALx0KsSaQ3GhKwVK_x-EGyP-_hAJU8S1HHDFEJIy8OERakwsPtdnV3uC2zy0b-Rj7oLIA/s1600-h/IMG_2231.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327375824952126290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWPQkMY932ws0iSj1BieYBW25wiVz5yy-wSYu6lsXSISJzumEByiG1LIkqfH4PrhMBq-t4NALx0KsSaQ3GhKwVK_x-EGyP-_hAJU8S1HHDFEJIy8OERakwsPtdnV3uC2zy0b-Rj7oLIA/s320/IMG_2231.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBlEJwUEpA2afZhE_tZmA9yIJ8n54U8IiYfb4thJ_fzJwIKLhPNxmEfLAbOgRzA72itSmOiokbzcYLN7Lp8def2bS50-YnnZezhUHoEU1hqjOCjWoymczAh7GuA22ficdDbX20VlIl0w/s1600-h/IMG_2228.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327375815768100610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBlEJwUEpA2afZhE_tZmA9yIJ8n54U8IiYfb4thJ_fzJwIKLhPNxmEfLAbOgRzA72itSmOiokbzcYLN7Lp8def2bS50-YnnZezhUHoEU1hqjOCjWoymczAh7GuA22ficdDbX20VlIl0w/s320/IMG_2228.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
On Sunday, April 19th, 2009 my darling Ashley was baptized. Ashley has been so very excited to finally get baptized and confirmed a member of the church. <br />
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It couldn't have been a prettier day. The sun was out. The breeze warm. Family and friends gathered at the church to see and witness Ashley's decision. I have many mixed feelings about this. I feel that it came too quickly or that I just don't want her to be old enough. The time has rushed before my eyes-- without notice and now my THIRD child is baptized!<br />
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I want to tell you, Ashley, how happy I am for you. I am proud that you have chosen to follow Jesus' example and get baptized just like He did. I know your intentions are good. they always have been and I know that they always will be. I know that you love your family and that you have a deep desire to do what is right all the time. I know you think of others and treat them well. I love your sense of humor, but at the same time I can tell when you feel the spirit talking to you. Always follow those little promptings that you get and remember what it is like to have the Holy Ghost speak to you. I love you Ashley Nicolle to the moon and back. I will always remember this great day and I hope that you will do the same. </div>
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Love, mom <br />
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Here are a few pictures of you on your special day.</div>
Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-41484320860416195152009-04-06T10:37:00.000-06:002012-12-06T19:04:32.210-07:00AND NOW SHE IS EIGHT!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgav7Pi7vmrkreC0D8YuGQfFE7eaLNlI1rm_jpy6Ep8rXJ_wcJG6xIdmsBEa6pyfisU4eCNwwuLYzcKWS_QPenQCdErDwLNAnj4emzsfe8YFHtwSdHOJ_I3YgT_g2hFJrGE4rbz3z029XU/s1600-h/untitled+event-10.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321804226059640482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgav7Pi7vmrkreC0D8YuGQfFE7eaLNlI1rm_jpy6Ep8rXJ_wcJG6xIdmsBEa6pyfisU4eCNwwuLYzcKWS_QPenQCdErDwLNAnj4emzsfe8YFHtwSdHOJ_I3YgT_g2hFJrGE4rbz3z029XU/s320/untitled+event-10.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqdNPMwSZ2L_R3eY0BLURlybqYLmoe8q0wjH_PbvEpMQXvYroBtF3wJbC8KHj-jwpjg-iYFjO4tV0lVX05G7pk1S4CzM6YA_7amgRknjkkpIiIuq7YF0tpa2Yxw-nBk2bFi1T2HZJpvg/s1600-h/untitled+event-1.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321804212729481138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqdNPMwSZ2L_R3eY0BLURlybqYLmoe8q0wjH_PbvEpMQXvYroBtF3wJbC8KHj-jwpjg-iYFjO4tV0lVX05G7pk1S4CzM6YA_7amgRknjkkpIiIuq7YF0tpa2Yxw-nBk2bFi1T2HZJpvg/s320/untitled+event-1.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGpl4LM-c2nD2wmpHhjMI5On_AGQwWKWvlMWyEFzYtGakcmPlnxJM6pilzzrMv2xb_VrJI35qXSzWyVybrN4AnZo8m3-AywNgOghh2_QutOnh5jmHiIUTP04E1-8jq8jiAIVHKxTMing/s1600-h/DSC_0050.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321795617363651042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGpl4LM-c2nD2wmpHhjMI5On_AGQwWKWvlMWyEFzYtGakcmPlnxJM6pilzzrMv2xb_VrJI35qXSzWyVybrN4AnZo8m3-AywNgOghh2_QutOnh5jmHiIUTP04E1-8jq8jiAIVHKxTMing/s320/DSC_0050.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhw2Hifij8cxBNPiwBThG5-2Ex7ZXgknaJ_431bH2utbBdVpUdEF8dlBQCCVXwjFsxh77fNOW8wvr7b_TLuSQpGQybsoBb0KR3FW24hCsnoRD1pW0pHlGmhx4c6kXIaHhrwicmmmcajg/s1600-h/IMG_1986.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321795616980439426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhw2Hifij8cxBNPiwBThG5-2Ex7ZXgknaJ_431bH2utbBdVpUdEF8dlBQCCVXwjFsxh77fNOW8wvr7b_TLuSQpGQybsoBb0KR3FW24hCsnoRD1pW0pHlGmhx4c6kXIaHhrwicmmmcajg/s320/IMG_1986.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3A_DErXtLcNQSSkIM4T1rb5pHGdmZq-JuKuRAUTuEsIkbBWe57BjRIz84HhHrOUivOd6pRuHFbs2KOBEGU_mZUTkXEnJt2fTpXwZprN_xxzHz-6DC27A7tGWvHvWtqlhhs2soESZhKpY/s1600-h/IMG_2023.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321795608057210114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3A_DErXtLcNQSSkIM4T1rb5pHGdmZq-JuKuRAUTuEsIkbBWe57BjRIz84HhHrOUivOd6pRuHFbs2KOBEGU_mZUTkXEnJt2fTpXwZprN_xxzHz-6DC27A7tGWvHvWtqlhhs2soESZhKpY/s320/IMG_2023.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIQ-Dyzo9C9LnoeBA8UTrpmji5ngz_5tFhFi3f7EzQCyYNYD4a8QQdlgMWd37hizboiIW8tER5Yrx0dJHLw2XhgJlm450MCGsSdAEAE5Ull4dmtLNljQS73JFh4rrUxJtryVXzLhcRgg/s1600-h/IMG_2022.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321794386475414546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIQ-Dyzo9C9LnoeBA8UTrpmji5ngz_5tFhFi3f7EzQCyYNYD4a8QQdlgMWd37hizboiIW8tER5Yrx0dJHLw2XhgJlm450MCGsSdAEAE5Ull4dmtLNljQS73JFh4rrUxJtryVXzLhcRgg/s320/IMG_2022.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6cEclSMSBLan3ffHyJjxonls2E7kZX9qIAst_WT-yIA2VkjMw_71Y4VnG8NhMcMGOwhXyBY_QmesKb-4miwC4JCQ35megpToFhI_mq_FKeEnM8r3ytR_8gqwGFa8W7inmkE3-j1IBCE/s1600-h/IMG_2007.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321794379832101378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6cEclSMSBLan3ffHyJjxonls2E7kZX9qIAst_WT-yIA2VkjMw_71Y4VnG8NhMcMGOwhXyBY_QmesKb-4miwC4JCQ35megpToFhI_mq_FKeEnM8r3ytR_8gqwGFa8W7inmkE3-j1IBCE/s320/IMG_2007.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMnappQ7NvkBKma_GtCnriCKzESwPB6SVsfhlxv2G75MMiQdXpNu72rgOkZCu6f_uMn1PdcN8qL7QhhYydNoUn8tVe8DbvVzGYW-4MeQcI_S9IQt-S8rjPbxlBXg-4ZILI38DcVDx6Uo/s1600-h/IMG_2005.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321794373661604514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMnappQ7NvkBKma_GtCnriCKzESwPB6SVsfhlxv2G75MMiQdXpNu72rgOkZCu6f_uMn1PdcN8qL7QhhYydNoUn8tVe8DbvVzGYW-4MeQcI_S9IQt-S8rjPbxlBXg-4ZILI38DcVDx6Uo/s320/IMG_2005.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Like always, time has vanished before my eyes and another one of my precious kiddos has become a year older.<br />
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From the minute she entered into this world, Ashley has brightened my life. I can still envision her tiny body cuddled into the bend of my arm. Ashley was born with very white skin, bright red strands of hair, calm as ever as she tried to adjust to the cruel air of this Earth. I fell in love at that moment faster than I ever have have fallen in love before! When Dr. Beyerlein handed me that little squirt tears rolled down my cheeks, I instantly put her inside that bubble that all moms put their newborns in to keep them well and safe. She had my heart before she even arrived! Our eyes met for a brief moment as she struggled to open her eyelids wondering what this new place was. Although I could see her, and almost right into her soul, I'm not quite sure if she was still enjoying some last moments with her Father above, or just looking at me wondering how life will be here. I honestly believe that she was still conversing with loved ones on the other side for just a few more moments.<br />
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I was so excited to have a child with red hair! I love, love, love red hair! I love, love, love her. She is my everything!</div>
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Ashley is my cute red head with a very deceiving personality. I say that meaning this:</div>
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Ashley has a very shy personality when she is around others. She doesn't like the limelight. She doesn't care to be noticed much and when people compliment her on her beautiful hair...or her precious freckles.....she blushes and looks away(which is EXACTLY what I did at that age). </div>
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At home, quite the contrary! Ashley is very funny....ALL THE TIME, she loves to be the focus of attention, is very outgoing and holds NOTHING back! She always has the whole family laughing and I love it when her and I get giddy together and forget life for a moment as we roll around laughing so hard that we get sore belly muscles. </div>
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This year for her birthday she chose Olive Garden for dinner, got a shiny new bike that "peddles backwards" as Ash would say, a day at the salon ending with a darling new hairdo, 3 Labrador Webkinz, moon sand, art stuff, and a few other goodies. Her favorite.....the bike. I have to peel her off of it to eat dinner, do homework, and go to bed. </div>
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Ashley is my love, my princess, my friend, my life, my daughter, my everything!! I love you Ashley Nicolle! Happy Birthday to you!</div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-44618793849767623962009-03-26T00:08:00.000-06:002012-12-06T19:20:11.580-07:00FOR MY BEST K9 FRIEND....TARA<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgNe9KoYPOmWehIYMRDTLyP1PNonMD1LPHJNeT7wKsDFeaR2yUSkuSlBU2Y9-6DK0dULKFhXXKC0rVIKLefpzkQV-1LwyaS3PUoMWrTi6jsC-OYaeJAYkSFqlep5w4kSZ80Q6jZ3Skn8/s1600-h/DSC_0068.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321444354040993506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgNe9KoYPOmWehIYMRDTLyP1PNonMD1LPHJNeT7wKsDFeaR2yUSkuSlBU2Y9-6DK0dULKFhXXKC0rVIKLefpzkQV-1LwyaS3PUoMWrTi6jsC-OYaeJAYkSFqlep5w4kSZ80Q6jZ3Skn8/s320/DSC_0068.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq5_MtM4aqUkLAWCsHw9lLmdu2EtmqTFD-fFiPdS1P6aXI0bAdTQI-WFmw7ThqcI8H-iEyTAjxvoatzU7lfBJ9W1YkI_YBVzHeNxgwfoB3JTf9E1k6tsos5CI6nqLpbLD9jKMitLhcJsY/s1600-h/DSC_0122.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318075474932799298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq5_MtM4aqUkLAWCsHw9lLmdu2EtmqTFD-fFiPdS1P6aXI0bAdTQI-WFmw7ThqcI8H-iEyTAjxvoatzU7lfBJ9W1YkI_YBVzHeNxgwfoB3JTf9E1k6tsos5CI6nqLpbLD9jKMitLhcJsY/s320/DSC_0122.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXrXh9DvqyoMpgopUEYZa8eSOySyo2iFCCcNZa53l4CzqYQCeKH6JMEjeoBKxbIKqa3cXUt4L6RfIpnIEs_NXHiHywXvNmNgZD3ykasBoG-hYvGcb7aSvtT_n7GY1nF__HG2udyAvSNNg/s1600-h/DSC_0118.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318075466311259346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXrXh9DvqyoMpgopUEYZa8eSOySyo2iFCCcNZa53l4CzqYQCeKH6JMEjeoBKxbIKqa3cXUt4L6RfIpnIEs_NXHiHywXvNmNgZD3ykasBoG-hYvGcb7aSvtT_n7GY1nF__HG2udyAvSNNg/s320/DSC_0118.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4mbaEiF91WqNHGHoQ4jgM8_OnZb1mgGmq4qDwQaDyXlML2eyQyYh_qzq97P9sYD9ala_CQWHQpGppZBdU3to8sa5K_XpV0yy-1AyX7oYKP9nziQkCBflzE9HGlfDpAuBp8yOnn-RE_A/s1600-h/IMG_0313.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318075461246932690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4mbaEiF91WqNHGHoQ4jgM8_OnZb1mgGmq4qDwQaDyXlML2eyQyYh_qzq97P9sYD9ala_CQWHQpGppZBdU3to8sa5K_XpV0yy-1AyX7oYKP9nziQkCBflzE9HGlfDpAuBp8yOnn-RE_A/s320/IMG_0313.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
I have decided that if you can't find a place in your heart to love an animal, any animal, you are not human!<br />
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Six years ago I dragged my husband and kids up to a place in Northern Oregon to be the first to pick up a little black lab, something I can't resist. As we drove, the thought of getting a puppy just made me ecstatic. I couldn't wait to see those little critters as I envisioned them in their excitement to have a visitor, but I was a little apprehensive knowing that I could only take one. We looked at the litter of pups and all their little, black tails wagging rambunctiously as we neared them. As we looked, I spotted one particular dog quite a bit calmer than the rest just sitting over by herself, not in any hurry to get up and greet us. Because she was so calm I picked her up and that was it. She was mine to take home.</div>
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As with all puppies I dreaded the house training, the chewing, the messes etc., but from the beginning Tara was different. She learned quickly. She was calm. She didn't chew. She wasn't hyper. </div>
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As the years went on Tara stayed loyal as dogs do and learned the tricks that I taught her: whisper(soft bark), close the door, shake, lay, sit etc. I had the dog of my dreams and she was so good with my little kids.</div>
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She grew like a weed and soon was a full-grown puppy in a big doggies body. Nothing much changed, but we noticed that unlike ALL labs Tara didn't like the water. We didn't question it---just accepted it. Her favorite things however were: playing tug, playing fetch and begging for food as dinner simmered on the stove.</div>
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To make a long story short, but full of the love that I have for her, we discovered that she was born with very bad hips(hip dysplasia). She never had the correct amount of cartilage that is needed to prevent bone rubbing on bone. The thing that still bothers me today is that we never really realized how bad it was for her (pain wise). Dogs don't complain.....they just cope. That is what Tara did, she coped.</div>
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Wednesday, March 25th, Tara broke her hip while we were out of town. We arrived home on Thursday @ approximately 3:00 pm only to find her down at the local vet whimpering in the back room. As if that wasn't enough to send me over the edge the vet showed us the x-rays of Tara's hind end and the proof was right there. Broken hip on her left side, no cartilage left on the right side, and bone spurs from her mid spine into her tail that she never complained once. Not a whimper. We took her home for the night with major pain meds hoping that she would miraculously recover only to find that it was the last night that she would be with us--physically.</div>
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We prepared ourselves to say goodbye, took many last pictures, many kisses were exchanged, many words said to her in the hopes that they would later be translated the minute she arrived at her new home above. Many, many tears and headaches.</div>
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At 9:30 am, Thursday March 26th Tara left her body lying on the table at the vets office while her spirit ascended straight up to heaven. I say heaven because heaven is where perfect souls go and I know Tara was perfect.</div>
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We carefully tucked her body with blankets, balls, chewies and letters from each of us into a box and wrapped it with love and gently placed her out back in the hole that we dug where, if I need to go talk to her....I still can. I am left with an emptiness that is indescribable, but a knowledge that I will see her again someday.</div>
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My hope from all of this is to tell you, the reader....love your pets.....unconditionally! Kiss more, play more, treasure your four-legged friends, look deeper, hang out more, never forget that they love you more than you can imagine. I believe that they see you in a way that others never will.</div>
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For my best friend, Tara--- February 2003-March 2009. I gave her my whole heart and soul---and I have hers tenderly wrapped, tucked and placed next to what is left of my own heart. I love you Tara Lee Crofts to the moon and back!</div>
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I want to thank my husband and strong kids for their support in this hard endeavor. They are my strong foundation and I love them all.</div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-84209420911040841592009-03-10T09:51:00.000-06:002012-12-07T12:48:54.189-07:00CHEWING DOWN THE HOUSE!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5yewhY9rY_pYGxJcEOrlQYamdg9cAZvy2HKzvGHnUTlpBtcL8HVGghffEGx5wtzQPrc0JoseGghKUydXcEnb3VBdnu0u7geYNPr6Yrq54dixrhyo5E3m6SZWxFkH7kqo04B3xjoDhUA/s1600-h/DSC_0202.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311588458546442482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5yewhY9rY_pYGxJcEOrlQYamdg9cAZvy2HKzvGHnUTlpBtcL8HVGghffEGx5wtzQPrc0JoseGghKUydXcEnb3VBdnu0u7geYNPr6Yrq54dixrhyo5E3m6SZWxFkH7kqo04B3xjoDhUA/s320/DSC_0202.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErlZlIG2Ezieu1Ka3JcWYn-rrOLv-dZ5YYQX3DJdv8D5WwKOdqX2ponGUy6MVsfh14-KiU8McigW8VD64wvpQc9qc-Xu_KSnubSONHqOJ0-nvh_SIjEf9IknNe35b6scDKWHYRaVswbA/s1600-h/DSC_0201.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311588449669121682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErlZlIG2Ezieu1Ka3JcWYn-rrOLv-dZ5YYQX3DJdv8D5WwKOdqX2ponGUy6MVsfh14-KiU8McigW8VD64wvpQc9qc-Xu_KSnubSONHqOJ0-nvh_SIjEf9IknNe35b6scDKWHYRaVswbA/s320/DSC_0201.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhON-5M4fpM7jN12DI_6c-nwAdMwxctrWYteeh7bwkRgCaqZvYuaG9WVtt6BO-GDQs1iO0_YsIwxfYvp7WTo0-wJ8KTgIMcShgY5QB15sWAfQSrxJK5dmo-yuswt4ApYhSWp34t5M4ltDs/s1600-h/DSC_0200.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311588440025017138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhON-5M4fpM7jN12DI_6c-nwAdMwxctrWYteeh7bwkRgCaqZvYuaG9WVtt6BO-GDQs1iO0_YsIwxfYvp7WTo0-wJ8KTgIMcShgY5QB15sWAfQSrxJK5dmo-yuswt4ApYhSWp34t5M4ltDs/s320/DSC_0200.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA70eCccW9vRspAFJoZGx_v9pAo1rqh3qcO-cPSSVeVu165yof9HwkV9PFngjRJQpDfWDKIitjQfBWRblnYMZCxkOt-HydtRyO7oXUSA2QLrP1YXUkwZQ5rlDkDUjvOJfBA3s9w20kTLw/s1600-h/DSC_0199.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311588432932009026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA70eCccW9vRspAFJoZGx_v9pAo1rqh3qcO-cPSSVeVu165yof9HwkV9PFngjRJQpDfWDKIitjQfBWRblnYMZCxkOt-HydtRyO7oXUSA2QLrP1YXUkwZQ5rlDkDUjvOJfBA3s9w20kTLw/s320/DSC_0199.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>My good friend, Gina and I, decided to make a trip to Eugene a few days back to stop by a couple of stores and grab things that we needed. She arrived at my house and I began loading Amber in her car and calling for my dogs. As always, Tara came without hesitation to get her "chewie" bone to keep her busy while we shopped. After several attempts at calling for Daisy, I figured she had roamed a bit farther than she normally does and that I would just see her when we got home.<br />
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After nearly a four hour outing we drove up to my house and still there was no sign of Daisy. Tara was alone on the wrap-around deck looking a bit confused herself as to where that nuisance of a dog had gone(I personally don't think that she really cared). I thought that maybe Daisy had been dog napped, or ran away, or was just still out roaming.</div>
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This just didn't seem normal, Daisy is always underfoot getting in the way when we are trying to accomplish things the easy way. We unloaded our goods from Costco and started to bring them in the house and I made one last call for Daisy. That is when both the smell and the realization of something NOT GOOD hit me at the same time. I saw the bathroom door closed, lights off and an awful smell seeping from under the door! I have never before smelled such a disgusting scent in my entire life! This was so NOT GOOD! Do I open the door to find an overly anxious doggie that has been worried sick for hours and doodled all over the bathroom? Do I open the door to find that my precious little lab has been so scared of the dark that she just couldn't help but let her bodily fluids go?</div>
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I opened the door and almost screamed! The bathroom was torn to shreds. The garbage was dragged out and tipped over. The towels that were once hanging on the towel rack were taken down and ripped apart. The toilet paper roll had been taken off the holder and chewed and tosses around. The door jam had been reconstructed and half chewed and spit back out. The toilet seat even had a bite marks on it! I am still not sure what her plan was with the Dora stool.</div>
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I have learned a lot about my dog Daisy. I have learned that she has SEVERE separation anxiety that causes MAJOR flatulence because from the smell of things I was certain that her bowels had loosened to relieve the stress of being in that bathroom. Luckily I didn't find any poop or urine on the floor that day, but that is what she gets for using my toilet for her water bowl and closing the door behind her.</div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-10909997897334586702009-03-08T18:38:00.001-06:002022-04-14T21:16:12.368-06:00SUNDAY----BAKING DAY!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj092bi1W-1cm1-aOwGcqZWAMCc88yXbBiH3_UqIes6BgqEiTez8wDq-xSre55p3mpulYl6ecuep28tMcpd69FUD9ZQWW6MMsFG98ZO3ituMZ0g6vwC04c9U13skpvpjedzLydu750fbPo/s1600-h/IMG_1675.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310985787753497490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj092bi1W-1cm1-aOwGcqZWAMCc88yXbBiH3_UqIes6BgqEiTez8wDq-xSre55p3mpulYl6ecuep28tMcpd69FUD9ZQWW6MMsFG98ZO3ituMZ0g6vwC04c9U13skpvpjedzLydu750fbPo/s320/IMG_1675.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a>This is the type of Sunday that I LOVE! Nothing-else-to-do-but-bake, Sunday.<br />
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Normally, our families' ritual on Sunday, after church, is to get our warm pajamas on (since we live in Oregon and it is ALWAYS cold and rainy), then settle in with a blanket on the sofa, with a good movie, or Little House on The Prairie. <br />
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Sometimes we bake, like today. Often times I just can't handle the mess, but today I put all my anxiety aside and tried to watch from the kids' perspective----I LOVED IT!<br />
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I don't like the mess that baking can create, but nearly every Sunday after my 2 hour nap, I wake to the wonderful smell of homemade bread. Bill and Amber get the ingredients out, make sure that the island is packed with things they need (and some they don't), locate the Bosch mixer and magically make delightful bread that has "little fingers" dug into each loaf. </div>
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Today was a little different. Jake got involved and made his favorite zucchini bread by himself. He did a great job and wanted nothing to do with advice from me. The bread turned out delicious.<br />
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So, while Amber was busy with paste coated on her teeth and hands in the dough, I watched and smiled inside as they made a mess, a HUGE mess. Because along with it, came two kids that I love and a wonderful daddy that helped.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOfsbAaipOhl6HegGKxT2ZhABHFch_jyr6jVNWbxbBpRvYKbpaS-g1Qjr46bHJNwojH2L8rqzj9nsf-WNJ_ovlgt-BxwrKEFcYFz_8hdTSYtn5RXLSnWOLZ008aEoynycqO-Fda68NaQ/s1600-h/IMG_1673.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310985784576082482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOfsbAaipOhl6HegGKxT2ZhABHFch_jyr6jVNWbxbBpRvYKbpaS-g1Qjr46bHJNwojH2L8rqzj9nsf-WNJ_ovlgt-BxwrKEFcYFz_8hdTSYtn5RXLSnWOLZ008aEoynycqO-Fda68NaQ/s320/IMG_1673.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0mzS_i-Up6VBsqecvMakkkRyZTF58BdRzzYf12LmTWsi74OT67er01F1U3kC_LJLr_FgEbJoX2HuzImACHhJRQ22C3TswkF-MNyXYy3e0L9J3G-XkumoZIVpDaHHpRo31OYHSZLQ-Mg/s1600-h/IMG_1670.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310982434399312290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0mzS_i-Up6VBsqecvMakkkRyZTF58BdRzzYf12LmTWsi74OT67er01F1U3kC_LJLr_FgEbJoX2HuzImACHhJRQ22C3TswkF-MNyXYy3e0L9J3G-XkumoZIVpDaHHpRo31OYHSZLQ-Mg/s320/IMG_1670.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-8962740661995039722009-02-19T16:00:00.001-07:002022-04-14T21:26:50.923-06:00THIRTEEN YEARS AGO!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6cWE1F6mPWPYqWGRurSxOw8PcvLKpuUXMnYAO7iXdHdBWtkEm4Mm3YZPhkbnnmNMDByw6WGo3nKPXIVdpRR-2w3A1MWQOfv9qHxLRaaUIlN6kCSq7FugQkk8MDPwT7-g-3PoL7hsf3Vw/s1600-h/DSC_0155.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="428" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305088779524007826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6cWE1F6mPWPYqWGRurSxOw8PcvLKpuUXMnYAO7iXdHdBWtkEm4Mm3YZPhkbnnmNMDByw6WGo3nKPXIVdpRR-2w3A1MWQOfv9qHxLRaaUIlN6kCSq7FugQkk8MDPwT7-g-3PoL7hsf3Vw/s640/DSC_0155.JPG" style="display: block; height: 214px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" width="640" /></a><br />
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That cold and rainy Monday in February, seemed so dreary. The rain kept pouring down, the wind was blowing and the pain in my back grew stronger every hour. The drive to the hospital seemed endless, but the wait.........WORTH IT!<br />
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Sunday night, the 18th of February, I lay sleepless in my mom's bed, tossing and turning with the knowledge that tomorrow, Loren would be traveling back home to Blanding, Utah to work and our plans of having our baby this weekend were spoiled. She didn't want to come....at least not yet.</div>
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Three o'clock a.m. I woke up with swords in my spine and daggers in my side, but told myself that this was false labor as it had always been before, but this felt different somehow. It just couldn't be time. Was I ready? Was Loren ready? I attempted to endure the pain as it only grew worse and more frequent. I drew a hot bath to ease the pain to no avail. This was it! I had Loren call his work and cancel the day........Madison was on her way!</div>
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The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever and the pain grew worse as I tried to keep my composure during the hard contractions. I remember gripping the door handle and twisting and turning in my seat to ease the pain, none of which worked. I can still feel that physical pain that I endured that day. We checked in at the Cottonwood hospital and waited. We waited and waited some more, until finally the nurse rolled me down the hall to the room where I would bring my first child into this world.</div>
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As the medicine began to kick in, I was relaxed, but I was quite scared of the realization to have a new person to take care of. Someone who relies on me, completely. I knew that this was the beginning of a new life for me, as well as Loren. How do we do this? Will we do everything right? How can we survive this? Will we be the examples that she needs?</div>
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After being in the hospital for 7 hours, I was so ready to have this baby. I had been a childless, married adult until exactly 10:59 p.m. on February 19, 1996.<br />
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<div>Being a woman, is wonderful. Being a woman who can give birth, is a miracle. </div>
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I frantically called to the nurses to get my newborn to breath, or cry. As they were flipping her feet and rubbing her frail body, I heard only silence, for what seemed like an eternity. Then, her cry. Her wonderful, beautiful, soothing cry. I burst out with tears of my own. Call it pure love. Love for that little angel that just entered into this world....innocent, harmless, beautiful, perfect. Straight from heaven into my arms. I could smell the scent of heaven on her tiny little head. I knew that there were angels hovering over her in that hospital room. I knew that she was a child of God!</div>
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To this very day, her tiny frame hasn't changed much. Her brown hair still shimmers in the sun, like it did when she was little . Her freckles still make me melt. Her big eyes, I still envy. Her olive skin I adore. Her beautiful face makes me jealous. Her beauty mark----I wish I could steal. Her pretty hands remind me of her dad. Her personality, I wish I could emulate. Her love, I wish I could capture. </div>
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Happy Birthday to you Madison! You are my princess, my love, my life, my example, my daughter, my friend, my little girl who grew up without asking to! Be wise. Be kind. Be yourself. I love you to the moon and back and over again.</div>
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Love, MOM</div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-25520558836968173312009-01-18T22:25:00.002-07:002022-04-14T21:30:45.275-06:00SATURDAY SEWING<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">It has been so long since I have had the desire to sew. I usually love to make things like hats, pj's, drapes and blankets, but I haven't felt good. I actually forgot that I even owned a sewing machine! Saturday was different. I got a strange hankerin' to make a blanket or two. I got the sewing machine out and it turned into a sewing frenzy at our house. The kids and I played 'musical chairs' around the table, trying to get to the sewing machine as soon as someone left their seat to get something else. It was so fun to see my kids and their heightened interest to sew and create.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtz01RbQxwiuvaZYLHeuky3L6BBdkf2_gS61Aj4_E0WfnjTYuXbR1H4p60vSMcqmquRBOpmrMB9QKm2i1w5pTCP8tBylMifszm2fpUNe9JC-FwMjGwBYWFD6RJdj17oStArCfHlXMukY/s1600-h/IMG_1576.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="text-decoration: none;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtz01RbQxwiuvaZYLHeuky3L6BBdkf2_gS61Aj4_E0WfnjTYuXbR1H4p60vSMcqmquRBOpmrMB9QKm2i1w5pTCP8tBylMifszm2fpUNe9JC-FwMjGwBYWFD6RJdj17oStArCfHlXMukY/s1600-h/IMG_1576.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">Here is the blanket that I made. It turned out alright for a first attempt! I planned to give it to one of my kids, but since my older sister, Lisa has mine from my childhood, I figured that I need to replace it, right? So this is my new nankie! Lisa.....STAY AWAY! :) I like the colors and hope to make another one soon.</span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidCDyElT9LfBkTTQhbFXX2eODRJBKHQhRCrOdyxuLRiZT_8_I9XsJKrgI5u1X61n_tpnkGgsjbV-olgJcySFYuSzE9SQ19BGmOdMoeUkKVjBcf2bsoTRenXjFGh9GYSN04_VgLWRwlWoY/s1600-h/IMG_1590.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292878226654540802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidCDyElT9LfBkTTQhbFXX2eODRJBKHQhRCrOdyxuLRiZT_8_I9XsJKrgI5u1X61n_tpnkGgsjbV-olgJcySFYuSzE9SQ19BGmOdMoeUkKVjBcf2bsoTRenXjFGh9GYSN04_VgLWRwlWoY/s320/IMG_1590.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">Ashley wins the gold medal for sewing creativity! She went from making handbags, to scarves, to pillows, then mittens. She did it WITHOUT the help of anyone! Go Ash!</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReKRKSbruaUBDE2LjglQnXPcbVKIby8uCwK8-fCswe48xXAP5V5kmrn0xM9hvADD62SxyDhGtcFgyv5avBl9eWPm6e0ejfK6lGLwAibvma0NJw4nd8AlqWKy6NuINeH8d7llR5rbv-qU/s1600-h/IMG_1581.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292878222538186322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReKRKSbruaUBDE2LjglQnXPcbVKIby8uCwK8-fCswe48xXAP5V5kmrn0xM9hvADD62SxyDhGtcFgyv5avBl9eWPm6e0ejfK6lGLwAibvma0NJw4nd8AlqWKy6NuINeH8d7llR5rbv-qU/s320/IMG_1581.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;"> Here are her 9 pillows that she made for her bed. She was very determined!</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwsqQxMhzQvflwR_Yr5DnuimjrTh_eUVBkUn020elTsXJCVGBH4twGLsBXDHQEPN85k9I2AjjIT_Qz6iPSkx5RZk0bBk2UCMMdqk0QG7idCg7u_5c9zb9J_QQzp9VSD-bsiwYDvJHP4bA/s1600-h/IMG_1588.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292875218246587906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwsqQxMhzQvflwR_Yr5DnuimjrTh_eUVBkUn020elTsXJCVGBH4twGLsBXDHQEPN85k9I2AjjIT_Qz6iPSkx5RZk0bBk2UCMMdqk0QG7idCg7u_5c9zb9J_QQzp9VSD-bsiwYDvJHP4bA/s320/IMG_1588.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">Madison cleverly whipped out this little treat for her cell phone. She even added a button! </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheg2pSSpifGgg4TF19SiKpvKWEUQ9Zv503sb2iZjlQhj14qHY5Yb7gwHWZ_W-7nRSWk79n4Fyg2S8O_OVzzwCfsfxwaou5NCgYZXJZbm8yQ9FGi9L7kMgKid9LkKfdRWYuSGOFZA8lY6Q/s1600-h/IMG_1587.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292875213419912402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheg2pSSpifGgg4TF19SiKpvKWEUQ9Zv503sb2iZjlQhj14qHY5Yb7gwHWZ_W-7nRSWk79n4Fyg2S8O_OVzzwCfsfxwaou5NCgYZXJZbm8yQ9FGi9L7kMgKid9LkKfdRWYuSGOFZA8lY6Q/s320/IMG_1587.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><span style="color: #000099;"> Jacob made whatever came to his mind. This "sleeve" seemed to work for him. You go JD! </span></a>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-66918303662556791902008-12-16T09:00:00.000-07:002012-12-07T20:47:58.951-07:0034 YEARS AND COUNTING!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfDkI6V3aVNbHN60oviGFl2oAr1BhN-I1W10_d0xdTz_ZGcKxLG2216NZrHCg_MNp5y8nEvm8-IlOUkx-T7I1fYNqv6id-pqtWeRtKOXSA9FS_iQU2geVqqLPg82bJGW1HvFSqvaZGyI/s1600-h/baby+picture---Maryann.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279864700963942706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfDkI6V3aVNbHN60oviGFl2oAr1BhN-I1W10_d0xdTz_ZGcKxLG2216NZrHCg_MNp5y8nEvm8-IlOUkx-T7I1fYNqv6id-pqtWeRtKOXSA9FS_iQU2geVqqLPg82bJGW1HvFSqvaZGyI/s320/baby+picture---Maryann.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 253px;" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #339999; font-family: 'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! :) Today is MY day to remember the great things about my life, how I have changed, the trials that I have endured and the wonderful things that I have learned. My day to talk about ME!</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #339999; font-family: 'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">I grew up in Sandy, Utah and still to this day, that is home to me. I have VERY fond childhood memories stashed away and every now and again I let them resurface as I dream of rewinding time. I loved Madrid Way, the neighbors, the schools, the ward(s), my friends. Looking back now as I age, it's starting to blur like wet paint on a canvas that has been too watered down. It is still there, just not as vivid. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #339999; font-family: 'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">I always felt safe and I always knew that I was loved. I loved school. I had a deep passion for sports. I had an overflowing love for dogs that still remains in my blood today. I had many moments of sorrow, hate, regret, pain, anxiety, fear, hope, laughter, excitement, calmness, joy and love. They are chronologically ordered in my soul. I hope to never forget them for I have learned from them. I have changed from them.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #339999; font-family: 'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">I am now a wife of one, mother of four and dog owner of two. As I think of the road that I traveled down to get here I am amazed at where the time has gone. I know that along the way I had help. It was more divine than I can imagine. Much of the road along my path of life was muddy and swampy with a cliff on both sides. Sometimes it was sandy and dry without an end in sight. But somehow, with help from above, I had a desire to go on and persevere. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #339999; font-family: 'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099;">I am thankful for every bit of my life. I am thankful for what I have been blessed with. I love my family and kids and wouldn't trade my life for anything. The only thing I would change.......my age! </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #339999; font-family: 'lucida grande';"><br /></span>Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-23606915705392362192008-12-12T10:27:00.001-07:002023-09-15T12:19:07.384-06:00CAN I TAKE IT BACK????<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Shortly after posting my, 'why I hate christmas' spill, my mind began to wander....in a VERY different direction, from that which was previously said. I couldn't help, but sit down and let my fingertips tell the story of my childhood holidays and how I felt and what I knew deep inside my soul.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Growing up, as most kids are, I was VERY unaware of my family's financial status. I knew that we weren't rich and I refused to admit that there might be a chance that we were considered poor. After all, we never got the 'free or reduced meals' from school (at least not that I know of), and I knew that our needs were met and that seemed sufficient.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">My mom, out of the graciousness of her heart and her love for us, stayed at home to attend to me and my siblings' needs. A mother that is willing and able to stay home for her kids' sake, is by far a stronger woman, than one who seeks out a career outside the home, in my opinion. However difficult that was for her at that time, I never knew and I was thankful that, when I walked through our door after school, she was home.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">My dad, out of pure love and duty, consistently went to work. Not only did he work, he worked hard. He rarely took sick days. In fact, I don't recall him ever taking one. He rarely even took time to eat lunch. I have saved and compiled many images and memories of him, getting up before the sun rose and returning once it had already set. The thing that I remember most, is that he never complained, not once. Those long hours that he would spend at the office, during tax season, year after year, proved him impervious. I don't remember him ever complaining about what he had to do, he just did it. It reminds me of what he worked for; food, shelter, clothes, family and Christmas.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">So, to redeem myself of my grinch-like qualities I must post on what I love(d) about Christmas. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"> Christmas eve was ALWAYS spent at grandma and grandpa Taylor's house, with all the cousins, aunts, uncles and dear friends. We had dinner and the most delicious home-made Swedish cookies, that were sprinkled with sugar and so carefully shaped and placed. I remember having a hard time choosing what cookie I really wanted, when grandma would circle about the living room, carrying the shiny, Sterling Silver platter, of desserts. Of course, I always went back for seconds. The night seemed endless as we talked, laughed and played. Going home was the toughest part, as I knew that falling asleep was next to impossible, on a night like that.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Christmas mornings were early, very early. They were exciting and they were curious. All of us kids would sit on the stairs that led to the basement, where the tree was. We would position ourselves with our flannel blankets, wrapped tightly around us and wait for dad to stoke the fire. This always seemed like an eternity! Once dad was done, we all ran down the stairs as fast as we could to see what awaited us. The beautiful tree, with presents lovingly tucked beneath it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">The morning was grand to say the least! Once we had fully unwrapped every last gift, played a few games, tried on our clothes and fiddled with our over-stuffed stocking goods, it was time to have grandma and grandpa for breakfast. Bacon, eggs, grapefruit, pancakes, orange juice and milk, were always on the menu for Christmas morning. I loved it! For that day.....time stood still.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"> I miss those days, when 'Santa' remembered to stop at our house. He never once forgot! I miss knowing that he cared enough to provide gifts for me. I miss those mornings that seemed to bring him so much joy, seeing me happy. I miss having him there in the room with me, watching as I ripped the paper from my presents, anxious to see what was inside. I miss all of it! I will always miss that.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">So, as I think of my younger years and reminisce on what was, please know that I am appreciative of what Mr. and Mrs. Clause were able to do for me. For their willingness to give and be generous about it. I will never forget it. The memories have been welded into my soul will forever remain.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">I have come to the conclusion that making these same memories for my kids, is by far the most important thing to me. It isn't what they get, it is the feelings and the surroundings they live for. Although Christmas will never be my favorite holiday, I want it to be the best for my children, as I am now a replica of 'Santa', watching with love in my soul, as my kids do just what I did. I get to see it first hand and be a witness that 'Santa' IS still around!</span></span></div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-81995712027191823652008-12-08T22:42:00.001-07:002023-09-15T12:21:09.039-06:00I WONDER WHY<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">(I hate Christmas that is)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">Give me a moment to spill myself and my emotions, about Christmas. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">I haven't always hated Christmas, I don't think. But, without fail, every October I realize that the holidays are knocking at the door....and I don't want to answer it. I don't even want to acknowledge that I heard it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;"> I hate the clutter. I hate the rich desserts that are given on those Christmas paper plates so carefully wrapped in colored Saran Wrap and sealed with curly ribbon tied at the top. It just gets thrown away because I can't palate it. I hate the messy decorations strewn about the house, most of them broken(2 yr. old doings) with shards hidden in the carpet, only to be found by the barefoot that steps on it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">I hate coming up with ideas for friends and family. It's too stressful for me. It's too much expended mind power that gets me frustrated and frazzled. I get worried that I will forget someone, so I just leave everyone out. I hate cards...waste of money. I'd rather pretend that this year Christmas will be spent in bed. With my eyes closed.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">Is that sad? Is this normal? I just don't care really. Presents can be given year-round for any occasion. It bothers me to see people pushing and stressing to get a 'good deal' or to get the 'sale' items. It just doesn't set well with me. I guess that perhaps I have never been that way, so I can't understand it. I don't want to understand it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">I am in no way degrading the life of our savior and the marvelous life he lived. I'd just prefer to leave it at that and be non-commercial about it. The stress. The crowds. The hustle. And I believe the thing that I hate most about Christmas isn't really Christmas itself, but the month that it occurs in. The COLD month of December. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">I hate cold! I hate snow! If Christmas were in July.......well.....I'd still dislike it. </span></div>
Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-52269129524747937482008-11-30T18:37:00.000-07:002012-12-09T21:40:35.625-07:00I LOVE IT...EVERY BIT OF IT!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_WPyeZsPcYx66rZUSWrod0y6M0hQXW9faBdB474d_9MC_doOiy8Od3k81Ur4jT7cGUniFdkVz2FBzzred36wuxkc8OgvrfxcS4zfkV0UogL6wYhGcJloC62JcHMEE50CjRs4yDIb5AY/s1600-h/IMG_1274.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274644314632181682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_WPyeZsPcYx66rZUSWrod0y6M0hQXW9faBdB474d_9MC_doOiy8Od3k81Ur4jT7cGUniFdkVz2FBzzred36wuxkc8OgvrfxcS4zfkV0UogL6wYhGcJloC62JcHMEE50CjRs4yDIb5AY/s320/IMG_1274.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3R5I7GXPNBD_84UC_zj4lEpdnaTTvu0jZpkUGEDBnLYtcdUueW0byqe9zlS9jTCdIC0nPfZjQR7WWoOdDnYZKuh6y08iZ-8Btb1M6cG48jKxlciZisPUdQHBPh8ewQPk7d7kA1BMZqU/s1600-h/IMG_1268.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274644293344390130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3R5I7GXPNBD_84UC_zj4lEpdnaTTvu0jZpkUGEDBnLYtcdUueW0byqe9zlS9jTCdIC0nPfZjQR7WWoOdDnYZKuh6y08iZ-8Btb1M6cG48jKxlciZisPUdQHBPh8ewQPk7d7kA1BMZqU/s320/IMG_1268.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn1hATYg3MgVURfJbqqFyz5NC86HAUeUuhLdfXx_lUFSQSKzdHJpVsryDVhlxPcUKI2iiNKNpc795isT2nUpL729ZXp2bTaD2tdswNJmjfPzsVOpUVadG0riLN5npYR1GsuRqSrUCIvKg/s1600-h/IMG_1269.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274641703210216194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn1hATYg3MgVURfJbqqFyz5NC86HAUeUuhLdfXx_lUFSQSKzdHJpVsryDVhlxPcUKI2iiNKNpc795isT2nUpL729ZXp2bTaD2tdswNJmjfPzsVOpUVadG0riLN5npYR1GsuRqSrUCIvKg/s320/IMG_1269.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVabIC-igOgZCGIqqdwPXzm46NDeZPqtLXZQS0f27mLtzY5d8Ypy7FoEycvDYwj66ik7StjUbtP1IEm8XnEEcF2etNeYlWWOEq4KRhWBGBtPRQyQTzfYS4rAFVmeTfgZdxEWcs8atKXr4/s1600-h/IMG_1272.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274641694718565074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVabIC-igOgZCGIqqdwPXzm46NDeZPqtLXZQS0f27mLtzY5d8Ypy7FoEycvDYwj66ik7StjUbtP1IEm8XnEEcF2etNeYlWWOEq4KRhWBGBtPRQyQTzfYS4rAFVmeTfgZdxEWcs8atKXr4/s320/IMG_1272.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FrkqBE6hC6i_8k6xSWvgY2rLMAUOAfP2zxubZdNer_2oLQxVkBes0Zxrf8SICZ9LvI3xUfXqpr0PbXNJ9V0tV6GHph5Ot-MK6fJLk1B1JSTA0ARzDFpoWAmrkdMhD3CQlw5lMivLBFc/s1600-h/IMG_1267.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274641685047101522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FrkqBE6hC6i_8k6xSWvgY2rLMAUOAfP2zxubZdNer_2oLQxVkBes0Zxrf8SICZ9LvI3xUfXqpr0PbXNJ9V0tV6GHph5Ot-MK6fJLk1B1JSTA0ARzDFpoWAmrkdMhD3CQlw5lMivLBFc/s320/IMG_1267.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;"> Every muscle of mine harbors jealousy as I watch my daughter do what I lived for 19 years ago...playing basketball.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;">My mind recalls the day of tryouts. Close to 200 girls packed in the gym of Hillcrest high school in hopes to get their name written on the page to show up again the following day for another try at making the team. I recall being very calm as I did what I knew how to do best and I wasn't surprised to find that I was chosen to come back the next day for the second round of cuts. Because of the high volume of girls the process was long, but fun nonetheless.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;">On the final day of cuts I worried a bit, but was sure that the coaches would see my potential that even I couldn't see. They did! I was on the team. Those first few years of ball were the best years of my life! I'd go back to that anytime if I wasn't in my old-boned body now. But....</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;">Here's the thing. My oldest daughter, Madison has decided to try basketball this year. She likes it and is becoming very good. She has HUGE potential and I am thrilled to see her take an adventure down a road that I once traveled.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;">Here's the problem. She lacks the self-confidence that I, too, lacked. As I watch her run about the court, it's almost as though I am watching myself play.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;">I was afraid to get the ball as to not fumble it and lose it. I didn't want to shoot the ball...what if I missed? I didn't want to shoot a free-throw.... all eyes were on me! My daughter has inherited these same flaws that I had and it drives me CRAZY!!!</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;">I love Madison and hope that she doesn't make the same mistake that I did and hold herself back from lack of confidence. I believe that she, too, can hold the school record for the highest amount of assists and the most steals in one year. Not to mention her ability to shoot the ball. I love her and hope that she is playing for HER love for the game and not for the passion that I had. Because to be honest, I can enjoy ball whether it be me playing, o to re-live it through watching her. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff6600;">Good job Madison.</span></span></span></span><br />
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-72214723046712979132008-11-23T22:58:00.000-07:002012-12-09T21:46:49.595-07:00NINE YEARS AGO<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYvRwaYoi7RbtK767bAYEACKwhuFqr6KLmtglYNJz1SM5BNX3vLMtNnUQh3pd9K97mBHXIgxoR7Lo_NgFlERwA1oD6OWbM5uEIkn7JARCUS9r9AnhwFFF0AIJC1s7oaAEjrokPdfSJ9Q/s1600-h/DSC_0334.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272118539697780402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYvRwaYoi7RbtK767bAYEACKwhuFqr6KLmtglYNJz1SM5BNX3vLMtNnUQh3pd9K97mBHXIgxoR7Lo_NgFlERwA1oD6OWbM5uEIkn7JARCUS9r9AnhwFFF0AIJC1s7oaAEjrokPdfSJ9Q/s320/DSC_0334.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCb688wESue2z2rDvGfYNBOtV9x0_xZrDG_cpf_0IHqmVMF2aMDhylZ6Y0rOHNL76qCM4F0IA9F0LdS2PkyMc_4EeQDdomK7qTmnZ-HltXGGJfny5jGhuUBllaBWaPxm6z52optZbiYBM/s1600-h/DSC_0344.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272118538756542578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCb688wESue2z2rDvGfYNBOtV9x0_xZrDG_cpf_0IHqmVMF2aMDhylZ6Y0rOHNL76qCM4F0IA9F0LdS2PkyMc_4EeQDdomK7qTmnZ-HltXGGJfny5jGhuUBllaBWaPxm6z52optZbiYBM/s320/DSC_0344.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwHm6GzKiMCCBBcVdj_JaFRswsvbUA9FHU-2rx1f0N2-f6x8sV7CT3k7Uc2xrFamWm5J6ICcasSG0-eOBT6AoRPuX_QGBvvZChNx0bXMEB9oxtX-8L1jvJEt-brma-peE8TQbTdRvrC8/s1600-h/DSC_0341.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272115376914598546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwHm6GzKiMCCBBcVdj_JaFRswsvbUA9FHU-2rx1f0N2-f6x8sV7CT3k7Uc2xrFamWm5J6ICcasSG0-eOBT6AoRPuX_QGBvvZChNx0bXMEB9oxtX-8L1jvJEt-brma-peE8TQbTdRvrC8/s320/DSC_0341.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSThVB2nPIKrHnmHXV1GahLIqbSdEHba5WdE3wM6oSUZDaae3CevhiQ_YbC9WcuC09j4c8t3iXy2kPmBC_MDfX8_sR4PWUOUTxzEiJiK9C5VP8Qk-yvosMrgrhF2_TgPHRVhU76fAq3A8/s1600-h/DSC_0359.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272115376778822674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSThVB2nPIKrHnmHXV1GahLIqbSdEHba5WdE3wM6oSUZDaae3CevhiQ_YbC9WcuC09j4c8t3iXy2kPmBC_MDfX8_sR4PWUOUTxzEiJiK9C5VP8Qk-yvosMrgrhF2_TgPHRVhU76fAq3A8/s320/DSC_0359.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaUEZy_J5DyjSpLSFRASir5jFu2Cv5YXBjFX0XVm4rY4zgdsu4Im9hTr3IcDXvf_jAvDKly6wCstCot0qZiN2aPdS5qk3qYESXUPb7MZ1h2C8Tw9ubwxZoIg7qW2B_BOycSwj5rOoHVc/s1600-h/DSC_0369.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272115370465382306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaUEZy_J5DyjSpLSFRASir5jFu2Cv5YXBjFX0XVm4rY4zgdsu4Im9hTr3IcDXvf_jAvDKly6wCstCot0qZiN2aPdS5qk3qYESXUPb7MZ1h2C8Tw9ubwxZoIg7qW2B_BOycSwj5rOoHVc/s320/DSC_0369.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoVjUEcNkKPAj99U38tq7VUzEOynk7DVae4O-QbQgp3AZUpC9oIqzzkoGgjbHLAj8lyllyBGWwarVdLluixF5VzsnW0-jws9j7NZIcpIgEN-3Azm9FaNnbvOi_-Ua6a8QiVUexPu7-Tss/s1600-h/DSC_0332.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272114430217379314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoVjUEcNkKPAj99U38tq7VUzEOynk7DVae4O-QbQgp3AZUpC9oIqzzkoGgjbHLAj8lyllyBGWwarVdLluixF5VzsnW0-jws9j7NZIcpIgEN-3Azm9FaNnbvOi_-Ua6a8QiVUexPu7-Tss/s320/DSC_0332.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdj60u7yhRbuGD4ziCY0FRd5H7dfhuMpHnrnX4EduhtRvuaejrfOxCf350RE5queZASNhXpEQz1B6-FIRrdj_WI-HyX70WBhll-ou6BRpdkcSPSaaGi9R_eEbaUfYrnpifGQGAXb89MRw/s1600-h/DSC_0328.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272114427466521746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdj60u7yhRbuGD4ziCY0FRd5H7dfhuMpHnrnX4EduhtRvuaejrfOxCf350RE5queZASNhXpEQz1B6-FIRrdj_WI-HyX70WBhll-ou6BRpdkcSPSaaGi9R_eEbaUfYrnpifGQGAXb89MRw/s320/DSC_0328.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81XhU_Qn8-DI9OYTwiXhrhKeG5PVHUWM0iEqCJ-cRVzbM323CI-1pjd1xIhEy_vuAAu4nN7nGFIsFnHOar92XrkapoMdlyuK1FIGCG15yb1pUfTBhDHLqKFG4DWyw6jDxr1Wd1xzdzjA/s1600-h/DSC_0336.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272114420174971074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81XhU_Qn8-DI9OYTwiXhrhKeG5PVHUWM0iEqCJ-cRVzbM323CI-1pjd1xIhEy_vuAAu4nN7nGFIsFnHOar92XrkapoMdlyuK1FIGCG15yb1pUfTBhDHLqKFG4DWyw6jDxr1Wd1xzdzjA/s320/DSC_0336.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLim1wOSQCVmy0NoluR09Xrqq005LY7E_FCPhQoYAgPoS8-gqG_ePwfpkUViMc6qbug8ik1M1W11au1l0_066HUUYGkqBVgKA4rE20RsXAJvyB2E5rL4W8h92XP5wJEpju47dnrnG7Pd8/s1600-h/DSC_0323.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272114414386977794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLim1wOSQCVmy0NoluR09Xrqq005LY7E_FCPhQoYAgPoS8-gqG_ePwfpkUViMc6qbug8ik1M1W11au1l0_066HUUYGkqBVgKA4rE20RsXAJvyB2E5rL4W8h92XP5wJEpju47dnrnG7Pd8/s320/DSC_0323.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvAUn9-8zyBC6WTQXfYWMW_X0MYGez7ho4vsDql-6Rnrm-bQ7rsfK6rfGTgV2sdqHchsHj1sTdru65CBk3MAhq-turrZLi2voQRJPyXITaKJen6OZZaudfPHkSYdrw02Z32m8Xbyorb0/s1600-h/DSC_0312.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272114399767518466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvAUn9-8zyBC6WTQXfYWMW_X0MYGez7ho4vsDql-6Rnrm-bQ7rsfK6rfGTgV2sdqHchsHj1sTdru65CBk3MAhq-turrZLi2voQRJPyXITaKJen6OZZaudfPHkSYdrw02Z32m8Xbyorb0/s320/DSC_0312.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 214px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">The vivid memory of the wonderful day(Friday, November 23, 1999) that I gave birth to my boy, Jacob, still lingers fresh in my mind. The last few weeks leading up to the greatest day of receiving him into my arms, were exhausting to say the least.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;"> I never did have an appetite throughout this particular pregnancy, I wondered how this little man was managing to survive within the womb receiving so little nourishment. I just couldn't eat...the Prozac was to blame for this one. I am assured that every calorie, carbohydrate, fiber or vitamin that DID go down my esophagus and into my stomach Jake managed to rapidly consume before I could take in any of it for myself(which is what I prayed for). I just became skinnier, more tired and was constantly nagged by a concerned father and husband for the well being for both of us.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">Jacob hung in there until the very moment that he decided to make his grand appearance here on Earth.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">It was a rather gloomy day, as is the Pacific Northwest in mid-November. I recall being a bit nervous since it had been 4 and a half years since my previous birth and all the memory of pain and bleeding and hospital food was no longer in my library of memories. I was ready.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">Labor didn't seem bad, the pain was minimal and the anticipation couldn't have been greater! My first boy. Who would he resemble? What would his personality be like? Will he be healthy? These were just a few questions among others that raced through my mind while waiting for that magical moment for a homemade person to really come to Earth through that thin veil that they so willingly slide through.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">Labor began and I wanted him here now! Not long after labor began, I beheld the most beautiful, precious boy. I have never before seen such perfection! He was well proportioned(except for his cone-shaped-head). He cried. I cried. Bill cried. The moment that I had been awaiting was now right at my fingertips. I lovingly stroked his velvet cheeks, his wrinkled hands, his bright orange hair. I thanked my Heavenly Father in my heart for every bit of that boy! He was my love. My hope. My prayer. My Jake.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">He is 9 today and I quiver at the thought of how time passes if you don't take a moment or two to enjoy it. He is still that very boy that I delivered that rainy November morning. He is full of love, compassion, knowledge, tenderness, giving, and many more Christ-like qualities that I am thankful for. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #009900;">Happy birthday to you Jacob! I love you with all of my heart. To the moon and back. You mean the world to me. Thanks for being mine. I couldn't live without you! mom</span></div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-16424635223577793832008-11-11T22:33:00.000-07:002012-12-22T19:04:06.314-07:00SIMPLY DIFFERENT<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">It seems that I have been unable to do what I love to do.....blog. After a minor knee surgery, a painful recovery, a husband in the ER twice in one week, studying for my two classes, kids & homework, young women's & basketball(maddy), scouts & soccer(Jake), getting to know my Ashley intimately again like I once did pre-Amber and the UNDIVIDED attention that Amber demands..... I am falling short on one of my favorite past times, blogging.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Normally, I can't stand dirty floors, stinky bathrooms, full garbage cans, pantry in complete disarray, carpet covered with wrappers, blankets, pillows, cushions from the sofas, pens & pencils, game pieces all over the front room, crumbs on the kitchen counter and everywhere else in the kitchen, toothpaste smeared in the drawer, laundry overflowing the hampers, dust settled in every crevice. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Not to mention the reminders on the walls from last year when Amber discovered Sharpie pens, the smudges on windows left from halloween frosting hands and the sweatshirts that are thrown on the mud-room floor. The countless pairs of shoes that are found in every place, but where they should be, and the bedrooms that are horrendous. Needless to say, I am in love.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I am in love with today. I am in love with my kids and their ability to feel comfortable at their home. I am in love with my husband who now has a 3" scar on his right arm and a cracked heel accompanied by a HUGE hematoma on his left foot. I am in love with my environment and where I am today. I am in love with my dogs. I am in live with love.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Tomorrow may bring something new and different, but as for now, my heart is swelling with love and comfort for life and living, family and friends.</span></div>
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Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-68342156897047016752008-11-02T23:02:00.000-07:002008-12-10T15:38:35.730-07:00SINGIN' IN THE BATH--RATED "G" (HIDDEN NUDITY)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Maddy is very good at bathing Amber to keep her busy when I am busy making dinner, folding laundry, running kids to soccer practice etc. She was gingerly combing Amber's hair and having her sing some songs without knowing that daddy was recording her (and please notice the little scowl that Amber gives when she sees dad and the camera). I just love this. Not only because Amber sings so dang cute, but I love the way that Maddy loves Amber. I am thankful for all the help that Maddy gives me. Love you Mads. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"> Enjoy the unrecognizable tunes as they are impromptu :)</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">P.S. turn my music off to hear Amber's sweet voice.</span><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwbVG80Jj1N676gx-TBo921lXzy-tItgcmJmmZcJeHdvJRB7zcHdSRyVzY2fksAOAt11VQYkq_3ECe2BaQrDQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div></div>Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1812387957599838634.post-53928465697371815072008-10-26T14:56:00.000-06:002008-12-10T15:38:17.195-07:00DOCTORS ORDERS-(EXCUSE THE BLOOD)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufhQfyTSCRDhtjCABy4CS9e9_VJ-pSzAx6xdf8L_LRRjRXiwfrQcT8yuM7hVTvPZT0PdB4M3H6Gc3i-uaKmmwHDt0S5dM1t2l4r0Suh4VFUP_jV4O7s4tNIlLYNq-p8fq_JHCFdElysM/s1600-h/IMG_1013.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufhQfyTSCRDhtjCABy4CS9e9_VJ-pSzAx6xdf8L_LRRjRXiwfrQcT8yuM7hVTvPZT0PdB4M3H6Gc3i-uaKmmwHDt0S5dM1t2l4r0Suh4VFUP_jV4O7s4tNIlLYNq-p8fq_JHCFdElysM/s320/IMG_1013.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261609985100223090" /></a> <div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_q0Sk9EzRLTJkv92WVZZicaL-w1efAgSZNbioEn5HnUmekUnITswrgu0g5ZqHERkBKC4Duj1zquGOvmLHZJNw4vgUbpDVmrh1wx5kernlMHdTVJW4QGow8TTgmrZU0EaQPTPzFPU8Z7c/s1600-h/IMG_0967.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_q0Sk9EzRLTJkv92WVZZicaL-w1efAgSZNbioEn5HnUmekUnITswrgu0g5ZqHERkBKC4Duj1zquGOvmLHZJNw4vgUbpDVmrh1wx5kernlMHdTVJW4QGow8TTgmrZU0EaQPTPzFPU8Z7c/s320/IMG_0967.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261608437305963042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreFO1RRfYATMyidNeSvZB2eU9clxXoZh82R7po_oSvIZWawxlrptnblRW5c3myIo7TWNpYcksoUpfuaGhKvMVCOiMgNMATb72N46bHTiTEU-2iN5cAywn2Wucp9miVA15dQXg3FM6ipU/s1600-h/IMG_0971.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreFO1RRfYATMyidNeSvZB2eU9clxXoZh82R7po_oSvIZWawxlrptnblRW5c3myIo7TWNpYcksoUpfuaGhKvMVCOiMgNMATb72N46bHTiTEU-2iN5cAywn2Wucp9miVA15dQXg3FM6ipU/s320/IMG_0971.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261608425490786338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A5F9yDAqmoJOBBsubPFWo2xRrpoYmUgfh3ysbXjy160vQHOjFCK2Bk6E_VmF9XzGe_oScT4ThEpZjiEqcMRS5Sr8qv2RmBawJltzDbd6GBlXkkVa50TpyWPJkcknmrVAGCgItfR3GW8/s1600-h/IMG_0972.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A5F9yDAqmoJOBBsubPFWo2xRrpoYmUgfh3ysbXjy160vQHOjFCK2Bk6E_VmF9XzGe_oScT4ThEpZjiEqcMRS5Sr8qv2RmBawJltzDbd6GBlXkkVa50TpyWPJkcknmrVAGCgItfR3GW8/s320/IMG_0972.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261608418266790354" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMr-gKnbkwF_N53pXhHNfTihQ_Mvcd0n_lvN-wHkjXO5AGDunhFWo6hOBBeYkyNh6R6Y58N5-_dM_-pOfmR6bAwjQnwqtE3jr_VZYh9fjXJ0TqdY8TgghOGzHNIhayVAsSFgbPQtzIjQ4/s1600-h/IMG_1011.JPG"><br /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Wednesday, October, 22 @ approximately 8:30 a.m. I had an </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">arthroscopy</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"> done on my left knee.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Sometime this last June while visiting a lovely park with my kids and some friends of ours, I had an accident and literally heard my knee "POP". It hurt so bad and I was so </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">embarrassed</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"> as to how I hurt it, that I quickly sat back down and proceeded to pretend as though I was still getting my bag put together so that we could all move into the shade. After 3 attempts at standing up and failing, I knew something was wrong with my knee. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I managed to hobble over to the shaded knoll where the others had taken their blankets,bags, towels & goodies unnoticed by others that my knee was in excruciating pain. I quickly fell back down and tried to keep my kids rounded up as to not go too far(I knew I couldn't help them if they needed it.) We stayed a bit longer and I was glad to be going home when we did.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Days went by and my knee just wasn't the same. I couldn't bend it like I used to. I couldn't run like I wanted to. I couldn't play with the kids like I had done before, so it was time to see the doctor(This is a whole other story in itself that I won't get into).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I went to the Slocum center and Dr. </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Straub</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"> ordered an MRI on my knee and the results came back not so reassuring. I needed a little surgery to fix what I had done. This was no surprise to me however. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I am glad to have doctors who know what they are doing. My knee was very sore for a while with the fluid surrounding my patella, but it is getting better daily!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Sorry about the blood for those of you who are faint at heart. The chunk that you see at the bottom, right corner of the internal knee pictures was supposedly what was causing the pain.</span></div>Maryannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15246103062331437434noreply@blogger.com2