tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1317697453426027202024-03-05T23:55:06.556-06:00Into the Wild: Welcome to My WorldStay-at-home Mommyhood in pictures and words; after all, a storybook is all I can process these days.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-62782084233915210752011-07-21T22:01:00.002-05:002011-07-21T22:03:54.112-05:00MovedAs per months of contemplation, I've finally moved the blog back to WordPress.<div><br /></div><div>Woohoo!</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't worry, the contest is still the same. Only instead of sending people to carolynnthedyer.blogspot.com, please send them to carolynnthedyer.wordpress.com.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then come and <a href="http://carolynnthedyer.wordpress.com/">join me</a> yourself!</div><div><br /></div><div>There's a new header, new layout, new ways to follow, and ALL the old posts. Come on, whatchya waitin' for? Click on over!</div>Carolynn the Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711113276572758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-5545486204015032102011-07-19T12:38:00.000-05:002011-07-19T12:38:48.858-05:00Riddle<i>I've written a poem. </i><br />
<div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>For this, I sincerely apologize. </i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>In an attempt to make it up to you, I'm turning this into a game. Read the poem, make a guess as to what/who the Ode is written to (either via the comments or email), and everyone who is correct will be entered into a drawing for a totally awesome prize that I'll announce when I come back from vacation in Utah (read: I haven't found it yet, but I definitely will!). I promise this prize will not be child- or mommy-centric, so you won't have to be either to enjoy it. </i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Last day for guesses is July 31. One guess per poster, please! Want to earn extra guesses? Share this post via Twitter, Facebook, or any other social media platform, and post where you shared it along with your extra guess. </i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Please note, your guesses will have to be specific. Meaning a general guess such as "housework" (i.e. a category instead of a specific type of housework) will not count. Feel free to email with questions!</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>-------</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div> <style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Helvetica}
p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Helvetica; min-height: 16.0px}
span.s1 {letter-spacing: 0.0px}
</style> <br />
<div class="p1"><span class="s1">Ode to ---------</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Lofty goals that mothers make</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Include not eating too much cake</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">And keeping you, my dear old friend</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">In check;</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">A goal to send me ‘round the bend.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">For you, my soul, are always near</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Always present, always clear; </span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">With need for me to take the time</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">To wash</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">A pile a mile high.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Methinks, at least just once or twice,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">That to be done would be so nice.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">But then I think, What would I do</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">With me</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">If there was no you?</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Fly to Paris, dance in Spain, </span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Maybe take some time rein</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">In my children, who like to scream</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">And cry</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">When’ere I try to keep you clean.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Not that they dislike, perhaps,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s just that washing and timely naps</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Never seem to find a way</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">To coincide.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Alas, and curse the day.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">My time with you is ever sweet</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">In torture and in triumph neat. </span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Water soothes the tortured soul</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">And reminds</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">That a shower-less week takes its toll.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I hate you when you’re dirty, true;</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">And love it when you’re clean, I do. </span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I know alone I’ll never be</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Because</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">My children will dirty you just for me.</span></div></div>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-81222422805214563102011-07-18T14:22:00.001-05:002011-07-18T19:22:18.142-05:00Monday MantraYou can't punch a migraine in the fact*, but you can be happy if you've a mind to.<br />
<br />
<br />
*Please note this typo. It was brought on by the migraine. And I STILL can't punch the dumb thing in the fact.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-50066040484159349702011-07-12T07:00:00.007-05:002011-07-12T07:00:01.792-05:00Fireworks<div style="text-align: center;">Everybody</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8C9pww3reXutkmdqEvgj7hE6g_4w5B1l3lHF-WNlNRwMwUKhjpmOJGy5bFFqn41DKRLwDNbdL-YKYqyag-pzlWLvaki5JSCTtvVlPC-2F2-FRfsz7ORCkNe1diCLIP0JVmj6pGKcFsMC/s1600/DB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8C9pww3reXutkmdqEvgj7hE6g_4w5B1l3lHF-WNlNRwMwUKhjpmOJGy5bFFqn41DKRLwDNbdL-YKYqyag-pzlWLvaki5JSCTtvVlPC-2F2-FRfsz7ORCkNe1diCLIP0JVmj6pGKcFsMC/s640/DB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">enjoys</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNYXnAOLsxxPhA3GllXyaUXg7KqLgFJe8dQS1GUEeswyOZnVetzfXfxnLQI_4MJfTFfhEUbozgsUav8PrPE1dS1LNPhUu9BtRADxDVAnYltXOffgJqMUBJdmAOAhcVmdlNhVtg8rhTWsw/s1600/Momma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNYXnAOLsxxPhA3GllXyaUXg7KqLgFJe8dQS1GUEeswyOZnVetzfXfxnLQI_4MJfTFfhEUbozgsUav8PrPE1dS1LNPhUu9BtRADxDVAnYltXOffgJqMUBJdmAOAhcVmdlNhVtg8rhTWsw/s640/Momma.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">fireworks</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOATeXiU2ScLmsQViD9haHk-rqSxh3zGPh5RCM5A8HE3UY9wNW6YMUJ8dclhbGWJdI0BtNTWlVXOSKPoba4o9zb9uesco_wziFMdg2BQVrPwR3tC4tKXshTiImzpWZllbtRFbsFglG9lI4/s1600/Butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOATeXiU2ScLmsQViD9haHk-rqSxh3zGPh5RCM5A8HE3UY9wNW6YMUJ8dclhbGWJdI0BtNTWlVXOSKPoba4o9zb9uesco_wziFMdg2BQVrPwR3tC4tKXshTiImzpWZllbtRFbsFglG9lI4/s1600/Butterfly.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">in a </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvbUFggMqVaEGFBpojnsO8g9Umq5O6DZzIbOJHiJXXAlKo1oIu_Nvc2bvulLskCg3YJnpIe7iQEH5ip0DC-4S1RbdmnP9GjXiPXj79RUA64ojvcIoqdO_qwBq2qLM31OYavrC9aY_FEFsM/s1600/StrawBee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvbUFggMqVaEGFBpojnsO8g9Umq5O6DZzIbOJHiJXXAlKo1oIu_Nvc2bvulLskCg3YJnpIe7iQEH5ip0DC-4S1RbdmnP9GjXiPXj79RUA64ojvcIoqdO_qwBq2qLM31OYavrC9aY_FEFsM/s640/StrawBee.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">different way.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreVf91QHKwcQILeVyw2XrdTryfKvN_JG838CI3IDsHgFlEMjZzDz39_KG7LIQiVcgbZRknrAONeiXA1nap4UbxkFLd-CmilL9NUw18C5ealUJf7bXyUJxJpP_RKxdgfYrSxor3VaEJyeg/s1600/Ladybug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreVf91QHKwcQILeVyw2XrdTryfKvN_JG838CI3IDsHgFlEMjZzDz39_KG7LIQiVcgbZRknrAONeiXA1nap4UbxkFLd-CmilL9NUw18C5ealUJf7bXyUJxJpP_RKxdgfYrSxor3VaEJyeg/s640/Ladybug.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Here's hoping you enjoyed yours.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-61247473537575754412011-07-11T08:41:00.002-05:002011-07-11T08:41:57.890-05:00Monday MantraParent with laughter, and pray the rest comes out right.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-42699485793341053322011-07-05T06:30:00.002-05:002011-07-06T18:14:01.182-05:00Ruined<style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica}
span.s1 {letter-spacing: 0.0px}
</style> <br />
<div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I say things, and then suddenly become paranoid that I've ruined my children forever. And then I google it because google is the oracle, and inevitably some amazing guru of child-rearing has at some point said that you should <i>never ever never EVER </i>say/allow/do whatever I just said/allowed/did. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Alas, how my children suffer. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If I give them a treat, they’re inevitably instructed to "Eat it all up." I'm just trying to prevent a mess (<i>Huh?! How DARE you try to be convenient at the expense of your children?!)</i>, but then I’m struck by The Guilt. Here I am, teaching them that they must consume every last sweetly-sticky bite of their treats. They’ll become gluttons, I tell you! What will their first Halloween out of the house be like?</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6qprbn77QqprFzqg0gClB60rQVf5qURGp1VRhrF6P_XOD-_RTaKY9n9Yf-sXL4BBA7xc0Fbw5lDBAZbFt9BmCF7T1PzVrvHRDfDXsRAy-C9Eg7Ye2lQHdQ7eB6T9ELjxtcmDW3etNzcT/s1600/Gluttony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6qprbn77QqprFzqg0gClB60rQVf5qURGp1VRhrF6P_XOD-_RTaKY9n9Yf-sXL4BBA7xc0Fbw5lDBAZbFt9BmCF7T1PzVrvHRDfDXsRAy-C9Eg7Ye2lQHdQ7eB6T9ELjxtcmDW3etNzcT/s640/Gluttony.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">No, those are lollypop sticks, not cigarettes. StrawBee totally knows better!</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I must prevent such a crisis. So I try to counteract the candy thing by telling the girls to eat healthy so they can keep growing and get tall. However, Ladybug has latched onto this "tall" thing, and now I'm certain she's going to spend the rest of her life worrying about being tall enough. And since short genes are all she’s got, this is either going to end in extensive surgery or stilettos. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZsAxSAa3eAtFKap8n3eouLabB0_J0Hp4e2myRN7b9rU-7Q6TSkGHTgqj8CDLcsk-ZinV_GrILr8ak7aqUn7uEYBqmnqH-eB3EHpKiXeBH0EhlktHdz5iSlgt9S94PmK5jqJkHHa1HkM4/s1600/Shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZsAxSAa3eAtFKap8n3eouLabB0_J0Hp4e2myRN7b9rU-7Q6TSkGHTgqj8CDLcsk-ZinV_GrILr8ak7aqUn7uEYBqmnqH-eB3EHpKiXeBH0EhlktHdz5iSlgt9S94PmK5jqJkHHa1HkM4/s640/Shoes.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the rage this summer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I can’t have a child of mine growing up to be taller than me--*cough, hack*--excuse me, I meant; risking her health like that. So I told my beautiful girls that they are just that: Beautiful. Perfect in the way God made them. However they are, so long as their hearts are beautiful, they are beautiful. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Did you know that children have selective hearing? </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Beautiful” is all they got out of that one. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Which led to this: </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwT_CEzo3jj4xewCWy5gAXH2Yq0SfETw1e5MLp6LYimmwiPcZjifQZCBJtL5V2c37x8PunttW1nZ7SMQp9qqgDs3yVMHKjaii7L2gUj3JSDXY6TwhBTsd59XQTKrWO_0zxuBOYW4b50S82/s1600/Frame1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwT_CEzo3jj4xewCWy5gAXH2Yq0SfETw1e5MLp6LYimmwiPcZjifQZCBJtL5V2c37x8PunttW1nZ7SMQp9qqgDs3yVMHKjaii7L2gUj3JSDXY6TwhBTsd59XQTKrWO_0zxuBOYW4b50S82/s640/Frame1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice me NOT panicking here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnYRxcZDV_RH9EoKuH_bGhx_rKtPqgW9z8VlbPSfCUxXMOwJFiIgexq9oj8TKESoDibOEag5BStwMHYymnJJCDO7nBK-iLEyHdbe5iOOy46MvgmbKLtZQ0dvEK588CW7PlCLHNlAua6KT/s1600/Frame2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnYRxcZDV_RH9EoKuH_bGhx_rKtPqgW9z8VlbPSfCUxXMOwJFiIgexq9oj8TKESoDibOEag5BStwMHYymnJJCDO7nBK-iLEyHdbe5iOOy46MvgmbKLtZQ0dvEK588CW7PlCLHNlAua6KT/s640/Frame2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Way to keep it a non-issue, mom.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKA2_aLWgIMQ5deN6PDSLOnM5UsYNDHUpA1Z78FbXS3qFc2zhOZCNWiNv03GFmTI19t8oJI7z0Y30l4LYIetwUW2_PEoQhVeaDuW0vnIJx8FhCL3KlhUK-498QdVLi6Eup8aMK7RpCir0X/s1600/Frame3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKA2_aLWgIMQ5deN6PDSLOnM5UsYNDHUpA1Z78FbXS3qFc2zhOZCNWiNv03GFmTI19t8oJI7z0Y30l4LYIetwUW2_PEoQhVeaDuW0vnIJx8FhCL3KlhUK-498QdVLi6Eup8aMK7RpCir0X/s640/Frame3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I thought I had at least 10 years before I heard this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZadShCRhad2zk4yXc2PgXomVeXj4plNs6fYXzqPOXYTPjX4OTZf-pL3ZKARd0FFk6tMAKSl4onB-di8DB1boHnZ0q_gnHEqKwLz24jcrjdYo0vadvB_Q9YLYUBFBg292yct2IPLnIFcp/s1600/Frame4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZadShCRhad2zk4yXc2PgXomVeXj4plNs6fYXzqPOXYTPjX4OTZf-pL3ZKARd0FFk6tMAKSl4onB-di8DB1boHnZ0q_gnHEqKwLz24jcrjdYo0vadvB_Q9YLYUBFBg292yct2IPLnIFcp/s640/Frame4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lecture #321</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbi0n0G3H1vY4JrPTc7KkXGKsRCHEOk2mW_lBT4j61umL2dLo7dT3CPnPF_JsPv6i0Xow5blZu1z5gwdgqMI8TF1GLKkWFcV17F2ZZvnHHDeXfpu9VfPWfFDF7BiSXa3oOjOkkVCk9BRH/s1600/Frame5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbi0n0G3H1vY4JrPTc7KkXGKsRCHEOk2mW_lBT4j61umL2dLo7dT3CPnPF_JsPv6i0Xow5blZu1z5gwdgqMI8TF1GLKkWFcV17F2ZZvnHHDeXfpu9VfPWfFDF7BiSXa3oOjOkkVCk9BRH/s640/Frame5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She totally gets this, you know?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHWQbMo3_Ed4Uba7IWGLEgaVbRIzHMNBIoU-AvS7mURPLYZrVf66qRSX4n535gFl1x-3D3XxPnZepeqQcafWY0PSV7NBjs9ugyTS5PzSoF_NefL2WCF4ONcCB-R6cs2LHi3xrl7FqPAth/s1600/Frame6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHWQbMo3_Ed4Uba7IWGLEgaVbRIzHMNBIoU-AvS7mURPLYZrVf66qRSX4n535gFl1x-3D3XxPnZepeqQcafWY0PSV7NBjs9ugyTS5PzSoF_NefL2WCF4ONcCB-R6cs2LHi3xrl7FqPAth/s640/Frame6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because <i>please</i> beats paper, rock, AND scissors!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Eventually I thought to tell her that only grown up girls communicate with makeup. She, of course, retorted that she was grown up. I told her that when she was grown up to 14, THEN she could have makeup. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She was delighted. And now she reminds me every day that when she’s 14 she gets makeup. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i479.photobucket.com/albums/rr157/Aldarune/picard-facepalm.jpg?t=1249306880" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="http://i479.photobucket.com/albums/rr157/Aldarune/picard-facepalm.jpg?t=1249306880" width="640" /></a></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Parenting: You just can’t win for losing. </span></span></div>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-63361034597572394452011-07-04T12:03:00.000-05:002011-07-04T12:03:01.924-05:00Monday MantraFireworks make everything better.<br />
<br />
And chocolate cake sure doesn't hurt.<br />
<br />
And homemade ice cream.<br />
<br />
And family you haven't seen in ages<br />
<br />
And this is far too long for a mantra.<br />
<br />
...Happy 4th!Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-44526426536410797042011-06-28T11:42:00.000-05:002011-06-28T11:42:32.391-05:00Out of Context: II<style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #141414}
p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #101010; min-height: 13.0px}
p.p3 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #101010}
p.p4 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #141414}
p.p5 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #141414; min-height: 13.0px}
p.p6 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #d31615}
p.p7 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px}
p.p8 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #d31615}
p.p9 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; min-height: 13.0px}
span.s1 {letter-spacing: 0.0px}
span.s2 {letter-spacing: 0.0px color: #141414}
span.s3 {letter-spacing: 0.0px color: #101010}
span.s4 {font: 12.0px Helvetica; letter-spacing: 0.0px color: #000000}
span.s5 {letter-spacing: 0.0px color: #000000}
</style> <br />
<div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Way back at the end of April, I created <a href="http://carolynnthedyer.blogspot.com/2011/04/out-of-context.html">this post</a> out of a conversation I had with my brother (if you haven’t read it yet, do. Otherwise what follows will make absolutely no sense, instead of okay-I-get-it-but-you-must’ve-been-dropped-on-your-head-as-a-baby sense). I know you’re all hanging onto the edge of your seats (and hold tight, as it’s a long drop) to know how the conversation ended. And because I love nothing more than pandering to others to get attention, here you go: </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1">Jay: <b>Anyway, </b></span><span class="s2">no.</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What amazing trade show is happening in Las Vegas that you've probably never heard of?</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Carolynn: Uh… "The AMAZING Trade Show That Carolynn Has Never Heard Of!"</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s3">Jay: </span><span class="s1">I'm sure the internet would tell you if you asked.</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I'll give you a hint first.</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">N.A.B.</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Carolynn: Hmm…. National… Arborist… Bacchanalia...</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCILNj7dvdqM2lTwUHeCMCJkzLwTepTQL6Z3KIVF8rwavIRdLcqB0w42m6MiSg1vW1B_R5r3TJUmQyI9U1b3ftKcnBmIywx-lU7o_RowYbOWJRHOaFV4icR8eqN51Qb6bvI9vxrfx17hX/s1600/Tree+bachannalia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCILNj7dvdqM2lTwUHeCMCJkzLwTepTQL6Z3KIVF8rwavIRdLcqB0w42m6MiSg1vW1B_R5r3TJUmQyI9U1b3ftKcnBmIywx-lU7o_RowYbOWJRHOaFV4icR8eqN51Qb6bvI9vxrfx17hX/s640/Tree+bachannalia.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah, that was a good year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p7"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s4">Jay: </span><span class="s1">I do like arborists, but they don't get me this excited.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Carolynn: National… American… Brainwashing...</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdALMQBj5ss_jAXTyyU5MeJYQFL66l7IIaANGAM8dYk7jkpQXdyVqEyxZy-nmio0xcJHN8DTSfmxUys9vjmYh_toCVUPriKDuCoSCZDReWUuF0z6Efg__TjCY1gMq0dW88sSaGPxCG-Tq5/s1600/Zombie+americans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdALMQBj5ss_jAXTyyU5MeJYQFL66l7IIaANGAM8dYk7jkpQXdyVqEyxZy-nmio0xcJHN8DTSfmxUys9vjmYh_toCVUPriKDuCoSCZDReWUuF0z6Efg__TjCY1gMq0dW88sSaGPxCG-Tq5/s640/Zombie+americans.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On a positive note, drool makes a great skin softener.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p8"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jay: Nope…another great organization, but not it.</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Carolynn: National… Apple… Bath time...</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jay: Nope</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Apples don't take baths silly...</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Carolynn: They do if they're getting ready for bob-for-apples.</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_ec_2zHi_mhFIEKkYQoxiTTQtthDbvbtXyLKi3Hjf5hG4WHgQ5oghHthqjEy-5Zyd_HRfnMhmcbAXUA8UTMgKqpwGUwEcEVulxTD9mmRClkj04AuLs8MKljqaAG-VCt3x6HwouD32GVQ/s1600/Bobbing+for+Apples1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_ec_2zHi_mhFIEKkYQoxiTTQtthDbvbtXyLKi3Hjf5hG4WHgQ5oghHthqjEy-5Zyd_HRfnMhmcbAXUA8UTMgKqpwGUwEcEVulxTD9mmRClkj04AuLs8MKljqaAG-VCt3x6HwouD32GVQ/s1600/Bobbing+for+Apples1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Mr. Smith? The iLights are still on on your iCar. Can I use your iKey to turn them off?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jay: That's apples, not Apples.</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This association is related to my job.</span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I keep thinking of joining.</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p9"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s5">Carolynn:</span><span class="s3"><b> </b></span><span class="s1">National… Association… of BOOYA!!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><br />
</span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5iTWBcH9SFjRgTxC9F3I2B9dFnmrMQpdCLhOepr5uxSvUhByxO-DG15bFjHjhlRwaQA1HkWAPtMN7DSCJzFg0GTx-EeBQP9RsHA63vDbkN5tyebfdsv5Atl7w8Q0Kv5-aCAM-91DqCrZ/s1600/Something+Awesome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5iTWBcH9SFjRgTxC9F3I2B9dFnmrMQpdCLhOepr5uxSvUhByxO-DG15bFjHjhlRwaQA1HkWAPtMN7DSCJzFg0GTx-EeBQP9RsHA63vDbkN5tyebfdsv5Atl7w8Q0Kv5-aCAM-91DqCrZ/s640/Something+Awesome.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You only wish you were this cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><br />
</span></span></div>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-91757699966090400072011-06-21T13:23:00.001-05:002011-06-21T14:06:41.719-05:00Recognition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWMGEq4IM-dLtPn6RCs1fDuxUlNk90ypX_AMpLnC-GeHM_KsqXSNWgnBMPBs6L5W54KbHUirmoioE3och43pOXIW0jIUKLcVei6peSDXyUitgjoVTfegWdfLATaWHxUsLW0yTEacnZeJw/s1600/Dad+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWMGEq4IM-dLtPn6RCs1fDuxUlNk90ypX_AMpLnC-GeHM_KsqXSNWgnBMPBs6L5W54KbHUirmoioE3och43pOXIW0jIUKLcVei6peSDXyUitgjoVTfegWdfLATaWHxUsLW0yTEacnZeJw/s640/Dad+up.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad Up: <i>Verb. </i>The act of stepping up to relieve the woman who has <a href="http://carolynnthedyer.blogspot.com/2011/06/exhausted.html">mommed-up</a> to the point of impending spontaneous combustion; the saving of a super hero; sheer awesomeness. <i> </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<i>Because being a man is only halfway there.</i>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-25290765888621483722011-06-20T08:38:00.000-05:002011-06-20T08:38:30.945-05:00Monday MantraEven if I fail, the trying makes me stronger.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-19021849885229959652011-06-14T19:48:00.001-05:002011-06-14T19:57:41.434-05:00Tailored<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Or, How I Almost Ruined My Mother’s Birthday<br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Mother (AKA Giver of Life and Nana to my children) had a big birthday this month (I think she’s 19 now) and The Dad made some major plans to surprise her. He spent the build-up to the Big Day keeping secrets from everyone, and getting people to lie to The Mother. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My job was to make her think that I, her oh-so-innocent eldest daughter, was planning something. And then to make her think it had gone horribly, terribly, irreparably wrong.<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you can imagine, I enjoyed it thoroughly.<br />
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.conversationmarketing.com/Snidely+Whiplash.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.conversationmarketing.com/Snidely+Whiplash.png" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mustache twirling will cost you extra.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I executed my tasks perfectly and was able to start dressing for dinner out with a clear conscious, knowing I had completely freaked my mother into thinking we weren’t doing anything for her birthday.<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My dressing was almost my undoing.<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all do things we shouldn’t do. Eat a little too much chocolate, sneak into work late, use the kids as an excuse to escape, blame the flying monkeys for the late payment. You know, normal stuff. And I don’t think I know many adults who aren’t guilty of, at least once, the Number One High Fashion Crime of Badness: Wearing Squeeze Clothes.<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Squeeze Clothes: Noun. Clothing that once correctly fit a frame that has since changed but, by dint of sucking in and squeezing, can still fit onto said frame. See also: Fashion, Crime Against and Sister, Forget It.<br />
</i></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ0WCtEkmFHKK730hwLzulFlnZpxM6QGBYu9-AgYgCWI0v9jrn2qQ&t=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ0WCtEkmFHKK730hwLzulFlnZpxM6QGBYu9-AgYgCWI0v9jrn2qQ&t=1" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hm. Just cut off a few toes; who needs 'em?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Let me tell you a story: Way back in the land of High School, there was this strange ritual known as Prom. All of the little savages in High School looked forward to Prom, either as the High Point of All Important Things, or as a fun event to throw rocks at people. I, being a good little savage, desperately wanted to go. However, being a “if-a-boy-looks-at-me-sideways-I’m-going-to-die” sort of savage, I dreaded being asked. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
So I avoided all the male savages with all my might. And was still very, very sad when I didn’t get asked to observe the strange ritual by any of them. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The Dad, surveying the mess of High School, felt very badly for me. Especially when I expressed, with tears flying everywhere, that all I wanted was to wear a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Pretty Dress</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">! His tender heart was mushed, and he gruffly declared that I should go forth, find a Pretty Dress, and join him for dinner the evening of Prom. (It was, by the way, the best Prom in all of savagery.)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Being of a practical frame of mind, I eschewed the more Prom-like glitter dresses and picked a formal gown that might actually get more than one night’s wear. It came with me to college, where I dreamed again and again that some dashing knight would sweep me off my feet while I was wearing it. I had it tailored to fit, just so I’d be ready when the horse pulled up. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
It fit me very, very well. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
So, back to getting dressed for The Mother’s dinner. And SCs. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The problem with SCs is that if the fabric is hardy enough, you still look</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> just fine</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. Enter the Pretty Dress.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I swore that I was just going to try it on. After all, I’d had my third baby not 3-½ months earlier, and even getting it over my hips would be surprising. Then, after getting that out of my system, I’d put on a church dress and head out for the par-tay. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Not only did it fit over my hips, it was like a straight jacket for my baby pooch. That thing wasn’t even going to try and misbehave with all that fabric squeezing it in. Okay, so it doesn’t actually zip all the way up the back. Stick a safety pin in the zipper, cover it with the matching jacket.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Sha-ZAM!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Magically, I fit into my high school prom dress after 3 kids. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Just try and tell me you wouldn't have so worn that dress too.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
So what if the safety pin popped the second I stooped down to get into the limo? Was I going to worry about such a little thing when I was in a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> wow-who’s-the-famous-person-riding-in-there</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> limo for the first time in my life? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Ab-so-freakin’-lutely not. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The spots dancing in front of my eyes shortly after we ordered appetizers in the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been to were a minor inconvenience for such a triumph. The shortness of breath could even be ignored. For a little while. If I concentrated. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Okay, so I gave in and unzipped my dress a little more. It was a cold night, I had my dress coat, and as far as anyone else knew I was a Pretty Dress NINJA, with super shape-changing abilities and a get-into-the-dress shimmy to bring down empires.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Dinner was fantastic. Conversation was great. Dress looked good. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Then came dessert. A mountain of oh-no-you-didn’t chocolate torte, piled even higher with the best minty ice cream you have ever tasted. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought I had died and gone to dark chocolate heaven.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.deletelondon.com/file/news_images_313_2_49142a20a3b4b-newsLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.deletelondon.com/file/news_images_313_2_49142a20a3b4b-newsLarge.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And that was just the first bite.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I knew that even though I was sharing with my sister, I’d never be able to finish my half. But when she said, “Oh, ugh, I couldn’t eat another bite! It’s all yours!” it was on. Me or the dessert. One of us wouldn’t survive. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The dessert won.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I took one more bite. One, teeny-weeny, chocolate-filled taste of decadent yumminess. It was exactly one too many. With that one bite, The Pretty Dress was suddenly, unquestioningly, and unforgivingly too tight. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Death is bad, and I saw it </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://xkcd.com/788/">coming </a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">for me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
If you’ve never almost suffocated yourself, let me fill you in: Light headed. Dizzy. Seeing spots. Nauseated. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I bolted for the bathroom, hoping no one had noticed. Shimmied out of my control-top pantyhose (why did I think those were necessary with the belly straight jacket?!), unzipped my dress the rest of the way, and slunk back to the table, only to discover that I couldn’t sit down any longer; the final bite of chocolate torte was squishing the air right out of me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The evening was over, and within sight of the finish line I was discovered—yeah, laying down in the back of the car, gasping for air on the way home kind of gave me away. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3d/Viewing_(museum_display).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3d/Viewing_(museum_display).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kid Sister is glad Pretty Dress did me in. She was up to inherit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And because I know you’re all frothing at the mouth with curiosity:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>(Presumed) FAQs About Near-Death By Dress:</b> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
1. How do you feel about Pretty Dress not fitting?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> My body is no longer a child’s. It’s a woman’s. Thank goodness.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
2. How were you able to laugh at yourself when you almost puked all over The Mother’s Super Important Birthday Dinner of Awesomeness? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Very carefully. Laughing at yourself is great fun, but also suffocation-inducing given the circumstances at the time.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
3. What did you learn from this experience? <i>That o</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>ther people look very, very funny when they’re worried you’re about to have a size-related nervous breakdown. </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
4. Was the chocolate torte worth it? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Oh, <a href="http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/p/random-words-we-say.html">even yesser</a>!</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-86574339049704419992011-06-13T08:48:00.002-05:002011-06-13T08:48:44.435-05:00Monday MantraThere is no such thing as "finished"--and that's okay.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-18116517925033854062011-06-07T19:02:00.000-05:002011-06-07T19:02:38.428-05:00Exhausted<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioao1HjO3Vw1Ypg6CjHz9EGmQRZAtm8HiQVkn2UHhioawU4n6meVwR12vflW8-HXDvb8A2MenUdTg8Gpjo3LaHy3M68DPh04YaMWcNgw0e9wNacf-aFzF6kIHiav6xVgulHtXrD1Rl_hfx/s1600/Mom+Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioao1HjO3Vw1Ypg6CjHz9EGmQRZAtm8HiQVkn2UHhioawU4n6meVwR12vflW8-HXDvb8A2MenUdTg8Gpjo3LaHy3M68DPh04YaMWcNgw0e9wNacf-aFzF6kIHiav6xVgulHtXrD1Rl_hfx/s640/Mom+Up.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mom Up: Verb. 1: to behave in the manner of a mom, e.g. continuing to work despite sudden illness or impending death from ebola, zombie apocalypse, or ingrown toenail. 2. ultimate call to action. 3. saving the world.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-88316644215116042042011-05-31T22:05:00.000-05:002011-05-31T22:05:32.403-05:00FamilyI love it when my family visits. It makes me feel all squishy and warm inside. Mushy, gooshy, ooshy happy. So happy that my brains have oozed out of my head and left me without a real blog post this week. For this I apologize, dear readers. But I do hope that you'll understand. And maybe go give your family an extra squeeze tonight to keep them close.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-72169974386706215992011-05-30T09:14:00.003-05:002011-05-30T09:14:35.797-05:00Monday MantraRemembering is half the battle.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-42698625533121269912011-05-24T21:10:00.000-05:002011-05-24T21:10:41.708-05:00Donate <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;">You know how, when you were a kid, you'd hear things that wouldn't make much sense? Like when I ruined dinner and Ladybug asked me what happened; she became very concerned when I replied, "I killed it." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
</span><br />
<style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 10.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px <span class="<span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: yellow; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">goog</span>-spellcheck-word" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: yellow; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: yellow; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Calibri</span></span>}
</style> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSoQyqhsEiWmVi2gbRl5hCb92F5Nowp11pRPR1bNwSOM8Fs6soBCl1mfdOxNf3fTkiQoc6rBLIahvZQcMYcbTMG-EZqEFRWOam7YZ8DvKfhyphenhyphenxLd19MQurvRpY4ifjke_sinnr3FyYIzWUR/s1600/time+to+hide+the+meat+cleaver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSoQyqhsEiWmVi2gbRl5hCb92F5Nowp11pRPR1bNwSOM8Fs6soBCl1mfdOxNf3fTkiQoc6rBLIahvZQcMYcbTMG-EZqEFRWOam7YZ8DvKfhyphenhyphenxLd19MQurvRpY4ifjke_sinnr3FyYIzWUR/s640/time+to+hide+the+meat+cleaver.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whoa. Time to hide the meat cleaver.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then there are colloquialisms such as "you've lost your voice." Kid Sister, when she was about Ladybug's age, was terrified of this one. She caught a head cold and when a lot of the congestion settled in her throat, my mother explained that she was losing her voice. Kid Sister decided this meant her voice had wandered off and was never coming back.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UlPm7xKd7PUVImPD9B516hTucqSe3l1pVtIlNr5QMnsAERpCgs_tRncSFCIYeq7PLeaBYApTT8J2-bxEtzPAvxm1DenFQTrsWDpn_V-qea_P2EgqCFJngn1W34nZ0eZDBC12dAQg80jp/s1600/Yes%252C+all+creepy+trees+look+the+same+in+my+scary+forest.+I+grew+up+in+the+desert.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UlPm7xKd7PUVImPD9B516hTucqSe3l1pVtIlNr5QMnsAERpCgs_tRncSFCIYeq7PLeaBYApTT8J2-bxEtzPAvxm1DenFQTrsWDpn_V-qea_P2EgqCFJngn1W34nZ0eZDBC12dAQg80jp/s640/Yes%252C+all+creepy+trees+look+the+same+in+my+scary+forest.+I+grew+up+in+the+desert.1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, look. Carolynn does have some art skillz. Hello, grade school horizon line.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She laid in her bed at night, calling again and again, "Hellooooo? Helllllooooo?!?" in her sad, hoarse little voice. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Pitiful.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I had a difficult time with one of these sayings in particular. I always pictured it like this: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUg-UNiObkIyA9KbRjELuw3I_G0oDbGbQUIVAR1_U786D5d37dKRE-4sUqVHI925LATdY-_d8Qmxs-Ll2rirSURLD6yX37sOSksmgd2BHtnOYtTQYlq7NKNa1JieQJQ5soGqwii_4tmoh/s1600/Mmm%252C+I+love+green+salad%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUg-UNiObkIyA9KbRjELuw3I_G0oDbGbQUIVAR1_U786D5d37dKRE-4sUqVHI925LATdY-_d8Qmxs-Ll2rirSURLD6yX37sOSksmgd2BHtnOYtTQYlq7NKNa1JieQJQ5soGqwii_4tmoh/s640/Mmm%252C+I+love+green+salad%2521.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmm! Nothing beats a fresh green salad. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Put your money where your mouth is?! That sounds so unsanitary! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I understood that the basic idea was that one was supposed to show that they weren't just blowing hot air when they claimed to believe in something, but I didn't really <i>get</i> it. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And then I grew up (about, oh, two months ago) and the light finally went on. This had nothing to do with eating your greens, and everything to do with making some kind of real commitment of resources to the causes you claim to believe in. Basically, a call to avoid hypocrisy. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've always tried to teach my girls that how you love is more important than how you look. However, I did very little putting of money in my mouth to prove that. Actually, most of my spare change went straight into my clothes closet. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Let's be clear: There is everything right with wanting to present yourself with your best face. And from there on in my beliefs in fashion, presentation, self-worth, and beauty become very complex; ergo, we'll leave it at that for now, or this post is going to get seriously sidetracked. The point is, I wanted to teach my children that behavior and belief are more important than, say, your haircut, but I wasn't doing anything to show them that. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But now I've made a commitment to put my money where my mouth is. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For the next few years, I'll be growing my hair from its usual pixie cut to at least 12 inches in length so I can donate it to<a href="http://www.locksoflove.org/"> Locks of Love</a>. I've always treasured my short haircuts; they make me feel like I can own any situation. They're like portable awesome, renewable by a simple trip to the stylist. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhaga65tg8ux1YZP2xV5x_K6mMht_MEEskAfjhNbz_bphffoa1ds0HVIR3SU3E3N-_gGp4Pr1JNqf54QfNsCotDQNSZkg591yyp9gcfTxAFmQgdyC-RG1Cq-QwaEvva4Wx6Pc6DUrYoe4/s1600/Awesome+salon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhaga65tg8ux1YZP2xV5x_K6mMht_MEEskAfjhNbz_bphffoa1ds0HVIR3SU3E3N-_gGp4Pr1JNqf54QfNsCotDQNSZkg591yyp9gcfTxAFmQgdyC-RG1Cq-QwaEvva4Wx6Pc6DUrYoe4/s640/Awesome+salon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today only, buy Awesome and get Supa Kool for half off!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm gonna have to learn to be awesome without it. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm gonna have to learn to take care of long hair, so I still present myself the way I want to. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm gonna have to actually spend money on shampoo. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But gosh darn it, I'm gonna get it done. My time, my effort, my attitude toward myself -- all those resources, I'm putting on the line for something I believe in. For someone else, maybe this isn't a big deal. For me, I'm kicking out the hypocrite in my life. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm putting my money where my mouth is.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If any of you would like to join me in a commitment to grow your hair for someone else in need (or any other goal for others), please post it below. If we get enough responses, I'd love to check in with everyone once a month. I'll create a post with pictures of my hair, and anyone who wants to share their progress can email me pictures to put up alongside mine. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Go eat your greens.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've been saving this post for awhile, because the time just never seemed right. Now, however, it does. Take time out today to put your money where your mouth is, wherever that mouth happens to be. And if your mouth (or your heart) happens to be in the general vicinity of Joplin, Missouri, feel free to click <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/US/joplin-missouri-tornado-victims/story?id=13665690">here</a> for an article on ways you can help.</span></i></div>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-40396005108608358962011-05-23T17:42:00.002-05:002011-05-23T17:42:44.216-05:00Monday MantraThere is always someone who has less than you.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://abcnews.go.com/US/joplin-missouri-tornado-victims/story?id=13665690">Click here to learn how you can help victims in Joplin, Missouri.</a>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-86022657572012057082011-05-17T19:04:00.001-05:002011-05-17T19:31:16.835-05:00SickThis week has been a really interesting episode of Survivor: Motherhood around the Dyer household. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, an insidious and evil germ-of-doom entered my unsuspecting body and started enacting its plot for hostile takeover. It started in my throat, then quickly spread both down and up. Our script this week went something like this:<br />
<br />
<b>Wednesday</b><br />
Me: Uuurgh... throat hurts.<br />
<br />
DB: Get some rest.<br />
<br />
Me: Can't. Gotta do dishes and other stuff.<br />
<br />
<b>Thursday</b><br />
Me: *Gravelly voice* Uuuuurrghh... *cough cough* Throat hurts.<br />
<br />
DB: Get some rest!<br />
<br />
Me: Can't. Behind on the laundry. You've got a test. Go study.<br />
<br />
DB: ... Fine.<br />
<br />
<b>Friday</b><br />
Me: *Man voice* Urrgghhh... *cough sniffle* Throat huuurts...<br />
<br />
DB: Get some rest!!<br />
<br />
Me: You have to study. And work. And we have kids. And a house. Dishes. Laundry. Bathrooms...<br />
<br />
DB: ... Okay, fine. At least take it easy.<br />
<br />
Me: Of course. I promise. Just don't look at my fingers, 'cause they're definitely crossed.<br />
<br />
<b>Saturday </b><br />
Me: <i>See previous days, all added together</i>.<br />
<br />
DB: Woman! Get back into bed!<br />
<br />
Me: Can't. Dress rehearsal. Dad home from surgery. Gotta help.<br />
<br />
DB: *Rolls eyes* Fine. Just make sure to invite me to your funeral.<br />
<br />
<b>Sunday</b><br />
Me: Zzzzzzz....<br />
<br />
DB: .... I am so not waking her up for church.<br />
<br />
Me: Zzzzzzz....zzzzz....zzzz....zzz-- *cough hack cough cough* <i>Trying to talk, but no voice.</i><br />
<br />
DB: I'm sorry, what was that honey? You want to stay in bed all day until you absolutely have to get up for your performance? Good plan.<br />
<br />
Me: *Evil glare* .... .... .... Zzzzzzz....<br />
<br />
<b>Monday</b><br />
Me: *Gravelly voice* Ok. I'm not falling over any more. Back to work.<br />
<br />
DB: *Facepalm* You still sound like a man! Give yourself a break!<br />
<br />
Me: No talking, man person! Go study for your final!<br />
<br />
DB: You need to rest!<br />
<br />
Me: Gymnastics! Cleaning! Dinner! Children! Laundry and laundry and laundry! Go study!<br />
<br />
DB: I hired a cleaning service. Go rest.<br />
<br />
Me: ... I was on a roll. Trying to be a martyr here.<br />
<br />
DB: Go rest.<br />
<br />
Me: Sure, okay. Right after gymnastcis. And keeping the kids out of the house while the cleaning ladies come. And making dinner. And finishing that one thing...<br />
<br />
DB: *Sigh*<br />
<br />
<b>Tuesday</b><br />
Me: *Cough cough -- hack hack* Urrrgh... All right, gang. I give up. Daddy is officially finished with finals, so I am going to --<br />
<br />
DB: *Cough cough*<br />
<br />
Ladybug: *Hack hack*<br />
<br />
StrawBee: *Cough hack*<br />
<br />
The Captain: *Sniffle*<br />
<br />
Me:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH78bZFO5EjhpEYnTs3qqO6Zblp3ff_sw_yENMDwXb6-F0a_QhBUFdqblykpROP82WG0198IVUJC3If6PaERS3kFo5boigkhdGlFeic5-uGmCbroWNTQEaCIUt58ief0O0fXBDouuPu5d/s1600/Death+pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH78bZFO5EjhpEYnTs3qqO6Zblp3ff_sw_yENMDwXb6-F0a_QhBUFdqblykpROP82WG0198IVUJC3If6PaERS3kFo5boigkhdGlFeic5-uGmCbroWNTQEaCIUt58ief0O0fXBDouuPu5d/s640/Death+pic.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...At least I'm finally excused from the laundry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-12949958475794546542011-05-16T16:15:00.000-05:002011-05-16T16:15:26.233-05:00Monday MantraIf I can sing with almost-bronchitis, I can do anything.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-63456944276990388472011-05-10T10:02:00.001-05:002011-05-10T12:37:31.074-05:00Finished<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Yes, world. I am officially finished. </span><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Having babies, that is. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Why, do you ask? Is it too many late nights and early mornings? Too many days gone un-showered? Too many nights washing peed bed linens? Too many dollars at the grocery store?</div><div><br />
</div><div>No, nope, nah, and nay. It's this: </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAfashB7FOWdmbunCXRAXrxokhz49h2WmULxTOxnmXz6gwn4j-E-3p44VdpTQqq2XcoNsRBzG8u8CJBarDKo2fcSIzP-WDesTUifyDDgNvrtXrGhF4Ui7A-bWtrvuzoDwra40ZiA2MVnQ/s1600/dark+hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAfashB7FOWdmbunCXRAXrxokhz49h2WmULxTOxnmXz6gwn4j-E-3p44VdpTQqq2XcoNsRBzG8u8CJBarDKo2fcSIzP-WDesTUifyDDgNvrtXrGhF4Ui7A-bWtrvuzoDwra40ZiA2MVnQ/s640/dark+hair.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>It's a hair. </div><div><br />
A dark, curly hair. </div><div><br />
</div><div>A dark, curly chest hair. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That I found on <i>my</i> chest. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That's right. Apparently giving birth turns me into a man. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I was prepared for a lot of bodily changes from bearing children, and on the whole I accept them gladly. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Stretch marks? <i>Got 'em.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div>Saggy belly?<i> Check.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div>Saggy breasts? <i>Double check.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div>Circles under the eyes? <i>You mean that isn't mascara? ...Oh, I guess I would've had to have put some on first. Right.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div>Hormonal imbalances? <i>I'm sorry, I can't answer that question until I've had some chocolate -- dark, with strawberries on the side.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div>Chest hair? <i>Oh, su-- </i>Wha huh wug???</div><div><br />
</div><div>I've noticed that with each birth, I've collected a few dark hairs in places that are generally considered the province of men. Hairs that were easily pluckable and, really, not all that strange (as you find once you get to know a girl well enough that she'll share these things. Why is it that we'll share all kind of weird details about pregnancy, labor, and delivery and not 'fess up to a few stray hairs?). These I have accepted. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But chest hair? </div><div><br />
</div><div>Uh, no. </div><div><br />
</div><div>If DB decides he wants another baby, he'd better bring up the topic by presenting me with a carte blanche gift certificate for laser hair removal. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Because at this rate, I'll be ushering in Planet of the Apes: Mom Edition before you know it.</div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhofYx4tcO9WGTTDg54bewonZc7aLMoQzZZCHW1UOZBbGjPXHblhVY7mypkSiki7IpGcpkefmd4Le3VC8WbdFqbEbY5sfn33CjXqHI_kTXSWeWnVqq_bzHkkRX0wUQYPCeqK-_xwl-EUL9B/s1600/gorilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhofYx4tcO9WGTTDg54bewonZc7aLMoQzZZCHW1UOZBbGjPXHblhVY7mypkSiki7IpGcpkefmd4Le3VC8WbdFqbEbY5sfn33CjXqHI_kTXSWeWnVqq_bzHkkRX0wUQYPCeqK-_xwl-EUL9B/s640/gorilla.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That's right, work your sexy bad self.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-15956263580094849122011-05-09T09:37:00.002-05:002011-05-09T09:37:22.547-05:00Monday MantraYou can't find time, so make time instead.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-36083820170929734722011-05-03T13:23:00.000-05:002011-05-03T13:23:12.087-05:00Shortage<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><br />
<div>My kid brother is out serving a two year mission for our church, and is having some difficulty adjusting to the fact that not everyone out there has a joyful heart. This is probably because he has a particularly soft, kind heart himself. However, I think one encounter is always one too many, and he's had several (dozen).</div><div><br />
</div><div>I worry about my girls meeting these people with less-than-joyful hearts. I admit (shamefacedly) that I harbor bitter memories of some encounters like the ones my brother is describing. Times when people just seem to ... explode from the absolute lack of happiness within themselves. </div><div><br />
</div><div>In seems that some people don't just have a case of a not-so-joyful heart; they actually have downright grumpy hearts. And since they have grumpy hearts, they feel this strange need to try and make sure everyone else has grumpy hearts too. It's kind of like when people listen to nasty music and feel the need to roll down the windows and pump up the volume. It's like they're all, "Oh, YEAH?!? You think I'm a MEAN person?! Well, I can make YOU feel bitter and cranky TOO!! So take THAT!!!" </div><div><br />
</div><div>Cranky people use a lot of punctuation. Don't they know there's a shortage?</div><div><br />
</div><div>And, you know, if they (or any of you, dear readers) feel the need to dump some of those extra exclamation marks somewhere, I'm always on the lookout for more punctuation. I take 'em and clean all the cranky off of 'em and sell 'em on eBay.<br />
<br />
It's okay to be carting around some extra punctuation sometimes, you know? No one's going to be calm and period-like all the time. I kind of expect that anyone might need a break from sheer awesomeness on occasion. But to be that way to perfect strangers? Or to children? Or someone who's going out of their way to solve your problems? Yup, I've seen grumpy-hearted people dump buckets of precious "!!!" on people's heads in each of those situations, along with many other endangered marks (@#$%**, for example).<br />
<br />
And there's more at stake here than endangered punctuation, dear to my heart though that topic is. Endangered hearts worry me more. Grumpy hearts are more contagious than Ebola. I understand that when you're miserable, you don't want to be alone. However, infecting everyone else's hearts really only isolates you more as everyone around you turns into a pack of snarling, snapping wolves, determined to bite as many people as possible.<br />
<br />
Try taking your cranky "!!!" to someone you trust. A friend? A relative? God? A blank page?<br />
<br />
Don't carry them around everywhere. They rot.<br />
<br />
They stink.<br />
<br />
They ruin you from the inside out.<br />
<br />
Don't expect someone to walk up and yank your cankering wounds away from you. Share the burden and while it might not disappear, you'll find it easier to carry.<br />
<br />
Don't let it destroy you.<br />
<br />
I almost did, once. Long ago. I don't talk about it now -- I only mention it to give credibility to my urging.<br />
<br />
Cranky hearts suck. Don't beat others over the head with them; just let them go.<br />
<br />
And those of you who are naturally joyful hearted, like my brother, don't give up on the rest of us. You're a gift from God to someone struggling. You keep up a supply of happy, clean "!!!" for the rest of us.<br />
<br />
We need you. We love you, and we love to hate you for being happier than us. But we learn to be better by watching you.<br />
<br />
Happy "!!!" to you all.</div>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-7056289635921021422011-05-02T00:09:00.001-05:002011-05-02T09:07:33.806-05:00Monday MantraDon't think. Just do. And do and do and do and do. Until the fear is gone.Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-23401517971215341062011-04-26T19:35:00.002-05:002011-04-26T19:35:56.294-05:00Out of Context<style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #141414}
p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #141414; min-height: 13.0px}
p.p3 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #141414; min-height: 13.0px}
p.p4 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #141414}
p.p5 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #101010; min-height: 13.0px}
p.p6 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Lucida Grande'; color: #101010}
span.s1 {letter-spacing: 0.0px}
</style> <br />
<div class="p1"><br />
<div class="p1"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When you hang around certain people a lot, you start getting way too comfortable when you talk to them. Girls night out, for example, can cover a host of topics ranging from diaper changing to job changing to husband changing. Even better are best friends, who have broken down most barriers between them, discussing such things as a zombie apocalypse and what the return of skinny jeans means for our derrieres. </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span>By far the best, however, are conversations between siblings. Brothers and sisters have been with each other practically (or literally) their entire lives, so they have absolutely nothing to hide from each other. Having five siblings myself, I can attest to the fact that pretty much nothing is off limits in either personal details or just plain weirdness.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Actually, my family usually errs on the side of just plain weirdness. It's like we compete in staring contests of strangeness, trying to out-weird each other until someone cracks (up, that is). Our Facebook status exchanges, for example, are often interrupted by an outsider simply posting “What the cheese crud?! How did I miss this kumquat uprising you're talking about?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="p2"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sometimes I wonder what pictures are conjured in the minds of others when they overhear (overread?) these discussions. I imagine they walk away thinking that either we’re insane, or our lives are more awesome than Lady Gaga’s. For your viewing pleasure, and because it was so darn fun, I have extrapolated what an innocent bystander might get out of an IM conversation I had with my brother Jay not long ago. Enjoy.</span></span></div></div></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Jay: Guess why I am so excited today!</i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Go ahead, guess.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="s1"></span></i></span></div><div class="p4"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Carolynn: Um… you've got a new magical pet unicorn that breathes out gold dust.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="s1"></span></i></span></div><div class="p4"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT30EhoPZuqYZg9OJNsxlnr2Mt0E_UDXYjMB6gR1f1BVSgbW76IJ4CRss8vHEIhneAahEJ_TQvnoHo6HnQFgV0C1mdtQo9WDubCbuv7Hnom04v1bDZhy_QIWyWHioRWmhue8Ct_MBmKg3q/s1600/Unicorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT30EhoPZuqYZg9OJNsxlnr2Mt0E_UDXYjMB6gR1f1BVSgbW76IJ4CRss8vHEIhneAahEJ_TQvnoHo6HnQFgV0C1mdtQo9WDubCbuv7Hnom04v1bDZhy_QIWyWHioRWmhue8Ct_MBmKg3q/s640/Unicorn.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><i><br />
</i></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Jay: Nope better than that.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Carolynn: Better that that?! It must be a magical pseudopod!</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p6"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fCptntQQr5WcZGHaGbZjHVPPMM9IWB5-3qRP9VA8Bo8XDNATaAz-bfpef4fRZmRygmwvdn7fCG0zvlbBcTwpxpuac4iUjHw8UdkLGzqy29SEs3m3eUeZsQBBC-b2maR6N-TlIHrZsTr9/s1600/u+vs+pseudopod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fCptntQQr5WcZGHaGbZjHVPPMM9IWB5-3qRP9VA8Bo8XDNATaAz-bfpef4fRZmRygmwvdn7fCG0zvlbBcTwpxpuac4iUjHw8UdkLGzqy29SEs3m3eUeZsQBBC-b2maR6N-TlIHrZsTr9/s640/u+vs+pseudopod.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unicorn is definitely less than Magical Pseudopod</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i><br />
</i></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Jay: Nope, not quite.</i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>I'll give you a hint.</i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>It involves Las Vegas.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Carolynn: You saw Elvis?!</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p6"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyAZdltJpyv3hnChtrlcDxTlztuLVR4jEkz6Mw5-K-RrQ19YFo9xkQ_LAtytcUHOBtTmEl6AzLBcaatqT5Xz3ysTzA5Svr8aA7astI6IZGhD4v-ozU8yPvjLw1pIcPDNV3ppRssg3nTkl-/s1600/elvis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyAZdltJpyv3hnChtrlcDxTlztuLVR4jEkz6Mw5-K-RrQ19YFo9xkQ_LAtytcUHOBtTmEl6AzLBcaatqT5Xz3ysTzA5Svr8aA7astI6IZGhD4v-ozU8yPvjLw1pIcPDNV3ppRssg3nTkl-/s640/elvis.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Jay: NO! Though that would have been AWESOME!</i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>It involves Apple!</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Carolynn: You won the Bellagio in a thumb war with Steve Jobs?</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="s1"></span></i></span></div><div class="p1"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA95tglSdD1BfPmfN1buoiXbed-cUEZCh7HnVfQOHUCKU6F4hP8aiqdblTMu8krmWHZZrgmagjYHw5Di24RwEF66oLSDkS9ZzA7K16dO0n3T_igzGi1dKe1eywN9uYFehutGplm4NBr70b/s1600/jay+v.+steve+jobs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA95tglSdD1BfPmfN1buoiXbed-cUEZCh7HnVfQOHUCKU6F4hP8aiqdblTMu8krmWHZZrgmagjYHw5Di24RwEF66oLSDkS9ZzA7K16dO0n3T_igzGi1dKe1eywN9uYFehutGplm4NBr70b/s640/jay+v.+steve+jobs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Jay: Yeah…but I lost it in the next round.</i></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Carolynn: Bummer</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="p5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i><b></b></i></span></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Jay: Jobs upgraded his thumb.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8eXU1mLEPXG4yDEGbukNiOFiZaB04LWZGEnSFKYO3SwFROJ4ZU3bmJFlgTtuso14H-n2zh3aM6ghceMxfVFnQPTAH2SagwFedZf-ptxoeHUJ2_2YwyEVSJs2WfaAGcPB8sLpCdmuaTv8/s1600/iThumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8eXU1mLEPXG4yDEGbukNiOFiZaB04LWZGEnSFKYO3SwFROJ4ZU3bmJFlgTtuso14H-n2zh3aM6ghceMxfVFnQPTAH2SagwFedZf-ptxoeHUJ2_2YwyEVSJs2WfaAGcPB8sLpCdmuaTv8/s640/iThumb.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And yes, Mr. Jobs, I <i>do</i> expect to see this product soon--and some royalties.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131769745342602720.post-5683013765633975262011-04-25T09:45:00.000-05:002011-04-25T09:45:58.815-05:00Monday Mantra<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><h2 style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">If you can't catch up*, do your best to keep from drowning. </span></span></h2><h2 style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></h2><h2 style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></h2><h2 style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></h2><h2 style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">*"Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing." -- Phyllis Diller</span></h2></span>Carolynn The Dyerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07101447288132730944noreply@blogger.com1