tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42721607143154590882024-03-19T17:08:43.713-05:00These are a few of my favorite thingsChristiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.comBlogger776125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-52951256670145880652013-03-11T10:03:00.001-05:002013-03-11T10:03:33.668-05:00Moving DayFriends, strangers, and anonymous, hateful trolls:<br />
<br />
My time here at Blogger has come to an end. I tried very unsuccessfully to give this blog a facelift. After hours of copying and pasting a lot of crappy HTML, pulling my hair out, and lamenting over and over, "WHAT HAVE I DONE?" I decided it was time for a clean break.<br />
<br />
I will no longer be writing on this website.<br />
<br />
You can now find me at my very brand new, sparkly, custom domain named website:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.stiesthoughts.com/">www.stiesthoughts.com</a><br />
<br />
Be sure to add it into your Google Reader. I won't be double posting here for you lazy peeps. Blogger is dead to me. Buried in a shallow grave in the woods, covered with piles of HTML and my tears.<br />
<br />
Squarespace is where it's at. It's worth the money you pay for your pretty new site. And you can customize the crap out of it yourself. <br />
<br />
It's kind of like the difference between having free plastic surgery in the alley behind Walmart done by that homeless guy with no teeth versus board-certified, sterile, safe plastic surgery in a shiny, new hospital.<br />
<br />
Why would I trust my blog face to anything less?<br />
<br />
Come stop by and have a peek. The old girl is looking mucho improved, if I do say so myself.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-37423868653921998432013-03-07T13:42:00.000-06:002013-03-07T13:43:00.009-06:00For my number one fanThey say the surest way to a mama's heart is through her kids.<br />
<br />
Never has this been more true in my life. I am painfully aware of the wondrously lush group of friends that we have been blessed to know here in St. Louis. It didn't take our impending move for us to appreciate them either. I could write posts for days about the fabulous people I'm blessed to have in my life. Friends that really are family. Kids that are like cousins. Girlfriends that are the sisters I never had. We got lucky when we moved here. Lucky because a fabulous group of women opened their hearts to me, and naturally, my kids.<br />
<br />
One friend in particular I'd like to talk about today. And it's not because he has dubbed himself my "number one blog fan." <br />
<br />
Though, I have to say, I am flattered to have such a distinction. Honestly, I'm just thrilled to even HAVE a fan. (And possibly wondering who paid him off.) <br />
<br />
But, no, the reason I want to talk about this kid is because he's amazing and deserves a blog post <i>all his own</i>.<br />
<br />
Meet Nick.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/N_zps8fc62430.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo N_zps8fc62430.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/N_zps8fc62430.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Nick is a boy whom we met our first week here in 2007. Their family had just moved from Connecticut about seven months prior to our move to St. Louis. They matched up perfectly to our family in every way. I could write post after post about the things his mom has done for me. Oh wait, <a href="http://stiesthoughts.blogspot.com/2012/07/one-for-grandparents.html" target="_blank">I did</a>. And <a href="http://stiesthoughts.blogspot.com/2012/04/how-long-until-spring-break-next-year.html" target="_blank">here</a>, too. Aaannnd <a href="http://stiesthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/08/apparently-i-just-dont-speak.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
See? Told you they were amazing.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Back to Nick.<br />
<br />
Nick is the same age as Chase. While they differ considerably in height, they are a perfect match in every other way.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/Run6.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo Run6.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/Run6.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Nick, much like Chase, roots for the underdog and has no tolerance for hate. He is one of the kindest souls I've ever met. He is funny without being obnoxious. (Yes, Mindy. It's true. We all find Nick hilarious. Make peace with that.) <br />
<br />
He cheers my boy on at every race, while brushing off any praise for his own (far superior) time. When Nick took first place in the district junior high track meet? He was more happy for Chase, who took third. Because he knew <i>just</i> <i>how far</i> Chase had come. His smile matched my boy's that day, and my heart melted at the love shown by Nick.<br />
<br />
And last year, when he was the last in his class to graduate from primary, his attitude was as cheerful as the eager, new Sunbeams. He didn't sulk or pout his lot in life, as many before him have done. He raised his hand with questions, listened when I was teaching, and taught me more than he'll ever know.<br />
<br />
Nick is not jealous or petty. He is not concerned with appearances or the pervasive middle school curse of trying to look "cool." He is confident, yet humble. He is eager to have fun and wants to make sure no one gets left out.<br />
<br />
He is my son's best friend.<br />
<br />
Lord help him, but he loves my goofy boy, even when Chase does his Gollum impression. He helps my boy to push himself harder with the running, and is always there to cheer him on. He listens for hours to talk of airsoft guns and World War II. He gives of himself freely, and asks nothing in return.<br />
<br />
His mom quite often jokes and apologizes for his goofiness. What she does not know is this: There is a special place in this mama's heart for goofy boys. <br />
<br />
After all, I'm raising two and married to one.<br />
<br />
Goofy boys are pretty much the bomb.<br />
<br />
So thanks, Nick, for making Chase's time here the best of his young life. Thanks for being a true friend, and for loving us in spite of ourselves. We fully expect to see your family often. Texas is not that far away. <br />
<br />
Friends like you are worth their weight in gold.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-6387710758436143402013-02-13T15:52:00.000-06:002013-02-13T15:52:58.456-06:00It's all about prioritiesLet me paint a picture of loveliness for you. <br />
<br />
Imagine, if you can, a tall woman with long, brownish-blondish hair. Her weight is undetermined at this time, due to her inability to actually face the number on the scale. She lives a good life, and does not want for food. While she currently reminds one of a slightly chubbier version of her best self, she manages to still be attractive to her husband. (Or so he says).<br />
<br />
She resembles a fairly functional member of society during the hours of 10 a.m. and 10 p.m. She showers, suffers under the blow dryer for 20 minutes, wears lipstick, and tries her best to put outfits together that do not include the words "yoga" or "stretchy pants."<br />
<br />
But the first time each day that she ventures out of the house is a completely different story.<br />
<br />
She. is. one. hot. mess.<br />
<br />
Here is an artist's rendering of this <i>anonymous</i> woman:<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/MB8_zpsc5b418e1.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MB8_zpsc5b418e1.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/MB8_zpsc5b418e1.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
She leaves the house each day at 5:40 in the a.m. to drive her son to his early morning religion class. She literally rolls out of bed at 5:39, slips on her Uggs, grabs a coat and her glasses, and heads out the door.<br />
<br />
In her mind, she sort of likes to imagine that she looks a little like these ladies:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/MB2-2_zps80536a69.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MB2-2_zps80536a69.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/MB2-2_zps80536a69.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">image <a href="http://shoewear.blogspot.com/2012/01/ugly-truth-about-uggs.html" target="_blank">via</a></span></div>
<br />
Tragically, in her heart of hearts, she knows that she does not. She owns this look and is not swayed when her children mock or laugh. This is a perfectly acceptable look for the unholy crack of dawn, peek-a-boo pudge, notwithstanding.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/mb1_zps4a418038.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo mb1_zps4a418038.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mb1_zps4a418038.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
She is at peace with her fine self.<br />
<br />
The sight that greets this hottie outside of her bedroom door has recently morphed from a tired, grumbly teenager, to this:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/MB7_zps00907228.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MB7_zps00907228.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/MB7_zps00907228.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
A happy little ball of sunshine and energy that is shaking keys in her face and begging to drive her vehicle.<br />
<br />
THAT experience is a whole blog post unto itself. But let's just say that two words sum up the palpable emotions in the car: JOY and TERROR.<br />
<br />
You can guess who experiences which.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/MB3-2_zpsc0f8111e.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MB3-2_zpsc0f8111e.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/MB3-2_zpsc0f8111e.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
On a particularly average morning, like today, for instance, this woman finds herself in a wee bit of a predicament. For, when her son exits the vehicle on the driver's side, she is faced with two choices: Get out in the freezing cold air and walk around to the driver's side, or climb over the console in the middle and stay warm. <br />
<br />
She opted on this fine morning to choose the latter. And as she was maneuvering her <s>chubby</s> not-so-slim-self over the console, her boot got caught on something and she tumbled rather quickly, ending with a very ungraceful face plant against the glass of the window.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/MB4-2_zpsb35f633a.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MB4-2_zpsb35f633a.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/MB4-2_zpsb35f633a.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Gathering herself together as best she could, the thought crossed her mind that, "Phew. Thank goodness nobody saw THAT."<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
Clearly, the universe does have the best sense of humor. This poor tangle of a mess looked out her window to see the eager, and frighteningly made-up faces of Malibu Barbie and her sister, Skipper, as they were out for their morning run.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/MB5-2_zps985ca848.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MB5-2_zps985ca848.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/MB5-2_zps985ca848.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">image <a href="http://zeudy.com/fitness-inspiration/779/" target="_blank">via</a></span></div>
<br />
Embarrassed, she waved off their lipsticked offers of help, and pulled herself together as best she could. And instead of feeling bad about herself for not looking that good, let alone being out jogging at five-freaking-thirty in the morning with full make-up on, she took her bruised face dignifiedly home, and crawled back into bed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/MB6_zps87e58862.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MB6_zps87e58862.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/MB6_zps87e58862.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Like any <i>normal</i> human being should.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-10038601082511184392013-02-12T22:15:00.001-06:002013-02-12T22:15:54.442-06:00The Lucky OneA few days ago, Hannah stumbled upon a photo of the Husband and I from our wee early days as a married couple. Incredulous, she blurted out, "Wow. You MARRIED that guy?"<br />
<br />
I laughed, maybe a little too hard, and then pointed out the error of her ways.<br />
<br />
You see, it's not supremely surprising that I married the skinny, quiet, smart gymnast that was the Husband so long ago. After all, he was handsome, thoughtful, and hopelessly in love with me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/love3.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo love3.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/love3.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
What's more amazing is that HE married this:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/Christie2_zpscf5e2bf4.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo Christie2_zpscf5e2bf4.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/Christie2_zpscf5e2bf4.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/Christie3_zpse9f05b8a.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo Christie3_zpse9f05b8a.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/Christie3_zpse9f05b8a.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Yikes.<br />
<br />
God bless the poor ignorant fool. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-66556821308166863582013-02-04T19:37:00.000-06:002013-02-04T19:37:44.734-06:00FifteenDear McKay,<br />
<br />
Fifteen years ago today, you took two young, dumb, baby-faced kids in love:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/JampC_zpsdb414a58.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo JampC_zpsdb414a58.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/JampC_zpsdb414a58.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
And you made them parents.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/M2_zpsef6cd8f7.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo M2_zpsef6cd8f7.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/M2_zpsef6cd8f7.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
We had no idea what we were doing, and we have undoubtedly made many mistakes. Still are making them, I'm sure.<br />
<br />
But oh, it's been a fun ride. <br />
<br />
You made being a parent far easier than it actually was (as we learned when your colicky brother joined the family). You were the easiest newborn I've ever known, and the happiest toddler. You have always had a smile on your face and joy in your heart. You sought to obey and still continue to do so. Life has definitely been more sweet with you around.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/M3_zpsb7d82987.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo M3_zpsb7d82987.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/M3_zpsb7d82987.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Today was a pretty big day for you. I have been a ball of nerves all day long, and worried and fretted <i>for</i> you and your big appointment at the DMV. I think my blood pressure definitely hit unsafe levels during the 10-minute written test, as I sat on a cold, metal folding chair in the next room and wrung my hands sore. I knew how badly you wanted to pass, and for that reason I wanted you to. <br />
<br />
<i>Desperately. </i><br />
<br />
And while I am absolutely terrified of handing you the keys to my car, I have no doubt that you'll probably do better than I did. <br />
<br />
I don't see any joyrides at midnight in cars driven by unlicensed friends in your future.<br />
<br />
Right? RIGHT?<br />
<br />
You are so unlike what I was at this age. It astonishes me and fills me with awe to see your happy confidence. You are ever the social butterfly, but never too busy to hang with your brother. Your sister doesn't quite speak the same love language, and your early morning happiness is definitely wasted on the likes of her. But your persistence pays off, and even she can't resist your happy banter.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/m1_zpsb02eb228.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo m1_zpsb02eb228.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/m1_zpsb02eb228.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Mack, you make me so proud.<br />
<br />
I am proud of the young man you are becoming. I am proud of the example you are to your younger siblings, and even to your friends. Your heart is a good one. Your standards are high, and you expect a lot from those in your life. I so admire that about you.<br />
<br />
I have been so impressed with your smooth transition to high school this year. I won't lie, getting up to drive you to early morning seminary is kind of killing little bits of my soul. But it is all worth it when I see what it means to you. Your dedication inspires me to be better. To try harder. To do what I know I should. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt=" photo mckay1.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mckay1.jpg" /></div>
<br />
Thank you for being such an important part of our family. Your sense of humor, your quick wit, and your keen observations make you so unique and such a big part of our lives. <br />
<br />
Thank you for your patience, as I've tried and made lots of mistakes on you. You, my first baby. The one who has to endure the twists and turns of the learning curve with me. You, who've had to suffer most through my inadequacies. You've made it easy on me, kid. <br />
<br />
And you've made it exceptionally fun.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/IMG_0357.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_0357.jpg" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/IMG_0357.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Happy fifteenth, Mack.<br />
<br />
I love you. I couldn't be more proud of you.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
MamaChristiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-88398590703256941932013-01-24T11:42:00.001-06:002013-01-24T11:44:21.050-06:00Glass half-full (even if it's dirty, chipped, and cutting my lips)In an effort to not become <s>totally suicidal</s> slightly forlorn, I have decided to focus on the good things about living in an apartment.<br />
<br />
<s>All three of them.</s> Because there are many. Many, many good things.<br />
<br />
For instance, I have firmly cemented the positive habit of making my bed every day. Mostly because, if I don't, you <i>physically</i> cannot walk through my bedroom with one or two pillows on the floor. There's just not room for the bed, the pillows, and me in this tiny space. Gone are the luxuriously lazy days of not making the bed <s>at all</s> until the Husband came home at night. <br />
<br />
(You know we only make it half the time because they're going to see it and think we're lazy bums if we don't, right?)<br />
<br />
Another positive lifestyle change is the increase in efficiency in the kitchen. I can literally stand in one spot, not have to lift my feet at all, and I can load the dishwasher, put away all the clean dishes, make dinner, and clean the kitchen. Think about this. From one spot, I can reach everything in my cupboards, drawers, and stove. With all the free time this has afforded me (no more walking, hooray!), it is a wonder that I have not found the time to cure cancer.<br />
<br />
Cancer cure: Coming soon.<br />
<br />
(Note to self: Learn how to cure cancer.)<br />
<br />
A special treat that we've also recently discovered is the burst of freezing-cold water in the shower that comes if anyone so much as thinks about touching a faucet anywhere else in the apartment. It's like a wake-up call. <i>Hey, you! You in the shower, enjoying yourself and relaxing. Wake up! You've got things to do! No time for conditioning rinses! Hurry up!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> Loving that part.<br />
<br />
Also of note are the new cultures my kids are being exposed to on a daily basis. Like the next door neighbors, who seem to be home all day, every day, out on their back porch smoking <s>weed</s> hopefully just cigarettes. Teaching us, once again, that age-old lesson: Love thy neighbor anyway. (Or at least ignore them and keep your windows and doors shut tight.)<br />
<br />
My favorite thing (legitimately) is that we can clean the place, top-to-bottom in about 13 minutes. That includes toilets, vacuuming, sweeping, dusting, and pick-up. Sure, it still looks pretty crappy, what with all the piles of stuff we have no place for, but <i>it's clean</i>. And I like that.<br />
<br />
Also amazing is calling someone to come fix things and not having to pay a dime. The drawer in the bathroom broke because I filled it too full of hair and make-up products? Not my problem! Come fix it for me now! I love it. (Though I do wish the maintenance man had teeth.)<br />
<br />
But the one thing that gets me through it all is the <i>multi-thousand dollar</i> difference every month between what our mortgage was and our rent is now. Seriously. We are saving $2,000 every month by living here. Multiply that by twelve months, and five-and-a-half years of living here. (Insert me pulling out a calculator...) By my calculations, we could have had $132,000 more in our pocket had we rented instead of bought a home. <br />
<br />
I can promise you, we did not get that handed to us when we sold our house.<br />
<br />
Maybe renting isn't so bad...<br />
<br />
No, it is. It really is. And thank heavens it will end in four more months.<br />
<br />
<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-53153665117622010582013-01-23T10:09:00.000-06:002013-01-23T10:09:57.107-06:00AdaptationWhen I last left you, I was:<br />
<br />
-Selling a house<br />
-Moving out of a house<br />
-Moving into an apartment<br />
-Buying a house<br />
-Having Christmas<br />
and<br />
-Taking a vacation<br />
<br />
<i>All in the same seven-day period.</i><br />
<br />
I would not recommend it.<br />
<br />
At one point a few weeks ago, I sat down to have lunch with some friends. One of them very sweetly looked me in the eye and said, "So, how are you?"<br />
<br />
I immediately burst into tears and realized that I was NOT doing as well as I thought I was. It was an epiphany for me because I am great at pretending life is perfect when it's not.<br />
<br />
Later, on the phone with the ever-traveling Husband, I shared this epiphany with him and he hit the nail right on the tip of its pointy, stupid head.<br />
<br />
What he said in much-nicer words than this was essentially that I am like a three-year-old thrown out of my routine. And I <i>really, really</i> like my routine. I <i>need</i> my routine. <br />
<br />
I've felt a bit lost. Like the ground underneath me is unsteady, with sharp, craggy rocks under my bare feet. I've had to readjust everything. How I lived. How I cooked. How I grocery shopped. I was not sure what my new day-to-day schedule would be. How I would manage a household with two-thirds less of a house to live in. How I would get my kids to and from school, especially given the fact that two of the three had massive anxiety about riding a new bus. Where would I, quite honestly, put all of the stuff I deemed necessity, even though it doesn't fit anywhere here in the apartment? I tossed and turned with worry at night, and blinked back tears during the day. <br />
<br />
And slowly, oh, so very slowly, the hours have ticked by and I've found my tentative footing. I've made trip after trip to the Container Store, finding ways to organize our life here that is manageable for me. I've rearranged kitchen cupboards and made peace with the appliances that will sit on the counter for a few months. I've worked out the school logistics, and helped my kids manage their stress. I've even been able to fall asleep at night.<br />
<br />
I feel safely sure that when someone asks me now how I am doing, the answer will not end in tears.<br />
<br />
And that, my friends, is a pretty great place to be in.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-28221223413003136732012-12-21T17:09:00.000-06:002012-12-21T17:10:14.826-06:0012.21.12. Otherwise known as: The end of our world as we know it<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/media/10_zps8a53decb.jpg.html" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/10_zps8a53decb.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
My heart is full, my limbs exhausted, and my gratitude overflows into salty tears. <br />
<br />
This morning, we said goodbye, officially, and on paper, to our home for the last five-and-a-half years. <br />
<br />
The Husband's company had approached him in early November and asked if he wanted to open another office for them. While this would be a HUGE opportunity for him professionally, they were unsure at the time of asking as to where they wanted this office opened. We knew it would be either Dallas or Nashville, and we said yes to either one.<br />
<br />
We spoke with a realtor, who advised us to hurry and get the house ready to sell, as there were buyers out there and not a whole lot to choose from. Thinking our house would not sell before Christmas anyway, and that we'd have another chance to put it on the market in the spring, we gave it a try.<br />
<br />
Three days later, we had an offer in hand, and still no word on where we would be moving.<br />
<br />
THAT was an anxious few weeks. One filled with diet cokes and self-medication (read: lots and lots of chocolate). <br />
<br />
Finally, the word came down from the higher ups that Dallas was to be our destiny, and we began to get excited.<br />
<br />
What was not exciting, however, was going to be closing, moving, and having Christmas all in the same week.<br />
<br />
Also not exciting was saying goodbye the brand-new, beautifully remodeled basement we finished this summer.<br />
<br />
[Why? Why do things like this happen JUST when you get your house how you want it? Is it because God has a great sense or humor? Or because the universe hates me?<br />
<br />
Probably both.]<br />
<br />
In any event, I bring you a plethora of photos from the basement now being enjoyed by someone else. <br />
<br />
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<br />
Beautiful, no? Did you notice the wonderfully organized nooks and crannies in my office shelves? How perfectly everything lines up and fits in its spot? I have LOVED that office. LOVED.<br />
<br />
Like almost more than anyone else in the family, LOVED.<br />
<br />
(Calm down, Hannah. I still love you more.)<br />
<br />
I think I'd probably die of misery were it not for the excitement of the new home we have decided to build in Dallas. We JUST got word from the builder that they have accepted our offer and we are slated to have it completed in April. We will finish school here, and move down there at the end of May.<br />
<br />
So, today, on this apocalyptic end-of-the-world Mayan calendar day of doom, life has worked out pretty even-steven for us. Sell a house, buy a house. All on the same day.<br />
<br />
Which should tell you all that, indeed, the world <i>WILL</i> be ending tonight.<br />
<br />
Eh. At least we'll go out with a smile on our face.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-54611591212503660982012-11-21T18:09:00.000-06:002012-11-21T19:59:44.050-06:00Wigwam Brownies: A lesson in historical accuracyBrace yourself.<br />
<br />
I have come up with a new Thanksgiving invention that is sure to turn the world on its politically incorrect head.<br />
<br />
You see, when I, ever so insensitively, posted my <a href="http://stiesthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/thanksgiving-teepee-cupcakes-revisited.html">Tee Pee Cupcakes</a> four years ago, I did not take into account the inaccuracy of my <a href="http://stiesthoughts.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-am-but-insensitive.html" target="_blank">racially-controversial</a> table decoration. <br />
<br />
I imagined that homemakers all over America would delight in creating something for their Thanksgiving holiday that would, not only please the eye, but taste good, too. <br />
<br />
Oh, how foolish and wrong I was.<br />
<br />
I was not creating a simple holiday treat. I was promoting <i>racism</i>.<br />
<br />
Did you know that the <s>Indians</s> First Americans who helped our clueless Pilgrim friends did not live in tee pees? Did you?<br />
<br />
I didn't. And my prolonged promotion of incorrect stereotypes has probably set back the <s>Indian</s> First American movement at least another 600 years.<br />
<br />
Those poor First Americans. Stereotyped into tee pees at Thanksgiving all these years.<br />
<br />
The <i>horror</i>.<br />
<br />
Thanks to the <i>dozens</i> of people who have found the time in their no doubt <i>uber-busy</i> lives to send me lengthy emails correcting my mistake from four years ago, I have decided to correct all of you, as well. Because it's the right thing to do.<br />
<br />
Listen up, racists: The First Americans that helped the Pilgrims lived in Wigwams. Like these:<br />
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<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/library/" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/ww.jpg" /></a></div>
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NOT tee pees, like these:<br />
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So, with my historically accurate Wigwam photo and a plan, I set out this morning to create a culturally sensitive Thanksgiving decoration for you.<br />
<br />
I mixed up a pan of brownies according to the package directions and let them cool. Once they were cool enough to handle, I scooped a large blob of brownies out of the pan and shaped them into a dome shape like this with my hands:<br />
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It took about half the pan of brownies, as the brownies got very compressed when I squished and molded them. This means that you only get two Wigwams per box of brownies. And if you're eating at a Thanksgiving table of 28 like I am, this means you need roughly 14 boxes of brownies, three dozen eggs, and a pint of oil.<br />
<br />
Totally worth it. We MUST get this right, people.<br />
<br />
Once shaped and molded into the proper, accurate Wigwam shape, melt a cup of chocolate chips and pour over the Wigwam.<br />
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Crush up several oreos and sprinkle them over the melted chocolate. While the chocolate is cooling, start in on making some decorative accessories to go along with your Wigwams.<br />
<br />
I created an entire forest of Eastern Woodland pine trees, on the assumption that these trees actually existed at the time of the First Americans. Though I did not research this facet of my Thanksgiving table thoroughly, I am sure my dear, educated readers will write and correct me if I'm wrong.<br />
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I also took some tootsie rolls and starbursts to create a fake fire. It would have been more historically accurate to have a REAL fire, but I was worried about small things like, you know, the house burning down. Or my children suffering third degree burns. <br />
<br />
Trying to be true to history can be quite dangerous. But it is SO. WORTH. IT. I definitely recommend real fires on your table if you can manage.<br />
<br />
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When your Wigwam chocolate has cooled, pipe some realistic looking sticks and a door onto the Wigwam. This is harder than it sounds, as the dome shape is a tricky angle to work with, and the oreos make the chocolate crumble right off.<br />
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<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/library/" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/ww3.jpg" /></a></div>
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Once everything is assembled, it is ready to be the centerpiece of your politically correct, racially-sensitive, historically-accurate, non-offensive Thanksgiving table.<br />
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<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/library/" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/ww6.jpg" /></a></div>
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And, you know what? It looks SO MUCH BETTER than my silly, inaccurate, dumb, little tee pees.<br />
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<a href="http://s176.beta.photobucket.com/user/stiesta/library/" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/teepee.jpg" /></a></div>
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Yeah, you're welcome.<br />
<br />
P.S. Check out this month's <i>Parenting</i> magazine, page 65. But be warned, they have inadvertently featured my inaccurate, controversial tee pee cupcakes instead of my newly accurate Wigwam brownies.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-30950841957955111742012-11-08T12:33:00.004-06:002012-11-08T12:33:51.973-06:00A winner...Um, yeah. Sorry about that.<br />
<br />
Didn't mean to completely ignore my own contest or anything.<br />
<br />
Been a little bit busy around here feeling overwhelmed, stressed, excited, and manic.<br />
<br />
Life has thrown a curve ball our way and it's completely tossed everything we know upside down.<br />
<br />
I'm not ready to talk about it yet, as things are still unsettled, but I can promise you this:<br />
<br />
We are not getting divorced.<br />
No one is sick.<br />
I am <i>definitely</i> not pregnant. (But I'm pretty excited about <a href="http://groundhogdaywithceliafae.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">someone I know</a> who is.)<br />
<br />
Once things are figured out around here, a post will be forthcoming, I promise.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, the winner of my new favorite book is:<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<img alt="Blogger" class="comment-icon blogger-comment" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" style="background-image: url(http://www.blogger.com/img/cmt/comment_sprite.gif); background-position: -45px -117px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; border: 0px; height: 16px; width: 16px;" /> <span dir="ltr"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12907149043220069526" rel="nofollow" style="color: #1155cc; text-decoration: none;">Sara</a></span> said...<br />My favorite is Unbreakable...excellent read.<br />You had me at It's a Wonderful Life! That's my favorite movie.<br />October 22, 2012 4:43:00 PM CDT</blockquote>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Shoot me your address and the book will be on its way to your hot little hands.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-1805867504757806532012-10-22T12:41:00.002-05:002012-10-22T12:41:52.589-05:00A post! And a giveaway! This is your lucky day...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
A few months ago, on one of his many, many business trips, the Husband was seated in (of course) first class next to Mitch Albom.<br />
<br />
He recognized the award-winning writer immediately and they started up a conversation. The Husband mentioned to Mitch (can we call him that now? He met the Husband. They're bound to be best friends, right?) that he is a huge fan of his sports writing.<br />
<br />
He then added that his wife (me) is a huge fan of Mitch's novels.<br />
<br />
Mitch laughed, and said, "I get that a lot."<br />
<br />
About a month ago, I was looking for something new to read. I opted for <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1401322786" target="_blank">The Time Keeper</a> by (our new best friend) Mitch Albom. <br />
<br />
I started it at about eight o'clock in the evening, just as the kids were settling down for the night.<br />
<br />
I finished it by about eleven.<br />
<br />
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I vowed to share this book with everyone I know.<br />
<br />
And, late yesterday afternoon, I finished reading it aloud to my entire family.<br />
<br />
It. Is. Phenomenal.<br />
<br />
Part-fable, part-It's-a-Wonderful-Life, it is engaging and real. It takes you on a journey that makes you evaluate how you spend your time, and how you value time. It will make you want to make the most of every precious minute you have in this brief life. It reminds you that there is always hope, no matter how bleak things seem.<br />
<br />
I loved it. My family loved it.<br />
<br />
And in honor of that, I am going to give away one copy to a lucky reader. Leave me a comment telling me your favorite book. All comments will be thrown into random.org and a winner drawn on Wednesday, October 24th at 8 p.m. local time.<br />
<br />
If you don't win, buy the book anyway. It's worth every penny.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-40841520909413123102012-10-04T09:39:00.001-05:002012-10-04T09:39:51.725-05:00Hand me my slippers and housecoat. I'm going for a walk.Most days, in my happy, independent adult world, I feel pretty smart. Pretty on top of my game.<br />
<br />
I can multi-task with the best of them. I can run a household <i>and</i> a successful photography business. I pay bills, handle finances, and perform minor home repairs. I also hold down a leadership position in my church, and do a pretty dang good job of it all, <i>thankyouverymuch</i>.<br />
<br />
All while catching movies, lunching with friends, keeping my house clean, and reading a good book.<br />
<br />
Sure, sometimes we eat at the McDonalds. And maybe the laundry sits unfolded for a day here and there.<br />
<br />
Nobody's perfect.<br />
<br />
But I like to think that I do a pretty good job of it all.<br />
<br />
Until that horrible moment comes along which knocks me off my high horse with brutal humility.<br />
<br />
Last night was one of those moments.<br />
<br />
I was helping a child with homework, and quite honestly had no clue what to do.<br />
<br />
I would like to say that this child was my freshman son, who is incredibly smart.<br />
<br />
Or even my seventh grader, who is taking all challenge classes and doing so well.<br />
<br />
But no.<br />
<br />
It was the homework of the girl child in the fifth grade.<br />
<br />
The four-lettered M-A-T-H homework.<br />
<br />
I was completely dumbstruck (literally) and could not figure out how to help her. Feeling helpless, I grabbed the laptop, ran to the bathroom, pretended to be otherwise engaged, and searched frantically for a Khan Academy video that would restore my credibility and put order once again in the universe.<br />
<br />
Tragically, the little girl stood impatiently outside of the bathroom door and figured out pretty quickly that her mama ain't so good with the smarts.<br />
<br />
(Lucky for me, Chase took charge of the situation and taught us both what to do. Though, I won't lie. I've already forgotten it and will probably be unable to help her tonight.)<br />
<br />
It's unnerving. For both them and for me. The look of disillusionment in a child's eye is one that goes straight through the heart like a knife. When they realize they're smarter than you, it's all over. You might as well hand them the proverbial keys to your life, because they will forever more question your good judgement. They will second guess you on the way to the grocery store with, "Are you sure this is the right way, Mom?"<br />
<br />
You know, the store you've been driving to all your life. Or at least the last six years.<br />
<br />
Or they get frustrated and say, "Hand me the directions. I'll do it." as they hastily (and correctly) begin assembling their own bike. You suddenly become a slow-witted, delicate, old lady in their eyes who is ready for the Home. They cannot imagine you as a functioning member of society and fully expect to find you wandering the neighborhood in your slippers and housecoat. <br />
<br />
And you're not even forty yet!<br />
<br />
Am I the only one here? Tell me you are all a bunch of dummies, too.<br />
<br />
Or just lie. <br />
<br />
Either way. Pleez mayk mee feel beter about mye dum selph?!".Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-67398876939309804912012-09-28T12:57:00.002-05:002012-09-28T13:00:25.383-05:00ChangesHis broad shoulders are carrying a heavy load - both in the substantial backpack he wears, and in the burden he carries each day. I can't help but watch him and wonder -- does he see the change that is happening almost overnight? Does he feel the growth that I see each and every morning?<br />
<br />
I like mornings now. <br />
<br />
Well, maybe not mornings, but I really like the time I get to spend with him. Just he and I. We have already created several inside jokes, and we laugh about them while the rest of the world is still dreaming. The house is quiet. The others, asleep. <br />
<br />
As we drive through dark streets to his six a.m. religion class, I try not to notice the puffiness around his eyes, or the weariness on his face. The mama in me worries, wondering how in the world he'll ever sustain this pace of 13-hour days. But then he smiles, lights up, and tells me all about his upcoming day. He has taken the pressure, exhaustion, and work load and chosen instead to see them as a routine that he enjoys. A challenge. He drives himself to do better, to run faster, to study more.<br />
<br />
I tear up, wondering just when exactly my little boy decided it was okay to cease being just that. I turn from him and wipe the tears, not wanting him to see me mourn for what once was. Truthfully? I'm prouder than I could have ever imagined I'd feel at this moment. And I wouldn't have him any other way. <br />
<br />
But there is a part of me that will always miss his chubby hands and toothless grin. His Lego days, superman capes, and endless rounds of <i>Goodnight Moon</i>. Skinned boy knees, all curled up in my lap. Soft arms around my neck, and whispered I love yous every night at his bedside.<br />
<br />
He's grown up seemingly almost overnight. Right before my eyes, and quite without my permission. Nobody warned me that this would happen in high school. Nobody said that he would rise to the task, take on responsibility and seriousness with the ease of slipping into a new shirt. I expected it to be harder, more fraught with emotion, and requiring the inevitable pain that growth produces.<br />
<br />
Instead, he's taken life by the horns, and done so with more grace and charm than his mother has known in a lifetime.<br />
<br />
I'm so proud of you, Mack.<br />
<br />
I can almost forgive you for destroying the drapes <a href="http://stiesthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-most-embarrassing-moment.html" target="_blank">in that one old house</a>.<br />
<br />
Almost. But not quite.<br />
<br />
<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-67624761312438347102012-09-26T08:57:00.001-05:002012-09-26T08:57:23.230-05:00And this concludes the longest vacation recap in history...<br />
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Well, over a month after it began, the recap is finally complete.<br />
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We rounded out our journey in Merry Old England (or Dingland, if you're in our family). When we were planning this trip last December, we had hopes to spend a few days in London. We searched high and low for a hotel room and couldn't find one to save our lives. Scratching our heads as to why all of London was booked solid, the Husband hit the nail on the head.<br />
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The Olympics.<br />
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Yep, we were hitting England smack dab in the middle of the Olympic Games. It made our decision easy. We would avoid London like the plague, and instead spend our time north in York.<br />
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Which was a treat because when the Husband was 14 years old, he moved there with his whole family while Opa got a master's degree at York University.<br />
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We were able to see the school he went to, walk to his favorite place for Fish & Chips, as well as see the house they all lived in. The current owners happened to be home, and were thrilled to give us a top-to-bottom tour. The house had been remodeled extensively, so it looked a lot better than when the family lived there 25 years ago. <br />
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Other highlights included:<br />
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* Touring the York Minster with Opa, who helped work to restore it after a fire in the 80s.<br />
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* Watching the Husband get roped into helping a street performer. He threw real knives to this nut who was up on a unicycle, juggling blindfolded. Luckily, no one lost any limbs, and none of my children have as yet started juggling knives blindfolded on a unicycle. Bonus.<br />
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* Walking the ancient wall around the city of York. Originally built in 71 AD. You can imagine Chase's commentary. <br />
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*Shopping in the Shambles and wishing desperately I could move here.<br />
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* High tea at Betty's. Why can't we get clotted cream here in the states? Delish.<br />
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* Going to church in the old ward and being treated like rock stars because everyone still remembered the Husband, his family, and the impact they made while there.<br />
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* Rounding out a four-country whirlwind tour with the best tour guides anyone has ever known.<br />
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It was a fantastic trip with fantastic people, and I'm so grateful we had the opportunity to go.<br />
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And, if you're still reading after all these posts, and you're not one of the people who were on this trip, you deserve a medal. Phew.<br />
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The End.<br />
<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-32607410059302881382012-09-11T18:27:00.001-05:002012-09-11T18:27:34.942-05:00Deaf and DumpOur next foray into the Never Ending European Vacation Recap takes us from Salzburg via train to Munich, Germany.<br />
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As soon as we sat down on the train, we were handed a card that looked like this:<br />
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Sadly, I wanted to correct her poor English grammar more than I wanted to buy a key ring at whatever price I might wish. <br />
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Poor thing. <br />
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But to sum up our time there, I would say Germany for us consisted of these three things:<br />
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Castles.<br />
BMWs.<br />
Suit Buying.<br />
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Hannah, Oma, and I headed out early one morning to meet a bus tour that took us to Linderhof, Oberammergau, and Neuschwanstein.<br />
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All three were absolute perfection. We debated going, as it was a good two hour bus or train ride from where we were staying in Munich, but I'm so glad we went. It was fascinating. Beautiful. Breathtaking. (And a little bit hot.) Even with the tour guide who reminded us over and over like pre-schoolers to "<i>Not miss da bas</i>," we had the best day ever.<br />
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The boys, meanwhile, spent their time touring the BMW factory. While the Husband withstood temptation to bring home a large, blue souvenir, he did assure me that "someday" he will. Apparently, the folks at the BMW make it a pretty sweet deal to buy your own car, pick it up at the factory, drive it all over Europe, and ship it home. I'm pretty much okay with that because it means I get another trip over here.<br />
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By which time, I hope not to be deaf or dump.<br />
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Most unexpected of our time in Germany was buying the Husband a suit. After our departure from home, an unplanned business meeting popped up that he had to get home for. It required him to leave us a day early, but left him no time to stop in St. Louis and pick up his clothes. Kudos to the fine folks at our German department store who got that puppy altered and ready in the nick of time.<br />
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(Literally. We were waiting with luggage in hand to take a train and board our flight to Manchester just as they were finishing up.)<br />
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Munich was a bustling, beautiful city and we were sorry to bid her adieu.<br />
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Stay tuned for one last post where I bring us full circle to Merry Ol' England.<br />
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It will end. I promise.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-47466101596819784562012-08-27T20:32:00.001-05:002012-08-27T20:36:48.314-05:00Kill the Poor! Or maybe something along those lines?<div style="text-align: center;">
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When I last left you, our little family was roaming around Europe wearing nothing but some old drapes.<br />
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Well, maybe not old drapes.<br />
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But we definitely were doing some roaming.<br />
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It was with sorrow that we said goodbye to Switzerland, and joy that we found ourselves in Salzburg. Where, sadly for those traveling with me, I found occasion to use every Sound of Music quote in my repertoire. My <i>vast</i> repertoire. Like. I have confidence in sunshine! I have confidence in rain! <br />
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(I did, however, think Chase's umbrella might not have instilled a lot of confidence.)<br />
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(Are you tired of the Sound of Music references yet?)<br />
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(So is the city of Salzburg, I'm sure.)<br />
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Highlights included:<br />
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* The Frauline Maria Bike Tour. Highly recommend it if ever you're in Salzburg. You ride all through the city and countryside, taking in the historic Salzburg sites, as well as the filming locations for the Sound of Music. It's nearly impossible to resist singing the ever-familiar tunes whilst careening past the spots that Julie Andrews made famous. Even the Husband gave in to temptation and muttered a line or two against his will. It was fantastic. <br />
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* Seeing the places where Oma and Opa fell in love when they were young. Though I'm sure the boys found it less romantic than the girls, it was thrilling to see the places firsthand that we've heard about for years. I reminded our kids that this city is part of their story, too. Then <i>and</i> now. It's pretty cool to see it come full circle. <br />
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* My boys in mullet hats. I'm still kicking myself for not buying them. They pretty much rocked.<br />
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* Die Festung (or The Fortress). Fantastic view, from bottom to top. Though the eight pounds of sweat dripping off me after hiking up the hillside to get there made me sort of wish I had taken the train instead. Note to self: LISTEN TO OMA. <br />
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* The Salt Mines. Very fun, and probably informative. Unfortunately, our English translator headsets only worked half the time, so we got a lot of the information in German. Which was pretty much useless to most of us. Except to the Husband, who <s>speaks 20 languages because he is secretly a spy in the CIA</s> has a knack for picking up foreign languages. Weird and uncanny.<br />
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* The Eagle's Nest. Hitler's birthday present from the Nazi Party. Spectacular, chilling, and unbelievably high up. Favorite part for me: The history lesson at the top from our resident historian.<br />
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* Staying at the Weisse Taube Hotel and playing cards in the lobby until after midnight because our rooms were too small. <br />
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*Also at the Weisse Taube: No air conditioning (eek!) or screens on the windows in our room on the third floor. I about had a heart attack every time one of my children poked their heads out to see the sights. Which was about every eight seconds. We were probably in greater danger of me dying from worry than from them actually falling out. But still. The mama in me cannot be contained.<br />
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* Doing laundry in a shop run by the ONE person we ran into over the two weeks who spoke no English. Thankfully, it had been enough days of German immersion that I could tell her we were doing <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px;">ΓΌ</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px;">nf</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px; font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px;">loads. (That's five for you non-Deutsch speakers) <strike>like me</strike>. Know what also helped? The fact that both my boys have taken German at school and kept counting with me like I was a pre-schooler. </span><br />
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* And though it is slightly horrid, I laughed hysterically when I saw this sticker on a street in Salzburg. I have no idea if it means what I think it means, but it made me laugh:</span><br />
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* One of my favorite Salzburg encounters came at Die Festung. I was admiring the spectacular view and taking more than my share of photos. Next to me, a man and his wife noticed my camera, and asked if I would take a look at theirs. It was locked up and they were unable to take any photos. I fiddled with it for a few minutes, and could not figure out how to get it working for them. He shrugged his shoulders, reached down into his camera bag and pulled out this beauty, full of film, and ready to go:<br />
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We shared a laugh at the wonders of modern technology. His new, high-end digital camera was useless to him; yet this old film camera from the 1940s was still in tip-top shape. He snapped a photo of the city and we prepared to part ways. I asked to look at his camera one last time. The photographer in me could not let him miss what was truly a once-in-a-lifetime shot.<br />
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And wonder of wonders, it worked!<br />
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I was so happy to have helped him, but I loved his old film camera. I told him I have several like it on a shelf at home. He told me to bring them along next time in case the new camera stops working.<br />
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Wise words.<br />
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All in all, Salzburg was fantastic. Would that I had months to spend there instead of days. I love the dirndls, the food, the architecture, and the charm that hangs on every street corner. Heaven.<br />
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Stay tuned: Wienerschnitzel ten meals in a row and a piece of the Husband's childhood. Lots more to come.<br />
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Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-39017764356424912062012-08-20T17:51:00.001-05:002012-08-20T18:53:03.124-05:00For the posterityI am asking your forgiveness in advance. The next several posts here are going to be a recap of our vacation to Europe.<br />
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I know. It's like I sort of invited you over for dinner, and then pulled out a nine-hour slide show of my vacation. I can't imagine anything worse. For you OR for me.<br />
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But it was truly the trip of a lifetime and begs to be documented. Check back in two weeks. I should be done by then.<br />
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I hope.<br />
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Also? If you follow me on Instagram (@clhalverson), it's like you get to relive my vacation TWICE.<br />
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My apologies.<br />
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So. The trip began with a flight to La Guardia Airport in NYC. This resulted in Hannah's dream of taking a taxi coming true. Which, coincidentally, was my worst nightmare brought to life. Due to the fact that we booked this trip on frequent flier miles, and they never make it easy on you, we had to take a cab to JFK for our flight to Zurich. We were a little delayed arriving at La Guardia, so it was going to be a tight connection. I was DYING at the thought we might not make it in time. And then when we hit NYC traffic? I about got out and started running several times.<br />
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Fortunately (or unfortunately), our flight was delayed out of JFK and we had HOURS to spare once we got there. Blech.<br />
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Fast forward about 12 hours (hooray!), and we arrived in Zurich. Where we met up with our favorite <a href="http://www.travelinoma.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Oma and Opa</a>, and took a train to Lucerne.<br />
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This photo pretty much sums up how that first day of jet lag felt for all of us:<br />
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Exhaustion beyond belief. Every joint and bone just aches and begs to have sleep. But how can you complain when you are walking around a city that looks like this?<br />
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(I love the look we are getting from the old man on the right. Yes, we're idiot tourists. Deal with it.)<br />
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After a good meal, where Opa translated the German for us all, we took a boat ride out on Lake Lucerne. Anything to try and stay awake without having to walk around. It was stunning, I tell you. Absolutely stunning. <br />
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The next morning, we took the cog train up to the top of the Jungfrau. I think this view speaks for itself, though I could wax on about it for hours. Probably one of the most beautiful places on this planet. The photos just don't do it justice.<br />
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Along the way, we met up with one of my BFFs, Jennifer, her husband, Mike, and their three ridiculously adorable puppies. They are living in France for a few years, and kindly drove several hours to meet up with us. Clearly, Hannah was in puppy heaven:<br />
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As was I to get to see these faces again:<br />
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And, as we display class wherever we go, the boys promptly stripped down to their bare skin at the top of the Jungfrau. Why? I'm still not sure. I'm guessing it was because they can. <br />
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Boys.<br />
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Plus, I was wearing the ever-appropriate flip flops on top of a glacier. Were the view not so breathtaking, I might have noticed the frostbite sooner.<br />
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Ah well. There are worse problems to have, I suppose. I mean, what if I had been wearing my diamond shoes? Oh, the horror.<br />
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I could go on and on, but I'm going to let these last two photos speak for themselves.<br />
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Switzerland is breathtaking, and there is nothing like it anywhere in the world. Not pictured (because I couldn't bear the thought of going) was when Josh and the boys parasailed off the top of the Schilthorn. Yes, they strapped themselves in to a parachute and just started running off a cliff. As you do.<br />
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Not illogical at all.<br />
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And then, if that wasn't enough manventure for one trip, they took the tram back up and HIKED down from the top of the Schilthorn to Lauterbrunnen. <br />
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Insanity.<br />
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We also visited Ballenburg and Brienz. If you go to Switzerland, I highly recommend stopping at both places. Spectacular.<br />
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Stay tuned for Salzburg, Munich, and York. <br />
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And try not to gouge your eyeballs out in the process.<br />
<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-56292477373209095132012-08-14T17:13:00.000-05:002012-08-14T17:13:12.225-05:005-7-9<div style="text-align: center;">
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Today, my newborn baby boy started high school. It's a little hard to imagine how he is getting from class to class, what with his being like FOUR DAYS OLD and all. But maybe someone gave him a piggy back ride? Helped him open his locker with his tiny, peeling, newborn fists?<br />
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I do hope so.<br />
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Because I'm sort of a wreck just thinking about it.<br />
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All day long, I've been chomping at the bit, anxiously awaiting his arrival home.<br />
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And, thanks to the cross country practice, he won't get here until dinner time.<br />
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By which point, I expect he's grown a full beard, has a job, and four kids of his own.<br />
<br />
Don't mock. It feels about that long since he WAS a newborn. They always told me it would go so fast. When I had three kids under age four, I fervently hoped it was true with every fiber of my being. The days were endless, and the nights - anything but restful. It was one long sleep-deprived millennia, dotted here and there with moments that made it all worth while. <br />
<br />
Like when they were all asleep at the same time.<br />
<br />
But now that they're fun, interesting, and like the same movies as me? I'd sort of like time to just stand still for a moment. To freeze the laughter that fills the air like a thick fog when we watch Seinfeld re-runs together. To remember their sharp wit, and bottle up the occasional hugs from their long, gangly bodies. To hold on to them for <i>just</i> a little longer.<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
The other two were much more nonchalant as they headed out the door this morning. <br />
<br />
The middle child is smack dab in the middle of his middle school career. He knows the ropes, he has his friends, and it's all not nearly as exciting as the 900 hours he taped for Shark Week.<br />
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But, man, do I love him something fierce.<br />
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And my baby girl. Starting what will be our final year of elementary school. She is as dramatic as she always has been. What with the ASSIGNED SEATS AT LUNCH, UGH. And actual HOMEWORK required of her. But still. I forgive her for growing up because she flies into my arms with a choking squeeze as soon as she gets off the bus. Never knowing which one of us really needs that touch more.<br />
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I think it's going to be all right.<br />
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Plus? We're now one day closer to summer vacation next year.<br />
<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-73818541774004554962012-08-12T09:52:00.000-05:002012-08-12T09:52:43.791-05:00Home<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
Well, hello there.<br />
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I only have a few minutes to slap a few photos up here, but I cannot let another day pass by before doing so.</div>
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We just returned from a ridiculously lovely European vacation.</div>
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We visited four countries - Switzerland, Germany, Austria, and England. It was as heavenly as you might imagine it to be.<br />
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Made more so because we had the good fortune to go with these people:<br />
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We came home jet lagged, exhausted, well-fed, and happy. It's been a bit of a mad dash this week because we had house guests coming, a wedding to attend, two photo shoots for me, and the kids start school on Tuesday.<br />
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Eek.<br />
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Lots more coming, I promise.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-43318293861794900192012-07-11T17:01:00.000-05:002012-07-11T17:02:08.980-05:00One for the grandparentsFor the past several months, Chase and Hannah have been running their little hearts out. They have participated in a local kids' track club, as well as, supplemented with weekly personal coaching from a pro. Day by day, they have slowly been scraping time from their mile run.<br />
<br />
The biggest event of the year for their track club is the <a href="http://stiesthoughts.blogspot.com/2011/06/one-where-we-brag-for-grandparents.html" target="_blank">Festival of Miles</a> (which they ran in last year, too). It's a charity event which features a mile run for the kids, and a variety of races that elite athletes come from all over the world to compete in. It's an absolute blast. My favorite event of the night is the elite men's mile run that is finished in less than four minutes. It's surreal to watch. These finely-tuned athletes are machines.<br />
<br />
With pressure from Chase, McKay even decided to enter the race (though he had trained not at all and was hardly looking forward to it). <br />
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The day of the big race found Chase running a fever and sick in bed. It was tragic.<br />
<br />
But with the other two registered and committed, we were still in.<br />
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McKay ran the mile that night in 6:35, which is pretty darn impressive considering he had not trained much at all. Hannah finished in 7:59, which was a new PR for her. <br />
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Chase laid in bed at home with a broken heart.<br />
<br />
So, to make it up to him, we decided to host our own mile-run at the high school track.<br />
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Mindy, our fabulously expert private track coach, set each kid up with time goals for every loop around the track. Chase was aiming for a time of 6:28, well below his PR of 6:55.<br />
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And they were off! Mindy ran it with them to help keep them motivated.<br />
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I did my motivating from a bench at the finish line. You know, because I didn't want to intimidate the children with my speed and all. <br />
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Yeah, that's it.<br />
<br />
Oh shut up.<br />
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And here is Chase, crossing the finish line in SIX-TWENTY!! A whole eight seconds faster than his goal, and a new PR for him, as well. Props to Nick for playing Rabbit and helping keep the pace.<br />
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Hannah was a trooper, too. She finished strong at 7:50. Four seconds faster than her own PR.<br />
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And the entire crew after the race:<br />
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It has been so great to see the kids work on something, learn discipline, and see results for their efforts. This mama tiger is hugely proud.<br />
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You know. From the finish line. With her donut and diet coke in hand. Go team!Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-38493959583104796582012-06-27T14:39:00.000-05:002012-06-27T14:39:17.487-05:00What I've been up to<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=Photoon6-27-12at220PM4.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="425" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/Photoon6-27-12at220PM4.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I write this post carefully with fingers that ache to the core. Sitting on my rear end, I feel the tugs and pulls of muscles that hurt in all directions. I hold my head up with a stiff neck that feels permanently kinked.<br />
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I also write it with paint covering every last inch of my skin.<br />
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I have spent the last two days holed up in what feels like a dungeon. Painting, priming, and then priming some more.<br />
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I am anticipating finishing today's tasks in a mere eight hours, as opposed to the 12-13 hours I have been putting in every day this week.<br />
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I'm slightly giddy with excitement at the possibility of finishing soon.<br />
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And by soon, I do mean in three more back-breaking, brutal days.<br />
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I have cursed mentally (and out loudedly) at the foolish notion that I could do this. That I, a single, solitary person, could paint and prime an entire brand-new 1,500 square-foot basement all by myself. <br />
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Yesterday morning, in a puddle of tears, I called in the cavalry and begged the help of my friends' teenage daughters with the promise of cash. <br />
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They came and I cried a puddle of grateful tears.<br />
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My friend Mindy joined me for several hours, as well. For which I can never repay her enough.<br />
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What I have learned is this:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Don't be afraid to ask for help. Most especially when you offer to pay said help. The masses will come and your load will feel more manageable.</li>
<li>Painting all day definitely makes it easy to stay out of the kitchen, resulting in a 3 pound weight loss over a two-day period. Painful, but I'll take it.</li>
<li>The Husband's sincere and heartfelt awe over your mad hard working skills will make it slightly less easy to hate him while he's traveling and dining at fine restaurants.</li>
<li>Clarifying shampoo does not still remove all the paint from your hair.</li>
<li>Primer is of the devil.</li>
</ul>
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If I don't make it out alive, make sure my funeral is held in that blasted basement and that a good portion of the service is devoted to staring with gratitude and reverence at the ceiling. I painted that bad boy all by myself.</div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-317598083656129062012-06-14T13:08:00.001-05:002012-06-14T13:10:14.384-05:00The sin of gluttony is a bad oneLast night, we got a rare treat with the Husband actually being in town. We were sitting in the back yard together, relaxing, catching up, and more than a few of us were craving something sweet.<br />
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The Husband said he had an idea for a fabulous dessert and ordered all of us in the car.<br />
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He refused to tell anyone where we were going, even me, and the suspense in the car was palpable. We threw out possible guesses and named several ice cream parlors, bakeries, and restaurants along the way. <br />
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With each passing mile, our mouths just salivated. I expected at any moment for us to pull up to a new, untried place, and was giddy with excitement.<br />
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Not to mention, by this time, extremely hungry.<br />
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Imagine my <strike>horror</strike> surprise when we pull into the parking lot of Burger King.<br />
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I half expected him to yell "Gotcha!" as we pulled back out again and headed to our real destination.<br />
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Sadly, that WAS our destination.<br />
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Shock turned to annoyance as I said, "Burger King? What. the. eff?"<br />
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Annoyance turned to disgust when he told me what he wanted to order from there.<br />
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Internet, I give you the worst dessert in the history of mankind:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=bk-bacon-sundae-1.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/bk-bacon-sundae-1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">image <a href="http://eater.com/archives/2012/04/10/burger-king-is-testing-a-bacon-sundae.php">via</a></span></div>On principle alone, I refused to try it. Even when the gluttonous sounds of pleasure emanated all around me, I did not give in. There are just some things that should not meet. Some worlds that should never collide. I might eat my weight in cookie dough, but I certainly never do it with cured salty meat in the batter.<br />
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I do have <i>some</i> class.<br />
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And I will never know what possessed the people at BK headquarters to combine ice cream and bacon.<br />
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Probably the same mental illness that possessed my Husband to drive 20 minutes to buy it.<br />
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<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-72630869043648914302012-06-07T10:34:00.000-05:002012-06-07T10:34:09.560-05:00Celebrating the important holidays<div style="text-align: center;">
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Yesterday was a big day.<br />
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In case you didn't know, it marked its 68th year. <br />
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Around here, this holiday is probably second only to Christmas for one of my children.<br />
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Still clueless? <br />
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Then you must be new around here. <br />
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You see, every year, on June 6th, we celebrate the allied invasion at Normandy during World War II. Otherwise known as D-Day. Or Operation Neptune. Or Operation Overlord.<br />
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I know all these things, you see, because he tells me. Every year. <br />
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Whatever you call the day, it's a big deal in the heart of my boy. <br />
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First thing out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, his face is in mine, as he wishes me a Happy D-Day. He then proceeds to follow me around the house, sharing time lines and details from that morning long ago. He doesn't just find it interesting; he breathes it in his soul. His passion spills over to the rest of us, and we can't help but get caught up in it, too. <br />
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(Though, for his brother and sister, I suspect a lot of the enthusiasm comes from the annual cake that Chase makes to celebrate.)<br />
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This year, it was a tank, made up and created entirely by Chase.<br />
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So, fallen brothers at Normandy, let your souls be at peace. All the way across the pond, in a little suburb of St. Louis, a 12-year-old boy remembers your sacrifice.<br />
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And makes sure that none of us forget it either. <br />
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<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=DDAY1.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/DDAY1.jpg" /></a><br />
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I think it's pretty freaking awesome.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-87230631131693900352012-05-22T15:36:00.000-05:002012-05-22T15:36:28.788-05:00The Va-Jay-Jay CheerleaderNote to any men, male relatives, or easily offended readers of this blog: The following paragraphs will contain references to lady bits, va-jay-jay's, and other mysteries of the deep. Please feel free to hunt off elsewhere for something to read.<br />
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For the remaining eight readers, let's discuss OB/GYNs.<br />
<br />
I have been going to my current one for about four years. Originally, I had seen someone else, but she no longer became an option on my insurance, and her practice offered up my current physician as a replacement.<br />
<br />
After baring my lady bits to the world not once, not twice, but THREE times with the birth of my children, I stopped really caring too much about who takes a peek at my hoo-ha. All I really need out of a GYN is a cervix swab and the daily prescription that keeps me from single-handedly maintaining the profits at Tampax, so honestly, one pair of hands is just like the other.<br />
<br />
I should say, one speculum is just like any other.<br />
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Cue my introduction to the current lady bits inspector.<br />
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The first time I met her, I waited for the real doctor to come in and wondered if she was a high school student interning for the day with the nurses.<br />
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I'm not kidding. She seriously looks like she is 15. She is perky, chipper, and annoyingly adorable. She could easily pass for a high school cheerleader, and at any moment, I half expected her to lead the room in a cheer for my excellent va-jay-jay.<br />
<br />
But instead, she hiked up her shirt sleeves, slapped on the rubber gloves, and went deep into female territory.<br />
<br />
Through the always-pleasant cervix swabbing conversation, I learned that she was only a year into her practice.<br />
<br />
By my calculations, that would make her roughly the same age as my children.<br />
<br />
Okay. Maybe I exaggerate.<br />
<br />
But only slightly.<br />
<br />
It is a little disconcerting to start being older than the doctors that are taking care of you. You expect wisdom to come with age, and assume that you automatically know more than everybody else who is younger.<br />
<br />
You don't feel any older, yet almost overnight you become a woman with grey hair, wrinkles, and cobwebs on your uterus - all while kids that were born while you were in middle school suddenly are licensed physicians patting your hand and mumbling, <i>There, there</i>.<br />
<br />
It's the stupid circle of life.<br />
<br />
And next week, when I'm sitting in the stirrups, clapping along to the chants of, "Go! Vagina, Go!" I will take comfort with this one thought: I might be getting old, but the only hoo-ha I spend any time with on a daily basis is my own.<br />
<br />
I can't say the same for the va-jay-jay cheerleader.<br />
<br />
<br />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272160714315459088.post-63013032682203580172012-05-21T14:39:00.000-05:002012-05-21T14:39:56.368-05:00You could set your watch by it<br />
It's not the warm, muggy weather that is starting to creep in and make you sweat all over.<br />
<br />
It's not the lack of homework or plethora of school functions four out of the five nights per week.<br />
<br />
It's not even the sudden urge to stop eating and drop 40 pounds because OH MY GOSH it's time to get into a swimsuit.<br />
<br />
Though that is a serious problem.<br />
<br />
How do you know that summer is almost here? These fabulous hair cuts, that's how.<br />
<br />
Six years running, people. That is a lot of hair history.<br />
<br />
I give you the Mohawk Brothers of 2012.<br />
<br />
Before:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk1.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk1.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk2.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk2.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
And after:</div>
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk5.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk5.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk6.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk6.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk3.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk3.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk4.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk4.jpg" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was hoping to find an explanation for behavior like this, but sadly, I don't think we can blame it on the mohawks. I think we can blame it on the fact that they are boys.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And boys will always be boys.</div>
<br />
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk7.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk7.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/?action=view&current=mwk8.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w193/stiesta/mwk8.jpg" /></a><br />
<br /></div>
Welcome back, summer. It's good to see you, old friend.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05769700320834756050noreply@blogger.com6