tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18173793676310249002024-02-18T21:26:12.501-08:00Schwartz StoriesTake one Yankee and one Southern girl...add a few kiddos... drop them in Minnesota...
What do you get?Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger432125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-60186249492885881602012-10-03T19:22:00.001-07:002012-10-10T14:42:43.025-07:00Summer of TrainsIn our house, our toddler's fascination chugs along with trains. We've tolerated, even encouraged, watching trains, playing with trains, and reading about trains. We've spent plenty of time on YouTube watching trains go through intersections, plow snow, and just chug along. You'd be amazed what is out there and what simplicity captivates a 2-year-old.<br />
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This past summer, we've visited the local train museum to tour old trains, play on train tables, and even ride a caboose. Jack was more than a kid in a candy store. He was a boy in a train store. If the train fascination continues, we'll likely have the next birthday party here.....even if we don't have many attendees since it is all the way on the other side of the metro.<br />
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Next, we went to the model train museum to see working train models and toy trains of every sort and size. Jack enjoyed this even more, perhaps because the scale of the trains wasn't so intimidating. One area was designed as a mini-1950s Minneapolis with so much detail. Clearly, this place was designed for young boys with trains on the brain. And grown-up boys who never grew out of the fascination.<br />
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Then, we had to get creative. We rode trolley trains. We played on a train at a park. We rode a steamboat that had a whistle 'like a train'. We rode over train tracks and took the route to see the trains every chance we got. In the morning, our eggs are cut out in the shape of trains...sometimes our toast too.<br />
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But all summer long, talk revolved around going to see the Granddaddy of them all. Thomas.<br />
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O, if I'd only had a relative to invest in Thomas the Tank Engine years ago. The Day out with Thomas happened at the largest train museum in the state, which is in Duluth. We went to see the huge ships--ships that are the size of a city block--go through the lift bridge and into Lake Superior. Jack simply turned after watching one of the behemoths move through and asked 'See the trains, now?' Clearly not impressed with anything that didn't ride the rails, he did get a kick out of watching the trains deliver minerals from the Iron Range to the large ships. Just driving through the railroad yard on the edge of the harbor was proof the trip was worth it.<br />
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Then, the big day arrived. Jack took off his Thomas pajamas, donned his Thomas shirt, and then we saw Thomas actually come chugging up to the station. And Jack wasn't so sure anymore.<br />
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Actually, he was completely sure he did NOT want to get on that train. I carried him on board kicking and screaming for our very brief, over-priced 30 minute trip on Thomas. During which, I might add, he would NOT pose for a picture with his mother.<br />
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By the end of the ride, we were a tad bit happier about the experience as we passed by real trains.<br />
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The real fun came later when Jack explored the museum. He played with the train tables and climbed in and out of engines, passenger cars, and cabooses. He colored Thomas pictures and played with Thomas building blocks. Yes, all the world was a train and he was basking in it all.<br />
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And when we left, he was kicking and screaming again. Because this was a place that was too good to be true. And we've talked about it every. day. since.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-63375003537369842962012-05-21T08:08:00.002-07:002012-05-21T08:08:10.823-07:00Race time.In my downtime when I'm not fantasizing about full, uninterrupted nights of sleep.... I'm dreaming about going to the gym. It's funny the things you miss or treasure when you can't freely do them anymore.<br />
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I took a tremendous leap when I registered for my first 5k after babies. Of course, my goals on any 5k have never been lofty. My goal is simply to finish and not finish last. My gym rat of a husband and I started the race at the same time, but finished several minutes apart.<br />
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After starting, I kept having weird problems with my iPod. I would have the Black-Eyed Peas playing some song with a good beat and I would accidentally hit it and bam! Neil Diamond. Then, I'd have Katy Perry playing and hit it again and something like Ray Charles "Georgia on my mind" (which is a warm up song) would come on. <br />
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When I reached mile1, I thought I wasn't going to make it. When I reached the first hill, I cursed whomever designed this race course. During the last mile when I climbed, okay walked, several steep hills and slowly jogged the last half-mile which was a gradual incline, I was cursing this race with each sluggish step and deep breath I could take. What kind of cruel joke was this? Why didn't I look at the course before signing up? I know why. I was thrilled enough to see a race that had included childcare, so I didnt' look at anything else!<br />
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I didn't finish last, actually it was a rather respectable time, but I did finish right beside some 10-year-old kid who got several cheers at the finish line. That almost made me feel like I was finishing last.<br />
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This is in preparation for several outdoor runs this summer, and maybe, just maybe running the Twin Cities 10 mile, which is "the" race to run up here. It's popular and it closes out in minutes after registration opens. Since I've been at my present workplace, a team of coworkers have talked about training and actually running this race. I've either been pregnant or just past pregnant each time....so I've only listened. This year, I won't have an excuse.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-75013447485416904032012-05-16T19:56:00.000-07:002012-05-16T19:56:04.222-07:00Remembering....Easter<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MK-D7FakyxZ48JbtIhZBltIdK3TMK7uCc31OpfYUD5UmGahUytTSq8R9i_CN6wvif7CuNE1UlX9A-KrjB9FeJT0jTEEHBuBzmCSI3W-en8kEnJ-mNiT57SdSdR4j1gYmdnEohegsl7g/s1600/IMG_4651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MK-D7FakyxZ48JbtIhZBltIdK3TMK7uCc31OpfYUD5UmGahUytTSq8R9i_CN6wvif7CuNE1UlX9A-KrjB9FeJT0jTEEHBuBzmCSI3W-en8kEnJ-mNiT57SdSdR4j1gYmdnEohegsl7g/s200/IMG_4651.JPG" width="200" /></a>For Easter this year, we were fortunate to drive west to visit my brother and his growing family.<br />
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My brother was an excellent host, treating Jack to more than one tractor and 4-wheeler ride.<br />
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They are a Catholic household and we opted to attend services with them. As with any worship service where I'm unfamiliar with the structure, my overall goal is just to blend into the crowd. With two young children, that's virtually impossible, but we managed to somehow pull it all off. Another antsy little boy even gave Jack a jellybean, to which Jack politely responded, "Thank you Boy."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGUXHzkcAV2rYE_-A7IYXDq1fOJKzkJg1NSumz7bWYoVRJwF9whuvu-H4Yee1gpueHW_7559dEVOd3wXuavUiJ_vlHwnSaOQlKBzm47vcKZ6ku63FV2IRt8yuRLoMEWrDxh57UJ8_ZHE/s1600/IMG_4668.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGUXHzkcAV2rYE_-A7IYXDq1fOJKzkJg1NSumz7bWYoVRJwF9whuvu-H4Yee1gpueHW_7559dEVOd3wXuavUiJ_vlHwnSaOQlKBzm47vcKZ6ku63FV2IRt8yuRLoMEWrDxh57UJ8_ZHE/s200/IMG_4668.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
The country church was beautiful, the weather was sunny, and the pastor was engaging. Before the service started, my brother warned us that it was a small church with a small congregation. The organist, who also leads the songs, might miss a note or two. Or three. During one song, Dave leaned over to me and said "I think there's a sheep in here." To which I responded, "Very funny, Dave. Don't make fun of the organist." Dave: "No really. I heard one." Me: eye-rolling.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtZDxqabv_kSxk_CmGYo5ovBuYRVWfFzLzk12lTpwXkoIC33hI6wW26Oek1yFXcBvdDV89tRDLoqUKIHxGnXCvBdFO9h1vp2AURm8MlZdFx-QNpbJADK6tARyewZFggcunbunpE-B_fQ/s1600/IMG_4656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtZDxqabv_kSxk_CmGYo5ovBuYRVWfFzLzk12lTpwXkoIC33hI6wW26Oek1yFXcBvdDV89tRDLoqUKIHxGnXCvBdFO9h1vp2AURm8MlZdFx-QNpbJADK6tARyewZFggcunbunpE-B_fQ/s200/IMG_4656.JPG" width="200" /></a>The joke was on me. A short time later, during the sermon, a woman carried a sheep to the front of the church. The children were invited up to pet the lamb while the pastor talked about the Lamb of God. A unique opportunity for the Easter crowd. <br />
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Someone also handed out balloons to kids at the end of the service for a balloon release and an analogy. With petting a lamb and balloons, Jack thought this was all fun until he realized he couldn't get his balloon back.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-675807670312178002012-05-16T10:07:00.002-07:002012-05-16T10:07:20.091-07:00Finally....Target Field!If you've seen my facebook page, you know I finally worked my way into Target Field. One of the cool parts of being a reporter is you get to see the underbelly of things and how places operate. I get a much bigger kick out of the back tours of factories, the basements of important places or hobby workshop spaces than I do interviewing important people. As I walked off the field and had to stomp the dirt off my shoes, I thought, "how many people get to dust the dirt from a major league baseball field off their shoes on an average workday?"<br />
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Working at a hyper-local station, we seldom travel outside our nine cities radius and if we do....even if it is to St Paul or Minneapolis...we have to have a local nine city connection. Yes, five miles over our imaginary like might as well as Spain because we aren't going to go there. As frustrating as this sometimes can be, it's part of our mission and part of what makes our little place very special in terms of original content. So, to get to Target Field, I had to find an ultra-local angle and it took me a few years to do it.<br />
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I found the story by way of a local source I've gotten to know who is a stay-at-home dad and got a summer gig working on the grounds of Target Field. He's one of those great neighborhood sources that reporters crave. He calls me when he sees a SWAT team, and I call to find out why they were there. He calls me when the kids are doing fun, unusual things at school and I see if we can cover it. These everyday people are usually the ones who really have their fingers on the pulse of the community and I wish I knew more of these people.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-15932304462950618712012-05-14T13:53:00.005-07:002012-05-14T13:53:44.475-07:00Remembering....our trip to New YorkThe purpose for the trip to New York this spring was to visit the Schwartz family.<br />
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If you live away from home, then you know a visit home usually has a "must-do" and "must-see" list. This can get daunting and intimidating, because inevitably someone or something is left out and it causes stress for both parties. Thankfully we stayed long enough that we got to see just about everyone on the list and do just about everything on the list. Family time was good time.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had Wing Night.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">We celebrated Passover.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We saw old cousins and met new ones.</td></tr>
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We saw Jake's baseball game, where every time anyone made any play on the field, Jack would yell "Good catch Jakey!"</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We lounged and slept a bit more than normal.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We spent time in the kitchen.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack made charoset with his Mema.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We spent time with Aunt Jennie.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-24978244314547874732012-05-12T19:33:00.005-07:002012-05-12T19:33:59.538-07:00Remembering.... our trip to NYC<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbkOI2gF1LG__I3cZglzrO9NdyH1plq1hffiocQd1Zd8Py8ErXeql5caYkLuJZONFT9UVwJqq1C98Eqb3j3arP2X3z7uLfj_-2fvUGMSW2Surjcg8fjPOtoSyM_xtyUEmT9ly7L9aR-U/s1600/IMG_4474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbkOI2gF1LG__I3cZglzrO9NdyH1plq1hffiocQd1Zd8Py8ErXeql5caYkLuJZONFT9UVwJqq1C98Eqb3j3arP2X3z7uLfj_-2fvUGMSW2Surjcg8fjPOtoSyM_xtyUEmT9ly7L9aR-U/s320/IMG_4474.jpg" width="213" /></a>Since I appear to have blog amnesia, I'm hoping to fire off a few recap blogs that can show what we've been up at our house this spring: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhrjX0BxksuatPG1OB7m5VRTMl1dCEsdBt2JKIyS5zEmetR5lPsuPGeyloM3KbsJ5_QIfM-awGEUuxajYwrXqbCXJ17sxheWwO4sTeECo2BKu25AWSJYedZsZE9s0uvmaUliUHpLCYLg/s1600/IMG_4408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhrjX0BxksuatPG1OB7m5VRTMl1dCEsdBt2JKIyS5zEmetR5lPsuPGeyloM3KbsJ5_QIfM-awGEUuxajYwrXqbCXJ17sxheWwO4sTeECo2BKu25AWSJYedZsZE9s0uvmaUliUHpLCYLg/s320/IMG_4408.jpg" width="217" /></a>Dave and I took our first vacation, okay 3 day trip, without the kids. Yes, we were only 2 1/2 hours away from Dave's family and thus, our kids....but it provided the break we craved. I think we might be only people on the planet to go to the City that never sleeps for some respite. We seem get down to the City at least once a year, so we really just did a lot of walking and looking around. We know people there, but we were careful to only schedule a few visits in our schedule and we were lucky enough to see all five people in one day. (If you are reading this and we didn't see you, we'll see you next year.)<br />
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We discovered soul food at <a href="http://www.sylviasrestaurant.com/">Sylvia's Restaurant in Harlem</a> where we met my HSU friend Julie and ate fried chicken and waffles. Luckily we arrived just before a busload of Dutch tourists. Julie and her husband are about to enrich the lives of people in Central Arkansas, and we wish them well.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVc03tEmKEr6KS-4jNVHy6vfVc7r1UALXHVZwfYfPOS9PywK-xDGFTifOdooLs748YmUMcwa7LUH-N2tlQZSa7AH2ZLXgPFwlfcKUtRqEebRoaak4d90Vd_cvoNE1X2XypAkPqIVVwbM/s1600/IMG_4419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVc03tEmKEr6KS-4jNVHy6vfVc7r1UALXHVZwfYfPOS9PywK-xDGFTifOdooLs748YmUMcwa7LUH-N2tlQZSa7AH2ZLXgPFwlfcKUtRqEebRoaak4d90Vd_cvoNE1X2XypAkPqIVVwbM/s320/IMG_4419.JPG" width="320" /></a>We met up with Dave's HWS classmates, but we don't have the pictures to prove it. In order to round out the alum visit, we also met up with SU classmate Ross at his workplace...which had a very large newsroom. We met his reporter and I discovered it doesn't matter the overall size of the newsroom, the cubicles are still the same size.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3LjUXti1vVWfFTeuoeDqbTPlVUoz_hmvMoa-4na1w4sJQDVBxgaGs2VOy4sxziF7F1R-dVM7_-nJPgTZere6wmStkpJ8-ZVzQUMTqTpmL8n7_DX_1gSWvxFW62ke3GY4yx7lbKGk4-c/s1600/IMG_4422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3LjUXti1vVWfFTeuoeDqbTPlVUoz_hmvMoa-4na1w4sJQDVBxgaGs2VOy4sxziF7F1R-dVM7_-nJPgTZere6wmStkpJ8-ZVzQUMTqTpmL8n7_DX_1gSWvxFW62ke3GY4yx7lbKGk4-c/s320/IMG_4422.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone's sleepy....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I also found out it was my sorority's philanthropy day....World Autism Awareness Day...so I twisted Dave's arm to get up super early and then meet up with some alumnae from around the country at the Today Show. Dave was obviously separated from the herd, but in the meantime he got a picture with Meredith Viera. As we walked through Rockefeller Center, a woman stopped Dave and asked if he was on television in Minnesota. Yep, that's almost as good as when he was discovered on a hiking trail on the North Shore.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hSKtHqFqcpp3DiB8eqT6-V_tUynzQJW39tiQjb0gcBQJI6LPV-wKb59HZXrYRgWnQGSKJy1mvUBkE2o9ObhNYn0e9MNJeo1fsMyFPgNkTV_UJWfqjeF74VfIx9TrE_f4YO1DBq30gfw/s1600/IMG_4469.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hSKtHqFqcpp3DiB8eqT6-V_tUynzQJW39tiQjb0gcBQJI6LPV-wKb59HZXrYRgWnQGSKJy1mvUBkE2o9ObhNYn0e9MNJeo1fsMyFPgNkTV_UJWfqjeF74VfIx9TrE_f4YO1DBq30gfw/s320/IMG_4469.jpg" width="213" /></a>Later that day, we walked around the Central Park and Columbia Circle. We took a brief pedi-cab ride because we were so darn tired of walking. Our cab driver gave us a pseudo-tour on which he would stop peddling, point at something remarkable and say something like "Strawberry Fields. John Lennon. Go home. Googles it." This got to be quite amusing, so we spent the rest of our trip pointing at things and saying, "Empire State Building. Go home. Googles it."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFb12Rruwy7IzLsRuORqrke5MuLfqvWK7nxD00l4lu0YHaZ5_rMXv_C4ceLWzfkg0gL-3kKsk8bEt3QlN3B3DtvlB3iHWieiEEQfsgjfJeuW3qxQyzkwJGY2Z0_YmqQHZjTc-omuU2Vo/s1600/IMG_4476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFb12Rruwy7IzLsRuORqrke5MuLfqvWK7nxD00l4lu0YHaZ5_rMXv_C4ceLWzfkg0gL-3kKsk8bEt3QlN3B3DtvlB3iHWieiEEQfsgjfJeuW3qxQyzkwJGY2Z0_YmqQHZjTc-omuU2Vo/s320/IMG_4476.jpg" width="213" /></a>We stayed at On The Ave on the Upper West Side and it was a great place to stay and be away from the bustle of Times Square, although we did walk through the Square there once. We stopped at Zabars and the Magnolia Bakery. (twice)<br />
<br />
We ate at the best Cuban restaurant ever....<a href="http://www.calleochonyc.com/">Calle Ocho</a>...actually, they might've just had the best mojitos and sangria ever. And, it was Mojito Monday, after all. Googles it.<br />
<br />
Looking back, we went to bed early every day and got up early and spent time talking about our kids quite a bit... I won't say we were absolutely ready to jump back into the mix of interrupted sleep and poopy diapers....but those kids really were adorable when we got back.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-75305322815223961092012-03-27T13:28:00.005-07:002012-03-27T13:45:19.943-07:00Evie at 5 months, okay barely 6<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2H6k8eUijN-1yKEzOSesUPdFHbqJuRhi7a0OubtPXiD2yFj-RJREahuL53Ygimj8MHx79v4zP43i6_ak19nzAiwx3gLBnYuYT_hiWGMuZuNLhD5EjRDfO-EkZD_M0W5kpEnhpaaaVHE/s1600/IMG_4342.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2H6k8eUijN-1yKEzOSesUPdFHbqJuRhi7a0OubtPXiD2yFj-RJREahuL53Ygimj8MHx79v4zP43i6_ak19nzAiwx3gLBnYuYT_hiWGMuZuNLhD5EjRDfO-EkZD_M0W5kpEnhpaaaVHE/s320/IMG_4342.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724677903879586802" /></a>Getting the month-a-versaries pictures done has become a headache and a haunt--I missed month 4 and almost month 5 in my tech meltdown. I keep wondering if not having a month will haunt me in years to come when I'm assembling a baby memory book, but no matter. Here's Evie at month 5, well actually right at month 6 so I'll say 5 months grown.<div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3ncdNX4A5EzmCcH3Z67OhwiwABXIo05KFQw2Hm5xO7gU8zgVB44U61oRMso7m0AHEmlI4V5RgbYenG8RzPpmtYuCjCHs6wPY5hfc0d_Sck4Xv7_wv0WyR9uragRaCHedKFbeX6XJpOY/s1600/IMG_4350.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3ncdNX4A5EzmCcH3Z67OhwiwABXIo05KFQw2Hm5xO7gU8zgVB44U61oRMso7m0AHEmlI4V5RgbYenG8RzPpmtYuCjCHs6wPY5hfc0d_Sck4Xv7_wv0WyR9uragRaCHedKFbeX6XJpOY/s320/IMG_4350.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724677507661915906" /></a>I love babies at this stage. They are bubbly and active and it doesn't take much to make them smile. With Evie, I just have to smile at her or get close to her before she grins and kicks her feet. This is charming even at 1 am, which is her general nighttime wake-up time. She is such a happy, contented baby. </div><div><br /></div><div>E cut her bottom two teeth with very little fuss. Actually, one day we noticed a tooth had broken through and said, hm. Guess she's teething. This is in sharp contrast to her brother Jack who put up such a fuss that we were praying for the divine appearance of a tooth and trying different products to ease his pain. Even though she gets a bit more fussy now with other teeth, she's still a very ladylike teether.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Evelyn still loves to be held and held close. She sometimes gets fussy and all you have to do is pick her up and she's fine. She loves to cuddle close to you just about any time of day and she'd be perfectly content being held all day long.</div><div><br /></div><div>Evie loves to screech and scream and she's saying "ga-ga-ga" at certain times. If everyone leaves the room, even for a minute, though, she gets very upset. She's at her best when she's surrounded by people and she can turn the charm on to get what she wants....</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-H44_zPKX1TAkdePl1A543dGbTeHDFAS6GcgnPNuPPU5ULHoaV-A8OZOdK35JSQplgBpu_lm0TQgoT1lor5lAPnO-79ELw2Q3i8cd53Gq0DBgKqNmkXRhVmWG6z4u63WfBwNWKKfFVw/s1600/IMG_4354.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-H44_zPKX1TAkdePl1A543dGbTeHDFAS6GcgnPNuPPU5ULHoaV-A8OZOdK35JSQplgBpu_lm0TQgoT1lor5lAPnO-79ELw2Q3i8cd53Gq0DBgKqNmkXRhVmWG6z4u63WfBwNWKKfFVw/s320/IMG_4354.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724677153755362786" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-62980664510221443142012-03-27T13:12:00.005-07:002012-03-27T13:28:15.890-07:00A day in the Park<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDp27Thby7gSJIaBN6t4f65Kvjs7TqIAE6CZbEqusbZP3uUUk2ZttU8kOovzPFRy5VSIwGhx0IOQ165N32A-qa_k_czgp8-DJlToyu0497DwrtvNRL8T-u1iM8xLK_yHvcPni90E5XDs4/s1600/IMG_4296.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDp27Thby7gSJIaBN6t4f65Kvjs7TqIAE6CZbEqusbZP3uUUk2ZttU8kOovzPFRy5VSIwGhx0IOQ165N32A-qa_k_czgp8-DJlToyu0497DwrtvNRL8T-u1iM8xLK_yHvcPni90E5XDs4/s320/IMG_4296.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724676278823797234" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvpmLp7IaPpItFg7S4Ky-C2uo4-xqa_z49p0-MNaaq4-znEPdmEHyCyNVK8a5B1NX6qaGOd5L9MwYBQI3RtoQZLzvzyL4GF4KDFYjaVaXAuZFj-IANgH9O1_RPEKo6YbrCE7F2P8kAyk/s1600/IMG_4303.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvpmLp7IaPpItFg7S4Ky-C2uo4-xqa_z49p0-MNaaq4-znEPdmEHyCyNVK8a5B1NX6qaGOd5L9MwYBQI3RtoQZLzvzyL4GF4KDFYjaVaXAuZFj-IANgH9O1_RPEKo6YbrCE7F2P8kAyk/s200/IMG_4303.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724675666033513970" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I've always thought March and April were two of the most difficult months in Minnesota. Generally, March is one of the snowiest months of the year and April generally allows that snow to slowly melt away in a haze of gray days. When spring embraces the region, people flock outside everyday to rejoice in the green grass and emerging buds. This place appreciates spring unlike any other, but after six months of winter, wouldn't you?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>This year after an above-average winter, March has been absolutely beautiful. We've taken a<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRbntiriZN8444vx88vNXXgxQ7-UcdzLjf_VwQmbyNFgoxWxXUkJzhUvQ1rS_95OIMbW2vhMrbqfBK-5K2wgWlZU9iKBz9zArSu4u1rM54Wuc_rE5qmsQAhCrJKLIXX5BIJqD-HifEmI/s200/IMG_4308.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724675675037287490" /> tour of area parks. E loves to swing and just be outside. Jack loves the slide and the bigger the better. He especially likes to play when other kids are present. He follows along with whatever they are doing.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHb2YExJm91Q7Y7DfNBMYFUokvtTov9bL7ThVjj1joLaLzXyJZdrRkH1yb-qk6wGxSNaTX17CdttPTxpxq29mcb0vfx5kxFoS6g28hlv2z1it_dQu58fPmChKBHyr1Wm2dmdhNsi04eY/s320/IMG_4313.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724674998632640322" /><div><br /></div><div>This breath of fresh air has been so very nice. But we're holding the breath.... hoping the snow and cold is o-ver.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Qg82MjlXIADFXVOwQs3ig15geEZ-HtAEur32DaxEEd66nQTG_oPmM0VfE54aQArO3LQogFDYTtmaVw-PltwLLCMiFvaZObbQempyvMxlHr_SWAQEQw-rAkCno22CaqJswNN6zUmMyt4/s320/IMG_4304.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724674546159091874" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-65357373262527412592012-03-19T17:38:00.007-07:002012-03-19T19:01:44.488-07:00Jack's Cars Second Birthday<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uVWnKbuOwYTu-caWbJGaa6LQ5ecoQH3PSkG4L-gyCz2X70AeFgZPQ6uEblalW-CznNTYBSobiFHHVQcq3OpDDV_o7w-wBJrs1PHlC8g6G6L9VgNhMqB8MUpDXwBo8wroIz72nb-tVzE/s320/IMG_4265.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721780063297356802" />Our little man Jack turned two in early March and we threw him a themed birthday party featuring one of his favorite things of the moment, Cars. I've been working on this party on and off since Christmas and I'm very happy with how it turned out. I wanted to do a red with black & white check theme using a free clip art car that I found online. I shopped sales, used coupons, and picked up items at the Dollar Tree to make this work on as economically as I could.<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnttv5sAXsfclwfi5BuEzxEgxKauXoPnfwFUJTxatGO19qvzJA9AIyC3gRp8XoHmoJWIL7E-1WjGPooXJ7DgAndonwAmcmxAYJwNde7w2ECSIPosGoVkb37VJIdyDybS3VgLv9dWBp7wU/s1600/IMG_4232.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnttv5sAXsfclwfi5BuEzxEgxKauXoPnfwFUJTxatGO19qvzJA9AIyC3gRp8XoHmoJWIL7E-1WjGPooXJ7DgAndonwAmcmxAYJwNde7w2ECSIPosGoVkb37VJIdyDybS3VgLv9dWBp7wU/s320/IMG_4232.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721780064891247714" /></a>I practiced for a few weeks making a few different layer cakes before making Jack's. It was drier than I would've liked, but it looked good and fit the motif. The stoplight cookies were my favorite sugar cookie/icing recipe.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmF8EuU8LNBRNp2b8lRi9TBpftm_qpPVoEzYatWzM4i59LlKvzILTkmV0PnG82AMdUCCUa4h2l6xmuhnPr05whpMC5Rnx1VGJAf0fpehCHP_Kq7wlINndfs67sA1HoB00eThYw843JvWg/s1600/IMG_4278.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmF8EuU8LNBRNp2b8lRi9TBpftm_qpPVoEzYatWzM4i59LlKvzILTkmV0PnG82AMdUCCUa4h2l6xmuhnPr05whpMC5Rnx1VGJAf0fpehCHP_Kq7wlINndfs67sA1HoB00eThYw843JvWg/s320/IMG_4278.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721780046941738658" /></a>One of Jack's favorite gifts was a goalie set from our neighbors, who are a hockey family. Jack loved it.</div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgeEZd7JNa3pMe279_FBqGyYwCqsJiz8h9pVlcgKcYVuaUZWffz8mzNguVtyhY4oNWkPGNx_THHS6_tiLnOyR_IPS2pf0xZt35xrwPAQ3FkugPsZ_aB-dDizeXeqvGC_xAC9XH5RQZFY/s200/IMG_4273.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721785058795630354" /><div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNfvg9mZv8tDqrHf0u4SrHjHkJye8KoMwgepIxLHqDtIIvRrwWYLSCxU17OJAHq-8C5fBB7siw9TTvuxdvMEEb8NRZJfcOBgR7lTAMLKAMor6-vbyEsYhiGYhsQToaeEJYCYC2tr0q5M/s320/IMG_4236.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721778290852557682" /></div><div>One of the biggest projects for this party was 2-Town, a big number two that was a place for the kids to drive their cars. You can't see the bridge that Jack is driving his car on in this picture, but it was the most popular part of the project. There was a baseball diamond of purled yarn for grass and sandpaper for the dirt. I used spray painted butter cartons and creamer cartons to create buildings and garages. Colored, wrinkled aluminum foil with fish became a river and glued rocks became an off-road. A tub of marbles was our pool and a small container with blue play-doh in the middle of the rotary was our fountain. 2-Town is now in our basement where Jack sometimes plays with it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1mLVunR1Fh6ZEIzY41ixYlMVRO8F1VjpoyhY1J1uE5NglMg7efMplxdMGyfXus6_7CSC31kUueAeEsJduHdjHcl0Pe-BZbDbMAScbXAi8uIv8FiNLzvZJgc1YsxaEEXsBNwq0sCR8Mo/s320/IMG_4227.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721776644251686498" /></div><div>On the head table, I found a great piece of plywood for $1 in the Home Depot reject pile. I covered it with wrapping paper that I found at the Dollar Tree. I made all the graphic elements on my computer and printed them out at home. I made the trays by wrapping gift boxes with red paper and decorating w/the checked fabric I found at JoAnns. I was surprised to discover I couldn't find checked wrapping paper ANYWHERE. I thought that would be super-easy to help with my theme.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqKjODxDqcBT8WeCzDRPmkc7_8tA6zFmq3VAxjQdkQpB4J0jD9hMqMBvFqO4wjlQgXoP-9jj93WoxIgGP8t2X-5-5AAQj2vRMAmJo_QtKvWz4gEIlo5gIpgrcfFSI58UHcTi-EHtqO-s/s1600/IMG_4234.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqKjODxDqcBT8WeCzDRPmkc7_8tA6zFmq3VAxjQdkQpB4J0jD9hMqMBvFqO4wjlQgXoP-9jj93WoxIgGP8t2X-5-5AAQj2vRMAmJo_QtKvWz4gEIlo5gIpgrcfFSI58UHcTi-EHtqO-s/s320/IMG_4234.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721778286874875058" /></a></div><div>I wanted the party to have a few healthy options, so I featured a Dipstick Station with pretzels, mini-corn dogs, pretzels, carrots, and snap peas along with dips of hummus, ranch, and honey mustard.</div><div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2kpDU2HYyuCaEwtHmIz9dVhDplR3ljdUhb6qjH1AgtFUKICK6f8ocWKQLz8jxUq2OokhSZEMg86-x49fmdAM8hryoesEPr7bzIFAyylRY7qlSPVHjRLIdvSOSxQ4gJlzzjKAtDJlMoo/s200/IMG_4229.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721788075647494642" /></div><div>I used a barely used storage toolbox part for a "spare parts" of little snacks for the kids. I used formula cans wrapped in wrapping paper to make it look more like a "toolbox," The cans were fixed with oreos, chex, goldfish, strawberries, twizzlers, Swedish fish, and blueberries.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDn3l-YIrMlyTO82Ym1AmSo5MaaZs4x1Cw3jOirI_3CLKtsmfP51ZEEnCzQ9CaQhZyiVHse7eRdJZXTEz5aKwSm229G2uArhCUFIRaEevMJoz1mqnyQ20tAsXyqpu61Fnt41GkHrIbWSw/s320/IMG_4224.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721774916120427714" /></div><div>I put labels on the juice and water bottles. While the kids played with 2-town, I had a car quiz for the adults with questions like 'what number was on Herbie the Lovebug' and 'what car did Prince sing about?' The winner got a set of spare tires...also known as oreos.</div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXGBMXnSMhYESuQIXAPsFSuyxL8PTxJDEoouvwtMD-A6Iyvn4EpGbca2ttAfsqXyDEi7gvDRlE4lduNRJsCvUyHms9tYZHu_51czLAEAVGjGh46xNr-_EOqwtMPkCXO3yOnvMkM0rZBo/s320/IMG_4222.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721774907858306866" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Favors were Pez Cars dispensers I found on sale at Walmart:<br /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcaNjnkVlU4BKM8pCtrUY-XvC1dvOLdHZ96Brn4rsPhclTVerlmodiJphRnavTUc_46-fHkC782Q1kPBUBMlDo6UcgvFr343FQIgcDYaTI_Am4pR59IwH9sRlHMjkrM0XPge0xb1PLjM/s320/IMG_4220.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721774904927766578" /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Plans are already underway for Evie's first birthday party. So many possibilities and only six and a half months to plan! I've already changed the theme three times.... so we'll see what it becomes. </div><div><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-71538080464026645032012-03-19T11:28:00.002-07:002012-03-19T11:42:41.248-07:00A high-tech country songIf there was a country song about high-tech heartache and loss, I would be singing it.<br /><br />Why no post? For one, I have two kids that keep me hoppin'. For two, since mid-January, I've had two jump drives go kaput, a camera battery go out of commission, and a hard drive that crashed. Since I teach an online course and freelance writing articles as well as donate my time and skills to a certain nonprofit, this entire process has been a headache of magnificent proportions. It's taken getting up early, utilizing cloud space, and maximizing down time at my real job to meet all of my deadlines.<br /><br />The Apple people tell me my hard drive had a "corrupted file" that sounds suspiciously like a virus, but no matter....it's still under warranty so it was replaced and the girl just smiled at us like it's the best thing ever. My dear husband who did all the dealing with the Apple people even complained that the girl didn't show enough remorse and sympathy when telling us of the loss of our hard drive.<br /><br />In reality, that meant we lost all baby photos from the birth of our two children. Baby videos. Christmas memories and all sorts of good stuff that you just can't replace. I felt like I lost a pet. Evelyn was already going to have the second child syndrome because the first 5 months of her life were erased.<br /><br />Fast-forward a few days and one of the guys at my work said he'd take a look, but no promises. Within two minutes, he'd recovered everything off my hard drive. I've since backed everything up on two devices and plan on burning it all to a CD. It's somewhat of a happy ending, but what a major headache.<br /><br />So if this really were a high-tech country song, I would probably prayed for the twang to just short out because I couldn't deal with it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-59077872347913557722012-02-04T19:28:00.000-08:002012-02-04T19:49:32.459-08:00Jack at play<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbONB0TCTPAcGaPEBGNSQN_OUJjHULnJGhy2pbso4w_ZuXAdf6XA6Hl5IXzGB2cJEMTKVjrtalMVcVbY1rINbz6WHJn6uRjYeuUE_mqne8uGf8zcbGuW_EcdtaiZ40uBDGQ43hSlDTfGk/s1600/IMG_4210.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbONB0TCTPAcGaPEBGNSQN_OUJjHULnJGhy2pbso4w_ZuXAdf6XA6Hl5IXzGB2cJEMTKVjrtalMVcVbY1rINbz6WHJn6uRjYeuUE_mqne8uGf8zcbGuW_EcdtaiZ40uBDGQ43hSlDTfGk/s320/IMG_4210.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705491745685629186" /></a>Jack loves to dance. When we're putting away dishes, cooking, or doing whatever in the kitchen, we put on the dance music and party down. He won't stop. He likes anything with a distinct beat. Favorites on the iPod include "Sexy and I know it" by LMFAO, "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz, "Apache" by the Sugarhill Gang, "Lowrider" by War, and his all-time favorite is probably James Brown, particularly the song "Mother Popcorn." <div><br /></div><div>We've cut back on James Brown recently because we've noticed he's saying "Good God" like him. Usually it's referring to something in his diaper.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTyHB-CcWGOuvc6zKF45hi7frLntWE0-6_gFZpyteO6wp6TeWZWMbBRmdtZEqYghYgvPAmetATgyx4WZb7U7cvGSn4JWDAEqN401KVvC7HDb-pULpLrhgH-5uNKsZjE6duaPz6ipJiB-U/s320/IMG_4209.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705489040381187042" /></div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSN2I7lG1JxY0GrhaD6n0WsSCAx_CP2lRBuoc7j16rSFD2ZiUAep3H9TOzB2z7UjK1-5ya531iAzlTLGTEvqpmaMjicUAGYKE9snQTz3C3O6dnhGRaKiKoes02zSPGDlcWVRg9ESDyy4/s320/Valentine.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705489048426564610" /><div>Jack likes to get wild and crazy and like most little kids, loves to run around in the nude. We allow him to do this and we go on puddle patrol.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jack likes to be bounced around and tossed in the air. He plays rough and jumps and trips and always has an "ow-ie" somewhere. He gets up and keeps going....from the time he gets up until he goes to bed at night.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We love this picture. Dave snapped it right after we put back up the mobile and the kids were basking in the awe of rainforest creatures spinning to Bach or Mozart. Jack sometimes pulls something out of his nose and proudly presents it to us, saying "big boo-ger." </div><div><br /></div><div>At least he doesn't eat it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet.</div><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-29260256012935147252012-02-04T18:27:00.000-08:002012-02-04T19:53:42.574-08:00Evie at 3 months<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioE2rdr0qEDCYfrqikQ_IZV2vnwxcxUuft4nSNA78Lred93meNmfUF-qBkmeH_zfGKsjRqeoaMi-tQJFlT4tLM4QcgiZXFU1vwRvd6D1SlujlzHICTl3SUeh-fsMd0QjJeBV5suRYpS7M/s1600/IMG_4148.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioE2rdr0qEDCYfrqikQ_IZV2vnwxcxUuft4nSNA78Lred93meNmfUF-qBkmeH_zfGKsjRqeoaMi-tQJFlT4tLM4QcgiZXFU1vwRvd6D1SlujlzHICTl3SUeh-fsMd0QjJeBV5suRYpS7M/s400/IMG_4148.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705481552983604114" /></a>Since we're into month 4 of Evie, it's time to blog about her three month milestone. <div><br /></div><div>Evelyn wasn't really into her photo session. She is usually a very jovial baby. She chatters and gurgles all the time. But when I pop out the camera on most occasions, she gives me a face like this. Solemn. Judgmental. Pondering. Who are you and what do you think you are doing?</div><div><br /></div><div>Jack wanted to be in on the action, so I put him in the crib to give his sister a pep talk. </div><div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftcsbn9fGN-f5KeKFgrxKN9bjmKY_urIGF6hD8SwgTQXlexdqixRuCAkkXmZJJBsjvuZje4o8hziFrS_42uybOgWUsEey_YqRzamZQQYq1x9onu7qsW6mQtbTyEPaN1OslJaw8Psivww/s1600/IMG_4126.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftcsbn9fGN-f5KeKFgrxKN9bjmKY_urIGF6hD8SwgTQXlexdqixRuCAkkXmZJJBsjvuZje4o8hziFrS_42uybOgWUsEey_YqRzamZQQYq1x9onu7qsW6mQtbTyEPaN1OslJaw8Psivww/s320/IMG_4126.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705481200863617266" /></a>We think Evelyn is looking more and more like her pop-pop (Dave's dad) everyday. She has his eyes, for sure. She continues to be a very easy baby which we appreciate wholeheartedly. She eats. She sleeps. She chatters when she's well rested. We don't always appreciate the 6:45 am rants which always happen on weekends, but it is too adorable to be upsetting. She rolled over just after her four month mark. She loves water and kicks in the bathtub. As you can see, she still has peach fuzz and that's it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuluZ0lWbmmQEJxr9nM82MjNaG3ybWM_DdRJYMX3Y-5FbBMQ9w9HFbjwUsMdYYgsX6Vp8p16mmcPl-eNsaVYyzmq51_w1L_b0F9w7j3Z6Mxf4K4WBQxY1aJWn1mmJztieT6HOuTMkqMc/s1600/IMG_4183.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuluZ0lWbmmQEJxr9nM82MjNaG3ybWM_DdRJYMX3Y-5FbBMQ9w9HFbjwUsMdYYgsX6Vp8p16mmcPl-eNsaVYyzmq51_w1L_b0F9w7j3Z6Mxf4K4WBQxY1aJWn1mmJztieT6HOuTMkqMc/s320/IMG_4183.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705480770021449890" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Evelyn loves to look at her big brother, Jack. She tracks him like a dog watching a piece of food. Or at least be quite wary of where he is and what he's doing for her own safety. Of course, she recognizes us and always seems happy to see her family.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8ygYFr_Jpu7iklilEyFWpdv3OQszAZwqZIyWRSd0BA1Fjx-PHKCgRTyqHtb6yQMZjh159McLs8ZY67egx6UdHXEfcj6uC-Tz2W1vYdR8qAkURDNn08C4Q3FKw7CcotPYFbqq9iZp1J0/s320/IMG_4201.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705479684723695058" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But not today. </div><div>These half smiles are about as good as I could possibly get on camera.<br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After awhile, she said 'enough already' and I did too.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1ErKufqJfv8fU7RKPHZTwzjGoHhdQwAvqZ2HaGk9eiIZtt1MvSL_BRkpPLwylWq1zMmIhlzf6VqmiaFlKgc_AhTI9sKsGn7S4q8AJ76sXjmtiB7aLdQpJn-lqjMVPszzJKa8KbELdy0/s1600/IMG_4168.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1ErKufqJfv8fU7RKPHZTwzjGoHhdQwAvqZ2HaGk9eiIZtt1MvSL_BRkpPLwylWq1zMmIhlzf6VqmiaFlKgc_AhTI9sKsGn7S4q8AJ76sXjmtiB7aLdQpJn-lqjMVPszzJKa8KbELdy0/s320/IMG_4168.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705476426992647106" /></a><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-45545214097341109562012-01-09T13:49:00.001-08:002012-01-20T20:17:35.483-08:00Story of #jabs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSskI7Q6yAfAIDArHUK2SQbztxMpJEUO-42enLVPWuOOfM4aPpHhe8sxEKTa-jLczwNKbfuqs25UZTXCJXzY3Ua3GCK89rpDKStVYVox1YLHhCCUBGkoEFwgKCdlUgCvGLvHGA9753a8E/s1600/Jack+Jablonski.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSskI7Q6yAfAIDArHUK2SQbztxMpJEUO-42enLVPWuOOfM4aPpHhe8sxEKTa-jLczwNKbfuqs25UZTXCJXzY3Ua3GCK89rpDKStVYVox1YLHhCCUBGkoEFwgKCdlUgCvGLvHGA9753a8E/s400/Jack+Jablonski.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699933434277195650" border="0" /></a>Hockey culture here is much like a close-knit family. You tease each other, compete fiercely against each other, and nobody better talk about anybody's team except the team members. There are fights. There are hugs. And when something big happens, everyone steps up to respond in a big way.<br /><br /><br />In the State of Hockey, people are reeling about Jack Jablonski. In a holiday tournament junior varsity game on December 30, two players checked Jablonski into the boards. He fell and didn't get back up. In what people describe as a freak accident, Jablonski's spinal cord was severed and doctors thought he'd be paralyzed from the neck down for life. After one surgery and prayers prompted by word of mouth and a big social media trend, Jablonski can move his arms. See what the hashtag #jabs generates-- everyone is talking about Jabby.Jack's story has been in the news up here everyday. The latest medical update. A team selling bracelets for a fundraiser. His team's return to the ice. People wearing #13 w/small patches. One team wearing mini-stop signs on their backs. Stories of what it's like to be paralyzed. Some of the angles are fresh and creative and interesting. Others are stupid. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQcs6icjZOqzmBjgbFxwYLMUOomdDF-gW1kUwuP41YLHJAjzU-Cmmz7HXFLavugl_eujlXWue4pkkNtv4TsiXLrL1rL6oNsczYLRLGfZORh_7aEB9DdwtWSgE_sz6ugDeAqRA33h_dAs/s1600/jack+jab.php.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQcs6icjZOqzmBjgbFxwYLMUOomdDF-gW1kUwuP41YLHJAjzU-Cmmz7HXFLavugl_eujlXWue4pkkNtv4TsiXLrL1rL6oNsczYLRLGfZORh_7aEB9DdwtWSgE_sz6ugDeAqRA33h_dAs/s320/jack+jab.php.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699934050428823906" border="0" /></a>Since the incident, two other players have also been somewhat paralyzed in the game. This topic has sparked a tremendous amount of discussion and debate. Can hockey be regulated into a safer sport? Should it? Will this incident change the game forever? Dave and I have discussed this at length more than once and have even talked about if we'll be okay with our son Jack playing hockey. (which for Dave is a huge consideration) If Jack Jablonski's story is sparking debate in our hybrid household, there's no doubt it is generating discussion in those super hockey families too.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQWXFD2zHCIiSD-lfSpPbcGVyMOdOcl8oKeaD0K7qEjAkBiy1Q2JZ219k2oI3ChsRBNefik3A_opRQHmkhdi2vHN7kvdcZ3C77zXoDUioIfQrtXh7duvi059GoLWSinWunXbbEd_nRnQ/s1600/JackJablonskiEdina_medium.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQWXFD2zHCIiSD-lfSpPbcGVyMOdOcl8oKeaD0K7qEjAkBiy1Q2JZ219k2oI3ChsRBNefik3A_opRQHmkhdi2vHN7kvdcZ3C77zXoDUioIfQrtXh7duvi059GoLWSinWunXbbEd_nRnQ/s320/JackJablonskiEdina_medium.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699933841999874514" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Our friends are one of those super-hockey families. Their son plays on four teams. Their four-year-old daughter plays on a team and played in a skills exercise this weekend at Mariucci Arena. On a break between games, they came home and slept for two hours and got up and went to play again. They go to Canada to play. They play all year. The kids aren't pressured to play. The parents aren't nuts. It's just what they do. And they all seem to enjoy it.<br /><br /><div></div>Hockey isn't just a sport; it's a way of life here. So the question as to how much the sport could change and will change is one that we're watching too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-52274502229350230762011-12-28T09:48:00.000-08:002012-01-18T07:36:53.512-08:00Stamp this.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxdxv66XTDK8poUjScMdYGU-eTFFHm2X-UUi2-2oKZtK9WI3QkwFNK2RnLEaWk888EIXp4zvbi5yf8OQ6fK9yu5ybBGg9nSM7I_9oH_kFvFkBD6G0v4YofuBwNDLC4oS14xbKgkCST08/s1600/IMG_3879.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695866518584275650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxdxv66XTDK8poUjScMdYGU-eTFFHm2X-UUi2-2oKZtK9WI3QkwFNK2RnLEaWk888EIXp4zvbi5yf8OQ6fK9yu5ybBGg9nSM7I_9oH_kFvFkBD6G0v4YofuBwNDLC4oS14xbKgkCST08/s400/IMG_3879.JPG" /></a><br />When I get a package on my doorstep I know immediately if it was sent from Delight, Arkansas because it makes short work of a book of stamps. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyipBJMBj6uMEs8RLWGNqxj5O1g0sgxwabjNYxYxrlxTptbjHL-ACmtR4nqk3pZWYVTxCLiL9UxY0L-SgsJ-W2yc5u8MbZOdEzDk37Gtt4z5YkjMaIxyMvyM5FBQ5pgPq9ISkmmj5hgo/s1600/IMG_3881.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 286px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695866522761727010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyipBJMBj6uMEs8RLWGNqxj5O1g0sgxwabjNYxYxrlxTptbjHL-ACmtR4nqk3pZWYVTxCLiL9UxY0L-SgsJ-W2yc5u8MbZOdEzDk37Gtt4z5YkjMaIxyMvyM5FBQ5pgPq9ISkmmj5hgo/s400/IMG_3881.JPG" /></a>It's a good thing they don't have to lick stamps any more.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-60220549656655184382011-12-28T09:34:00.001-08:002012-01-09T21:09:03.304-08:00Deep-fried Hanukkah<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvh8g2a18j8xapnl5OalUxvf37xN8szVPUEsnnX3Gm1CK0DKo_wg3ZOd3DzJCi385P7LrTsZ5UxPqxQStp7Lfn4e3pW91YRsa63cXDYwjo7KG_NjzrYeqvG7192ikwKl0hzsrH8YPWsVU/s1600/IMG_3991.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/AVvXsEhvh8g2a18j8xapnl5OalUxvf37xN8szVPUEsnnX3Gm1CK0DKo_wg3ZOd3DzJCi385P7LrTsZ5UxPqxQStp7Lfn4e3pW91YRsa63cXDYwjo7KG_NjzrYeqvG7192ikwKl0hzsrH8YPWsVU/s400/IMG_3991.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695865595055513666" border="0" /></a>It's the Jewish holiday that's after my own heart....because the mood is festive and the food is fried.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbWv0W9EQEcYgkFcP85nvSj1dCmcsH4hxP6dmo9vQ5YTlvK1OIt3BLRTVnF6BxNJ7f2d1oeCQ27DtZ-JTREVp3xprlXyWMs7dypd0rAfsxTLcKNZ23Ekh4GeICcmT1W3fgU1GatGp9Gw/s1600/IMG_3973.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbWv0W9EQEcYgkFcP85nvSj1dCmcsH4hxP6dmo9vQ5YTlvK1OIt3BLRTVnF6BxNJ7f2d1oeCQ27DtZ-JTREVp3xprlXyWMs7dypd0rAfsxTLcKNZ23Ekh4GeICcmT1W3fgU1GatGp9Gw/s320/IMG_3973.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695865239676000114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The stars aligned this year for the grandparents to be in town for Hanukkah. In the ten-plus years Dave and I have been dating, this is the first time I've celebrated the holiday with them.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZr_YXka0diCDGJanOyKqZOgMEyKTeBfqXLO8mka4G4cgkypobrnHRLKGA4yu3rl-afX_3C74TP-9BHr42ek_iLUusa8UG0ZjQsdiztykWKXt2WnTNW4S3h7SHcnMd9JCe1psTNPxk4Yg/s1600/IMG_3984.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZr_YXka0diCDGJanOyKqZOgMEyKTeBfqXLO8mka4G4cgkypobrnHRLKGA4yu3rl-afX_3C74TP-9BHr42ek_iLUusa8UG0ZjQsdiztykWKXt2WnTNW4S3h7SHcnMd9JCe1psTNPxk4Yg/s320/IMG_3984.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695865242868612546" border="0" /></a><br />(a little fyi: Hanukkah is not a big holiday on the Jewish calendar and is probably only more important because of the proximity and commercial nature of Christmas. People don't really go home for Hanukkah and some families only give it small glance.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixxDRsIM573fNm8WppDLo2WRZYcdr-Oaqz4B6rWtVbqGFvmSaAr7_oLP6Uy8k2dcQc9gzCPzUbOq1TV5jqT78rtVRX9EoF7xbw7qSUwBoDWv7XuRQHeQNb5Q5VOG2e1LphjlLQZnn04_Y/s1600/IMG_3951.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixxDRsIM573fNm8WppDLo2WRZYcdr-Oaqz4B6rWtVbqGFvmSaAr7_oLP6Uy8k2dcQc9gzCPzUbOq1TV5jqT78rtVRX9EoF7xbw7qSUwBoDWv7XuRQHeQNb5Q5VOG2e1LphjlLQZnn04_Y/s320/IMG_3951.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695864507692316194" border="0" /></a><br />Dave grew up celebrating the holiday and we always observe it. It was a special treat, though, to have his mother in the kitchen frying up the traditional Latkes, fried chicken, and making homemade applesauce to go with it. Jack was being very picky that day, but he did eat a Latke. With fried potatoes and salt, what's not to like?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLxwJhDu4_UfBhePyqlzuzQlBVnCWBhg_NCAnev6AGgN1M2BuO2CvpIB8_7vBX6ONbI-v38fBAqWeMIL38QVN1a9LbvnAQF6wpZ4YgjRoCwQwmhqTwjI5-vMBkqPVrQ6uuvMPQH3iOBhI/s1600/IMG_3957.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLxwJhDu4_UfBhePyqlzuzQlBVnCWBhg_NCAnev6AGgN1M2BuO2CvpIB8_7vBX6ONbI-v38fBAqWeMIL38QVN1a9LbvnAQF6wpZ4YgjRoCwQwmhqTwjI5-vMBkqPVrQ6uuvMPQH3iOBhI/s320/IMG_3957.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695864510637851634" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-46684595564481898412011-12-28T09:09:00.001-08:002012-01-09T20:59:45.580-08:00Holidays at home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3MTP4DsEWWP1qU6gI6iYDk2rxUK95tSN8FJwUE_vQlVb-jXu88maAKn2OX-MGrb5ZQBj0r6IaWmtVNGNfJlgoWjYK94LEi8nshRq6O8uvUwrBxI11lpZb4bx67ZSkIzS6GMNPFHBL7k/s1600/IMG_3889.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3MTP4DsEWWP1qU6gI6iYDk2rxUK95tSN8FJwUE_vQlVb-jXu88maAKn2OX-MGrb5ZQBj0r6IaWmtVNGNfJlgoWjYK94LEi8nshRq6O8uvUwrBxI11lpZb4bx67ZSkIzS6GMNPFHBL7k/s320/IMG_3889.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695863348468532114" border="0" /></a>There's something inherently relaxing about spending the holidays at home.<br /><div><br />The day might be relaxing, but leading up to it is generally anything but. My husband rolls his eyes at my self-induced stress around the holidays, but he knew about my Christmas addiction before he married me. Perhaps because he's Jewish, he didn't understand just how bad it could get...<br /><br />100-plus Christmas cards, 35 dozen cookies, and four pie crusts later, he's closer to unde<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6AhigsTHeFM94Ntq5_nMkrXKA9Wzb0esXnweKmmmyZIoP6tg4Zv5tK2vHzMSz2Dcl8cJUrIPIqn-6NfUhpJrO8SJAZwtKizmrJt4mRnxxs3PH2YozDGgdc41hthOqkHhsWW5D_Zm3Qs/s1600/IMG_3887.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6AhigsTHeFM94Ntq5_nMkrXKA9Wzb0esXnweKmmmyZIoP6tg4Zv5tK2vHzMSz2Dcl8cJUrIPIqn-6NfUhpJrO8SJAZwtKizmrJt4mRnxxs3PH2YozDGgdc41hthOqkHhsWW5D_Zm3Qs/s320/IMG_3887.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695863343937429922" border="0" /></a>rstanding. I've been patient with him in explaining why you let your kids open one gift early which are undoubtedly new pajamas to wear on Christmas morning, why you can't buy a huge tub of popcorn as a stocking stuffer because it won't fit in a stocking and therefore defeats the purpose of being a stocking stuffer, and why you shop for a new Christmas ornament every year for your kids so when they have their own tree 20 years from now they will also have a collection of ornaments to start their tree that tells their story. The madness continues, but it's the one time a year that I'm a certifiable nut so I embrace it. If I start hanging Easter eggs in trees, someone please commit me.<br /><br />One set of parents/grandparents arrived on Chris<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMu3dYV0GopdvFAjWP3BdyuLsLsVsC7wR28zNGJhzZqp3PplLhXsLSOpnJMCxmQXOYYN2xcCA9cR7H_8xg0mxGWc1Dloqh0DzjEe6dzvXG4uD1tdnT00FEbAR_I4xBr4-Gi-T_MCfqdI/s1600/IMG_3912.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMu3dYV0GopdvFAjWP3BdyuLsLsVsC7wR28zNGJhzZqp3PplLhXsLSOpnJMCxmQXOYYN2xcCA9cR7H_8xg0mxGWc1Dloqh0DzjEe6dzvXG4uD1tdnT00FEbAR_I4xBr4-Gi-T_MCfqdI/s400/IMG_3912.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695862314303733650" border="0" /></a>tmas morning, so I had a brunch prepared. Jack thought it would be fun to break the pie crust (and it was the second I'd made), so our quiche had a bit of extra character. I was pleased with everything else. Our tables looked extra festive because of a florist giving Dave a tablescape he no longer after a segment. (which I included even though it was not in my color scheme)<br /><br />Items<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOG_rGUx0QST9xlRiPmKBRc6gTb1vO-ZJXUX8k6CfcxMD2U7awJRl6WFbHh_98QJT0ID6Q35Bar9VcZXrDOZp1dEvhVUCoM2C_KH72akeK13_PEcQ3cvX6GyZT88FwLuBoyXkzaS1SNhY/s1600/IMG_3917.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOG_rGUx0QST9xlRiPmKBRc6gTb1vO-ZJXUX8k6CfcxMD2U7awJRl6WFbHh_98QJT0ID6Q35Bar9VcZXrDOZp1dEvhVUCoM2C_KH72akeK13_PEcQ3cvX6GyZT88FwLuBoyXkzaS1SNhY/s200/IMG_3917.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695861521046202162" border="0" /></a> on the menu: Bacon-Smoked Gouda quiche, Shrimp & homemade cocktail sauce (Ina Garten's) , Mini-bagels with lox and bruschetta, cranberry-walnut mini-muffins, sugared cranberries, fancy desserts that Dave also inherited from a TV segment, christmas cookies, coffee, and some excell<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEtvu5LKOmLd2YP1Ci83VX799bsWgvMwwcGu9_WkEPdgOzYdgsE8M_S73FEKx0Xb36TNb8t1H3P9nw_BoACgzWrmhEBS5YfZUeoDZlHWjVmTodkMQXO8k3sSac0B4EVRXVnjr9TrH7Ok/s1600/IMG_3921.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEtvu5LKOmLd2YP1Ci83VX799bsWgvMwwcGu9_WkEPdgOzYdgsE8M_S73FEKx0Xb36TNb8t1H3P9nw_BoACgzWrmhEBS5YfZUeoDZlHWjVmTodkMQXO8k3sSac0B4EVRXVnjr9TrH7Ok/s200/IMG_3921.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695861518512197506" border="0" /></a>ent cranberry mimosas.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZzxUx1og33fmzXS0Z97UL3FdlwbXMSGmrBirlvHn8ckVAGmXuHyXPI1y5bFfZ3r_tEzAsgp928-Vz_cx6KpFNqkm15Rl7OC1TeMzkmjlkkjdZoGlza7C4SxiUqFIgJM87zZL5vZ0Qus/s1600/IMG_3925.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZzxUx1og33fmzXS0Z97UL3FdlwbXMSGmrBirlvHn8ckVAGmXuHyXPI1y5bFfZ3r_tEzAsgp928-Vz_cx6KpFNqkm15Rl7OC1TeMzkmjlkkjdZoGlza7C4SxiUqFIgJM87zZL5vZ0Qus/s200/IMG_3925.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695861515994728114" border="0" /></a><br />Between the meals, our living room resembled what a living room should on Christmas morning, even though we honestly didn't buy Jack much....everyone else did:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAn5gqgGG7btHZUoRWvWlGt1nsUBdfBXBu5UCT8jLykbCdBpwRDSbH3j_5Nwt-nwMcmb39Dn-GpGj8tAUFSN5srvjj2TI7cVjsLE0q6H9UO4dwBvFdWIabQDQTnPi15FBN9Xg22zYryg/s1600/IMG_3929.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAn5gqgGG7btHZUoRWvWlGt1nsUBdfBXBu5UCT8jLykbCdBpwRDSbH3j_5Nwt-nwMcmb39Dn-GpGj8tAUFSN5srvjj2TI7cVjsLE0q6H9UO4dwBvFdWIabQDQTnPi15FBN9Xg22zYryg/s200/IMG_3929.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695859996391754306" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGfojfb353LLnY6F6pyaPu7I5ch7NH13mBZ0Q9pPwoKTHK0ak2jdfBuNZ0TNniSnALY31KkArutF-hcaIX4vOovIVltn5aQqRxV13KbXLM4iNh50H8porMoRcixfErr8F2r4Yg0jb_Qc/s1600/IMG_3901.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGfojfb353LLnY6F6pyaPu7I5ch7NH13mBZ0Q9pPwoKTHK0ak2jdfBuNZ0TNniSnALY31KkArutF-hcaIX4vOovIVltn5aQqRxV13KbXLM4iNh50H8porMoRcixfErr8F2r4Yg0jb_Qc/s200/IMG_3901.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695860009847598690" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiipyQzCu4V64boXG6knwFypW2TWfsjqGBXDCg6NIDxCgnEFatTsE3wqa_CebDl45rC3kNNXdxvPdgnzHJTh4_Qccb5Jh7X5d5GAJ7AbGLS4a3N2ZPyYWYJOT1XVhIXJ6OVDnOoNh8y0A/s1600/IMG_3937.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiipyQzCu4V64boXG6knwFypW2TWfsjqGBXDCg6NIDxCgnEFatTsE3wqa_CebDl45rC3kNNXdxvPdgnzHJTh4_Qccb5Jh7X5d5GAJ7AbGLS4a3N2ZPyYWYJOT1XVhIXJ6OVDnOoNh8y0A/s200/IMG_3937.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695859994470230930" border="0" /></a>For the meal between lunch and supper/dinner... Lupper?.....Linner?.... I set up a table that we noshed on when we were hungry. We had an antipasti platter with meats, olives, and cheeses, sausage balls, corn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7u2UTyqdhmcJCFMVmBGjYiGhAqi6TSLeFn7xrNTfBd6w2Sq02wFJOuZqEUI0M-6LpSHHMDGm1DGiHWI-Tf3GSPpOTWrxa6JcNilKt3I07UT09ivIr50v28H7XKypjTBspowIbRhjjtc/s1600/IMG_3943.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7u2UTyqdhmcJCFMVmBGjYiGhAqi6TSLeFn7xrNTfBd6w2Sq02wFJOuZqEUI0M-6LpSHHMDGm1DGiHWI-Tf3GSPpOTWrxa6JcNilKt3I07UT09ivIr50v28H7XKypjTBspowIbRhjjtc/s200/IMG_3943.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695858509692458050" border="0" /></a>meal biscuits baked as mini-muffins, apple pie, a pumpkin cheesecake from the neighbors<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBk0aX9L2RgODsmVq9vc0c6ePE5MgyDhOwwEVW_1jgRo9VuavZGOE23FtszarfbDOw_Mf5FDF0ozBl3w900-iXJtNHYOR-i8ASe0bDxIIt3qcjdacS_WQvjXh9TCmtYdrBvlrWjBuG0M/s1600/IMG_3942.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBk0aX9L2RgODsmVq9vc0c6ePE5MgyDhOwwEVW_1jgRo9VuavZGOE23FtszarfbDOw_Mf5FDF0ozBl3w900-iXJtNHYOR-i8ASe0bDxIIt3qcjdacS_WQvjXh9TCmtYdrBvlrWjBuG0M/s200/IMG_3942.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695858490045203858" border="0" /></a>, the christmas cookie platter, garden salad, and poblano pepper chicken chowder.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIRWgZYALAHoOaq9P2mOW8NQbwC5GupnZvZtKsT24UZqcyYtJISlQw4axC72dYFlO3UEDjXOHz9PltuxKZmfoNd5qj9EmopJXCfG2R910a1HC_HxmzoOM8pF7assS3aUFF18NeBZWUfGc/s1600/IMG_3945.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIRWgZYALAHoOaq9P2mOW8NQbwC5GupnZvZtKsT24UZqcyYtJISlQw4axC72dYFlO3UEDjXOHz9PltuxKZmfoNd5qj9EmopJXCfG2R910a1HC_HxmzoOM8pF7assS3aUFF18NeBZWUfGc/s200/IMG_3945.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695858496626741938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The January withdrawl period hasn't hit yet....<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-85732895124620284672011-12-23T07:43:00.000-08:002011-12-23T13:55:50.623-08:00God Jul<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1yAsu7AONTd_LIfub2xIyhTslCfsXfqvn4xeOjbtzbOi3iRan1fYjJSvDC1edsjS-nShZ9e9mEEbn8CfN_RGlqiQQGBrlzzf2Csdoehlu_rsDCN_Fu-PW_iSQQni6BB4KPpciJ7NBXMw/s1600/IMG_3838.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1yAsu7AONTd_LIfub2xIyhTslCfsXfqvn4xeOjbtzbOi3iRan1fYjJSvDC1edsjS-nShZ9e9mEEbn8CfN_RGlqiQQGBrlzzf2Csdoehlu_rsDCN_Fu-PW_iSQQni6BB4KPpciJ7NBXMw/s320/IMG_3838.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689350857783740418" border="0" /></a>The amount of Swedish or even Scandinavian heritage in our bloodlines totals up a big fat zero.<br /><br />So it makes perfect sense that I took Evelyn volunteering at the historic village as a pioneer baby and we volunteered with our favorite part-Swede, Queen P, in the Swedish house. Special thanks to Queen P who made Evelyn a hat for the big day.<br />As part of our demonstration, we made lefse--which was much easier than I anticipated.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89styJFeAIPc4Ww2BOFcQWiZuXdw6Ef_RPRUccN9qCw3-07GkVf-Kk2OxlUafVxRZ-h_UI3sZdm8HbriT57upXMAta1NF3RahkC7MTKQwL5iqlNcQU5swI_dOg7IINlMoLzHJlyvU3wE/s1600/IMG_3837.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89styJFeAIPc4Ww2BOFcQWiZuXdw6Ef_RPRUccN9qCw3-07GkVf-Kk2OxlUafVxRZ-h_UI3sZdm8HbriT57upXMAta1NF3RahkC7MTKQwL5iqlNcQU5swI_dOg7IINlMoLzHJlyvU3wE/s320/IMG_3837.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689351375778551426" border="0" /></a>Evelyn was an absolute doll and a big hit. Although when she was asleep I was asked "Is she real?" over and over. One lady had the gall to nudge her to see. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Us8LA7Zw4LMRqFdMPN15pMHanvux2wzn3JxXOP-0LcuhX7SmwXHs2d7OFvRgYxFDBud3lxQVtQZYIOz6ZiozDv5vPaCotYfdXXRV3Hvy9eOPPsC6pTa5qktRA5fj9g5s7aLJRC0IAJ4/s1600/IMG_3848.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Us8LA7Zw4LMRqFdMPN15pMHanvux2wzn3JxXOP-0LcuhX7SmwXHs2d7OFvRgYxFDBud3lxQVtQZYIOz6ZiozDv5vPaCotYfdXXRV3Hvy9eOPPsC6pTa5qktRA5fj9g5s7aLJRC0IAJ4/s320/IMG_3848.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689351880468978418" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-55512459744797834712011-12-20T12:22:00.000-08:002011-12-23T07:41:43.323-08:00Part of a day-in-the-life of a corn-fed kidSince I've gone back to work part-time, coworkers tell me things like 'enjoy your four day weekend' or 'four days off--any plans?' as if it is a vacation opportunity that happens to me each week. If I was single or just without kids I would probably accomplish all sorts of exciting things with four days in a row off every week. Not so.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9hHHF6hynm8yG2hAFlMh3H4v8uWsEZSe7bYy3PYopW3WxinetOBi8RzZPcp7b9IdbbdrzANsyiv7AnEtuROlKqSSyD1bVadVqAouuvNWji2BPvO4Ve8ZEIhnAVv_WH0ubIJmpBVMT9Y/s1600/IMG_3736.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9hHHF6hynm8yG2hAFlMh3H4v8uWsEZSe7bYy3PYopW3WxinetOBi8RzZPcp7b9IdbbdrzANsyiv7AnEtuROlKqSSyD1bVadVqAouuvNWji2BPvO4Ve8ZEIhnAVv_WH0ubIJmpBVMT9Y/s320/IMG_3736.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688808306063052530" border="0" /></a>Now, I truly understand the exhaustion and concept of running after kids all day and accomplishing absolutely nothing. Special moments like cuddling and reading, baking cookies, playing cars, and tickling and laughing are interwoven with the much less exciting events like temper tantrums, wrestling to put on diapers, failing and then chasing kids, peeing on the carpet (again), crying, wanting more "drinking," and whatever else. At the end of the day, it's amazing how tired I am, how I forgot to eat (again), and how I look around and see the house is a wreck. (again)<br /><br />I tried to keep my camera handy for a few days to capture some of Jack's recent fiascoes.<br /><br /><div>He's taken to chatting on the phone with relatives. In this conversation, he told his Grandy about spotting a spider in the kitchen and mom hitting it. It sounded like this: "Spy-dur" then "hit!"<br /><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGE4m22OSXOz4TfzMaG9AWWY3tBQKvK4Gd5wRrzOTRk9a1dmF2-mKvIb4RpjGf9SHOE33P_vmHIuLcv3fYNWHUoSx3S5zu_SszQ-yXh9-UGGDBRvgMsQoVUFQ-pCBoL3dpGgWJl6sivgo/s320/IMG_3874.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688806795130976578" border="0" />Lately, Jack has started throwing food on the floor after meals (again). We were over this for a spell, but no more. After deciding he was done with part of his breakfast, he got on the floor and used one of his cars to grind pieces of cereal into powder before I discovered it. <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPc618AmIvtxlpwqugqNFMhjjbz8DtKL8GxVlwDD_4uYSsylf2q08fQQX82K9d6frI_fTTX1A4rdOmQFNUDmrbCmYui_zGfalmUUhgFFa8MuxruNAfZS0QMwXB8f5S51jXUiCw6F-81Q0/s320/IMG_3737.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688808297338819682" border="0" /><br />A coloring activity ended when Jack started coloring on the floor.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJuXOUjO6Yj1nkRxykKDSJL9RKjP4q-PmOwkLUgnVc5IhJOg8B2vWtOrea-cLw5IK1ooX3_QooOB1sAWqJxU65P9bHl5Y9Xu95EsrfAVDFcNpefHZXMNP_krCXz5jtInbhg9sIu_IgJc/s1600/IMG_3733.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJuXOUjO6Yj1nkRxykKDSJL9RKjP4q-PmOwkLUgnVc5IhJOg8B2vWtOrea-cLw5IK1ooX3_QooOB1sAWqJxU65P9bHl5Y9Xu95EsrfAVDFcNpefHZXMNP_krCXz5jtInbhg9sIu_IgJc/s320/IMG_3733.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689347976324590002" border="0" /></a></div> Even though the Nativity Scene has been up for a few weeks, just r<img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxkNPK-_5Vr68CtmwPABnHI_zaOrkQl0vtGlOQbB1tSiCqsuE7Txn1d0evv7crKRhqokw1c4QUGpbz_1L0iz3O4q0yiyXxSWm_y4KDo12pC1V1klUEnlTlmJfMu84VQTmHmi6mouAfjh0/s320/IMG_3816.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688804157733180802" border="0" />ecently Jack has discovered it. While it is out of his reach, he has decided it is a fun to see the pieces scatter when hit with a ball. I mean, why not? After this recent disaster, the a wiseman was under thetable, a shepherd had been decapitated and only Joseph and baby Jesus survived in their upright positions. A Christmas miracle.<div><br /></div><div>He never has really taken a pacifier, unless he gets a wild hair and wants his sister's. During this trying morning, he decided to monopolize every one he could find....just so no one else could have it.<br /><br />Diaper time. In an effort to exert his independence, Jack doesn't like to get his diaper changed. He'll squirm and fight and scream during the entire process because there are a zillion other things he'd rather do. Often the tantrum continues as he broods on a diaper-changing defeat:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOiejLW3nU9y5VXyGn6zc0mZMiEUiNZN8V4JX4dLZ9PDPV56bFtBwmYGmv79nzo6qlQsk7SOuQlDeDdxAATF2rVmPc9ji4y45sfSx0hY7dBigDntUULwYXMZZW32n9UUCzg7DZDlDu3l8/s320/IMG_3738.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688806242495471682" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdId9vTMNwG7sohrKbPNkFmpDNw9fI0re1Oiw8PV0yqVUfqWiCj6IxhId0iPvIeRKYXESsDbZK4R3alpyGwQ4Y4IO876r_I2zsm_vbJtMsiDT_M6KNU23yX-8YLRlZnw-HU6IuSSSVH4/s320/IMG_3739.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688805046999074658" border="0" />So back to food. He doesn't have time to eat, but if anything can get him out of a foul-my-diaper-has-just-been-changed-and-I-didn't-like-it-mood, it's corn. Yes, this corn-fed baby would eat corn and raisins all day every day if allowed. Corn is good for the mood and good for the soul:<br /><br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DuIvH1sauYKdlJvwC7pepQj1p32MHXCRscCa1zBAOVD3-eeZ4bFMxMc2_t2Nbhs1kt6h6XiR7WhLVERKLVeCNXNloMDTunF5BO_zN2FA3-F9Xvd_sTcf9Gr4FOJpsFIVI9fw67zpS1Y/s320/IMG_3740.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688804722999025762" border="0" />And most of the time, we manage to get it all in his mouth. Cause in this house, corn never goes on the floor.<br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-27684986542423891802011-12-20T08:01:00.000-08:002011-12-23T07:30:35.860-08:00Two month month-aversaryBaby Evelyn is nearly three months old, so I know I'm working against the clock to get an update on the second month of her life.<br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0KjIQ7H2E1xA9FfUkuSKAwuxJ0KPOZXzgWOejxnjOxLm62kM9nbCQu3rw4D7-X7YNbuKcTg_MA_8WAxaTuhJcNN15652lxJIzSJJfkL8SDbjTUE2olx84mDIA7CpPMabdt6roCGzyqM/s320/IMG_3783.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688803290322531890" border="0" />When describing my life, I inevitably compare Evelyn to Jack and vice versa. I know this is a big parental no-no, but I figure we have a few years to weed that out of our conversations. But I am sure the comparisons will always continue in our thoughts.<br /><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvz5Djv277J0VBdqWu3l8SRPfuBPDwVrPlUYChwNaPpdzSZjCmcFCsJfSMMprY-9JFGjkM2N4O29mrCTjOnXmiSdiVMA4ltnsX315ro6QLWkXPGFQRFxJeth-rQNFYn77AvrH4O3H8_I/s320/IMG_3785.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688802797717051330" border="0" /><br /><div>Evelyn is an easy baby. She seems content to go with the flow of the Schwartz household, even if it is inevitably controlled by That Boy. She generally falls asleep very easily and only cries when 1) wet, 2) hungry, 3) burp-y, or 4) threatened by That Boy, which surprisingly isn't that often. If she cries and it isn't one of the four reasons listed above, you can just hold and talk to her and she'll stop crying and start looking at you in a very curious way.<br /><br />She is putting on adorable chunky baby pounds and starti<img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWf6q9_l2tT0uNhHO3RocsA48r-yFE8eeypDjDfoBpHuVj_zmYSUzWPZa0-s7eTCyM5R-Dn32hCtlvj1omUTYlX8aDz4aezP0uOPqze2WiX-KdE2FqRVo8ovZg77sIrYsN1MyEpUlDKrA/s320/IMG_3791.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688802796022724226" border="0" />ng to develop a quick grin. She is starting to coo and giggle and gurgle and entertain us immensely with baby sounds. Evelyn is happiest first thing in the morning or late at night before she conks out for five hours or so. (Worth noting, her brother didn't sleep in stretches like that until nearly a year old.)<br /><br />Evelyn's wardrobe is ever-expanding and we're all guilty of buying cute stuff just to see it on her. She still has no hair, but so far she's never been accused of being a boy.<br /><br />She's discovering who we all are and I think so far she likes us just fine. She's always followed me around the room, but her head and eyes will visibly turn to her father's voice when he comes on TV. She watches That Boy and smiles and coos at him. Once we had to take the pacifier away from Jack because he was jamming it in her mouth a bit too hard. She didn't mind. She was just smiling adoringly at her brother.<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-19299394471039987272011-12-15T11:18:00.000-08:002011-12-21T20:13:03.099-08:00Open season for baking!<div style="text-align: left;">It's that time of year again. The time of year when my beloved red KitchenAid is frequently spotted on the kitchen counter.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPhdtPy2JX9J34VoKE2_yxCj90Ir8jQ1sL-7vqDGQCiN5DKFq4yeHITAO4r8nPLngUotLTF1ieVZE_cqF98ePo4Ip9wxf7TW0NsokjUQ9Qyz_r-aLdf0bsqyXeOgMvOSjNZBLgt95Rlw/s320/IMG_3462.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688795705999204450" />Sprinkles, nonpareils, and chips perch on my refrigerator.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51gez05548EGg9ocjgILA1JXmKQgz3uDrLITw-neXSPqDinf9XY6kuYCdzLKZxee4BkZ_TwlqnakMaREcnBWdICm0Kqu3C_OfMCkizUKEPgL_eAHFjSto-0XbNfYVdu_JFUMQbzLIlfM/s320/IMG_3460.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688795701403561858" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>And I have a freezer that would make Paula Deen proud.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6O2-MK4fn79XXUf2-cm4CXJS_uH0cxWQvE1ud5m-ICXl0Nz43KgBuorc7ki9HqNUsKx9N_yd9RT6-3AcfE3ClVzw9rKi4xWnNQfJfOM8iSpcm45XuC71CzEpJhrHUmxgeIhKisd3dJCU/s320/IMG_3461.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688794750737731586" />It's open season for baking.<div><br /><div>One of the reasons why I love Christmas is that it is perfectly acceptable to bake or make ridiculous batches of cookies and candy and pass them out in the name of peace and goodwill. Calories for everyone! I used to frequently pass out batches of baked goods to folks in my neighborhood when I moved in, but then I learned most were diabetics. Major bummer.<br />Since my Bree Van de Kamp days are over, I focus my inner Martha on the holiday season. I used to bake an assortment of breads and coat everything from nuts to Nutter Butters in chocolate. Now, I focus on creating cookie boxes that might resemble boxes of chocolate. A box of yummy variety where you never quite know what you are going to get. I started planning my Cookie Assault in October and started baking and freezing the day afterHalloween. I mailed out eight boxes to people living in four states, gave out eight boxes to neighbors and friends, and handed out six boxes to coworkers. Plus, we have a tray of our own.</div><div><br />So far, I think the perfect Christmas cookie box must have 1) Cutout cookies w/icing 2) chocolate 3) a traditional, homemade cookie 4) something with nuts 5) Something with a holiday flavor, like peppermint, gingerbread, cranberry, or pumpkin.</div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHy8lyqoE0iCmAwFNOJGUqvHgJqzf7xg2qrF2oAv6ayNRkYy4k34Ung7Hi4CPWKGKxTohWkXzEpc3sENHevp5o3Lp74xUiyjSdYtVDRoC-glnq8xAA-Yv9x4rTjNyWfpYbdxicWrt7kak/s320/IMG_3860.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688797541919916754" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>This year, I went with a Christmas Tree motif for my cut-outs. I have it on good authority that this recipe came from someone who worked in the Dayton's bakery and yearsago, brought home (or stole?) the famous Sugar Bears recipe. Who knows? It's a wonderful recipe. I found a fabulous icing recipe that makes an icing like play-doh so you can shape it with your hands. I put sprinkles on one tree, peppermint flavored icing on another, and made the other one like a Charlie Brown Tree.</div><div><br />Then, I strayed from the popular Kellerwoman favorite, Andes Mint Cookies, for a Double Chocolate Cookie w/M & Ms recipe that I ripped out of a magazine. It had a complex flavor, but perhaps it was a miss...the Andes Mint Cookies have been missed and mentioned.<div><br />This year I made Hillary Clinton's Chocolate Chip Cookies, published in a Little Rock Junior League cookbook when Hillary was still Hillary Rodham. (At the time I was so excited about my Hillary cookies, I tried Bill's enchilada recipe which was also in the cookbook. Ick.) So, I used Hillary's for the favorite cookie.<div><br />For the nuts, I begged my coworker to teach me how to make her family's peanut brittle. She says the recipe goes back more than three generations and I can understand why. Previously I have failed miserably at making candy, but this year after my tutorial I made three more batches AND got brave enough to make a batch of English Toffee. All worked very well and all were accomplished during the kids nap time.<br /><br />For the holiday flavor, I experimented with a cookie to make a Cranberry-Walnut-Orange Sandwich cookie. It's a cut-out with orange zest and orange juice in the dough, a cranberry-walnut mixture inside topped with an orange icing. It's good, but it requires a lot of steps.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbmGmFcUtftn-GFT-ub2Ld-ZO91F-4sc-CKq0XyCDQno6Ka12fhtc5s5Aj8QQec_F8Lt-38D4VoTJW-Ffy5-00jAKRCwj5mr6r0-As9J_9QfMGETkZ8JBfzG1SqRqhMJFocHuMjobG40/s320/IMG_3463.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688794019677956498" /><br />I also added a favorite shortbread Corduro<img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDcryRKpKTcb3BseAZUtWM6XAtIWPe10Ozg3rzPJakVQw7jVjsO9L0t1R67uPl-nwTe9c3lH226VzMzbv8UdyGiau5_6JgA2TJpUtVOpYgiVjrKwwhJ4k5ZGpSnIwGUEwTuW94lIP-cE/s320/IMG_3469.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688793010087729074" />y Cookies that require dipping in chocolate and nonpareils. They are delicious, but so delicate that I'm afraid most will be BOA--broken on arrival. (Even though I froze them ahead of time for more successful shipping).<br />This totals more than 430 cookies or about 36 dozen.<br /><br />And it means I'm taking January off.<br /><br />But I've already found a caramel cookie called "Arkansas Travellers" that looks appealing...<br /><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqsFuoM93YyJuzY3qXkqdo8SGmGzanI00AuFTNu74f9JBv2zwoVtoScq_wMxVD_iwD_gDHqX6HD_Aj_sumzEIw-cFLkb2AO6t-aimR6p1lUdpHhvo0TUW6TKBGMWYZ4igkjQP5RRPbd8/s400/IMG_3864.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688792266607894978" /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-90899299825770946122011-12-09T20:49:00.000-08:002011-12-14T19:56:51.839-08:00Breakfast at the country club<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqT5HjTb9PjVzVwtEw8hjCxTcGgwxCb1G3ArKXQgElYYPZ3B9L4V7usJhTqz4OxflaY79u6FqOEiI_8z45EpgnEqZ3yTB49PcCC7_HI6QiGfSxf9OU4fOx-Lh_rX2qCK4bZulx0xyK14/s1600/IMG_3756.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqT5HjTb9PjVzVwtEw8hjCxTcGgwxCb1G3ArKXQgElYYPZ3B9L4V7usJhTqz4OxflaY79u6FqOEiI_8z45EpgnEqZ3yTB49PcCC7_HI6QiGfSxf9OU4fOx-Lh_rX2qCK4bZulx0xyK14/s200/IMG_3756.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686198271344986594" border="0" /></a>We are not country club people.<br /><br />But there's generally a few events each where where we inevitably find ourselves at a country club. The Junior League's Breakfast with Santa is one such event, so early on the first Saturday of the month, we put the kids in their Christmas outfits...the clothes that happened to be purchased by their Jewish grandmother.....and set out for the country club.<br /><br />While we were walking up the hill to the entrance, my heel broke. See, I told you we weren't country club people.<br /><br />Since we arrived during the latter part of the starting time and the room was a rather tight squeeze, we had to se<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZYpZ53-Yjp-IVIi_UKGDUlk9rkifAuzooTcvJ4HtMaaKNTsGjbFWkdq1vBsBxnr-m5Y-Xv3LPPPKwLhAvBDk1zpXn5hLvtwbYkStGXcCa6-vXP84TlKHrDgxjNG1AYm21yGu-A-cUIs/s1600/IMG_3759.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZYpZ53-Yjp-IVIi_UKGDUlk9rkifAuzooTcvJ4HtMaaKNTsGjbFWkdq1vBsBxnr-m5Y-Xv3LPPPKwLhAvBDk1zpXn5hLvtwbYkStGXcCa6-vXP84TlKHrDgxjNG1AYm21yGu-A-cUIs/s200/IMG_3759.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686197803056934082" border="0" /></a>arch around for a table. We squeezed into one. Jack ate. Evie slept. As we ate, Jack grew bored. We ate faster. Then, we got in line to see Santa.<br /><br />Jack could've cared less. When we reached Santa, Jack was more concerned with walking around and not with sitting on anybody's lap. As he struggled against containment, he got mad and started rolling around at Santa's feet. The person who I asked to take a picture of us, asked me what to do...I said go ahead and start snapping.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnX2yfAjo-mVbXJ9rrelSFYgMZnNHZBlOaMJCxR_P-dwZ3zF7w48H475JJxFtDKXMzl6MzbWjguIEXHiqQj7inCzf-V-6i8e8ZEojhL1G0k4-l8TBj2nSVy7-EqHMEWwUXWdyJThapX4/s1600/IMG_3748.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/AVvXsEgtnX2yfAjo-mVbXJ9rrelSFYgMZnNHZBlOaMJCxR_P-dwZ3zF7w48H475JJxFtDKXMzl6MzbWjguIEXHiqQj7inCzf-V-6i8e8ZEojhL1G0k4-l8TBj2nSVy7-EqHMEWwUXWdyJThapX4/s400/IMG_3748.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686193604030085138" border="0" /></a>We released Jack and he kept walking around and looking at things. We gathered our gear and ushered him toward the door. As we left, another friend offered to snap a family picture by a Christmas tree. Jack didn't want to be contained here, either.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8d6QJXEleKwPhwICjn90u813aa0Abap3ynhhFZOcL0rsJm4tFwaok0xaYYs3urNd0E6VYEwbkrWwM1KnFefDt6YHV1uXOplylLsOi51TmAPqOTU3EqT5fOcdivjWaTXeIUF-lRERlhEE/s1600/IMG_3761.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/AVvXsEh8d6QJXEleKwPhwICjn90u813aa0Abap3ynhhFZOcL0rsJm4tFwaok0xaYYs3urNd0E6VYEwbkrWwM1KnFefDt6YHV1uXOplylLsOi51TmAPqOTU3EqT5fOcdivjWaTXeIUF-lRERlhEE/s400/IMG_3761.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686192924726339074" border="0" /></a>After paying for an overpriced breakfast, we left hungry. We scrambled to the car, broken heel and all, driving away with a sigh of relief and affirmation of why we don't really belong at a country club.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-24891005718581979892011-12-02T19:30:00.000-08:002011-12-02T19:49:45.036-08:00Proud sis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrDgCy2dSfdyHy5Jrk3L0HVjPGybHBRhZSSuT6Zswy18cirYxoVp9I-sBA1qjagakG-KHEHBfA6qITjhfS0w_MIGOTSqoRKJcV8aZEnF0hLOmgjk5ifQ0PEHS6wrptXO7aXuBAPq-fBM/s1600/IMG_4146.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrDgCy2dSfdyHy5Jrk3L0HVjPGybHBRhZSSuT6Zswy18cirYxoVp9I-sBA1qjagakG-KHEHBfA6qITjhfS0w_MIGOTSqoRKJcV8aZEnF0hLOmgjk5ifQ0PEHS6wrptXO7aXuBAPq-fBM/s200/IMG_4146.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681743179152664354" border="0" /></a><br />I have a million and one things to do right now, but I have to pause a minute to brag on my brother Luke. I have phenomenal siblings who are each unique in his or her own right, but Luke was in the news today on all three stations in his area talking about a hospital program he's helping develop that will help military veterans. So, it's my turn to brag on them.<br /><br /><a href="http://cnyhomepage.com/search-fulltext?nxd_id=58297">CNY</a> or <a href="http://centralny.ynn.com/content/top_stories/565398/sitrin-expansion-could-mean-happier-homecomings-for-soldiers/">YNN </a><br /><br />Like many in the military, my brother isn't one to talk much about what he has and hasn't done. I was more than a bit impressed to read an online bio for him and find out all sorts of jargon and stats. (I had to paste it below) I doubt many--if any--members of my family know the facts listed in there. Generally a conversation with either one of my brothers is generally one-sided and more than a little frustrating. They do what they do, you know?<br /><br />Besides excelling in infantry, he's super smart and I'm so very glad he's putting his smarts to good use. (And I hope you don't get mad at me for posting any of this, bro :)<br /><br />LS is an infantry officer in the US Army and an Army Ranger with significant combat experience. Luke spent more than 27 months deployed in support of the Global War on Terror (OIF/OEF). He has conducted combined arms combat operations with every branch of the military, and conducted operations with both foreign and domestic Private Military/Security Companies. Luke is a subject matter expert on small unit tactics and combined arms integration, with a focus on military operations in urban terrain (MOUT).<br /><br />In conjunction with his experience as a combat leader, Luke spent more than a year as a training officer for an Airborne Infantry Battalion, where he developed training plans and doctrine. Luke has planned and executed countless small arms densities, live fire exercises, shoot-houses, and stress shoots; incorporating every weapon system from 9mm to .50 Cal. In addition, Luke has conducted joint training exercises with numerous foreign forces including, Thailand, Korea, Australia, and the UK. Luke is also a certified trainer of Modern Army Combatives.<br /><br />Luke holds a Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Central Arkansas and a Master’s Degree from Utica College. He is an instructor and training officer for Syracuse University ROTC, and lectures on International Humanitarian Law and Rules of Engagement for a graduate-level seminar. Luke is currently the military/veteran liaison for the Sitrin Health Care Center, helping to develop a state-of-the-art Veterans’ Rehabilitation Program.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-51706112213936939452011-11-27T10:08:00.000-08:002011-11-27T13:30:52.523-08:00Jake's big day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh10hBIU9J1b9dp2rcm8Diyz_5XV9RnVxqy0ZdITx1DBmG8tVw-DQdSl80Qo-Bdx-WL6hRtDPKmuO-dvQfGh8kPUyfePR39AqeVRNx0Ef4ezzBzgRCtVEdT9Ez5XUpAuf846xyXY77HdrA/s1600/jake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh10hBIU9J1b9dp2rcm8Diyz_5XV9RnVxqy0ZdITx1DBmG8tVw-DQdSl80Qo-Bdx-WL6hRtDPKmuO-dvQfGh8kPUyfePR39AqeVRNx0Ef4ezzBzgRCtVEdT9Ez5XUpAuf846xyXY77HdrA/s320/jake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679751088981266002" border="0" /></a>Right now, we have only one special nephew in our life and his name is Jacob, better known as Jake.<br /><br />For the past several years, he's been studying Hebrew, attending sunday school, and preparing for his bar mitzvah. Technically, this is the day when he is called to read and interpret a portion of the Torah. The serious, nerve-wracking service is then followed by a fun party full of 13-year-olds and pre-teens.<br /><br />You think Catholic weddings with complete two-hour full masses are long? Try a four hour service spoken almost completely in another language. That's long.<br /><br />I carried my camera inside to snap some pictures, but found out that's against the rules because it could be interpreted as working on the Sabbath. So, I respectfully didn't take any pictures. However, someone did snap a picture and posted it to facebook before the service was out. A sign of the times, right?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYgQNTrkLI5pSYDuIuiHGHGryFGGw_Q0Nc7BFHn7cygk3eYJSQGLh6GBvqvf-kEkccU-B4ZtRlw37dDJ0M3FMi2p8ixx9eBhCVy0zKu-4twpSA5vjp2GrUzkDgsHzwWqBQdRPS2B09Zik/s1600/jaketorah.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYgQNTrkLI5pSYDuIuiHGHGryFGGw_Q0Nc7BFHn7cygk3eYJSQGLh6GBvqvf-kEkccU-B4ZtRlw37dDJ0M3FMi2p8ixx9eBhCVy0zKu-4twpSA5vjp2GrUzkDgsHzwWqBQdRPS2B09Zik/s320/jaketorah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679751068946007266" border="0" /></a><br />By all accounts, Jake did a fantastic job and nailed his haftorah portion. His Hebrew was impeccable and he was comfortable in front of the big crowd.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4gtrlqcRHZc4Msq_WlNvhY7LLK6vNYSwR-eSQNZ8VArJJZ3jA37KMrV8-iUG1s2ToIUXaJ6YnO41EC82_YZFag5aIhfsNYXQ6C9apfQrIdkFOaEWPPieQkUP8XzcV3Tr9uEzH-QYCxA/s1600/Jakejen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4gtrlqcRHZc4Msq_WlNvhY7LLK6vNYSwR-eSQNZ8VArJJZ3jA37KMrV8-iUG1s2ToIUXaJ6YnO41EC82_YZFag5aIhfsNYXQ6C9apfQrIdkFOaEWPPieQkUP8XzcV3Tr9uEzH-QYCxA/s320/Jakejen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679751072139218594" border="0" /></a>His mother, Jen, did a fabulous job planning and designing the party.<br /><br />Since this life cycle event is generally a big deal, some had new clothes, some had new shoes, others had shoes polished, suits pressed, and everything in order for an event where the family would be on full display.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWCf-soJwTERlBFC4znopMCxWL3aIwNHvNxOlWCMJ6w2lrnUrehpyPViZNLKQHgflhQpKwFEgw7QW6q40Glk6OiV1_-ZpSDe1tP8CdAFCfDJZgLF7zIduVZbfef-4BESLpbtRqh47KhI/s1600/IMG_3625.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWCf-soJwTERlBFC4znopMCxWL3aIwNHvNxOlWCMJ6w2lrnUrehpyPViZNLKQHgflhQpKwFEgw7QW6q40Glk6OiV1_-ZpSDe1tP8CdAFCfDJZgLF7zIduVZbfef-4BESLpbtRqh47KhI/s320/IMG_3625.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679748732859930034" border="0" /></a>Since we stayed at a hotel, Dave and I were up extra early to get our kids to Temple on time. Evie got a bath in the sink and Jack in the big walk-in shower. We arrived on time and Jack was ready to go until we had to walk by a playground to go in the door. We wound up picking him up while he was flopping and crying "play" to get inside the building.<br /><br />Once on the FRONT ROW of the event, Dave and I were on our toes to keep the kids occupied. We used everything in our bag of tricks, reading and playing with trucks while Jack rolled and played in between the front row and the bimah (stage up front, basically the same as the altar/pulpit area in church). We fed him raisins and snacks and essentially had a picnic in the front row. But after a bit, Jack was tired and looking for new fun. He took a car and ran it up and down the air conditioning/heating vent, making a loud sound. When he ran across the building and tried to go up on the bimah, Dave took him out of the sanctuary kicking and screaming. We switched roles keeping him outside.<br /><br />But Dave had a Torah portion to read. I was *supposed* to read a prayer. But, Jack and I found a nursery area and didn't come out. I left the baby with family and my phone on mute in the front row. No amount of texting or calling let me know it was my turn to read, which was okay. But I am very disappointed that I missed Jake's entire event. When Evie started making noise and we were all outside, we decided to just leave.<br /><br />We weren't the only ones who did that. We caught up with a few sets of friends and family members at the Dunkin' Donuts next door. Several family members assured us that we thought we were a bigger distraction than we really were. I certainly hope so.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVB1Y_FQlAbxQVM3Qw3zVDiSD8go7mWgQo30i622zLjMbxIiIG1sQpSX7Fv4jtCWkLq_zVA2FwClWwPCIg1bBvMVsS87czMh2xLfLfjtto8tyuwndgQ7Lnz6mBtTR9Nd4qBwBoExO5Wc/s1600/IMG_3634.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVB1Y_FQlAbxQVM3Qw3zVDiSD8go7mWgQo30i622zLjMbxIiIG1sQpSX7Fv4jtCWkLq_zVA2FwClWwPCIg1bBvMVsS87czMh2xLfLfjtto8tyuwndgQ7Lnz6mBtTR9Nd4qBwBoExO5Wc/s320/IMG_3634.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679748728738876690" border="0" /></a>But at the reception, it was time to "par-tee" as Jack says. We drove around in the car until Jack finished his nap, and he was ready to keep the dance floor hopping.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6-ZUBhmhKA6uwaBZP9EP9PhgCl16XUC5b5KE0-dkzoj0arXuCvr3Y6m_JVeIlPuqiWRpOws5l32szNvK1L9VShcI-0WQ_3QWgKWA9ASd7sG7_gtkce3qj3TOHKGmyAsIhAMy7LIsOXU/s1600/IMG_3668.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6-ZUBhmhKA6uwaBZP9EP9PhgCl16XUC5b5KE0-dkzoj0arXuCvr3Y6m_JVeIlPuqiWRpOws5l32szNvK1L9VShcI-0WQ_3QWgKWA9ASd7sG7_gtkce3qj3TOHKGmyAsIhAMy7LIsOXU/s320/IMG_3668.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679745620844409074" border="0" /></a><br />Jack ran back and forth in-between the line dancers. The man of honor, Jake, was also out there...always surrounded by girls. He might be a head shorter than all of them, but that doesn't seem to matter in the least.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY27c3O-GgHX8EkchyphenhyphenefsHPMRlnQegS7HAABdefAWUdqCTiKEIzNmYWTVrihVYyt3pYgXLRhDKr7KVjSiU2cGdUgWyTMre8CEnkwpCeZ-V747BxNyFsKxyEGFoq1JFI13P5x40sZ5ZBqw/s1600/IMG_3670.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY27c3O-GgHX8EkchyphenhyphenefsHPMRlnQegS7HAABdefAWUdqCTiKEIzNmYWTVrihVYyt3pYgXLRhDKr7KVjSiU2cGdUgWyTMre8CEnkwpCeZ-V747BxNyFsKxyEGFoq1JFI13P5x40sZ5ZBqw/s320/IMG_3670.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679745616744243842" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KvODUia0qkYRSfSqxJs3HyZMQHrDVvy6RyHFV9738TaS_88djN7ZBK5YyeQ53jLzNebaA08L441jsnFG9e7qsYa-a6k0N8t25aQ_O9ZN5tRR4Qwg3iUjFWxgIPD5n_CyGe8XSNO5PXY/s1600/IMG_3655.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KvODUia0qkYRSfSqxJs3HyZMQHrDVvy6RyHFV9738TaS_88djN7ZBK5YyeQ53jLzNebaA08L441jsnFG9e7qsYa-a6k0N8t25aQ_O9ZN5tRR4Qwg3iUjFWxgIPD5n_CyGe8XSNO5PXY/s320/IMG_3655.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679745588016757394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTkhqJyETust9FX3BIR38_k94xJB4tkuaeOXE_k46RqJUry8Qh2LZnSStY-yukKR-yA3isO6bEJZH0gc2KsyFTSK-2WlKDbjqxLypHSu_tyIppE6xSioj8LQjPsX4nTGsa94-K1RQKY4/s1600/IMG_3653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTkhqJyETust9FX3BIR38_k94xJB4tkuaeOXE_k46RqJUry8Qh2LZnSStY-yukKR-yA3isO6bEJZH0gc2KsyFTSK-2WlKDbjqxLypHSu_tyIppE6xSioj8LQjPsX4nTGsa94-K1RQKY4/s320/IMG_3653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679745570251021154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgGUMIRujRA9YgexsWi0e35fXqo6sAU5fJJa2nYKO7qB_kn_4gYjVHMvSxdJGRiOGqpnSX9Bv_R_Zgjcpz8Jid9pYpc1nubEya6OndoRtg3prS_Wr7YMoOsWdbYY8O4gfnTSQ5vYBFXU/s1600/IMG_3640.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgGUMIRujRA9YgexsWi0e35fXqo6sAU5fJJa2nYKO7qB_kn_4gYjVHMvSxdJGRiOGqpnSX9Bv_R_Zgjcpz8Jid9pYpc1nubEya6OndoRtg3prS_Wr7YMoOsWdbYY8O4gfnTSQ5vYBFXU/s200/IMG_3640.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679743215680108914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZf74AZlKx660efDoNxO_X6WjJt9Jtc-IQXb_yDD2alAc0A9zJJPeCAJipsOENSNYtPfi0SKSk9ijgxSLKdugCpBZTWK8A2s-SR6ySycga1idME9RKCwV1ltylNeslPFvDpHJUIZkNjE/s1600/IMG_3632.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZf74AZlKx660efDoNxO_X6WjJt9Jtc-IQXb_yDD2alAc0A9zJJPeCAJipsOENSNYtPfi0SKSk9ijgxSLKdugCpBZTWK8A2s-SR6ySycga1idME9RKCwV1ltylNeslPFvDpHJUIZkNjE/s200/IMG_3632.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679743210021400754" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qjHASBFuiYZ_7_wOeVaVidEOnRX1C6tMl9FdUeROn1lbX-9cs1JQuwNPISEGRIlUwg2sQALhiaMnwWv3G5pVHWDjBYMsfeMv3GGT4f0JZjau_n9MES1eNM2uMs35vIPfY43rfK_j9ow/s1600/IMG_3639.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qjHASBFuiYZ_7_wOeVaVidEOnRX1C6tMl9FdUeROn1lbX-9cs1JQuwNPISEGRIlUwg2sQALhiaMnwWv3G5pVHWDjBYMsfeMv3GGT4f0JZjau_n9MES1eNM2uMs35vIPfY43rfK_j9ow/s320/IMG_3639.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679741677746110866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Besides the dancing, the reception was full of traditions. The meal started with Dave's father leading prayer and cutting the challah, which Sheila baked for the occasion. Dave led the prayer over the wine.<br /><br />You either loved the reception theme or you hated it--New York Yankees. Reception attendees signed a big poster of Derek Jeter. Each table was numbered a Yankee player, complete with confetti of the player.<br /><br />The cake was a replica of Yankee Stadium.<br /><br /><br />After the dinner, Jake lit 13 candles on his cake and used each candle to represent a friend or family member who is special to Jake. Dave, Evie, Jack and I got to light a candle with Jake.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_54Mh-C31Wws6E86x3IsKrSIx9vo18wfxlG5XE9y0RrVkp5D3X3AkUTVZ78nGUYuynUNW8F5hrvZNrdyCkcxG0iAel8UjFSrqvdu8Amb7e2wPlXQdhTbkMJ0DHytVPcMWSy6KeZlvimI/s1600/IMG_3637.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_54Mh-C31Wws6E86x3IsKrSIx9vo18wfxlG5XE9y0RrVkp5D3X3AkUTVZ78nGUYuynUNW8F5hrvZNrdyCkcxG0iAel8UjFSrqvdu8Amb7e2wPlXQdhTbkMJ0DHytVPcMWSy6KeZlvimI/s320/IMG_3637.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679741654601063778" border="0" /></a><br />The event had a few small bumps like any big event, but overall everyone had fun. I'm sure the party will be the talk of eighth grade this week and generate a bit of facebook chatter. We were happy to be a part of the fun and support a nephew that we love. Jack and Evie will most likely remember the event only in photos... but it was an experience Jack will hear about in the years to come.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlkPw7qAYInsqsxEdQUwcc8juAvSKoQrFhxLsu0E7aIaWzNwDEGIqvR9kZG41_1shw58iGGy71tTE5eP7JT1eF098A3FezfPx4GNt-dqwduTvkWGJlu-MJAyvHH2CPyreHK0ckApeROE/s1600/IMG_3700.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlkPw7qAYInsqsxEdQUwcc8juAvSKoQrFhxLsu0E7aIaWzNwDEGIqvR9kZG41_1shw58iGGy71tTE5eP7JT1eF098A3FezfPx4GNt-dqwduTvkWGJlu-MJAyvHH2CPyreHK0ckApeROE/s320/IMG_3700.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679741647817968034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KdnnWS-tZU6h6-qhxDiG95-WW0NfSx65Pexy7fMAwj2GzK0SES3PoPxOgDgRqEm4QXxCVBaCJWcH0pMtncw109jI23bF4LZ8bhyphenhyphen5WNl0ZHDpUqYxlNdkWNLaiwy9m1KexXWSQmQXPOE/s1600/IMG_3702.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KdnnWS-tZU6h6-qhxDiG95-WW0NfSx65Pexy7fMAwj2GzK0SES3PoPxOgDgRqEm4QXxCVBaCJWcH0pMtncw109jI23bF4LZ8bhyphenhyphen5WNl0ZHDpUqYxlNdkWNLaiwy9m1KexXWSQmQXPOE/s320/IMG_3702.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679741608126054018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgg6Q5GzNbfRSAz6kmdEmUuq4QaWCTJzG9S7Y9MTMr9uG36BxWfH-Y3FMAFKzNjCZjZTsjrSPKhcz6WTGuu6KwWLH_sme4frgcc8CN_yclFeabxf0Xkmw8KuljW1Y9ggI2llWGwK7Zjw/s1600/IMG_3708.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgg6Q5GzNbfRSAz6kmdEmUuq4QaWCTJzG9S7Y9MTMr9uG36BxWfH-Y3FMAFKzNjCZjZTsjrSPKhcz6WTGuu6KwWLH_sme4frgcc8CN_yclFeabxf0Xkmw8KuljW1Y9ggI2llWGwK7Zjw/s320/IMG_3708.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679741616036459282" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-84948511157751681202011-11-27T09:41:00.000-08:002011-11-27T10:07:26.549-08:00Yummy birthday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDI3bmqCWX2-VDBPoFp8mAk8x0rF-wxwGaUOKi72wROg0pUOo_9VKWsgTbw3XYNCSJmQae1gH3shSaSNKgjd326ZQ9Oji4GlAc1Nhr5bU3K6PaG_PAL0PM30kdaFlyPvgwRsTgm2NOhg/s1600/IMG_3549.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDI3bmqCWX2-VDBPoFp8mAk8x0rF-wxwGaUOKi72wROg0pUOo_9VKWsgTbw3XYNCSJmQae1gH3shSaSNKgjd326ZQ9Oji4GlAc1Nhr5bU3K6PaG_PAL0PM30kdaFlyPvgwRsTgm2NOhg/s320/IMG_3549.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679733685395597634" border="0" /></a>This is what I look like most days while trying to keep up with my little live wire. He likes to try absolutely everything and you never know what he will do next.<br /><br />On the night before my birthday, he wanted to stay up, play, and then watch Thomas the train around two a.m.<br /><br />He got up later and threw his breakfast across the room. And later ate part of it off the floor. When he decided to take a bath, he pooped in the bathtub.<br /><br />And that was before 10 a.m. Happy Birthday to me. I spent the day packing, keeping kids, baking for the trip, and fielding happy birthday phone calls and texts, which I really enjoyed. Dave gave me something off my kitchen wish list. At some point in the middle of laundry, I reminded myself it was my birthday.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXcWDDAqAZv8KysMLKfsQWnvp7JSwot62p-_b57KaCSg1aJ-UbVTJdBemshbP5VvpL5FxJ_qsNX0ieFAsP43_5BnyTsNdVkQrqSj7NoECBDIXtisAxtkPvyk7oaDNIzv87_gvDCSOTLg4/s1600/IMG_3546.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXcWDDAqAZv8KysMLKfsQWnvp7JSwot62p-_b57KaCSg1aJ-UbVTJdBemshbP5VvpL5FxJ_qsNX0ieFAsP43_5BnyTsNdVkQrqSj7NoECBDIXtisAxtkPvyk7oaDNIzv87_gvDCSOTLg4/s320/IMG_3546.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679733679904530738" border="0" /></a>I got a fabulous birthday cake--which I don't get every year--when I got to New York. (and presents too :) Jack tested out the candles and then helped blow them out. Perhaps as you age the small things like phone calls and cakes mean the most.<br /><br />Jack wouldn't slow down to eat cake, but he did coined a new phrase on my birthday which I love. "Yum-my Mom-ee"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdY9MS39OuZgEWMPqZMu39A19OUNaicqbRKvmrq-4-3j1q-7u5NsqP8gQiyXn1GhU37A655e0PyeM6S42sgDGDWHI0_YJUjHAhPrvT3PsvIqFwU6L5KIABR3UEubU3KvHzpJBBMHdJSIY/s1600/IMG_3553.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdY9MS39OuZgEWMPqZMu39A19OUNaicqbRKvmrq-4-3j1q-7u5NsqP8gQiyXn1GhU37A655e0PyeM6S42sgDGDWHI0_YJUjHAhPrvT3PsvIqFwU6L5KIABR3UEubU3KvHzpJBBMHdJSIY/s320/IMG_3553.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679733698834807138" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817379367631024900.post-33864188935371928252011-11-27T08:59:00.000-08:002011-11-27T09:41:05.548-08:00the "Hallmark" thanksgiving<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF19uRmT35YeK-LzZGKppn2oUlcXkN5g5YBwdewieTlx6LY5VDbDykiUnpQSnaezDdenTbZoAd4ANrikiAjGyY7gBzDg9s9SA2RgNAIB-yL3RKQpQ8PyufSVYfny6Iceo9SUKNSXUgdyA/s1600/IMG_3612.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/AVvXsEjF19uRmT35YeK-LzZGKppn2oUlcXkN5g5YBwdewieTlx6LY5VDbDykiUnpQSnaezDdenTbZoAd4ANrikiAjGyY7gBzDg9s9SA2RgNAIB-yL3RKQpQ8PyufSVYfny6Iceo9SUKNSXUgdyA/s400/IMG_3612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679723889673893298" border="0" /></a>What makes up a Hallmark thanksgiving?<br /><br />For the Schwartz family, it requires a ridiculous amount of food and family members flying in from around the country. The trav<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYkR8bkbytTGuD1xMMvm08uVEacdwUJhR-IZh-BjlqPb9KcD40M8bLg7XeUpdNiU4AQ7Xy0htQWTfsgu4HBNcbHmMnsWkMoBfW2bAgFNSzKfBqTjDT7pryytQQy2L9LFkQ9nP3-n0OZw/s1600/IMG_3484.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYkR8bkbytTGuD1xMMvm08uVEacdwUJhR-IZh-BjlqPb9KcD40M8bLg7XeUpdNiU4AQ7Xy0htQWTfsgu4HBNcbHmMnsWkMoBfW2bAgFNSzKfBqTjDT7pryytQQy2L9LFkQ9nP3-n0OZw/s320/IMG_3484.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679726270045831074" border="0" /></a>el was mandatory for another reason too....Jake's bar mitzvah would take place on Saturday.<br /><br />Traveling with two children under two on the busiest traveling day of the year could definitely be fodder for a sitcom. When we left our house at 4:45 in the morning, we had one of those last minute crisis when the last things to go in our suitcases just wouldn't fit. So, we left the house with four suitcases, a backpack carrier, a stroller, a carseat, and three carry-ons. Packed in the middle of casual clothes, dressy clothes, diapers, and christmas gifts, I stashed homemade cranberry relish, cranberry bars, and cookies. We were most worried about Jack being a docile lap-child on a packed flight, which seemed like a recipe for disaster, but thankfully he fell asleep. The fact that the first leg of the trip was only sparsely seated helped too. The worst moment definitely came waiting through the long lines at security which tested Jack's patience. We made a game out of looking at other people's clothes. See that shirt, Jack? What color is that? "Lel-low" Yes, that's right yellow. What about the dinosaurs on the little boy's pants? "Pur-pel" Good. Those are purple. But the game wore out as we neared the security checkpoint. He melted down right as we were trying to speedily move through the x-ray line. He did not want his stuff to go through the x-ray machine, and as the guard waved him through the walk-through<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfJEyxxTCjnTrGawQ2YfL1MaNgb07FoqOD8Wf5XunCojRvZhBobUPZulgpnMWKteR7Wftznd1Cd26apCKSsA99c8YvLa-qmSfraGzaVTARmGqvXJqUPaVTSStXNAIYjRFqGcK5FclaPA/s1600/IMG_3480.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfJEyxxTCjnTrGawQ2YfL1MaNgb07FoqOD8Wf5XunCojRvZhBobUPZulgpnMWKteR7Wftznd1Cd26apCKSsA99c8YvLa-qmSfraGzaVTARmGqvXJqUPaVTSStXNAIYjRFqGcK5FclaPA/s320/IMG_3480.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679726268497512578" border="0" /></a> x-ray machine, he flopped on the floor with his high-pitched scream. Interestingly, we weren't detained and questioned. But they did take his sippy cup for extra testing, which meant we had to wait and try to pacify the screaming.<br /><br />But we made it and the family brought two rides to the airport to pick us and all of our junk up.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XCLz0JuRqK9CGrPelCmOFYH54eb3ywSYm7Qc5aGlUG8hTUIwBkJp2GYvB3CqQcbyQu82NRqOwIx78PMhMvwcTz_OQokWf8EmumLLi4N4WENF3vYtGoAHMa9nJenqS2wcfRLzJQSDjbk/s1600/IMG_3543.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XCLz0JuRqK9CGrPelCmOFYH54eb3ywSYm7Qc5aGlUG8hTUIwBkJp2GYvB3CqQcbyQu82NRqOwIx78PMhMvwcTz_OQokWf8EmumLLi4N4WENF3vYtGoAHMa9nJenqS2wcfRLzJQSDjbk/s320/IMG_3543.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679723204510286322" border="0" /></a>Cousin Jesse flew in from Florida at the same time too.<br /><br />That night, Dad Bill made his signature hot wings and Mom Sheila made her "garbage bread" (stromboli).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgTA_VVvQdv1qu0gkXeYgIZuwAESzzvHL6jloqR75QgyNSbIJblKx2rjo7jJtU0k3z74whmkzWYiP7LjSWJaf6KRXfFYaj5chWiH1p5OnY3hYEHs6f9HTZuvtr5DmG9FtMVfb_VnjItU/s1600/IMG_3502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgTA_VVvQdv1qu0gkXeYgIZuwAESzzvHL6jloqR75QgyNSbIJblKx2rjo7jJtU0k3z74whmkzWYiP7LjSWJaf6KRXfFYaj5chWiH1p5OnY3hYEHs6f9HTZuvtr5DmG9FtMVfb_VnjItU/s320/IMG_3502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679723173469553250" border="0" /></a>The family met Evelyn. Dave's friend Johnny came down to visit. The next day, we enjoyed a nice, traditional Thanksgiving meal with friends and family...which made the hassle very worthwhile.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpXIqXRLO0zX1Pg5qRFDzU4Zon6SjHursz2y_jmzYtddEFFLWb99Z0lx1oNIhvt8S1Ioh8Siio8K3k0oG7UF7nqVhQBdBfLnTBvnmXvAaVR6VfQC6vwNixSPtWSsma4WH9hc2-I0yTPc/s1600/IMG_3583.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpXIqXRLO0zX1Pg5qRFDzU4Zon6SjHursz2y_jmzYtddEFFLWb99Z0lx1oNIhvt8S1Ioh8Siio8K3k0oG7UF7nqVhQBdBfLnTBvnmXvAaVR6VfQC6vwNixSPtWSsma4WH9hc2-I0yTPc/s320/IMG_3583.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679723177369448770" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0