tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9013030785437335252024-03-13T00:56:45.027-04:00 i'm doing the best that i canOnce upon a time there was a girl. She got married to the most amazing guy and had three daughters in four years. She has a messy house, is proud when she cooks dinner two nights in a row, used to work at a jail as a registered nurse, and spends far too much money on amazon.com. This is the good, the bad, the ugly and the poopy... and everything else that life brings. stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-9520469366167977012018-01-31T09:03:00.001-05:002018-01-31T09:03:18.291-05:00"Seasoned" Motherhood Rantings... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">When I started this blog over five years ago, my life was in quite the different place. I had a one year old, a 2 1/2 year old and a just turned 5 year old. Now... they are 10, 7 and 6. All in elementary school. No more diapers. No more nightly feedings. No more 5-point harness carseats. No more high chairs or baby bjorns. I do have to say, the cuddling has done nothing but increase. But I always thought things would get easier at least for a time- these precious moments of fantastic ages prior to hormones and drama. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: it never gets easier. It’s just a different kind of hard. Regardless of what stage you are in, it is just freaking hard. There are always problems; doubts, feelings of failure and constant exhaustion. Sorry to say, but I haven’t slept through the night in 10 years.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">What’s funny to me now is I’m entering the stage of being a “seasoned” mom (That does not mean I know what I am doing, it means I don’t panic over forgotten homework or give two craps about what others think about me at this point). I still don’t feel mature enough to be in this stage, but the fact of the matter is that my youngest is now in kindergarten. (Please don’t ask what I do all day or when I’m going back to work--> <a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/continue-sahm-after-kids-school/" target="_blank">here is your answer</a>). Having my youngest in kindergarten, I have come to find so many little things that have changed since the first two. Realizations, really. It happened in preschool as well. When your first child starts school, you are ALL about it-- making mommy friends, planning playdates at the park, etc. You figure out who your child is drawn to and hope you connect to their mom in some remote way. I was super fortunate to have made great preschool mommy friends who I still go to lunch with even today. By Liv's pre-K year, her great little group of friends was split up and my sister was the only other mom in the class that I knew. I became THAT mom- the one who made absolutely zero effort at class parties or drop off/pick up. I was the mom who DIDN'T have another baby crawling up my leg while trying to participate in field trips. Having just my youngest child there put me in a different category- the "seasoned" one. I have always been one of the youngest moms of all of my kids' friends (I had Summer at 23, I was a baby myself!) But I have started to look around and notice that I am not necessarily that young mom anymore. </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Now that Olivia is in kindergarten and I have three children in one school, you would think I'd be a pro. Ha. It isn't so much of being a pro- my </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">effort just isn’t there. Making new REAL friends? Ugh. We better immediately click and have a major thing in common called wine. Being a “seasoned” mom has shown me several things, most of which just make me sound like a terrible human so be forewarned: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Birthday parties. I hate them. Yes, we all have them. They make our children gloriously happy which is obvi worth it... I mean I just threw a (rescheduled due to puking) one the other weekend. You have three types of parents here. 1- The ones you don’t really know and it is their first child so they sit there the whole time with the awkward small talk. 2- The ones who drop their kid and sign the waiver so fast that you may have just dreamt you saw them. 3- Your actual friends who are weird enough to stay and hang out with you (or will go to the nearest bar with you for a quick cocktail during the party). The Number 1’s have the awkward attempts to engage with their child for sheer human interaction and because they feel uncomfortable. I have been a Number 1 countless times. What I have now realized is that, Number 1's- you might think you are being nice by staying for the party, but unless your child is the devil reincarnated and you can keep them in line, just don't do it. I get it though- when else are you going to even meet your children's friends parents? Instead of staying at the party, plan a mommy's drink night out. When people are not around their kids with an adult beverage, it is a whole new world out there. For the record, it’s not like I am anti-new friends... It’s just during a 90 minute party with 20+ kids and gymnastics mats that smell like feet isn’t the most opportune time to become besties. Birthday parties suck and take over your precious weekend, but like I get it. A necessary evil for us all. Another huge annoyance with these is if I have forgotten to order a present from Amazon in enough time. (I have actually started resorting to Amazon gift cards in certain dire situations. Definitely a bonus of them getting a little older). </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Carpool line/Bus Stop. Dear Lord, please give me the patience and grace to not hate the entire world during this window of time. Our school in particular made a very cute and specific video literally showing exact instructions of what to do and what not to do during the chaos that is pickup (so nicely accompanied by music that would be better utilized in a soft-core porn video, as stated by a friend accidentally in front of the Vice Principal at Back-to-School night). I realize I am a rule-follower in general in my life, but the blatant failures and straight up disrespect of decent human common courtesy is just appalling. One such complaint is a young woman who casually pulls into a handicap spot, leaves a younger child in the car, and goes over to wait for her student by the door. 1- Handicap spots are there for a reason. I see many sweet old grandparents with the appropriate tag hobbling out of their cars to go pick up their grandchildren. 2- I have a dear friend who is in a wheelchair, and she actually depends on these spots (and the lines around them) to be able to park, assemble her wheelchair and get herself out of her car. The flagrant misuse of these spots irked me so much that I have now downloaded an app to be able to report such offenders. I haven’t used it yet (it is a special level to get out of your car and take all of the pics required to submit the complaint). In a pinch, I can always use one of these amazeballs papers (one of my best purchases of all times): </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Carpool line sucks. Straight up. The bus stop is a different kind of evil, yet another scenario in which people don't understand what is appropriate or not appropriate (read: learn to drive and don't be rude blocking us all in). Yet again, I am THAT mom who hides in her car pretending to be on the phone. (Disclaimer: my bus stop is horrid on so many levels, so you can't judge me too hard). </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Play dates. Whatever happened to just going outside to play and coming home when it was dark? </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">My kind of play date is one where I barely see my child, no massive messes have occurred and no one is crying or bleeding at the end. The play dates where 1- You have to create activities and entertain them the whole time? Um no. 2- Your child is rude, disrespectful to me or my husband or acts entitled? Negative Ghostwriter. 3- I am breaking up fights constantly? Arghhhh. I guess I have the fortune (or misfortune) of having all girls. They play together, fight together, work it out, and then repeat the process. They are 3 girls within 4 years of e</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">ach other so their interests aren’t too varied in the girl spectrum. Adding another child to the mix is risky. If they mesh, I have a 4th daughter no prob. If they don't, maybe we can try again when they get a little older. (Disclaimer- I do understand those with different genders and the challenges that may entail, causing the play date pushiness). I am just so much more into the "last minute, text me and if we are free, awesome" type of thing. If it is planned more than a week out, I just can't make those kinds of commitments. I don't even know what we are having for dinner tonight. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Class parties. Here’s another one where you stand around awkwardly watching your child play bingo or do a Valentine's craft barely giving you a glance. Fortunately for me, I have three classes to go to so just as I get to my awkward extreme I will make the excuse to pop into one of my other girls classes. I have been room mom before and the pressure to make these class parties fun for all while parents sit around and watch (please, just help out) is real. And please don't judge the snacks that are served. One year we had a child with peanut, treenut, strawberry, shellfish, wheat and soy allergies. Fortunately the child brought his own food, but we wanted him to still feel apart of at least most of the fun. (I will say, the donut on the string game was the hit of the century and I was quite proud of that party if I do say so myself). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Activities. The logistics of having three different children who enjoy different sports and whatnot is a mental mindscrew. I want them to have all of the opportunities that they want to play or try whatever they want... but the fact of the matter is, I am one human and we can't do it all. I can't be at three places at once. Matt is a superhero in helping me with all of this, and finding carpools is so clutch if you are fortunate enough. My calendar can often be a logistical nightmare. Not to mention the HOURS spent in the car driving them all to and from wherever, bringing the appropriate clothes/equipment, and making sure snacks are had, homework somehow gets done, and a semblance of dinner is made. This isn't so much as a rant but a source of serious anxiety when the calendar starts to look like an origami puzzle that can't be solved. I do miss the days that were swim lessons once a week for 30 minutes... and I know this one is only going to get more complex with age. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I realize all of these things are my own personal silly pet peeves that I try not to let myself be bothered by. Maybe all of these rants come down to the fact that I just don’t love people. That may sound as a shock to you because I can come across as outgoing and socializing most of the time. Matt read this before I posted and was like... um I hope people don't think you are an uber-crazy B who hates the world and never wants to have a playdate or go to a birthday party. I'm not (most of the time), I promise. What I have discovered about myself is that I am technically an <a href="http://www.stuff.co.nz/life-style/well-good/inspire-me/90499132/12-signs-youre-an-extroverted-introvert" target="_blank">extroverted introvert</a> <--link here for some signs you are too (Except for #10- I may get awkward with a compliment but oh who doesn't love them?). I need my alone time to recharge and feel human again. I am queen of the Irish Goodbye (just ghosting without saying anything)-- not to be rude, but because I am just done and don't want to bring anyone else down. I can tell (and Matt most definitely can as well) when I just NEED to be ALONE. And he is adorable and will take the girls out to dinner or something to give me a minute. Although they are 10, 7 and 6, they still need me quite a bit both physically and mentally. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But I will tell you one thing- please don’t say, “Oh just wait til they are teenagers” or “Little people, little problems. Big people, big problems.” Just shhhhhh for the moment. Because in my opinion, whatever your current situation is, it is hard. And it was hard for everyone who came before you, no matter what current stage they are in. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Happy Wednesday! </span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-75357226799645396822017-03-29T07:16:00.001-04:002017-03-29T07:16:25.286-04:00These Silly Adulting Things... <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As stated by the great Chili Davis, "Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional." (Obviously had to look up who said that quote) With just a few days left in my 32nd year, I have come to realize that I genuinely avoid adulting whenever I possibly can. Pretty sure I avoid it more and more each year, perhaps in part because I have come to acknowledge my weird phobias and quirks... and frankly I'm okay with them. I've somehow managed. Successfully? That's debatable. But I've managed enough to exist and kind of get away with daily living.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>1. Going to the dry cleaner.</b> This isn't something I particularly avoid now that I know how it works, but this one just give me a strange sense of </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">"having it all together." I,</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;"> clearly, do not. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">I'm not sure if this is from movies or tv shows, but a housewife with dry cleaning is just the epitome of maturity... so to pretend with hangers of starched clothing covered in plastic gives me a total Susie Homemaker vibe and like I'm really killing it in the adulting department. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>2. Giving the babysitter instructions.</b> I have three kids, my oldest being nine years old. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. I can't help but think as I'm spouting off bedtimes and no eating in the family room rules... Am I really the parent in this situation? I swear it was yesterday that I was the babysitter, making $5 an hour and saving up to buy a TV with the VCR in it so I could record Dawson's Creek. Who are these three children whom I created, carried in my stomach and am fully responsible for? When did that happen? And how am I supposed to be the professional on them and tell you how to care for them? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am not alone. And these memes keep me thinking that way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>3. Having any type of repair person at my home. </b>First of all, don't rape and kill me, k? Second of all, I feel like I never fully understand what I should be doing while they are there. Do I stand over them awkwardly? Do I pop in and out from the area they are working on? I already typically have to apologize for the mess they have to step over to reach whatever is broken and I kinda don't want to stand there while he moves Barbies from in front of the air conditioning thingy. So I awkwardly sit in the kitchen without my glorious trash TV shows on, (lest he judges me and my love for Bravo and the Kardashians), and mess around on my computer until I hear him walking which is when I leap up and pretend like I'm doing something meaningful other than listening for his every move and browsing the sale at South Moon Under. It turns into a double bill- repair and new sweater. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>4. Calling to make any type of appointment.</b> I think I just like to be totally prepared for what I need to say and know exactly what they are going to ask me. I can't deal with crazy surprises, like "Can you do next Thursday at 2pm." Ugh like I don't know, can I? When I need to actually make these phone calls, I have to amp myself up, get everything out in front of me that I could possibly need, and lock myself in my closet. And I still freak out. Call me a millennial, but for the love of all things holy, give me an appointment request situation online. And also, don't call me to confirm the appointment I just made online. I did it online for a reason. So I didn't have to talk to you!!! </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>5. Calling to order food (I guess you can say I am anti-any type of phone call, really).</b> I'm telling you, it is a phobia. The comedian Jim Gaffigan totally nailed it in one of his shows- look it up. But the person on the other line talks so ridiculously fast and I can hear clanging and mania in the background, so inevitably I completely freeze and have absolutely no idea what I was ordering or who I am or where I live. Any online ordering app is my BFF. I actually have an entire folder on my phone dedicated to food apps. I guess this phobia applies to all areas of ordering food with a real human while not seated at a restaurant. Why would I wait in the line at Panera with the masses, just to have someone yell "I can help the next person in line!" and go totally blank on the you-pick-two items I want from the vast menu above my head that is always changing and seems to have morphed from English to Vietnemese before my very eyes? I inevitably screw something up, forget a drink, get a yogurt for the child who wanted soup, you name it. Rapid Pick-up people. All.the.way. If I ever do have no other option but to dial a number and order food, the sense of relief when I hang up is palpable. Then I do a happy dance, unlock myself from the closet with pride and tell the girls that dinner is on its way. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>6. Going to the post office/UPS store. </b>Come on, does anyone ever know what they are doing when they go to the post office? How do you know which box to pick? How much does this weigh? Is this packaged right? What do I do and can someone please help me? I once mailed a wedding gift that was fragile and because I'm an idiot smiling dumbly saying "Um, sure," shipping the thing cost more than the present itself! Like was it packaged in unicorn hair? Some people have a strange gift of being able to mail things and it simply has a little sticker that says $4.77 in the corner. Matt's grandmother is one of those people. So normal and packaged properly... one of my goals in life. I mean, even the stamp machine always seems to be broken when I step foot in the post office. Zappos has actually changed my life a bit in regards to this fear though. Re-taping the same box, printing out my free return label and just dropping it off at the counter while all those suckers stand waiting in line gives me an inflated sense of joy and confidence. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>7. Having cleaning people.</b> Every other Wednesday in the Simmons home are the very best days of the entire month. The lemony smell as I walk in the door is like angels singing to me. Glee fills my heart and I inhale the glorious scent of cleanness. Anyone can walk in the door and I'll breezily be like, "Oh come on in, sorry for the mess. Let me put this one dish away." (If they actually know me, they know my cleaners schedule and will laugh in my face). Who cares that I frantically get my children ready and out the door 30 minutes early to go hang out at my sister's house just so I don't have to face those poor women when they come in and see the trainwreck we have created in merely 14 days? I have said this before... I am just really not important enough to ever be around while someone is cleaning my dirt. And I swear, the girls bathroom looks like they literally paint the sinks with toothpaste all.the.time. Like I don't even know how they do it, it is actually impressive. My life has changed for the better on the "creepily parking down the street from my house so I know when they finally leave" front. Thanks to my snazzy garage door opener app, I am alerted every time it opens or closes so I can know the minute they are done and out the door. (Thank you, my dear friend Ryan at Gaithersburg Garage Door- after 2 new doors and a new motor in less than a year, I think we are some of your very best customers. Don't ask about the multiple doors. Just don't.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>8. Ordering wine from an extensive menu.</b> Look, I get the 6-pack carrier with an extra 10% off at Safeway like a boss. Most of the time I look for cute bottles, fun names, or ones that are typically more expensive but have a great sale price. I mean, paying $25 is really pushing it for me. It goes down just as fast as the $12.99 bottle. I'm not a snob. Or as I like to say, "I don't discriminate." Yes there are gross wines obviously, but I am pretty good at staying in my lane and picking up some good ones that I like and have no problem drinking. So when I'm put in a situation with a massive book of wines, I usually hand it right over to Matt (partially so I don't feel bad about how much the bottle costs). Recently we went with my brother and sister-in-law to RPM Italian in DC. It is Giuliana and Bill Rancic's place (E! News, my red carpet girl- c'mon) and both Cheryl and I were totally geeking out over it. When the sommelier came over to ask, Matt was already handling one phobia for me (he was in the lobby ordering pizza for the girls at home, which I wasn't doing because my Papa John's App was not loading- what horror!). So I was like errrrrr I'll do a Sauvignon Blanc I guess? She sensed the question mark at the end of that request, so she went into a whole spiel about this other one that I need to open my horizons to and it was just so beyond lovely and she would bring me a taste. I never say no to a free taste, especially when it is $15 a glass (and that would be the proper number of ounces, aka my glass had two drops in it. Ugh. I have gotten way used to the country club pour). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It was the Vernaccia di San Gimignano (Say that five times fast. Or once, after a bottle of it), I did the little pretend swirl/sniff thing, oohed over it, and out came a bottle of it for a schmillion dollars. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I should probably stop here before you think I'm certifiably insane. If you don't now, I'm sure I will affirm your suspicions in the near future. Somehow, despite these strong feelings regarding so many things in my adult life, I manage to maintain a relatively normal existence. I have my coping mechanisms (in the form of apps, preferably). Maybe I'll start calling people in my 40's. #goals </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-77980060328294394482017-03-22T07:33:00.000-04:002017-03-22T07:33:56.505-04:00Just, how??? <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sometimes life just feels like it is passing by without enjoyment. Like I am trying to get through the week, only to be met with just another week. I anxiously await the weekend, but then- is catching up on DVRed shows on Sunday afternoon with Matt that amazeballs? Okay I withdraw that statement. It is. But anyways... another week happens. I'm still playing catch up in 99% of my life and the feeling of failure and chaos continues.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've had a rather long week and a half with 2/3 girls plus myself getting a lovely virus, fever included. It was no stomach bug, but everyone felt pretty crappy... and having a child with a 103 degree fever lying on top of you all.night.long can be compared to bathing in hot coals. But I have been wondering something lately. This isn't meant to be a rhetorical question, or a silly one. How does everyone do it? No, but really. How? How do you get through the grind of each day? The often monotonous, yet exhausting, endless stream of chaos? Making lunches, driving carpool, eternal laundry, dishes that don't do themselves, activity sign-ups (on time, no less), birthdays, cleaning, forms from school, dinners, grocery shopping, 87 homemade Valentine's for everyone in the 3rd grade, keeping your kids in hole-less clothing in the appropriate size. doctor's appointments, dentist appointments, school parties, play dates, homework, buying shoes that fit before the correct season so you aren't frantically ordering snow boots on Amazon Prime while your poor child wears rain boots with plastic bags and 18 pairs of socks in three feet of snow (sorry Summer), volunteering, school projects, clean sheets, green pancakes on St. Patrick's Day, the logistics of multiple children in multiple sports on multiple days at multiple times. Let's not add in the whining and fighting and drama and feelings. Stick a fork in me if someone gets the stomach bug. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I read a book recently. It actually wasn't recently, it was like the end of summer four years ago. The fact that I am still thinking about it should be telling. And also I'm pretty sure that everyone has read it by now... The Husband's Secret by Liane Moriarty. It hooked me from page one, but turned into something so utterly different than I would have ever expected. I won't spoil anything, but the feeling that it left me with was the thoughtful consideration and questioning of every small and large decision I have ever made and will make in my life. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Every decision you make has some sort of consequence, big or small.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> The notion that decisions and judgements you make every day can completely change the course of your life, and specifically your children's lives... I mean, so deep and stressful, am I right? </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Also though, when did life get so complicated? </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Do you ever feel like you are just screwing up your kids? Just absolutely, 100%, hands-down botching things? </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing or what is the right thing- multiply that times three different children with three different personalities and endless different needs, and thinking about the fact that what I decide for them now could actually affect their entire lives-- it is just a recipe for disaster.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I also know that in addition to questioning decisions on a daily basis, I do view certain things in a different way than others. Prior to the age of 18, my life was pretty much rainbows and butterflies and rose-colored glasses. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I came from a childhood that was extremely free and innocent. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I would leave in the morning to meet my friends; we would go play at the creek for hours, building forts, getting dirty, wandering. When it started getting dark, we would go home. If I was heading up my driveway and the dining room light was on, that was bad news and I knew I was late for dinner and epic stern looks were coming my way. Hours on end, no cell phones, no knowledge if I was ever coming back. That was the life and freedom I knew... it was phenomenal. And it is something I can't provide for my children. #yetanotherfailure. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When I lost my dad, I lost that innocence along with him. I lost my safety net in life. I lost the idea that "bad things only happen to other people." I know terrible and tragic things can happen to anyone at anytime because it happened to me. The glass ceiling was shattered. It is a club you never want to get into but once you're in, it is eternal membership. That kindred spirit of "Yeah. I know." My heart actually hurts when I see others going through things, because it just has the tendency to take me back to the worst time in my life. I have to be careful how much I invest myself in tragedies because I can easily let it swallow me up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So where am I headed with this depressing, abysmal story?? Back to screwing up my kids, that's where. I start to get stressed with all of these decisions we have to make for/with them and if they are the right ones, particularly in the midst of the busy, complicated life that everyone seems to have now. Do you know the one massive positive I have in the middle of all of this? My person. Matt knows how to calm me, how to encourage me, how to get me a martini if I need it, how to let me be if that's what's best. He is my far superior half whom I really, truly, would drown in this madness without. He brings me back to earth and helps me know that we are doing our best and we have happy, healthy, (mostly) good children. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">So how does everyone do it? I'd love some hints. Like those Nintendo cheat codes that were everything in the 90's. An "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b0c0e;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start"</span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;"> could be pretty freaking helpful at the moment I have to turn the car around for the 3rd time on the way to dive practice to get the bathing suit we forgot at the house (mid-the act of pouring the last drops of children's motrin for one, but post-having to locate another who forgot she was </span><b style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">not</b><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;"> supposed to be on the bus as I was sitting in the carpool line). I realize we are all so hard on ourselves which is honestly a big part of the problem. You may be able to tell, but I'm kind of the oversharing type. Shocker, I know. Just because I overshare doesn't mean I am confident in my decisions or failures or anything, really. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">In the midst of this monotonous, chaotic, complicated life, you do get glorious moments... Like the snuggles and the pride and excitement of showing you their clean room. The "I love you mommy's." And like the time your child who slices her finger while "moving" daddy's razor, explains to us that she is far more concerned about the large bandage on her middle finger because if she holds it up it means she "hates God." She's 6. But ya know, these babies just keep bringing us to the next day, next week... with even more opportunities for us to screw them up. </span></span><br />
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-25619622718301591002016-04-11T10:40:00.002-04:002016-04-11T10:40:16.209-04:00The Tale of the Golden Pineapple... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I learned a heartbreaking lesson last week. One that will continue to haunt me for days, weeks, possibly even years to come. It was a silly mistake. Ridiculous, really. I'm shocked at myself because I never thought I would do something like this. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One must never, ever ever EVER walk away from a golden pineapple at Home Goods. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Strolling through the aisles crammed with chochkies and knick-knacks with my two youngest children, I had an original purpose of my trip. Some organizational items were needed, and I wanted to check out the bedding. Everyone knows that even if one has a purpose going to Home Goods, a quick peek through the aisles is essential. I walk by some shelves that appear to be dedicated to the gold theme, a theme I love very much. Something catches my eye more than everything else... there, sitting beautifully, is an </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">18 inch gleaming ray of randomness: a golden pineapple. Why would I want an 18 inch golden pineapple, one may ask? Why <i>wouldn't</i> I want an 18 inch golden pineapple is the real question. I pick it up, survey the beauty, and put it back down, thinking to myself, "I'll think about it and grab it if I don't buy a million other things." Yes, I know. Why not just put it in my cart? Well because I had two munchkins in my cart and space just really wasn't on my side. Terrible excuse. Given the fact that there were two of them sitting there, I walked away with confidence.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">J</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">ust a mere five minutes later</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> return to the shelf, </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">tsking myself for even questioning the necessity of the purchase</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Confused when I don't see it immediately, my heart begins to race. My eyes start darting around, praying that it was just in the wrong spot or I was mistaken as to the location. There were two sitting there. Now there are none. Starting to get frantic, I take eight additional tours of the store, recruiting both Layla and Livi to be on the lookout. I even ask the checkout woman if she had recently rung up a golden pineapple. "No," she says. She directs me to the probable location and and my heart sinks deeper as it is exactly where I just was. My children hear the panic in mommy's voice and become increasingly upset about our missing piece of happiness. "Are they twins?" a kind lady asks the question I get at least 10 times when I take them out of the house. I mumble my typical response, "No just really close in age," as my eyes continue to search past the curious stranger. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After two more loops around the store, I catch sight of something in a woman's overheaping cart. There, under pillows, food canisters, and whatever else people with no soul buy at Home Goods, were</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> BOTH of the golden pineapples. I</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> just don't understand. Who is so selfish that they need TWO golden pineapples? My heart sank. I informed Livi and Layla that their detective eyes were no longer needed. Our mission was over and we failed. The golden pineapple was not to be ours. More upset than when our fish died, the girls tried to comfort me and each other. With our heads hanging, we checked out and left the store. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now at home, all I see is places that the golden pineapple would have flourished. I don't know if anything will truly be able to replace it. I'm sure I will try... but I'm not optimistic. I will forever try to use this as a learning experience and hope you will too. </span></div>
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-68365358823371807722016-03-18T07:53:00.002-04:002016-03-18T07:53:56.962-04:00Exhaustion, Blackjack and Dottie the Vacuum... <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm tired. Just so very tired. So tired that I googled a youtube makeup video to cover up dark circles and bags under my eyes. While I usually avoid the non-stop, too many commitments situation, sometime life happens and there is nothing you can do to avoid it. And it is unfortunate when the commitments are things you would be thrilled about if you weren't so exhausted. Yes, it didn't help that it was daylight savings time this week with the dreaded losing an hour of sleep. My children were in utter shock. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Another jarring thing that occurred (other than losing an hour of precious sleep) this past week is that I legit dropped the ball not once, but twice. Not "Oops Summer didn't wear a hat to school on hat day." It was for real, straight-up, completely forgot about stuff on my calendar, didn't even realize I had forgotten them until the next day kind of thing. Ugh. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">One was the hour I was supposed to volunteer in Layla's class at school. This one really stabbed me in the heart. As the middle child, only 17 months older than her baby sister, born in the middle of nursing school... she is the child that I constantly feel guilty about. When she was an infant, I was studying and then pregnant four seconds later. As a toddler, it was the only period of time I was actually working. She rarely has ever had substantial alone time with me (Summer being the oldest has had tons, and Olivia is basically my butt-buddy on a daily basis through no choice of her own). I just feel like my little La has gotten the shaft, so when I fail in some way related to her, I feel 10 schmillion times the guilt. An hour of my week that she would have been thrilled to have me in class, I was an epic space cadet shopping at Costco. When I finally noticed it on my calendar the next day, I totally freaked out and emailed her teacher immediately. She is usually fantastic at responding and hasn't yet, so I think she officially hates me. Ugh. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">The second space cadet moment of the week was completely missing a kids party that has been on our calendar for months. Once again, Sunday afternoon I glance at my calendar and <i>GASP</i> not AGAIN!!!! While I usually put things like volunteering and appointments as reminders in my phone, I have a fully successful track record making it to parties I have RSVP-ed for (and even saw the friend throwing it on Friday and said, "See you tomorrow!"). Thankfully it was not a specific birthday party (can I blame not needing a present threw me off?) but I was completely horrified to be such a flake. I am one who, if I have committed to something, will be 100% be there unless something absolutely major has happened. Even if I am deathly ill in bed and actually have to bail, I feel totally guilty about it and apologize an awkward amount. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">So now, due to these recent brain farts, I live in a constant state of feeling like I'm forgetting something major. I have always kind of existed like that, but now, since I don't trust myself, I know the feeling could actually be reality which is quite the unsettling state. Even now as I am writing this, I was thinking about meeting Layla at lunch tomorrow to surprise her (she doesn't actually know I didn't show for volunteering, it would just be to appease my guilt). Oh wait, I already had to email Summer's teacher that I was not able to come for my scheduled volunteer time of 10-12pm because I have Olivia's parent-teacher conference at HER school at 11am. Since Layla's lunchtime is also at 11am, clearly I am delusional. And I need a better calendar system. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">All of these scheduling mishaps must be related to my exhaustion. Let's get back to my dark under-eye circles. This past weekend was a doozy. A good and fun doozy, but a doozy nonetheless. Friday evening we had an event down at the Four Seasons hotel in Baltimore. Matt was invited for being one of the top insurance agencies writing business with this particular company, so it was a full-on getting-schmoozed evening of thanks with no work involved. Black-tie optional, yummy dinner and casino games = fab.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">When it is black-tie optional, you really never know which way people are going to sway. I decided on a safe bet: go with a long gown but make sure it is black, simple and classy. That way I won't feel majorly overdressed or underdressed. While I absolutely adored my gown, I was not anticipating the unexpected snag in skin color due to last weekend's Miami <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2016/03/bucket-list-miami-weekend.html" target="_blank">shenanigans</a>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAQ5PnZVcZ2b-O3uoDILGqcQ7hCzB1N1IaJKh2KVApSwfyoAhyphenhyphen7568e_0Gk7plakTphCLoHczeu_w0Z2O_pe2GZ9AkA9WN1008QZaKgIq2SQIfNnqFGmCnNcBlisy4D3eDXSNRjhPzmqv/s1600/IMG_2538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAQ5PnZVcZ2b-O3uoDILGqcQ7hCzB1N1IaJKh2KVApSwfyoAhyphenhyphen7568e_0Gk7plakTphCLoHczeu_w0Z2O_pe2GZ9AkA9WN1008QZaKgIq2SQIfNnqFGmCnNcBlisy4D3eDXSNRjhPzmqv/s200/IMG_2538.jpg" width="114" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">After buying out CVS's self-tanning options, Matt was able to at least make it less blatantly obvious. Phew. Crisis averted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">So usually at these gigs, I just play the wife role (small talk, smiling and nodding a ridiculous amount) because I have zero clue or understanding when work chatter comes up. Matt does a fantastic job of keeping me involved, but I am a-okay with being arm candy and drinking champagne. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxz0YDDqzMKSkCR_Hv0d-qqxXgyo9VWAj6M_e6Im02DwoO_xEpt6azwv-Yzq32OhfFh3hiy61gvXMQo7DTKRh0vGCmPPAsV1y4UKY_oM3yhnfT97hPZiDyqB8lZXtX8DAJ6-DxAQwvZKS4/s1600/bmore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxz0YDDqzMKSkCR_Hv0d-qqxXgyo9VWAj6M_e6Im02DwoO_xEpt6azwv-Yzq32OhfFh3hiy61gvXMQo7DTKRh0vGCmPPAsV1y4UKY_oM3yhnfT97hPZiDyqB8lZXtX8DAJ6-DxAQwvZKS4/s640/bmore.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How gorgeous is that background?!?! And I really wish I had taken more pictures that evening. My previous gambling experiences consists of losing 10 straight hands of War in Vegas (yes, there is War in Vegas and yes, I played it) and doing the same numbers at Keno when it is available. Since this was play money and the dealers were helping and explaining things to us, I felt quite at ease jumping in. I played blackjack, craps and roulette (which sidenote, that one Vegas trip we were with a friend who split aces and ended up getting blackjack. My naive 21 year old self whipped out my camera and got a perfect picture before I was nearly tackled by casino security. Oops). I dug up this priceless picture for your viewing pleasure, particularly since no one should ever even have it:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDUfHb6mDfZDhrOxmmPVuXOwa6RMnHM6D6YCZElQWxjU0duXH1lATPFAKB7IVGD-fupJyFwPUlxvA_H8g_OQBkESToysIP4H5IMQ0u6vrwe7tO0WDK6URqLLJm6k3RCZK4d51cADsZjoV4/s1600/IMG_2582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDUfHb6mDfZDhrOxmmPVuXOwa6RMnHM6D6YCZElQWxjU0duXH1lATPFAKB7IVGD-fupJyFwPUlxvA_H8g_OQBkESToysIP4H5IMQ0u6vrwe7tO0WDK6URqLLJm6k3RCZK4d51cADsZjoV4/s320/IMG_2582.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I still have absolutely no idea how to play craps, and sadly my Keno numbers didn't work at roulette. I did win plenty at blackjack, no pictures involved. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With my dear little brother sleeping at our house with the girls, we enjoyed staying overnight at the hotel. Let me tell you, glorious doesn't begin to describe it. The major amazeballs amenity, hands down, was in the bathroom. Are you ready? There was a freaking TV IN.THE.MIRROR. It wasn't hung on it or in a cut-out hole. It actually just appeared within it, AND you could see it from the tub. Somehow I didn't snag a pic of it but I found one on google: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnhhkVb9z1FtQemTPYuXhWaq0ZQ41QsTyBluUkNn8rJvSE1ZYLdjtehFeFffEjAc1pPuKCE3SnXKSc4wLX2UuXYSQaSbcxOmWfwec_85lAHjUlc9Ki5tfN7gWAAgOmexxiOZtN5jMibKE/s1600/mirrortv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnhhkVb9z1FtQemTPYuXhWaq0ZQ41QsTyBluUkNn8rJvSE1ZYLdjtehFeFffEjAc1pPuKCE3SnXKSc4wLX2UuXYSQaSbcxOmWfwec_85lAHjUlc9Ki5tfN7gWAAgOmexxiOZtN5jMibKE/s640/mirrortv.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That is just pure phenomenalness. I was amazed and now all I want is to have that in our house someday. #lifegoals</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We also had a beautiful water view which I didn't take a pic of but stole from the hotel website: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyxS9K9VzGyXqyGiFPQUmyLDjjDI618hUY7IKlhNCwYs3pwt6JODenDIlWIx9NtiUWHyYuCUuDdqZ0dHb2j5p2hRzH-xGyCWrYjL6Wv0Kfr34ehtFXL0SljU-WwYBoG5YbtE6u7zu_xSD/s1600/room.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyxS9K9VzGyXqyGiFPQUmyLDjjDI618hUY7IKlhNCwYs3pwt6JODenDIlWIx9NtiUWHyYuCUuDdqZ0dHb2j5p2hRzH-xGyCWrYjL6Wv0Kfr34ehtFXL0SljU-WwYBoG5YbtE6u7zu_xSD/s640/room.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And even a doorbell! It may or may not have taken me 10 full minutes to find the fancy switch to turn off the lights, but all is forgiven. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The next morning we ordered delectable room service and it was brought up on the most fantabulous table fully set and with the plates warming below</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(learn from it, Hotel Croyden). Brioche french toast with vanilla mascarpone, crispy bacon and a cappuccino for me. Steak and eggs for Matt. While ordering, Matt requested OJ. They asked "small or large" so Matt went with the large. What he was not expecting with a large was an entire picture of orange juice. What he was expecting even less than that was that said-pitcher of OJ cost $24.00. I repeat, <i>twenty-four-freaking-dollars. </i>I don't care if the oranges fell from heaven and were squeezed by chipmunks, on no planet should orange juice, regardless of size, be twenty-four fat ones. Needless to say, we tried to cherish every last drop of the golden OJ and even put the last bit into an empty water bottle to take home I don't even drink it typically but I helped in the finishing of the pitcher. I should clarify that there was no alcohol in this orange juice as well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We left the gloriousness of the Four Seasons (the front desk people were cheery and glowing and said I was pretty... so they win) to head home to the normal chaos. What made returning to normalcy, however, was an oh-so-lovely delivery that made me far happier than I think a normal person should be. I would like to welcome this new apparatus to the Simmons family: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dWhlkQP277Jwtg1u6AyWZIKMzkpeBl008eVD0Zy0AwhfzxN_W8X3ZyMhtVE3JcrrC7WUWuPd_SHamQPoFURPpNGKe9hIcuJ1lR2GrL4cTZAmGM1fSMTotNjkXsyT02mrpsIIW-WXp84u/s1600/dottie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dWhlkQP277Jwtg1u6AyWZIKMzkpeBl008eVD0Zy0AwhfzxN_W8X3ZyMhtVE3JcrrC7WUWuPd_SHamQPoFURPpNGKe9hIcuJ1lR2GrL4cTZAmGM1fSMTotNjkXsyT02mrpsIIW-WXp84u/s400/dottie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Seriously though, why do they not make all cleaning supplies in adorable polka-dots?!? I was looking into a cordless vacuum and I actually chose this one, in additional to great reviews, for its cuteness. I requested name recommendations on Facebook, the girls voted and...drum roll please... Meet Dottie. She will be the perfect partner to Reginald, my Steam Mop. It really is the small things in life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As tired as you are reading this is as tired as I am writing, so more on the crazy weekend coming soon... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">#ilovedottie</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy day-after Leprechaun Day! Ps I'm Irish. Also Seminole Indian which I realize sounds shocking and is a weird twist. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">TGIF! </span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-55346435078246643042016-03-10T11:40:00.001-05:002016-03-10T11:40:16.989-05:00Bucket List Miami Weekend...<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Happy Glorious Spring Weather Week! After the dreary cold of winter (I'm SO sure I have Seasonal Affective Disorder) I have finally begun to hear the birds chirping and actually visualize the grass peeking from under the melting snow. Several weeks ago, still in the depths of abysmal winter, Matt's brother Ben and his fiance Sofi mentioned that they had been wanting to have the girls over for the weekend to their new house. In no scenario in the history of the world would we decline this lovely offer, so we decided on a weekend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">What should we do? Where should we go? We mulled over a few ideas ranging from bar-hopping in a neighboring city to actually hiding out at home and binge-watching Netflix with no child interruptions. Nothing was really making us super excited... my priority is always to fit a nap in but that couldn't be ALL we could do. When you have a child-free weekend placed in your lap, you want to make it a good one. </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">March in this area can range from a blizzard to mid-seventies... and all we were craving was warmth. Enter: time to check off a bucket list item! The plan: head to the airport with essentially nothing, and fly somewhere then and there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am a conflicted personality... think, equal parts planner yet fly by the seat of my pants type of girl. I love to go with the flow but structure can be heavenly. Pulling out a calendar to plan can actually give me hives, but checking things off my to-do list is a total rush (I actually make the task of doing laundry into four separate items. And I will also write something down that I already did just so I can cross it off). I love nice, expensive things but I always find the deal or sale to maximize my spending. I will go to the ends of the dark web to find a free shipping promo code. </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">So this bucket list weekend was both challenging and exhilarating.</span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Our requirements for the weekend were simple:</span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">1. Warmth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">2. A beach or pool to lie around all day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">3. Anything that allowed us to move as little as possible (aka, we needed our beverages served to us by said-beach/pool).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">Simple, right? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">In my bag was the following: a bathing suit, a cover-up, a dress, a pair of flip-flips, shorts and a tank top. I also brought minimal makeup and toiletries, my kindle, phone charger and undergarments. Oh and I did bring a hat, which may it rest in peace, because I somehow lost it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">The only stuff I looked up prior to departure day was basically how to even go about it and the best sites to book last minute travel. Our original goal had been to show up at the airport and essentially go to the Southwest desk to find a flight. Considering this may make us appear like terrorists, particularly with our lack of luggage, we decided to book it on the drive in. I found an app called Skyscanner that allows you to search for the cheapest flights to everywhere leaving from your area. After trying to absorb the initial shock of how expensive flights are last-minute, we were able to find a non-stop Southwest flight at 11:45am to Fort Lauderdale. Within the time it took me to pull up the Southwest website to book it, the 11:45am had disappeared. Ugh. The 2:15pm it was, no big deal (the current time was 9:30am). Our thought was... we are together hanging out, we can eat and drink, who cares. W</span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">e arrive at the airport, check-in and get settled in at a bar. Although we were flying to the Fort Lauderdale airport, both Matt and I have spent time there in the past. Since we wanted somewhere new, we figured Miami was perfect. After perusing hotels on my phone and not really getting anywhere, we decided to gamble yet again. The Priceline "Name your own price" is something we used once before when going to Vegas and we ended up with the MGM Grand. With such a positive past experience, why not do it again? Our goal was either oceanfront with drink service on the beach or if not oceanfront, just have a rockin' pool. With our meager requirements, we rolled the dice... and lost. Hotel Croydon is what we were assigned. At first glance it has great reviews and looks like an adorable boutique hotel a block away from the beach. At second glance, you will find the picture of a lackluster pool that just minutes before I had vetoed staying there because of it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Womp womp. I mean, it is teeny, shady, and inches away from the road. No thanks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Trying to stay positive, we (finally) headed to our gate. After boarding the completely full flight and getting settled in our seats, we get the dreaded announcement... hydraulic issues with the plane. A mechanic was on his way to check it out and we were supposed to "sit tight." After I had kids, I became an incredibly nervous flyer. Like near panic mode on take-off, alcohol-required, texts being sent off to family to take care of my beautiful girls who I am leaving motherless since this tin box surely won't make it kind of thing. I REALLY don't need to hear about potential issues and "fixing" them. Fortunately, (yet unfortunately), the plane could not be fixed so back to the gate it was. We end up being sent over to another gate where they have to read off passengers one-by-one and check IDs since they had taken our boarding passes already. Eek. A cluster, you could say. So we finally set off and land two hours later than planned, and Ubered our way to our hotel for a final arrival time of 7:45pm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Exhausted and hungry, we went to the hotel bar for the remaining minutes of their free (!!) happy hour and to get something to eat. Now I'm not sure if we were so pasty white that people thought we were ghosts and couldn't see us, but I have never had such a hard time getting the attention of a bartender in my life. The conversation with the two other patrons present must have been riveting. But seriously, I was a bartender once upon a time. It took 15 solid minutes and asking three other random workers to even get a menu. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Frustrated, tired, and feeling like this may have been way more effort than it was worth, we headed up to our room (two double beds, of course) to collapse... and ended up laughing hysterically watching youtube videos of those hidden camera pranks from the Ellen show. When you are with your favorite person, watching paint dry can be fun. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Thankfully the next two days took a serious upswing after we managed to latch onto beach service from the Marriott. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One suggestion I give you all is that you should always ask how much your buckets of Corona are because they may turn out to be $8.00 per Corona and you have spent a small fortune before you know it. You're welcome. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">We also managed to just blend in with the Marriott guests and found an unlatched gate to get into the pool and hot tub area. Now if you know me, you will be epically shocked by these actions. I am a 100% rule follower. I wish I wasn't, but I just can't help the feeling of panic and fear when I know I'm not supposed to be doing something. Miami Steph took over and I marched right in without a second glance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Maybe since we are platinum Marriott rewards members (possibly due to my expensive taste) I figured we would be a-okay. In the Marriott hot tub is where we found out why every flight in the world was booked... that little thing known as <i>college spring break</i>. Maybe since I was never allowed to go on one, my mind just didn't even register. My most favorite moment occurred in that hot tub with those crazy young college kids. We were all sitting around and they turned to us and asked, "So what college are you guys down here from?" I very nearly spit out my drink. I know we don't look super old, but we most definitely don't look super young either. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif; text-align: center;">They all seemed utterly shocked that we were from the College of No Kids Bucket List Weekend. It basically made my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">So other than the beach and the pool, we really didn't do much of anything. On Saturday night we contemplated going out to dinner but realized we didn't have appropriate footwear for the kind of dinner we wanted. We attempted room service which somehow our lovely hotel didn't offer despite the fact that <i>it is on their website </i>(I had words with the guy on the phone because he didn't believe me that it blatently said-so on their page... and you can tell how heated I really was by the sheer fact I picked up the phone. As a person who has a phobia of ordering carry-out, that is a really big deal). So Matt had to go down to the hotel restaurant and bring food up to our room. We then proceeded to watch some crime show that we always seem to find whenever we are out of town together. The big takeaway from this particular episode is if you are trying to hire someone to kill your husband, you probably shouldn't write the entire plan down on paper (misspellings included). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">Sunday flights back were quite limited... most left at 6am (not an option). I did find one non-stop at 8:35pm with Spirit Airlines. If you haven't heard of it, I recommend that you go back to that wonderful place of ignorance and never speak of it again. If you have heard of it, you may be able to commiserate with us on a truly bizarre, did these flight attendants fail out of everything else, why is my chair metal and my tray smaller than Matt's hand. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is a **small** Fiji bottle and it barely fit. I mean, what?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">So if you have any desire to do what we did, or something along those lines, I have a few tips for you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">-Be aware when it is the time for college spring breaks, and don't go then. While the ones we met were lovely, in general</span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;"> they also created a little problem called "totally booked or ridiculously expensive flights and hotels." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">-Decide prior which route you are going to go... either really, truly don't care where you are staying and the amenities it offers OR be willing to pony up to make sure you get what you want/expect. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">-Have low expectations and know that even those can be lowered (yes, I'm talking no room service. I'm never getting over it). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">-Wear far more sunscreen than you can ever possibly imagine and reapply every 17 seconds if you going from pasty white to the Florida sun. I'm telling you, I had to wear leggings on Monday because everything.just.hurt... and I am one who typically tans easily. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">-Remember that everything, both good and bad, is a memory you are creating. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">So many people seem shocked (and think we are kinda crazy) about how much stuff Matt and I do together. </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">We have unfortunately been both given a unique vantage point of marriage: We both lost our fathers while we were still teenagers and have watched our mothers weather the devastating reality of life without their soulmates. So many things are planned for the future, but what if you don't get the opportunity to have that future? You don't think it could ever happen to you until it does. </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">We are acutely aware of tragedy and that there are no guarantees in life. With that experience and knowledge, I'd like to say we try to live in a way that reflects that. There's no better time than the present for SO much more than you could imagine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-7014067461031790902016-03-02T07:06:00.002-05:002016-03-02T07:06:40.650-05:00Making Good Changes... <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Ahhhh blogging. Such a strange phenomenon. So many obnoxious, self-important people who think their measly words have an impact. One of the reasons I never wanted to start a blog was because I didn't want to be a cliche... yet another stay-at-home mommy blogger who thinks her kids are cute and funny. Total vom. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">During my relative absence over the last year, I have come to realize something quite interesting about myself. An epiphany of sorts. Yet another quirk that my dear hubby has to deal with. In my quest to free up time and not put pressure on myself to post weekly, by not forcing myself to sit down and take stock in the last week and really comprehend the crazy that had occurred, I realized that I have been doing a disservice to myself. Without me really ever knowing it, this blog was my therapy. And everyone can always use a little therapy. It was the time I took for myself. It allowed me to go to the depths and rant, or focus on projects I was really excited about. It forced me to take note of things I so easily brushed aside, I listened more than I normally would. In my silly introspection as I wrote, it gave me so much more PERspective than I realized. When you see something written out and are willing to post it to the world (or like 3 readers), it just makes you view it in a different light. </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">A totally ridiculously, insane day when everything in the world seems to go wrong and you end up locking yourself in the closet with wine seems like a stupid little comical hump in the scheme of things. It can be entertainment to others, make them feel just a little bit more normal and not so bad about their life because I am a bigger hot mess. It made me really </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">"remember the crazy" which was my <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-why.html" target="_blank">original goal</a> of this blog from day one. And honestly, I just really missed writing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">So. In trying to be a better wife and mother, I think I actually became a worse one (reason for guilt #23408243098). I know what I need to stay sane, and I haven't been doing it. As a mom, you always tend to eliminate your own needs first... but when you really look at it, that is just more detrimental to the whole family. A friend posted this the other day and it hit home: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It isn't a mom's nature to do that. It is always give give give, who needs me, how can I help, who do I need to take care of right now. And sometimes you don't even know what to put in your own cup to even be able to pour into anyone else's. Before I get too deep into analogies, basically... to even figure out what recharges you is an eternal work in progress. It feels selfish and unnecessary, when it should actually be a total priority. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I cannot begin to describe how grateful I am for a husband who, in the midst of the crazy ups and downs of married life with three young kids, is willing to listen to me and actually make an effort to make changes to help me and make our life better together. We are almost 10 years in and it is a process, so don't think we are magical. It really does take constant communication and essentially spelling out things that I need. For example... I detest making school lunches with so much of my soul I am unable to articulate. Until this school year, I think Matt has made one or two lunches for the girls in the last six years. Despite my best efforts of the girls making their <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2015/09/times-are-changing.html" target="_blank">own lunches</a>, it doesn't always work out. But oh wait, I never asked Matt to help with lunches. When I actually, finally <i>communicated</i> this to him, guess who is the all-star lunch maker extraordinaire? This cutie: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the last few months Matt and I have also tried to make OTHER changes to simplify and help our craziness. When I quit working, I stopped the monthly/occasional cleaning service because in my head I thought, "I mean I'm home. This is part of my job. I should be able to keep up." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">HAHAHHAHAhahahahHAHAHhHHAhahahHAAAAAAAA. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hahahahah HAHAAAAAHHahahahahhaha </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Idiocy at its best. Keeping my house clean is basically an impossible task. Plus, I hate cleaning. I don't want to live my life running around behind my children cleaning up their messes all.day.long. I mean I do that anyways, but I don't want to be stressed about knowing I have to get to a grimy tub in the midst of that. We finally officially committed to an every other week cleaning service. This, hands down, has changed my life. If you can make it work by downgrading your cable to 973 channels instead of 991, do it. Please. You can come over and watch Bravo with me in my clean house. And don't give me the excuse of, "I would be too stressed running around cleaning up before they came." My friends, if <b>I</b> can maintain over the course of two weeks, ANYONE can. Obviously my house will look like it imploded within a number of hours after it gets cleaned. The difference is, I can whip it back in shape in no time. It has also allowed me to have the time (and motivation) to do things I have been putting off for forever, like reorganizing my cups cabinet. (I wish I had a before and after, but just ask my sister and she will regale you with the insanity that it was). I realize that this is often thought of as a luxury and a non-essential expense, but I will tell you that if you can cut something else out to make it work, you will truly not regret it. But make sure you get actually good cleaners... no one needs someone vacuuming around a toy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Oh and I will do anything and everything (including sitting in my car down the street) to avoid being in the house while they clean. I am so not important enough to watch other humans wash my dirt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Another thing we have done is tried to make dinnertime simpler. I actually enjoy the act of cooking (with a glass of wine of course), but it is the <i>planning</i> that I utterly fail at. I have started doing Hello Fresh and get usually two meals a week delivered to my doorstep in glorious, packaged boxes with everything I need in them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few examples of the inside of the box: </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkl8l4gKjpyQHEBHwSjDFB_cy2cyyhRuloOWEykysK7bUBPUSSudI2nezA4eOKc2TRa4HLM7xSOYNgJufuOkd7ChDYTWQc1Qe1PRSjrnGP_pPdibXvyARA7WhPVpebBrXB91daQeT05Ww/s1600/IMG_2336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkl8l4gKjpyQHEBHwSjDFB_cy2cyyhRuloOWEykysK7bUBPUSSudI2nezA4eOKc2TRa4HLM7xSOYNgJufuOkd7ChDYTWQc1Qe1PRSjrnGP_pPdibXvyARA7WhPVpebBrXB91daQeT05Ww/s200/IMG_2336.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaJRPC6iIxDFVdAQFFLaGofIgOoy39Vdj5sIchsyKF9aCEmtHthVq8R4Fj21JIl8YQ4C3vT0Xj2qGcfYY1_ebRem6YZqrL44afnqXSNIWrjl56bNHwPFxJnzIMGx0hTMRvG8b2UIn2oGC/s1600/IMG_2329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaJRPC6iIxDFVdAQFFLaGofIgOoy39Vdj5sIchsyKF9aCEmtHthVq8R4Fj21JIl8YQ4C3vT0Xj2qGcfYY1_ebRem6YZqrL44afnqXSNIWrjl56bNHwPFxJnzIMGx0hTMRvG8b2UIn2oGC/s200/IMG_2329.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can choose 2-5 meals a week for two or four people (I get two meals for a family of four and we have more than enough food... and my girls are most definitely eaters). There is a veggie box option as well! Everything I have made has been actually good, fresh ingredients, and most importantly, all in one box that I don't have to plan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you are so inclined to try it, you can use my code for $40 off your first box (full disclosure, I get $20 off if you use my code but that doesn't matter to me, I just want to put the idea of these meal delivery things in your head because it is seriously amazeballs. I've heard Blue Apron is good too). </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My code is WBW4XF and you can try it one week and never do it again, but I love having the option. You choose your meals Wednesdays by midnight for the following week. For me, the comfort of knowing what I am making for dinner (and no last second store trip with children-- eek) is awkwardly blissful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So. I'm not here to tell you that a cleaner, meal delivery service and a husband who makes school lunches are the end-all, be-all problem solvers of your life. That is what helped me go in the right direction (and I started playing tennis which I'm now obsessed with, but I'm beginning to sound very spoiled and bratty and should just stop while I'm ahead). But as I said, I realized this blog was very important to me too, even if I get zero readers and the $7.00 I make a month from ads disappears. What I want to change about it is essentially the format. While I'm sure I will still have plenty of lengthy, introspective posts with lots of pictures, I also am giving myself the freedom to post whatever the heck I want, whenever I want, no matter how trivial it may be. I don't know why I limited it before... maybe I always wanted everything to be "good enough" to post. Clearly that didn't work long-term, so maybe this will. Thank you for being my therapy and if you made it this far in this novel of a post, I really do appreciate it. Thank you for supporting me in the past and I hope you come along for my current ride. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Happy Wednesday! </span></div>
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-14454331228152321112015-09-24T07:29:00.001-04:002015-09-24T07:29:50.898-04:0090's music and failing at life... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Discovering late 90's/early 00's hit music radio has changed my life. No, seriously. I never processed how much happier I could be while cleaning, folding laundry, doing all the tedious tasks I hate-- when jamming to N*Sync, Britney, Destiny's Child and all the other songs that <b>were</b> my high school years. It takes me back to a simpler time... a time when my worries consisted of homework, dive practice and the next day's outfit. A time when food magically appeared in the pantry and fridge. A time when my schedule was mine and mine alone. A time when I didn't truly understand the meaning of stress and responsibility. A time when I listened to music that didn't have the name "Disney" or "Kidz Bop" involved. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I miss that time. I would never change my current life, but there are definitely moments I wish I wasn't SO in charge of SO many things--- three small humans being my main schtick. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last season on Grey's Anatomy (yes, I still watch it), there was an episode where Meredith was supposed to go visit her husband for the weekend. Instead, she missed her flight, got a hotel room and did absolutely nothing, by herself. Her excuse was she just didn't want to be anything to anyone for a minute... not anyone's doctor, mother, wife, friend. But the problem is that life keeps spinning, even if we want to hide for a minute. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I have said many times that I often don't feel mature enough to be a parent. The pressure (I put on myself) to give them the magical, carefree, wonderful childhood I want for them can induce panic/guilt/depression/endless adjectives. I vent to Matt quite frequently that I just feel like I'm failing in every aspect. Yes, I do have a perfectionist personality which is a challenge. Pre-motherhood, I went through life pretty much succeeding at anything I put my mind to. These days? The house always seems like a disaster despite feeling like I clean ALL the time. Laundry and dishes are my nemesis. Trying to make a quality dinner during </span><a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2013/12/arsenic-hour-and-fancy-pants.html" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;" target="_blank">arsenic hour</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> is near impossible. I should take it back a step further... having planned and purchased all of the ingredients to make a quality dinner often times seems near impossible. Working out? HAH. How about giving my wonderful husband the time and energy he deserves? Being a good friend, daughter? Comical attempts. I find myself thinking, "Why do I even try?" My mom used to say the phrase, "Jack of all trades. Master of none." Basically it means that if you are going to do a lot of crap, you are only going to be mediocre at them all. That is REALLY hard for the perfectionist in me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one subject that I would truly like to be a master of is, of course, my girls. But that is impossible, which is so very hard to accept. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There are many, </span><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">many</b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> moments when I think to myself-- Wow, am I utterly screwing up my kids? Am I creating monsters who will be incompetent members of society? What if what I'm doing right now is something they will spend countless hours rehashing in therapy? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This past weekend we took all three girls to the Redskins game... and we won!!! Miracles happen. We actually all had a great time. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gooooo Redskins! </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little parking lot football. You can see how far Liv threw it. </td></tr>
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In these pictures, we look like an adorable, loving family. Which we are... except when we're not. Not when everyone is whining and fighting and complaining and crying and interrupting and tattle-taling and hitting and shrieking "MOMMYYYYY" 20439834098 times a day. </div>
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So. Despite the fact that I know that I will never fully master these three nuggets, I am quite determined to never give up trying. Some days are better. Some days are truly quite awful... on those days, while I don't disappear to a hotel room for a weekend, I do run off to Home Goods and T.J. Maxx by myself if at all possible to get my sanity back. It isn't a cure-all but it does help. Or at least it gives me enough energy to go home and start all over again the next day. What also helps is the hilariousness that this picture is (even though, shocker, it made a massive mess): </div>
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Happy Thursday! </div>
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-63416401006715954392015-09-17T09:15:00.003-04:002015-09-17T09:15:52.845-04:00Times are changing... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Times are changing. I always knew it was going to happen. You just never really process that it IS happening. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have left behind the era of diapers, bottles, nap schedules, massive carseats and cribs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have entered the world of managing activity schedules, carpools, homework, sleepovers, and the PTA. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am of the opinion that the stage you are in with your kids never really gets </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">easier,</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> per se. The difficulties just change. Am I thrilled that I don't have to pack a diaper bag with an endless supply of snacks and multiple outfits in case of a poop explosion? Of course. Do I think comforting my daughter when a friend is mean at school, or becoming basically an Uber driver is a walk in the park? Obviously not. Am I utterly terrified of teenage years? No question. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Despite my new, current stage of life, the ends of my days haven't really changed... utterly exhausted and quite often with a glass of wine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We had a fantastic, busy summer. Between swim team, family vacations, a few camps and lots of pool time, my girls got tanner and blonder than ever. Here are a few of my fav moments: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3WVY9cT9PLfSGA4nii2VwkSnb1RvILyWoUCbq4M8VeOdZxm6uIpXBZNEjY-ThBkapU074YaH_Lixf5fCThhuaYLbmXi8mo_usithfnO1cyQguaTKtKvsjHkOFFE4u7Nu87UMFnVgCmbv/s1600/sailing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3WVY9cT9PLfSGA4nii2VwkSnb1RvILyWoUCbq4M8VeOdZxm6uIpXBZNEjY-ThBkapU074YaH_Lixf5fCThhuaYLbmXi8mo_usithfnO1cyQguaTKtKvsjHkOFFE4u7Nu87UMFnVgCmbv/s200/sailing.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjxdIEqu20d25mce1o-wNNpLJCkxp7pgpMwakX2dwfkFAucwoJAV42w3yYNGW3HrLIyPU0t3I2gi1uYD0krRsB12KCGlq-yk9B_PHUp8Z3UBXstbdG1gyi9EPY1IEfL6JYWcnmT_LtTa7/s1600/liv+dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjxdIEqu20d25mce1o-wNNpLJCkxp7pgpMwakX2dwfkFAucwoJAV42w3yYNGW3HrLIyPU0t3I2gi1uYD0krRsB12KCGlq-yk9B_PHUp8Z3UBXstbdG1gyi9EPY1IEfL6JYWcnmT_LtTa7/s320/liv+dancing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Despite all the fun of summer, August always brings out the cravings of structure and organization in me.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have discussed in past posts my awkward obsession with the feeling of a new school year (and my hoarder-like pen collection). To me, even more than New Year's, it really represents a fresh start. With Summer going into 2nd grade, Layla starting Kindergarten and Livi in preschool three days a week, I started freaking out about the potential for morning chaos. Summer has one speed, and one speed <i>only</i>: that of a snail. A snail who gets sidetracked by ANYTHING that comes her way. Layla is not a snail, but she is my late sleeper who is no peach when she doesn't want to get up. Then I have Olivia who, on a daily basis, comes up with something she just doesn't know how to do anymore by herself. "Mommy, I just forget how to put underpanties on." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Needless to say, I was concerned. I didn't want every morning to be running around, yelling, complaining, where-are-my-shoes chaos. I implemented a few things that (for these first few weeks) have actually worked gloriously. Like I kind of can't believe it. They do require upkeep on my part, but that is 100 schmillion percent worth it to have the decent mornings we have had. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1. They pick out all of our outfits for the week on Sunday. I check the weather, they choose things, and I make adjustments on the really terrible outfits (no Layla, a purple tutu does not mean you need a purple shirt). It takes 10 minutes and saves me EPIC amounts of time and stress in the mornings. We drape them on hangers next to cute little day of the week labels I made (and laminated... obvi). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2. They pack their own lunches. No, I don't care that they are only almost four, five, and seven years old. They are all perfectly capable of making a sandwich. They know the categories to fill: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-drink </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-sandwich/main</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-fruit/veggie</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-dairy item (yogurt, string cheese, etc) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-snack (goldfish, Pirate's booty, etc)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I try to prepackage the snacks and fruit/veggies in baggies so they just grab them but I haven't even done that 100% and it has been fine. AND no more coming home from school and complaining that I forgot that one of them doesn't like the Apple-Banana Fruit Squishems. And now they use it as a bargaining chip with each other... which is a risky move. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3. Lots of easy breakfast options... but whatever I give them, that is what they eat. No one kid wants a waffle, one wants cereal and one wants peanut butter toast. A frequent phrase in our house is, "You get what you get and you don't get upset." I made a bunch of breakfast burritos (large batch of scrambled eggs slightly loose and whatever else you want--cheese, bacon, sausage, salsa, whatever. Roll up in a flour tortilla, wrap in a paper towel and then plastic wrap. Store in a freezer bag. To reheat, unwrap plastic wrap and put in microwave 1-2 minutes or until warm), batches of pancakes, stocked up on waffles, english muffins, you name it. I also wrote a list of ideas for those mornings that I just can't think. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So. Up to now, we got off to a good start. And an adorable one. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Happy Thursday! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-65911409474679775702015-03-04T07:51:00.001-05:002015-03-04T07:51:02.828-05:00The Depths, Mexico and a Striped Cast... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have reemerged. I know, I can't believe it either. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I'm going to state the obvious... Life is clearly crazy. But it is crazy for everyone. I'm not that special. Last I <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2015/01/a-different-kind-of-mommy-guilt.html" target="_blank">posted</a> (<--link) was when I was wallowing in the depths of despair prior to our family vacay in Mexico. I have since risen from said-ridiculous depths (for no real reason), but have had plenty of moments where I went right back to the same place. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yesterday, just yesterday, I shed actual tears. I will officially, 100 bagillion percent say this time and time again. I <i>hate</i> winter. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The current phrase on the chalkboard in my family room. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I feel so strongly about it, you wonder why I still live in a place where it snows. Well because it doesn't always snow. I had far too many winters as a child (when I actually sort of enjoyed the crap) when it <i>never.</i>freaking.snowed. Not even a drop all winter. Now it happens. Now. NOW, when I have three small children of my own and it takes 47 minutes to bundle them up to go out and play for 11 minutes; when snow days deplete my very few, short, oh-so-precious hours each week that everyone is at school and I relish in my aloneness; when everyone rotates their sickness and someone always seems to be sleeping on top of me blowing snot rockets in my face; when I plan appointments around those few hours that I am supposed to be alone; when my pantry and fridge are just empty in general and everyone else buys out all of the eggs, milk and bread. <b>Now. </b>Now is when we get snow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But this is life. And it is now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To sum up two major events in the last few months... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Livi broke her wrist. I always knew she would be the first of the three to break a bone. She is basically our human wrecking ball. I'm talking she will run straight into a wall, go flying, pop up without a complaint and keep on going. It is quite comical to watch (when I'm not concerned about constant brain damage). So a slide at a birthday party got the best of her. A full 24 hours later after she just stopped using her right arm entirely (mom of the year), I took her in to get an x-ray (she actually looked at me and smiled as the doctor was examining her... the child feels no pain). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lo and behold, it was fractured... a mere week and a half before our long-awaited trip to Mexico. There was no question in my mind to pay extra for the waterproof cast; that was just not something I was willing to deal with. She obviously requested pink and purple stripes and was strangely happy and didn't care at all about it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I somehow packed myself and everyone without TOO much stress, was able to find the neck pillows that the girls were dying for, got ridiculously sick the night before we left (I legit could not breathe), and we were off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To recap an utterly amazeballs trip, we drank, we ate, we swam, we held a parrot, I got felt up by a monkey, we swam with dolphins, we got serenaded by mariachi dudes, and we drank some more. A bed on the beach with glorious sheers fluttering in the wind is now the level at which I will grade all other beach trips. My Tommy Bahama chair in Ocean City may no longer cut it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our dolphin adventures. The one of just me is actually two dolphins pushing me from my feet under the water. Bucket list item-- totes checked off. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We obviously had a good time. Then we had to come back to real life, which during this time of year genuinely can suck. Livi got her cast off, then back on again (it wasn't fully healed), then finally off. She had a rockin' tan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Adding to my pure detest of coldness, in the weeks since our return we have broken our freezer, garbage disposal, garage door, AND we have a suspected pipe leak because our water bill is out of control. #adulthoodisoverrated #soisowningahome</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So this week, the day after yet another snow day, when I was awakened hourly (just as I was drifting off from the last cleanup session) to help and comfort my daughter vomiting as intensely as her little body would allow, I cried. From exhaustion, from cabin fever, from sadness that I could do nothing to help her, from thinking about which child would be getting this sickness next and from the dread of repeating this night. And then I cleaned the bucket yet again, washed out her mouth, held her close and didn't sleep. Just like every other mom would do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Happy Wednesday :o)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-55102846981549769952015-01-14T09:45:00.000-05:002015-01-14T09:45:00.886-05:00A Different Kind of Mommy Guilt...<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is a new year. A fresh start. A time for resolutions and re-energizing... or at least it is supposed to be. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I usually feel a sense of excitement and motivation during this time; positive thinking about everything I want to accomplish in the next 12 months. We are leaving for Mexico in just a few days for a whole week, and I have been counting down the minutes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So why do I feel so frustrated, ungrateful, guilty and just plain down? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I think about mommy guilt, I think of the "normal" kind... you missed out on an important milestone while at work, you let your kids watch too much TV today, you snapped when you could have been patient and loving. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">People would kill to have my life and I am fully aware of that. I don't have to work, I have a wonderful husband, three healthy, beautiful girls, a lovely home, no major health problems... I know I have it good, I really do. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It just feels like all I do is feed everyone, clean up after everyone, break up fights, try to silence the whining, shuttle everyone from here to there and back again, and then clean up the new mess that was just created. I feel like I'm losing control and I'm not really sure how to get it back. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mommy needs a minute. More than a minute, like a week. But the ironic agony is that as soon as I am away from them, I miss them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is the life of being a mommy... so does that just mean I'm terrible at it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I never had a period of time in my life just to <i>be</i>. I went straight from college to married to pregnant just a few months later. I would never change anything, but I sort of skipped over that period of time when you can be selfish. No responsibilities for anyone but yourself. I'm 30 years old and I have been blessed with the task of raising these three amazing girls. But I'm tired. And I'm with them every.waking.moment. When they say, "Mommy I want you" when I have not parted from them in oh, a schmillion days straight, I want to tear my hair out. The seemingly endless cold of winter (that has really just begun) makes all the days run together into one big whiny, messy blur. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know, I know, I will miss these days when they are gone. I recently read a book where the mom was looking at her teen and tween daughters craving the snuggles and the love they once showered on her. I'm terrified that I'm not enjoying these moments. And then they will be gone and I will hate myself for having been so over it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The feelings of failure every night when I drop into bed exhausted are all-consuming. I look back knowing I was constantly busy and was cleaning up and running around all day... but what is there to show for it? Nothing. Just a still-messy house and a to-do list out the wazoo. Sometimes I just don't know how to be grateful, which then sets off the guilt. It is an endless, vicious cycle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know I need to just re-wire my mindset. I need to focus on the positives and not let the little things weigh me down. I know how privileged and fortunate I am, and when I feel like this I am basically being completely unappreciative to Matt for how hard he works to provide this life for us. I'm sure these feelings are related to the lovely world of hormones... or maybe they are not and I'm just an awful, spoiled brat. I don't know. Now I will go drive my kids in my nice big car out of our wonderful neighborhood to their lovely preschool, and then continue packing for our tropical vacation. I know, gag, I'm ridiculous. One thing </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I do know is that writing is therapeutic to me. So to all of you reading this, thank you. And Happy New Year. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-89816145867468423862014-11-07T07:55:00.001-05:002014-11-07T07:55:15.998-05:00An Utterly Endless Halloween... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Halloween is over! I'm so excited! Don't get me wrong, I love Halloween. It just seemed like it was never going to end. Now if only we could skip over Thanksgiving and get right to the good stuff... CHRISTMAS!!! Before you yell at me, I just don't like how Thanksgiving is basically on top of Christmas and then everything is mashed in and you can enjoy nothing. Fear not, no decorations are going up yet... but I am planning them, AND I have begun shopping. December is quite the month in the Simmons household. Summer's birthday is the 5th and Olivia's birthday is the 7th... so needless to say with the addition of Christmas, it is quite the expensive month and requires <i>much</i> planning. </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So before I start humming Jingle Bells, let me recap the Halloween that never ended. We decided to have our second annual Halloween bash. Just like last year, I had my wonderful friend Robyn decorate the house with all of her stuff (I can't explain how much amazing, non-cheesy stuff she has accrued over her lifetime). Instead of being psychotic and decorating all in one night like we did last year, we spread it out over several nights (all of which included wine, which is completely essential when spider webbing is involved). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In addition to decorating, planning the actual party, and oh-the normal chaos of every day, I must mention that Matt had several out-of-town work things. So he was pretty much gone for the three days prior to the party, and then for three days leading up to actual Halloween. Not so lovely. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So costumes!!! I knew it was going to be pretty hard to beat last year's... I mean, Richard Simmons? Epic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wavered between a few things, but them committed. Matt and I would be,.. drum roll... a couple of boobs. I saw a variation of it online, but I just wanted it to be better. I purchased my supplies from Joann Fabrics (I'm pretty sure every person that helped me asked what I was making. I should have just lied), ordered what I thought would be appropriate sized beach balls, and got to work. After attempting to make these costumes, I now have new, </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">incredible</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> respect for those people on Project Runway. It is hard to make something with no pattern or real idea of how you are going to go about it. Like, really </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">really</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> hard. The difficulty was increased for several reasons. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I was alone, so trying to drape and pin it around myself in the proper places was just downright impossible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Matt was essentially gone all week, so making his with very limited time to try it on him/re-pin/etc made it ridiculous. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I don't sew, so using my no-sew tricks (stitch witchery) was a big pain in the booty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Fast-forward to 30 minutes before party time. It is crunch time. We go to put our costumes on in the midst of all of the last minute details and w</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">hat happens? THEY FALL APART. Like ACTUALLY. FALL. APART. So all of the time that I would normally be putting out food, doing everything that you can only do right before a party starts... I am frantically taping us into our costumes. SO not awesome. Here is the best pic from the evening, that doesn't show the ghetto-ness that was the back and sides. The left boob's nipple placement is perfect, whereas the right boob is near nip-slip status: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another problem?? If we weren't standing right next to each other, no one really got what we were. And try maneuvering and hugging/greeting your guests with a beach ball in front of you. Half-way through the evening I did a self-boob reduction and was far more comfortable. :o) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So somehow I managed to take ZERO pictures the entire night. And my house was utterly picture worthy. I managed to corral some pics from some amazeballs party-goers. Think multi-level webbing, perfect candlelit ambiance, phenomenal beverages... </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Witch's Blood Punch with a few stray fingers... </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jello Shots in syringes? Check. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Post-party I emailed myself a list of things I would change for next year, just for my own sanity. Number one on the list? NO HOMEMADE COSTUME EVER AGAIN. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sunday brought about a consistent cycle of sleeping and cleaning. Remember Reginald? My steam mop? Well, he saved my life. The love affair continues. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life continued post-party. Ab</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">out a schmillion years ago, I randomly found a special code to get tickets early to Disney on Ice: Frozen. I vaguely/not at all remember my thought process for the specific show I chose, but nonetheless our tickets were for the night before Halloween. After an extremely long day consisting of all the girls' school parades and parties (three parties in one day would drive anyone to drink, I swear), I set off on our crazy night. I had somehow been able to keep it a surprise from the girls. I worked it so that we met dear Aunt Lizard (my bff) near her house for dinner, proceeded to pick Matt up from the airport (BWI), and then went straight to the arena in Baltimore. I meticulously planned my timing and route: Pre-bought a parking pass for the garage nearest to the arena. Stealthily packed their costumes in case they wanted to wear them. Printed out our tickets. Somehow, someway, it worked out perfectly in EVERY way. Timing was fantastic. We waited until we had parked to tell them what we were doing. The pictures of course cannot relay the shrieks of joy that occurred. But it was awesome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We got them changed in the car and went in. They perused the shockingly expensive toy/doll/random annoying light-up spinner station. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We found our seats (which I had forgotten were ROCKIN. I'm talking like five rows up from the ice) and I forced them even closer to attempt a pic which just did not work out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I snagged a pic of a ridiculously adorable moment with my wonderful hubs. He was such a trooper, despite being exhausted from traveling all day .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The second it was over, Livi started flipping out saying, "I wanna see it again! Let's do it again!" A phenomenal family night that was seriously needed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So after what felt like the most endless Halloween in the history of the world, it <i>finally</i> arrived. The actual day was here. We obviously had to start the day out with orange pancakes: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I attempted different Halloween-related activities throughout the day (when in doubt, printing out random pics related to the holiday seems so exciting to them). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For the bagillionth time, I put on their costumes and wigs (I'm shocked they all survived) for glorious trick-or-treating. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know the entire world were these characters (there were six Elsa's in Summer's class alone. SIX), but they look so stinkin cute. And their wigs are the best, if I do say so myself. China pulled through on that one. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I finally (and happily) put away the last little piece of webbing from all the decorations. My house looks completely empty... which is yet another reason I can't wait for CHRISTMAS!!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">TGIF!</span></div>
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-28769682029484975932014-10-16T07:18:00.002-04:002014-10-16T07:18:12.675-04:00Pimples and 'Nuggling... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dear Skin on my face, </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have a bone to pick with you. Actually three bones. Three bones that are red bumps, also known as pimples. NOT okay. Now I understand and most definitely appreciate how well you stuck by me all these years, relatively blemish-free. I can only really remember you failing me roughly five times, most of which were near my hairline and the week before my monthly friend. My best friends in high school would try to smash my face in greasy pizza to try to get something to show up (all in good fun). You stayed strong then. Yes, you have been good to me. You saved me so much typical teenage angst, and for that I will be forever grateful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Which brings me to this past week. If it happened to slip your mind, I am <i>thirty</i>. AND a half. I know you didn't forget that because those fine lines are appearing (which are so not okay either!). These three little bumps. Yes, two are near my hairline and I realize my oftentimes maniacal mane can cover those acceptably. The third-- I mean did you really have to go for my nose? It already has its issues, there is NO need for additional attention. I realize I am making a big deal over this which is silly-- and clearly I am more vain than I thought-- but why now? I have no experience covering these up. I have zero products to serve them. <i>I don't know what to do.</i> So please. Can we go back to the way things were? If I am overreacting, I apologize. I just thought we were friends. So stop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">xoxo</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">me</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">See??? I didn't fall off the face of the earth! I have been busy getting pimples! I have questioned many times in the last few weeks why I can't seem to get a stinkin moment to write. And I finally figured it out. Her name is the Livi Monster. So Layla is in school 4 1/2 days a week, and Livi is there for two. On those two blessed days that I have a few hours without children, I try to cram every errand and task in that is humanly possible. Which means I get like three things done (Sidenote... a mom friend totally warned me about this phenomenon and she couldn't be more right). So the other three days a week, it is just me and Olivia... which would <i>seem</i> like a simple task. One kid? Pshaw. That is like <i>so</i> four years ago. The difference between my one kid then and my one kid now is that my one kid now has almost no experience being by herself. There is always chaos, sisters, cousins, madness. You'd think she would enjoy the downtime. I mean, I would imagine she would. But her enjoyment comes from requiring-- no, <i>demanding</i>-- all of my attention. ALL the time. I'll try to make things I HAVE to get done like laundry or cleaning the bathroom into a game with her, but she gets over that real quick. So I have the ever constant, "Mommy look at this." "Mommy, need help here!" "Mommy, I want you so bad." "Mommy, I wanna 'nuggle you." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So. Forgive me for my sporadic posts. Just know that in addition to not getting anything done, instead of getting a chance to write, know that I am 'nuggling with my nugget while I still have the chance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Thursday!!</span><br />
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<br />stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-47586132844651466232014-09-18T06:56:00.001-04:002014-09-18T06:56:52.116-04:00Unexpected Tears and Some Big Moments...<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So a few major things have happened around the Simmons home these past two weeks. Here is a list of them, in no particular order: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>1. Livi (and Layla) started school. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Layla started on Monday of last week, and she is doing a 5-day Pre-K program (half-days on Fridays). I wanted to do the 5-day program for several reasons... one being that Kindergarten is REALLY long days and I didn't think she would transition well if we went from three days a week of 4 1/2 hours a day, to five, 7-hour days next year. She is also on the younger side of her class, and I just think she is going to need a little bit more. The second reason is that Livi's program is Tuesday/Thursday, and the 3-day program is Monday/Wednesday/Friday...so I would still be driving someone to school every day and I would always have a child, which is just silly. She wore a beyond adorable peplum top and white bermuda shorts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She acted like an old pro and l(thankfully) no major issues have occurred (yet). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So Olivia's first day of school was Tuesday of last week. From the person who was literally rejoicing over the fact that I would have a few hours to myself each week, I certainly was not expecting to cry... TWICE... over this milestone. I really thought I was going to do the happy dance... but, sure enough, I woke up with a lump in my throat. She is my <i>baby</i>. She is <i>growing up. SO fast.</i> A tutu was obviously essential (she would wear one every day if she could), and she was SO excited. The photobombers in the pic are beyond amazing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They were super excited to go together: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She marched right into her classroom and that was that. No tears, no hesitation, no nothing. That obviously made it a fantastic transition, but I walked back to my car with a slight feeling of emptiness and like I was forgetting something. I guess I can still surprise myself sometimes... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>2. I got a new steam mop. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">If I could steam-mop my entire world, I would be a very happy camper. Just putting it out there. Matt witnessed me cleaning our floors with this the other day: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He looked at me with an amused expression as I hunched over, fumbling with the top half to push the button to spray, and said, "Go buy yourself a new one." If Matt actually <i>tells</i> me to go BUY something, he doesn't have to say it twice. I ordered what I had been eyeing for months... The most amazeballs Bissell Steam Mop in the history of the world. I love him (I'm talking about the mop, but I obviously love Matt as well). He is so simple, so wonderful, so effective. He makes everything so shiny and glisteny. I think his name is Reginald.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><b>3. We booked a trip to Mexico for January. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This summer, we failed to really schedule a vacation that was longer than four days. If you have kids, you know that the hassle and ordeal of packing everything and everyone up. You also know that the third or fourth day is when you actually, finally start to relax. A few years ago when Livi was just a few months old, we took our first official family vacay to St. Thomas and we had the most phenomenal time. St. Thomas Steph emerged... meaning-- a totally laid-back, not a care in the world, go with the flow, I love everything and everyone-Steph. She has had her moments where she surfaces, but she was there to stay for the full week. I need her back. We happened to find DIRECT flights at an amazing price (having to pay for all the girls now is a doozy), so we just went for it. I am beyond excited. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>4. Livi decided she was over diapers. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is clearly huge. Like, amazingly huge. Like, I don't quite believe it so I'm not quite processing it, huge. The ONLY caveat to this hugeness is that she hasn't really gotten the hang of the whole poop thing... which is a slight/major problem. She will go pee by herself no problem, without me asking or reminding her. Once we get the poop thing down, maybe I will believe it. It is hard to process that I may have bought our last pack of diapers <i>ever.</i> Okay I'm not going to cry because that would be utterly ridiculous. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><i>5. Football season began.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you know me and Matt in the slightest, you will know that we are diehard Redskins fan. It isn't always fun, but we are committed. Opening day (post-going to the Maryland Seafood festival), we had everyone over to watch the game. While the outcome was disappointing, the little ones were thrilled to have some quality time with my grandma. She told them stories and taught them how to do a push-up (seriously). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So it is a joke that the two reasons I married Matt were for his air conditioning (I grew up without it... I know, I'm sweating just thinking about it), and his Redskins season tickets. We have tailgated in the same spot for the last nine years together. The group has evolved over the years (it used to be like 50 people and two kegs). Now it is a smaller group and we make super delicious food each week. For the home opener this past week, it happened to fall on Matt's brother Ben's birthday. It was epically amazing weather for football and we had a wonderful day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Summer had probably a top-10-of-her-lifetime-amazingness quote which I must repeat. She was going to sleep over at my mother-in-law's house the night before, and as we were packing she says to me, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Mom, I don't want to bring my wallet to the Redskins game tomorrow. It's purple, and people might think I'm a Ravens fan. Ugh, that would be awful."</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love that kid. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>6. My grandma got her own buzzfeed article.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My little brother Tim meets random people, and I don't really ask a lot of questions how. He somehow met someone who writes for BuzzFeed and was telling this person about my grandmother. I have previously written about her (links---><a href="http://www.stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2014/07/a-surprise-90th-and-not-so-quiet.html" target="_blank">her surprise 90th birthday party</a> and her <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-tooth-fairy-and-glacier-climbing.html" target="_blank">89th birthday</a> as well). But this is just downright awesome. Here is the link to the article. It's pretty cool. </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/tasmaiuppin/who-says-a-95-year-old-cant-go-zip-lining#2n60j68" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ooma's Buzzfeed Article</span></a><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>7. I survived my first Wednesday of the fall season.</i></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back when I was arranging my life and planning activities (---><a href="http://www.stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2014/09/regaining-structure-and-whole-year-home.html" target="_blank"> link</a> <---) I made the decision to do multiple activities on Wednesdays. This involves picking up Layla from school, taking her directly to gymnastics, entertaining Olivia for 45 minutes during what is normally her naptime, race home to make it to Summer getting off the bus, feed them all a snack, pile back in the car to go to Summer's swim clinic, entertain both an exhausted Layla and delusional Olivia for another 45 minutes in a steaming hot indoor pool, drive home and attempt to get some semblance of dinner on the table. Yeah.... I don't know what I was thinking either. And I am too tired to expand. </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>8. I purchased my first Pumpkin Spice Latte of the season.</i></b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know, I know. #whitegirlobsession, along with Uggs and instagramming pictures of sushi. But it just needed to be acknowledged. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So there you have it. Never a dull moment! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Thursday!!! </span><br />
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-27796940297402657732014-09-04T06:56:00.000-04:002014-09-04T06:56:55.135-04:00Regaining Structure and a Whole Year Home... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">School!!! It started!!! Well sort of. Layla and Livi's preschool doesn't start until next week but this week has been full of back-to-school nights, orientations and whatnots. Summer is happy and cruising in her second official week. First grade apparently demanded a fashion show. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: center;">Day 1- A new maxi dress (that was too big and I sewed MYSELF to make it work. Yes that was a Tim Gunn reference. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ODEbFoE1vOV_ewNBNpmyyqvZ0QO3r802q_9Qh4UllOXI_M_fPfLnbvBhm4XBHCmbzNwi-5bvbWKs_P0ZGJtniXykrxXSD8xze3DgBT0hoGz4OTT4wqAHPLP5XTjrY5c4iRGXoXAjjede/s1600/school+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ODEbFoE1vOV_ewNBNpmyyqvZ0QO3r802q_9Qh4UllOXI_M_fPfLnbvBhm4XBHCmbzNwi-5bvbWKs_P0ZGJtniXykrxXSD8xze3DgBT0hoGz4OTT4wqAHPLP5XTjrY5c4iRGXoXAjjede/s1600/school+2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Heading off. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwrSQZo2ndc_3Ime3hfqef7uWRqSrUpNIa7ZTqv_h9DaadfzqyZDZ2BDT84c1tgUIWfXGC9q6aBzfO1rZ3VUXWHX8qVYRo0dHiyrRjxtTAhCYCqd33GzJZSQAfmg2NBBOTxiFbkcw4VMJ/s1600/school+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwrSQZo2ndc_3Ime3hfqef7uWRqSrUpNIa7ZTqv_h9DaadfzqyZDZ2BDT84c1tgUIWfXGC9q6aBzfO1rZ3VUXWHX8qVYRo0dHiyrRjxtTAhCYCqd33GzJZSQAfmg2NBBOTxiFbkcw4VMJ/s1600/school+3.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">With her sad sisters at the bus stop. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Day 2- A neon pink chevron skirt and white tank top. I didn't snag a picture.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Day 3- I want this shirt in my size.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYob-5eIAK_J2QJIItyJKKRW_Y-7KBqx_P7YCk2GNAnROge1FabMVXqGaO5kGfBJmAcCIO6CztfnzkFcRlzdbGxLTKw5N83_KGU2HSSR7hAl-HpYyYb06YSx37qJpKYtkDxSZn7kOb2V3/s1600/fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYob-5eIAK_J2QJIItyJKKRW_Y-7KBqx_P7YCk2GNAnROge1FabMVXqGaO5kGfBJmAcCIO6CztfnzkFcRlzdbGxLTKw5N83_KGU2HSSR7hAl-HpYyYb06YSx37qJpKYtkDxSZn7kOb2V3/s1600/fashion.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Day 4- I totally can't remember right now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Day 5- A leopard print tutu and pink tank top. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So all-in-all, quite an adorable week. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I vowed I would stop apologizing for not posting consistently, but I do have an excuse... endless amounts of school forms and getting my life together. The fall/a new school year is always such an invigorating time for me. I don't know what it is, but it feels to me like even more of a fresh start than New Year's. Structure begins. School supplies are bought... quick sidenote: I am awkwardly obsessed with all things related to school supplies. My pen collection in extensive colors is borderline embarrassing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> There are few things that get me more excited than an aisle with endless arrays of adorable notebooks, bright-colored pens, and just plain college-ruled paper. Alright. I'll move on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyways, few things get me feeling like there are endless possibilities </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">than the start of fall</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> (like my yearly plan to feel comfortable and confident in a bathing suit <i>next </i>summer). I also have an additional obsession with expensive jeans, and knowing that weather is around the corner is SO exciting. I hope my annual </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">aim to get some sort of handle on my life will stick one of these years... but I kind of doubt it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">While attempting to work out some kind of cleaning/working out/staying sane schedule, I also get renewed excitement for new projects around the house. I am currently obsessed with redoing parts/finishing my kitchen/family room area, dealing with the debacle that is our master closet (an entire shelf has broken off the wall and is currently on a precarious slant), and creating a gift wrapping/crafting organization station in the guest room. Sidenote... I have a passion for gift wrap. I cannot go to Home Goods without selecting a new roll of cuteness (they have the BEST paper). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I have an odd amount of respect for people who wrap beautiful gifts, which is not a talent I have... but it is a talent I am striving for. I can fold and tape the paper perfectly... bonus points if I can line up the patterns. It's just the other accoutrements that make everyone else's gifts look so much prettier. If you have the supplies (REAL ribbon is a must), the possibilities are endless. So my mind is being pulled in 17 different directions... and I just need to commit to one and go for it. But when it involves other people (like getting a paint quote or a closet design estimate) I tend to drag my feet. We shall see... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now that the girls are getting older, choosing and juggling activities is a major part of my life. And choosing what I am willing to put myself through was something I needed to consider. The knowledge that I will be having to entertain Olivia during Layla or Summer's stuff is a major game changer. I also feel like because I didn't do a ton of different activities as a child (being the 4th of 5 didn't put me at the top of the scheduling or $$ priority when I was super young), I want my girls to do and try <i>everything</i>. When I really sat down with my weekly schedule, their desires, and prices, I did myself a favor and didn't go crazy. I limited them to essentially two activities per season. Summer is doing an art class after school once a week and also a weekly swim clinic. Layla will be doing swim lessons and gymnastics. Olivia will be doing nothing until she turns three in December </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(yeah... we did a mommy and me gymnastics class last winter and I'm over it),</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> but school is new for her so I don't feel bad. There was a dance class that I really wanted Summer to do, but Sunday afternoons in the fall just don't work... AKA we still can be a tad bit selfish and I didn't want the stress of logistics with our Redskins season tickets. That class or maybe lacrosse can wait until the spring. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In doing all of this getting-my-life-sorted out, I realized that I </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">recently had a major anniversary. In August, I have been a stay-at-home mom for a WHOLE year. <a href="http://www.stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2013/08/a-big-decision.html" target="_blank">Here</a> <--- is the link to last year's post about my decision. Crazy how quickly it has gone by. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Since I have been home, my girls have not miraculously become little angels (I swear they behave the worst for me and me only). I'm pretty sure my house is even more of a disaster (nixing the professional cleaning, not wanting to just follow them around cleaning, as well as knowing later is an option just kills it). I haven't always done the things for myself that I know I need to stay sane. I most definitely feel like a failure on a daily basis, I'm exhausted, and my patience wears thin more than I want to admit. I am really sick of playing Candy Land. I can quote Disney Junior to an awkward level. I never get to go to the bathroom in peace. Matt gets my short temper at the end of the day far more than he deserves (he actually never deserves it). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But despite the many MANY days of wanting to hide in a closet and cry... I wouldn't change anything for the world. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">For me and my family, this works and is what is best for us. I noticed a definite change for the better in everyone... since I previously had funky hours and we didn't have super-consistent childcare, I could tell my girls were on edge every time I would walk out the door. Their behavior in general was all over the place because they had several different caretakers who all handled things differently. Everyone who watched my kids was absolutely amazeballs (they wouldn't have gone near thing if they weren't), but the overall inconsistency of each week was tough on them. Now</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> they are more settled and I can tell they feel secure in everyday life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I have absolutely zero regrets about committing to stay-at-home mommy life. I got these napkins from my sister-in-law for my birthday: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MMvULbUINExk6VPoH6VMWl3ZAOhRWEsEMCZ0aBZlUwJjQkeiLrzMJoeHbeBfjZEmmz2OM9cM5p9GDv7RRVjhI2d6B4_YUfhMGF5wdkEC7Grlo4Tv6pQzhWWR_vYtehTHTQGpr20FMvr7/s1600/napkins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MMvULbUINExk6VPoH6VMWl3ZAOhRWEsEMCZ0aBZlUwJjQkeiLrzMJoeHbeBfjZEmmz2OM9cM5p9GDv7RRVjhI2d6B4_YUfhMGF5wdkEC7Grlo4Tv6pQzhWWR_vYtehTHTQGpr20FMvr7/s1600/napkins.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes it can be totally mind-numbing... yet I realize how incredibly lucky I am that I have the option to stay home. Like I said when I quit my job-- staying home, for ME, is a far more difficult task in many ways than going to work. The constant stress of childcare logistics, making sure I had off for field trips or class parties, etc... that is something I will <i>never </i>look back on with anything but anxiety. But I have come to realize that as a mom, the balance is impossible. There are few things I hate more in life than the battle between stay-at-home moms and working moms. We are all in this together, and we are just doing the best that we can. And may we all have dance parties as awesome as Olivia...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Thursday!! </span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-80139215140674449952014-08-26T07:24:00.001-04:002014-08-26T07:24:10.088-04:00Weekly Chuckle... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How true this is... which only adds to my making-phone-calls-anxiety-disorder (a total medical diagnosis. I'm a nurse, remember?). For any sort-of phone call other than my family and closest friends, I end up locking myself in the storage room in the basement... which gets awkward when one of the girls inevitably starts banging on the door screaming for me or crying over something, which distracts me even more than I am naturally (which is significant), which then requires me to frantically run upstairs and do the silent glare/manic hand signals/SHUT YOUR MOUTH routine, which usually is not effective and results in a sobbing child in my arms, which is not conducive to ANY type of phone conversation, stranger or not. It gets awkward when you have to shriek, "YOU MAY NOT GO OUTSIDE NAKED!!!" in the middle of asking how someone's weekend was. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The comedian Jim Gaffigan nailed it with his talk about the stress of ordering food... You call up, they answer so fast that it doesn't even sound like English, you totally freeze and are like, "Umm. Do you have <i>food</i> there?" The absolute only place I will call to order is the Thai restaurant near our house. I realize that may sound contradictory, but I just have my order down pat so they can't trip me up with all of their trick questions. Online ordering = Amazeballs. Since I have probably convinced most of you that I am a total wackadoodle, I'll sign off now... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Tuesday!! </span><br />
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-51887123499955232452014-08-21T07:03:00.000-04:002014-08-21T07:07:48.292-04:00A Case of the Mondays... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The following is a description of this past Monday. It was long. It was rough. It was a doozy. It really started on Sunday evening... we got home from the annual Simmons Family Rose Haven Weekend which will be covered on a later date. I will say that it includes an excessive amount of Orange Crushes, several of which were imbibed on Sunday (did I even use imbibe properly?). So after we got home, I decided to sign Summer up for a Lacrosse camp all week. It is a decision I don't regret, but to say that it added some chaos to the week is an understatement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let me begin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3:03am- Summer comes bursting in our door just to say, "It's okay, don't worry. It was only Emmie coming in our door." She then promptly shuts the door and goes back to her room. My confusion of the matter only aids in waking me up more. Insomnia is a B. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">4:49am- The last time I remember looking at the clock before I actually fall asleep again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">5:53am- Wake up again when Summer actually comes in bed (I don't understand, she has been doing fabulous for MONTHS). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">6:47am- Alarm goes off. Press snooze despite the fact that I am already sort-of awake and drift in and out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">6:58am- Olivia starts yelling for me. "Maaaaaaaa. Moooooooooooom. Moooooooommy!! I neeeeeeeed youuuuuuuuu!!!!!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">7:23am- Finally get out of bed to respond to Livi. Wake up Summer, go downstairs, chug coffee, throw some frozen waffles in the toaster. Layla shows up. Feed all of them, chug more coffee, eat the last bite of Layla's syrup-soaked waffle, and throw the plates in the sink. Washing them is not even a thought. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">7:41am- Get everyone's sticky hands washed, herd them upstairs to brush their teeth. Try to find some sports-activity-appropriate clothes Summer could wear (a task in itself). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">7:48am- Go into my room, find some not-dirty-ish clothes from my still-packed suitcase. Wash my face and slap on some tinted moisturizer. Have heart palpitations when I don't immediately find my eyelash curler, thinking I left it in Rose Haven. Take deep breaths and calm myself when I find it. Curl my lashes, put on mascara and chapstick (I will never leave the house without these items on). Go downstairs to finish getting the girls ready. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">8:19am- Start shrieking because Summer's tennis shoes are MIA. And NO ONE is getting in the car. Finally find her shoes in the guest room. Get out of the house. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">8:49am- Arrive at the field, suddenly uncertain that it is the right one. Look on my phone and see that it is indeed NOT the right one. Frantically search through my phone for the right field. The girls are asking 12309843 questions until I just scream, "STOP TALKING!!!!" Silence occurs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9:03am- Arrive at the RIGHT field (thankfully it was just a mile or two away from where we were). Get the girls out as fast as I can. Apologize to the camp coordinator while wiping the sweat off my brow. Explain that we don't have eye protection yet since I signed her up in the heat of the (Orange Crush) moment the night before. She is very nice and says it is fine. Ramble on to the friend who told me about the camp (and who I called the wrong name for two months... but that is a different story). Gather the younger two back up and in the car. Olivia screams bloody murder. Everyone stares. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9:17am- Miss a critical turn driving home. Blood pressure rises.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9:31am- Arrive at </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">TJ Maxx to get a present for the birthday party we are attending that morning. Layla and Livi go nuts in the toy section. Livi shrieks, "MINNIE!!! "<i>MINNNNNIEEEEEEE" </i>over and over again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9:38am- Layla does the potty dance (aka grabs her crotch and flits around). The bathroom in TJ Maxx is in the basement, so we put our merchandise in a location I hope it won't be taken and take the trek down. Shockingly they take amazing turns pressing the elevator button. Olivia decides (because it is the perfect moment) that she wants to go potty. She is denied. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9:44am- Go back upstairs with more amazing elevator-button-turn-taking and our merchandise is still there. Do a happy dance in my head. Go to checkout and leave without additional incidents. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9:59am- Arrive home. Leave the girls in the car with a Dora Christmas movie on to run inside and wrap the gift for the party and grab bathing suits, towels, etc for the possible sprinkler action. Leave for the party. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">10:37am- Arrive at the party. Break up a few fights but have a great time chatting with friends and watching the kids run around. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">11:29am- Apologize that I have to leave the party so soon. They offer to keep both kids there while I go pick up Summer. Wisely decide to take Olivia with me. Smell poop, but she claims, "I not done yet!!" Strap her in her carseat because I refuse to pull the trigger too soon and change multiple nastiness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">11:57am- Arrive to pick up Summer. She lost her pink hair band, but she goes to look for it as I change Olivia's nastiness in the back of the car. Head back to the party. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">12:39pm- Get back to the party. Summer stuffs her face with a hot dog. I steal every pink or red Starburst I see AND have a piece of Bumblebee cake. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1:01pm- Apologize that I have only been back for 20 minutes and now we need to go again. Corral the girls and get in the car, not realizing the oh-so-precious "Pink Minnie" has been left behind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1:19pm- Arrive at home, sprint inside to find swim lesson-appropriate bathing suits, goggles, towels, change everyone, find my checkbook, etc. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1:40pm- Get back in the car. A</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ll the girls agree that our timing was, "Mission Accomplished." </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Leave for the swim lesson. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1:56pm- Arrive at the pool, get the girls set, collapse with Olivia at the baby pool. Instigate a fight with Olivia and another little girl because I didn't realize the floating kickboard was the little girl's and not just the property of the pool. Feel incredibly guilty that this little girl is in time out because I told Olivia to go get the freaking kickboard. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">2:33pm- Leave the swim lesson, actually holding Olivia over my shoulder to drag her out of there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">2:47pm- Get home, put Olivia in bed (not without crisis since "Pink Minnie" is MIA, then start the task of finishing summer reading with Summer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">What's funny is I don't even really remember what we did for dinner, or what happened the rest of the day... I'm pretty sure Matt came home and took over because I was borderline non-functional. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The next day, Olivia was reunited with her true love (thankfully my friend found it at the birthday party and dropped her off in our mailbox):</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGT4_iCsZZMW-fjQWbsX2Du6xHTunnXs8WSoudBLdxOK9d_4-5MyfJKPxqx7moee08Krf-UZ-JeIGYdxhluSWM7A1FPv9wzMHjKVebisd8B-e5C7sfygOJAXiM6tgh-a15wa0MUsisXUkv/s1600/minnie+returned.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGT4_iCsZZMW-fjQWbsX2Du6xHTunnXs8WSoudBLdxOK9d_4-5MyfJKPxqx7moee08Krf-UZ-JeIGYdxhluSWM7A1FPv9wzMHjKVebisd8B-e5C7sfygOJAXiM6tgh-a15wa0MUsisXUkv/s1600/minnie+returned.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And Matt was able to go buy Summer some lax goggles, that obvi must match her stick: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5lFY3PVTbAarEjJhfEkcqO9yNOZMqPnXSzTD0kfKWwUkX_yie7akzNEASBn7onTDwWJlb92T8_trUxeWsK4TabuH8QEwR6zkdco1RAm-gRKKz0kayM-P9fekPEkOAULo2NxDcMNhIsBa/s1600/lax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5lFY3PVTbAarEjJhfEkcqO9yNOZMqPnXSzTD0kfKWwUkX_yie7akzNEASBn7onTDwWJlb92T8_trUxeWsK4TabuH8QEwR6zkdco1RAm-gRKKz0kayM-P9fekPEkOAULo2NxDcMNhIsBa/s1600/lax.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In other news, I have discovered</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> a newfound love for jelly-filled munchkins from Dunkin' Donuts. I would also probably be bankrupt and weigh 400lbs if I lived too close to a drive-thru. There is one on the way home from Summer's lacrosse camp, which I may or may not have stopped by every day this week... And purchased a large hazelnut iced latte, as well as an assortment of munchkins. Day 1- an 8 cup. That is child's play. Hah. Day 2- A mixture of 25... which is when I discovered my new love. Growing up I remember eating jelly donuts-- mehh, no big deal. I'm honestly not a major donut person in general. But... on my way home, I stuck my hand in the box and came out with the deliciousness. And then I kept reaching. Feeling for the sugary coating. And eating. We got home and I opened up the box for the girls... "Yum, I want a jelly one." Summer said. Crap. "Moooom, where are the jelly ones?? It is the weirdest thing, there is jelly everywhere but no jelly donuts?!?!?" My response? "Huh, that is so weird. I wonder what happened to them."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-tVReGV3aabyN6gp9KfiXbSR-5_N0DDQJuwef1Ty5Klozypeqr4jBu_g3eRMZwdtQN_xJ6ah4ETh__xyMphVu6poHuXr_BCqUDFLC7jBQp7g7gKeE0W88EgUZN2XNx0BSuSDquMRkdvz/s1600/donuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-tVReGV3aabyN6gp9KfiXbSR-5_N0DDQJuwef1Ty5Klozypeqr4jBu_g3eRMZwdtQN_xJ6ah4ETh__xyMphVu6poHuXr_BCqUDFLC7jBQp7g7gKeE0W88EgUZN2XNx0BSuSDquMRkdvz/s1600/donuts.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oops. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Thursday!!! </span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-47603804695221938632014-08-07T07:03:00.000-04:002014-08-07T07:03:03.159-04:00Four Minutes of Alone Time... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I feel like I have a trend with my posting. I go from "woohoo, fun, busy times"... To "kumbaya, all is well in the world, my kids are growing up too fast"... To "arrrrrgh I want to hide in a cave." Then back to "woohoo, fun, busy times." Don't expect that to change. It is clearly the cycle of my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So it is officially the last few weeks of summer. And I am officially exhausted. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'll say it... Ready? WHEN DOES SCHOOL START?!?! I AM LOSING MY MIND!!!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As I am writing this (on Wednesday afternoon), I am currently hiding in my bedroom with Tardy for the Party on in the background, while trying to block out Olivia's dreadful high pitched screams because she doesn't want to go to sleep for her nap. This is just several minutes past the major crisis of the day (so far)... I won't touch on Tuesday morning when I woke up looking like Quasimodo from an unknown eye situation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let me begin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I woke up early for the sole purpose of having some time to myself. Matt had a softball tournament last weekend, so it kind of feels like I haven't had a nanosecond without the girls in WAY too many days in a row. Just 10 minutes after I woke up and went downstairs, after sitting down at the computer with my coffee ready to have a minute, I heard the first one... which means all the rest follow momentarily. With that plan foiled (and already being tired), I set out on the day attempting to have some fun despite the yucky weather. We had failed cupcakes (I didn't fill them up enough to actually create the flowers):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Along with some fun vacuuming in winter pajamas: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkP6BtY2YmrEuAKDr_j38d3wPbbgOwSzLPmIuJdqA8zS6HVJuZ-2He2_nhTNf2KgtZdzHjjEcUnLo8otIp-VkAvBbEgnuS-mp12fom39E-dgmB0Tx9ZVtVWSTwpYIhLkDtdY2bGDm36CJ/s1600/vacuuming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkP6BtY2YmrEuAKDr_j38d3wPbbgOwSzLPmIuJdqA8zS6HVJuZ-2He2_nhTNf2KgtZdzHjjEcUnLo8otIp-VkAvBbEgnuS-mp12fom39E-dgmB0Tx9ZVtVWSTwpYIhLkDtdY2bGDm36CJ/s1600/vacuuming.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(That's not all we did, but my phone is at its storage capacity, so it has limited my picture taking. I need to sit down and delete the schmillions of pictures of the floor or Emmie that Olivia takes). After lunch, we hadn't had the TV on at all (glorious) so the time was right: All I wanted to do was have a few minutes to myself for a quick shower. I set them up with a tv show... that gives me about 12 minute of </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">uninterruptedness (the show is 24 minutes long, at least one of them only lasts for half). I could handle that... 12 minutes is a solid start to a shower and changing. I hop in, and what felt like seconds later... the doorbell rings. The dog starts freaking out, and I freeze, knowing full well that two out of the three of my children don't have clothes on (There is no in between... it is either winter footie pajamas or nakedness). I frantically scramble out of the shower to at least attempt to stop them from running to the door (there are windows on both sides of the door... SO not helpful when trying to hide the fact that you are home). During warm months there are lots of door-to-door people which I never deal with, but no such luck this time. It is our pest control guy (also a friend of Matt's from softball). I come to a screeching halt upstairs with my towel barely around me-- soaking wet with soap still in my hair-- and whisper loudly for the girls to back away from the door and I will deal with it later. They obey (I am happy and somewhat shocked), but the dog continues to have a conniption while I attempt to at least get the shampoo out of my hair. So long story short, the 12 minutes I was HOPING to have to myself just jumping in the shower was cut short by eight minutes. So basically I got four minutes that included heating up the shower. And stress on top of that from pretending that we weren't here even though he saw at least one of my children, AND Emmie sounding like she wouldl bust through the windows and eat the "predator" outside. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So if you are shocked and horrified by my school statement above, let me explain. I am up early as it is. I am running around as it is. I am constantly making lunches as it is. What I have mentioned before is that Olivia will be going to school TWO DAYS A WEEK!!! That is two days that I can do something <i>by myself. I repeat, by myself.</i> I mean, go to the grocery store, <i>by myself</i>. Go run errands, <i>by myself</i>. Make any appointment I want without worry because I don't need a sitter and can just go, <i>by myself.</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This summer we have been to the pool, done the sprinkler, been to the library, rode the train/carousel, the park, done nails, made cookies, created fashion shows and makeovers, read books, played games, been to the park, made cupcakes, played with shaving cream, gone on picnics, and so much more... <i>umpteen times.</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I.Am.Tired. I didn't realize these last few weeks of summer were a thing. I am so conflicted because I feel like I want them to have a super fun summer and I didn't accomplish a lot of what I set out to, so I am still at least <i>trying</i> to go strong. Matt was talking to my mother-in-law and he mentioned I was getting a little tired lately and she knew right what it was... These last few weeks. That just made me feel sane. Like okay, I realize I will be regretting this just a few weeks into school-- only I kind of don't think so. Most people don't know how suffocating it feels to not be able to just up and go somewhere anytime. Everything is a production with not one, not two, but <i>three</i> children and their current personalities and mood which can make or break any moment in time. And after almost two months of daily said-production, I repeat. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I.Am.Tired. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So to attempt to make myself slightly feel better, I may or may not have done some online shopping and bought new shoes and a few fall items (Matt if you are reading this-- Love you!! Heehee). Seriously, sometimes that is all a gal needs. Oh and an actual shower. And maybe some prosecco.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Enjoy the following pics from the last week or two: </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Some serious cupcake commitment...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A pathetic excuse of a Minnie Mouse Pizza... </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As previously captioned, "That moment when Layla realizes she doesn't like her ice cream..." </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mini-Monsters Meet! </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Thursday!!!</span><br />
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-17918664754663999532014-07-28T09:20:00.002-04:002014-07-28T09:20:58.160-04:00Weekly Chuckle... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And sweeping under your coaches is a downright terrifying event. Today's finds? They include but are not limited to: socks, bowls, earrings, blocks, doll clothes, cookies, money, underwear, puzzle pieces, post-it notes, pencils, books, game pieces. Oh and dirt. So much dirt. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Monday! </span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-6153408990654992382014-07-24T07:52:00.001-04:002014-07-24T07:52:04.925-04:00A Surprise 90th and a Not-So-Quiet Library Trip... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So if you were at the Olney Library this past Monday around 11:30am... I'm sorry. I was the one hightailing it out of there with a screaming, flailing, melting-down child. It was not awesome, needless to say. I am sorry... if only I could promise it wouldn't happen again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It all started when I attempted to have some mind enrichment for the girls instead of the daily pool/messing around drill... It was high time for Summer and Layla to get their own library cards. Our local library had been closed for renovations for several years, so anytime we went to a library I would truck over to one in a neighboring county. (At least if a meltdown occurred, it wasn't around people I would possibly see again). So our library finally opened this past spring but we hadn't had a chance to get over there. We went, dealt with the whole rigamarole of signing up for cards (I brought my Amex bill with our current address since I haven't changed my license since we moved. They are no joke at the library). This is when the guy told me about my 70 cent fine I have on my account. I really couldn't remember the last time I had step foot in a library in this county, so I asked incredulously... "When??? And for what???" It was for a book we had read in a book club (aka wine club) from 2008. Ahhh yes. Now I remember. I was pleasantly shocked that it was only 70 cents. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyways, the girls did some puzzles and browsed the books. I'm pretty sure Olivia's voice was amplified by the ceiling height and I spent most of my time "Shhh"-ing her. Summer chose a quite questionable title... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But they were thrilled with their new "credit cards." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's hoping the next time around is a bit more peaceful... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So please accept my deepest apologies for not posting at all last week. I failed one of my <a href="http://www.stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2014/01/last-years-resolution-failures-and-new.html" target="_blank">goals for 2014</a> but I choose sanity and a quality blog over posting just to post. I was up to my eyeballs with the planning of my grandmother's SURPRISE 90th birthday party. Before you think we are terrible people for trying to surprise a 90 year old, I will tell you I did clear it with her doctor who said, "There wouldn't be many 90 year olds that I would surprise, but she is definitely one who can handle it." We had it at our country club, which ended up making me the sort-of point person for all planning. Whenever I got overwhelmed or frustrated, I just kept saying to myself... "It's okay. Ooma is going to be thrilled." My sister, my mom, my Aunt Despi, cousin-in-laws Sammie, Tiffany and Elise helped with decor and first part of the party Big Band Era background music. We had requested a dance floor (extra $$), so my major concern the week leading up to the party was with the music. I am not a music person, but I threw myself in full-on to create a playlist for the ages... no literally, for every age out there. The decades of songs that her life spanned was overwhelming. And it was incredible to listen how much music has changed. I put a list of the songs in a separate post you can find here --> <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2014/07/the-epic-playlist.html" target="_blank">Epic Playlist</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our theme for the party was based on her love of traveling. As I previously <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-tooth-fairy-and-glacier-climbing.html" target="_blank">talked about</a> <--past link, my grandma has been to all SEVEN continents. As in, she waded to shore in thigh-high boots to reach Antarctica. As in, she had to use a communal shower on her African Safari... like two years ago.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: center;"> So m</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">y aunt came up with basing it on the Dr. Seuss book, "Oh The Places You'll Go" (ya know, the one that everyone gets for graduation). We adjusted it to... "Oh The Places She's Been." Fortunately my sister is a ridiculous artist and whipped up a little recreation of the book cover: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3UmdtFY0C6NnLz6unbOjWnTiP47l3Tyus31-_7o_Rt5tfIwO4SClDo9IxMqUpUWU-ycVQwa-0uWco5SQiXwkhKVKD6R38KZKM-BVHtdhOfpWEhxc7wVaM_Fnh7n5QwCFJAr1CIWkhNVxB/s1600/ooma+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3UmdtFY0C6NnLz6unbOjWnTiP47l3Tyus31-_7o_Rt5tfIwO4SClDo9IxMqUpUWU-ycVQwa-0uWco5SQiXwkhKVKD6R38KZKM-BVHtdhOfpWEhxc7wVaM_Fnh7n5QwCFJAr1CIWkhNVxB/s1600/ooma+2.jpg" height="632" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWGO5joTxa3ycBZX_xC823Ml3SEgMyQW9llJ_VGMjjJtUlEZ9Ow0f9y_lBqKfqgErMnG6el7TqIk7rimJkb9GTn-z6KRQ9ZWlYUvkO2RkBRJi8PM0WXmtkt4aaKexEKXEu7X9pRrHCEG6/s1600/ooma+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWGO5joTxa3ycBZX_xC823Ml3SEgMyQW9llJ_VGMjjJtUlEZ9Ow0f9y_lBqKfqgErMnG6el7TqIk7rimJkb9GTn-z6KRQ9ZWlYUvkO2RkBRJi8PM0WXmtkt4aaKexEKXEu7X9pRrHCEG6/s1600/ooma+3.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We had a sign-in book, pictures of her on her travels all around, hot air balloon centerpieces. We also attempted to pinpoint all of the countries she has actually been to....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Insane, right?!!?!?!?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I was officially anxiety-ridden until the very nano-second she arrived. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0F3iPQw-Dd82o3uWVhO4NsbwH0zlbyZbyncva1jv3yClc39djPLsDzxZMEvfWQvP-5n_3NqXj33PK3Xec6_CKnVKdxNf0w11xA598aLk2K8GaE9fFsisrsVeyouUC9a3DxjFMnVMzKRz/s1600/ooma+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0F3iPQw-Dd82o3uWVhO4NsbwH0zlbyZbyncva1jv3yClc39djPLsDzxZMEvfWQvP-5n_3NqXj33PK3Xec6_CKnVKdxNf0w11xA598aLk2K8GaE9fFsisrsVeyouUC9a3DxjFMnVMzKRz/s1600/ooma+1.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I figured even if she knew about the party, she would be shocked at who was there and how big it was (the final count was 65-70 people!). Several of her children flew in, friends from travels and all walks of life... they came for her. And she deserves it! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since my grandmother travels the world, makes friends all over AND a bunch of my family is not located in the area, I thought it would be good idea would be to have people who couldn't make it (or the kids of those who could) send video messages saying "happy birthday" or whatever. I was hoping to get them compiled and then play them for her at the party. In order to email her friends, I had to find out their email addresses... so I proceeded to hack into her email account and gather a list of people she most contacted. The response was great. I got some people from trips she has gone on, one woman from Germany, family members in Kentucky, old friends. I was so excited. Here is my video of the girls... </span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy8g_hzJgF4jcBwGM41Oq9jreSrmVmrxvxZPMjDijqJxm_5dMrTMM0IyG5RxHu1JX1vJKoVgFZP2ieewfXqVg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Layla's honesty is amazeballs. I mean, 90 IS old. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Cousin-in-law Sammie brought in 1920's props and we had a whole photo booth station for fun pics.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My mom spent umpteen hours compiling pictures from her lifetime and we had a slideshow running throughout the party (between this and the video messages, I can't explain how amazing it is to have your childhood next-door neighbor work in this field and have no problem doing HUGE favors). The following pictures makes me realize that my life is indeed a cakewalk. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three kids (one of them being a devious two year old by the name of CJ) and THEN twins. I die. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We danced and ate and drank and talked... and just had an overall great time. Sidenote: I wore a jumpsuit. Yes, a jumpsuit. I'm obsessed with it and need a reason to wear it again. Unfortunately it is quite a statement piece, so it can't be a regular</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I saw several times throughout the night that my grandma had happy tears, which was exactly why we worked so hard to give her a special night. She felt blessed. And I can't wait to plan the bash for 100! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In other news, I decided to go completely insane and let my girls play with shaving cream inside... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was actually kind of amazeballs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Thursday!!! </span>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-1892895770850310632014-07-24T07:44:00.001-04:002014-07-24T07:44:59.675-04:00The Epic Playlist... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here is the list of songs that comprised the playlist for my grandma's 90th birthday party. I used the free Music DJ app by Liavante, LLC to crossfade/limit the song lengths... No one wants to dance to Michael Jackson for seven minutes. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I could have added a SCHMILLION more... I mean, the decades that her life spanned were incredible. I didn't want anything too raunchy or crazy. Sooooo here it is! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Hello Mary Lou-- Ricky Nelson (My grandma's name is Mary Lou)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-You Shook Me All Night Long-- AC/DC</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Runaround Sue-- Dion</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-You Should Be Dancing-- Bee Gees</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Wake Me Up-- Avicii</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Roar-- Katy Perry</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-The Twist-- Chubby Checker</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night)-- The Four Seasons</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-My Boyfriend's Back-- The Angels</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-1999-- Prince</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Pour Some Sugar On Me-- Def Leppard</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Summer-- Calvin Harris</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Moves Like Jagger-- Maroon 5</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Respect-- Aretha Franklin</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Proud Mary-- Creedence Clearwater Revival</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Livin' On a Prayer-- Bon Jovi</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Safe and Sound-- Capital Cities</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Brown Eyed Girl-- Van Morrison</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Do You Love Me-- The Contours</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Mony Mony-- Tommy James & The Shondells</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Ain't Too Proud to Bed-- The Temptations</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-The Way You Look Tonight-- Frank Sinatra</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Timber (feat. Kesha)-- Pitbull</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I Wanna Dance With Somebody-- Whitney Houston</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Stayin' Alive-- Bee Gees</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Louie Louie-- The Kingsmen</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I'm a Believer-- The Monkees</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Hound Dog-- Elvis Presley</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Yeah! (feat. Lil Jon & Ludacris)-- Usher</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Clarity (feat. Foxes)-- Zedd</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Hot Stuff-- Donna Summer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I Will Survive-- Gloria Gaynor</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy-- The Andrews Sisters</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-You Can't Hurry Love-- The Supremes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Billie Jean-- Michael Jackson</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Can't Help Falling In Love-- Elvis Presley</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I Cry-- Flo Rida</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-We Are Family-- Sister Sledge</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Car Wash-- Rose Royce</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-At the Hop-- Danny & The Juniors</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Sweet Caroline-- Neil Diamond</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Fire Burning-- Sean Kingston</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-One the Floor (feat. Pitbull)-- Jennifer Lopez</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Don't Stop Believin'-- Journey</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch)-- The Four Tops</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-SexyBack (feat. Timbaland)-- Justin Timberlake</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Can't Hold Us (feat. Ray Dalton)-- Macklemore & Ryan Lewis</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Rock With You-- Michael Jackson</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Problem (feat. Iggy Azalea)-- Ariana Grande</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Don't Stop the Party (feat. TJR)-- Pitbull</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Ho Hey-- The Lumineers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Dancing Queen-- ABBA</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Treasure-- Bruno Mars</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-One More Time-- Daft Punk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-I Love It (feat. Charli XCX)-- Icona Pop</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Id Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)-- Meat Loaf</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Rude-- MAGIC!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Dare (La La La)-- Shakira</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Somebody Loves You-- Betty Who</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-74363378505342295312014-07-11T08:25:00.002-04:002014-07-11T08:25:28.299-04:00The 4th, Layla's 4th, and a Swim Meet... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I ran out of deodorant again. I swear I bought two the last time I ran out. I couldn't find the other one anywhere, so for several days I used Matt's and walked around smelling like Old Spice Pure Sport. It is such a pleasant boy smell, but not one that I really want to exude. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So we had a super busy, seemingly endless holiday/birthday/crazy week. I really thought it would never end. Seriously. So I will begin... but just a warning, this is a doozy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After staying up too late Thursday night sipping prosecco with some neighbors, Friday, the the actual Fourth of July, arrived. So be totally honest (I always am), I have just never liked the festivities that usually surround the Fourth. I think fireworks are silly and totally overrated... if you have seen them once, you have seen them all. I get eaten alive by bugs, there is just so much traffic everywhere, the pools are always insanely crowded and you get kicked in the face during the dive for coins. I love America and all, but my ideal day would be at home, grilling out, and enjoying a few adult bevs. The problem with that? I have kids. And I would do anything for my kids. So we decided to go to our country club pool. I agreed to check it out... but if it was too crowded, we were turning right around. We arrived and **<i>shockingly</i>** it didn't look too bad! We actually got primo seating right in front of the steps of the shallow end, just steps away from the orange crush bar that was set up on the pool deck! I repeat, </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">there was an orange crush bar just steps from my lounge chair.</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They had a pie-eating contest, hula hoop contest: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A Money Dive: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">An AWESOME belly flop contest. This little one passed out for almost two solid hours, despite being just a few feet from the DJ: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now this is a 4th I can hang with. It never got insanely crowded, and the fresh squeezed orange crushes were divine. All-in-all, a fantabulous day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Saturday morning we had my nephew Tyler's birthday party. My sister took on the daunting task of having it at her house. Trying to entertain 13 kids between the ages of 2-6? Not my idea of fun. But she is ridiculous and everything was great. I mean, she made the freaking Octopod for his birthday cake (from the show The Octonauts. Look it up if you want to be impressed). That afternoon, I managed to make all the cupcakes for Layla's birthday party that was the following day (despite <i>three</i> trips to the store made by Matt). We then got ready for our country club's major Fourth of July/Fireworks/Amazeballs bash. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had cautiously high expectations, because everyone I had talked to about it said that last year it was, "<i>The BEST TIME EVER." </i>I didn't really know what we were in for, but I did know that it was a sold out event with 1406 people attending (the actual number). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The set-up was phenomenal. They had an entire parking lot of kids activities... bouncy things, temporary tattoos, rock climbing. Yes, rock climbing. And my girls just HAD to do it. It was mostly older kids, and a lot of them were having a tough time. Summer got hooked in and looked like a monkey, scaling that wall without breaking a sweat. Layla begged to try, and I was shocked they even allowed her. It took five solid minutes to even make the harness as small as she needed it. Then... she was too small to reach basically anything. And then she started pouting: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhTmsHUlYdyiAVkEGcEhszpHz3YpQKoEIKNj0yCF9g3ZoO2ThYua244dQRm2x8vf8yhEiTGqaUqtMUiv6Wo4dM2Wdm7in6nmxXmGJAuQZC3LjGsN1y-ecJ8rd5-QNuBm4MJLe5BAtp2Vi/s1600/rock+climbing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhTmsHUlYdyiAVkEGcEhszpHz3YpQKoEIKNj0yCF9g3ZoO2ThYua244dQRm2x8vf8yhEiTGqaUqtMUiv6Wo4dM2Wdm7in6nmxXmGJAuQZC3LjGsN1y-ecJ8rd5-QNuBm4MJLe5BAtp2Vi/s1600/rock+climbing.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was a live band, a s'more bar, more of those fresh-squeezed orange crushes everywhere, and a just plain awesome atmosphere. Our table was on an area of the golf course, so the girls just ran wild. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then the fireworks began. As previously stated, I had zero anticipation for them. But I should have... they were <i>phenomenal</i>. SO beyond the best I have ever seen. I actually oohed and aahed. No pictures could ever do them justice... </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Olivia was not impressed. I didn't realize how loud and close they would be, so I didn't bring our earphones that they always wear to Redskins games. #momfail. My punishment was I had to seal her ears shut for the entirety of the booming. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4XfLhVvdOmyz2qNIW9lN_rHwDWMZlo6B94i82eB9_H3sWGBEx5pHC4Jz2Yt8aGA203lNmq-M73Itc5Ej0iOYWD6cl1isPbJfpIjZXEAMaha-ZMlzolHP6DZ_EV3CoYK4FRcNe9IZpJe3/s1600/livi+ears+plugged.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4XfLhVvdOmyz2qNIW9lN_rHwDWMZlo6B94i82eB9_H3sWGBEx5pHC4Jz2Yt8aGA203lNmq-M73Itc5Ej0iOYWD6cl1isPbJfpIjZXEAMaha-ZMlzolHP6DZ_EV3CoYK4FRcNe9IZpJe3/s1600/livi+ears+plugged.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yet another amazeballs part of the night?!? ZERO traffic while leaving. I'm telling you, it was such a wonderfully orchestrated event. There were no significant lines for things, I never felt claustrophobic. Those two days may have changed my opinion on the Fourth of July forever. And that is a serious statement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So Sunday morning my only goal was to decorate the cupcakes and get everyone out the door for Layla's birthday party. I went the easy way out for her party and did it at one of those bouncy places. I made the frosting, and then did an epically horrible job icing them and putting them in a flower-shape situation. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The icing started melting, then all of a sudden Layla wanted one of them to be red. I gave up. But the birthday girl had an absolutely amazing time at her party. Her cousins and friends from school came, and she had a smile on her face the entire time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They went in this wind tunnel machine and I really couldn't pick just one picture because the sequence is that phenomenal. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLVg7g8OtxrRz5lnAEHobTTjDUpw5RImTqNdyoHt2z8fjj10K1izTRy9Uwz2Gw3APn4gmNMPl3iSEEHL8zHGpYWzaH00_bCQNuDofdkJWjCWWwImJgAHvCkiuLT46LUWEsHotedFrD2Pf/s1600/wind+tunnel+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLVg7g8OtxrRz5lnAEHobTTjDUpw5RImTqNdyoHt2z8fjj10K1izTRy9Uwz2Gw3APn4gmNMPl3iSEEHL8zHGpYWzaH00_bCQNuDofdkJWjCWWwImJgAHvCkiuLT46LUWEsHotedFrD2Pf/s1600/wind+tunnel+2.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4oGDitEojhTPbTNLOEfxGDNRRT8Y76bup4hXUEzVpY5VVsXEzxsmLBk-udj3QFEe3gCJMxtwqke4h1_hxREhuLOunIdcauU6QruBclYoJPsWAOvwEBnAVaqvhN16A-GGRDfXyCmIFGBY/s1600/wind+tunnel+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4oGDitEojhTPbTNLOEfxGDNRRT8Y76bup4hXUEzVpY5VVsXEzxsmLBk-udj3QFEe3gCJMxtwqke4h1_hxREhuLOunIdcauU6QruBclYoJPsWAOvwEBnAVaqvhN16A-GGRDfXyCmIFGBY/s1600/wind+tunnel+1.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaQY9CXmpv0KLTrhnm2dwTqTP9At7_uNFKLlWPf4VLfkm_6T8KjZOJqqLaz-3KuFtBFT8vt1S8mhlfR67U4LiHwSZAb7NRlauAompnUHsIpnEK5cuH1fPIB5cn4Yyyne2bh-Z6kk9GjnJ/s1600/wind+tunnel+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaQY9CXmpv0KLTrhnm2dwTqTP9At7_uNFKLlWPf4VLfkm_6T8KjZOJqqLaz-3KuFtBFT8vt1S8mhlfR67U4LiHwSZAb7NRlauAompnUHsIpnEK5cuH1fPIB5cn4Yyyne2bh-Z6kk9GjnJ/s1600/wind+tunnel+4.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She ended up being happy with her cake and had a wonderful day. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpawQgoZrI5EZ7xwE23k7RBpEe0iCvEuy1HX3aIyOFtJT1rtNmfmA8Y6kwZDDg1_9IPEjVhaKazGEDAKNW83qfRhzV4RQYzaePnv5bdu6_BI-1QXnuzDv_6aPCCorEexhQrARIB18bN2p/s1600/layla+bday+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpawQgoZrI5EZ7xwE23k7RBpEe0iCvEuy1HX3aIyOFtJT1rtNmfmA8Y6kwZDDg1_9IPEjVhaKazGEDAKNW83qfRhzV4RQYzaePnv5bdu6_BI-1QXnuzDv_6aPCCorEexhQrARIB18bN2p/s1600/layla+bday+3.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So Monday was dear Layla Mae's ACTUAL birthday... but after so many straight days of craziness, everyone (including myself) was exhausted. I was determined to somehow still make it a fun day, despite wanting to curl up in a ball and do nothing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We started out the day with chocolate chip pancakes on the special red plate. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTQVjLu3EmCaGOH_1VlrEFYqnE7JWUqnNdc6oiJMcGVU5c637t9AwcPpdFUSNMl-obFnMaLLWFaE4_NSj53iWfFKp6zMRkXiV2UvaRmxSPgU2RlUfeOOVofuJh5ZWdYD7FLRBRRVCfWmn/s1600/layla+bday+morning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTQVjLu3EmCaGOH_1VlrEFYqnE7JWUqnNdc6oiJMcGVU5c637t9AwcPpdFUSNMl-obFnMaLLWFaE4_NSj53iWfFKp6zMRkXiV2UvaRmxSPgU2RlUfeOOVofuJh5ZWdYD7FLRBRRVCfWmn/s1600/layla+bday+morning.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We made it to the pool for approximately 45 minutes (they were just done). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I bought some Barbie Mermaid movie on demand for the afternoon while Livi slept. Then, the big surprise happened. Background... a few years ago, we took Summer to the American Girl doll store for her to pick out whatever doll she wanted. Summer came to me a few months ago with her wallet, and very seriously sat me down to have a discussion. She said to me, "Mom. I know what I want to get Layla for her birthday but I'm not sure I have enough money. I really want to get her an American Girl doll. Do you think you could help me out?" What am I going to say... no?!? So we made the plan and Summer actually kept a secret for the first time in her life (although she asked 123098543089 times throughout the day if we could tell her where we were going). We drove out to Tysons with minimal traffic. (Miracle) No puking occurred. (Another miracle) I watched Layla's face as we started walking towards the store and I could tell the moment she knew where we were going. She lit up. She was in glorious amazement. She decided on Bitty Baby twins and was in heaven. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7MBsgBAB3d3Hstv8WpEFgf9MJy_OsYU929IclkroCHb8GZA4_tYtTiPhvR3SdjysVW8xg1oNTnCvlBBJP1y759WANh0nEg_NRdKckQGRSQbfKz_-BjEVnM-3xXR3jdl4h85mBAEunvEYJ/s1600/me+and+layla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7MBsgBAB3d3Hstv8WpEFgf9MJy_OsYU929IclkroCHb8GZA4_tYtTiPhvR3SdjysVW8xg1oNTnCvlBBJP1y759WANh0nEg_NRdKckQGRSQbfKz_-BjEVnM-3xXR3jdl4h85mBAEunvEYJ/s1600/me+and+layla.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tuesday evening we had a very exciting event-- Summer's very first swim meet. She had been on the Mini Monsters team but the coach wanted to pull her up to the big leagues. Her goal? Swim all the way across the pool. I knew she could do it. Her coaches knew she could do it. Summer? She was nervous. Very nervous. I was nervous for her. She put on a swim cap for the first time. She warmed up with the other 8 & unders (I was concerned she would expend all of her energy just during warm-ups). She got a little pep talk from daddy: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The heat before her, one little girl broke down. The meet was delayed as coaches encouraged the sobbing swimmer. The clouds were darker and closer than ever. All I wanted in the world was for Summer to get her swim in. The nerves, build-up... we just needed to get this done. Finally they made the decision and the poor little girl didn't swim. That heat finished, and then Summer was up. She went up to the edge of the pool. They ordered, "Take your marks." The buzzer went off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She dove (more like jumped in the forward motion) in! Without hesitation! And she swam her little heart out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I was so proud of her.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not only did she make it, she beat several people in her heat! She was so excited. Then... the monsoon began, and the herds of wet swimmers and parents were directed into the ballroom (which is sort of hilarious, considering they usually don't allow t-shirts in the clubhouse). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">***Sidenote... Bonuses I have already discovered from Country Club swimming versus County... no meets on the weekend, AND a full bar for the parents pleasure.*** </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We finally left the crowded ballroom, tried to order dinner online to pick up on the way home, found out they didn't have power, went home to no power, went back out to try to eat at a restaurant, didn't want to deal with a wait, left the restaurant, went back to the same restaurant to order carry-out, then walked around the grocery store while we waited for our food. This was a major bonus because I finally bought deodorant. Woohoo! The power came back on at 11pm... in no way compared to the NINE days we were out of power one time at my mom's... but k</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ind of annoying considering our power lines are supposed to be underground.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wednesday morning arrived and everyone was moving slowly. I got us out the door to swim practice, and Layla had a very exciting first. My little peanut, the brand new four year old, went off the diving board. This warms my heart/freaks me out because in all honestly, I don't want my kids to dive. I know what I went through. I know the injuries I accrued, the dangers I put myself through. Why would I want that for my babies?!?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I would never hold my kids back from anything of course... so off the board she went. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No fear. No nothing. She just went. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The next part of our Wednesday was </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">phase 2 of my <a href="http://www.stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2014/06/beach-traditions-and-busted-tooth.html" target="_blank">broken tooth saga</a> at the dentist. Now this may sound ridiculous, but I get serious anxiety going to the dentist, at all times. The last time I went I was in such constant pain that I would have walked there. This time? I actually had to sit in the car for a minute to calm myself down. It isn't even the pain that bothers me... it is the noise, the scraping, the tastes, the smells. It all just kills me. I sat in my chair pretending my heart wasn't pounding out of my chest, gripped the armrests so hard my knuckles were white. I also have discovered another fun fact about myself. I apparently squeeze my left butt cheek when I am tense. Not the right, not both, just the left. So after, not only is my mouth throbbing in pain, but my left butt cheek is as well. I have one more phase to go with this awful broken tooth. I have 2 1/2 weeks to anxiously await the next appointment... and anxious I will be. Blame it on my awful childhood dentist who pulled not even loose teeth WITHOUT novocaine to "make room." That is the stuff nightmares are made of. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So phew. The novel is done. As I have said before, a major reason I even do this blog is to record everything... remember the crazy. Because I really don't ever want to forget these moments. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Happy Friday!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">**Quick sidenote... in no way am I saying that newborn twins are simple. The logistics alone of feeding two, different schedules, </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">never</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> sleeping is mind-numbing. Hats off to my sister-in-law and brother-in-law for handling all of this like champs.***</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One thing that is especially frustrating about parenting is that whatever stage you are in at the moment, it is the most difficult stage yet. While you are knee-deep in diapers and onesies and no sleep and spitting-up... it is exhausting and impossible and overwhelming. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">While I was only there for the day, it was just such a quieter, calmer day than if I would have been at my own house. It just started to make me think... if only I had appreciated it more when I was in that newborn phase. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">No one thinks it is easy while you are in the trenches. Sometimes it very well feels like the most impossible task in the universe and you constantly feel like an epic failure and not fit to be a parent. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I get plenty of comments from friends and strangers alike when they see my little brood. </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Just wait until they are teenagers. They are so sweet and fun now... they will turn into monsters, want nothing to do with you and treat you like dirt. </i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am now in the years ranging from toddler to elementary school, and I am dealing with tantrums, not sharing, pouting, potty-training, etc. I am overwhelmed with the difficulty of this season, but then I know I will look back when I have three teenage daughters with attitudes and hormones and think toddler years were a joke. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I actually try to purposefully avoid thinking about when my girls are teenagers because there will be such an incredible amount of hormones and drama that the task just seems quite daunting. So i</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">n my opinion, the stage I am in right now is hard and exhausting. But I thought having two was hard and exhausting. There were times I thought just one was hard and exhausting. Now I look back and scoff at my stresses with just one child. A trip to the grocery store with one kid? Easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy. But at the time... it was difficult and something I tried to avoid at all costs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I look back on it and laugh about the simplicity... but hindsight is 20-20. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It always seems easier once you are past it. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You remember the sweetness and ease and the cuddling and the "I love you mommy." The endless needing mommy, cutting up food, wiping butts, buckling carseats, tantrums over being given the wrong plate... those things don't always come to the forefront, j</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ust like I barely remember the tears of exhaustion during middle of the night feedings, endless screaming, projectile spit-up, and being pooped on from the newborn phase.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I find myself looking around at the pool and awaiting the day that I can actually just sit and read a book while the kids are off (safely) swimming with their friends. But I don't want to wish away these moments when they are begging me to play with them in the water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The hardest thing is just appreciating the stage you are in for what it is. And don't always look forward to the next stage because you think it might be easier. It will be easier in its own ways, and then it will be a schmillion times harder in its own ways. There are new challenges with every single day of parenting. There are new fears and worries at every stage of the game. Its funny to think about the stresses of even <i>before</i> you have a baby. When you don't want to get pregnant, you are scared that you will. When you <i>want</i> to get pregnant, you are scared that you won't be able to. When you do get pregnant, you are scared of a miscarriage, Down Syndrome, birth defects, a stillborn, the list goes on and on. When you actually have the baby, you worry about SIDS and check if they are breathing constantly. As they grow you worry about autism, developmental or physical delays, getting hurt, germs, etc. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And this is just in the first few years of life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A couple months ago I read a blog post that dealt with the idea, "Am I wishing away what someone else wants?" The answer, quite often, is yes. Now that I'm aware of this thinking, I'd like to make an effort to change. Appreciate this time more. (Don't worry, I will still be full-on sarcastic and cynical and ranting on here... this is my outlet). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I saw a post on Facebook recently that hit home majorly: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was never a more true statement. All the days that I truly don't think bedtime will EVER come and I want to tear my hair out and hide in a cave... they seem endless. But the fact that Summer will be going into 1st grade, Layla will be four years old next week, and Livi is (hopefully) broaching the end of diapers??? It just can't be so. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am going to be hanging a version of the quote above and the one below somewhere in my house where I will see them daily, because I want to remember this every day: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The dishes can wait. My girls can't. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Happy Thursday! </span></div>
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stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-44174948916549441832014-06-30T09:44:00.004-04:002014-06-30T09:44:57.346-04:00Weekly Chuckle... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This weekly chuckle is dedicated to my new dishwasher that will be arriving TOMORROW. #fact... you know you are an adult when you are really excited about getting a new appliance. We have been replacing the appliances </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">one-by-one</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> since we moved almost two years ago. Other than the stovetop (which will be thrown out the window and switched to gas when we finally commit to redoing the kitchen, aka have an extra schmillion $$$ to spare) the dishwasher is the last on the list. It no longer dries anything, so not only do I have to essentially fully wash each dish before it goes in the dishwasher, but then I have to completely towel dry each dish before putting it away. I kind of like to think of the actual dishwashing cycle as just a little break for me, since it would technically be more time-efficient to wash everything by hand. The picture above truly defines my dishwashing determination. I find my dishwasher-loading prowess pretty high on my list of skills. It is kind of a sense of satisfaction to get everything in there when it seemed impossible just a few minutes before. It is the little things, people. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Happy Monday!!!</span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-901303078543733525.post-27304044633078900522014-06-27T07:09:00.001-04:002014-06-27T07:09:05.062-04:00Beach Traditions and a Busted Tooth... <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So if you haven't hid me due to overposting on Facebook and Instagram this past week, you will know I have been at the beach. My apologies for this being a day late... I just couldn't get it together. The beach was a great time with my family and phenom weather. What you don't see in all those pictures (proves my<a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-social-media-depression-epidemic.html" target="_blank"> point</a> even more) is me in agonizing pain because I broke a tooth (A molar. On a sub. Yes, you read that correctly. <i>A sub</i>). I refused to let it completely take over my vacation, so I slathered orajel on it and took ibuprofen on a pretty much constant basis. At one point my tongue kept catching on the tooth/root/something that made me so utterly nauseous I could barely function. It pays to have a dental hygienist as your mother-in-law, because she directed me to a kit at CVS that could at least cover the throbbing part. Pina Coladas helped as well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you read last <a href="http://www.stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-hatred-of-packing-and-what-old.html" target="_blank">week's</a>, you will know I had a difficult time packing. Well I did a terrible job, but we got through the week. I always think to myself, "I need to remember to bring X next year" but then I always forget. What's funny is I already kind of forgot. So much for this blog being helpful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On our drive down, my oh-so-adorable husband decided to pull out a pair of sunglasses that he knows I detest. The White Oakleys. Now I realize there was a point of time in his life when he lived the beach bum life in Florida... But that time has passed. He is now in his mid-thirties, with a (lovely) wife and three children, and is a very responsible VP of a company. The white sunglasses era is GONE. My opinion is that if you are over 30 and not an actual surfer dude, you should not wear them. We put it to a vote on Facebook and Instagram. Alas, my hubby's many supporters came out of the woodwork. While I did get plenty of nays, I relented and permitted that the white sunglasses may only make their appearance at the beach. There are far more arguments to be had, and he always is my sexy man. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So this beach trip is with my side of the family. I am one of five (second to youngest), and all but one of my siblings have multiple children. There are 11 (almost 12) in total, with the following ages/genders: 13-boy, 11-boy, 8-girl, 6-girl, 5-boy, 5-girl, 4-boy, 3-girl, 2-girl, 2-girl, 2-girl. My oldest sister is due with a boy next month, so we will have a baby yet again. All of the cousins get along amazingly, and it is just a chaotic several days of fitting traditions we grew up with. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of these traditions is going to the horse races in Delmarva. Now this is no <a href="http://stephgsimmons.blogspot.com/2013/05/derby-time.html" target="_blank">Kentucky Derby</a> but it is fun to watch the harness races and make bets. Last year Layla threw up as soon as we pulled in the parking lot, but this year we were wiser... her motion sickness bracelets and half a tablet of dramamine saved us from vomiting, but after a long day on the beach she was <i>passed out.</i> This was my attempt of a pic of all three. Livi clearly thought she was big stuff since she was awake and her older sister wasn't. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Everyone had a great time and my grandma did come out $9 ahead. The boys stayed longer, and I don't think I ever asked what (I assume to be) the final loss was. I don't want to know. This next picture just warms my heart, because these three guys (along with my brother and my other brother-in-law) are just awesome, family men. They are all about putting their little girls up on their shoulders and experiencing these moments with them: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Melts my heart. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another yearly tradition is the girls all-day outlet trip. We go from the time the stores open (9am) as long as possible. We get Christmas gifts, school clothes, the occasional personal item (I would probably say more than occasional but who's counting?). It is a marathon day. This year, since we had a nearly nine month pregnant one and a nearly 90 year old, we took it slow and did a slightly shorter day (only until around 6pm, that's nothing). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiho7LMC_nPIoradPI3ulZT0rplHs5yYdj4DZMkSoOQvV0qddshP5T80aDfItKmDCnFGsHvbcwl5Z55JnJL6ZTvJ5MJhdegO6yKqUekjAo0LCFkFBBf9WRiLYE8VbIZ6q9EwgCisn9hiCZ6/s1600/girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiho7LMC_nPIoradPI3ulZT0rplHs5yYdj4DZMkSoOQvV0qddshP5T80aDfItKmDCnFGsHvbcwl5Z55JnJL6ZTvJ5MJhdegO6yKqUekjAo0LCFkFBBf9WRiLYE8VbIZ6q9EwgCisn9hiCZ6/s1600/girls.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sisters!!!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We also USED to go out together for a nice dinner at a restaurant every year. We went to the same place for all of eternity. As our family grew and more and more kids (aka stressful dining) came along, but we still tried. The last time we went was a few years ago and one child who I won't name (but actually wasn't Layla) was dead asleep because he/she wasn't feeling well, and then woke up puking everywhere. That was not a pleasant experience to say the least, and it coincided with the restaurant actually closing (so not our fault. I hope). This year we did a mini-version, which amounted to only a few of us going and the rest stayed back with the kids. I got the most delicious dessert in the world... Mary's Delight to be exact... and my passion for this dessert is evident from the writing on my leftovers box: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My sister had to be the annoying saint and be all, "I'm not going to be protective of my leftovers, whatever." Make me look bad... which in all honestly, wasn't that difficult of a task. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All-in-all, we had fantastic weather and a great time. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not conducive to getting sun but amazeballs in its own way. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqQ9A-269iw2DNUuQD21RP66hHUhE2A_hiVWOQnvwOshW5Z-JxoWO2IxeA6kT6lrDCpoBjBl-sZZd00Y1vtJbgNFHd5t2etdrdcsNzDqnpZ-k4zRziL6h0ijXtw9y9gM2M3mHdYAa0AxC/s1600/layla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqQ9A-269iw2DNUuQD21RP66hHUhE2A_hiVWOQnvwOshW5Z-JxoWO2IxeA6kT6lrDCpoBjBl-sZZd00Y1vtJbgNFHd5t2etdrdcsNzDqnpZ-k4zRziL6h0ijXtw9y9gM2M3mHdYAa0AxC/s1600/layla.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping on the beach = heaven. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adorable beyond belief. Look at her huge smile. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This last picture absolutely KILLS me. It was a random shot among my attempt to get a good one, and I just could not get over their poses and how much it looks like a sunglasses ad. Livi is looking off into the distance with her "blue steel" look. Layla is doing the straight-on with the sassy arm. Summer is just like... ummm what are they doing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">***A quick sidebar on traditions. I LOVE traditions. We had a million growing up as a kid for every holiday, event, you name it. Now that I have a family of my own, I think it is so challenging to carefully tread your traditions, your significant other's traditions, and NEW traditions to make as a family. And traditions can put such pressure on you that sometimes they aren't even enjoyable. I find traditions that my dad loved to be equal-parts wonderful/reminiscent and sad/stressful because I don't want to let him down or something. Alright, sidebar is done :o) ***</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm nearing the end of today's ramblings... but I will add that I went to the Katy Perry concert my my sister and two of our friends (we were in the midst of teeny-bopper central), which was SO fun. The pomegranate margaritas at Rosa Mexicano calmed my tooth pain (I spent all morning at the dentist. I currently have a temporary crown and he had to "excise" some tissue that had moved over my teeth. Translation? He had to hack away at my gums). They also helped with the stress after we were on the ridiculously slow/broken metro for over an hour (at one point, it sounded like the train actually died and the lights went off. Underground). </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49_ms9-SJmaj_vpbrn_AdgWtnkMjCRsGQT1P2JpAQwoiTtIDEWBPXPjcK57MRRIFFphdrTXLGCTnmYMXkSneP884vnq8oFBngQ0306JqVUWxjW5vl_S-oy9lnA_noAqb0stbvyPbhtkmK/s1600/pomegranite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49_ms9-SJmaj_vpbrn_AdgWtnkMjCRsGQT1P2JpAQwoiTtIDEWBPXPjcK57MRRIFFphdrTXLGCTnmYMXkSneP884vnq8oFBngQ0306JqVUWxjW5vl_S-oy9lnA_noAqb0stbvyPbhtkmK/s1600/pomegranite.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: start;">The floor seats helped as well. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp38Y5xMk3jiOyhJJDw8jC_cKODFwvTkSDvIBZURKUZ9Of1HkyEUbllPGO_N8DMBr2mYUeoBdvmRItf6Z0a7WkJ-lbLz1AFsbUExG8bNXx7ytR5JwHk2OFoM-9TQxL3hnHqHZedyBzGL17/s1600/katy+p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp38Y5xMk3jiOyhJJDw8jC_cKODFwvTkSDvIBZURKUZ9Of1HkyEUbllPGO_N8DMBr2mYUeoBdvmRItf6Z0a7WkJ-lbLz1AFsbUExG8bNXx7ytR5JwHk2OFoM-9TQxL3hnHqHZedyBzGL17/s1600/katy+p.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And we have only almost lost these stupid hermit crabs ("Princess and Lullaby") approximately 11 times. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXa_2UhmdVp2CjOjdmoBypIrSf4NNWa5RXp8duVHmHzhA7-lVwJK_XwOMs9kbWPj-XZZMGI2xlBRYW7g9rh0_yM_BtQ8jaq7lYpSqFO2gyPd478I3LqOdzkVBw_90bAHX4Gp1VLw5jCPbS/s1600/hermit+crabs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXa_2UhmdVp2CjOjdmoBypIrSf4NNWa5RXp8duVHmHzhA7-lVwJK_XwOMs9kbWPj-XZZMGI2xlBRYW7g9rh0_yM_BtQ8jaq7lYpSqFO2gyPd478I3LqOdzkVBw_90bAHX4Gp1VLw5jCPbS/s1600/hermit+crabs.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Friday! </span>stephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11518098946353585195noreply@blogger.com0