tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162019602024-03-14T06:20:57.624-05:00Just Trying to Sort it All Out...This blog is a place where I intend to record as much as I can of life with my husband Blake, our daughters Cayton, Vivian and Penelope and our out of control group of animals that tend to make life more chaotic, I mean exciting...Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-29200576094043245332010-09-21T12:48:00.006-05:002010-10-20T11:27:13.386-05:00Mommy MakeoverI promised myself that I would write more often once Cayton went off to kindergarten. I figured that I would have a bit more time on my hands since Vivi is going to preschool two days a week as well. So far, I haven't really held up my end of the deal. The excuses are endless, I can't think of anything to write, I am busy/sleepy/hungry, I need to call my mom. Basically, I haven't wanted to sit still and think. Given that my brain often turns against me and tries to make me miserable, I haven't wanted to give it the chance. Stay busy, always busy.<br /><br />I have kept this up for about a month now. Cayton is finally getting settled in school. Vivi is becoming more skilled at entertaining herself and the baby takes two naps a day. So, the excuses are getting pretty thin. But the thing that finally pushed me over the edge was a spot I heard on the radio this morning. It was an overly chipper lady going on about plastic surgery and specifically about "Mommy Makeovers". I was intrigued. No, not that I wanted such a thing but that such a thing had been dreamed up, packaged and marketed. Evil!<br /><br />This particular product seems to be a combination of plastic surgery procedures bundled into what they term a "Mommy Makeover". The idea being that after pregnancy and childbirth, women need to get an overhaul. "Come on in ladies and talk to our doctors about the Mommy Makeover so that you can be your best!" Oddly, I didn't hear the related promo about a Daddy Makeover, but that's maybe another rant. <br /><br />I've been chewing on this for a bit to figure out what really irritates me about this makeover thing. I don't have a problem with anyone having plastic surgery (as long as it's not that weird lip thing that celebs do. Eeeek!). I imagine that there are all sorts of healthy reasons for men and women to choose plastic surgery. But that's the thing. If a person has a body part that offends them and they choose to correct that, then fine. I mean, I personally have had all sorts of procedures done to straighten my teeth. The lovely grill you see today is thanks to a really dedicated and skilled orthodontist and at least one oral surgeon. So no, I don't have a problem with people availing themselves of surgical options for improving their looks.<br /><br />What I have a problem with is the marketing that says, "Hey Ladies, have you had a baby? Yes? Well then, since your body is undoubtedly completely FUBAR, then let us fix you right up. You don't want to be hideous and undesirable do you? You want someone to find you attractive don't you? Well, it's not going to happen with that wreck of a body that you currently inhabit. We have an array of options at our disposal to turn you from a monster into a hottie. Because it's all about how you look and who wants to have sex with you!" Maybe that's just how I hear it, but what is deeply offensive to me is how something like this preys on a group of people who are understandably vulnerable. <br /><br />Anyone who has had a baby has looked and themselves in the mirror at some point after giving birth and has wondered just who that lady is looking back at them. No one gets through that experience unscathed, emotionally or physically. The good news is that with time, the physical damage can be mostly repaired. But, speaking for myself here, the emotional fallout of having a baby takes a while longer to regulate. Add to that all of the pressure for women to be beautiful, thin and perfect and you can see just how easy it is for the really excited pitch woman to really make Mommy Makeovers seem like the solution!<br /><br />That brings me to the other reason why my vision goes all dark and spotty when I hear this plastic surgery commercial. The woman who pitches the idea is the disembodied voice of that girl from high school who made it her job to find each and every insecurity and exploit it. Whether it was for her personal enjoyment or just pure evil, I don't know. But, every girl out there knows just what I'm talking about. I think I had a bit of a Mary Hart reaction to hearing the lady go on and on about how new moms need an overhaul. It wasn't a seizure, but the voice took me back to high school and all the times that some girl said, "Oh, you'd be really cute if you changed this" or "No, you aren't big you just have a muscular build" and the list goes on. <br /><br />I don't know. It could be that I'm just sensitive since a year later, I'm still fighting to lose all the baby weight from Baby #3 or it could be that this really is a bitchy way to repackage and market services that already exist. But I do think that I am a little tired of the constant message that no woman, no matter what is good enough unless she's painfully thin and has a freakish sized rack (it goes without saying that these two physical qualities rarely go together in nature). I have three daughters and when I think of the future, I wonder just how tough the teen years will be for them. The pressure to be "hot" starts now for girls about age 7 and it never lets up. This completely terrifies me!<br /><br />So, I think I will say "NO" to the Mommy Makeover and to all the messages out there that I am not enough as I am now. Sure, there are improvements that can be made. Despite my current fabulousness, I concede that I could always do better, be better. But, given the limited number of hours in the day and the difficulty I already have maintaining my humble attitude, I think I'll go easy on myself. The only Mommy Makeover I need can be achieved pretty adequately with a tasty bottle of wine!Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-60324815385765602562010-07-22T10:23:00.005-05:002010-07-22T11:03:49.838-05:00On the Road AgainIt's time again for the yearly essay about what I did on my summer vacation and I think I can sum this one up by saying that Blake and I did a lot of heavy lifting in the full force of the summer heat. That's right, we loaded all three kids (ages 5 and under) into the car and headed for Chicago.<div><br /></div><div>Borrowing from a favorite movie quote (and perhaps mangling it), Tulsa is a geographic oddity. It's two days from everywhere. Well, two days from everywhere you would want to go. Of course, with three kids, everything over 5 hours away qualifies as a two day trip. But, anyway... We got a bit of a late start on day one, but ended up in St. Louis, Mo. We stayed at the Drury Inn at the Arch, which I have to say was pretty nice. There were free snacks and drinks (yes!) from 5:30 to 7ish every night and free breakfast as well. I'm sure all of Missouri is thankful that I did not have to drag the kiddos out to an actual restaurant. I was pretty relieved as well. Here are some pics from the great city of St. Louis. Check out the view from our room.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiHp9NFzWnGT-BZyY4Ag0EXBkbVbp269MJvav4-vnGp3ieFsl9UJyATF93PAgxi1hsWmXVF6qzZb5_j10k-CaCAdkbOZ8yWacUXHT3xvrYXU899GL-LsI9uhQUpVlPjgFfMyryg/s1600/DSC03835.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiHp9NFzWnGT-BZyY4Ag0EXBkbVbp269MJvav4-vnGp3ieFsl9UJyATF93PAgxi1hsWmXVF6qzZb5_j10k-CaCAdkbOZ8yWacUXHT3xvrYXU899GL-LsI9uhQUpVlPjgFfMyryg/s320/DSC03835.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496754012987414562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaA6afTImWtET7J6YlNfDOxmXkOhyphenhyphenFh6cwHT5LzYomeSJ1HTC_XnwiiiPPUXo-phBZz-cD8tBvvzTwR7Up-b7EkEaPkHgKBoUM9xXPpV1Pm_v13Aa96JdcDLf2SZ936_aLhxivQ/s1600/DSC03828.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaA6afTImWtET7J6YlNfDOxmXkOhyphenhyphenFh6cwHT5LzYomeSJ1HTC_XnwiiiPPUXo-phBZz-cD8tBvvzTwR7Up-b7EkEaPkHgKBoUM9xXPpV1Pm_v13Aa96JdcDLf2SZ936_aLhxivQ/s320/DSC03828.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496754004773605522" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjER2LgrJhNzZ7rk5PocBViM_ZP9G2MH6wx1n7yZEftoVnItJEvp_Ql3syipH2FjR4AlhYY2VEc5hn8MHv1qDsuBoqb1CpsOci2rAlYebtY-_YBeIeQIhARVKvPM54ncmBGYdXObw/s1600/DSC03824.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjER2LgrJhNzZ7rk5PocBViM_ZP9G2MH6wx1n7yZEftoVnItJEvp_Ql3syipH2FjR4AlhYY2VEc5hn8MHv1qDsuBoqb1CpsOci2rAlYebtY-_YBeIeQIhARVKvPM54ncmBGYdXObw/s320/DSC03824.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496753991614560306" /></a></div><br /><br />Having survived the night, we loaded up and set our sights on Springfield, Il. Besides being the capital of Illinois, it is the last city that Lincoln and his family lived in before going to the White House. It is also the final resting spot of Lincoln, his wife and three of his children. I had visited Lincoln's home as a child and thought it would be great to see it again. I did wonder though if it would turn out that the site was as impressive as I remembered it. As an adult, I have revisited many places that I saw first as a child and I have found some of them to either be in various states of disrepair or completely different from how I remembered them. But, in this case, I can say that the Home of Lincoln was more impressive that when I first saw it. The park includes a visitor center, Lincoln's Home and the homes of many of his immediate neighbors. Everything in that particular neighborhood has been kept as it would have looked in the year 1860, the last year that Lincoln lived in the home. Here are a few pics and I highly recommend this park!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-F1rs_5S-hvrHtJrsEcJCNjmkCmnvWGQjoIKL5UMzCsTAxVEreJvXWX224EjjFl0wI_waJ7GzDmUaKWIk-z3ravf_uTlkkjPG-Q8vWnN_FeO1Vryx0AVT9-lMcNW0Q7Pfsc5qrw/s1600/DSC03851.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-F1rs_5S-hvrHtJrsEcJCNjmkCmnvWGQjoIKL5UMzCsTAxVEreJvXWX224EjjFl0wI_waJ7GzDmUaKWIk-z3ravf_uTlkkjPG-Q8vWnN_FeO1Vryx0AVT9-lMcNW0Q7Pfsc5qrw/s320/DSC03851.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496756853232081634" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Lincoln's Home</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlhJH4KxG9l_K8Q3E50nPMnipNQVRCEchVTMgDzWgwdPXcnKWZJDhwHLLFwNcrxf5NHKTwwg7P9GVeWlbPqEbsIntzP4N-KwOV-e-X0EhXQAgme5cibfthcqUINVpWeeJteA6WA/s1600/DSC03848.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlhJH4KxG9l_K8Q3E50nPMnipNQVRCEchVTMgDzWgwdPXcnKWZJDhwHLLFwNcrxf5NHKTwwg7P9GVeWlbPqEbsIntzP4N-KwOV-e-X0EhXQAgme5cibfthcqUINVpWeeJteA6WA/s320/DSC03848.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496756847241465890" /></a><br /><br />Springfield is only about 3 hours outside of Chicago, so we thought we would have an easy drive on in to town. Wrong. I can't say what happened exactly, but that three hour drive stretched into much more than that! We didn't end up in Chicago until about 6 o' clock that evening! The good news is that along the way, the rental agent for our apartment in Chicago called and informed us that there had been a bit of a mixup in the rental and we had been upgraded to an apartment with a much better location. So, it worked out well for us and we were excited to get to town!<br /><br />It turned out that the rental agent knew what she was about. Our apartment was located in the Gold Coast neighborhood and was about a half of a block from the beach and the same distance from the Magnificent Mile. We didn't really even need to use the El to get around since most things were within walking distance from our place. This was a good thing too because we had Penny (and sometimes Vivi) in the stroller and stairs and strollers are bitter enemies. Despite our three little handicaps, we did manage to see a good bit of the town and we even got a little bit of rest. But, on our way home, Blake and I came to the conclusion that maybe next year we could look into some kind of all-inclusive beach vacation!<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi009ijpZDGBlNvemGZvBFMkclQbae2TnyxqTLFv9YR7xFNFshehthT2XLkFgwOeC4bEvcJB6tefqAVH-UJzCM7lzw4PjGY_UQT0VaNmp3R5rrwAd5GhnjgthG5la5b4o50d1Uu8Q/s1600/DSC03871.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi009ijpZDGBlNvemGZvBFMkclQbae2TnyxqTLFv9YR7xFNFshehthT2XLkFgwOeC4bEvcJB6tefqAVH-UJzCM7lzw4PjGY_UQT0VaNmp3R5rrwAd5GhnjgthG5la5b4o50d1Uu8Q/s320/DSC03871.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496759138772228386" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Penny B.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLpQm4rXqdOd11I5jRI32cKeW8A0r4JdoI3pfFJeshyphenhyphenaZ0BJ-0H1uTXv2UwbHlUlYZDat0zSEeu6Z8yxGurgJQk4NrQcmgNv0-uHCPDN6zhlDopnH435M3F6FT-KbvCyPKQ6LpQ/s1600/DSC03870.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLpQm4rXqdOd11I5jRI32cKeW8A0r4JdoI3pfFJeshyphenhyphenaZ0BJ-0H1uTXv2UwbHlUlYZDat0zSEeu6Z8yxGurgJQk4NrQcmgNv0-uHCPDN6zhlDopnH435M3F6FT-KbvCyPKQ6LpQ/s320/DSC03870.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496759136575423122" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Girls at a Navy Pier Restaurant</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsx3UFnQZn8PF2ImUt2x-8zEzKCMVpeYfAOGkX8E52Wjk1DFtThHXVFQDnoc9vM2X3wR46qhPWRvB5Lknl0SkgqnqZOv-rAbTZf1tKXLTuF17Oy8bxlPre_GvMkuo4W6Piw0EfCQ/s1600/DSC03863.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsx3UFnQZn8PF2ImUt2x-8zEzKCMVpeYfAOGkX8E52Wjk1DFtThHXVFQDnoc9vM2X3wR46qhPWRvB5Lknl0SkgqnqZOv-rAbTZf1tKXLTuF17Oy8bxlPre_GvMkuo4W6Piw0EfCQ/s320/DSC03863.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496759128450195890" /></a><br /></div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-51931489715822405842010-07-08T20:25:00.002-05:002010-07-08T20:58:29.085-05:00No Thank You, I'm FullFirst, let me say, I love to cook. I love everything about cooking, the equipment, the recipes, the wine that I drink while I assemble dishes. Besides being a better, more nutritious way to eat, it's a bit of a stress reliever to be in the kitchen, alone. Most of the time, I turn on the radio, sing along with whatever happens to be playing and I let the sauteing and mixing take me away. <div><br /></div><div>As I'm sure you've figured out, this is going somewhere. Specifically, this is all leading up to what I DON'T love about cooking and that is the clean up. Somewhere between raw inputs and final product, I manage to completely destroy my kitchen. Cabinet doors are flung open, every dish is streaked with sauce or juice from freshly chopped vegetables. Forks and spoons stand at attention in jars of minced garlic or pesto. Mixing bowls are stacked in the sink, the topmost bowl stuffed with measuring spoons, knives and spatulas. The floor is sticky and stained black in places (I have not figured out where this brownish-black stain comes from). By the time I serve dinner, my kitchen looks as if I prepared supper under heavy artillery fire. </div><div><br /></div><div>Most nights, Blake cleans the kitchen and I don't have to deal with the entire mess myself. I try to at least get the the dishes scraped and I usually sweep and mop. But still... It's hard to believe that a meal with only a few ingredients can cause such complete destruction. Often, after we finish a meal, Blake and I will stand in amazement and wonder at just how thoroughly gargantuan the mess is.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, my completely logical conclusion is that it makes no sense whatsoever for Americans (OK, just the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Doerr</span> family) to eat three meals a day. Really, why three? Just feeding myself and my kids takes up most of my day and energy. If I'm not cooking a meal, I'm cleaning up the remnants of one. If I'm not doing either of these things, I'm probably working up a grocery list or on my way to the grocery store to <i>buy</i> food. When I look at my credit card bill at the end of the month, I just can't believe that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Wal</span>-Mart takes such a big bite out of our monthly income. I'm so over it!!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure what I'm going to do about this issue, but I can say that something has to change. For one, I'm not exactly the skinniest person I know. So, I could probably knock off one meal a day and save myself some prep/clean-up time and get on down to my fighting weight. Further, I think I am going to establish a open/closed schedule for the kitchen to cut down on mess. Every time I look up, the kids are trying to get in the pantry for snacks (I say trying because I installed a child proof doorknob cover to keep the wee <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">beasties</span> out of there). Beyond that, I guess I will just have to come up with some new ideas and do some experiments to figure out what works for us. Actually, whatever I come up with really only needs to work for ME, unless of course someone else in this house wants to take over meal prep...</div><div><br /></div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-33196861982516267162010-06-17T09:16:00.007-05:002010-06-21T15:31:48.984-05:00Conversation with a FriendAbout a month ago, I attended the Jimmy Buffett concert in Frisco, TX. I went with my sister and her husband and we made a day of it. We tail-gated all day and then headed over for the concert that evening. I couldn't believe how easy it was to move around without the girls. I missed them, but I was surprisingly clear headed for the first time in a long, long time.<br /><br />Sitting at the concert, I reacquainted myself with the Jimmy's music. I've always identified with it, though probably not for the reasons one would suspect. I'm no beach bum. While I like the idea of a low key, sitting around kind of lifestyle, I can't do it. My brain just doesn't know how to process down time. It usually turns on me and conjures up all sorts of things to worry about or lament. But, besides Jimmy's obvious "I like the beach and mixed drinks" type of songs, there are so many that make a point that resonates with me. <span style="font-style:italic;">When the Coast is Clear</span> is such a song. This lyric in particular:<br /><br />That's when it always happens<br />The same time every year<br />I come down to talk to me<br />When the coast is clear<br /><br />Hello mister other me<br />It's been a long long time<br />We hardly get to have these chats<br />That in itself's a crime<br /><br />So tell me all your troubles<br />I'll surely tell you mine<br />We'll laugh and smoke and cuss and joke and<br />Have a glass of wine<br /><br />This is a song that, when I heard it, I instantly recognized and appreciated. I am a person who spends a significant amount of time in my own head, thinking, pondering, working through problems. So, I completely understood the sentiment expressed in this song. But, and this may be the brilliance of Jimmy, I hadn't thought of it in the same metaphorical terms. It's such a pleasant idea, sitting down with oneself and taking stock of life, problems, triumphs. Surely, aside from possibly my mother, there is no other person to whom I can truly reveal myself without fear of judgement. I can actually tell myself the truth, the complete unedited, not-for-kids version of it. Conversations with myself are free, easy and without social boundaries. <br /><br />Of course, no good thing is without a few drawbacks. In my case, if I have too much free time to let my mind wander, I tend to get moody and withdrawn. This could either be a side effect from "unedited" truth or it could be that any discussion with myself inevitably becomes a brainstorming session on how to solve issues in my life. In any case, it can get a bit heavy after a while and I don't think Jimmy would want that. <br /><br />So self, same time next year?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUK6TXmC552Bv52HWNH5-NpI1PQLzjDxNCZiKlwwAV_xQqCn9HZcaggEDCEJa__98XGIV-o-pcwBPgQvOQeiCM_GakQV8VCJkpjtCN6-js_loEpR8-NNX8VzePP_hXLNT3TKqNyw/s1600/DSC03680.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUK6TXmC552Bv52HWNH5-NpI1PQLzjDxNCZiKlwwAV_xQqCn9HZcaggEDCEJa__98XGIV-o-pcwBPgQvOQeiCM_GakQV8VCJkpjtCN6-js_loEpR8-NNX8VzePP_hXLNT3TKqNyw/s320/DSC03680.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485323972771111138" /></a><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me, my sister and my bro-in-law at the Buffett concert</div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-10021460821379491022010-04-16T17:47:00.005-05:002010-04-16T22:28:21.879-05:00Personal VictoryIt's funny how things work out sometimes. Recently, I was talking on the phone with my mother, no doubt treating her to another one of my endless lists of "Things That Went Wrong Today". After I had exhausted myself, my list and my mother, I mentioned to her how I was desperately in need of a personal victory; something just for me that I could be proud of. I think I went on to say something about how I used to be smart and I used to "do" things and blah, blah, blah. You know, the kind of sniveling that usually makes you want to snatch the sniveler baldheaded. I should have been ashamed of myself, but I wasn't. I felt down and done wrong and I wanted to wallow in it (or waller in it, depending on where you're from).<br /><br />I guess the Good Lord was listening, or maybe I was just due some good fortune. But, in any case, I do have to report that I recently entered the the Tulsa Library Adult Creative Writing Contest and won second place in the Informal Essay category. I was completely floored to find out that I had placed. In fact, it never entered my mind that I might win. My objective in entering the contest was simply to prove that I could set my mind to do something and then actually follow through. So, the exciting thing for me was to finish the essay and submit it. That was a battle won. To place second in the category was, well, the proverbial icing on the cake.<br /><br />I'm not sure what this experience means for me, but in the short run, I intend to spend some more time (how???) writing. I hear that there are many publications that take submissions and, if I can get my head straight, maybe I can set some goals and actually pursue writing as either a hobby or maybe even a profession. It would certainly beat the hell out of preparing tax returns!Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-91700391257890227052010-01-12T21:35:00.007-06:002010-01-12T22:53:42.347-06:00Hello 2010!Another year huh? It seems I barely get used to a new year and it's over. I probably just shouldn't get too comfortable when a new year rolls around because it's always the same. It arrives with much fanfare, but bit by bit, it slips by me in a blur. Or maybe, and I'm not sure I'm wrong, 2009 was just one of those years that makes your head spin. <br /><br />I think it (2009) started out pretty well. All my loved ones made it safely into the new year, everyone here and accounted for. I think maybe some of them rang in the new year in far flung places, but that's not so unusual. January was uneventful and not really too memorable. At least that must be true since I can't remember anything big happening around that time. Likewise, February started out pretty well. What I can remember is my sister and me phoning back and forth, planning our ski trip. We were so excited. It had been so long since we had traveled anywhere together and probably even longer since we had skied together. Yeah, it was going to be great.<br /><br />What started out as a perfect getaway ended up as one of the major turning points of my life. Yeah, I know. It was just a ski trip, but it kicked off a year long karmic ass whooping that I'm not embarrassed to say really rung my bells. To start off, the mountain chewed me up and spit me out. Granted, I am no daredevil skier, but I'm also not one of those skiers that jumps on a black and snowplows all the way down. I can ski, I just don't tear ass down the mountain like some people I know. Anyway, for some reason, I was using every skill I ever had to get down the blue run from the top. It was so steep and my vertigo (crippling fear of heights) was really kicking in. I made it down the run several times, but a little after lunch, I called for a ride back to the condo. As an aside, my skiing buddies were having some issues too. Erin bit it a couple of times and Michael ended up in the creek. But, luckily, no one was hurt (in Michael's defense, he <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> snowboarding and that bridge was really narrow).<br /><br />That night, for some mysterious reason (this is foreshadowing), I was a bit nauseous and didn't much feel like eating. This nice little affliction carried on through the night and I really did not feel like skiing that next day. OK, no worries. I had a three day pass, so the next day would be great for skiing. Uh, no. I was much sicker the next day. If I weren't such a lifelong devotee of biscuits, I do not think I could even look at one now. I just remember eating a tasty, flaky pile of heaven and then running full speed into the bathroom to surrender it to the porcelain god. <br /><br />Yikes, I thought. I must be getting so old that I can't deal with the altitude anymore. In retrospect, it is so funny to me that I would have been willing to diagnose myself with Ebola before pregnancy ever even crossed my mind. I was so sure that it was impossible for me to get pregnant (damn your sweet lies Mirena) that my mind didn't even go there. My sister even flippantly said something like, "Maybe you're working on baby number three, hooker" (this is how we talk to each other. It's all in good fun). No, I said, it's not possible. According to Mirena, I have about a .001% chance of getting pregnant. Ha, ha, not an issue.<br /><br />Wrong.<br /><br />So, February closed with me expecting my third baby. This would not have been a really big deal if I hadn't just had my second baby. I mean, I have my pride and it definitely took a beating when people would see my large self, my four year old and my infant around town. To me, it seemed that everyone was judging. Is that lady crazy? Doesn't she know how this happens? As an aside, has that particular "joke" ever been funny? Maybe if you are not the pregnant one... I admit, not happily, that I actually at times arranged outings so that I only had one of my kids with me. I guess I thought maybe people could be happy for me if I only had one other small child. Add another baby and all I got were inquisitive stares and curious onlookers. The same looks usually reserved for fat ladies in terry cloth tube tops and goth kids with face piercings. Or, maybe I exaggerate. But, that's how it felt to me.<br /><br />The rest of the year was a blur. There were trips to Austin, Ft. Worth and Gulf Shores. We had a great time visiting friends and family. The girls had a wonderful time on the beach in Alabama and Blake and I sat in the sand and took in the view. I'm fairly sure that there is very little in life that can compare to watching your children, happy and fearless, running headlong into the surf. Sitting there, I think I was a bit jealous of their unencumbered joy. <br /><br />In my memory, the summer days passed quickly. But, I suspect that at the time I felt that the heat would never end. I know that being pregnant during the hottest part of the year was difficult for me. Remember, I was still carrying Vivian around for much of the time since she only started walking in April or May. So, she preferred being carried. If you are keeping score, that would mean my old bones were lugging around at least forty extra pounds between the baby and Vivian. And, not that you need reminding, it was at least 95 degrees most days!<br /><br />Once September hit, the year skipped a few beats. If I think about it, I feel like I was tooling around at a normal speed and then Whoosh! I hit warp speed. Before I knew it, I was told to go to the hospital because Penny was on her way. I was ready, but then maybe not. We dropped the older girls off with a friend and headed for St. Francis. This time though, I was playing it smart. Determined not to languish in the hospital begging for scraps, I demanded to be taken somewhere to eat. All you first timers out there beware. No one will feed you once you go to the maternity ward. So, be sure to hit Taco Bell before you check in. My particular poison was Popeye's. I had a tasty chicken strip meal complete with mashed potatoes and a biscuit (this biscuit thing seems to be a theme).<br /><br />I think I checked in some time after lunch and Penny arrived at 10:37pm. Most of you know that story, so I won't retell it. But, I guess it was a fit ending to a pregnancy that started out all drama. I'm finally alright with the ordeal, but I wasn't for quite a while. I will boldly admit that I often discounted new moms' feelings of inadequacy or disappointment when their pregnancies ended with C- sections. Oh how I hate it when life chooses to correct my assumptions and destroy my feelings of security. I can truly understand and empathize now. Yes, karma, I have been taken down a peg. You win, you temperamental little bitch.<br /><br />But, all's well that ends well. If I take stock now, I can say that I started the year with a wonderful husband and two lovely girls. I end the year with that same wonderful husband, three lovely girls, a seven inch scar across my lower abdomen, a healthy fear of ever feeling like I have life figured out, and a really nervous and upset mother (her girls really wore her out this year). I look forward to the future and to an exciting 2010. Because really, if I admit it, 2009 wasn't a bad year. It was a good year disguised as a life lesson and I survived it, mostly intact.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9cfRsaiukjEVwIkFry_Sor5xNvlZOMumUCTPyL7A1zjZ2QMfRIdFcMo5Dd74QM5ZKdUMKfHdrUJhbEbuPcyrd9gUy0aIsz4Ulbmeb6fqG2RJc0wtFsHSDn2sNAc5uaSEqwrM3g/s1600-h/300.jpglargethumb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9cfRsaiukjEVwIkFry_Sor5xNvlZOMumUCTPyL7A1zjZ2QMfRIdFcMo5Dd74QM5ZKdUMKfHdrUJhbEbuPcyrd9gUy0aIsz4Ulbmeb6fqG2RJc0wtFsHSDn2sNAc5uaSEqwrM3g/s320/300.jpglargethumb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426082775710806242" /></a>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-16655824053181935062009-10-19T13:30:00.006-05:002009-10-20T13:38:37.312-05:00It Went Off the RailsI think maybe enough time has passed that I can write a bit about Penelope Blair's arrival. It took some time since nothing went the way I expected it to. Actually, the mere fact that I was expecting a third baby proves that sometimes life just does it's own thing with or WITHOUT your permission. Following that principle, Penny's birth was equally traumatic and, I can honestly say, took me completely by surprise.<br /><br />When I found out about baby number three, I could not have been more shocked. Even though I had been through the process twice, it still floored me. The very idea that I could be pregnant (AGAIN!) never even occurred to me despite clear signs which pointed to the obvious conclusion. It was just that far out of my realm of possibilities. But, despite having no real desire to be pregnant (AGAIN!), I was Penny's mom from the moment it all sank in. I was instantly terrified that I would miscarry or that it would all turn out to be an ectopic pregnancy (which is a real possibility if you conceive with an IUD in place). All I wanted to hear was that the pregnancy was healthy. The sonogram showing a tiny beating heart was so gorgeous to me. There she was, despite my best efforts. And I loved her.<br /><br />Coming to terms with having a new baby wasn't totally easy. I already had a baby to care for. Vivi was only 10 months old when I realized that Penny was on her way. Plus, there was Catie, my first baby love. How was I going to split my time between them all without short changing anyone, especially Vivi who would be forever in the middle? The one most likely to fall through the cracks. I felt guilty about ending her time as the "baby" so quickly. <br /><br />There was one bright spot though that kept me excited and enthusiastic about the new baby. I couldn't wait for the "moment" when, amid all the chaos, time would stop and there she would be. All the effort and misery would instantly and forever be completely worth it. Waiting for that time fitted each moment until then with anticipation and impatience. So many times I played it over in my head and thought that I was actually lucky to have this chance one more time.<br /><br />I should have known that counting on something renders it less likely to happen. In my case, I didn't get the moment that I had looked so forward to for so long since, as my title suggests, the whole thing went off the rails at the last minute. Despite having had a totally healthy pregnancy, it seems my body decided to go completely crazy during labor. I was a few hours into a normal labor when I suffered an abruption. This put both the baby and me in a precarious situation which called for an emergency c-section. While I wasn't really scared at that point (thanks to an incredibly competent and calm doctor), I was in enough pain to fell an elephant. So, when the doctor told me that she would have the anesthesiologist knock me out, I was totally on board with her recommendation. <br /><br />With very little adieu, I was whisked away to the operating room. Blake wasn't allowed to go in with me since I was going to be completely anesthetized and, I assume, the emergency nature of the situation didn't allow for wasting time. In retrospect, I am glad that no one was in there with me. I was rolled onto the operating table, my arms were strapped to bars that folded out from the table and a drape was thrown up in front of my face all in about 20 seconds. I think anyone who loved me would have been scared completely s*!#less had they been in there. Luckily, after putting up a fairly pitiful fight against the oxygen mask (claustrophobia), I was out. <br /><br />I don't know how long I was under, but it seemed as if I went out and came back instantly. The only difference between before and after was the literally gut wrenching pain from the operation. My first sight on coming out of anesthesia was my doctor telling me that "your baby is beautiful". My reaction was, "OK, go get my mama!". I was crying (my usual reaction to anesthesia is to wake up sobbing like the end of the world). She arrived so quickly, I figured that she must have been standing there the whole time. I was relieved when she said exactly what I needed to hear, "Charla Carole, you are fine. You are going to be just fine. Calm down, it's all over and you are fine". When your mama tells you that you are going to be fine, well then, you ARE going to be fine. <br /><br />Blake was there with baby Penny and she <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> beautiful. She was just so, so beautiful and a balm to my soul since, once again, it had all been worth it and we were both totally fine. Well, I wasn't totally fine as I hurt like a sonofabitch, but still I <span style="font-style:italic;">would</span> be fine. I did, after all, have a demerol pump to get acquainted with, so things were looking up at that point.<br /><br />Since Penny arrived, I have for the most part been completely happy and at peace with having a third child. The only recurring bit of unhappiness for me has been dealing with the disappointment that I mentioned earlier. After having anticipated all of the joy and excitement of Penny's arrival, to have it turn into a bit of a mini nightmare has been difficult for me to deal with. In fact, as I write this, I see that I haven't totally dealt with it. It still upsets me. It hurts me that I missed all of her very "firsts": her first breath, her first cry, the first precious and irreplaceable moments that all mamas look forward to. <br /><br />Going forward, I guess the only way I can look at the whole ordeal is that Penny is a real miracle. She wasn't even supposed to happen, but here she is all perfect, tiny and full of promise. So, I will take my miracle as it came and say thank you for it. Besides, at least I can plan on being there for all of her other firsts and, if I have anything to do with it, I will be.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDiOK5BGwfFKmsU2tDZC0AysWZPzg1-IwGZ_1gt1P0CT5mVLJTNdurYjLy1w-2xF8yJzhEZN6lhQzxlQr-SycdhXVrZ820lKL2f3jIxHIc1VYUmnMVpN02nVcwu2jfSaA7qXCNA/s1600-h/of=50,590,442_3.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDiOK5BGwfFKmsU2tDZC0AysWZPzg1-IwGZ_1gt1P0CT5mVLJTNdurYjLy1w-2xF8yJzhEZN6lhQzxlQr-SycdhXVrZ820lKL2f3jIxHIc1VYUmnMVpN02nVcwu2jfSaA7qXCNA/s320/of=50,590,442_3.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394752550254769554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MezjIqgYm9Zubn7x34-Xkyp1PH977fHlj3vQjoP0zqScaceA5J95k9M4HN1EfsqFMpe2Aqkb21Cy1dIuxSar01oInsmElzPiSt-RbvdJXw7raORksJo2uD4zWPZ3BjMNRcOaNw/s1600-h/of=50,590,442_2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MezjIqgYm9Zubn7x34-Xkyp1PH977fHlj3vQjoP0zqScaceA5J95k9M4HN1EfsqFMpe2Aqkb21Cy1dIuxSar01oInsmElzPiSt-RbvdJXw7raORksJo2uD4zWPZ3BjMNRcOaNw/s320/of=50,590,442_2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394752541014482098" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstoJzF_-7TIHAAFWy_HtAS24yB9KpmUEjuHId4ANBNVUSWhScLCiDG5TQUWeIB9ZFWYNvCfJRCboLSULy2YrITZPIeuD9N5HNK2irCFsaGuayaXfLVuWKv1IBjos1z0eMbY-Pow/s1600-h/of=50,590,442.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstoJzF_-7TIHAAFWy_HtAS24yB9KpmUEjuHId4ANBNVUSWhScLCiDG5TQUWeIB9ZFWYNvCfJRCboLSULy2YrITZPIeuD9N5HNK2irCFsaGuayaXfLVuWKv1IBjos1z0eMbY-Pow/s320/of=50,590,442.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394752534087994162" /></a>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-56822226574024688752009-07-28T21:22:00.004-05:002009-07-28T21:49:34.639-05:00Cherries!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTfTJOSJJf4AAdjkMXLWdChNz9pA8IbtRyiT22j8Ssp8S5191S-FJWJWbGgv-UP4D_4IkVSZUstrmOr5N-7ckiry99S5CVEZhsMA7thTnxiwHBvDb__3QG9Kpu4IRrV19piYJqZg/s1600-h/DSC03011.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTfTJOSJJf4AAdjkMXLWdChNz9pA8IbtRyiT22j8Ssp8S5191S-FJWJWbGgv-UP4D_4IkVSZUstrmOr5N-7ckiry99S5CVEZhsMA7thTnxiwHBvDb__3QG9Kpu4IRrV19piYJqZg/s320/DSC03011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363702111743000594" /></a><br /><br />I am not sure what started it, but for some reason I've expanded my cooking skills and have started canning. I fully acknowledge the low coolness factor of this new activity, but I started feeling bad about all of the summer produce that just gets passed by. Or worse, I buy fresh fruits and vegetables and they go bad before I use them. So, I thought, maybe I could go Old School and try canning. Turns out, it's pretty easy. Granny used to spend a fair number of hours preserving and "putting up" the summer vegetables from her TWO gardens. It seemed to me then to be such an ordeal. But, now I can see how putting hours into tending a garden might motivate you to store up all of your hard work for the winter. <br /><br />Basically, you make whatever it is you desire (jam, jelly, whatever) and then you put it a Mason jar, slap a lid on it and boil the bejesus out of it in a canner. The tough part, which is crucial in each step, is dealing with all of the boiling hot equipment. You have to keep the jars, lids and rings in hot water while you prepare the food. This is so that when you pour hot veggies, food, etc, into the jar, it doesn't break. I suspect that there is a sterilization component here too. But, really, you should have done that already. I have scalded myself a couple of times. <br /><br />So far, I have canned some apple butter and and some cherries. I love cherry cobbler, cherry crisp, cherry anything, so I thought I might get a kick out of baking this winter with my specially prepared cherries. I will let you know how that turns out. The apple butter, I am proud to say, has been a success. I am pretty sure that it won't make it to winter. But, that's OK. I will definitely make some more of that.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbE4Sxl_5-Wp_Ctps_aaJmM8LprMUif2AsSSjT3bsmiqlb70cb0Xlki7EGk0RiwevTeq-X3ISsJMM2rGSRwP0LLLsACmYSHut4lQkz8h-Fny4GTcScLPcVo9qzHNJjXx7p8Z7Sg/s1600-h/DSC03015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbE4Sxl_5-Wp_Ctps_aaJmM8LprMUif2AsSSjT3bsmiqlb70cb0Xlki7EGk0RiwevTeq-X3ISsJMM2rGSRwP0LLLsACmYSHut4lQkz8h-Fny4GTcScLPcVo9qzHNJjXx7p8Z7Sg/s320/DSC03015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363702115875044946" /></a><br /><br />This cherry crisp is what resulted from my latest attempt at canning. After I pitted all the cherries, I decided that since no one is promised another day, maybe the cherries would be put to better use in a crisp. I was SO right. In fact, it was so good, I think I will just pass along the recipe. This is from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything. If you don't have this cookbook, I would strongly encourage you to get it. It is not only a fantastic cookbook, but it's really a cooking reference. If I want to try cooking something new, I usually grab that book first and work from there. Love it!<br /><br />To Prepare Fruit:<br />2 - 3 pounds fruit (blueberries, cherries, apples, whatever)<br />1/2 tsp cinnamon<br />1 TBSP Brown sugar<br />juice of 1/2 of a lemon<br />2 TBSP cornstarch or flour if you are using a watery fruit (like cherries)<br /><br />Crisp:<br />5 TBSP Butter cut into small pieces<br />1/2 cup oats<br />1/2 cup flour <br />2/3 cup brown sugar<br />dash of salt<br /><br />Toss the fruit with the cinnamon, sugar, lemon juice and cornstarch. Spread it lightly in a greased 8-inch square or 9-inch round pan.<br /><br />Combine all other ingredients. You can either pulse them in the food processor or you can use a pastry blender to mix. I just use the pastry blender because it's easy and less to clean up. The mixture should look like crumbs when you are finished with this step. It does not need to look uniform. Spread this over the top of the fruit and bake 30-40 minutes. Serve hot with cream or vanilla ice cream. There is nothing better...Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-73362178710920273112009-06-26T11:37:00.004-05:002009-06-26T12:02:05.336-05:00No! It's Mine!I'm sorry to say that I finally fell behind in my attempt to post a new blog every Wednesday. But, in my defense, I had a good reason. I was in Norman being a good sister, sitting bedside while my sister had her gall bladder removed. I am very happy to say that she is a tough bird and is recovering quite nicely. But, sadly, I was in no mood to sit at my computer and write when I got home Wednesday evening. I was really, really irritated about the sorry state of I-35, both north and south bound. It took the rest of my evening to vent to Blake about how no one should be expected to drive on that crap piece of "road". Blake's Bose noise canceling earphones should be here anyday...<div><br /></div><div>So, family emergencies having been dealt with, it's back to the grind here on the farm. With all due respect to my sister, I did thoroughly enjoy just hanging out with my family on surgery day while Blake dealt with the girls. I haven't had a break from my not-so-benevolent dictators in several weeks and it was nice to just let it all go. Plus, it was way fun to hang out with my sister, even though she was not having such a good time. But, with my family, the crazier the situation, the better. All the best jokes and one-liners get going when we all get nervous.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I think I should start circling back around to what I really wanted to discuss in this post and that is the fact that my girls seem to think that anything that I have is much, much more desirable than anything they have. This is especially true when it comes to drinks. For some reason, a certain number of people in this house are obsessed with tea. If I poured it in the toilet, they would grab a straw and go at it. I don't know what it is. I mean, I like tea as much as the next person, but really? There are practically hair pulling fights over glasses of tea!</div><div><br /></div><div>So, it goes without saying, if I should attempt to drink a glass of tea, a couple of short people who live here come running. I don't know if they have some kind of tea sensor or what, but even if I pour some tea and hide my glass somewhere, they can find it and demand their share. With Viv, it's especially irritating because she plants her feet, drops her pacifier, points and grunts until you are willing to just give her the tea jug and walk away. Cayton is a little more stylish in her approach, opting to sidle up to the tea glass while I am not looking. Later, when I reach for my glass, I find only an empty vessel with half melted ice. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am afraid that this behavior is going to bleed over into other areas. For instance, they generally like to eat whatever is on MY plate. If I sit down, suddenly that is the hottest property in the house. My jewelry is irresistible and I won't even get started on my phone or my computer.</div><div><br /></div><div>God knows, I love my babies to distraction, but I think I am going to have to put a stop to this constant claim staking of my property. I don't have that much left that is mine and I know where this will eventually lead in the end. They will take everything I have until they get to the very last and most precious of my possessions: my sanity (such as it is).</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4WMUl3WHtcsf7Mp57LAoltlyfNoTwGx4Hg_2UK_EI8OHK06k45exiBBEki_sw8TjmUCjpLohnsq4uWidA6GOBYbNKUi_GzkNEoTEWYZqHLwex2wxARAyTzoJvU1qKUwWDF_BOg/s1600-h/Vivi+and+tea.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4WMUl3WHtcsf7Mp57LAoltlyfNoTwGx4Hg_2UK_EI8OHK06k45exiBBEki_sw8TjmUCjpLohnsq4uWidA6GOBYbNKUi_GzkNEoTEWYZqHLwex2wxARAyTzoJvU1qKUwWDF_BOg/s320/Vivi+and+tea.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351682435152883666" /></a>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-76757049369458105762009-06-17T14:20:00.002-05:002009-06-17T14:21:29.838-05:00Five Wonderful Hours<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times;"><div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; ">Thanks to some cajoling from my brilliant husband, I enrolled the girlies in a summer preschool program. Now, every Wednesday, I have five beautiful hours all to myself. Initially, when B mentioned this idea, I was resistant. It had something to do with my natural reluctance to agree with him on most topics and then I also thought it was a bit of a waste of money. After all, didn't I quit my job to stay home and spend time with my girls? Obviously, it had been a while since I had time to myself and I had forgotten the almost obscene luxury of being able to think only of myself. Needless to say (but I will anyhow), time alone is worth the cost. <div><br /></div><div>Now, on Tuesday evenings, I start thinking about what I'm going to do with my time. Should I call a friend and go to lunch? Should I spend some time working on my hobbies? What will I ever do with all the time??? See, when there is actual quiet time, my brain goes crazy. It's almost like that feeling you get when you have a really big gift certificate to spend. The sheer number of possibilities is overwhelming. I often find that I get analysis paralysis since I feel as though anything I decide to do ought to be grand given that Wednesdays don't just happen everyday.</div><div><br /></div><div>As you can guess, one thing I've decided to do is write a little on this blog. I am hoping to contribute a little more regularly than I have in the past. Considering the fact that I can actually think in such beautiful silence, maybe I won't have too much trouble sticking to my new routine. But who knows? Maybe I'll just take a nap instead.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div></span>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-82784583792701920682009-06-10T13:23:00.007-05:002009-06-10T13:39:51.851-05:00Doerrs Go To the Beach - Days 2-7<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3IsbmP2ZZxz4MdZ9yyRDxnrCu7J_Eb0a6pVkSBlAHBLR9N9uYZGpd-SsAEy68YBN4n6gzOKJ9r_U5avPjzGwsj2ygLvtGT0kcA2RAuwY-LWqCDrRC6IX8MHyHVW-O8Q_cHSRGw/s1600-h/DSC02901.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3IsbmP2ZZxz4MdZ9yyRDxnrCu7J_Eb0a6pVkSBlAHBLR9N9uYZGpd-SsAEy68YBN4n6gzOKJ9r_U5avPjzGwsj2ygLvtGT0kcA2RAuwY-LWqCDrRC6IX8MHyHVW-O8Q_cHSRGw/s320/DSC02901.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345767102420800146" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgYO_KW99TTEQVfBgXpJqi_5gBgco5bNFbTJW7VKHXPud6Z66cFcS95YUOIxB9QzCJ1v4X4y1tlgxSXnW0V9nTyvLhN7xYfPKSniXoxLaYnJ9iR3GiHhgAeEfcCmH2I-FBj0bsg/s1600-h/DSC02894.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgYO_KW99TTEQVfBgXpJqi_5gBgco5bNFbTJW7VKHXPud6Z66cFcS95YUOIxB9QzCJ1v4X4y1tlgxSXnW0V9nTyvLhN7xYfPKSniXoxLaYnJ9iR3GiHhgAeEfcCmH2I-FBj0bsg/s320/DSC02894.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345767099315679474" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfXoYhJ3iAC7GtYMbLi1_fCIDMFGbCaux5yibt7BIUmLxUGuD1e1bMGLyUbduhR0XTn7lu_GwzRkTW70SbLsEznrdQKvkTPt8jSvQSTDhHX_i1O2qCogad-jEaR8noPbur9OuAtw/s1600-h/DSC02936.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfXoYhJ3iAC7GtYMbLi1_fCIDMFGbCaux5yibt7BIUmLxUGuD1e1bMGLyUbduhR0XTn7lu_GwzRkTW70SbLsEznrdQKvkTPt8jSvQSTDhHX_i1O2qCogad-jEaR8noPbur9OuAtw/s320/DSC02936.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345767097221490978" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVNXI9j8cKHmuTlPENgzqENzPnIm-v1FqHUOwF8AAFYH0tujIu-MauLojboCe1Qbyyatch6sXeLwTqkhsClfxlTEDWYMQ4iaCR7E1wwdpOmNswupUy8ByTjGk23JZp8i4SSwrMw/s1600-h/DSC02923.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVNXI9j8cKHmuTlPENgzqENzPnIm-v1FqHUOwF8AAFYH0tujIu-MauLojboCe1Qbyyatch6sXeLwTqkhsClfxlTEDWYMQ4iaCR7E1wwdpOmNswupUy8ByTjGk23JZp8i4SSwrMw/s320/DSC02923.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345767092642149506" /></a><br /><br />This was pretty much it. We sat on the beach for a solid week and it was nice. I did learn however, that sitting for a whole week is a little much for me. While it sounds nice to have nothing else to do, it gets a bit tedious just holding down a beach chair. I think my next beach vacation will have to be somewhere near tourist attractions or other diversions. By day three, I have to get dressed and go see something. I'm just a crazy tourist and I MUST go tour something when I'm on vacation! But, it was a great relaxing week and we did actually go see Fort Morgan, which is a military installation that dates back to the 1830s and was used heavily during the Civil War. The fort was used off and on in other wars with it finally being abandoned after WWII. It was great to see it and the views were worth the work of climbing around on the old stairways.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggojqUxYY9O9UwXDnQ2I3IY2lE-m-1jh8zjzaGLWyeB9NK86p5iKDvp5gTHckaxfV9fHPSKMAvNOVFwSQUYWNdwRyq8MQRNjIQDZmRuc0CtFqb3KRpmV1uJ1mXiwBaV1qARw4xIA/s1600-h/DSC02918.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggojqUxYY9O9UwXDnQ2I3IY2lE-m-1jh8zjzaGLWyeB9NK86p5iKDvp5gTHckaxfV9fHPSKMAvNOVFwSQUYWNdwRyq8MQRNjIQDZmRuc0CtFqb3KRpmV1uJ1mXiwBaV1qARw4xIA/s320/DSC02918.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345768786482544242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNazBwDatJrYi5-ZBCkygkI4EOJgXS-w1A0GQ42H_20G8pOq89OiewH-AszNyuVjSfwjL1QBHqYhP4xP04zpOVa9qiI5U-JSaYt9vgt6_SS77dj0_wX9xrYcVQlo123YwgLrWRg/s1600-h/DSC02915.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNazBwDatJrYi5-ZBCkygkI4EOJgXS-w1A0GQ42H_20G8pOq89OiewH-AszNyuVjSfwjL1QBHqYhP4xP04zpOVa9qiI5U-JSaYt9vgt6_SS77dj0_wX9xrYcVQlo123YwgLrWRg/s320/DSC02915.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345768782330846562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SCuf2ZTpvcEvR5kRnu_2btDKSQ13_LOwQULVOC4jz-sY0QG1A4xfnwBuWP7vmrKPYUZAFTIKsLTsjydDtxowcph1UBHAT2xbs8raefW3a01LFiDKpuIabscY6ql3vm9weN8fSA/s1600-h/DSC02913.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SCuf2ZTpvcEvR5kRnu_2btDKSQ13_LOwQULVOC4jz-sY0QG1A4xfnwBuWP7vmrKPYUZAFTIKsLTsjydDtxowcph1UBHAT2xbs8raefW3a01LFiDKpuIabscY6ql3vm9weN8fSA/s320/DSC02913.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345768780072746098" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyR9M1TzS90AY0ME4YESvlq7JuzN2koU0HwWOgxYBEkwGOLfed5rV_qqPcdkd1ozqbc9tTspBTM3naxhhQVT2gig4paFLf7uNUfZ3FrvN2_ZNR11_78dSluDQCjqIPcsRM7H0ieQ/s1600-h/DSC02909.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyR9M1TzS90AY0ME4YESvlq7JuzN2koU0HwWOgxYBEkwGOLfed5rV_qqPcdkd1ozqbc9tTspBTM3naxhhQVT2gig4paFLf7uNUfZ3FrvN2_ZNR11_78dSluDQCjqIPcsRM7H0ieQ/s320/DSC02909.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345768774033391378" /></a><br /><br />After the tour of Fort Morgan, we took the ferry over to Dauphin Island. It was a beautiful place, but I was very glad that we didn't end up staying there. It seemed to me a place for locals to go to escape all of us tourists. It was extremely quiet and there weren't many restaurants or attractions. I think maybe the major pastime there would have been fishing. Don't get me wrong, I like to fish, but I don't know that the other Doerrs would have really enjoyed it too much (especially since they don't eat the stuff!).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0xZZ4Mvk1uSZVN1fCkexdTB07cbyFPHKJQYRM0See5xZyhyphenhyphengElzXYJWRPWVP7z6XGMaLYyJiorLz_jsIiQD4r8knS8kpVcm3yU6ZI34HfMb0H4uo9meurYhF6ZBqPocPyh0NOA/s1600-h/DSC02919.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0xZZ4Mvk1uSZVN1fCkexdTB07cbyFPHKJQYRM0See5xZyhyphenhyphengElzXYJWRPWVP7z6XGMaLYyJiorLz_jsIiQD4r8knS8kpVcm3yU6ZI34HfMb0H4uo9meurYhF6ZBqPocPyh0NOA/s320/DSC02919.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345769820804875570" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Houses on Dauphin Island<br /></div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-85259967517968788822009-05-24T20:43:00.008-05:002009-06-02T07:57:07.544-05:00Doerrs Go To the Beach - Day OneMapquest said that the one way trip from Tulsa to Gulf Shores, AL would take about 12.5 hours. I am thinking that it may take double that. Traveling with Miss Vivian is just not as simple as traveling with Catie. Miss V is not willing to just get along. In fact, she is completely committed to letting us know when she is NOT happy. Hopefully we will arrive at the beach before the end of the week...<br /><br />The first day of the trip involved a drive from Hugo, OK (we spend the night there with my parents and traded our car for their land barge so that we could haul all of the kids' gear) to Vicksburg, MS. We thought, and it turns out to have been a wise decision, that breaking the drive up into two days would be a great idea. I am so glad that we did. The total trip from Hugo to VB would have been just five and a half hours, but took more like seven with stops to let the kids run around and to switch drivers. I don't think B or I would have wanted to press on from VB to Gulf Shores, since that's another five and a half hours without stops. Ugh!<br /><br />We got to Vicksburg early enough to drive through the Vicksburg National Military Park. The park was established in 1899 to commemorate the campaign, siege, and defense of Vicksburg during the Civil War. According to Wikipedia, the park "includes 1,325 historic monuments and markers, 20 miles (32 km) of historic trenches and earthworks, a 16-mile (26 km) tour road, two antebellum homes, 144 emplaced cannons, restored gunboat USS Cairo (sunk on December 12, 1862, on the Yazoo River, recovered successfully in 1964), and the Grant's Canal site, where the Union army attempted to build a canal to let their ships bypass Confederate artillery fire." I know Wikipedia is not the most reliable source, but I went to the park and this sounds about the right.<br /><br />Anyway, here are a few pictures from our trip to the park<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtw7xqv5rse9WOmtayUwMjMJRu3pDQD74-71vM1f0h6o5oJSnUfmXj_Ciy81kufuJVG4fpHdq9oHyPfdHTiJOn_Dop5tc5WTPHtoYDcIDpe4g7utoqi-a1waTaHshRqM8iS-WAA/s1600-h/DSC02863.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtw7xqv5rse9WOmtayUwMjMJRu3pDQD74-71vM1f0h6o5oJSnUfmXj_Ciy81kufuJVG4fpHdq9oHyPfdHTiJOn_Dop5tc5WTPHtoYDcIDpe4g7utoqi-a1waTaHshRqM8iS-WAA/s320/DSC02863.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339577080382996578" /></a><br /><br />This is the Illinois monument, dedicated to the soldiers and commanding officers from -wait for it- Illinois. This building had to be modeled after the Pantheon in Rome because that is the first thing I thought of when we stepped inside. It is really an impressive building. It sits up on a hill surrounded mostly by woodland. The kids were mostly impressed by the echos of their footfalls bouncing off of the marble walls.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXeE_vkGNRbfTn49nuxP-PU8XTVZgWMHouWLMthyphenhyphensoJ49bvM8wbRH82cgNZk_WOwtlgOEMxoFoCn0OHi4wsay1AOoB3InYzl1Y9FlQ_EiX56Epy61vQRtcVDbbQa2GE-uq6mCpw/s1600-h/DSC02866.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXeE_vkGNRbfTn49nuxP-PU8XTVZgWMHouWLMthyphenhyphensoJ49bvM8wbRH82cgNZk_WOwtlgOEMxoFoCn0OHi4wsay1AOoB3InYzl1Y9FlQ_EiX56Epy61vQRtcVDbbQa2GE-uq6mCpw/s320/DSC02866.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339578491521606082" /></a>Cayton is standing near one of the columns on the front of the Illinois monument. It was really a nice view from the entrance looking out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmWojjT2EbiwJOvtIjLLWn1Y8l8AJL8eKMhPbUwCPN0G1PQgicRVyR-034tKQBCSNxxtt_SAgvsycOV9n-lLjzC82okbGBcgFc130dUrx2o5N5oPx1ac4oDJEF-jvL2x5sZs2QA/s1600-h/DSC02865.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmWojjT2EbiwJOvtIjLLWn1Y8l8AJL8eKMhPbUwCPN0G1PQgicRVyR-034tKQBCSNxxtt_SAgvsycOV9n-lLjzC82okbGBcgFc130dUrx2o5N5oPx1ac4oDJEF-jvL2x5sZs2QA/s320/DSC02865.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339578488740840514" /></a>Viv loved running around inside the building.<br /><br />Near the Illinois monument was the Shirley House. According to the park map, this is the only Civil War era building in the park. It looked really rundown and I was so disappointed that it seemed the house was being allowed to fall apart. But, as we came around to the front of the house, I saw a sign posted that detailed the Restabilization of the Shirley House. So, I am glad to know that something is being done to restore and preserve this historic house.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qZsubMdIZEWjs3bxqR-I7_WIf_SG2Jh5D9i9z2dV6XH3yyK96N8hnWe7WtNcKZK9Q1BAM6VkkXI7B305DuSmbDO_KvnOaTaQOGhiKMsskRk9JC3c5uD2lCD2nW5K1UZGzQqUKQ/s1600-h/DSC02864.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qZsubMdIZEWjs3bxqR-I7_WIf_SG2Jh5D9i9z2dV6XH3yyK96N8hnWe7WtNcKZK9Q1BAM6VkkXI7B305DuSmbDO_KvnOaTaQOGhiKMsskRk9JC3c5uD2lCD2nW5K1UZGzQqUKQ/s320/DSC02864.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342713202594020850" /></a><br /><br />We finished up the day with a drive through the historic downtown. There are so many beautiful antebellum homes in Vicksburg. I remember visiting a few of these homes on vacations with my family when I was a kid. One particular home even had a cannonball from a civil war battle lodged in a wall in the parlor! That was obviously a big memory for me since I was only nine at the time that we toured that home!<br /><br />For supper we found a great little catfish restaurant and it was just what you <span style="font-style:italic;">should</span> eat if you are lucky enough to find yourself in Mississippi. You know that you are in the right place when your main question is "Should I go for the 1/2, 3/4 or full pound of catfish?" For the record, I chose the 1/2 pound and shared it, somewhat begrudgingly, with the kids. It goes without saying that the tasty fish was accompanied by hushpuppies and fries and, of course, sweet tea. Blake had the chicken and unsweet tea. Sigh...Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-9262241562038137392009-03-11T23:28:00.002-05:002009-03-11T23:31:26.045-05:00Um, what?Um, so, this past week really beat me down. I was coasting along, dealing with life pretty well. And then, wham! Out of the blue, about five different traumatic events leveled my sense of peace. So, now, I am spending my days kind of nervous and scared, waiting for whatever is next. Hopefully it will just be something nice and easy, like maybe a girls' night out or something. Although, with my recent luck, I doubt my friends want to hang out with me right now. Guilt by association...<br /><br />Anyway, here is a quick day-by-day run down of the shite storm that hit last week.<br /><br />* Thursday, February 26, 2009: I was talking to Blake at dinner, just sort of machine gunning the conversation since I had been with the kids all day. I know, as is his custom, that he was catching about every tenth word. But, he did perk up when he heard, "I really cannot stand the taste of sweet tea right now". I think he stopped his fork about chin level, looked right at me, and said, "Oh God.You are SO pregnant".<br /><br />I was completely convinced that he was crazy, but when he pulled the car in at Walgreen's, I figured he was seriously in need of proof that he was indeed wrong. I thought that I would humor him sinceI was completely convinced that there was nothing to worry about. No problem. Fifteen minutes later, Blake was chasing me around the house trying to make sense of my hysterical gibberish. I think there was something in there about being a total hillbilly, delivering two babies in consecutive years, and how I was going to get my standard issue bubba teeth from the Hillbilly Association of America any day.<br /><br />After I calmed down just a bit, I called my sister and totally freaked her husband out when he answered the phone. As an aside, I think men are universally afraid of a hysterical crying woman. Luckily for me,my sister calmed me down a bit and then started making fun of me. For some reason, being the butt of my sister's jokes really soothes me. Maybe that's just the kind of abuse I am used to. <br /><br />* Friday, February 27, 2009: Since there were some potential issues with the pregnancy due to what was obviously a faulty pregnancy prevention method, I called the doctor. Over the next maybe five hours, I experienced what would normally unfold over several weeks at the beginning of a pregnancy. I visited the doctor, gave everyone a good laugh (and several "better you than me" moments), got an ultrasound, saw my new baby, and heard his/her heartbeat, fell in love with him/her and spent a fair amount of time in tears. To say the least, it was a little more drama than I am used to.<br /><br />*Saturday, February 28, 2009: Left town for a week.<br /><br />*Thursday, March 5, 2009: Returned to Tulsa. Noticed that Cayton was not quite right.<br /><br />*Friday, March 6, 2009: Visited the pediatrician twice with both kids. Vivi had a double ear infection. Cayton had the rotovirus (rough stomach bug)which landed her in St. Francis' Children's Hospital due to dehydration. Poor little thing was so miserable. I could tell that she was getting so, so sick because she was incoherent. I tried asking her questions, and she couldn't even answer me. Even if she wanted to, her words came out in a thin, baby whisper. <br /><br />In most cases, I wouldn't be able to talk about one of my babies going to the hospital. But, I actually was relieved when the doctor put her in because I knew that Catie girl would feel so much better. There is really nothing worse feeling than nauseous, so I welcomed the news that she would be getting some anti-nausea drugs. <br /><br />The good news is that she responded to the IV fluid and meds really well and recovered quickly. She only had to stay in the hospital overnight and part of the next day. We were all so happy to gather up our stuff and head home. Cayton was pretty excited to be going home with a brand new Leapster 2.<br /><br />So, if you are keeping track, in one week I found out that there will be a Doerr baby #3, I went on a mini-vacation, both my girls got sick and then Cayton ended up in the hospital. One week! Maybe this was the Good Lord's way of saying, "See? Being pregnant again is OK. You'll be fine." Of course, I did NOT receive an additional college fund, but I'm sure HE is working on that...<br /><br />I would like to say a special thank you to my fabulous sister and my amazing mother for helping me out through the pestilence that befell our house last week. I love you both SO much.Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-69680476056453873952009-02-09T21:25:00.003-06:002009-02-09T21:46:49.326-06:00Act II: Vivi Moves OutIt's quiet here tonight, both girls are tucked into their beds. The cats and dogs are snoozing and I am, for once today, completely alone with my thoughts. I try to avoid such situations because, invariably, I end up thinking about something that unsettles me. Either the worries of the day demand my attention or I remember something that I decided to save for later. I don't know why it's this way, since I am usually a fairly happy person. But, even so, I find that I tend toward melancholy more often than not.<div><br /></div><div>So, tonight, my issue is this. Vivi is now ten months old. Yeah, I know. It's incredible that a pregnancy can drag on for "years" and then, once the baby arrives, time begins to speed all out of control. I guess it has something to do with the fog that new parents are often in for about the first six months of a baby's life. Or maybe, it's just that there is so much to do that days pass without much notice or analysis. In any case, ten whole months have come and gone and I don't for the life of me have a clue how it happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the last couple of weeks (for Blake, the past month or so), we've been considering putting Vivi in her bedroom. She has been sleeping in a bassinet in our room since we brought her home. It was really for convenience sake since I didn't want to have to climb two flights of stairs every time she needed me during the night. But, given the length of time she's been in our room, I've gotten so used to her noises and habits; her little bald head peeking at us from the crib when she wakes and immediately stands up to survey the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sure every mother can relate to the well of tears that is ever present and ready to breach the levy when a child takes a new step. It doesn't really matter what that step it is, it's just that every step is a step away. I remember when Cayton was little and I thought that no one explained to me that the hard part of parenting is not the physical work, but the emotional. </div><div><br /></div><div>I mentioned that to my mother, who incidentally has not gotten over me leaving home two years early, and she just laughed. Then, she said, in her special Gwen way, "It's a real ass kicker, isn't it?"</div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-74781279475765648642009-01-13T22:24:00.005-06:002009-01-13T22:33:58.704-06:00Christmas at the Doerrs'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJsKVOeBgzqyRBqJCJPRjpOC3Wh7hS58PoowgmqAm4nIWcZcTVKR8yaRafPuFVeKF5Hxx9AKVIDUx-6eZ3OrQPlwXgK7RbfgHh1T7mJEHcnGs5UVHIZne3q3K9en9Ffn_ed5z6mg/s1600-h/DSC02407.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJsKVOeBgzqyRBqJCJPRjpOC3Wh7hS58PoowgmqAm4nIWcZcTVKR8yaRafPuFVeKF5Hxx9AKVIDUx-6eZ3OrQPlwXgK7RbfgHh1T7mJEHcnGs5UVHIZne3q3K9en9Ffn_ed5z6mg/s320/DSC02407.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291002091977318946" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIb1xecMG8IL5DFNs6gZu3ShO_8UXngUz0jpqWvTZWYm7d99ip8ZZA-2SCgY4zb4Eb_3JrAsp8k72QEHPtn5wyFuFMT7rsimRUM0W0alohOBjo5FMc7iPzt8vekqDahvW_S2Yh7g/s1600-h/DSC02471.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIb1xecMG8IL5DFNs6gZu3ShO_8UXngUz0jpqWvTZWYm7d99ip8ZZA-2SCgY4zb4Eb_3JrAsp8k72QEHPtn5wyFuFMT7rsimRUM0W0alohOBjo5FMc7iPzt8vekqDahvW_S2Yh7g/s320/DSC02471.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291002086235852898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6thm9C4_GX5_In54460-_n1ms0Jd1dDESI3SczcOI5gtLttL-_4D6MgjN_SlWxnpP6dc1YhyphenhyphenobWcGehHI2ozOCi9C90gU20YbPszHBurQhRq_PYpDRoT0WegTIMaL3LGsdYhH0g/s1600-h/DSC02469.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6thm9C4_GX5_In54460-_n1ms0Jd1dDESI3SczcOI5gtLttL-_4D6MgjN_SlWxnpP6dc1YhyphenhyphenobWcGehHI2ozOCi9C90gU20YbPszHBurQhRq_PYpDRoT0WegTIMaL3LGsdYhH0g/s320/DSC02469.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291001414299251186" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHTKYEQV0QDu1aAvxpvTgtCJ3z1XwFktGmtlvPfzCZPtGFQc6-Ojf-Ci8_4snoRDm7ritkAgmE2mnxfR0XUJTQ1HI_8db9G-IJJ4x58oZl27zHBjWxvk-VoNORgy5aCSsM-Gq8Q/s1600-h/DSC02493.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHTKYEQV0QDu1aAvxpvTgtCJ3z1XwFktGmtlvPfzCZPtGFQc6-Ojf-Ci8_4snoRDm7ritkAgmE2mnxfR0XUJTQ1HI_8db9G-IJJ4x58oZl27zHBjWxvk-VoNORgy5aCSsM-Gq8Q/s320/DSC02493.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291001409031551042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLj6CiJ1DXDTLXeu2wDzWJ0FKawzMIOWzapu0BdUpHZXT0DgB0gsEhk4hJIbS9XDSUpm6NUuKSRcZw1KL7CquCMGyjNzZbguOZRSEwF_p8rBqFIYkMZMPHloOBSbDukzWZmxkHA/s1600-h/DSC02460.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLj6CiJ1DXDTLXeu2wDzWJ0FKawzMIOWzapu0BdUpHZXT0DgB0gsEhk4hJIbS9XDSUpm6NUuKSRcZw1KL7CquCMGyjNzZbguOZRSEwF_p8rBqFIYkMZMPHloOBSbDukzWZmxkHA/s320/DSC02460.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291001402779847602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5PtQKiQdIBWKB5XS3WxK1vAGxDygofMjjBELpUW3RH75ZCzag8ecvHe5Xppc3quSNT1MqBXL4RF5DZWU8DNa2pFzaVeKKXWoB4uGgn4NFPBTBap83MRwnBXjeNaecSkz8D3fjA/s1600-h/DSC02490.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5PtQKiQdIBWKB5XS3WxK1vAGxDygofMjjBELpUW3RH75ZCzag8ecvHe5Xppc3quSNT1MqBXL4RF5DZWU8DNa2pFzaVeKKXWoB4uGgn4NFPBTBap83MRwnBXjeNaecSkz8D3fjA/s320/DSC02490.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291001397994689026" /></a><br /><div>It's late and I find myself feeling a bit lazier than I had anticipated. So, here are some truly random Christmas pics. Hopefully I will feel a little more motivated tomorrow and I will put these and some other pics into some kind of order. But, for now, here are a couple of cute ones.</div><div><br /></div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-10212061726566924182008-12-07T20:53:00.006-06:002008-12-07T22:06:53.521-06:00Search and RescueI am beginning to think that I will never get a good night's sleep. Not ever. Since the babies were born, there is at least one interruption to my sleep every night. One or both of the girls will wake up crying. Most times, I jump up and lull them back to sleep and then I can go back to bed. Deal with the girls and go back to bed. That's the drill. Correction, that was the drill. <br /><br />In an effort to get the most sleep possible, Blake and/or I will just put the baby or both girls in our bed when they wake up at night. Believe me, after losing way too much sleep, you will do whatever it takes just to go back to sleep. So, against our better judgement, the girls often end up sleeping in our bed. With that has come a certain amount of paranoia about the babies falling out of the bed. <br /><br />The other night, I had settled back into bed after getting up with Vivian and I was so sleepy. I snuggled down into my covers and was just about asleep when I made a crucial error. I rolled onto my side to go back to sleep and that triggered Search and Rescue Blake. There I was, happily slipping back into sleep and all of the sudden, Blake (who is totally asleep), began to mumble something barely coherent about Vivian falling off of the bed and he began what was apparently an attempt to keep her from falling off of the side of Mt. Everest. Unfortunately, Vivian was in her bed and I was the lucky recipient of Blake's heroic efforts. <br /><br />Imagine, laying comfortably in your bed when out of nowhere a 190 pound fully asleep man attempts a full body tackle to keep what he thinks is his sweet baby girl from imminent death. Driven but what is, I'm sure, blind fear, Blake was determined that no one would fall off of the bed on his watch. Sadly, I think hitting the floor full on my head would have been easier to deal with. <br /><br />As soon as I flipped to my side, I could hear him getting fired up. This has happened at least once before, so I knew the Blake was about to Sleep Rescue me. While I appreciate the thought, well, the execution really just pissed me off. After the initial tackle, he grabbed my arm. This in effect rendered my right arm ineffective. So, I had to attempt a hook with my left but since I was on my side, the result was not as powerful as I would have liked. It was, however, enough to convince a still fully asleep Blake to reconsider his strategy. At this point, I was able to land a pretty good kick. Incidentally, this only strengthened Blake's determination to save me. He rolled to one side, ducked a punch (how did he even see that coming?) and grabbed my ankle. He was pretty irritated at my lack of gratitude for his rescue efforts so he worked my ankle pretty good. <br /><br />Okay, so I was REALLY pissed at this point. I think it was about 3:45 a.m. and I had dealt with about all I could take. All I wanted was to settle in for another 2 or 3 hours of sleep before one or both of the girls woke up. Our little scuffle had devolved into a girly slap fight and I was pretty sure Blake was in for the long haul. Finally, in total frustration, I yelled something like, "Blake, I am NOT falling off of the bed and if you don't stop trying to save me from falling I'm going to punch you in the face!!!"<br /><br />Blake woke up, laughed his ass off and promptly fell back asleep. I was up the for next two hours, too pissed off to sleep. I did, however, lay flat on my back for the rest of the night...Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-28332722265173548842008-11-19T21:44:00.003-06:002008-11-19T22:03:00.064-06:00I Think This One is BrokenI specifically requested a kid that would sleep. But this one, Bivi, does not sleep much. Even though she is seven months old, she still wakes up every 2 to 3 hours at night. I was willing to deal with that type of situation for the first few months of her life, but this is getting old. And that's a pretty good night. She is obviously using all of this awake time to devise new ways to keep her daddy and me from sleeping. On Tuesday night, she went down about 8:15, slept until 1:15 and then stayed awake until 4:00. W-T-F??? <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpoxW8YZpZAn0n6NDFoL9P9nHc9gcuzrekrQG_vyC8kbGsgAOEDWzcWdqDBT7zLRezK9cPgMoo6wAmTSZ5kP-MfjmhoeaeYo3FRg9dkNeeEITLlWkwaTcCvUAc4NE8tbavs5DHQg/s1600-h/DSC02303.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpoxW8YZpZAn0n6NDFoL9P9nHc9gcuzrekrQG_vyC8kbGsgAOEDWzcWdqDBT7zLRezK9cPgMoo6wAmTSZ5kP-MfjmhoeaeYo3FRg9dkNeeEITLlWkwaTcCvUAc4NE8tbavs5DHQg/s320/DSC02303.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270584635729431874" /></a><br /><br />As punishment, I made Bivi wear this hat and I took a bunch of pictures. The kid will pay...Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-92068524022838070072008-11-10T15:40:00.005-06:002008-11-10T15:58:34.089-06:0030 Minute Meal My A$$!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2kAamFH0FctDWC4Chugt83qzatz3x653TO7sc673GD98HsThDj4fMoe_B8wPR1nrMtUxkajsWPD3OIRSLlLJiylENdCgBOPlWbM6GnVKIpPkbU7nkP4o3DNU6qowvilwFcExVg/s1600-h/DSC02296.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2kAamFH0FctDWC4Chugt83qzatz3x653TO7sc673GD98HsThDj4fMoe_B8wPR1nrMtUxkajsWPD3OIRSLlLJiylENdCgBOPlWbM6GnVKIpPkbU7nkP4o3DNU6qowvilwFcExVg/s320/DSC02296.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267149138686728930" /></a><br /><br />I have made this fancy, Rachel Ray chili a half dozen times and not once have I managed to make it in under 45 minutes. Today was an all time record though as my "sous chef" is really incompetent and we managed to take a little over an hour. However, this stuff really is tasty, so I it's worth it and it makes gallons. But, I have to say, with all the crazy ingredients this is one expensive chili. I imagine I will make sure that we eat all of it. I foresee frito chili pie, chili enchiladas, chili dogs (imagine Bubba a la Forrest Gump here...)...<br /><br />I haven't written in a while and I have lots to say, but Cayton is climbing all over me and I'm either going to freak out or I'm just going to post some pics and save my sermonizing for another time. <br /><br />Here are the pics...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfd-atimvieHhxr5-xnxRJxQdXKgMtWwp5b09QUCiEVsacGfbKUN0IlmeJk2P1CqHxjbcZqhdrqJflHXNukOsyoRx0YuvqlyhDm4u2P9GCZVFrQN_3CptzL-9jg-LHa9NHAjkihg/s1600-h/IMG_0497.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfd-atimvieHhxr5-xnxRJxQdXKgMtWwp5b09QUCiEVsacGfbKUN0IlmeJk2P1CqHxjbcZqhdrqJflHXNukOsyoRx0YuvqlyhDm4u2P9GCZVFrQN_3CptzL-9jg-LHa9NHAjkihg/s320/IMG_0497.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267150502504094706" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Ariel with my Aunt and Uncle<br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyr_RCkbAg85AND_Skaqv1jU95E5YSzWiaqfK7k35LjeNJLnQR5t4IaUOT0nuiZGp29omkmQ-dTsFFMh9NKzZKWl379WxOp6-QvwGz_SszTBlojJFb9UO6UFzRcnqsiq_se3HNCA/s1600-h/DSC02267.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyr_RCkbAg85AND_Skaqv1jU95E5YSzWiaqfK7k35LjeNJLnQR5t4IaUOT0nuiZGp29omkmQ-dTsFFMh9NKzZKWl379WxOp6-QvwGz_SszTBlojJFb9UO6UFzRcnqsiq_se3HNCA/s320/DSC02267.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267150490875859106" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The Girls and Me at the Pumpkin Patch<br /></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQABlDVplgVllUez2qZIBA_Ch_zCIcchubgoHc1YoqJiHVN9tXDj8mCeodH22yQ06r3HGAY3nnr8CgdDFnv0R2zbW9gNq3p4bEktjFqyc012svS5MVbfVxSv73SEUavrjHG38eaA/s1600-h/DSC02245.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQABlDVplgVllUez2qZIBA_Ch_zCIcchubgoHc1YoqJiHVN9tXDj8mCeodH22yQ06r3HGAY3nnr8CgdDFnv0R2zbW9gNq3p4bEktjFqyc012svS5MVbfVxSv73SEUavrjHG38eaA/s320/DSC02245.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267150482367229218" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Bivi as Princess Leia<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fqREtmllZhRK3VuYA_9RkT91h-KVlrI2oSvVtLiwueRv_hZyokGYOD_lrCxlZWajSenQeQ4kGBq0IoQqm9RbTl7r36gCeVNVssdRySjqdVTkQfRtQoeYMX0z6Crer5dMf4g0nA/s1600-h/DSC02280.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fqREtmllZhRK3VuYA_9RkT91h-KVlrI2oSvVtLiwueRv_hZyokGYOD_lrCxlZWajSenQeQ4kGBq0IoQqm9RbTl7r36gCeVNVssdRySjqdVTkQfRtQoeYMX0z6Crer5dMf4g0nA/s320/DSC02280.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267150480354386866" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Ariel<br /></div><br /></div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-6058953427350358332008-11-07T14:01:00.004-06:002008-11-07T14:06:39.084-06:00How a Three Year Old Greets Guests<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUlcc_1Hhjo8Qejgi7z5D4ZOhwpPAm0aieEn7tUkrHHCcFFeSRcV-r1puGkoDM5isMQVn9UEZhLD4FYG5ZrMbDOOHHEG-Avfygdk5W7JvFk1do3g6VwKUxIOtVnHOhbxlrvC3nvA/s1600-h/DSC02217.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUlcc_1Hhjo8Qejgi7z5D4ZOhwpPAm0aieEn7tUkrHHCcFFeSRcV-r1puGkoDM5isMQVn9UEZhLD4FYG5ZrMbDOOHHEG-Avfygdk5W7JvFk1do3g6VwKUxIOtVnHOhbxlrvC3nvA/s320/DSC02217.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266009181889510322" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AtJ-6HH16dsM9jmRjkpIQ6zVzeles58IPrTLJ_WePrjANBu1QR5OGuxXWrI6uJDr_urZ-y2aoRS_fwLOlAeiahYViwfwcjPVPgVH2lsEFTRlbwfRVpA9PF4U5zpHBm1ZeQlnzw/s1600-h/DSC02216.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AtJ-6HH16dsM9jmRjkpIQ6zVzeles58IPrTLJ_WePrjANBu1QR5OGuxXWrI6uJDr_urZ-y2aoRS_fwLOlAeiahYViwfwcjPVPgVH2lsEFTRlbwfRVpA9PF4U5zpHBm1ZeQlnzw/s320/DSC02216.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266009179108494162" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEtmbZrhwjLqZisChnplROZecmxwyX9eTRuK5bW5LK_Q_OjN7dROf3w56nPxcG4a2dCDSidJg5aBUQf91qkx1d67d77fPEkpzz5bBk1s8zPxb0uUIVQddhHQI2o3aJRLO2HHR4A/s1600-h/DSC02215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEtmbZrhwjLqZisChnplROZecmxwyX9eTRuK5bW5LK_Q_OjN7dROf3w56nPxcG4a2dCDSidJg5aBUQf91qkx1d67d77fPEkpzz5bBk1s8zPxb0uUIVQddhHQI2o3aJRLO2HHR4A/s320/DSC02215.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266009172408716658" /></a><br /><br />Cayton felt that Josh needed a serious welcome home on his last trip to the US.Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-85214795996407314252008-10-07T22:20:00.003-05:002008-10-07T22:43:18.429-05:00Experiment #1: FAIL<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3dBi1b3uW8qIkqwS2lzohnNgVFsGDSWZWnZIPnwz4fUxuVHL7_5YskLjJEkb8iTLDROUh-MIYLQq9p3VfDBGgf6Mq99RoXdn4KqkJUlzxefHrHpd-IFUBqs8B-bPKk54wue_tg/s1600-h/DSC02229.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3dBi1b3uW8qIkqwS2lzohnNgVFsGDSWZWnZIPnwz4fUxuVHL7_5YskLjJEkb8iTLDROUh-MIYLQq9p3VfDBGgf6Mq99RoXdn4KqkJUlzxefHrHpd-IFUBqs8B-bPKk54wue_tg/s320/DSC02229.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254617834231142658" /></a><br /><br />My granny was a great cook. In fact, she was so good that she could make fantastic dishes out of the most ridiculous ingredients. Actually, let me clarify. The ingredients sound ridiculous to me now. At the time, they sounded perfectly reasonable <span style="font-style:italic;">MOST</span> of the time. I almost never had a problem chowing on anything that she made for me. <br /><br />Without a doubt, my favorite ridiculous dish was vinegar pie. Granny's vinegar pie was seriously delicious. I'm not sure that is even the right word for it, but it was tasty. In fact, Bill's (that really was my Granny's name) vinegar pie got pretty famous for a bit because I have lots of cousins and once we shared it with them, it made the rounds. Anyway... The point is, it was a frickin' great pie and every time she made it, we were quick to take our places around her table, fork in hand.<br /><br />Granny has a been gone for a while, but along with all the other great memories I have of her, the vinegar pie remains one of the best. She would randomly decide to make one of these tasty pies -or, someone would have a cold and would need one-and then she would call me and let me know it was ready. I think the conversation went something like, "Boog (that's what she and Papa called me), I just made up some vinegar pies. Come on over and have some." At this point, there was no reply because I would have dropped the phone and headed out the door. By the time I got within half a mile of her house, vinegar fumes would be wafting along Bluff street and all the neighbors would have watery eyes. Mmmm, mmm, good.<br /><br />So, I failed to get her recipe before she left us. Since then, I've collected lots of versions of vinegar pie and I finally tried one about a week ago. Well, it was a big, fat fail. My version actually tasted OK, but it just wasn't right. The vinegar "sauce" was no where near vinegary enough and the rolls were not right either. FYI, Granny used to roll up dough a la cinnamon rolls and then she would pour the vinegar mixture over them and cook it all up. The important point is that ratio of dough to sauce must be right (I think this must be a general rule in Southern cooking, but maybe that might be a discussion for another time).<br /><br />My next try will have a couple of modifications. Mama has a pretty good recipe for the vinegar sauce and I think that instead of making yeast cinnamon rolls, I will make them out of pie crust so that they don't suck up all of the sauce. I imagine that the recreation of Granny's vinegar pie will take several attempts. But, that's OK. Every time I try, I will get to spend a few minutes quietly remembering and honoring a woman whose love flowed through all the food she ever made, ridiculous or not.Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-69075801901034449042008-09-14T11:25:00.010-05:002008-09-22T23:12:45.910-05:00Three Year Olds Don't Like to HikeOur recent trip to Colorado was, without a doubt, fantastic. We booked a small apartment in the attic space of a Victorian house and it was just the perfect amount of space for our little family. We had one bedroom for Cayton, a little sleeping nook for us, and a living room and full kitchen. The big kicker was a huge deck with a clear view of the Flatirons. Seriously, I don't think I can ever stay in a hotel room ever again. For the same price as a hotel, we had probably five times the space. Plus, it was right off of the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, so we could walk to just about anything we wanted to do. My travel agent skills were right on with this trip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbA3Z-hTMXQWSdlbbRqNjAJXrfF5czREyPIwFzFrQTHBlWasCqaE1c7O6rp5oVTF-3HvmwYJrJs22iqqz-jKHyC2KJjGlBzsoEF_Y_ZIcfD-URk_hhPO728sTi4RAjgFlLV-bdug/s1600-h/DSC02186.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbA3Z-hTMXQWSdlbbRqNjAJXrfF5czREyPIwFzFrQTHBlWasCqaE1c7O6rp5oVTF-3HvmwYJrJs22iqqz-jKHyC2KJjGlBzsoEF_Y_ZIcfD-URk_hhPO728sTi4RAjgFlLV-bdug/s320/DSC02186.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249057868577847986" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Our place in Boulder<br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRQUPyd2dXI7SCa-txamelmBC1ixyNL0A7VtFJ8HGHyymkSVCwj-KIfJcebd_yLbB-mmz8tZJWQdHba1Avrc7yJFZpYOUd2hunx2x2TN0ehnJkjTdVfD-qM4d2lYce6XKWwgURA/s1600-h/DSC02187.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRQUPyd2dXI7SCa-txamelmBC1ixyNL0A7VtFJ8HGHyymkSVCwj-KIfJcebd_yLbB-mmz8tZJWQdHba1Avrc7yJFZpYOUd2hunx2x2TN0ehnJkjTdVfD-qM4d2lYce6XKWwgURA/s320/DSC02187.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249057880097349474" /></a><br /><br />As the title suggests, Cayton wasn't much for hiking. We would start out on a short walk and then, ten steps in, Cayton refused to walk any further. So, either Blake or I would carry her. Initially, we would protest and tell her that big girls can walk. Apparently they can't. The real truth is that when you become a parent, you suddenly acquire the ability to lug hundreds of extra pounds around while you go about your business. So, while you are hiking up a mountain, dragging three or four bags, and pushing a stroller, it's no big deal to throw a 30 pound three year old on top of it. Anyway, here a few pics from the trip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZwtI7E8jfxSrCaWxNaRzuxEofczw62K_b7lLR-8GbHECOgcbXqJ1qvGgwzwp98paCUrC6EgTCHNU4gXlEZO2er18JGSDbGrPzD6ZfY4cmY0TMf5I8Lq5qeUf5em7XuP6Q-mA3AQ/s1600-h/DSC02142.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZwtI7E8jfxSrCaWxNaRzuxEofczw62K_b7lLR-8GbHECOgcbXqJ1qvGgwzwp98paCUrC6EgTCHNU4gXlEZO2er18JGSDbGrPzD6ZfY4cmY0TMf5I8Lq5qeUf5em7XuP6Q-mA3AQ/s320/DSC02142.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245914350234743490" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Cayton not hiking<br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90Vn8Fg8o0akjVITpFb4CojS_ee4HjPZ4ZjEXmsAw1JqKtumgzx6qAPx_9LAsoC84BPF72xgroIc_iYoXTW9c8WXwOlyaEeWmBjsO3hFYPHw1Br6qNr1hpRC76_3pjjeutWCLeg/s1600-h/DSC02145.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90Vn8Fg8o0akjVITpFb4CojS_ee4HjPZ4ZjEXmsAw1JqKtumgzx6qAPx_9LAsoC84BPF72xgroIc_iYoXTW9c8WXwOlyaEeWmBjsO3hFYPHw1Br6qNr1hpRC76_3pjjeutWCLeg/s320/DSC02145.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245914347915194114" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Cayton still refuses to hike<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDB458y9oSkoKj6JzAk2c0MP0JWWtiLMNKE7lDZMUIhGplF2JrJrb2_abzRIIEjtsdbL1SWWveMTlcaWooNA_3Yz6jDw-o-RY7cBcxBbYxEPerNmAFSjE7rW0p-sJQ5s2q0TI-g/s1600-h/DSC02106.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDB458y9oSkoKj6JzAk2c0MP0JWWtiLMNKE7lDZMUIhGplF2JrJrb2_abzRIIEjtsdbL1SWWveMTlcaWooNA_3Yz6jDw-o-RY7cBcxBbYxEPerNmAFSjE7rW0p-sJQ5s2q0TI-g/s320/DSC02106.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249052717983722962" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Cayton and me on the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder<br /></div><div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDas_k74_UShfZ32IsBEdagv_jvTeCOPKv79LTK8mXpsuo9earyGSPcB12lz999NlRJ2xWjfxBjJ62tixmYo2ebUlyFGlYwLe3wxG2EUT5SKRUond_7xH9eFD9yQs0JWZxpriumg/s1600-h/DSC02103.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDas_k74_UShfZ32IsBEdagv_jvTeCOPKv79LTK8mXpsuo9earyGSPcB12lz999NlRJ2xWjfxBjJ62tixmYo2ebUlyFGlYwLe3wxG2EUT5SKRUond_7xH9eFD9yQs0JWZxpriumg/s320/DSC02103.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249052724524044962" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">At the Pearl St. Mall<br /></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0l5gG05SYsvi-xYxaqy7guid6FSkIt84Z5a8ELseZx7gAJ43ojIjqm4f5RmfOqFb0dJiCWP9hVz9mpIMiUzVJC_6Nalb24t96zgLmYkmfvI_TrgTBLuQ3h9O5eb-C_C7qz7HIXg/s1600-h/DSC02115.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0l5gG05SYsvi-xYxaqy7guid6FSkIt84Z5a8ELseZx7gAJ43ojIjqm4f5RmfOqFb0dJiCWP9hVz9mpIMiUzVJC_6Nalb24t96zgLmYkmfvI_TrgTBLuQ3h9O5eb-C_C7qz7HIXg/s320/DSC02115.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249052726293144642" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Eating lunch in Nederland<br /></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br />We also hit the New Belgium brewery in Ft. Collins. The tour was fairly interesting, but I had trouble paying attention given that we hat the girls with us and Cayton was totally fascinated by the huge kettles used to make the beer. In particular, she liked the one that processed the mash. So, we had to keep lifting her up so that she could look into the little window on the top of the kettle and watch the giant stirring paddle thingies stir the mash. As I write this, I wonder if taking a three year old to a brewery tour is such a good idea... Anyway, the highlight of the tour was when Cayton, seeing all of the bottles of beer being herded down the conveyor belts in the bottling area of the brewery, shouted, "Hey! It's beer! Beer for Daddy! Beer for Daddy!" Very nice...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNBMa0eyOjx8y3ji7cc1iDv5mgEoQo2leyDRRBmITqnsmtc2ibaPe8NMF8j9otdwBX6yuFmh6e1FdrqOMUd2fT0g7J87PlDxjmxPQ7nJB3AWlGxbYy8ytZXAmKn6cu2C7Ecjt4w/s1600-h/DSC02170.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNBMa0eyOjx8y3ji7cc1iDv5mgEoQo2leyDRRBmITqnsmtc2ibaPe8NMF8j9otdwBX6yuFmh6e1FdrqOMUd2fT0g7J87PlDxjmxPQ7nJB3AWlGxbYy8ytZXAmKn6cu2C7Ecjt4w/s320/DSC02170.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249060340222946546" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloCDGrGhr6-dYUtJU55yh5KEmQc1OXkaluAE5Oc2zCh34KFIP1etXPKTtCHsvVCRlO-PdU6mupI-jtfKuK35UbBdco7TJ6p1ddOiPmsEJ6YGBk_ClD4ifnw3N-XWvKzMAfSkgfA/s1600-h/DSC02171.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloCDGrGhr6-dYUtJU55yh5KEmQc1OXkaluAE5Oc2zCh34KFIP1etXPKTtCHsvVCRlO-PdU6mupI-jtfKuK35UbBdco7TJ6p1ddOiPmsEJ6YGBk_ClD4ifnw3N-XWvKzMAfSkgfA/s320/DSC02171.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249060341382656402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQtBCeYBqgMg9qI2pHlk3W7MdxyaV5X8gByFevtI-1zWSPfo3ENKVGnEwtVSbKKR1QavOD9c3D0mmwms-dS4rZ36qb81WbqdVozrfix8SHCwl62Z6aMOct6QuWcl0ntHPzWsCtA/s1600-h/DSC02173.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQtBCeYBqgMg9qI2pHlk3W7MdxyaV5X8gByFevtI-1zWSPfo3ENKVGnEwtVSbKKR1QavOD9c3D0mmwms-dS4rZ36qb81WbqdVozrfix8SHCwl62Z6aMOct6QuWcl0ntHPzWsCtA/s320/DSC02173.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249060345267263490" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVmniRaZazlCD7BCQBDu_J4l68YYvrWO_QVLU1PkAtTVmdnujKJi_Jr12NBA8A9RG77vdyTt2b5qRoC8TbW4mVpIZghO28Z9Ot3dtYw6ZfNeQuu4JNxCWV_CtP3Pq0NHN22zV3Q/s1600-h/DSC02179.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVmniRaZazlCD7BCQBDu_J4l68YYvrWO_QVLU1PkAtTVmdnujKJi_Jr12NBA8A9RG77vdyTt2b5qRoC8TbW4mVpIZghO28Z9Ot3dtYw6ZfNeQuu4JNxCWV_CtP3Pq0NHN22zV3Q/s320/DSC02179.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249060342472892466" /></a><br /><br />Unfortunately, the vacation did have to end. The night before we left there was snow in the mountains. As we were driving out of the Denver area, I was able to catch a couple shots of the mountains with snow on them. It was really hard to leave Colorado.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxQBFijmg5C9bmRU_dvm6JFrUOS2ZIMGu3VNQDQ5Plvw3UllaRfpW-iQme5iuN9uLFnPDnxI9wR2IaeIOaTkbYhrJ3fZ67wHUXeHiPT87-ztm3hXd7lAj1QZA-ZonUX-G8MkCbQ/s1600-h/DSC02212.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxQBFijmg5C9bmRU_dvm6JFrUOS2ZIMGu3VNQDQ5Plvw3UllaRfpW-iQme5iuN9uLFnPDnxI9wR2IaeIOaTkbYhrJ3fZ67wHUXeHiPT87-ztm3hXd7lAj1QZA-ZonUX-G8MkCbQ/s320/DSC02212.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249062401843233106" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPj_XjJ10Bnj2f3wlZar7RxWZ9ZS4uAF0Ma6hI7U-eI0z1cZyMajqT-gbvTgZmI9o0nx3NzwXIOEXJt3sJAUQWAF-LwP0vWyMsnY2L2yh4hxsu1oJl93ey-GPyI4G0bpX-FKayA/s1600-h/DSC02213.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPj_XjJ10Bnj2f3wlZar7RxWZ9ZS4uAF0Ma6hI7U-eI0z1cZyMajqT-gbvTgZmI9o0nx3NzwXIOEXJt3sJAUQWAF-LwP0vWyMsnY2L2yh4hxsu1oJl93ey-GPyI4G0bpX-FKayA/s320/DSC02213.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249062404630168050" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdQ2rcUHjKMm7s7xMFlAShqm7CTEy75X9aBM0zK469YfBcRGo-JV3eSV9yvLeSET_Gy_doyxyQ_RMDsXXauIA1dqKnzpTk2Kh3sdCmJVDlfX2rtdY-BAbsAXI2bmPgtg_Qp-EnQ/s1600-h/DSC02214.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdQ2rcUHjKMm7s7xMFlAShqm7CTEy75X9aBM0zK469YfBcRGo-JV3eSV9yvLeSET_Gy_doyxyQ_RMDsXXauIA1dqKnzpTk2Kh3sdCmJVDlfX2rtdY-BAbsAXI2bmPgtg_Qp-EnQ/s320/DSC02214.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249062410024526066" /></a><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-87346642471621106482008-08-26T17:38:00.007-05:002008-08-26T18:05:38.128-05:00Vivi's Baptism<div>Vivian Claire Doerr was baptized this past Sunday at Asbury United Methodist Church in Tulsa. Many members of our families were on hand to help us celebrate this big day, including two great-grandparents. Vivian looked so cute in her baptism gown that Nanny (my mother) made. Her big sister wore the same one three years ago (I know, I can't believe it either). Anyway, here are some pictures from the big event.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3DdaAq05kRgmE0XaVslX8aSXYznMd6OslrTyGevH1EgD_lZRhzojL8a0155SqN_AwntTh9wu6qYNyAMsYF9Y_oJ0f1f1weH98XEPnKrm4hmC4gtGylLW9ILtcadWdIw7-k_Yqwg/s1600-h/DSC02078.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3DdaAq05kRgmE0XaVslX8aSXYznMd6OslrTyGevH1EgD_lZRhzojL8a0155SqN_AwntTh9wu6qYNyAMsYF9Y_oJ0f1f1weH98XEPnKrm4hmC4gtGylLW9ILtcadWdIw7-k_Yqwg/s320/DSC02078.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238964778943810530" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Nanny, Vivian II, Pawpaw and Cayton<br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI90rv845jbku2jtzrWNoq34Q1nie9tSp39wwQ7iXEfaNIaLevGJZcQdOwPXdBFFnErQUjWhTmaTk0nCKVMn9t18aqwTzZVTogP9MEGSaFrklMcwQaYpaLcvKQVAvK7xoTb8RXw/s1600-h/DSC02079.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI90rv845jbku2jtzrWNoq34Q1nie9tSp39wwQ7iXEfaNIaLevGJZcQdOwPXdBFFnErQUjWhTmaTk0nCKVMn9t18aqwTzZVTogP9MEGSaFrklMcwQaYpaLcvKQVAvK7xoTb8RXw/s320/DSC02079.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238964783556469314" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Doerr Family with Pastor Tom<br /></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyviL5x6AH-EY3cZ6bwS5KZiTQaURvE81ohRsiY6nUTvAc-Od5AoaQJnDO0kwb5gEC7qYlJL8YLHFV4rjWj2Xl-rtczJj5M8dbFFAbit52EmOuurhlAgyqcM5qnvzXsx4xMI6lg/s1600-h/DSC02082.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyviL5x6AH-EY3cZ6bwS5KZiTQaURvE81ohRsiY6nUTvAc-Od5AoaQJnDO0kwb5gEC7qYlJL8YLHFV4rjWj2Xl-rtczJj5M8dbFFAbit52EmOuurhlAgyqcM5qnvzXsx4xMI6lg/s320/DSC02082.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238964791501591554" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Vivian I, Cayton and Mimi<br /></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY39uD_X1tlqyzyF4lG6oPjLmp_iXWPWOIVxjoQIkzA7B800NWkCQKUwO5k0uA29mM_lkOAIoLOzpp6Tes0A61WlZDp-uS9Dt3CrXqsSSxBbV5tYtul_C2AjmFIKN3pgeXEuLf0g/s1600-h/DSC02070.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY39uD_X1tlqyzyF4lG6oPjLmp_iXWPWOIVxjoQIkzA7B800NWkCQKUwO5k0uA29mM_lkOAIoLOzpp6Tes0A61WlZDp-uS9Dt3CrXqsSSxBbV5tYtul_C2AjmFIKN3pgeXEuLf0g/s320/DSC02070.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238964265473101266" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Vivian II<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnwZbyu7JHUTTdGaiHH7NKpEekm9cEI_X_olLirg3VXMUqXBpecSoakdaNKF1XUjyAHRK1pIPxtzun1g-WNSeUSp1HdggqmcjS36ymfB6r1LpyjeL0rcJtFX3u6hSLd5nTN-YtA/s1600-h/DSC02072.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnwZbyu7JHUTTdGaiHH7NKpEekm9cEI_X_olLirg3VXMUqXBpecSoakdaNKF1XUjyAHRK1pIPxtzun1g-WNSeUSp1HdggqmcjS36ymfB6r1LpyjeL0rcJtFX3u6hSLd5nTN-YtA/s320/DSC02072.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238964270579118834" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Daddy and Vivian<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY_MxcZfF1THfl2Z74k9S1r6y6HYm5ceJleVEGxWPfh7t9Y0O65w9IhLn8L1Pq-SYI0EA_vUjqQxEypkDRji4z-pa5AJJpY_42xrNo2OZ_kz7cI9GHRxF5B-80KgFicH3fguayw/s1600-h/DSC02075.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY_MxcZfF1THfl2Z74k9S1r6y6HYm5ceJleVEGxWPfh7t9Y0O65w9IhLn8L1Pq-SYI0EA_vUjqQxEypkDRji4z-pa5AJJpY_42xrNo2OZ_kz7cI9GHRxF5B-80KgFicH3fguayw/s320/DSC02075.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238964270533618162" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Three Out of Four<br /></div><br /><br /></div>Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-1854066815491861432008-08-26T17:13:00.004-05:002008-08-26T17:31:12.817-05:00A Well Decorated Dining RoomJust a couple of pics taken on the occasion of Blake's 34th birthday. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDVFXvT9zU7fC86ZKsY8eToKa2J-I5rFB9Mfm0NtouR0FcQdQGeiHnHcJ7i5iyE5LCpxLBnQ9r7ccBJ_WZhBF0tv9hhLTkvtsnRCsnso6xxKFDggM7-_I54UygkeH3VJ_0UoOfA/s1600-h/DSC02069.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDVFXvT9zU7fC86ZKsY8eToKa2J-I5rFB9Mfm0NtouR0FcQdQGeiHnHcJ7i5iyE5LCpxLBnQ9r7ccBJ_WZhBF0tv9hhLTkvtsnRCsnso6xxKFDggM7-_I54UygkeH3VJ_0UoOfA/s320/DSC02069.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238956798619002578" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBpsbtPkTowLbhLWDaNEurtD7bijG2-KqR9GSFguGxbFBqrprNtd07wDix-PuwiYvn2KJWR8AdCp9its1OWfJ9OOOQSwhDaIhD0o0djnovPX4_2kXudJ181aRN2FRcrWpS9WuNw/s1600-h/DSC02067.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBpsbtPkTowLbhLWDaNEurtD7bijG2-KqR9GSFguGxbFBqrprNtd07wDix-PuwiYvn2KJWR8AdCp9its1OWfJ9OOOQSwhDaIhD0o0djnovPX4_2kXudJ181aRN2FRcrWpS9WuNw/s320/DSC02067.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238954403105549282" /></a><br /><br />I have to admit that I made and decorated the birthday cake that you see in the photo. It's a Guinness chocolate cake and it's fantastic. I got the recipe out of a local magazine and I make it all the time.Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-2546242160860532852008-08-04T14:16:00.004-05:002008-08-04T14:39:10.218-05:00Whew! It's Hot Out Here<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rx47l-d4ywGR-htOIhg7BVO7mk3zf6xaTpFjf7xxHDSaxUqtXtuq-B2_lxFM6KzO-oBuGkQla8Ib0xUpTbP3mEGJyfLZ9KsMcBAAgeuy7ECAMJEM07ETTJWklIGrUv_TMLMbrw/s1600-h/Cayton+%26+Reeve+Swimming.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rx47l-d4ywGR-htOIhg7BVO7mk3zf6xaTpFjf7xxHDSaxUqtXtuq-B2_lxFM6KzO-oBuGkQla8Ib0xUpTbP3mEGJyfLZ9KsMcBAAgeuy7ECAMJEM07ETTJWklIGrUv_TMLMbrw/s320/Cayton+%26+Reeve+Swimming.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230745399493233090" /></a><br /><br />There isn't much that a hot August afternoon is good for, but swimming is a pretty good thing to do when it's actually 105 degrees outside! I was highly offended this morning when the weather lady said it was really going to be that hot. So, we are house bound at this point, waiting for the mercury to head a little south. It would be nice to get out of the house, but when you are in danger of melting to the sidewalk, it seems wiser to stay put under the a/c.<br /><br />I think Vivi has the right idea:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DMCsZhaPft-NQA_E8KWgspdU39bEMOkjDsAHzXk3KZoqtp9-Iu603bBgOyO84Z8T6kZ6VOqEI4D3XDPO-NXscJBgXPdl9jqd0h8Rc_wBJpBLe4IKDJSr13IdA_KnnoG7Nf_6Ng/s1600-h/Vivi+Sleeps.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DMCsZhaPft-NQA_E8KWgspdU39bEMOkjDsAHzXk3KZoqtp9-Iu603bBgOyO84Z8T6kZ6VOqEI4D3XDPO-NXscJBgXPdl9jqd0h8Rc_wBJpBLe4IKDJSr13IdA_KnnoG7Nf_6Ng/s320/Vivi+Sleeps.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230746254670000082" /></a><br /><br />In other news, Cayton has finally consented to use the potty. I tell you what, it's a huge relief because I was really beginning to think it was never going to happen. So frustrating! I think really though that it was so tough for me to deal with this potty training thing because Cayton is over three years old. Back in the day when I didn't have kids and also when I was a really new parent, I had concrete and well thought out plans about how I would raise my kids. Specifically, my kid would be potty trained at an early age. I admit, I was prone to judge other parents for late trained kids and I usually put them in the "too lazy to adequately discipline" category. So, when my time came around to put up or shut up, my precious baby showed me just how much control I have over this parenting thing. I am sad to say that the answer is ZERO. So, besides being frustrated, I was a little embarrassed at just how long and difficult this process had become. I just knew that other parents were judging me and my skills. And, of course, they probably were. But, if you are going to do this parenting thing (I have learned), you have to grow the proverbial pair and learn to deal with humiliation at the hands of your children. <br /><br />From what I hear, this is only the beginning.Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16201960.post-470486245061869402008-08-01T13:06:00.002-05:002008-08-01T13:17:21.621-05:00Welcome to the Party!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFAcLvuP4ma6GAKqwWLXqO_qxohmRrq9l3ZaimjFPvI3uG48KjXZb99N9DXcX0h8xopWm_tdxE2x6Eux3VKprdtJHNZTMgJqY4Br0d3SOgIsvzmMScpl1m1llL6B6HsqbqnRR3A/s1600-h/IMG_0084.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFAcLvuP4ma6GAKqwWLXqO_qxohmRrq9l3ZaimjFPvI3uG48KjXZb99N9DXcX0h8xopWm_tdxE2x6Eux3VKprdtJHNZTMgJqY4Br0d3SOgIsvzmMScpl1m1llL6B6HsqbqnRR3A/s320/IMG_0084.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229612552672750402" /></a><br /><br />I dropped by <a href="http://www.joelwhite.blogspot.com">Joel's blog</a> this morning and saw that he and Jill were headed to the hospital finally and that the arrival of their new baby was imminent. So, to start, I just wanted to say good luck and we are so excited and happy for you both. This new experience will surely be the most, what's the word... well, it'll be the most. The most wonderful, the most difficult and the most absolutely fulfilling, fantastic thing you will ever do. Being on this side of it, I can tell you that you will never see anything the same way again. So, enjoy! We are so looking forward to meeting your little one. As you can tell from the pic, Vivi is ready to party. If only someone would bring her a drink...Charlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00332358069966350083noreply@blogger.com0