tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20364316994466235812024-03-05T03:57:04.338-06:00Tales from AuburnJenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.comBlogger221125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-816205451738568522012-07-19T22:10:00.002-05:002012-07-19T22:15:50.401-05:00Stuff kids say. . .So Nathan is quite the talker. And I mean non-stop talking. All the time. Did you hear me? ALL the time, people!<br />
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We get in the car. . . "Did you see the birds, mommy?" "What does the birds do." "There's a red light mommy. Mommy, that means stop. Now, go mommy, go!" "Can we listen to music? I like to go to the store." (Imagine a play by play of a football game on the radio, and <em>that's</em> my kid) He's my little play by play sidekick in life, except I can't just hit an "off" button to get a moment of silence in the car.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47xL2JuoHQzF_8b0HYcWUXig33pZ2ts0diaq099TbokggkODBlDlxoae-9U8ySKrzVqIcU5sxrgCTE6vD2v5oVRsSs4BowZr9h4GUGzSHo44h4HHeXWJaatIDtDY607h7OI-AZTiQk_w/s1600/nate2+copyc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47xL2JuoHQzF_8b0HYcWUXig33pZ2ts0diaq099TbokggkODBlDlxoae-9U8ySKrzVqIcU5sxrgCTE6vD2v5oVRsSs4BowZr9h4GUGzSHo44h4HHeXWJaatIDtDY607h7OI-AZTiQk_w/s320/nate2+copyc.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
Since the birth of my youngest, we have traveled to Michigan, Birmingham, Wisconsin, Chicago, Birmingham, Kentucky, Birmingham, Tennessee, Birmingham. We've been in the car a lot. So you can imagine my brain at the end of these trips. Especially with a play by play for 12 hours at a time with no nap. <br />
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Thank goodness he is so darn cute!<br />
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And as for Noah, thank goodness he is the happiest baby alive.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwelKC8AOF4WNtU4PAg8loZG-VDZ4mJQfriGNvkP8UlnKnAiUqF9GDsiNE5S5pbgNBmTwzVvZDPyJ8-Jl8G55bTL7EsojxqrvJWx9G2OqgkJAtyZCBGOx888CEmVY8vkuUgqWfsLLKF2s/s1600/n35c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwelKC8AOF4WNtU4PAg8loZG-VDZ4mJQfriGNvkP8UlnKnAiUqF9GDsiNE5S5pbgNBmTwzVvZDPyJ8-Jl8G55bTL7EsojxqrvJWx9G2OqgkJAtyZCBGOx888CEmVY8vkuUgqWfsLLKF2s/s320/n35c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Well, that is until we put him in a car seat. Then it's all downhill from there. . . <br />
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So between the constant talking and crying we have one noisy and lively car. If you'd like to ever ride in the car with us. . . you were warned. ha! <br />
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And on a side note, I posted a year ago about having boxes left to unpack in our new house. Yeah, they are still there. In the same spot. Unpacked. And <em>that</em> my friends is how I roll.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-22180073509322705812012-07-07T18:50:00.000-05:002012-07-07T18:50:17.664-05:00I am horrible!Okay, I realize this post has been a long time coming. But oh goodness the catching up I need to do. <br />
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Life has been extremely busy! (And for good reason)<br />
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We welcomed our second little boy, Noah Bryce on April 12th. He weighed in at 7lbs 7oz and 20 inches long. I can't believe how much our lives have changed in a short two months. He is the happiest baby! WE are so incredibly blessed! <br />
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Since Noah's arrival, we have traveled to Wisconsin, Michigan, Kentucky and last week Tennessee. Wowzers. And Noah hates his car seat. Good times! <br />
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Now, give me a day or so to collect my blogging thoughts and I'll be back. I promise! No really. . . .Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-35713862582726779942011-10-17T10:10:00.000-05:002011-10-17T10:10:08.580-05:00Oh the dreamsThere is nothing I want more in the world than to be a stay at home mommy. Nothing! I can't tell you how much I hate leaving the Butterbean for work. I hate when he spends the weekends away from us so we can work. I feel like I miss out on so much of his life and it completely breaks my heart!<br />
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This past weekend The Mr. had drill in Montgomery, I had to work, and the Butterbean spent the weekend at his grandparents house. I know he was having a great time! But when you come home to a completely empty house, no mommy duties, no kisses goodnight, nothing. . . well it's really hard. I cried. (It may be the pregnancy hormones) But I realized how much I wanted to have a normal family life. One where The Mr. isn't missing on the weekends, where we can do family activities on the weekends, go to church every Sunday as a family, or go visit family on the weekends. <br />
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How could you leave a face like this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltJOASL289qEmBjZBLmPOd1tC6GhND7EIW-_ocE3Tce-O44sNKXFXPv9UfJfk93yKXsyG9kcvRFxQI4JG4wo90rz-IjP7OxHPAMWSVIAlgdtTWYidCl0yPsibX-BwqsXqi5mwdWqteOU/s1600/nate2yc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltJOASL289qEmBjZBLmPOd1tC6GhND7EIW-_ocE3Tce-O44sNKXFXPv9UfJfk93yKXsyG9kcvRFxQI4JG4wo90rz-IjP7OxHPAMWSVIAlgdtTWYidCl0yPsibX-BwqsXqi5mwdWqteOU/s320/nate2yc.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
And I can't believe I'll have to leave two precious little faces very soon. I am so heartbroken.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-88084044027005463532011-10-06T20:41:00.000-05:002011-10-06T20:41:08.766-05:00HapsGoodness, I really am the world's worst blogger right now! But here's a rundown of what we've been up to,<br />
- The Butterbean turned three! (I'm having heart palpitations typing this right now)<br />
- Planned the Butterbean's third birthday. (Success)<br />
-Still trying to get my house in order (Will it ever end?)<br />
- Worked on my new blogsite for my photography. You can visit it<a href="http://www.jenniferyoungphotoblog.com/"> here</a>. I update it frequently with my latest sessions.<br />
-Got the flu/worst cold known to mankind. (Thanks to the sweetest three year old around.)<br />
-Could't take any medicine for it, because we have a jellybean on the way. (Yup, it's true! Sick with morning sickness and a <br />
cold. Yay!)<br />
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Hoping to get back into a regularly blogging schedule soon!Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-35908406090393339972011-08-09T22:13:00.000-05:002011-08-09T22:13:45.052-05:00My husband snoresMy husband snores. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. In this post, I am going to share my "save your sanity because you love the guy and don't want to strangle him" tips. :)<br />
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Most nights, we race to bed to see who can get there first mainly because, if I get there first, I can fall asleep with out listening to the snoring. If he gets there first, the bed isn't hot. <br />
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<em>(The Mr. claims I catch on fire at night. Who knew?)</em><br />
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So here is my routine, if in fact he gets in the bed before me and passes out into a deep slumber. <br />
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Step 1. Generally speaking, after walking into the room and finding your sleeping husband vibrating your eardrums, gently slip into bed with such ease as not to wake him but with a tiny little bounce. <br />
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If this doesn't get him to turn over and stop snoring, go to step 2.<br />
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Step 2. Try tossing and turning. Now don't go jumping around in the bed, but do turn from one side to the other. Chances are he'll wake up ever so slightly to turn the opposite direction as you and stop snoring.<br />
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<em>Didn't work? Go to step 3.</em><br />
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Step 3. This time toss and turn with more force than previous attempts, but take a bit of the covers with you. By gently tugging the sheets, he may startle and turn over to his side. <br />
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<em>No success? Commence step 4.</em><br />
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Step 4. Wiggle around like a fish. He may wake up and think you are having a seizure, so when you accidentally kick him awake he'll feel sorry for you. (Desperate times call for desperate measures)<br />
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<em>Still no luck, call the cops, it's time for step 5.</em><br />
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Step 5. Shake him. Shake him. Shake him. Tell him to wake up and stop snoring or turn over! <br />
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<em>Step 5 is sure to work, but it does have concequences. In fact, he is sure to be upset that you woke him over snoring, because he is 100 percent sure he doesn't snore. </em><br />
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You could do all 5 steps. Each one an increased level of desperation to catch some zzzzz's. But lets face it,<br />
you could just go to Target, buy some ear plugs, go to Ashley Furniture, get a King size bed and call it a day. Both parties will be happier with the King size bed anyway.<br />
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But under no circumstances, I REPEAT, under NO circumstances should you ever ever ever take the palms of your hands, place them on either side of your snoring husbands head, and manually turn his head to the side to get him to stop snoring. He may just wake up and think you are trying to kill him by snapping his neck. <br />
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Don't ask me how I know that. . . Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-67440930870995383862011-07-28T22:46:00.000-05:002011-07-28T22:46:57.797-05:00I know what you are thinking. . .I know, I know. Terrible blogger of the year award goes to. . . (enter my name here). ::le sigh::<br />
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So a lot has changed around these here parts! Seriously. The biggest thing being that we moved!!! Same town, but different house and much more room (and closet space). The closets were the biggest selling feature for me. Especially when you have a master closet that you, your husband, and two year old can lay down and do carpet angels on and not hit each other. Not that we would EVER do that or anything. Theoretically speaking of course.<br />
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::Ahem::<br />
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Since we've moved, we have been learning about our new neighborhood and the ways of life over here. In the past month since we've moved in we've :<br />
<ul><li>unpacked 75 boxes, (still have about 15 more left), </li>
<li>added gutters to the house, </li>
<li>bought new living room furniture, </li>
<li>figured how to get a herd of 15 deer to stop eating your plants, (that one was fun)</li>
<li>went to war with the mass amount of spiders in our yard claimed an early victory only for the mammoth of all spiders to show up on our back porch yesterday, </li>
<li>explained to the Butterbean what cicadas are that they will not eat you and yes they are loud, </li>
<li>had a window crack due to new home construction settling, </li>
<li>have a backyard that flooded (hoping the builders will fix that too)</li>
<li>got a cat.</li>
<li>got rid of cat. (yep, I'm allergic)</li>
<li>began working on setting up my home studio/office! :)</li>
</ul><br />
We put our home on the market in April. It sold in a month! And we moved at the end of June. So crazy considering the way the market is right now. But we are so blessed. :) Can't wait to begin decorating each room and showing some before and afters! Should be fun stuff. <br />
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I promise not to disappear for another 4 or 5 months again. And to make up for it I'll leave you with a picture.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmkj3rfn9TH5Nve64hreOMpeV4tc-5GHA6PzgNXsOkDbmVSfzYdwWsN1kURdC3CoZ-6TOLmD25e7qESXwnEvDeoYft3b_6Tg6c8Lf35g9oqHByEbDAJPnON24vovlVsWL0oEYhyqVNCI/s1600/n21c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmkj3rfn9TH5Nve64hreOMpeV4tc-5GHA6PzgNXsOkDbmVSfzYdwWsN1kURdC3CoZ-6TOLmD25e7qESXwnEvDeoYft3b_6Tg6c8Lf35g9oqHByEbDAJPnON24vovlVsWL0oEYhyqVNCI/s400/n21c.jpg" t$="true" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Irony? Quite possibly.</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-23284984280478804212011-02-28T21:11:00.000-06:002011-02-28T21:11:43.906-06:00I love my job!Don't get me wrong, I love my nursing job. . . . <br />
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But the whole photography thing, I think I love even more. Here's why:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M0_C13PkOcVfyk1MwoW38EJzt6dEp9NvY4qthpAHFQaZzW6ln_hhu9I0cEZhcVWHHXiD12LVw1y5UL3jXrE37Dwpgo-O7G9BmpWzAmpFI-3n5EskxUAmafZceoxQaKauTgis9o2cKfU/s1600/bl6fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M0_C13PkOcVfyk1MwoW38EJzt6dEp9NvY4qthpAHFQaZzW6ln_hhu9I0cEZhcVWHHXiD12LVw1y5UL3jXrE37Dwpgo-O7G9BmpWzAmpFI-3n5EskxUAmafZceoxQaKauTgis9o2cKfU/s320/bl6fb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0V6RJIsDAibs6KqwppGv2N4lJzeEeHHE8SyRZCpEFw46HEjhvP1fEs8bJQs9KUfwOSUybhKdSU3h-LcqnMqjZh1YxmQNrvJQWHg0gUwnNG3s_m08tmgnOQz0qwK4UrvcfPskCBQaB43Q/s1600/bl10fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0V6RJIsDAibs6KqwppGv2N4lJzeEeHHE8SyRZCpEFw46HEjhvP1fEs8bJQs9KUfwOSUybhKdSU3h-LcqnMqjZh1YxmQNrvJQWHg0gUwnNG3s_m08tmgnOQz0qwK4UrvcfPskCBQaB43Q/s400/bl10fb.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>I get to photograph cuties like this all day!!!!! I couldn't resist sharing these pictures, they are two of my favorites from a recent session and make me smile. I just love the opportunity to photograph such precious little ones. <br />
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At each newborn session, I marvel at how God placed every tiny little eyelash, little toe, little finger, every little fleck of that flaky newborn skin in it's place, and lets not forget those little newborn wrinkles. Perfect tiny miracles. The Lord is simply amazing. And I am in awe of all of His tiny creations.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-32682412266093121872011-02-18T16:31:00.002-06:002011-02-18T16:34:16.161-06:00A heavy heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnxs5gsdPdk3YQaX-n7Okx4E0UYWr27k4X3Ng_AoUMtoaq3UN1b_OVl8No1U3alxxKObkxnzLxi25RZZ-dQIHRADqz7EMs0pDzWyktjYflO1wFkvPNfOvGCvfy363-WhlA9ExvB2eRy8/s1600/t1c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnxs5gsdPdk3YQaX-n7Okx4E0UYWr27k4X3Ng_AoUMtoaq3UN1b_OVl8No1U3alxxKObkxnzLxi25RZZ-dQIHRADqz7EMs0pDzWyktjYflO1wFkvPNfOvGCvfy363-WhlA9ExvB2eRy8/s400/t1c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As I'm sure you've heard on the news recently, Auburn's oak trees on Toomer's corner were poisoned by a self proclaimed Alabama fan. (And I use self proclaimed, because I'm sure Alabama isn't claiming him as he is a lunatic).</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhSVTdfD3w8mLSChAJW88gn2-D75_G7uN3FbsrGnQ6qvdKiNQ8fQ1o8QHx_hYMNP_rw3Na2oPmwOMcF26YhfupnKC7-LHM17PpAdfn_6mvqywHjn2WQ5qtLIv-DY_tvZPxFr1DTFaALo/s1600/toom25c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhSVTdfD3w8mLSChAJW88gn2-D75_G7uN3FbsrGnQ6qvdKiNQ8fQ1o8QHx_hYMNP_rw3Na2oPmwOMcF26YhfupnKC7-LHM17PpAdfn_6mvqywHjn2WQ5qtLIv-DY_tvZPxFr1DTFaALo/s400/toom25c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">These two trees, which stand on Toomer's corner (named after Toomer's drugs) in Auburn have been there for 130 years. They have stood the test of time. Two strong trees, which time after time have seen celebration after celebration as thousands of Auburn fans, cheering our cheers, yelling WAR EAGLE to those passing by, hugging our family and friends, and throwing toilet paper in the trees to celebrate a victory. A time honored Auburn tradition that has been around now for 50 + years. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXx0M7SOZ2Tv8SYqE7Tdx_UiJ2YbVWJtQSU0NWZLTq_FRpdLyE42FVEZG3jFUJdFSWqTIgdluqHsfTkYmRfy7YnCT_9QBq2MXo4D-Pq_Mxsju81zMije_M2Z906slTUqkMvkR8ysejhw/s1600/toom30c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXx0M7SOZ2Tv8SYqE7Tdx_UiJ2YbVWJtQSU0NWZLTq_FRpdLyE42FVEZG3jFUJdFSWqTIgdluqHsfTkYmRfy7YnCT_9QBq2MXo4D-Pq_Mxsju81zMije_M2Z906slTUqkMvkR8ysejhw/s400/toom30c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As a college student, coming to Auburn was a choice that I made by myself. My family certainly didn't have Auburn degrees. They were from northern schools and if had their way, I would have gone to Michigan or the University of Illinois. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">After my first Auburn football game as a college student, a few of my friends wanted to go to Toomer's corner. They had already packed their toilet paper. I thought it was strange and slightly mental that people in daylight, would dirty up their own tree!!!! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We got down to Toomer's corner. People were running towards downtown with toilet paper in hand. Shouts of "War Eagle" filling the air. Everyone was so excited! There wasn't a stranger to be found. Everyone was family down there. Everyone. All at once, I had thousands of family members. There was a guy celebrating by riding his unicycle through the street, parents who brought their little children, orange everywhere, and toilet paper streaming through the air. It was then that I thought. . . "It is so great to be an Auburn Tiger." And I joined in!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You see these trees are so much more than just trees. They are a tradition. They are celebration. They are family.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj56cjonfskF3I8COMt3lQgFEaf3AlCwOXZb5Q_3Bn09z1wBlGV3B7NgF9fkWYpK5s5WOH29b0UpoPQ_FeESG7AM61zF6J9CEjpZemG_LlU7iv-Gp_JISS9KReWN4gFmHftjU5cV6N8Qk/s1600/toom26c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj56cjonfskF3I8COMt3lQgFEaf3AlCwOXZb5Q_3Bn09z1wBlGV3B7NgF9fkWYpK5s5WOH29b0UpoPQ_FeESG7AM61zF6J9CEjpZemG_LlU7iv-Gp_JISS9KReWN4gFmHftjU5cV6N8Qk/s400/toom26c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Mr. and I were so excited this year when the Butterbean had his first Toomer's corner experience. After Auburn won the SEC championship, we loaded everyone up in the car and off we went. The Butterbean wasn't too sure what to think with the huge crowd of people. We cheered WAR EAGLE, we chatted with friends, we celebrated. Then it was time. . . we made our way through the crowd with our one roll of toilet paper. The Mr holding the Butterbean and I guiding the way. We got close enough. I handed the roll of toilet paper to the Mr. (knowing he could make the throw far better than I could) I held onto the kiddo as I said, "Now watch Daddy." I was so proud seeing my little guy see his father throw that one gleaming white roll into the air and disappear into the streams of white all around. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNxHePtvjL-DiLVqsDKdDup2lOl0I_TMIEGCwdvdq9pl60PDvkU3aunRD8a2eD05550auN0YBHtYzjKbwoY1K5P-yKbCdwojvhanKnH8QiEOTMu5HYDtAGKb_KyMxgm8Rxwx-7GjoLHs/s1600/t10c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNxHePtvjL-DiLVqsDKdDup2lOl0I_TMIEGCwdvdq9pl60PDvkU3aunRD8a2eD05550auN0YBHtYzjKbwoY1K5P-yKbCdwojvhanKnH8QiEOTMu5HYDtAGKb_KyMxgm8Rxwx-7GjoLHs/s200/t10c.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVrGb0HUzhiVqg4EwdyPia3khsJ2o-1YHJPe8s7f_Zuysogg264CzTRy0ICieTlBMtOFUsrx2gZwet55ZZReXWZajO058h9-tEx-JU_jSAoSTEEz_z0qLO2JFgsvJN_LrN9ilT9sz6p0E/s1600/t8c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVrGb0HUzhiVqg4EwdyPia3khsJ2o-1YHJPe8s7f_Zuysogg264CzTRy0ICieTlBMtOFUsrx2gZwet55ZZReXWZajO058h9-tEx-JU_jSAoSTEEz_z0qLO2JFgsvJN_LrN9ilT9sz6p0E/s200/t8c.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I was excited to share that moment with my little guy and couldn't wait until he was old enough to do that for himself. Something that The Mr and I had both participated in as college students. Something that I hoped for him to do himself.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The life of the oak trees' fate is grim. It saddens me that the Butterbean may not be able to throw a roll into the same tree that his father and I threw into as college students. We could always replant two more trees. But it's still not the same tree. And it may take 3-5 years for all of the poison to be out of the soil before that is even possible. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHxPWuIBo8qioXrWDcPkoqKtw5uBLeXpS3TpgzuOnp84Jk1xbzLFkjsG24W-lMFEgKEXGVs6VAtZ6wNx3tE9A-rVPRsjq09bgR6yL7leYFKPifvK3FDaT3gRgQXI9qRz8fNg-N9gBAOo/s1600/toom28c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHxPWuIBo8qioXrWDcPkoqKtw5uBLeXpS3TpgzuOnp84Jk1xbzLFkjsG24W-lMFEgKEXGVs6VAtZ6wNx3tE9A-rVPRsjq09bgR6yL7leYFKPifvK3FDaT3gRgQXI9qRz8fNg-N9gBAOo/s400/toom28c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Though the uncertainty remains on the tree's fate. I will continue to take the Butterbean to Toomer's corner after wins. To celebrate with my Auburn family. To remember the times of triumph, the times of celebration, and instill in him the Auburn spirit. You see, Toomer's corner is so much more than just two trees. It is family and love and life. So I will end this post with a simple sentence that I carry proudly in my heart: </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It certainly IS great to be an AUBURN TIGER!!!! </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qsgtLlCXs3Qf-fBeAkqOVV5WU9YWaoTYuSqUIpjSqOpkXkIETPapGd_TQlH5woMEa-hiwzfPU_YEuBWO8MkxNFEGSuOKTtiVKOqIfWrt7Puq5aNSgzA3Wq2apeUmLWIkno5XBWXl5lg/s1600/t12c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qsgtLlCXs3Qf-fBeAkqOVV5WU9YWaoTYuSqUIpjSqOpkXkIETPapGd_TQlH5woMEa-hiwzfPU_YEuBWO8MkxNFEGSuOKTtiVKOqIfWrt7Puq5aNSgzA3Wq2apeUmLWIkno5XBWXl5lg/s320/t12c.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-63563799585602043792011-01-28T14:31:00.001-06:002011-01-28T14:31:40.886-06:00Proof.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is proof that he needs a hair cut. Pretty sure he is channeling his inner Albert Einstein.</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/AVvXsEhyiGjQrKzE_QmasSXGmNpmyQVIkAl4807f5aLgvWbo-bmg9QFBOowxoP4vwKjS3X4Asg6om8U5S6OSKY9XsvfMjENHtws4YJbWRSKeLhlbDTZ_vOVzTdbw_JZuTze6gAs6LcaKrs1WJB8/s1600/na10c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyiGjQrKzE_QmasSXGmNpmyQVIkAl4807f5aLgvWbo-bmg9QFBOowxoP4vwKjS3X4Asg6om8U5S6OSKY9XsvfMjENHtws4YJbWRSKeLhlbDTZ_vOVzTdbw_JZuTze6gAs6LcaKrs1WJB8/s640/na10c.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or maybe Steven Tyler. . . . he's cooler.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-91374983866774981812011-01-25T16:26:00.000-06:002011-01-25T16:26:51.429-06:00Teach 'em young.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Yes, I'm teaching him the love of photography young. . . </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3epO8sMZbcIFj1tGcQjR1AkYbXjzUvwACeNbszFZeZi4PD7aUqC3BpX4PRMr5JNCaFrtERztWGg-yWcKT1KCaZnqjuLFHgyl61KDT6tkQ_MBkIU-eYV3joOS8yb_sCqhevTmtJSjzDo/s1600/nawt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3epO8sMZbcIFj1tGcQjR1AkYbXjzUvwACeNbszFZeZi4PD7aUqC3BpX4PRMr5JNCaFrtERztWGg-yWcKT1KCaZnqjuLFHgyl61KDT6tkQ_MBkIU-eYV3joOS8yb_sCqhevTmtJSjzDo/s400/nawt.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">I think he loves it. Don't you?</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDraugVISlYO4VoO20B9LemQLzHoJvASvan0iVSMwBUlaZCPeCCeAJHlRSS5GrkUKcBIJz_pFopRlU0zSl2nR6keFhFZAIhn_Eav-4cfCZGy2tLRlzHVxQCkfKYDfS-YRVcfAkId_tSBw/s1600/na1t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDraugVISlYO4VoO20B9LemQLzHoJvASvan0iVSMwBUlaZCPeCCeAJHlRSS5GrkUKcBIJz_pFopRlU0zSl2nR6keFhFZAIhn_Eav-4cfCZGy2tLRlzHVxQCkfKYDfS-YRVcfAkId_tSBw/s320/na1t.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-55347153404145829562011-01-19T12:53:00.000-06:002011-01-19T12:53:46.812-06:00My tiny talking toddler and meYes, my tiny talking toddler and me sat on the floor playing with cars.<br />
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He glanced at me and said, "Mommy, look a flower!"<br />
I looked and saw no flower.<br />
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He stated again, "Flower, Mommy!"<br />
I saw no flower.<br />
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"I don't see it." I said. "Where do you see this flower? Why don't you point to it"<br />
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He looked and looked and then pointed to it. <br />
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It was no flower.<br />
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It was a spider. <br />
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I screamed. He looked at me in horror as if he did something wrong. I yelled, "Don't touch it!"<br />
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Then I grabbed a shoe smooshed it. And screamed everytime the shoe hit the body of the bug I despise the most.<br />
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The Butterbean glanced and me and sadly said, "spider."<br />
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I said, "Yes, that <em>was</em> a spider" <br />
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He then said, "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww"<br />
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I said, "Yes, spiders are ew."<br />
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I am obviously ruining my child for teaching him my disgust for all things spider and instilling my horror of spiders in him. That's okay. Maybe when he gets to be a 10 year old, he can kill them for me.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-48638313902089519582011-01-17T21:10:00.000-06:002011-01-17T21:10:10.526-06:00Maybe a rut?You may think my lack of postings maybe the result of a blogging rut. But alas, my dears. . . it is not. I haven't been too busy to blog. I haven't not felt like posting. It's just that I get ideas. Great ideas for a blog post as I'm falling asleep every night. Aaaaaand then I'm too lazy to actually get back out of bed and post. But please forgive me for blogging in my head. Strange concept I know. <br />
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Anyways, here is a list of blog posts in my head that weren't actually published here but were published in my head. In no particular order:<br />
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<ul><li>Why red and orange shouldn't touch</li>
<li>Chocolate chip cookies after dark</li>
<li>Photography mumbo jumbo</li>
<li>I'm cold. Really really cold.</li>
<li>Conquering the world, one toddler at a time</li>
<li>Kleenex. Why it's not all that it is cracked up to be.</li>
</ul>They are really great posts. And pretty funny if you ask me. Too bad they are all in my head. I really should work on getting them on this blog. Really shold work on that. . .Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-38185487440326148842010-12-15T21:37:00.000-06:002010-12-15T21:37:46.133-06:00It's 9:30pm on a Wednesday nightIt's 9:30pm on a Wednesday night. And as I sit here typing this there is a two year old standing behind me on the couch playing with my hair and watching Finding Nemo. <br />
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I don't mind that he's up this late. We don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning and don't have to be up too early. I am absolutely loving this whole "waiting for a job to open somewhere, stay at home mommy thing." The past week, I've been able to clean my house, have home cooked meals, and most importantly spend some quality time with The Mr. and my Butterbean. Wow, how I have missed this stress free feeling. It's been two years coming, and wow does it feel good.<br />
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So being as how I'm now attempting to go back to my "wanna be like Martha" roots, I have taken up knitting. I have been working on a few projects. . . and by few I mean really one project but I have restarted it, three times.<br />
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Okay, it's a scarf. Can't be too hard right? Yeah, um. . . not so much. The first time I began knitting a scarf. . . I thought it looked pretty good. No mistakes. About three hours into the project, The Mr. walked in and asked me what I was making. It was a scarf of course. He then explained that scarves are not supposed to be three times as wide as your head.<br />
Scarf project fail.<br />
I guess that one will be a blanket.<br />
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The second scarf, well. . . let's just say it has issues. <br />
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Now the third scarf. . . I'm doing okay on it right now. Maybe I'll post some pictures. Or maybe I won't because it is quite embarrassing.<br />
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I'm no Martha. . . but I shall prevail and I will finish a scarf gosh darn it. . .Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-18861300551000411282010-12-13T00:08:00.000-06:002010-12-13T00:08:11.426-06:00War Eagle!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There has been quite the array of celebrating around our house lately. Besides celebrating Thanksgiving, my graduation, upcoming Christmas festivities, we have been celebrating our Auburn Tigers! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As an Auburn fan, I have been waiting for a fun season like this one has been to share with the Butterbean. So when Auburn won the SEC Championship, what else could an Auburn family do who live in the town of Auburn? Well, you grab some toilet paper, put a coat on your two year old, grab the camera, and go downtown to Toomer's corner where you will meet thousands of Auburn fans celebrating in the street. Auburn cheer's, pictures and the celebratory rolling of the tree will take place.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And take place it did! There were so many people down there, I'm pretty sure the tree couldn't hold anymore toilet paper. There were globs of it all over the street. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Mr. and I had a great time introducing the Butterbean to Auburn culture. Needless, to say the Butterbean was a little confused and didn't quite know what was going on, but went with the flow anyway. We ran into several other friends and their families and took a few pictures.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvmNbSbFDW1w5XyoG9d1waTo5-GKjgPSiK6ApMvHPT9nYldXk0QRwNBrK2ieBseQvN9Ghlc-TMf5l7GylyFqgETacGV5PNEhomK-fTSWjMNosapseyhAmtwaB53EFa8x-_X-D7ITa1UQ/s1600/t54c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvmNbSbFDW1w5XyoG9d1waTo5-GKjgPSiK6ApMvHPT9nYldXk0QRwNBrK2ieBseQvN9Ghlc-TMf5l7GylyFqgETacGV5PNEhomK-fTSWjMNosapseyhAmtwaB53EFa8x-_X-D7ITa1UQ/s400/t54c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>And yep, that's us standing in front of the gorgeous toilet paper background! Another failed family picture. But it was the best we got. In the other pictures, the Butterbean insisted on hiding behind the toilet paper. Notice the Butterbean's death grip on the toilet paper. He knew what was going to happen to it. . . <br />
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And yes, we did meander our way up to the tree and watched as our celebratory roll hooked itself around a limb then disappeared into the crowd below. But I'm positive I saw someone pick it back up and continue wrapping it around the branches. <br />
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War Eagle! So proud of our Tigers, Cam Newton's Heisman win, and playing for a national championship.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-55866718443512773692010-12-06T15:07:00.001-06:002010-12-06T15:08:31.991-06:00We will now commence our regularly blogging scheduleLet me preface this post by saying, "I did it!!!" <br />
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Did what? You ask. <br />
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My dear friends, I have finished nursing school!!! Can we just take a moment and join hands around the computer as we sing "Hallelujah"? I added a video below to help you if you are not inclined to singing by yourself. Go ahead, push play and sing along with me!!!!<br />
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Now that we got that out of our system, I need to play a little catch up. Aaaaaaaaaaaand go:<br />
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<ul><li>The photography business is booming! So much so, that I'm actually considering hiring someone. . . I need a secretary. Like in the worse way.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>The Butterbean is no longer a butterbean. He's thinned out and though is still a heafty little guy, it makes me sad knowing he is growing up.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>The Mr. is still working like a crazy person. I hope to take some of that burden off of him soon, but frankly it's rather hard to find a nursing job around here lately. And that's just one of the reasons why I wanted to go into nursing to begin with. . . job security. </li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>I'm actually considering going back to get my Nurse Practioner now. I mean, why not? I don't have a job, may as well enroll in more school, right?</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>The Butterbean is now a picky eater. Little does he know, I sneak those veggies in. ::cue evil laugh::</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>The Mr. is watching some horrible space movie right now with Matt LeBlanc. It's bad, really bad. Oh wait. . . their spaceship just exploded. Maybe this will put an end to the horror.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>I am going to attempt to make my first ever cheesecake tonight. Let's see how this goes since I am not very good and baking. ::crossinng fingers::</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>I spent Thanksgiving sick at my mom and dad's house. I felt like poo. Thankfully, I could eat a little something because the food was amazing.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>The Butterbean was the one who got me sick.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>The Mr. had his wisdom teeth taken out, had some complications that warrented a whole lot of pain, infection and sinus trouble. He's finally getting back to his old self. Thank goodness!!</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>Auburn is going to Glendale, AZ to play for the national championship! I am so proud of my team! War Eagle! Win or Lose, the have had an amazing season and I'm excited that they are representing the SEC.</li>
</ul><br />
Okay, that's a random post, but there you go. <br />
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Regular blogging to begin now that nursing school is OVER!Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-5852515672865062882010-10-21T11:49:00.000-05:002010-10-21T11:49:18.498-05:00The pumpkin patch, errr farm?<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So recently, The Mr., The Butterbean and I all had the day to spend together. So what better way than the pumpkin patch! However, from the pictures you see here, The Butterbean had more fun with the animals than actually picking out a pumpkin.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjustrqTpOKU17MMd9a-l-0KmgsEfO57ynsRl_x3rB8H96rMlQ3dkhpan-lwHo7Cabo0ipStD5PjcBUUOOTAdg7K922NOyH3yp0R2coivii47JpO2_WFI44v7T2OAWO110ReE9Fw5-7ElI/s1600/fall17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjustrqTpOKU17MMd9a-l-0KmgsEfO57ynsRl_x3rB8H96rMlQ3dkhpan-lwHo7Cabo0ipStD5PjcBUUOOTAdg7K922NOyH3yp0R2coivii47JpO2_WFI44v7T2OAWO110ReE9Fw5-7ElI/s400/fall17.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">He had a great time visiting with Mr. Goat. He also was allowed to feed him! </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwyyg8hI1lm75z08evyv3rvE5uaL81bynJ93dmXLUzsdrjiBXx1M08LA8PjABII59nULaU4qLgx4gSnEnccxal90GpGZ3vVer5-INl477qjiZ9QZqmRlZgGRc4Q30LAgsTBIMt8k4MFk/s1600/fall5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwyyg8hI1lm75z08evyv3rvE5uaL81bynJ93dmXLUzsdrjiBXx1M08LA8PjABII59nULaU4qLgx4gSnEnccxal90GpGZ3vVer5-INl477qjiZ9QZqmRlZgGRc4Q30LAgsTBIMt8k4MFk/s400/fall5.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Loving the baby bunnies.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxUoVU2ZUzWav1KLpvz-LvblJHHRtDqiXQrsJNjcz3ZV4EeNS5Ufni49wkKuo1g1OruGrv5A_Z3tfTK5BChV30dcqEvn8vTToHV51iKyvw5JtbA25vQ1gQmPxbsPmJ6FVLXJRfvWKMiI/s1600/fall27.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxUoVU2ZUzWav1KLpvz-LvblJHHRtDqiXQrsJNjcz3ZV4EeNS5Ufni49wkKuo1g1OruGrv5A_Z3tfTK5BChV30dcqEvn8vTToHV51iKyvw5JtbA25vQ1gQmPxbsPmJ6FVLXJRfvWKMiI/s320/fall27.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5408ZiBmea8uIyi_U_nCCfyo6qIkQbrmwmG3ifKOCEjuMVXF13SF8UzTrHcIMFWNUQ6nI1DrOGwCnV2of6B35bRBmnmU_UBe_L6rrwepo5NE14TdGwkwwRyrAoGBFtUWTbn9Vb_9vwlE/s1600/fall26.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5408ZiBmea8uIyi_U_nCCfyo6qIkQbrmwmG3ifKOCEjuMVXF13SF8UzTrHcIMFWNUQ6nI1DrOGwCnV2of6B35bRBmnmU_UBe_L6rrwepo5NE14TdGwkwwRyrAoGBFtUWTbn9Vb_9vwlE/s200/fall26.JPG" width="133" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"> Playing with the corn. . . </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm3zculF5lo-FEfjHQYZShEWj9HShvPnhcazQBP2FzEBerH4lNa04520ClXbcKjyJy8eh81MAEfPiunl5EzJ1tUVIzPyrZPXETthihLj0638JxWqUoHJ3EXplrC5SSyhYH3kNwrZfRtU/s1600/fall13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm3zculF5lo-FEfjHQYZShEWj9HShvPnhcazQBP2FzEBerH4lNa04520ClXbcKjyJy8eh81MAEfPiunl5EzJ1tUVIzPyrZPXETthihLj0638JxWqUoHJ3EXplrC5SSyhYH3kNwrZfRtU/s400/fall13.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And FINALLY picking a pumpkin. But only after The Mr. and I made him stay away from the animals for 3 minutes.</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-32129410044982616502010-09-26T15:01:00.000-05:002010-09-26T15:01:58.858-05:00Tiny Toddler Say What?Now that the kiddo is speaking sentences on a fairily regular basis, things in our household have gotten even more interesting. Take for instance last week as I was putting the garbage can out to the curb:<br />
<br />
Butterbean: "pee-pul tash mommy! pee-pul tash"<br />
Me: That's right honey, that's people trash.<br />
<br />
As we are driving down the road the Butterbean spots a gargage truck and screams: "MOMMY!!! It's PEE-PUL TASH!!!"<br />
<br />
Me: Yes baby, that is the gargage truck that picks up the people trash.<br />
<br />
Yesterday as he was running around through the house staring up at the ceiling: "Bee-cu, ooo are you bee-cu? Mommy, ooo are you mommy?, Igee, ooo are you Igee?"<br />
<br />
Translation: Biscuit, where are you Biscuit (our dog). Mommy, where are you Mommy? And Isaak, where are you Isaak (his best friend) (He loves to play hide and seek and this is what he says when he's the seeker)<br />
<br />
Have I told you that I'm pretty sure that he's going to be one of those kids that can tell you every year, make and model of every vehicle ever made? Oh I haven't? Well, let me tell you. . . <br />
This kid knows what everyone of his little friends rides in. We were in the parking lot of the grocery store the other day and he says, " Mommy, das Ella's car"<br />
So I turned and looked at the car he was pointing at. Sure enough. . . it was indeed the same make and model of the car that his sweet little friend rides in. And what's even scarier is that he's done this numerous times pointing out the various cars that he friends ride in. wowzers.<br />
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The other day I asked him to say "Pocahontas." And he said it. Perfectly. So I said, "How about Sacagaweeha" And he mumbled a litle bit then said, "wee-aaaaaaaahhhh!" <br />
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I sure do love to hear his little thoughts being voiced. I wonder what he'll say next!Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-25368481310245629042010-09-13T21:00:00.001-05:002010-09-13T21:01:41.492-05:00JeromeI am often intrigued by what my TWO year old says. Today was no exception. <br />
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While we were playing inside around the house, the Butterbean runs over to me and says, "Jer-ome". I asked him who Jerome was. <br />
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He said, "Jer-ome". <br />
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I said, "Oh really? I still do not know who this Jerome is, sweetheart." <br />
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A little louder her said, "Jer-ome."<br />
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I again explained that I wasn't sure who Jerome is, and how he knew a Jerome is beside me. As we don't know anyone by that name. (I was growing a little concerned by this point, imagining ways my child had met a Jerome and who this mystery person was.)<br />
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The Butterbean then screamed, "JER-OME!!!". And then scampered out of the living room toward his bedroom.<br />
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A few minutes later he came back holding his shoes.<br />
<br />
"Jer-ome, mommy."<br />
<br />
And then it clicked. . . He was trying to say shoes-on. <br />
<br />
I guess he wanted to go outside and play.<br />
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Mommy fail.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-55946974261102985272010-09-08T16:39:00.000-05:002010-09-08T16:39:42.502-05:00Apparently I'm shadyApparently, I'm shady. Well, at least that's what I gathered from the sales representative at JcPenney today. <br />
<br />
Those of you who know me, know I'm married to a cop. And honest, hard-working cop. So I never do anything illegal. I mean, come on!<br />
<br />
But today, as I was shopping at JcPenney, with a stroller, bags full of shoes from Dillard's (that I DID pay for!), a overly large diaper bag/purse, and a toddler screaming "COOKIE!" at the top of his lungs warrented me as being "shady." Oh yes. <br />
<br />
I noticed her out of the corner of my eye as I was looking for my size in a particular shirt. I felt her glaring at me, actually. So I turned to face her and smiled at her. She continued to stare at me. So I smiled again at her and went along with my business. She moved to the other side of the rack and stared again. . . . I thought she was going to ask the college couple if they needed help finding anything. But she didn't. She kept staring at me. . . <br />
<br />
now it was getting awkward.<br />
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She asked if I needed any help. I said "No, thank you. Just found my size!" She said okay. And stood there. <br />
<br />
Really? <br />
<br />
She continued to stand there. <br />
<br />
Finally I asked her if I could help her. Since she had been staring at me and watching me like a hawk for 10 minutes. She very poignantly said, "I'm making sure you don't take anything and put it into your stroller or bags."<br />
<br />
O. M. Goodness!!! I was a little taken back by the fact that she was basically accusing me of trying to steal a $5.00 t-shirt from JcPenney. <br />
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I really didn't know what to say. . . so I glared at her while I thought of something and as I felt my face become hot with embarrassment I said, "I think you are mistaking me for someone else and if you would like to look through my bags and see the receipts for my purchases, you are more than welcome to, but I would just like you to know that I am offended that you are basically accusing me for something I would never ever do." <br />
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She didn't apologize. She just said, "No, I don't need to do that." And walked off. <br />
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Geeze! After all of that. . . she just walked away.<br />
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I bought the shirt anyway. Afterall, if was a cute Auburn t-shirt and only $5.00. <br />
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Oh and the Butterbean, yep I sure did buy him a cookie.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-42395978982125042042010-09-05T08:17:00.001-05:002010-09-05T08:18:09.715-05:00Oh, Lake Michigan. . . how I miss youAbout a month ago, we left and went to Michigan, Chicago, and Wisconsin to visit family and have a whirlwind vacation. We did have a lot of fun, but the Butterbean definitely broke his "good" travel record. <br />
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We left in the middle of the night thinking that he would sleep through the night in the car. But instead, he was WIDE awake! (little stinker) He loves to travel and see new places, run errands with me, and get in the car and go. But staying awake for 24 hours does have it's downside. Talk about an ill little boy the next day!<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Anyways, I wanted to share some pictures from the days we spent on the sandy beaches of Lake Michigan.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEst4X0fIjzpi8WQ-eNtafv05NLjdxdtI7ZajB6lIaAaLgcBlFENYNEywD7XUX330jTuFNLty4FlEQO_NNjg-mRSCo6vGYwKAsvp59XvUjGEL2xd8SE9RcHTXOSl3ugrq4lfplGf-t_s/s1600/vacation3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEst4X0fIjzpi8WQ-eNtafv05NLjdxdtI7ZajB6lIaAaLgcBlFENYNEywD7XUX330jTuFNLty4FlEQO_NNjg-mRSCo6vGYwKAsvp59XvUjGEL2xd8SE9RcHTXOSl3ugrq4lfplGf-t_s/s400/vacation3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">The Butterbean was thrilled when The Mr. finally got the kite up in the air.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiA9jsgoczkant0P6MxJXNARnfSqi2VTKKHD1TBsRtqrc-VUWesxCQXOSQ8T-dbIPqObQGqoYpgvmZjAClvd7rv6hNinh1GA1TGWJLyifizHUgUk71YlgMOhN445RUEdyjnYhhFJiVOqg/s1600/vacation12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiA9jsgoczkant0P6MxJXNARnfSqi2VTKKHD1TBsRtqrc-VUWesxCQXOSQ8T-dbIPqObQGqoYpgvmZjAClvd7rv6hNinh1GA1TGWJLyifizHUgUk71YlgMOhN445RUEdyjnYhhFJiVOqg/s400/vacation12.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">A very very sandy toddler. That was definitely not fun to clean up! ha!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBRj_d5fC3PMA0XaiQmexdO80at9NV-lcogM-ASBjO656cH6b0dt1BzNNOoJeyEgaj6fp2oQW1KT5xVOkpujt0T2q0bHjwrBLcG01Is6fxiyVwTLVhExgjkauuTbJbi2GKABtCO5crXw/s1600/vacation22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBRj_d5fC3PMA0XaiQmexdO80at9NV-lcogM-ASBjO656cH6b0dt1BzNNOoJeyEgaj6fp2oQW1KT5xVOkpujt0T2q0bHjwrBLcG01Is6fxiyVwTLVhExgjkauuTbJbi2GKABtCO5crXw/s400/vacation22.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopl9EwnuywTa-YAgH0cavsfV9yzmkN3j4ykLmRjBj1Q-c4V4KP_gxa_rDukgfITq25XpB-Y7KeLjwGsgC50Sh-qxYkKJirc3J6_-FMX6kuf6mIBPE04Odun999PsjSQzd7giYecT0OBY/s1600/vacation25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopl9EwnuywTa-YAgH0cavsfV9yzmkN3j4ykLmRjBj1Q-c4V4KP_gxa_rDukgfITq25XpB-Y7KeLjwGsgC50Sh-qxYkKJirc3J6_-FMX6kuf6mIBPE04Odun999PsjSQzd7giYecT0OBY/s400/vacation25.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">My amazing drip castle, if I must say so myself. :) Though the Butterbean destroyed it just as quickly as I was making it. I had to get a quick picture to commemorate.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtexRBN1zfJyw3H8hu3MYsTSgX3Zo4CqGLV-Lqepx1T8ssRdT8VIbiVNFCm35mpkpHPW2px10BEU5f6BGGmP24q04WIc7iev6QUdcHYXP5K4lub8-rvt9gOCZas1pi4ys63f8xIwXgEE/s1600/vacation1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtexRBN1zfJyw3H8hu3MYsTSgX3Zo4CqGLV-Lqepx1T8ssRdT8VIbiVNFCm35mpkpHPW2px10BEU5f6BGGmP24q04WIc7iev6QUdcHYXP5K4lub8-rvt9gOCZas1pi4ys63f8xIwXgEE/s400/vacation1.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">We had such a wonderful time at the lake! I could just live there!</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-50744897906013580962010-09-03T17:34:00.000-05:002010-09-03T17:34:16.936-05:00A post in which I update.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH066j447I8aKCzvxaiRhvALrgfuMl7Ijih5LzjFOsEEyQZuK34KtdqEaQ9bReb32Q6xonvTbDax323qvB1RujxnuEnhjE33Ban3_df5aF2J1M-qsAsWZRiCH95iTlNjd8yiKT2Eh9fWw/s1600/Nate1blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH066j447I8aKCzvxaiRhvALrgfuMl7Ijih5LzjFOsEEyQZuK34KtdqEaQ9bReb32Q6xonvTbDax323qvB1RujxnuEnhjE33Ban3_df5aF2J1M-qsAsWZRiCH95iTlNjd8yiKT2Eh9fWw/s320/Nate1blog.jpg" /></a></div>Wow! Things have been super crazy around here!<br />
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School started back for me! Last semester of nursing school, might I add! Can I getta "Woop, woop"?<br />
I can't believe I'm almost finished. It has been such a long time coming, but I'm almost there. . . almost. I mean the train is still in the tunnel, but I can see a slight light behind the train. Hopefully, that will be moving soon.<br />
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Besides school, I had a birthday last week. It wasn't a big day, but my nursing school friends made it so special by throwing me a little birthday party during our lunch break. Are they awesome or what? I just love them. I sure am going to miss them like crazy when we graduate. My dream would be that we would all work the same shift, at the same hospital, on the same floor. I can dream, right?<br />
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Speaking of birthdays, the Butterbean is about to be two!!!! Two!!!! Can you believe it? It's insane to know that I'm going to have a two year old. He is the most awesome kid ever and I want at least three more, just like him. I told The Mr. I really wanted a brother for him. . . So who knows. More kids may be in the future soon. We shall see!<br />
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The photography business. . . lets just say, God has blessed my business more than I ever could have imagined. I was thinking I might get a couple bookings a month and I was perfectly happy with that. But instead, I have been booked every weekend! Between taking pictures, editing, placing orders, packaging and delivering the products and pictures, I have been super busy. Busy, but soooo blessed! Praise God for such a wonderful way to meet so many wonderful people and capture such special moments in their lives! Amazing.<br />
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About a month ago, we were able to take a vacation up north to Lake Michigan to visit my Grandma and then over to Chicago and Wisconsin to visit my sister and Papa. It was the Mr's first time to see Lake Michigan and we had a blast! Oh, how I love the north in the summertime! I have a good friend who will be moving to Ann Arbor soon, so that gives me just another reason to go visit again real soon! ;)<br />
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And guess what, The Mr. gave me a flip video thing-a-majigger for my birthday. And as soon as I figure out how to upload videos, I shall post one. But until then enjoy the sweet picture of my almost TWO YEAR OLD at the top. It was taken on the beautiful sandy beaches of Lake Michigan. Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-63778633013210219932010-08-11T21:12:00.000-05:002010-08-11T21:12:19.282-05:00Maybe it's a phase"It's just a phase."<br />
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I seem to tell myself this a lot lately. It's just a phase. <br />
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He won't scream like a banshee forever. At least I hope not. <em>It's just a phase</em>.<br />
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He won't spit out his food forever. <em>It's just a phase</em>.<br />
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He won't run from me when I try to give him kisses forever. . . or maybe he will. Okay, so that may not be a phase but reality soon enough.<br />
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<br />
Well, I believe we have hit a new phase, folks. A new era in our lovely household.<br />
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The kid hates when I sing to him. And I mean HATES it!<br />
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I sing the Alphabet song. The Butterbean responds by screaming.<br />
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I sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider. The Butterbean rebuttles by screaming.<br />
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I sing Michael Buble's <em>Everything</em> to him. The Butterbean screams louder.<br />
<br />
When did he begin to hate my singing? I mean, I'm not <em>that</em> bad of a singer. Really folks, I'm not. I actually have a pretty decent voice. <br />
<br />
But seriously. The kid hates my singing. (He used to love it.) It's just a phase right?<br />
<br />
But the song that really puts him into a fit of, almost two year old, fury is the Six Little Ducks song. Oh yes! Fury comes over him. He throws himself on the floor, kicking and screaming, tears coming from his little eyes.<br />
<br />
Where did I go wrong? Six Little Ducks is a great song. I even do the motions and everything. <br />
<br />
Please, someone tell me it's just a phase. . .Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-68987822096563717282010-07-30T21:12:00.000-05:002010-07-30T21:12:51.862-05:002am conversationsDuring our incredibly long drive up north in the middle of the night, The Mr. pulled off to get some gas. I felt the car slowing down and sleepily opened my eyes. Glancing at the clock I saw that it was 2:15 am. Whew. . . That's pretty early. <br />
At that point, it was my turn to drive so I decided to grab some coffee in the store to perk me up a bit. The Butterbean was waking up so I grabbed him too and off we walked into the store. The Mr. met us inside and picked out some chapstick and various other items we had forgotten in our whirlwind packing extravaganza early that day.<br />
<br />
Upon leaving the store, the Butterbean pointed up and squealed saying "moon!". I stated back to him, "Yes baby, that's the moon."<br />
The Butterbean: star<br />
Me: Yes, that is a star.<br />
<br />
The Mr: That's not a star.<br />
Me: Yes, that's a star. Look at it. It's bright and right next to the moon!<br />
<br />
The Mr: That's way to close to be a star.<br />
Me: Well, maybe it's an airplane or something.<br />
<br />
The Mr: That's no airplane.<br />
Me: Well, what do you think it is. Because last time I checked, I'm pretty sure stars look like that.<br />
<br />
The Mr: It's an alien spaceship watching and waiting to abduct someone. <br />
Me: No it's not. <br />
<br />
The Mr: Well, that ain't no star.<br />
The Butterbean: Moon!!!<br />
<br />
<em>end of conversation</em><br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure The Mr. must have been sleep-walking, talking, dreaming. . . right? RIGHT?Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-66693468344157242652010-07-18T10:49:00.000-05:002010-07-18T10:49:40.495-05:00The Butterbean and the Library: a short storyFinally, after weeks of wanting to get one, I gave in and did it. I had one a super long time ago, and for whatever reason it disappeared and I haven't had one since. <br />
<br />
So yesterday, I finally buckled down and decided "today was the day". I gathered the Butterbean's sippy, a few diapers, wipes, and tossed them in the diaper bag, buckled the Butterbean in the car seat and off we went to the library to finally get the library card we have so desperately needed.<br />
<br />
We pulled up to the public library, I got the kiddo out of the car and we walked in together. The Butterbean gibber gabbered excitedly as he held on tightly to my finger, as we walked up to this unfamiliar building. Outside a middle-aged woman sat talking on her cell phone. The Butterbean waved at her and smiled. She stopped talking on her cell and said to him, "God did a wonderful job on you." I smiled and thanked her as I pulled the heavy doors open and got the Butterbean inside. <br />
<br />
We were greeted by a sweet librarian who assisted me in filling out the info for getting a card. It took a little longer than expected and I could tell the Butterbean was getting antsy, so I sat him up on the counter with me, so he couldn't run off. The tall ceilings and tile floors were quickly discovered to be a great acoustic stage fit for the Butterbean when he let out a little scream, due to me having a death grip on him atop of the counter. He giggled after he heard that echo. And I saw the gleam in his eyes as he began to let out another scream. I quickly scoulded him and gave him a firm no, and a "sweetheart, we don't scream in the library." This was only fuel to the fire as he let out scream after scream, despite me having my hand over his mouth by this point.<br />
<br />
The librarian could tell I was having a difficult time with him and told us to go pick out a book. She guided us over to where the children's section was and we were on our way. The Butterbean and I were finger in hand, until he saw all the bright colors hanging from the children's section and took off running. I chased him down the short corridor into the children's section.<br />
<br />
I finally caught up to him when he stopped dead in his tracks. I squatted down to his level and told him he must not run from mommy as that was not a good thing to do. As I was talking to him, he was glaring at all the books placed neatly on the shelves. I saw the excitement come across his face as he quickly ran over to the shelves yelling, "BOOK, BOOK, BOOK!!!". <br />
<br />
By the time I caught up with him he had already pulled three books off the shelves and thrown them on the floor. (this is what he does at home. Grabs a book and throws it on the floor as I pick it up and put it back on the shelf) I knew what he was thinking the instant I saw that twinkle in his eye. We only have about 50-60 books at home. Here he has thousands upon thousands. What an awesome mess this would be! <br />
<br />
I placed the three books back up on the shelf as he quickly grabbed more and threw them on the floor. It was a vicous cycle. I tried distracting him by saying, "look at the pig, rabbit, etc" It didn't work. He knew my tricks and distraction techniques.<br />
<br />
I gave up trying to clean up and picked him up. Big mistake. He looked at me and screamed in anger as he kicked and flung himself around like a fish out of water trying to escape my hook of a grasp. I told him to stop. It didn't work. So I grabbed the first book I could off the shelf and we walked to check it out. <br />
<br />
Under my left arm in a football hold, the Butterbean continued to scream as I walked faster and faster to the counter. We checked out the book and left as the Butterbean screamed. <br />
<br />
Can't say I ever want to take him back to the library. I know I will. Someday. Or in two weeks, when the book is due. <br />
<br />
But next time, I'm going to put him in the stroller.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2036431699446623581.post-70754642969240558402010-07-07T17:40:00.000-05:002010-07-07T17:40:21.246-05:00Blog slackingSo I realized I've been blog slacking. . . I really have and I apologize. <br />
<br />
The Butterbean is about to hit the big 22. 22 months that is. And at 22 months, he has hit the terrible two's early. <br />
<ul><li>Temper tantrums-check</li>
<li>indecisiveness- check</li>
<li>finicky eating- check (today he's only eating fish for dinner. . . at least it's fish though and not cookies</li>
<li>getting ready to potty train- check (He's beginning to show interest in the potty and has even come up to me holding his diaper saying "Mommy, I poop, I poop.") I think we'll begin to actually sit on the potty next month.</li>
</ul>I need to upload pictures, but frankly I haven't edited any. I've just been editing client pictures.<br />
<br />
If you would like to see my website, leave me a message with your email and I'll send you the link.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15688594685451684878noreply@blogger.com0