tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27408596019799621662024-03-13T20:51:20.967-05:00 Kit, Liberty & the Pursuit of HappinessAlabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-64889387260415803312012-10-24T09:46:00.004-05:002012-10-24T09:50:35.930-05:00Each DayI haven't been posting much...again. I seem to just get in the rut of living life and I <strike>neglect</strike> forget to take the chance to write my thoughts to remember the every day grind.<br />
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Where to start..hmmm...<br />
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After loads and loads of laundry...just kidding, I won't go that into detail on the grind of life. Although, on average how many loads do you have a week? How do you separate your clothes? Does grey go in your lights pile or darks? It can be interesting...<br />
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We are definitely moving forward with our little Em. She has been accepted into our school district's special education preschool. She will start Monday(!!) and go from 9-12:30. Be still my heart. Not just that, but they prefer her to ride a bus to school. Being the pansy mama I am, I balked. "Oh, that is alright. I don't mind taking her..." I trailed off as I noticed their glances and grins to each other. They had a feeling I might say that. After explaining the benefits of bus riding for prepping Em for school time and an easier more productive start for the teacher, I acquiesced. "You <i>can</i> follow the bus in your own vehicle and peek in to see how she's doing, if you want." What? No, sheesh. I'm not that crazy/desperate/lonely/empty-nester of a mama. (ok, ok, maybe just once in awhile won't label me <i>too</i> cray of a mama, right??). She's just a baby...<br />
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Another improvement has been having Jessica from ABA services come. We are starting to overhaul Emme's every day life. No more are her one word shouts considered a correct request. Emmeline has the ability to use proper words, it is just too hard/uncomfortable for her to pull them out of her head to utilize them. But, for her to grow and develop properly, it is something she must learn to do. So, in order to watch Dora, she must request by saying, "I want Dora". The same for bananas, drinks, La la loopsies. Be still my pansy mama heart. I know she can do it, but change is never easy. Tantrums are becoming quite frequent. It is definitely harder before it gets easier...and this is day 1!! We had to explain many, MANY times to the beasty brothers that we weren't being deliberately cruel by not just giving Emmeline her strawberry milk when she was reaching for it. The protective Gavin showed his claws last night at dinner. Josiah had to leave the room with tears in his big brown eyes and Gunnison shoved the drink to Em when I wasn't paying attention. Yep. Definitely gonna have to work to see the efforts aren't sabotaged. <br />
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Meanwhile, happy Halloween-ish things have been happening. Our ward had our Trunk -or- Treat on Friday. The youth were in charge of it, however a lot of delegation came into play. The YM and YW totally rocked a haunted maze! They worked crazy hard and were actually kinda crazy scary. They thoroughly enjoyed me walking through. I'm the biggest goober...here I knew the ins and outs of the stinkin' thing and I still squealed like a piggie. They loved me, let me tell you! Our beasties and beastette loved the party. Josiah was an army man (no facial paint at all, thanks), Gavin was a vampire (yes, lots of scary facial paint, thanks) and Gunnison was a Doom Shroom from <a href="http://plantsvszombies.wikia.com/wiki/Doom-shroom">Plants vs. Zombies</a>. His daddy rocked his costume. Seriously, when Kit decides to get creative, he is so awesome! Little miss was a Pirate. She ran around saying "Arrrr, I pirate!" It was pretty darn cute. I would post pics, but I <strike>forgot </strike>was stuck at the church a couple hours early to an hour after so none were taken by me. On Halloween I promise not to forget and I'll snag a few. Hopefully the Sasquatches that are my children will allow it.<br />
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I'll leave now...gotta get back to my 6 loads of laundry. Light greys go in with my lights, dark greys go in with my darks and I hate washing sheets on my beds. I'm disgusting, I know...bedding is<b> not</b> a weekly washing. <br />
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<br />Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-24775266623400473352012-10-03T08:52:00.000-05:002012-10-03T08:54:51.020-05:00Loads of LaughsMy life isn't always grey...I don't want people to get the wrong impression. While life is crazy (who's isn't!) it can be so funny, too. One thing my children aren't is boring. They keep us hopping and laughing.<br />
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Sitting in the car waiting on Gavin in jujitsu<br />
Me: Gunner, go sit in your seat.<br />
Gunnison: Hunter.<br />
Me: Hunter what?<br />
Gunnison: No. I'm Hunter.<br />
Me: No, your name is Gunnison. Daddy and I named you Gunnison Michael.<br />
Gunnison: But Hunter is a better name. (sigh) You should have named me Hunter (shaking head sadly).<br />
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Emme loves flowers. She runs to the flower beds out front and will plop down in the middle. Sometimes (gasp) she will even pick them. This is a little bit of a problem...you see, the flower bed is Gunner's property. It is our Zombie Protection Garden. Gunner has named each flower as an equivalent plant from <a href="http://www.popcap.com/games/plants-vs-zombies/home">Plants vs. Zombies</a>. One day he came barging into the house. "Mom!! Come get Emme, NOW! She has been picking our sunflowers! Do you want to not have enough sun?!!"<br />
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Last night was a bit of a battle getting little miss to bed. She fell asleep on the drive back from jujitsu, so she was wide awake at 10:00 at night. At about 10:30 I was sitting with her in her room; she was kicking her bed angrily. She stopped, sat up, and called out, "Dora, help!! Throw me a rope, Dora! Ayuda me, ayuda me!! ("help me" in spanish) Throw me a rope!"<br />
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Our beasties are so clever they can be so funny if we just take a step back from the moment and look. It might not seem funny in their tantrum, but hilarious if you listen to what they say, how they prove their arguments. I love my beasties so much and I am thankful for the laughter they bring to our home.Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-12153100757305738442012-09-29T19:21:00.003-05:002012-09-29T19:21:52.417-05:00Grey SkiesThe clouds hung low and grey all day today. I was peppy this morning, getting up and working hard to be cheerful and get the beasties doing all of their (and my) chores. I was happy thinking of Kit making it alive through the night long relay race he played a part of despite his <a href="http://marzipanincident.blogspot.com/2012/09/an-interesting-side-effect.html">toe</a> issues. He rode safety on a bicycle beside the runners. He checked in at almost 60 1/2 miles (a major wahoo!! for my sweetie; he is always amazing me!). He made it home and took a short hour nap before taking all the kids with him to the official finish line to cheer on the last runner. I should have been praising the heavens for an afternoon child-less. They are seriously few and far in-between...but...I wasn't very excited. I had a rough night with my daughter. She woke up two different times last night and we ended up sleeping on the couch downstairs (in fact, I woke to realize we were downstairs and all 3 of the beasts were in my bed). That is just an itty-bitty reason. The real reason, despite my adoration of our friends Frank and Jen, was it was a Pampered Chef party. With people I didn't know. What's the prob with that?? It is a perfect storm for my anxiety to swell. I hate parties where I know the desire/intent is to sell things...uggh!! The pressure, even though it isn't really there...is there. Lurking. Secondly, chillin' with chicks I don't know is blehhh, blehh, blehh! I love chatting, visiting, teasing, laughing, EVERYTHING...with girls I know. I freeze up with unknowns. I fret whether I might somehow offend them, I don't know...I just worry. Sigh.<div>
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But, I went, and I tried to have fun. I did. Then I didn't. I think the grey just got to me. </div>
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A little girl, barely 2 years old and named Aubrey Lynn, came to the party with her mama. She was dainty, darling. I talked and played with her like I did the two 6 year old Dylans also at the party. The problem was, I compared her to Emmeline. I compared everything. And I got sad.</div>
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I have not had too difficult a time with Em's diagnosis. Emme is just Emme. I mean, I worry a lot of the practical things-how to get her enrolled in the training, going gluten free, etc. I worry about how I interact with her to make it be for the best benefit for her, but I didn't really, really have a difficult time. Today I cried. I got in the car when Kit and the kids picked me up and I cried. Hard. There was just so much about little Aubrey that was like Em. Her big brown eyes, the color and length of hair, her cute little jeans. She was like Emmeline...but not. Little Aubrey came right up to me and asked me to hold her (she was quite a people-comfy gal). She then asked for bites of my food, asked me what everything was, and chatted her way through the afternoon. Was she cute? Darling. Of course Emme is cuter! ;) What got to me is I compared. I spend almost all day, every day with my baby girl. I forget how typical 2 1/2 year old children act. I forget how grown up they can seem. I forget their conversation skills, their mannerisms. Being around someone so like Emmeline and so different...</div>
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So, what have I learned once I dried the tears? I learned not to compare. Because, for sure, the Lord gave me the best little girl He had for our family. She is one-in-a-kazillion. The truth is Emmeline Lili is incomparable. </div>
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Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-22993197217886337852012-09-23T21:54:00.001-05:002012-09-23T21:54:12.614-05:00ProcrastinationToday I almost peed my pants. Really. Sweat beaded on my upper lip, I was<strike> hurrying</strike> practically running to the back, the very back of Michaels. I'm glad I had the forethought to grab a cart, or Emme would have been thrown over my shoulder like a bag of rice. It was bad, folks. So bad I wanted to grab myself like I did when I was little (ya'll know you did it, too). I thought I just might not make it and have a <strike>little</strike> ginormous puddle of yellow tinged liquid about my toes. <br />
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I made it...although the last five steps were made with clenched thighs.<br />
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How can a grown girl of 31 almost not make it to the porcelain throne? I am a habitual procrastinator. Now, I don't procrastinate big things. No, I pay the bills on time, I plan church lessons, and buy birthday gifts/cards on time. In fact, I'm often early! No, no, I just procrastinate little things like the niggling of a full bladder. I procrastinate the quick run to the post office-leaving the gifts and cards languishing unsent on my counter. I often receive quick thoughts to send a card or a give a call to check on a friend, but they pass just as quickly, momentarily unheeded by my procrastinating self. I wonder what good I could accomplish if I would slow down (or speed up) to pay attention to such thoughts, trips to the post, and taking the time to run to the loo.<br />
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I definitely wouldn't have written this post 3 days after the experience! ;)Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-53506813093285380952012-09-13T21:26:00.001-05:002012-09-13T21:26:53.311-05:00KnowledgeTonight YW's was a personal progress activity. We reviewed scriptures on knowledge, wisdom and how they apply to temporal living and our spirituality. It got me thinking...I love information. I adore knowing and learning, but I don't always take the effort to seek out ways to learn. My favorite venue of learning is at someone's proverbial knee-my father's, father-in-law's, bishop's, or college professors'-I want them to shed their light, knowledge, down to me. I love someone <i>teaching</i> me. I have begun to appreciate and seek out learning via books. I have always adored fictional literature, but seeing how I can't quite make it back (*yet*I will make it back, when the timing is right) into a classroom setting, I have also learned to enjoy and appreciate all the information to be had from non-fiction books. I have gleaned knowledge regarding everything from gardening to autism, cholera to Marie Antoinette. In reading the scriptures regarding seeking out the best books, learning, I understand. Do I think my love for fiction is wrong? No. But, I have found I can truly expand my mind and use it for purposes other than entertainment when I read. <br />
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Another point I appreciated from the scriptures was the difference between wisdom and knowledge. I person can be a scriptorian, but unless they practice the faith and precepts found in the scriptures, they are not truly wise in the scriptures. It got me thinking...am I wise in the knowledge/info I teach my children? You know, practice what I preach, etc. If I want them to internalize and see the wisdom of the teachings of the gospel, I need to work with them practicing the meaning and intent of the gospel. Knowledge is information; wisdom is knowing how and when to apply the information to our lives. <br />
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Definitely something for me to think on...Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-21943525277539315852012-09-07T09:30:00.001-05:002012-09-07T09:30:34.073-05:00A HeroToday is just a quick thought...I have been thinking a lot about my husband, Kit. He is an example to me. I have been down on myself about my lack of determination to follow through with watching my food intake and exercise output. I want to...I just want to allow myself to not worry about it as well... ;) Then there is my husband. For those who didn't know him pre-coast guard, they wouldn't believe he shunned exercise and couldn't stand the thought of watching what he eats. Kit has made and is trying to make being healthy his hobby. This is a very difficult thing for someone who doesn't like to work to be healthy (I know, it's me, right!). He has been and is an inspiration to me to me in his waking up early (he would regularly sleep til one if he could), chugging away at his exercise of choice, and helping me plan meals that are healthy and hopefully yummy. I know I lift him up in other areas of our life, but this is one where he carries me. I am thankful for his heroism of healthiness. <br />
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If you want to follow his determination to get healthy and help cheer him on, you can find him <a href="http://marzipanincident.blogspot.com/">here</a>.<br />
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I love you, babe!Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-46421559141124314162012-08-29T16:30:00.002-05:002012-08-29T16:30:29.413-05:00In My MindOk, so I slid off the journaling wagon...I can do this, I can do this. I do want to record things for posterity, I just don't know exactly how/where to do it. I want to share the things in my mind, but I don't know if I want people to read them. My mind is a little weird, I tell ya! I don't always feel up and up and there are so many struggles, just like everyone else has. I'm not sure I want to add more to the world. But, I'm not necessarily writing for the public. I think I'm just writing to write in a journal right now. We'll see if it sticks around after YW and hopefully it will. I need to relieve my burden of guilt (I told you weird mind) to all the un-named few and tell you this blog probably isn't entertaining. It might be simply up and down as I am.<br />
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So, now to my inner crazy...<br />
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Things have been well these last days before school officially starts. Crazy that it doesn't start around here until after Labor Day. My boys have become quite bored-complaining there is nothing to do, yet they are furiously riding their bikes (and furiously is a good descriptive for the way they ride), staring fixedly at the TV screen playing video games, popping popcorn and watching movies like this is the last summer of their lives.<br />
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Money has been tight, like it often is, but I have tried to make this last part of summer fun. We've played games, made treats and lazed around. I feel guilty we haven't done more. Maybe if I learned to budget money a little better, we'd have a little more to burn. ;)<br />
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We have been making inroads into the help we need to get for Emmeline. It is a slow process with a lot of forms, signatures and evaluations. I am SO thankful, though, that we are in the military. Despite having poverty level salary (no joke) we have the blessing of all the medical help we need for our family. I can't imagine trying to do this on our own without it. Emmeline has been showing some improvements with her communication. I am jumping for joy with her self-manufactured phrases of "I want". Unfortunately her demands usually fall along the lines of cookies, but I'm still excited. Another form of communication she has recently acquired is her tugs. She has started pulling me from a room if she wants something not in there or just hanging on my legs if she wants me to hold her. This is an improvement to crying or using her rote phrases. The downside to her learning more communication is she turns to more self-stimulating to help her cope. Typical behavior for ASD. She has started hand waving/flapping, throwing more tantrums, and using her peripheral vision to look at people and objects. I am excited to learn how and what to do to help Em to continue to progress. <br />
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I have been dealing with all of these changes in my settled life by reading up on it. It is interesting to read on the theories of causes, therapies and behavioral challenges. I have learned to be so thankful for the level Emmeline is at. She is high-functioning and my heart aches for the parents, family and friends of those who deal with much lower-functioning autism. I am encouraged by the research and the progress made towards helping children with ASD. It is amazing how much good can be done with the speech and behavior therapies. Another stressor for me, however, is letting go of the guilt of not doing enough. I feel guilt about her diet, guilt about how engaged/not engaged I am, guilt about being a hand in her having ASD. There are so many theories, so many techniques to try. I'm never doing quite enough. Uggh!!! I need to rid myself of the burden of guilt!! I swear I go through life with this big ol' bag of things I perceive to have been my fault. I get rid of one thing and I just throw seven more up on the pile. Aw well...I'm workin' on it. <br />
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On another note, I am dealing with a mustachioed man. Yes, Kit has decided to grow a mustache. No, I have no hand in this. In fact, it is well advertised (thankfully! I wouldn't want people thinking I liked it!) by my husband how I dislike the fur sitting under his nose. I have kept my opinion mostly to myself...mostly...in hopes he won't act like typical Kit (there are those who understand what I mean) and take my deliberately keep it to bug me. Maybe this hairy phase will only last a few more weeks until his class leaves. Grrrrr. What kills me is he is getting both positive and negative attention! Seriously!! He has had a few COMPLIMENTS from a couple of higher-ups at work! Craziness!! He also has friends fueling him with negative attention...he is now known as "Porn Stache" in jujitsu. Blehhhh! But, I will say what I said to him. I love him. I will always love him...despite the animal attached to his upper lip.<br />
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Alright, I opened the flood gates on my crazy mind...I will reign it in now. Until later...Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-72455577982264700982012-08-17T19:41:00.003-05:002012-08-17T19:41:33.739-05:00HappinessYesterday and today I felt happiness. Little bubbles of bright colors floating around inside. So, I scanned quickly through the events of the last couple of days. Nope, nothing stood out. I have been happy just because I'm a happy person by nature.<br />
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Huh...it's been a while.<br />
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It feels good.Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-9840956554716299172012-08-14T08:57:00.001-05:002012-08-14T09:00:36.726-05:00Being FilledAs I lounge here in my nice COOL home, I have been thinking of how thankful I am of this past week. It started out a little off...AC died and repair meant ordering in a new part , children particularly tiresome due to heat, and money being tight at the end of a pay check. BUT- I have been putting reading the scriptures and saying meaningful prayers to the test. Life hasn't gotten easier, but I have been more able to handle it. It has been like a little reservoir inside me has been filled, so it took just a bit longer before I was all drained out. I was more in tune with blessings-the weather has been overcast and cooler (high 80s instead of 90s) which has made living in our home without AC so much more bearable. All of the wearisome appointments gave us an opportunity to get out of the house at the hottest points in the day. I have been repeatedly blessed in many ways and would normally have missed them. I had just a little more patience (I'm no paragon, so any little bit keeps me on the good side of the law) and a little more ummph to help me get through the day. For that, I am thankful. <br />
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I think I can get used to feeling filled.Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-45289161256236848872012-08-08T22:16:00.001-05:002012-08-08T22:16:44.138-05:00Long Time...No PostI have never been very good at journaling. Not 20 years ago, not a year ago, not now. However, having been recently called as the YW pres and having a strong belief that if I ask the girls to do something, I should be willing to do it too...I have decided to push through my lack of ambition and journal. I find I am even worse (gasp) at writing things down on paper than I am typing, so here is where I'll spill my guts. <div>
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I stopped writing due to overwhelming personal negativity. I have been too stressed to feel perky, funny, clever in any arena in my life, so the blog was one of the first things to go. Don't expect this blog to be fab. If you want fabbity-fab cleverness, check out <a href="http://semihipmom.blogspot.com/">Whit's blog</a>. If you want stunning pictures of darling children, check out <a href="http://thehumphrey5.blogspot.com/">Steph's blog</a>. If you want to know the inner craziness of my mind...well, don't say I never warned you...keep reading.</div>
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Liberty, negative?! Uh, I know you're not surprised. Despite being a glass full kinda gal toward the rest of the world, my view of myself and my capabilities are on the "glass is dry as a bone" level. It is one of my own exhibits of anxiety, but it slowly starts to erode my ability to fulfill even my lowest potential. I have found when that begins to happen, our loving Heavenly Father steps in and hands me a job to do. The kind of job that requires my blinders to be shed and my mind and activities turned to others. Hmmm, maybe one of these days I'll learn my lesson. I am excited and terrified of my new calling. Thank heavens the Lord never expected me to tackle it on my own. </div>
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Other issues on my mind are my darling children. I love my beasties and I am so, so very thankful I have the opportunity to be a mother. BUT, I am so overwhelmed right now. My older boys are dealing with anxiety (thankfully manageable with their medication) and ADHD. We haven't decided to medicate for it yet, but sometimes I don't know if I can handle them un-medicated. Gunnison is well, Gunnison. As his adoring auntie labeled him, he's one "loose cannon". He is the sweetest, most loving, exasperating child. He is one big warrior spirit in one tiny, wiggly body. I throw my hands up on him. I need to help guide him, but I don't know how. He is not my older boys. He is his very own person and I'm not sure how to move around his stubbornness. He will pray when he chooses to pray. If forced to say his nighttime prayers, he will resort to demon-voice praying, coughing after each word, or simply pretending to be asleep (with snores and snuffling sound affects). He is so funny and so...stressing. </div>
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And then there's Emmeline. My beautiful, beautiful Emme. Oh, how I love her. She is such a special part in our family. She is our last. She is our sweet daughter. After noticing a different-ness to her, something not quite right on age, regression, our doctor had her seen by a developmental pediatrician. Emmeline has been diagnosed with PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder-not otherwise specified), a disorder on the autism spectrum. My heart hurts, but it is alright. Emmeline is still beautiful Emmeline. She is still the same spirit in the same little body. I ache with both tears and smiles. Things that make her unique also make her different. She adores Dora; she hates loud noises. Her words are only phrases she has learned; she knows all her abc's and has a large repretoire of songs she sings. She loves her babies; you have to work hard for her love. She has meltdowns with change; she has a special animal growl (ok, it does sound a little like a dying animal) that means "tickle me". She is wonderful and a wonderfully large challenge. I am up to the task, but I am scared. Scared of all the what-ifs. I am struggling with parenting my children. I am floundering all of the time. Daily living seems to be kicking my tail. I had grandiose plans of preparing my children for their missions...I am working on keeping them alive and sane. </div>
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Okay, I know the Lord is here for me. I know if I am struggling, then I have been the one to draw away from the Lord, not the other way around. Things will get better, they always do. I have shoulders to cry on, hands to hold, and angels to bear me up. My burden is light. I am thankful for the burdens I have. I know I can handle the ones I have, and I am lucky.</div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-19146924773605501512012-03-12T23:03:00.002-05:002012-03-12T23:19:00.748-05:00Glee, Frogs and ChickensDid anyone out there know I love music? I mean I ADORE music. I love how it makes me feel happy, in love, upbeat, spiritual...I love it all. (Ok, I do not appreciate the goodness of angry rap. Nope. Not at all) I belt out songs in the car when I'm all alone and with the radio up so loud I cannot hear my voice and I know, I <i>know </i>I am singing amazingly. I am AWESOME, a supa-star. Then, the song stops a beat quicker than I do (dang I need to watch my tempo) and I hear the sounds emitting from my mouth and I think "ko-kee", the sound the frogs native to Puerto Rico make (thank you, Diego, for that little piece of knowledge). Yes, I do believe I sound like a frog. So, I sing like a frog. Ok. No one needs to know that. It is between me and the empty van. Then, I get a phone call and I am told the Primary is moving me from teaching the sunbeams to being the Primary Chorister. What!? I believe I laughed in their faces (accepted the call, but still kind of poke my finger and laugh at them in an I-told-you-so kind of way). I can't sing! And I can't lead!! Seriously, you wouldn't think it is that hard and it isn't. When you wave your arm up and down like the little sunbeams. At least, that is how I've been leading the singing since I realized I look like a chicken wildly off beat as I try to keep the room full of beasties interested, learning and loving a song. But, I love it. I truly, truly love this calling. The children don't care if my voice squeaks or I can't hit the high notes (or really the low ones, either). They don't care if I lead them with one-two, one-two. They love music as much as I do and I get to share that love with them. It is amazing. <div><br /></div><div>So, in honor of the love of singing:</div><div> <iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/j8OpA_f4DtM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-1973774531163815732012-02-21T12:47:00.003-06:002012-02-21T12:54:04.482-06:00Missing the SouthHappy Fat Tuesday, ya'll! I am missing the deep Southern culture this time of year. The yummy stickiness of King Cake, the spice of boiled peanuts and the fabulous parades throwing beads, stuffed animals and moon pies into the waiting arms of my cheering children. Ahhh, Mardi Gras, how we miss you. I did purchase a King Cake this year, but had to find one at a specialty grocer. ...sigh... and when your children reminisce about how they miss their Mardi Gras school break, you know we're missing Alabama.<div><br /></div><div>So a little feel of the Soul of the South from a band with our {{Albama}} love goin' on...</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MPrza6iiCWU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-34212156610193419422012-02-13T21:15:00.002-06:002012-02-13T21:21:35.520-06:00The Old Saying...<span ><span style="font-size: 100%;">Ya'll know the old </span>adage<span style="font-size: 100%;"> your parents parroted to you as a youth? It goes something like this..."if your ______ told you to jump off a _____ would you do it?" The correct answer here is "No! Of course not!". Hmmm...if your name happens to be Gavin and we filled in the blanks with "older brother" and "2nd story bedroom window sill" the answer would be "Yes, I would and did. Ninjas can jump that far." *sigh* His poor guardian angels work over-time keeping that kid out of the ER.</span></span>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-54526154780334983722012-01-28T08:05:00.002-06:002012-01-28T08:46:10.403-06:00Reality Vs. ImaginationAnd the dead shall rise...no, not a zombie apocalypse, just something worthy of resurrecting my dead blog. What is worthy of such feat? Imagination. Yep, boys and girls, I have found the secret to a happy existence. Imagination. The secret of life is learned from a little child. My beasties have a LARGE repertoire of imaginary scenarios to choose from. The idea occurred to me last night as I was tucking my youngest son into bed. He insisted on wearing a black cloth around the lower half of his face due to the fact he was the "lightning ninja" and ninjas wear black masks. After explaining he might just suffocate during the night and there could be nothing more un-ninja like than that, he settled for clutching it in his hand with the promise of wearing it in the morning. Why would this inspire me? Well, what I haven't explained is he also didn't want to go to bed until he realized ninjas sleep is also like training...you need energy and ninjas can sleep anywhere, anytime (ok, there might have been a little brain washing from me on that one). He decided bed wasn't such a bad idea. Hmmm...maybe we're onto something here. Yep, this morning the wheels were turning and I thought I'd try a little of the imagination thing for myself. And let me tell you, it is AMAZING! See for yourself. <div><br /><div>Scenario: I am lounging in my bed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Imagination: I am lounging in my bed against soft and fluffy pillows dressed in a lovely grass green peignoir. My hair is naturally, of course, cascading softly over my shoulders in large curls and I am darlingly fresh-faced after a rewarding night of beauty sleep. I am relaxing to the sounds of my children laughing and playing downstairs, while I read an enlightening book and munching on calorie-free bonbons (uh, lets make it red-velvet cherries from Albanees, yum). </div><div><br /></div><div>Reality: (brace yourself) I am lounging in my bed against soft and limp pillows-probably due to the fact they are not much more than dust mite fodder. My hair is a relative rat's nest, yesterday's curls are not handling beauty sleep becomingly. I am not wearing a beautiful peignoir...I am wearing an old tee of Kit's and exercise pants-hmmm, smelling slightly stale...could be due to the fact I have worn them to bed a couple of nights already this week or maybe because my sheets need to be washed. Could be. I know I have dragon breath and the darling sparkles in the air are caused by dust fluttering down from the blades of my fan as it spins. My children are playing together downstairs, but the laughter is starting to get that shrill edge to it, a sure indication of intervention needed soon. No enlightening book, just me clicking away on the laptop, And no red-velvet cherries. Sigh...probably a good thing since they are not calorie free and I would be stuffing them down my throat as fast as my greedy hands can scoop them up. I am chewing on a broken nail, though.</div><div><br /></div><div>See, imagination is so much better than the reality! The images make me smile...</div><div><br /></div><div>You may think my reasoning silly, but when I'm smiling sweetly as I separate laundry (Imagination: I'm Cinderella {a beautiful dark-haired version} sweetly going about my chores my wicked step-mother created for me) and you are begrudgingly doing yours, you might just buy into my secret of happiness.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-4111957488387310552011-12-13T18:05:00.007-06:002011-12-13T18:30:49.008-06:00'Tis the SeasonAnd for some reason I am not feeling jolly. Could it be my shoes are too tight? I don't know, but I've been less than into Christmas this season. I started my shopping/budgeting late this year and I HATE trying to figure out money and gifts. Ugggh...if only I had an endless budget to give the best gifts EVER. I know I'd be an amazing gifter. It is my favorite thing to do!! Sigh...Behind and feeling stressed is not how I wanted my season to go. I had grandiose ideas of the things we'd do and experience and I truly haven't accomplished anything much. Blahhh! <div><br /></div><div>BUT, the true reason for the Christmas Season has been smacking me upside the head quite often. It probably started out with Josiah coming to me and asking the "truth". I believe in coming clean, but also reminding him what Santa is all about. And, Josiah had no problem catching on. In fact, he has been teaching me the lessons. He has been so excited in sharing the joy of Christmas with his brothers. He helps out with Jean Luc (our special Cajun Elf on the Shelf) and gleams with joy when his brothers giggle when they see the funny places our elf hides. He has hemmed and hawed over his Christmas list since he knows when funding for gifts comes from. I have had to remind him to still write a list, Christmas miracles happen. He has come home with treats and ideas from school to share and help his brothers get all excited. And then, he even offered his money. I was looking online making lists for the boys when he noticed what I was doing. He remembered Gavin has asked for a DS this year. He knows they cost a lot and so the next thing I see is him coming towards me with his birthday money in hand. Being the sweet brother he is, he offered it up to help us afford Gav's DS. I told him not to worry about it, but he persisted and finally explained he wanted Gavin to have the best gift and wanted to help out. So willing to give. So willing to love. Thank you Josiah for a sweet lesson on selfless giving.</div><div><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Reiz_3COGDM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-55120964765799620882011-11-12T13:42:00.002-06:002011-11-12T14:17:39.811-06:00You gotta watch out for cracken, the weed and SonicAnother post minus pictures...awful, I know. It is because I used up all of my picture energy printing out a gi-normous stack for my little bro on his mission. Sorry...energy all depleted. So, ya'll get a little post of words. But at least I AM posting. <div><br /></div><div>This past couple of weeks have been red ribbon weeks for my beasties. Gunnison came home shaking his booty to a rap "no, no, I won't do drugs 'cause I love my body too much!" Yes, little pale Gunner had his gangsta moment. Gavin came home full of quips on how drugs hurt your agility, memory and other necessary skills required to perform well in the ninja arena. And then Josiah came home full of good, accurate information. Stuff like "you gotta watch out for cracken and the weed. Mom, that stuff is bad! Cracken makes you all crazy and the weed makes you see things...yep, you better watch out for cracken and the weed." Cracken, huh...hmmm...better make sure I help him understand the real terminology. Wouldn't want anyone offering crack or coke to him and him be like "sure! As long as it's not that cracken stuff. You gotta watch out for it!"</div><div><br /></div><div>And Sonic...I sure gotta watch out for Sonic. The realization that I am addicted to the jolly Happy Hour at Sonic kinda slapped me in the face. Emmeline is getting quite chatty, mostly gibberish, but real words and concepts make there way out randomly. I noticed as we traveled down Jefferson Ave., Emme will randomly call out "dank-you!!" After a few of these, I paid attention and noticed it was as we were passing Sonic. Hmmm...could that be it? Yep, on a random act of necessary vice-ness, I pulled in and bought a drink for me and some for the beasties. I thanked the car-hop and hear an echo behind me. I pour a bit off the boys' into her sippy (yep, I allow my not quite 2 year old too sugary drinks) and hear another "dank-you". Could it be? Uh-huh. Sonic has been re-named "dank-you". Unfortunately, the addiction realization continued when the car-hop made his early college/high-school rear back to my window to check on us. (By the way, did you know they offer free refills as long as you are there? Yes, that's right. Go ahead, smile as you get a refill on your big ol' Route 44 drink. Fabulousness.) "Hey," he says with a bright-eyed smile. "You colored your hair! I like it darker." I stammer out that this is my more natural color and thank you. He doesn't even know my name, but he has seen me enough to know my hair colors. Been there a little too often. Maybe. Just a little. Gotta watch out for Sonic. It's addictive, I tell ya. </div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-7125365958637488662011-11-03T08:47:00.002-05:002011-11-03T08:49:22.543-05:00Hmmm...You know you need to write a blog post when you, yourself, start checking the blog daily to see if a new post has composed itself...<div><br /></div><div>Hmmm...I promise a post will be arriving...not promising it will be much. Sorry, just not feelin' the bloggy cleverness lately.</div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-73058387987511323232011-09-28T17:02:00.003-05:002011-09-28T17:06:12.477-05:00NogginI took Emmeline to her 18 month well-baby check and immunizations today (I know, she's past 18 months). She was on the 1% for height, 1% for weight and 65% for head circumference. <div><br /></div><div>Hmmm...Kit is just waiting for her to stand in front of the TV screen .</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yYKHek8Z7zk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-53523316790011922132011-09-19T10:37:00.002-05:002011-09-19T11:15:13.946-05:00The Act of Becoming<div>-Warning- This post is just my rambling thoughts. No cute pictures of the beasties or beastette-</div><div><br /></div>From the time we are little we are questioned what we want to be when we grow up. In fact, my two oldest boys were recently asked this question in school. Their answers made me smile as they fit their personalities to a "T". Josiah wants to be a scientist, a researcher and Gavin wants to be a ninja-veterinarian (he does not feel these professions need to be exclusive). <i style="font-size: x-small; "> </i><span class="Apple-style-span" >I always knew I wanted to be a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend and a good daughter. In seeing myself in these roles I sometimes wonder how I got here. How did I end up being 30 years old, caretaker of 4 children-of course having the body to prove I have given birth to said 4 children, wife to my husband and minder of all things pertaining to my household and family? I know there were choices that led me here...before meeting my future sweetie I had decided to move to OK and attend OSU, after being married we ended up surprised with number 1, praying about number 2, being surprised by number 3 and knowing there needed to be a 4th. We moved here and there, but always keeping in touch with our family. These decisions have all helped shape my life, shaped me. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I hadn't really thought about this much, but the realization struck me when given a blessing by my husband. The words in the blessing from my Heavenly Father were a phrase out of my patriarchal blessing. In that moment, I knew I had <i>become</i> something the Lord intended for me from the start. It was a peaceful feeling to know I made it to the right place at the right time of my life. So, the tired gears in my mind have been going for the last couple of weeks. Chugging along at a depressingly slow rate, let me tell you...but I have noticed a feeling of recognition when I have come across things that have made me...ME. Loving to be around children, the desire to learn more more more, the protectiveness for anyone I feel maternal about (whether it is my beasties, my friends' children, my little brothers or the most darling, fabulous, cute co-worker of my husband) and the urge to armor up my little warriors for the battles of life are a few things that make me who I am. These traits are in part innate and in part learned. But, I struggle every day, <i>EVERY DAY </i>to be a better, nicer person. It's hard!! The struggle often ends in defeat with me in the corner furiously sipping on a CFDCw/VC </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">(caffeine free diet coke with vanilla and cherry added- for those of you who don't know my addiction) </span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i> </i>to help me feel better about myself and my failures. The thing is, I am my worst critic. My harshest point of view is directed at myself. Do I fail? Oh, so often it hurts! But, I get back up. I keep struggling to be better. That is the conclusion all my muddled thinking has resulted in-the getting up, the trudging along, the bumps, bruises and scars are all the act of becoming who we should be. I am in the act of becoming.</span></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-6344996570891625502011-09-08T14:36:00.003-05:002011-09-08T14:45:46.543-05:00Checked Out for the Summer<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GL5EfVahRvc/TmkbL0JqGFI/AAAAAAAABY0/qvXkFqFcIec/s1600/road%2Bsign.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 198px; height: 254px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GL5EfVahRvc/TmkbL0JqGFI/AAAAAAAABY0/qvXkFqFcIec/s320/road%2Bsign.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650077097304660050" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(downloaded from google images)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Whew! This has been one crazy summer...family visiting, driving over 36 hours to South Dakota for a fam reunion...then the return trip, another road trip to Okie for my little brother's wedding to the darling Miss Hannah and finally the start of school for all three of my boys. Sheesh! If only the road trips made me shed weight instead of gain it. I'd be one skinny babe if the hours spent in the car battling barf, headaches, name-calling, shoving, malfunctioning electronics, dirty diapers, missing shoes, decoding T0m-Tom directions, and shouting at the beasties made up for the pb m&ms, triscuits, Twizzlers and milk duds shoveled into my mouth on a regular basis.<img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-En-7HTaIE_4/TmkbLiYNp8I/AAAAAAAABYs/Lxbkp-3uIBc/s320/road%2Btrip.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 188px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650077092533872578" />Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-27960159681091503002011-07-08T09:30:00.003-05:002011-07-08T09:35:51.929-05:00Mom, Mimi, Birthday Girl<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Happy Birthday, our sweet Mom.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > We all love, love, love you!!! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KtQ1ETEQCag/ThcVVo07lqI/AAAAAAAABYk/PxE7oEXCBJE/s320/DSC01878.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626989720903587490" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > Here's to another half a century!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(I know these aren't my children...we definitely need to take pics on our vacation this year!)</span></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-10574276926416308342011-06-23T13:14:00.003-05:002011-06-23T13:32:04.496-05:0010+We made it 10 years! There have been <i>many,</i><b style="font-style: italic; "> many, MANY </b>times I thought I'd kill Kit and I'm sure he has had quite a few incidents where he was positive if he didn't tuck his hands into folded arms he would simply reach out and strangle me. But- like a fine bottle of balsamic vinegar (seeing how we don't drink alcohol and diet caffeine free dr. pepper doesn't age well, I thought I'd choose an analogy that worked) things have definitely gotten stronger, deeper, much much better with time. I look at my eternal sweetheart and my heart thumps a little harder. I rub his smile lines around his eyes (and if you know Kit, you know they are smile lines...ok and squint lines if he isn't wearing his sunglasses) and adore how sexy he has gotten. I love watching him speed through yet another dirty diaper of Emmeline's and talking trash with my boys as they watch each other play video games. I love how he has started to finally understand how helping out around the house can <i>help</i> him out and how every now and then I come home to dishes done or the floor swept. I love how he knows what I mean with a particular look at church or at a party or across the dinner table. I love how he loves me and despite a body that has carried and birthed (that word brings to mind heaving labor...and yes, yes it was) 4 children, he still finds me irresistibly sexy. I love how he answers the phone "Hello, beautiful" when he knows it is me. I love how I have learned to ignore his "Sunday black socks" and he has learned to just listen when I cry and give advice later. I love how we are better together.<div><br /></div><div>Here's to 10 years, Babe, and counting!!</div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-21352792353127160202011-06-13T20:30:00.008-05:002011-06-13T21:41:51.420-05:00Got Brains?<div style="text-align: left;">Ok, so this is Kit...you might be wondering why Liberty hasn't posted in a while. She might tell you that she is busy with life, or that she is so tired after cleaning the house and doing the laundry and wrestling with the children that she is to pooped, he he he I said <span class="Apple-style-span">"poop"</span><span class="Apple-style-span">(reference below blog)</span> , at night to blog. She might even throw in, just as a diversion, that she is training for a 10 mile <a href="http://toughmudder.com/events/virginia/?utm_source=Google&utm_medium=CPC&utm_campaign=TSM_Virginia_General&Keyword=Tough%20mudder&MatchType=b&Distribution=Search&AdID=8486044020&Placement=&gclid=COKu9sCvtKkCFUPf4AodPkb9MA">Tough Mudder</a>, this last is true but would be a way to distract you from what the real reason is. She would be trying to pull the proverbial wool over your eyes. After almost ten years of marriage Liberty has found something she truly is in love with...no, not me but...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /><div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CKXWykhiVMY/Tfa8VIEQ--I/AAAAAAAABYU/lobSF3lBSXQ/s320/plants-vs-zombies.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617884656319921122" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'll have to admit the game is like Electronic Meth, instantly addicting and starts to take over your life. I don't know why, maybe it's the cute little expressions on the plants' faces or the way the zombies tirelessly trudge along in their short little lives as an occasional "brains!?" escapes their zombified lips. After a few games though, you start figuring out how to get out of work and soon you are on the street corner selling pirated tickets for <i>Battlestar Galactica on Ice</i> to school children so you can buy other electronic devices, portable ones, so you can play the game anywhere. And thus it has my beautiful wife clasped in its deadly grasp (no pun intended). Children have been ordered off the XBOX, interrupting <i>their</i> gamings of Plants VS Zombies (PVZ), so she can play. A PVZ tournament has been scheduled for the "Last Day of School" party we are have at our house. Nobody but our family is invited, if we did, it would mean we have to share precious PVZ time. Even as I type, you can see <i><b>I </b></i>am not playing PVZ...and I have proof...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W63ySO0IpP0/TfbA7IweZSI/AAAAAAAABYc/vVdDTcWxkh0/s320/DSCN1589.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617889707386889506" /></div><div><br /></div><div>There she is playing while I blog, will you help me help her realize her problem? We have even had discussions about buying another TV and XBOX so we play two games of PVZ at the same time (ok, so not really, but it would be fun...maybe that is something I can swing to make something worthwhile come out of her addiction...hmmm). It's like a car crash and I can't turn away, just watch helplessly on the side lines. Help me, my fellow blog friends, you are my only hope... help me get her back to blogging...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>...then I can get some PVZ time.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"></span> </div></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-6594493171450006702011-06-03T15:25:00.005-05:002011-06-06T21:23:04.335-05:00PoopThose of you who are determined to stay clean-minded, read no further. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I, too, had the desire. However, motherhood has wiped that wish right away. You see, life as a parent is full of poop. It comes in so many forms: little mustard seed poop from breast-fed babies, nasty "what in the world did he eat" diapers, little rose-bud mouths blurting out "Poop" in the middle of church, panicked shouts of "I have to go poopy, NOW!". I can't forget dirtied underwear from potty-training, jokes featuring bowel-movements and sounds, and tales of scraping out you-know-what from beneath a daughter's fingernails. </div><div><br /></div><div>The thing is, I don't like poop. I don't even find it at all humorous. Bathroom jokes are lost on me; when my children blurt out inappropriate "potty" words just for the fun of it, they are sent to sit in the bathroom. I would like to forget that anyone even has a need for toilets. So, why a post on poop? Well, I am SICK of it! Maybe if I air out all of my grievances, they will be alleviated. It seems that poop has been one of my plagues in mother-ness! </div><div><br /></div><div>I would have to claim my oldest set the course, with splattering yellow substance all over my white shirt minutes prior to our leaving for church, and it has been downhill from there. You see, it seems Josiah has some kind of bowel issue. We have been seeing a GI specialist for awhile now, in the attempt to figure out what is going on. Poor boy, I am truly sorry for him. It isn't easy to have to freeze, clench your bottom, wait a second to get control, then run straight for the bathroom. We probably should have recognized there was an issue when as a 3 year old we were visiting OSU campus feeding ducks at Theta Pond, Jos told us he needed to go to the bathroom. Immediately handing the bread over to Auntie Steph, he and I hightailed it across the park to the nearest building...too far away. As we walked/ran, I became aware of little plops occurring in time with wails from Jos (being so scrawny, things simply fell out of his not-so-tightie-whities and shorts). Yep, my son's poop was spotting the sidewalk. </div><div><br /></div><div>Since then, mother-hood has hurled all kinds of poop at me. I. Am. Tired. Of. It. This past month has given me waaaay too much interaction with the substance. Gavin had weeks of upset stomach and digestive tract. The doctor ordered a stool sample. Yep, the collector was me. Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice a small Tupperware for the collection. There was NO way I was holding that little cup under my son's rear. The nurse neglected to give me a collection hat. Lovely. </div><div><br /></div><div>A few days later I took the kiddies with me to Chik-Filet for family night with some friends. Emme decided to dirty her diaper. I had decided to be a neglectful mother and not pack diapers. I carried her out to the car on my hip...hmmm, after buckling her in I realized I still smelled poop. Huh, two lovely sh-mears of brown substance gleamed against my white shirt. Obviously a visit to Target was out. No getting out of a run to Wal-mart, though. I needed to pick up a laxative and intensive bowel cleanser for Josiah per doc's orders (am I seeing a pattern here?). I slipped my brown sling on (anyone noticing brown with think they just caught a glimpse of a piece of the sling, right?) and squished stinky bum into it. I would like to claim that was the end of the embarrassments due me, but it wasn't. Emme went on to pee down my leg into my shoe (did you know full diapers simply can't hold ANY more?) and left a lovely puddle on the floor. A little old lady was tottering around and I had images of her slipping in my daughter's pee puddle, falling and breaking a hip. As serenely as I could around teeth clenched in mortification (Josiah in the background bellowing "Stand back everyone, this is my little sister's <i>pee</i>!"), I begged paper towels from the pharmacist and swiped it up. I think I set the record on self-checkout that evening. </div><div><br /></div><div>The following Monday I set off to pick up flowers to plant. We tackled Home Depot and just as we are checking out in the outside garden center, Gunnison tells me he needs to go to the bathroom. Since he has been potty-trained, I have realized Gunner can wait a bit before the needs become accidents. So, I ask if he can wait until we get across the street to Lowes. He agrees and we set off. We enter in the front garden center and start looking at the clearance racks of flowers. Gunner and Gavin start playing spies and dart in and out of the surrounding shelves. I ask Gun if he was still ok. "Yep!" Keeping one eye on them and the other on the fabulous finds for 75% off!!, I fill up my cart and call for the boys to head with me inside. From across the aisle comes the wail, "Oh! I've got to go poopy, now!!" Oh no, I should have seen this coming. Spy wars only distract until the need becomes incessant. At a near run, we take off for the restrooms-that are far across the store and in the back. Of course. As we rush, I notice a wafting smell reaching my nose. Poor little Gunner starts to cry. Those underwear went right into the garbage, wrapped up in a bazillion paper towels. Thank heavens I remembered wet-wipes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Poop is so un-kosher. Who likes to show up at playgroup and start a conversation with, "You should have seen the bm my son made today. Doc is having us keep track of when, how much and description!" Uh, no. Poop is the lurking monster under the bed. We can laugh about it every now and then, but how many fearful mommies out there have just thrown the underwear away to be rid of it? Who else is tired of doing laundry with a faint aroma of a not-so-pleasant truck stop? </div><div><br /></div><div>Poop. I'm tired of it.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2740859601979962166.post-10345666203642997292011-05-20T09:04:00.005-05:002011-05-20T09:46:15.458-05:00Maniacs<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Behold the Rugged Maniac and Rugged Miniacs...</div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GcYzZ_muR7U/TdZ5Kcii6QI/AAAAAAAABYA/WnM_eSBKGJA/s320/DSCN1532.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608803606303271170" />Kit entered the Rugged Maniac race with a few office buddies last weekend. Seriously, you must be crazy to enter such a race! There are obstacles, running through forested areas, leaping over fire and mud, mud, and more mud! Kit had a blast! Meanwhile, a Miniac course was set up for the younger crazies. Of course my resident loonies took up the challenge.<div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">About to prove how rugged they are</div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9so2UZZ59K4/TdZ5KIeLDMI/AAAAAAAABX4/gGnouG6DmJU/s320/DSCN1534.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608803600916221122" /><div><div style="text-align: center;">Dancing to the fabulously loud music</div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QSXmQmn9psY/TdZ5JrgL4HI/AAAAAAAABXw/ZC4S9AedvkI/s320/DSCN1539.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608803593140035698" /><div style="text-align: center;">Crawling under lines in a mud pit</div></div><div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P50zoBvzxNg/TdZ5JW2HAoI/AAAAAAAABXo/Yc6UDDeJYk4/s320/DSCN1543.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608803587594846850" />Climbing over the wall-Gavin would lag behind Josiah in the wall climb, but he would pull ahead every time going through the mud pit and would beat Josiah. Gav was one determined little miniac...<img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YTGcYtqKsJ4/TdZ3ac_SUkI/AAAAAAAABXg/JP3zw8EDB_s/s320/DSCN1545.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608801682278470210" /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">He's a rugged one...who loves him mama...</div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QbZEMjXCGxg/TdZ3Z5eANXI/AAAAAAAABXY/2O2pdLRkxm4/s320/DSCN1551.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608801672743630194" />While the boys were proving themselves, Kit was out proving he was just as rugged. Here he is scaling a wall surrounded by...yep, mud.<img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oepxr6kxUAM/TdZ3ZhxDoAI/AAAAAAAABXQ/UIspDEtR80A/s320/DSCN1554.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608801666381094914" /><br />The enormous slide the guys had to go down to reach the last leg of the race. They zoom down into a giant puddle of mud! All of them said this was their absolute favorite part.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S2bv1yTI_ng/TdZ3ZSCSvwI/AAAAAAAABXI/Q629dhQ2KPI/s1600/DSCN1556.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S2bv1yTI_ng/TdZ3ZSCSvwI/AAAAAAAABXI/Q629dhQ2KPI/s320/DSCN1556.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608801662158421762" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The real fire pit they had to leap over. I watched them stoke it up a few times</div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zAkzMyK4kfo/TdZ3Y0wSUcI/AAAAAAAABXA/xAWxmfLDJGk/s1600/DSCN1562.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zAkzMyK4kfo/TdZ3Y0wSUcI/AAAAAAAABXA/xAWxmfLDJGk/s320/DSCN1562.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608801654298268098" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Here they are, the manly-men...the Rugged Maniacs!</div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pwtMXueNdyc/TdZ2uwlBsXI/AAAAAAAABW4/tdGo-8j8-44/s320/DSCN1565.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608800931622793586" /><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Df-6UbJEbsc/TdZ2uq3M6mI/AAAAAAAABWw/blYZCdxJxVI/s320/DSCN1566.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608800930088413794" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Emme chillin' </div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bHvvF05gejE/TdZ92sWsTQI/AAAAAAAABYI/OYN48x2VDk0/s320/DSCN1567.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608808764509277442" /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-66qwhOVQCE0/TdZ2uPNGuNI/AAAAAAAABWo/zZcadX98-74/s1600/DSCN1568.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-66qwhOVQCE0/TdZ2uPNGuNI/AAAAAAAABWo/zZcadX98-74/s320/DSCN1568.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608800922664089810" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Eating all the calories burned off in the form of cheese fries, corn dogs and bbq sandwiches</div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dd4NFCbd7GA/TdZ2t8MbDeI/AAAAAAAABWg/voS7frm6OIk/s1600/DSCN1571.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dd4NFCbd7GA/TdZ2t8MbDeI/AAAAAAAABWg/voS7frm6OIk/s320/DSCN1571.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608800917560954338" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">By the end of the afternoon, we were all beat and more than a little grouchy</div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TSiI9H5qRDk/TdZ2tmNT3iI/AAAAAAAABWY/bE3POj15ZOk/s1600/DSCN1572.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TSiI9H5qRDk/TdZ2tmNT3iI/AAAAAAAABWY/bE3POj15ZOk/s320/DSCN1572.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608800911659097634" /></a>Crazy, yep...the house is full of them. What is even crazier, there's another race in October and we're entering it...together. Uh-huh, I got sucked into this one, let's see if I'll pull through. Wish me luck in my training. I simply must prove I am worthy to be spouse to the Rugged Maniac and mother to my Rugged Miniacs!</div></div>Alabama Appleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238707597299794714noreply@blogger.com9