tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-307392732024-03-07T15:50:32.791-08:00Hobson HouseChristiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.comBlogger229125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-36667980003960717962009-05-03T12:30:00.000-07:002009-05-03T22:35:01.444-07:00Well, It Wasn't the Swine FluSo Grace has recovered from her <s>mild cold</s> extended illness. Thanks for all the warm wishes for her health. Considering the swine flu outbreak, we are glad things did not escalate.<br /><br /><div><div>Speaking of swines, I wanted to share some details from Jake's Pinewood Derby. The Pinewood Derby is a boy scout activity where the boys hand pieces of wood over to their dads, and those fathers carve JPL-worthy vehicles out of them. It is the boys scouts duty to leave the fathers alone while they work.</div><br /><div>We went against the grain, and had the kids actually work on their cars. They worked on them with Grandpa, which made it very special. Jake made a cheese/mouse car. He won the trophy for best design!</div><br /><div></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331836688135689282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE1c2F9MFqquzveyUeMqI9Uf3Xmt0OhVZXJWhR9FCWa97t4Tt9Xxl7Trpwv-OP-Kijof2XPRbeb2e68QxAl-oFWuo6bFG9hAuNzBk79xps5Nq4J4rvVvqg78uqmmowb0GFfGoKw/s400/IMG_7807+copy.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>Grace really wanted a trophy too.</div><br /><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331836690246532210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwuDkkfT8lgGCd7Zehq3y3Ku14BIIETA9XmhpLM7yaJynNPK9pVgdmm6WJiEo7J6ddzCx1LCqp8c1lWJHVShTZ39Jye8qWGDiG87Sx65sFKzJwXzKIEsAaEofbqMHCS7kjyE7lWQ/s400/IMG_7772+copy.jpg" border="0" /></div><div></div><br /><div>She made a pig car. Sadly, Grace refused to put ears on the pig. I begged and pleaded with her, but she was insistent. </div><div></div><br /><div>So Grace ended up with a car that looks like ...</div><br /><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331836694859252802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnxVFs5UHr7PRxfY02GGNbLEbf_ezB0tjsHB5yS2FmUAN0kObw15qry5AeBo_3_lSEiwFfkJTLAHLcxsfO_QmW1GD3Wt4vEvAV91C9GxcDAH9wqWfuMoRIPJynkJL8TGAcoLTzA/s400/IMG_7776+copy.jpg" border="0" /></div><div></div><br /><div>... a pig with no ears.</div><br /><div></div><div>What?</div><div></div><br /><div>WHAT??!!! <br /><br />It's a pig with no ears, okay?!</div></div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-37464527373744466182009-03-11T20:10:00.000-07:002009-03-11T20:17:45.966-07:00Fever<div>Grace has been sick for the past three days. High fever, sore throat, chills, sweats, all that jazz. The poor girl could not sleep last night, and was continuously waking up with aches. After she finally fell asleep (for the fourth time) I went to snuggle her a little in her bed. </div><br /><div></div><div>I held her fevered body and tucked my nose into her wavy hair. It was a tender moment, and I reflected on Grace's sweet, yet feisty, little soul. I love my little girl so much, and the richness and life she brings to our family.</div><br /><div></div><div>So I was warmed to the heart when I heard her stir, and say, "Mama?"</div><div></div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312134606704729858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 532px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV_LvxR1k_DV3XHD6AGvqOhOMAEzNBLHOiyAbESSfzrnkIwPkOuskuvFu8tbgTpGskoTUIl4kMubk6SNu3HVWwUHBMk63qiIUBo7DcSXZtlooAPr7VewUh4I82_msj7TugY-wvQ/s800/IMG_6883+copy.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Yes, honey?"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Go sleep with Dad."</div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-90085120122899788642009-03-08T22:53:00.000-07:002009-03-09T22:22:04.083-07:00I'm Allowed to Cry a LittleBecause he ...<br /><div><div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEN_7aAZB6NC7_sjIjx_xFWLr29pYz5o9JnBI0-urEMiKdhTovPrTWK-gzGnHIE2uEOuE4KuTR3HgxJYkvaUQzXcTMa2Nn-R66wAU7K1p5x4fJX9i4SeRo9BPLQ21MGgd1FETgg/s1600-h/P9230110+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311062356918162114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEN_7aAZB6NC7_sjIjx_xFWLr29pYz5o9JnBI0-urEMiKdhTovPrTWK-gzGnHIE2uEOuE4KuTR3HgxJYkvaUQzXcTMa2Nn-R66wAU7K1p5x4fJX9i4SeRo9BPLQ21MGgd1FETgg/s800/P9230110+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a> is now eight years old.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311424511263088546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 532px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_3xrtxJXl0e2Ppu1VTkqlIVdqAvSZrZHYnRkltV2jDyIzuiMDtbTziReXIygJ5ft4-8N3BT-IKF3bT1BfBgaV8S-sk2xI0gzplzFKxJhVZikqj__Aeiv8i34yFk-aLqC6DY9cA/s800/IMG_4008+copy.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>And if I wrote a post about how much he changed my life, when he came into it ... it would take up pages and pages of this blog.</div><br /><div>Happy birthday Jake. We love you more than we could ever say, and are more proud of you each day. </div></div></div></div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-81932688433722369252009-03-05T22:55:00.000-08:002009-03-05T22:57:49.537-08:00You Wish You Were As Rad a Mom as I ...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDmwjbNcO50A7D1cEGVRwrLxxHVo_5Vz3zh-mjyMRnJgXobA-VhhKAEs6PMeT8aHH2DshCDfYAbYRL5q9zZdrn6-75ffeJMqtUFu16mX_RfhRSOQdIcuHzZz45ZAcI5IQol3uwg/s1600-h/Untitled-2+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309964847888061890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 426px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDmwjbNcO50A7D1cEGVRwrLxxHVo_5Vz3zh-mjyMRnJgXobA-VhhKAEs6PMeT8aHH2DshCDfYAbYRL5q9zZdrn6-75ffeJMqtUFu16mX_RfhRSOQdIcuHzZz45ZAcI5IQol3uwg/s800/Untitled-2+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Yeah, he's 18 months. <br /><br />So what?Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-33689726096705617462009-03-02T20:46:00.000-08:002009-03-02T20:48:10.821-08:00Stitch Free!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnFgugCDT1vJqSyRIsdmEcmf3mGATAwsh76V4nqW_z7OCYkIViCIckn03bWfUe8obCDFUmgXzNOqF-C9eDYW-XwSyR5JuRcTIilSyWlqpBBmnbWZHgftXZtzFi-bFMF_-ZEceUA/s1600-h/IMG_4418+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 532px; height: 800px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnFgugCDT1vJqSyRIsdmEcmf3mGATAwsh76V4nqW_z7OCYkIViCIckn03bWfUe8obCDFUmgXzNOqF-C9eDYW-XwSyR5JuRcTIilSyWlqpBBmnbWZHgftXZtzFi-bFMF_-ZEceUA/s800/IMG_4418+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308818593943929714" border="0" /></a>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-53148751404642049792009-02-27T17:43:00.000-08:002009-02-27T17:51:05.416-08:00Grace Explains Courtship, Engagement and MarriageWell the ball is, like, you find a boy ... the moms find a boy.<br /><br />If they like a boy, they choose it.<br /><br />First, someone says, "Grace, do you want to be Dad's husband?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Dad, to you want to be Grace's husband?"<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />And then the boy and the girl go home, and the girl shows the boy all around the house, and then they go different places that the boy has never been.<br /><br />The End.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-60204714381230065672009-02-22T09:17:00.000-08:002009-02-22T13:09:14.400-08:00Things Matt Heard Last Night<em>I don't want to be here anymore! Waaaah! Let's escape!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Waaaah! Is that my brains?</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Now I know what my guts look like! Waaaaah!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Don't let the doctor touch me. He will take my blood, and then I will DIE!!!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305672321656272194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 532px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweKievjGTZ7Q2B39zT8xhb9Wvu7DLxxRkKG28aSigvq85zBsNCKqofhNGPuTMlZNX061I8sT_T2L2WwhXEcNUzpw0ejsTJL5VLtefo4D4IF5pMwmz77UNFEcCIvHLO0C47sX8Dg/s800/IMG_5408+copy+copy+copy.jpg" border="0" /></em><br />Last night Grace was climbing onto a Rubbermaid bin in her closet. The bin gave way, and Grace fell, her leg smashing into the dresser corner on the way down.<br /><br />Her skin *gag, wretch, gag* ripped. She didn't get cut, the skin just ripped open.<br /><br />Matt took her to the ER where she patiently waited to be stitched up.<br /><br />*by patiently, I mean screaming bloody murder the entire three hours, and having to be strapped down to the bed in order for the doctor to look at her<br /><br />Grace is feeling much better today, thankfully. It was a long night, and I and glad to have my happy girl back. No more dangerous climbing for her, no sireee.<br /><br />Except this morning when I saw her climbing onto the bunk bed, without using her hands. And I almost fainted.<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>*****</em></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>PS. For those wondering about how to make your photos bigger in Blogger, I posted on it here ... </em></span><a href="http://www.christiehobson.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>www.christiehobson.blogspot.com</em></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><em> .</em></span>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-3472811974123738202009-02-20T17:49:00.000-08:002009-02-20T17:56:41.533-08:00Gifted and Young?<div>Jake: "Mom. Today at school me and Sabrina were doing some hard math."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Me: "Oh yeah? Who is Sabrina?"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"She is a girl in my math class. We will probably be in the same class next year, because of the Gay Test."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"What?!"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Yeah, you know, that test I took a while ago? The Gay Test? So we will probably be in the Gay Class together."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>".... .... .... you mean, the Gate Test?"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Oh yeaaaah, the Gate Test. That's it."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And totally unrelated, here is a photo of my other son having breakfast this morning:</div><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305063294361277090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1jKygkb4Yo418sgrVAakzm5jF-5HJSFWdjjn56C5BWkn2JR-OrbwaFiMxzwzbeDVHGJvPIcmKpkYcO7odgttnq0DtUGkH3wusp7NoiScCw9XBgdpeTQRmpTRYsj2vb2TY9koFQ/s800/IMG_3595.JPG" border="0" /></div><br />Nope. No trouble with gender assignment over here!Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-8427935354502969642009-02-11T21:17:00.000-08:002009-02-11T22:03:41.664-08:00Please, God, Let this Not be a Sign<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8lKRelqE_DOSy1866_nC05cdkTZsPeXSh-oCVt2bUGBhprTG38uQWrAU1-6eXxaLak_lSEZoPf5AyQ_aHUaCP7C9NwDa2AqH3DvVp54RsowEICyvl2hkRtRpIUklDl08lA0fvg/s1600-h/Delete+Layer+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301787381023646306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 532px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8lKRelqE_DOSy1866_nC05cdkTZsPeXSh-oCVt2bUGBhprTG38uQWrAU1-6eXxaLak_lSEZoPf5AyQ_aHUaCP7C9NwDa2AqH3DvVp54RsowEICyvl2hkRtRpIUklDl08lA0fvg/s800/Delete+Layer+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZzPptC-cqtvUdwYYYLmmdlMOkTXqvfVeXSwOxqihxzDDalN95iDrWjCX45SeVIoFqU8bOWMZFf_I9T5_S_J6WL2T2CXEQ8AUOsFog_c8Z7-NE24cyDhnFQxz3b1MByQ7lh0Bqw/s1600-h/Delete+Layer+copy.jpg"></a><br /><div>Grace (eating Lucky Charms this morning): "Mom."</div><br /><div></div><div></div><div>"What?"</div><div></div><br /><div></div><div>"What is it like in jail?"</div><div></div><div></div><br /><div>"... ummm ... Well, I'm sure it is not fun."</div><br /><div></div><div>...</div><br /><div></div><div>...</div><br /><div></div><div>"I bet if I brought my toys, it would be fun."</div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-1701525704477509242009-02-05T07:48:00.000-08:002009-02-05T08:04:12.720-08:00Mom, At Least I'm Not PregnantYesterday I went to Costco, and realized that I had forgotten my Costco card.<br /><br />I went to the membership desk and asked them if I could get a temporary card, and the nice man behind the desk replied that he would just make me a new one.<br /><br />"Great, thanks so much!"<br /><br />"Sure, what is your last name? Oh, hi buddy!" He added, turning his attention to Nathan in the cart.<br /><br />"Hobson."<br /><br />"Okay ... driver's licence?"<br /><br />I fiddled in my wallet, trying to pull my licence out of the plastic sleeve into which it was jammed.<br /><br />"Are you having fun?" the nice man asked Nathan, while I did this. "Yeah? Playing in mommy's purse?"<br /><br />"Okay, here it is," I said, handing over my drivers licence.<br /><br />"Thanks. Your son is so cute."<br /><br />"Ah, thanks," I said, turning to look at my sweet boy.<br /><br />And. Oh. My. Gosh.<br /><br />There is my cute little baby, a huge happy grin on his face, arms raised up in the air in victory.<br /><br />Clenched in his tiny chubby finger are about six ... err ... feminine products.<br /><br />I think I melted into the ground; the mortification has fogged my memory.<br /><br />"Ahahahaha!" I nervously laughed.<br /><br />"Kids. They like to get into everything, huh? Why don't you step over here and we will take your picture?"<br /><br />"Okay."<br /><br />"Oh, kids are so funny," the man continued.<br /><br />And that is why, this weekend, we will be getting a membership at Sam's Club.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-50662777881585361682009-01-20T07:35:00.000-08:002009-01-20T07:38:52.091-08:00January 19, 2009. I repeat ... JANUARY.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKSmWYbwzailCZWlSi22BdPILmZU3iKRqQ4vfM37o3PrN8GB1FEk5iG75P_nBnA9yY3heBwbVTbg1Qq_bMK7gap_grE3MC_pT73OOBJtSEdfSdQCLrvcQyquhCEbyGYhw1DbDJg/s1600-h/beach1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293400285690624306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 534px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKSmWYbwzailCZWlSi22BdPILmZU3iKRqQ4vfM37o3PrN8GB1FEk5iG75P_nBnA9yY3heBwbVTbg1Qq_bMK7gap_grE3MC_pT73OOBJtSEdfSdQCLrvcQyquhCEbyGYhw1DbDJg/s800/beach1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>And we are at the beach. </div><div> <br /></div><div>I love California.</div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-29846136772725662242009-01-19T11:32:00.000-08:002009-01-19T11:34:33.656-08:00A Miracle of Sorts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIgX91Z7jU21onX_EOBaEeVojJ2WVuuHGYKSQFnhQpVfbTbvc-M_zvm6rMGyUr6_jX8wDHG0GogYrNqMFgPHnsvAPrtHvhKkzp746VS2STVkCx1eF7CeyRxVaaV3XiMimiiky0w/s1600-h/vaccuum.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293090138816665906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 534px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIgX91Z7jU21onX_EOBaEeVojJ2WVuuHGYKSQFnhQpVfbTbvc-M_zvm6rMGyUr6_jX8wDHG0GogYrNqMFgPHnsvAPrtHvhKkzp746VS2STVkCx1eF7CeyRxVaaV3XiMimiiky0w/s800/vaccuum.jpg" border="0" /></a> Not one, but TWO MEN VACCUUMING!!! <br /><br />You know you're jealous.<br /><div></div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-7411655071547803282009-01-16T10:27:00.000-08:002009-01-16T10:33:52.350-08:00A Heinous Haircut<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BwflndDU2UXSaSUQxZ3J_aqzX-d5wLukoM7Xsac0OVlmnpu4iaoVT-tKS9emOTG3BjxRQ3JfLVHH194Qv_vENvQSBr8Tb3PE-aDNQdmy5sY1g4ADFkZNJcyzZi-XtdVRrn8V4w/s1600-h/dumb07.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291960719842195234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 397px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BwflndDU2UXSaSUQxZ3J_aqzX-d5wLukoM7Xsac0OVlmnpu4iaoVT-tKS9emOTG3BjxRQ3JfLVHH194Qv_vENvQSBr8Tb3PE-aDNQdmy5sY1g4ADFkZNJcyzZi-XtdVRrn8V4w/s400/dumb07.jpg" border="0" /></a> Do you guys remember Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber?<br /><br />You do?<br /><br />Huh.<br /><br />... ... ...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291960245986217234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 534px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXfCnkVnP_W_Cnly-_OfvvsdhNXlVDt2267fFS3TF1h1vQ4WSa4Ya7_tPfvHJM0VU64ABp9i4a7FI7fB1eg4xyoTArA6Mx46gCiG_QYy-uHda0IbExxda5Nt5cP2CGUE_vBu8mA/s800/dd1.jpg" border="0" /><br />I'm just saying.<br /><br /><br />Here I try to prove that hairspray can solve the world's problems.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291960250457515666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 534px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05tuutzIb48XF1Gp2CAozGESLVkahtlNC7EV4gl_r01dI3KKLTCrOyEegmQaJ-hLa-N1ChY5CM0SD9as04QoxMZOQmTK_aSeuW4UKmf7QIL-lSmk2jiqXUv7EkJYQwkhI9moCQQ/s800/dd2.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>Nathan doesn't look so sure.</p>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-7951380508239326962009-01-12T20:26:00.000-08:002009-01-12T20:47:53.929-08:00We're Alive!<p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9wWYye5KT6u0zIy38NB1bJvwVtY8LJ7bLKg04spomTlLRll10LSLINDWZUEmCdVLbeaGJI9Vo_cRpuqQ3Umtca5h5u_g3a28KMRnLM_EWg94XiLGR4KRRNHtPb9cWp1UZInadw/s1600-h/Grace+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290630268502536370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 534px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 800px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9wWYye5KT6u0zIy38NB1bJvwVtY8LJ7bLKg04spomTlLRll10LSLINDWZUEmCdVLbeaGJI9Vo_cRpuqQ3Umtca5h5u_g3a28KMRnLM_EWg94XiLGR4KRRNHtPb9cWp1UZInadw/s800/Grace+2.jpg" border="0" /></a></p> One on my resolutions for the new year was to be better at keeping up with my blog.<br /><br />That resolution is doing about as well as:<br /><br />1. Eat only lettuce.<br />2. Run 20 miles each day.<br />3. Keep toe nails painted. (And that is not a joke.)<br />4. Never yell at kids again. (LOL! In fact, LOL so loud that the kids came out and I screamed at them to get back in bed.)<br /><br />But I am going to be better, starting NOW. Exciting posts to follow. <br /><br />Or at least posts about laundry, diapers and naughty days at school. <br /><br />Thrilling stuff like that.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-32444491956490477152008-12-15T07:30:00.000-08:002008-12-16T06:23:30.769-08:00Why We Are Attending Both Church Services on Sunday<div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280205193869001202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpa2V6HQ4OSbhGfThZ_RelDHJVHlNx-N3DKkIQpCu4aotO2yHrZfaBHQf9E1IspWdSGEoy3kpgGfQXiotGk-FgBzWPewcUxwrCehjfUth4t2oiSIPa_t5wIo73CLZWNwSCJoEaQQ/s400/IMG_3262.JPG" border="0" /></div><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">I think I look pretty good all blurry and with my face turned away from the camera.</span><br /><br /></p><div align="left">The other night Nathan and I cuddled on the couch and looked at Christmas books. Some of them had carols in them and since Matt was still not home (be nice to your UPS man these days) I felt comfortable belting out a few.</div><br /><div align="left">After "Away in a Manger" and "O Come All Ye Faithful," I launched into Jingle Bells.</div><br />Grace was so cute. She grabbed her unicorn and started spinning around and dancing with it. I told Jake to grab may camera for me.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280205204504395426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiBxoimxbQSVUb7QRh4m3l8Tq-hIioxrLeqkS_27Ej3py0fsLPQa7ErxyA23flS8adtCbJUto86vnwlC1jPLbB1CxZTA7rgGDsQ_KyJHBxfeQe1iCOK22o-eEma8sspdFovLkDg/s400/IMG_3256.JPG" border="0" /> After the third round of Jingle Bells, Grace said, "Do another one, Mom! Sing one that I like."<br /><br />"One that you like?" I replied.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280205196003719842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEP3om5LJ-1Llmx7cameOjMQDtu0vuivgVdhL4jSyrdYvfNRUcg8HvgXem2fI0lMIKe874x3Rvy16dDqNZvKUzk41GryyW-V6oc1_QZpBeFCxIpvVn_DD1Hs66RjWN8SZ9jS6yw/s400/IMG_3259.JPG" border="0" />"Yeah ... Not one of those Jesus ones!"<br /><br />O Holy Night indeed.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-63346283796779700512008-12-14T07:01:00.001-08:002008-12-14T07:12:18.208-08:00Welcome Nibbles Hobson<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279661479395335698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVO2yxhyoc41Xctlassv_ZJBhEhmRgpOgqz4R6fjwqozoss41u54-90iazVYLF5CzzlBD76iFWH8Pfnj9Aq-lc43zzeShEqFpmiozuUYbZ6mqhgyCnKRoJB-C5wPPeIgyjYIP0Q/s400/IMG_7527+copy.jpg" border="0" /> <div>My parents watched Jake and Grace overnight yesterday, and thought that if they came back with a small rodent, we might never ask them to do that again. </div><br /><div></div><div>Nice try, mom, nice try. </div><br /><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279661483346399426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHFKOu4Yklmk7dhBCIDm6J6YCouuK2dGRA_mxyYkctp7fpHHfndIiA-kLXwP6NrSMZOi7TzJ6_0XmtYAI16AdEcV8EIxcBOVde3bzftO5Yy_Ql7bAZB9g8g4jErWh_OyFEGt40g/s400/IMG_7540+copy.jpg" border="0" /></div><div>We are all actually quite fond of little Nibbles; the fridge is covered in portrait of Nibbles, Jake is writing a report for school on how Nibbles became a Hobson, and Matt even held him yesterday evening and made a clicking sound at him that meant, "Although I abhor rodents, you are cute, and I shall accept you as my rodent child." Or something like that.<br /></div><div><br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj06wfzKYQtPjvezI2EI6pCCbTfqonMtfdH53SH5Yoe3_-whdGaJklCzIidDk3dDZpJ6nvsDJgj36AGA2Rca9Ik0P_Wm_dw_FM3MU_mbLAKne_Gj0NQOQyHn5UKBUimrnLVowHz2Q/s1600-h/IMG_7558+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279661471028321666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj06wfzKYQtPjvezI2EI6pCCbTfqonMtfdH53SH5Yoe3_-whdGaJklCzIidDk3dDZpJ6nvsDJgj36AGA2Rca9Ik0P_Wm_dw_FM3MU_mbLAKne_Gj0NQOQyHn5UKBUimrnLVowHz2Q/s400/IMG_7558+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div></div><br /><p>Jake is most fond of Nibbles and restrained himself to only ask 437 times yesterday, while we were at the mall, if we thought Nibbles was okay with us gone.</p><p>He was.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279661483139851074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHZKT4Yngw48k4dtgFTgQLGRrwxzltRIzzs-5M6v8EzwBitlgEh4_LbQrB68DwsZV2jIIdKqat0moSIg06nW4aGZ-9bO1V7G28VlfKHzwUDn7C4pfb9cQ8JQioGMPh6OQS-chmw/s400/IMG_7548+copy.jpg" border="0" /></p>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-4832882177012733602008-12-09T09:47:00.000-08:002008-12-09T10:11:57.338-08:00Have a Holly Humbug ChristmasIs this what it looks like when you make Christmas cookies with your daughter?<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277849270362403250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 362px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfUYA6owyxE7R_RQ3ilJEnsx7Pe18zAEt6jucuQOpWx2fbrpu88K9fDUakiJovJqNFePOlCzS3ztxpD0uOfVQrZZrs4quzhlLZGYJdnydRT99hsYIQbIPIa_wChrfv-tmFlwHRQ/s400/42-16880274.jpg" border="0" /><br />If you answered yes, we cannot be friends anymore.<br /><br />I always have these lovely visions of how family bonding activities are going to pan out. We will turn on some soft Christmas music, Grace and I will roll out the sugar cookie dough and none will stick/crack/end up on the floor, the cookie cutters will be placed gingerly onto the dough while I share fond memories of Christmases from my childhood.<br /><br />What happens to my visions? WHAT??? Why can't I have a Martha Stewart cookie experience?<br /><br />Instead, flour is flying everywhere, the stupid dough keeps sticking/cracking/ending up on the floor, Grace is shoving cutters into the dough like she is trying to cut steel, and I am yelling at her to stop eating the dough and licking her fingers. Meanwhile, Nathan is laying on the floor screaming and thrashing because I will not let him eat the leftover Halloween candy he found in the cabinets. And since Grace insists on sticking every cookie cutter right into the center of the dough EVERY time, the whole experience takes approximately 18 hours.<br /><br />Joy to the world!<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277849299336815890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVY2RZXxNCBgOJnzHcVpRbUm8krSSjechIdFj01lqx9ndIL_8LhowkPVefWYeOanaIJeN-kMV5oCO0fuX-iVd25dlVdoFXYYBfNsRj5WqtU85CwYLb2su6lWIrVnqKI6CpPzmqg/s400/IMG_3241.JPG" border="0" />Also, look at this witch and her pretend kids.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277849286646901602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 263px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvpRk2F54c4GMci04XhGzpHo4oVq4lZEuMgMG80z-QlC79EyRumzhEnPqCqvGHoNw6eD-1vN9qsSR6v2kgDWSOWmPWoQ03f7uYbvZk9v8Q95pyhMqjsTtd-afzUJb4gS1T2BjVvA/s400/SuperStock_1796R-2691.jpg" border="0" />A cute little outfit, nicely styled hair, perfect make up.<br /><br />And then. There are these moms.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277849291609813282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuS4ylE5KkaHi07sobj3NcHzob7CkEQYPA614197dpdrlWvIqZT3zqGXN7q7FPnTZoQnU_DMjTnbuBXsD5FxttNGx4ncHghhTkJC5tF-oATW953YaGxYdWXtUqLyPMwJKHNYcHw/s400/IMG_3238.JPG" border="0" /> <div>I don't even know where to start with this one. I can't even believe I am exposing myself in this way, but my dignity was lost some time ago and frequently appears on milk cartons nationwide.</div><br /><div></div><div>I cannot stop scrolling up and looking at my hair.</div><br /><div></div><div>omg.</div><div></div><br /><div>Anyway, I am sure that when we decorate those cookies tonight I will have on a lovely dress, heels, painted nails, etc. The kids will look like they are straight out of a gap ad, and the cookies will be too beautiful to eat.</div><br /><div></div><div>At least that's my plan. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which is probably part of my problem.</div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-74656776398740451532008-12-05T09:00:00.000-08:002008-12-05T09:04:46.802-08:00Classy<div align="center">Nathan was kind of pi**ed about having to take a nap.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276352321994076354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfelRp8E71ooY6VMmNKRmncYbJIMD0YrcuVWttvzAr1ZR5ghRlAsHf712Mlr1x8UgXAdvjxKkPMKc_mgkTy0lHwhkO1IEOPmlUZozWmhMRBLCS-3XVg6HyoeZLDoTyKUdgZh7qg/s400/nate+peed.jpg" border="0" />Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-44676598097493701542008-12-02T06:45:00.000-08:002008-12-03T08:29:34.669-08:00FOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!<div align="left">('Scuse me, just blowing the dust of this little blog here.)<br /><br />(Also, <em>how </em>is the sound for blowing spelled? Trust me, I actually blew on my keyboard four times before deciding, "Huh. Good enough.")<br /><div><div><div align="left"><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">Where were we? </div><div align="left"><br />Oh, yes, much has happened since our first cub scout meeting. </div><div align="left"><br />1. Nanny nanny boo boo, Matt and I got to go to this ... !</div><div align="left"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275209016525079682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJV07PloTpHfOnFAjarQ3T-tqWNRb5jmMRyDMG3AJhdRUjG9PVL0n5QidjPSKlI2V0G00x9FC50LVP-4osXnLXROYHGCNVnlanWqtgDYd9ex4fJs9ie4qhCDsreBmb1WW_OD-xA/s400/IMG_3089.JPG" border="0" /> My parents so kindly watched the kids so we could have a weekend away in L.A. and cross off Matt's "Number One Band I Want to See Live," Ben Folds. It was a blast.<br /></div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Here we are in the hotel room, which I was relieved to fine bullet hole-less after reading the reviews on line.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275208998272673010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqmwFgO25bQMu6GXRlMwPhDIVOKtrERERi-ptLgPO6tWsgeRlCd6f0qPIs-7ChwGTGrR9PEBCCi-wjG_wKX4VThb1Ln4Al2mgPUKWbjlj5MGuZxJc6JZJkGtgfrOV_Wi-rrZ-lg/s400/IMG_3098+copy.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="left">Yes, you see, Maybelline called me before the concert and offered me a large sum of money if I promoted their liquid eyeliner. Boy, did I promote.</div><div align="left"><br />It is hard to get a good picture at a concert. Unless, apparently, you have an iPhone, which 96% of the concert-goers did. They kept holding them up and getting killer shots while I fumbled with our point and shoot.<br /></div><br /><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275209001131623346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3ePVNfmE4O7djUxkbkvDvjaFEmK8PSvToLt3HL438mRFoq9zmgjNFZ48zWKyhRsPJbxfefEyJsW6E6ePum8DtH4CPtKT0PXzCw20rhFjj5yTECA8KWGYKLe2kPZmBAT60UO5Ng/s400/IMG_3139+copy.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="left">After the show, Matt wanted to take me somewhere special; it has been a while since we had gone on a date, and it was important to make it romantic and memorable.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275209023865853570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6g_F99PLZgJ_uqR-L8_8tt7n6jZSXuG5YwdwHbn5iW4kVw6tl9dtzcLDJt8YViWDsncv2hq55vVIdoSJ97uxWnFmvAtHGPH1SR-RNZGdcG1AtoH-QszF01UmPOK7xvVm-vOnFg/s400/IMG_3149.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="left">Nothing says, "I am so lucky to spend the rest of my life with you," like a Moons Over My Hammy.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">2. My second favorite holiday. Black Friday. Maybe this is not a holiday, per say, but in our family it is. My mom, dad and I have headed out early for the past three years, and it is always memorable. But also not memorable, because by then end of the day we are lucky to remember our names and how to get home.</div><div align="left"><br />The alarm went off at 3:30, but I was already awake, filled with excitement about getting my hands on a giant pack of play dough for $6.00.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275215019414163202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3fW3a8QAIjB9-QMIVYyvIVv1X-e4BR3jgY6_51UXDv4t8rVeufgH9SCIjdtMcvkWlVNL0quqdBEgbjPnWr_CzqDMd3drDANrig_X3glCALWdGxQm54CgD_KrHlJLzcoKpnxA9Q/s400/IMG_3173.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">In the car by 4:00.</span></div><div align="left"><br />No kidding.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">That is the funniest part of every Black Friday. There is never any huge item (t.v.s, cameras, computers, etc.) that I am after. It is always the lamest offer at the store, and while people are punching each other over the 90 inch flat screens, I am of in the corner where crickets are chirping, throwing the giant blow up horse video game into my cart with satisfaction. Whoo! Good thing I got here at 4:15!</div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275215022321099810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMc_S4KWJVpem65EJvzwF2EWNrAlAJPYIQ0M6xlfAaw99Ci_2aCnnB0jJmpuyoaLtZnARidIxXf2Zyq2xWPuEjJ3ezcVgaWvtEKTCSia8HVlIgKWZ3yx1Ay7gxy9smhzjKdITCMA/s400/IMG_3178.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Christie's Mom, ads in hand. 4:15 am.</span></div><div align="left"><br />My favorite part of this year's BF was waiting in line at Wal Mart. While we we mapping out the fastest route to the $8.00 hoodies (again, laptops for some; hoodies for others), a wild woman came over and started harassing us to see our ad. Then she started talking about the cameras and how they were passing out vouchers.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Only she didn't say vouchers.</div><br /><div align="left">See, she was a middle eastern descent (or something) and it was with curious glances that we listened as she told us that they were only passing out a few VULTURES for each item.</div><div align="left"><br />My dad, usually such a gentlemanly fellow, could not resist continuing the conversation by asking, "Well, how many vultures are they passing out?" "What time to they start passing out the vultures?" "Huh, well I hope we get a vulture." The lady was oblivious, just going on and on about the vultures, as my mom had to turn and walk away before exploding in giggles. I was holding the ad the whole time, but finally tears started streaming down my face and my shoulders were shaking so hard from holding in the laughter, that I had to thrust it at my dad before joining my mom.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">Friends, that is the true holiday spirit. Making fun of people while standing in line at Wal Mart at 4:30 in the morning.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275215030328956594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiR3Yws-cO3uzVr1fvBXeeOpfwiv3DLMfi0wh0ih6lWYDByXXlZrNIY3gpzsSTgJb2YN24jA9Hj5RFyZahWKNXE3wMH_xtgbRAa-vMrn-a250pIiNGCRkdFIwCjrYr5b7ScjsHQ/s400/IMG_3183.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">My mom started losing it and went feral over holly garland at Michael's, dumping the display all over the floor.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275215036835098834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQP_uKMd2C75-ytXBBpnCttA_egG1iaFgjbMNxTLsYtOiPE26OYX8jY92asdMurk26wpzAqZ_5Fk856HPYawKQkKT91Fd2j0Qoq2ysSM2uk1xISEoBoK3cL6Du9bed-_ugL0guw/s400/IMG_3186.JPG" border="0" /></div></div><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">My dad in the promised land. The Sears Tool Department.</span></p><p>3. My big score on BF was a new Christmas tree. We are so glad to have one that is pre lit, but that is not even the best part. Oh no. See, our new tree SPINS. That's right, it is perched upon a rotating stand and we all love watching it pirouette around the living room.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275245834948728994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Rek4vEkXWugL6yWs-gD8l4e9VmzUB19R7tWuJXIcfwHvryTPr0U5tzWxQE5V01TvehIRSbraFoSxGpMpiVsRGY12anLBFPzb4GFn1lcrWgwFPmHT6DeHNH8i2n6-P9ZV_YOp9g/s400/IMG_3192.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>It's like living in the Christmas display at Michael's.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275247199385975282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGckfB0_wq3YUyIyG0GZjCiAFKaeSrTeZadAC7tVXYahiFOqcZcPHmYGxJ9TylnoF_mkwsQ74Qhyphenhyphen47DLI4n-4oc2D7-yoUdHC1_hQNZ8sVeant2FHhIyY0x7h94pDqxolDWBnQug/s400/IMG_3213.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>Matt helped Jake put the star on the tree. (Also, please acknowledge my rad photo wall to the right. Get yourself some cheap clip frames from Ikea, and there you go.)</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275247185994669058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhoaebprs_MEb_bZW09iJK6iI7c-AeoCNAEo5pa0X7U_h7BrEnPPJlGbV74V0vlPQTTenqFaLI22rWA8Xfl2EC0l_RYYnNuHzTLMLjUlg_8X8x3xXM4wPWDll1_RCIAaN6PTD3Q/s400/IMG_3193.JPG" border="0" /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275245848791504098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlPWXXLgL7ktSCEj5Oq_m7Py6KPRD2E-FQp6nl1h7mtpf9lpb-43Z_CrNU4b1LWdnqlTGNQQjYgL8hpPzYWOz_gF-332oTfn4yCF6yk1fjRnuDbURUr0MhRrQCCG1QpCZggXiBA/s400/IMG_3199.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">The star was kind of heavy.</span></p><p align="left">Since this post is already 20 pages long, here are some of our favorite ornaments:</p><p align="left">Our first Christmas together. When we were foxy (hahaha! ... ha ... ha ...).</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275247216290988626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4h4ayhzKhscUnhjxVKehT0vTC48DKu7naZ-woPMKb5Isg2_hTaVhH94mQOsaF12umR7UNJg6kHWUQWTryn7SYtxvk6texPEA5UJzBL1NJW5FdHWU2qk7DPPy7LCMyHBgw-0-8yA/s400/IMG_3209.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>Matt's UPS man ornament that I had custom made for him.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275247217726264898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzJ8UUkgFLZbfoTiWYyV7pbzBgfKReggs723JC9cFFeVnQPwXXb_g-JkkU0aLQgOo8bgQQo_tM7oB9I2KbZkfDM1Of8JywKX4TeD9P6IwyH0NQwXtin9xNSXzX_WEwZeVHLHEJQ/s400/IMG_3212.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>And my friend, Robyn, had this one made for me when I was pregnant and teaching. I still look like this, sadly. And I am not pregnant.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275247226012782738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PeaC5CYIHr8xS38sqx0jAlD_ft1-1tWEhxU8K9z3NnHVlEi8wmNZvs4IMDtBMHY4JLDL-r7PvnuvAm7C_fp_uEd8sPn-kBr419SAwIiUQGeUn641-vlwXG_bdfl3o9zOhcbUtw/s400/IMG_3211.JPG" border="0" /></p></div><br /><br />4. Hmmm. What else? Oh. Yeah. I aged. I am now 17.</div><p>5. I have also been busy busy shooting people.</p><p>LOLPMP! (... sigh, I just crack myself up!) (And I have had a lot of coffee.)</p><p>Anyway, you can see some <a href="http://www.christiehobson.blogspot.com/">here</a>, but mostly it is just my kids. Which is worth it, since they are obviously the cutest kids in the world. I feel like I am learning a lot, but the more I learn, the more there is to learn. </p><p>Which I guess is okay, because time is on your side when you are only 17.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275590193384767410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkv34aUlFxklvQuGXv-bV9aywBL6QdPvOX7NWMZoBaY4Vtx8G0YGvpHSp0ccTdt-v0IaGIWR2mxSswkW87h2lQid9rlCHrQMD6zSqagq5m3NaaAnVpLwnD0qy2tLsA0iKM0LkKw/s400/IMG_3223.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">The end.</p>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-3631161630746183952008-11-12T21:08:00.000-08:002008-11-12T21:31:24.766-08:00My Wolf Cub<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH25NGlJX0PTIsjZDU_w0a7CGqQR1LEff6lVqz36LAV20ZT9iXKyJcE3NpA6nTzUGJX6n0LOtXSsuhXeMdloSXgpD3GIhEetxwc8hmOoCxhFByn7p03U_RdOKySUXyfoG3zKeiaA/s1600-h/IMG_5463+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268005283724842418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH25NGlJX0PTIsjZDU_w0a7CGqQR1LEff6lVqz36LAV20ZT9iXKyJcE3NpA6nTzUGJX6n0LOtXSsuhXeMdloSXgpD3GIhEetxwc8hmOoCxhFByn7p03U_RdOKySUXyfoG3zKeiaA/s400/IMG_5463+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGxPS2xh7yFDKzvoj_98YD6kAQWBDv6k_sO84ZufX3RBTqiM4lvAftpAGavJR-TzZY51mR00llDhwiKxCqViZlnXDhNJFJa8B5fwE5lY9jIcJCVq4HbtfOJ4r7j7DRcaefs_lQQ/s1600-h/IMG_5464+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268005277859838210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGxPS2xh7yFDKzvoj_98YD6kAQWBDv6k_sO84ZufX3RBTqiM4lvAftpAGavJR-TzZY51mR00llDhwiKxCqViZlnXDhNJFJa8B5fwE5lY9jIcJCVq4HbtfOJ4r7j7DRcaefs_lQQ/s400/IMG_5464+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Oh my awesome cuteness. Today was Jake's first cub scout meeting; he is in a wolf den with a few other kids from his school. The excitement I saw in him today, getting ready for his first meeting, almost brought me to tears.<br /><div><div></div><br /><div>After school we went to purchase his uniform, and it was so much fun walking through the scout shop and seeing all of the activities, crafts, and "Man Stuff" on display. Jake kept asking me if he could "walk around," which I daringly allowed since the shop is maybe 200 sq. ft. He tried on his shirt in the dressing room, and I could already tell he was getting pumped up. </div><br /><div></div><div>The meeting started at 6:00, but when we arrived home from the scout shop, at 4:00, Jake retreated to the bedroom and emerged a SCOUT. "Can you help me put this on?" he asked, thrusting his wolf kerchief at me.</div><br /><div></div><div>A bit later I told Jake that I wanted <span style="color:#333333;">to</span> take some pictures of him in his uniform before it got too dark. We walked outside, and I told him to stand against the wall. As I lifted my camera, Jake, in all seriousness, suddenly did this...</div><br /><div></div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268005268058118802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQYjOmQkH1fPleNBEtXo2KhXu5n-g6SzhFLKhXcu5h1aKFOol6QSJUgIYEEfaRy-FfHECKStFsjMhJzgfmpARHOB885pzfls9bLWL1IEotIF3bY_h20LDRjdhZZ2XB_E4U7T2Xg/s400/IMG_5458+copy.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div></div></div><br /><p>Apparently this was the official photo shoot for the Boy Scouts of America. I dared not utter a giggle. Hard as it was.</p><p>I am so excited for Jake, I really hope that scouts is everything he hopes for. I am excited, myself, for all of the fun activities we can do together, watching Jake learn new things and teaching him to serve others.</p><p>And I am excited to see him looking so ridiculously cute in his uniform every week.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268005274180789122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkq53hCQd-Pe_rhPbe3KxjcjY-Ft7RxpGDy3SodtPTQGnHQ1OKLdJHr14R9dOlnwSsiFl8qIs3h8ZuwMbwh0i6n0oGbVR3yTvFsO_u54Lq-Tz2Kc5Sj1c8w1fdZzIUmbIZ7ximkA/s400/IMG_5462+copy.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268006951983638866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vrAs2T6Zdh74SIMi-BAKSK4NVvKf_SEEjRN1lfCWkRB8_BAtESmWB3jiAYoF9kGOgqxt9mXjqewIO-D9SGKdV43rwxI_goFNcVZGIeqRP9sx9T6ob-66ZagCiPuCtpXkxB3fBA/s400/Jake+Scout+copy.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">(Another pose idea from Jake. Being my assistant on photo shoots is really paying off. There better be a badge for that.)</span></p>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-75419472873235305482008-11-07T07:37:00.000-08:002008-11-07T07:42:07.031-08:00What's Not Normal About...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo67wv4VHJhFQ9zLJqoyOdZDnO9kGPZV2RJjD7InyJkLMBYP0f5ikQdI26eV-VtFcjMJzJhgVK_f7QtbYN_-IK8Fo6uCi7lmu3lhxqF1TqUU4IjS7iugqDoRS9qRy7WDubS8dzzQ/s1600-h/IMG_3046.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265940957202842802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo67wv4VHJhFQ9zLJqoyOdZDnO9kGPZV2RJjD7InyJkLMBYP0f5ikQdI26eV-VtFcjMJzJhgVK_f7QtbYN_-IK8Fo6uCi7lmu3lhxqF1TqUU4IjS7iugqDoRS9qRy7WDubS8dzzQ/s400/IMG_3046.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnaFLbVdPQLSCIcrLqvkwjesOFcgh5BdkjOOh9V1p0x3KNbp6HyNb4YesS7WI7qNFUns975Kg5s1qEnvaGLHok8DbemkFzdugdaBA0Ydzf1Bonll-VtzgMXQKZQArkMg2aUpasw/s1600-h/IMG_3044.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265940950449678610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnaFLbVdPQLSCIcrLqvkwjesOFcgh5BdkjOOh9V1p0x3KNbp6HyNb4YesS7WI7qNFUns975Kg5s1qEnvaGLHok8DbemkFzdugdaBA0Ydzf1Bonll-VtzgMXQKZQArkMg2aUpasw/s400/IMG_3044.JPG" border="0" /></a> Sitting in a Tonka truck parked in the closet and reading a Barbie book to your brother?</div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">(And don't doubt for a second that I am not busting out the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser right now to wipe those scuffs off the walls, omg.)</span></div>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-68020609906476761942008-11-04T22:06:00.001-08:002008-11-04T22:08:02.363-08:00Are. You. Serious.<p><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9MrDgCsocaU&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9MrDgCsocaU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p><p> </p>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-44129586185324328162008-11-04T20:00:00.000-08:002008-11-04T20:00:20.064-08:00Halloween<div align="left">I like looking at blogs after Halloween, don't you? I think it is fun to see how <s>all the people I randomly stalk</s> my friends dress up their kids. It's cute.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWL-HRJDFaCiNnVVWN1_9LlQ37hyZu269c7xu1L7rwEONb8HLfQOH-uhtFqfUiWo0wt8AxnMBQ8fm_liNfp9egqxbFj_E6ZxF2QqL2n2DqqAUxssE-wJCEd7Il_8-iS3FrDlaiQ/s1600-h/IMG_2902.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265006899188026914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWL-HRJDFaCiNnVVWN1_9LlQ37hyZu269c7xu1L7rwEONb8HLfQOH-uhtFqfUiWo0wt8AxnMBQ8fm_liNfp9egqxbFj_E6ZxF2QqL2n2DqqAUxssE-wJCEd7Il_8-iS3FrDlaiQ/s400/IMG_2902.JPG" border="0" /></a> Halloween was especially fun this year because the kids did not have school, so we were able to enjoy the whole day together. We had a little lunch party with mummy dogs, and told spooky stories. The spooky stories were all good and fun, with Jake and Grace's ending with, "Then! The monster came out and said PIZZA! Bwhahahahaha!" and everyone laughed and laughed. It was all good and fun, that is, until I told one where the girl's head falls off at the end, and I could almost see the scars developing on their sweet little souls. Oops.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264481157201702146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2_wUUJOf1TxZH2jc7cObUu3RqAuB8GaC_7CD5FyFHH41EzOktsDdSdiNObI9C0Do2-ci-f7HYEJB2U1xQSalW23Eq3d1aomB0YjH3Hb_uN221INHsZLQZNXjqC_ctSwEV5Hw0Q/s400/IMG_2899.JPG" border="0" /> </div><div align="center">Duh. That is totally blood.<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264481146377364882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaNKvI1oS7zWr-Ax8dfTmt68KsbJRiEcMGDCd-FJoMQZxNnX6B0PWKi9CYXuqsXpWSvtoIQ-KJA3kvjEdusAPMIvKLazhl1fv7-w0fFVHr7lUGL3GHuCbp38O-pAyFFj0hUI1tw/s400/IMG_2896.JPG" border="0" /> After lunch, it was time to start prepping for the costumes. Jake was dressing as Aang, from Avatar: The Last Airbender, so we needed to give his head a fresh shave. Halfway through, I laughed and said, "Ha! You look like those guys who are bald on top with hair just on the sides."<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264481174276389026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgQePxjoCLG7LJyaT0pz-vh5D7Puz4XsrOqC8zcl56hetgZjqouccp44tEv7fxm6JwkmCaPt9XlbCzbDOeyosX0evDb4Atd4QYeaewL0rydUd2NFy4vG_5tu-Mj4GTSTBWp4CAQ/s400/IMG_2903.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center">"Yeah!" he laughed. "Like Grandpa! Hahahahaha!"</p>Costumed up, we headed for my parents house for some Trick or Treating.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265009096824947762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7cfyExA8_Xm18PUv-WtlQZctjgFDSahjxZXOGbatWZU5R_eimgBwd62FrKcUlv_xkYZ8aDqzfvNNzHlW6HNpHG96_hydpeVAF9vrvbI9gX1ujNCMGKGaDnOizrYlW7W7fY2nGhA/s400/IMG_2914.JPG" border="0" />A good mom would have altered this costume before Halloween. A ghetto mom, like myself, just sticks 17 safety pins in her baby's clothes.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265009102926187138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2zEW_3zxVuvWkqZZeqTb4WZQP3nrCYQfNd3W67F39kIHp3WCUzc-dFfAoO5W0nCiih47hXHpQvN7zkRuH9lFN6dKDksmM_jUkO1CsaeGUO7QZe4Fi6I14gDH8OmAOw4jD56oiA/s400/IMG_2926.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center">"Dude, Jake! Get over here! They're putting CANDY in this thing!"<br /><br /></p><p align="left">Grace was Pikachu and, as expected...</p><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265009084676971106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6v7UHPiuPhCZZA-N980eHEibwf54yf059JCyX6dRs7k8_b6izKh60rgxSAHj8Iaig4qYapKhJdo0VuiQ1tHnXeTNAJv3TzGXFYvnJw0MUz3CIp-H25JJKw2qvgfc5-H5xxNb3mQ/s400/IMG_2917.JPG" border="0" /></p>she wore the mask for approximately 3.5 minutes. Then it was Grace dressed and a blob of mustard.<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265011372836591410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09QQeTn-AhD8pN7L0ejW3Xa_Zjb7ktm4HQXYCC4zP9XHSiMgttGNsfi0Lp_jIzNg2D0Mna50gx6d85VgTuZFhLcbNQBLqKw-gsWFvjs3KL4p3Kk2iLFlRBfkz23FgL-Dw4afOsA/s400/IMG_2934.JPG" border="0" />Jake made a great Avatar. When we were getting ready, he was kind of worried that people would not know who he was. I affirmed him that at least most kids would know. Well, apparently we are not the only adults watching Avatar after the kids are in bed, because a lot of them commented on how much they like the show. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265011380168056866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GPl_fpK6XPsGxzbwBW1StmDh70nYGBoNpSjOhrGwiKThfM3lt4684FOJldSCq-bl3u44xBo3Tj31C51tTuOAcMuCOJtozCX_ym9Ub17olYS-eoDvw71rSV7h4jJSGhgny7hQ9w/s400/IMG_2906.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>Not only that, but he had a large group of people stop him and and compliment him on his costume, and one guy even asked to take a picture. Who knew? Airbender = celebrity.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265011376469512850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhywdGxjZFMnv_OvfuCEjyiLQc3NXu1by129v5QiOoc5xyiHoQpjr17yVEL5hcphp1nTkP9B6j9LPrzZCSC9tmYHgCuYQpW0yquvqu6pErFkmt5KKIM10O4t-uGvj5f_K0ffP8_bA/s400/IMG_2938.JPG" border="0" />Something is not right here...<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265015113715634146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJb24Vyp6X7njvfvjVvWZlIxvbAQRA_v0vsdZMq5oRnPPeTyzbH7C6gZfpEX4xQkTQXHWf9eEPIoBadqbgW6Ddmw_UwHLCTJm7hba1mLpVQBotbJ6l-m5U6ZtIw099xXJZMED_vg/s400/IMG_2958.JPG" border="0" />After trick or treating we headed to back to my parents and played games. It was a great day, and everyone had a lot of fun. <p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265015089407727906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqboh5w0WpN5BpBvNhNQSfJLDly2GuSzfVjU9n3fQLrO-YD1NSaTs61aWbRVBv0Gzza3WgtGyqSnSgHAnU8weftiE9f3KM9Lte9OFYC-yNK5KT7Q83-Z5NbaLOXM0ilanpVEY7gA/s400/IMG_2968.JPG" border="0" /></p><br />Some ... too much fun.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-85899139808064563952008-11-04T17:38:00.000-08:002008-11-04T17:44:38.546-08:00Sweet Mother of Technology...The Number One Reason to be Glad that the Election is (Almost) Over:<br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264981874684289154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZY8e-xZfBJewZE4n8mGSyhk3xoyLNmG9l1aj9usl8Hf1YIU5wzTlTpvgWbaJCWSwfp5t_MwQ4wceuqCWUuAjz1YiFOhYLsCfX7wxXnY-ZwJAFPBBahcjtJJMlN3B3nnqpq83sA/s400/john_king_on_cnn_primary_election_c.jpg" border="0" /></div><br />Not having to watch EVERY SINGLE NEWSCASTER play techno-nerd with the "Election Central"/"Election Headquarters" touch screens and slide-around images. Good gravy. I am really hoping someone cracks and starts drawing happy faces on the screens or calls for a field goal.Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30739273.post-89285073217684838642008-10-31T07:17:00.000-07:002008-10-31T07:25:49.967-07:00Seriously Scary<div align="center">This morning, as dawn breaks on this fine, foggy Hallow's Eve, one mother starts upon a frightening mission. It is not for the faint of heart. No ghost, witch or goblin could possibly instill terror quite like this endeavor.</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">*Cueing the horror music*</div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Wheee</span></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">WHEEE</div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">WHEEEE!!!</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263322389320452034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKoRZRZ5t-gX7TWFCmmZWxp00s87K0j8AIt8qGKkMmfEHBYI_xsDQoH6beiylk6CBi9_jfaOSaINVt2Z7npbG9YaJodLODxMAHCtpPuL00Ftu_7YZ8Y4EIzliq-mD4rv2dvQ2OQ/s400/IMG_4874.JPG" border="0" /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263322393749829586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCG7sR02oRUl6ZlGRMXor3dGRya2sWjgvVRuqh3WTw1vCT2F7jPdVFaDcOOlQa173tJght1Nfwe0wrqNJ3Owe-pMhSRlhLId6W1rxWO_CZLab0M-qMIkR_vAr-3ZEbFUGJFP0tXA/s400/IMG_4894.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Parent-teacher conference with Grace's teacher. </p><p align="center">*SHRIEK*!!!!</p>Christiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00842643534939094177noreply@blogger.com6