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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74942026056295509182017-11-06T02:54:02.086-05:00The Rocking PonyBecause life with kids is all about going back and forth and getting nowhere.Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-67075311006717987402017-09-07T20:23:00.000-04:002017-09-07T20:23:13.159-04:00Everlasting IronyWe celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary this week. The celebration has been about 5 months in the making. Back in April, Sam proposed all over again while we were on a hike with the kids. He says I've been complaining for the past 25 years that he didn't do it right the first time and he wanted a re-do. Frankly, I love the fond memory of the hilariously botched attempt. It worked, and that's all that matters.

Knowing that I'm a planner, he proposed to me months in advance so that I could take over the planning of the grand party he wanted to have, complete with vow renewals and a new ring. Guys, that man of mine rocks gift giving like nobody's business, but somehow he missed this one. A grand event where I'm part of the center of attention is not my idea of a great time. And the ring was another matter. Sam and Becky collaborated to get me a ring from Etsy, which I dearly love. It's small, simple and so cheap that it barely counts as jewelry. Perfect. I'm just not a jewelry person. At all. I wear my wedding band and a watch. Other than that, I add earrings when I leave the house. I do love bracelets, but they're not practical to wear when working. All the jangling and shuffling gets to be bothersome, but I collect them nonetheless. I take bracelets with me every time I vacation, and usually collect a new one while away. They're fun.

Over the summer months, we had conversations about the party, and finally decided to just have friends over for a cook out. We used the pizza over that Sam and Luke have been working on (and isn't finished yet) and had a great time. It was the best 25th anniversary party that'll ever be held in our honor. It was perfect.

And I didn't get a new ring, which was also perfect. Sometime in May, just out of the blue, Sam asked me if I was coming home from a conference with a tattoo. This is the man who is inherently opposed to tattoos, and wasn't any too happy when Becky got her first. I vaguely wondered if it was really my husband that I was talking to, or if, maybe, he'd been kidnapped by aliens. Conversations upon my arrival home turned into the decision to get matching tattoos to commemorate our 25 years of marriage rather than spending money on gifts for each other, such as another ring. I was down with that.

Ironically, I have bracelets permanently attached to my wrist. I'm not a jewelry person, but I do love them. That man knows how to give good gifts.

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-33625849203147891902017-06-08T21:24:00.001-04:002017-06-08T21:24:49.925-04:00You Don't Always Stick The Landing, But Rolling With The Fall Is ImportantI should probably not have poked Murphy with the declaration that our family rolls with life. You'd think I'd know better by now. Clearly, I am a slow learner.

Vacation is two days away, and we're all super excited. We're also in the pre-vacation panic mode of trying to get All The Things Done And Organizing All The People. With 8 of us going, (we adopted an extra for this trip), and meal planning in advance, it's been more work. It'll be nice not to have to grocery shop upon arrival, so totally worth the extra effort now.

College Boy came home late last evening to join us on the vacation, and I sat up until the wee smalls visiting with him. We only see him a few weeks per year now, so every minute counts. My mind joins Anna, from Frozen, with her declaration that "the sun is up, so I must be up," and on days like today I am not fond of this sentiment. Those 4 hours of sleep I got just aren't cutting it. I was dragging by 10am.

I learned the hard way that Darla has a sensitive stomach. I had some canned dog food sitting around and thought I'd treat her, as she could stand to gain a half pound or so. (She's a tiny dog; a little weight will go a long way on her.) She was up a few times in the night, screaming to be let out before an accident happened in her crate. I was grateful not to have to clean up a mess, and happy to know that she's a neat kind of dog. It didn't help the sleep situation, though.

FYI, that is the happiest dog ever. Not even an upset stomach keeps her down. She bounds like a deer in a clover field, and greets everyone with exuberance, even when ill. I think she's pretty much past the worst of it, and I'm so glad I learned this important bit of information about her before vacation. Had I thought to "treat" her while away, that large smell in a tiny cottage with too many people would not be pleasant. At all.

With 1.5 days left to do the packing (which hasn't been thought about, much less started), finish organizing meals, and get all the store orders done, (while trying to pretend that I'm not about to pass out from lack of sleep), Luke decided to test out his newly repaired bicycle before we took it on vacation with us. He also decided to catch some air on a jump as he headed back to the house. He didn't stick the landing the way he envisioned it in his head. He's now rocking a broken rib and shoulder blade.

It's like deja vu. Our boys should not be allowed to own or ride pedal bikes.

So Luke's vacation will now be spent sleeping on a sofa instead of a bottom bunk, enjoying the paddle boat instead of a kayak, and is borrowing a scooter to keep up with the family while we bike. He'll be powered with narcotics and Advil. This is all provided he doesn't need the bone set before we leave, and we can't even call the doc to discuss this until morning. We're seriously hoping that we won't have to delay the trip for a few days, and that he can enjoy himself despite the pain if we ever get there.

While the timing isn't great, we're rolling with this, too, because we have no other choice. At this point in our lives, we have learned to laugh as it happens. Josh made a meme about Luke's projecting shoulder blade being reminiscent of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I told Luke he must have planned this so he didn't have to fold his laundry that I removed from the dryer this evening. Life moves at full speed, and sometimes there are road bumps. Sticking the landing isn't always going to happen, but rolling with the fall helps keep your sanity.

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-60502191111627126782017-06-07T14:10:00.001-04:002017-06-07T14:10:55.819-04:00Plot Twist On The New DogWhen your child comes with his very own life-long disability, you learn to roll with life pretty quickly. Often, it's not because you want to, but because you have to. And life gets re-prioritized, too. What you once thought was a big deal, you now realize isn't so much. I mean, who cares if your son wears a poodle skirt into town? He dressed himself, and that's a huge step.

Rolling and re-prioritizing. It's what life is about. Some of us are just on a steeper learning curve than others.

That being said, when Micah decided to re-name his dog, I waffled. She was just changed from Dixie to Fiona, and now he wants to name her Darla. She'll be the most confused dog ever. An individual needs some consistency, after all. It's hard enough adjusting to a new life without knowing who you are.

Fiona/Darla/WhoeverSheIs is an interesting dog. While she's too stubborn to raise her head when intently eating bugs in the lawn, it's a happy kind of stubborn. It's like she lives in her own bubble world, with butterflies and rainbows and unicorns. She's oblivious to things around her, and just focused on whatever makes her tail wag at the moment.

Maybe that's what prompted me to start looking at the situation more closely. I retraced the past 2 weeks, and looked at incidents with new eyes. I came to the conclusion that the dog doesn't hear well. I spent a few hours conducting random tests, like snapping at each ear as she slept, and dropping a heavy object at the other end of the room. I had others make loud noises behind her as I held her, and we discussed how she lacked reaction of any kind.

Guys, this is the perfect dog for us. Our disabled son has his very own disabled dog. We are pretty sure that Fiona is completely deaf. This is a plot twist, of course, but nothing we can't roll with. And it's even better, because now Micah can change her name any time he wants. It's not going to confuse the dog at all. We may never know who he's talking about, but that's beside the point.

Darla, as she'll be called until further notice, is going to teach us a whole lot, just like her owner does. We're already re-learning how to interact with her, and to teach her basic things like NO and DOWN. Words just aren't going to cut it, and that's sad because I have perfected the Mom Voice after 22 years of parenting. Even the dogs respect that voice, and heed my commands when they hear it. I'll have to up my game with the Stink Eye, I guess.

I know many people with deaf dogs, which is probably what set me to thinking this might be the problem with Darla's stubbornness. I have resources to tap into and learn from, and that's all anyone can ask for. A good support system is golden, whether it's for your children or their pets. We're moving forward, because life doesn't stop to allow you to process things. And really, this isn't anything new to Darla. I'm taking her happy cue and wagging my tail as we navigate the unknown ahead of us.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-4472918408807672272017-05-25T08:58:00.000-04:002017-05-25T08:58:04.016-04:00Louie's Adjustment To A Third DogI am Louie's person. He's incredibly protective of me, too. That dog doesn't like when another dog invades my personal space, and recognizes that my personal space boundaries encompass a 5' circle around me. Louie will step between me and another dog that tries to gain my attention, touch me in any way, or look me in the eye from across a room. Jealous is a bit of an understatement.

Because Louie is so focused on saving me from the affections of other dogs, he generally doesn't interact with them. He looks like a total snob, ignoring dogs of all shapes and sizes as he stoically walks beside me, waiting to come between me and any other 4-legged being that will threaten our bond.

Because rules are meant to be broken, Louie's one exception to his no-play contract are shih-tzus. Louie is in love with those long haired dogs. He just can't seem to control himself when he sees one, and lunges at it in an overt greeting and invitation to play. His reaction is interpreted as an aggressive act by other dogs, and his would-be friend cowers from him in terror. Pet conferences are a struggle for us both, as we engage in a contest of "who can spot the shih-tzu first." I think Louie finally gave up on his love of long hair, though, as last week's BlogPaws conference was the very first event where he didn't uncontrollably lunge at another dog.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I was sitting on a bench in a relatively empty lobby, and Louie leapt off the seat to greet another dog before I even knew that dog had entered our line of sight. I looked up to see what was going on (and call my errant dog back), when I realized that the dog wasn't a shih-tzu, but a shelter dog.

Louie loved Fiona from the moment he laid eyes on her.

I am so sure that Fiona is the dog we were meant to have. The fact that we were able to rescue a dog from the Humane Society at all is a miracle in itself. Having Louie accept her from the start is also a big deal.

I didn't want to push my luck with the infatuation, so I let Fiona run around and take in the sights. I held Louie and we both watched her. I barely interacted with the sweet new dog, for fear of making Louie crazy jealous. I figured there would be a lifetime of togetherness to make up for that missed hour, if we chose to make her our own. I even went as far as to have friends help with Fiona the rest of the evening so that Louie and I could be together, as he expected. I really didn't want him to hate the new dog from the beginning, and have to work to undo that when we got home. It would be a much more difficult transition for all concerned, if that were the case.

All bets were off in the hotel room, though. With 3 dogs trying to do the meet and greet, it was crazy. Once we got all dogs settled into something that might work for the night, I held Fiona beside me, waiting for her to calm down. Louie snored at the foot of the bed.

Louie's boundaries of my protection include anything that I'm sitting or lying on. Beds, sofas, chairs and benches are for me and Louie to share. No other dog is allowed to even jump up and place a paw on that object. A dog sleeping under my arm is a total OHMYGOSH WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT OTHER DOG kind of emergency situation. But Louie snored peacefully by my feet as Fiona laid by my side, allowing me to be a dog mom to someone other than him for once.

There is no doubt that Fiona is meant to be our dog. And by "our," I mean Micah's dog.

The very first time Louie laid eyes on Fiona.

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-27067921187133663982017-05-23T23:15:00.001-04:002017-05-23T23:15:26.786-04:00What's In A Name?Fiona's name was Dixie. She didn't seem to respond to anything when we called her (it may have been the stress of the situation), but we figured we'd give her a new name with her new life.

I had plans on choosing a name for her, and everything dog related ties back to the business. My thought was that she came from a social media conference, so naming her something related to social media would be genius. As a bonus, this would be memorable and catchy on Instagram. Instagram is where I do my advertising for the store, and a unique name that grabs attention would be good.

 We tossed around names like Moogle, Flickr, Snapchat (shortened to Snap), Instagram (shortened to Gram, but then realized that the already-recognized boy's name of Graham would brand our girl as a gender confused dog with idiot parents), Zip Drive (or Zippy), and Twitter. Micah gave a hard no to all of the above. I'll admit, I was rather grateful for some of the turn-downs.

I changed tactics, and thought she could have a name that reflected her boy. Something to do with Down syndrome. The first one I thought of was Chrome, representing the chromosomes that are different in individuals with DS. It could also double as a nod to social media, as a bonus. Micah wasn't fully opposed, and even attempted to say it, but I could tell it was a huge struggle for him. I realized it would be a huge struggle for anyone, really. A single-syllable word with that many sounds is a real mouth full.

Moving on, I started throwing out any name I could think of. Daphne, Beatrice, Poppi. No, no, no. The dog needed a name, and Micah wasn't even keen on Dixie, which I'd also tossed out. At the 2-day mark, it was getting old calling the dog The Dog, especially when we had 2 other dogs to get confused with.

Just about time I thought I'd have to take a parental stand and say, "your dog's name is....", I realized Micah was watching Shrek again. It's currently his favorite movie, and he identifies himself as Shrek.

"Micah, do you want to name your dog Fiona?"

He stopped the movie, looked up at me, and said, "Yes!"

Micah doesn't always understand questions. Even when he does, sometimes he answers what he thinks you want to hear, and sometimes he answers no just because he's a kid with a word that holds power. If he said yes to a name, it didn't necessarily mean the name is a win for him. (Conversely, all the no's he'd been throwing around may not have been adamant no's.)

Daddy asked Micah to help him take the trash out at that moment, but when he came back, I tested the waters.

"Micah, is your dog's name Fiona?"

He walked over to her crate, got down on his knees, patted his legs with both hands and called oh-so-gently, "Ona! Ona!" I'll be darned if that sweet dog of his came out, looked him in the face, and licked his hands. Micah picked her up and hugged her for a few moments before they parted ways and went on with their evening.

Fiona is a winner of a name. It's been decided by both Micah and his dog.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-35796061046189820602017-05-22T20:21:00.000-04:002017-05-22T20:21:00.000-04:00What Happens In Myrtle Beach Comes Home With YouThe chaos in the hotel room was probably typical for Myrtle Beach, but it was far louder than I was comfortable with. Three dogs chased each other in circles while having an "I can bark louder" contest, and no amount of hushing would stop the insanity. The dogs were doing zoomies around the room and jumping between beds like kids at a slumber party, buoyed up with sugar and adrenaline. I always take Louie to conferences with me, but this was far more than I ever bargained for, and I only had myself to blame.

A few days before I left for the conference, I was asked to find a home for a dog who needed more time than his owners could give him. I applaud the pawrents for recognizing that it wasn't the best life for a dog, and wanting better for him. I knew I was heading to BlogPaws, a conference focusing on social media for the pet bloggers and others in the pet industry, and would have a large base of pet owners to help find him a home. It didn't take long for someone to make a perfect connection for the Boston terrier, and I made arrangements to take him to Myrtle Beach with me, and a friend to take him on to his new home after the conference. The problem was that my roommate was the one taking him on the second leg of his journey, so I had to room with him the entire week. I really liked the dog, but he and Louie tended to have loud wrestling matches in the late evening hours, as boys of any species are prone to do.

I had the Boston at the house for a few days before we left, and Micah really started bonding with him. Sam and I realized that it was probably time to find Micah a dog that he could play with. Louie is game to fetch for quite a while, but he suffers breathing problems like most of his breed does, and I have to stop the fun after 5 minutes. We decided to look for a companion for Micah.

We have a list of criteria for this hypothetical dog, though.

*Good with kids and other dogs

*Small enough for Micah to pick up but not so tiny as to be fragile

*High energy for play, but able to calm for petting

*No fluffy undercoat that tends to make allergies flare for the family (including Micah)

*No flat-faced breeds that would also suffer breathing issues.

I was thinking a jack russell would be a great fit for us, and as luck would have it, a JRT mix was available at the local humane society. We visited the shelter, played with him, and realized that it was exactly what we were looking for. We filled out the application and crossed fingers, toes and eyes that we'd have a new family member by the end of the week. Instead, I was told that we were denied adoption rights because Louie isn't neutered, and Jill isn't spayed. We are, clearly, the worst kind of pet owners ever. It doesn't matter in the least if we were responsible breeders for 15 years (and my vet can vouch for that), and that the potential adoptee was already neutered and would never be able to accidentally have puppies with an unspayed female in the house. We just suck as dog owners, and aren't allowed to own dogs, as far as the humane society is concerned.

That makes you feel like a large piece of flaming dog poop, let me tell you. It also does not foster warm and fuzzy feelings toward the humane society. With the judgment of all the proponents of "adopt, don't shop" weighing heavily on my shoulders, I knew we'd end up shopping for a new pet because we are not eligible to adopt.

At the conference in South Carolina, one of the exhibitors set up there was the North Myrtle Beach Humane Society. Through a completely fortuitous turn of events, I ended up talking to the ladies behind the table, and they were just as confused as I was by the "your dogs aren't surgically altered" clause that kept me from adopting. I told them what we were looking for in a dog, that we wanted it as a companion for our son with Down syndrome, and asked if they had anything that might be a good fit.

That's how I ended up with 3 dogs in the hotel room on Saturday night, doing the meet-and-greet as they pushed the limits on hotel noise ordinances.

Guys, meet Fiona. Micah is crazy proud to have a dog of his very own, and chose the name himself. I absolutely love that we were able to adopt a dog, and that we have a mixed breed for the first time in our dog owning history. I feel that these two will be inseparable before long, and am looking forward to watching their bond develop. Our family just grew by 4 paws, and our hearts expanded to make room for them.

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-59089750909883552602017-05-01T20:02:00.001-04:002017-05-01T20:02:57.501-04:00The Hand is Preserved ForeverIn the bike accident last summer, Sam's bike really got off easy. A scratch here, a tiny dent there, and that was about it. The unfortunate part is that the tiny dent couldn't be repaired without damaging the paint, and that required a new paint job.

Vehicles are ridiculous that way.

We debated for a while about whether or not we wanted the same color, or to mix things up and do something different. And then since we could, we debated customizing it. After many months of not really thinking seriously about decisions, we came to the mutual agreement to change from red to blue paint. I let the customizing to Sam's discretion. It's his bike, after all.

The plan was to paint the bike, take it to Sam's uncle who does custom pin striping, and then have it clear coated to seal in the customized details. In the few days between the painting and the pin striping, one of the boys, who shall remain nameless (not Micah), splashed paint on the newly painted pieces. That was not a good day. I'm just saying. We're all grateful that the splashed paint mostly came off, and what didn't was able to be covered by the pin striping.

Sam chose to have the Air Force emblem painted on one side of the bike, as a nod to our early years, and a symbol for Down syndrome on the other side. Those are two events that really changed our lives. They deserved to be recognized. The plan for the DS side was to use Micah's hand print, with a DS symbol inside it. This means that we had to take Micah along with us, and hope that he was cooperative. And feeling artistic. And cooperative. Did I mention that?

All concerns were unfounded (mostly because I wasn't in charge, but daddy was), and the hand print turned out exactly perfect the very first try. In fact, it was far better than perfect. His singular palm crease shows, which is a statement to his DS in itself. We didn't want to mess up the perfect print, and were so thrilled to have that forever sealed into the bike's paint, that we chose to put the symbol beside it instead of on top of it. And then, because we could, we decided to have Micah sign his name.

The rest of the bike's customized paint came out stellar, too. Sam's uncle does all the painting free-hand, with no stencils or stickers. He's amazing to watch in action, and does a phenomenal job. In fact, Micah's name was painted on by the artist, copied from a signature Micah did on paper. We didn't want Micah to think that he could, at any point in the future, write on the bike with a Sharpie. But guys, that is Micah's signature. He captured it exactly.

Thankfully, nothing happened to the paint job a second time, and the clear coat was applied with no further difficulties. We have a definite one-of-a-kind bike, and in the event we ever sell it, we'll be replacing that one piece with Micah's hand print on it so that we can keep it forever.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-27053233983518272582017-04-01T16:36:00.001-04:002017-04-01T16:40:47.781-04:00Which Way to Duloc?Micah has been into Shrek lately. He discovered You Tube for things like video watching, and gets all the weird things, like a play of the movie Frozen, in Italian, and Shrek the Musical starring 3rd rate actors that seem to be mocking the play rather than playing in it. While Frozen was trending in the house long enough for us to almost be fluent in Italian, we're not subject to bad acting at a loud volume. We can quote the entire script by heart. Every single one of us.

Shrek is so huge for Micah, that he "plays" it every day. He sets up a Shrek village with anything he can find around the house. The living room floor is littered with boxes and containers. This one is the swamp, that one is the castle. I have no idea what they all are, but he does, and he takes photos of them to look at after we make him put them all away. This is Every.Single.Day. Shrek is what he lives for nowadays.

One of the local high schools puts on some of the best plays each year, and this year was Shrek, the Musical. Of course we had to get tickets for Micah. He saw signs advertising it in his school, and comes home every day talking about nothing else.

"How was school today?" SHREK!
"Did you have gym today?" SHREK!
"I heard your aide was out today. I'm sorry." SHREK!

Yesterday was the day of the play. He came home from school nearly in tears, because he learned that it wasn't church day. (Because it wasn't.) He wouldn't be pacified that it was Shrek day, and insisted that he was not going to watch it.

Well this was a fun dilemma.

I bribed him out of the house with hot dogs at Sheetz, and then he insisted on bringing them home rather than eating them at the store, so dinner was a fail, too. We drove to grandma's house to pick her up for the adventure, and on the way we passed a billboard advertising the musical. Sir Grumpy Pants got slightly excited about that, but didn't want to show it because he was still angry over life in general. He did stop actively whining, though, so that was a plus.

At the school, we picked up our reserved tickets, were escorted to our seats, and waited for the show to begin. I prayed that Micah wouldn't run out with his hands over his ears in an autistic fit. (Part of Down syndrome involves autistic tendencies. This is part of the reason these kids don't do well with schedule changes. Micah has a thing about loud concerts or fireworks.)

When the curtain went up, and ogres walked out on stage, Micah's gasp could be heard all over the small auditorium. He began clapping and whispering loudly that SHREK, SHREK, SHREK was on the stage! The rest of the evening was pretty much spent watching the play through Micah's eyes. To him, it was a little piece of Disney heaven right here in the county. At intermission, he retrieved his iPad from the car, and spent the other half of the play taking photos. (We tried putting a damper on his enthusiasm, because we know from experience that he can take upwards of 2,000 photos per day of one item that he loves.)

Shrek's mom sat near us, and asked her son to come meet his biggest fan after the production. Micah was thrilled beyond words to have his photo taken with his new hero, and Shrek was impressed with the sheer number of photos that Micah had of the play. (He didn't even see the tip of the iceberg, for the record.)

Micah was up past midnight last night, singing and dancing and talking about nothing but Shrek, the Musical. He was up at the crack of dawn today, making plans to go see it again. I heard him give himself permission to go. It's now concrete in his mind that it's going to happen. We're all in for a very long weekend now, because ever 13.5 minutes I hear, "Shrek! Go!"

I'm wondering how much I can benefit from this. How many chores can a boy do to earn his way to see another musical production?Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-34996122940511347052017-03-06T08:56:00.000-05:002017-03-06T09:08:32.673-05:00Everyone Has a Strange Collection, Right?We had Micah's IEP meeting last week. I know a lot of families cringe at these things, and other than the fact that TWO HOURS LATER I was out of there, I have to say that I'm blessed with a very good team at the school. Everyone has Micah's best interest as their main goal, and everyone seems to work together and collaborate on things. This collaboration is a huge thing.

Micah needed to be a part of the meeting this year, because of his age. He was allowed to use the white board to entertain himself, and when that grew old, he borrowed my phone and took a video of the meeting. That is some boring content right there. I'm not going to share it. I laughed when I discovered it, however.

I also laughed when his teacher stopped the discussion at hand to say, "I have to ask. What does Micah do with the water that he takes home?"

Micah can't have milk at school, due to a lactose intolerance, so he gets juice and water choices. I get notes that he drinks juice like it's going to be taken off the market, and I get 2 small water bottles in his lunch box at the end of each day. The first time Micah brought home a water bottle, he said it was from lunch, and that was that. A few days later, he brought home 2 water bottles, and couldn't wait to open his lunch box to show me. He was crazy proud of them.

This became a thing with Micah. Five days a week, he brings home 2 bottles of unopened water. He is so excited to open that lunch box and present us his take-home pay from lunch. We are very confused why he brings them home, and apparently the school is, too. Nobody seems to know why Micah is so excited about collecting these. The school asks him and gets, "Home!" We ask him and get, "School!" So that's largely unhelpful.

We scratched our heads in wonderment, trying to figure out what to do with the growing collection. My first thought was returning them to the school to recycle back into the lunch line, but I'm fairly certain there are strict rules against things like this in the food industry. We then decided to use them, as the occasion arose. I'd tuck one in my purse if I was heading out for the day, or snag one for a run on the treadmill. This, however, was met with great disapproval and much yelling, so we learned that the water was most likely considered a trophy of sorts, rather than the thought that Micah was bringing something to the family table. Maybe it was a visual of how much time he spends in school?

Guys, we have shelves full of water bottles in the basement.

We have vacation plans this summer at a lake house that insists we bring our own drinking water. I am now thinking that Micah is genius for bringing home water bottles, and am hoarding those tiny offerings like the clear liquid gold they really are. Micah brought something to the family table, after all. Let's just hope he allows us to drink it, when we're going to need it most.

And in reality, it's going to take up a WHOLE lot less room in the car to just buy a few gallon jugs of water, so we're still set for a zombie apocalypse, in the event one should ever happen.Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-81515868704906666292017-02-25T22:01:00.000-05:002017-02-25T22:29:02.409-05:00I Aged During Dinner TonightThe church had a Bikers of Faith meeting this evening, and we attended as a family because the food was good. Sam wanted to know what they had planned for the year so that we could get any relevant dates loaded onto our calendar well in advance. They didn't talk about dates or events, so we ate good food and watched a comedy.

I've never been into fashion trends or fitting in with crowds. I'm not a sheep, I guess is what I'm saying. Knowing it was a biker meeting, I knew there would be a fair share of leather and Harley apparel. I understand that it's just going to be a given. What I don't understand is why. I love riding as much as the next person, but I just can't seem to comprehend how dressing in specific apparel enhances an experience. I feel the same about putting on a dress for Sunday church, wearing coats in the winter, and any garment that is uncomfortable no matter how appropriate it is to the occasion. In short, I wear what I want because it makes me happy, and I always look like the odd man out because I'm a nonconformist.

I'm also very, very glad that I didn't wear my black puffer vest that I pretty much live in over the cold months of the year, because I'd have looked like the lamest wannabe at the party. That would have been embarrassing. Why DO bikers need to wear black leather vests? It can't be a protection thing, because that leather isn't going to do squat in an accident.

You can always count on me to be alone in a corner, dressed like a leftover from the last decade, waiting for a random dog to come along so I have someone to connect with. Fashion, trends, and conversation generally elude me in group settings.

As I was mentally congratulating myself for not wearing the vest, however, I realized that I'm getting old. One is always aware that body parts are going to sag and skin will stretch. It's a given. While you're focused on that kind of betrayal by your 20 year body (that you always think you have, in your mind), other body parts begin to turn on you, and before you know it, you have turned into your parents.

While I was listening to the comedy, I realized that I am my mother. In so many ways. But it was the onions that told me this.

I love onions. Not quite as much as Micah does, but I do appreciate a few sprinkled on a hot dog or hamburger, tossed with a salad, or mixed with some tomatoes and mushrooms and tossed in Italian dressing. (That's good stuff, right there.) I'd had a salad with dinner, and added a few slices onions to the top because YUM. (And I was sitting with my family, at the end of a table near nobody else, because that's how I prefer life. See the above paragraph.) Those onions started wreaking havoc with my stomach about 30 minutes into the comedy. It wasn't pleasant.

I remember hearing my mom talk about things like, "I can't eat onions anymore," and "that bothers my stomach." I clearly remember thinking, "Old people and their old people problems. Good grief."

I'm an old people, and I'm suffering. Probably from I-mocked-my-mom-itis.

My stomach felt like it was on fire from the inside, which was an odd feeling even if it was unpleasant. I figured that drinking water would be a great way to douse the fire, but I'm fairly certain the 2 glasses of water I had made it worse. While the bottom of my stomach was irritated by the onion sitting there, the water filled the entire stomach with onion-infused goodness and made the whole organ scream in agony.

Good times, this getting old stuff, huh?

I'm going to have to remember never to eat raw onions again. Stay tuned for next month, when I will most likely have to confess that I can only eat bland foods like cream of wheat and mashed potatoes. I'll just retire that black puffer vest, too, because bland foods are generally white, and I'm a slob.

I don't follow fashion trends. Perhaps an adult bib should be something I carry with me. Maybe I can start my own fashion trends. Anyone want to join me with the bib thing?

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-89736582227702010482017-02-24T23:11:00.000-05:002017-02-24T23:11:19.396-05:00He Licked a Chicken and He Liked ItI almost broke up with chickens. Spoiler alert: we're back together again. Louie is happy.

Our flock of hens had dwindled, by natural causes, to 8 chickens last year, and by mutual consent by everyone in the family, we chose to find a new farm for those girls to live. We made a local family happy on Christmas Eve, besides ours. We were absolutely thrilled to see the hens leave the premises. In all honesty, despite statements of "yeh, of course we will," I didn't think we'd get more chickens.

Turns out, I lied.

I loved not having chickens for about a month, but I began missing those hens more and more, and the early spring/lack of winter thing we have going on has begun to give everyone spring fever, and in spring I think about things like getting chicks and starting gardens.

I bought 20 chicks today. They're totally adorable, and living in my kitchen.

The dogs are completely thrilled with my purchase. Jill is very sure she will be the mama hen, if given the chance to just sit in the crate with them. Louie is equally sure that I brought home fast food. Chicken nuggets for everyone! I let the dogs lick a chick or two, to make them happy. And to teach Louie that chickens are friends, not food. I really don't think he means them harm, but he has a hard time curbing his enthusiasm at times. Chickens make him very happy; they always have. He's just excited to see squeaking baby ones. It's too much for his doggy mind to wrap itself around.

In the next few weeks, I'll be cleaning out the coop, redecorating it, rat-proofing it (which is actually why we re-homed the last set of girls - the rats were just out of control), and planting mint all the way around the coop in an effort to deter future rodents from taking up residence in the coop. I'll also be building a chicken tractor so the hens aren't always cooped in the coop. We have a spare dog kennel that will benefit from a set of wheels on it, and those hens of mine will go mobile.

I think more than anything, I'm excited to have a natural garbage disposal again. I felt so wasteful every time I cleaned out the refrigerator or made a salad, and tossed all those food scraps into the trash. Now I'll be recycling, saving money on chicken feed, and getting farm fresh eggs.

I love chickens. They make the dogs and I happy. But I'll leave the chicken licking to Jill and Louie.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-29681351416339739002017-02-15T22:47:00.000-05:002017-02-15T22:47:01.948-05:00The Killer Cold SagaSo I have a cold. I hear it's been making it's rounds around the nation, and it's taking down men and women in their prime. It's a strain heretofore previously unknown to man, and is resistant to All The Remedies Known To Man.

So that's what I have. I'm not here to whine about it, though. I'm here to tell you what I did about it.

I didn't wake up with a cold on Monday. As I opened my eyes to turn off the alarm Monday morning, The Cold was sitting on the nightstand, waiting to pounce. It fully engulfed me, drug me down and alligator rolled me. I have not come up for air yet. I think I may be dying, but I'm not quite sure yet. I'll get back with you on that. If I survive.

I felt so awful, that I took cold medication. This is huge. I never think to take medication until I have something for a solid 2 days, and then I'm all, "Hey! Some genius made something to help this! I should take it." This cold was so bad, that I took DayQuil right up front. Before breakfast.

I followed up the DayQuil with honey, cinnamon, Mucinex D, Alka Seltzer Cold Plus, hot tea that was hot enough to instantly burn and numb my throat, and texted a friend to see what else I should do. She's smart. She knows things. She recommended whiskey.

Here's the thing. We're a dry home. We're not opposed to alcohol, we just don't ever have any here. Ever. Except the vodka.

I have attended BlogPaws pet conference for 2 years. Each attendee is given a ginormously large bag filled with bountiful swag. It is all for the dog, and it's super fun. And in that ginormously large bag of dog swag, is also a tiny sample bottle of vodka. I know. I thought it was out of place, too. Dogs do not drive us to drink.

I make a scalding hot cup of peach tea, added a tablespoon of honey, and a third of that bottle of vodka. (Remember, it is a sample size. It's tiny.) I drank that cup of tea, chased it with NyQuil, and couldn't wait to sleep like the dead. Maybe I was dead. It's hard to tell. I feel like death, at least. Is this what a zombie feels like? I'm guessing. I'm far more congested than I've seen zombies in movies, though. They don't seem to suffer severe congestion. Zombies are better off than I am, so there's that.

I woke every hour. Sleep and I were not BFFs. I was disappointed.

The next night, I used more vodka, because that was clearly the problem. Not enough alcohol in my system. If I woke with a hangover (from a third of an ounce of vodka) so be it. I needed sleep, and relief from symptoms. I'd settle for breathing, even. Breathing is beautiful.

I laid in bed playing Candy Crush until 1:00am because I couldn't fall asleep. I was wide awake. My eyes were watering so badly I could hardly see to swap out the candy, yet they just wouldn't close and let me forget that I was suffering.

This morning I turned to Dr. Google. He's always helpful in situations like this. He told me that while many people take a glass of wine in the evening to unwind and relax, it sometimes has the opposite effect, making them night owls. So there you go. No more vodka for me.

I did contemplate, however, having the last of the bottle in my scalding hot coffee for breakfast. I needed something to keep me wide awake to power through the day.

Tonight, I am going to bed with NyQuil. The symptoms are much better (I am crediting Umcka), but am suffering in other ways. The constant nose blowing has made me look like Rudolph. My nose is not only bright red, but sore and chapped. I also have a large zit on my chin. Like having a killer cold isn't enough, I get to suffer with adult acne, too. I have Vaseline rubbed on my nose, and honey on my zit. Occasionally I'll stuff a kleenex up a nostril to keep the inside gunk from running down my face.

Our Valentine's Day was a little less than romantic, in case you're wondering.Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-26664262759041508272017-02-08T13:30:00.001-05:002017-02-08T13:31:47.192-05:00The Next Michael Jackson Trend Has StartedMicah has been acting out movies most of his life. He's getting quite a flair for the dramatic, and can imitate every dance scene in every movie he's ever watched. He also knows every movie line from well over 2 dozen movies. He has his favorite characters in each one, and identifies himself as this person. He assigns roles to others that he likes. His friends are other characters, his siblings sometimes get to be in his reenactments (in his mind; not really reenacting with him) and very, very rarely will the good old parents ever get featured in his imaginative play scenes.

He started wearing gloves to act out these movies. I'm not sure what spurred this trend, or why he does it, but it's a standard thing with him now. He waves his gloved hands in sweeping gestures, narrating whatever movie he's remembering line for line.

This glove thing has become a small problem. The boy has about 5 pair of gloves, because he tends to not put them away and we lose them. I get the stretchy one-size-fits-most for him, and he prefers the ones with the skeleton hands printed on the back. All 5ish of those pairs were misplaced before December. We were at my parents' cabin at Thanksgiving, and Micah stole my dad's work gloves. They're the super cheap jersey knit type. We figured since Micah liked those, we'd buy him 2 bulk packs. It would take him a while to work his way through 20 pair of gloves, right?

He refused to wear them. Pap's pair was far superior to new gloves. We gave one pack to Pap to make up for the one pair Micah stole.

As we randomly stumble across a pair of Micah's misplaced gloves, we'll put them back in his bin. Despite the fact that he has more gloves than the rest of the large family put together, he has taken to stealing our gloves. There's no answer as to why, but the frustration among family members is rather high over this. The worst part is that he will only wear one glove, most of the time, leaving everyone's glove bin with right hand gloves only, because he takes all the left hand ones.

The boy kicked it up a notch over the holidays when we were at the in-laws for a New Year's party. Micah went home with the right glove of a guest. It was a gorgeous leather one that was very out of place at our home of jersey knits and fleeces. It was returned a few days later, of course.

His new favorite glove is a stretched out and faded jersey work glove,with a ginormous hole in the palm. He wears it on his left hand everywhere he goes. It has taken the place of Woody. The glove goes to school, church, anywhere Micah goes. I think, someday, I'll miss this stage. It's kinda cute.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-21038192118455851762017-01-28T11:45:00.000-05:002017-01-28T11:46:42.241-05:00We're Back to Magical Hair CutsMicah asked to have his hair cut last evening. I want to point out that it was 10:00 pm, we just got home from the grandparents' house, and he was overdue for sleep. This, of course, means that he was looking for any excuse to get out of going to bed that he could.

This request for a haircut was accompanied by a photo, which made it worse, because he wasn't just trying to get out of bed, he also had something specific in mind. When Micah has something specific in mind, he doesn't let go of that idea until he sees it come to reality.

He showed us a saved photo of Willy Wonka.

This is a problem.

Micah's last hair cut was a request to look like Woody, who is pretty much shaved bald. That was just 3 months ago. While my kids possess super powers of growing hair, super powers don't produce miraculous results; just great results.

We managed to wrestle the boy to bed and avoid the hair cutting topic for the evening, but we also knew that he wouldn't forget because that boy doesn't ever forget anything. (Except, on occasion, where he placed Woody or his iPad.)

Sure enough, first thing this morning, he asked for a hair cut, and showed me the photo of Willy Wonka's long and glorious mane.

Nuts.

Micah doesn't grasp concepts that are not concrete. He's working on it, but it's a struggle. To say that clippers don't make hair longer is not something he knows. He just knows that clippers fix your hair when you want it fixed, because that's been his experience. I attempted anyway, because it's what you do as a human. You keep trying.

"Micah, I can't make your hair longer. I can only make it shorter. Cutting your hair (accompanied with fingers pretending to scissor through my hair) makes it smaller (with fingers pretending to measure something small), not bigger (with fingers pretending to measure something large)."

Micah thought for a while, and turned to his iPad. I may or may not have gotten through, but the fact that he stopped requesting a Willy Wonka "cut" was good, at least.

I went about my morning chores, while Micah played with his iPad. I was thinking that I kind of won an easy battle in the face of what looked like a 3-week war, when he showed me a new photo.

Shrek! (Accompanied by Micah's fingers making the cutting motion in his hair.)

WELL THEN.

I mean, I can definitely do that hair cut. Kind of. I'm not going to razor him because my history with hair and scissors would inevitably end up with many nicks and deep cuts on his scalp, which would have him covered in band aids, which he hates and won't wear, and he'd bleed and scab over and look awful and I'd be turned over to Child Welfare Services and have my kids, and probably even the dogs, confiscated, and all my scissors taken, and then I couldn't sew anymore because I wouldn't have scissors, and I'd be penniless because I wouldn't' have a job, nor would I have kids or dogs, and my life would be so awful.

Yeh, I'm not shaving my son's head to look like Shrek. I stand a lot to lose.

But on the bright side, Micah won a major victory today in the Understanding Concepts category. I was able to make him understand that I can't make hair longer, and he was able to correlate that to long hair vs short hair, and make appropriate decisions with this new information.

My mama heart is bursting with pride, even if my kid will be basically bald by the end of the day. It's just hair, after all. Hair grows back, but understanding is a lifelong accomplishment.

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-3422396441227602032017-01-25T21:27:00.003-05:002017-01-26T08:41:40.437-05:00I Named My Leg BerthaLast July, Sam and I were in a motorcycle accident while driving home from a weekend trip. It was one of those freak things (aren't they always?). A driver swerved to miss a deer, snapped off a telephone pole, and we became entangled in the cables draped across the road. (Never swerve to miss an animal, kids.)

While we both (literally) walked away from that accident, I suffered the worst casualties, with a scraped foot (always wear protective gear when riding a bike), and a swollen thigh. I pointed out the swollen thigh to the ER doc, and was met with "yeh, it'll go down. Let me look at that foot!" Personally, the thigh was my main concern, because it fascinated me. I felt it swell like someone was airing it up with a tire pump the second Sam lifted the bike off me. (Mad props to the handsome rescuer, swooping in to save his damsel in distress.) The swollen area had a rectangular shape, was as big as my open hand (which was most of my thigh) and was about 1" high. Weirdly, I couldn't get a doctor to take that large lump seriously because THE FOOT, OH MY GOSH. (I mean, the foot did get infected, and then I was allergic to all the salves we could think of, but still.)

When the foot was finally on the mend, I was able to get a doctor to show interest in my huge thigh. By now, I was a few weeks out from the accident, and the swelling hadn't even begun to shrink. I named the ginormous thing Bertha, because if you're going to be saddled with a growth that large, you should have fun with it.

I wore compression wraps on my leg most of the time, but they didn't do much good. The orthopedic doctor said it was a hematoma that refused to heal itself, and drained it. It was blessedly smaller, but still not small. I followed orders to keep Bertha under compression for another week to promote healing, but as soon as I took the wrap off at the end of the week, Bertha grew again. (Much like me, after quitting a diet.) I went back to the ortho, had the small lake in my leg drained again, and the doc and I had a serious discussion. I was sure it was not a hematoma, but instead a Morel Lavellee lesion. The doc discredited that notion, maintaining the hematoma stand, and we discussed what further action needed to be taken if Bertha grew again.

She did, which gained her an MRI, which did not make me happy. (Claustrophobia was a side effect of pregnancy #2.) The doc then agreed with me on my diagnosis, which gave us a direction to head from there, which was surgery. This also did not make me happy because I have an irrational fear of sedation, weirdly. Turns out, it wasn't even anything to worry about (of course), and surgery was a breeze.

Bertha was forcefully evicted in early December. While we had grown to be pretty attached to each other, I was kind of excited to be rid of her. She hindered sleep at night, and while that was really the only issue I had with her, I value my sleep. A lot. (Well, that, and sometimes it was super weird to feel the water bag on my leg slosh around when I walked quickly or ran. That's why I don't run. Sloshy Bertha isn't fun.)

I had a compression wrap on my leg for 2 solid weeks after surgery (and, honestly, almost half of 2016), and when it came off and I had the stitches removed, it was a little disconcerting to find a swollen patch on my leg. The good doc called it a scar, and said he could do surgery to remove it, but it stood a great chance of causing a hematoma.... we both agreed that Bertha's smaller size could be tolerated for the rest of my life. (It was easier for him to come to this conclusion, of course. It's not his leg, after all.)

So Bertha and I are still rather attached to each other, and we have an understanding that she won't swell anymore and will let me sleep at night, and I let her be part of me. (I like to pretend that I have a choice.) I do find weird medical things so fascinating, though, and this is no different. Bertha is now best compared to the super thick fat on the side of a roast that needs to be cut off. It's not sloshy anymore, but thick and fatty-like. The oddest thing is that Bertha has no feeling. She's numb. (You'd think she was the one traumatized by ME growing on HER. Sheesh. Scarry lumps of flesh are sensitive these days.)

I'm grateful for a lot of things, such as the fact that we had no serious injuries after the accident, and that the bike is still a viable means of transportation. I'm also grateful that I have little vanity. I love leggings in the wintertime because they're amazing things that fit so comfortably (and probably should never be worn by people my size). They also do a terrible job of hiding large fleshy scars, however, and I have decided that I don't even care. So if you see me out and about, be sure to say hi to the lump on my leg. Her name is Bertha.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-25112014882105329402017-01-24T22:10:00.000-05:002017-01-26T08:42:08.948-05:00The Christmas Shoe Story You'll Enjoy Hearing About. I Think.Micah has a pair of slip on shoes, because they're easier for all of us. He can tie shoes, I think. They've been working on that with him at school. I know we should be working on that here at home, but they'll always sell slip on shoes, and they're just easier. Plus, we have a time schedule on school mornings that is down to the second. I let Micah sleep in his school clothes to avoid having to get him up any earlier than needed and struggle with dressing him, and I have slip on shoes to avoid the tying delay. It works for all of us.

We bought him a new pair of shoes for the new school year, and the week before Christmas, he got a hole in the mesh upper part where his big toe rubbed. His aide sent a note home in his planner, pointing this out to me. Good thing we got him a new pair of shoes for Christmas, courtesy of Santa, of course.

On Christmas morning, Micah was pretty excited about his new shoes. He's excited about everything he opens, though. The things that he's less excited about get exclaimed over, then set aside. The shoes were set aside, and eventually shoved under the tree with all the other Christmas morning residue, and there they sat until he went back to school two weeks later.

I reintroduced those shoes to him, and excitedly asked if he wanted to wear them to school. "No!," was the reply. He was adamant that he wanted nothing to do with them, and we know from experience that when he pulls that hard and fast tone, that he's not ever going to wear them. Ever. The zombies can have them when the apocalypse happens, but he will go barefoot through three feet of snow before he lowers himself to put them on.

Thank goodness I only paid $10 for them.

I was away for a day, and Becky got Micah ready for school. She asked if he wanted to wear his new shoes, not knowing that my request for him to wear them was met with NOPE. He was super excited about the new treads, and proudly wore them to school. For the past 2 weeks, he's been wearing these shoes everywhere, telling everyone he meets that grandma and pap got them for him.

Win for wearing the new shoes. I threw the old ones away to be sure he didn't regress back to a hole in the toe. I also think I may bill grandparents for the $10, since they're getting so much credit. It's only fair, right?

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-75791649931807622242017-01-10T23:47:00.000-05:002017-01-10T23:47:01.245-05:00The Year of Faith, and ChangeLife is all about change, isn't it? If we didn't change, we wouldn't grow, and that would be a sad thing, indeed. No matter where you are in life, never stop growing and learning. Ever. Sometimes, though, life changes in ways I didn't see coming. Learning to roll with it is hard, but it's how we do the growth thing.

I've mentioned that my day job is social work. And by "day job" I mean the job that I do in the daytime. It's not my main job by any stretch, at just 10 hours weekly. (Plus drive time, time spent discussing the case with coworkers, staff meetings, paperwork because it's a government job....) After my day job, I then come home and work all evening making dog collars, because that's my main job. I knew I wouldn't be in social work for the rest of my life, but didn't have a timeline for an endpoint. Becky was working with me on the case, which was a great eye opener for her to realize that she chose well in NOT going into social work as she'd originally planned. She was let go by her client just before Christmas. I was let go by mine, too, because she's a trend follower and wanted to do what her husband did. (We worked with a husband/wife couple, if you didn't just pick that up.) (That's not really a HIPAA violation. I didn't give names, an address or anything pertinent. Someday, however, I'll find a way around that law and tell you stories that'll simultaneously make your jaw drop and make you snort coffee through your nose.) (Book royalties will be huge, when I figure that out.) So I was let go at Christmas, but before I was aware that I was let go, I was rehired, because the case manager for the clients refused to let my client let me go. It was a whirlwind weekend that made all our heads spin a little bit, and there was much to talk about come Monday morning.

Just before this happened, however, I was evaluating my day job vs. my real job, and wondering why I placed so much priority on a position that barely bought Starbucks for a month. I enjoyed the work (much to everyone's amazement), but couldn't justify the time doing it. I'd decided to leave when Becky left for college. Except Becky was fired. Kind of. (The company still retained her, she just couldn't work with that client any longer.)

Last week, I knew it was time. I literally woke up and realized that I was done with social work. (It was weird.) So I had a talk with God about this, reminding Him of promises to keep us fed and clothed, and also pointing out that He seems to want me to sell pet products, so that would be a great place to provide the money. Being honest with God in prayer is a reality for me.

The day I quit social work, we also discussed changes on another front. I walked away from a job and a church in the same 24 hour period. I'm not going to discuss this much, because I'm not sure what I feel about it. I can't convey feelings that I can't understand, but we knew it was time, and it wasn't an easy decision. I also don't want to get into the politics of religion with anyone, but need you to know that, while church doesn't define who I am or my relationship with God, it is a large part of my life.

I'm terming 2017 as the year of faith. I don't know where I'm going from here, but God does. I can't see 5 minutes from now, but God knows what the end of the year looks like. I'm just going to trust Him to get me there, and enjoy the scenery along the way.

Just today, He took a 6 month old accident and chose to use that to provide replacement funds for the lost job. He likes to keep me marveling at His creativity, if nothing else. We are blessed beyond measure, and shocked at His provisions. But that's how God rolls. It's going to be a great year.Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-46639957665234957082017-01-03T23:00:00.000-05:002017-01-04T08:09:07.045-05:00Gymtimidation is a Real ThingYou wouldn't know it to look at me, but I attend the gym regularly. My client has a membership, and I take her several times weekly. I get a lot of stuff done, too, like making sure she's not interrupting others' conversations, diffusing yet another meltdown over what drink she's going to carry around and not sip, and attempting to work a combination lock for her.

All that hard work shows, too. My body looks like an explosion from a Pillsbury dough can.

The last time I actually used the gym was 1990 something. Maybe it was sometime in this century. I can't remember. It's just been a while. I really just don't like working out in front of others. I'm a very private person, despite oversharing on a regular basis. My exercise of choice is hiking in the great outdoors, and even then I like my privacy and get all huffy when tourists are invading my state parks. I'm also a pansy, so hiking in the great outdoors between November and March just doesn't happen. There's mud to contend with, and gloves, and snow and ..... I mean, it's just asking a lot to walk in the freezing temps and then have a wet and muddy dog in the car afterward. Plus, my trails are snow covered and nobody is going to shovel them for me.

Judge away. I have no shame.

A friend of mine invited me to go walking with her last summer. We met weekly and used a trail around the community college that dipped into the woods, looped a field and skirted a pond. She's taller than I am (everyone is) and is a speed walker. I was hard pressed to keep up with her. Ironically, she was leisurely walking. In my defense, it was right after the motorcycle accident (kind of) and I was still sporting an injury. That's my story, and I'm sticking with it.

The reality is that I live a sedentary life. I'm active all the time, but when I'm busiest, it's computer work and sewing. I've been crazy busy for over a year, and am just now learning to juggle all the things to have some balance of down time in my life. But that year plus where I ran like a madwoman, while sitting, took a toll. I think my muscles atrophied.

Because cold and winter happened, my walking friend and I haven't seen much of each other. We both decided to remedy that, and I suggested walking at the mall this week, since they open an hour early for walkers to take advantage of the indoor loop. She suggested we also go to her gym, right across the road from the mall, since we'd be there. She could get a guest in for free. It sounded like a win to me.

Except I hate gyms. But I love friends. And I do enjoy working out, just not in front of others.

I realized that my friend was taking it super easy on me over summer (probably because of my accident) when she hit the mall with 10' strides. I actually asked her to slow down. Midway through the first lap, my legs were numb. It was a blessing, because I don't think my feet were moving in a normal fashion, and I was embarrassed by how block-like they felt. Not feeling them anymore was a good thing. I pushed through, and managed to mostly keep up with her slower pace, but I lost count of the laps we made. I was more concerned with not stumbling, and making sure my legs were going to survive.

I knew I was out of shape, but had zero clue that it was that bad. OHMHGOSH

At the gym, I was anxiety filled, knowing all the gym rats would be there, looking at themselves in the mirrors, checking out their muscles.... I really should go to Curves. Working out with women is far less intimidating. The gym, however, was peopled with super nice clients who did their own things and largely ignored the fact that my sweet friend was showing me how to do everything. (Personal trainer, for the win!)

It was somewhere in the weight room, standing in front of the mirrors while lifting weights, that I realized how ridiculous we looked together. My super fit gym friend is like Miss America in a bikini in comparison to myself, who would be a sloppily dressed hot dog eating champ, accidentally stumbling onto the wrong stage. I would have laughed out loud at the thought if I hadn't been struggling with weights.

I'm going to confess that this blog post took five times longer to write than it should because every muscle in my body is screaming at me. I kid you not. Right now, the ring finger of my right hand is throbbing. Every muscle, guys. I have a lot of muscles, too. I didn't realize.

This is actually a great start to the year, because what better way to get fit than to just jump in with both feet? (I won't be doing that again, though, without a lot of Advil.) And also, so far, while everything is sore and slightly swollen, my leg is not. I think surgery has been successful. In all honesty, that's one of the biggest reasons I pushed myself too far today. The leg has been notorious for swelling after exercise (like every time we'd walk over summer), so I wanted to test the waters to be sure I was healed. I think I am.

Except for the full body ache. Pass the Advil.Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-48845563249204202692017-01-01T19:51:00.000-05:002017-01-01T19:51:46.433-05:00Being a Pawrent RocksWe all know that I live in a weird world filled with dogs. It's pretty amazing here, and populated with great people. Dog people generally are.

In this world, dogs tend to come first. A lot of us are in the same situation as myself; the dogs are what make us who we are. We're all dog focused, and at events that we attend, with the dogs of course, we greet dogs first and their pawrents second. (Yes, that's what we call ourselves, because it's who we are.) Our dogs are far more well known than we are. We're just the dog mom at the end of the leash.

It's much like being a mom to kids; you become known as Johnny's Mom and lose your own identity altogether. You are never called by your first name again until your children are grown. Sometimes, you almost forget what your first name is. It's not Mom, or Johnny's Mom or MOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM. It's not NO, either. It's something you'd stay up at night trying to remember, if you weren't so exhausted from parenting the kidlets that have hidden your name in their identity.

Thankfully, being a pawrent is easier in this respect than being a parent is. Mostly, furkids don't keep you up at night, and if they are really having the worst day ever, you can crate them. Laws prohibit crating kids, oddly. Something about abuse and neglect, and the threat of Child Welfare Services...

Of course, on the flip side, kids don't shed so badly that walking across the room to turn the Roomba on will make your socks furrier than the actual dog is. It's an anomaly that will never be understood. Kids also don't occasionally use the floor as a toilet if it's raining outside. At least not once they're house broken.

Dogs are the center of our world, and we think about our dogs and other people's dogs more than we probably should. It's not a bad thing, just another weird thing that we do. Since we can't pet these dogs from miles or states away, we virtually pet them by visiting their Facebook, Twitter or Instagram pages. (All the cool dogs have social media sites. It's a thing.) We learn all about these dogs' daily lives, what they love, learn their quirky ways, and look forward to the next photo so that we can share more love. The dogs are blissfully unaware of all this, ironically.

The holidays and birthdays are different occasions for the dogs, though. Dogs get fan mail in real life, not just in the internet world. This past Christmas season, Louie received almost as many cards in the mail than the family did. Most have been addressed to him, not me or the family. I love this, and I love each person that has sent him one. I love them a lot. I've also sent a card to their dogs, because that's what you do at the holidays. I'm thinking I should probably up my game, and send treats next year. Dogs would love that!

I'm wondering, too, if I should send Valentine's and Easter treats. Dogs would love that, too. I should probably contact Hallmark about a line of cards addressing the dog. I'm sure they'd be welcomed with much tail wagging by the pawrents who purchase them.

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-11826428180271889862016-12-30T19:32:00.002-05:002016-12-30T19:32:39.817-05:00The Polar Effect in KidsWe have fought the battle to have Micah wear a coat for years. A lot of years. I have decided that I'm tired of fighting insignificant battles. There is a reason, my friends, why the older kids always cry, "the baby gets away with everything!" It's because parents are just too old and tired to care about every issue.

The way I see it, Micah will put a coat on if he's cold. Or he'll come inside. I feel this is common sense type of stuff and I probably should have incorporated this kind of wisdom (stupidity?) into my earlier years of parenting. I probably wouldn't have been so close to the end of my wits at any given time if I'd realized that every battle didn't need fought.

That's parenting gold, right there. Don't fight every battle. Choose wisely. If blood is involved, or brain cells can be killed off, you should probably take a stand. Otherwise, it might not be the worst thing ever.

Like Micah playing outside in the cold in a short sleeved shirt.

The boy refuses to wear long sleeves. It could be a sensory thing, but I think it's just the fact that he's perpetually hot. He hasn't worn a long sleeved shirt for 2 years now. I stopped making him put them on when I realized that he pushes the sleeves up from the moment he has his arms in the holes until he takes the shirt off again. The extra length is pointless, so I stopped buying long sleeved tees. (He's always been too hot for sweatshirts.) Now he has short sleeved tees year round and is happy. Even outside in the wintertime without a coat.

I do make him wear a coat to school. If he chooses to take it off, that's fine, but in the event that the bus breaks down in a snow bank and there is no heater, at least he'll have a bit more warmth than 40 excited kids jammed into a bus accident can generate. (Which, stated like that, he may not need the coat after all. But I won't tell him.)

Last week we had that cold snap where we rocked the single digits for a few days. I made Micah wear a light jacket to school. (It was easier than his heavy winter coat.) That came home in his backpack, because he chose not to wear outerwear on the bus ride home. He said he was hot.

Here's a gem of a photo that was taken during that cold snap.

Let me point out a few things about this photo. First of all, you'll notice that he's carrying a crock pot. I didn't notice that until after I took the photo. That crock pot was my Christmas gift from Josh, who has already discovered the beauty of Amazon Prime at the tender age of 19. Clearly, CrockPot brand doesn't believe in re-boxing boxes at the holidays for shipping purposes. OOPS.

Second, you'll see Micah is not only in his standard tee shirt, but also not wearing socks with rubber mules that I have for gardening. Personally, I don't wear a coat much in winter, either, but my hands and feet need to be warm in order for me to maintain body heat. There is nothing warm about Micah that I can see in that photo, and yet he says he's not cold, nor will he put a coat on.

Third, you'll see the UPS truck up at the road. Luke is on the Gator halfway there, for distance reference. Micah walked up and retrieved the box from the deliveryman, further proving that he spends time in the outdoors rather than just runs out, gets what he needs quickly, and runs back in. The boy is wired differently.

But he does come inside when he's cold. It's happened a small handful of times over the course of his life. Once, he even said he was cold, and he wasn't sick. Ironically, he's also a healthy kid with few colds for his age.

We should probably never move to the desert. He'd probably die.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-48087915757725705662016-12-14T23:08:00.004-05:002016-12-14T23:08:38.057-05:00Timing is Everything In Winter The older I get, the less I enjoy winter. I think it's a sign of age creeping up on me. I'm not old, but some days I feel old based on things I say or do, such as making statements like, "the older I get, the less I enjoy winter."

This photo is not digitally enhanced. It was actually snowing that hard.

 Don't get me wrong; winter is beautiful. But pretty is as pretty does, the saying goes, and when I have to scrape ice off windshields and steps, and bundle into enough clothing to make me look like Randy from Christmas Story, it's a little less beautiful than when I just look out the window from inside the house warmed with heated floors.

I do love a beautiful snowfall, though. Yesterday, Becky came home from class and asked if I wanted to drive through the state park and take pictures. Of course I did.

A heavy snowfall blankets the world, insulating it from sound. There is no rushing wind. No rustling leaves. No crackle of branches or falling acorns. The world is peacefully silent. It's the most unique sound that nature offers, and it's no sound at all. There is warmth and magic in that silence that can lure you into staying in the woods far longer than you should, and you'll be snowed in before you're even aware. Watching the snow fall and accumulate is mesmerizing; I can be in the woods for hours and never get tired of it. Trees look like they're been dipped in white chocolate, and then re-dipped to have a chunky, completely-covered look. It amazes me that every surface holds snow, and a lot of it. I marvel, looking at everything, and then looking again because it changed while I was looking away.

Winter really is the prettiest time of year, if your timing is right.

Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-71725525959651644472016-12-13T22:55:00.000-05:002016-12-13T22:55:17.040-05:00We're Finally Decorated for the HolidaysI have 5 trees up, and seriously contemplated not putting the big tree up this year. I love my forest of trees that light the corners of rooms and hallways on dark winter nights. All the twinkle and glow makes me happy.

But I know that I would not be able to have a real holiday without the big tree. It's the one that makes Christmas special. I've been putting off the chore, because I have orders that need done, and have to clear a path in the basement to access the tree, and clear a space to set it in the living room. That's a lot of stuff that needs to happen. But today, by some minor miracle, I completed all the orders (all of them!), and Becky offered to help me get the tree decorated. I don't turn down help.

Our other trees have themes. There's the Mickey tree, the nature themed tree, the dog themed tree (did you expect less?), and the birthday tree, for the boy with the December birthday. The 5th one is a tiny little thing that simply lights a dark corner, wearing a Santa hat on top and twinkly lights all around it.

The large tree, however, is our keepsake tree. The theme would be Memories, and we need the size of the big tree to hold them all. No ornament is of value on it, but they're all invaluable to us.

The crocheted snowflakes Sam's grandmother made us grace the tree every year. His grandmother passed away several years back, but I'll never forget when she came to Alaska to visit us. I asked if she'd teach me to crochet so that I could make my own snowflakes, and she nearly cried. She said everyone asks her to make things for them, but not one person has ever asked her to teach them to crochet. She took me to the store that same day to get supplies to get me started. I love those snowflakes. They started something that meant so much to both grandma and I.

My mother-in-law got the kids each an ornament every year since they were born, and I got the kids each one most years. Grandma's ornaments were all the Hallmark ones for Baby's First Year, 2nd Year..., and after they reached the 5th year she got Hallmark ornaments that fit each kid. I got ornaments for the kids that represented something they were doing that year.

There are the golf ornaments for Josh, who played in high school, and the Perry the Platypus ornament for Luke, who loved Perry for years. The brown pony represents the year we got Tommy and Flash for Micah, and a french bulldog, of course, for the pack of french dogs we have.

The little shepherd boy was for the year Luke was a shepherd in the church play and was so excited about it that it was all he could talk about.

There is a Toy Story ornament and a Shrek ornament for Micah, who loves those movies and watches them constantly.

A little girl with a kitten for the year Becky got her black cat, Daisy. A paint palette for her, when she took up painting as more than a hobby.

There's the ornament for the year Josh was in Boy Scouts, and soccer ones for Becky and Josh for the years they played AYSO.

There are ornaments for each year we spent in Alaska while Sam was in the Air Force.

And ornament from vacations, collected around the world. I have a keepsake from Germany, France, Switzerland, Italy & Spain. This year we collected Williamsburg,VA, Wickenburg,AZ, and an ornament to represent our trek across America.

We have Tigger and Pooh from the year we went to Walt Disneyland in California when Josh was just 6 months old.

There are so many ornaments. So many. Each one has a memory with it, and each one makes us stop and smile, or share a happy story. And when the tree is done, it is definitely our very favorite tree in the house.Karenhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-17042203445071586282016-12-12T22:21:00.000-05:002016-12-12T22:21:01.123-05:00The Miraculous Hair CutMicah has not been a fan of getting hair cuts most of his life. It ranged anywhere from mildly fussing to wildly thrashing (and major props to the hair dresser for not cutting him with anything sharp during this ordeal), and was very unpleasant for all involved.

Recently, he's been far more compliant. Not only does he now sit for hair cuts, he sometimes asks for one. This kind of turnaround is groundbreaking, and appreciated.

While Micah was at the salon over summer, he asked to be shaved so that he looked like Woody. We questioned repeatedly, to be sure, because you can't put hair back if it's too short. He was adamant. He wanted shaved. And then he beamed with pride afterward, telling everyone he saw that he had a haircut like Woody. He was crazy proud of that haircut. He asked for it to be shaved several times over the past few months, because any regrowth was apparently too much regrowth. He loved being like his best friend.

Recently, he's started watching Peter Pan. He acts out all sorts of scenes from the movie, having a great time fighting and sword playing with himself, and making Woody and Buzz act it out as well. It was several days into it before he told me that he was Captain Hook instead of Peter Pan. Fair enough; he wears fancy clothes. Micah loves those fancy clothes.

One evening, Micah asked for a haircut. I realized that he did have a bit of growth from Halloween (when he had his last Woody shave), and said as much. No, he wanted long hair, like Captain Hook has. He wanted a hair cut, to have long hair.

I'm just grateful that squirrels can still distract the boy. We avoided the subject, talked about other things, brought up the fact that school was tomorrow and a shower before bed was needed, and he kinda sorta forgot about the haircut. He did suggest it at one point before the shower, and we mumbled something about "tomorrow" or "another day" or "later" and he happily went to shower. We prayed that he'd forget about the hair "cut" the next day.

Gratefully, he did.Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-26827892015181690682016-12-09T22:36:00.000-05:002016-12-09T22:36:14.192-05:00Fresh Elastic for Worn Out ParentsSam and I like to take a weekend away on occasion, to recharge our batteries. Just an overnight somewhere, obviously close by, to get away from kids, responsibilities, and life in general. I highly recommend it to everyone.

This year we were blessed with the gift of travel. It's one of my favorite things; to see the world that God created and marvel at all the wonder and beauty of it. We were able to take the kids so many places this year, and it was pretty amazing. But Sam and I had 2 get aways to ourselves in the past 11 months, and while that's more than most people have, it just felt, lately, like we haven't had time to reconnect.

I think these weekends away are the reason we go to my parents' cabin on occasion, with the kids. We realized that it's pretty much just to make ourselves stop...whatever we do. When we're home, we can't just sit. Apparently, we're not wired that way. We don't have cable, so we don't have television. On occasion we'll put up a Netflix movie, but for the most part, we work. We're a family of workaholics, it seems. I'm in the basement sewing, the boys are out cutting firewood, Sam is tinkering with or fixing all the homeowner things that need his attention... Sitting and relaxing isn't in our genes, weirdly. Being away from home forces us to stop and take a break, and it's nice.

You'd think we're realize this and just do it at home on occasion. Unfortunately, we haven't figured this out yet. So this is one of the biggest reasons Sam and I take a weekend away. It's to get away from ourselves as much as anything. We just need to be forced to stop. When we go away without the kids, it's an even more special treat, because we don't have Micah getting up at the crack of dawn and being loud, or the other kids complaining that he's loud at the crack of dawn and raining on their sleeping-in parade. You know, parent stuff that you just have to deal with on an hourly basis.

I was in Pittsburgh on business last evening, and since Sam had off work today, he went with me. We got a super cheap hotel as a last-minute booking (the day before we left) and spent the night in the city. You guys, we've never been to the lookout at the top of the Pittsburgh Inclined Plane. We remedied that last night. Pittsburgh is a beautiful city.

I slept in until 9 this morning. That's unheard of in my life. I can count on one hand (easily) how often that happens in the course of a year. It was decadent. I had Starbucks for breakfast, shopped leisurely through IKEA, had lunch with family who were also in the city for the day, and scored some epic bargains while shopping this afternoon. (Spoiler alert: If you're on my Christmas list, you'll probably get gloves that I purchased for 37 cents/pair.)

We were home within 24 hours of leaving the house the previous evening, but it felt like we were gone for days, just taking our time and doing what we wanted. There was no hurrying between jobs, no work needing to be done when we were done working, nowhere to go in the next 5 minutes, no responsibilities.... It just refreshes me, on occasion, to relax and have a day to enjoy.

Mental note: build more of those into my life in 2017. Its good for a marriage, when we're not stressed and pulled too thin with all that life has to offer. Sometimes, our elastic just gets stretched out and needs replaced. Funny how we find that when we stop looking so hard.

Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-7494202605629550918.post-29320432675725137672016-12-07T23:24:00.001-05:002016-12-07T23:25:26.248-05:00Great Things Happen When You Let God Take ControlI should probably provide an explanation for where I've been the past.... long time. Besides not here, which you already know.

There was that time when I stopped breeding dogs, and was terrified of the future of our finances, so I looked for income in other areas. That was an interesting time, spanning most of 2015. I was selling dog collars on Etsy the same as I'd been selling shirts; as a hobby on the side to pay for my Starbucks addiction. Sam's suggestion was to make and sell candles, which I could do from the home. So I did. I loved it, too. The learning curve with candle making was steep and expensive, but I mastered making high quality candles (if I have to say so myself, which I don't; my kids tell me that they're spoiled now and won't buy just any old candle in a store or craft show). My plan was to market them at craft fairs, get my name and product out there, and eventually have them carried in stores so that I didn't have to do craft shows every weekend. The end product of that was a whole lot of craft shows in the tri state area (literally), and a whole lot of fun, but zero stores to sell the candles in.

By the end of 2015, we had to reevaluate what we were doing, because our plan wasn't working.

In January of 2015, I had the bright idea to start a blog for the dog. I had to swallow a lot of pride to do this, because... a dog blog? Really? And to make it worse, I ended up speaking from the dog's perspective. No idea why, except that's how it came out, and I stuck with it. I was embarrassed for myself, but the kids were properly mortified. My friends even questioned my sanity, wondering where I would find the time to add one more thing to my plate, and such a trivial thing at that. But I had a plan, because almost everything I do is on purpose. (Falling down steps, peeing while laughing, and losing things on a regular basis are not on purpose.) I'm a researcher, and studies showed that a blog drives traffic to an Etsy shop. If I had a blog, written by my dog, it would help sell collars, right? That was the plan.

I had a friend who had been after me for a while to attend a conference with her, and I'd mocked her and her conference because.... what kind of weird world does she live in? There are freaks there, trust me. It's a dog blogging conference. (Right? They have those. Really. Its' a real thing, for really weird people.) She said that since I have a dog blog, I for sure needed to attend the dog blogging conference. Long story short, I did, in the spring of 2015, and while I didn't know it at the time, my world began to shift because of it.

I came home, made candles, attended craft fairs every weekend for months on end, and sold dog collars as I got orders.

This friend who lives in the weird dog blogging world suggested that I apply to speak at another dog blogger's conference in the fall of 2015. I scoffed, we laughed together, and this banter went on for a month over summer. One July evening, at 11pm, she caught me in a compliant mood and I filled out the application with one hour to spare before the deadline. The next morning, I received an email from the conference heads-that-be, congratulating me on my speaking engagement that fall at their conference. Funny thing is, I was ask to speak on something I didn't even propose. God works through weird (and wonderful) people, and in mighty mysterious ways. I'll never stop marveling at how He orchestrates life when we let Him.

The conference happened about the time we were contemplating the future of the candles, and our financial stability, and what we needed to do to make life work better. Over summer I applied to work at a company providing home and community hours with adults with intellectual disabilities. While hired in August of 2015, I didn't pick up a client until November, shortly after coming home from speaking at a national dog blogging conference. Upon returning from the conference, I ran a sale in the store, let all my new conference friends know, and sales skyrocketed.

I'll forever look back at 2015 and laugh at the way things played out. While I was desperately trying to make life happen, God was subtly in the background putting a puzzle together around me. His ways are always better than mine, and I'm now very happy to say that I'm deeply entrenched in this super weird dog blogging world that I have found myself in. It's a great place to be, and I'm fairly certain that I've found my people. Hi, I'm super weird, in case you didn't pick that part up.

So where was I in 2016? Trying to figure life out. Again. It took me a while to realize that I can't do all the things, be all things to all people, and work every job available to me. I cut out candles altogether (sadly), have not attended a craft show this year, decided that photography needed to be laid aside (and ironically, I've done more senior pictures this year than ever), and learned how to juggle a very long work week. Social work doesn't take up many real hours, but somehow it eats up many more than it should. Making dog collars takes up a large portion of my week, but the marketing of collars was almost the death of me. I absolutely loved everything that I was doing, and never viewed it as work. I would be researching, sewing, working outside the home or marketing every minute of every day. I was chosen to speak at another conference, in Phoenix, and we decided to vacation around it to show the kids the other half of the US. It was an amazing month, that couldn't have happened without the sale of dog collars. The sale of dog collars couldn't have happened without God blessing the business in every way possible.

And then, two weeks after coming home from a month away, Sam and I were in the motorcycle accident in July, returning from a weekend getaway for the two of us. That was a wake up call for me. I re-prioritized my life, and made sure I had me-time and family-time in my schedule, because in the grand scheme of things, family is the most important thing one can ever have. Me-time was for my sanity.

Summer was a blur of trying to get current on orders and recovery, and fall found me at a pet conference again, learning how to grow the business. Connections made at these events are invaluable, and the business has benefited greatly from the knowledge gained. It took all year for me to figure out where I am with the collars. I no longer look at it as a hobby; The French Dog is an amazing little company that I get to be a part of. It's taken months for me to be able to tell people that I make dog collars for a living, because that's weird. Normal people don't do things like that. I've come to terms with my brand of weird, embraced it with open arms, and claimed it as who I am. My kids are now working on coming to terms with having a weird mom, and I feel for them. I mean, how does one explain that their mother's dog started a blog, has an Instagram account larger than any teen they know, and is a mini celebrity in the weird dog blogging world that she lives in?

Shoot, I still take a step back on occasion, when I see this level of weirdness, and wonder at how I got here. The only answer, of course, is that God directed every step, which makes the whole weird world I live in super fun and perfectly okay.

The dog has retained his humble roots, thank goodness. If he knew he were scrolling on the Sheetz convenience store chain's TV screens above the order kiosks, he'd probably demand free hot dogs. He's blissfully unaware, but half the county has been awestruck when they've seen him there, saying things like, "I know that dog!" The kids quickly and quietly get their bottled drinks and walk away. It's a lot to accept, I'll admit. When the dog is far more famous than we'll ever be, it's a hard pill to swallow.

I also still do social work, in case you were wondering. I'm trying to figure out how I can talk about that without violating any privacy laws. You guys, you wouldn't believe half the stories I have to tell from that. I'd quit the job, because all the more I make, in comparison to my business, is a joke. The entertainment factor alone is worth staying for, though. And turns out, I have a heart and care for this person, because she needs someone to help her, and apparently I'm that someone.

I think I've found a rhythm to life, after 2 full years of searching. I couldn't be happier with the busy that I am, the travel that I get to do with it, the people I meet, and the family time I've found. While 2015 was a year of desperation, 2016 seemed just as manic with trying to figure out the new life I found myself in. I have a good feeling about 2017. I think it'll be one of the best yet.Karenhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com


text:
MOVIE SYNOPSIS [ General Audiences ] Feature film of Prashant Passy Pilley. Was presented to the public in 2015, it is a production of India. You can watch The Justice and the Bastards online on TV cable or theaters with original audio in English at different dates. This film premiered in theaters in 2015.
Rating: 5 by 10 users./
Runtime: 125 minutes
Om Puri, Manoj Joshi and Mohan Joshi.
Drama, Criminal.
125-minute film (full movie) directed by Prashant Passy Pilley.
The original audio of The Justice and the Bastards has dialogues in Dolby Digital, it was produced in India.
It premiered in cinemas or television in 2015.
Screenplay written by Prashant Passy Pilley.
Prashant Passy Pilley, Riya Arther and Garima Shah.
This film was produced and / or financed by Riya Creations and Western Pacific Production.
Western Pacific Production.
Without commercial breaks, the full movie The Justice and the Bastards has a duration of 125 minutes; the official trailer can be watched in streaming on the Internet. You can watch this full movie free in EnglishDolby Digital in movie TV channels, renting the DVD or with VoD services (Video On Demand player, Hulu) and PPV (Pay Per View, Netflix).
See the page of this full movie, The Justice and the Bastards in FULLTV Movies.

subset: commoncrawl


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Andrew Ballantyne qualified and practised as an architect, and then moved into academic work. He has held research and teaching posts at the universities of Sheffield, Bath, and Newcastle, where he is now Professor of Architecture. He has written on architectural history and theory, and his previous books are Architecture, Landscape and Liberty (CUP, 1997) and What is Architecture? (Routledge, 2002).
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St Jude Storm: Thousands of UK homes without power
A powerful storm has brought down power lines, cutting off electricity supplies to thousands of homes across the south of the country.
UK Energy Networks, which represents power companies across the UK, confirmed 270,000 homes were without power.
A spokesman said 30,000 people who lost power earlier had been reconnected, but more people were cut off as the storm moved north and eastwards.
Duncan Kennedy reports.
28 Oct 2013
- From the section UK


text:
Honors & Scholars is co-sponsoring the UT Global Experiences Conference on March 25th. The 2017 Global Experiences Conference is a free event open to everyone in the UT community (students, faculty, staff) with an interest in international and intercultural experiences. This year's conference will include presentations and poster sessions featuring first-hand experiences and a lunch with a keynote speaker.
We are looking for students interested in sharing their international endeavors abroad by submitting a presentation or poster proposal. We are seeking proposals that address any and all aspects of your experience (academic, personal, financial, and professional) and relate to this year's conference theme, "Dream. Do. Discover." Both individual and team presentations welcome. Awards will be given for best poster and presentation.
Presentation topics might include:
- Digesting your international experience and sharing it with family/friends
- Making the most of your international experience
- Funding your international experience
- Dealing with culture shock/reverse culture shock
- Planning subsequent international experiences
- Leveraging your international experience in job and graduate/professional school applications/interviews
- Integrating your international experience with your home university academic program
- Getting involved in international education opportunities here at UT
- Integrating into a new culture and studying in a new academic environment
- Experiencing living and studying abroad
- Communicating across cultural and language barriers
- Experiences interning, conducting research, teaching or volunteering abroad
- Experiences developing and managing international programs for students
Presenters are encouraged to participate in all conference events.
For more information and to submit your proposal, visit tiny.utk.edu/GECsubmit.
If you have any questions, please contact firstname.lastname@example.com.
Presentation and poster submissions are due on FEBRUARY 28, 2017.
We hope you will share your knowledge, expertise, and personal experience to help make the 2017 Global Experiences Conference a beneficial opportunity for everyone in the UT community!


text:
Slow day at work, figuring out exciting new login scripting & the like, then a whole bunch of requests for assistance just as I was trying to get out. Typisch für whenever.
Got home, more Katamari Damacy, then out for some nice Thai, not hungry enough for the mango with sticky rice, then home for more Katamari Damacy. Got booted off that so the wife could watch a favored sitcom, going to go out for some advanced music watching in a bit.
Taking tomorrow off.
Monday, January 19, 2009
1 comment:
What did singing cat say to towel guy?
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow...
- January 20, 2009 at 12:59 PM
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