tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3253024650903816972024-02-20T19:41:25.891-08:00"I don't want plenty, I want too much!"my life with 6 kids: a teen, a tween drama queen, and 4 three-year-oldsKelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-10399403858080205082011-12-26T18:35:00.004-08:002012-03-12T20:17:32.256-07:00Christmas Eve & Taxidermy2 words that I never expected to type in the same heading! And what, you may ask, does taxidermy have to do with our Christmas Eve 2011? That is a long story. Let me give you the back story:<br /><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>1) I am petrified of tigers. And bears. And lions. Oh my! Pretty much anything that could eat me. Or maul me to death. I'm not a big fan of wildlife in general which is, I know, very un-PC to say. (Oddly enough, the selling point for our new house was that it backed up into a forest. Every morning, I look out onto our backyard of trees & am thrilled to see the frequent deer visitor. Occasionally we have quail and even wild turkeys. But here's the thing: these wildlife darlings are AFRAID of ME. They bolt off when they see me coming. Unlike, let's say, a tiger which would smell my fear and run right to me!)<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>I used to visit zoos without horror, but now can't even drive past our local "Cat Tales"- zoo for all large cat animals- without shuddering. My children joke about wanting to have birthday parties there, because they know I will not attend.<br /><br /></div><div> </div>2) My husband is the nicest, kindest person that I know. Over the past few months, he has become acquainted with an elderly gentleman named Jerry. He met him at the YMCA, where he learned much of Jerry's story while they worked out on adjacent treadmills. <div> </div><div><br />Recently widowed (last Thanksgiving), the holidays have been very difficult for Jerry. He expressed his despair at the upcoming Christmas season, and my sweet husband decided then and there that we were going to visit Jerry on Christmas Eve and bring him a big fruit basket.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>For days before the event, Quinn got the kids prepared (and very excited) for this Christmas Eve visit we would be making. The little guys were looking forward to it so much that they asked about when we were going to do our "special visit to Jerry" more than they even asked when it was going to be Christmas. It was very touching.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>So where does taxidermy fit into all of this?!?</div><div> </div><div><br />Well, that husband of mine forgot to mention that... JERRY IS A TAXIDERMIST! and that JERRY LIVES IN HIS HOME WHICH IS BEHIND HIS TAXIDERMY STORE & WORKSHOP!<br /><br />Yes, true story, in order to actually visit Jerry, you must WALK THROUGH HIS COLLECTION OF LIONS & TIGERS & BEARS. I am shaking as I yell/type this... two days later!<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>We knocked on Jerry's door, our large clan standing in the snow armed with an even larger basket of goodies, and all I could think was, "Please, please, please don't invite us in." Of course he invited us in. And then all I could do was put on my game face and will myself to disassociate. </div><div> </div><div><br />Jerry was adorable. He didn't cringe at the presence of so many strangers on his doorstep. He wasn't afraid of inviting so many six-year-olds into his store and home. He didn't think twice before insisting that we come all the way inside so that we could see his treasures. He even claimed that we "made his Christmas."</div><div> </div><div><br />The kids were beyond thrilled. We saw tigers, lions, ligers, (a cross between the two that I didn't even know existed to be afraid of) bears, wolves, and on and on. Jerry took great pride in showing us his extensive supply of taxidermy tools and animal skins. (I refused to even let myself wonder what the hooks and tubes and hoses were for. And the glass eyes? Don't even get me started. ) I smiled my way through the tour, clenching Quinn's hand to the point of breaking skin, he later said.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfvrmWX1Urns4S_QTzDwlXgNDZeUF-vxcaL2RQ2QCXDyce0V_IP9RXSaBlkILrcyc7Y0KX7dpYJdbxtRQITI4_3olniKDFwiEtc612-PTOAaPkniHjKyrj2f9JONvtaYwLRw6b-A1ko8/s1600/taxidermy2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfvrmWX1Urns4S_QTzDwlXgNDZeUF-vxcaL2RQ2QCXDyce0V_IP9RXSaBlkILrcyc7Y0KX7dpYJdbxtRQITI4_3olniKDFwiEtc612-PTOAaPkniHjKyrj2f9JONvtaYwLRw6b-A1ko8/s400/taxidermy2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719210552381637170" border="0" /></a><br />And then, in the spirit of Christmas, Jerry offered to show us his "special pet"- the one that he never lets visitors see. "I'm pretty sure he won't bite ya," said Jerry, as he opened a locked back door.<br /><br />Which is when my fight or flight system kicked in. Actually, it was mostly flight. Certain a yet-to-be-taxidermied tiger (alive and kicking) was going to pounce through the door for attack, I was ready to scoop up my young and run like the devil. (Quinn was on his own!)<br /><br />In hindsight, I realize how irrational it was to believe that a real, live tiger was behind the door, but as anybody knows, phobias are never very rational.<br /><br />Behind the door was a huge, 15-foot tiger (once alive, now the pride of Jerry's taxidermist heart.) He asked us to help carry it in and then he set the animal up so that we could take pictures with it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PTIG0ejK3XhSJyjUmHpxLtdd_L4-IEKdZKOmU6rKGHNtYYlDK0XE7yHG32ES5HIFGo7SWn1bYFRY0GbXj4l0NjUZs3SIHF-COh4Iwy1AVpwl4Jh-jJQtDnaKmG1TPfonohyphenhyphenMfFvxUq4/s1600/taxidermyphoto.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PTIG0ejK3XhSJyjUmHpxLtdd_L4-IEKdZKOmU6rKGHNtYYlDK0XE7yHG32ES5HIFGo7SWn1bYFRY0GbXj4l0NjUZs3SIHF-COh4Iwy1AVpwl4Jh-jJQtDnaKmG1TPfonohyphenhyphenMfFvxUq4/s400/taxidermyphoto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719210549040358034" border="0" /></a><br />I've posted one photo here. What you can't see is Quinn and Taylor laughing their heads off in the background while I tried to be polite and pose with the animal of my nightmares. This was somewhat of an "action shot" for me, and I am blurry because I was turning my head left-to-right-and-back-again, over and over, to be certain that a) the beast couldn't possibly come back to life b) there were no other animals, stuffed or otherwise, who would attack.<br /><br />I know, I know. I've never claimed to be sane.<br /><br />This Christmas Eve turned out to be a little traumatic for me- I won't lie. But I loved seeing how excited Quinn and the kids were to try to bring a little Christmas spirit to somebody who was having an even more traumatic Christmas Eve than I was. "I thought today was going to be awful for me," Jerry told us. "But you just made it wonderful."<br /><br />That alone was worth it. Quinn and the kids are already planning our next holiday to include a visit with Jerry. I'm all for it! Although I think this time we'll invite him to our place. Our house is always a zoo- I'm sure he'll feel right at home.<br /><br /></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-30020690833923566322011-03-25T19:01:00.000-07:002011-03-25T19:34:40.704-07:00A Wee Bit Into St. Patrick's Day...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4z9K77W_Omob8prVdB2I0sBFrfJCTZ6i3OKuZMf0Uhbn2t6VWLw0o0rOUWJg3xcR_bKz7CaF-rMvo1nT7JsAwzPfbqCTCfbl71SWsCdXo4gxqUDNkDVlow8pz59n0QbIx9A2v5-54SQ/s1600/IMG_6542.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4z9K77W_Omob8prVdB2I0sBFrfJCTZ6i3OKuZMf0Uhbn2t6VWLw0o0rOUWJg3xcR_bKz7CaF-rMvo1nT7JsAwzPfbqCTCfbl71SWsCdXo4gxqUDNkDVlow8pz59n0QbIx9A2v5-54SQ/s400/IMG_6542.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588205933209303346" border="0" /></a>Maybe it's because I'm Irish. Maybe it's because Quinn went to Notre Dame. Maybe it's because I love Lucky Charms & feeding my children all things green one day a year. Or maybe I just have a penchant for green food coloring. Whatever it is, I LOVE St. Patrick's Day!<br /><br />So when Tanner was asked to build a leprechaun trap for school, we (uh, I mean he) had a great time with it! We tried to outsmart those contrary little leprechauns with a little reverse psychology:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCEfHl5X5kjnJxUJPT6uSYIeOhNVUWY9qQGeVk9ppwpe5Lpd2P4A1aVF7pcvd1fBzhvQqmoBk-vDU2xFpM_WaqAFINhmB5JczI4z4RyUeCBuNmG7UBNnX_pW1ci7fQJ4IFyGEg2mQsqs/s1600/IMG_6529.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCEfHl5X5kjnJxUJPT6uSYIeOhNVUWY9qQGeVk9ppwpe5Lpd2P4A1aVF7pcvd1fBzhvQqmoBk-vDU2xFpM_WaqAFINhmB5JczI4z4RyUeCBuNmG7UBNnX_pW1ci7fQJ4IFyGEg2mQsqs/s400/IMG_6529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588205949269712818" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeK48_aKruSNvuQ2QFIZUewQKfYSinGcRPAqH-JkltbP579Qjyp_hM7OEyZcyrvGRg3KZJ_o28teENQVWG0nENVsFhsO7Bg6zFU-lFkjgST-uNqaVk0-mcATLGiTovid3sNtieHFs4P_A/s1600/IMG_6527.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeK48_aKruSNvuQ2QFIZUewQKfYSinGcRPAqH-JkltbP579Qjyp_hM7OEyZcyrvGRg3KZJ_o28teENQVWG0nENVsFhsO7Bg6zFU-lFkjgST-uNqaVk0-mcATLGiTovid3sNtieHFs4P_A/s400/IMG_6527.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588210437542315250" border="0" /></a>And my little leprechauns were so excited to wake up and find that their own leprechaun traps had been sprung. Somebody tapped on my face at 6 am to tell me: "Mom- I think we caught a leprechaun! And guess what? He totally messed up our rooms! They're a mess!" (Actually, that was because they forgot to pick up their rooms the night before, but we went with it.) And then there were squeals of delight when they discovered the green "pee" (ie, food coloring) in the toilet. "Mom! Mom! That crazy leprechaun used our bathroom and forgot to flush!" They even made us sleep in green pajamas just in case a leprechaun tried to come and pinch us!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRreLNoTVFAgIlqGHLezFMHkuSg8nwxaPTijXAojVYqZKmm-U2HuLzFbLBuNL9F3iv57Qdt_sZZbax1YgMwR1Siv32nW4J37jnlBFbeQs27f-i64T67KWCz3weePS5T4FhuXK5UWMVTo/s1600/IMG_6539.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRreLNoTVFAgIlqGHLezFMHkuSg8nwxaPTijXAojVYqZKmm-U2HuLzFbLBuNL9F3iv57Qdt_sZZbax1YgMwR1Siv32nW4J37jnlBFbeQs27f-i64T67KWCz3weePS5T4FhuXK5UWMVTo/s400/IMG_6539.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588205929416371826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVqbAUBp1lhryGR5okXJ81ZaUTTjELcuG9Xic8kNjGydgRug03kWioh-RcRYJ65DBYL6gXb-rFDU9evqcGgp869B0zy2hhgq5sax34dfhcW7ZgH_5hgQD9GfsgJwVhbrCWbrsZNTs-uA/s1600/IMG_6552.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVqbAUBp1lhryGR5okXJ81ZaUTTjELcuG9Xic8kNjGydgRug03kWioh-RcRYJ65DBYL6gXb-rFDU9evqcGgp869B0zy2hhgq5sax34dfhcW7ZgH_5hgQD9GfsgJwVhbrCWbrsZNTs-uA/s400/IMG_6552.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588205940745565090" border="0" /></a><br />Even the dog got into the spirit of the day:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__pcM5T1X0ek1MlzJrlABK9AdbD_rk_jML9h72485gokD6FmMX_Q_F2qYtk9plF9H92aVzKvMpq5mZs_Zc1EA2bTiQAhAcia5Kh4z3RgluV5uLl5xZJEOQ8dYdqcuBrhdJ-Y5HmB13iE/s1600/IMG_6545.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__pcM5T1X0ek1MlzJrlABK9AdbD_rk_jML9h72485gokD6FmMX_Q_F2qYtk9plF9H92aVzKvMpq5mZs_Zc1EA2bTiQAhAcia5Kh4z3RgluV5uLl5xZJEOQ8dYdqcuBrhdJ-Y5HmB13iE/s400/IMG_6545.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588210445997229378" border="0" /></a>And the big kids? Well, they drew the line at talking in an Irish accent all day (though that didn't stop me!) But they tolerated my silliness, they ate my green eggs and ham for dinner, and they wore green. Carter even announced, "I used Irish Spring soap today especially for you, Mom." What a good lad!Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-17269854793520853802011-02-04T15:34:00.001-08:002011-02-07T21:10:46.844-08:00A Visit From Aunt Katie!We were delighted to have Quinn's sister, Katie, come visit us this past weekend! Besides being super cool and a load of fun, she is like a human playground for my little guys and they adore her. She all but stepped off the plane before they attacked her.<br /><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQmHFVNSltPmDuGAnj92_avanOs6iFNBYTtFmK9Fuvm-NpYL8_Ppwg8Chf8C9S4kWFbwQV_H2Dw9De3S5HnyZ8QDHkZHjujEgfjUJbeTOpTBJkuHqmwNOZNfpHzNPyLcX0L_s_BCxycU/s1600/Katie+photos+009.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQmHFVNSltPmDuGAnj92_avanOs6iFNBYTtFmK9Fuvm-NpYL8_Ppwg8Chf8C9S4kWFbwQV_H2Dw9De3S5HnyZ8QDHkZHjujEgfjUJbeTOpTBJkuHqmwNOZNfpHzNPyLcX0L_s_BCxycU/s400/Katie+photos+009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571159520831979186" border="0" /></a>We hadn't seen Katie since October 2009 at our Disney World Bastian Family Reunion. As you can see, not much has changed. The kids love nothing more than hanging all over poor Katie!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijh_Tqta7fY4W98Irnp1yugE0DSFPcnlgENBGzfxblGMkwLuMcpLb6Txp2ROePlUlTuATY_Mw9FVxKu2cyBwdyB_oDwJa8DO7lMQrKKBOSPbekt_zpSrEvogI9XgTImkizurA3F0Dnn_E/s1600/Katie+photos+3+074.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijh_Tqta7fY4W98Irnp1yugE0DSFPcnlgENBGzfxblGMkwLuMcpLb6Txp2ROePlUlTuATY_Mw9FVxKu2cyBwdyB_oDwJa8DO7lMQrKKBOSPbekt_zpSrEvogI9XgTImkizurA3F0Dnn_E/s400/Katie+photos+3+074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571161001182780722" border="0" /></a>On Saturday, we all went ice skating at the outdoor rink at Riverfront Park. The little ones had never been on ice skates before, and we were nervous about how it would go. They LOVED it and spent over 2 1/2 hours on the ice before we could drag them away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTMEkHM8WwEe8cdq-sef_dvWYe7Kl1VFeeF9gKTUnA9IcToiP9n5hMKpMqGeJlA130M4dZrCOwl0uE_dimHdlfoWf-moU7t82ZfKW05EJ8pZONjIk8-gS8BXXJ5dDosvpQo6MQcwUBGg/s1600/Katie+photos+066.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTMEkHM8WwEe8cdq-sef_dvWYe7Kl1VFeeF9gKTUnA9IcToiP9n5hMKpMqGeJlA130M4dZrCOwl0uE_dimHdlfoWf-moU7t82ZfKW05EJ8pZONjIk8-gS8BXXJ5dDosvpQo6MQcwUBGg/s400/Katie+photos+066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571159533984482130" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh56ArOOSvfdPeVRDF2uDxzp3_OfzOLlKqEW2KchwVeT20sO0zfkk9wo3z0vvMW6Rk0skW4c7RfNDQBHfNsd1rPWpn0sTJaDrkKwL_YGGqHFAp7qdZAcuuaGL8YynP0On4yELG3-nRXt4/s1600/Katie+photos+042.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh56ArOOSvfdPeVRDF2uDxzp3_OfzOLlKqEW2KchwVeT20sO0zfkk9wo3z0vvMW6Rk0skW4c7RfNDQBHfNsd1rPWpn0sTJaDrkKwL_YGGqHFAp7qdZAcuuaGL8YynP0On4yELG3-nRXt4/s400/Katie+photos+042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571160977992685586" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQatHaHtQNKp1ikx4cuuubOSxdI7KJtUsb5kMJqWXA7UDt8G9dkO3ggqIdrrWCpeKIqk-yaPho9ek8qh4S-p5-zCZYKQ2VThHJuAW7zNJ6ImIMf_2PTmwzyYlhrO-1lPQyEaLgrmxH74g/s1600/Katie+photos+037.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQatHaHtQNKp1ikx4cuuubOSxdI7KJtUsb5kMJqWXA7UDt8G9dkO3ggqIdrrWCpeKIqk-yaPho9ek8qh4S-p5-zCZYKQ2VThHJuAW7zNJ6ImIMf_2PTmwzyYlhrO-1lPQyEaLgrmxH74g/s400/Katie+photos+037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571159531128783058" border="0" /></a>Besides ice skating and shadowing Katie's every move, the kids learned a new trick. Katie introduced them to a computer distortion program called "fat booth". They spent hours laughing at distorted versions of themselves and, when that was unavailable, found ways to distort things themselves:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeD2aVpltl8GRLJ9zCYGgDcU3bIqJor9pzmvlH-2H-e-wIbWusekIcfJEhb1f-KxkULNIf7dIv2x1BUaRBu3wb-JuRB-pXtzT2DZQi4PiXacNDazFXKK54YmkB4jOveBiHUdVMOMYXzDI/s1600/Katie+photos+2+037.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeD2aVpltl8GRLJ9zCYGgDcU3bIqJor9pzmvlH-2H-e-wIbWusekIcfJEhb1f-KxkULNIf7dIv2x1BUaRBu3wb-JuRB-pXtzT2DZQi4PiXacNDazFXKK54YmkB4jOveBiHUdVMOMYXzDI/s400/Katie+photos+2+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571181231955718754" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGmLsh4TwK8Nc_qOqbceqOb3abTh_bXGBuMbUMiDHKxQWgZItJ_HTKI-qjW4XIsANDkrQ8rZFcY5NDKT2-dBRVojzsaVIoHXTJ5c7fZ-7TSyqMKixqUFEPZwGhcfQfNGRCqhquH8TZGcI/s1600/Katie+photos+097.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 364px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGmLsh4TwK8Nc_qOqbceqOb3abTh_bXGBuMbUMiDHKxQWgZItJ_HTKI-qjW4XIsANDkrQ8rZFcY5NDKT2-dBRVojzsaVIoHXTJ5c7fZ-7TSyqMKixqUFEPZwGhcfQfNGRCqhquH8TZGcI/s400/Katie+photos+097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571181227984801810" border="0" /></a></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-78127649077712525702011-01-19T19:15:00.001-08:002011-01-19T20:13:14.911-08:00Quotables<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYtMitcBibdf47tE_Nuz5P0Dg37hxWZIQZ_-ZPvksd4opXj0CFSBaJzmaMo81jNUszMsAi3p4f5bcu8bJlYVSkaCkirEzx7WQCMrPGb7ArdBLBYZ1Fajp-aK2b6d4ay5ARMQQLsbTCbU/s1600/100_1440.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYtMitcBibdf47tE_Nuz5P0Dg37hxWZIQZ_-ZPvksd4opXj0CFSBaJzmaMo81jNUszMsAi3p4f5bcu8bJlYVSkaCkirEzx7WQCMrPGb7ArdBLBYZ1Fajp-aK2b6d4ay5ARMQQLsbTCbU/s400/100_1440.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564115281717147330" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdjrnlQSdKbc0L_DylaS2xmRcewzoXCmrZlGHJu2iKnh1vD6p1Ic_uVc7n3CdYYWhdDdpeQn2w_v6bpBLWsWX38KKdz2C5rvcZa8okbbWdp7r2DbEXn_rkaK03WRNQMEm1m72bLOQB3k/s1600/100_1457.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdjrnlQSdKbc0L_DylaS2xmRcewzoXCmrZlGHJu2iKnh1vD6p1Ic_uVc7n3CdYYWhdDdpeQn2w_v6bpBLWsWX38KKdz2C5rvcZa8okbbWdp7r2DbEXn_rkaK03WRNQMEm1m72bLOQB3k/s400/100_1457.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564115289554528946" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfPyOuX5586V7b_RHwqODsPjuDGitwL5QoCKOQPNokg5H6OVCZuKIINw4ZZdKhUMgPv19p6a4l0yN88odL9eKLUH8TljnBssbfHolXRDf13exP8cVPW4bZIjgWzXjI_s5xBDFkJivymc/s1600/100_1410.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfPyOuX5586V7b_RHwqODsPjuDGitwL5QoCKOQPNokg5H6OVCZuKIINw4ZZdKhUMgPv19p6a4l0yN88odL9eKLUH8TljnBssbfHolXRDf13exP8cVPW4bZIjgWzXjI_s5xBDFkJivymc/s400/100_1410.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564115278695871714" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCl_nZLRBmmwa_xPoJhf7yRIiwc8re3ex0wWtdzfNP1LrPKiJ_krGrkEXqhcokvozYRwZJvWiAuSCJSAFNVKDz6Cs-iDhMq9-WNBc-TTIDv4SRFjEsrjxF1ZPEF5RHooBca9J6hRqpEdI/s1600/100_1452.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCl_nZLRBmmwa_xPoJhf7yRIiwc8re3ex0wWtdzfNP1LrPKiJ_krGrkEXqhcokvozYRwZJvWiAuSCJSAFNVKDz6Cs-iDhMq9-WNBc-TTIDv4SRFjEsrjxF1ZPEF5RHooBca9J6hRqpEdI/s400/100_1452.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564115275047555458" border="0" /></a><br />We all know that I have not been the most diligent blogger. And I'm horrible about keeping a journal (although I just did a church Activity Days lesson with 10 - 12 year girls about the importance of journaling... ooh, the hypocrisy!) But there is one thing I have done with regularity: I write down all the silly/funny/cute things my kids say. And I have a hefty backlog now, so I'll share a few:<br /><br />Today Bailey held out a DVD for me to turn on when Riley shrieked, "Noooo! Bailey, you can't hold my Sleeping Beauty DVD like that! You have to hold it by it's belly button so it'll be safe!" Huh? She demonstrated, sticking her finger through the hole in the middle. "See? Use it's belly button so it won't get scratched."<br /><br />Sydney is the only triplet able to ride a bike without training wheels. Much to the vexation of her sisters, she picked it up in no time. But, sweetheart that she is, there is no gloating. In fact, she tries like crazy to teach them how to ride their new bikes. Today she was holding Bailey on the bike in the road and called out, "Look, Mom! I am demonstreeting to Bailey how to ride a bike! They call it demonstreeting cuz you teach somebody how to do it in the street. Cool."<br /><br />Riley to Bailey: "Hey, no tattling. Just remind your own business!"<br /><br />Last week I was reading to the kids using my (very good) French accent.<br />Tanner: "Can you stop talking like that?"<br />Me: "What? You don't like my French accent?"<br />Tanner (perplexed): "Who's Jackson?"<br />Me (perplexed): "Uh, I don't know. Jackson who?"<br />Tanner: "Your friend Jackson."<br />Me (still perplexed): "Uh, I don't have a friend named Jackson, I don't think."<br />Tanner: "But you just said... your friend Jackson. You were reading like your friend, Jackson."<br />Me: "Ohhhhh... my French accent!"<br />Tanner: "Could you stop talking like him, please?"<br /><br />Bailey, last month when Sydney had a cold: "Oh my gosh, I could not sleep at all cuz Sydney was totally snorkeling all the night long."<br /><br />Me, calling down the stairs: "Hey, are you guys being good?" Silence.<br />Tanner: "Well, that depends... My good might be different than your good."<br /><br />One night I made an adventurous curry dinner that only half of the children liked. Bailey was teasing Riley for liking the "dasgusting" food so much when Riley replied: "Don't be rude, Bailey! Remember- we all have different taste bugs on our tongues that tell us what to like. Jeez!"<br /><br />Sydney: "You guys are constracting me & I'm trying to do my homework!"<br /><br />Tanner played flag football during September & October. At the first game, I was talking to him at the sidelines.<br />Me: "So... the whole point of this is that you try to grab the other team's flag?"<br />Long silence followed by a shrug.<br />Tanner: "No one really knows."<br /><br />Tanner, singing at Christmas time: "Release Navi Dog... Release Navi Dog!"<br />Me (chuckling): "That's a great Christmas song, Tanner."<br />Tanner: "Yeah, I really like it. But I have no idea what a Navi Dog is. Maybe it's like a chihuaua. But then I wouldn't release it. I'd keep that Navi Dog!"<br /><br />Tanner, talking to my parents when they came to visit in November: "You know, I have like seventeen bucks!"<br />Grandma: "Wow, that's a lot of money! How'd you get so rich?"<br />Tanner: "Well... I lost a lot of teeth."Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-91097572552558928782011-01-04T15:08:00.000-08:002011-01-05T21:28:04.531-08:00Christmas Morning- A Personality Inventory<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558939869543020610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBIBuw25EnByRA7HUg18LR0B5wRhp_UZ4lKpFZmZTgHyT67yMr8Pqf_UqoyU-FFwW2jAnbMYxc1_NmbVy07QScASYx7To7ckMR_l-IVv0clUNp_FSLR7MWUfNZZ8Yki_nDvn9WOwq84E/s400/IMG_6303.JPG" /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-goV8XWQ4eafpL8xeuyXClVo1tLj-5WABpW01qSQqEPYA6wO3K9dvEypNEKASvyhYqHEP7Cv8J292b5clAdotWsUnooKWTENW3rRfRSPIj-8NVA4b6hOwzzrkB_39OLjkVA0mXCAJCRM/s1600/IMG_6305.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558939862054905010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-goV8XWQ4eafpL8xeuyXClVo1tLj-5WABpW01qSQqEPYA6wO3K9dvEypNEKASvyhYqHEP7Cv8J292b5clAdotWsUnooKWTENW3rRfRSPIj-8NVA4b6hOwzzrkB_39OLjkVA0mXCAJCRM/s400/IMG_6305.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>I'm a total sucker for personality inventories: The Color Code (Red-Blue!), Love Languages (Acts of Service- if you love me, you'll do the dishes), RIASEC Inventory (Social all the way)... My best friend and I can have entire conversations based upon the "Color Codes"of others. (eg- "So my new neighbor is a total Red. But she's married to a Yellow- you can imagine how that plays out.")<br /><br />I've spent vast amounts of time analyzing my own children and trying to figure out which categories they fall into with the different inventories. But on Christmas morning this year, I discovered a personality inventory that puts all others to shame for, in opening their Christmas presents, the true personality of each of my kiddos manifested themselves plainer than the nose on Rudolph's face. Accordingly, I've developed "The Christmas Morning Personality Inventory" with the following categories:<br /><br /><em>"The Grateful Receiver"- Carter</em><br />Carter's Christmas wish list this year consisted entirely of books. I'm not kidding. Like 20 books, many of them hard-t0-find and spendy. But when a child asks for books, well, you give him books. From "How to Get a Five on the AP US History Exam," "Preparing For the AP Physics Exam," and "Tonal Music"" to all things Tolstoy... Carter received each of his gifts with sweet gratitude and excitement. He immediately cracked open each book upon receipt and proceeded to ignore the rest of us until it was time for him to open another present- er- book. Of course we threw in a few surprises not on the bibliophile's list (Chia SpongeBob, Peanuts Christmas CD, etc.) and he was equally gracious about receiving these. But then it was back to the books. Just like in his every day life.<br /><br /><br /><em>"The Gusher"- Taylor</em><br />Tay is certainly the most fun to shop for because I know she will be THRILLED with each and every present she receives. Never fail, she will jump out of her seat and gush about whatever it is she has opened- "Wow... an electric blanket! How awesome! This is great! I didn't even know I wanted one of these!" or "No way! Brainetics! This was at the top of my list! I totally wanted this so bad! But I didn't think you'd be able to get it! This is the best Christmas ever!" Each of these gift-opening events is followed by big hugs and kisses to the giver. You can see why it is so gratifying to give to this child. She's a gusher- as is her way with life, she opens it all with gusto and expresses her joy and gratitude to the fullest. Every family needs a gusher.<br /><br /><br /><em>"The Introspective Receiver"- Tanner</em><br />Tanner is the exact opposite of The Gusher. No matter what gift he receives (from the remote control helicopter he'd been dying for to a brand new bike he begged Santa for), the giver must not ever hope for a demonstrative display. That is simply not Tanner's style. He receives everything with a quiet intensity and a softly whispered acknowledgement: "A remote control helicopter." As if to say, "Oh, of course, a remote control helicopter. Exactly what I'd been wanting. Of course." He then proceeds to open the packaging and read all instructions and become completely absorbed in that task. It can be underwhelming to behold. But underneath all that introspection lies Tanner's easy-going security. He seems to lead a charmed life, and is secure in his confidence that the universe will give him exactly what he wants. Or, if not the universe, perhaps he just knows that he has both parents wrapped around his charmed little finger.<br /><br /><br /><em>"The Joyful Giver"- Sydney</em><br />When it was time to open family presents, Sydney was beside herself with excitement. Not for unwrapping all the gifts with her name on them, mind you, but because she could not wait to give out the gifts she'd gotten for everybody else. "Can we open mine first?" she begged. "Well, we need to take turns so each person opens a present," I replied. "No, I mean can we have everybody open my presents to them first? Pleeeeease?!?" Uh... okay. And, despite the fact that we had the kids draw names for their siblings, Syd had a gift for EVERYONE. For weeks, she would come home from school and ask for wrapping paper so she could giftwrap a present for somebody. I figured she must be drawing pictures or making things at school for her siblings. Au contraire... as we opened Syd's presents, we discovered the true source of her gift-giving: The Lost and Found. Yes, we each received something that Sydney found on the bus, left behind by some poor child who is probably still looking for his mittens! But if anybody in this family is getting to heaven based on good intentions, it will be Sydney. She loves nothing more than helping and caring about everybody else. She is so sweet, so sincere, and so earnest in all that she does.<br /><br /><em>"The Suspiciously Brave-Faced Observer"- Bailey</em><br />It is not in Bailey's nature to be thrilled for others when they are opening a gift that she herself would like to possess. It was torture for her to watch others opening their presents on Christmas morning, but -shockingly- she put on the bravest of faces. Through gritted teeth and a painfully tight smile she would say, "Oh Sydney, you got a Liv doll! That is so great for you!" or ""Wow, Riley, you got a LiteBrite! That is very happy." Time and time again. It was almost hard to watch. I kept waiting for the cheerful facade to crack, but she held to it and was eventually rewarded with a Liv doll and LiteBrite of her own. But that's Bailey for you- she's a scrappy little fighter, suspiciously watching to make sure things will go her way and perfectly willing to duke it out if they don't. Yet she has days where she tries oh-so-very-hard to "be nice for Santa and Jesus." And, trust me, it is NOT an easy task for her. She is lots of spice with a dash of sugar, and she definitely gets an "A" for the effort!<br /><br /><em>"The OCD Opener"- Riley</em><br />For Riley, the joy of Christmas morning was less about opening presents and more about promptly disposing of the wrapping paper. She took great delight in throwing away all gift wrap and was completely determined to do so before she would allow herself to even really look at her gift. I have more video footage of Riley cleaning up after her Christmas presents than I do of her opening or playing with these presents. She even picked up after her siblings! To each her own. She's a funny little thing. This is my child who lines up all her crayons in a certain order before she colors. When she does her homework, she not only circles the right answer, but insists on crossing out all the wrong answers as well. She likes things to be "just so", and once she has an idea of how things should be in her head, she stubbornly sticks to it. With the chaos of six kids in the house, a little OCD is a breath of fresh air!</div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-39937840623129271692011-01-01T14:45:00.000-08:002011-01-01T15:00:42.378-08:002011: New Year's ResolutionsHappy New Year 2011 to everyone! I know resolutions tend to be very personal, but I decided to share mine this year:<br /><br />1. BLOG<br />2. shock my wonderful family & friends by writing on my BLOG<br /> (I'm talking to you, Kelly Bishop!)<br />3. catch up on about a year and a half's worth of events... on my BLOG<br />4. update the music playlist on my BLOG<br />5. redesign (get rid of this tired floral pattern) my BLOG<br />6. reconnect with friends on my BLOG<br />7. share funny stories and kid quotes... on my BLOG<br />8. follow the example of my awesome blogger bffs<br /> (my sisters, Joonie, Sarah, Holly, Kelly, etc...) and BLOG<br />9. BLOG BLOG BLOG BLOG BLOG<br /><br />Wow, I'm catching a pattern here. Feel free to hold me to these New Year's resolutions, friends! While certainly not life shattering for anyone, I WOULD like my children to have some kind of record of these crazy days we enjoy. Happy New Year's, friends and family. We love & miss you all!Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-16943140714655647202009-12-13T18:14:00.000-08:002009-12-15T05:56:22.510-08:00The Little Piano Boy (who needs a haircut!)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWDsnRakn3xTc9KTbWwzAH2LW3OLieFG8oTon7f__y-jzUyW7Xti3aBtXFEaThwgHBVl4NWxMGjoH7LqKmhx2TPR-nUMSww14H8c-qLaVM94Nu5g0IxYRiPqnKQdBXu4tfmwbodsP9jU/s1600-h/IMG_4194.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWDsnRakn3xTc9KTbWwzAH2LW3OLieFG8oTon7f__y-jzUyW7Xti3aBtXFEaThwgHBVl4NWxMGjoH7LqKmhx2TPR-nUMSww14H8c-qLaVM94Nu5g0IxYRiPqnKQdBXu4tfmwbodsP9jU/s400/IMG_4194.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414914519728778082" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fqg-4y0pVJGdlHSc_O0Jikqdyo_9Tfnnb2DahN_SemzrK0IAFQsMlmoeWdarn9FT-vp9-O0DiIM5Kbnv9qTv3uLDpPKlba7DYeuDEn_kuN_fJV1RNkGnn-rbbI37YJkhEcOig1LGPRE/s1600-h/IMG_4180.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fqg-4y0pVJGdlHSc_O0Jikqdyo_9Tfnnb2DahN_SemzrK0IAFQsMlmoeWdarn9FT-vp9-O0DiIM5Kbnv9qTv3uLDpPKlba7DYeuDEn_kuN_fJV1RNkGnn-rbbI37YJkhEcOig1LGPRE/s400/IMG_4180.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414916961292701074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Because the month of December isn't busy enough, Carter's piano teacher decided to throw in an extra recital. If I sound Grinchy, forgive me, but Carter didn't bother to tell me about the recital until 3 DAYS BEFORE, so I had to wrangle up sitters for the little guys and cancel a few other Saturday plans, and I was a bit put out by the time we arrived to the recital.<br /><br />All was forgiven when Carter stepped up to the 9-foot grand piano and played his Chopin piece. Okay, I know I'm a little biased, but... I had goosebumps. He works hard at the piano, and it was wonderful to see his hard work paying off. My dad ("Bampa") was visiting at the time, so Quinn, Taylor, my dad and I enjoyed the recital together.<br /><br />And... sorry to go all "proud mama" on you, but if you're interested enough to see him playing, I posted it on YouTube under "Carter Bastian plays Fantasie Impromptu." hee hee- couldn't help myself!Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-73368901768270862492009-09-30T15:41:00.000-07:002009-10-22T10:46:16.871-07:00Mistaken Identities: Taylorisms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-cxxFWVoA6zYfiNL8mpch7oqMi_LOPrYagmBpnApbo6LiYPOHOmYT4a_3SeV4MOmLuLR-EDEYpF3wGrTkB-MWgH74GbNBmc7Qx-JLZkZ6uVyQzw2ZZfb8QT0NdnMBeqfkOoqInj6H7U/s1600-h/taylor+08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-cxxFWVoA6zYfiNL8mpch7oqMi_LOPrYagmBpnApbo6LiYPOHOmYT4a_3SeV4MOmLuLR-EDEYpF3wGrTkB-MWgH74GbNBmc7Qx-JLZkZ6uVyQzw2ZZfb8QT0NdnMBeqfkOoqInj6H7U/s400/taylor+08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395481908380246210" border="0" /></a><br />Taylor, age 10, is a funny girl who seems to live entirely in her own little world. She is one of those "book smart" kids who isn't always aware of the real world going on around her. This lends itself to some interesting conversations:<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> (out of the blue) "Isn't it amazing that Ozzy Osbourne was in 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat'?!? He did such a great job!"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME: </span> (chuckling) "Uh, yeah, that would be amazing. But, honey, that wasn't Ozzy Osbourne."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> (in her 'well-duh' voice) "It was totally Ozzy Osbourne. I looked at the end credits and everything. Hellooooo! He was the star of the show! He was Joseph!"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> (laughing) "Ozzy Osbourne was NOT Joseph in that play! You're talking about Donny Osmond..."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> (cutting me off) "That's what I said! Ozzy Osbourne. Anyways, I had no idea that he was such a fantastic actor. And singer!"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> (laughing) "Ozzy's something else, all right. And some people think he's a good singer, but he was definitely NOT in 'Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat.'"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> (sigh) "Go look it up, Mom. He's Joseph! And what's even more amazing is that he can sing and act when you consider that he's blind."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME: </span> "He's blind?!?"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> (heavy sigh) "Don't you ever look at magazines, Mom? He's always wearing his blind glasses. In real life, anyways. He is inspirational."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> "I don't even know what to tell you right now."<br />(ironically, Donny Osmond and Ozzy Osbourne were actually on the same television program this week- "Dancing With the Stars". How surreal to have the two of them together! I nearly dragged Taylor out of bed to witness the sources of her confusion, but decided against it. And, truthfully, Ozzy's glasses do make him look visually impaired.)<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> "I am doing my history report on John F. Kennedy. He was such a great president."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> "Oh, that would be a neat report to write. I did a lot of research on him when I was in high school. It's so sad about how he died."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> "Yeah... that darn cancer."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> "Ummm, sweetie, JFK was assassinated."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> "I know. By cancer. Was it lung cancer?"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> "Um, no, it wasn't cancer at all. He was killed."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor: </span>"By cancer. I know. I wrote all about it in my report."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> "Oh, dear. Really? Did you write that in your report? Have you already turned it in? Cuz he didn't die of cancer, honey. He was shot."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> (gasping) "No way! That was Lincoln!"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME: </span> "Yes, Lincoln, too. But John F. Kennedy was also shot and killed."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor: </span> "I think you're wrong."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> "No, honey, really. JFK was shot! If you researched him, you must have read that."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor: </span> (pause) "Oh... yeah, now that I think about it, I remember. He WAS shot! But it wasn't that big of a deal. It didn't kill him. He survived it. And THEN he died of cancer."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME:</span> (completely stumped) "Honey, please don't make me pull up the Zapruder films. Seriously, he was shot. He lost most of the top of his head, and he didn't survive it. Where exactly are you getting your research materials from?"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> "Well now you're just being sick. I don't want to think about somebody's head being shot."<br />(heavy pause while both of us are confused beyond belief.)<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor: </span> "Well, at least he had a good acting career. Not all presidents can say that."<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">ME: </span>"Honey, did you maybe do your report on Ronald Reagan?"<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Taylor:</span> "Oh, yeah! That's who it was! Ronald Reagan. He was such a great president."<br />(and Taylor walks away, completely unfazed, while I'm left slightly traumatized by the entire conversation.)<br /><br />Last spring. Taylor was in her school production of "The Wizard of Oz", proudly playing the great Oz himself. This performance coincided with a Broadway production of "Wicked" here in Jacksonville, and we were lucky enough to get tickets through her school's drama club. Carter, who was already familiar with the play came with Taylor and I. On the drive over, he put the Wicked CD in for us all to hear. About 5 songs into it, Taylor pipes up from the backseat: "Oh my gosh! I can't believe it! This Wicked play is a total rip-off of The Wizard of Oz! Are you kidding me? They like totally copycatted the whole thing. They even use the name Glinda, like in our play. Unbelievable! Talk about a lack of creativity!"<br /><br />And so you can see why so many times we are left speechless (and utterly baffled) by our Taylor girl! There's never a dull moment with her around!Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-59400200128772957372009-09-24T15:18:00.000-07:002009-09-30T15:35:11.952-07:00Overheard: Waiting for the LocustsNow that Tanner is in kindergarten, he is very etiquette-conscious. A few weeks ago, he burped at the table and said, "Oh, <span style="font-style: italic;">part-of-me! </span>That was very rude." We gave him a curious look, so he elaborated, "Now that I'm a big kid, I don't say 'excuse me' anymore, I say 'part of me.'" <br /><br />All manners aside, it's been a week of various maladies at our home: Carter had strep throat, Tanner had pneumonia, and Quinn threw his back out while reaching for a file in his office chair. (What is he? 90?!?) Sydney has taken it upon herself to nurse the sick in our home, which sometimes gets interesting. I left her in the room for a moment and returned to find Tanner, burning up with fever, wrapped in a bedsheet, towel, and fluffy boa:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbX4MTfaxJXYDGHd_77KZzTOt-1NmG6Yk4_yb8ngjoB8hxPtZUbGINKzDPa4AcQbRUbX_7_iogvgx72q3LVsJiGOfuvJQyLJqa9-BYqK6mihYBe41A7ITBRLruFnVVq0f1UPx3NBmmcSE/s1600-h/IMG_3410.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbX4MTfaxJXYDGHd_77KZzTOt-1NmG6Yk4_yb8ngjoB8hxPtZUbGINKzDPa4AcQbRUbX_7_iogvgx72q3LVsJiGOfuvJQyLJqa9-BYqK6mihYBe41A7ITBRLruFnVVq0f1UPx3NBmmcSE/s400/IMG_3410.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387261130053649138" border="0" /></a><br />Later that day, Riley was sitting in the hallway, crying because I wouldn't let her watch SpongeBob Squarepants. Ever the maternal one, Sydney was concerned about her poor wailing sister, so she ran off and returned with a bottle of Johnson & Johnson's Baby Shampoo. "Look, Riley, this is the stuff for no more tears... that means no more sadness. Dump it on your head!"<br /><br />And, after the SpongeBob debacle, I continued my reign of terror by only allowing Bailey to have one packet of Scooby Doo fruit snacks. She begged and pleaded for a second, but I held my ground, so she stomped her little feet and dramatically threw herself onto the couch. Between crying jags, she looked up at me and wailed, "You're ruining my whole darn life!"<br /><br />Later that night, while tucking her in, she was back to her affectionate self. I couldn't help but ask, "So, am I still ruining your whole darn life?" She got a sheepish grin and said, "Oh... just kiddin' bout that."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUVB3Ah7XK0cUvqiNeCYQopq_jSHw2JMbFVh4sHReChc3erJDxVY1rdgjPn_97YS3TN3V6zMKHH4dhsEfZM1P1-sNIPOcaTkQJZfN5CpjmXLjS-Wak_cpAMGCZW-bVENsuFsEMRYEZyY/s1600-h/IMG_3397.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUVB3Ah7XK0cUvqiNeCYQopq_jSHw2JMbFVh4sHReChc3erJDxVY1rdgjPn_97YS3TN3V6zMKHH4dhsEfZM1P1-sNIPOcaTkQJZfN5CpjmXLjS-Wak_cpAMGCZW-bVENsuFsEMRYEZyY/s400/IMG_3397.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387261142656198066" border="0" /></a><br />Wow, the power I wield to be able to ruin entire darn lives by merely withholding fruit snacks and SpongeBob. To my poor, emotionally-damaged children, I have but one thing to say: part of me!Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-891313245426201682009-09-10T07:08:00.001-07:002009-09-10T08:46:23.585-07:003 Little Ballerinas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwXFP-ts_Q70sAXBvESU3ChC37rT1rZ_0TQ3kqRmW1frvrJZG-KVYfydRPjmrwYIhIeG-NgorKk9TLxz-cbObsUczHKNxxo-_JneQJqY0DJof8DO2fe9OUgRnW3mDVhLFk2ciAgDRPRM/s1600-h/IMG_3347.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwXFP-ts_Q70sAXBvESU3ChC37rT1rZ_0TQ3kqRmW1frvrJZG-KVYfydRPjmrwYIhIeG-NgorKk9TLxz-cbObsUczHKNxxo-_JneQJqY0DJof8DO2fe9OUgRnW3mDVhLFk2ciAgDRPRM/s400/IMG_3347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379865028452339826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKBssYkzQi7BdxdKnCnfZmnx1L8laBH22H5m6thyOn3CBY5bexIxQgZ8KXDvUphY-stC7V9Q7UGXFOaOA9Sr9Y_-FOyjKu9qmxMwLEHc_I7pwS58uQ2MDCVXzQnLfp4E5pxeMUthuyp4/s1600-h/IMG_3343.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKBssYkzQi7BdxdKnCnfZmnx1L8laBH22H5m6thyOn3CBY5bexIxQgZ8KXDvUphY-stC7V9Q7UGXFOaOA9Sr9Y_-FOyjKu9qmxMwLEHc_I7pwS58uQ2MDCVXzQnLfp4E5pxeMUthuyp4/s400/IMG_3343.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379865026627485202" border="0" /></a><br />After 3 long weeks of the girls asking me EVERY day, "Is today our ballet day?", the long-awaited moment arrived. The girls had their first ballet lesson yesterday and it was quite possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen! They loved every minute of it and have been running around on their "tippy tippy toes" and doing "plee-ay-sees" ever since. And they keep asking me to do "ballet hair" for them again.<br /><br />Wednesdays can't come soon enough for any of us! Special thanks to Shauna, who has the patience of a saint and is doing lessons at the church out of the goodness of her heart!Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-77260202660932660482009-08-27T13:38:00.001-07:002009-08-27T14:54:42.374-07:00HAPPY Meal?!?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDXOyp5TkNuFgqXu22JIZ-8PhzoU4m6fh7ByTAJ8j-auINmkI2ogd9yCFpvP-c7k2Rm2wKSlGqEBRfo6Mu_FWpKEAtnXT5F6kpbSEfXipEFXK_LCxvncD7GU2geiHN9y1GCyapLa2ExI/s1600-h/happy-meal.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374764993184545122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 323px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDXOyp5TkNuFgqXu22JIZ-8PhzoU4m6fh7ByTAJ8j-auINmkI2ogd9yCFpvP-c7k2Rm2wKSlGqEBRfo6Mu_FWpKEAtnXT5F6kpbSEfXipEFXK_LCxvncD7GU2geiHN9y1GCyapLa2ExI/s400/happy-meal.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Most people don't believe me when I say I can feed my entire family dinner at McDonald's for under $10. For those who doubt, here's the run-down: plain hamburger for me ($.89), fries and a side salad for Quinn ($2), a double and a McChicken for Carter ($2), ditto for Taylor ($2), and 2 double cheeseburgers for the little four ($2. The trick here is pulling the double cheeseburger apart- one burger and one bun on each side- and folding it up like a taco. The cheese helps stick it together, and... voila! Two "taco burgers!") Round this out with 8 small ice waters (free), and you have a van full of happy campers and a McDonald's store that officially hates you. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I used to to feel bad for ripping McDonald's off with my frugal (Okay, cheap) ways, but my McDonald's experience today completely absolved all guilt.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Tanner was at kindergarten (sigh) so I "only" had the triplets while running afternoon errands. It occurred to me that it would be much easier to throw lunch at them in their carseats than it would be to go home, laden with groceries, and put something together. As we pulled into the drive through, I made my first mistake: I actually looked at the Happy Meal menu instead of jumping straight to my more familiar friend, the Value Menu.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Hmm... I thought. I only have three kids with me today. It would be such a treat for them to actually have french fries and (gasp!) a soda. </div><br /><div><br />And then I saw the featured girl toy: a <em>miniature American Girl doll!</em> It was as if I was 4 again myself- I was mesmerized by those perfect little dolls!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So I rationalized: getting an entire meal plus a drink plus an <em>American Girl doll</em> for $2.59 was a bargain! I excitedly ordered 3 little girl Happy Meals and was sure that this purchase would bring us a car ride of happiness.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Wrong!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Until today, my youngest children have been blissfully unaware that Happy Meals even exist. They probably don't even know that McDonald's serves french fries! They were simply thrilled to receive their meager little taco-burgers and ice waters. Boy, did I open Pandora's box!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I handed the neatly-packaged meals to each girl, their eyes went round and large. They cautiously peered inside and their little mouths dropped. They couldn't pull everything out fast enough! Fries were flying, sodas jostling, and cheeseburgers falling to the floor. Food was entirely forgotten when they saw the toy inside. They were in sheer heaven! For like a minute. Until they opened the wrapping and saw that their "toy" was a book. A very small American Girl book with a teeny little American Girl doll sticker inside. </div><br /><div><br />And then they realized that their books were all different, and that Riley got the American Girl with black hair when she has blond hair and that's not fair, but Sydney's American Girl had red hair so she didn't know who she should trade it with, and Bailey's American Girl was African American. And then they all wanted Addy, the African American girl, because her dress was yellow and she had stickers with quilts on it and she was "prettierest."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So I took their "toys" and told them they could have them after they ate their food. Five minutes of screaming later, they dug into their french fries and noticed that somebody had more fries in her bag than they did, and then there was more crying and counting of fries. So I pulled over and dumped out all the fries and redistributed them. And there was momentary food-induced peace until Bailey tasted her soda and yelled, "It's Sprite! I hate Sprite! I wanted cocoa!" (?) And then everybody wanted cocoa. And they all freaked out that they had "two breads" on their burger, and threw the top bun on the ground with disdain and made a ketchup-mustard-mess of folding their burger into taco formation. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>By the time I got home, we were ALL crying and food was everywhere but in my childrens' stomachs. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>All this "happiness" for a dollar more than I usually spend to feed our clan of eight! I think we were much happier before we explored this brave new world of fast-food options. Lesson learned: we'll unapologetically stick with our taco-shaped burgers and ice water, thank you very much. </div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-4177168760725627212009-08-12T12:36:00.000-07:002009-08-12T07:15:52.603-07:00Things I Never Thought I Would Say As a Mom (but, sadly, have):1. "Sorry guys, but I already told you: You can't have lollipops until you finish your PopTarts."<br /><br />2. "No! We do not flush somebody else's pee pee! Everybody gets to flush their own pee. It is a family rule."<br /><span style="color:#ffffff;">lll</span><br /><span style="color:#ffffff;"></span><br />3. "Carter, you HAVE to stop practicing that piano! You've been on that thing for like 3 hours... go outside and play already!"<br /><br /><br />4. "Taylor, I love it when you get creative, but for the rest of the day, you may not make anything that involves paper or scissors or glue or yarn or stickers or paint or crayons or markers. They are now off-limits."<br /><br />5. "Hey, guys! No using the remote control as a weapon! And same goes for the telephone. We do NOT hit each other with technology!"<br /><span style="color:#ffffff;">llll</span><br /><br />6. (at the dinner table) "Okay, we've had our fun but it's time to stop talking like pirates, okay? No more 'aaaaarghing' and calling each other 'mateys' and 'wenches', okay? No more pirate talk!"<br /><br />7. (while playing pretend) "No, it's okay, guys. You can ALL be Quasimoto. Anybody who wants to can pretend they're Quasimoto. Nobody HAS to be Esmerelda."<br /><br /><br /><br /><p>Okay, so in my defense: A) They were eating <em>whole-grain</em> poptarts for a quick breakfast-on- the-go when the bank lady announced that she was sending through some lollipops for the kids. B) Never thought I'd have a family rule about flushing somebody else's pee, let alone make ridiculous comments to enforce the rule, but I potty-trained all four at the same time and they were very territorial about flushing. C) Carter plays the piano nonstop and, until we moved the piano from the family room to the office, it was <em>very</em> loud. D) I'm not one to stifle creativity, but Taylor's incessant projects can get <em>very </em>messy. You can only pick tiny yarn snips and pieces of tape out of the carpet so many times in one day... E) When the triplets were 2, it was like WWF at our house. Following one split lip too many, we actually had a list of "contraban" items. F) After watching Pirates of the Carribean with the big kids and having a pirate birthday party for Tanner, the pirate talk had been going on for hours and was driving this particular wench crazy. Aaaargh! G) For some reason, my little kids were obsessed with Hunchback of NotreDame, and Riley was in love with Quasimoto. Which meant that they ALL wanted to be him, and they walked around with their backs hunched and their faces squinched up, and tried to make somebody else be Esmerelda. Go figure!</p><p>But still...</p>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-30553118961741795732009-07-20T07:43:00.001-07:002009-08-03T15:11:51.317-07:00Bailey<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzRlDmBkZppkpOGUxgA92CA1ywswmr95Tbe-flF2vXubb4R25dq3Y1GNUknIssbaebKqQuoQBWvdUjmJ_iO0mEL7V1J3acf7uYTE1YXpmQLm29feaXqw8HghstTJIYHb0rUgrvXvxKbk/s1600-h/bailey+bug.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365790269252139394" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 301px; height: 400px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzRlDmBkZppkpOGUxgA92CA1ywswmr95Tbe-flF2vXubb4R25dq3Y1GNUknIssbaebKqQuoQBWvdUjmJ_iO0mEL7V1J3acf7uYTE1YXpmQLm29feaXqw8HghstTJIYHb0rUgrvXvxKbk/s400/bailey+bug.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div>It looks like Bailey has made it her mission in life to slowly unravel what little is left of my sanity. She is a mischevious little imp, full of sheer will and determination. I am no match for her, really. </div><div></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">kkkkkkk</span></div><div> </div><div>We wonder if she has a Napoleon Complex. She has always three or four inches shorter than her triplet sisters. One night she asked me, "When am I going to get biggest, since I'm the big sister?" Ironically, she has convinced everybody that she is indeed the oldest sister, despite her lack of stature. (And despite the fact that she was actually Baby C- the last one out!) What she lacks in height, she makes up for in attitude. Or as one of Quinn's coworkers put it, she has a "high will-to-mass ratio."<br /><br />She is a force of nature, and I wonder sometimes what makes this little one tick. She is like a cat: independent, affectionate only when she wants to be, and completely unpredictable. We never know what's going to make her pounce!</div><div></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">llll</span></div><div> </div><div>Bailey refuses to wear anything but dresses. She accessorizes to the hilt with any headband/necklace/hair scrunchie she can find. She drags her mini tea seat with her everywhere she goes, and she is convinced that she is a princess. Her favorite game to play is "pretend" where I am the mean stepmother and she gazes longingly at a photo of Quinn and I (her "real parents who are very dead.") She could play that game for HOURS, and has even worked up a tear or two as she wishes that her "real mom and dad" hadn't been "zapped by Ursula the Sea Witch."<br /><br />This morning I left my glass of water on the coffee table. As I walked back in the room, I was directly behind Bailey and, not seeing me, I watched her lean over my glass of water and peer inside. I was about to intervene (I hate it when my kids drink out of my glass), but instead watched in amazement as Bailey deliberately spit in my glass. A lot of spit. Then she peered inside, grinning. As she walked away she spotted me and smiled. "Bailey!" I said, incredulously. "Did you just spit in my water?!?" "No," she said, sweet as can be. "But I just saw you do it!" She shrugged. "I didn't SPIT in it," she explained. "I was giving you floaties. I always give you floaties." </div><div></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">lllll</span></div>To think how many, many times I have left a glass of water within her reach . . . <div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">lllll</span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></span> </div><div>Lucky for her, she's pretty darn cute. A friend from church insists he could never discipline her because she's so adorable. I told him that it's her primary survival mechanism. She can turn on the charm when she needs. She loves to say in her prayers: "Thank you that Mommy is beautiful" and then she cracks open one eye to peer at me and make sure that this had the desired effect of making me smile. It always does.</div><div></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">lllll</span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></span> </div><div>She was helping put a bandaid on Riley the other day and I said, "Wow, you're good at this, Bailey. Maybe someday you'll grow up and be a doctor!" "No," she said. "I want to grow up to be a Mommy, just like you." My heart started to melt, then she continued, "Cuz then I can wear your lipstick and you'll have to let me wear all your Mommy clothes and I'll have a real purse and a cella phone." </div><div></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">lllll</span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></span> </div><div>And to balance out any compliments she doles out in her prayers, she always manages to get in a few digs to my self-esteem. Last week when I came home from jogging, she ran up and gave me a big hug. "I love you, Mommy... even when you're all sweaty and ugly."</div><div></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">lllll</span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></span> </div><div>Beneath all her bluster and bravado, however, our mini-dictator isn't as tough as she thinks. She still sucks her thumb (though she hides it under her blankie). She is still the only one afraid to swim without floaties (the inflatable arm things, not the spit). She is scared of Sid "the mean kid" from Toy Story and refuses to open her eyes if he's on screen. She's terrified of thunder. </div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">llll</span></div><div> </div><div>Somewhere beneath the mischief and bossiness lies a tender little heart... if only she'd let us catch a glimpse of it more often!</div><div> </div><div> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365790261511099474" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 300px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnDeiUMqKhkoawNvVBAs3pknjsGCA8rqGBM143LaB1PCzRRW7jEwMXCyTUic1QTTTLfwJLb4BGTSyacAfJPj5P3rvyo4_Gi-E9Ft6-W5pdUCXz7tkIR-fmWGVeH-PXsmbQxjZ_EdiMwg/s400/bailey+sucking+thumb.jpg" border="0" /></div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-73018028485222647872009-07-16T08:15:00.000-07:002009-07-16T08:53:09.470-07:00SuperTanner graduates!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtXALEzB_8epS4mss60qS2OP3GJ-dvnJRFwAFFUVXbUy7_DlefbnKx468UMvRHDsUDtL4FvA4d4U2baWqmlRpeuKjAcqJWJZqQURv4efgN-HgmxoAdtyfS9YWl4Ww5VH0TvylhVpc2Cc/s1600-h/super+tanner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtXALEzB_8epS4mss60qS2OP3GJ-dvnJRFwAFFUVXbUy7_DlefbnKx468UMvRHDsUDtL4FvA4d4U2baWqmlRpeuKjAcqJWJZqQURv4efgN-HgmxoAdtyfS9YWl4Ww5VH0TvylhVpc2Cc/s400/super+tanner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359083723912868994" border="0" /></a><br />It is, apparently, exhausting to be a Super Hero. All that lizard rescuing, sister tormenting, and incessant question-asking wiped out poor little SuperTanner to the point that he couldn't even climb up the stairs to his bed before falling asleep. <br /><br />I can relate. The month of May seemed bent on showing me that I am in no way Super Woman. The month of May, in fact, left me Super Exhausted. It seemed that at least once or twice every week there was some big event to attend for Carter and Taylor- concerts, performances, recitals, plays, award ceremonies. We were going nonstop trying to get the big kids everywhere they needed to be and it was a full-on effort to keep the camcorders and cameras charged up to record these occasions! (photos and video to be posted soon.)<br /><br />The last big event of the month, however, was all about our SuperTanner. His Pre-Kindergarten graduation was a BIG deal, held at the local elementary school auditorium (which was packed with hundreds of camcord-clutching relatives.) Decked out in caps and gowns, (seriously) it was just too stinking cute for words.<br /><br />Not everyone shared the sentiments of this momentous occasion. At one point, Carter turned to me and said, "Really? REALLY?!? He learned how to write his name and count to a hundred. This is a bit over the top..." (Sour grapes since he never had a preschool graduation ceremony?) Quinn also grumbled a bit, something about yuppy parents with nothing better to do. But that was before he saw Tanner in his graduation gear and came to appreciate the glory of that wonderful photo op.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD37E-cUv0TNUrQPom48jHC6n-B3jDILNVXxGUsWjmvx3faU7kkc0iZyEBwIn9bZSiFVvLzZqIBA-CDfYN2bc-HXW4ePFlb-4p4pC0gl2wvjrwEvSxeSk5_tbVqUkTN2bTZT21yqubEzQ/s1600-h/tanner+vpk+grad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD37E-cUv0TNUrQPom48jHC6n-B3jDILNVXxGUsWjmvx3faU7kkc0iZyEBwIn9bZSiFVvLzZqIBA-CDfYN2bc-HXW4ePFlb-4p4pC0gl2wvjrwEvSxeSk5_tbVqUkTN2bTZT21yqubEzQ/s400/tanner+vpk+grad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359083721072710258" border="0" /></a><br />And, in case we didn't get good shots, there was a professional videographer and photographer on scene. Seriously. <br /><br />We were all proud of Tanner, who dazzled us with a smile and wave after accepting his diploma. He loved going to Goddard School, and he loved his teachers, Miss Mandy and Miss Shirley. And, I might add, he can pretty much read now. That's worthy of a ceremony in my book!<br /><br />Congratulations, Tanner! We think you're Super! (now let's all go take a nap.)Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-67033488899958458982009-07-12T12:22:00.000-07:002009-07-12T12:37:32.092-07:00Christmas in July-revisited<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357658910485812994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 287px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtXUjeAwUagCM8-wMJ_byzkE3_evGHDj6gDhRAUahFShRAHN6x4PthQwB0AHbnfyPxkD-81F9eqXMA_rAmeEQH4a7oI6cDa56ZhJMgASyFu_TOUsyEfIN4kP-z92T3mz_DadBRUnxK4tw/s400/christmas+kid+pic+2008.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357658918217398674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 285px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDv88nuu52QWYn6TPzuWz3Ex4fQjpBi7t8n_tt8954CoGhUj6Moq3fZnIFbibTLlWC6UjbGCxUvBeJfR2bzm4i1C29lKJh6ixWZlVr1S5TLqukc2QFrxsU5rEYdPc1vA5AfpboIuKF_oo/s400/family+pic+08.jpg" border="0" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibh5FKazp6tENY75W3TSga_4isSRRCJ6zM_FUFrVOK_fXFKL789V-yFFV456SHj6wbbZYEbXrBGSOLwJFsEFojp2wEYC9Sw5-jPmDJ35TMvX6ACHRA7BGB8piAJXd6X3wfrLjIsUP-Mus/s1600-h/triplets+hugging+08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357658928000357554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibh5FKazp6tENY75W3TSga_4isSRRCJ6zM_FUFrVOK_fXFKL789V-yFFV456SHj6wbbZYEbXrBGSOLwJFsEFojp2wEYC9Sw5-jPmDJ35TMvX6ACHRA7BGB8piAJXd6X3wfrLjIsUP-Mus/s400/triplets+hugging+08.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsr5KexfRwmcav4DZuoc_GpEi93xjCe4D0jvzDJqJbSMnK1jNiR-5dWBmM6sW-WHD1pTbl1ffatjJ_ksFjlaXAixDRnne8F71I858XrB9Eg9NIHIhMlZD1HIKFOodNeEmwTq6mvJ88L0/s1600-h/triplets+08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357658922798448658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 271px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsr5KexfRwmcav4DZuoc_GpEi93xjCe4D0jvzDJqJbSMnK1jNiR-5dWBmM6sW-WHD1pTbl1ffatjJ_ksFjlaXAixDRnne8F71I858XrB9Eg9NIHIhMlZD1HIKFOodNeEmwTq6mvJ88L0/s400/triplets+08.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewl13Tg_uSBmLrA-t8vtdax4CVz1tw49fT4ZrH5UvNpc7yEG33QmB31PxLntJJNUnwszWSAZoL3Cd3oeF1Jg33Ik8vfwcHiWelE2btobmbfLmeqYTMd-BNAgaOtrdYOZoi42KiDyzKSk/s1600-h/four+little+heads+08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357658922639777186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 287px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewl13Tg_uSBmLrA-t8vtdax4CVz1tw49fT4ZrH5UvNpc7yEG33QmB31PxLntJJNUnwszWSAZoL3Cd3oeF1Jg33Ik8vfwcHiWelE2btobmbfLmeqYTMd-BNAgaOtrdYOZoi42KiDyzKSk/s400/four+little+heads+08.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div>I didn't send out Christmas cards this year. Sigh. The shame still haunts me- six months later! </div><br /><div></div><div>It wasn't for lack of trying. We had two "photo shoots" in attempt to get a photo of all eight of us worthy of printing on a card. All the photos were TERRIBLE... until we finally found a fantastic photographer who also happens to be a pal of mine. (Why didn't I think of her sooner?!?) But, every time the scheduled day arrived, it either rained or somebody was sick. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>We finally had a great shoot- like 5 days before Christmas. Not in time to send out cards, but at least I kept our yearly Christmas photo tradition alive (much to the chagrin of my husband and children.)</div><div></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Since my mind is oddly turned to Christmas right now, I thought I'd catch up and post some of these Christmas photos. </div><br /><div></div><div>As for next year, I was already planning on having Erin take our pictures in September or October- just to be safe. Unfortunately... she moved to Wisconsin. Ugh! </div></div></div></div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-70832455216863694522009-07-10T14:50:00.000-07:002009-07-10T15:05:07.928-07:00Anything for a free meal?!?As I'm sure you all know, today is Cow Appreciation Day. Shockingly, it is not a federal holiday. However, if you dress up in bovine-apparel, you get a free meal at Chick-fil-A. We love Chick-fil-A, and we love free meals even more (especially if it eliminates the need to cook), so I turned my herd of kids into a herd of cows in order to save a buck.<br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356954242110304514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKyLolaUFdCN8OmgR4jKyi5M3KHedwInvyT04Y38d-YT-QDbsMvCHhu0oP9DE4M50v6JUIBkdheDHrj1za0z3kzV5gWieQPG6bADg9ZODQZPUmHKZ_TaBdpxbpwh8UGyj_Uhpjr9u66c/s400/may-july+2009+139.JPG" border="0" /> <div></div><div></div><div>(Bear in mind that this was done on the spur of the moment with 15 minutes, a box of old Halloween costumes, construction paper and tape. Go easy on the costume critiques!)</div><div></div><br /><div>Was it worth it? Oh, yeah. Free food, an enclosed play place, and the opportunity for the kids to run off some of their rainy-day-pent-up-energy... </div><div></div><br /><div>If only every day was Cow Appreciation Day.</div><div> </div><div>As a sidenote: take a moment to notice my children's shoes. I have polled other triplet moms and have come to the conclusion that shoes are the bane of our existence! Inevitably, at least two of the children have on the exact same shoe... on both feet. (as with Bailey- two left feet of the same shoe.) And then of course there are the almost-the-same-shoe-but-not-quite occasions (such as with Riley) where the girls put on the same style of shoe but in two different colors. Unfortunately for Riley, hers are also both left feet. I could fight it, but I've given up... I actually take them out in public like this! Hopefully the cow thing will be a distraction.</div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-80347345128913783822009-07-01T15:28:00.000-07:002009-07-10T15:40:46.455-07:00Christmas in July<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OckmwkoPBmirq8L-B0MXumPGF5pdLqkM9YF5O1b8UfLSn5QI1Rl5XYtpIpWEHKh8AzuhV-aEzgcyYQjPMGV_P_vD9ZT18lRZGUB94g5BDQ1HiDBYkLy-ty03Bnjp7uz2wRspOcaH02s/s1600-h/may-july+2009+044.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356964561787522066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OckmwkoPBmirq8L-B0MXumPGF5pdLqkM9YF5O1b8UfLSn5QI1Rl5XYtpIpWEHKh8AzuhV-aEzgcyYQjPMGV_P_vD9ZT18lRZGUB94g5BDQ1HiDBYkLy-ty03Bnjp7uz2wRspOcaH02s/s400/may-july+2009+044.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><div>So I'm staring down the barrel of a potentially LONG summer full of bored and whiny children. This always makes me edgy- until I pull out the calendar and make all kinds of pie-in-the-sky plans, half of which we won't get to. But it empowers me nonetheless.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356964549115920722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4YpDWET14HMNTDWPi6PLlkcvX03iKgZTQ5jtL5C0P4SBOKpHd5D6ugrY1DigLrgqxKIrbd_bRD6J8Mj0utxig7GtA5fYM5MLXdN-IyNyUNKMECoknXuZcnrCN2ha0cnn2nLUN-72CIo8/s400/may-july+2009+042.JPG" border="0" /> <div></div><br /><div>Exhibit A: Christmas in July. We spent a long and fun-filled afternoon dressed up in our Christmas jammies, making a gingerbread house. Eccentric, yes, but it kept them busy. This little project was like a Rorschach for our kids' personalities: Taylor and Sydney doggedly stayed on the task (and got irritated with everyone else who didn't) while Bailey flitted in and out for the fun parts. Tanner started the project with a bang but got bored after about 10 minutes and wandered off to find something he could hit with a hammer. Riley sat on the table, watching the entire thing while sneaking pieces of candy and initiating a never-ending commentary. And Carter took one look and retreated to the office, where he practiced piano for 3 hours.</div><div></div><div></div><div>These are the days of our lives... </div><div></div><div></div><div>For any of you wondering, I didn't get out any Christmas cards this year (oh, the shame!), but you may just find one in your mailbox some time this summer!</div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-72034837708808476072009-04-15T07:55:00.000-07:002009-04-15T08:05:39.181-07:00Overheard: Gender Inequality<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqYWh2TDmcBnh3jVyIsK92IYCbIxrcTwdLIk0JXLEr0EzucFevJD5vcUtZIh_kppj6CVIQ3nAC-bpefFPpY5PMj2Xo1HYWUAaBd1Yj1eZqBCucbNmJlv7qkzivjyBIMgYNhr1b_Qbxck/s1600-h/sesame.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324934489493284994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 103px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 124px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqYWh2TDmcBnh3jVyIsK92IYCbIxrcTwdLIk0JXLEr0EzucFevJD5vcUtZIh_kppj6CVIQ3nAC-bpefFPpY5PMj2Xo1HYWUAaBd1Yj1eZqBCucbNmJlv7qkzivjyBIMgYNhr1b_Qbxck/s320/sesame.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>This is the discussion I just overheard while the kids were watching "Elmo's World":</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Bailey: "I don't get it... is Elmo a boy or a girl?"</div><br /><div>Sydney: "Well his voice is like a girl, I think."</div><br /><div>Riley: "Yeah, and he has eyelashes, so I think he IS a girl."</div><br /><div>Tanner: "No, guys, everybody has eyelashes. See, I'm a boy and I even have eyelashes."</div><br /><div>(they all stand within inches of Tanner's face and examine his eyelashes.)</div><br /><div>Bailey: "You're right! You do!"</div><br /><div>Tanner: "Yep. It's how I give butterfly kisses."</div><br /><div>Sydney: "So Elmo has eyelashes and is a boy!"</div><br /><div>Bailey: "I know! I know! Elmo is a boy and Zoe is a girl."</div><br /><div>Tanner: "Yes, you are exactly right."</div><br /><div>Me: "I think that's true, guys. Elmo is a boy and Zoe is a girl."</div><br /><div>Sydney: "But Ernie is a boy. And Bert is a boy."</div><br /><div>Riley: "And Cookie Monster is a boy. And Telly is a boy, I think."</div><br /><div>Bailey: "And Grover is a boy. Is Big Bird a boy?"</div><br /><div>Tanner: "Yes, he is a little boy."</div><br /><div>Riley: "Aren't there any girls on Sesame Street?"</div><br /><div>Me: "Well, there's Zoey, and, uh.... uh... Rosita!"</div><br /><div>Sydney: "We don't like Rosita."</div><br /><div>Bailey: "Yeah, we don't like Rosita."</div><br /><div>Tanner: "So look at that... everybody great is boys! Boys rock!"</div><br /><div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-22472259909916532552009-03-05T07:58:00.000-08:002009-03-07T09:26:09.121-08:00Leader of the Pack<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkET3a17kq01MYh5imE_l57CeLIya9RxO4dZMfMlRoKkxMUlIy9jY3xdJTVMMIQ67Nl3BU5g2z_KXAJWRzqM878z2vXC31HkjQ2_lRRqxu2FpBs8uoPlz0OjC7J_n-AgnACJrbKWXy5G8/s1600-h/DSC01246.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310498009531179186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkET3a17kq01MYh5imE_l57CeLIya9RxO4dZMfMlRoKkxMUlIy9jY3xdJTVMMIQ67Nl3BU5g2z_KXAJWRzqM878z2vXC31HkjQ2_lRRqxu2FpBs8uoPlz0OjC7J_n-AgnACJrbKWXy5G8/s320/DSC01246.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>As previously mentioned, we have a new addition to our family: little Ellie Belly who is no bigger than a minute. Getting a pet for the first time was interesting for us... in many ways, it might have been easier to have another newborn since we were already schooled in babies. With puppies, we were clueless!<br /><br />Coincidentally, I caught an episode of "Jon and Kate Plus 8" last week and they just got 2 puppies. Yes, TWO! (Those Gosselins have to one-up us on everything!) :) The episode was hilarious because Kate expressed sentiments similar to ours- maybe babies are easier than puppies?!?<br /><br />I have no room to complain. We've had Ellie for over a month and I think we've had 4 "accidents"- all on tile flooring, and all our fault for not taking her out often enough. Lesson learned! She doesn't whimper at night, she doesn't bark, she doesn't scratch at the door or chew things up. She is a piece of cake. (Which means that if we ever get another dog, we are gonna get hammered!)<br /><br />The hard part, really, was just figuring out what the heck to do with a puppy. Upon the recommendation of a savvy friend, we got Cesar Milan's book, "Member of the Family". Fabulous book. (Thank you, Kelly!) I had trouble tearing it away from Quinn, who loved to pepper me with all kinds of dog trivia while reading it. He got very into it, and determined that we had to work hard to establish good habits with the puppy. He began taking her on regular leashed walks which was hilarious because it looked like he was essentially trying to walk a gerbil.<br /><br />Quinn also decided that we needed to let the puppy know right from the get-go that we are the "leaders of the pack." As Quinn explained this philosophy to me, we started drawing parallels to parenting and realized that some of the suggestions just might work on our kids! (I mean, the dog was already a gem, but our kids could always use a little work!) As we read on, we realized</div><br /><div>that sometimes the kids are totally leading our pack! (when you are this outnumbered, I suppose it's somewhat inevitable.) But now we were equipped to change it!<br /><br />One day we were getting in the car and Bailey started having a melt down. She refused to get buckled into her carseat. Very calmly, Quinn leaned down, looked her right in the face and said, "Bailey, I am the leader of the pack. You are not the leader of the pack. You will do what I say. Now get in your seat." Shockingly, she immediately calmed down, got in her seat and buckled up. She even smiled.<br /><br />Weird. We tried it again throughout the week. It always worked. It's gotten to the point that all we have to do is ask, "Who is the leader of the pack?" and the kids automatically respond, "Mommy! Daddy! We are part of the team, but you're the boss!" Brainwashing at it's best, but if it works, I'll take it!<br /><br />We should have gotten a dog earlier so we could have accessed these amazing parenting secrets! Luckily, it's never too late to teach an old dog (or kid) new tricks. </div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-5528419273153712442009-02-20T20:35:00.000-08:002009-02-25T10:23:25.381-08:00Note to Self: Lessons I Learned this Week<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zOHS2t_x6ojVzqrtLXhL_KZGrjw0_kVwOLfRKcFN1Pp-BISv0nLX_M82wbe_mT6fZSdVbDaxcMk3uRN1P9EVfjhVh46x-OAkRD0s87x0FA0fgOQ7pbuG54jB96oFA-sNtV2cZG7J1vU/s1600-h/tannerwithpuppy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306802065094553186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zOHS2t_x6ojVzqrtLXhL_KZGrjw0_kVwOLfRKcFN1Pp-BISv0nLX_M82wbe_mT6fZSdVbDaxcMk3uRN1P9EVfjhVh46x-OAkRD0s87x0FA0fgOQ7pbuG54jB96oFA-sNtV2cZG7J1vU/s320/tannerwithpuppy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><div>1. No matter how hard you try to keep a sick kid separate from the healthy ones, they’re all going to get it anyways. Be proactive and get it over with: stick them all in a small room together and load up on the Motrin.</div><div></div><div>2. The flu shots we all got in October apparently did not apply to the four different strains of flu that we have managed to catch, mutate, and share over the past three weeks.<br /></div><div>3. There's nothing that sky-rockets my blood pressure more than taking the temperature of one of my kids and watching it shoot up to over 104 degrees. Except maybe when it happens the next day to a different kid and it hits 105!</div><div></div><div></div><div>4. My pediatrician's office doesn't do any "4-for-the-price-of-1" co-pay discounts.</div><div></div><div></div><div>5. A trip to the zoo doesn’t “count” if you don’t get to see the elephants. You will be reminded every day that you have to go back. Your children will actually feel cheated that they "smelled elephant poop" but didn't get to see the giants themselves. </div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306799947949741122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzWCqA2yRfgy53fKARQ1CbhiQEZNzfZHmZYmxCBxM00NmIAvNDEoOUkFxR-aot8A8woYvkbj1ed4YbefYSz5iR6Y1pLGlS9Y_nwKgGdVpHrOQpLVTCv7yfkK_25PLik0JRIrStDRYV2c/s320/zoo.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />6. The best way to make telemarketers stop calling is to put Sydney on the line, who will not only talk the poor salesperson to death, but will also start to sing her "gospel" songs that she's made up. (Unbeknownst to me, she answered the phone while I was cleaning up vomit and she had a grand conversation where she learned that "Miss Jennifer has 2 cats named Snickers and Cookie and she's allergic to peanut butter and she doesn't have any kids to play with and no husband or daddy either." We haven't heard from Jennifer again.)</div><div>7. It is actually possible (but not recommended) to bathe your new puppy more than you bathe your children.<br />8. If you leave a marker within arm’s reach while your 3 year-old is holding the puppy, you will soon have a blue puppy. (Despite Bailey's protests that she was just trying to “make a picture of the puppy’s handprints.”)<br />9. If you get nauseous to the point of nearly throwing up when your 13 year old is sitting on stage for a piano competition, then you probably won’t make a very good “stage mother.” Encourage him to pursue other interests that won’t require you to get a prescription for Xanax.<br /></div><br /><div>(In other words: we went to the zoo on Monday, everybody was running fevers or had been diagnosed with strep throat later in the week, and Carter had his big piano competition on Friday. Busy, exhausting week! But congrats to Carter who earned a "Superior" rating in both his solo performance and his concerto. Now, if only he'd quit while he is ahead so I don't have to sit in nervous agony before his performances ever again!)</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306799942028117058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5zkjb8HIqiRZQzrwp3_yx_wP8jW7Eja4JhKnlbSunbEHjhTeEu1mnTmbxXxM0JnWmnaNcqu1RTwCqXW4LZPUKcQHA0vQuTR5TSbS_yjU39BH1F2zQiB-pUnffH_IkLkbnwsLiWg74X0s/s320/carterpiano.jpg" border="0" /></div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-82966314864387920462009-02-09T10:33:00.000-08:002009-02-09T10:44:07.845-08:00Puppy Love<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Edc_UQ7Pv-tX_TnEoiQTxt0lkEggdEsIJW06Ndg5kcVIn4FBX0IchyRFhdwd2UfaoPsERyXCJ3GrDK0JoyGDhi0owsoJrKbQWkgZ3CFu9qDf9LpjWDzPPm-vv3g24qhdftWTgrsmT4M/s1600-h/ellie+new+bed.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300869510330525586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Edc_UQ7Pv-tX_TnEoiQTxt0lkEggdEsIJW06Ndg5kcVIn4FBX0IchyRFhdwd2UfaoPsERyXCJ3GrDK0JoyGDhi0owsoJrKbQWkgZ3CFu9qDf9LpjWDzPPm-vv3g24qhdftWTgrsmT4M/s320/ellie+new+bed.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>So we got a dog. This is a big move for us- we've never even had a pet! We "puppy sat" for some friends over Christmas and fell in love with their dog, and the seed was planted: maybe this was something we could actually do. A week later we found a gorgeous little puppy that was finally ready to come home to us this past week. She was born on Christmas Eve so the kids named her Noel, but we call her Ellie, and this is one loved little puppy! In fact, the hard part so far has been setting the timer every fifteen minutes so that everyone can take turns holding her! I know I'm a sucker, but take a look at her picture... how could I resist?!? </div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300869513625752386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYWBarsq7O5uZmRlqL7zT3JT4qDJXWDLLH8CpyohO33t8iO9EwqMErce-V8PfOietOUnpHr8_WSNLt12VIOq4Ye3c9LFVHg3ySRcFYOwKk94yC_plEdMuBGEhL4GWmYcrwWnsWY85aUz4/s320/tanner+%26+ellie.jpg" border="0" /> <div></div><br /><div>It just so happened that Tanner's "letter of the week" was "P". On Friday he had to bring in a "P" word item for show-and-tell. Well, it took him about half a second to recognize that puppy is a "P" word. And so Ellie had her preschool debut!</div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-24047473310950081662009-01-08T06:38:00.000-08:002009-01-08T21:20:49.225-08:00Overheard: Santa Stuff<u>Tanner</u>: "That's it, Sydney! I'm sayin a prayer to Jesus to tell Santa not to bring you any presents!" <div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><u>Bailey</u>: "Wouldn't it be fun to go visit Santa? I know: we could bring our swimming suits and go swimming with him!!!"</div><div><u>Mom</u>: "Uh... it's freezing cold at the North Pole. I don't think we'd want to swim there."</div><div><u>Bailey</u>: "But yes we would. Santa has a HUGE swimming pool there at the North Pool. Dats why it's called the North Pool. We can totally go swimming there!"</div><div> </div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288937016608933362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJtveFH0YEBl3fg-lEm2nwiQ1NHB-fMnD0c88xGNljgaqXwyAY99rAezED_9Vb06aPCR4RnrIXvCykFU_uDBy8CKzeeLzAJh9JTKoR03HF46wrVvukVdua68ZoaA45LHVzuJxzSeNHzg/s400/2008+Dec+138.JPG" border="0" /></div><div> </div><div></div><div></div></div><div></div><div><div><u>Tanner:</u> "I just love the racecar set Santa broughted to me! But I wish I had another racecar, too... Oh, wait! I need to be thankful, don't I? We need to be thankful for what we get from Santa, and we need to be thankful for what we get from Jesus, and we need to be thankful for what we get from garage sales... and Walmart, too." (???)</div><div></div><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><div>Bailey has never been a big fan of Santa. As a toddler, she'd shriek "No Santa! No Santa!" whenever the topic came up. Last year, she would shudder and shake if we approached him at the mall or at a Christmas party, and she spoke of him with fear for months to follow: "No more Santa, right? Santa is all gone, right?" But she steeled herself this year to be brave so that she could at least tell Santa what she wanted. I would overhear her giving herself pep talks. (eg- "Santa isn't scary and I won't cry when I see him cuz I will be very, very brave.") When we saw him at our ward Christmas party, she timidly walked up to him, shaking, and allowed herself to be next to him.... so long as Quinn was holding her. Progress! She told him what she wanted, and then she turned to me and yelled, "Hey! Santa's not so bad after all!!!" (I don't know... she still looks pretty leary to me.)</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288937018074560226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNRmOWEedjWxgT3Y4-rBcBV96efpMVL5l-kTbnCgR0nMoZxSDwabSiIYgFxZabuBXjMkpjo-M-IP9oYv8Q55Oh9Fk26RRY_VzdYLrAXBa_JvX8eS3dyS2bcl6YigHuZGsPCfCSj6lCkU/s400/2008+Dec+134.JPG" border="0" /><br />Carter was happy to hang out with Santa's cute elves...<br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288937023781245554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQHz44JKOvm4Pb4LFCSbYPJreSBoQtk5jjP4HbBKe77QGEswplE9FIY04lHMEs2vWRrfp396kenyML0zhPwQQcipA0b2qsthlmkIDi2GqqdBeGU3eh3wLW2LN2Yi37nGnyQxavk-hckQ/s400/2008+Dec+162.JPG" border="0" /><br />And Taylor told Santa she wanted a driver's license... (SO SO scary!)<br /><br /><div></div><div></div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-35215866925964043132008-12-09T17:12:00.000-08:002008-12-09T19:38:19.490-08:00Tanner-Knievel: Our Little Daredevil<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277971767191078274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEQ-c7lkd0N0r8CQ5mFrTRXxK09BAG0o2hCM3BREpcdZr2gLq3cW-dmcZPrCgY6egoShhzRsOB2DkYnkV43DcFuZOSLnwQVwsIvWgz9gRUNrcf_LanT349oe1H40LUsRxMfAshbomqq4/s400/Nov+08+044.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIGCRMyhzDFHjC0d9jz8E6xBJnVorhvpEOLXgS5-vLDcYoN7DBl3aRENoeryeesomsA_Uz3Wkf5D0C7ZcJtJnDlI0_J4qS9FSIpdAjybVojH2Ypro3-xwlnYsohi2_ynSJrzWqF_UHHw/s1600-h/Nov+08+423.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277971772732805282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIGCRMyhzDFHjC0d9jz8E6xBJnVorhvpEOLXgS5-vLDcYoN7DBl3aRENoeryeesomsA_Uz3Wkf5D0C7ZcJtJnDlI0_J4qS9FSIpdAjybVojH2Ypro3-xwlnYsohi2_ynSJrzWqF_UHHw/s400/Nov+08+423.JPG" border="0" /></a> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277971786390013522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWzVFGHmk7utGz9j0vTQ72uOTYmRgcMuP8xkU4KkvPmn3aY37cEsV_dRwXT1KbCdjkKBPXQPZhcrVUtCLfoqRpJXc-Ml41Kd2e4G4AfYhT0AV75uBDyBjll2W3-QJOawz-mf3SzgVIIkw/s400/Nov+08+082.JPG" border="0" /> <div><br /><br /><div>Let me preface by saying that I would almost rather have one of my children end up in prison than grow up to be a stuntman. Seriously. I wonder how Jackie Chan's mother gets through the day.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffff;">asdf</span></div><div>So imagine my surprise (and terror) as I discover that Tanner is a fearless little daredevil. I have done nothing to nurture these tendencies but find that they are growing despite my attempts to squelch them. </div><div></div><br /><div>I've already posted a picture of Tanner sitting at the very tippy-top of our outdoor playset. He's been doing that particular stunt for MONTHS now, and it no longer stops my heart a few beats to find him on his favorite perch. He has recently graduated to new tricks: A few weeks ago, upon parking in the driveway after preschool pick-up, I told Tanner he could go ahead and get out of the minivan and head into the house while I talked to Carter through the driver's side window. I was suddenly startled to hear noises above my head: SOMETHING was on TOP of the van! Carter, wide-eyed with fear and admiration, cried out, "Oh my gosh! Tanner is on the van! How the heck did he get up there?!?" Sure enough, Tan was standing on the minivan rooftop, arms raised in triumph, shouting, "I am SO COOL!!!" And then, as I scrambled to react without panic. . . of course, he jumped.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffff;">asdf</span></div><div>The following week, I heard thumping noises upstairs and asked Carter to check on the kids. "If they're jumping on Tanner's bed again, tell them they're in big trouble!" I instructed. He came back with a stupefied grin, "Well, they're not jumping on the bed, but I think you'd better come see this for yourself!" I walked into Tanner's room to find him standing on top of his narrow 4' high dresser, waiting for me. Before I had time to freak out, he launched into a full-on aerial front flip onto the middle of his bed! Then without missing a beat, stood up, took the first of several bows, and said, "Thank you! Thank you very much!" </div><div></div><br /><div>Since then, I have found him shimmying up the column in front of our house (trying to get to the roof), walking on TOP of the monkey bars, and teaching the triplets how to do dive rolls off the living room couch. He is forever flipping and rolling and jumping and twirling, and he is confident that all these stunts make him very, very cool.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffff;">asdf</span></div><div>It doesn't help that he's found a true fan in his big brother; Carter probably wishes he could get away with half of Tanner's tricks. "He is the coolest four-year-old ever!" I heard Carter say. He finds Tan's stunts amazing and captivating. I find them horrifying beyond measure, but what's a mother to do? I've considered covering him in bubble-wrap and making him wear a helmet, but I suspect that this would only give him (and me) a false sense of security. So instead I keep hoping that this is a phase he'll outgrow. Soon.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffff;">asdf</span></div><div>p.s.- Tanner has blue hair because of "Crazy Hair Day" at preschool. The interior ceiling of my van still has fluorescent blue marks everywhere-testament to his Tigger-like bounciness. And you may note an injury by his mouth in some of the photos. Occupational hazard of being a daredevil, perhaps? Actually, this particular injury came from ticking off one of his sisters: occupational hazard of being Bailey's brother.</div></div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-56239838224985671412008-12-07T07:04:00.001-08:002008-12-07T08:39:56.540-08:00Halloween Pics<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277084835363885890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 217px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLlTe6_nG7g2i3Z5hmeuBoTZhxFIu2_zZReHWrMibFIecFvKRf6EudfdO1Di9JbzfWFWKGrSNeg7i-7A7NcPjoMFFgpNDASfHKxvp6k_Yt1eOq7f19skNTbIgDLSei4xT02bBHblF-UWk/s320/2008+sep-oct+327.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div><div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277080104512913826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqokDNgIlZXm7jgx9_r7qXyNBfFX0cwzbLVtwNgXWD63AtcPxQjirBNpvD4M7Q8b_9llyrU_OWg84WMWotTJHXEsv8DTNjQ62w7P7a_qEeuG9GcFuozmQggPXq9PqxJoWt8JP_VPdKRxQ/s320/2008+sep-oct+335.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277080111007382994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTesNrItmtCwybkqMdmqR2dpBt_h5l1ouu6mRDzB8rU0Xlvy4_MnFGVE-I48HHa-AgSx3AEJrjUN9gs2_RyBxAGYm-gV8MoUyoQaFJ6_mvHvVxvFVKeqgvoKfl9jBJ-MxAY0gERDnIeU/s320/2008+sep-oct+365.JPG" border="0" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZLKJVkiHbsqU7rbgL2WuKfIdyhe5uNNsiu-NpC71cDla1bQGbhnATM6I1-EXv_hAJW6cNmh-z8kgwF2U0Kb49QS9_ZqHrFf20CidjRhIqFd6YcOiQ2AlINyDDQMXVR-Em_4J10-6x68/s1600-h/2008+sep-oct+346.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277080114819252930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZLKJVkiHbsqU7rbgL2WuKfIdyhe5uNNsiu-NpC71cDla1bQGbhnATM6I1-EXv_hAJW6cNmh-z8kgwF2U0Kb49QS9_ZqHrFf20CidjRhIqFd6YcOiQ2AlINyDDQMXVR-Em_4J10-6x68/s320/2008+sep-oct+346.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div>Finally... I am posting our Halloween costume pictures. It was a blast-- the kids were SO into it this year! (Even Carter, who took great pains to dress up as the Joker. Take note: I did his Joker makeup while driving to the church party, at night, in the dark. Pretty proud of myself. Perhaps I missed my true calling in life as a makeup artist?!?)</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>You would think that the costumes require no explanation, but as is our way, there's a story behind each of them. As follows:</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><u>Carter</u>- the Joker ("but not the cheesy joker from the other Batmans. The Dark Knight Joker.") He refused to consider the pre-fab Joker costumes found at every costume shop in the city ("too lame") and also refused my creative ideas born of desperation (such as Rit-dying a lab coat purple). Instead, he waited til the last possible second, assuming that I had taken care of it and then wondered why I hadn't gotten him a costume. Hmm... so we improvised with a Dark Knight Joker t-shirt and sloppy makeup.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><u></u></div><div><u>Taylor</u>- "Mrs. Edward Cullen" (ie- vampire bride, based upon the Twilight book series. A series she has never read, but has heard Quinn, Carter and I talk about at great length.) I bought a fancy makeup kit and Taylor insisted on doing it herself, despite my evident skills. She also wore a nametag that said, "Hello, I'm ... Mrs. Cullen." (It's all in the details, even if nobody else knows what you're talking about, right?)</div><div></div><div><u></u></div><div><br /></div><div><u>Tanner</u>- Knight in "Shiny" Armour (who refused to wear his shiny armour for more than 5 seconds, despite major attempts at candy bribery.) At the last moment, he also found last year's costume and decided to be "Mr. Incredible" with very bad teeth. Oooookay....</div><div><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277084831689957474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluk05ZncR-cmst8PchfNp8d7CqN30bX31bNhLH94SyUjDpkdrZr1sNFdSdOUrSJs3jPPJly6jrgFbwnol_KKL0e83roMzoMLmJw6ggcpMVSMME8q53Lb9aUT3J46BmpNLP4raZ84tfyI/s320/2008+sep-oct+380.JPG" border="0" /> <div></div><br /><div><u>Sydney, Riley & Bailey</u>- There was never any question that the girls wanted to be Disney princesses, so I was thrilled to find 3 princess costumes at a reasonable price in September. I brought home the Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty costumes, set them out on the couch and hoped the girls would naturally gravitate to the appropriate costume without a fist fight. Bailey staked out Cinderella before the other two could protest, so Sydney grabbed Snow White ("She has bwackish hair just wike me!") which left Sleeping Beauty for Ri. Problem: none of the girls have seen Sleeping Beauty so none of them were interested in being her. "What princess is this?" Riley wanted to know. Thinking quick on my feet, I lied: "Ariel." "But Ariel has flippers!" Riley started to cry. "No, no... this is the dress Ariel wears after she has legs," I insisted, keeping the lie alive. New Problem: Now they ALL wanted the Sleeping Beauty dress because they all wanted to be Ariel With Legs. So there was a scuffle after all. Confouded by the fact that, after one party, the girls found a Belle costume (worn by Taylor when she was 4), and Dictator Bailey determined that Sydney had to be Belle since she looks like Belle, and then Bailey appropriated the Snow White costume. Just like a true tyrant. So, in the end, between all the parties we attended and the trick-or-treating, each girl was at least 2 different princesses. Except Riley, who wasn't about to give up the Ariel With Legs costume.</div><div> </div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277080100945759794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tLZc81RXBbEO2B2-itVnQWvopICQo4xKrEYydvF31NmnOK1dwMuKjfHI5mXOtM7ECT_m1vgQKlP2lXmO8nDlkyazbcCpCzfvKFc4MVcmVHiuHb7qh5uUIFD1vKigPdlLrHi2eViy04E/s320/2008+sep-oct+400.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>Keeping with tradition, the Rosses and Williamsons came over and we had dinner and then took the kids trick-or-treating together. Carter and Daniel went together, Kassidy and Taylor went together, and our friends each grabbed a little one, which left Quinn and I trailing along to watch the fun. The little guys dragged whoever was holding their hand from house to house, and we had to laugh at their tirelessness in pursuit of candy. Tanner insisted on saying "Happy Halloween!" to everyone he saw, and Riley shyly told everyone "Stank you" when they gave her candy. We had a great time! Call me ghoulish, but Halloween is my favorite! :)</div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325302465090381697.post-62202888322270170072008-11-06T19:06:00.000-08:002008-11-06T19:28:14.382-08:00Pumpkin Painting<div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NZR_E0lBQiMh7WLf4I10UyOIyCVr6sSWD4KE7Np2tMoO2fScHzNR7tF_VkoGWzd2ONYvJmKG_mANtkPPRt8zkrPelMn8Eff7WZvwlBYf4LUJ5zPmq1UEbG3AP2YOtVv_tjx5BtLo1qk/s1600-h/2008+sep-oct+310.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265751032053695874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NZR_E0lBQiMh7WLf4I10UyOIyCVr6sSWD4KE7Np2tMoO2fScHzNR7tF_VkoGWzd2ONYvJmKG_mANtkPPRt8zkrPelMn8Eff7WZvwlBYf4LUJ5zPmq1UEbG3AP2YOtVv_tjx5BtLo1qk/s400/2008+sep-oct+310.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I know, I know... still haven't posted the Halloween costume pictures yet! Have I mentioned how technologically-challenged I am? (this means that they are still on the camera and I rely on my savvy husband to magically get the pics from my camera onto my computer so that I can put them to good use.) I know, I know... LAME!</div><br /><div></div><div>Anyhow, until then, I thought I'd add some shots of our pre-Halloween-Pumpkin-Painting fest. The big kids opted out in lieu of carving their pumpkins to look like The Joker (pictures on camera still), but the thought of arming my little guys with pumpkin carving tools struck more fear into my heart than any haunted house ever could. So I armed them with paint pens, which was almost as frightening.</div><br /><div></div><div>All in all, this painting project was like a mini-Rorschach of their personalities. Bailey lasted about 3 minutes because a) the project required her to remove her princess dress, and b) the paint was "very very messky." </div><div></div><br /><div>Sydney was completely absorbed in the task and later went on to pick flowers and bugs that she could "paint-glue" to her pumpkin (yuck!), while Tanner rather enjoyed chewing on the paint pens and watching how far the paint could squirt. </div></div><div> </div><div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265751040572154434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2KrqYj8_xzKQhcZBrY1AN6Y5hgqIiqQdlO3k7ohGcV3kk20AWwP6PsAL5FYbNe49Afq-E57yNkOELdPp1guiYnvzjunsnsrsUZKcQGKwuR6a5obtG2p-gsa3ZIrNRS9IpGgKDhoJ3DE/s400/2008+sep-oct+314.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>Riley was in a world all her own, and made up a pretty little song about pumpkins which she sang the entire time as she meticulously covered every inch of her pumpkin... for nearly 2 hours!(this compared to Bailey's measly three minutes.) </div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265751048373570018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8DgjV15A3ZcqP1Nxl33eeK_zBWBYwA_dIcRxtBQhBpIjd13N4im7WTSycvheLe7jRMjxkMNREr3EUrYrMNTSMmXY9poTswpjoIWrRmiIwK87bkmWwYCsDqdsrlywR7M-JE0ZCNRA38JY/s400/2008+sep-oct+318.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div></div><div>A good time was had by all... until I had to clean it up. Ah, well- memories.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Kelly Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05208610071734095532noreply@blogger.com5