tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61504642903872085442024-03-04T20:13:30.569-08:00Rebecca FlysI'm a Mother of 3, ages 12, 14 & 16. I write about my take on marriage, parenting, stuff I make, and compulsively post my Finger Lakes photos (along with whatever else spits in my eye). I'm also busy freaking out about my new adventure; completing a psychology degree.Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-5250082727874703072012-12-16T18:11:00.002-08:002012-12-16T18:29:16.813-08:00Making a Wreath: The Death of a Dictionary<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>P</b>interest has changed my life for the craftier. Look, LOOK what I made! Yeah, I saw it on Pinterest, you know it!</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxs8dfoiORMkgDpSLP6pHGmIMP_1q-Carn_A4rTDiUWr2fVq_BgP4b5gaZ_oVjp77RgB7Qzc0UR_Xrx_ctp_XyVJnALb4WK7Evau1xuglFBvNu-j7qvNqD6iUC-sMX0_DKN7iCJqZY8lE/s320/DSCF6328.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pinterest inspired Dictionary Wreath</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxs8dfoiORMkgDpSLP6pHGmIMP_1q-Carn_A4rTDiUWr2fVq_BgP4b5gaZ_oVjp77RgB7Qzc0UR_Xrx_ctp_XyVJnALb4WK7Evau1xuglFBvNu-j7qvNqD6iUC-sMX0_DKN7iCJqZY8lE/s1600/DSCF6328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"></span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMVqOIcmqBV7BZveCMHN_mUi7EWKZLFchwEdL1Ct85WII6FgJaR5OqAEAB0o9Y-Uz0rmzQ8rXdUu-m56qZN6rMvRBsgCyi27ygdZNWVPM2nifx6N3ujhJXM5UhnrRk_LC8dE_WRYr3yA/s1600/DSCF6327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMVqOIcmqBV7BZveCMHN_mUi7EWKZLFchwEdL1Ct85WII6FgJaR5OqAEAB0o9Y-Uz0rmzQ8rXdUu-m56qZN6rMvRBsgCyi27ygdZNWVPM2nifx6N3ujhJXM5UhnrRk_LC8dE_WRYr3yA/s320/DSCF6327.JPG" width="246" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzph0VyaUeUs9afCD51sNyMiLmxqboJzDBgzetl_ExMeJ2GQQLMMGf85VcK8CTMWp2OtQNB4JnVSpynmZAot75y-xNrgnb_SvOcZY84ibgL6KhUXSMe1yJChUcP1fhotCRa0pLqf1925s/s1600/DSCF6330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzph0VyaUeUs9afCD51sNyMiLmxqboJzDBgzetl_ExMeJ2GQQLMMGf85VcK8CTMWp2OtQNB4JnVSpynmZAot75y-xNrgnb_SvOcZY84ibgL6KhUXSMe1yJChUcP1fhotCRa0pLqf1925s/s320/DSCF6330.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b>'ve been so busy with college...my love of making has withered. Cue not so optional art class! Suddenly I'm running around with a paintbrush and pencils and cutting things up and learning about "value" and "space" </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b>ix that with students and friends who were all "how on EARTH have you not heard of Pinterest???!!??" and wham bam I'm trying to rip apart an old dictionary (which nearly gave me anxious fits...book ripping was fodder for bum whacking when I was a kid). Turns out dictionary pages are really fun to Mod Podge all over the place. It's all I can do to NOT Mod Podge them to the dining room walls. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b>f you want to learn how to make the cool "page rosettes" Check out this Vid <a href="http://youtu.be/kFHun3tgZ0M">Rosette How-To</a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b>t has been a long hard year. I lost a dear dear friend. I made a few new ones. I swam in the ocean and went white water rafting, and saw a bald eagle on my way to sell jewelry my friend makes for <a href="http://www.blossomsbejeweled.biz/">Blossoms Bejeweled</a> at <a href="http://www.clearwaterfestival.org/">the Clearwater Festival</a> on the Hudson River in NY. I fostered orphaned kittens, I met Michael Franti who is amazing, and Nic Cowen whose song "Hardheaded" is now my husband's theme song. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b>n this year I've become a possibilitarian instead of a waitandseer!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b>nd so I say to you all.....</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3UsuQGmF1DvEXwdy6f1YEF-oVhnjO_gPni4Q3E6F8C5cMcUfe2dzOKINlHV_S60FLeeLTaiY4672rInQiNCriCskxkWggeRDGr4rFU_s_igotNlKi41TciVPcra_MrMdoFa-uKRkSUM/s1600/DSCF6340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3UsuQGmF1DvEXwdy6f1YEF-oVhnjO_gPni4Q3E6F8C5cMcUfe2dzOKINlHV_S60FLeeLTaiY4672rInQiNCriCskxkWggeRDGr4rFU_s_igotNlKi41TciVPcra_MrMdoFa-uKRkSUM/s640/DSCF6340.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>B</b>est wishes,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>R</b>ebeccaflys</span></div>
Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-5017347995270024722012-02-01T17:16:00.000-08:002012-02-01T17:20:41.363-08:00We grow bugs. And worms.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphjNbxOEpUGOOhx6RzDwBs3QZ2NRkB2o8Nm_CgqBpOVy_I2UrsjqtHy8AlJb9NLNDkIoktb_cwOD4cdRMqZszSWYyfBqKevpuF-7as5xMEOl8r4Y2QAvh7k4mg74sx5HzS1NzRp5N1KM/s1600/DSCF0835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphjNbxOEpUGOOhx6RzDwBs3QZ2NRkB2o8Nm_CgqBpOVy_I2UrsjqtHy8AlJb9NLNDkIoktb_cwOD4cdRMqZszSWYyfBqKevpuF-7as5xMEOl8r4Y2QAvh7k4mg74sx5HzS1NzRp5N1KM/s320/DSCF0835.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>S</strong></span>o...a few years ago a friend called and said "you like lizards right?" A few hours later we became the happy keepers of a tribe of 4 Leopard Geckos.</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>T</strong>hing is, it's expensive to keep these little buggers. The closest Petco is 45 minutes away, and frankly their "super worms" are not that super. They smell funny and you have to open an lot of little containers to find one that appears fresh. Well, as fresh as a yogurt sized container of worms is likely to get. Also, the lady at Petco told me I should CUT THE HEADS off of the super worms so they don't bite my Tribe members. So...I was considering switching to the little mealie species to avoid cutting heads off of big mealies when...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>nsert a friend of my kids, whom I adore, who came to visit and brought us bugs. Beetles to be exact. And some pupas. And a fancy plastic bug keeping device from the dollar store. This young lady has been our worm and bug growing MUSE. She has also saved me a ton of money in gas and stinky, yogurt-container, dried-up meal worm purchases. She IS my Geiko Gecko! We are growing our own little mealies now!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></strong>he white container has three trays. Each tray is full of steel cut oats. I keep a fresh apple or potato slice on a cleared off corner of the tray for water and a slice of bread for food. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOV3S_fYIBOgTlO_5Mtb9DHUzxgXFQHfoCuVAOGE-Y4D-M13HZp-MftHuvEFMzM3Wy05xrDUvYGN9vuRYGYukCEt9ffGgQn1K_Jo6FhWCbh106lT3QVjWzOsEvS7R2dgMWALER7X7MNQQ/s1600/DSCF0909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOV3S_fYIBOgTlO_5Mtb9DHUzxgXFQHfoCuVAOGE-Y4D-M13HZp-MftHuvEFMzM3Wy05xrDUvYGN9vuRYGYukCEt9ffGgQn1K_Jo6FhWCbh106lT3QVjWzOsEvS7R2dgMWALER7X7MNQQ/s320/DSCF0909.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></strong>he beetles only live for about a month. They'll eat their own eggs and the baby mealies too...my Muse says so! So...I'll be shifting each stage to the next drawer. I had SO many mealies born this summer I haven't had to buy worms since. I also grew crickets, but they stink terribly and they get loose easily. It was a pain. Mealies don't get out, neither to the darkling beetles they become, and they smell like oats and apples.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2IEu5ZHBRzSwrdC2WXxSv263RUji1YvwMcmnu_qtJgsSODu2ULlJTOV807yry7yQSJ1NoVuPIMglb7CbDqyjI6rLBkRoijDBQfwWL1zojBm7DqDCYS-jMsL33U-lzS-wPcA2JUPAXf8/s1600/DSCF0882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2IEu5ZHBRzSwrdC2WXxSv263RUji1YvwMcmnu_qtJgsSODu2ULlJTOV807yry7yQSJ1NoVuPIMglb7CbDqyjI6rLBkRoijDBQfwWL1zojBm7DqDCYS-jMsL33U-lzS-wPcA2JUPAXf8/s320/DSCF0882.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>T</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;">his is the lifespan of the Mealie; worm, pupa, beetle. The beetles turn black as they "harden" and become ready to be mommies and daddies.</span></span></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNAiN6qbCtnwzmGosz5C5J5zPZUKysOVyKRXoHyrncp1bepWqiLbpW3EsGvf7Epp2XN14AuVEDlpLXVZoD0cRnwLb54N9wWQKKZxJgsiL8LEDc1IhU3ufhAOcxUrPEbBrDRA7BwATnJQ/s1600/DSCF0900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNAiN6qbCtnwzmGosz5C5J5zPZUKysOVyKRXoHyrncp1bepWqiLbpW3EsGvf7Epp2XN14AuVEDlpLXVZoD0cRnwLb54N9wWQKKZxJgsiL8LEDc1IhU3ufhAOcxUrPEbBrDRA7BwATnJQ/s1600/DSCF0900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNAiN6qbCtnwzmGosz5C5J5zPZUKysOVyKRXoHyrncp1bepWqiLbpW3EsGvf7Epp2XN14AuVEDlpLXVZoD0cRnwLb54N9wWQKKZxJgsiL8LEDc1IhU3ufhAOcxUrPEbBrDRA7BwATnJQ/s320/DSCF0900.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>H</strong></span>ere is one of the little guys this whole bug keeping program is all about! This is "Skinny" he is a fussy eater. He will NOT eat anything with calcium powder on it. His cohorts are fatties. And I try to feed him seperately so he'll eat a lot. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7sRGguBJLu9VAYVVHxcJa0gKfwX-4-vyTMB_3j8glVHOPVxnq5fiiZnnfzZLNuCfUeZZtUQq7Kf11q-ZAZGBZuP1f2tzhqe648oWu2B3pcSWK8xf7wnequ_qkysjJqX5oc-5TsQLw1c/s1600/lizard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7sRGguBJLu9VAYVVHxcJa0gKfwX-4-vyTMB_3j8glVHOPVxnq5fiiZnnfzZLNuCfUeZZtUQq7Kf11q-ZAZGBZuP1f2tzhqe648oWu2B3pcSWK8xf7wnequ_qkysjJqX5oc-5TsQLw1c/s320/lizard.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>H</strong></span>e's a good Gecko, but no he won't save you a ton of money on your car insurance. (Bet you didn't see that joke coming! HA!) H</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">ere is another view of Skinny, eyeballing a tasty morsal!TY to my Chickadee who took these great pics!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>T</strong></span>he following video is gross and disturbing. And it happens at my house every day. This is one of those posts where I hope that after I hit "Publish" nobody thinks I've lost my potatoes! </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;">Best wishes,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;">Becca</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzl3YgC1bl2dNLb4DTMgyB5Q_VWJK5bQMe55-7frAbhp9R9EdRCiGAMRy10X1Da_1BaQNQjK9NI9Jte01iCfg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-90549317158110162842012-02-01T16:32:00.000-08:002012-02-01T16:32:21.961-08:00Leopard Gecko eating & Pupa hatching<iframe height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Ns8hSD9eFjI?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="459" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-4904109704736505262012-01-06T19:31:00.000-08:002012-01-16T10:00:57.685-08:00Shame on Aberslutty and Fitch<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> was reading this blog: </span><a href="http://www.mommywantsvodka.com/blatantly-false-advertising"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Mommy Wants Vodka.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"> and due to her creative take on billboard type advertizing....became inspired to put on my big girl panties and have a say on something that rather bothered me, very much, nay a lot, this Christmas Season.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Y</span></strong>ou know what advertizing KILLED me this winter? I mean, left me wondering what on Earth people are thinking "these days" a form of thinking which actually made me feel my barely noticable age!?!?! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></strong>he guys in swimsuits posing by the doors of Abercrombie at the mall. Abercrombie has HIRED models to stand outside their front doors, two days before Christmas, IN swim suites, in NY in winter.....need I go on? Mostly, their hands were crossed in front of their crotches and since they were bare foot and had been standing a long time on the bare marbley mall floor, it looked like their feet hurt. They rocked back and forth a lot.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bZGf0crvbe5rb8z-qjtSZtPveTZOfbxlw7WvvJcjsu4QOODbaiuBnbtKn95MREyLFDi02gXHjMygXpfDvzNnuRklmtF7DgvyACy6kocGhR3zIe8KTRxq11PNj5N819apSfqJWHgalYw/s1600/DSCF0473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bZGf0crvbe5rb8z-qjtSZtPveTZOfbxlw7WvvJcjsu4QOODbaiuBnbtKn95MREyLFDi02gXHjMygXpfDvzNnuRklmtF7DgvyACy6kocGhR3zIe8KTRxq11PNj5N819apSfqJWHgalYw/s320/DSCF0473.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div style="text-align: center;">I created a reasonable facsimile of what went on.</div></blockquote></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>o, truth is, I'm 35. I want to enter Abercrombie to buy a scarf or a post-pre-ripped shirt for my nephew and/or son and ......I cannot....CANNOT.... enter a store flanked by teen male models. There's just something inapropro about someone my age taking perfume samples or coupons from half-naked young boys IN THE MALL. So, as middle school age girls oogled them and the cooler older girls leered a bit as they strolled by repeatedly... I had to hustle to the other side of the walkway due to shock. My husband (40) thought this was funny. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25X2IlLhR6xgyScCrAxonoe3-3JVzZXH_wfJrJ5799fv-dPDWagOSJgrailvIET04-QdqmScAFzE8MpHTt3q8x31Ar7ST78pkFuZa_IlHWYxwgNs3U8HHa2QgKGYYD5cYgycQ6srgIeU/s1600/securedownload%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25X2IlLhR6xgyScCrAxonoe3-3JVzZXH_wfJrJ5799fv-dPDWagOSJgrailvIET04-QdqmScAFzE8MpHTt3q8x31Ar7ST78pkFuZa_IlHWYxwgNs3U8HHa2QgKGYYD5cYgycQ6srgIeU/s320/securedownload%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Note the Build-An-Overpriced-Stuffed-Toy store next door.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Families with children shop there. Note the lady with a baby walking by</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Where the models were.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Y</span></strong>eah sure it's funny. But having to walk like literally a foot away from those naked model guys to GET IN THE STORE...it's creepy and I'm no creeper. Hell, I wished those kids would put some clothes on. What would be wrong with fully dressed cute guys with Santa hats on or something...at the door...? Nothing! I advocate that NOTHING would be wrong with some Christmassy/societal modesty. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></strong>fter fleeing to the other side of the walkway, I stood, juggling shopping bags and evil-eyeing my husband, who obviously thought this whole situation was as funny as our cat jumping IN then OUT of a full bathtub...we noticed the tide of shoppers flow towards us as other women and men were breaking the mall pedestrian road lanes to get away from Abercrombie's dark & solicitious front doors. One woman even said "Oh My God, what has the world come to!?!?!" and she wasn't even me, I mean...I didn't even say that outloud! Literally someone else beat me to it!!!! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span></strong>onestly, now that perfume commercials on TV during the holidays are pretty much soft-core porn, I guess red light districts in the mall shouldn't come as any big surprise. Oh, and I went to American Eagle for scarfs and used looking shirts. Their sales guys are fully clothed. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>B</strong>est wishes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>R</strong>ebeccaFlys</span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-25065618614996646172011-12-30T12:38:00.000-08:002011-12-30T12:43:16.929-08:00Dirty Thirty...or Something?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzNMa_p8AqNT1tTFo06PKQWM7auMpotrdutYPg8KQiFMGLndElTOsqXxmcx-lLdBxQ_8vYePiFwgcguvGuZxYI2GugZSsQ1UVzLjt9Jw2f30NfyKZd8_JYM73iMxIjUmK6vwQ6bjNjX8/s1600/BekNateChristmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzNMa_p8AqNT1tTFo06PKQWM7auMpotrdutYPg8KQiFMGLndElTOsqXxmcx-lLdBxQ_8vYePiFwgcguvGuZxYI2GugZSsQ1UVzLjt9Jw2f30NfyKZd8_JYM73iMxIjUmK6vwQ6bjNjX8/s320/BekNateChristmas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">So, the hubs has had like two weeks off for the holly daze. And I am off of school till' February. It amazes me to think our first Christmas together was in 1995, and this was our 16th Christmas together. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">You would think that all these years would have worn down the whole sexy factor in a marriage. But lately...well, I've really noticed that my husband is HOT. I mean, like I catch myself mooning over him. Like, his mom gave him new jeans for Christmas and I keep hoping he'll walk to the kitchen or something so I can check out his butt. He smells really good. He's so warm and toasty. I could just...kiss his face off. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">There was once a time in our marriage, when kids needed diaper changing and somebody always needed a nose wiped and I hadn't had more than an 8 minute shower in....well probably months....and he would you know, get a little randy, and I would run for the hills.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I distinctly recall many a time when I would hiss "Oh God honey, really? Right now?" You see, he would always go in for the kill just as my head hit the pillow and my mind rolled out a list of to-do's for the next day. It always seemed he was hoping for some loving, just as I was hoping to God and the Sand Man and all that was holy that the kids would sleep through the night. Romance for me in those days seemed like the stuff of dreams and All My Children. I'm sure Erica Kane never turned down sex because she was worried about the fact that she hadn't seen a fresh razer and a free half-an-hour in two to three months.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">People joke that women in their thirties hit a peak. In my case, I've certainly hit something. Maybe it's a peak, or </span></div><ul><li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Maybe</strong> the kids are old enough to stay home by themselves so we don't have to worry about having enough money to order an appetizer for dinner because the sitter costs more than our whole night out together. </span></div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Maybe</strong> I'm not sitting at the "date night" table praying my son doesn't call the babysitter "fatty" again</span></div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>MAYBE</strong> I'm free to just be me again, just a little bit, because the kids are older now you know? Like, maybe though I'm still mom, I'm a lot less of a "mommy." So...I'm free to look across the table (without entering the mommy worry zone) and think, "my God my hubs is a hottie. Look at that stubble on his cheeks, so sexy...you know what I'd like to do with that stubbly cheek???"</span></div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Maybe</strong> MY peak has to do with the fact that I've done good work, I've paid my dues. And by gum I've earned my Afternoon Delight.</span></div></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrZ43agNb4kAYAHk7LDzdEIYe370niFAp87UJyfFEeecwqm0zmMYexwoNkaXQJZyVHoxoUwdhLBY-Crv355xvyKEAiIZRghgOU-rIBYFR8sVFL0_dnm-f7EaA6m8-xSCH2c0psxTJMYM/s1600/DSCF0453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrZ43agNb4kAYAHk7LDzdEIYe370niFAp87UJyfFEeecwqm0zmMYexwoNkaXQJZyVHoxoUwdhLBY-Crv355xvyKEAiIZRghgOU-rIBYFR8sVFL0_dnm-f7EaA6m8-xSCH2c0psxTJMYM/s320/DSCF0453.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Marriage is a challenge because having two people on the same page for any leng</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">th of time is pretty much impossible. I mean, now that I want to be a little crazy in the mini-van or sneak off in the woods, the hubs is happy with a foot rub a movie and a snuggle. In other words, HE has become the challenging one and I'm the challenged! I'm chasing him around, winking and he's throwing the coy little smiles. My how times have changed. </span></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">A few years ago, our marriage was on the rocks. Heck, we were on the rocks as individuals. Ultimately, that's what threw our relationship into a tailspin. He was unsatisfied with his life at almost 40 years old, and I was intellectually rotting away. But instead of taking stock of what we wanted out of life on a personal level, we let eachother take the blame for why we weren't happy. We both made a lot of mistakes because we chose to blame game, rather than take responsibility for our own unhappiness. Somehow I held on to the idea that "the better CAN come after the worse" and thank goodness it did.</span></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NoTyeDIATCY_tMWectwbEotcZwu7AIK09HX1jFadQi9UTHh2JOM8HGnSLwUmyaQl2aaMSgeLhlrdhSqPaHtdvtok4xfoOnRrEAgXzshxYL2GH3ltzIdS-YUn0ql2UpP0Wf4k5jdE7Rk/s1600/DSCF0450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NoTyeDIATCY_tMWectwbEotcZwu7AIK09HX1jFadQi9UTHh2JOM8HGnSLwUmyaQl2aaMSgeLhlrdhSqPaHtdvtok4xfoOnRrEAgXzshxYL2GH3ltzIdS-YUn0ql2UpP0Wf4k5jdE7Rk/s320/DSCF0450.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I think we both learned a very hard lesson in making ourselves happy. We had it all wrong for so long. When a couple member says "he/she doesn't make me happy anymore" warning bells should go off for everyone involved. Being happy is something personal, it's not up to anyone else to MAKE us happy, it's up to us to be a happy person, and in doing so we improve our relationships, our marriage, our everything. It's about doing what you're doing at a higher level, and having the one you love along for the ride.</span></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Pursuing my degree and excelling in class makes me happy. And apparently horny. So, as the kids roll their eyes and screech "gross! I could have lived my whole life without seeing that" as I smooch their dad from the first step (he's really tall and I can reach his lips better from above) I know deep down that we've all learned a lesson in love...forgiveness...and creating happiness rather than waiting for it to happen. </span></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;">Which is why I'm going to go chase my hubs around the house. Wish me luck when the lights go out tonight!</span> </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-40357143490098097742011-07-06T23:35:00.000-07:002011-07-06T23:51:02.318-07:00Strawberry Fields Forever...(or maybe just once a year for kicks!)<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>T</strong></span>his.....</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggjJVB-LxRWX5EkGtwDZlD7rT6jy0_lj20yLPlEMpyAAD6UGcmaC-z9YgnZ_gyd20ahoPfn5rfRczHyJHkdMMc8c9-M5M28YkimC4Lnupd4QAu5xnWP2TfIMGqOnYOJOsOKbd8_LyjMLI/s1600/strawberry2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggjJVB-LxRWX5EkGtwDZlD7rT6jy0_lj20yLPlEMpyAAD6UGcmaC-z9YgnZ_gyd20ahoPfn5rfRczHyJHkdMMc8c9-M5M28YkimC4Lnupd4QAu5xnWP2TfIMGqOnYOJOsOKbd8_LyjMLI/s400/strawberry2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>s where the Strawberry Dictator lives while you pick berries and wait for orders. She is no doubt part of some larger Strawberry Oligarch, however for two hours, she was my own scary, somewhat angry, strawberry field FIASCO...Dictator.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>t sounds so idyllic to say..."oh my, let us go and pick strawberries, how delightful, we shall have shortcake" but let me tell you, the truth of the matter is that strawberry picking is NOT altogether delightful.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></strong>he entire task of picking fruit from 6 inch tall bushes, is hard work best done ON YOUR KNEES. It's not easy work, OH no. And do you know what? they call Strawberries Strawberries because they literally grow in the straw, the berries, they're bedded down like mice in your winter storage. Seriously, you are lifting strawberry leaf skirts and rifling through the straw searching for perfect berries and running into mushy, buggy ones.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></strong>he Dictator alternately read a book in her truck-berry-camper and stalked the rows, squinting at the squat berry bushes and insisting "you MUST pick the little berries, that's just about all that's left!" and ordering the girls, along with the veteran cowed workers, to double check their rows and carry along iron curtain poles, to plant wherever one leaves off picking. "Lift the plants up ladies! Don't Be Shy!" she shouted, waving her arms about before skedaddling back to read her romance novel.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAR3MaDRGFXafrSm1d-wWKLUVmSDY3E3GWzA739B3zOvFVFhc6xxPkDVG_Ret6zvKHFAB2L1OSzMuWcSO2_-ko8Tb_oe8Re4UBGmMvoFebluOCHtR4kdUkKF-UF1F-egmaqbsuM1jj8A/s1600/strawberry3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAR3MaDRGFXafrSm1d-wWKLUVmSDY3E3GWzA739B3zOvFVFhc6xxPkDVG_Ret6zvKHFAB2L1OSzMuWcSO2_-ko8Tb_oe8Re4UBGmMvoFebluOCHtR4kdUkKF-UF1F-egmaqbsuM1jj8A/s400/strawberry3.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>o...as the work commenced (and it was a LOT of work, we picked 25 quarts) I tossed my tee-shirt in the straw and worked in my cami. The sun baked my shoulders, the breeze started to feel really amazing and the smell of strawberries became literally intense. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">M</span></strong>y daughter, and her friends crawled ahead of me down their berry lanes, springing up to run and show me the strangest shaped berries they could find..."Be careful where you walk honey, you don't want to step on any bushes" I loudly cautioned in a stern voice when the Berry Master peeked out to see what the excitement was all about. (I'm a respectful Berry Peon).</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbgKW5jv915bttrqZYifqc_twyLAD8y54QmNCvKYXsKqMe_L5pDSKki2nFNVXjf6kTAJFMAD_mcmPmh2wXykNZnPhA7kr-lftXEvl-oEwOJPX6BfEqXjOrzkpWzZRpFvQ-H7PoKlP0P8/s1600/strawberrry4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbgKW5jv915bttrqZYifqc_twyLAD8y54QmNCvKYXsKqMe_L5pDSKki2nFNVXjf6kTAJFMAD_mcmPmh2wXykNZnPhA7kr-lftXEvl-oEwOJPX6BfEqXjOrzkpWzZRpFvQ-H7PoKlP0P8/s320/strawberrry4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>A</strong></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">s I lifted leafy skirts, I popped a perfect berry or two or three in my mouth, carefully avoiding the gaze of the Berry Dictator. Then laughed as the girls did the same thing, smacking their lips and smiling seedy toothed smiles, and waving pink stained fingers at me.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCM1Qi6kQXWG7eAHzAq-mzv-3yjnmecoZyt5vBouh0jQ2r-0tmzqnfmJy4dinZMpFK9fQ2pL2mLlRQAfadQYMFUf7drM6D7vGlTaB58CJEfXF_VrQecZ0x3N3WK7DvLw0jbl-GB0H-lRc/s1600/strawberry1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCM1Qi6kQXWG7eAHzAq-mzv-3yjnmecoZyt5vBouh0jQ2r-0tmzqnfmJy4dinZMpFK9fQ2pL2mLlRQAfadQYMFUf7drM6D7vGlTaB58CJEfXF_VrQecZ0x3N3WK7DvLw0jbl-GB0H-lRc/s320/strawberry1.jpg" width="250" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>A</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;">s our baskets became full, the whole thing started to feel ideal, other than the whole back-breaking-labor-intensive factor...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">and I started having these little flits of happy thoughts in my head, bits of songs like "Here Comes The Sun" and especially a piece from one of my favorite books...<u>A Tree Grows In Brooklyn</u> by Betty Smith... </span></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">People always think that happiness is a faraway thing … something complicated and hard to get. Yet, what little things can make it up. </span></span></span></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>sn't that SO true? Even in a Berry Oligarchy?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzVq_JkyV_gdVWvZIpPj6oW_rKtTnBn9-ZoCFtupw0UDt77dv9yPS7YV16Pvl7f6Zq6Lk7koQ8l-i7F9vbioS6QYPZvlWSxyRL3eeBE7_D75xv5t6YiLEwdBjSnCJpukuMr05fkuAVyE/s1600/strawberry5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzVq_JkyV_gdVWvZIpPj6oW_rKtTnBn9-ZoCFtupw0UDt77dv9yPS7YV16Pvl7f6Zq6Lk7koQ8l-i7F9vbioS6QYPZvlWSxyRL3eeBE7_D75xv5t6YiLEwdBjSnCJpukuMr05fkuAVyE/s320/strawberry5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-21817127065158385872011-06-26T10:20:00.000-07:002011-06-26T10:30:56.026-07:00State Parkin' it!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>S</strong></span>o, the kids are getting big. Like bigger than me big...but they still get excited about going with us...IF we're going somewhere they like to go.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThjHnj6xcmz7vDAAGhKTUz-GrKgQA04t_JAg9dzAAaPpQh09Fx0nwq5Z_5zSs3guh_wN0nhyOh_a6_Yl8sSHajoArCl7TnueuboRxJrkSVwB37LQbjZWi5rQcnVuOwRJbmy9d2tv108Y/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThjHnj6xcmz7vDAAGhKTUz-GrKgQA04t_JAg9dzAAaPpQh09Fx0nwq5Z_5zSs3guh_wN0nhyOh_a6_Yl8sSHajoArCl7TnueuboRxJrkSVwB37LQbjZWi5rQcnVuOwRJbmy9d2tv108Y/s320/Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span></strong>ortunately for us, we live in the Finger Lakes, we have no shortage of awesome places to take off to right at our finger tips!</span></div></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>f there is one benefit to having kids close in age (12, 14, 16) it's that they're pretty much interested in the same stuff.</span></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2oCKLhuOpGkREH7jxFHNKoCt8DkgB_amCeioJULsOu938dsxFG13Ov3dFZzga5RfNlasslpDkWSHb5Jy-2kkJBN58CTdE8Ux_duS9XWaMCg5cm5kJutVxspU-b61DoUQVM3AWrgQVgTw/s1600/Pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2oCKLhuOpGkREH7jxFHNKoCt8DkgB_amCeioJULsOu938dsxFG13Ov3dFZzga5RfNlasslpDkWSHb5Jy-2kkJBN58CTdE8Ux_duS9XWaMCg5cm5kJutVxspU-b61DoUQVM3AWrgQVgTw/s320/Pool.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">D</span></strong>iving into the Olympic sized swimming pool...</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZeJkzF7aBvxwn_8AwiawTIeeRyZHouBATHQItzbXPkzTmrVg9po4ST5SqIC6J-onoblkFrQQaGVOH7mfIs25_cNIjBqLq37xr4l0KiFEOHk9_LkmbP5O5sj4IkfHYWWS0216YQVVRpI/s1600/KidsOnTable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZeJkzF7aBvxwn_8AwiawTIeeRyZHouBATHQItzbXPkzTmrVg9po4ST5SqIC6J-onoblkFrQQaGVOH7mfIs25_cNIjBqLq37xr4l0KiFEOHk9_LkmbP5O5sj4IkfHYWWS0216YQVVRpI/s320/KidsOnTable.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>T</strong></span>he opportunity for new FaceBook Profile Pics...</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6oZZuOP-71hCoyrM7iQYRV-1dbWCOFl3CVfmynDm3igWmLO5-A37p9lYOIXSkWsfWXgszQGrMJG1mWkhryP2HqwT4uBRInOg6bmc2cx-Jp884mm6fH1tA3gL3gkwvWi8yEXRpOinPWI/s1600/grill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6oZZuOP-71hCoyrM7iQYRV-1dbWCOFl3CVfmynDm3igWmLO5-A37p9lYOIXSkWsfWXgszQGrMJG1mWkhryP2HqwT4uBRInOg6bmc2cx-Jp884mm6fH1tA3gL3gkwvWi8yEXRpOinPWI/s320/grill.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>D</strong></span>ad's grilled Steak & Mushrooms...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGj3pXaLcjt98DE06xzBmrP9NFOhK_QVmzwTk2Z-0_P-FtjljZ99-Yyl9By-UadfRTDA2Qy8UBHoMbMN7VFd11aV6rFdAsVx1X4ULSTt9lL0gq7ly65j7ogaqv7GSjHmdkFypkyUjhR9I/s1600/Watkin%2527s+Glen+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGj3pXaLcjt98DE06xzBmrP9NFOhK_QVmzwTk2Z-0_P-FtjljZ99-Yyl9By-UadfRTDA2Qy8UBHoMbMN7VFd11aV6rFdAsVx1X4ULSTt9lL0gq7ly65j7ogaqv7GSjHmdkFypkyUjhR9I/s320/Watkin%2527s+Glen+2011.jpg" width="243" /></a></span></strong></span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>H</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;">iking the Glen</span></span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">a</span></strong>nd a little freedom to wander while mom gads about taking pictures.</span></span><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc28SZ_jK_xTIpOO7Jm_ADI-tB_XldPfww74GG-cEKuk5LSsvlg3hmjb6_pZ89GP-6BG3f6MZiZlKMAVvpbVgiivHwWFa7x9V9UrVq0rHLy_rMQv9Ea_M-5VfNmvdGsPrnsznJybt33BI/s1600/Tree+hole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc28SZ_jK_xTIpOO7Jm_ADI-tB_XldPfww74GG-cEKuk5LSsvlg3hmjb6_pZ89GP-6BG3f6MZiZlKMAVvpbVgiivHwWFa7x9V9UrVq0rHLy_rMQv9Ea_M-5VfNmvdGsPrnsznJybt33BI/s320/Tree+hole.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTrQK_ZBG9wHCkT3B2kZFtL6cR3EYTrq3wNSgNg2k4dJv3KvKfiWGyxgafpATwve9URlwptZzmf-XF48l4D12dWrgyImDCyFGLexDwJCRphLndKZ4l9aTlmSV-tANnjccABBDD7I7084/s1600/mushroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTrQK_ZBG9wHCkT3B2kZFtL6cR3EYTrq3wNSgNg2k4dJv3KvKfiWGyxgafpATwve9URlwptZzmf-XF48l4D12dWrgyImDCyFGLexDwJCRphLndKZ4l9aTlmSV-tANnjccABBDD7I7084/s320/mushroom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VEBlbFQiYHOXZ80AZB7b9E5EJGHXSwKWjLMMq8wFg8SThtCmIVianWNoRkpHEpO-_Bl3mb6VHkPD1pyNxwEBB6WfmTo6x3LHIpBXdOOHaIqaN_G-3z-1PFPMy5Xivon8wYDTd4F8HRY/s1600/bumpy+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VEBlbFQiYHOXZ80AZB7b9E5EJGHXSwKWjLMMq8wFg8SThtCmIVianWNoRkpHEpO-_Bl3mb6VHkPD1pyNxwEBB6WfmTo6x3LHIpBXdOOHaIqaN_G-3z-1PFPMy5Xivon8wYDTd4F8HRY/s320/bumpy+tree.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbQeM9mRqdZgATQ5X10KJEmjjxBEz0DbGkVJlDVT3DBzHWwBOHbollFiJiiD7z-ZlsMNIpB0K11zc35EZwDDgcfVseb5hnnXy4aw09dKQYpeI7jggTy46ecVg0GpfOl2AVrKz15lYvCk/s1600/Steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbQeM9mRqdZgATQ5X10KJEmjjxBEz0DbGkVJlDVT3DBzHWwBOHbollFiJiiD7z-ZlsMNIpB0K11zc35EZwDDgcfVseb5hnnXy4aw09dKQYpeI7jggTy46ecVg0GpfOl2AVrKz15lYvCk/s320/Steps.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJpi-lBLIpEOZ5OKt3keAo35gFUB4ItNm9jHyH0XTq-lybCdtcku_EnfKjBs1N8Ph2-ZlzN3c00c2TRtNsuR-vMYQh_YwXm7rv_YQFYLN3bhMtI1bwBxSN1Uu_hzot9Veh9G11jyCyxg/s1600/baby+pinecone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJpi-lBLIpEOZ5OKt3keAo35gFUB4ItNm9jHyH0XTq-lybCdtcku_EnfKjBs1N8Ph2-ZlzN3c00c2TRtNsuR-vMYQh_YwXm7rv_YQFYLN3bhMtI1bwBxSN1Uu_hzot9Veh9G11jyCyxg/s320/baby+pinecone.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>n a few years, they'll probably have better things to do than hang out with mom and dad...swimming and grilling and chilling. And wondering why </span><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;">their mom is video-taping the ground, from an inch & a half away...But for now they're all mine. And we have this beautiful place to live in.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzRU1Q79yo3jKxfx6a5A6G5nGJMifsHylkKyuFNRaJmpjWB49IIYA-eW9OqVDOpFhSj-GXZmbGeq4fK69cdQg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Badly attempted video of a winged ant dragging off a spider.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>B</strong>est wishes,</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>R</strong>ebecca Flys</span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-18840599773352402462011-06-22T22:17:00.000-07:002011-06-22T22:23:26.107-07:008th Grade Graduation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbReHoNgobXw_mOuV9oDonJYYFTZbWDWei9_BBddpQhZUALZ2ykcXwND0FcM9ajqF-AxyLQtxvqVvXW3CSTwaNAjxEZ23hjcEjKL9t-MfKuYxSn55pwkUOMpAZxtDPSzH7GDXLTN4jE0/s1600/ausgrad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbReHoNgobXw_mOuV9oDonJYYFTZbWDWei9_BBddpQhZUALZ2ykcXwND0FcM9ajqF-AxyLQtxvqVvXW3CSTwaNAjxEZ23hjcEjKL9t-MfKuYxSn55pwkUOMpAZxtDPSzH7GDXLTN4jE0/s320/ausgrad.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>o, I don't remember having a Graduation ceremony before...you know...ACTUAL high school Graduation. We just didn't do those sorts of things "back-in-the-day." But my own kids? Yeah, they learned to zip up their coat in pre-school and they "graduated" to the zipper-upper line.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>t started with Pre-K Graduation, then Kindergarten Graduation, then 6th grade Graduation....</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">N</span></strong>ow I'm not saying it isn't a wonderful thing to sit an a newly remodeled auditiorium, which nobody thought to install an air-conditioner or de-humidifier in...it's simply lovely. I do it for every recital and choral concert of the year. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> just can't help but wonder how much of it is for real. It seems like a political move by the school staff. Lining them all up on stage in front of us...the new Interim Superintendant giving a big old speech...the Vice Principal (closely followed by the Interim Superintendant) keeping his legs crossed so long the kids beside me started timing it and wondering if he'd be able to stand up without cramping when it was his turn. Babies crying, people clapping before the end when the Principal specifically said not to....It often makes me wonder what the heck we're really all doing there.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCSMvcxpiVY8_Tl9Bjf5B6_pmKwqYMtaEWNturV1BRMYXZLkfhYqf8-HvIm45Uhd6Z1sfid_HziT8pnV0nOglXOZ3k3Vx1izEm9eud3dVejvYGfsfYlR7phZBNHNYqvk9iWiYZ1LzkeI/s1600/DSCF3549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCSMvcxpiVY8_Tl9Bjf5B6_pmKwqYMtaEWNturV1BRMYXZLkfhYqf8-HvIm45Uhd6Z1sfid_HziT8pnV0nOglXOZ3k3Vx1izEm9eud3dVejvYGfsfYlR7phZBNHNYqvk9iWiYZ1LzkeI/s320/DSCF3549.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></strong>hey give out a "best boy" and "best girl" award at the 8th grade Graduation. I have to wonder how that works exactly. How exactly do they determine who is best? Grades? Personality? What??? Because as I watched the kids all cross the stage (except for the 30 students who have to attend summer school to pass the year) I was proud of them all. Middle school is tough. I'm sure each one of those kids had someone in the audiance who thought they were the best. I know my kid did. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></strong>fter all the hoopla is complete, a Graduation Ceremony is a great excuse for ice cream after the event is finished. And for some new clothes and shoes, which can later be worn to funerals and weddings. Planning ahead for these potential future events is a good reason to buy the clothes a size large and try to see them as investments, though the truth is my Grow-A-Kid usually only wears the outfit just that once. As a rule of thumb, I've trained myself to consider these things the "bright side" even if I'm likely deluding myself.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8gOMjADerMbCDD7WzK2SLEksJGX1okhRcWPEHja2xcdwpG-GPMk0nxwBWtbn6F3stWZUOJaaJBB1zekpFhFX-1BQnhdZWqJxVFdeGRqZ9yGeHKDzsIE_E5HXx7AI2lcjpK7yStFFZhc/s1600/DSCF3550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8gOMjADerMbCDD7WzK2SLEksJGX1okhRcWPEHja2xcdwpG-GPMk0nxwBWtbn6F3stWZUOJaaJBB1zekpFhFX-1BQnhdZWqJxVFdeGRqZ9yGeHKDzsIE_E5HXx7AI2lcjpK7yStFFZhc/s320/DSCF3550.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></strong>s the stage-crossing ceremony commenced I found myself squinting at the kids as their names were called, imagining their faces as I remember them in my heart. Remembering...the kids in my groups when I chaparoned for the Space Center, and the Oliver House Museum, and even the Punkin' Patch and the Easter Egg Hunts. Remembering their soccer games and lacrosse games...and even what some of their parents looked like back when we were all in lamaze class. Tonight, these kids looked so grown up. So much like high schoolers. Where did the little Kindergarteners with their little mini cap and gowns go? </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">E</span></strong>verybody kept saying how time had flown, how fast they had grown up. And they really really have. Watching my 14 year old son swaggar across stage felt like a surprise all of the sudden. Somehow, the "I want peanut butter and jelly with no holes in the bread" days flew by, flew into these "Mom, she's not my girlfriend...just a friend who's a girl I SWEAR" days (as the phone rings at midnight). </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span></strong>or me, having kid has been something like when you adopt a kitten. You love playing with the little bugger, you adore it to pieces and you know it's inevitable that it'll grow up...but as it chases string and lets you smother it in kisses...you can't imagine it in a shirt and tie...crossing a stage...shaking hands and graduating....I mean you can't imagine it as a full grown cat.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kyvgyodX1RP8XStuItHPNjt-jkg_KJS6xcPZSnU81Bb86FrJrEsaU_BCRXKKUOVfkhEqHZdoE1KSXX5dZFbhZhrCwBe0MwJki56mxyShyphenhyphen2jy_Ts76R44lJBeKcNUBr4lacXyz_8eumQ/s1600/x5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="239" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kyvgyodX1RP8XStuItHPNjt-jkg_KJS6xcPZSnU81Bb86FrJrEsaU_BCRXKKUOVfkhEqHZdoE1KSXX5dZFbhZhrCwBe0MwJki56mxyShyphenhyphen2jy_Ts76R44lJBeKcNUBr4lacXyz_8eumQ/s320/x5.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Y</span></strong>eah, I don't remember having all of these graduations when I was a kid. We didn't have them. We say...that times are faster now. That the computer era has changed us for the worse. We say that things are faster now and everyone is in a hurry. Yet, here we are...listening to the Interim Superintendant tell us how great our town is, and waiting to see our kids cross a stage and become high schoolers. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span></strong>e're all slowing down as a community, to create an event to celebrate our kids and how amazing it is that they're all heading into a new phase of their lives. And this process is something a part of this new generation. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>omehow, sitting in the nose-bleed seats and inhaling the world's most humid air while listening to the kids next to me (who happened to be my daughters) snicker at the Vice Principal...I realized, some changes are for the better. And hey, our generation may actually have something figured out, that our parent's didn't.</span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-32732130016889638152011-06-16T23:03:00.000-07:002011-06-16T23:30:35.875-07:00Maybe They Had it Right<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQaItCgvOXjLSvtt6Z81RFnGcty2gpp4jF9LF_cw_3aqmbLcNlPFOx3dbxikfQc1SGnk2YIJzOzIlqp9ykG5bi9DatIF_99-5dssxPOnR1YnItYeeZwGfqTvAoFdTEszDfX5aJNovldo/s1600/Broken_Wedding_Band_II_by_radleta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQaItCgvOXjLSvtt6Z81RFnGcty2gpp4jF9LF_cw_3aqmbLcNlPFOx3dbxikfQc1SGnk2YIJzOzIlqp9ykG5bi9DatIF_99-5dssxPOnR1YnItYeeZwGfqTvAoFdTEszDfX5aJNovldo/s320/Broken_Wedding_Band_II_by_radleta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>o, in the olden days, things like Adultery were illegal. In fact, it was the law in Texas until 1972 that a man who found his wife in bed with another man was justified in killing the wife and the other man. Of course wives did not enjoy the same privilege.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></strong>dultery "legal terminology" includes words like: </span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span> </font> <br />
<blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">•Criminal Conversation</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">•Heart Balm Torts</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">•Revenge</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">•Spousal Theft</span></div></blockquote><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>t's also known as "alienation of affection" and Wikipedia says </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"The defendant in an alienation of affections suit is typically an adulterous spouse's lover, although family members, counselors and therapists or clergy members who have advised a spouse to seek divorce have also been sued for alienation of affections." </span></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>W</strong></span>hich surprised me, I mean I've never heard of someone sueing their mother-in-law for causing their divorce but it MUST happen, I mean it MUST!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> have to say, I think good anti-adultery laws could prevent a hella lotta angst, pain, and domestic abuse. If there were actually results to cheating...maybe in a perfect Fly world...people would be more honest. Maybe they'd say "Hey I'm unhappy" rather than going out into the world and finding someone else to drown their invisible sorrows in. Just sayin'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span class="goog_qs-tidbit goog_qs-tidbit-0"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></strong>dultery laws aren't totally dead in our country. As of January 2008, the only states in the United States that allow</span> alienation of affection lawsuits are: Hawaii, Illinois, Mississippi, New Mexico, North Carolina, South Dakota, and Utah. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>nterestingly, let me note that in my home State of New York, the following law is still on the books; </span><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">S 255.17 Adultery.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">A person is guilty of adultery when he engages in sexual intercourse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">with another person at a time when he has a living spouse, or the other</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">person has a living spouse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Adultery is a class B misdemeanor.</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></strong>pparently this misdemeanor can carry a $500 fine or 90 days in jail. And a Batavia, NY woman who was having sex on a park bench in 2010...with a guy who wasn't her husband...was actually charged with it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">N</span></strong>o, really, it's true <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/TheLaw/woman-charged-adultery-challenge-york-law/story?id=10857437">For Real Look!!!</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>ome states are more enthusiastic about adultery laws than others. In North Carolina, jilted spouses have been awarded millions of dollars for something called "Criminal Conversation." </span><a href="http://www.montylaw.com/north-carolina-family-laws/alienation-of-affection.aspx"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Check it Out!</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span></strong>ne North Carolina wife,Cynthia Shackelford, sued her husband's mistress and co-worker for "alienation of affection," and WON 9 million dollars. She sounds like a nice lady, and she knows that she'll probably never collect on her "winnings." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> see her as a crusader for women just like me. I mean, frankly, when you're washing a man's laundry, keeping his socks white, cooking his dinner, paying the bills with him, and wearing a thong instead of comfy granny panties for him... another woman creeping in and saying "let's just pretend you're single...for tonight!" well, that's a load of hooey. And when he can't perform for her the first time...and she continues dialing him up and carrying on texting him to get a second try...well...that's just beyond sicko. Seriously, what is WRONG with people?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>F</strong></span>alling in love is pretty easy business. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"Hey, you're cute" </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"Hey, you too"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"Hey, you smell nice"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"Hey, you too"</span></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></strong>hrow in a really super romantic location (like the one my Skankzilla used)</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">And you're in business</span>;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfJ1v26DCITazFSfgdacih_nkeElhNvVemOQJDm-I34NNYrkN9llqXIKLt8y8410Iaa5chGsRVL6hPIHKvArGTAYCx5ADaJA5QBOHQk_M4OzZP-_WLZZrMOjGF5MHd5_Xw4jPbONQwIk/s1600/tavern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="228" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfJ1v26DCITazFSfgdacih_nkeElhNvVemOQJDm-I34NNYrkN9llqXIKLt8y8410Iaa5chGsRVL6hPIHKvArGTAYCx5ADaJA5QBOHQk_M4OzZP-_WLZZrMOjGF5MHd5_Xw4jPbONQwIk/s320/tavern.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span></div><div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>C</strong></span>ourtship is fun. Then marriage, well once you get there, life is a lot more challenging. My husband knows I snore. I know he farts at night, and it's occasionally so rough that even the dog leaves the bed. He's seen me give birth to his children (not pretty) and I've seen what's inside his...ummm well I watched while he had his vasectomy, enough said. But at the end of the day, this is the man who holds my heart in his hands. When he feels ill, I worry about him. When my back hurts, he asks me "Honey does your back hurt?" When he might be hungry...I feed him. When I drag home junk to upcycle, he sighs. When he polishes his golf clubs, I sigh. When he smiles at me, all is right with my world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> just love him. I'll take marriage to him with all of it's trials, tribulations, joys, laughs, good times and bad, until death do we part...because I love him. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span></strong>hat we learned from his affair? It's simple. We don't want to live without one another. Will I ever take his love for granted again? No. Will he ever forget he couldn't stand being without me...and couldn't stand the thought of missing my birthday? No. Will we be working on moving past this mess for a while? For sure. Will we make it? I really believe so.</span><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>One advantage of marriage is that, when you fall out of love with him or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you fall in again. ~Judith Viorst</strong></span></blockquote><div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>o continuing on...Cynthia says her lawsuit's purpose was to send a message to women like her husband’s mistress to keep them from going after other married spouses who are still living at home and sleeping in the marital bed. Cynthia, like a lot of betrayed spouses just wants people to respect the sanctity of marriage, saying "you don't go after married men and break up families.” When she dies, there's a special place in heaven for her, in the Valhalla of Betrayed Wives. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">M</span></strong>y husband's "Mistress" liked to call me Medusa...even though we'd never met, and I didn't know she existed. She called me Medusa because during her romantic liasons with my husband she laughingly said I had turned him to stone. Funny, I thought he liked me a lot when I turned him to stone...lol. Well, since some stories say Medusa WAS a poor pretty girl turned into a monster by a jelouse Goddess, I'll try to take it as a compliment. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> tended to call her "the pillar of salt" after he came home.</span><br />
<div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6CbOgzLYtMmKMFECUvmzQSe2RvVTeye8dOuuTfWOkBnyw28JdWBoz_pn_aX0mMzSO2wEzoQWF32KgxSxePnVlpX3dX0xe-m7sKK04NEnE9FYZeJZ4KpjlIyEij-xGQjwAFS28dAvqCs/s1600/medusa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="260" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6CbOgzLYtMmKMFECUvmzQSe2RvVTeye8dOuuTfWOkBnyw28JdWBoz_pn_aX0mMzSO2wEzoQWF32KgxSxePnVlpX3dX0xe-m7sKK04NEnE9FYZeJZ4KpjlIyEij-xGQjwAFS28dAvqCs/s320/medusa.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>N</strong></span>ow that my fear of her is behind me, and I'm excited about my personal future, along with the future of my marriage (the kids are getting older, we have so much more time to do things now! He has learned to TALK and I've learned to LISTEN.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> think I'm feeling better. I'm feeling more like the woman I thought I'd be...when I was a little girl...than ever before. I think I'm going to be ok. And my family will be okay too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">D</span></strong>on't cheat. Especially in South Carolina (or Texas just to be safe). Talk to your spouse, things in a marriage are so much more fixable than the divorce statistics show us. Learn to SPEAK to one another. Oh, and pick up a copy of "The 5 Love Languages" they should be handing that out for free at the Courthouse when you fill out your marriage paperwork.</span><span style="color: purple;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span></strong></span><br />
<blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: purple;"><strong>More marriages might survive if the partners realized </strong></span><span style="color: purple;"><strong>that sometimes the better comes after the worse. ~Doug Larson</strong></span></span></span></div></blockquote><div><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">Best Wishes,</span></div><div><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">RebeccaFlys</span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div></strong>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-59447999919700705612011-05-01T13:30:00.000-07:002011-05-01T13:34:07.510-07:00Spring vs. Head in the books.<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">So studying is starting to turn me into a not-so-fun person. It seems that my back pack and a self-guilt trip are always present with me. I guess that this is just what it's like when grown-ups go back to school.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Places I've Studied;</span><br />
<ul><li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">In the laundry mat.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">In the mini while waiting for kids at sports practice.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">In the mini while the fam watches lacrosse.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">on the toilet.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">In the doctor's office waiting room.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">At traffic court (for my hubs not me).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">While pretending to listen in other classes.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">In the bathtub.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">While pretending to listen during phone conversations.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">While burning dinner.</span></li>
</ul><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Oddly, just as my deep seated fear of failing has me falling asleep sitting up in bed with a pen in my hand, an open book on my lap and a stack of half-completed flashcards underneath my dog....I find out my daughter is failing Regents Biology.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I want so badly to be the understanding mom. But she's in 10th grade for crying in the sink. Shouldn't she have the fact that NOT FAILING takes a little effort ON HER PART figured out? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I got the note in the mailbox as I arrived home from class, opened it in the kitchen and immediately headed out into a spring flood type deluge of rain...to go talk to her bio teacher. Turns out, she doesn't turn in her homework or "correct" (can you believe that crap?) tests. Sooooo I got the low down, a copy of her lab booklet, copies of all her missing assignments....surprised her as she walked into the lab 30 minutes late with her boyfriend...and headed home to play personal assistant to my 16 year old.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">The remainder of the week was spent riding her to complete work.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I generally spend 4-4.5 hours of time each afternoon/evening helping kids with homework. I don't mind doing it. I actually enjoy it, especially when it coincides with stuff I'm studying, like the human heart! But it really miffs me when I have to practically beg a kid to do their homework. HELLO does ANYONE see what I'm trying to do here? I study constantly. Shouldn't they see me as an example? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><em>Cue appropriate verbage:</em></span><br />
<br />
<ul><li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I practice what I preach!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I wouldn't ask you to do anything I'm not already doing!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I say what I do and do what I say!</span></li>
</ul><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I know I'm co-dependant. I get that. </span><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"(co-dependency) often involves putting one's needs at a lower priority than others while being excessively preoccupied with the needs of others" </span></blockquote><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">But at what point exactly does co-dependancy begin? At what point do I stop going to the school, and digging to the bottom of mess' for these kids....so they don't wind up living in trailer parks, sniffing bath salts, and reading copies of People that they stole from the laundry mat (not that I know anything about that)???</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Until I figure that out...I'll be working on MY homework at between the hours of 11pm and 4:30am. And buying new socks because I can't find time to search the house for them and wash a load, because my kids can't do these things for themselves consistantly. Advice is welcome.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Before you think I've lost my Inner Becca, take a look at my spring in NY (FINALLY) photos... Thank Goodness Winter Ends Every Year No Matter What!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Best Wishes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">RebeccaFlys</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpf1DmQ-87XJEtKe5USNAwLs2LAj3wifL8xpMYCMumlylbOSm29gf574wEEwMF9s3CL2GI-BFNywxx_gUBrA7SDzirGS8C9yuGGTjn-h6TM1D7nYLiQtsLgCX9VJ8VFon0P2F0rkzkm4/s1600/DSCF1739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpf1DmQ-87XJEtKe5USNAwLs2LAj3wifL8xpMYCMumlylbOSm29gf574wEEwMF9s3CL2GI-BFNywxx_gUBrA7SDzirGS8C9yuGGTjn-h6TM1D7nYLiQtsLgCX9VJ8VFon0P2F0rkzkm4/s320/DSCF1739.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI52u9U9HU6u3j68UpULEaMQuyftPludu1yFRfW5VtiLaB4XrraPGO9wCyPrnn4-M4iBs19IRsFEI9LCyiiesq11iFjCBJjeE1l19fOHe9wJ8XqRP73XfnOVy6ibpFDgqpH1rFgTuh2OU/s1600/DSCF1721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI52u9U9HU6u3j68UpULEaMQuyftPludu1yFRfW5VtiLaB4XrraPGO9wCyPrnn4-M4iBs19IRsFEI9LCyiiesq11iFjCBJjeE1l19fOHe9wJ8XqRP73XfnOVy6ibpFDgqpH1rFgTuh2OU/s320/DSCF1721.JPG" width="240" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfiO-ziIX_OCs2z9toL0MFN8gluZlq_ENAtYa_0uBknZgiKLbbOnTw5pfPG-Lks2gGZh4bEACC9Y8j7cOZqGv-dx2w8D3GkREwTHIVV3ET-jcn0HJWLGgpNaFpyRjjmL69TvPXJ9A_o0/s1600/DSCF1715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfiO-ziIX_OCs2z9toL0MFN8gluZlq_ENAtYa_0uBknZgiKLbbOnTw5pfPG-Lks2gGZh4bEACC9Y8j7cOZqGv-dx2w8D3GkREwTHIVV3ET-jcn0HJWLGgpNaFpyRjjmL69TvPXJ9A_o0/s320/DSCF1715.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4Wdge5KA644_PDREOBpUWV0oRrBHM3-Va3Lz3GTFQJzGoCoxo-2rWlLPjTI-0NxLyC7cQvxl3ZhnkYcncwy3kuuk3ecZ8x3MeEShsTUhz_K61WBN1BvnC0dl0VqiERIlG1rQFjKxp5o/s1600/DSCF1690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4Wdge5KA644_PDREOBpUWV0oRrBHM3-Va3Lz3GTFQJzGoCoxo-2rWlLPjTI-0NxLyC7cQvxl3ZhnkYcncwy3kuuk3ecZ8x3MeEShsTUhz_K61WBN1BvnC0dl0VqiERIlG1rQFjKxp5o/s320/DSCF1690.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4CH2z4BaaKi6D5O9xy8qIbDDdvm9ukzhIqaGMuOudxbp7US_KzPvdQKPpo90jnqy0tLCkwefJeNdnNTqjmgx5Oxwt1ndNZbRGfZ43O2jbM0plc7wKDmAW7Mqnj4LSdL3Dum5T2T_NzI/s1600/DSCF1671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4CH2z4BaaKi6D5O9xy8qIbDDdvm9ukzhIqaGMuOudxbp7US_KzPvdQKPpo90jnqy0tLCkwefJeNdnNTqjmgx5Oxwt1ndNZbRGfZ43O2jbM0plc7wKDmAW7Mqnj4LSdL3Dum5T2T_NzI/s320/DSCF1671.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO3GEnuE7F4NcAtRr9UNHNbTH2za-nznavC8TnNCmzG9tnOX-gTWfrUvdh1UyT1cD1Hf2SEDMgcs99Bn8h7_B9mPrWPyA5EvpRleSfhDRW-3EuxMjUAnwniXn1TYyWXwDIzXC0xShU14/s1600/DSCF1681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO3GEnuE7F4NcAtRr9UNHNbTH2za-nznavC8TnNCmzG9tnOX-gTWfrUvdh1UyT1cD1Hf2SEDMgcs99Bn8h7_B9mPrWPyA5EvpRleSfhDRW-3EuxMjUAnwniXn1TYyWXwDIzXC0xShU14/s320/DSCF1681.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwRLOMKYwlQbBiEfKXVom_NXmljKFILW2ByfiSqlMWUs42W8OtZ_Zz2vuU4tJl98ZKOTXUHvVFQpV_1yhXldxP_i-uc9_aqlGmZLS0gm2vNmY6rCHeV9Rzj_UUyOkO0rf8VwLovl2Zdx8/s1600/DSCF1673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwRLOMKYwlQbBiEfKXVom_NXmljKFILW2ByfiSqlMWUs42W8OtZ_Zz2vuU4tJl98ZKOTXUHvVFQpV_1yhXldxP_i-uc9_aqlGmZLS0gm2vNmY6rCHeV9Rzj_UUyOkO0rf8VwLovl2Zdx8/s320/DSCF1673.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOG8VLVorQVpJAW4WWwiMq-__hb0fpoqHF8jPvN-J-eB6KQRYg0dkNKfyI6-NkCiHST4gi-2k6pV7QNGUm69f0N3FEq32byZJK4FHy2g6DJDjlSJxG5HmFn-UaX729iqenC5nelhEvXa8/s1600/DSCF1675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOG8VLVorQVpJAW4WWwiMq-__hb0fpoqHF8jPvN-J-eB6KQRYg0dkNKfyI6-NkCiHST4gi-2k6pV7QNGUm69f0N3FEq32byZJK4FHy2g6DJDjlSJxG5HmFn-UaX729iqenC5nelhEvXa8/s320/DSCF1675.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOIEIIVYkyYlkCw9HKCNESIcIkFufXIvjlL6TXiTOcfPafx3sB035XnyGlE6U4EPVuBA8Jtv34C_Hn5wseUU7nwo8FIPxN4YNfcEhakXkaOo5NsXgdUYGJoDZ4kMEApYw9RZTtQVpYjI/s1600/DSCF1693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOIEIIVYkyYlkCw9HKCNESIcIkFufXIvjlL6TXiTOcfPafx3sB035XnyGlE6U4EPVuBA8Jtv34C_Hn5wseUU7nwo8FIPxN4YNfcEhakXkaOo5NsXgdUYGJoDZ4kMEApYw9RZTtQVpYjI/s320/DSCF1693.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-KdJDhWO1mAaJmwmgrqeMaeU7Ce0ysYXyrob31leFxNuq6m13kSvukWtoccs7XsIz1SOtjpR9bcw53nE_Naju6PiI51tKsBu2A-JJ2bKMUv-7mRn6vyDRCip7Ju_6v8opA70fbMYjdM/s1600/DSCF1701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-KdJDhWO1mAaJmwmgrqeMaeU7Ce0ysYXyrob31leFxNuq6m13kSvukWtoccs7XsIz1SOtjpR9bcw53nE_Naju6PiI51tKsBu2A-JJ2bKMUv-7mRn6vyDRCip7Ju_6v8opA70fbMYjdM/s320/DSCF1701.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4sr6uOq7mP6KSAWoZLTQQV97Kz2aIhuenqE-vpkL_DBehxpnIRgtCKnh8tFxNVDu3BmF4NSLlUJyr48riRWejd6jQyVHdr5NMemzeQvh3aYDDJJEQQI9eAcki03cNGEO7Xaa1kFrO4A/s1600/DSCF1705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4sr6uOq7mP6KSAWoZLTQQV97Kz2aIhuenqE-vpkL_DBehxpnIRgtCKnh8tFxNVDu3BmF4NSLlUJyr48riRWejd6jQyVHdr5NMemzeQvh3aYDDJJEQQI9eAcki03cNGEO7Xaa1kFrO4A/s320/DSCF1705.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyWb5BeuTM4f8QwOmympr7eCwG4EQF5X2h1ZZYxk1l8b4tq7mBe8GvuOL-FOxw7GvFMaazEeA7Z-YgHGGKgRBvYfxeF16MTuzfVCNXNII7c2FG4-DFMZgt5GKwFJ9vcxakS0A69LbZSQ/s1600/DSCF1691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyWb5BeuTM4f8QwOmympr7eCwG4EQF5X2h1ZZYxk1l8b4tq7mBe8GvuOL-FOxw7GvFMaazEeA7Z-YgHGGKgRBvYfxeF16MTuzfVCNXNII7c2FG4-DFMZgt5GKwFJ9vcxakS0A69LbZSQ/s320/DSCF1691.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-36781488787181500162011-03-07T09:58:00.000-08:002011-03-07T10:04:11.069-08:00The Laundry of the Megaverse<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">M</span></b>y school was canceled today. Due to "inclement weather." Go Monday cancellations. The kid's schools were not canceled. I would be psyched to have all this free study time, but I have two kids home sick from school. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, I have not quite recovered from doing...</span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: magenta; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Laundry of the Megaverse!!! </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: magenta;">(Duh Duh Duh Duuuuuh) </b></span></div></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinlftcLxjIw5ztbLMcIL9ePf-Ywyat1Mftxxw95LghE5Q7Y60W_ZmWr1bRbpqUBKC-PDs6CicMHC1mop6uwm4Mt_SlTzc0WOwQUIwVoB6EnKL6KC6r4Y48bRa9voTUNKxuU6sjRbrWYDc/s1600/DSCF1392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinlftcLxjIw5ztbLMcIL9ePf-Ywyat1Mftxxw95LghE5Q7Y60W_ZmWr1bRbpqUBKC-PDs6CicMHC1mop6uwm4Mt_SlTzc0WOwQUIwVoB6EnKL6KC6r4Y48bRa9voTUNKxuU6sjRbrWYDc/s320/DSCF1392.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THIS</span></b> is what I did yesterday. <i>One Whole Weeks Worth of Laundry</i>. 12 loads. See, this way I do a whole weeks worth of laundry for five people in just one day. Practically all at once. In only like...four hours. Also, I get it all done in a warm, friendly place where nobody is bickering and the dog doesn't knock over my pile. And on Sundays at the laundry mat, you hardly ever run into any creepers.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"> figure I'm either crazy, lazy, or a complete genius. I mean, s</span><span style="font-size: large;">o what if the mother ship (aka my mini-van) reeks of dirty socks and random unmentionables, as does my history notebook...(see it there on the folded laundry? And so what if I added a little extra work to the laundry process with all of the basket hauling. I was multitasking! Studying and slaving all at once. (Hence the whole potential genius concept).</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>G</b></span>od bless return-to-college mamas, every one. I'm starting to see that they should all be knighted by the Queen of England, at LEAST. Or maybe by Jude Law....yeah Jude Law. Why? well....because he's English too that's why. </span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-40366586774432010482011-03-05T04:48:00.000-08:002011-03-05T04:55:30.742-08:00Electrons, Frozen Bippies, and the Finger Lakes<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">ometimes what you think you are seeing is so far from what you're actually seeing... Lesson learned world, thanks for the scar. What a week or two.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">MOVING ON TO THE GOOD STUFF</span></b></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1WocKk9OikKHPwApypa4ek1Ufl1oAKEEnYNoeQWyoNTfFEyWq7rcyEzabrcoTuqY2C-aBjhekAezF3NkrSzogjPtxCpkjEcLkdkMQ0IcC-t7Y7-T7dJ1ZoBgJLap5BXLePR0Jc315tQ/s1600/frozen4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1WocKk9OikKHPwApypa4ek1Ufl1oAKEEnYNoeQWyoNTfFEyWq7rcyEzabrcoTuqY2C-aBjhekAezF3NkrSzogjPtxCpkjEcLkdkMQ0IcC-t7Y7-T7dJ1ZoBgJLap5BXLePR0Jc315tQ/s320/frozen4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></b>his week, as I tried to re-learn why so many, or so many electrons go in an outside shell, (TY psych degree which decrees it is imperative I understand how many protons are in your nucleus), our lake was frozen over completely, and I was driving home with these incredible kneel down and pray sunsets to my right. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b> feel like I live in my mother-ship (AKA my silver mini-van), this photo expresses my skewed view of the world from my most frequent vantage point, or from my most natural environment, whichever.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> used to own mittens, but I have kids, so all I have to keep my hands warm are dirty socks, or my own sleeves, otherwise I would have stopped to take pictures sooner. It ended up I made a stop and photographed bare handed. It was so cold out, I think I damaged the nerves in my picture-taking button-pressing finger. I may also have frozen my bippies off. My mom always warned me about that.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3ZTwenI_AwdV_Qfyv6YL_m4CGQ3LetpqE3sw8SXZj-6pn79__Q-YpKQ7Lz5EE7sp8hTAkBaY1gyEXeZRmYxONFh9ae4sy1z-VRfLlSbGcGGBwQJyI9yVhpTPxRC0LPNtcqpJKW60jL4/s1600/frozen1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3ZTwenI_AwdV_Qfyv6YL_m4CGQ3LetpqE3sw8SXZj-6pn79__Q-YpKQ7Lz5EE7sp8hTAkBaY1gyEXeZRmYxONFh9ae4sy1z-VRfLlSbGcGGBwQJyI9yVhpTPxRC0LPNtcqpJKW60jL4/s320/frozen1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Y</b></span>ou gotta love the Finger Lakes. Even when your fingertips are frozen off, you're pretty sure there isn't enough salt in the free world to de-ice your driveway, and the dog keeps peeing by the door because it's just too cold out there for her...you find yourself nestled in your mini-van, in this pretty little corner of NY, feeling pretty lucky to have such a nice view. </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgplDuwmYSnokQBtZZIXQZJCPQhrdO0ETBCRAGsMlLt-eSiRSQjeIhrfoRR0gMJG3vFT_9vpwS3kXgWsbm_R6YgS2JWad6UCaI6h1mOR3BgyArhQWTFeZiQJPyDEWlHJueapiVZnOAlbk4/s1600/frozen2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgplDuwmYSnokQBtZZIXQZJCPQhrdO0ETBCRAGsMlLt-eSiRSQjeIhrfoRR0gMJG3vFT_9vpwS3kXgWsbm_R6YgS2JWad6UCaI6h1mOR3BgyArhQWTFeZiQJPyDEWlHJueapiVZnOAlbk4/s320/frozen2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>O</b></span>h, and the wine isn't so bad either. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>nd it will be summer, eventually, for about five minutes.</span></span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-20298084995159642452011-03-02T12:38:00.000-08:002011-03-02T12:41:18.227-08:00Really? Really!!! For REALSIES?<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> happened to mention the ages of my kids in a class today and a 20ish looking guy student (who I opened the door for after class, because he was on crutches, so don't be thinking the Flys is into any hanky panky) asked "Can I ask how old you are?"</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>W</b></span>hat the hell</i>, I thought. And I told him the truth. "Almost 35."</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">"<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>W</b></span>OW" he says, and I almost kick his crutches out from under him before he limps another step and finishes...."I thought you were like, 25 tops."</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">"<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y God," I said, "thank you."</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-N5obui3XvpPlMG1yj6MxZj99NmleYwEz3SRg8cCs0HnujqNpt1RTZqLRgDdVog2ec83m38ElQrkkbJJam7c_rbygwtQU9qemsd4QzIWpO1ZDSUud0XUrhD78h7Vqp5HEuJbHS5Eaiw/s1600/shamrock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-N5obui3XvpPlMG1yj6MxZj99NmleYwEz3SRg8cCs0HnujqNpt1RTZqLRgDdVog2ec83m38ElQrkkbJJam7c_rbygwtQU9qemsd4QzIWpO1ZDSUud0XUrhD78h7Vqp5HEuJbHS5Eaiw/s320/shamrock.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>P</b></span>lease notice how McDonalds has improved upon minty green St. Patty's Day perfection by adding whipped cream, AND a cherry to their phenom seasonal concoction, the Shamrock Shake. I'm def picking up one of these babies on the way home to celebrate my youthful appearance. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>W</b></span>hen I get home I'm going to go online, and surf around for places to spout my positive opinion of L'Oreal Revitalift. Yeah, TY L'Oreal, I'm your bitch for life. FOR LIFE.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-77297269977271661962011-02-21T05:10:00.000-08:002011-02-21T05:10:45.947-08:00<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></b>o, the dark pit is pulling me in a bit, and I'm struggling to "celebrate the small stuff" even though great small stuff is going on all around me. I know it's there, happening, behind the pile of dirty laundry, past the greasy pans I used to make a shepherd's pie at 6am, and through the frozen windshield that will take an hour to thaw and scrape this morning...</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y friends, let's share our bliss, just as we share our challenges... What kindnesses, amazing moments, or happy things are happening around you? Let's notice them and share. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I feel like I need all the positive I can procure </span><span style="font-size: large;">on this frozen NY Monday. How about you?</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #76a5af;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: #0b5394;">Two Little Things for Today....</span> </span></b></span></div><br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">~~<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>'m grateful for this song that I play on my MP3 every morning on my way to school...</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOQvewjjOjc">My Hallelujah Song by Julianne Hough</a> </span></div><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">~~<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>'m emboldened by the little birds, who somehow survive out there in the frozen tundra of my yard, and certainly appreciate the seed I put out for them! The thingee full of snow on the right is where I put stale bread for them...</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXPgdw6I5pRV985qTB1nySyJCTuyZNgUSElc6XrlTSJA4G1diy-dsRHmns4TFERLzdCndAaqNmVi-sKblEf-ftoDfpi4LTWkgXhICubkSCTeTWuG3SqQ1iTWAflNZCcXCJuS5C544iig/s1600/birdy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXPgdw6I5pRV985qTB1nySyJCTuyZNgUSElc6XrlTSJA4G1diy-dsRHmns4TFERLzdCndAaqNmVi-sKblEf-ftoDfpi4LTWkgXhICubkSCTeTWuG3SqQ1iTWAflNZCcXCJuS5C544iig/s400/birdy.jpg" width="300" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's to hoping I can behave with grace this week...and not throw people's dirty laundry out in the lawn! Again!</span><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-33907864668316209912011-02-13T19:59:00.000-08:002011-02-13T20:11:27.385-08:00Meditation will Not Help Manage This Mess!<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b>'m one week into semester one. The house is falling apart, I've lost three pounds, the dog doesn't recognize me, and several comments made by my children have nearly sent me into hysterics. I will share a few of those quotes along with photos to ensure you comprehend just where I'm coming from....</span><br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO9vSKS6yYXP_ZCHlG4hvhA9sXNtbt3mLB0_VZ-pNV5nGrRr2qr72eoGRbAXg4XAdizrq18OMmXRdg-G3SeUvhX_hkHZWwoS_smKQSfaqjA2AGws0Jy7zmCcd_yygBQvbAVL6DUMh5aU/s1600/blog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO9vSKS6yYXP_ZCHlG4hvhA9sXNtbt3mLB0_VZ-pNV5nGrRr2qr72eoGRbAXg4XAdizrq18OMmXRdg-G3SeUvhX_hkHZWwoS_smKQSfaqjA2AGws0Jy7zmCcd_yygBQvbAVL6DUMh5aU/s320/blog1.jpg" width="273" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span></b>inding balance has always been a challenge for me. I can eat a family size bag of Doritos and chow down a few whoopie pies and skip the healthy dinner I made for everyone else if I'm not careful.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span>he last time I went to college, balance was so far out of my realm it nearly killed me. I was in a car wreck at 27 weeks pregnant and went into premature labor. The following semester a house fire left us virtually homeless and clothesless with three kids aged 4 and under. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">B</span></b>ack then I saluted God and the messages he had repeatedly sent me to stay at home with my kids, I mean, that's what fate and fortune kept pointing me towards right? Back then I thought if I waited until the kids were a little older, things would be easier. What a romantic I was. Queue forward ten years to the <b><i>Me I Am Now</i></b>. Finding balance is just as hard as it was when I was clipping coupons for Huggies. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>'ve worked full time on salary for years. What I mean is, I know what it is to have 80 hour a week obligations outside of the home. But, after spending a year unemployed and enjoying every minute of my at-home time, I forgot what that meant exactly...and life isn't done throwing curve balls...</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>W</b></span>e're a mortgage payment behind and we ran out of fuel oil last week. That means we don't have hot water at the moment. The desk top computer stopped opening anything related to Windows, and my ToSHI<span style="font-size: large;">T</span>ba has a "mylar" problem with the keyboard that isn't covered by ToSHITba's warranty and the screen got damaged when I shipped it to the Philippines or wherever the darn thing went for repair...so I'm hanging at the college using their computers more than I had anticipated. My washing machine was busted and it took the guy a week and a half to come fix it, hence a mountain of laundry sat unwashed in the middle of "first week" and had to be hauled to alternate laundry washing locations by moi.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfjuHb0tq5E7kvBT-iP6sjg3Gj40sMZ6WCiCN5FlS1BQ_edsXFLgt2q_rq6qSnCp_6XUhP_OH0YiHz6tWRslKpG56JuawIk00xk0-D5dG13YckAz_O1s0ClMUVHHb81M7or4Xg1X6lZ0/s1600/blog2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfjuHb0tq5E7kvBT-iP6sjg3Gj40sMZ6WCiCN5FlS1BQ_edsXFLgt2q_rq6qSnCp_6XUhP_OH0YiHz6tWRslKpG56JuawIk00xk0-D5dG13YckAz_O1s0ClMUVHHb81M7or4Xg1X6lZ0/s400/blog2.jpg" width="341" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> bet you're wondering "Wow Becca how are you functioning without hot water?" Well gentle reader, I'm warming up water in a lobster pot and using a milk jug with the top cut off and little holes stabbed in the bottom to give what we like to call "Bucket Showers." In fact, one of the children has authored an adorable little ditty that goes something like:</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"B</b></span>ucket Shoooower! Bucket Shoooower!</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>t's a whole lot better than no shower at all!</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span></b>ow how how how I love a bucket SHOWER!!!!"</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y hubs is remaining positive, and has pointed out that our current kerosene heating choice is costing us just $50 per week. Our boiler cost us $650 for three weeks. You do the math, it makes me throw up in my mouth a little just thinking about it. He has also mentioned "I'm married to a college student" with a twinkle in his eye which is quite hot. However, he wouldn't be thrilled to know I just told the world at large (i.e. the 12 people who follow my blog) exactly what's been going on around here! </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8r4EkyDLBpM9dGxKSnQrty1cjzUMKYavAp7uDfVj-pQZfltsBprphNScOCcYVSaHNal3LVuc3wpNA3FNY9Y9uSMo9cyAsC19mVLAQFWWveeFqxwsgFThHlDtMl4TA2wmjjvV_iaGVFw/s1600/blog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8r4EkyDLBpM9dGxKSnQrty1cjzUMKYavAp7uDfVj-pQZfltsBprphNScOCcYVSaHNal3LVuc3wpNA3FNY9Y9uSMo9cyAsC19mVLAQFWWveeFqxwsgFThHlDtMl4TA2wmjjvV_iaGVFw/s400/blog3.jpg" width="342" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">(<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span>hank God my husband doesn't read my blog he'd not be too happy I'm letting cats out of the bag left and right.)</span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">It'll all be all right. Things will improve shortly, our taxes have been filed and a return is expected to bring us back up to par, however due to the government's failure to approve some creepy form we're at a stand still until the government stops standing still.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>t amazes me how far and how fast things can go downhill when I have to put something for myself...ahead of the little details. You know, the stuff that you do without thinking about it? Like, remembering to buy toilet paper, and finding people's whatever-the-hell because you cleaned it up earlier... but I have to focus on different priorities or I won't get out of college alive. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I </b></span>know we're totally out of whack right now. I know I'm barely holding on figuring out how to balance it all, but I gotta say I finally feel like I know where I'm headed. My mother and father-in-law stopped by out of the blue tonight. The house looks like crap, and for the first time in my life I didn't feel guilty. There's more to me than a clean floor and furniture with the pillows intact and not spread around the room... my identity isn't defined solely by how much and how fast I can clean up after my family. There's more to me than that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>'m happy. </i></span></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-53483250766564720532011-02-06T16:08:00.000-08:002011-02-07T03:53:15.203-08:00OH God What Am I Thinking? The Flys Goes Back to School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmmAXGWMeu-CGTR8BGWVsMPtNJIFAX010IHV23P7_O0qZCOMCKVuKHYTJvLv9xz5win-z1tfPfh9VkJ6lWGtcXB0kN7t6d7alPa3DQDejJd5HKQ0mv3RBCMsAr57UF9QYAeAMS6DFUI8/s1600/books3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmmAXGWMeu-CGTR8BGWVsMPtNJIFAX010IHV23P7_O0qZCOMCKVuKHYTJvLv9xz5win-z1tfPfh9VkJ6lWGtcXB0kN7t6d7alPa3DQDejJd5HKQ0mv3RBCMsAr57UF9QYAeAMS6DFUI8/s320/books3.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I </span></b>return to college full time TOMORROW. I'm freaking out for a variety of reasons;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><ol style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><li><span style="font-size: large;">Other than my professional work wardrobe, I own two pairs of jeans. One with a prominent rip by the ass pocket which is a humungo problemo because the dogs keep eating my underwear and lord knows nobody wants a peep hole onto my pale ass should one holey layer of fabric overlay another. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I went to the Office Supply Store and froze when I realized I have NO idea how to organize my schoolwork. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">My intelligence has dropped by probably 20 points since I had kids and my weight has gone up 20 (or 30) pounds.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">At 34 I'll be the oldest person in the world there. Maybe even older than the Professors. It's a likely bet I will be the only one with gray hair and a battle worn Dodge Caravan in any of my classes.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">My hubs seems to think I'm going for a dental appointment, not preparing to attend full time college for the next billion years.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The last time I spent a week away from home during the daytime, (doing alternate jury duty for a baby's death no less) my Brody Dog ate my sofa's face off. What on Earth will he do while I'm in Bio lab?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The last two semesters I went to college, I had a major car wreck while expecting baby #3, and a house fire which left me with one, yes ONE pair of underwear (clean unchewed underwear are a must have of mine). This means the Rule Of Threes owes me One.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I'm scared of screwing up.</span></li>
</ol><br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></b>ettling down young knocked the wind out of my sails for 13 years. I mean, I totally loved the lagoon I found myself in. I got great joy out of digging through poop looking for a missing penny that may or may not have been swallowed. I learned how to use the process of elimination to discover how best to remove Silly String from walls without damaging <strike>too much</strike> paint. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span></b>hen they were little, and I was knee deep in diapers, I told myself I would go back to school when they were older, and life was a little less challenging. Well, my kids are growing up, about to hit the 12, 14, and 16 marks and now I understand...just cuz they're bigger doesn't mean the challenges get easier, it just means they can tie their shoes WHILE they present challenges. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">M</span></b>y life and accomplishments for 13 years have been colored by the approval of my children; "mom, this dinner is pretty ok, can we have pizza Friday?" or "Hey, great you remembered to buy shampoo!" And while I'm incredibly accomplished at ordering pizza and the dirty dog reek of a 13 year old boy's sweaty head from two rooms away because he refused to use his sister's "sweet pea" scented shampoo... has endowed me with super-memory-shopping powers worthy of praise...I'm thinking that COLLEGE may be somewhat more of a challenge than child-rearing ever was.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> had to go to Campus today, on Super Bowl Sunday. As I parked my mother-ship (AKA my mini-van) and walked around, I felt like a total weirdo. Like I'm invading a summer camp my kids don't go to. The students look so young...even some of the prof's look young. When did I get so old?</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8TDtG3sShkvKa-GUj-z-uOhO1rzA8loyrfWsbyoLvnIVig4hcE3wTgQZNtSOxsz0Pwq9PbHk0E-1sr_KuT26Fdx5hMlsluYhgg9_oQ4D9lDjRXwmcoB-ar4xFQ14IrOwlZhIRd14uyw/s1600/books1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8TDtG3sShkvKa-GUj-z-uOhO1rzA8loyrfWsbyoLvnIVig4hcE3wTgQZNtSOxsz0Pwq9PbHk0E-1sr_KuT26Fdx5hMlsluYhgg9_oQ4D9lDjRXwmcoB-ar4xFQ14IrOwlZhIRd14uyw/s320/books1.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></b>urreal happenings of the day; I spent $160 on a paperback text book. I kept thinking people in the lines were talking to me, but they were talking over their phones directly into my ears. The Registrar sent me to the school nurse who made me fill out a form listing all of my family members, she asked "do you have a physical form and vaccination record?" and I said, "for who, for all of them?" She tilted her head like I had said something strange, and that's when I realized she didn't want my kid's records...she wanted mine. Duh. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I got home at 6pm I tripped over shoes by the door, was informed our natural gas tank is inexplicably empty and I've been asked what's for dinner no less than 3 times. My husband just told me he loves our daughter's very much but if they don't stop interrupting the Super Bowl he's going to wring their beautiful little necks. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b>'m hiding in here blogging and trying to remind myself that whatever doesn't make you criminally insane keeps you out of jail. Though I hear in prison they give you "three hots and a cot" and right at this moment, that sounds quite ideal. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5dtRTRf2Ucj0bIb9KhL6NQhN9EEQJL0LbHckVrwFcxODfYZL0DGwQSbCv1bCluXiAhvKSQXZJN9JllB-8xKGEs5WOz_U60nu_rihlW3n7es6nX9MzQJc6fSaIlZiFc_Pp7g08XyYQJc/s1600/books2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5dtRTRf2Ucj0bIb9KhL6NQhN9EEQJL0LbHckVrwFcxODfYZL0DGwQSbCv1bCluXiAhvKSQXZJN9JllB-8xKGEs5WOz_U60nu_rihlW3n7es6nX9MzQJc6fSaIlZiFc_Pp7g08XyYQJc/s320/books2.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y prayer for the next few years "Dear Lord, please help me stay strong and get through school so I can afford to hire a housekeeper, and send my husband TO the Super Bowl so he doesn't strangle our daughters...one magical day in my not so far off future!"</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>B</b></span>est wishes,</span></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>R</b></span>ebeccaFlys</span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-29497482048402688042011-02-01T22:12:00.000-08:002011-02-01T22:46:24.118-08:00Snow Daze<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0biBO7pWJAvBD0JY_74ig0Ug3_vn5ef301mJKqftbRFHIWHDMIlpKiujr9zOSc1Kvcrje5acbNabyRBmG2Mo0cROwQzT_3a8_Ic_jd1sCSME6rTF8r1z7qJilBNmIXSO4fUYAvQ05nbU/s1600/winta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0biBO7pWJAvBD0JY_74ig0Ug3_vn5ef301mJKqftbRFHIWHDMIlpKiujr9zOSc1Kvcrje5acbNabyRBmG2Mo0cROwQzT_3a8_Ic_jd1sCSME6rTF8r1z7qJilBNmIXSO4fUYAvQ05nbU/s320/winta.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My lips are frozen to my teeth.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>hhh the coveted "snow day." For the last I don't know how many years, the mere suggestion of a snow storm had my kids wearing their pajamas inside out and filling the toilet with ice cubes. </span><span style="font-size: large;">When a storm petered out or the snow fall got scraped out of the way too quickly and efficiently, leaving school in session the whining began;</span><span style="font-size: large;"> "doooon't make us goooo, the Superintendent doesn't care if we live or die" (cue dramatic concerned looks out the window at the waning snowfall and respectably clear roads) </span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGCIeleUJrL6yNJ8qJ5bgV90sNczcVwQTyLc69_VyGCHiaw3GNwPCuKFEwL95RlwXB1lBPjoQ1GceJRZhUVacqGEHQotdtJ-QhgawNMed-QPnStmXVw39gY5cDOXkcQIZq6FqYuQWa8pI/s1600/DSCF1177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGCIeleUJrL6yNJ8qJ5bgV90sNczcVwQTyLc69_VyGCHiaw3GNwPCuKFEwL95RlwXB1lBPjoQ1GceJRZhUVacqGEHQotdtJ-QhgawNMed-QPnStmXVw39gY5cDOXkcQIZq6FqYuQWa8pI/s320/DSCF1177.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our Frozen Snow Covered Lake</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>W</b></span>e live in NY, so bad winter weather is bound to leave you stranded without electricity or flushing toilets eventually. So yes, my kid's <i>Snow Day</i> prayers finally come to fruition this week. School was canceled today due to a snow storm and by 6pm the school's automated service had called to inform us tomorrow has also been declared a snow day.</span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5ZCIvCyKubD10MeVipWacekVOboBpNETr7MTqIFqzZUO1jlDRjVlpVWFqMrT-sG9q83OBdsqqsJGmh1A8wACFXcwMt4avKN5ui0h26YAdEyJgxJACCLSeOEwqd4lWsqilGyQaZ6muao/s1600/DSCF0874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5ZCIvCyKubD10MeVipWacekVOboBpNETr7MTqIFqzZUO1jlDRjVlpVWFqMrT-sG9q83OBdsqqsJGmh1A8wACFXcwMt4avKN5ui0h26YAdEyJgxJACCLSeOEwqd4lWsqilGyQaZ6muao/s320/DSCF0874.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lake View Sledding Hill</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WWpbaTED2Vv9EZaJN9ST05LOQEyLafIVqzTExWJdl-QefIK8XST6GEmR_jUfxU3Mz2omn7EM5fytKMZV1MToaOFrStb8o3m7SIyi7wCsxc3aTvirA2qTVYT3HeEVsa5nVdc7McWQFqo/s1600/catbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WWpbaTED2Vv9EZaJN9ST05LOQEyLafIVqzTExWJdl-QefIK8XST6GEmR_jUfxU3Mz2omn7EM5fytKMZV1MToaOFrStb8o3m7SIyi7wCsxc3aTvirA2qTVYT3HeEVsa5nVdc7McWQFqo/s320/catbird.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Aberlee snickering at the Birds, out in the cold, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">fighting for their lives.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0_VsccO9ui-SoGVS_kQfj6LJWdogoRF29s3qewGF1-ddNG5GWHzXwtZcuElsOSaXWQshIiMWxQCdPhPwLWrh7rEBVherAEHISLiL3NmrHuZw5opsS4aeaEhzN4ZTjLM5dhdkPU1c2Rk/s1600/brosno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0_VsccO9ui-SoGVS_kQfj6LJWdogoRF29s3qewGF1-ddNG5GWHzXwtZcuElsOSaXWQshIiMWxQCdPhPwLWrh7rEBVherAEHISLiL3NmrHuZw5opsS4aeaEhzN4ZTjLM5dhdkPU1c2Rk/s320/brosno.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Brody Wondering if I'm ever Getting him Those Doggy Snow Booties He saw at Petco.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></b>he kids were out sledding with their uncle when the good news came in. Like Pirates, hanging off of a ship's mast, challenging the Gods of the storm they began to gear up for the weather. Immediately after I notified them, they went for pizza, stopped to buy hot chocolate mix, rented movies and began the cackling. If my (almost) 14 year old son hadn't shoveled the whole driveway without prompting (from today's catastrophic snow load), and my 16 year old hadn't washed her own laundry (with only minor threats made on my part to throw in some of her 11 year old sister's stuff as well) I would be far less enthused about tomorrow...but something has me looking forward to the storm...and the extra time with the fam before my schooling begins again...I hope they remembered the marshmallows!</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxuu7uSf1JZ9ENojcGRFZOk0bJYWMJ1l8aADwDQ-U7zCbVyf35HNO6dQDlCJGVlMmcJgKGaFVWyqYfINhC7' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>B</b></span>est wishes,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">RebeccaFlys </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-25807344160920699722011-02-01T08:47:00.000-08:002011-02-01T09:43:27.019-08:00My Take on the Spank<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnwrxKLA_Nx27mD9sH0HBXumwYKWL8Klw9P6_ROHYMnLxSP7Ito41G3WpIZmMLFuk_A6oSDeSmcEbjt1QAbWVLPU-YcFaAOy8OgYHkVRtmVy5Cx3cBqGaIiNDV1sjhzFmMyAf0kB1lZ0/s1600/wood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnwrxKLA_Nx27mD9sH0HBXumwYKWL8Klw9P6_ROHYMnLxSP7Ito41G3WpIZmMLFuk_A6oSDeSmcEbjt1QAbWVLPU-YcFaAOy8OgYHkVRtmVy5Cx3cBqGaIiNDV1sjhzFmMyAf0kB1lZ0/s320/wood.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> don't have wooden spoons in my house. I use Pampered Chef spatulas, plastic utensils, or chopsticks...but never a wooden spoon. I had one too many ass whuppings from a wooden spoon in my youth. Seeing one is the equivalent of realizing the school bully has his beady eye leveled at me. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span>hat said, I spanked my kids. I never decided not to, so I guess I'm a spanker. At the same time I can count on one hand the times I've spanked my eldest, in fact I can only recall the circumstances of two of those times.</span></div><ol style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><li><span style="font-size: large;">When she was about three and a half and ran toward the road which was a state highway and at the end of our driveway. She knew better, I was terrified, "what" spank "were" spank "you" spank "thinking" spank. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">She had her teeth clamped on her brother's shoulder and it appeared she was breaking his skin. "Let go" no response, "LET GO" no response, spank-spank-spank. She let go and said "YOU SPANKED ME!" </span></li>
</ol><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></b>he never ran for the road or bit her brother again, so the spankie shock (an over-the-clothes not bare a#$ spank) taught her a lesson. </span> </span><br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNahfFc159aPBy8kBD0sgNuN3vnyIbj7e5T_xRxPWt9F4b4U7zaZ1_uvYUNQww72sXmkIc-qTKA3ydGm4uXFJRX1TY1zGAf6aBFQ47QLzXOwvk1QBHjUHof7Cal0QdRXkAiy2EYz7HvM/s1600/spank2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNahfFc159aPBy8kBD0sgNuN3vnyIbj7e5T_xRxPWt9F4b4U7zaZ1_uvYUNQww72sXmkIc-qTKA3ydGm4uXFJRX1TY1zGAf6aBFQ47QLzXOwvk1QBHjUHof7Cal0QdRXkAiy2EYz7HvM/s320/spank2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y other spanky stories include a second story open window and a 5 year old boy throwing my jewelry box out onto a concrete patio. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING" spank spank "YOU COULD HAVE FALLEN OUT THE WINDOW" spank spank "AND BROKEN YOUR HEAD" spank. My son has taken a few more spankings than my daughters. He has also narrowly escaped death on more than one occasion, like the time he rolled a bowling ball down the stairs and tried to race it.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>n any case, all spanks were followed by "I love you and don't want you to get hurt or hurt someone else." A spank is worst case scenario stuff in my mind. Frankly, as they get older, losing toys or finding games they've "worked their way up on" deleted from the PS3 has been worse punishment than the hardest whack on the barest rear end could ever be. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span> favorite torture tool of mine; how quickly unflattering photos of you can be posted to Facebook, and every aunt, uncle, grandparent and far flung friend of mine from high school can leave comments like "Oh how cute! I remember being that awkward when I was in middle school" or "don't worry he/she will grow out of that." Even worse? I am the keeper of the passwords. If I tag them in a photo there's nothing they can do to untag themselves...until I say so.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span></b>he last thing my kids want to hear is, "go ahead, do that (thing you've been repeatedly warned not to do). I'll get you in the end."</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGDTcStTv6tTpB2pHt4Ad2A74x470NHxlvuvVXTGlzZ9v8R173tca5oi9BO3y4lya1RsRNJfu6Pr50ZuDNX8VWGNxv1HIdnyowlFJ5rUlOiakRWGDU-vYLOYf7pi1YHb-gk800c7yrPQ/s1600/spank3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGDTcStTv6tTpB2pHt4Ad2A74x470NHxlvuvVXTGlzZ9v8R173tca5oi9BO3y4lya1RsRNJfu6Pr50ZuDNX8VWGNxv1HIdnyowlFJ5rUlOiakRWGDU-vYLOYf7pi1YHb-gk800c7yrPQ/s1600/spank3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGDTcStTv6tTpB2pHt4Ad2A74x470NHxlvuvVXTGlzZ9v8R173tca5oi9BO3y4lya1RsRNJfu6Pr50ZuDNX8VWGNxv1HIdnyowlFJ5rUlOiakRWGDU-vYLOYf7pi1YHb-gk800c7yrPQ/s320/spank3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> know there are people out there whose spanks leave bruises. When I talk about spanking, I'm not referring to that type of a "beating." I'm talking about a spankie. A spankie smarts. It isn't pleasant, but it doesn't dislocate your coccyx. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span>hough I spanked my kiddos, It is my opinion a spank is for special occasions, as in your kid just hit the dog with a stick and after you take a privilege away, and the little tyke says "I didn't hurt im' anyways, hittin' don't hurt." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y sister is a spanker. I don't say "like me" because her and I do it quite differently, and I don't think she really "gets" my take on spankietry; the study of spanking. My sister spanks over every little slight, and misbehavior. The eye rolling around the Thanksgiving table as the little tykes laugh off her swats is pretty predictable. I think my nephews have bums of steel. They might occasionally creep out a few tears (more from frustration or embarrassment than anything else in my humble opinion) but they don't seem overly concerned about a spanking. This hasn't been missed by their cousins, as my kids have actually said to me, "<i>they</i> do stuff and ALL they get is a spanking." Yeah, so I guess that's confirmation the handful of spankies I've delivered to their sweet little bums didn't do any long lasting psychic damage.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span></b>s a parent who has raised kids to the ages of 12, 14 & 16, I think as long as you stay calm, and make a conscious and considered choice to spank a hind end, you'll know you're doing it for all the right reasons. The time to spank is when no amount of reasonable explanation is going to teach them what a little pain in the butt could. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>s for my little angels...so far so good! Spankings have made their way to "remember when" status. "Remember when you kept tying the jump rope around my neck, because you were the dog whisperer and I was the dog, and mom finally spanked you? Ha ha ha, we were such dumb kids." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>G</b></span>ood times.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>B</b></span>est wishes,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">RebeccaFlys</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-60674385543972216812011-01-30T20:31:00.000-08:002011-01-30T21:08:14.231-08:00Small Town Surreal<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> walk around trying to be normal...most of the time. I mean, I drive a mini-van, I drink Maxwell House, my "everyday" doesn't usually lead me places...like where I wound up last night. You know how sometimes your best intentions can go wrong pretty fast? Yeah, that was last night.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span>o my 11 year old had a "pool party" to attend at a hotel in a small town adjacent to our small town. The coolsies mom of the birthday girl was awesome enough to pick my kiddo up, saving us the 35 minute drive out of town....but of course my daughter left her birthday gift for her little BFF behind... and I, ever the effervescent opportunist, thought to myself "Self, things in your life are about to be much more stressful and busy, what with starting college and all, so take this opportunity to go out with your hubs. Hubs and you could use a night out."</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span>o we delivered said gift, and headed to a little hole in the wall bar we go to when we want to go somewhere that isn't local to chill in a clandestine fashion. I sort of skipped my youth, and I never hung out anywhere "cool" ever. So I get this little thrill out of flirting with my hubs from a bar stool. When we go out, I embrace my inner chick. You know...wear my cool black leather, ankle-zip boots with the tall heels...some cute jeans and a black shirt, mated with actual jewelry. Then of course I rock my hair with some semi-Farrah, hottie, waves. To shellack the whole look, I wear actual lipstick touched with gloss.... instead of Carmex. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi5BKPKfKxEHjljR25ivMEqatBPzDN1CaN16ICq7NuD8rk6DKYUoxfy44B2TB5dOVDVACzpCXKq2FMzwG45498gNAWlRhlXOy9bV8rc1Xb8LuqQ5TDUrbffi45_su3ATnRfrRLrGoyDM/s1600/dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi5BKPKfKxEHjljR25ivMEqatBPzDN1CaN16ICq7NuD8rk6DKYUoxfy44B2TB5dOVDVACzpCXKq2FMzwG45498gNAWlRhlXOy9bV8rc1Xb8LuqQ5TDUrbffi45_su3ATnRfrRLrGoyDM/s320/dress.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>e and my hubs spent good portions of our younger years in sales. We're people...people. Striking up conversations with people is kind of our thing. Within 20 minutes of being there, we met this guy wearing bib overalls who told us he was celebrating because his 16 year old son had "got hisself some p&*#y" then he bought us drinks. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>fter sucking down my white russian, I wanted to dance. Eventually an older chick with Clairol 12G blown out blond hair hit the dance area over by the pool table. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y hubs was learning all about oil rigs, and how to work your way up the ladder in oil from our new friend. Finally the DJ, a funny little white guy who spent the better part of an hour making MTV type hand gestures while adjusting his beanie, coke bottle glasses and crotch, decided to put on some hip hop. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>B</b></span>lown Out didn't mind if I joined her, so I got my groove on. "Where do you dance?" she asked. "Oh, usually in (my town) at (the only bar where people dance)" I said. "Yeah, but where do you daaance?" she asked again. "Sometimes at weddings, or in my kitchen." I said, trying to use humor because she might be slow or addled from do-it-yourself hair color application.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>t wasn't until the song was over and I made my way back to my stool that I realized...SHE THINKS I'M A STRIPPER!</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> wish I could say the evening didn't get weirder. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span></b>e got pulled over on the way home. I ALWAYS tell my husband to use the speed saver buttons on the steering wheel. He always tells me I overuse it. He could gift wrap a nice sized box of jewelry for me with all of his speeding tickets. But he can't buy me jewelry because we're broke from paying speeding tickets. I myself have never been ticketed for speeding. Just saying. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpEXdjkBDhyPLT0Z2bXjsJ2nORe_jU7aqbJqdDdeZIkYp2v0BzD0_-vzo5fWPoniMLulv-RR80_UlnXoDSqrNvmbe5q7cgIfUn1CEij7kX0vNFwVv3G4jn2nlSA3u3yH5XIDtBGPlJA4/s1600/cruise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpEXdjkBDhyPLT0Z2bXjsJ2nORe_jU7aqbJqdDdeZIkYp2v0BzD0_-vzo5fWPoniMLulv-RR80_UlnXoDSqrNvmbe5q7cgIfUn1CEij7kX0vNFwVv3G4jn2nlSA3u3yH5XIDtBGPlJA4/s320/cruise.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Girl's Best Friend</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEg5dNhs__E-Zy2cYAMWYw-dbKC9wdmnXChEMDZCS6zyFTq3szq4DxK60MLrBuMWJV8wYu2CXVuqrK0Sdqw0AKHhXToxHPnrYFUeZTnhk6biU7FRvlba4IetXpmTtgm5-NkBxisqOjHQ/s1600/Black_cat-thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>s we sat in the mini, watching the blue and red cop car lights lite up the falling snow (the most romantic part of the night) I looked to my right and saw a graveyard. In the graveyard was a BIG stone, with my husband's (unusual) last name etched on it. Suddenly, out from behind the stone, I shit you not, ran a black cat, which crossed in front of our mini, and darted across the road at lightening speed. That's kind of when I knew we were <i>really</i> in trouble.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEg5dNhs__E-Zy2cYAMWYw-dbKC9wdmnXChEMDZCS6zyFTq3szq4DxK60MLrBuMWJV8wYu2CXVuqrK0Sdqw0AKHhXToxHPnrYFUeZTnhk6biU7FRvlba4IetXpmTtgm5-NkBxisqOjHQ/s1600/Black_cat-thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEg5dNhs__E-Zy2cYAMWYw-dbKC9wdmnXChEMDZCS6zyFTq3szq4DxK60MLrBuMWJV8wYu2CXVuqrK0Sdqw0AKHhXToxHPnrYFUeZTnhk6biU7FRvlba4IetXpmTtgm5-NkBxisqOjHQ/s1600/Black_cat-thumb.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span>ometimes the strangest things happen when you're just out there, doing the most normal everyday things. And sometimes you have to be really really careful when you pray to God for signs, because you actually get them. I've been freaking out about my college plans, asking God to send me a sign telling me I'll be able to balance everything I have on my plate. "I can do it God, can't I? Oh just let me know I can do it all! Send me a sign!" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>N</b></span>ow I have to pray to God to send me a sign that this sign wasn't an actual sign. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> suppose it could all boil down to bad luck. According to my new Facebook Ap, "</span><b>check your Lucky or Unlucky</b>"<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm just shit out of luck at the moment... (actual result follows;</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYpUIzMtccwlVLfpJXLQfJ3k-Ock7SPf9AEw5GKXNsEZm8XmWie_GsBNKfLYS26NLYwiT1UPTROFWyymAyw4WSDS0uGQ6uh3M_jvG_ThqWzav2LEtpcGbIhMmfGgJwnclOSZqJDn-YmU/s1600/unlucky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYpUIzMtccwlVLfpJXLQfJ3k-Ock7SPf9AEw5GKXNsEZm8XmWie_GsBNKfLYS26NLYwiT1UPTROFWyymAyw4WSDS0uGQ6uh3M_jvG_ThqWzav2LEtpcGbIhMmfGgJwnclOSZqJDn-YmU/s320/unlucky.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="uiAttachmentTitle"><b><a href="http://apps.facebook.com/luckyacccabaf/?ref=atch">Rebecca % 99 Unlucky</a></b> </div>check your Lucky or Unlucky</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;">...<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>nd luck can change at any time...right?<br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>B</b></span>est wishes,</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Rebecca </span></span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-70414055118948154212011-01-28T18:52:00.000-08:002011-01-28T19:54:12.463-08:00Sweet 16 Driving Permit Intervention<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_oHyDANxeU_FPv7GcUNOGgZMNv8sWSCQZ4QNINQBZXnFSqaS85F6fXB5wXbAXJgqaK3brdaucU7DmTs-a1gBz6k1pHcUrazyIsTP9gTTcoZMkCditWSHeXQuIC6usdWqm3hnJ7qa0bY/s1600/key4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_oHyDANxeU_FPv7GcUNOGgZMNv8sWSCQZ4QNINQBZXnFSqaS85F6fXB5wXbAXJgqaK3brdaucU7DmTs-a1gBz6k1pHcUrazyIsTP9gTTcoZMkCditWSHeXQuIC6usdWqm3hnJ7qa0bY/s320/key4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y Lazy River Child turned 16 last weekend. Of course you know what everyone wanted to know as her birthday approached. "Are you taking her to get her driving permit???" </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span>he answer is no. No I'm not.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirgFG5mgrXaOPdpO76jOBENwDZNhqI7kICV2i44lz4y0nU9s8g2YG4XtKn2AXp56yjTQiMVLe612KiR9PuIXlJ2aKJEs7STVypmUNSqtRMEddR-3Xi4DJDVIzURFZLl4WIt8c7u6FUh7M/s1600/key2.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/AVvXsEirgFG5mgrXaOPdpO76jOBENwDZNhqI7kICV2i44lz4y0nU9s8g2YG4XtKn2AXp56yjTQiMVLe612KiR9PuIXlJ2aKJEs7STVypmUNSqtRMEddR-3Xi4DJDVIzURFZLl4WIt8c7u6FUh7M/s200/key2.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>s her Sweet 16 approached, her uncle surreptitiously brought home a study manual for "the test." </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>L</b></span>ike my daughter, I too was an eldest child. I was well behaved, but my mom didn't always handle my milestones with ease. She wasn't too hip on handing over the mini-van wheel to me. This didn't stop her from doing the old "wink, wink" at my daughter as she loudly suggested to a room full of family that she feels her granddaughter, her oldest grandchild, is definitely ready to drive. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>f my boobs were as perky as they were when I was 16 my jaw would have hit them. This is MY MOTHER, the same woman who referred to my car as a 3000 pound bullet and encouraged me to wait until I was 18 to get my license, who had me stop at a stop sign on a hill before I had fully mastered driving the standard car we were in. She thought it was pretty funny, but I'm still convinced she did it to scare me out of going for my license...because she loved me and was scared of me driving. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJDdrnn3DqHF9zV7zpVeHvM11AFX9xHvawwbbcBtJhbmZFx3ZbrxWpH_nXtW_jb__eOVRTpA5JSQYowQ_9PUqCR0goRI7vXkzVjfST6wWOiB8qncj8yxCds0R2sYD3zo9dLmukQBCD5k/s1600/key3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJDdrnn3DqHF9zV7zpVeHvM11AFX9xHvawwbbcBtJhbmZFx3ZbrxWpH_nXtW_jb__eOVRTpA5JSQYowQ_9PUqCR0goRI7vXkzVjfST6wWOiB8qncj8yxCds0R2sYD3zo9dLmukQBCD5k/s200/key3.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>t my girl's family birthday party, my 8 year old nephew gave my daughter a key chain "for someday," then turned and looked over his shoulder at me, with a "shame on you" type of look that only the youngest kid in the family can give. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I felt almost as bad as when the kids found out I threw the guinea pig away instead of burying it. (It was January and I didn't want to keep a dead pig in the freezer till' thaw.)</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span>he worst part of me not feeling she's ready to drive? The fact that if my hand was severed in some sort of pergola building fiasco (this is entirely possible if you know me) I would have my 13 year old son drive me to the Emergency Room. Thanks to his grandpa who taught him to drive the riding mower, the hundreds of hours he has logged on the Playstation playing Nascar racing games and <i>Need For Speed</i>, I think he would be my best chance for a speedy hand re-attachment. There's also the fact that he has his wits about him, he pays attention and can multitask (he can skip note taking in science class to watch a cute girl and get a 20 out of 20 on the end of class pop quiz). He can make a full breakfast from scratch...pancakes, eggs, bacon & sausage and have it on the table hot at the same time. I can't even do that.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>M</b></span>y River child...she's creative. She's HILARIOUS. She's empathetic and sweet. She also forgets to tighten the tops on her nail polish bottles when she's done with them, regularly locks the cat in her bedroom, and she actually forgot to take the macaroni out of the strainer before she added the foil packet of Velveeta cheese. Yes, she put liquid cheese IN the strainer full of macaroni and stirred it up.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJhF6fD6tvPu46DIv-nfIAbraLob9ZB7bfOWDXvsJGwYbIBev14IlgC1b6z5Pnce6MnVekctm9TfLK5kxPNi7XpV6UPIoHbppuNMT4hVM5XAyldJU6B1f2Y6trWFjBkeHm5sXPwyaq8s/s1600/key1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJhF6fD6tvPu46DIv-nfIAbraLob9ZB7bfOWDXvsJGwYbIBev14IlgC1b6z5Pnce6MnVekctm9TfLK5kxPNi7XpV6UPIoHbppuNMT4hVM5XAyldJU6B1f2Y6trWFjBkeHm5sXPwyaq8s/s200/key1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">....<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>nd people want me to put her behind the wheel of a 3000 pound bullet. The ONLY 3000 pound bullet this family ow<span style="color: #3366ff;"><span style="color: black;">ns.</span> </span><span style="color: #339966;"><span style="color: #3366ff;"><br />
</span></span> </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b>'ll admit, being the mother of a 16 year old has me feeling a bit out of my league. I mean, I wasn't much older than she is now when I graced the world with her. My parenting skills teeter-totter between stuff I've learned from used parenting books, well meaning school teachers, and well honed seat-of-my-pants flying skills. So, when something is big, as big as this, I go with my gut and my gut has a lot to say about this particular subject. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> think when the steady the stream of input from her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and the waiters at Applebees who sang "Happy Birthday" then asked "So, ya getting your permit?" dies down...maybe then she'll figure out that this is an adult step in her life, and she might pony up her motivation and shake hands with her inner grown up to meet this goal. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwYLJ_KvrIgRBCS6MPElzXawslDzB8D3zQ6z9HB1t3qXc15wrpHfe-X6l2NvHLlSsIFxsGwyIOBsp-weCMc-4aiXBA6d552TOOBEe6fDL6cMe9NHSsOhjk6QhyQNBZiXY_7zIWjmdwww/s1600/pink-car-k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwYLJ_KvrIgRBCS6MPElzXawslDzB8D3zQ6z9HB1t3qXc15wrpHfe-X6l2NvHLlSsIFxsGwyIOBsp-weCMc-4aiXBA6d552TOOBEe6fDL6cMe9NHSsOhjk6QhyQNBZiXY_7zIWjmdwww/s200/pink-car-k.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How I see it</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCMh6-KxfQGx1CfUq1hL23LNGbId4lYiEu-oRzucLshWUkIrgQsddVAB3GCVHJv0VtypFgaUFYTU2fM6Qq_FtE183e5cz72AH8w2htbW5-fT98YvorVV79FLAvCPExk_2oLfpOCEXxs4/s1600/pink+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCMh6-KxfQGx1CfUq1hL23LNGbId4lYiEu-oRzucLshWUkIrgQsddVAB3GCVHJv0VtypFgaUFYTU2fM6Qq_FtE183e5cz72AH8w2htbW5-fT98YvorVV79FLAvCPExk_2oLfpOCEXxs4/s200/pink+car.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How they see it</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>s for when she'll be doing that... my gut is screaming "WAIT! Wait till' the hoopla of the Sweet 16 dies down. Wait until she decides <i>on her own</i> that this is a step she wants to take because this <i>is</i> an adult step, and she has to take it on her own, like an adult. Wait until she picks that driving study book up <i>without</i> your prompting. That's when you'll know she's ready." </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>'ll be 38 when my youngest turns 16 and I'm certain she'll provide me with annotated notes on the study book along with a print out of the business hours at the DMV. She's sort of like that. So, please say a prayer that L'Oreal continues to make their Express Kit to color my silver streak back to blond and provide me with sumptuous highlights and please pray that all of this stressful driving business only takes you know, like 3-5 years off of my already dented lifespan.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">B</span></b>est wishes,</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">RebeccaFlys</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-23291793116068847722011-01-19T21:35:00.000-08:002011-01-19T21:56:22.803-08:00How often a week did you say practice was?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlOTrdvUWgfIaA8LrdCyfaqxwrmh-IYP9spX-nITn3gS6TVbHqnKtSmb_ZvMw-rlScLz9GO5LZMckCa1aWlfHiCd3dKeZ-NVu1qo959gyhKVp2ytNVWZYfZ_JZtIi4fqb3lgIzWaF2BQ/s1600/sport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlOTrdvUWgfIaA8LrdCyfaqxwrmh-IYP9spX-nITn3gS6TVbHqnKtSmb_ZvMw-rlScLz9GO5LZMckCa1aWlfHiCd3dKeZ-NVu1qo959gyhKVp2ytNVWZYfZ_JZtIi4fqb3lgIzWaF2BQ/s320/sport.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I harbor a silent guilt. My kids don't do sports. <br />
<br />
One tried lacrosse when he was 5 and spent the better part of "practice" performing some form of interpretative dance on the back 9 (I could have gotten a cut and color or three for what we spent on that helmet and stick).</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Soccer happened at one point for two out of three of them, but nobody liked Gatoraid or running. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My oldest child, a daughter who is now a Sophomore in high school, has signed up for track because "even if I drop out I'll be looking good in my size 6's by summer." That's the same kid who did dance classes once a week for a few years. I pulled her out when the dance moves started to look more like a "shimmy" strip tease than ballet plies. (Younger daughter may never forgive me for keeping her out and away from those sequined $100 outfits but Coyote Ugly in the under 7 set rubs me the wrong way and always will.)</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My son gave football a rip one fall. We drove all over the countryside, hours away to games where he played for five minutes and I learned the hard way that you have to take the foam things OUT of the football outfit thingee before you wash it. I also couldn't watch as my kid got crashed into and battered about. I think he would play again but worries about what a helmet would do to his current Justin Bieber hair-do.<br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">You know how people are all "I run my kids everywhere like craaazy" well, I don't. When other moms start ranting about their insane schedules and how their husbands have to leave work early to help them get kids to "extra-curricular activities" I nod sympathetically. They never notice my watery smile or the lack of sport related bumper stickers on my mini-van. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm okay with not being a super mom. The kids and I never really got into the sports/lessons habit partly due to one kid who had a lot of doctor's appointments. Our after-school hours that weren't in doctor's offices were spent deciding what to snack on, wandering aimlessly, sitting in the creek, volunteering, wandering the vineyards, playing video games together or trying to figure out what the dog ate to make it's barf smell so ripe. Yeah, we do "other" stuff.<br />
<br />
My youngest, age 11, 6th grade, joined Drama Club this year. She's a "cook" for Augustus Gloop in Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. So she has been staying after from 3pm - 5pm a lot. I miss her. Also, going to get her in the cold really sucks, especially on top of the fact that the dog ate $20 worth of the chocolate bars she was selling for the play and I'm still really pissed off about that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've received an email request to do hair for the dress rehearsal and the play. Short of manning the book fair, or a field trip getting back late, this is officially the most after-school effort I've ever been asked to put in, and my kids are 11, 13, & 15 all soon to "age up." </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I picked my 15 year old up from mid-term biology review today.... </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Total Tangent</b></i>: my kid was the only kid who went can you believe that? Oh and the young bio teacher who is quitting her teaching position (in THIS economy???) to join the air force discussed her divorce...due to "dishonesty" with my kid...weird right??? Not so appropro... My lazy river child tends to be a person people confide in, but JEESH...TMI creepy bio teacher... please prepare her for the exam and leave discussing the merits of divorce with her in MY lap... am I right here? Am I??? </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>And we're back;</b></i> So, I pick her up at 5pm and there are sweaty sports kids leaving too. I had this moment of guilt...maybe I should have pushed my kids into sports...isn't PARTICIPATING like...super important? Those kids look so sporty, exhausted and sporty (I wonder as I type this if sports practice was why there was only one kid at Bio mid-term review...hmmm). Then I looked at my girl, who will be 16 Sunday, with her cute hair-do and her artistically devised, yet modest, "outfit of the day" and pondered as she told me all about her bio teacher's "fresh start." I realized she IS participating. She participates in being my kid and a great sister and apparently she's such a great listener that a 27 year old soon-to-be-divorced future Air-Force pilot can confide in her. She's really close with her family and that's pretty cool for an almost 16 year old. She's A okay, and hey maybe she'll like track and while I wait for her turn to run I'll get some knitting done.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Truly though, I've spent more time with my kids due to skipping out on after-school sports...than anyone I know. Seriously, the hours I've had to teach them to cook, sew, or stop fighting and bickering with each other...my God, one day memories of those things, those life lessons, might even be precious to them. Here's hoping.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaSBQhYGE1lIo8ve3ZlUmhNQQNNa4evTHRPXz2cinNtkVOumCnF2Ji5ogISVH2fMSLJpSGXqmUJfbVE9HG8exyh0_UwZO6qr4yIIUXYIMKED4jok89qWwKdEXTavFsH116m-4FXKmjKlg/s1600/HI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaSBQhYGE1lIo8ve3ZlUmhNQQNNa4evTHRPXz2cinNtkVOumCnF2Ji5ogISVH2fMSLJpSGXqmUJfbVE9HG8exyh0_UwZO6qr4yIIUXYIMKED4jok89qWwKdEXTavFsH116m-4FXKmjKlg/s320/HI.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, I guess this summer when everyone is running their kids to sports I'll be sprawled out on the lawn with mine. While other parents are yelling "hurry up or we'll be late and you'll have to run a lap" I'll be sitting in the sun eating a Popsicle asking my kids if they want to go for a swim in the lake, before or after we visit grandma, and the kids...well they'll probably be busy trying to see if the dog will eat ants covered in melted Popsicle juice...while recording with a DSI for later uploading to Facebook. It's really no wonder why everybody else's kids want to come stay at my house. It really isn't.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Best wishes,</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">RebeccaFlys</span></span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-28541023302428422252011-01-05T00:03:00.000-08:002011-01-12T01:48:13.445-08:00Six figure dream and a punch in the faceOkay, so I'm totally aware that my sad little blog is a freaky alternate reality. One minute I'm Martha Stewart "paint your lamp" and the next minute I'm all "throw your other woman down a drainage ditch." Yeah, frankly that's MY life.<br />
<br />
Sooooo, I am returning to college. Before you "woot" and celebrate the whole "smart woman" thing... I gave up my long term goal of teaching... and I'm reaching for psychology. Yeah, my husband's wayward ways, as much as I treasure him and his ultimate amazement and love for me... Brought me to the point where I want to tear down the human psyche to bits and pieces of fish tank stones....<br />
<br />
I also frankly want to understand people, and eventually make a six figure income. Let's face it, I LOVED working in Real Estate... I loved the whole vacation home rental process, like a wildebeest obsessed with outfoxing the cheetah (who was better educated and knew how to drag a carcass up into a tree), I worked my way up the ladder. However, without a proper degree experience and an obsession deep enough to destroy my own marriage just didn't cut it.<br />
<br />
Soooo, despite living without the obsessive compulsive, send a card, bring a dinner support I would personally have provided to someone I loved...should she be abandoned and left to manage on her own with three kids and a laminectomy.... I am reconciling with my husband sullying forth, into the unknown world of self discovery and education.<br />
<br />
(Please Lord don't let this be some crazy pipe dream...all of it.)<br />
<br />
I want to be in a place where I can help myself, my kids and my spouse... have hope for the future, and a bit of non-worry for a change. Non-worry being the ability to not break out in a sweat over an upcoming mortgage, mini-van, or electric bill payment.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, it amazes me when I realize the look on my husband's face is so open and full of love. He knows my choices..even if they are tough in the now... are really, truly "future building opportunities" even if he barely responds when I try to discuss my plans with him.<br />
<br />
Man, I have been working SOOOO hard not to be co-dependent.... Hello Father time and baby New Year... for the first time since 2009 a few tough, rotten, people (aka skeezy & threatening phone calls from the other woman, and support for her from her warped family, along with ostracization by his family) have stepped into our lives, trying to cut the healing Achilles Tendon of our recovery... repeatedly, even last week. Buuuuut, here we are....wishing every day was a day off we could spend together. <br />
<br />
I really like my husband. I really love my life....and his additions to it. I hope with every breath in my soul that a day will come that my daughter (with my help) will out bake her grandmother, my teens will all be on honor roll, and my little life will bring pride back into our sullied little clan....<br />
<br />
What the heck am I rambling about...? On this week when the enemy stepped in and tried to boil the bunny....? Really? Nothing important. Prayer can work when the dawn is at its darkest. So that's my plan of attack for all things not "Fly."<br />
<br />
Someday.... I have no idea how but I will overcome this pain. I will sleep in my husband's arms without worry... or terror that "she" is still angry and in "whore-bot retaliation" mode... ready to hurt me and mine just by picking up a phone or driving by in a pink vehicle.<br />
<br />
Just please promise me...all of you who may read here... promise me as friends, that any make-up you buy will come from the grocery, drug, or dollar store. Never, ever, ever from a "home based" business based on a pyramid scheme and built by a woman who looks like Tammy Faye "Lite."<br />
<br />
Oh and say a prayer for me as I head into 2011...I'll say one for you too...<br />
<br />
Hugs friends....<br />
Becca<br />
<br />
P.S. Wow, I'm too excited about being assigned a college adviser today! I hate "teen moms" on VH1, but Lord if those filthy little so and so's aren't trying to do what I've already done... without welfare, with a diploma and two full time jobs... Good luck ladies....My kids are awesome little wonder bots.... Let's hope yours are too!!!!Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-66484124761398850152010-11-20T23:00:00.000-08:002010-11-20T23:07:02.740-08:00All Bets Are Off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVOl5YmB81WLpoHa8SAtT-AlZPt3Hs0GWpv4MsASl2yd8dqkm1j93RXmkvp5KxM-vZ6gNGQGhav5SaqyKEQRMTAYAzFv0waCrcBBeRRtrhzrcFVa1icjrMHijxYdGlSy_ntA8B8fNbaA/s1600/fly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVOl5YmB81WLpoHa8SAtT-AlZPt3Hs0GWpv4MsASl2yd8dqkm1j93RXmkvp5KxM-vZ6gNGQGhav5SaqyKEQRMTAYAzFv0waCrcBBeRRtrhzrcFVa1icjrMHijxYdGlSy_ntA8B8fNbaA/s320/fly.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span>omething happened to me in 2009 that altered my concept of reality. Once upon a time, I really wanted to decorate the extra bathroom with framed vintage pictures of Cinderella in her rags and her limited-time-only white dress... Maybe one of the Pumpkin Coach, and maybe one of the mice or something...</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span> believed in the Prince back then, I mean, didn't we all believe in him? He was on his way. That's what we were raised to believe. That's why we... or I at least took sewing lessons in home-ec so seriously. That's why I let myself believe in love when the obvious truth was that I had blond hair and big boobs and that was why it was so easy for guys to fall for me.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>...I</b></span> learned, the not-so-easy, piece of paper and decade plus, soul-crushing way, that the prince is just a guy who was lucky enough to get a princess to kiss his green scaly ass. And that's the truth. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span>hat said, marriage actually means something to me. I made a promise, and utilizing the words of Canadian Pop Rock band <i>Henley</i> "I'm not perfect, but I keep trying 'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start...." </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>S</b></span>o, I cook dinner, I put hot rollers in my hair to create "loose sexy curls," attempt to crush my most intense issues with the occasional valium, and I.... well, I just keep trucking. I'm not sure where life is leading, I really am not sure, but I do have ONE kid on the high honor roll, (after literally curling up in bed studying Plant Cells/fraction tricks/book plot sequencing... with her until we both fall asleep) so frankly I'm not doing too shabby... </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>'ve realized this strange thing; I have responsibilities to everyone in this family, but I also have them to myself. Myself... who is she? Well, she's the chick who wants to finish college and has put it off to accommodate everyone else but herself.... So I start college at an accredited, small, private, university in February.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></b> want a degree that will help me pay for the degrees of my children. Have you ever filled out paperwork that asks "furthest education attained by mother" "furthest education attained by father" yeah, when my kids fill that out, I want them to put doctorate somewhere. Just because. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>t the end of the day, i<span name="myContent">f I teach my daughters anything, I hope to God they learn to look within themselves for answers and help and truth, before they go try and find it in some man. Women have got everything they need within them. But there are a number of us who just don't tap into it until <i>after</i> we make life altering choices we will split our souls over later. Not one of us needs a man to tell us we are great. We are great. We can figure out that we are smart and pretty and witty without having it confirmed by some guy. But so many of us don't. I didn't. All but one of the women I know didn't or don't and I am not even so sure of the one.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span name="myContent"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>A</b></span>s of late, I realize that perhaps it is me slipping into the mid-life crisis. Here is what Wikipedia says about MLC, and I'm going to highlight the portions that actually seem to be choking me into a near comatose but invisible to the rest of the world.... warning signs in red;</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span name="myContent"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Midlife crisis</b> is a term coined in 1965 by Elliott Jaques and used in Western societies to describe a period of <b style="color: red;">dramatic self-doubt</b> that is felt by some individuals in the "middle years" or middle age of life, as a result of sensing the passing of their own youth and the imminence of their old age. Sometimes, a crisis can be triggered by<b><span style="color: red;"> transitions experienced in these years, such as extramarital affairs, andropause or menopause, the death of parents or other causes of grief, unemployment or underemployment,</span></b> realizing that a job or career is hated but not knowing how else to earn an equivalent living, or children leaving home. The result may be a desire to make significant changes in core aspects of day-to-day life or situation, such as in <b style="color: red;">career</b>, <b style="color: red;">work-life balance, marriage</b>, romantic relationships, big-ticket expenditures, or<b><span style="color: red;"> physical appearance.<span style="color: black;">"</span></span></b></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>J</b></span>ust when I started to feel a bit finished, as in the mini-van is nearly paid off and we're secure... my life got so carelessly turned upside down. So, here I am, redefining the definition of me... burning my scalp with hot rollers and becoming seriously annoyed by liquid eye-liner, all while totally investing in a completely new potential career... which has been a long time coming.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>O</b></span>MG I need to knit something soon...with soft wooden needles... or I'm gonna kill somebody.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ubF_o1Yv9TXLjuLmjwzAQv7-1QjU2aPt0m85kY0Z908dxrdOiiFe8OfGJjJJL9wauRQbZIFgW1Q6ghINV3lkZs74xuQvzkNlaGs5tXj-R-EN5kCoAO28bnvpXvpN7C7lAUPEJljGeGE/s1600/bekleaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ubF_o1Yv9TXLjuLmjwzAQv7-1QjU2aPt0m85kY0Z908dxrdOiiFe8OfGJjJJL9wauRQbZIFgW1Q6ghINV3lkZs74xuQvzkNlaGs5tXj-R-EN5kCoAO28bnvpXvpN7C7lAUPEJljGeGE/s320/bekleaf.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yours, (unless they commit me)</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">RebeccaFlys</span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-32522892459594085632010-07-01T12:24:00.000-07:002010-07-01T12:55:02.747-07:00Lexapro "Oh Where, Oh Where Has My Little Brain Gone"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>I</strong></span>'ve posted a little bit about being on anti-depressants.... and how off the hook I felt on them. They were really good for me in a lot of ways. I actually felt like I was more myself on them from the second month till about the eighth month I was on them. All in all I took Lexapro for over a year... (believe it or not it was originally prescribed by a neurologist for post concussive disorder. Yeah, I banged my noggin, and my poor brain went flooey.) I stayed on it because marital "trouble" sent me into a depressive anti-self spiral. Well, a number of things have come together to lead me to believe it's time for me to get off the Lex. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">1. I've moved around docs and it has become increasingly hard to get the script.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">2. The co-pay every month is $40</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">3. After six months my creativity just sort of... petered out, fizzled, farkled, turded out and up and quit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></blockquote><br />
<blockquote><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">4. If I missed a pill my brain felt like it was being static shocked... having the flu meant no Lex which left my brain spasming... tres unpleasant.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">5. While being over-anxious is horrid, being under-anxious means I wasn't worried about even the things I SHOULD have worried about... like remembering to pay a bill or put gas in the car...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">6. My usually fantastical mind full of trivial information and ready to fact find at any moment turned into a foggy, sludgy, mud pit. Basic things like what movie I watched last night, if I took my medicine, what time an appointment was... I couldn't remember a dang thing. But don't worry, I wasn't anxious about anything so I didn't give a damn.</span></div></blockquote><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK7WnmptYyp7QogmoQ7NIKZi9MT3xNPyfctyxWsYn-knjV1_9AxTSNeSTyeFGEH3SdPHEhxc2KA1fVyQQpv5vRMSy_Ltbipg5vLBfbWKjAw2KcA69grFPQ6s16tY3_nio3ia0huU2Y4DU/s1600/lex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK7WnmptYyp7QogmoQ7NIKZi9MT3xNPyfctyxWsYn-knjV1_9AxTSNeSTyeFGEH3SdPHEhxc2KA1fVyQQpv5vRMSy_Ltbipg5vLBfbWKjAw2KcA69grFPQ6s16tY3_nio3ia0huU2Y4DU/s320/lex.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></strong>o, I ran across this thing about dirt being the new Prozac... I would tell you which of my dear concerned friends who missed the old Becca told me, but I'm still going through withdrawal and can't remember....! <a href="http://discovermagazine.com/2007/jul/raw-data-is-dirt-the-new-prozac">Cool Discover Magazine Article. </a> Essentially, there are micro-organizms in the Earth which help our brains in the same way Prozac or Lexapro would. Pretty fascinating huh? I guess farmers and Zen masters probably had this figured out years ago... </span><br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>S</strong></span>o, me and my "tazer brain" have been working in the garden, building new beds, transplanting greenery, eating blackberries right off the bush, picking strawberries and baking pies... and I have to say I feel a lot better. I am starting to feel less zappy in the brain, and I actually feel pretty jubilant. Who knew a spoon full (or a wheel barrow load) of dirt a day would keep the Lexapro away? I have kind of an idea that the guy in the sky may have planned this whole thing out for us... </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzFj-3qziuqMxqyt48rvI9MHUq8vVjGojrH0agAqwtkVhNb2bZWAqSJ2Pn7OISqzTVVjG01VIUStycPJqYxynnmUZa23hYuHI9j20Gw5p4ldaS4EnB4rxuMnuUvGy3RrogFG4TGrtNWY/s1600/barrow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzFj-3qziuqMxqyt48rvI9MHUq8vVjGojrH0agAqwtkVhNb2bZWAqSJ2Pn7OISqzTVVjG01VIUStycPJqYxynnmUZa23hYuHI9j20Gw5p4ldaS4EnB4rxuMnuUvGy3RrogFG4TGrtNWY/s320/barrow.png" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong>'m a little worried about what I'll do when winter returns... but I have been watching "True Blood" so I have a few ideas...</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFjLGfmiwgBWRuWg-QlsPvsvCCMcLl_CHGug0i7F__dR2-jOpv2WDGSSlfdypR5z3fhFAAlI6vVwETG4WlD0EIpfwBieZt7CZZcu_Ke75FyUomYr43f9JNGRwZO7pzg89waRCdi34ckQ/s1600/mebarrow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFjLGfmiwgBWRuWg-QlsPvsvCCMcLl_CHGug0i7F__dR2-jOpv2WDGSSlfdypR5z3fhFAAlI6vVwETG4WlD0EIpfwBieZt7CZZcu_Ke75FyUomYr43f9JNGRwZO7pzg89waRCdi34ckQ/s320/mebarrow.png" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong> think Anti-depressants are totally a big help when you need them, and maybe I still need them....but I also need to be able to be concerned, creative and cognizant of who I am too. I weaned for about 3 weeks and I've been Lex free for about two. Already I feel a little more witty and a little less foggy. And hey, I'm WRITING again!!!! Woot for the Flys!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span></strong>ave any of you experienced this? I'm curious to see how other people handle these sort of serotonin uptake inhibitorinos.... My doc said that there were no memory issues associated with this med, and using it would help my memory...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>B</strong>est <strong>w</strong>ishes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">RebeccaFlys</span>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150464290387208544.post-71111835079198639872010-03-19T09:07:00.000-07:002010-03-19T10:19:10.528-07:00Marital Angst & Ass Shrinkage<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://fittracker.shapefit.com/"></a>KK, so I want to talk a bit about channeling anger and/or frustrations into exercise. DF Garden Mama calls this "excercizing your demons." Heading out on an anger patrol walk, it does wonders for shrinking your ass (I lost a ton last summer fury-walking.) As does splenda (especially the fiber enriched stuff):</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNF623Z4IFwZPmywzPR-iMnemy3UhEcj1fxGjd9ge6P_1TxJK3MrkWW5RI7ezOhFgJH7LfJxir_hEOoNhTWsIoe6UDoh-MbGSqvQbI0OW-7H1F2s1dHddNrWZtPKBuVLLbJSPO6ff6fo/s1600-h/DSCF6362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNF623Z4IFwZPmywzPR-iMnemy3UhEcj1fxGjd9ge6P_1TxJK3MrkWW5RI7ezOhFgJH7LfJxir_hEOoNhTWsIoe6UDoh-MbGSqvQbI0OW-7H1F2s1dHddNrWZtPKBuVLLbJSPO6ff6fo/s320/DSCF6362.JPG" /></a></span></div><div style="color: #38761d; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Green St. Patty's day nails, green shamrock & Green <i>fiberlicious Splenda. </i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #38761d;">(Anything that helps keep me regular has my vote.)</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">DH has recently come public to me with the idea that he simply cannot be happy if the house and mini-van are not in pristine shape vs. myself who is happy if she has time to write, watch the birds, and cook, even if you can't eat off of the floors, and even if the joint ain't jumpin' spotless this mama is glad to be alive and healthy. Worrying about living in a magazine cover, not my biggest concern, and I don't feel that this attitude makes me warped, psychologically unsound, a failure or discusting...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqK7wdM8WH89cgjNDppIhutnmbXrVnSCvsqfsO_Kdlwh1VioF_nDnNh3VJ-F-a0bLsq1CvwnHHU4praboz0RHNNHONcNNDLPlA6t97iiVxiq7J6fH02bjhSdm5UW_Dx2M6rAUuWkmZ_I/s1600-h/hoarder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqK7wdM8WH89cgjNDppIhutnmbXrVnSCvsqfsO_Kdlwh1VioF_nDnNh3VJ-F-a0bLsq1CvwnHHU4praboz0RHNNHONcNNDLPlA6t97iiVxiq7J6fH02bjhSdm5UW_Dx2M6rAUuWkmZ_I/s320/hoarder.jpg" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #38761d;">I mean, we're not talking TLC's Hoarders here. We're talking 3 kids a house full </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #38761d;">of pets and 2 hrs away from clean.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">In other words, I don't care if there is dust on my treadmill. Like, a LOTTA dust. I'll get to it when I get to it...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtNqugRJoqrlbUN7LLIvQJE2SNh1GyE4QUAbjse3b1NtHf7mhRfz80lPW5U3FikT6HSQNNX_aRSOKLEgO7wpCNBjwlQahyZRl8bbLWUpbMlj3Jg2jGdBC3z2StTm1u8W9yuepsWxZR7s/s1600-h/DSCF6365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtNqugRJoqrlbUN7LLIvQJE2SNh1GyE4QUAbjse3b1NtHf7mhRfz80lPW5U3FikT6HSQNNX_aRSOKLEgO7wpCNBjwlQahyZRl8bbLWUpbMlj3Jg2jGdBC3z2StTm1u8W9yuepsWxZR7s/s320/DSCF6365.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ21QIdTk8lAePVuQiYML191z-0zT-aUQFQE8Dz94CQ5uObzd80JrCG6Z2mj-QSDzpGzhqvg6o4NBxoUGJMJWz8tSjyA0M4Wy2TGL2z-3YR5U2f0FnXoVEtrOcwb7oxsAtyhV-iLOLhro/s1600-h/DSCF6363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ21QIdTk8lAePVuQiYML191z-0zT-aUQFQE8Dz94CQ5uObzd80JrCG6Z2mj-QSDzpGzhqvg6o4NBxoUGJMJWz8tSjyA0M4Wy2TGL2z-3YR5U2f0FnXoVEtrOcwb7oxsAtyhV-iLOLhro/s320/DSCF6363.JPG" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">...Which happens to be now because I'm so pissed at my own inability to turn down a Whoopie Pie, or a ho ho, or a mocha latte. Soooo, I walked a lot yesterday. Like 10 miles total. Too much probably, but this pre-coffee morning I weighed 3lbs less. Soooo I have lost 3 lbs. since Wednesday. A pound a day. Not too shabby. And as I'm viciously striding along East Lake Rd. or ask-me-for-something-while-I'm-treadmilling-I-freakin'-dare-you'ing, I'm trying to release a little anger, and understand where my DH is coming from.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am using this website <a href="http://fittracker.shapefit.com/">Fit Tracker</a> to track food and exercise. Essentially I need to be accountable to somewhere/when, and work toward a deadline. I also don't want to go to Weight Watchers because I just don't. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">My message to my body? "Beware fat cells in my ass and belly, for you're time has come!" I plan on bringing some other "health foods" into my diet, to see if switching from regular oatmeal to sugar free actually makes a difference. Who knows right? Let's ask Jillian, oh that's right, she is a pill-hawking sell-out now. (Still angry about that. Boycotting Biggest Loser.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2Ov8m_c0KPwChsbhdWe5SJN_oovGHcZLtzfYZZJ5LEGaK3Ucx6OQH1NM3s-qjiQFsbMZXD8eu5HrABXFiD4IyUCoX2xqzZwoUkgBiyXVPaUWGhaBUvoKkhbJvXY_o9SrEGEv4goavJs/s1600-h/jillian2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2Ov8m_c0KPwChsbhdWe5SJN_oovGHcZLtzfYZZJ5LEGaK3Ucx6OQH1NM3s-qjiQFsbMZXD8eu5HrABXFiD4IyUCoX2xqzZwoUkgBiyXVPaUWGhaBUvoKkhbJvXY_o9SrEGEv4goavJs/s320/jillian2.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: red;">RANT RAVE ALERT!!! </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh and I'm also checking out this site <a href="http://www.flylady.net/">Fly Lady</a> to find some ways to keep the house up more, while not fueling frustration, anger, and a general feeling of "who the hell do you think you are" toward other individuals also known as my husband and children, who live with me and create mess but expect it all to be cleaned up after them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So what are YOU going to do to feel better about yourself today?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Best wishes,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">RebeccaFlys </span></div>Rebecca Flyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02271002290964551514noreply@blogger.com3