tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188835222024-03-06T23:05:30.099-08:00Midget InvasionAbout rugrats, minivans, The South, photography, road trips, puberty, Army, snotty noses, blankies, movies, hugs, tantrums, make believe, homeschooling, sibling rivalry, car seats, weather, in-laws, scribbles, marriage, and somewhere in there, a stoned British reporter.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.comBlogger503125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-88022212704054396912014-05-03T21:48:00.001-07:002014-05-03T21:48:21.729-07:00Life Lately in 11 Photos or Less<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-25472782814153438032014-03-15T18:23:00.000-07:002014-03-15T18:28:02.969-07:0025 Reasons why you should arrive at the airport even earlier than you thought. . .. . .even if it is 5 a.m.**<br />
<br />
Reason #1: The line at the check-in counter will be long. Surprisingly so.<br />
<br />
Reason #2: Same for the security line.<br />
<br />
Reason #3: Your children, since it is 5 a.m., will be slow to catch on to the security process, and thus it will take longer. ("No, put your bag in that one, and your shoes in that one. That one. NO. THAT ONE.")<br />
<br />
Reason #4: Your oldest child's belt will set the alarm off, and when they make him remove it, it will get stuck, and take even longer.<br />
<br />
Reason #5: When you finally get through security and to the escalators, your youngest will have a panic attack about getting on them.<br />
<br />
Reason #6: It will take you forever to convince her to get on, especially since your hands are full of your carry-on, and said child's booster seat.<br />
<br />
Reason #7: Youngest child's panic attack will cause you to miss the train to the terminal, so you will have to wait for the next one.<br />
<br />
Reason #8: There is another escalator once you get off the train.<br />
<br />
Reason #9: Despite your best urging, little people carrying bags cannot move any quicker than snails.<br />
<br />
Reason #10: You will finally get to the gate, have a brief moment of hope when you see the plane is still there, only to have it dashed when they tell you the door is closed and they cannot let you on.<br />
<br />
Reason #11: Standby. With four kids.<br />
<br />
Reason #12: You will have to explain to your kids over and over why you can't just board the plane with everyone else, that you have to wait until the last minute to see if they have seats.<br />
<br />
Reason #13: When you experience the miracle of getting seats for all of you on the standby flight, you will all get center seats. Scattered throughout the plane. You will have to place each of your children in between strangers, even the youngest, who is on her first airplane ride ever.<br />
<br />
Reason #14: Because the travel gods apparently hate you, it will be the worst turbulence you have experienced in years. Even the flight attendants will not be able to stand up for most of the four hour flight.<br />
<br />
Reason #15: Since it was standby, you are now in a city other than the one you should be, so you will have to go on standby again.<br />
<br />
Reason #16: A four hour wait and lunch in the airport with four children. (At one point you will crack and use the moving sidewalks to entertain them.)<br />
<br />
Reason #17: Most of the flights will be full, at least, too full for all five of you to get on a flight.<br />
<br />
Reason #18: As they are closing the door to a flight, the gate person will look at you and tell you they can fit your older three children on the flight.<br />
<br />
Reason #19: You will yell at the older three to grab their things, and barely have time to tell them goodbye before a flight attendant scurries them away.<br />
<br />
Reason #20: You and youngest child will watch forlornly through the window as the plane taxis away.<br />
<br />
Reason #21: You will frantically call your husband to tell him to go back to the airport to get the kids.<br />
<br />
Reason #22: You and youngest child will look so pathetic, the gate agent will finagle tickets for you for the next flight.<br />
<br />
Reason #23: When you finally arrive at your destination, you will discover that your bags never made it on the original flight, and the airline will have no idea where they are.<br />
<br />
Reason #24: You will finally get your bags and your rental car and leave the airport, 15 hours after your adventure began that morning.<br />
<br />
Reason #25: You will have acquired so much bad traveling juju, that your flight home will be cancelled.<br />
<br />
**Yes, the above actually happened. All of it.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-57212200728011720092013-12-30T14:03:00.002-08:002013-12-30T14:03:29.371-08:00The House That Wouldn't DiePreviously, on Midget Invasion:<br />
-April 2012 we are told the state is declaring eminent domain on our house.<br />
-February 2013 the closing proceedings happen.<br />
-Summer 2013 the house is torn down<br />
-A few weeks ago, we received THIS in the mail. (Yes, that is the house that no longer exists.)<br />
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Today, I got on the phone to try to resolve this. I was bound and determined to have this all behind us before the start of the new year. I kept track of the phone conversations on Facebook, and here they are:<br />
<br />
<span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Me to tax office: Hi, um we don't own that house anymore.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[1]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[2]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Tax office: it says here that you do.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[4]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Me: We don't, we sold it to the state in February. </span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[5]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[6]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Tax office: They may be tax exempt, you wouldn't be, and they never filed the deed with us.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[7]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[8]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Me: The deed on the house that doesn't even exist anymore?</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[9]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[10]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Tax office: Yes. </span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[11]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[12]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Me: Sigh.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[13]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[14]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Tax office: Give me the closing attorney's name, I'll call them and see if I can figure it out.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[15]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[16]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">A while later. . .</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[17]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[18]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Closing Lawyer to me: Do you have your settlement in hand?</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[19]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[20]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Me: Not right now.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[21]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[22]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Lawyer: Oh. I need the house's parcel number. I guess I can go look it up. I'll call you back.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[23]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[24]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Me: Sigh.</span><br />
<span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[24]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[24]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">(15 minutes later)</span><br />
<span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[24]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0]">Phone just rang again.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[1]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[2]">Lawyer to me: I'm having trouble finding this parcel. I'm looking at the map, and it says it's owned by "Insert name here". </span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[4]">Me: That is who we bought it from.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[5]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[6]">Lawyer: Well it says here we bought it from her in 2008. </span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[7]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[8]">Me: ?. . .?. . .?!?!?!?!?!?</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[9]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[10]">Lawyer: DOT acquired part of the property in 2008 from her.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[11]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[12]">Me: We bought the house from her in 2008.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[13]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[14]">Lawyer: So, how much did we buy from you?</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[15]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[16]">Me: The whole thing.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[17]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[18]">Lawyer: Oh, and that was this year?</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[19]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[20]">Me: Yes.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[21]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[22]">Lawyer: Oh, I see. I have the wrong file! Lol. I'll figure this out and call you back.</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[23]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[24]">Me: Sigh.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">(an hour later)</span></span><br />
<span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][2]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0]">Final update before we hit the road. Got a voicemail a while ago. . </span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[1]" /><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[2]" /><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3]">Lawyer: "I'm calling you again about your property on "Insert wrong road name, here". Well, uhhh, my secretary is out until January 6th, and I need her to pull your file, so uh, I guess we'll get back to you after January 6th."</span><br data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28046551}.[0].[1].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[4]" /></span></span><br />
That screaming you hear? Is me.<br />
<span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044302}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[24]" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><span data-reactid=".r[2fphs].[1][3][1]{comment10151792799056198_28044630}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[24]"><br /></span></span>Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-67756435058286635352013-06-07T16:41:00.001-07:002013-06-07T16:42:26.007-07:00Evolution of a Sick Mom<b><u>Healthy Mom</u></b><br />
Kids: What's for dinner?<br />
Mom: This balanced and nutritious meal I made.<br />
Kids: Sigh.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Sick Mom</u></b><br />
Kids: What's for dinner?<br />
Mom: Something easy. How about grilled cheese and soup?<br />
Kids: Sounds good.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Really Sick Mom</u></b><br />
Kids: What's for dinner?<br />
Mom: I don't care. Just feed yourselves and let me rest.<br />
Kids: Cool!<br />
<br />
<b><u>Where I was the other day</u></b><br />
Kids: What's for dinner?<br />
Mom: Oh man, I have to feed y'all don't I? I really should since I didn't yesterday, even though I am worse now. How about popcorn and ice cream? (Or cereal, depending on what is in the pantry.)<br />
Kids: YAY!!!Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-48147311359041345992013-06-04T23:45:00.000-07:002013-06-04T23:45:02.103-07:00Parenting a teenagerIn my vast experience of having a teenager in the house for a little over a month now, this is what I've learned: Parenting a teenager is 25% losing your mind, 25% awesomeness, and 50% laughter. Of that 50, 25% is laughing with them, and 25%i is laughing AT the stuff they try to pull off. Case in point: my teenager snuck out of bed to play video games late tonight. When I walked into the room, he did a ninja tuck roll thing and hid behind the couch. It might have had a chance at working had it not sounded like an elephant did a cartwheel in our living room. This episode did not fall into the 25% losing my mind category, because I was too busy laughing and saying "Really. Really? You thought THAT would work?"<br />
<br />
This may be wrong, but it's quite a while later, and I'm still giggling to myself. The best part was he didn't even fit where he was trying to hide. So, imagine it: loud thuds as he rolls away, and then hides in a hiding space where he doesn't even fit and you can see the whole top of his head. He actually thought he was being sneaky.<br />
<br />
L-O-L.<br />
<br />
<br />Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-53468900878293896122013-02-27T20:30:00.001-08:002013-02-27T20:53:02.062-08:00Party Times with Eminent DomainI haven't been posting a lot lately. (Lately being the past two years or so.) BUT! But, I thought I'd type out our experience with this happening to us, in case it might ever help someone out there.<br />
<br />
I blogged last year when this all started. The day someone from the state showed up and said "Surprise! We're taking your house!" I blogged about that day <a href="http://3minionsintow.blogspot.com/2012/04/so-that-happened.html">here</a>. We started looking at houses soon after, not knowing for sure how quickly things were going to move. The woman from the state had said it would be pretty soon. It turns out MY definition of soon, and the state's definition of soon, are very very different.<br />
<br />
We looked at houses and stressed and worried. We didn't hear from a soul for six months. In October, the same woman called me up wanting to meet with me so we could sign papers that would actually get the ball rolling. The next day, I hadn't called her back yet, and she showed up at my house. She said the people she worked with were very urgent about getting stuff signed, as things needed to happen "soon." I signed the papers which were their offer for the actual house, our moving options, and then the really interesting stuff, "Comparable replacement houses." Now, there had been an appraiser, and we were supposed to get a copy of that, but thinking back, we never did.<br />
<br />
Their offer was a lot lower than we were expecting. Just enough to get us out of our mortgage, and that's it. They weren't even offering us our tax assessed amount. To make things even more hair-pulling, those "Comparable" houses they found for us were all almost $30,000 more than what they were giving us for ours. Even though the law here in our state says they have to give us fair market value, somehow to them, that turns out being thousands less than our tax assessed value, and tens of thousands less than comparable houses. How that logic works, I have NO idea.<br />
<br />
At that point she told us we had 30 days to accept their offer. We got in touch with an attorney, and got really serious about looking for houses. The attorney couldn't figure out the logic, either, but he couldn't get them to budge. If we paid the $500 to have our own appraisal done, they may have considered going up a little, but not enough to make it worth it, and basically, it was a take it or. . .take it. Situation.<br />
<br />
We did end up taking it, because there was also a clause that stated since the comparable houses were so much higher, if we bought a house at that same price, they would give us the difference as a down payment. ONLY if we bought a house that high, though. (So, if we bought a house $5,000 more than what they gave us, they'd give us $5,000 for the down payment. $10,000 more, we'd get that. Up to a cap of almost $30,000.) We did the only logical thing: shopped as expensive as we could, up to the cap that the state was willing to pay out. We figured it would be asinine not to. I still don't get how any of this is logical, but, whatevs.<br />
<br />
That brings us to the end of November. We were first told that we'd need to be out 60 days from then, so we freaked the heck out, and told our realtor. (The look on his face was priceless.) Halfway through the process of finding and putting an offer on the new house, we finally find out that no, we won't have to be out until 60 days after we officially sign over the house to the state, which hadn't happened yet. We were told they wanted the closing to happen the beginning of January. We got all of our ducks in a row for that, and it didn't happen then. We waited, and waited. . .and waited for the funds to come down from the powers that be so we could sign our house over.<br />
<br />
The closing that we were told to expect the first week of January didn't end up happening until February 8th. For people that were so urgent to have us out of the house, they sure took their time. So, on February 8th, 2013, the kids and I sat with a lawyer in a conference room, and I signed away our house to the state of Georgia. No one from the state was there.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Hannah at the proceedings)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNg5EOUdIHW7MnLAAseT2BYGF2Pg-JjmJXgaEjgnMxmrazvNiHIMHiipONg77qXqDy7g-Bdlc1DvcxFPeCjuvxr8VE-N0WNdcxcGdxk4gsUxF2PR5lNWX92YuRJjVPhddtzvvZ/s1600/Photo-0021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNg5EOUdIHW7MnLAAseT2BYGF2Pg-JjmJXgaEjgnMxmrazvNiHIMHiipONg77qXqDy7g-Bdlc1DvcxFPeCjuvxr8VE-N0WNdcxcGdxk4gsUxF2PR5lNWX92YuRJjVPhddtzvvZ/s320/Photo-0021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This whole thing had been so difficult, we were trying to look ahead, to the closing on the new house. It was supposed to be the following Tuesday. The hubby called the state people to make sure the down payment funds would be there, and. . .surprise! No, they wouldn't. They needed to inspect the house themselves, and then send off paperwork to request the funds. The closing would have to be pushed back. Our realtor warned us that if it didn't happen within a week of the original closing date, the sellers could back out, because we would be in breach of contract. We stressed and the hubby made lots of phone calls that week. I think he called the state people every day asking if the funds had come in yet. Finally, finally they did, and we closed one week later. Just in time.<br />
<br />
Now we're at the point where we are under the 60 day clock, and have been since February 8th, although in a weird twist, they are giving us all the way to April 21 before we have to hand over the keys. The kids and I are slowly moving what we can until the hubby can come down and help us move the bigger stuff, so we can start living in the new house. It's all been very hard on the kids, but they are really excited about the new house.<br />
<br />
You'd think we'd be done with the aggravation of dealing with the government people, but no, it still drags on. We had the choice of the state hiring someone to move us, or we could move ourselves, and we'd get moving expense money. We chose to move ourselves, and then found out the "fun" thing, that you don't get the moving expenses until AFTER you've moved. In our case, we're not rolling in money, so the state agent agreed to send of the paperwork to get half up front. It takes weeks to get it though, of course. We won't get the other half until we're completely out of the other house, and then they submit the paperwork, and we get to wait weeks again.<br />
<br />
This whole thing has been. . .annoying as all get out. A lot of hurry up and wait on our part, a lot of uncertainty, a lot of frustration. (And looking back, I'm realizing that by the time we hand over the keys, it will have been an entire year since they first showed up at our door.)<br />
<br />
I know this has been long, and maybe even a bit convoluted, but I wanted to get it all out there. Maybe someone out there will be googling "eminent domain" or "OMG the state is taking our house", not knowing what is going to happen next. Maybe they will land here, and at least get some insight.<br />
<br />
p.s.-Is it May, yet?Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-62684354544397495422013-01-21T16:12:00.002-08:002013-01-21T16:13:19.144-08:00A Momentous DayWe've waited 8 1/2 very long years for this.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/58aZbC2OnjM" width="560"></iframe>Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-47219279086187575422013-01-13T19:01:00.004-08:002013-01-13T20:10:46.592-08:00Dried Lava to SparklesA sampling of reactions from my daughters' reactions to the dresses worn to the Golden Globes this evening, just because life is so amazingly stressful right now I NEEDED something like this to blog.<br />
<br />
For those who don't know, Hannah is 6, and Lindsay is 10.<br />
<u><b><br /></b></u>
<u><b>Claire Danes:</b></u><br />
H: Eh, no. (Me: why not?) Because of that line thing that shows her feet.<br />
L: I like that one. It's a pretty dress, even though it doesn't have any glitter or anything.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Amy Adams:</u></b><br />
H: No. (Why not?) It's just. . .ugh. (She seems too disgusted for words.)<br />
L: I don't think so. It's a dull color.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Amy Poehler:</u></b><br />
H: That's not a dress. (But how does she look?) *silence*<br />
L: It's pretty good.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Tina Fey:</u></b><br />
H: That's too much flowers.<br />
L: I like those flowers. She's got style.<br />
(an aside, did she change her dress or something? We didn't watch the actual show.)<br />
<br />
<b><u>Zooey Deschanel:</u></b><br />
H: I like it a little.<br />
L: I love that one, it's the color of roses.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Debra Messing:</u></b><br />
H: It looks like dried lava.<br />
L: The ruffles are pretty good.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Alyssa Milano:</u></b><br />
H: I like that one, but not the belt part.<br />
L: I like the train and the color.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Hayden Panettiere:</u></b><br />
H: Ooh, I like this one too. It's so white!<br />
L: Oooooh! Ahhhhhh!<br />
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<b><u>Anne Hathaway:</u></b><br />
H: Uhhh, it's skinny. Nope.<br />
L:It looks like she's ready to go to a party, which is pretty good.<br />
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<b><u>Jodie Foster:</u></b><br />
H: Oooooh sparkly!<br />
L: Are those sparkles? (yes.) I LOVE sparkles!<br />
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<b><u>Halle Berry:</u></b><br />
H: I like the colors. (when the cutout part was pointed out to her) So?<br />
L: I don't think so. The split part is almost showing her underwear.<br />
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<b><u>Mayim Byalik:</u></b><br />
H: Ummmm. Maybe.<br />
L: I like the shimmer and tulle.<br />
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<b><u>Jennifer Lopez:</u></b><br />
H: Pretty!<br />
L: It's a job well done.<br />
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<b><u>Sofia Vergara:</u></b><br />
Hannah: Gasp!<br />
Lindsay: That's BEAUTIFUL.<br />
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<b><u>Salma Hayek:</u></b><br />
H: Why is there a bow?<br />
L: I don't like the way her breasts poof up.<br />
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<b><u>Jennifer Garner:</u></b><br />
H: Pretty!<br />
L: Now THAT'S a dress.<br />
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Hannah's favorite: Isla Fisher. "Cause sparkles." Yes, of course.<br />
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Lindsay's favorite: Alyssa Milano "It's pretty. Really pretty." Well, there you go.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-33564822520793665032013-01-01T18:24:00.000-08:002013-01-01T18:24:39.264-08:002012, An Apocalyptic YearAs I'm sitting here, safely in 2013, I can't help but reflect on the past year. If it's true that what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, then it shouldn't be too long before I'm able to bench press a semi.<br />
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January was pretty quiet, and the year actually started off okay. Then, February 3rd, my sense of peace was rocked to the core when Ryan had a seizure unexpectedly. When it happened, I was sure I was watching him die, and I don't think I've really relaxed since then.<br />
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March was super busy, but ok. The kids had their first ballet performance, and while it was exhausting, it was a blast.<br />
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Then in April, our life gets rocked again when out of the blue, someone from the state shows up to let us know they're taking our house to tear it down and widen a road.<br />
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The summer included things like our van needing expensive repairs, Ryan splitting open his knee so bad it required nine stitches, crutches, and an immobilizer that ran from his hip to his ankle, and my step mom's father dying.<br />
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The fall brought me finding out I have skin cancer, having biopsies and surgery, and the fun from that still hasn't ended, because just last week I pulled out a few stitches that had been accidentally left behind. I also had the fun of having one of those calls where the hubby starts off by saying "We're all ok, BUT. . ." He was riding with Ryan in his truck when they hit a slick patch and rolled off the interstate. Looking back through the pictures reminds me once again of how lucky we were that they both survived it.<br />
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We've finished out the year by finding out we need to move out by the end of February so the state can take the house, their offer is really crappy, and the house we really really wanted got bought before we could put in an offer. At least December 31 brought the news that we are pre-approved to buy a new house. (something we had been sweating a little.)<br />
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So, even though the Mayans were wrong, and the world didn't end, it sure felt like it might several times for us this past year.<br />
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Welcome 2013, please be a boring year for us. We could use it.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-6211551583020277542012-11-28T20:12:00.005-08:002012-11-28T20:12:57.658-08:00Cancer Removal Surgery Update(Not a very clever title, but whatevs, it's been a long day.)<br />
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Thought I'd give a little update on how things have been going. If you haven't read the previous post, you should, to get caught up.<br />
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This post isn't going to say much except "tada! This is what I look like now." I will say that the surgeon that did the cancer removal called, and the end tests they did came back conclusive for basal cell, and not squamous. So there's that.<br />
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Anywho, this was me on Saturday, November 17th. Five days past the cancer removal, three days past the plastic surgery closure. I took this picture feeling very accomplished, because I had just successfully taken a shower.<br />
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This was Wednesday, November 21st. Nine days past cancer removal, one week past the closure stage. I got my stitches out this day, and more steri-strips put on. The orange stuff is betadine they used to clean my nose. </div>
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And this is me just now. A really bad and dark cell phone picture after a long day. Today is exactly two weeks past the plastic surgery part. The steri-strips are starting to peel off. Won't be long until they are gone, and then I'll post a picture of what the whole thing looks like on its own. Pretty happy with the way things are looking, though. A lot better than the pictures in my previous post, eh?</div>
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<br />Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-22270271433882128762012-11-16T08:59:00.001-08:002012-11-16T18:02:08.955-08:00In which our hero says: Owww<i>Previously on "Midget Invasion": </i>I had a weird scab on my nose that had been there a very long time. It wasn't very big. In fact, it started off very tiny, but grew and grew until it was about the size of a pencil eraser. Finally, I went to the doctor. A biopsy ensued, with a month of waiting, and the results came back. Skin cancer, and it looked like squamous cell, which is super rare in a woman of my age. To read the unabridged versions of this part of the story, go back to the two blog posts before this one.<br />
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So, when we left off, I had a referral to a surgeon, and didn't know what was going to happen next. This week, it all happened. Well, back when I first met the surgeon, he wasn't convinced it was squamous cell, and thought it was basal cell that was just really pissed off. Basal cell is still rare in someone of my age, but not quite as jaw droppingly rare. We scheduled the surgery, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohs_surgery">a Mohs procedure</a>, which is where they numb you, cut out what they think will get it all, and then have you sit and wait while they test it. If they didn't get it all, they come back and cut more. The idea is that it actually ends up taking out less tissue than the traditional treatments, where they just cut out a huge margin to be absolutely sure.<br />
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This past Monday was my Mohs. They shot my nose full of lidocaine, which is a party in itself right there.<br />
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Then they stuck this to my hand:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpV5xTjHuzvPqq8RLEelbbx5cvcPersKnbfDY5uyePj8a9zR6G7ahbLMW4hfnlj_9HHdTMsZMvjIWTs3s39H586INCXP4K-IV7JJYBYjZISkHA1guSzg5297LZsXasbkndhKb/s1600/Photo-0319+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpV5xTjHuzvPqq8RLEelbbx5cvcPersKnbfDY5uyePj8a9zR6G7ahbLMW4hfnlj_9HHdTMsZMvjIWTs3s39H586INCXP4K-IV7JJYBYjZISkHA1guSzg5297LZsXasbkndhKb/s320/Photo-0319+(1).jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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Does anyone know what that is for? Anyone?<br />
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If you said "It's a grounding pad so when they cauterize your tissue they don't accidentally electrocute you." Then, you get a gold sticky star! It's an annoying thing, too, because if you've ever felt the sticky stuff on the monitors they put on your chest when you're in the hospital, the whole thing is made of THAT, and it's on your whole hand. My sensory issue self was not pleased.<br />
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So, the surgeon comes in, they drape my face, and he begins. He cuts out a piece he hopes will get it all, and then the resident cauterizes the bleeding part. Getting to smell your own flesh roasting is always such a fun experience, especially when it's on your nose, so you have no choice but to breathe it in.<br />
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Here is a picture of the first chunk they cut out. Click at your own risk. This is graphic, and gory, and Midget Invasion is not responsible for any fainting, vomiting, or heads hit on desks. <a href="http://flickr.com/gp/10455228@N00/043461">http://flickr.com/gp/10455228@N00/043461</a><br />
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The nurse comes in to dress the wound, and then I sit and wait. I brought a book which I attempted to read, but I was way too distracted. I paced the room, visited the restroom a few times, paced the room some more, and read all the pamphlets and inspected the medical equipment.<br />
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Finally the surgeon comes back in. "Sorry, but we need to take more." Sigh. More lidocaine, more sticky grounding pad, more draping, more cutting, more smelling my own flesh burning, more nurse bandaging, more waiting.<br />
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Shot of the second chunk they took. Same warnings as before. Gore ahead: <a href="http://flickr.com/gp/10455228@N00/3w0Ux2">http://flickr.com/gp/10455228@N00/3w0Ux2</a><br />
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This time I wait longer. I visit the restroom some more, try to read some more, and then try to straighten the pictures on the wall that are crooked, because it's been bothering me the whole time. As I'm adding the finishing touches to the straightened pictures, the surgeon comes back in. Huzzah, they finally got it all! The nurse bandages me up just like it is. I have a plastic surgery referral, so they leave it open for him to deal with. Finally I get to go home.<br />
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The plastic surgeon is very nice. He looks at it, and offers to put me out for the repair, which won't be until the next morning. I decline, because the hubby had to leave the next afternoon. We part ways, and then the next morning I go back to the hospital for the third morning in a row. The surgeon once again offers to put me under, but I promise him I won't bug out on him. They prep me, and then the real fun begins. More lidocaine injections. Massive amounts this time. </div>
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An aside-if you've never had lidocaine injections, just imagine fire ants stinging you and injecting rubbing alcohol into an open wound. If you can imagine what that feels like, then you've got the idea. </div>
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He numbs up my entire nose, down the sides, and a large chunk of my forehead, too. The wound is so big, that he has to cut more to close it. He also tells me he's not entirely sure if it's going to work. That he might have to do a more extensive repair where they cut all the way up my forehead to bring a flap down. He tells me if we end up doing that, I'll have to be put out. </div>
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I lay there while he cuts and pulls, and chatters with his resident and nurse, deciding how best to avoid having me look like something out of a horror movie. (Too bad this wasn't right before Halloween, it would have greatly improved my zombie costume!) Finally he decides that if he only cuts a little of my forehead, he thinks he can make it work. He warns that it will be tight, but should loosen up over time. (He was having to pull the skin from the sides of my nose up really hard, which in turn was pulling my cheeks under my eyes pretty tight, too.) </div>
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He finishes, throwing steri-strips on for good measure, and then tells me to get the stitches out in a week, and get more steri-strips put on, because he's worried the wound could pull back open again. Here I am as soon as he sat me up. (No idea how many stitches and in what configuration the cuts are in. I forgot to ask.)</div>
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Me: "Omg, I look like one of the vampires from Buffy!"<br />
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I go home, the hubby fills my prescriptions, and I proceed to spend the next 36 hours absolutely and completely miserable. The pain was awful, the swelling got WAY worse than this. (Sorry, no pictures of that. I was too busy trying not to die. But to give you an idea, that swelling you can see on the sides of my nose spread out under each eye. That eye on the left was really hard to keep open at one point.) I couldn't even stand up to go to the bathroom without having to fight throwing up. I had to go cold turkey off the pain meds they had prescribed, because it just made the nausea constant.<br />
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Last night, I was able to sit on the couch for a few hours without keeling over. This morning I woke up feeling almost human. Almost.<br />
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Now we spend the next few weeks hoping the stitches hold, the wound doesn't reopen, and that I come out the other side of this looking halfway decent. Whee! I'll definitely blog again when we hit the next phase and the stitches are out and you can actually see the incisions. I bet you're all looking forward to that.</div>
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Moral of the story? SUNSCREEN!</div>
<br />Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-24673532149018936622012-10-18T18:39:00.000-07:002012-10-18T18:39:00.557-07:00Sunscreen and the "C" wordIf you haven't read my first blog post about this, you should, so you're all caught up. I'm not typing all of that out again. <a href="http://3minionsintow.blogspot.com/2012/08/sunscreen-it-does-body-good.html">Click here to read it.</a><br />
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Well, the biopsy ended up taking almost a month. My doctor finally called me to let me know the results were in, and it had taken so long because the pathologists here couldn't figure it out, so they sent it all the way to Washington D.C. to be looked at. Turns out, the guy that made the final call is one of THE main pathologists for the entire military. So I feel a bit special.<br />
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The verdict? Yup, the "C" word. Although, it is not basal cell as they first suspected. Oh no, in keeping with family tradition, I got something extremely rare for someone my age and gender to get. Squamous cell carcinoma. Whee. (Men are twice as likely as women to get it, and the average age is somewhere around 70 or 80 years old. I'm 32.) The biopsy report said they were suspicious it was invasive, as well. The biopsy hadn't been deep enough to tell for sure, though.<br />
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Originally, my doctor wanted to do as the report suggested, and do a deeper biopsy involving stitches. If it wasn't invasive, we could do topical treatment, if it was, I would be referred for surgery. I went back and forth with my doctor a lot, and we finally agreed that just sending me for surgery was best. If we had done a second biopsy, the results would again take a month, because they'd have to be sent back to Washington D.C. Not to mention the fact that I'd have stitches, and then once those healed, if it was invasive, I'd be cut there AGAIN, and have to have more stitches. This way, I'm only going to get cut open once, and it won't matter if it's invasive or not, it will all be taken out.<br />
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So, I guess I have my "C" badge now. My consult appointment with the surgeon is next Tuesday, and then I guess we'll be scheduling the surgery.<br />
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It's one of the harsh realities of life: stupid decisions made when you are a kid (Like getting tons of sunburns) can come back to completely bite you in the butt as an adult. There is no "Wiping the slate clean" with this sort of thing.<br />
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Here it is, that little mark that looks like no big deal. We have to hope that it hasn't spread further so they don't have to cut away half my nose or anything, and we hope that it hasn't sent out any friends to party elsewhere in my body. This shows how one little scab can change everything.<br />
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<br />Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-29523992950543433002012-08-30T22:34:00.001-07:002012-08-30T22:34:03.426-07:00Sunscreen, It Does A Body GoodWell, life is still crazy. House appraisal hanging over our heads, we're about to start off our fifth(!) year homeschooling, we're at the ballet school a minimum of three times a week, our lawn mower is broken, our oven is broken, my computer was broken until today, and now on top of the kids' various special needs and medical appointments, now I have a medical drama of my own! Whee!<br />
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A long time ago, I got a zit looking thing on my nose. No biggie, except the teeny scab it left behind that never seemed to want to heal. I let it go on for way too long. (How long? I'm not going to tell you, but I heard "Why did you let this go on so long?" by more than one medical professional this past week, so we're just going to leave it at "long".) It would kind of heal, and then it would get gross again, and I'd just think to myself "Well, maybe I need to just try something else." Meanwhile, the scab was growing.<br />
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Finally, last week, I got an appointment with my PCM, and she took one look at it and put in a referral to dermatology. I don't know exactly what she typed into the system when she put in the referral, but I had our insurance company calling me the next day to book an appointment, and they got me an appointment less than a week later. So, yesterday I went to the dermatology clinic.<br />
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The dermatologist took one look and sent me to the biopsy room. The scab is on the bridge of my nose, and I proceeded to experience the joy of a ton of lidocaine being injected into my nose. So much so, that it trickled down and even my teeth were numb. The dermatologist came in and did a scrape biopsy, bandaged me up, and gave me directions on caring for the area, which is a lot bigger than the original scab. (I get to wear a bandaid and vaseline for weeks!) The pain hasn't been too bad, but my sinuses are pretty angry, and I can't bend over or the pain does get bad. Oddly enough, I've also lost the ability to yawn properly, because you move the bridge of your nose a lot when you yawn, and my body just won't let me do that. But anyway, he said the biopsy results should be back in the next few weeks, and he'll call me personally to let me know what they are.<br />
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So, here I sit. Pondering on the fact that the word "cancer" might be in that phone call. I am glad that at least if it is, they are suspecting basal cell carcinoma, which is highly treatable and usually does not spread. I'm also sitting here pondering the fact that I'm having to be happy about the fact that if it is cancer, it's "only" basal cell carcinoma. I'm finding myself very. . .accepting of the whole situation. I guess with my family history of various cancers, in the back of my mind, it's never been an "if", but a "when and what kind".<br />
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I've been doing a lot of reading and finding out that I'm pretty young to have this already. (if that is what it is, but chances are pretty high.) I have gotten a few sunburns as an adult, I think, but nothing bad, and I'm usually pretty good about sunscreening my nose. When I was a kid and teenager, though, I got a TON of sunburns. I remember being in high school marching band, and getting some particularly bad ones. On one occasion one of the band directors told me "You're nose is going to fall off some day." I guess I never though that some day would be this soon.<br />
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So. . .sunscreen people. I know we all always think it's something that will happen to someone else, but you know, here I sit, waiting for a phone call. . .<br />
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<br />Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-37371756962546185502012-08-01T13:26:00.001-07:002012-08-01T13:32:09.631-07:00Quarterly Random SpewIt's been a while since I've written anything on here, and so, true to form, I'm going to do a giant post full of randomness to catch anyone up that hasn't been reading along on Facebook or Twitter. (or to fill in details anyone might have missed.)<br />
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Our summer has been action packed, and not just in good ways. I'm in denial that it's August 1st. I see all the back to school stuff, and I stick my fingers in my ears yelling "La la laaa I can't hear youuuuu!" Thankfully, being homeschoolers, we get some say in when our school year starts. However, I don't get to control the fact that ballet starts up in full force in two (ack!) weeks. All three of the younger ones will be in classes, with Lindsay going twice a week, and Logan having extra rehearsals. Logan is going to be in the ballet company's Fall production, which this year, is Peter Pan. He's going to be a lost boy, and is having a blast because he gets to run around and wrestle and sword fight. Lindsay struggles a little with jealousy, as she did not make the ballet company this year. She's handling it with a ton of class, though. She is way cooler and more mature than I was at that age.<br />
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Speaking of Lindsay, she went away to summer camp for the first time. It was only a week long one, but it was really hard to leave her there. None of my kids have gone off somewhere on their own like that before. I know the baby birds will someday have to leave the nest. (Well, most of them, we'll see what happens with Logan.) I also know that they need practice flights, and this was just one of many for Lindsay. I know that this was a great and healthy thing. I KNOW it. It didn't make it any easier, though. She had a pretty good week, we all made it through, and she is already set on going again next year. By the way, she was not able to go the same week as all of her friends, so she went a different week, where she didn't know a soul. She said, and I quote, "That means I get to make new friends!" See? Way cooler than me.<br />
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Ryan had his own brand of excitement, too. He learned the hard way why you don't jump on a couch with the cushions off. If you have a couch nearby, feel under the cushions at the back, where the back of the couch meets the part with the springs. A lot of couches have a board of wood there. Ours does, and Ryan's bent knee met the corner of it with such force that it literally blew his knee right open. As in, I could almost see his kneecap, and he needed nine stitches and had an immobilizer and crutches for two weeks. Even with my four active kids and all of their injuries, I had never seen anything like that in my life. It looked like someone had done surgery on his knee and forgot to close it up. So, that was fun. He handles being incapacitated about as well as I do, which means he pushed the boundaries on what he should be doing with his knee all the time, and was in general a crabby and impatient person. He's healing, though. The stitches came out, and after small dramas here and there, the wound finally completely scabbed over for good about three and a half weeks after he first injured it. He still has a scab on one part, but he has full use of his knee again, with the strict instructions from the doctor that he is not to hit it or fall on it any time soon.<br />
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We went on vacation to Missouri to see my family. True to form, we had drama there, too, in the form of our van needing expensive repairs. Hooray for family members willing to help foot the bill as part of my birthday present! I can tell I'm an actual adult now, because I was genuinely excited about that. New motor mounts for the van for the win! Wooooo! The drama continued as we drove from Missouri to the hubby's house in Virginia, and ended up needing to spend the night in West Virginia because it turns out we needed new tires. For the first time, we spent the week at the hubby's house, and we didn't go anywhere. No beach, no Busch Gardens, we just sat at his house on our butts watching movies and being lazy. It was definitely needed.<br />
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While we were at the hubby's house we celebrated Hannah's birthday. Impossibly, that teeny baby that was in the NICU is now a fabulous SIX year old. She is reading a little bit, and learning other things crazy fast. She is full of spirit and personality and we love her to pieces. She had requested a firefly themed birthday (the bug, not the show), which took a lot of creativity on my part. They don't make firefly themes, it turns out, so we had to make it ourselves. I was pretty pleased with how it all came together. If you want to take a peek at the festivities and my awesome cake, go here: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/10455228@N00/sets/72157630847787072/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/10455228@N00/sets/72157630847787072/</a><br />
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Also, if you want to take a peek at how awesomely gorgeous that six year old Hannah is, we did a photoshoot for her birthday, and you can see those pictures here: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/10455228@N00/sets/72157630847441882/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/10455228@N00/sets/72157630847441882/</a><br />
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I had a hard time getting any good "normal" shots, but like I told the hubby, I think that photoset shows the real Hannah perfectly.<br />
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We're home now, and after months of not hearing anything about our house, I had a certified letter in the mail from an appraiser wanting to set up a walk through of our house. Also, yesterday, our region voted "yes" to raise the sales tax to fund the road project that will tear down our house. The reality is starting to set in that this is really going to happen. The house is NOWHERE near ready for an appraiser to walk through it, and I'm having several small panic attacks throughout the day about how I'm going to get it all done. Guess I just have to suck it up and do it. . . . .right after I puke on my shoes.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-76670868553569565352012-06-03T16:07:00.000-07:002012-06-03T16:10:22.085-07:00Perchance to DreamOh, house hunting. In some ways it's exciting, in other ways exhausting. (Not helped by the fact that we're still not happy about any of this.) I'm discovering something about myself, though, as I sit up late at night scrolling through listings.<br />
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I'm a real estate dreamer. I can look at those old raggedy houses sitting downtown in a small town somewhere and fall in love. I look at it, and I don't see the peeling paint, the sagging steps. I can SEE what it looked like when it was new, what it could look like again if someone would just buy it and be willing to fix it up. I've always done this, actually. We'll be driving somewhere and I'll see a house that's falling apart, and I'll dream about what it looked like when people first moved in. I'd never really thought much about it before, but now that we are looking, I'm realizing just how much I do this.<br />
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It was really obvious today. The kids and I went and looked at a house that looked great on the agent's website. Huge house, (twice the size of our current one) huge yard, (2 acres!) everything we're looking for. We met the agent, and as we walked in, she said "It needs A LOT of work." The floors were gross, there were holes in some walls, steps that needed replacing, and a whole host of other problems, some of them very expensive. Any person in their right mind would have run away screaming after just seeing the first room. I didn't. I walked through with the realtor, taking notes and asking questions. I couldn't help but look around at that house, and see what it could be. The kids seemed to have inherited my ability in this, because they ran around, oblivious to all the damage shouting that it was the best house ever. They were ready to move in today.<br />
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I thanked the realtor and left, and then called to the hubby and vented and told him my dream. That all we'd need is a miracle, the state offering us a high price for our house, and the bank taking a super low price on the new house. If that happened, we could totally do it.<br />
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My brain knows the chances of it are slim to none. That the other houses we'll be looking at, while smaller, don't need such extensive repairs. I know deep down that we'll end up in one of the other ones. It's the smart choice, the grown up choice.<br />
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But I know that if and when we do end up in a house that's a smarter and more grown up decision, I'll always think about that one and wonder "What if. . .?"Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-24439694934898052282012-05-03T21:25:00.000-07:002012-05-03T21:25:39.067-07:00Life's SoundtrackPosting something lighter, because I NEED to.
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Certain songs have stuck in my mind over the years, attached to different memories. These songs define some set moment or time in my life, and hearing them, I'm immediately transported back to that moment. Sometimes this is a good thing, sometimes it's not. I thought for fun, I'd just list some of these songs for me, and you can give a shout out to the songs that are in your life's soundtrack in the comments if you want.<br />
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1.) "I Swear" by Boyz II Men. Junior High, where our hero feels love's first painful sting. More specifically, my first real dance, and the first time I danced with a boy. His name was Greg, and I'd had the biggest crush on him all year, and he knew it. Somehow my friends talked him into dancing with me. A storm was going on during the dance, and in the middle of the song, the power went out. Greg ditched me, and I found out maybe he wasn't that great of a guy after all.<br />
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2.) "Closing Time" by Semisonic. This one is really random, but it stuck with me. I was at some party with friends from high school. In my mind, it was a New Year's Eve party, but looking up the song's release date, that can't be right. It had to have been something else. At some point we ended up at someone's house who had some guitars and a keyboard, and a jam session ensued. They chose this song, and gave me the keyboard part. It was actually pretty fun, so this song is a happy one for me. It comes on the radio and I'm back in high school, in a group of kids just playing some music and having fun.<br />
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3.) "Fly Away" by Lenny Kravitz. In which our hero bonds with a friend over near tragedy. My first (and only) year in college we flew to Ireland. A few hours into the trip, our plane was struck by lighting and plunged a couple hundred feet before the pilot was able to get things under control again. I was sitting next to my friend Stacy on the plane, and we were both pretty traumatized by the whole thing. For the rest of the semester, it was our inside joke to change the words of this song to "I want to get away, I want to DRIVE away. . ."<br />
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4.) "Jumper" by Third Eye Blind: In which our hero joins a sorority. This was my candidate (same as pledge) class song. We changed all the words to things about the sorority, and sang it in front of all of the current members. This song makes me think of my fellow candidate class members. Good feelings.<br />
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5.) "Slide" Goo Goo Dolls. The hubby and I have never really had "a song", but this one comes pretty close. If only for the lyrics that say "Do you wanna get married or run away?" Since we eloped and then left the state, whenever we'd hear this song we'd follow up that part with "Or both?" and smile at each other.<br />
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6.) "Clocks" by Coldplay. This one isn't happy. It puts me in a funk any time it comes on, which might seem weird until you hear why. I listened to this song at midnight on January 1st, 2005. The hubby was in Iraq, and the kids and I had just left my grandparents' house, where we had been visiting with them and my dad. I had gotten a call while we were there that my mom had finally asked to go back to the hospice, which meant she would be gone soon. I stopped at the top of a hill at midnight to watch all the fireworks going off in the neighborhoods around Fort Hood. I listened to this song while the kids slept in the car. I contemplated the year that was starting, knowing it was going to be the year my mom died. This song puts me right back in that car at that moment.<br />
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7.) "Hey, Soul Sister" by Train. In which our hero gets to see something awesome. This song means one thing to me: Florida. The week we were in Florida to see the shuttle launch, this song had really taken off, and the radio stations were playing it All. The. Time. The result? I now have a Pavlovian response where I think of Florida and the shuttle launch every time I hear this song. Not a bad thing at all.<br />
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I'm sure there are other songs I could come up with if I think hard enough. Maybe I'll come back and edit the post as I think of them.<br />
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<br />Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-57547662336076609462012-04-20T10:06:00.001-07:002012-04-20T10:08:32.843-07:00So. . .THAT happenedI guess the universe thought I was bored? That I was getting too content and comfortable in my surroundings? Out of the blue this past Monday, it decided to give me a roundhouse kick to the face.<br />
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Imagine it. We had a long day at our homeschooling co-op, and were home unwinding. Some of the kids were in the backyard, some were glassy eyed in front of a movie, so I decided to grab my camera and sit in the front yard to try and get some bird shots. I settled down on our front steps, and propped my camera on the railing towards our bird feeder and waited. It was a lovely afternoon.<br />
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Was being the key word here.<br />
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I'm sitting there and a black SUV pulls into our cul-de-sac. I think nothing of it at first, until it slows down and stops in front of our house. Hmm. A woman gets out and walks around to her passenger door, calling out "Hi, how are you?" I stand up and set my camera down, as she grabs some papers out of her car and walks towards me.<br />
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I almost wish I could freeze time right there. RIGHT THERE. The defining moments in everyone's lives usually aren't long and drawn out. It's usually something that happens in an instant, and your whole reality changes. This was to be one of those moments.<br />
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She says she's from the Department of Transportation, and asks me how much I knew about the road widening. I tell her that I know that someday the road next to our house will be widened, and that we will lose part of our backyard and have to move our shed. (We knew about it when we bought the house, but weren't too worried. This road has been slated to be widened for almost TWENTY YEARS.) She nods and then pulls out one of her papers.<br />
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"Well, (she rambles something in here I don't quite remember about the creek behind our house and drainage from the road) as it turns out, we need to just take the whole property." She looks at me, waiting for a response, which I believe verbatim was "Oh. . . . . . . .kay?" She shows me on the diagram something about a drainage pipe that needs to run where the house is, and some other things, but my brain goes kind of fuzzy here. I think at this point there was a voice inside my head shrieking "Wait, what? What?! WHAT?!?!?" <br />
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There was paperwork to fill out about our family, and explanations about the process and what "The State" has to do for us. In a nutshell: I have to get our house cleaned and looking pretty so an appraiser can come at some unknown time (seriously, it could be next week or next month. I DON'T KNOW.), he assesses the property, the state makes us various offers based on whether or not we have them move us or we do it ourselves and they pay us, and then, then we move so they can tear down our house. I asked her what kind of time frame we are talking about here for the move actually happening, and she said "Oh, probably about 6 months." She then gave me her card and left.<br />
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So. I basically found out this week that we have to move 6 months from now so our house and beautiful trees can all be razed to the ground, so people can get downtown faster.<br />
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This has been hard. Devastating. I mean, I know it's just a house, but it's MY house. Anyone that knows us, knows how much work we've put into this place. How much we love it. It's perfect for our family, and we expected to be in this house for a very long time. The kids are not taking it well, either, especially Lindsay. She cried when I told her. "But what about Emily?" she sobbed. "Who?" I asked. "My tree, the one I named." as she points to a tree that I know will get cut down. I told her we'd take the smallest trees that we've planted, but I didn't think "Emily" could be moved. I did my best to try to absorb her pain as I hugged her.<br />
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Ryan has been internalizing most of his anger and sadness over it, but I know it's there, as it pops up from time to time when he can't contain it. We've already started looking for new houses, because holy cow, six months is not very long. We're keeping the kids very involved in the hunt, as we hope that the excitement of a new house will help ease the sting of losing this one. I'm hoping the same for myself. I can't help but feel a twinge when I look at "Emily", or our 30 year old fig tree, or all of my crepe myrtles, my azaleas, the dogwood tree. All of it will be just. . . gone. I told someone the other day that most likely, once we leave this house, it will be a long time, if ever, before I am able to drive down this road again. Especially once they start tearing things down. I think I'll gladly take the slower way downtown.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-46521423550602701422012-03-27T10:01:00.002-07:002012-03-27T10:16:25.510-07:00When Leaping Pays OffI was terrified about the ballet performance, I'll admit. We got a dvd of last year's performance and ran through scenes with Logan in the living room. I watched and worried during rehearsals when, instead of paying attention, he was looking out the window, or peeling tape off the dance floor. <br /><br />I was nervous for my girls and their respective roles, but not worried. I wasn't sure how any of them would react to being on a huge stage, with the lights and the people, but I just wasn't WORRIED about the girls. I was about Logan, though. Not to mention the fact that with all his sensory issues, his role required a full face of stage makeup and a ton of goop in his hair. Were we just asking for a giant meltdown?<br /><br />Theater week came. First Lindsay had her spacing rehearsal, and she loved the stage and did fine. The next night was Logan's. He wasn't phased at all, and said the stage was great, although I still held my breath. Spacing rehearsals didn't have on the full lights, or makeup, or costumes. Hannah's followed, and she did fine as well. Not one of them was scared of the stage, so we were on the right path. <br /><br />The fourth night that week was dress rehearsal. Logan flinched and made faces while they got him gooped and made up, but he didn't complain, and liked how he looked when they were done. We watched the girls do their roles (just fine, of course) and then it was time for Logan's first scene. I stood backstage and held my breath as I watched. <br /><br />Let me tell you, I stood back there choked up as I watched my boy do a GREAT job. He danced his part better than he ever had. He was THERE, and in the moment, and I watched in awe as he was even doing some nuances and subtleties that they had discussed in rehearsal but he had never done before. Other parents back stage were giving me thumbs up, and telling me how awesome he was doing, but I just nodded back. I didn't want to say anything because I was afraid I would cry right then and there.<br /><br />The show went just as well, and afterwards all the kids were already talking about next year's show, with Logan declaring that he wants to do the same role again. So, just like that, it seems I am now a stage mom. And I couldn't be happier about it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDjZ-mcuKhSfQuwL5HFwulSe-4hk5CIU-UzaMBNkmpOECQ9_w6b9NaRWlr65El1nkqVNLbMPpRlbpbSp2CdMCHkagmNmWcpYvkdqzE6IKRbAIvArJqi0KOsAh1etFG1GE30bC/s1600/DSC_0872asmall.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDjZ-mcuKhSfQuwL5HFwulSe-4hk5CIU-UzaMBNkmpOECQ9_w6b9NaRWlr65El1nkqVNLbMPpRlbpbSp2CdMCHkagmNmWcpYvkdqzE6IKRbAIvArJqi0KOsAh1etFG1GE30bC/s400/DSC_0872asmall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724626888625435826" /></a>Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-85238809993180571832012-03-14T22:35:00.004-07:002012-03-14T22:41:11.801-07:00Scenes from my jobSince the upcoming ballet performance has swallowed our family whole, I thought I'd throw up some shots I took at the market the other night.<br /><br />Now this? This is what food is supposed to look like<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9HpL2oNEcCguz6RYxfzekKkcIliSG2-kIclu6jUNhwipMaexZOU9Q6c6_R5UlVCcvh53-nlo01NtWeOOq_mgbHrgDg6uu5vmlj7_D9000dOIjL7fROeqfIdXLTHInwMT10vZ/s1600/DSC_0413asmall.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9HpL2oNEcCguz6RYxfzekKkcIliSG2-kIclu6jUNhwipMaexZOU9Q6c6_R5UlVCcvh53-nlo01NtWeOOq_mgbHrgDg6uu5vmlj7_D9000dOIjL7fROeqfIdXLTHInwMT10vZ/s400/DSC_0413asmall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719993830243873842" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYtLKfQpLlj39m1pOqLb-BkD0ai_r17hDTk7Yy0PgoRzGreauJbT-docmCRNlhOGeKUI6e_ewOK6UOT4ene7MAtFN9cmxMVPgi665f34DU2fTcCksK59PHSupL8mR1vHV5xdL/s1600/DSC_0411a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYtLKfQpLlj39m1pOqLb-BkD0ai_r17hDTk7Yy0PgoRzGreauJbT-docmCRNlhOGeKUI6e_ewOK6UOT4ene7MAtFN9cmxMVPgi665f34DU2fTcCksK59PHSupL8mR1vHV5xdL/s400/DSC_0411a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719993967364798946" /></a><br /><br />That's not a carrot. THIS is carrot!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1p-XykPpIDJNL1r8_eMfkeG3g1BSYQ9YQ-JX4x9eSt-WU_QATnupB9XVbYIbApo2GBgN4SXzFTueEBpCHe1t7ZaxAHKPx7J1eiMpCAJOShnSaxcvAKOcfVf0PbEnVbQkV7bt/s1600/DSC_0410a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1p-XykPpIDJNL1r8_eMfkeG3g1BSYQ9YQ-JX4x9eSt-WU_QATnupB9XVbYIbApo2GBgN4SXzFTueEBpCHe1t7ZaxAHKPx7J1eiMpCAJOShnSaxcvAKOcfVf0PbEnVbQkV7bt/s400/DSC_0410a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719994155397184178" /></a><br /><br />Intern serving double duty, helping customers and helping Logan with his ipad<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgyRZMqjGMrAaObFTqXXHMU1nSpXQ5Ai1OuSbnMLvWjygBl2qV3sDCnlSzU_FyRgXCz97D0Ed1r8CLXQUSeDNYinGmw4iCgOE4Qy7D-Ey6zxyxGRro6ZfvkLU3PYNkLEr8QbB/s1600/DSC_0412a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgyRZMqjGMrAaObFTqXXHMU1nSpXQ5Ai1OuSbnMLvWjygBl2qV3sDCnlSzU_FyRgXCz97D0Ed1r8CLXQUSeDNYinGmw4iCgOE4Qy7D-Ey6zxyxGRro6ZfvkLU3PYNkLEr8QbB/s400/DSC_0412a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719994387118138002" /></a><br /><br />One of my other little helpers. I have a soft spot for this one! I hope she's learning good things being a part of this.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXefP3W5gsH_rAf94tV5ndRgFA-Bb854lBMUqs869zLgUeDV1weN7NskuNNTBzXY1y5shj3vXNoGRGUPpsahSg9RoWdwRvG8mp4tuLAgz7FVaWqNGe46qHvIG7CIPtzqwkbibz/s1600/DSC_0414a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXefP3W5gsH_rAf94tV5ndRgFA-Bb854lBMUqs869zLgUeDV1weN7NskuNNTBzXY1y5shj3vXNoGRGUPpsahSg9RoWdwRvG8mp4tuLAgz7FVaWqNGe46qHvIG7CIPtzqwkbibz/s400/DSC_0414a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719994614793921458" /></a>Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-56700226170044295852012-02-23T14:11:00.005-08:002012-02-23T14:20:47.148-08:00Shutter TherapyA few weeks ago I saw <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/photography/2012/02/so-much-fun/">a post on another blog</a> that showed a series of photos shot by hanging the photographer's camera down by her foot and firing off shots with her dog. <br /><br />She was right, scrolling through the results made my heart happy. There were lots of imperfect shots, where the focus was totally wrong, or it was off center, or tilted, but still. . .<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixK8vM3qW2-bnYCl8b1jmqN7rnyeapEbMydfR-JM7_Cgcu0wwPXcEEvORZGMyux9ZGa-lo6IqeDxYJNPciqorPMZ2q-oT0D_98LNyCwjj1EF5OsPi-DabXW8O501Ws2L2nFryu/s1600/DSC_0302a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixK8vM3qW2-bnYCl8b1jmqN7rnyeapEbMydfR-JM7_Cgcu0wwPXcEEvORZGMyux9ZGa-lo6IqeDxYJNPciqorPMZ2q-oT0D_98LNyCwjj1EF5OsPi-DabXW8O501Ws2L2nFryu/s400/DSC_0302a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458866992448610" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVxiTIu7bj204981b2GA3axZ43NLUCU_I-Osze4sJg9sdr5tkeKjumoesiKMg6G3fqe9LGOLbq29CRDmbpNMD2ABNtRq8tJOchkIlBIxb3vEJmTwAz80yN-6Ia1Q-dWRDIpEp/s1600/DSC_0303a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVxiTIu7bj204981b2GA3axZ43NLUCU_I-Osze4sJg9sdr5tkeKjumoesiKMg6G3fqe9LGOLbq29CRDmbpNMD2ABNtRq8tJOchkIlBIxb3vEJmTwAz80yN-6Ia1Q-dWRDIpEp/s400/DSC_0303a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458850412843186" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26RGKKFZlGw6zROy3q5QPLcnBSEwCYa_-CukktGYbCDcxrN3eyH_QH0xN7USDxjKbVmuRqqJS3unp2BCyEyhtSUBYdyNU2lkqqnvrvgUN1F-_pqe71k2EVxzaTtZuwW79fLlC/s1600/DSC_0304a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26RGKKFZlGw6zROy3q5QPLcnBSEwCYa_-CukktGYbCDcxrN3eyH_QH0xN7USDxjKbVmuRqqJS3unp2BCyEyhtSUBYdyNU2lkqqnvrvgUN1F-_pqe71k2EVxzaTtZuwW79fLlC/s400/DSC_0304a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458835130565250" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxDfLsmFHIWcsuA1FlR99YMUx_354FMCwIcYrWlplA2ji0I0Uc-hr08uHH_ODqvWmCN8gnVLNqWOHGVXORcsE2h1BoFTIcqPajWjqRpDW00QHdPyfJuZxHb2_rHv8W5Kbf8-6/s1600/DSC_0305a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxDfLsmFHIWcsuA1FlR99YMUx_354FMCwIcYrWlplA2ji0I0Uc-hr08uHH_ODqvWmCN8gnVLNqWOHGVXORcsE2h1BoFTIcqPajWjqRpDW00QHdPyfJuZxHb2_rHv8W5Kbf8-6/s400/DSC_0305a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458639968511842" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZoX4jCpCHqyVIlVJ3QwMwBg_sudD1ima4GPEUkJUUf_yESOnI4mmAP4hC-958ib61krw0tMZD84fmOkdSICaxeBCh9DHRHWTQfa74oECbJtdqGU-b5_Fe3dp1Snou98zPhGF5/s1600/DSC_0306a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZoX4jCpCHqyVIlVJ3QwMwBg_sudD1ima4GPEUkJUUf_yESOnI4mmAP4hC-958ib61krw0tMZD84fmOkdSICaxeBCh9DHRHWTQfa74oECbJtdqGU-b5_Fe3dp1Snou98zPhGF5/s400/DSC_0306a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458607715142786" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYQKuMB9EcX7V69qpa99zzT8grM6ZNzn9lAHDgVg3xouY2aixoSQVazxzv6u0OUDnOZcXpXVCIMN_s5ilb6Taf68QubAtjlMkyjpGogYFStHXALAs6KmihzutMSjYTPorGacL/s1600/DSC_0310a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYQKuMB9EcX7V69qpa99zzT8grM6ZNzn9lAHDgVg3xouY2aixoSQVazxzv6u0OUDnOZcXpXVCIMN_s5ilb6Taf68QubAtjlMkyjpGogYFStHXALAs6KmihzutMSjYTPorGacL/s400/DSC_0310a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458582991805170" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdc17T4bqq8Pa2JQAiehISzz6iFrri4RzQNy6NbjuyOQwZtaqQLtMearXMpJMBE1eUBD-yLyc0h-PR8ZHVmSR3fbzDzW1x0nK2ZPx_-JGXMZlgdRIQVBiuN2TXQKyITryt19Td/s1600/DSC_0311a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdc17T4bqq8Pa2JQAiehISzz6iFrri4RzQNy6NbjuyOQwZtaqQLtMearXMpJMBE1eUBD-yLyc0h-PR8ZHVmSR3fbzDzW1x0nK2ZPx_-JGXMZlgdRIQVBiuN2TXQKyITryt19Td/s400/DSC_0311a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458561691616882" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmEiejSjTPzXS2a2BPa-bZE7xQtd5w5YbTCRKQhVmJ5fB96PVhOZkef2MjoVUrqGSlIbPYhWIqkAF0ap9aUQA2GGXjSQrWsfUt4h5ThgpMiXCpY1YE2GjZNvOr4zwQ020D7Wa/s1600/DSC_0312a.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmEiejSjTPzXS2a2BPa-bZE7xQtd5w5YbTCRKQhVmJ5fB96PVhOZkef2MjoVUrqGSlIbPYhWIqkAF0ap9aUQA2GGXjSQrWsfUt4h5ThgpMiXCpY1YE2GjZNvOr4zwQ020D7Wa/s400/DSC_0312a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712458530505366210" /></a><br /><br />. . .HAPPY.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-75118882964946803692012-02-16T09:09:00.002-08:002012-02-16T09:35:02.407-08:00Love is in the AirLindsay: "Mom, come quick! Bring your camera! There is a mommy bird feeding her baby!"<br /><br />I bring my camera, and go to the dining room window where she is. She points out where she is looking. I look through the camera, using the zoom lens as binoculars.<br /><br />Me: "Actually, I think it's a boy and girl dove."<br /><br />Lindsay: "Oh."<br /><br />There is a flurry of activity on the tree branch.<br /><br />Lindsay: "What are they doing now?"<br /><br />Me: "Uh, making baby birds."<br /><br />Lindsay: "Awww! And only a few days after Valentine's Day, too!"Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-52651713812521696152012-02-10T10:02:00.000-08:002012-02-11T22:00:00.131-08:00Leaping Off the CliffThe girls started ballet this year. After years of our lives revolving around the boys and their various appointments, I decided the girls deserved something of their own. Something more "normal". They started in August, and they both love it. Lindsay has shown a huge aptitude for it, and there is a chance she'll even make the performing company at the end of this year. It's been fun to watch her teaching Hannah different positions, and seeing them both practice at home. <br /><br />Every year, this performing company with the attached school do a major performance in the spring including everyone. (The company has performances throughout the year, but the school gets to participate in the Spring one.) The girls got their assigned parts, and then an email went out. They were looking for boys to join. I talked to Ryan first, they were really lacking in older boys, and he probably would have gotten a really good part. He was completely uninterested, though. That's when I thought about Logan. The younger boys get to be scary creatures on stage, and I figured he'd have a blast with it. <br /><br />I hesitated, at first. Ballet was supposed to be the girls' thing. Their lives have had to revolve around Logan so much, was it really fair to bring him into this, too? In the end, it wasn't me that made the decision, but Lindsay. She was excited about the idea, and is the one who convinced him to join. (How much does she rock as a sister? I mean, seriously.) <br /><br />I've been kind of nervous about the whole thing. I don't know how he's going to react to being on stage, with the lights, and the costumes. Will he even be able to learn his part? This will be an amazing thing for him if it works out. It's great for his motor skills, and the confidence that would come from doing well is priceless. So, we're leaping. He's going to be a ghoul in the ballet, in no less than FIVE scenes. I'm choosing to have faith. He's going to do fine, and it's going to be great.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-45368091021196729542012-02-08T11:00:00.000-08:002012-02-08T11:34:45.132-08:00Then the Bottom Dropped OutThe one thing you don't hear about (or do hear about but don't truly understand) before you have kids is how freaking terrifying being a parent truly is. From the moment you get pregnant, the what-ifs set in, and they don't ever stop. The baby being born just makes it worse, and the older they get, the more you worry. First you worry about when to start baby food, and SIDS, and why your baby isn't talking yet, but the neighbor's baby is. Then it's that they'll fall off something, or whether or not they'll ever stop biting the other kids at the playground, and when will they just potty train already? Then it's schooling, then driving, and dating, and then the whole freaking world. It's easy to see how helicopter parents come about. It truly is scary, having a child.<br /><br />All of this is compounded when something does go wrong. I've blogged before about Ryan. When he was born, he had a massive brain bleed. He had seizures, and a NICU stay, and a future full of uncertainty. Then, miraculously, everything was okay. When he was four years old, we got told by a neurologist that they never needed to see him again. He was fine. Then, about a year ago, he started having headaches. I blogged about that, too. With his medical history, I was worried. We were back to seeing a neurologist, and after an MRI, Ryan was diagnosed with migraines. I hated that, for him. I have them and didn't want him to have to go through it. He was put on medication to help prevent them, and for the most part, it has worked. He's only had a few headaches in the past few months.<br /><br />Then, last Thursday, the bottom dropped out. We'd had a hectic week, and were enjoying the one day that we where we didn't have anything to do. We sat around in our pajamas all day, watching movies and relaxing. Just before I was about to start making dinner, Ryan came to me and said his head hurt. It was the same headaches he has been getting; they are always on the same side of his head. I gave him some ibuprofen, and walked out of the room. A few seconds later, I heard a crash. I figured he tripped, and went back into the kitchen to make sure he was okay. <br /><br />I wasn't expecting what I found. Ryan on the floor, in the middle of a full grand mal seizure. I think it's hard to fully describe the terror of that moment, and the minutes following where he stopped breathing. Instincts kicked in as I rolled him on his side and used my hand under his head to keep it from banging on the floor, as I sat there at plead with God to make it stop. After an eternity, it finally did, and right before I was about to start CPR, he finally took a few ragged, irregular breaths. I didn't breathe again myself until he settled into a regular rhythm. <br /><br />I was finally at a point where I was comfortable leaving his side long enough to call for an ambulance. He finally regained consciousness, and there was further fear when he couldn't walk or talk. My mind immediately went to the what-ifs and I worried that it would be permanent. That I had lost him. Finally the ambulance came, and we went to the hospital. By the time I saw him again, I felt relief wash over me because he was coherent, moving and talking, although he couldn't remember what had happened.<br /><br />After staying overnight, he was released on medication. Since we've been home, I've found it hard to leave his side, even for a few minutes. It was so out of the blue, so sudden, that I can't help but worry every second of every day that it's going to happen again. I have flashbacks in my mind often of that moment I found him. I'm not sleeping much, because all I can think is that it will happen in the middle of the night, and he'll choke on vomit or something, and I wouldn't ever know. I've mentioned on facebook and twitter that I'm struggling to figure out our new "normal". One where we can all continue to function, and move on with our lives. It's hard. It's REALLY hard. It's one of those things that is every parent's worst nightmare, and it happened. That's. . . .a really hard thing to get over. <br /><br />I've been partially holding my breath since. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully relax ever again. I'm grateful that it wasn't worse, that he's still here. But I can't help but worry that it will happen again, and that after it happens, he won't be.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-55733097175189784892012-01-18T08:55:00.000-08:002012-01-18T08:59:15.123-08:00Censorship SucksAdding my teeny tiny corner of the internet to the protests of SOPA and PIPA today. <br /><br />I'm a photographer, so I do care about piracy. I care a lot. I'm protective of my work, and get upset when people steal it. <br /><br />However, broad legislation that would give the powers that be the ability to shut down entire websites WITHOUT DUE PROCESS is not the answer.<br /><br />The Oatmeal explains it best, so I will let him take it from there. Click through and read, if you haven't already:<br /><br /><a href="http://theoatmeal.com/sopa">The Oatmeal explains SOPA</a>Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18883522.post-31416754709226260902012-01-17T12:01:00.000-08:002012-01-17T12:45:27.893-08:00Merry Go RoundI am sorting laundry, and I grab a gray sweatshirt, ready to throw it onto my pile of clothes. I do a double take, and realize it's not my sweatshirt, it's his. He gets dog poop on his shoes in the back yard. We have to be somewhere and don't have time to clean them, so he borrows a pair of mine that are masculine looking. They fit. He's outgrown his pants, so I go shopping for new ones. He was in a 12, and now is in a 16. Where did 14 go? I see movement out of the corner of my eye and wonder who that guy is walking through the other room. I startle when I realize it's him. Just a few months ago, he stood in front of me, and we played our private little game where I rest my chin on his head. I tried again the other day, and couldn't do it. He is now too tall. I find myself thinking. . .how? WHEN?!?!?<br /><br />The kids have always grown up too fast for my liking. With him, the sand slipping through my fingers has now turned to water. He'll be twelve in a few months. My breath catches in my throat when I realize this is our last year before he is a teenager. The merry go round is spinning faster and faster, the days and the world becoming a blur. Will I have time to teach him everything I mean to? To say all that needs to be said? I'm terrified that I will not.Meghannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16940940739342340712noreply@blogger.com0