tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54507321974397131852024-03-08T01:14:13.643-08:00The MomshellThe MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-24136409280056176042023-05-15T11:54:00.002-07:002023-05-15T11:57:19.110-07:00The Best Mom in the World<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnS-TEvfFt7iOhgsYKMVNkIcBNRmKH_psuO2g1PW1rUKsee52wesEeF1sFMYPXtQyQ3w4Uq9Kp9gmSvYSmVee4O0oVLNIbRoUhPYraXRuebtz_-yG6Ln1o5hMWBYLij6CW2jkJ5On-7Pg0cZzJuDmp8BqHGBULKBIE3SMWkd_moeF-c0RbCHDqjBfn2w/s1611/20230514_003916.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1611" data-original-width="1534" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnS-TEvfFt7iOhgsYKMVNkIcBNRmKH_psuO2g1PW1rUKsee52wesEeF1sFMYPXtQyQ3w4Uq9Kp9gmSvYSmVee4O0oVLNIbRoUhPYraXRuebtz_-yG6Ln1o5hMWBYLij6CW2jkJ5On-7Pg0cZzJuDmp8BqHGBULKBIE3SMWkd_moeF-c0RbCHDqjBfn2w/s320/20230514_003916.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> This morning I woke up with a pounding headache. I have never been a drinker but I rubbed my forehead firmly as I considered that this must be what a hangover feels like after a night of partying hard. As I willed myself out from under the covers at almost noon, surmising that my strategy to stay in bed was not helping cure the headache, I resolved to tidy things up after last nights celebration. I started with the gifts I had received from my children and grandchildren, carefully crafted works of art and well thought out gifts that made me realize that they study my peculiarities as I do theirs. I reread their words of praise and love that last night I could only acknowledge momentarily as 15 sets of eyes and 15 loving yet loud mouths swirled around me like a cacophonous twister. I hung up the suncatcher cards with their words of "I love you so so much". I placed the card with rainbows and unicorns that stated, "You are the Best!" onto the refrigerator. I put fresh apples in the wooden bowl carefully carved and hand rubbed with walnut oil, my favorite wood oil scent from my son and thought about the Tuesday nights spent in his workshop while he patiently taught me how to use the lathe to turn a bowl. I watered the succulent (the only plant that has the strength to stay alive in my care) in the ceramic planter with each of my grandchildren's name etched on the side. I reread the card from written with tender words of admiration written from first born, my test pilot and her husband, my first in-law and test pilot. I taped together from my youngest the 16 strips of paper with 16 things she loves about me that flew out of a piƱata because she knows I love an activity that includes fun for the kids and candy. I spent some time just admiring all of the love and thought that went into their gifts. They all tell me that I am the BEST mother. Yet on Facebook I looked at all the posts of others mothers and sons and daughters proclaiming their mothers the BEST. What?? How could that be? In this crazy contentious world you can hardly get anyone to agree on the best of anything yet here are post after post of children claiming their moms are the BEST. I think every mother might agree on one thing when words of praise are being heaped upon us each year on this special day. We didn't always feel like the BEST. There were many days that we went to sleep thinking that we were not cut out for this job or for any accolades in the future. There were moments in our days were we wondered if our children would grow up remembering every time we yelled or stuck our foot in our mouth and said something we didn't mean to. Or days were we didn't know what to say, days when we pasted a fake smile on our face and said that everything would be okay when we had no idea of anything but the feeling of rising panic. Or just the overwhelming monotony of the wash, rinse, and repeat of motherhood.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I remember with my firstborn feeling like I was not the BEST mother for her. That I was often short and impatient with her. That I was too selfish with my own needs. That she would know that the adjustment of giving up parts of myself for her needs was written all over my face. I thought on some of those days that she would grow up to be an adult that tolerated me and reminded me of my faults and shortcomings and I would just have to nod my head and accept my fate.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I won't post the words written on her card yesterday but they are beautiful. As is the bowl holding my apples and my memories of Tuesday nights. Or the 16 things that made tears come to my eyes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">SO for the official record let me just say that I may not be the BEST mother in the world but I know this one truth....I was the BEST mother I could be for them. I tried my BEST however imperfectly and the BEST part of it all is that is enough.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Happy Day after Mothers Day to the Best of the Best out there. You do deserve it.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uIezjulcWr6azWFDAJNEZ7scz0z0GDtZudpSYLkzztLNsCAKZ0gG_-SbPSRmBhccRw1MDwb0mcPf5oWahgNulNahC4sLpo0Ul7OFFS8gwHLWXvzTMCvaZtNVNTWS9jr1xzCmH71C0g2v3ZyCH-VUxdf76HkckkDXFEGaYQGz1fVpO3X_2tkRKS3U3g/s3648/20230514_191912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uIezjulcWr6azWFDAJNEZ7scz0z0GDtZudpSYLkzztLNsCAKZ0gG_-SbPSRmBhccRw1MDwb0mcPf5oWahgNulNahC4sLpo0Ul7OFFS8gwHLWXvzTMCvaZtNVNTWS9jr1xzCmH71C0g2v3ZyCH-VUxdf76HkckkDXFEGaYQGz1fVpO3X_2tkRKS3U3g/s320/20230514_191912.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RH9TvSA2U_pz5g33OS03pSH8xGZZVvfkBflWg4Gk2gMF3hmzAgs3iqdAqygCHaSY7A_vqSBqd1uUPJleaLMRaOWk66C6g3mcf_V8t_KN_4jbs0BYJ7fm8I-h8y0k9rX7A_DFDY5Gg8LJZwIDaWV6M5XL8bgJrEuV9oJS22PqYl-biuLhTCZDWiM1Nw/s3648/20230514_191932.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RH9TvSA2U_pz5g33OS03pSH8xGZZVvfkBflWg4Gk2gMF3hmzAgs3iqdAqygCHaSY7A_vqSBqd1uUPJleaLMRaOWk66C6g3mcf_V8t_KN_4jbs0BYJ7fm8I-h8y0k9rX7A_DFDY5Gg8LJZwIDaWV6M5XL8bgJrEuV9oJS22PqYl-biuLhTCZDWiM1Nw/s320/20230514_191932.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_6N_aPCjQLvWlz9sMJ8mT0mrS4S5Tl8jMUKLhQkZ3RyDuNdi0Yoa7sM4y1cefRy22WH2-wjNdSKVm1F4ifvdoTPSPM6QLsK_ezUE2VPbgNpjoU4B6KPh2M2kgXucIKhh5cXermsu1vPn0Yvkmvj2e1bYXHGjD_mNaYAEosepp36Agqgl5766qJQ38w/s3648/20230514_191754.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_6N_aPCjQLvWlz9sMJ8mT0mrS4S5Tl8jMUKLhQkZ3RyDuNdi0Yoa7sM4y1cefRy22WH2-wjNdSKVm1F4ifvdoTPSPM6QLsK_ezUE2VPbgNpjoU4B6KPh2M2kgXucIKhh5cXermsu1vPn0Yvkmvj2e1bYXHGjD_mNaYAEosepp36Agqgl5766qJQ38w/s320/20230514_191754.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-60546037471143084332017-03-02T22:21:00.001-08:002017-03-02T22:21:16.132-08:00Winnng the Lottery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Sk4ysLWrf0/WLkC-PVC61I/AAAAAAABfFM/bN3J0MaLPE8KxDH4uv2zF6mt8c9xbvh3wCLcB/s1600/_DSC1287.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Sk4ysLWrf0/WLkC-PVC61I/AAAAAAABfFM/bN3J0MaLPE8KxDH4uv2zF6mt8c9xbvh3wCLcB/s640/_DSC1287.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
His drivers license says he was born on March 2.<br />
His birth certificate says he was born on March 3.<br />
So I am splitting the difference and writing this at almost midnight.<br />
The first time I ever laid eyes on him (other than the facebook stalking and investigating) was during a pretty difficult time in my life. It had been a rough summer for the Winn family. It had been a personally emotionally difficult time. My Megan had been through one of the toughest experiences to date and was starting a new chapter in her life. She had told me about this guy named Dave. She told me about what an amazing friend he was. She told me that he was so much fun. That he liked to laugh and tease and he had an amazing ability to make anyone in the room feel special. She told me that he was kind to everyone. He went out of his way to talk to the person in the room that seemed alone and needed friendship. She told me that he was so good looking and he had an amazing smile and an infectious giggle. She said that he unfortunately was only going to be in Provo for that semester and then he was moving to Florida. I could tell that she was impressed and excited about this young man but was being careful to not get hurt. She had actually initially met him when she saw the word "Guatemala" splashed across his back. "Guatemala" was a word that had taken on new meaning in our family. Jack had received a mission call to Guatemala and to say that my anxiety was at an all time high was an understatement.<br />
It was two days before Jack reported to the MTC that I met him. Probably not the best time to meet someone who is potentially interested in your daughter but it was what it was. Megan vacillated between her excitement to introduce him to us and her fears of being hurt. Add that to us all saying one of the sloppiest hardest goodbyes to her brother ( the Winns are horrible with goodbyes) and you can see what an electrically charged time it was. We were sitting at Kneaders, Jacks favorite place to eat. Megan had invited Dave to eat with us but was unsure if his schedule would permit or if he even wanted to meet us. After all it's a scary thing to say to a guy you hardly know...Hey would you like to meet my parents? It looked as if he was going to be a no show. Megan and I were sitting on a little couch pushed up to the table and she lay her head on my shoulders. "I don't think he is coming...I don't think he likes me enough" she sadly sighed. I was thinking how we didn't need this right now. Megan did not need to get hurt. I did not need to worry about one more thing. I did not want to say goodbye to Jack. This was not good. And to top it all off there was this dude standing there grinning. I was just about to snap and say...what do YOU want! Leave us alone! when I realized who it was. It was Dave. Megan quickly picked her head up off my shoulder and pretended as if all was right with the world. And you know what? It was!<br />
Dave helped make it right.<br />
He came into our family at a time when we needed him. His gentle spirit...his infectious giggle....his love of people and his uncanny ability to make people feel good about themselves was EXACTLY what we needed...right then and right now.<br />
He didn't just show that love and kindness to Megan but to all of us. He treated me like I was special and that my feelings and needs were important to him as well. I am not sure he knew then what that meant to me at that time in my life.<br />
As a mother in law you hope that your child finds someone kind....someone who treats them with dignity and respect....someone who will be their best friend...someone to build an eternal family with.<br />
After all that's all you should really ask for.<br />
You hope that you get as a bonus another child to love and be loved by.<br />
Well.... I won the lottery.<br />
Maybe that's why he has two birth dates.<br />
He deserves them both.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CPKXg5ZAm3g/Vog2KqrA9CI/AAAAAAABZLA/uheqZ72n_Pk1jdrZrqPXGmSTBSr5fgCzACPcB/s1600/2016-01-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CPKXg5ZAm3g/Vog2KqrA9CI/AAAAAAABZLA/uheqZ72n_Pk1jdrZrqPXGmSTBSr5fgCzACPcB/s640/2016-01-02.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The end</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(wait...are there floods on Uranus?)</span></div>
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-72218882892097742542017-02-20T15:41:00.002-08:002017-02-20T15:41:41.860-08:00Separated <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xbuDGvvGvFY/WKtxjBJgCrI/AAAAAAABfEk/mIldGgHh_H0j_wT2Xc5spES2peqXksu0wCKgB/s1600/20160928_014012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xbuDGvvGvFY/WKtxjBJgCrI/AAAAAAABfEk/mIldGgHh_H0j_wT2Xc5spES2peqXksu0wCKgB/s640/20160928_014012.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<br />
Today I met Megan and Dave and the kids at our local McDonalds. It was recently renovated and has quickly become one of the best spots to let the kids expend some of the limitless energy they possess while still being able to converse. The Robertsons had already arrived and stationed themselves at out usual table in the playroom. There is a glass wall separating the play area from the lucky patrons enjoying their Big Macs and fries in peace and quiet. Little 2 year old Sam was sitting right up against that wall. I thought it would be fun to sneak up to the glass and see how long it took before he saw me on the other side. When he finally turned my way it was if he looked right through me. His brain just didn't compute that it was me. His face showed no emotion...then slowly he realized it was me. "GRAMMA!", he yelled through the glass. Recognition turned to joy and then to horror. His eyes filled with fear and he began to cry out, Gramma...gramma. His chubby little hands were pressed to the glass firmly in an attempt to break through the barrier. He looked desperately left and right for help to free his Grandma from the glass cage she was obviously imprisoned by. His mom and dad both chuckled and then tried to comfort him and point out that there was a way around the glass into the room where I was. All hope was not lost. He just cried even louder. He didn't want any alternatives, he needed the glass to move. His Dad finally lifted him up and set him on the floor where he could be directed to a path to get to me. His older sister Kate who had been on the playground finally looked up and spotted me on the other side of the glass. Of course being the sage veteran of walls and openings, she led the way to where I was in an instant with Sam following her lead. I met them both at the corner of where the two rooms met and he ran into my arms with the tears still glistening in his eyes, his smile a sign of the total relief he felt. Dave and Megan and I laughed at the scene wondering what goes through the mind of a two year old. I jokingly said that this is what it must be like in heaven when one member of the family makes it to the celestial kingdom while the rest languish in the terrestrial world. As I watched Kate and Sam play, I couldn't stop thinking about it and replaying the scene in my mind. It was sweet and touchingand funny and thought provoking. The photographer/videographer in me would have loved to have captured it on film...or whatever we are calling it these digital days. But short of strapping a go pro to my body 24/7 to capture and freeze all that I want it is impossible. (Don't think that it hasn't crossed my mind) What I wouldn't give to know all of the many amazing thoughts Sam must have and what the world is like for him. The wonders and joy...but oh the restrictions of only two years of earthly knowledge.<br />
<br />
I wonder if Heavenly Father is amused by my standing at the McDonald glass of my life willing it to stop being a barrier. My chubby hands pressed to the glass in fear and discouragement, willing it to melt away to get to the next room. He must smile that right next to me is another way. A huge entry into whatever room I should be in next. Not places as separate as life or death necessarily, but progression. I think there are far more entrances than glass walls. I take comfort in believing that He knows that my spiritual knowledge is much like Sams earthly knowledge and there will be time for me to learn and grow. Until then I will just remember the great effort Sam expended today to get to me and follow his lead.<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-62858488993182755362017-02-17T11:51:00.002-08:002022-09-22T16:37:52.879-07:00Is it enough?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lPs1REI7Fe8/WKdIyeI657I/AAAAAAABfAM/w-W8OYM7LpsIpCRlI90f2HpCB5Di83sPgCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-72.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lPs1REI7Fe8/WKdIyeI657I/AAAAAAABfAM/w-W8OYM7LpsIpCRlI90f2HpCB5Di83sPgCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-72.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I haven't blogged in a really long time. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Reasons? Excuses? I have many. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Blogging was a fad. No one blogs anymore. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I take pictures. Those will serve as my legacy. The photos will speak for me. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">My thoughts are insignificant. Who would sit and read them anyway?</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">There is so much out there written. So many words to read. I already waste enough time on the internet.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I am mediocre at writing. Why do I keep trying things only to find that I am just average. Nothing special or extraordinary.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I'm lazy. That's okay that I am lazy. I am a grandma for pete's sake. I can just sit back on the proverbial rocker of like and watch the next generation rule the net.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That's me in the picture above. The flat shadowy figure watching...documenting a moment that I won't forget....</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">We have been driving all day. Since 5 o clock that morning Todd, Megan, Dave, 4 year old Kate and 1 year old Sam and myself all cocooned in a red van filled with snacks and toys and laughter sprinkled with mere minutes of sleep and a whole lot of crying. We are on our way to meet with my other children and their families in Colorado. I have rented a cabin midway between the Utah and Houston contingents. I have hopes for 5 days of having all of these precious people in one place...basking in the chaotic sweetness. But for now we are still trying to get out of Texas. Why in the world did they make this state so big. It literally goes on for miles and I think that it would do us all good to feel as if the hours of endless highway gave way to a border. A tangible marker that we will be able to complete this journey. Sam who is usually a champion napper has spent the afternoon alternately struggling and screaming to "geete ou" and closing his eyes and falling asleep for 5 minutes, only to dash our hopes that it is going to be longer. We have made frequent stops for the kids to stretch their legs but it is usually in some dirty gas station where we keep blurting out, "Don't touch that!" We needed a real stop. Somewhere that we all could regain hope that we could do this thing. That we would make it out of Texas someday. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And so on the outskirts of Amarillo in the sea of corn rows, we found our salvation. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Cadillac Stonehenge.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">A row of now just car carcasses that were planted in the ground to resemble Stonehenge. A whimsical spray painted pile of junk. It was perfect.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">We watched the sun drop low in the sky while Kate and Sam did what their little bodies had been telling them to do all day. Walk...Run...and play.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">We could do this thing.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">We would make it across that border to the promised land of Colorado.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I think I did an adequate job documenting through pictures that moment in time. I think you can see the joy in their little bodies and the beauty of the flat never ending corners of a state that I have grown to love and call home.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But what I think I want to accompany those pictures is my words.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">For Kate and for Sam. For Megan and for Dave and Todd.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And most importantly for me. I need to remember that in this day of awards and trophies and likes and internet popularity contests that I really write for me.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And that wiping tears from my cheeks as I put into words this moment in time is the reward.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And that is enough.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pWFW5uQM8zM/WKdRXiZ-WcI/AAAAAAABfA4/j2D0EJGa0uAQKWd13gYg0i0k8KXsmhkvwCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pWFW5uQM8zM/WKdRXiZ-WcI/AAAAAAABfA4/j2D0EJGa0uAQKWd13gYg0i0k8KXsmhkvwCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4NX-GRYx_7I/WKdQ44iM1uI/AAAAAAABfAc/1soF0F9-S7UByShtRDbCvuHQKNOEtJvlACLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4NX-GRYx_7I/WKdQ44iM1uI/AAAAAAABfAc/1soF0F9-S7UByShtRDbCvuHQKNOEtJvlACLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-13.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2rGmbyBHaws/WKdRAoCK0EI/AAAAAAABfAg/a3Gd0ieYSW0nu2pQyrjBJ57yXEmRATlQQCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-14.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2rGmbyBHaws/WKdRAoCK0EI/AAAAAAABfAg/a3Gd0ieYSW0nu2pQyrjBJ57yXEmRATlQQCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p1UdzgGwQc4/WKdRHluSi_I/AAAAAAABfAo/AMTSnIFx1GAaZ_X16baba60YbrC9CWxPwCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-18.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p1UdzgGwQc4/WKdRHluSi_I/AAAAAAABfAo/AMTSnIFx1GAaZ_X16baba60YbrC9CWxPwCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-18.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yL83C5c-UFs/WKdRVhm8wtI/AAAAAAABfA0/dm_DK-Oej_osK9YZbQCc5dDYaFuTHeyiACLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yL83C5c-UFs/WKdRVhm8wtI/AAAAAAABfA0/dm_DK-Oej_osK9YZbQCc5dDYaFuTHeyiACLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-20.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q5MpBHN-ORY/WKdRqLE0YVI/AAAAAAABfBI/GsQbbUYXWdYZtnAjxbIDj3ftQ4j-VxAWwCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-25.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q5MpBHN-ORY/WKdRqLE0YVI/AAAAAAABfBI/GsQbbUYXWdYZtnAjxbIDj3ftQ4j-VxAWwCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-25.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qtV_Wd50dg8/WKdR1hnjrKI/AAAAAAABfBQ/gpc21mmGzewRCtwwfQeF1iTNDJswg_nmgCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-27.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qtV_Wd50dg8/WKdR1hnjrKI/AAAAAAABfBQ/gpc21mmGzewRCtwwfQeF1iTNDJswg_nmgCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-27.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mb0VDZd1OiQ/WKdRvGYxD4I/AAAAAAABfBM/53_nrs0rYXcxDRL4WrsTaEYAYXE3F4HtACLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-29.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mb0VDZd1OiQ/WKdRvGYxD4I/AAAAAAABfBM/53_nrs0rYXcxDRL4WrsTaEYAYXE3F4HtACLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-29.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zhjyVdzXEp4/WKdR_OaxheI/AAAAAAABfBc/7ebH77vPIWoWW6tm04W2pA7GWfvL_rktwCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-31.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zhjyVdzXEp4/WKdR_OaxheI/AAAAAAABfBc/7ebH77vPIWoWW6tm04W2pA7GWfvL_rktwCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-31.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtSs9JajgiU/WKdSCpHtX8I/AAAAAAABfBk/p2_-lp8HvVQCOc4wmHmp4_aSyMmSeFJtwCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-35.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtSs9JajgiU/WKdSCpHtX8I/AAAAAAABfBk/p2_-lp8HvVQCOc4wmHmp4_aSyMmSeFJtwCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-35.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qVa2YitC-K0/WKdSOyFdhsI/AAAAAAABfB0/SpOGelFB8Gcx6ZqVAT4xkl0052xmSNaNgCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-40.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qVa2YitC-K0/WKdSOyFdhsI/AAAAAAABfB0/SpOGelFB8Gcx6ZqVAT4xkl0052xmSNaNgCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-40.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4cEf57-B8xM/WKdS6IjYxgI/AAAAAAABfCo/iAhiYkkNSCoGhr6olaVFQYUGzimtsM3ywCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-64.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4cEf57-B8xM/WKdS6IjYxgI/AAAAAAABfCo/iAhiYkkNSCoGhr6olaVFQYUGzimtsM3ywCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-64.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zn6jiYAylsA/WKdS_z2qNgI/AAAAAAABfCw/_T8LWbSK3FUhKvB32sVhddKq9_9hP2RDgCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-66.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zn6jiYAylsA/WKdS_z2qNgI/AAAAAAABfCw/_T8LWbSK3FUhKvB32sVhddKq9_9hP2RDgCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-66.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bxgu3RScahI/WKdTNDK__qI/AAAAAAABfDA/lKIjCF-33pgPnH81732Dh1bczxQ1dbBqwCLcB/s1600/coloradotrip2016-70.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bxgu3RScahI/WKdTNDK__qI/AAAAAAABfDA/lKIjCF-33pgPnH81732Dh1bczxQ1dbBqwCLcB/s320/coloradotrip2016-70.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-49287826500975658152015-06-25T16:05:00.003-07:002015-06-25T16:05:41.357-07:00I'm Nervous<br />
Yesterday was my three year old granddaughter Kate's first dance class.<br />
It was her special reward for being fully potty trained.<br />
(well almost....who is really ever FULLY potty trained)<br />
She was so excited to be a ballerina like Angelina Ballerina.<br />
Her mom dressed her up in pink tights, pink body suit, pink skirt and a pink bow in her carefully braided hair. She asked if her mom would make her face pink as well.<br />
They compromised with a little blush on each cheek.<br />
They came to my house to pick me up and Kate emerged from her car in all her pink glory.<br />
She looked like a little delicious stick of cotton candy.<br />
She came in my house and said that she needed to wait a few minutes.<br />
She asked if she could play in the new little house I had built for her.<br />
I told her that there wasn't enough time to play and that we needed to get to her much anticipated dance class.<br />
She said she needed something to eat.<br />
She already had breakfast her mom told me.<br />
She then said she needed to go to the bathroom.<br />
No one ever tells her no on that one.<br />
Her mom said that was strange since she had just gone before they left their house.<br />
But like I said...it is NEVER a good idea to say no to a bathroom visit.<br />
"Cmon Gramma" she said, "Come with me."<br />
I went into my bedroom bathroom and helped her take off her whole pink ensemble. She sat herself on the toilet and smiled at me like it was a party.<br />
I kept asking her if she was finished to which she would reply...<br />
"In a minute gramma...in a minute."<br />
She unrolled the toilet paper over and over again.<br />
Now I am no rocket scientist but I know a good stall technique when I see one.<br />
"Kate, I said...are you nervous?"<br />
Kate looked at me with an expression of relief on her face. There was a word for this. All these butterflies in her stomach had a word.<br />
"Yes Grammy...I be nervous."<br />
I told her," Kate, I know you feel nervous since is this is the first time you are going to dance but don't worry...you will have a great time. And if you want you can just sit on my lap and watch the other girls dance. You can dance only if you feel like dancing."<br />
She hesitated and thought about the offer and finally nodded her head yes.<br />
She would go to dance class.<br />
When we got there she was the first little girl there. As the dance instructor welcomed her she blurted out..."I am nervous. She was grateful to share the new word she had learned. The instructor assured her that she would have fun and that there would be plenty of other girls that were coming.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U774g6Ugdy8/VYyE-fivjHI/AAAAAAAA3e0/zST0fNuteHI/s1600/11017784_10153374482506147_8736274758303268643_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U774g6Ugdy8/VYyE-fivjHI/AAAAAAAA3e0/zST0fNuteHI/s640/11017784_10153374482506147_8736274758303268643_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
She walked over and stared into the room that she would dance in.<br />
She was nervous.<br />
As the other little pink girls started to come in Kate started to let loose of some of the butterflies. She loves other children and calls everyone she meets her size her new friend.<br />
As the teacher led the line of little dancers into the studio I noticed my daughter Megan get up to fall in the line.<br />
"Not you" I whispered...I don't think they want the mothers in there."<br />
The look on Megans face was one I was well acquainted with. It was the same one I had whenever my children were ushered from my side somewhere without me.<br />
Megan was nervous.<br />
I told her...if you think this is bad just wait until the first day of kindergarten.<br />
That thought made Megan even more nervous.<br />
We both stood at the glass window as close as possible watching to see how Kate would do. I of course had my camera out to document this special occasion. Another "first" from a long line of "firsts" yet to come.<br />
Kate loved it. They jumped on trampolines and hopped and played with hula hoops. She even did her very first front roll. Megan and I talked about the future and what classes to sign her up for. She was having the time of her life until they came to the choreography of a dance they would do in front of the moms. I don't know if it was the choreography or the thought of dancing in front of others but Kate decided she needed to go to the bathroom right that instant. Megan brought her back as they were doing another activity...the limbo. Kate squealed with excitement. She was in heaven....until they started more choreography. Now Kate had an urgent need to wash her hands. Cleanliness is next to Godliness.<br />
By the time she returned they were ready to preform the much anticipated strawberry shortcake dance they had all been taught for the mothers. Kate had other plans.<br />
She wanted to use her get out jail free card as promised by her gramma and sit on my lap.<br />
Her teacher urged her to try and dance with them. She said there would be a treat and she whispered what it was in Kate's ear. It was enough to make Kate stand on her spot...a rubber circle placed on the floor. Her mark. Her first taste of show business. The teacher cued the music and the room of pink little girls began to dance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AtlI66f8l1c/VYyIDh3W-TI/AAAAAAAA3fA/A83l4Y0pXYI/s1600/Kate%2BDance%2BPerformance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AtlI66f8l1c/VYyIDh3W-TI/AAAAAAAA3fA/A83l4Y0pXYI/s640/Kate%2BDance%2BPerformance.jpg" width="494" /></a></div>
and here it is.<br />
Her first dance captured frame by frame.<br />
She is the little ballerina in the hot pink skirt in the middle.<br />
The one that is not moving.<br />
The one that is studying her fingers and picking at a hangnail.<br />
Although on the last two frames and as soon as the music stopped..she does reach out ever so gracefully and with her two arms extended she ran to sit in her Grammys lap.<br />
A star is born.The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-79964008351351209312015-01-12T14:36:00.001-08:002015-01-12T14:39:58.620-08:00Change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SdrynKJAqTI/VLQ7cbtJ5oI/AAAAAAAAz7c/5ZlMOMnr920/s1600/IMG_20150112_143333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SdrynKJAqTI/VLQ7cbtJ5oI/AAAAAAAAz7c/5ZlMOMnr920/s1600/IMG_20150112_143333.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">
Change.</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not my favorite word unless you are talking about the coins in your pocket or the bottom of your purse....I love that kind of change.<br />All the other definitions of the word are usually not as lucrative.<br />I read a quote in a book this week that really struck me like a lightening bolt. Well I guess that sounds a little dramatic but suffice it to say I am a crusty old dame and don't read much that I don't say...been there...done that.....got the t-shirt.....washed it......it shrunk.....threw it away.<br />It was from a book that my daughter recommended that I read.<br />I have seen it on multiple lists of high school sheets clutched in the hands of desperate mothers looking for the book that a thousand other kids need for school and so of course is sold out and you would sell your eye tooth to get whatever copy you can because it needs to be read and a paper written on it by tomorrow!<br />I digress.<br />The quote was from Alas Babylon by Pat Frank</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">"She had small fear of death and of man none at all, but the formlessness of what was to come overwhelmed her."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">That pretty much sums me up in a nutshell.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Formlessness...the condition of </span></span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 22px;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3d7bbf; cursor: pointer;">lacking</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">a</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;">definite</span> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">or</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;">regular</span> </span><a class="dbox-xref dbox-roman" href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/form" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #307dbc; display: inline; line-height: 22px; text-decoration: none;">form</a><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 22px;"> <span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box;">or</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;">shape;</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;">shapeless.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 22px;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It can be pretty overwhelming. Most of us crave boundaries. Try and explain that to my sweet two year old granddaughter and you will find a pretty tough sell,... but if you look closely at her eyes when she is melting down after being stopped at doing something that she really really really wants to do and you will see it....relief. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 22px;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Relief from the formlessness.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 22px;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Safety.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 22px;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Change brings with it a strange sensation. No matter how many times I prepare for it.....it usually has a way of stirring up the flutters in my mind and body. That slightly uneasy feeling. Shapeless.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 22px;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">Yesterday our ward family was changed. For those who are not familiar with the arrangement of LDS congregations.....a ward is a designated geographic area that combines all of it's members into a group. Your meeting times are assigned and your new ward friends and family are determined by where you live. These wards are then further grouped geographically into stakes. And no not the delicious T-bones and porterhouses kind of steak. These are not constructed of personal choice but of necessity, functionality and spiritual promptings of the leadership of the ward, stakes, and regions and the prophet and apostles of our faith.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">In a church with much emphasis on choice and free will it is one of changes that are not always easy or expected. They do not always feel like a choice that you would have made. They can split up friends and extended families. They can seem like just the sort of formlessness you weren't looking for or asking for.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">My husband once told me of an experience in first grade where he was assigned a new young teacher...Miss Cates.....fresh out of college. He was so excited to be in her class. She was young and she was pretty. The other teacher in first grade Mrs. Meeker had a different reputation. Word around the playground was that Mrs. Meeker was so mean. If you made a mistake you weren't allowed to erase it. In fact the rumor was that she cut off all of the erasers on the tops of students pencils to prevent them from even sneaking an eraser stroke. And she was old. His 6 year old brain estimated her to be well into her seventies. He was so relieved to have won the first grade teacher lottery.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">After about a week in paradise the principal came in to announce that there would be some changes. A few of the students in Miss Cates class would be moved to Mrs. Meekers class to balance out the numbers. Todd sat in fear that his name would be called. My guess is that he clutched his eraser close while the principal read the names on the list.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">As each name was read he would breathe a sigh of relief until the last name was called.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Todd Winn</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Knowing my husband and his sweet heart and personality I can only imagine what he was feeling as he heard the fateful decision. It makes me want to construct a time machine if only for that moment to go back and scoop his 6 year old sad form and hug him tight and whisper in his ear.....it's okay....it's going to be just fine.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">And it was fine. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Mrs. Meeker did not cut off the tops of his pencil erasers and he found out that she was a good teacher.... that the rumors were exaggerated and that he really was fine.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">I will not get to see some of my sweet friends each Sunday. Friends that I have loved and laughed with. Friends that have helped me out during hard times. Friends that have told me what they like about me even when I did not like me. I will miss giving and receiving from Sister Torres a hug and a kiss on her cheek every Sunday. Seeing her family baptized and go to the temple will always be one of my favorite memories of the Sienna Plantation ward. I will miss watching Mike Johnson's dedication to his Sunday school calling each week inspiring me to be better at mine. I will miss my teenagers from my Sunday school class that still come into the library each week to give me a hug. I will miss watching them grow up to be spectacular young men and women. How I treasure those kids. I will miss my blonde bombshell friend Victoria who fills a room with her presence and thinks I am a much smarter person that I really am. I will miss the constant smiles from people like Marianne Smith and Jeff Peterson that remind me that a smile really is a gift to others. I will miss Clarissa calling me Aunt Shelley to her sweet children. I could go on and on. They have been a constant weekly presence in my life and I am grateful for what I learned from each one of them.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">What I will miss most of all is the squeal of delight I received every week from my number one fan. I always felt like a celebrity. It made my heart feel full to overflowing.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">But....</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">If there is one thing that I have learned from life and being a mother and a Mormon is that change is the only constant.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Well that and the Lord Jesus Christ.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">And that I am not losing anything but am gaining an opportunity to add to my circle of experience and love. That change is hard but it will be what I make of it. Good or bad....it is my choice.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">And I will remember all the lessons I have learned from my old friends and use them to make some new ones.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">I will remember that formlessness always takes shape eventually.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">And that I still get to wrap my arms around my sweet little fan and her brother....</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">How blessed am I?</span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLgmma440pI/VLRMGUmCaZI/AAAAAAAAz7w/J0tykJm-CcI/s1600/20141124_134120_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLgmma440pI/VLRMGUmCaZI/AAAAAAAAz7w/J0tykJm-CcI/s1600/20141124_134120_HDR.jpg" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span>The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-39439494707952275312014-11-30T20:06:00.001-08:002014-11-30T20:06:14.424-08:00You are my favorite.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yRVozZxOFyc/S-iJm59xuAI/AAAAAAAAhfQ/mx5xHfMKmFk/s1600/Martha%2Bwould%2Bbe%2Bjealous%2Bxmas%2B1964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yRVozZxOFyc/S-iJm59xuAI/AAAAAAAAhfQ/mx5xHfMKmFk/s1600/Martha%2Bwould%2Bbe%2Bjealous%2Bxmas%2B1964.JPG" height="456" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
After an absence of over a year I am back to blogging.<br />
I want to someday tell you about why I think I stopped but for tonight... I want to remind myself why I decided to start writing again.<br />
My grandmother Elgie was one of my favorite people on the earth and for now I think she holds that title in heaven. She was someone who made me feel special. Being a middle child and the second girl had its ups and downs....<br />
I just didn't always feel like I fit in as well as my older siblings.<br />
Unless I was around Grandma Rampton. She had a way of making me feel like I was her favorite.<br />
Looking through the haze of time and youth I can not be sure whether or not I really was her favorite or if she made everyone feel that way,<br />
but for now until I meet up with her again and ask her,<br />
I am just going to go with it.<br />
I was her favorite person.<br />
She passed away when I was 16.<br />
She left us earlier than that though.<br />
She had Alzheimers.<br />
She slowly forgot who we were. When my mother would ask her if she recognized her, she would say, "Yes I do....you are one of my people."<br />
Truthfully I do not remember handling this "new" person very well. I was a teenager and typically absorbed in my own life. I was busy with school and friends and well frankly at a loss at what to do with her. She would sit in the rocking chair and wring her hands with a worried look knit into her brow. I know she hated it. I know she must have despised the process of losing her memory. She was a strong woman unaccustomed to having other people care for her. It was such a scary time for her. I would sometimes watch her from my couch as I lay there in all my teenage glory watching TV or reading a magazine. I would try and remember all the love and energy she put into her family. I would remind myself of who she was and how much she meant to me.<br />
I still have dreams of her.<br />
She never speaks but she is there and she loves me.<br />
I am still her favorite.<br />
<br />
What I wouldn't give now as I mother and grandmother my own brood.<br />
What was she like as a woman? What were her thoughts and feelings about life and love and family?<br />
I long to know her better.<br />
I want to see in writing what she thought about in a day and what made her laugh.<br />
And of course I would LOVE some proof in her own hand that I truly was as special as she made me feel......<br />
That I was her favorite.<br />
<br />
Kate and Sam and all my sweet grandchildren yet to come......<br />
Here I am.<br />
It's Grammy.<br />
And yes. YOU are my favorite.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fV56dSh1ieU/VFRiMBvOv7I/AAAAAAAAudw/H0Zj93GyIGE/s1600/untitled%2B(2%2Bof%2B7).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fV56dSh1ieU/VFRiMBvOv7I/AAAAAAAAudw/H0Zj93GyIGE/s1600/untitled%2B%282%2Bof%2B7%29.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-70748955138727066352014-11-26T19:34:00.001-08:002014-11-26T19:34:12.475-08:00Thoughts on Thanksgiving.I entered the gas station feeling kind of blah.<br />
It was one of those days where I didn't get as much done as I should have.<br />
I didn't receive the usual injection of liquid sunshine called Kate and Sam.<br />
I hadn't left the house all day<br />
And EVERYONE in Missouri City was in their car driving willy-nilly like I was in a some low budget end of the world...pre apocalyptic frenzy.<br />
Oh yeah Thanksgiving.<br />
I had almost forgot about that. It has never been my favorite holiday. There are no costumes or scary decorations....no presents are exchanged....there isn't any thanksgiving music unless you count that Over the river and through the woods song that everyone forgets the words to.<br />
I am fortunate to be the daughter of one of the best cooks in the county so no one is going over any woods or through any rivers to beat a path to this grandmas house.<br />
So there are no last minute runs to the grocery store and no far away travel plans for me like there are for every other nut cake weaving and speeding down Highway 6.<br />
Just a need for a 44 ounce drink and some gas and then back home.<br />
I approached the check out counter and exchanged the usual pleasantries...<br />
"How are you doing tonight?" I asked the clerk.<br />
(I come genetically from a long line of people who talk to strangers like they know them.)<br />
"Not sure yet" was her answer.<br />
Figuring that she was talking about the fact that she was working at night in a gas station was the probable cause for her hesitancy I answered her with,<br />
"Oh because you are probably tired of being here and about to get off soon."<br />
"No..." she said thoughtfully, I just got here. This is my second job."<br />
She seemed to actually still be pondering my original question.<br />
"I was able to get some of the cooking done yesterday" she finally concluded as if she were mentally ticking off her checklist of tasks."<br />
"Oh...okay, I muttered sheepishly, I am lucky....I don't have to cook Thanksgiving....my mom still lives close by." I said the word "still" with a little shame and renewed sense of gratitude.<br />
"You are lucky" she pronounced,"My mother passed away when I was 23." Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears as it looked as if she had just found out....all over again. She quickly looked down at the change in her register.<br />
I was at a loss for words...my big cup of ice and diet coke in my hands.<br />
I stood there for a second and then finally uttered,<br />
"God bless you and I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving."<br />
And I meant every word of it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XKTyfF_BATg/VHabgp4EeEI/AAAAAAAAw_A/aIoa_IP4Vpg/s1600/20141124_173212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XKTyfF_BATg/VHabgp4EeEI/AAAAAAAAw_A/aIoa_IP4Vpg/s1600/20141124_173212.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-84575071551649914962013-08-18T21:58:00.000-07:002013-08-18T21:58:07.274-07:00A-ma's Ball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2kFiTO5FWRw/UhGgMlnlGDI/AAAAAAAAV2I/zRUcsMFhVmI/s1600/IMG_6080%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2kFiTO5FWRw/UhGgMlnlGDI/AAAAAAAAV2I/zRUcsMFhVmI/s640/IMG_6080%5B1%5D.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I am pretty simple I guess.<br />
Two things made me happy this weekend.<br />
The first was running into the colorful smiling gourd pictured above.<br />
I am known to collect a few pumpkins from time to time and when I saw him sitting and grinning outside of my local grocery store as I tried to quickly dash between my gas guzzling air conditioned car to the safety of the overly cooled produce section without sweat dripping down my face, I knew that he would be mine. A richly painted reminder of cooler days to come.<br />
I brought him home to an honored spot in my living room in front of my fireplace (which has never yet seen a fire...ah Texas) and sat back and enjoyed.<br />
The second was spending a delicious hour alone playing hooky from the second and third hour of church with my shadow....my partner in crime.....the girl who can melt any adult resolve I have with just a bat of her big eyes and a thrust of her bottom lip.<br />
When mom is gone I am suppose to take up the role of enforcer.<br />
Which when it comes to safety issues I always do...<br />
But everything else is fair game.<br />
She touches fragile things and opens drawers and begs for delicate objects to be put in her chubby little hands.<br />
And I acquiesce.<br />
"Shhh", just don't tell your mom.<br />
I am at her side at all times as she explores the places in my home that are usually off limits when her mom and I are talking.<br />
It is our little secret.<br />
She made a direct bee line for the newest addition.<br />
She patted the pumpkin and said, "Ball"<br />
"Yes, ball" I said and prided myself for letting her touch my new prized possession.<br />
She went to pick out the heavy piece of pottery by the tiny painted stem as I dashed over to stop her.<br />
"No No No Katie Bug", I said, "we just pat it...we don't pickup Grandma's new pumpkin."<br />
She smiled and patted it gently.<br />
I stood up from the floor to sit down on a chair and she waited until I was seated before she gave her trademark smile as mischievous as the breakable jack o lanterns.<br />
I jumped back up again and gently pried her fingers off of the stem.<br />
No No No, I said again.<br />
On her third attempt there must have been a little more urgency in my voice because with a solemn face replacing the mischievous grin, she patted the pumpkin softly and said in a serious tone.<br />
"A-ma's ball"<br />
And didn't touch it again.<br />
This child is a genius.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QqxljEhY_RI/UhGgUV117qI/AAAAAAAAV2Y/tf_w39l9KM8/s1600/IMG_6047%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QqxljEhY_RI/UhGgUV117qI/AAAAAAAAV2Y/tf_w39l9KM8/s1600/IMG_6047%5B1%5D.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M1W57nk8XlE/UhGgaNHB2xI/AAAAAAAAV2g/lk61UFDJi-A/s1600/IMG_6060%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M1W57nk8XlE/UhGgaNHB2xI/AAAAAAAAV2g/lk61UFDJi-A/s640/IMG_6060%5B1%5D.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
A-mah and Kate shared a popsicle at bath time until Kate decided that two popsicles were better than one and grabbed it from my hand and double fisted it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IWZfL6CdqJs/UhGgj6oco2I/AAAAAAAAV2w/VHRyFhEzQyo/s1600/IMG_6065%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IWZfL6CdqJs/UhGgj6oco2I/AAAAAAAAV2w/VHRyFhEzQyo/s640/IMG_6065%5B1%5D.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
Looking for a little trouble.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UOl_-rI63AI/UhGgljOaQHI/AAAAAAAAV24/0i5DKwgA2ac/s1600/IMG_6049%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UOl_-rI63AI/UhGgljOaQHI/AAAAAAAAV24/0i5DKwgA2ac/s640/IMG_6049%5B1%5D.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-49042233500600152262013-06-12T21:13:00.003-07:002013-06-12T21:13:27.643-07:00The Girl In The Poncho<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uce34i2sHyo/UblCJZK1crI/AAAAAAAAVw0/EVm6-gSmlJQ/s1600/img008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="446" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uce34i2sHyo/UblCJZK1crI/AAAAAAAAVw0/EVm6-gSmlJQ/s640/img008.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
I don't remember having this picture being taken, but I do remember the poncho. It was an orange plaid with an orange tassel trim. It was the perfect.... albeit ugly garment for this period of my life. But fitting. It was the beginning of the end in some ways and the<br />
beginning of forever.<br />
I believe the year to be 1971 and I am 10 almost 11 years old.<br />
My unkempt hair and the perennial one knee sock halfway down lets you know that I probably didn't look in the mirror much. I didn't really feel the need. I actually liked who I was. The bulging poncho not yet a problem but soon to be one.<br />
Puberty was setting in and it would not be pretty.<br />
My once thin and limber body was now thick and more sedentary.<br />
My mom was an expert dieter and on the Weight Watcher bandwagon at the time. I saw the horrible frozen cod fish fillets she steamed 5 times a week,<br />
and the chicken liver she tried to gag down once a week.<br />
The smell of that liver and the sugar free Trident spearmint gum still take me back to those days.<br />
It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that with each pound she lost she was happier and lighter both literally and figuratively (no pun intended)<br />
But I also watched my rail thin older brother. 16. Able to pile his plate so high with beautiful fluffy mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy and consume them before I had even gotten started.<br />
I can smell that in my memory as well.<br />
Two divergent paths.<br />
One much simpler than the other.<br />
And so began the journey that to this day I am still trying to hack through the weeds and debris to see my path clearly.<br />
My daughter, my first born, my Jeopardy champion, British loving, amazing girl is chronicling her similar journey and I could not be prouder.<br />
I think that people believe that the best moments with their children come with society based achievements and awards, bumper sticker moments of honor rolls and most points scored.<br />
For me, I have decided that the real pay off as a mother is watching them overcome their own struggles alongside me while I work on my own.<br />
Side by side.<br />
Sisters of the Ponchos.<br />
Check out her blog here....<br />
<a href="http://betterbellybust.blogspot.com/2013/05/saturday-stats-its-just-number-right.html">http://betterbellybust.blogspot.com/2013/05/saturday-stats-its-just-number-right.html</a><br />
<br />
Love you moonbeam!The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-60672674573452439782013-06-10T22:16:00.002-07:002013-06-10T22:16:13.496-07:00All you need is LOVE!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CIp6kJhRh-Q/UbauRfi8txI/AAAAAAAAVr8/TKTYC_GD2e0/s1600/John+and+Evelyn+Lauck+Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CIp6kJhRh-Q/UbauRfi8txI/AAAAAAAAVr8/TKTYC_GD2e0/s640/John+and+Evelyn+Lauck+Wedding.jpg" width="494" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This is a picture of my parents on their wedding day.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
They have been married for 59 years.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And today is their anniversary.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Most people never get to celebrate such a milestone.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Either because of poor heath or poor relationships.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It is not an easy road, marriage, even in the best of circumstances.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
But through good times and through the bad I always knew one thing for certain.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My parents loved each other.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-guUJCh1Lg6s/TCbr8YrpgYI/AAAAAAAAFRI/YVNcyVWcSPk/s1600/DSC_0050-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-guUJCh1Lg6s/TCbr8YrpgYI/AAAAAAAAFRI/YVNcyVWcSPk/s640/DSC_0050-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Not perfectly but completely.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's hard to imagine a world without that.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Cuddle on!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q45b7wgd5Qc/UbauS5WP2aI/AAAAAAAAVsI/_iw84_dAcC0/s1600/Mom+and+Dad+Wedding+Cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q45b7wgd5Qc/UbauS5WP2aI/AAAAAAAAVsI/_iw84_dAcC0/s640/Mom+and+Dad+Wedding+Cake.jpg" width="494" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-47627439257455605452013-06-07T13:33:00.002-07:002022-09-22T16:34:34.947-07:00To Drink or Not to Drink.....that is the question.So I have a bit of a drinking problem.<br />
Isn't that the first step to recovery?<br />
Identifying and admitting your issues?<br />
Problem is that I am not quite sure that I want to be cured.<br />
So I probably will get bogged down on one of the 12 steps I would take.<br />
I like carbonated diet drinks.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4O4qRtCJemk/UbIsfw5sPSI/AAAAAAAAVrA/Sso03Hex1sY/s1600/DSC_0995.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4O4qRtCJemk/UbIsfw5sPSI/AAAAAAAAVrA/Sso03Hex1sY/s640/DSC_0995.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not an actual picture of me but a representation of what some people choose to see.<br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I think I know it's origins.<br />
I didn't like carbonated drinks as a child.<br />
We rarely had access to them since my mom was on a strict budget.<br />
But once in a while they would bring home a jug of root beer from A & W and everyone in the family would be elated.<br />
Except for me.<br />
It hurt my mouth and nose and stomach and I didn't really care for the taste.<br />
So this problem didn't arise from my parents putting diet coke in my bottle or serving it at dinner as a young child.<br />
(I hate to admit it but Diet Coke didn't even exist until I was a young adult. I can hear the guffaws from my children right now as they read this. One time I told them that there was no egg McMuffin until I was an adult and they belly laughed and snorted for a week)<br />
But when I turned 11 or 12 my once skinny frame began to put on the pounds.<br />
My mom who was constantly on a diet would buy Tab as a treat for herself.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rB_agur0oZc/UbI1pqX8COI/AAAAAAAAVrQ/zC6hXXPvV80/s1600/lg_tab.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rB_agur0oZc/UbI1pqX8COI/AAAAAAAAVrQ/zC6hXXPvV80/s640/lg_tab.jpg" width="328" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t5kxE8doeZk/UbI2YzK0WCI/AAAAAAAAVrY/XGrrVe9fk7w/s1600/220px-Beverage_pull_tab.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="590" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t5kxE8doeZk/UbI2YzK0WCI/AAAAAAAAVrY/XGrrVe9fk7w/s640/220px-Beverage_pull_tab.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yea kids.....yuck it up again about how old I am but you don't know what you missed. This little object could be made into jewelry!! Rings and chains and it was FUN!<br /><div style="text-align: left;">In the 70's we were not as worried about the dangers of our food and beverages.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
No one told us that it would burn through our insides or give us headaches or ruin the enamel of our teeth.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Back then sugar was the demon...it not only gave you cavities but it made you FAT!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So since I was battling the battle of the bulge myself</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And had a mouth full of fillings, I saw my path clearly</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was enticed by the fact that Tab only had 1 calorie.....let me say that again 1 CALORIE</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Do you know how rare a thing that is??</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
1 Calorie</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
That meant that no matter what other enticing food I could not have in copious amounts...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I COULD HAVE AS MUCH TAB AS I WANTED!!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For anyone who has EVER restricted their calorie intake you know what an amazing statement that is.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And so a habit was born and formed and forged in the fires of 1 calorie</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Am I addicted?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Maybe</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Maybe not</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My baby girl Lauren challenged me to give it up for one month.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So I did.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I did not turn into a grouchy, headachey monster. (since that seems to be my lot, drink or not)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I did not feel withdrawal symptoms.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I felt fine.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But what I did learn was that I was lazy.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
SHOCKER!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Without someone to hand me my beverage filled to the top with Sonic Ice, flavored with just a hint of cranberry every day, I had a problem.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This ban meant that I had to get a cup out of the cabinet, walk over to my refrigerator door, fill my cup with ice that I did not like, then open the said refrigerator door and pull out the pitcher with the 1/2 cup left of flavored water that someone did not replenish the night before, then go to my pantry, rip open another bag of flavoring......well you get the picture.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So after 30 days I went back to Sonic with the smug satisfaction that I was NOT addicted only lazy.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What a proud proud moment.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
That is until the manager of my Sonic was so RUDE that I just HAD to boycott them.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
No worries I just took my business to my newly opened Murphys gas station who had flavoring and pellet ice and make friends there.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Only problem was that they did not have the right cups.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And so my search began.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For a large enough mug to get me through the day, yet with a large enough opening to fill it to the top with ice, without looking like I was carrying a construction workers playmate cooler.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I found one at the dollar store that I LOVED!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It was beautiful crystal clear green with a sturdy green handle, and a wide enough mouth to accommodate the flow of ice but not too large to attract attention.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And it was 1 dollar! That is almost as great as 1 calorie!!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I only bought one so that I could take her out on the road and give her a test drive.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It did not disappoint.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I went back the next week to my Dollar Tree ready to purchase 5 or 6 of them.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
GONE! They were all gone. And in their place was a small necked jug that sprayed ice all over the gas station. (Yes I tried it, the worker even gave me a paper cone to use but it just got jammed up in the soggy pulpy paper)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But that was okay.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I still had my lean mean green mug.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I would cherish it and keep it clean and glory in the fact that I had the perfect beverage holder.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I came home one night to this.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wh-kR6kwqOY/UbJBo6FmfRI/AAAAAAAAVrs/n-KsD9K-ysU/s1600/IMG_4030.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wh-kR6kwqOY/UbJBo6FmfRI/AAAAAAAAVrs/n-KsD9K-ysU/s640/IMG_4030.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When Todd empties the dishwasher he puts the things he doesn't know what to do with on the counter.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This was just sitting there on the kitchen counter waiting for me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I gasped....no I mean it....an audible gasp.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I said, "TODD WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MUG?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To which he replied, "What? What's wrong with it. Is that not the way it is suppose to look?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I think the least he could have done was to give it a proper burial in the trash can outside so that I didn't have to have this image embedded in my brain.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-46687659084631268442013-06-03T20:25:00.000-07:002013-06-03T20:25:13.637-07:00Deep Thoughts.....<span style="font-size: large;">I have been really spilling my guts lately.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Important, serious topics.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And anybody who really knows me knows just how serious and deep a person I really am.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So here are some of my really deep thoughts.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--S5OyIu7dc8/Ua1a9SXqJWI/AAAAAAAAVp0/TISsQLdyRws/s1600/IMG_1614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--S5OyIu7dc8/Ua1a9SXqJWI/AAAAAAAAVp0/TISsQLdyRws/s640/IMG_1614.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you had to photograph this house for your job and you were all alone and walked up to the door and this is what greeted you, would you feel a wee bit scared?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WQ69i7LESyw/Ua1a_A2smEI/AAAAAAAAVp8/RA1Ju-z7zq0/s1600/IMG_3554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WQ69i7LESyw/Ua1a_A2smEI/AAAAAAAAVp8/RA1Ju-z7zq0/s640/IMG_3554.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Do soup and salad and God stories really go well together?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3sQj_wRFjvA/Ua1bBiZG76I/AAAAAAAAVqE/gXtGjUrcva4/s1600/IMG_3329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="482" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3sQj_wRFjvA/Ua1bBiZG76I/AAAAAAAAVqE/gXtGjUrcva4/s640/IMG_3329.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Would you EVER buy a house or a business on Pansy Street if you were a guy?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZhwPrSGzZEg/Ua1bJOgptJI/AAAAAAAAVqs/3fEZvUfGBP4/s1600/IMG_1592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZhwPrSGzZEg/Ua1bJOgptJI/AAAAAAAAVqs/3fEZvUfGBP4/s640/IMG_1592.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Why do you want to just reach out and kiss babies toes but can hardly stand to glance at adult feet?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RvB4SFXcFHs/Ua1bEBzjokI/AAAAAAAAVqQ/graZAWU6Lc0/s1600/IMG_1637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="532" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RvB4SFXcFHs/Ua1bEBzjokI/AAAAAAAAVqQ/graZAWU6Lc0/s640/IMG_1637.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">When did we progress as a society from the stick figures to represent the number of people in our family to including their hobbies and how many accidents happen while people are following them and trying to figure out just what is in the fathers hand?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5_vUf7MydCM/Ua1bEOQeoqI/AAAAAAAAVqM/vJYQ24a1D9c/s1600/IMG_1783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5_vUf7MydCM/Ua1bEOQeoqI/AAAAAAAAVqM/vJYQ24a1D9c/s640/IMG_1783.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Why are clowns freaky in any format and at any age?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4buWO_MFa7g/Ua1bEtv-mJI/AAAAAAAAVqU/CZ_VI63darA/s1600/IMG_3103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4buWO_MFa7g/Ua1bEtv-mJI/AAAAAAAAVqU/CZ_VI63darA/s640/IMG_3103.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Why does Dad look like a nerd and Mom look like she's 16 and what is wrong with the boy on the end....weight problem</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6KeMQm8szNU/Ua1bFt5RPdI/AAAAAAAAVqk/laHmwAuhWs8/s1600/IMG_1033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6KeMQm8szNU/Ua1bFt5RPdI/AAAAAAAAVqk/laHmwAuhWs8/s640/IMG_1033.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">What DO newborns really think and dream about?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">These are just some of my deepest thoughts.<br />Thanks for listening.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-92007045023646751332013-06-02T19:51:00.000-07:002013-06-02T19:52:25.247-07:00On this day 21 years ago I cried. Part TWO.Another milestone for me...<br />
I mean my daughter Lauren.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H7Cjdp7fwbc/UQoHh3FpK_I/AAAAAAAASKA/J3V2AXB4_4c/s1600/4f3a12c7-c814-4789-a031-f8f45f094e8c" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H7Cjdp7fwbc/UQoHh3FpK_I/AAAAAAAASKA/J3V2AXB4_4c/s640/4f3a12c7-c814-4789-a031-f8f45f094e8c" width="640" /></a></div>
But also for me.<br />
To continue the story....<br />
I had not prepared for natural labor.<br />
For me the most natural of all labor would be pain free.<br />
On whatever they felt necessary.<br />
That would be the most "natural" state that I would choose.<br />
If you ask me pain is the most unnatural thing I know.<br />
I always asked the OB if it was possible for the anesthesiologist to just meet us out in the parking lot.<br />
Thus saving EVERYONE time and hassle.<br />
Anyway, because she was born 40 minutes after arriving at the hospital<br />
(and a 20 minute drive to the medical center that is fondly recalled as "Mr. Todds Wild Ride")<br />
there was no time for anything other than catch the baby.<br />
The last few minutes I begged for something that would dull the pain.<br />
The doctor gave me a shot of something through my IV and now it was........<br />
WORSE!<br />
I was still in pain AND I felt loopy and out of control.<br />
I heard or thought I heard the doctor remark to Todd,<br />
"She's not much of a drinker is she?"<br />
And then Lauren was born.<br />
They layed her on my chest and I saw this chubby cheeked beauty with full pouty lips and a head of beautiful dark brown hair.<br />
Problem was that my arms were now like two rubber bands.<br />
I tried to wrap them around my new little squirmer but it was if they no longer obeyed my brains commands.<br />
I was relieved when the nurse took her from me.<br />
And disappointed that I did not have the tearful moment that I had with the other two at the instant of their birth.<br />
I felt cheated by the stupid shot given me literally one minute before she was born.<br />
Maybe I had used up all of my tears the day before.<br />
Maybe there is only a finite number before your body refuses to yield any more precious bodily fluids.<br />
They wheeled her away from me to the nursery while I was being attended to.<br />
Then they took me away to my room in the towers.<br />
Finally after what seemed like hours they brought her into my room and placed her in my arms.<br />
Swaddled in her pink and blue blanket and her hair washed fluffed and combed into a little ridge atop her head like a little dinosaur.<br />
Todd tired from his night of being a knight in shining armor asleep in the uncomfortable chair beside us...<br />
My other two children being well cared for by their Grammy at home.<br />
A huge storm complete with horrible lightening and thunder roared outside as the rain beat against the window.<br />
Everyone I loved was safe.<br />
And the tears flowed.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z6Jll8nsg_o/UawD2pFBzzI/AAAAAAAAVpY/cQgvneukH84/s1600/IMG_4803%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z6Jll8nsg_o/UawD2pFBzzI/AAAAAAAAVpY/cQgvneukH84/s640/IMG_4803%5B1%5D.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-adf2yoNLgF0/UawD55kbn6I/AAAAAAAAVpg/B2B0STKWZUk/s1600/IMG_4804%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-adf2yoNLgF0/UawD55kbn6I/AAAAAAAAVpg/B2B0STKWZUk/s640/IMG_4804%5B1%5D.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
Lauren my sunshine. You have been a light and a joy to our family. No one loves fiercer and more fully than you and I am honored and grateful to be your mother. You completed our family and I will always count June 2 as one of my favorite days. Happy Birthday sweetheart I love you :)<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-8617560741094925312013-06-01T19:53:00.000-07:002013-06-01T19:53:30.213-07:00On this day 21 years ago I cried.I use to mark time by my chronological age.<br />
At 4 I broke three fingers by going down a spiral slide in the fun house at Lagoon.<br />
At 5 we moved to New Jersey and celebrated my birthday in a New York City apartment waiting to move into our house.<br />
At 8 I was baptized in a random Stake Center while our family was traveling on vacation.<br />
We moved to Houston when I was 11 and I celebrated my 12 birthday by going to Astroworld.<br />
And so on and so on.<br />
Then I became a mother and my actual age became fuzzy in my mind.<br />
I could tell you in months how old each child was<br />
But I couldn't tell you my own age without thinking really hard.<br />
One year I actually forgot and told one of my friends Jawan that I was a year younger than her.<br />
She was not happy when later she found out we were actually the same age.<br />
I now mark my life by imaging my children.<br />
For example:<br />
A doctor asks me if I have ever had any surgeries to which I reply<br />
"Why yes I had my gallbladder taken out."<br />
What year was that?<br />
"Hmmmm...uh....awhile ago"<br />
Like how long was awhile ago?<br />
"Well maybe 5 or 10 years ago....maybe 15?"<br />
(doctors disgusted look)<br />
"Ok Ok well let me think about it. Lauren was 4. Todd had taken Jack 7 and Megan 10 to the Astros game and my mom had to come over" Sooooo it was 1996!"<br />
A look of pride on my face while the doctor just shook his head.<br />
<br />
So today as I was driving to the store I reminisced about just what I was doing 21 years ago this very day.<br />
It was etched in my mind like acid on glass.<br />
I was 9 months and 1 day pregnant.<br />
It was my third delivery and my gynecologist had determined from the moment I walked in that I had gestational diabetes.<br />
She needed no tests to confirm it. (athough there would be a plethora of tests at the end)<br />
She just saw that I was overweight.<br />
And she was thin.<br />
So BOOM<br />
Diagnosis....<br />
Diabetes.<br />
I explained to her that my body actually performed miracles when I was pregnant.<br />
That is was a cosmic joke that when I was pregnant....<br />
I lost weight.<br />
My skin cleared up.<br />
My energy level increased<br />
and given enough time I could have probably brought about world peace.<br />
I always told people that if I could mentally and emotionally deal with a dozen or more children that I would choose to be pregnant forever.<br />
(to all of the people for whom pregnancy is a b word...I profusely apologize for my actions)<br />
After she diagnosed me she let me change from the paper thin tiny gown to my clothes.<br />
As I walked out she sat talking to the nurses eating a bag of Fritos.<br />
During the last three months of the pregnancy she had me take monthly glucose tests and weekly stress tests.<br />
My only REAL stress was her.<br />
The only bright silvery lining to this thundercloud was that I was considered "a higher risk pregnancy"<br />
Why would that ever be good?<br />
Well I had had two other pregnancies.<br />
Megan 43 weeks and<br />
Jack induced at 42 weeks.<br />
This was my ticket to be induced at 40 weeks whether the baby was determining whether to take up permanent residence in my uterus or not.<br />
June 1, 1992<br />
The day my sweet little girl would be born.<br />
I counted down the days.<br />
They told me to call at 6 am to St. Lukes that morning to make sure that all was ready.<br />
I knew that I had them by the diabetes and would not take no for an answer.<br />
The nurse then said,<br />
"I'm sorry you can't come in today. We are so busy that we are not doing inductions.....(and then a pause) unless they are high risk pregnancies.<br />
BINGO<br />
A smile spread across my face as I said,<br />
"Oh but I am....I have gestational diabetes." I said while trying to stifle the excitement in my voice.<br />
Let me look at your chart.<br />
To which the nurse smugly said,<br />
You are not diabetic. Your glucose levels are fine. Maybe in the higher normal range but definitely no risk at all."<br />
And that is when the crying began.<br />
I cried all day.<br />
I had never cried more in my life.<br />
And as I rested my head down that night knowing that this baby would NEVER come out, I cried some more.<br />
Then as if she could no longer tolerate staying inside of such a big baby, in the middle of the night at 2:41<br />
Lauren Winn<br />
made her debut into the world after a record 40 minute labor.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QeiqVjCpkZc/S-OosfEM8bI/AAAAAAAAE2E/FofxTZVj96A/s1600/Lauren+and+her+bottle+baboo+year+old+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QeiqVjCpkZc/S-OosfEM8bI/AAAAAAAAE2E/FofxTZVj96A/s640/Lauren+and+her+bottle+baboo+year+old+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Thankfully my OB was not on call that night to deliver her.<br />
She would not have been happy when my foot slipped and kicked her right in her Frito loving face.The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-2130275031016052342013-05-31T14:55:00.001-07:002013-05-31T14:55:50.103-07:00Ready for a Sea Shanty?<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/qGyPuey-1Jw" width="459"></iframe><br />
You know how you get that song stuck in your head?<br />
And you really don't want your brain to sing it anymore?<br />
You begin to wonder if this really might be the most effective way to torture an enemy?<br />
As in, "please please we will surrender if you just stop playing Justin Beiber."<br />
Two Halloweens ago I visited my daughter and son in law.<br />
There was this AMAZING house that I blogged about.<br />
If you want to take a peek then go here:<br />
.<a href="http://themomshell.blogspot.com/2012/09/halloweenseriously.html">http://themomshell.blogspot.com/2012/09/halloweenseriously.html</a><br />
Anywho the long and the short of it is they played this music the entire month of October every night blaring from strategically placed speakers around their now pirate filled lawn.<br />
Being somewhat of a connoisseur of Halloween I didn't mind that they had the Halloween spirit...<br />
WE HAVE SPIRIT YES WE DO>>>WE HAVE SPIRIT>>>HOW BOUT YOU!<br />
But I went home to Texas with the above pictured song running through my brain like a band of rogue mateys.<br />
It took me quite a while and a trip to a 12 step program to get rid of the monotonous ditty.<br />
AND THEN THIS HAPPENS:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0c1s3Vn1JC0/UakamWR9O7I/AAAAAAAAVo8/Nrp0LyzkzO0/s1600/_DSC8564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0c1s3Vn1JC0/UakamWR9O7I/AAAAAAAAVo8/Nrp0LyzkzO0/s640/_DSC8564.jpg" width="424" /></a></div> I cannot watch her walk without thinking about a drunken sailor.<br />
And she seems to have enough belly there<br />
Although I would NEVER use a rusty razor.<br />
And so my friends I fall victim to the sea shanty again.<br />
I only hope that I have passed a little bit o' the sea to you today.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wu_6jzePH1k/UakcM8KEePI/AAAAAAAAVpI/fJhQ_c0RckI/s1600/2013-05-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wu_6jzePH1k/UakcM8KEePI/AAAAAAAAVpI/fJhQ_c0RckI/s640/2013-05-30.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Misery LOVES company.<br />
<br />
The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-1141291185008494862013-05-29T21:49:00.002-07:002013-05-29T22:24:22.181-07:00Baby Steps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BaqUzHXrRMY/UabU69V3bjI/AAAAAAAAVos/R7HGk7ioAPQ/s1600/_DSC8424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BaqUzHXrRMY/UabU69V3bjI/AAAAAAAAVos/R7HGk7ioAPQ/s640/_DSC8424.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
My little grand baby is learning to walk.<br />
But I guess that really that is not completely accurate.<br />
The learning part started awhile back with her watching. and waiting. for her bones and muscles to grow.<br />
Observing other people walking.<br />
Then slowly pulling herself up with her disproportionate little arms on unsteady chubby little legs.<br />
Surfing around the furniture, not sure when to let go.<br />
And then as if a miracle lunging forward a step only to fall down again.<br />
and again<br />
and again.<br />
And now today, as if she is tired of waiting for her gawky little body to get it's act together, she is lunging forward,<br />
stomach pushed out,<br />
legs straining to keep up with her torso.<br />
At a quickened pace as if to suggest to her little frame,<br />
"I will walk and you better get used to it."<br />
She tucks her upper lip in with steely determination.<br />
And I can't help but laugh out loud.<br />
She resembles more a monkey than a human<br />
with her unsteady gait and her wobbily legs.<br />
And the sound that her little hands make when they slap the tile floor in my kitchen makes me stop my laughing and wonder how much it hurts each time she fails and falls.<br />
Only to laugh again as she picks herself up and starts all over again.<br />
<br />
My grand daughter is teaching me.<br />
I am trying to learn how to walk too.<br />
Trying to pull myself up in a new chapter of my life.<br />
Holding on to the furniture around me with a death grip.<br />
But I am not as fearless as she.<br />
I worry too much about the pain of the tile beneath me and the laughter of those watching.<br />
I second guess my ability to take a few steps....<br />
Never imagining that I could someday run.<br />
<br />
When I said that I always wanted to be a mother.<br />
What I failed to mention is that I had confidence in my ability to do so.<br />
When I was a teacher I always knew that I was equal to the task.<br />
Every summer job I ever had I knew that if I worked hard enough I would be successful.<br />
<br />
Now that I am testing uncharted waters with starting my own businesses<br />
I find myself standing on wobbily legs.<br />
Not wishing to find out what it feels like to hit the ground.<br />
<br />
So I want to thank you Kate.<br />
For being braver than your Grammy.<br />
For letting me be inspired by watching you.<br />
Grammy is going to join your unsteady pitter patter parade.<br />
And just keep getting up, tucking in my upper lip and trying again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-39561894529804052772013-05-28T23:39:00.000-07:002013-05-28T23:44:27.974-07:00I'm a Multi Meal.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xC-xoZ4JcTE/SUCbBGiLwWI/AAAAAAAAAE0/Y8r2pceT2GE/s1600/Scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xC-xoZ4JcTE/SUCbBGiLwWI/AAAAAAAAAE0/Y8r2pceT2GE/s1600/Scan0001.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I always knew who I would be when I grew up.<br />
Apart from the occasional daydream of being famous like one of the cast of the Brady Bunch or a stewardess, there were few distractions to my plan.<br />
No one ever told me who to be or what to do with my life.<br />
My expectations were not low.<br />
My self esteem was fairly high considering I hit puberty and became a chunky girl with coke bottle bottom glasses.<br />
My parents always applauded my intelligence and gave me every opportunity to be what I wanted to be.<br />
As far as society's views, I was happily ignorant to the what was going on around me, often times not even stopping to understand any current events.<br />
I was an avid reader consuming 4 or 5 books a week, sometimes staying up until 2 or 3 am to finish a book. Although some of the books were the domestic Little House on the Prairie, there was also Nancy Drew, Girl Detective and a smattering of grown up books from my parents book shelves far beyond what the other kids my age were reading. Catch 22, Helter Skelter, I Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee and The Good Earth and anything Stephen King was scribbling down on paper.<br />
My parents did not pressure me or try to influence me.<br />
My religion (what little I absorbed in my attention distracted mind) did not make me feel pressured.<br />
I knew who I was.<br />
I knew who I was to become.<br />
I wanted to be a mother.<br />
<br />
I know....many women want to be a mother. Heck, every single person who has lived or lives on this planet has a mother in one form or another.<br />
<br />
Hard to explain but I feel it was different for me. I didn't just want to have a family and hold the title of mother as I pursued my life.<br />
I wanted motherhood to be my life.<br />
<br />
Even as I type this I know there are people who are shaking their heads or clicking their tongues either wondering why I would think that is special in any way, or on the contrary, why I would not want more.<br />
I am not scared of judgement.<br />
When I held my firstborn in my arms I knew the road that I was on was the right one.<br />
Lest you think that I am a sappy mother with rose colored glasses let me say that the first few years of motherhood were.......<br />
well in a word.<br />
hell.<br />
I did not expect the position or job description of motherhood to feel like a heavy yoke upon my neck.<br />
But it was.<br />
I did not spend my days giddy with happiness at the opportunities that lay before me.<br />
Often times I cried because I knew there was no turning back. This was to be my life.<br />
This was who and what I was.<br />
<br />
Time and practice gave me new perspective.<br />
More babies let me know that I was not responsible for every action of my children but also not responsible for every achievement.<br />
What I will say is that now that my youngest is turning 21, the legal age of an adult.....<br />
is I gave it everything that I had.<br />
I left it all on the field of motherhood.<br />
For better and for worse...<br />
I was all in.<br />
<br />
I would like to be able to say now,<br />
"And she basked in retirement and the glory of her now raised children, and lived happily ever after."<br />
<br />
I cannot.<br />
I am still...all in.<br />
And I don't see that ending just because they are not physically and emotionally clinging to me.<br />
I am a mother.<br />
<br />
But I now face the reality and societal pressure of what else am I.<br />
And that is the question de jour.<br />
Teacher?<br />
Photographer?<br />
Jewelry Stylist?<br />
<br />
I am trying to weave through the minefield of discovery and have my good days and my bad.<br />
Lately I mostly feel like a multi meal.<br />
Never heard of a multi meal you say?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/EQGA3XIynW4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
So here I am with my mother main course and my photographer/jewelry sides I am trying to squish it all together to produce the finest multi meal I can.<br />
Pray for me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-90479234027320584452013-02-10T18:31:00.002-08:002013-02-10T18:31:47.744-08:00The Scent of a Baby...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4espgCnNjKQ/URhXf_R4jnI/AAAAAAAASRc/OAVo8EhmW9M/s1600/20120713-_dsc8673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4espgCnNjKQ/URhXf_R4jnI/AAAAAAAASRc/OAVo8EhmW9M/s640/20120713-_dsc8673.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Being a grandma has been BTE+<br />
That is a rating system my husband's work used years ago to rate how employees were performing.<br />
Here it is in a nutshell;<br />
LTE - Less than expected<br />
E - Expected<br />
BTE - Better than expected....<br />
And then the plus sign and minus signs gave an even more accurate descriptive power.<br />
The lowest being LTE- and the highest BTE+<br />
As I stated earlier.....Katelyn + grand mothering = BTE+<br />
(There might even have to be a new category: BTE++)<br />
Some of the things I already knew I would enjoy.<br />
Her soft skin, her first smiles, her little sleeping positions, her laughter.<br />
I expected those.<br />
I forgot though the smell.<br />
Babies smell better than anything.<br />
Even better than "new car" smell or "clean house"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YeEAadonZ4Q/URhTpHEyJbI/AAAAAAAASP8/-JIkFf0srDk/s1600/IMG_0714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YeEAadonZ4Q/URhTpHEyJbI/AAAAAAAASP8/-JIkFf0srDk/s640/IMG_0714.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
Particularly after a bath. This is Katelyn's very first bad just hours after her birth.<br />
She loved it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tnANeioyvQk/URhUP9W17NI/AAAAAAAASQk/jZnzTK1wisc/s1600/IMG_3156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tnANeioyvQk/URhUP9W17NI/AAAAAAAASQk/jZnzTK1wisc/s640/IMG_3156.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
I think that the scent should be bottled....<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>WAIT....STOP THE PRESSES!!!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>IT HAS!</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yvdmDZPQpYc/URhWNaHTdhI/AAAAAAAASQw/OOp1tH8maLE/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yvdmDZPQpYc/URhWNaHTdhI/AAAAAAAASQw/OOp1tH8maLE/s640/photo+(1).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's right folks baby cologne.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now you too can have that baby magic scent in your world without even having a baby.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now I've seen everything.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4espgCnNjKQ/URhXf_R4jnI/AAAAAAAASRc/OAVo8EhmW9M/s1600/20120713-_dsc8673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4espgCnNjKQ/URhXf_R4jnI/AAAAAAAASRc/OAVo8EhmW9M/s320/20120713-_dsc8673.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Showed it twice on purpose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is one of my favorite pictures EVER!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now go and freshen up with some cologne.</span>The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-78644110464755528632013-02-07T14:54:00.000-08:002013-02-07T16:00:46.211-08:00Public Service Announcement Numero Dos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s2BenzkgQwg/URQotVgLlKI/AAAAAAAASPA/fYtu0xolVvk/s1600/jalapeno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="477" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s2BenzkgQwg/URQotVgLlKI/AAAAAAAASPA/fYtu0xolVvk/s640/jalapeno.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
I have warned you about swallowing watch batteries.<br />
I have warned you about healthy eating.<br />
Now comes another very important warning.<br />
Jalapenos are hot!<br />
And even more importantly they should not be used as a lip balm or lip stick.<br />
Please people don't just shrug this off and say. "Duh Shelley"<br />
Let me be the voice of warning.<br />
A couple of weeks ago I was preparing my colorful black bean salsa for my family.<br />
Yes, as part of my "healthy lifestyle" changes. (ironical voice)<br />
I usually put in:<br />
Black beans<br />
Corn<br />
Celery<br />
Green Onions<br />
Cilantro<br />
Sea Salt<br />
Lime Juice<br />
and that is it. I am not a fan of spicy foods.<br />
Here is my policy:<br />
Eating and Pain should not be combined.<br />
It is a fairly simple rule that has served me well in my life as well as protected my taste buds from destruction. My husband Todd has no taste buds left since he thinks the hotter the better.<br />
(Which all in all is good for a wife since he always thinks my cooking is sooooo good)<br />
He has passed down his love of spicy foods to our children.<br />
Particularly the love of the Jalapeno.<br />
One of his favorite treats is Jalapeno Kettle Chips. Every time he would treat himself to a bag the kids would clamor around him. He loved watching their little faces the first time they would try one. But since they were young and didn't know any better....they liked them.<br />
I on the other hand do NOT....not only do I not like the spiciness, I do NOT like the flavor or the smell.<br />
A bag of Jalapeno chips pretty much assured Todd of no close contact with me for awhile.<br />
Well I guess last week I was trying to show off a little.<br />
I wanted Todd and Megan and Dave to be a part of my "healthy lifestyle" changes too.<br />
(Once again not out of love but out of a perverse need for others to be as miserable as I)<br />
So I said, Get some jalapenos and we will put them in the salsa.<br />
I mean I am a tough girl. I could handle it.<br />
And I was not about to eat healthy by myself.<br />
I was careful to cut them and take out the seeds and the spines which I know are the hottest part.<br />
The millions of hours of Food Network had taught me something.<br />
But I eschewed their advice on rubber gloves.<br />
Really people!<br />
It's not brain surgery.<br />
I diced the first pepper into bits and wondered how many jalapenos I should include.<br />
For those of you who aren't familiar with the jalapeno.....some are mild and some are CALIENTE and the only way to know is to taste.<br />
I asked Megan who loves spice to try one and tell me how hot they were.<br />
"No way" she smartly said.<br />
Well once again I am a tough girl and so to show just how tough I was I said,<br />
"Fine then! I will"<br />
Those fateful words were the last I uttered pain free that night.<br />
As soon as the tiny piece hit my tongue I knew what a mistake I had made.<br />
Can you say MUY CALIENTE!!!!!!<br />
I quickly took it out of my mouth and ran to the sink where I went gasping for water.<br />
I wasn't thinking straight since I know you are suppose to drink milk or eat a cracker but pain has a way of altering your knowledge.<br />
I gulped water straight out of my hands like a dying man.<br />
And then I swiped them across my lips......<br />
BIG MISTAKE!<br />
The pain on my tongue was child's play compared to the burning of my lips and the skin that surrounded them. For as any true Texan cook knows...the oil of the Jalapeno on your hands is far worse than the taste in your mouth.<br />
Now here is where my words fail me.<br />
I cannot describe the pain to you other than to say....<br />
You know when you touch something in the oven and it burns?<br />
Think about just keeping your finger there while it is searing and not drawing back.<br />
Intense.....<br />
I took the lid off of my Route 44 and stuck my whole face in it. That was the only relief I could find.<br />
I was pretending that it didn't hurt that much.<br />
(You know...tough girl)<br />
But I guess my whole face stuck in a Diet Coke was a dead give away.<br />
Megan and Dave started telling me remedies that they knew.<br />
"Eat bread"<br />
"Drink milk"<br />
I did.<br />
I went from item to item trying to stave off the pain.<br />
Dave, ever the helpful action hero, looked on the internet and said....Rub a dairy product on the burn.<br />
I grabbed the first thing I saw.<br />
Cottage cheese....I smeared it on my lips and around them. I looked like a white version of Bette Davis in "Whatever happened to Baby Jane"<br />
Then I tried Greek Yogurt. Smearing it everywhere the skin was searing hot.<br />
I now approached a look of a reverse made up clown.<br />
"Try Apple Cider Vinegar"<br />
I did.<br />
The memory of the stinging will always haunt me.<br />
Dave reads a site on the internet that says that sometimes people end up in the ER and have blistering and pain for days.<br />
He looks at me with yogurt cheese and vinegar spread all over my mouth and says, "I think we should go to the ER."<br />
Ummmmm....pain or vanity?<br />
Tough choice.<br />
This is too humiliating to go to the ER I tell him. So he took matters into his own hands and went to Walgreens where he bought what the pharmacist said would work.<br />
Lidocaine!<br />
I applied it over the layers of home remedies and finally began to feel relief.<br />
Ah blessed numbness.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2OPxRf4jJtU/URQwQO0n93I/AAAAAAAASPI/UJS8j4U-iNo/s1600/IMG_3285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2OPxRf4jJtU/URQwQO0n93I/AAAAAAAASPI/UJS8j4U-iNo/s320/IMG_3285.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The upside of all of this?<br />
Angelina Jolie lips for about 6 hours.<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-71336921642829382142013-02-06T17:35:00.001-08:002013-02-06T17:35:18.701-08:00A Public Service Announcement.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NbNoV8FIzAA/URMDEXGgRcI/AAAAAAAASOQ/HlFf17cZsBA/s1600/IMG_3280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NbNoV8FIzAA/URMDEXGgRcI/AAAAAAAASOQ/HlFf17cZsBA/s640/IMG_3280.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Look how bright and colorful.<br />
You know that you eat with your eyes before it ever hits your palate.<br />
This is a meal to delight all of the senses.<br />
Well except for one that is.<br />
It smells good.<br />
It looks good.<br />
It sounds good. (crunch crunch)<br />
It even feels good.<br />
So hmmmm I wonder what sense I have left out?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IwPh0TqUGMQ/URMDpW4Q2FI/AAAAAAAASOY/9EChzdk5UQM/s1600/IMG_3251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IwPh0TqUGMQ/URMDpW4Q2FI/AAAAAAAASOY/9EChzdk5UQM/s640/IMG_3251.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
This on the other hand is NOT very colorful.<br />
It is mostly browns and beige.<br />
It does not feel good to your hand. It is very sticky.<br />
The smell is not as strong.<br />
It does not make a snapping sound in your mouth.<br />
It really only appeals to one of the senses......<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">TASTE!</span><br />
This message has been brought to you by someone very grouchy and bitter about her "healthy lifestyle" changes.<br />
She would like you to join her.<br />
Not because she is worried about your health.<br />
But because misery LOVES company.<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-11547357167244952172013-02-04T23:02:00.001-08:002013-02-04T23:03:08.371-08:00Extra Energy for Kate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c9tP5jnQjOI/URCmAY4ri3I/AAAAAAAASNo/A-QNwKJo8_g/s1600/IMG_3287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c9tP5jnQjOI/URCmAY4ri3I/AAAAAAAASNo/A-QNwKJo8_g/s640/IMG_3287.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
Life is dangerous.<br />
There is always something you can worry about, try to avoid or try to prepare for.<br />
My Megan is a Class A Number 1 worrier.<br />
(I have NO idea where she gets it from)<br />
I tell her all the time that usually the things we worry about most never happen.....<br />
And the things we hadn't even thought of...well do happen.<br />
Megan has been worried about Katelyn choking since.....<br />
Well since her first breath I guess.<br />
Every time Kate clears her throat I see Megan spring in to the Heimlich Maneuver position.<br />
When Kate started eating food Megan cut everything up into minute pieces.<br />
Which was fine until Kate decided that she wanted to feed herself.<br />
The pieces were so tiny that she would have needed a microscope.<br />
And that's a mean thing to do to a little person who is just figuring out how to use her thumb and forefinger.<br />
I did not share that same fear.<br />
I was a battle hardened mother of three.<br />
One of my children who shall remain nameless, would stuff HIS mouth so full that it would set off his gag reflexes immediately and there would be sounds coming from his mouth that no mother should have to hear.<br />
HE could eat a banana in three bites.<br />
Our pediatrician said that I should cut everything up into tiny pieces so that he would not choke.<br />
I did.<br />
HE just waited until my back was turned and then HE would just scoop them all up into a pile and shove them into HIS mouth.<br />
I would know this because of the awful gagging noises.<br />
I hate to say this but I got use to the sound.<br />
So much so that when we would go out to eat, I would forget that it was unusual and would always be surprised at the terrified look on the other patrons faces. I would just give them a wave so that they knew everything was okay and to go back to eating their normal sized pieces of food.<br />
(By the way HE who shall remain nameless still eats like that minus the noise)<br />
So Kate's little coughs never scared me one bit.<br />
<br />
Last Sunday I was sitting on the floor during Relief Society (women's organization) meeting at church.<br />
Kate is so wiggly that it is just easier to join her on the floor than try to hold her on my lap.<br />
She likes to sit close, which of course is no problem for this Grandma.<br />
She was sitting against me with her back to me playing with toys from my purse.<br />
Her mother was sitting facing her on the piano bench listening to the teacher.<br />
I was concentrating on trying to name every sister in the room.<br />
I game I like to play which I picked up as RSP.<br />
I was stuck on one sister in particular.<br />
I knew her but I could NOT remember her name!<br />
I hate when that happens and so I concentrated even harder trying to block out all distractions.<br />
All of a sudden I felt a rush of adrenaline and panic.<br />
"Check Katelyn's mouth"<br />
The message was quick and clear.<br />
I stuck my finger in and swept over her slippery little tongue and pulled out....<br />
A watch battery<br />
For a second I just stared down at it, for sure that my eyes were playing tricks on me.<br />
I thought, of all the things she could have swallowed that would not have alarmed me...<br />
A penny,<br />
old food,<br />
A bug,<br />
Dirt,<br />
anything but a battery.<br />
Where did it come from. This is not somebody's house but Church for Pete's sake. I scanned the floor and saw a second little shiny button battery.<br />
I looked in the garbage can next to us and saw a broken key chain that had a little light where the batteries had come from.<br />
How many batteries were in it to begin with I wondered?<br />
I signaled for Megan to follow me out in the hallway, not wanting to alarm her but not feeling confident that there were only two.<br />
I looked up what to do on my phone while she fiddled with the case to see if it looked like there was only two batteries to begin with.<br />
On Google I punched in...<br />
"baby swallows watch battery"<br />
Thousands of articles came up, but the one that caught my eye first was<br />
"Toddler dies from swallowing watch battery"<br />
No I am not ready that one OR showing it to Megan.<br />
I find the poison control centers advice.<br />
Watch batteries are particularly dangerous because they do not have much protective coating on them to keep the battery acid from leaching. If it is able to pass through to the stomach then usually there is no harm, but if it gets stuck in the esophagus it can be fatal. The child should immediately be x-rayed.<br />
Both of us studied the broken key light.<br />
Were there two batteries or three?<br />
After calling the pediatrician, her mother and father decided that it was not a question that we could leave up to chance.<br />
So I watched as their little family loaded up their car for their first trip to the emergency room with a child.<br />
I hope that it is their last....<br />
Something tells me that with life...we never know.<br />
<br />
P.S. Xrays showed no battery. Whew! Katelyn was perfectly fine.<br />
P.S.S. When her Dad was waiting in the ER he told a joke that no one laughed at. I did though when they came home.<br />
He was asked if she had any other symptoms from swallowing the battery and he said,<br />
"No just a little extra energy"<br />
Ba ha ha ha ha ha.<br />
You crack me up Dave!<br />
<br />The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-64818019501703262322013-02-03T19:06:00.004-08:002013-02-03T19:07:24.520-08:00Crocheting Grandma...Sexy?....I think so.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6xV4cEhoYS8/UQ8dEsCzKMI/AAAAAAAASLg/yWjeJFyZtFk/s1600/IMG_2279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6xV4cEhoYS8/UQ8dEsCzKMI/AAAAAAAASLg/yWjeJFyZtFk/s640/IMG_2279.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
I started to feel the gravitational pull towards crocheting about 5 months before this little ball of yarn entered into my life.<br />
It started out innocently enough with a pretty ball of yarn that was on sale.<br />
I rationalized it's purchase because I could use it to make photography props for my new career.<br />
My beautiful friend Jenelle made all sorts of baby caps, cocoons and diaper covers. Each one was so well done and I was jealous of her ability. Until I remembered that I too knew how to crochet.<br />
Well that is a little bit of an overstatement.<br />
I had made hanger covers and dish cloths.<br />
Worried that crocheting might mark me as an "old person" or even worse..."a granny", I comforted myself by rationalizing that Jenelle was one of the hippest, coolest and youngest friend I had.<br />
That's right I thought...... crocheting is COOL!<br />
This isn't your grandma's sport anymore....<br />
So I embarked on the adventure of hipster crocheting, learning how to read patterns and buying trendy colors of yarn.<br />
I even made a kitty hat for my sweet niece Miss Lisa who is ALWAYS on the cutting edge of what's hot and edgy.<br />
I acquired yarn by the skeinfuls not even knowing what the next project would be...only knowing that the soft ombre colors made me happy.....and cool.<br />
Until I caught a reflection of myself one day in the mirror.<br />
Messy graying ponytail, old sweatshirt, squinting through my reading glasses.....<br />
and I knew that I was definitely not on the cool train to Edgyville.<br />
Darn it!<br />
I AM a grandma!<br />
I still haven't lost hope though. I found these pictures as I was meandering down my local Hobby Lobby's yarn aisle.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2e9_rIaTXFU/UQ8jEMAyLII/AAAAAAAASLo/pO4J43Jvwwk/s1600/IMG_3311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2e9_rIaTXFU/UQ8jEMAyLII/AAAAAAAASLo/pO4J43Jvwwk/s640/IMG_3311.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZF8dBqRg6J4/UQ8jEs_X68I/AAAAAAAASLs/IdrA6HHTnj0/s1600/IMG_3309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZF8dBqRg6J4/UQ8jEs_X68I/AAAAAAAASLs/IdrA6HHTnj0/s640/IMG_3309.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2rY7-njFzGI/UQ8jEjJR-xI/AAAAAAAASL4/NhmJq39aqBQ/s1600/IMG_3310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2rY7-njFzGI/UQ8jEjJR-xI/AAAAAAAASL4/NhmJq39aqBQ/s640/IMG_3310.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kPnSus77buQ/UQ8jF2ETuiI/AAAAAAAASMQ/2XlGj8q34CI/s1600/IMG_3314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kPnSus77buQ/UQ8jF2ETuiI/AAAAAAAASMQ/2XlGj8q34CI/s640/IMG_3314.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xxbDKzZK4to/UQ8jHFkqkHI/AAAAAAAASMc/I0LTNzadzqE/s1600/IMG_3317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xxbDKzZK4to/UQ8jHFkqkHI/AAAAAAAASMc/I0LTNzadzqE/s640/IMG_3317.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ofRkzJsD15A/UQ8jIIrgC3I/AAAAAAAASM8/ZWThlxvkhv8/s1600/IMG_3320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ofRkzJsD15A/UQ8jIIrgC3I/AAAAAAAASM8/ZWThlxvkhv8/s640/IMG_3320.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
These women obviously know how to keep that sexy edge while crocheting.<br />
So I know there is hope.<br />
I plan on having my hair and make-up done and I am practicing my sexy smile.<br />
I will learn how to crochet will I smize.<br />
So with that in mind I have picked out a few new projects to up my crocheting street cred.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0jqSMrNhOY8/UQ8jHnq9CHI/AAAAAAAASMo/anWvgEf_7Cc/s1600/IMG_3318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0jqSMrNhOY8/UQ8jHnq9CHI/AAAAAAAASMo/anWvgEf_7Cc/s640/IMG_3318.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_rkZsxndQN0/UQ8jHLfdn7I/AAAAAAAASMg/IKHAIt0sE74/s1600/IMG_3316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_rkZsxndQN0/UQ8jHLfdn7I/AAAAAAAASMg/IKHAIt0sE74/s640/IMG_3316.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yBpmI51xGJ0/UQ8jG4ySLNI/AAAAAAAASMY/JasZiSDl_ec/s1600/IMG_3315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yBpmI51xGJ0/UQ8jG4ySLNI/AAAAAAAASMY/JasZiSDl_ec/s640/IMG_3315.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
and then on to sewing.<br />
I am thinking this outfit would really give me the cool factor for any jobs I might book.<br />
In short.<br />
Watch out world.<br />
I may be a grandma but,<br />
I still got it!The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-91128852250817347892013-01-31T21:49:00.001-08:002013-02-01T15:19:32.575-08:00I Matter....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Funny story.....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I was going through my lists of posts since it has been awhile since I have blogged.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I came across a post entitled..I Matter. It was an unpublished draft.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I couldn't quite remember writing it and since I thought that it sounded interesting I opened it up.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Obviously I did not finish the post since it is literally a cliff hanger.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And now for the life of me I can't remember what it was that I wanted to say.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Isn't old age grand?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I am going to ponder it tonight while I try and sleep</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(Isn't old age grand?)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And if I remember what it was that was going to convince me that I MATTER and that you do as well I will get back to you and write</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I Matter part 2.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
If any one else feels inspired to finish this clearly inspired post feel free. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It will be like the game we use to play in elementary school where someone started a story and then it went around in a circle until it's conclusion.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Meanwhile while you are waiting....please believe that I REALLY do think that you and I matter.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Honest.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eTx7ntLYlw8/T3Io3ok0mxI/AAAAAAAAObI/RNvp5IybF9g/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eTx7ntLYlw8/T3Io3ok0mxI/AAAAAAAAObI/RNvp5IybF9g/s640/058.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Sunday, I taught Relief Society for the first time in awhile.<br />
(Relief Society is the LDS organization for women and what a wonderful organization it is)<br />
Thankfully the message I was to deliver is right up my alley and one I feel very passionate about lately.<br />
It really has been on my mind the last two years as I have tried to make a "graceful" (a word not often used to describe me) transition into the next phase in my life.<br />
I have gone from full time mother....<br />
To part time photographer, part time Real estate courier, part time mother (if that is even possible?) and<br />
FULL TIME SHELLLEY!!<br />
That's right full time Shelley is back and for awhile did not know what to do with herself.<br />
The lesson on Sunday answered that question in a beautiful way that really resonated with what I have learned (and NOT the easy way) over the last two years.<br />
I felt so strongly about this message that I gave each woman a challenge (and candy of course...duh)<br />
Was to post within daily site and repeat every day these two words.<br />
I MATTER!<br />
I also asked them to share it with at least one more person because the message needs to be said and felt more than ever in our world.<br />
And so you are the person I want to share it with.<br />
I wish I could sit down with you and share a Route 44 Diet Coke with Cranberry and extra ice....<br />
(and by share I mean you get your drink and I get mine....I don't share my drink with anyone)<br />
and tell you this face to face.<br />
This will have to do.<br />
We spend a LOT of time as human beings on measuring.<br />
We measure our time by seconds, minutes, hours, days and years<br />
We measure our food by meals and standards like small, medium and large and the all important Route 44.<br />
We measure our education by degrees and standardized tests.<br />
We measure our height and weight by the numbers and then classify ourselves into categories of short, thin, fat, average.<br />
We measure our children by the milestones they reach, the grades that they make and the awards they receive.<br />
It's not that measuring is a bad thing<br />
But it can get in our own way.The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5450732197439713185.post-29745158495763681662013-01-30T23:34:00.001-08:002013-01-30T23:34:30.537-08:00Watching Paint Dry and AwardsMy dear sweet daughter Megan nominated my blog for an award.....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IDXxBoicIfk/Stl2dFKt3QI/AAAAAAAAC_w/ou3P2_teFZc/s1600/Megan+Winn+Robertson+Bridal+Portraits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IDXxBoicIfk/Stl2dFKt3QI/AAAAAAAAC_w/ou3P2_teFZc/s640/Megan+Winn+Robertson+Bridal+Portraits.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Of course I am sure that there was no bias in the awarding of this honor....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cqA5rz_O4YE/UJnFtDjPaEI/AAAAAAAASFM/Z723UikSATk/s1600/the-liebster-award-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cqA5rz_O4YE/UJnFtDjPaEI/AAAAAAAASFM/Z723UikSATk/s1600/the-liebster-award-1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
So I gladly accept this wonderful prize and I would like to thank the academy and the foreign film press and my Mom and Dad and all the little people.....<br />
Oh wait there is a little catch.<br />
I have to answer a few questions first to deserve the accolades.<br />
And so here they are...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">1. If you had to eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?</span><br />
That's an easy one. I have even given quite a bit of thought to it. Why you ask? This is a question that if asked quickly you do NOT want to get wrong. I have many favorite foods and as you all know sugar tops that list but you have to consider health and wellness if you want to have a "rest of your life". So the answer would have to be bread.<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">2. What is your favorite memory from college?</span><br />
That has to be meeting the man of my dreams. Although we grew up in the same stake here in Houston I never laid eyes on him until we met outside my dorm room in Helaman Halls. I can honestly say that I have never met a more handsome, kind, sweet man in my life and I know that we were destined to be together forever<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">3. If you had to choose a different career (besides teaching and mothering) what would it be?</span><br />
Lol I think I have already done so......<br />
Hello....PHOTOGRAPHY!!!<br />
But I would be working for National Geographic....dream job!<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">4. What was your craziest motherhood moment?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There were many....far far too many but the one that springs to mind with you was when I was wheeling you through Target....you were about 2 or 3 years old with quite a vivid imagination and vocabulary. You had been quiet for a few minutes (that should have tipped me off to trouble right there) and I was looking at a pair of scissors, deciding which one to buy. All of a sudden in a very loud voice you cried, "Please Mommy please don't cut me with those scissors!" I quietly put down the scissors and in my sweetest voice (the public sweet voice that let you know you were in real trouble) said out loud to the people staring at us that mommy had NEVER ever cut you with scissors. I could see them all racing to their phones to call CPS.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">5. What is your favorite quote and why?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's is a hard one but recently it has been:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I choose to excel; not compete.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh and the classic...When it is your time to go.....Go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">6. What did you want to be when you were a kid?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I knew that I would be an actress like the kids on Brady Bunch.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">7. If your life were made into a movie, what would it be called?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Who would ever pay to go to a movie about my life" That would be the title.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">8. If you could interview anyone from any point in history, who would it be?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eve</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">9. If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Champ</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">10. What compliment do you receive the most often? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What a wonderful daughter I have.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Go read her blog at meganarratives.blogspot.com</span>The MomShellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15644442372982697736noreply@blogger.com1