<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419</id><updated>2012-02-16T15:27:27.106-08:00</updated><title type='text'>One of Four</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>130</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1577637770700920684</id><published>2009-09-17T05:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T05:17:29.975-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Schedule Change</title><content type='html'>I have not posted in awhile because I have been BUSY!!!  The kids have been in school almost 6 weeks and I have yet to touch my "big to do list" that has things like organize toys, clean closets, bleach tub, etc.  I am barely getting the groceries bought, clothes cleaned, dinner on the table, homework done, ball games attended--the list goes on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I have planned to have a home day.  I was going to organize some of the huge stacks of paper in my kitchen, clean the house, and just refuse to go anywhere.  But of course that won't happen.  I got an email asking me to come to my kids' class to volunteer and then possibly finish out the day substituting.  Which just ensures that I'll get absolutely nothing done here at home.  The best thing is I'll get the spend the day with at least one of my kids.  That will totally make the dirty house and the even larger stacks of paper worth it.  And there will be another day to tackle all the home duties of life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1577637770700920684?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1577637770700920684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1577637770700920684' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1577637770700920684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1577637770700920684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/09/schedule-change.html' title='Schedule Change'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4541908209173582129</id><published>2009-08-19T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T16:57:35.134-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blessed Memories</title><content type='html'>One of my oldest and dearest friend's grandmother passed away today. This sweet lady who passed away at the age of 92 is also my great aunt. You see, I have the honor of not only calling this dear family friends but also family. And right now my heart is hurting for what this family is going through. I know the days ahead when they would give anything for just a few minutes spent with their grandmother. I know the times when they will feel her up in heaven watching them. I know the joy they have from knowing that her joy is complete in heaven, praising Jesus and cheering on those left behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember the day my cousin and I found a pack of gum that was in a plastic, pink dip cup. My great aunt was appalled and promptly confiscated it. I remember getting to drive the old jalopy. I remember hiding in the market and being scared to death because it was really dark, I mean really dark. I remember playing dress up in her upstairs rooms that were full of treasures. I remember parties in the basement, and playing hide'n seek in the basement. I remember a home of love and a place where everyone was welcome, even this obnoxious little girl from Georgia, who really does not remember wrecking the jalopy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot wait to get to heaven and hug all my family I miss so much, some days more than others.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4541908209173582129?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4541908209173582129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4541908209173582129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4541908209173582129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4541908209173582129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/08/blessed-memories.html' title='Blessed Memories'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2519345619063815478</id><published>2009-08-08T16:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T16:15:15.290-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Dearly Beloved Pet Liz</title><content type='html'>My dear, sweet son caught a lizard today and named it "Liz."  But, due to the fact that it was 100 degrees outside, it died in captivity.  My son was beside himself, crying and sobbing.  It was a pitiful sight until I came to the rescue.  I offered to have my hubby bury the lizard, and I would say a prayer.  That seemed to console my son until we got outside to bury it.  It seems that while retrieving the dead Liz, my son dropped it and couldn't find it.  We were all on our hands and knees outside looking for a dead lizard.  And remember that it is still around 90 degrees outside.  My husband thought some not so kind thoughts; I know because I could hear those silent thoughts.  We finally decided to place a cross in the area where Liz was dropped and said a prayer for the little Liz.  I can't wait until the kids go to bed tonight so my hubby can tell me all those thoughts he had, just in case I missed anything.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2519345619063815478?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2519345619063815478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2519345619063815478' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2519345619063815478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2519345619063815478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/08/our-dearly-beloved-pet-liz.html' title='Our Dearly Beloved Pet Liz'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4449711390359402604</id><published>2009-08-07T10:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T10:47:05.411-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't Wait for Monday</title><content type='html'>Ever have a time in your life where you are so exhausted that it's hard to even think straight? I feel like that. There is just alot of stuff going on here, and it's mainly because school is starting Monday. I wish Monday was here already so we could just get on with it. Right now I should be balancing the checkbook or finish organizing my pantry cabinets (I know, I'm living the life) but I'm going to take a quick moment to write down some precious words of wisdom from my daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was open house and both kids have wonderful teachers. They are both sweet, kind, fun, excited, and organized. We're a family of engineers and live for organization. Nothing wrong with that, right? As we left the school, Miss A commented, "This is painful." I was puzzled and had to ask what exactly was painful. She said that it was painful that she had to wait until Monday to go to school. Classic. I can't wait until she doesn't want to get up one morning and I remind her of this quote, maybe when she's 16 years old. I snuck in to check on my kids after they were asleep last night and found Miss A had laid out her school clothes and shoes so she would be ready. I guess just in case it did turn out to be Monday today. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4449711390359402604?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4449711390359402604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4449711390359402604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4449711390359402604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4449711390359402604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/08/cant-wait-for-monday.html' title='Can&apos;t Wait for Monday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-8421011980476722916</id><published>2009-08-05T04:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T04:19:30.568-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet, Sweet, Sweet</title><content type='html'>I want to remember this forever. Yesterday, Miss A was invited to spend the night with a friend. I told Mr T that we would do something special with him because his sister would be gone, and he seemed ok with that. A few hours later, I called the kids to get in the car so we could take Miss A to her friend's house. Mr T came down first and said, "Mommy, I miss Miss A already." Be still my beating heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before Mr T was born, I prayed and prayed that my kids would get along, but I had no idea they would become such great friends. I pray that they always will love each other. Thank you Jesus for doing more than I even asked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-8421011980476722916?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/8421011980476722916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=8421011980476722916' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8421011980476722916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8421011980476722916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/08/sweet-sweet-sweet.html' title='Sweet, Sweet, Sweet'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-3569989777705764816</id><published>2009-07-28T05:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T05:28:03.602-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Art is Everywhere</title><content type='html'>We just back from our final summer vacation...or at least the last one we plan to take. Who knows what the future holds? I am still trying to get my feet back under me before I post anything profound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sm7uVoKKuKI/AAAAAAAAATM/FEFAoySHcQk/s1600-h/DSC_0037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sm7uVoKKuKI/AAAAAAAAATM/FEFAoySHcQk/s400/DSC_0037.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363486261569566882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to try to slow down and enjoy the simpler things, including all the beautiful nature God has created.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-3569989777705764816?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/3569989777705764816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=3569989777705764816' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3569989777705764816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3569989777705764816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/07/beauty-in-nature.html' title='Art is Everywhere'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sm7uVoKKuKI/AAAAAAAAATM/FEFAoySHcQk/s72-c/DSC_0037.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5976677535519548726</id><published>2009-07-10T05:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-10T05:38:04.414-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fishing and Stuff Like That</title><content type='html'>Last night, we went up to my in-laws to go fishing and to just hang out.  It was a really fun time to just relax.  I'll post some pictures and let them speak for themselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc134V7ZWI/AAAAAAAAASk/cy7XJmX8sVI/s1600-h/DSC_0787.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc134V7ZWI/AAAAAAAAASk/cy7XJmX8sVI/s400/DSC_0787.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356809515913930082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc13WeLXKI/AAAAAAAAASc/s3HtwFJLWoE/s1600-h/DSC_0130.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc13WeLXKI/AAAAAAAAASc/s3HtwFJLWoE/s400/DSC_0130.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356809506821725346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc13PbBYDI/AAAAAAAAASU/FZtoHvUu3vU/s1600-h/DSC_0118.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc13PbBYDI/AAAAAAAAASU/FZtoHvUu3vU/s400/DSC_0118.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356809504929439794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc1240bW3I/AAAAAAAAASM/bcRjvw2H-mY/s1600-h/DSC_0116.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc1240bW3I/AAAAAAAAASM/bcRjvw2H-mY/s400/DSC_0116.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356809498861984626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc12hcykhI/AAAAAAAAASE/TgVSHBpL7rg/s1600-h/DSC_0115.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc12hcykhI/AAAAAAAAASE/TgVSHBpL7rg/s400/DSC_0115.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356809492588827154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5976677535519548726?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5976677535519548726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5976677535519548726' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5976677535519548726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5976677535519548726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/07/fishing-and-stuff-like-that.html' title='Fishing and Stuff Like That'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Slc134V7ZWI/AAAAAAAAASk/cy7XJmX8sVI/s72-c/DSC_0787.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7598862623405641340</id><published>2009-07-08T15:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T15:58:36.179-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pulling My Foot out of my Mouth Yet Again</title><content type='html'>I just called my hubby to ask him what time he would home for supper.&lt;br /&gt;He replied that he would be home around 5:45.&lt;br /&gt;I then said that I was making chicken Parmesan.&lt;br /&gt;He replied that was fine.&lt;br /&gt;I then said, "Honey, when I tell you I'm making chicken Parmesan, you are supposed to tell me that I'm the best wife. That you love that meal and you love me. You are so lucky to have me. Now lets try it again. I'm making chicken Parmesan."&lt;br /&gt;He replies, "Well, I need to get back to my meeting. See you later this evening."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oops, hope I wasn't on speaker phone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7598862623405641340?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7598862623405641340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7598862623405641340' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7598862623405641340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7598862623405641340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/07/pulling-my-foot-out-of-my-mouth-yet.html' title='Pulling My Foot out of my Mouth Yet Again'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1306727368294687489</id><published>2009-07-08T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T10:57:13.491-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where did the time go?</title><content type='html'>This post is to inform the owners of WalMart that I am appalled that they have decided in their infinite wisdom to begin selling school supplies. Do they not know that I am in denial that summer is half over? Do they not know that half of the summer is still left? Do they not know that seeing all those crayons for 25 cents just about pushed me over the edge? I am refusing to participate in their little scheme to make time fly by even more quickly than it already does. We still have camp meeting, another trip to Ohio, possibly a beach trip, swim lessons, and tons of play dates left. I will not be rushed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1306727368294687489?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1306727368294687489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1306727368294687489' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1306727368294687489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1306727368294687489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/07/where-did-time-go.html' title='Where did the time go?'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4304978413799477396</id><published>2009-07-06T07:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T07:41:12.521-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Keep Riding</title><content type='html'>This is the story of a go-kart, the go-kart that my mom, my aunt and uncles rode for miles as kids. The go-kart that my cousin drop up the side of the barn when he couldn't remember which was forward and reverse. The go-kart I drove up a hill and into a tree and had to go get the local towing company (my dad) to get it down. The go-kart that has survived because it broke down and had to be put up for months at a time. The go-kart that you could ride through my grandma's back yard but NEVER the front yard. I am sure my grandparents had no idea that their great grand kids would one day ride this same go-kart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SlIMutB_qtI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/9GoCxPfGGCw/s1600-h/img015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SlIMutB_qtI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/9GoCxPfGGCw/s400/img015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355356903398419154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SlIMvZYynAI/AAAAAAAAAKI/e2M6uuPCQDU/s1600-h/DSC_0090.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SlIMvZYynAI/AAAAAAAAAKI/e2M6uuPCQDU/s400/DSC_0090.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355356915305192450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SlIMvKZlKMI/AAAAAAAAAKA/VzCfbXoVSaE/s1600-h/DSC_0087.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 221px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SlIMvKZlKMI/AAAAAAAAAKA/VzCfbXoVSaE/s400/DSC_0087.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355356911281973442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4304978413799477396?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4304978413799477396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4304978413799477396' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4304978413799477396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4304978413799477396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/07/keep-riding.html' title='Keep Riding'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SlIMutB_qtI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/9GoCxPfGGCw/s72-c/img015.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6361576276841890899</id><published>2009-07-01T06:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T03:41:09.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 7: California Vacation</title><content type='html'>Day 7: Our last day in California was spent in San Diego.  We waited for my dad to get off work at lunch and then we headed out for San Diego.  We toured the USS Midway, which is a retired Navy aircraft carrier.  It was so neat to see the boat that literally has a city on it.  I could not live on a boat like that but it was neat to see how others have done it.  We ate at a delicious seafood restaurant right there on the pier but I cannot remember the name of it.  I don’t care for seafood, but I ate it there and it was delicious.  &lt;br /&gt;After eating, we drove around San Diego and then headed for the airport.  I remember when I was a kid, seeing my parents get teary eyed when we would leave my grandparents, but I don’t think I really understood how they felt until my parents dropped us off at the airport.  I really didn’t want them to leave and I can’t wait to see them again.&lt;br /&gt;We got to the gate and found out our plane was delayed, and that they would have about a 30 minutes window to get the plane unloaded, reloaded, and in the air before the “noise restrictions” began.  If we didn’t get out of there by 11:30 p.m., we would be sleeping on the floor in the airport.  Oh joy.  They did manage to get us airborne with 2 minutes to spare.  By that time, my hubby and I were so keyed up that we could not sleep.  I was so afraid that I would fall asleep and end up leaning on the guy beside me that I stayed awake the entire time.  We got home around 7:30 in the morning and everyone took a 2 hour nap.  I spent the rest of the day in a fog and could not wait for bedtime to come.&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it was a great trip and I am so thankful that we got to go.   Thanks Mom and Dad for making our vacation so wonderful.  It would not have been half as much fun without you both there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6361576276841890899?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6361576276841890899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6361576276841890899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6361576276841890899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6361576276841890899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-7-california-vacation.html' title='Day 7: California Vacation'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-8375698199213537687</id><published>2009-06-30T04:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T04:16:26.430-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Memories</title><content type='html'>My grandma's sister passed away on Sunday, and I have been listening to all kinds of memories in my mind for the past few days. I don't think I have a childhood Thanksgiving or Christmas celebration that doesn't include going to my Aunt Bernice's house. She would have the house full of people by the time we arrived and she would be buzzing about making sure everyone had everything they needed. Her home is a beautiful 2 story house that movies should be made in. The beautiful banister that begged to be held, the stairs that went to a "secret" little attic, the huge living room with the most beautiful Christmas tree and cozy fireplace, the bathroom the size of a bedroom. She would tell me how the bricks for the house were fired there on the property down by the pond where she would host parties. My aunt B is the only person besides my parents to throw me a surprise birthday party. For my 21st birthday, my aunt gathered all the family she could together for a cookout down by the old pond. I felt so important. Once, my aunt had the most beautiful bouquet of dried flowers and I remarked about how pretty they were. I got that bouquet for Christmas later that year, and I still have it today.&lt;br /&gt;My aunt had a knack for giving the most unusual Christmas gifts. I remember the stilts we got one year and how I loved to use them. She gave my parents a flag pole one year and all the cousins got gloves one time. My all time favorite gift is the pair of flip flops that are adhesive and just stick to the bottom of your feet. I brought those with me when I got married and my husband wanted to know what in the world they were. I simply replied, "They were a Christmas gift from Aunt B." Enough said. We still joke about my saving them for some special occasion when they are perfect to wear.&lt;br /&gt;Sunday night, we were at church when my aunt passed away. Our pastor was talking about wanting to be the type of person that others know just by being around that they are a person of faith. That is my Aunt B. You knew by the time she took to care for people and all that she did there was something special about her; she had a faith that lasts for a lifetime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-8375698199213537687?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/8375698199213537687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=8375698199213537687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8375698199213537687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8375698199213537687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/memories.html' title='Memories'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6350547419578417515</id><published>2009-06-26T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T10:41:17.729-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 6: California Vacation</title><content type='html'>Day 6: We woke up early and headed out to Disneyland. It seems like we had all been waiting for this day to come, and it was finally here. We got parked, got our tickets and walked in just as the gates were opening. Perfect timing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again, the weather was superb. It never got above 80 degrees, the sun was shining and there was a beautiful breeze. I would give anything for a little bit of that breeze now. In the evening, one of the ride operators even had her winter coat on; I suppose they aren't used to cool weather in sunny California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We rode just about every ride there is to ride and enjoyed it all. We rode the Bobsleds, which was Mr T's favorite roller coaster. It's pretty mild and perfect for all of us. We rode Peter Pan and It's A Small World, which are the 2 rides I remember riding as a small child. We rode the teacups. My hubby rode with the kids. My mom and I rode together because we refused to spin, party poopers I know. We rode the Thunder Mountain Railroad and Mr T's response was, "That was awesome. I don't ever want to do it again." His response to the Splash Mountain was in his most cheerful voice, "That was fun. I didn't like it." We rode Dumbo, which was a ride we missed at Disney World and Mr T has been reminding me of that for the last 2 years.  That was a MUST ride for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite part was the fireworks at the end of the night. Disney is doing a new show for the summer and Tinkerbell flew through the air. There were fireworks to look like shooting stars and Dumbo flew through the air too. It was so magical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure I'll think of more stuff to say about this day but that's most of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIIjSTlwI/AAAAAAAAAJw/2oxLKpcYo2w/s1600-h/DSC_0458.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIIjSTlwI/AAAAAAAAAJw/2oxLKpcYo2w/s400/DSC_0458.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351692675203700482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIIflaT_I/AAAAAAAAAJo/qYwvCSLNwT0/s1600-h/DSC_0448.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIIflaT_I/AAAAAAAAAJo/qYwvCSLNwT0/s400/DSC_0448.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351692674210090994" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIINSo1DI/AAAAAAAAAJg/KZpQbhswb_8/s1600-h/DSC_0436.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 194px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIINSo1DI/AAAAAAAAAJg/KZpQbhswb_8/s400/DSC_0436.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351692669299512370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIH5-z66I/AAAAAAAAAJY/mE-rUd5_Uh4/s1600-h/DSC_0432.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIH5-z66I/AAAAAAAAAJY/mE-rUd5_Uh4/s400/DSC_0432.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351692664116079522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6350547419578417515?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6350547419578417515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6350547419578417515' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6350547419578417515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6350547419578417515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-6-california-vacation_26.html' title='Day 6: California Vacation'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SkUIIjSTlwI/AAAAAAAAAJw/2oxLKpcYo2w/s72-c/DSC_0458.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-3272081744800866062</id><published>2009-06-25T14:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T14:05:27.453-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Whole Lot of Nothing</title><content type='html'>It's so hot here.  I haven't complained because I hate to be cold and have been looking forward to the heat, but this heat is a bit much.  Just a few degrees cooler would be perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kids went to spend the night with their cousins last night and came home talking about the great time they had.  My son came home in a different shirt but was wearing the same pants he was wearing yesterday.  Note that they were long pants, not shorts.  His reason, "The other shorts you sent didn't match."  Remind me whose child you are.  :)  No one else in this house seems to mind if they don't match.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am cooking stuffed bell peppers, fried squash, and cooked green beans for dinner.  Don't you just love the fresh veggies from the garden?  And especially the ones at the beginning of the garden when they are fresh and well-watered.  I can't wait to eat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-3272081744800866062?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/3272081744800866062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=3272081744800866062' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3272081744800866062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3272081744800866062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/whole-lot-of-nothing.html' title='A Whole Lot of Nothing'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5128286227782509059</id><published>2009-06-23T15:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T16:08:51.030-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Arms Don't Want to Help</title><content type='html'>I have 2 more days of the vacation story, and I'll get to it eventually. But this week has been a week already and it's only Tuesday. I've been in a funk and can't seem to break out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, my hubby asked me to do something and without thinking, I replied, "I can't. My arms are broken." And we both laughed because we both KNOW I'll do it. I always try to do what I can to help people out; I just don't always do it with the right attitude. As soon as I said my cute, short retort, a story came to my mind of my son when he was 4 years old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Mr T's 4th birthday I took him for his 4 year check up. I figured it didn't matter if it was on his birthday because shots happen when they are 5 years old, and we wouldn't be celebrating his birthday until later that night. Boy was I wrong. The doctor did all her "examining" and then suggested that we go ahead and do the shots. I figured it was a good idea since I was sure he would bellow and scream more at age 5 than 4 years old. The shots were given, the screams were yelled, and we left with Mr T sobbing on my shoulder. We got home, and he immediately went to the sofa to watch tv while I got lunch. I figured I would treat him and let him eat in front of the tv since it was his birthday; aren't I great? I brought him his lunch and he said that I was going to have to feed him. I asked why and he replied that his arms didn't work. Then he said, "See?" Imagine my 4 year old sitting there with his arms at his side not moving, pretending in his mind to try to move them. "See?" he said. It was the most pitiful thing I had ever seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sure that my hubby thought I was just as pitiful this morning. And don't worry. Everyone I talked to on Mr T's birthday fussed at me for getting his shots on his birthday. I know it was a horrible thing to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5128286227782509059?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5128286227782509059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5128286227782509059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5128286227782509059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5128286227782509059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-arms-dont-want-to-help.html' title='My Arms Don&apos;t Want to Help'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6576194477861096930</id><published>2009-06-22T04:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T04:28:34.808-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pink Toenails</title><content type='html'>I really do have to go back to Day 1 of our vacation and comment more on our plane ride.  We were so blessed to have 6 seats between the four of us.  My hubby and Mr T were in one row with an extra seat, and Miss A and I were behind them with an extra seat also.  As soon as we took off Mr T moved back to join Miss A so that my hubby could fall asleep.  I got to read and the kids watched movies and read.  It was perfect, except for the 2 obnoxious girls behind us.  The easiest way to describe them might by "potty mouth."  I think that about says it all.  It makes me angry again just thinking about it.  I wanted to turn around and say something to them but I figured that would just make it worse so I just buckled up and refused to listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 30 minutes into the flight, one of the girls behind us decides to put her foot on Mr T's foot rest.  Her big mistake was that she had taken off her shoes.  So there beside Mr T was this foot with bright pink toenails.  My kids just giggled and giggled.  Mr T began to pretend that he was tickling them, smiling devilishly the whole time.  I tried to be the good mom and said no while inside begging him to disobey.  In retrospect, I should have just told him to go ahead and tickle them.  That would have gotten their attention.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6576194477861096930?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6576194477861096930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6576194477861096930' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6576194477861096930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6576194477861096930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/pink-toenails.html' title='Pink Toenails'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-37953614459072706</id><published>2009-06-18T16:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T16:51:35.724-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 5: California Vacation</title><content type='html'>Day 5: We got up and ate a breakfast of fresh fruit and granola bar and then hit the door running.  We went to see General Sherman, the biggest tree in the world.  We headed out of the national park around lunchtime, planning to eat lunch after we got out of the park.  We decided to follow the GPS----BIG MISTAKE!!!  We ultimately found ourselves on a 40 mile stretch of curvy road with absolutely nothing to eat.  Mr T ended up sick and the rest of us were starving.  It was a blessed relief to see a McDonalds once we got back to civilization.  I don't care to ever go on that road again. Ever.  Have I made that clear?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got back to my parents around 7; the kids went to bed, my dad was grilling out, and my mom and I ran to the grocery store.  We got back and were so exhausted that we decided to put off Disney for a day and spend the next day just touring a national park that was close to my parents.  It turned out to be a great choice.  We saw one of the neatest thing I've ever seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjrS6CNSswI/AAAAAAAAAIw/rFfGLsvokbY/s1600-h/DSC_0351.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjrS6CNSswI/AAAAAAAAAIw/rFfGLsvokbY/s320/DSC_0351.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348819401922753282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjrS5mrx4EI/AAAAAAAAAIo/Lptu40CeHmQ/s1600-h/DSC_0349.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjrS5mrx4EI/AAAAAAAAAIo/Lptu40CeHmQ/s320/DSC_0349.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348819394534432834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjrS5e-g5WI/AAAAAAAAAIg/gZQD8Wq92_k/s1600-h/DSC_0321.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjrS5e-g5WI/AAAAAAAAAIg/gZQD8Wq92_k/s320/DSC_0321.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348819392465528162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-37953614459072706?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/37953614459072706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=37953614459072706' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/37953614459072706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/37953614459072706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-5-california-vacation.html' title='Day 5: California Vacation'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjrS6CNSswI/AAAAAAAAAIw/rFfGLsvokbY/s72-c/DSC_0351.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2900282508540330314</id><published>2009-06-15T18:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T05:15:19.327-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 4: California Vacation</title><content type='html'>Day 4: We headed out to Sequoia National Park which is 5 hours away from my parents.  It was a neat drive through the desert; there is absolutely nothing there but flat land, sand, and wind mills and solar panels that are used to generate power.  Then all of a sudden we entered these huge fruit groves.  We stopped at a roadside stand and picked up strawberries, blueberries, and some apples.  We then began our trip up the mountain.  Let me just say that I only thought I was prone to car sickness.  Mr T, I now know is a car sickness child.  He almost got sick on the way up and definitely got sick on the way down.  I pray I never have to travel either of those roads ever again.  Ever again.  It was grueling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We finally got to the park and saw the most amazing trees.  They are huge, just like I knew they would be but I could never imagined just how huge they are.  No words or photos could describe how majestic those trees really are.  They don't even look real.  I don't know how anyone can doubt there is a God when they something as spectular as those redwood trees.  It was awe inspiring.  We found ourselves walking amongst these trees and everyone was whispering, even my kids, and believe me when I say this is the ONLY time they whispered.  It just felt like a holy place that deserved respect.  We saw 4 deer and a black bear as we were hiking.  We hiked up 400stairs to the top of a mountain and saw the most panamoramic view of the area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't want to drive back out of the park because of the fear that Mr T would be sick so we decided to get a room in the park.  By this time, we were all tired and cold so we got into the room, got under the covers, turned the heat on, and ate our fruit.  It was so cozy.  Thank God for heat.  I think everyone fell asleep right away, worn out from our hikes and the drive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4Bk5wugI/AAAAAAAAAIY/jYkWMO-87kI/s1600-h/DSC_0304.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4Bk5wugI/AAAAAAAAAIY/jYkWMO-87kI/s320/DSC_0304.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347734313518545410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4BGoNzmI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/GHwPp2pBIk0/s1600-h/DSC_0280.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4BGoNzmI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/GHwPp2pBIk0/s320/DSC_0280.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347734305391890018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4A5PwNzI/AAAAAAAAAII/7wtwpn35plM/s1600-h/DSC_0266.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4A5PwNzI/AAAAAAAAAII/7wtwpn35plM/s320/DSC_0266.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347734301799626546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4AUE-SuI/AAAAAAAAAIA/WBotuNMg-s8/s1600-h/DSC_0256.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4AUE-SuI/AAAAAAAAAIA/WBotuNMg-s8/s320/DSC_0256.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347734291822299874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2900282508540330314?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2900282508540330314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2900282508540330314' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2900282508540330314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2900282508540330314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-4-california-vacation.html' title='Day 4: California Vacation'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb4Bk5wugI/AAAAAAAAAIY/jYkWMO-87kI/s72-c/DSC_0304.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-8377686176789640576</id><published>2009-06-15T18:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T05:23:22.907-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 3: California Vacation</title><content type='html'>Day 3: We headed to Hollywood to spend the day.  We got there in time to eat lunch at Pink's, a really neat street diner that serves hot dogs and hamburgers of every kind of variety.  The last time I had a hot dog was in 4th grade and I still remember how sick it made me so I chose the chili cheese burger.  It was awesome.  Everybody who got the hot dogs said they were great too.  I'll take their word for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0E_kw4jI/AAAAAAAAAH4/pAoTKkeXHIk/s1600-h/DSC_0207.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0E_kw4jI/AAAAAAAAAH4/pAoTKkeXHIk/s320/DSC_0207.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347729974171329074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then headed to the street where all the Hollywood stars have their stars on the sidewalk.  We went to Grauman's to see where alot of stars have put their foot prints and hand prints into the sidewalk.  It was neat to see how our feet matched up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0Esf2fYI/AAAAAAAAAHw/hVu5_gvfVLA/s1600-h/DSC_0213.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0Esf2fYI/AAAAAAAAAHw/hVu5_gvfVLA/s320/DSC_0213.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347729969050451330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0EWix_PI/AAAAAAAAAHo/Vi5yKQ1gSoc/s1600-h/DSC_0218.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0EWix_PI/AAAAAAAAAHo/Vi5yKQ1gSoc/s320/DSC_0218.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347729963157159154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0ENTBggI/AAAAAAAAAHg/3D31o6zBmVk/s1600-h/DSC_0220.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0ENTBggI/AAAAAAAAAHg/3D31o6zBmVk/s320/DSC_0220.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347729960675148290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjbyHUcrrVI/AAAAAAAAAHY/WK9EiXXgQnw/s1600-h/DSC_0223.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjbyHUcrrVI/AAAAAAAAAHY/WK9EiXXgQnw/s320/DSC_0223.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347727815111060818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We headed down Rodeo Drive and then made our way to the beach to watch the people surfing.  Once again the weather was beautiful, sunny, breezy, and cool.  It was a neat day to see some of the sights that you hear everyone talking about when they visit Hollywood.  We didn't go to any studios or anything like that because most required the kids to be at least 12 years old.  Oh well.  Maybe another time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got back to my parents' we went swimming.  There is a heated pool which was great because it was in the 70s and cloudy.  The guys swam with the kids while my mom and I worked on dinner.  Then they would all go sit in the hot tub to warm up before coming in.  The swimming wore my kids out.  The kids would eat dinner and then fall into bed.  It was great.  I never took my camera to the pool so I don't think I have any pictures.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-8377686176789640576?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/8377686176789640576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=8377686176789640576' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8377686176789640576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8377686176789640576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-3-california-vacation.html' title='Day 3: California Vacation'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjb0E_kw4jI/AAAAAAAAAH4/pAoTKkeXHIk/s72-c/DSC_0207.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2154139371042308430</id><published>2009-06-15T17:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T18:06:01.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 1 and 2 California Vacation</title><content type='html'>Day 1: We arrived in California around 10:00 at night and my parents met us there.  It was so good to see them and to be finally there.  We drove a couple of hours to their place and immediately went to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 2: We woke up and headed out to see where Papa works and see his really cool big airplane he's fixing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjbux7IWPaI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/S3Wxeaw0ihk/s1600-h/DSC_0197.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjbux7IWPaI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/S3Wxeaw0ihk/s320/DSC_0197.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347724149002747298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got to drive on Route 66, the road that Cars is all about.  We got to see tons of airplanes, trains and lots of people countryside.  We went through one town that is a really a ski town that I could just imagine spending a week in during the winter.  The weather was really cold so it wasn't hard to imagine some good snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjbuxgba4GI/AAAAAAAAAHI/sTXoAGsIVgA/s1600-h/DSC_0190.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjbuxgba4GI/AAAAAAAAAHI/sTXoAGsIVgA/s320/DSC_0190.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347724141834985570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We found an ostrich farm and the Roy Rogers' farm.  Lets just say the smell of the ostrich farm leaves me thankful I live closer to the city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjbuxX931OI/AAAAAAAAAHA/ED_ptG0-nFA/s1600-h/DSC_0171.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SjbuxX931OI/AAAAAAAAAHA/ED_ptG0-nFA/s320/DSC_0171.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347724139563570402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it was a great day to just get settled in and spend the day with my parents.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2154139371042308430?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2154139371042308430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2154139371042308430' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2154139371042308430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2154139371042308430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-1-and-2-california-vacation.html' title='Day 1 and 2 California Vacation'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sjbux7IWPaI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/S3Wxeaw0ihk/s72-c/DSC_0197.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-3752510367344079310</id><published>2009-06-15T05:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T05:49:01.230-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Once again, a quick update</title><content type='html'>Just a few little things on my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Yesterday was my birthday and my favorite gift was a glow in the dark phone cover my mom gave me.  I have a tendency to drop my phone so maybe this will prevent me from breaking another one.  And the fact that it glows in the dark is just extra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. There is a sweet lady at church who gives my kids candy, and my kids give her hugs.  She really is precious.  Last night she told me that she keeps a picture of my family in her prayer journal and prays for us all by name every day.  I think that's the first time anyone has told me they are praying for me and it warmed my heart.  It gives me the strength to want to try again at some things I have been failing at miserably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. We got home from a week of vacation on Sat. morning, and I am going to try to journal about it here so you can all know what went on and I'll have a record of what went on.  It really was a great week.  I miss being there but am looking forward to what we have planned next.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-3752510367344079310?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/3752510367344079310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=3752510367344079310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3752510367344079310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3752510367344079310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/06/once-again-quick-update.html' title='Once again, a quick update'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1758616756009649978</id><published>2009-04-28T07:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T07:56:11.137-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend Update</title><content type='html'>This past weekend, we all went to Nashville.  My hubby ran/walked the marathon and had his best finish time ever.  He wasn't even sore after it was over.  I am so proud of his accomplishment.  Here's the worst part, I didn't get a single picture of my hubby.  The marathon people will be sending us some and I'll be sure to purchase those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cousin that lives in Nashville had a baby shower that same weekend so we got to see lots of out-of-state cousins.  It was fun seeing my kids playing with my cousins' kids.  It was a very fun, exciting, jam packed weekend.  I only wish that we all lived closer so we could see our kids grow up together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home, we stopped at Ruby Falls and Rock City, which my parents say I saw when I was little but I don't remember.  We managed to get off the beaten path in Rock City and stretch that 45 minute tour into over 2 hours.  No idea how we did that.  And my clausterphobia kicked in when I had to squeeze through some small spaces, but overall it was very neat.  Then we went to Ruby Falls and saw the most amazing waterfall.  It's amazing the things God has created.  I wonder how many others there are that haven't even been discovered yet.  My only regret was that they wouldn't let me stay down there longer and sit to take in the beauty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got home, I felt like we had been gone a week.  Normally when I get home, I wish we had gotten to stay longer or that we had come home earlier.  But this trip was perfect.  I'll try to post pictures later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1758616756009649978?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1758616756009649978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1758616756009649978' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1758616756009649978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1758616756009649978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/04/weekend-update.html' title='Weekend Update'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6033820095206354628</id><published>2009-04-24T06:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T06:38:25.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Anniversary</title><content type='html'>My hubby and I celebrated our 12th anniversary a couple of weeks ago. It was actually on Easter this year, which made the day feel even more special. We celebrated by going out to eat ribs earlier in the week because we knew there would be no time on Sunday. The highlight of the dinner happened when my hubby tried to convince our server that I was having a birthday and turning 39. The server looked at me and said, "No way. She might be turning 29, but not 39." Bless his heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the day on Easter, I was thinking about the past 12 years. Twelve years ago, I never could have imagined this life today. I hoped and prayed for kids and a wonderful life but never could have pictured how wonderful my life really is. I also thought about where I would be in 12 more years. I assume Miss A will be in her 3rd year of college, and Mr T will be a senior in high school preparing to head to college. I wonder how my heart will ever take that transition when I still struggle with sending my kids to school each fall. I want so badly to treasure each moment of the next 12 years so that I can look back and have no regrets, wherever we are in 12 years.  I just anniversaries that make me slow down and appreciate all I've been given.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6033820095206354628?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6033820095206354628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6033820095206354628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6033820095206354628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6033820095206354628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/04/anniversary.html' title='Anniversary'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-9167683138485584056</id><published>2009-04-20T05:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T04:58:02.832-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring Break</title><content type='html'>Guess what we did over Spring Break?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu7wXJ1dI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ZggDK3ijZzE/s1600-h/DSC_0011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu7wXJ1dI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ZggDK3ijZzE/s320/DSC_0011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326754432145806802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We babysat a hamster.  Who knew hamsters were nocturnal?  I'm a quick learner.  It took one sleepless night for me figure that out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu85zzJ1I/AAAAAAAAAGw/MTAnRCt_9uI/s1600-h/DSC_0048.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu85zzJ1I/AAAAAAAAAGw/MTAnRCt_9uI/s320/DSC_0048.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326754451861743442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu8k0Nt_I/AAAAAAAAAGo/YQ0nc0x-kyk/s1600-h/DSC_0043.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 285px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu8k0Nt_I/AAAAAAAAAGo/YQ0nc0x-kyk/s320/DSC_0043.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326754446226339826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Our church held a bike-a-thon for a fundraiser.  Miss A did 5 miles in 40 minutes and Mr T did 4 miles.  It was so much fun cheering them on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu8eK6HiI/AAAAAAAAAGg/W7WX4owNVC8/s1600-h/DSC_0028.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu8eK6HiI/AAAAAAAAAGg/W7WX4owNVC8/s320/DSC_0028.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326754444442476066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I looked out the window on afternoon to see my kids loading up in the wagon and flying down the hill.  They obviously had no control over where they were going so I chose to take a picture and then stopped watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu8Fm2i6I/AAAAAAAAAGY/BEsC9Z_up_k/s1600-h/DSC_0019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu8Fm2i6I/AAAAAAAAAGY/BEsC9Z_up_k/s320/DSC_0019.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326754437848796066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My kids got to go to ChuckECheese for the first time.  That was alot of fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SexvzrRaZbI/AAAAAAAAAG4/g0SjDfiWaBc/s1600-h/DSC_0054.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SexvzrRaZbI/AAAAAAAAAG4/g0SjDfiWaBc/s320/DSC_0054.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326755392852223410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here is my favorite.  It was 65 degrees on Sunday and snowed on Monday.  So here are my kids in their short sleeve shirts out in the snow.  Gotta love this Ga weather.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-9167683138485584056?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/9167683138485584056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=9167683138485584056' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/9167683138485584056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/9167683138485584056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/04/spring-break.html' title='Spring Break'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/Sexu7wXJ1dI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ZggDK3ijZzE/s72-c/DSC_0011.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-647655311936797975</id><published>2009-04-20T05:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T05:36:37.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stopping for a Moment</title><content type='html'>We've had a busy few weeks and I've been doing just enough to hopefully stay one day ahead of the game. There's been spring break, my hubby and my 12th anniversary, my daughter's 9th birthday, a spend-the-night party for that birthday, my hubby's grandmother's 92nd birthday party, planting a garden, and all the other stuff that just happens to keep life going. It's been a ride. Sunday afternoon, my hubby was out walking, the kids were playing together and I just sat in my comfy yellow chair and stopped. I didn't try to sleep, read a book, or plan anything. I just sat and the only thought in my mind was, "Be still and know that I am God." I get so busy that I begin to feel like I don't need God; I'm doing fine without him; I don't really have time for him. (Can you believe I am foolish enough to believe those lies?)  So I get busier because I know something is lacking and before I know it, I'm fed up with everything and everyone. I never realized before this past weekend how important it is for me to BATTLE busyness.  "Be still and know that I am God."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-647655311936797975?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/647655311936797975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=647655311936797975' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/647655311936797975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/647655311936797975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/04/stopping-for-moment.html' title='Stopping for a Moment'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6306906940260225584</id><published>2009-03-26T09:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T09:59:19.399-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Which Way Do I Go?</title><content type='html'>So much has been going on with me this past month, and alot of it I am still processing. But, I am beginning to see the cloud and fog lifting. I finally had that "good cry" and I am ready to move on. I am beginning to understand what has had me so down. When I found out that my job was ending, I told myself that this was the best thing that could happen to me because I got the chance to be whatever I wanted. I was getting a "do over", a "begin again". And after months of trying different avenues and seeing them end in dead ends or in frustration, I have begun to finally realized that I loved my engineering job. I love what I did, and I want to do that again. I don't need a new career; I just need to do what I'm good at and be content with that. I have tried several different jobs, and I have learned that some jobs are just plain hard. Lots of people work very hard and receive little compensation and little thanks for what they do. I have learned that you have to love what you do because the true reward is knowing that you've done a job well. I am still thankful for this time of transition and soul searching because it has made me realize that every person is important; every person has a story and most are dying to tell it. I am still praying that God will lead me where he wants me to be, and that I will willingly follow. I have no idea where I'll end up but I know it will be perfect because he is planning that for me. I'm trusting him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6306906940260225584?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6306906940260225584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6306906940260225584' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6306906940260225584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6306906940260225584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/03/which-way-do-i-go.html' title='Which Way Do I Go?'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6269271958612946595</id><published>2009-03-26T05:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T05:50:12.680-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baseball and stuff</title><content type='html'>Mr T is playing baseball this year for the first time and those little guys are so cute out there in their uniforms.  I don't care if he ever wants to play again; it was totally worth seeing him in the uniform.  Too cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last game, the coach called all the team in to give them a pep talk and say a quick prayer.  Aren't we blessed to have a county team coach who wants to pray with the kids?  The coach reminded them to watch the ball, play hard, do their best, and most importantly to have fun.  This is when my little guy has to add, "And don't cheat."  I don't know if I should be proud that he knows not to cheat or be worried that people think cheating is an issue in our home.  :)  Too cute.  Just a side note, he also has to slide every time he reaches home.  The only problem is he runs across the bag then slides.  We might or might not need to work on that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6269271958612946595?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6269271958612946595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6269271958612946595' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6269271958612946595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6269271958612946595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/03/baseball-and-stuff.html' title='Baseball and stuff'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-748697056347447663</id><published>2009-02-27T07:30:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T07:36:51.852-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What A Check Will Get You</title><content type='html'>My kids' school is holding a fundraiser for Jump Rope for Heart. It sounds like it'll be alot of fun. The kids raise money through pledges and then jump rope for a set amount of time. All the money goes to help research through the American Heart Association. The kids get prizes based on how much money they raise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I picked up my kids yesterday, my son gets in the car and says, "Mom, I need a check for $5000."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I replied with, "You need a check for $5000? Why do you need a check for $5000?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told me that if you brought a check for $5000 you got a free Wii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "Well sweetie, I don't have $5000."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He replied, "You don't need $5000, just a check for $5000."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh now I see. It's all becoming clear. All I need is to send a check for $5000 and they'll give me a Wii, no strings attached, no money needed. Got it, little 6 year old child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I told him that you had to have $5000 to write a $5000 check, there was alot of groaning. Thank goodness he's only 6 since we need a few years to work on the whole concept of money.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-748697056347447663?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/748697056347447663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=748697056347447663' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/748697056347447663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/748697056347447663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-check-will-get-you.html' title='What A Check Will Get You'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1787068800852040130</id><published>2009-02-25T14:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T14:48:49.245-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Still Learning</title><content type='html'>God has really been working on me about a couple or a million things. One of those things is learning to be content with whatever circumstances are going on in my life. That means being content and happy with who I am even in no one else seems to notice that I've done something good or kind or exceptional or even ordinary. I want so badly to look good in other people's eyes that I will go to any lengths to receive praise. And then I am always disappointed because people don't notice at all or if they do, they don't notice enough. And then I began to wonder if I will ever do enough to be accepted or loved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then God steps in and says to me that He is the only one that matters. I ask the question of how do I stop seeking the approval of others. Through His word I am reminded that He has done so much for me. I should serve Him because He has done so much for me. When I serve Him, he is proud of me and pitches a party because I have honored him by my service to Him. And then I smile because I realize that's the key. If I do everything to serve and honor Him, then he is proud. And what could make me happier than knowing that the God of the Universe is proud of me and notices when I do things for him? I am realizing that I don't have to stop wanting to be recognized for the good things I've done. I just need to want to be recognized by Him. No one else will see or appreciate what I've done but God never misses it. And He is pleased. And that makes me happy and loved and accepted to know that I've done something for The One who has done so much for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written." John 21:25&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1787068800852040130?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1787068800852040130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1787068800852040130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1787068800852040130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1787068800852040130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/02/im-still-learning.html' title='I&apos;m Still Learning'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7176056325246182495</id><published>2009-02-24T10:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-24T10:25:43.810-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's All Those Math Classes' Fault</title><content type='html'>Last night, my hubby and my son were at ball practice.  Miss A and I were just hanging out, and she decided she was going to fix my hair.  She combed, and twisted my hair and basically almost pulled all of it out, or that's what it felt like.  After a few minutes of this, she asked, "What kind of classes did you take in college?"  I replied, "Alot of math and science."  She replied, "Oh, that explains why your hair is so bad."  So now I can blame my hair on my college education.  Perfect.  I love girl time with Miss A.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7176056325246182495?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7176056325246182495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7176056325246182495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7176056325246182495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7176056325246182495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/02/its-all-those-math-classes-fault.html' title='It&apos;s All Those Math Classes&apos; Fault'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2425911485874550956</id><published>2009-02-20T12:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T13:01:00.355-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Am So Gifted With Technology</title><content type='html'>I sent out a couple of resumes a couple of days ago and am anxiously waiting to see if I will hear anything back.  I just love checking my email and our answering machine to see if anyone has responded.  That is until just a moment ago.   My hubby called and when I didn't get to the phone, he left a message.  I heard the pre-recorded message we have on the machine say in my voice, "I don't know what I did to this thing.  Oh well."  And that's all it said.  I accidentally erased our greeting and left that completely inept message.  I was cracking up.  Luckily no one called who really cares if I am computer savvy, at least not yet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2425911485874550956?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2425911485874550956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2425911485874550956' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2425911485874550956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2425911485874550956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-am-so-gifted-with-technology.html' title='I Am So Gifted With Technology'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6843949447254200823</id><published>2009-02-07T05:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T06:17:23.501-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Last Night's Dance</title><content type='html'>I haven't written in awhile (seems like I start each post like this.) But it doesn't mean I haven't been thinking and writing. I just haven't written here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, last night was the father/daughter dance. My hubby took Miss A to Longhorns and then to the dance. They of course went in "Ol' Blue," a Ford F150 baby blue truck that is older than my daughter. She was in heaven, and really enjoyed being her daddy's date. After they walked out the door, my son looked at me and said, "Now I don't know what to do." He and Miss A are such great friends. I pray that lasts forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took Mr T to Moe's, his favorite restaurant, for dinner. There was a little girl in there with her dad all dressed up ready to go to the dance. My son started talking to the little girl and she said, "See that guy in the blue costume (she meant his suit)? That's my dad." I just loved hearing her call her dad's suit his costume.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll try to share some of the stuff I've been learning. Have a great day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SY2XvQrm_bI/AAAAAAAAAF4/unqg4kmvNsE/s1600-h/DSC_0069.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SY2XvQrm_bI/AAAAAAAAAF4/unqg4kmvNsE/s320/DSC_0069.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300059174672465330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SY2XvW_NfwI/AAAAAAAAAFw/vLZtvh5tvoo/s1600-h/DSC_0070.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SY2XvW_NfwI/AAAAAAAAAFw/vLZtvh5tvoo/s320/DSC_0070.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300059176365293314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6843949447254200823?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6843949447254200823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6843949447254200823' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6843949447254200823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6843949447254200823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/02/last-nights-dance.html' title='Last Night&apos;s Dance'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SY2XvQrm_bI/AAAAAAAAAF4/unqg4kmvNsE/s72-c/DSC_0069.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2800218426351796377</id><published>2009-01-11T11:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T11:16:10.439-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A New Dream</title><content type='html'>I dreamed last night that I was the new manager at the local grocery store.  My hubby said maybe it's a sign from God.  I'm gonna believe it's just indigestion.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2800218426351796377?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2800218426351796377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2800218426351796377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2800218426351796377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2800218426351796377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-dream.html' title='A New Dream'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2332767787493757462</id><published>2009-01-09T14:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T12:44:48.269-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Goals for my Life</title><content type='html'>Today I had the most wonderful day.  I got to meet an friend of mine that I have known since college.  She probably knows me better than most people; she's definitely seen me at my worst and my best.  It takes a real friend to stick with you through it all.  We went shopping for material and ate lunch together, with her daughter and her mom and dad.  It was almost like old times.  Her dad asked me if 17 years ago I could have imagined my life like this, and I had to say that I would not have.  I don't think I'd even recognize the person I was 17 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that got me thinking.  I have decided that 3 hours in the car is exactly what I need every so often, maybe even once a month.  I was thinking that for the last 8 years, I haven't really had any goals.  I guess my goals if I had any were to make sure that I didn't totally lose it with my kids and to just make sure I made it through that day the best I could.  And after awhile, that kind of living gets to be habit.  It's like I stopped striving to become a better person, a better mom, a better engineer, a better wife, a better everything.  And I don't want to get to the end of this year and think that I haven't gotten anywhere.  That I'm no different than I was a year ago.  (I am not saying that the last 8 years haven't been great.  I've loved this time and I'm going to miss having my kids all to myself all the time.  I just want to make sure I continue to grow and become who I'm supposed to be.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm trying to set some goals.  And I'm honestly afraid to write them down for fear that someone will try to hold me to them.  :)  But how I will I accomplish them if I'm even afraid to try?  So, I have given up sodas for 90 days and I'm already on day 4.  I'd like to spend time in the Bible every day.  I'd like to exercise and be able to walk a half marathon with my hubby in April.  I'd like to do something to make me better at my career, the one I had before kids and the one I'll one day return to.  Does that mean grad school or just a class here or there?  I haven't figured that one out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been so long since I've thought about the future and where I want to be that just having a goal excites me.  We'll see where this goes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2332767787493757462?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2332767787493757462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2332767787493757462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2332767787493757462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2332767787493757462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/01/goals-for-my-life.html' title='Goals for my Life'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6838179768257730035</id><published>2009-01-08T05:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T05:32:51.416-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day that Changed our Lives</title><content type='html'>About this time, six years ago, I was wishing my baby boy would hurry up and get here. I was pacing around the hospital trying to make the contractions start up again. The doctors eventually gave me meds to make that whole process move faster. My hubby and I had gone to bed the night before and finally decided on a name. The contractions started about an hour later. (I think Mr T was just waiting for us to figure out what we could call him.) We headed to the hospital and I remember asking the midwife if this was really it. Around 2 in the afternoon, my pastor and his wife stopped by to check in on us. Our pastor prayed for us and during the prayer, I realized that this little boy was ready to be born. (I had an epidural so I wasn't in any pain.) Mr T was born about 30 minutes later. And what a joy he has been ever since. He loved to snuggle and cuddle when he was a baby and now he gives the sweetest hugs. He has such a tender heart and cares about other people's feelings. This morning, his sister gave him her birthday gift. It was a scarf she had made, and he just loved it. He wanted to call all his extended family at 7 this morning to remind them that it was his birthday. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr T, I pray that you always stay this sweet. I pray that you continue to learn and grow. That you will always have a tender heart and that you will use that tenderness to great and amazing things for God. I love you more than I can write or say. You give your dad, your mom and your sister so much to laugh about. You keep us from getting too serious about life. You make us stop and smell the roses. Just keep being you and you'll be alright.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm off to go buy groceries so that I can make Mr T his favorite meal: ham slice, yellow rice and mashed potatoes. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6838179768257730035?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6838179768257730035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6838179768257730035' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6838179768257730035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6838179768257730035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2009/01/day-that-changed-our-lives.html' title='A Day that Changed our Lives'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6451348193659514385</id><published>2008-12-15T05:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T05:03:10.731-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Monday Morning</title><content type='html'>It's Monday morning and NO ONE IS SICK!!!!  Which means I have the entire day to catch up.  I have a list a mile long and am positively giddy knowing that I have the time to get it all done.  I hope to be able to report tonight that I am finished Christmas shopping, I have ordered Christmas cards, I have groceries for dinner and the rest of the week, and I got to eat lunch with my hubby.  What a wonderful day it's going to be, I'm sure of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6451348193659514385?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6451348193659514385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6451348193659514385' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6451348193659514385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6451348193659514385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/12/monday-morning.html' title='Monday Morning'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7283922079664092799</id><published>2008-12-12T05:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T05:32:19.273-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Back</title><content type='html'>These past few weeks have been crazy.  We've been sick and busy, and those 2 things don't mix.  This week has been a blur.  I got strep at the beginning of the week and spent Monday and Tuesday in bed and pretty much out of it.  Last night, we had my hubby's work colleagues over to the house for soup so I spent Wed. and Thurs. throwing everything together for last night.  It went great and I'm so glad we did it, but I'm more glad it's over.  I now get to start back up on the Christmas stuff.  I need to do some shopping, our Christmas cards, plan my kids' school parties, fun stuff like that.  I definitely feel like I can get it all done, and I'm anxious to get to it.  Hope you all are doing well and will write more later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7283922079664092799?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7283922079664092799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7283922079664092799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7283922079664092799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7283922079664092799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/12/im-back.html' title='I&apos;m Back'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-173529852716538655</id><published>2008-11-26T11:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T11:23:14.447-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Day of Fun</title><content type='html'>We've been to the dentist this morning. That statement says it all. I am in such a grumpy mood after being there. This time, the kids did great but I have a cavity. So, I get to go back next week. Oh joy. I have been flossing every day so I was really upset and frustrated by that. Oh well. They also forgot to seal Mr. T's teeth so I have to take him back on Monday. They didn't have time to do it because it was time for them to go to lunch. They also couldn't get his xrays because the tech that we all love wasn't there. I told them it wouldn't work if she wasn't there. I think next time I'll take the kids to a kids' dentist. Can you tell I'm still mad about the whole trip? I can't believe I have to go back next week. ARGHGHGH!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and I told the hygienist something positive about myself that I had started to do and then jokingly said, "I bet you don't believe that." And she agreed by saying, "No, I don't believe that." And it hurt my feelings. There I said it. I really expected her to be nice and try to argue, not agree. Do they really all think I'm that pitiful? I struggle with wanting everyone to like me, even my dental hygienist that I see for 40 minutes twice a year. How pathetic is that. I don't know if I'll have the courage to go back next week or ever again. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and my kids set a bowl on my endtable that my grandparents gave me as a high school graduation gift, and it left a horrible ring that ate right through the finish. It's the second time so now the table has 2 LOVELY rings on it. I really should give up trying to have nice things. Maybe Darron could refinish it as part of a Christmas gift when the kids move out. Gloom and despair. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to stop now that I've gotten that all off my chest and focus on the things I have to be thankful for. I am thankful for my kids, my wonderful house that is warm all the time, for my hubby, for my God, for family, for teeth that haven't completely fallen out :), for vacation days from school so we can hang out together as a family. I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-173529852716538655?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/173529852716538655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=173529852716538655' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/173529852716538655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/173529852716538655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/11/another-day-of-fun.html' title='Another Day of Fun'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5353967159657814329</id><published>2008-11-23T10:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T10:32:47.718-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Gift of Today</title><content type='html'>I thought that today we were going to have stuff to do, but our plans changed and I am now finding myself with nothing to do for a couple of hours.  I know I get hours of alone time during the week, but this is time that I had something scheduled and now I don't.  I cleaned yesterday; I even conned the kids into helping.  I finished my work last night.  I got the kids ready for the day early this morning.  So, now I actually get to curl up on the sofa with the newspaper or a book and just enjoy a few FREE hours.  What a gift.  I almost don't know what to do.  There really is nothing that I need to be doing.  I could pull out the rest of Christmas but I think I'll just go chill out instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.-I would have much rather gotten to do what was planned.  :)  Miss ya sis.  We'll make up for it next time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5353967159657814329?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5353967159657814329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5353967159657814329' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5353967159657814329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5353967159657814329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/11/gift-of-today.html' title='The Gift of Today'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5516163926910106469</id><published>2008-11-19T16:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T16:10:50.135-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The List</title><content type='html'>Here's an update.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr T has strep. Figures. That makes 5 out of 7 cousins on this side of the family with that junk. The verdict is still out on Miss A and myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get the bad mother of the week award for sending Mr T to school for 2 hours so that he could infect everyone; I knew better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We skipped church tonight so that we would not infect anyone. The people I called to tell them I wouldn't be there didn't get the message so I look like a total slacker. They called here looking for me. I let my hubby answer the phone. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the doctor's office, the nurse asked me to spell my first name and I actually replied, "M-O-M-M-Y."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not get even one minute of that all-day nap I planned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the positive, I have some work to do, for the first time in weeks, and I should hopefully have all day tomorrow to do it. That is if no one else gets sick. We'll see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5516163926910106469?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5516163926910106469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5516163926910106469' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5516163926910106469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5516163926910106469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/11/list.html' title='The List'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1556736555866906466</id><published>2008-11-19T06:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T06:42:11.647-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It Feels Like A Monday</title><content type='html'>I had all these great plans for today and they are all blown apart, even though it's only 9:30. I have not been feeling good the past couple of days, but I had stuff I HAD to do so I just kept on trucking. I was so looking forward to spending my day alone, recuperating. It is my first sick day with both of my kids in school and I was looking forward to being sick in peace. That plan disappeared when Mr T woke up croupy in the middle of the night. I kept him home from school and began to try to figure out what we were going to do. But, by 8:30, he was feeling so much better that he talked me into taking him to school. So, I think my day has been redeemed and all is back on track. As I am driving home, I get a phone call from my sister in law saying that both her kids have strep. And it's like a light bulb went off. I bet that is why I've been sick and I'll bet Mr T has it too. So, I am now waiting to go retrieve my kids from school for a 11:30 doctor's appointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Explain to me how I can go into school and re-check out my sick kid. They already looked at me like I was a horrible person for bringing him to school when I said he was late because he was sick this morning. I get the BAD parent award today. And I can't tell you how much my daughter hates the strep test. She really is good at the guilt trip. I am hoping that eating lunch out and then ice cream will help smooth things over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I have totally forgotten my hopes of laying around all day. I may need serious meds after today is over. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1556736555866906466?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1556736555866906466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1556736555866906466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1556736555866906466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1556736555866906466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/11/it-feels-like-monday.html' title='It Feels Like A Monday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2448025552073923308</id><published>2008-11-03T06:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T06:53:49.795-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Sunday</title><content type='html'>It's been awhile but I have been very busy.  My girl Ashley was baptized yesterday and it was truly a wonderful day.  Seeing her take that step of faith was huge for me.  What a blessing my kids are to me.  I got to stay with her and watch her be baptized from "behind the scenes."  It was like we got to share that time together.  Lots of family was able to come and we had the best time being with them.  We ate and ate and ate some more; we played games; and we laughed together.  It was perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just finished talking to a dear friend, and she was pouring out her heart to me.  I hung up and was overwhelmed with the reminder that people really hurting.  I get so insulated with my life and my "to do" list that I forget that there are people who really need God.  In my Bible study this morning, I was reading about focussing on including God in every part of our day.  I want to consult him before I make any decision.  I want to be right where he needs me so that I can help others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have some great pictures that I'll try to add soon.  Love ya'll.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2448025552073923308?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2448025552073923308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2448025552073923308' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2448025552073923308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2448025552073923308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/11/our-sunday.html' title='Our Sunday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2240610775412301677</id><published>2008-10-23T05:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T05:32:08.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Quick Update</title><content type='html'>I have lots to write and only a few minutes so I'll probably have to come back to this. I'm going to Bible study this morning, and I am really excited about it for some reason. I have started singing "This is the Day that the Lord Has Made" to my kids each morning. For some reason, that really seems to put everyone in the right mindset for the day. What a great way to start the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to update you all on school. I had both my kids' conferences yesterday, and they went great. Miss A's teacher said that she expected Miss A to grow up and be something great and very special. Mr T's teacher said that we had done a good job with him. Both those reports just really encouraged me. I struggled so much with this whole school thing, and I know I am doing the right thing by having them where they are. But it's nice to get encouragement every once in awhile too. I have learned to really rely on God during this time because He is the only one who can keep them safe. I spend alot of time on my knees praying for my kids, something I would not have been doing if I had gotten my own way. So, there are good things happening. I just want to remember next school year not to pitch such a fit when I don't get my way. I want to handle the whole situation alot better; I think it's time I grew up. :)  You all are free to remind me of this next August.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a call from work saying that they couldn't send me any work for awhile, until things turned around. So, once again, I feel like I've been fired. When I was working so much, I remember thinking that I wish I had done some things on my "to do list". Now I'm going to do them. I am determined to use this little break to accomplish some things I've left undone, to have something to show for this time once it's over. I'm over feeling sorry for myself and I'm going to make this time count.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend the boys are supposed to go camping, if it doesn't rain, and the girls are going...shopping. :) I've promised Miss A new curtains and she wants some with butterflies on them. So, we'll see what we can come up with.  Yes, that means I will attempt to sew....or at least con my mom into sewing them for me.  :)  She'll do a better job anyways.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2240610775412301677?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2240610775412301677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2240610775412301677' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2240610775412301677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2240610775412301677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/10/quick-update.html' title='Quick Update'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5542392571512727595</id><published>2008-10-17T07:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T07:53:05.394-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Little Photographer</title><content type='html'>My daughter won 2nd place in her division in a school competition for this picture she took all by herself.  Way to go!!!  She was excited about winning but showed it like her daddy shows emotion, subdued and with little outward signs.  I, on the other hand, was showing it by hugging and laughing.  (Notice the bird flying in the sky on the left side of the picture  If you click on the picture, you can see it bigger.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SPimHx0x-iI/AAAAAAAAAFU/kzwlR9khOEM/s1600-h/DSC_0276.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SPimHx0x-iI/AAAAAAAAAFU/kzwlR9khOEM/s320/DSC_0276.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258135217519065634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's another one she took that is now hanging in her room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SPimIO35KNI/AAAAAAAAAFc/GKyqiAc3Png/s1600-h/DSC_0264.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SPimIO35KNI/AAAAAAAAAFc/GKyqiAc3Png/s320/DSC_0264.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258135225316747474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5542392571512727595?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5542392571512727595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5542392571512727595' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5542392571512727595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5542392571512727595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-little-photographer.html' title='My Little Photographer'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SPimHx0x-iI/AAAAAAAAAFU/kzwlR9khOEM/s72-c/DSC_0276.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4149592630347676782</id><published>2008-10-10T07:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T07:14:54.757-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Demise of our TV Viewing Selection</title><content type='html'>Two quick things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hubby discovered last night that we get the "Do It Yourself" network on our cable package.  He was glowing.  I figure I'll never get to see anything but fix it stuff.  Good bye chic flicks and cheesy movies.  I should have deleted that channel while I had a chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to meet a college roommate for lunch.  We are eating at Johnny Rockets downtown.  I cannot wait.  I get to see a dear friend who lives far away.  I don't think I've seen her for 2 years.  I get to go downtown--which I LOVE.  And I get to do it without worrying about taking my kids.  I knew this school thing would eventually pay off.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4149592630347676782?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4149592630347676782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4149592630347676782' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4149592630347676782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4149592630347676782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/10/demise-of-our-tv-viewing-selection.html' title='The Demise of our TV Viewing Selection'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5662560939355274072</id><published>2008-10-09T17:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T17:12:54.773-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So I'll Remember Next Time I Pity Myself</title><content type='html'>I was having a very good pity party for myself this afternoon. It was rather cozy there all. There was just myself and my pity and my horrible jealous thoughts. But I was desperately praying to God that he would help me stop those horrible thoughts and feelings I was having. And guess what he did? A complete stranger stopped by and said, "I just love that blouse. It is so beautiful. That color is just beautiful on you." She even reached over and touched my arm. Then she walked on. I do believe it was an angel. :) My God really cares about little ol' me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5662560939355274072?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5662560939355274072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5662560939355274072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5662560939355274072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5662560939355274072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/10/so-ill-remember-next-time-i-pity-myself.html' title='So I&apos;ll Remember Next Time I Pity Myself'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6879002884463044545</id><published>2008-10-08T10:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T10:49:28.030-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's Goin' On</title><content type='html'>I don't have anything great to share. We have been busy getting our house back into order. While we had our hardwood floors refinished, we moved out of our house and stayed at my hubby's grandmother's house. It was great to have a place to be but after a few days, I was dying to come back home. We moved back in a week ago Monday, and lived for a week with no furniture downstairs. We would lay the kids down at night in their beds and then when we were ready for bed, we would move one to the floor and take their bed. It was great be home, but I was still longing for some normalcy. So, last Friday, we moved all our furniture back in and finally had somewhere to sit, somewhere to eat, our own bed to sleep in. HEAVEN!!! I'll try never to take those things for granted. I have spent every minute since trying to bring all our "stuff" back inside from the garage where we stored it. My mom came up and spent Monday and Tuesday with us. We decided to purge our kids' rooms. By the time we were finished, we had taken out 10 bags of trash, 8 bags to the local thrift store, and I have about 5 more bags I'm going to try to consign before I donate. The upstairs looks amazing. My kids are so excited to be able to finally see what toys they have. Less really is more. (The kids haven't even mentioned one thing they miss.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, I met a dear friend for breakfast, and we had so much fun just talking about our lives. I haven't seen her in about 4 months so it was alot of fun catching up. Afterwards, I decided to treat myself to some shopping. I bought the cutest clothes at Kohls; I got the best snack stuff from BJ's; and of course I had to run into to WalMart. I can't wait to try on my new clothes again and make sure I like them. I got the greatest pants at Kohls. I wanted to wear them out of the store; they were that comfy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is good here but busy. There is always something to do it seems. It is raining today, which is such a blessing. It could honestly rain for days and I wouldn't mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are a few pictures we had taken while we on vacation. Enjoy!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SOzxwgRpu3I/AAAAAAAAAE8/I6WsC7KMV6M/s1600-h/DSC_0105.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SOzxwgRpu3I/AAAAAAAAAE8/I6WsC7KMV6M/s320/DSC_0105.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254840680834513778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Family&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SOzxwzanaZI/AAAAAAAAAFE/XmBH1KR_9-E/s1600-h/DSC_0109.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SOzxwzanaZI/AAAAAAAAAFE/XmBH1KR_9-E/s320/DSC_0109.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254840685972384146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Kids&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SOzxxLPOv4I/AAAAAAAAAFM/26pQRFjtNUg/s1600-h/newst+011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SOzxxLPOv4I/AAAAAAAAAFM/26pQRFjtNUg/s320/newst+011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254840692367081346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr T loses his first tooth and gets glasses&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the crazy thing about the glasses.  We had them for less than 24 hours before I KNOCKED them off his face and he stepped on them.  It took less than a second for the whole thing to happen and YES, they did have to be replaced.  Welcome to my world!  He now has new ones that fit him like a glove and look even better on my cutie pie, if that's possible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6879002884463044545?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6879002884463044545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6879002884463044545' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6879002884463044545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6879002884463044545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/10/whats-goin-on.html' title='What&apos;s Goin&apos; On'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SOzxwgRpu3I/AAAAAAAAAE8/I6WsC7KMV6M/s72-c/DSC_0105.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-321437024907237849</id><published>2008-10-03T05:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T05:48:06.049-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Clean House, Here We Come</title><content type='html'>Once again, I have more thoughts than time to write them.  We are back in our house.  We've been living at my hubby's grandmother's house while our floors have been sanded and re-polyurethaned.  The floors are finished now so we are living at home.  There is no furniture in my first floor so my fridge, my bed, my sofa, my clothes are all in my garage.  We lay the kids down in their beds and then move them to the floor so we'll have somewhere to sleep.  Needless to say, I am ready for live to be "right" again.  Tonight, we are planning to move everything back in so it won't be long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now, I should be putting my kitchen back together, bringing my clothes back into the closet, or hanging up pictures.  What I'd like to do (and in this order) is go back to bed for a long nap, get a shower, go shopping at Wal-Mart and the outlet mall, and watch tv (which I haven't seen in over a week and half.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As busy as I feel, today is the first day in over 2 weeks where I don't have to go somewhere.  I am really enjoying the aloneness and the quiet.  I can't stop smiling because I am all alone with nowhere to rush off to (and it seems like these days I'm normally running late.)  Hope you all have a great day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-321437024907237849?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/321437024907237849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=321437024907237849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/321437024907237849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/321437024907237849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/10/clean-house-here-we-come.html' title='Clean House, Here We Come'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4816978884371420780</id><published>2008-09-24T06:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T06:32:39.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life at Warp Speed</title><content type='html'>I have so many thoughts and stories running around in my head so I'm just gonna throw them down on paper. We have been running this week, running to meetings, running to work, running to get it all done. It would not be so bad but I fully expected this week to be lighter but it's been busier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a call Monday night telling me I had work to do. And while I am thankful for the work, staying up until 2 a.m. to finish it is something I would rather have left to my college days. Needless to say, I was dragging all day Tuesday. I got to volunteer in both my kids classrooms, which was a treat. I even got to eat with both my kids. What a sweet day. Here's the best part of the day. The principal caught me as I walked out the door and said she had to talk to me about my kids. I couldn't imagine BOTH my kids getting in trouble at the same time. But, that wasn't it. Both were chosen to get the "Star Student" award for their class for the month. The character trait for the month was "knowledge" so they were chosen based on their "knowledge." Could my head and heart get any bigger with pride? I certainly don't deserve the kids God has blessed me with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are still struggling to find gasoline around these parts. I finally found some to fill my hubby's truck up with yesterday. He was filling his truck up with gas from the lawnmower tank to make it back and forth to work and that was running out. I have about half a tank and am about to go out searching when I finish this post. Who knew that gas for my car would be something I would have to worry about. **I added that "for my car" part so you wouldn't think I meant "gas". :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We took the kids glasses in to be fixed and they informed me it was just a matter of time before my son's broke. So, we get to buy another pair. I could just cry over that. They should make those more indestructible or I'll just have to be more coordinated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, my son found a dollar in his drawer and came running to inform me that we HAD to go to the dollar store today. He smiled and then I saw it. He was missing a tooth. He lost his first tooth last night in his sleep. My husband was sure he swallowed it, but I found it under his pillow. I can't understand how the tooth fairy missed it, but I'm sure she'll be coming tonight. My son wanted to take the tooth with him to school to show everyone but we talked him out of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is early release from school so I get to run my niece to gymnastics then go pick up my kids. Then, I hope to get a couple of hours worth of work done (this huge job goes out tomorrow) so that I can go to AWANA with my kids tonight. Mr T got his new Sparks book and has been taking it with him everywhere. He loves that Sparky book. They have new books that come with the coolest CD that basically tells them all the Bible stories that go with the verses they are learning. It's great for my little guy who can't read yet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4816978884371420780?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4816978884371420780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4816978884371420780' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4816978884371420780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4816978884371420780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/09/life-at-warp-speed.html' title='Life at Warp Speed'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-635216518934858392</id><published>2008-09-20T12:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T13:04:53.661-07:00</updated><title type='text'>UGH!!</title><content type='html'>My house is completely empty on the main floor.  There is nowhere to sit, nothing to write on, nothing.  It is depressing and overwhelming all at once.  It feels so empty and void, cold and foreign.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My son just got glasses and in my haste to get them for him, I picked them up without him being there.  So, they don't fit.  He's had them one day and I just knocked them off and he stepped on them, making them the most lopsided things you've ever seen.  So, I get to drive at least 30 minutes again to probably pay $100 to have them fixed or replaced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you tell I'm in struggling today?  I need a nap but there's nowhere to lay down except on the floor.  :)  And the floor is too dusty to really down....or I just might sit down and never get up.  And I don't want to sweep or dust because on Monday the floor people come begin sanding and refinishing.  My life couldn't get any better, I don't think.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-635216518934858392?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/635216518934858392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=635216518934858392' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/635216518934858392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/635216518934858392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/09/ugh.html' title='UGH!!'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7084252942090951732</id><published>2008-09-09T15:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T15:25:04.873-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Quick Update for the House that is in Transition</title><content type='html'>I am waiting for some of my work to download on my computer so I have a minute to write.  My hubby and I have been "updating" our house.  We replaced the tile on our kitchen cabinets.  For a week, I didn't have a kitchen sink, oven, or dishwasher.  It was hard trying to live in a house without a kitchen sink, but we made it.  I'll try to post pictures soon.  I have pictures that I took at different stages but don't have any of the finished project.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as we finished the kitchen we moved to the rest of the house and began painting the interior walls.  Last Christmas, my hubby finished out some attic space to give the kids a little playroom.  After he finished painting it, he went to every room in the house and touched up with left over paint all the spots that need painting.  Well, he didn't realize he was using glossy paint to touch up flat paint.  So, we had shiny spots on almost every wall in the house.  So...we are painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crazy thing is we decided to have our hardwoods resanded and the people are coming next week.  So, every non-essential piece of furniture is in the garage.  And my house looks like a tornado has hit.  It's a mess.  I can't even describe how crazy it is around here.  And to top it all off, I am back working again for a week or two so I'm busier than ever.  So much for those slow, lazy times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when it's all done, we won't need to do anything to our house for a very long time.  And it's going to look so good.  I can't wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pictures are coming soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7084252942090951732?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7084252942090951732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7084252942090951732' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7084252942090951732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7084252942090951732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/09/quick-update-for-house-that-is-in.html' title='A Quick Update for the House that is in Transition'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2049960602983332310</id><published>2008-09-03T14:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T14:59:30.122-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Praise</title><content type='html'>I am having the best hair day.  I know it sounds vain, but I am.  And it feels good.  :)  All day, I've been smiling.  It was confirmed when I saw my niece this afternoon and she said, "Your hair looks great today."  I know girl, I know.  Wish I could pinpoint what made the difference so I could bottle it up and never change it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2049960602983332310?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2049960602983332310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2049960602983332310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2049960602983332310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2049960602983332310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/09/praise.html' title='Praise'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4100869770600200737</id><published>2008-09-03T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T10:51:15.725-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Fun Memory</title><content type='html'>Today I met my hubby for lunch at the local Mexican restaurant.  It was great food and even better company.  As we left, we saw several local county government trucks in the parking lot.  Each had a bright orange cone behind the trucks.  And I just had to giggle.  When I worked for the Department of Transportation in college, I got to drive an "official" DOT truck.  Whenever I would park the car, I had to put out the orange cone behind the truck.  The reason for this is it requires you to walk around the back of the truck before you leave.  I'm sure it worked for everyone but me.  I cannot tell you how many times I would back out of the parking space and hear the most horrible bumping, dragging sound.  Then it'd hit me, "You backed over that stupid cone again."  There were even a few times where I would drag silly thing all the way back to the DOT office.  So, if you saw a DOT truck going down the road dragging an orange cone underneath about 10 years ago, that was me.  I admit it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4100869770600200737?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4100869770600200737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4100869770600200737' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4100869770600200737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4100869770600200737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/09/fun-memory.html' title='A Fun Memory'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1835525902190221785</id><published>2008-08-15T06:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-15T06:19:36.782-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally Friday</title><content type='html'>I had a post written complaining about my day and the obstacles in it. But before I posted it, I did my Bible study and I was totally convicted by what I read. I was studying about the Israelites and the spies who went to scout out the land the Lord had promised them. Most of the spies saw the bounty of the land but also the giants they would have to fight. Only two spies remembered that God had promised them that land. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I was reminded that I know my family is where God wants us. And there are giants that we are facing, but God is good and he's going to give us what he has promised. He's going to watch over us and lead us where he wants us to go. So, for today, I will follow and try to rest in his arms.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1835525902190221785?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1835525902190221785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1835525902190221785' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1835525902190221785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1835525902190221785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/08/finally-friday.html' title='Finally Friday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6222755404597648155</id><published>2008-08-14T05:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T06:15:12.634-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Day Here</title><content type='html'>Day 4, and it's getting easier.  Mr. T keeps telling me every morning that he does not want to go, he's scared, and he just wants me to teach him at home.  I think that'll be the norm for awhile.   I'll just have to toughen up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard the funniest thing from my niece this morning.  My sister-in-law and I carpool the kids to school, and it was my morning to take.  I love driving them all to school because I get to "eavesdrop" on their conversations.  This morning my niece was complaining because she had not been able to get much homework done after school yesterday at my mother in law's house.  It seems she was talking too much so my MIL moved her to a bedroom so she could be by herself.  I heard my niece say, "There were 2 mirrors in there and everyone who knows me knows that if I see a mirror I HAVE to look at myself.  I HAVE to.  I can't help it."  She has a flare for the dramatic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6222755404597648155?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6222755404597648155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6222755404597648155' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6222755404597648155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6222755404597648155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/08/another-day-here.html' title='Another Day Here'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6983264924411101982</id><published>2008-08-12T17:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T17:52:34.161-07:00</updated><title type='text'>2 Days Down</title><content type='html'>Shooo-weeee. What a crazy couple of days. Yesterady, I picked up my babies from school as they stepped off the daycare van, and Mr T looked like he was in shock. There were no smiles and he had little to say. He said that recess was no fun because he hadn't gotten swing and the slide was too hot. His teacher made him throw away his special note from me at lunch because it was on his napkin. Needless to say, last night, I was a bit disturbed about how school was going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning he said that he didn't want to go and wanted to know when would he get used to this school thing. I was beside myself. I spent alot of time praying and trying not to completely melt down. I had promised my hubby's grandmother that I would join the card-playing-ladies for lunch. I walked in and had to walk back out because I didn't know if I could make it. But I went back in and let me tell you, there were like medicine to my broken heart. They all said they knew exactly how I felt and even shared their kids' and grandkids' funny first day of school stories. They even had tears in their eyes. It was so sweet. Imagine getting 6 sweet grandmas to love on you all at once.  I don't mean this ugly but so many women my age seem almost glad that their kids are in school so I end up feeling like I'm slightly off my rocker for being beside myself with grief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I go to pick up my kids today and Mr T comes off the bus smiling and introduces me to another little girl who is in his class and rides the same bus. He was chatty and when I asked about PE, he got really excited and said it was fun. He was so excited about his "notebook binder" he brought home.  I didn't ask him too many questions because I figured he will tell me what he needs me to know but he did seem happier, much happier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, for now, my heart is ok. I think tonight I won't have to cry myself to sleep. And I'll keep reminding myself, 2 days down, 178 to go. :) That's not completely true. I have been telling myself that all I have to do is make it through today. I don't have to worry about how I'll make it through the year. All I have to do is get through this very minute. Somehow that makes things much more manageable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, Miss A is in heaven. Her teacher gives them alot of free time to read and her only homework is to read. She is so happy to be there, and nothing seems to really upset her. She is happy, unbelieveably happy. What a relief.  I am praying that a friend of Miss A's in another class gets to be in Miss A's "gifted" class. They won't announce that for a week or so but it sure would help to have the friend there because Miss A doesn't have the teacher she has last year for this special class. And we love that teacher. So, maybe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, don't read this and wonder about me.  I am doing fine.  I'm a bit lost with no work to do.  Floundering might be more like it.  I have cleaned my shower so that it looks brand new; I've run all my errands; and I've gone to the church to clean up a supply closet.  Tomorrow I think I might actually try to exercise.  I really do need to get a job.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6983264924411101982?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6983264924411101982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6983264924411101982' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6983264924411101982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6983264924411101982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/08/2-days-down.html' title='2 Days Down'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-3755821207425849932</id><published>2008-08-11T05:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T06:22:51.225-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Thoughts</title><content type='html'>My babies are at school.  Mr T starts kindergarten today and Miss A is in 3rd grade now.  We managed to get everybody out the door with everyone still smiling.  I managed to keep the tears in check until my hubby drove out the driveway.  I have never wanted to chase a car down so badly.  I kept thinking, "Why do I have to do something I don't want to do?  Whose brilliant idea was this anyways?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday at church, everything seemed to be about following God even we don't want to do it.  We studied Jonah and I kept telling the kids in my class that sometimes we have to do things God wants us to do even if we don't want to.  Um, I hear yeah God.  I get it.  I know that today my kids are where they are supposed to be.  God won't give them or me anything to do that he won't give us the strength to do.  And he will be with them every step of the way.  So, I'll try to chill out and rest in Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night as I was washing Mr T's hair, he starts to sing "Since Jesus Came Into My Heart."  We both were singing it at the top of our lungs.  And God whispered to my heart that he hears my tears and my fears, and He is in control and He is going to protect my child.  If my kids go through yucky stuff, it's because he is going to teach them something awesome.  He will be with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, enough about kids.  I HAVE TO FIND A JOB.  :)  My hubby thinks I'm just gonna lay around and be a bum so I've got to find a job so I can say I worked.  I need an excuse to not have the house clean and dinner on the table every night.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, thank you God for sweet friends who call to make sure I'm ok.  :)  I'm off now to begin my list.  I've been putting stuff off for weeks so I have a list that should carry me through the week.  I'm going to my in-laws house to clean out my hubby's old closet.   Fun, huh?  I am sure it's full of "World's Best Son" trophies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-3755821207425849932?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/3755821207425849932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=3755821207425849932' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3755821207425849932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3755821207425849932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/08/random-thoughts.html' title='Random Thoughts'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6325664510790568880</id><published>2008-08-07T06:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T06:26:12.234-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a Note to Catch You Up</title><content type='html'>It's been awhile since I've posted. The main reason is that we have been crazy busy travelling and trying to squeeze the most fun out of our last few days of summer. We've been to 10 days of camping out for camp meeting, a week at the beach, and weekend at church camp. In between all those trips, I have been busy doing all the "life" stuff like paying bills, returning phone calls, washing clothes, etc. Needless to say, there has not been a spare minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We go tonight to meet the kids' teachers. Miss A's teacher called to welcome her and it turns out she's the mother of a girl in Miss A's 1st grade class. So we already know her, which relieves Miss A from all the "unknown" worry. Thank you Jesus. Mr T's teacher called and left us a sweet message. By her voice, she sounds really sweet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not yet been overcome with fear about this new school year. Normally, I'm almost paralyzed with fear and grief over the coming school year but not this year. Miss A is ready to go so that makes her easier to send. Mr T is such a fun person that I'm mostly sure that he'll adapt well. I know it'll be miserable when they start school but for now, I'm doing ok.  It's a peace I don't understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized this morning that for the past 8 years, I've had a little one by my side ALL day long, and it's going to take some getting used to being on my own. I am trying to tell myself that it'll take months to adjust, but that I will like it eventually. I also keep telling myself that this is a baby step toward setting my kids free. My job is to teach them to stand on their own and I'm trying.  I also don't think about how fast they are growing and how fast my time with them will be over.  I don't think about that.  I just DON'T THINK ABOUT THAT.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My job that pays me has fallen through due to the slow economy so I really have no idea what I'll be doing when school starts. I have a list that should last a week. After that, I might be finding the want ads and looking for a job. :)  Any suggestions?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great day and pray for us if you think of us over the next week.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6325664510790568880?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6325664510790568880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6325664510790568880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6325664510790568880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6325664510790568880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/08/just-note-to-catch-you-up.html' title='Just a Note to Catch You Up'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7218659330999386294</id><published>2008-07-24T17:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T17:46:19.222-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School is 2 1/2 weeks away</title><content type='html'>My daughter announced at lunch today to myself and a friend that she is READY to go back to school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SIGH!!!  PAUSE!!!  UGH!!!!!  More sighing, more pausing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I should be thrilled because it means that it'll be easy to get her to go in a couple of weeks.  I know I should be thankful that she really enjoys learning.  I remember being a kid and missing school by the end of the summer so I completely understand with my head.  It's just my heart that kinda hurts.  Why does letting go have to be so painful?  Thank God it happens a little at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7218659330999386294?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7218659330999386294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7218659330999386294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7218659330999386294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7218659330999386294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/07/school-is-2-12-weeks-away.html' title='School is 2 1/2 weeks away'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-577697502465822135</id><published>2008-07-11T05:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T10:28:16.458-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pictures from our Lives</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNssJ5k0I/AAAAAAAAADM/Km3N1N0pg5w/s1600-h/DSCF0930.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNssJ5k0I/AAAAAAAAADM/Km3N1N0pg5w/s320/DSCF0930.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221446248144933698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNtIB8brI/AAAAAAAAADU/n1vs5MOIo6g/s1600-h/DSCF0936.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNtIB8brI/AAAAAAAAADU/n1vs5MOIo6g/s320/DSCF0936.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221446255627759282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNtjFuHUI/AAAAAAAAADc/DGJsPkhrAJY/s1600-h/DSCF0937.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNtjFuHUI/AAAAAAAAADc/DGJsPkhrAJY/s320/DSCF0937.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221446262891355458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNt_MoPcI/AAAAAAAAADk/MxUE8Ah4zsY/s1600-h/DSCF0952.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNt_MoPcI/AAAAAAAAADk/MxUE8Ah4zsY/s320/DSCF0952.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221446270436523458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNubAgzuI/AAAAAAAAADs/PxV72cOQ0jQ/s1600-h/DSCF0919.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNubAgzuI/AAAAAAAAADs/PxV72cOQ0jQ/s320/DSCF0919.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221446277901897442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of you have requested pictures and I've been slow to do it.  So here's a few gems.  The one with the flags is at the July 4th Parade here in town.  The others are from our trip.  The sign is a McDonald's sign that has parking for buggies too.  (Definitely taken in Amish country.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-577697502465822135?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/577697502465822135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=577697502465822135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/577697502465822135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/577697502465822135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/07/pictures-from-our-lives.html' title='Pictures from our Lives'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZNssJ5k0I/AAAAAAAAADM/Km3N1N0pg5w/s72-c/DSCF0930.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-3109435190636436</id><published>2008-07-10T10:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T10:50:09.118-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Kids Creation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZLUhilwKI/AAAAAAAAADE/Us42H8ow3VY/s1600-h/DSCF0962.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZLUhilwKI/AAAAAAAAADE/Us42H8ow3VY/s320/DSCF0962.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221443633955586210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It may be hard to see what is in this picture but I promise you, it is about 300 wedding invitations from mine and my hubby's wedding 11 years ago. My kids found the box of them and had to make a village out of them. I had no idea 11 years ago that this was the fate of these extra invitations. I would have laughed had I known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a story behind those invitations. We had a dear friend write out our wedding invitations for us. She has the most beautiful script, and the invitations were sure to be gorgeous. We got her copy to the printers and were told they couldn't use it. So, we just had them print them up with plain old computer script. Somehow during all the back and forth, the name of the church got left off the invitations. And like the spoiled young bride I was, I become completely unreasonable and just HAD to have them reprinted. It was suggested that I place an extra card in there with the church's name on it but that simply would not do. Hence the extra 300 invitations.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have changed, thank you Jesus. And today I would have taken out a Sharpie (no, maybe a crayon) and added an addendum with an apology and the church's name. I might have even draw a cute smiley face too (without the nose.) :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the best part.  See the big pile of paper in the center?  That's a church.  My kids built a church; not a house, not a store, not a school, but a church.  I pray that God will always be the center of their lives.  I pray that all day long.  Something that once caused me so much frustration has turned into something beautiful.  May my whole life be like those invitations.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-3109435190636436?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/3109435190636436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=3109435190636436' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3109435190636436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3109435190636436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-kids-creation.html' title='My Kids Creation'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/SHZLUhilwKI/AAAAAAAAADE/Us42H8ow3VY/s72-c/DSCF0962.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-800016227160679367</id><published>2008-07-09T04:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T05:00:14.922-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time for a Change</title><content type='html'>Guess what I did yesterday? I rearranged my living room furniture. Now to those who know me, you may be surprised that I would just change my furniture around.  You KNOW I hate change. It seriously took me a couple of weeks to work up the nerve to change it, but there was a bigger factor than my fear. I am so totally cheap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our sofa that we've had for 11 years has begun to sag terribly in the middle. Shouldn't sofas last longer than 11 years? Please don't get me started. Anyways, when my hubby and I would watch TV, we would squish up on one end of the sofa because it was the only "high" place left. And even that spot had begun to squeak. So we began talking about new furniture, which is great but that's something I want to shop for slowly, not because I have to have something. So, we switched the love seat and the sofa's place.  This is turn required us to move ALL the furniture in the room. We now have more room on the love seat than we did on the sofa. Who knew?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My son watched all this in wonder and had to ask, "Mommy, why are you doing this?" I replied, "It's what we girls do. It's what we do." My daughter got right into the fray and was barking out orders to me and her dad. And all of her suggestions were better than mine so I guess I should say that my daughter rearranged our living room furniture yesterday. It looks really good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-800016227160679367?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/800016227160679367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=800016227160679367' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/800016227160679367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/800016227160679367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/07/time-for-change.html' title='Time for a Change'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2142450432752441398</id><published>2008-07-07T17:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T05:11:46.742-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Real Country</title><content type='html'>We just got back from vacation and it proved to me that we do NOT live in the REAL country.  We went to Ohio to visit all my cousins, aunts, uncles, and all my extended family.  It was wonderful.  My parents and my younger sister went with us so we were guaranteed to have a great time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the animals had just had babies so we got to see baby rabbits, horse, cows, donkeys, buffalo, cats, dogs.  You name it, we probably saw it.  My kids had so much petting all the animals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know to my family, we seemed extremely busy but for me, it was such a wonderful time of slowing down and focusing on people.  So much of my life sometimes feels isolated and lonely, and it was refreshing to feel welcomed and invited.  Seeing old friends was like coming home.  It was refreshing to remember that I do have roots of my own somewhere.  I came home feeling refreshed and like I could do anything I wanted.  In the every day living, I get so bogged down with the petty things that don't matter.  I wish I could slip away to Ohio every couple of weeks or so and remember that life is more than just existing from one task to the next.  It really was a good trip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2142450432752441398?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2142450432752441398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2142450432752441398' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2142450432752441398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2142450432752441398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/07/real-country.html' title='The Real Country'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5169765393016517739</id><published>2008-06-28T06:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-28T06:11:07.504-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What we miss because we live in the country</title><content type='html'>My kids and I went to the mall yesterday to pick up a book and a couple of other things that I couldn't find anywhere else.  We rarely go to the mall because it's a half hour away, and it's just easier to find stuff that is closer.  Plus, going to the mall with my kids stresses me out.  They just want to hide in all the racks and just play.  I often wonder if my kids will avoid shopping when they grow up, and if it'll be all my fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked into the mall yesterday and I heard my daughter say, "Mom, I love the mall."  Music to my ears.  We'll have to try to go more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5169765393016517739?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5169765393016517739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5169765393016517739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5169765393016517739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5169765393016517739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/06/what-we-miss-because-we-live-in-country.html' title='What we miss because we live in the country'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1984575180573674620</id><published>2008-06-26T15:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T12:16:22.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love This</title><content type='html'>I've never posted anything like this but I just loved it and wanted to share it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sOus45dorPU&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sOus45dorPU&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1984575180573674620?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1984575180573674620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1984575180573674620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1984575180573674620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1984575180573674620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/06/blog-post.html' title='Love This'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7797181003917948517</id><published>2008-06-25T17:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T17:18:25.648-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday</title><content type='html'>I had the best day yesterday. It was my mom's birthday (Happy Birthday Mom.) Mom, thanks for sharing it with us. My younger sister flew in from out of town just for the day. What a great surprise. My older sister, myself and our 4 kids went to the airport to pick my younger sister up. We were all so excited to see her that I think she heard us coming before she saw us. I felt like I was in a car in the circus with crazy music playing. All we needed were clown outfits and to come pouring out of the car. Hilarious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's something about family that I can't find anywhere else. We tease, joke and enjoy each other. It was fun to relax and play for a day. Sisters, Mom, Dad, I'll try not to plan anymore lasagna lunches without seeking input from all. I'll try not to copy my daughter's Christmas cards ever again. And, I'll thank God for you all when I go to bed tonight. Love ya.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7797181003917948517?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7797181003917948517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7797181003917948517' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7797181003917948517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7797181003917948517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/06/happy-birthday.html' title='Happy Birthday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6739223018159423391</id><published>2008-06-13T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T04:15:55.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Has The Time Gone?</title><content type='html'>My dear friend K called and invited me to ride with her to mall to buy a swimsuit. I of course was up for a trip to the mall and decided that I might just look for a swimsuit for myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It didn't take me long to realize that it had been 14 years since I had bought a swimsuit. Yes, my current suit was one I purchased in college. I love that suit. I remember when I bought it. My college roomies was interviewing for a job in a town about an hour away so I rode along and shopped while she interviewed. I remember seeing it in the outlet mall and KNOWING it was the right suit for me. How could it have been 14 years? It seemed like just yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hubby informed me that I was definitely to get a new suit. So, K, her son, my son and myself headed to the mall. And thank God for K. Without her forcing me on, I would have given up after about 2 seconds. Everything was either inappropraite or old lady. UGHGHGH!!!! And who knew that swimsuits could look that bad on me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried one on and my son immediately began to laugh. K said that if he was laughing, it could not be good. And Mr T was right, it was hideous, but did he have to laugh? This was not going well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally found a black suit with some blue on it that was flattering and then a pair of black swim short with a black and white top that I just adore. So, it was worth it. Two suits should last me FOREVER, right? And the old suit? I'm burning it. Who knew I would ever grow sick of the thing? It only took 14 years.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6739223018159423391?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6739223018159423391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6739223018159423391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6739223018159423391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6739223018159423391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/06/where-has-time-gone.html' title='Where Has The Time Gone?'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5372360514381301005</id><published>2008-06-13T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T12:54:27.815-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Good News</title><content type='html'>I haven't shared this because I wanted to spend alot of time getting this said just right. I wanted to try to convey in words a wonderful thing but I don't think I'll be able to so I'll just say it as best I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter got saved at VBS last Wednesday, June 4 and it was a truly wonderful experience. God is so good. I am so glad he did it the way he did, when he did, where he did it. He is so perfect in all the details. She asked Jesus to come into her heart at the church my hubby grew up in, which was extra special for us all. It was so easy to see that God was there and he was working and moving. I wish everyone could have been there. God is so good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has been telling everyone about it, which is almost an even better blessing. I am so thankful that she can't wait to share what God has done for her. May she never stop sharing how awesome God is to her. May he seem more real to her every day. God has blessed us so much; I have tears in my eyes just thinking about it. Thank you Jesus.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5372360514381301005?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5372360514381301005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5372360514381301005' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5372360514381301005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5372360514381301005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/06/some-good-news.html' title='Some Good News'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1651268533172437995</id><published>2008-06-13T10:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T10:48:32.250-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Won't They Trust Me?</title><content type='html'>I was just thinking about our VBS and feeling kind of sad because we had some kids who have such potential and yet they are just more interested in doing whatever they want.  I was thinking and praying about how frustrating it is to try to help someone who doesn't want to be helped.  I keep thinking that I do know what is better for them and they should just trust me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then God hit me upside the head and said, "Are you listening to yourself?  What do you think I've been yelling at you forever?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a particular time in my life where I prayed and prayed for God to do something, something good that I know would have been the right thing.  And he said NO!  There was no question that he said no and the time passed with him not changing his mind.  And I am still a little bitter over the fact that he didn't do what I wanted.  I was just telling him this morning that I didn't know why he didn't do what I wanted; I know it was a good thing.  Can you imagine me telling him that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he just said to me, "I know what's good for you.  Trust me.  Trust me.  Trust me."  So here I am, trusting him, finally, over 8 years later and KNOWING and BELIEVING that he does know best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It feels so good to trust someone who is totally faithful.  It also feels good to know that I tried to help some kids and I'll try again and again and I'll pray but the rest is up to God.  Thank goodness He can do anything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1651268533172437995?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1651268533172437995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1651268533172437995' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1651268533172437995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1651268533172437995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/06/why-wont-they-trust-me.html' title='Why Won&apos;t They Trust Me?'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-3636847345015307178</id><published>2008-06-11T11:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T12:05:15.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Busy Summer</title><content type='html'>It's been a long time but summer is so busy.  I feel like I don't have a moment to spare.  If I'm not playing with the kids, or cleaning up the messes we make, then I am working or trying to figure out how to keep the kids busy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week, we had Bible school at my in-laws church and had swim lessons for Mr T.  This week we have Bible school at our church and swim lessons for both my kids.  Not only are both my kids taking swim lessons, their 4 cousins are too.  And somehow I am the person with the most time so I'm the elected to take them.  My mother-in-law has been helping take but she doesn't get in the water will ALL SIX KIDS at the end so they can swim for fun for a little while.  What a job!!!!   Did I say ALL SIX KIDS?  I have to keep up with ALL SIX KIDS in water.  Most of the cousins can't swim enough that you can take your eyes off them.  Talk about stress.  The best part is that for half an hour, I get to sit in the sun and just soak it all in.  Heaven!!!  I feel more human after I've had my time in the sun.  It all quickly fades after watching ALL SIX KIDS.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-3636847345015307178?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/3636847345015307178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=3636847345015307178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3636847345015307178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3636847345015307178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/06/our-busy-summer.html' title='Our Busy Summer'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7715253532056027460</id><published>2008-05-21T13:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T13:58:06.469-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fog is Lifting</title><content type='html'>For the first time in 2 months, I feel like I am going to make it.  I feel like the sun will shine again.  It's been a hard time and I can't even begin to tell you what's been wrong; it's just been hard.  Ever have a time when life is just plain hard and there's no other to describe it?  Well, I feel like I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's one of the ways I know it's getting better.  With all that I have been dealing with, I would still do it all over again because I have learned so much.  I am so proud of myself for coming through this time relying on God and not myself, and for actually going through something tough with the mindset to learn something and not just lay around and complain.  I am proud of how things have gone.  I would do it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter's softball team is in the playoff game tomorrow night, which has been fun and exciting.  I am learning that she is braver than I am.  If there is something I struggle at doing, I'd rather just not do it and never let anyone know that I struggle at something.  She gets out there, does her best and is extremely happy and proud of herself at the end.  Two games ago, she got a triple and got on base 3 out of 4 times.  That never would have happened had she hid out like I do.  I am so proud of her and her strength.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight my daughter gets an award for completing her book by learning all her verses.  She worked really hard and I am proud of her for sticking with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I wrote about work a few days ago.  God totally worked that out.  I was talking to a co-worker about coming back to work more hours and in the fall.  When she mentioned that to my old boss, who is her boss, he said, "We've been waiting for Mr. T to go to kindergarten FOREVER."  It warmed my heart because it felt so good to know that someone has been waiting for me to come back to work, to know that they value me as a person and an employee.  They truly are the most flexible and awesome company to work for.  Everything I have ever asked for, they have worked to make it happen.  How nice to know that someone wants you and thinks you do a good job.  I don't think we say that to each enough.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7715253532056027460?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7715253532056027460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7715253532056027460' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7715253532056027460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7715253532056027460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/05/fog-is-lifting.html' title='The Fog is Lifting'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-8115284556583212480</id><published>2008-05-19T17:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-19T17:51:54.899-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Simple Question</title><content type='html'>My son just came into my office, pulling on his hair. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He asked me, "What color in my hair?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I replied, "Blonde; it's a beautiful color sweetie." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, pulling even harder, "But I want to see it." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I simply suggested he try a mirror. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he replied, "Oh," in a tone of voice that implied, "I never thought of that."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-8115284556583212480?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/8115284556583212480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=8115284556583212480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8115284556583212480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8115284556583212480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/05/another-simple-question.html' title='Another Simple Question'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-852331882677942701</id><published>2008-05-16T12:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-17T06:45:20.667-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Long Time</title><content type='html'>It's been a long time, and the only reason I have is that I haven't felt like posting anything. It's been a tough month. We are busy finishing up everything, from school to gymnastics, to softball, to preschool. Last night was Mr T's graduation from preschool, and he was so grown up. I am slightly dreading the fall when kindergaren comes, but I am DETERMINED to get every fun moment out of this summer possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr T recently began to tell me about a little preschool friend who gets to eat ice cream for breakfast every morning. He wanted to know why he wasn't so lucky. He lamented, "All I ever gets is muffins, and biscuits, and cereal." Poor little guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss A has a softball tournament this weekend, and I am looking forward to that being over. It's takes a lot of time, and I think we've had 3 games all season where it's been warm enough to watch her play without huddling under a blanket. Who could have imagined that May would still be cold? So much for all that sun I was hoping to get. Miss A also got promoted to the next gymnastics class. She couldn't care a bit, but I'm excited and proud of her. Gymnastics is so much fun, and she just loves running around and working off some of her extra energy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am praying about what I'll do in the fall with both kids in school. I told my hubby that I am going to start listing the things I CAN'T do rather than looking at the one of 2 things I can do. The things I can't do include: preschool PE teacher, art teacher, receptionist (I hate to talk on the phone)...the list could go on and on. I'm hoping to pick up more work from the office I work for already but we'll see. That still leaves me working from home and provides me even less opportunity to get out of the house. Oh well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-852331882677942701?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/852331882677942701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=852331882677942701' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/852331882677942701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/852331882677942701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/05/long-time.html' title='A Long Time'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2262141655987657937</id><published>2008-04-26T10:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T11:04:05.902-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mouse in the House</title><content type='html'>I know it's been forever since I've posted anything.  It's been a long month, and I just haven't had it in me to post anything.  Things are starting to look up finally, but not before I thought I was going to lose my mind.  This past week, I found a half eaten piece of candy in my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;daughter's&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cubby&lt;/span&gt;, and when I questioned my hubby, he remarked that it could NOT be a mouse because the mouse would have eaten the whole thing.  I blindly and totally believed him.  First mistake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, I saw something furry and brown run out of our utility room and KNEW we had a mouse.  I got the kids off to school and spent an hour sitting on my bed, wondering how I could out the door without seeing the intruder again.  My husband set some traps, but I really wanted to see brooms flying and serious searching going on.  No way was my hubby gonna do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night, after clapping and saying "shoo" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; I entered a room, my hubby and I set traps all around the house with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Starbursts&lt;/span&gt; on them because that was the kind of half eaten piece of candy I had found.  To catch a mouse,  you gotta think like a  mouse, right?  At 11:00 p.m., we heard a trap go off, and we had our mouse.  I still have traps set just to make sure there isn't a "sibling to the mouse" still lurking about, but there has been no more evidence of any mice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who knew such a tiny creature could me into such a panic mode.  :)  My son prayed at lunch thanking God for our food and that He would "kill the mouse."  He got a loud "Amen" from me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2262141655987657937?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2262141655987657937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2262141655987657937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2262141655987657937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2262141655987657937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/04/mouse-in-house.html' title='The Mouse in the House'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5757033683397057720</id><published>2008-04-01T06:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T06:29:20.087-07:00</updated><title type='text'>April Fools Day?</title><content type='html'>It's been forever, but I have been SWAMPED with work.  It was the kind of job where it just consumes me, and I can't do anything but think about it.  So, I have been kind of holed away in my office for a week or two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just signed my little man up for Kindergarten.  I was ok until they pulled out his birth certificate.  And I realized that it was just yesterday when this wonderful person was all mine.  In the beginning, I didn't have to share him with anyone and now, just 5 years later, I am about to have to give him up for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.  And to be honest, it stinks.  I hate it.  (Here is where Mr T would pipe up, "Mommy, you said a bad word.  Hate is a bad word.")  No, it's not if it says what I really need it to say and I do hate it.  I hate it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember holding him for the first time and staring into that beautiful face.  I remember everybody being asleep, and I got to feed Mr T and snuggle with him all by myself.  I remember how he never cried really; he'd just start wiggling and grunting and I could feed him or change him and he would be happy.  He was the best baby.  I prayed and prayed that I would not be so hormonal with Mr T and God heard my prayer.  We had so much fun together.  And no one says that kindergarten is going to stop those fun times.  They'll just change, and in case you haven't noticed, change is hard for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a wonderful April 1st.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5757033683397057720?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5757033683397057720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5757033683397057720' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5757033683397057720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5757033683397057720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/04/april-fools-day.html' title='April Fools Day?'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5191771460541820305</id><published>2008-03-17T05:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T05:18:36.197-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A LIttle Praise Dancing</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, we had a softball game that I was worried about how it would go.  I prayed and prayed about it and planned to just spend all my time watching Mr T ride his bike while his big sister played ball.  And that is mostly what I did.  My hubby did watch Mr T for a few minutes and during that time, my little girl hit a triple.  The smile on her face could have been seen from outer space, I'm sure.  While she was batting, I was praying God would let her get a hit and he did.  And behind my sunglasses, there were tears of joy.  Not so much because my daughter got a hit, but because I have a God who loves me so much.  And even though I tend to live like I don't care about him, He still loves me, provides for me, and gives me special blessings like a triple for my daughter at a softball game just because he can.  I am in awe of that fact that God gave his son to die on cross for e who messes up so often and lives so selfishly.  God is too good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was walking behind Mr T, I had my $10 mp3 player and was listening to Mandissa's CD.  I was honestly walking around the park with my hands raised in the air.  It took all I had to keep from dancing right there (now that woulda been a sight.)  What a great praise CD.  Get it if you don't have it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5191771460541820305?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5191771460541820305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5191771460541820305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5191771460541820305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5191771460541820305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/03/little-praise-dancing.html' title='A LIttle Praise Dancing'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-278524160829046514</id><published>2008-03-14T16:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T16:46:39.545-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A fish outta water</title><content type='html'>I am once again finding myself in a situation where I am totally out of my comfort zone.  And let me just say that it is painful.  You'd think it would get easier each time I am forced into a place where I am a fish out of water, but it hasn't.  I am really trying to learn from this experience so that maybe I won't have to learn this lesson again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am learning.  In high school, I would just hide and dream about never coming out when I found myself in a place that I felt completely alone.  In college, I learned that the way to solve a problem was to get 4 or 5 of your best girl friends, get a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and eat the whole container.  No bowls, just a bunch of spoons flying.  In my first job,  I learned that stress really will cause migraines every day if you let it and sometimes it's ok to quit when you are miserable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a few minutes ago, I was hiding in the kitchen eating every bite of the tube of cookie dough.  I think I've decided that food worked best in college, and I'll try again.  Or maybe it was the friends that made life easier.  Either way, this situation will all be over in a couple of months and maybe I'll have a new coping skill that doesn't involve food.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-278524160829046514?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/278524160829046514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=278524160829046514' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/278524160829046514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/278524160829046514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/03/fish-outta-water.html' title='A fish outta water'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7998329028762567537</id><published>2008-03-12T17:44:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T17:45:40.774-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The glasses</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R9h5IaCTxoI/AAAAAAAAAC8/u24nLv_ZTRA/s1600-h/bahamas+029.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177020956997305986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R9h5IaCTxoI/AAAAAAAAAC8/u24nLv_ZTRA/s320/bahamas+029.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been promising a picture of the glasses. So sorry it's taken a couple months to get it. Here we are at the circus. Enjoy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7998329028762567537?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7998329028762567537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7998329028762567537' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7998329028762567537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7998329028762567537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/03/glasses.html' title='The glasses'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R9h5IaCTxoI/AAAAAAAAAC8/u24nLv_ZTRA/s72-c/bahamas+029.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1800298038475273453</id><published>2008-03-08T15:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T16:00:35.889-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Snowy Saturday</title><content type='html'>It's been almost over a week since I've posted anything, but it's been a crazy week.  We've had softball practice, soccer practice, a field trip, a "Green Eggs and Ham" party at preschool, a presentation on North Carolina by my daughter, and then the normal piano and gymnastics lessons and church and MOPS.  I am worn out.  At MOPS, I taught the 3 and 4 year old class and shared the Easter story using the "Resurrection Eggs."  Each egg has a different object in it that helps tell the Easter story.  For example, there's a whip, a cloth for Jesus' robe, a crown a thorns, an empty tomb.  One of the kids speaks up and wants to know where the spit is that they spit on Jesus.  I had to swallow my laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hubby was gone today so my parents came up to spend the day, which was such a treat.  We just stayed at home because it was cold; it was such a treat just to hang out with my parents.  My mom saw some crows in our back yard and told us about when she had a pet crow named "CawCaw."  She said when she was a child, a bird nest was destroyed so they adopted the baby crow.  It would ride on her dad's shoulder or hat as he rode around on the tractor and it would come to them when they pulled out anything shiny, like a coin or piece of metal.  I can't picture my grandpa riding on a tractor with a crow on his head.  I do remember once when we went to visit and my grandpa had a hummingbird land in his hand.  I remember thinking the bird was amazingly beautiful, and my grandpa was amazing for getting to land in his hand.  Now I know he had previous bird experience with the crow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1800298038475273453?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1800298038475273453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1800298038475273453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1800298038475273453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1800298038475273453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/03/another-snowy-saturday.html' title='Another Snowy Saturday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4045273567856416089</id><published>2008-02-26T05:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T07:14:48.635-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thunder and Lighting</title><content type='html'>My hubby and I were awakened at 5:45 this morning to all manner of thunder and lightning. It felt like the thunder and sounded like the lightning was inside our bedroom. We definitely weren't going to back to sleep quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It would have been a great time to snuggle and talk about future plans and dreams. To plan vacations where we won't take the kids, to dream of our "dream home," to talk about who we want to be in 10 years. I say "would have been" because we had both kids in between us. Why won't they sleep on the outside of the bed? Why do they HAVE to be in the middle? And why do they put their cold feet on me and not their dad?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It may be a LONG day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4045273567856416089?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4045273567856416089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4045273567856416089' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4045273567856416089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4045273567856416089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/thunder-and-lighting.html' title='Thunder and Lighting'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-8095068425436397396</id><published>2008-02-26T05:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T10:32:57.218-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Small Blessings</title><content type='html'>I bought a new cordless phone and am so excited. I have been talking on the phone to my hubby walking around the house, just because I can. We had a cordless phone before but it crackled and buzzed if you moved more than 12" away from the base. Which basically means it's NOT a cordless phone when you have to stay in one place to use it. I am so excited by "on the move" again. It's the small things in life that make me happy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-8095068425436397396?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/8095068425436397396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=8095068425436397396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8095068425436397396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8095068425436397396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/small-blessings.html' title='Small Blessings'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-3355159041150117058</id><published>2008-02-26T05:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-29T11:24:45.169-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Not So Quick Survey</title><content type='html'>Earlier tonight, a young man from a local college called to say he was helping with a survey on medical insurance. I felt sorry for the guy and ended up spending the next 20 minutes answering all manner of questions. He started with background questions and moved on to questions about our insurance. We were doing great until he moved to the questions on overall health. He asked me to rate on a scale of 1 to 5 my over physical health. Then we rated the others in my family. No problem. Then...he asked me to rate my MENTAL health on a scale of 1 to 5. And I just burst out laughing. If he could hang out with me for a day, I have no doubt he would rate my mental health as lacking ALOT. I also bet that because of the laughing, he refused to enter the "5" I squeaked out. I bet he fudged the answer and went with his gut reaction of "1."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-3355159041150117058?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/3355159041150117058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=3355159041150117058' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3355159041150117058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/3355159041150117058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/not-so-quick-survey.html' title='A Not So Quick Survey'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7338482216627539647</id><published>2008-02-26T05:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T05:48:45.229-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How I Know I Am Old</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, I was finishing my grocery shopping, I realized that I was the ONLY ONE in the store under the age of 80.  And it occured to me that my life schedule is very much like an old lady's.  I shop whenever there won't be a crowd.  If the weather "ain't fittin'" I just stay at home.  I eat lunch at 10:30 and dinner at 4:30.  I went to bed before 9 p.m. at least twice last week and there is nothing I like better than a good nap in the middle of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's another way to tell that I am old.  My toe that I broke a couple of years ago falling off down 2 stairs was hurting last night.  I told my hubby jokingly that I bet it was going to rain.  Wouldn't you know we woke up to the pouring rain this morning?  Great, I can predict the weather by my toe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what makes me really old.  My husband's grandmothers get together with friends every Tuesday to play cards.  Several of the ladies can't play today.  One lost a tooth, one's hubby is in the hospital, and one can't drive in the rain.  So, THEY CALLED ME.  That's right.  They know I don't have a life so they call me to fill in for the ones who can't make it.  So, today from 10 to 12, I am going to the outlet mall food court and am playing cards with ladies who are over 50 years older than me.  But, in spirit and mind, I am right where they are. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7338482216627539647?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7338482216627539647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7338482216627539647' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7338482216627539647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7338482216627539647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/how-i-know-i-am-old.html' title='How I Know I Am Old'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-146948491610004557</id><published>2008-02-23T07:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T07:51:03.482-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Clothing Saga Continues</title><content type='html'>We are spending our Sat. today getting ready for a wedding.  My husband's cousin is getting married today.  The wedding date was set for in the fall, but the bride's brother is being sent to Iraq next month so the date was pushed up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am really excited for them, but getting ready for a wedding takes so much work.  I promise it will take me longer to get the 4 people in my house ready than it will the bride.  I was ironing everyone's clothes when Mr T began to complain about what he has to wear.  He doesn't mind the short sleeve shirt, but the sweater vest is JUST TOO MUCH for him.  He then wanted to know if he was going to match his daddy.  (I have used that line before to get him into long sleeves.)  I told him that he wouldn't match his daddy because his daddy was wearing a suit.  I look up from my ironing to see my son with the biggest frown.  He cries, "Daddy gets to wear his bathing suit?"  Wouldn't that be a hilarious?  If I crack up during the wedding, you'll all know why.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-146948491610004557?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/146948491610004557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=146948491610004557' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/146948491610004557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/146948491610004557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/clothing-saga-continues.html' title='The Clothing Saga Continues'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-941333448823753850</id><published>2008-02-19T13:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T14:02:04.689-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Camping at Home</title><content type='html'>I am supposed to be working but I just had to post this.  My kids are playing "camping" in their rooms.  I just heard my daughter tell my son, "It's raining.  Get the animals in the tent."  She is the one in charge, you know.  Then I hear her tell him, "Here's your gun.  Go kill a bear or something; we need alot of meat to eat."  Bear?  We don't eat bear.  We don't eat any meat that anyone I know has killed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have had a great weekend.  My hubby was back home, which has been wonderful.  I took my kids to The American Girl store yesterday and we had the time of our lives.  Miss A knew all the doll's stories and it was so neat to see them excited over dolls and history.  I think ever other young girl was there too.  I wish I had come up with that idea.  I'd be rich by now.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Valentine morning, I woke up and started to get ready.  I didn't even remember it was Valentine's Day; maybe I was in denial since my hubby was out of town.  I heard my kids telling me to come out into the hallway; they needed me.  What I found just made my heart smile.  I had 2 homemade Valentines given to me that had "I Love You" written all over them.  These were my first homemade Valentines that they made all on their own.  They made my day.  I am blessed with the 2 most wonderful kids in the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-941333448823753850?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/941333448823753850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=941333448823753850' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/941333448823753850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/941333448823753850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/camping-at-home.html' title='Camping at Home'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2051208493451643133</id><published>2008-02-13T05:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T05:59:29.097-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I told you so</title><content type='html'>I know you probably don't care but last night, my daughter realized she had lost her eyeglass case.  Thank you Jesus the glasses weren't in it....but, it took us ONE day to lose the case.  ONE day.  How is that possible?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2051208493451643133?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2051208493451643133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2051208493451643133' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2051208493451643133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2051208493451643133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-told-you-so.html' title='I told you so'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6088621459172720666</id><published>2008-02-12T08:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T20:51:09.304-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Life Lessons</title><content type='html'>Today has been quite a day.  It's late and I'm ready to go to bed, but I can't until I've typed this out and my mind can rest.  I learned a few things while my daughter got glasses this afternoon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned that my daughter is still a child, not the grown up I expect her to be way too many times.  She was thrilled to have new glasses.  She kept reading far away things, things she's never seen before.  She commented on how things had so many colors now; she said things were black and white where before they were grey. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned again (as I'm sure I'll learn again and again) that I am not in control of my life or my childrens' lives.  Only God is in control, and thank goodness because he can do it best.  But in the day to day living, it's so easy to begin to believe that we can orchestrate our childrens' lives.  It's so hard to let go. God is getting me ready daily for some future "let-go's."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am reminded to slow down and treasure each moment.  When I'm old and grey, I will remember these moments.  My daughter is absolutely beautiful.  I never want to forget how proud I am her for being so brave, so innocent, so sweet.  She is truly a treasure.  I can't wait to watch her grow into a beautiful lady.  (Just don't hurry sweetie.  Mommy needs to do this slowly.)  :)  Protect her Lord and keep her safe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6088621459172720666?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6088621459172720666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6088621459172720666' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6088621459172720666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6088621459172720666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/life-lessons.html' title='Life Lessons'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7333172457336978679</id><published>2008-02-11T08:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T08:38:10.038-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Quick Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;It's 11:15 and I'm still in my sweatpants. My hubby hates it when I wear sweats so I really try not to. But, he's outta town today on business so I can be a bum. I got up this morning and cleaned the entire house so that now I can play the rest of the day. I have rented a couple of Janette Oke's movies and am dying to watch one during Mr T's nap.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We go today after school to pick up Miss A's glasses. I'll try to get a picture posted as soon as possible. My hub's has the digital camera with him so it'll be a day before I get it scanned in. We are also going to try to go to the American Girl store and replace the broken glasses that her doll has.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, we are heading to gymnastics. After that, we'll go out to dinner, kids choice. I heard them discussing Taco Bell, which tickles me. My kids had never been there until a few months ago when a friend of mine took them. We didn't avoid Taco Bell; there just isn't one really close to us. Now, they love to go there. And I must admit, that was my favorite place to eat as a kid. I wanted to work there when I grew up. I had such high hopes and dreams, huh?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is a picture of the "infamous" birthday cake I made. Go ahead and pity my son. I know it's bad. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R7B3n8SQAfI/AAAAAAAAAC0/rM_SnIglQFg/s1600-h/kids_003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165760300675236338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R7B3n8SQAfI/AAAAAAAAAC0/rM_SnIglQFg/s320/kids_003.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7333172457336978679?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7333172457336978679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7333172457336978679' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7333172457336978679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7333172457336978679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/quick-update.html' title='A Quick Update'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R7B3n8SQAfI/AAAAAAAAAC0/rM_SnIglQFg/s72-c/kids_003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-6889174181509794227</id><published>2008-02-06T04:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T04:21:22.017-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good times with the family</title><content type='html'>It's been awhile since I've posted.  We got to go to my parents' house for the weekend, and everyone in my family was there.  We went to my niece and nephew's basketball games, which were awesome.  I love basketball.   We celebrated my sister's birthday, which isn't for a month but it was a good excuse to buy a cake and order pizza. We just hung out and were our silly selves, as usual.  My family are my most favorite people in the world because I get to be ME around them.  There aren't many people I can say that about in my life right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We took Miss A yesterday and ordered her 1st pair of glasses for reading things far away.  I thought I would be traumatized but it really wasn't bad.  She looked so cute in those glasses.  I am by far the most reserved person when it comes to clothes and accessories, but I got her a pinkish-purple pair of glasses.  They looked so good on her face that I just couldn't resist.  She didn't want to take them off; which is good.  I'll post pictures when we get them in 5 days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-6889174181509794227?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/6889174181509794227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=6889174181509794227' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6889174181509794227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/6889174181509794227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/02/good-times-with-family.html' title='Good times with the family'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-5008368828376771111</id><published>2008-01-27T17:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-27T18:07:54.406-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Glimpse Into My Family</title><content type='html'>Three quick stories that may give you a better understanding of my life and my family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, we had a Sunday school get-together and we didn't pick our kids up until 9:00. On the way home, Miss A asked what time it was.  She is obsessed with time.  She comes by this honestly; her parents are obsessed with not being late.  Mention that we're late and she begins to go into a panic attack. (Not really, but it does stress her out when she hears the word late.)  My husband and I can't sleep in a room without a clock.  Sad, huh?  Anyhoo, I answered Miss A that it was almost 9:15.  She peaks around my seat and says, "No, it's 9:13.  Mommy, don't lie."  AAARRRUGHGHGHGH!!!  She also hates it when I try to estimate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, she begins to tell a joke.  We have all heard this joke numerous times before but it's easier to pretend the joke is new and funny than to say you don't want to hear it.&lt;br /&gt;A: Knock, knock.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Who's there?&lt;br /&gt;A: Little Old Lady Who.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Little Old Lady Who Who?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The punch line is "I didn't know you could yodel."  Get it?  Say it, and it sounds like you are yodeling.   Anyway, before she can say the punchline, Mr T shouts out, "I didn't know you could struggle."  We all die laughing so he says, "I mean, I didn't know you could all juggle."  More laughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A quick update on our continuing saga to get my little boy to wear long sleeves.  I force him to wear long sleeves on Sunday.  The rest of the week short sleeves with a coat will do but not on Sunday.  So, this morning, we get baths, we iron clothes, we get all cleaned up.  My hubby puts on my son's long sleeve shirt and I turn around to see the biggest frown on Mr T's face.  He sadly declares, "I knew I'd look like this."  Where did this obsession with clothes come from?  It keeps us all laughing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-5008368828376771111?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/5008368828376771111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=5008368828376771111' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5008368828376771111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/5008368828376771111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/glimpse-into-my-family.html' title='A Glimpse Into My Family'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7139834866655631002</id><published>2008-01-25T05:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T05:58:53.649-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Dogs, a Fish, and a ...Lizard?</title><content type='html'>My son just came into my office and asked if he could have a lizard?  Do what?  Where did that come from?  Ick.  I immediately replied that he would have to ask his daddy.  That's right, make Daddy look like the bad guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we call my hubby at work, and my son begins his pitch to get a lizard.  My husband asks my son what lizards eat.  Mr T replies that they eat grass and lettuce, he thinks.  (Sorry kid, that's bunnies and you aren't getting one of those either.)  The conversation goes on for awhile then I hear Mr T ask my hubs, "Now Daddy this is serious.  Are you allergic to lizards?"  (My hubby is allergic to cats so it naturally makes sense that he might be allergic to lizards, right?)  My son sounded so serious.  I pray this phase disappears before we have to actually consider another pet for ME to take care of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night at the dinner table, we were discussing a possible trip to south Georgia.  My hubby has to help a friend install some cabinets in his farm house so we were thinking the rest of the family might tag along.  My hubby would love for all of us go hear Jimmy Carter teach Sunday school at a church in Plains, Georgia. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubs asks my daughter, "Would you like to go hear Jimmy Carter teach Sunday school?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter replies, "Isn't he a race care driver?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's  my girl.  If she were older, I'd complain about what she's not learning in school, but I'll just leave that alone.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7139834866655631002?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7139834866655631002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7139834866655631002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7139834866655631002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7139834866655631002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/two-dogs-fish-and-lizard.html' title='Two Dogs, a Fish, and a ...Lizard?'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-2722627748811125337</id><published>2008-01-20T12:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T12:16:11.333-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow</title><content type='html'>We have had the best time being "snowed in."  Two times in one week is something of a miracle for Georgia.  Yesterday, we made a life-size snowman, walked through the woods, went sledding down the neighbor's hill, and made snow-creme.  The kids were nearly frozen by the time we got in, mainly because we don't own ANYTHING that's water proof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hubby cleaned out my car and found my digital camera so I can't wait to show you pictures of the pitiful birthday cake I've made for my son's birthday.  Cake decorating is NOT my thing but for some reason I continue to try.  I once made my daughter a Cinderella cake that make the princess look like she had been using way too much fake tanner.  This year, it's a dinosaur cake.  I made the cake chocolate so it'd look like dirt and frosted it green and stuck dinosaurs on the top.  Truly Martha Stewart had better watch out.  I am so gifted with cake decorating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have friends coming over to play cards this afternoon because we are all a little stir crazy.  Another one of the things I am not is a wonderful hostess.  We'll see what mistakes I make this time.  I'd just really rather go to someone else's house and let them worry about entertaining.  How selfish is that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-2722627748811125337?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/2722627748811125337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=2722627748811125337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2722627748811125337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/2722627748811125337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/let-it-snow-let-it-snow-let-it-snow.html' title='Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-8302938433420971950</id><published>2008-01-16T12:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T12:50:50.610-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Best of Friends</title><content type='html'>One of my college roomies (for almost 5 years) just called and is coming into town tomorrow.  We are trying to meet up Friday, and I pray the snow won't stop that.  But, even if it does, it was just so great to talk to her.  I need to make a habit of calling my friends more often.  I made some really awesome friends in college; those kind of people are few and far between.  When you really know someone, the conversation just flows.  I am so excited and giddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God is really teaching me to trust him and not look to friends for my comfort or worth.  So when he sends a friend my way, I take that as a sign, a special blessing.  I try to value times with friends as something more precious than anything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-8302938433420971950?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/8302938433420971950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=8302938433420971950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8302938433420971950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8302938433420971950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/best-of-friends.html' title='The Best of Friends'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1857259063789536204</id><published>2008-01-16T11:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T11:17:18.757-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Will it Snow?</title><content type='html'>Will it snow?  That is the million dollar question.  Based on the empty milk and bread shelves, it seems that everyone thinks it will.  I wish we would get a few inches of snow so we could go out and play in it, really play in it.  We'll see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My son is at a friend's house and Miss A is at school so I have had a few minutes of free time.  And I have absolutely nothing to show for it.  But it's been great.  Hope you all are having a great day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1857259063789536204?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1857259063789536204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1857259063789536204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1857259063789536204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1857259063789536204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/will-it-snow.html' title='Will it Snow?'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-8185475283474729317</id><published>2008-01-12T17:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-12T17:43:37.871-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fun Saturday</title><content type='html'>I had the most wonderful stuff I was going to write about but I'm tired, the kids are in bed and my hubby is busy for another hour in the shop.  So, I think I'm going to curl up in front of the tv and watch whatever I want.  (Remember, we are now down to 3 stations on our tv and the only movies we own are "Sleepless in Seattle, The Man from Snowy River part 1 and 2, Major League 2, and Monty Python.")  How sad a selection is that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter and I went with another friend and her daughter to see Annie today, and it did not disappoint.  I truly enjoyed it as  much as my daughter.   Things are so much more fun when you do them with friends.  We did sit in the 2nd to the last row of the theatre, which didn't seem like an issue until my daughter told my mother in law that the dog Sandy was a chihuahua.  When I laughed and disagreed, my daughter began to cried.  I should not have laughed but come on, it was a labrador retriever--not a chihuahua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me just pause to say that my daughter was so fun to hang out with today.  I get so busy that I forget to just stop and enjoy her company.  She is becoming quite a little lady.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-8185475283474729317?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/8185475283474729317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=8185475283474729317' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8185475283474729317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/8185475283474729317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/fun-saturday.html' title='Fun Saturday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7294442944961737685</id><published>2008-01-09T14:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T14:46:28.006-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cabin Fever and It's 65 Degrees Outside</title><content type='html'>These past 2 weeks have been so tough around here.  There have been so many things that have gone wrong and even though they have almost all been resolved, they have left their mark.  I feel almost physically bruised from all that has been happening.  I know I am emotionally bruised.  It's exhausting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really just want to stomp my foot and say, "I will have things my way.  I will.  So deal with it and do it my way."  I look around me at my life and I think things like, "How did I get here?  How do I stop feeling so stuck?  How do I go on?  Why not my way?  I had no idea life would be so hard." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently read this article, and I am trying to take it to heart.  It is from my MOPS magazine and it is addressing the issue of Cabin Fever by Caryn Rivaderneira.  "Turns out, the cure for cabin fever is contentment - enjoying what we've been given when it's given.  That's God's advice, too - learning to be content with whatever my circumstances are because he gives me the strength....I'm keeping my eyes off spring and trusting that the cure for cabin fever is in living and loving the season I'm in."  It's time to dig deeper and stop trying to get my way.  It's time to kindly speak my opinion and then let it go.  I'm not in control..of anything.  (Isn't that the scariest thing you've ever heard?  It is to me.)  So, I better get over it and just fall into my Savior's arm and rest there.  Let the rest happen and stay in His arms.  Mind you, I still want to be mad and make others pay for not listening, but I'll try to let it go.  That's something, right?  I better trust God because he's the only who can really do it right.  He can and He will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7294442944961737685?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7294442944961737685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7294442944961737685' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7294442944961737685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7294442944961737685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/cabin-fever-and-its-65-degrees-outside.html' title='Cabin Fever and It&apos;s 65 Degrees Outside'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-4900465144533570976</id><published>2008-01-08T10:42:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T10:50:00.722-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Birthday</title><content type='html'>I only have a moment, but I really want to write this.  Today is my little guy's 5th birthday and I never want to forget this moment.  I am so thankful that I get to stay home with my kids so I get to share more than enough wonderful moments with them.  Even today at lunch as he ate his peanut butter sandwich, I was thinking, "These are the moments I'll remember." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was remembering the day Mr T was born and thinking about how I had no idea how much joy he was going to bring into our lives.  He continually keeps us laughing and on our toes.  He has such a sweet, sensitive spirit that makes me right now want to run into his room, wake him up and spend some sweet time lovin' on him.  He melts my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to remember that he had to wear his overalls to preschool this morning because that's what his dad wears when he works in the shop.  Never mind that they are about 2" too short and make him look like he has grown a foot overnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to remember that he wore his Cars short sleeve t-shirt underneath because Mr T hates long sleeves and jackets.  And it's 60 degrees outside, which to Mr T means short sleeves and shorts.  (I am the same way about long sleeves and coats, but I refuse to admit it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to remember that his cupcakes had smiley faces and Tweety birds on them and he chose a Tweety bird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to remember that he hugged and kissed me when I dropped him off at preschool and as I walked away, he stood at the door smiling blowing me kisses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are my heart little man.  I pray you continue to grow and become more like God and your daddy each day.  Be who you are meant to be and don't settle for anything else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-4900465144533570976?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/4900465144533570976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=4900465144533570976' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4900465144533570976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/4900465144533570976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/big-birthday.html' title='Big Birthday'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7898767123043612824</id><published>2008-01-03T11:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T12:20:55.494-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Howdy Strangers</title><content type='html'>Well, here I am.  We have been so so so busy, especially now that Christmas is over and Mr T is feeling all better.  I wake up each morning promising myself that I'll spend all morning just playing with the kids, only to realize at lunchtime that I haven't seen them all morning because they have been upstairs playing by themselves.  My hubby finished a cute little attic room for the kids to play in.  It's a wonderful room just begging the kids to imagine they are in their own little world.  Pictures wouldn't do it justice.  I love it; I know they do too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this morning, once again I let the hours get away.  Around 10, I called Miss A into my room and we just cuddled and talked about what we wanted to be when we "grew up."  It lasted about 5 minutes, but it was the best 5 minutes of my holiday vacation.  We then sat around and played games together while Mr T played Legos.  I feel like now she can go back to school knowing her mama loves her deeply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had something profound to write about this coming year or last year.  I haven't had time really to stop and reflect.  I am planning to write out 4 things that I want God and I to work on this year in the front of my prayer journal so I can see how we progress.  I think I'll start with patience...or maybe time mangement.  The others I won't tell you.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, we are great, just running out of time.  I could just cry when I think of school starting.  Wonder where my daughter gets her dread of school from?  :)  We'll just get through it together...again.  I'm ready for summer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7898767123043612824?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7898767123043612824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7898767123043612824' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7898767123043612824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7898767123043612824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2008/01/howdy-strangers.html' title='Howdy Strangers'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-7595677742781043105</id><published>2007-12-31T08:44:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T08:49:18.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year Almost</title><content type='html'>I just wrote the longest post and it got eaten by who-knows-what. So, just know that I am thinking about all of you and will post more later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-7595677742781043105?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/7595677742781043105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=7595677742781043105' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7595677742781043105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/7595677742781043105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2007/12/happy-new-year-almost.html' title='Happy New Year Almost'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8195649215556915419.post-1445120021338395032</id><published>2007-12-19T10:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T10:17:10.285-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I've Learned</title><content type='html'>I have learned that I have an amazing group of friends and family.  People have been calling just to check up on Mr T and I, and I really appreciate it.  I had no idea so many people cared.  Thank you all for showing you care by the little things you've done.  One person even dropped by with a couple of movies and sherbert pushup's.  What a blessing.  I am learning that it really does help to call and check up on people.  Sometimes I worry that I'll be a bother, but I am seeing that it means a ton just to know people remember and they care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also have learned that ice cream (which I normally don't eat) is AWESOME at 8 a.m.  Who knew?  I could get hooked on that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8195649215556915419-1445120021338395032?l=1of4.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/feeds/1445120021338395032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8195649215556915419&amp;postID=1445120021338395032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1445120021338395032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8195649215556915419/posts/default/1445120021338395032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1of4.blogspot.com/2007/12/things-ive-learned.html' title='Things I&apos;ve Learned'/><author><name>one of four</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14538544712562016620</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_lqcmSP5nqxk/R4VQaNKQIPI/AAAAAAAAACs/HEQ1EeVCMPY/S220/DSCF0602.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
