<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288</id><updated>2011-09-29T14:08:23.081-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Hectic Haven</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-608411408408221718</id><published>2009-03-30T08:31:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T09:07:04.481-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My son's fish died.  He's almost eleven and loved this fish with his entire heart and soul.  First thing in the morning  "good morning flash" . . .often before a hello mom.  Last thing at night, "good night flash" always after good night mom.  Flash would "bop" for food and Aidan loved showing off his tricks to friends and family.(I know fish don't learn tricks but swear to god this one did!)  While eating breakfast Flash would get to watch television. . . Nintendo ds with a replay of worms usually. . . cause fish like worms.  At Christmastime we bought him a bridge for his tank.  His birthday a new shell.  Once his sister was talking to flash and knocked the entire tank over.  Luckily flash stayed in the tank but he was banged up(again I KNOW it's just a fish but serious first pet love here).  So I rushed to the pet store and bought a healing eucalyptus liquid we used nightly until he perked up again.  Another time when he got ick I spent $17 on medicine to heal him.   A new fish around $5 . . . but the medicine worked and we cheated death once again.  I would sometimes hear Aidan spilling his heart out to flash.  Often he would let flash 'dance" to his I-Dog.  Both boys are partial to smoke on the water and other guitar hero classics.  Unfortunately death always prevails.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We came home from soccer practice, his sisters, and went to finish cleaning the tank.  I saw his little lifeless body and shooed all other kids away.  I gave Aidan a big hug and said sorry.  The poor baby started all out body heaving-shoulder shaking-can't breathe bawling.  He was completely inconsolable.  His siblings came in and said sorry, which made him cry even (impossibly) harder.  We moved Flash and Aidan into his bedroom for some quiet moments.  I cried right along with him. Because I could not find the words to comfort him.  Because I remember losing my best friend.  Because I was helpless to make him feel better.  Because each tear down his cheek broke my heart even further.  Because I knew this is a small taste of the heartache life has in store for us all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We prepared a burial for Flash-a small lidded container with marbles, shell and plant filled with water for Flash to enjoy for all time.  (I know the good ole Viking funeral is the more realistic choice but Aidan was afraid flash would be eaten in the sea) Spent the entire afternoon holding visitation then said goodbye to a dear old friend as we placed his mini-eternal aquarium under the tree.  We talked about God, Heaven, and the souls of those we love watching over us.  We have endured another entire day of the heartache.  He cries at night, he cries in the morning, he cried at his wrestling tournament.  Hopefully school will help.  Time will heal.  And He will be stronger for it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-608411408408221718?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/608411408408221718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=608411408408221718' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/608411408408221718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/608411408408221718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-sons-fish-died.html' title=''/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-7933964452794486359</id><published>2009-02-27T08:51:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T09:10:18.255-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Kids!</title><content type='html'>Viv and I are shopping at Once upon a child. . . huge new location-lots of hiding places and one naughty 2 year old. I feel like a broken record-vivcomeherevivcomeherevivcomehere-.  I say "colleen-vivian come here NOW!"  Sweet as sugar she walks up to me and says, "mommy me not colleen-vivian, me just Vivian."  to which the store associates laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After jumping rope for 30 minutes I say while walking to the bathroom, "WOW! My armpits are ST-ink-Y!"  Sweet little Korbin is sitting nearby, looks up at me with full dimples flashing and says, "Mine too!!" &lt;br /&gt;"Really??  How can such a sweetie pie be stinky?"&lt;br /&gt;"W E LLLLLL. . . . First I take off my shoes and put them by the heater.  Then I turn the heater on and take off my socks.  I put them in my armpits for like. . umm..20 minutes.  When my shoes are nice and hot and stinky I put the socks down and stick my shoes in the my armpits.  Then I pt my armpits over the heater so they get REALLY sweaty.  Then I put cars in them and run around for a super long time. "&lt;br /&gt;I am laughing now and tears are falling down my face.  He has the attention of both his older sisters and Aidan is laughing so hard I am afraid he may not survive. &lt;br /&gt;"What on earth would possess you to that?"&lt;br /&gt;He shrugs and is statrting to be a little embarrased bythe hysteria his confession has brought. "I thought we were going to wrestling"&lt;br /&gt;uhhhh...ok.&lt;br /&gt;"Korbin, why do you stink up your armpits for wrestling?" I say trying to be calm and rational.&lt;br /&gt;"because dad says too."&lt;br /&gt;Yes, of course.  I need to talk to Big Daddy about that one.  FYI-bring your own hot cars over to play dates.  you never know where ours have been.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-7933964452794486359?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/7933964452794486359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=7933964452794486359' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/7933964452794486359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/7933964452794486359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2009/02/funny-kids.html' title='Funny Kids!'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-6658364360554776223</id><published>2009-01-20T08:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T08:28:30.988-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Obama Day!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;It is today that we begin a new chapter in America.  Good, Bad, Happy, Excited or Disappointed today is a big day.  I know many are worried about our new choice of president. But there are also many, like me who are excited.  I don't know if Obama is going to be able to "Save America" but I am so relieved to have him in office with a wonderfully diverse group of individuals surrounding him in his cabinet and democratic peers in the house and senate.  I for one believe that we need a change from our current ways of thinking and feel that Obama can do this.  I am going to celebrate.  I am going to hope for a peaceful transfer of power.  I am going to watch on tv this historically beautiful moment.  I am going to share with my children what this represents.  And I am going to pray that he does as he says and that change is coming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-6658364360554776223?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/6658364360554776223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=6658364360554776223' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/6658364360554776223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/6658364360554776223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2009/01/obama-day.html' title='Obama Day!!'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-1752041030888352784</id><published>2009-01-16T08:09:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T08:26:47.256-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;. . . is the milk never returned to the fridge?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . empty your backpack and leave all its contents on the floor?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . put mittens in the basket when the floor next to it is more convenient?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. .  .set the alarm for 5:30 when you have no intention of waking up til 6:30?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . wave me thru when you Mr Left Turn are blocking the only lane open?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . make your bed when it is just going to get messy again?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . fold laundry when you can just rifle through the piles(mountains?)?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . shovel the walks if it is still snowing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . hang your coat up when you could just drop it on the floor?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . walk on the path mom shoveled when you could tromp through the drifts?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . put your shoes away in the same spot where you could easily find them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . paint your nails if your going to do dishes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . take a shower if you just had a bath on Sunday(it's Friday)?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . talk when you can yell?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . get along when you can nit-pick?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . put your bowl in the sink when mom could do it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . sit inside when you could guarantee front seat by waiting in the car 30 min early?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . .put toys away when you'll just play with them later?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;. . . be a parent when you could be sane???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-1752041030888352784?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/1752041030888352784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=1752041030888352784' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/1752041030888352784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/1752041030888352784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2009/01/why.html' title='Why?'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-7336609943835653814</id><published>2008-11-14T10:01:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T10:22:18.250-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;1. Started your own blog&lt;br /&gt;2. Slept under the stars&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;3. Played in a band(high school marching band-but i need the numbers baby!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;4. Visited Hawaii&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;5. Watched a meteor shower&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;6. Given more than you can afford to charity &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;7. Been to Disneyland&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;8. Climbed a mountain&lt;/span&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;9. Held a praying mantis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;10. Sang a solo, when no one was home. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;11. Bungee jumped &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;12. Visited Paris &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;13. Watched a lightning storm (from afar)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;14. Taught yourself an art from scratch(crocheted a blanket for baby Colleen-from a book)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;15. Adopted a child(my hands are pretty full-but maybe someday those christian chartiy things)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;16. Had food poisoning&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;18. Grown your own vegetables(just this summer!!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;20. Slept on an overnight train&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;21. Had a pillow fight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;22. Hitch hiked&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;24. Built a snow fort &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;25. Held a lamb&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;26. Gone skinny dipping &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;27. Run a Marathon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;-totally want to try been my goal the last decade-maybe this year?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;28. Ridden in a gondola&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;29. Seen a total eclipse&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;30. Watched a sunrise or sunset(detasseling and church camp once)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;31. Hit a home run&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;32. Been on a cruise&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;33. Seen Niagara Falls in person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;35. Seen an Amish community &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;36. Taught yourself a new language&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;39. Gone rock climbing &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;40. Seen Michelangelo’s David&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;41. Sung karaoke &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;44. Visited Africa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;45. Walked on a beach by moonlight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;46. Been transported in an ambulance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;47. Had your portrait painted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;48. Gone deep sea fishing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 255);"&gt;52. Kissed in the rain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 255);"&gt;53. Played in the mud&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;54. Gone to a drive-in theater&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;55. Been in a movie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;56. Visited the Great Wall of China&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;57. Started a business&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;58. Taken a martial arts class &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;59. Visited Russia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;60. Served at a soup kitchen &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;62. Gone whale watching&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;63. Got flowers for no reason&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;65. Gone sky diving&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;67. Bounced a check&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;68. Flown in a helicopter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;69. Saved a favorite childhood toy &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;71. Eaten Caviar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;72. Pieced a quilt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;73. Stood in Times Square&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;74. Toured the Everglades&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;75. Been fired from a job&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;77. Broken a bone(thumb i think-second grade)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;78. Been on a speeding motorcycle-how about a jet ski going 50-fun!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;80. Published a book&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;81. Visited the Vatican&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;82. Bought a brand new car&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;83. Walked in Jerusalem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;84. Had your picture in the newspaper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;85. Read the entire Bible (&amp;amp; Book of Mormon)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;86. Visited the White House&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;88. Had chickenpox&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;89. Saved someone’s life&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;90. Sat on a jury &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;91. Met someone famous&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;92. Joined a book club&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;93. Lost a loved one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;94. Had a baby(i should get extra credit-I'vedone this 5 times)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;95. Seen the Alamo in person &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;97. Been involved in a law suit(small claims) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;98. Owned a cell phone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;99. Been stung by a bee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;100. Read an entire book in one day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I friggin' suck!! 32/100-WOW&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-7336609943835653814?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/7336609943835653814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=7336609943835653814' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/7336609943835653814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/7336609943835653814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2008/11/1.html' title=''/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-4614551338710267530</id><published>2008-10-14T13:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T13:57:39.920-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr. Elephant/Mr.Dragon</title><content type='html'>No I am not talking about my husband... a little crass humor for my sisters.  We dug out some little people yesterday and Viv has completely attached herself to the elephant and the dragon.  As we speak she is up in her(i mean my)bed with one in each hand.  What was utterly adorable yesterday when &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;all&lt;/span&gt; my kids were home to play Mr. Elephant/Mr. Dragon, not so cute today when it is just I carrying on the conversations.&lt;br /&gt;"Mr. Elephant what big ears you have"&lt;br /&gt;"Mr.Dragon I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;luuuv&lt;/span&gt; your purple belly"&lt;br /&gt;"Whoever painted your toes Mr.Elephant?  Big Girl?  Well what a great job she did!"&lt;br /&gt;"Now Mr. Dragon it is not nice to jump on Mr.&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Elephant&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;"Let's be good friends to each other"&lt;br /&gt;Mr.Elephant/Mr.Dragon ate oatmeal.  but forget to put their bowl in the sink.&lt;br /&gt;Mr.Elephant/Mr.Dragon went pee pee. . .&lt;br /&gt;Afterwards Mr.Elephant/Mr.Dragon took a shower.  With Me.&lt;br /&gt;I have directed many directives to the odd couple.  And they listen really well.&lt;br /&gt;"Wash up for dinner friend Dragon"&lt;br /&gt;"Time for nap Mr. Elephant."&lt;br /&gt;"Just one book, Big Girl can you find just one?"&lt;br /&gt;My neighbors already think I am a complete basket case.  As do the men siding the house across the street.(they caught me and Mr. Elephant dancing to Jacks Big Music Show.)  Hope they don't tell my husband what I do when he's not around.  I mean Mr. Elephant is one heck of a dancer!  I am enjoying my tiny friends while they are still around.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-4614551338710267530?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/4614551338710267530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=4614551338710267530' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/4614551338710267530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/4614551338710267530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2008/10/mr-elephantmrdragon.html' title='Mr. Elephant/Mr.Dragon'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-6091661936856917815</id><published>2008-10-07T09:13:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T10:08:12.076-05:00</updated><title type='text'>11 years</title><content type='html'>My husband and I had our 11th anniversary on Friday.  How can one measure this time?  It breaks down to 132 months, 4,018 days, 96,424 hours, 5,785,436 minutes.  For us it also equals 5 kids, 4 houses, 3 cars bought, 2 siblings married off, and 1 life together.  OR does it?&lt;br /&gt;We both took the day off  hoping to eek out some time for one another.  To reconnect.  To enjoy.  To look back at the good times and ahead to the life we will continue to build.  Our plans were simple, con a sibling into babysitting, a nice dinner perhaps a few drinks afterwards . . .  but alas all did not go as planned.  We went out for breakfast . . with the little one.  and had absolutely nothing to talk about.  nothing.   Sitting across from one another we took turns coloring with Viv and taking her to the bathroom.  Maybe a few trivial comments-nice weather-want to go for a walk-pancakes are cold.  There was an elderly man sitting all alone in his big booth across from us.  I looked at him and wondered if he was jealous of our little family sitting there together in the clutches of youth while he was in the twilight years.  I looked at him and wondered if he could see what frauds we were sitting there on the day of our wedding to celebrate with absolutely nothing to say, to share with the person we chose to live our life out with.    We went home, took naps, got kids from school.  And sat.  And sat.  My sibling was going to meet her husband out of town.  His sibling just couldn't babysit.  &lt;br /&gt;On the day a couple pledges their love to one another no amount of money is too much.  People travel from out of state to see to share to witness the love between the two as they start anew, as they vow in front of God, their friends, their families to love one another for eternity.  There is dancing, food, laughter, flowers, a pervasive happiness.  People looking back at their day, or forward to what theirs will be.  Love.&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward a few years.  Add in the stress of kids, jobs, home, money, bills, chores.  It's easy to love someone in the beginning.  When their snore is cute, dirty socks on the floor a minor transgression.  You and Him.  Him and You.  Together against the world, which always smiles on you because your in love and have each other.  It is much harder to love when the sink is ALWAYS full of dirty dishes and the bank account always empty.  When the bills keep coming in but the jobs don't pay anymore.  When its You.  Him.  and Them.  You see each other in passing 3 days a week to hand off the kids like a baton in some relay with no end.  Both of you fighting for a second alone.  To pursue the dreams you had way back when.  To lose yourself in a fantasy team.  A book.  Sleep, wondrous Sleep.  It's not trying to spend time together, it's trying to remember who you are.  That is when your love is tested. &lt;br /&gt;Then one day you are sitting in Village Inn across from your husband of over a decade and you have nothing to say to him.  Shared experiences boil down to the kids.  Future goals include a nap.  What happened?  When did the man you share your body with become a complete stranger?  How did it get to that point?  Was there a way to prevent it?  Can it be fixed?  Is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt; all there is to expect in life?  Should I just be happy that my man has a job, pays bills, and doesn't beat me? &lt;br /&gt;Sad.  Pitiful.  On that one day people rush to be around, to help, to shower the couple with love, attention, wisdom, gifts.  Where are they later?  When 3 of the 5 kids are sick.  When 2 kids of activities at the same time and you have to choose.  When money is tight and your extra works hours are further stressing a family near bursting anyway.  Who stops by and says, "hey go out with your spouse, we'll keep the kids?"  We may very well get a break, a time out from our families. More often then not it is a chance to go out alone, leaving our spouse to deal with the home front, further carving out the divide between one another. Until suddenly their is just You.  Them.  Him.  No US.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-6091661936856917815?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/6091661936856917815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=6091661936856917815' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/6091661936856917815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/6091661936856917815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2008/10/11-years.html' title='11 years'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-1021321716557283942</id><published>2008-09-15T09:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T10:15:27.682-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Worry.</title><content type='html'>I have 5 kids.  Yes like 1,2,3,4,5, like an entire hand, a quintuple, cinque, FIVE! And yes I do know what causes that.  Love.  Wonderment.  Joy.  Celebration of life.  I love my kids and would in a heartbeat have more if circumstances were right.  I enjoyed being pregnant, watching my body swell with the yet unknown being inside.  Feeling their little jabs and pokes at the outside world, as if to announce, Hello out there, do you see me? Hearing the steady whoosh whoosh of their little heartbeat at each doctors visit, an affirmation of their reality.   The act of giving birth was amazing.  That first peek at the person you and your husband have created and been trusted to raise by a power much greater than yourselves.  The little whiff of heaven all babies have at birth.  Their soft heads, their sweet breath, the cherubic layers of fat and delicacy of their bodies.  The absolute wonder of all they know-to close their eyes, take in breaths, root for food.  It was miraculous to see my babies fatten up at my breast, see them grow and learn and become more independent.   Sitting up, Crawling, their first foods, first steps, first words.  That bittersweet moment when your baby realizes there are other people in the world and moves away from you more and more each day, farther away from the protective environment you have provided for them to grow in.   &lt;br /&gt;They aren't babies anymore.  It is a necessary step, even honorable, the letting go of your child and entrusting them to the world.  The being there when a swing lets them fall, when a knee is scuffed, a friend is mean, a heart is hurt.  The restraint demonstrated when I do not swoop in to clear all the hornets from the nests my children encounter.  That I walk away from them at school and expose them to all sorts of lessons in life.  The fact that they may try out for a group and not make it.  That they may take a test and not excel.  That they may get hurt and not get a hug and kiss to make it all better.  That some kids may make fun of their hair, clothes, or athletic prowess.  And some teachers may not see them for the extraordinary beings they are.  It breaks my heart each time one of them is hurt, but I need to be brave, shrug and say well lets accept this as a bump in the road God has laid for your life. &lt;br /&gt;Their next firsts . . . middle school, dating, dances, breaking up, friends moving away, family drifting apart, driving, college. . . strike fear deep in my bones.  Are they ready?  Is the foundation we have laid for them so far strong enough to resist the temptations ahead?  drugs?  sex?  booze?  Will they be proud of their intelligence and not afraid to excel in honors courses or will they fall to a group of underachievers and slack their way through school?  Are they confident in the abilities and able to be who they are whether it is cool to be in a band or sing or wrestle or read?  Can they withstand the loss of loved ones-first boy/girlfriends-aunts and uncles as they move away-friends?  Do they have the inner strength to move beyond a disappointment to the lesson it seeks to teach?  Will they still laugh at the silly jokes their Dad makes.  Might they still smile at me in that special way that lets me know they are happy to be with me?  Can we still dance in our underpants?  Not take ourselves too seriously, let loose and have fun?  Do they outgrow the desire to hang out with one another?  Is it a move from us being a boisterous family of 7 to a group of people who live together and speak seldom?  How soon until their homework is too hard for me to help with?  How soon until they are embarrassed by our lack of funds?  Will they ever realize the abundance of love that exists for them in my heart, in our home?  Am I one of the lucky ones who remains close to her children through the teen years?  How can I assure I am the one they come to with questions about birth control?  How do I assure that I am open to answering their questions and continuing  a home that is open and honest and a place they like to be? &lt;br /&gt;For now I have one at home.  One left to go nap with.  One left to swing high and read loud.  One left who is so beside herself to be like her older siblings she is moving away faster than I care to think.  For now I am going to go laugh with her.   And later we will get those siblings she so aspires to be like.  We will practice the trumpet, read the stories, work the math problems.  We will talk about school, about our friends, about what we ate for lunch.  For now I will enjoy every frustrating, fulfilling, ordinary moment I have.  For what the future holds, I will worry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-1021321716557283942?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/1021321716557283942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=1021321716557283942' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/1021321716557283942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/1021321716557283942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-worry.html' title='I Worry.'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-5618406749760536775</id><published>2008-09-12T08:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T09:26:02.603-05:00</updated><title type='text'>dinosaurs</title><content type='html'>**Boom**Bang**Hop***Skitter**Jump**Twitter**Giggle**Whisper**Run**Click**Thump***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like spring when the morning is all silent, the sun has not yet risen, the creatures are all asleep.  But wait, you start to hear the chirping of birds, the skittering of squirrels, a bark of the neighbors dog.  The sound gradually increases in volume as the day awakes.   It's like this at my home.  A light switch clicks.  A girl giggles.  A little boy speeds from one side of the house to the other, just because he can.  Cupboard doors squeak as they are opened, thwack as they are carelessly shut.  Water trickles from the faucet.  There is the fight for the toilet, yes just one.  Toilet.  Not fight.  I lay in my bed and listen to the kids at their most natural.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SIGH.     pause.   SIGH!(just a hair louder)    pause.  SIGH!!!&lt;br /&gt;"What's wrong?"  finally a bite form his big sister.&lt;br /&gt;"I just wish dinosaurs were real. "Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;(Here I can picture his little head hanging down, his little lips puckered out in a perfect pout.)&lt;br /&gt;"But they are real.  . ."(his face must brighten)". . . They are just Instinct." she says with the utter confidence of a 7 year old girl.&lt;br /&gt;"Instinct???  What's that mean?"&lt;br /&gt;OK now my little girls is standing a little taller, her chest out a little more, her head held a little higher, on her face that slight tilt and eye roll that says-I can't believe you don't know this.&lt;br /&gt;"It means that they all died."&lt;br /&gt;Now this draws in the other sister to help.&lt;br /&gt;"No  it doesn't instinct means that dogs know to pick their leg up so they don't pee on themselves. "&lt;br /&gt;OK, now I am wide awake and trying not to disturb them with my laughter.  Apparently my oldest has heard and needs to put his two cents in as well.  But they girls have broken off into their little "Nu-Uh"  "Uh-Huh" routine so he has to speak louder to get his point across.&lt;br /&gt;"Dinosaurs are EX-tinct.  "&lt;br /&gt;"What's ex-tinct mean?" asks my big sigher.&lt;br /&gt;"Nu-Uh" "Uh-Huh" "Nu-Uh"  "Uh-Huh"&lt;br /&gt;"It means that they all died."  He is probably carrying on this conversation while playing his DS.&lt;br /&gt;"Nu-Uh" "Uh-Huh" "Nu-Uh"  "Uh-Huh"&lt;br /&gt;"Then whats instinct mean?"  he asks.&lt;br /&gt;"It means that dogs know to pick up their leg so they don't pee on themselves."&lt;br /&gt;I can't help it a laugh out loud.  The room gets quiet.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.   pause.  Nintendo getting put quietly down.  SIGH!  the girls furiously whispering "uh huh" "nu-uhh"  SIGH!!&lt;br /&gt;"Whats wrong Korbin?!"  this from all 3 kids.&lt;br /&gt;"I just wish dinosaurs were real."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-5618406749760536775?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/5618406749760536775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=5618406749760536775' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/5618406749760536775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/5618406749760536775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2008/09/dinosaurs.html' title='dinosaurs'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6920860764185212288.post-3697561280236565716</id><published>2008-09-11T10:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T11:13:13.612-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My oldest daughter was going to heritage school and needed to have a period packed lunch.  I was wrapping jerky and dried apples in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;handkerchiefs&lt;/span&gt; and placing in an old coffee can. &lt;br /&gt;"But why can't my sleeves be short"&lt;br /&gt; "I don't like these socks"&lt;br /&gt; "I put my jacket right on the floor"&lt;br /&gt; "Do you know where my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;spider man&lt;/span&gt; shoes are"&lt;br /&gt;"DORA!LOOK IT"S DORA"&lt;br /&gt;This is the music of my morning.  After dodging parents in the parking lot too egocentric to realize the yellow lines are for parking between and  fighting my way back to the street like a salmon swimming up river, the big girl and I arrive home for showers breakfast and a costume change(read out of pajama's into a bra!)   Balancing both checkbooks I wonder how good are the chances of hitting the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;power ball&lt;/span&gt;.  Big girl and I go back to our van and are off to do our errands.&lt;br /&gt; "Can you PLEASE hold my hand" &lt;br /&gt;"THIS is a parking lot-cars don't look for little girls"&lt;br /&gt;"Don't run"&lt;br /&gt; "WAIT for ME"&lt;br /&gt;numerous eye rolls to the heaven for strength and a few pulled hairs later we get to her sanctuary-the library.  Unfortunately a quick trip, I still need to do &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-Mart for dinner.  The very nice librarian bends down to visit with Big Girl. . .&lt;br /&gt;"Do you like Dora?  We have new Dora books in, you can have one for each day of the week"&lt;br /&gt;She hands 7 books to Big Girl who will not put them down to save a life.  Thanks nice Librarian. . .you must know our late fees pay your salary.  Oh Well not in the mood for a fit. . .We get them all.  I find my new books and we go back to the van. &lt;br /&gt;"I do it. "&lt;br /&gt;I don't have the time to wait so I do it and she screams.  I hand her the balm at hand. . .a Dora book.  While she is occupied with Boots and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Swiper&lt;/span&gt; I go to the drop box and return 6 of the books I just checked out.  Nice try Miss Librarian but you won't suck those fees from me. &lt;br /&gt;Onto the retail wasteland-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Mart&lt;/span&gt;.  Damn them for their convenience and prices. . . Devil Incarnate I have no choice.  Rushing through the lot sniping my usual threats and warnings, my mind drifting to the 3000 loads of laundry to do(only a slight &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;exaggeration&lt;/span&gt;) I become anxious to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;finish&lt;/span&gt; this chore and head home for lunch and naps.  We dodge the Dora toothpaste, avoid the wall of babies, start down the dark aisle of Halloween candy and do a 360 right there at the end cap to see Dora soup.  Fine it's only a dollar and will make lunch a breeze.  Finally done we go to check out me pulling her oohing and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;ahhing&lt;/span&gt; along. Me frustrated and antsy.  Her in awe of all around her.  She stops dead in her tracks.  Immobile.  Like a cement post.  What NOW.  I just want to get the bags to the car and get her down for nap so I can do something productive.  I look down irritation emanating from me like the Pepe &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;le&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Peu&lt;/span&gt; wisps of stench. &lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;MMM&lt;/span&gt; pretty"&lt;br /&gt;Her face is buried in bright &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;yellow&lt;/span&gt; mums, her eyes &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;closed&lt;/span&gt; in bliss, her nose inches from the potted dirt.  She is so relaxed, so happy, so carefree.  I stop.  I put down my bags.  I stoop to my knees and bury my face next to hers. &lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;MMM&lt;/span&gt; your right"&lt;br /&gt;Triumphant Big Girls drags me on the the next pot.  We smell this too. She has the joy, the exuberance only a child can achieve.  And for those few moments at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-Mart shares with me.  We stop and smell the roses.  Or mums.  Every last one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6920860764185212288-3697561280236565716?l=myhectichaven.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/feeds/3697561280236565716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6920860764185212288&amp;postID=3697561280236565716' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/3697561280236565716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6920860764185212288/posts/default/3697561280236565716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://myhectichaven.blogspot.com/2008/09/taking-time.html' title='Taking Time'/><author><name>Liz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09491124252702080290</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QxDWmqSntc/ThMJOCuMK-I/AAAAAAAAAAQ/FGs2y1UErg0/s220/101_6559.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
