tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47131179078354161862024-03-13T05:47:08.596-05:00It Is What It Is . . .This is my reality, told day by day, event by event! This reality is not what I had dreamed up. It isn't what I thought it would be. This reality is my life, overall it is pretty good and It Is What It Is!A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-86833580214239643432013-01-06T00:25:00.000-06:002013-01-06T00:25:15.209-06:00Scare Tactics . . . <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSa9PZ17wNUyFvGs_c0nj-exM8VGrJrTMYhyKTC_un3rsBiC4Xk" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="108" data-width="466" height="74" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSa9PZ17wNUyFvGs_c0nj-exM8VGrJrTMYhyKTC_un3rsBiC4Xk" width="320" /></a>Boy do I have a bee in my bonnet and my knickers in a
wad!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
We all know someone who has an agenda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They want you to join their company – NO; NO
it is not a multi level marketing scheme – no not us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or perhaps . . . they want you to buy in as a
grass roots partnership level into their company . . . their dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe it is someone who keeps you on the
hook for more and more sessions instead of saying you are good to go . . . get
out there and do some good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite
is the friend who wants me to change my ways . . . makes fun of my car – calls it
a gas hog . . . tells me “Oh, I would never have a pool . . . that wastes so
much electricity.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is always the “Oh
that is great for you . . . I just could never do THAT.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all have their agenda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all want something from you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>AND they are ALL like a dog with a good bone
. . . not willing to let go and move on!</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Today my husband called from his office, it isn’t normal for
him to have depo prep on a Saturday but you got to do what the client needs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me to call his folks, see if they
can watch the boys and meet him at the movies for the 2:45pm showing of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Promise</i></st1:placename><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Land</st1:placetype></i></st1:place><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>He
asked me if I want to see it, I was luke warm on it simply because I couldn’t
remember anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reminds
me it is the one with Matt Damon and John Krasinski, the guy from<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> The Office. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnO5rdSUoP9ScmM-I8U8rtsXRpxoCPY-hSGp_TdfEuFy2R0y7M" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="273" data-width="184" height="273" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnO5rdSUoP9ScmM-I8U8rtsXRpxoCPY-hSGp_TdfEuFy2R0y7M" style="height: 273px; width: 184px;" width="184" /></a>I drop the boys at the in-laws and head over to buy tickets,
get our assigned seats and wait for him to arrive.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The synopsis of the movie according to wiki is: <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Promised_Land_(2012_film)#Production"><span style="color: blue;"><em>Corporate
salesperson Steve Butler and his sales partner Sue Thomason visit a rural town
to buy drilling rights from local residents who seek relief after the recent
economic decline. They encounter resistance from a schoolteacher, who is
supported by a grassroots campaign organized by another man who seeks to rival
Butler.</em></span></a> It is a movie about the possibility of fracking . . . I didn't miss spell! Look it up!</span></div>
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRYXyTGkTPBF54c30bphBhfBNdgshhygHYwnZKTYE5MTCyoMjNpzxzsIZM" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img align="middle" alt="" border="0" class="th " height="98" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRYXyTGkTPBF54c30bphBhfBNdgshhygHYwnZKTYE5MTCyoMjNpzxzsIZM" style="margin-top: 0px;" title="http://www.movieposter.com/poster/MPW-52906/Hope_Floats.html" width="66" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Classic hard working man verses big bad company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>AND . . . I kinda want my money back!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQpkFT17JFHfrrWPnnW_vdm9V60-BC5JQNADD7lNuWcIUKEZFNB" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="282" data-width="179" height="200" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQpkFT17JFHfrrWPnnW_vdm9V60-BC5JQNADD7lNuWcIUKEZFNB" width="126" /></a><a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTua8WL6jTR6TtuL0z_AnVtW_dzlzkCtQUOjLNkvNBx26Oe54YmEWKFFQ" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img align="middle" alt="" border="0" class="th " height="91" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTua8WL6jTR6TtuL0z_AnVtW_dzlzkCtQUOjLNkvNBx26Oe54YmEWKFFQ" style="margin-top: 0px;" title="http://todayintango.wordpress.com/2010/11/30/1993-november-30-premiere-schindlers-list/schindlers-list-poster/" width="68" /></a><a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ2EIt0VE10iRlhSjXT31ZKhEAFDLzdpX3sSyKS6mP6FH1a1oCVoZjBkw" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img align="middle" alt="" border="0" class="th " src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ2EIt0VE10iRlhSjXT31ZKhEAFDLzdpX3sSyKS6mP6FH1a1oCVoZjBkw" style="margin-top: 0px;" title="http://www.moviepostershop.com/fools-rush-in-movie-poster-1997" /></a>I like movies; in fact we have a big movie room in our
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do lots of movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
I like chick flicks like Steel Magnolias,
Fools Rush In, Point of No Return, Pretty Woman, Pitch Perfect, Bridesmaids AND
just about anything with Vince Vaughn in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I go to the movies I want to be entertained. I want to forget about
the outside world and just enjoy myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I want to laugh . . . walk away with a few funny lines . . . walk away
happy OR . . .<br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSpXc7nAw-LEuh2UVmRjuwWKqOXfMIHQLlhuvn7tsIBXpU2GZiy" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="168" data-width="300" height="112" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSpXc7nAw-LEuh2UVmRjuwWKqOXfMIHQLlhuvn7tsIBXpU2GZiy" width="200" /></a> I want to be moved by the movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I like sad movies, movies that make you feel . . . some favorites are <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Philadelphia</st1:place></st1:city>,
Schindler's List, Hope Floats, Dead Poet’s Society, Step Mom and Beaches.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT7gDQiBb8rJx0LcgTqkRgaeGT1RGBnNV9a_MGF8hmVfvzpKf_jmkgugJA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" name="VjTl-3rm1Noc8M:" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT7gDQiBb8rJx0LcgTqkRgaeGT1RGBnNV9a_MGF8hmVfvzpKf_jmkgugJA" style="height: 147px; margin-top: 0px; width: 99px;" /></a><o:p> </o:p>What I don’t like is a movie with an agenda . . .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>somewhat like our friend above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They just beat you over and over and over the
head with it for the full two hours and I sit there wondering WHY I paid for
this abuse.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p>I am not a fan of The Lorax, not a fan of WALL-E, and not a
fan of this movie, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Promise</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Land</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are so heavy handed with an
environmental slant I want to get up and leave.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTILmi0i-Caivos2sat7QfB8udw7eJPER4pCCE53_bUYV2GoyRotg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="225" data-width="225" height="200" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTILmi0i-Caivos2sat7QfB8udw7eJPER4pCCE53_bUYV2GoyRotg" width="200" /></a>What I found interesting from the beginning credits is that
Matt Damon and John Krasinski, both Democrats, both environmentalists wrote the
screenplay for this movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also
produced this movie AND stared in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact according to some sites Matt Damon was scheduled to direct this movie but
decided he couldn’t do all of it and turned the directing over to Gus Van Zant,
he called him and picked him to fill the directing shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
While I am a little right of center but far from the far
right, I don’t begrudge these men from working, from putting out movies, from
providing for their families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find it
interesting they did all the writing, producing and staring but what I find
MOST interesting about the credit that rolled at the beginning of the movie is
who financed it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT_OgbIiIWrCUZUAv8vSMuvd7Xo9MAIrI1oXLefd-cusw9_VzbR" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="272" data-width="185" height="200" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT_OgbIiIWrCUZUAv8vSMuvd7Xo9MAIrI1oXLefd-cusw9_VzbR" width="136" /></a><o:p> </o:p>If I left it open ended right here you would never guess who
financed this block buster, big time theater, movie star caliber, wide release
movie the week of Christmas . . . </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR2DzyGtxT9GDsgqBqkI5qR4yMh2_HG15XSdaZpnszNOTkl_u5n" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="56" data-width="107" height="56" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR2DzyGtxT9GDsgqBqkI5qR4yMh2_HG15XSdaZpnszNOTkl_u5n" style="height: 56px; width: 107px;" width="107" /></a>Abu Dhabi Media WHOLLY owned by the UAE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
Do you know what the UAE is???<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The UAE is the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United Arab Emirates</st1:place></st1:country-region> – who are
members of OPEC. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSbbdZba4XviPpZl1BkUfpA1YElBh2o5NhRWsK-ZXJkgbE3nH9E_w" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="182" data-width="276" height="182" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSbbdZba4XviPpZl1BkUfpA1YElBh2o5NhRWsK-ZXJkgbE3nH9E_w" style="height: 182px; width: 276px;" width="276" /></a>Do you know what OPEC is . . . Organization of the Petroleum
Exporting Countries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is what wiki
had to say about it:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> it is </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">said
that the UAE, as a member of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/OPEC" title="OPEC"><span style="color: blue;">Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries</span></a> (OPEC), has
"a direct financial interest... in slowing the development of America's
natural gas industry" and suggested that its financing of the film
"may have an impact on the public's view of the [fracking] practice".<sup id="cite_ref-17"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Promised_Land_(2012_film)#cite_note-17#cite_note-17"><span style="color: blue;">[</span></a></sup></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They . . .the UAE . . . financed and I suspect wrote, produced and picked stars
for this movie to scare American citizens from allowing large US power
companies to come in, lease their land and drill for natural gas and oil on
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all who do we get the majority
of our natural gas and oil from?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRH7h32I3OmzCTnJYlvJj5nIXtQ42hEi-s90N0iuHzj-907Ny6rhdFQ5_vA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img align="middle" alt="" border="0" class="th " height="160" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRH7h32I3OmzCTnJYlvJj5nIXtQ42hEi-s90N0iuHzj-907Ny6rhdFQ5_vA" style="margin-top: 0px;" title="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conspiracy_Theory_(film)" width="107" /></a>I despise using scare tactics to get people to react or better yet - scare them by poisoning the well, if you will, into thinking this is bad for the US and our economy when in all actuality it is bad for the UAE. This would create job in the US and we are certainly in need of a economic boost!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I am feeling a little Conspiracy Theory, movie with Julia
Roberts and Mel Gibson, here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But HELLO
they admitted to it – with their bottom line in sight – they financed a movie
to scare Americans from allowing us to drill in places like <st1:state w:st="on">Alaska</st1:state>,
<st1:state w:st="on">Colorado</st1:state>, <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Pennsylvania</st1:place></st1:state> and the mid west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This issue has even landed on Obama’s
desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I ask you . . . who, NOW, is in
bed with the UAE?</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-90120417761697519552012-09-17T14:23:00.002-05:002012-09-17T14:23:34.922-05:00Why Me?<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few weeks back an Associate Pastor was speaking on "Why Me." He wondered why when things are bad do we ask "Why me?" "Why would God do this to me?" "Why is God not there to help me?” and so on. </span></span></o:p></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">AND THEN . . . I found myself say why me. This
morning was difficult - not for any one big reason but for about 10 little ones
- just things were not going right. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
had gotten our youngest to school only to realize as we pull in he had two left
shoes. His first two years of wearing shoes he couldn't be bothered to put them
on the right foot. He didn't care if they were wrong and the school didn't
either - they . . . WE ALL . . . were just thrilled he had learn to put on
shoes - who really cared if right was on left or left on right. BUT it seems this
morning Jake did. He did care and he cared A LOT!!! I tried my best to do
anything but have to go back home. I even suggested he wear the bigger
"left" shoe on his right foot and the just slighter smaller
"left" shoe on his left foot - clearly a mother of the year move! Come on - this kid didn't care for years -
can't we just get through this one little day.</span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a name='more'></a><span style="color: black;">NOPE!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As
we pulled on campus I made a u-turn and we were headed back home.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
am then tempted, but don’t tell my husband, to just keep him at home with me.
His school is really uptight about being late . . . late or just miss - which
is worse??? Really . . . he is 4 and goes for 3 hours . . . but that could be 3 hours of getting stuff done so . . . <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I rushed home. I left Jake in the car - ran inside our house - grabbed the 2 right
shoes and back in the car, prepared to fight the traffic down Hillcrest at 8:20
in the morning. I get him to school, sign in, accept the annoyingly bright pink
TARDY slip from the not so nice front door greater and proceed to walk Jake
across campus to his class.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We
arrive at his class - I want my kiss and he wants anything but that. He kind of
sends me packing . . . but that is another story :(<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
am off . . . AGAIN!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
head up to Walgreen’s to pick up my script. School is South of my house about 5 miles, Walgreen's in North of my house 1 mile. It is then I learn the "new
girl" who told me that they had my non-generic medicine was wrong and no one tried
to call. After 20 mins of determining NONE of the other Walgreen's have it
(which I already knew since I had visited 3 the prior day trying to track the
med down, I call the one independent pharmacy in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dallas</st1:place></st1:city>.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They
had the medicine - won't hold it for me, first come/first serve speech, and I am off
. . . Royal and <st1:place w:st="on">Preston</st1:place>. Now probably 10 miles South again. Down . . . Up . . . Down . . . Up . . . Down . . . and my poor little car only gets 10 miles to the gallon!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This
intersection is not my normal stomping ground so I decided to wait for my
prescript. 40 mins later . . . Mrs. P it will be $197.23 . . . WHAT?!?!?!?!?
Damn insurance -when you want a non-generic prescript, when a generic is available, you must sell your first born to get it. Not how I thought this would go . .
. I tell her to hold it - I wanted to check with my insurance. Guess what - it
is $197.23<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Deflated
- I decided to drive by my friend's beautiful new house and see the new fence
they put up . . . bless them . . . it seems the fence is too high and they are
having to ask the city to waive the restriction since the fence it already up.
These sweet people are counting on not having difficult neighbors who protest
the fence.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
think . . . coffee . . . that will turn my morning around . . . latte machine
broken! Morning not turned around.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let
me run into Sample House - buying something for Pokeno will make me happier.
Bought nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
couldn't get any good parking for another store.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bakery
wasn't open.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Driving
aimlessly . . . I end up at Target. I have a return to make . . . can this happen smoothly - no receipt - I just want . . . need to get this
done.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
was incredibly beat down and I really just wanted to go home and do nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
had thought a few times this morning "What is going on?" "Why
can I not get anything going in the right direction?” I reflected back on what
the Assoc. Pastor had said . . . Why do we only wonder, when things are bad, why
me? We should be wondering when things are good why me! <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So
there - deep in thought, well as much as I could be, walking across the Target parking lot - in 106
degrees horrible hot Texas heat - I thought . . . not "why me" that things are
bad - but "why me" that things are good - I am breathing . . . I get
to have lunch with my so very smart but puts me through the paces 4 year old .
. . I have a date night with my hubby . . . I am able to be a stay at home mom
. . . I have a car . . . It has air conditioning . . . I have a home . . . and
I have money to buy food for our family and completely unnecessary Halloween
stuff that I so love.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
have so much to say "Why Me" about and it was then that my day got
better.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
had a great lunch, in a very crowded Mooyah, with our sweet 4 year old. It was
so crowded that I took the only seat at the last table available so that Jake could have a place
to sit and eat. I could wait or eat standing up - not a big deal. We had a seat and table.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It
got better . . . a stranger, a man in a Harley jacket, with a motorcycle helmet resting on a chair,
got up and moved his chair to Jake's table for me. All I could do was thank
him. His kindness and thoughtfulness was appreciated.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jake
and I laughed. He showed me a game on the phone. We talked about making good
decisions. We spent time together not distracted by nonsense but focused on him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A simple change in how I was thinking changed more than just my thoughts. It made my
day a million times better.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My husband came home from work early, we had a great date night, awesome swim practice, homework was done, prepared for a test the next day, song and books before bed, easily 17 I love yous before they drifted off to sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My no good very horrible morning turned into a pretty perfect kind of day!</span>A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-36768343980211299772012-09-10T23:06:00.002-05:002012-09-10T23:12:50.490-05:00Attacked by the Big . . . Bad . . . Red Head . . .<div>
<a href="http://www.haywardrec.org/graphics/volunteers.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="109" id="il_fi" src="http://www.haywardrec.org/graphics/volunteers.gif" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="125" /></a>I was departing my volunteer shift about a week before school got out. I
stopped as I was about to leave to give a good friend some grief about being
late . . . <br />
<br />
1 - she lives like 3 miles to school<br />
<br />
2 - she was a room mother and this day was a big event<br />
<br />
3 - she wasn't just 5 or 10 Min's late . . . SHE HAD COFFEE!!!!<br />
<br />
As I stop to give her grief . . . I was attacked!<br />
<br />
At first I am taken back . . . could my attacker be joking?<br />
<br />
Surely, she is joking . . .<br />
<br />
Nope, she keeps going . . . <br />
<br />
This cannot be a joke . . . this woman is . . .!<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<a href="http://www.kidclipart.net/free_kid_clip_art_pictures/boy_and_girl_or_brother_and_sister_waving_0515-0910-2500-0018_SMU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" id="il_fi" src="http://www.kidclipart.net/free_kid_clip_art_pictures/boy_and_girl_or_brother_and_sister_waving_0515-0910-2500-0018_SMU.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>Back when I was in 5th grade a good friend, a good GUY friend, told me "You
need the sugar water treatment." Being ignorant to all treatments especially the
"sugar water" treatment I asked him what that meant!<br />
<br />
He said . . . the sugar water treatment is where you take off your shirt. You
mix water and sugar together and rub it on your chest and hope a mosquito comes
by and bites you.<br />
<br />
Based on this, I can only guess I was flat chested in 5th grade . . . my how things change over time!<br />
<br />
My friend saying this put some doubt in my mind about getting . . .boobies,
bubbies, the girls, and any other names you call them. I wondered how he, in 5th
grade, knew so much about boobs. Clearly he knew more than me.<br />
<br />
I make it out of 5th grade and as you expect . . . things did change! BOY DID THEY CHANGE!!!! No
treatment necessary . . . of any kind!<br />
<br />
So, there on that Thursday . . . 1 week before school is out . . . at the end
of my shift . . . as I am giving my good friend some grief . . . I was attacked, harassed, verbally assaulted, terrorized . . . I was bullied by a grown woman!<br />
<br />
The specifics are a blur . . . we were all caught off guard. My friend and I all heard
something a little different but so very similar.<br />
<br />
The Big . . . Bad . . . Red Head asked - "is there an award for the parent
with the most cleavage?" I am initially taken back. What did she just say? And I
look down.<br />
<a href="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/iimages/iimages1205/iimages120500039/13493935-redhead-lady-on-a-white-background.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Redhead, Fat : Redhead lady on a white background" border="0" id="13493935" src="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/iimages/iimages1205/iimages120500039/13493935-redhead-lady-on-a-white-background.jpg" /></a><br />
While my top was a v-neck . . . and while I did have on an under wire bra . .
. and while I had my camera strap around my neck and therefore resting on the
boobs - pushing down . . . they looked a little fuller than normal.<br />
<br />
I realize then she was talking to me. She says it again . . . yea "do they
have an award for the parent with the most cleavage?" I shoot my friends a
look like what the hell did she just say?!?!?!? I meet their eyes, I go back and forth between my two girl friends and looking at one of their husbands. We are all speechless.<br />
<br />
BBR, big bad red, has always had a sense of humor I don't get, or perhaps
a complete lack of a sense of humor (that would explain so much). She always seemed not to get my jokes, like she is 4 seconds behind what I am saying. Her
"humor" generally made me feel awkward at times. She just didn't get my jokes, my self depreciating humor, my quick wit (it really is
fast) my verbal banter. She just doesn't get me and I am OK with that! I thought we had a friendly relationship. I thought we were
friendly . . . clearly I was wrong.<br />
<br />
She asks why I cannot pin my top closed. Well . . . BBR (big bad red) I don't
want to ruin the material. I respond with . . . "yea, I never do that." I also won't wear stickers on my clothes. I do not like putting those things on my clothes it either leaves a mark on the clothing where the pin went through or the sticker leaves a residue.<br />
<br />
She says "can you wear something that covers all that up . . . still not sure
what the angle is I say "I was always told if you got it flaunt it." I'm thinking to myself . . . Is this
Bitch . . . drunk? Is this Bitch . . . HIGH? This Bitch is CRAZY!!!!<br />
<br />
She comes at me again, "Maybe I could go buy you a camisole." I think to
myself why in the hell would I want another layer of clothing on in this hot
weather. I respond with "I just figure if the nipple isn't showing we are doing
OK."<br />
<br />
"Maybe you could wear a Dickie." Well, the only Dickie I know of is a jump
suit my sweet kind hearted grandfather wore at his lake house. So . . . NO! I
cannot wear a Dickie. Now, I start to get a little smart assed. I tell her rarely
does a man tell me no when I want something done so I consider them quiet
effective. This isn't always true and no, I do not whip out a boob to make shit
happen!<br />
<br />
I look at my friend Dana who says let's go. I look back to my good friend and her husband who haven't said a single word during all this . . . both sit with their mouths slightly open and a small smirk wondering if this is real. Clearly, they already knew this Bitch was Crazy!!!! I look my friend in the eyes and say "we are going to go get
lunch, come join us if you can."<br />
<br />
As Dana and I are headed down the stairs we can still hear the woman . . .
"maybe she should wear a scarf" . . . "maybe she has a jacket she can wear" we
can hear her voice as if it was nails on a chalk board.<br />
<br />
Dana and I are both stunned. We don't really talk about much, we just head to
the cafeteria. There on the patio while we are eating I texed my friend, the one
left with the boob police going on and on and on. I say "peep show on the cafe
patio . . . come quick."<br />
<br />
We text back in forth. We both draw the same conclusion . . . this woman is
mean.<br />
<br />
BBR and I had never had a problem. What caused her attack. Why did she go ape shit crazy on me?<br />
<br />
There are several
thoughts on this . . .<br />
<br />
Here are the top 4 submitted by various sources . . . <br />
<br />
1 - BBR's work contract had not been renewed and therefore she attacked my
boobs - perfectly logical . . . right?<br />
<br />
2 - BBR's son had been one of the boys who took money from a classmate unfairly only for my son to intervened on behalf of the wronged classmate. CLEARLY this is justification for her attack on my boobs - in
the same situation I would attack someones boobs and maybe their right knee cap!<br />
<br />
3 - BBR might have felt snubbed - that faithful morning as we were exiting the classroom after
being given our volunteer post and directions I stopped to talk to a mom who I have known
for 7 years. <br />
<br />
Our boys started pre-K together at another school - they made the
move at the same time to this school. We were just reflecting on the 7 years and the new kids just accepted into this school. At
some point I see BBR move to my left but I am in the middle of a conversation
and being nostalgic. I hear a HUMP from behind
me, but don't pay it any mind. Ok - clearly this inadvertant snub is her best reason yet to attack innocent
boobs just there to volunteer.<br />
<br />
* disclaimer . . . reason # 4 - is by far the most popular theory on why BBR attacked me . . .
hell it might even be the reason Lee Harvey was hanging at the Book Depository
that afternoon in Dallas so many years ago . . . perhaps this is the real reason for Global Warming . . . clearly I feel this one is far
fetched . . . as if the others weren't completely out in left field.<br />
<br />
4 - the wildly popular, almost viral theory is that when BBR's husband left her,
yup you guessed it, he left her for someone with bigger boobs! It seems far
fetched and really out of the box - but it is gaining traction, especially among
those that know her . . . and him!<br />
<br />
With my feeling crushed, a tad bit more self conscious and anger welling up
inside of me, I came home. I texted our mutual friend that was left to hear all
BBR's suggestions for my clothing, and said "You can bet she is off the pokeno
list." <br />
<br />
With out a doubt . . . The Bitch is off the list and won;t be invited back!!<br />
<br />
Immediately after my text . . . I did what every sane, well adjusted, big
boobed, out to take Big Bad Red down woman would do . . . <br />
<br />
<a href="http://websitemomentum.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/facebook1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" id="il_fi" src="http://websitemomentum.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/facebook1.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="131" /></a>I un-friended her on Facebook. <br />
<br />
THAT will show her!</div>
<br />
Your Truly . . . .Boobs McGee!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-63726439630872242782012-09-08T00:32:00.002-05:002012-09-08T00:46:11.855-05:00Tending to Your Side of the Street* This was written back in May and not published until now.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yvmnJGNWcZU/UErbbfj11yI/AAAAAAAABHc/R4pYVpqU0E4/s1600/276924_112546142116587_474991370_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yvmnJGNWcZU/UErbbfj11yI/AAAAAAAABHc/R4pYVpqU0E4/s320/276924_112546142116587_474991370_n.jpg" width="160" /></a>We have a nightly routine here . . . they say, whoever they is, that routines make life easier . . . WHATEVER! My husband is very routine oriented and truth be told I hope at some point my children will be also . . . I am a lost cause!<br />
<br />
Back to the routine . . . we do baths for the boys, brush teeth, and in bed by 8pm . . . we TRY to do this by 8 pm. My husband and I then sit and watch maybe an hour of TV. We move to the bedroom and maybe catch 14 more minutes before he is done!<br />
<br />
My job at that moment is to tickle him to sleep. I usually give him two minute and he is out . . . a freight train couldn't wake him and I either watch "my" tv or go about doing other things in the house or things I want to do!<br />
<br />
Tonight I elected while tickling my 2 minutes to watch Bethanney Ever After . . . and it was during this show I got this pearl of wisdom "Tending to Your Side of the Street. In this episode Bethanney was talking about her family, or lack there of . . . of the estranged relationship with her father and that her mother is really helpless. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
The therapist had her reflect back on when her biological father was on his death bed . . . that despite their horrible non-existing relationship and that she felt abandoned her whole life by him, she went to him to be there when he was dying, to say what she had to say and to give him the peace of knowing she had cared.<br />
<br />
Tending to Your Side of the Street meant for Bethanney that she had done what she needed to do . . . she couldn't count on him to validate her, or fill the void over the years of an absent father. She did what she needed to do to be able to move on.<br />
<br />
It had me reflecting on my own relationship with my father. We can certainly put the capital "D" in dysfunctional. I differ from Bethanny but also so much the same . . . <br />
<br />
My father . . . while still alive . . . is absent from my life. He is absent from the lives of my children. He is the cause of this absence.<br />
<br />
We can safely say he has made some bad decisions. Women, drugs, businesses, money, classic over promises and under delivers. He has hurt many people and while he apologized for it . . . he repeats it time and time again! At almost 63 years of age . . . I cannot say he has learned his lesson.<br />
<br />
My sister and brother really have nothing to do with him. He might maintain a written form of communication with my brother but not even a Birthday card for my sister and to be fair . . . she wants it that way. I feel safe in saying she hasn't spoken 10 words to him in the last two years.<br />
<br />
As you can tell . . . dysfunction runs deep!<br />
<br />
My situation is different from my siblings . . . only because I have the two boys. <br />
<br />
I had hoped he would be different when we had our first child. Hoped he could get past himself and just care for our son. He probably did the best he could. <br />
<br />
My father would show up on Wednesday nights. I would cook, even though we normally went out for dinner each night. While I cooked they played . . . it might have been in the pool or the game room or family room, but he spent one on one time with our son. One day he just stops coming.<br />
<br />
He popped back up 4 months later . . . he wanted to act as if he never missed a Wednesday. <br />
<br />
It was there . . . while standing on my front porch . . . guarding the enterance to my house and therefore our son . . . that I told him . . . "Look, I don't care where you have been or what you have been doing. I expect when you make him a promise you keep it. For weeks my son has been wondering where you went, did you not like him, and why didn't you come back. You have failed him like you failed me so many times. And as his parents I am here to tell you that is unacceptable. As a parent it is my job to protect him from people like you. So, unless you can honor the committments you have made to him . . . don't come here."<br />
<br />
That was me, tending to my side of the street . . . .me trying to protect the heart of a sweet innocent little boy . . . who didn't choose to get mixed up with this guy, or born into this family, or ask to be let down by his mother's father.<br />
<br />
I was foolish to think that having a "talk" might make a difference.<br />
<br />
Fast forward 8 years and I have had the "talk" 4 times in total with my father. It is my husband who softens my heart on this issue . . . 1 - beacuse he is my father (and you only get one) 2 - he is our boy's grandfather and 3 - That I should NOT be the one to poison their relatioship with him . . . I should let him do it . . . afterall he is very skilled at it!<br />
<br />
Tending to My Side of the Street now looks like . . . nothing. <br />
<br />
My father doesn't visit, he moved away. He generally goes missing from our lives and therefore my son's lives when he has a lady friend. He calls me usually to say he is coming to town to bring the boys gifts and then calls again to say he cannot make it. I never tell them, why get their hopes up. <br />
<br />
When he talks to them he promises to take them to Target, Toys R Us or Walmart and let them buy whatever they want . . . it never happens and so I am left to explain . . . why he didn't show, why he over promised and why he under delivered.<br />
<br />
Most recetly he called when Dallas was having tornados all over town, and one touched down near my son's school. I don't truly think he called because he was concerned . . . I think it was more being able to tell people he had family in harms way. That crazy poor pitiful me . . . attention.<br />
<br />
In my efforts not to speak poorly of my father to my children . . . I just don't speak about him. He isn't apart of our everyday . . . he won't make 4th grade graduation next Wednesday . . . he doesn't know my son ribboned in his swim meets or really the person our youngest one is.<br />
<br />
Like Bethanney . . . my father leads his own live . . . . without a care for my sister, brother and his family or my family. When the time come . . . I will again Tend to My Side of the Street and go see him. I won't have to rehash everything . . . it will simply be what a mature responsible careing daughter has to do . . . tending to her street.<br />
<br />
ADDITION:<br />
On the day my proof reader read this I received a call from my father. He left a message. He then calls my cell but I was at school volunteering and I would never take his calls there. Finally he emails and that is the only form of communication I am interested in having with him.<br />
<br />
He says in his email he will be in town on Friday. Wants to see the boys and take them to get a Christmas present.<br />
<br />
I didn't respond quick enough and he starts calling my mother and father-in-law to track me down. I respond via email that Friday would be fine and I ask for him timeframe.<br />
<br />
When he responds he says he will arrive at 11am. He arrived at 10:20. Our oldest son was home, the youngest had spent the night with my mom and they were due here at 11am.<br />
<br />
Once the youngest arrives he offers to take the boys to buy a toy and to lunch. I am reluctantly surprised he is following through - he is 3 for 3. I allow them to go with him and I stay home packing our son for camp.<br />
<br />
They arrive 2 hours later. He leaves maybe an hour later. But not before returning to who I know him to be.<br />
<br />
I am careful not to speak ill of him with the children. They didn't ask for any of this and more than anything I can say he has shown himself to be who he is. The oldest one gets it, the youngest one cannot comprehend.<br />
<br />
He is crappy to my mother - he is mad his high-school friends - the same people they knew as a young married couple - include her in their lives. He tells her to get her own friends, those are his. He asserts the only reasons she is friends with them is to keep tabs on him.<br />
<br />
He tells our oldest sonthat it is his fault, my son's fault, that they don't communicate more - that our son has a computer and that he should be emailing his grandfather. That he has a phone so why hasn't he been calling him and that he needs to tell his parents (us) to get him skype so they can call him. One problem - we don't allow our children such freedom with the computer or phone. It is a parenting thing!<br />
<br />
He told both of our boys to shut-up. It seems they were telling him about the military bases they had built out of legos and how they had one at my mom's. They told him she gets down and plays legos and buys them lego men and so on . . . to which he said "shut-up about her."<br />
<br />
As he is leaving I said "thanks for stopping by" as I was saying it I realized it was odd to say. It isn't like he just lives around the corner, this isn't just a stop by. I was trying to be polite. All he had to say was "I bet" in a shitty sarcastic tone.<br />
<br />
There was hope early on in this visit he was different . . . I'm not sure why I had hope, after all . . . there is always a let down.<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-32856862508419932152012-09-08T00:22:00.002-05:002012-09-08T00:22:48.727-05:00Welcome Back . . . Once the end of school hit . . . there just wasn't time.<br />
<br />
I thought time and time again I should write. AND . . . by the time I would get into the office - the idea was gone or someone needed something else.<br />
<br />
So, I am back now. I like telling my little stories. Some cannot be made up - this is my life. Others have a bit of a moral issue in them that I might be dealing with, a friend might be dealing with or just a message I want to send along. <br />
<br />
I would love to hear from you!<br />
<br />
Take care . . . .A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-81033147206551408552012-06-08T16:40:00.001-05:002012-06-08T16:53:26.061-05:00The Apple Falling . . .<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aUWKQKPmPV4/T87xUA9sXBI/AAAAAAAABG4/6uAgAq05iSg/s1600/science_apple_tree.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aUWKQKPmPV4/T87xUA9sXBI/AAAAAAAABG4/6uAgAq05iSg/s320/science_apple_tree.gif" width="318" /></a>I picked our oldest up from carpool. He immediately got in and said " I know you got an email from Ms. Barnes . . . " <br />
<br />
I infact, had not gotten an email but so as not to tip my hand I said "I would like you to explain to me what happened."<br />
<br />
And he preceeds to tell me . . . <br />
<br />
He is going so fast, I am having a hard time keeping up. I go to ask a questions . . . he asks me to let him finish. I am not following everything completely . . . but after hearing it . . . several times . . . It is clear he is so much like his father.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
My husband is a litigator. He specializes in contracts, mediations, depositions and is one of the best in negotiating a settelment . . . can you imagine our conversations . . . The debates in our home?<br />
<br />
This is also so very much my son. He has a very strong internal guide for what he preceives is right and wrong. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mD8sQVFGgFo/T87y8YJXosI/AAAAAAAABHA/Q-hO3wwWoEI/s1600/images.jpg2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="100" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mD8sQVFGgFo/T87y8YJXosI/AAAAAAAABHA/Q-hO3wwWoEI/s200/images.jpg2.jpg" width="200" /></a>At some point during the day he asked to play with a group of boys, I can only guess on the playground. He wanted to play this game the kids had created. It seems just as online games go, there had been an update. One of the boys (a little shit) told him - if he wanted to play he had to pay the update fee . . . .$.25.<br />
<br />
Using his strong sense of what he preceives as right and wrong . . . and probably just being annoy with some jerk wanting to get paid for a made-up . . . updated game - he told them no. The three boys said another friend had paid them a $1.<br />
<br />
Scoots asked about the update - what had been updated . . . what new benefits were available in the game . . . what had been done with the update fee?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BqPA-UDO59c/T87xRh6-6UI/AAAAAAAABGw/N_o9dUpVb3k/s1600/itemImage_5_thumb.jpg2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BqPA-UDO59c/T87xRh6-6UI/AAAAAAAABGw/N_o9dUpVb3k/s1600/itemImage_5_thumb.jpg2.jpg" /></a>As he suspected the boys had no answer. At some point this escalated to the Head Mistress of the Early Education School, probably because the Head Master of the lower shool was out on jury duty! The Head Mistress moved this discussion into the Lower School Administration Conference Room.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FpJZ9wl-21w/T87xPV4FGWI/AAAAAAAABGo/djjtmLxZ1AY/s1600/imagesCAM9JN0Q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FpJZ9wl-21w/T87xPV4FGWI/AAAAAAAABGo/djjtmLxZ1AY/s1600/imagesCAM9JN0Q.jpg" /></a>Upon entering . . . my son, told me, he took the head of the table. He told his two friends who had seen the exchange go on outside . . . 1 - if you have anything to say you need to tap me on my shoulder, let me do the talking . . . 2 - be sure to remain on topic . . . 3 - only use best manners - if affects people believing you.<br />
And these two boys did just that. My son told me he used his Yes Ma'am and No Ma'am. He kept on target and he requested to call a witness. Being that the Head Mistress was hearing the kids out AND the school really tried to let the children resolve their issues without getting involved . . . she let him call a witness.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dv1ZDxustgw/T87xNyKqtAI/AAAAAAAABGg/Pp6tUIYFDlA/s1600/imagesCAV1PQ4I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dv1ZDxustgw/T87xNyKqtAI/AAAAAAAABGg/Pp6tUIYFDlA/s1600/imagesCAV1PQ4I.jpg" /></a><br />
He called his good friend "C". "C" had been the young man who went to pay $.25 as demanded by the little tyrant . . . but the tyrant took "C"'s whole $1. And here is where their made-up games goes out of control.<br />
<br />
The tyrant and his croonies were using the game as a way to bully, control, exclude and belittle children . . .their peers. They used it as a way extort money.<br />
<br />
Scoots knew what they were doing was wrong and he stood up for his beliefs. He stood up for what was right and most importantly he stood up for his friend.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nzLoaF3ROgY/T87xKx9PliI/AAAAAAAABGY/97gEj7NPbsg/s1600/how-to-stop-bullies-witness-stand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nzLoaF3ROgY/T87xKx9PliI/AAAAAAAABGY/97gEj7NPbsg/s320/how-to-stop-bullies-witness-stand.jpg" width="320" /></a>The Head Mistress sent my husband an email in response to his email to her thanking her for allowing the children the freedom to express their concerns. <br />
<br />
He apologize for our son picking up on my husband's skill that he clearly used during this dispute. The direct questioning . . . the grilling of the suspect . . . taking control of the room.<br />
<br />
The Head Mistres said she was very impressed with his oral argument. Impressed with the way our son and his friends behaved and conducted themselves. She said she had no doubt he will excel in life and that he is a strong leader.<br />
<br />
Look - I get these are strong words, flowered statements from the Head Mistress. This woman is not in the habit of saying things to make you feel good. She doesn't waste words, she is not there to blow smoke so you walk about full of false pride. Therefore . . . when she says this in an email, I choose to believe her.<br />
<br />
I love a life lesson that can present itself in 4th grade. That day was a life lesson for Scoots. He learned that standing up for whatever you believe in is the right things to do. I think there is a saying that goes something like this:<br />
<br />
If you don't stand up for what you believe in . . . You will fall for everything!<br />
<br />
<br />
I learned that day that maybe . . . just maybe . . . we are doing an ok job at parenting and he will be a moral, compassionate, stand up kind of guy!A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-13395696709549455372012-06-05T10:17:00.001-05:002012-06-05T18:41:01.914-05:00Skinny Bitch Drama . . .I swear . . . if teaching children was my profession . . . I would be in jail!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CQnqCuyb2Bk/T86YhJsy4zI/AAAAAAAABGE/h1umYCHDsk4/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CQnqCuyb2Bk/T86YhJsy4zI/AAAAAAAABGE/h1umYCHDsk4/s1600/2.jpg" /></a>Today was the last Teacher Appreciation luncheon for the year. My rein of Head Teacher Appreciation Co-Chair is over. As I like to day . . . Done & Done!<br />
<br />
I so could have used that little bit of extra sleep this morning but instead I was up early, my sweet husband prepared breakfast for our sons and I. 6:14 am came early! I stumble out of bed, cursing the concept of me volunteering. I want to sleep in . . . I want to no-show for the luncheon . . .I want . . . to be anywhere but getting ready to go to school.<br />
<br />
Once we reached school it was 7:31am. My son and I unload the car. 4 foot bull pinata in hand I parade past carpool and on to the luncheon.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LLa0oCYLUhs/T86Xs8nE-3I/AAAAAAAABFk/jqEfNI-mCiY/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LLa0oCYLUhs/T86Xs8nE-3I/AAAAAAAABFk/jqEfNI-mCiY/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Our theme was Mexican. Everyone eats fajitas well! It was a successful luncheon even though the catering company was 10 minutes late. We had people waiting . . .<br />
<br />
All the teachers, admin staff, early childhood staff, maintenance, lawn crews and anyone else that receives a paycheck from Greenhill comes and enjoys a lunch of fajitas and Bob Armstrong Dip . . .YUM!<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tIwOistXwuE/T86YeQiCHuI/AAAAAAAABF8/6no0sJHGUPo/s1600/images.jpg4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tIwOistXwuE/T86YeQiCHuI/AAAAAAAABF8/6no0sJHGUPo/s1600/images.jpg4.jpg" /></a><br />
Around 12:40 there is no one new coming through the line. And one by one these three mothers come in. Not one spoke to me . . . They took the clues from my Co-Chair and I that it was time to clean up. I give verbal instruction to combine the chicken, rice, Bob Armstrong, fresh fruit and so on. I asked them to throw away the sour cream, the 2 extra containers of pico. We threw out the almost empty beans and guacamole in favor of opening up the new one.<br />
<br />
Our marching orders were to combine, consolidate and clean up. Three extra helpers arrive while we were cleaning up. Instead of cleaning up these women went about making themselves a plate. 1 - They are not staff or teachers 2 - They volunteered to help 3 - They are helping themselves by feeding their faces.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X1VMbWyGwSQ/T86YP-Lz83I/AAAAAAAABF0/J0hBEIHvMhU/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X1VMbWyGwSQ/T86YP-Lz83I/AAAAAAAABF0/J0hBEIHvMhU/s1600/3.jpg" /></a>One makes a veggie fajita with guacamole. And oh my Gosh . . . "I bet I gain a full pound for eating this", Another chimes in . . . I am so trying to get rid of this baby fat . . . I bet I gain 2 pounds from eating the Bob Armstrong. They are one upping each other in terms of who is going to gain more . . . who needs to loose more and who can count her calories most accurately.<br />
<br />
My co-chair and I just look at each other - working around these women stuffing their faces, yet worried about the calories. As we are clearing up one volunteers (so very kind of her) to take the food home for the weekend so it won't go bad.<br />
<br />
I explain we actually take it to the Lower School Admin building and set it up in the teacher's lounge so that the teachers can make themselves an afternoon snack or meal for dinner. <br />
<br />
And just when I thought this skinny bitch couldn't be anymore self serving she suggested they wouldn't know how much was left and therefore I didn't need to take it - she could take it home.<br />
<br />
I preceded with my plan and she modified hers. <br />
<br />
My volunteers . . . a mother with a Pre-K child . . . skinny bitch . . . went and made her family a take home box from the luncheon left overs.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--bvJrTDyCRM/T86XucSEFgI/AAAAAAAABFs/DaNcKRiajAU/s1600/th_skinny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--bvJrTDyCRM/T86XucSEFgI/AAAAAAAABFs/DaNcKRiajAU/s1600/th_skinny.jpg" /></a>I am told the teacher at our private school are only slightly better paid than their public school counter parts. With this knowledge . . . I have to wonder what in this mother's brain says it is ok to take from people who love your child, spend all day with your child, educate your child and tolerate you?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XEZX8rUSOn4/T86Y9c7ENPI/AAAAAAAABGM/9YqRxTJe9zU/s1600/happy-woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XEZX8rUSOn4/T86Y9c7ENPI/AAAAAAAABGM/9YqRxTJe9zU/s320/happy-woman.jpg" width="320" /></a>Perhaps she is this way because she is a skinny bitch, and we all know skinny bitches are unhappy. They are SO unhappy because they have to watch their calories, drop baby weight immediately and cannot eat anytime they want!<br />
<br /><br />
Imagine how nice she would be with a little meat on her bones . . .A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-79187759489646737092012-06-02T20:07:00.001-05:002012-06-05T17:23:57.513-05:00An Eye to Eye<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VC-lBspdhcg/T86G24RWI4I/AAAAAAAABFY/14gJKvhlO28/s1600/mean-teacher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VC-lBspdhcg/T86G24RWI4I/AAAAAAAABFY/14gJKvhlO28/s320/mean-teacher.jpg" width="212" /></a>I was recently at school volunteering for my FINAL Teacher and Lower School staff Appreciation Luncheon. We were in the cleaning up stage of the luncheon when the Early Education Head Mistress asked to speak with me.<br />
<br />
<br />
A million things flashed through my mind . . .<br />
<br />
Had she read my blog about our youngest son not getting into his school of choice due to her decision?<br />
<br />
Had she heard me say something and wanted to take issues with it?<br />
<br />
Did she want to revisit what an excellent job our oldest had recently done on the School's promotional video? Excellent . . . I tell ya!<br />
<br />
What could it be?<br />
<br />
It was none of those. She told me there had been an issue with our oldest son and she would like to speak with me. She wanted to know when I would be done and could I meet her in her office. I am scared . . . the feeling of being in 2nd grade and getting called into the Principal's office comes flooding back . . . btw being called into Mr. Casada's office was because I had to leave early with a family emergency.<br />
<br />
During the next 15 minutes I am trying to clear out all my volunteers. I am attempting to get all my items done and my ducks in a row. I am hoping I can get everyone gone so I don't have to explain why I . . . at an age just slightly over 29 . . . I am being called into the Head Mistress's office.<br />
<br />
I am anxious . . . mad . . . and most certainly embarrassed.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I am called back into the Head Master's office - in it was my son, two classmates and the Head Mistress of Early Education. We are in the Lower School Head Master's office, he is out on jury duty. There are two rocking chair type of chairs . . . but they don't rock, there is a two person leather sofa in burgundy. Between the two set of seating is a small table. Off to the west side of the room is a single chair, the north side of the room contains a L shape desk and there are probably 40 millions items that the Head Master has been given from children who have probably never seen his office! <br />
<br />
Why oh why . . .hadn't my son done some crazy art project and given it to the Head Master so we too wouldn't have to be here . . . <br />
<br />
I am pointed to where I sit. It is the single chair off to the side.<br />
<br />
As I am sitting the Head Mistress tells one of the boys . . "Do not be afraid. You can speak your mind. What you say is safe. Do not be intimated by Mrs. (me)." I find this 1 - odd 2 - off putting 3 - making me worry even more. Is my son slinging rock at school? Is he running a prostitution ring? Did he cheat? Did he assault someone? Was he the head of an organized crime family at school? The way she said it and what she said made me worry . . . really worry about this. WHAT could he have done?<br />
<br />
I am STILL not sure what lead up to this meeting I have been <em>so fortunate</em> to participate in . . . the part where I came in . . . was where I learned my son had been rude and dismissive of his friends. He told them to shut up. Several times. <br />
<br />
I cannot tell you what they were saying or doing for him to use those word. I can only say he was not making a good decision . . . he was not being a good friend . . .and he most certainly was being rude to his friends.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bw1xJiD30oM/T86FtFQyL9I/AAAAAAAABFQ/DjZfEZEDt-w/s1600/beautiful_colored_eye_free_vector_47736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bw1xJiD30oM/T86FtFQyL9I/AAAAAAAABFQ/DjZfEZEDt-w/s320/beautiful_colored_eye_free_vector_47736.jpg" width="320" /></a>It seems he hurt the other boy's feelings so much that they went to class crying, this really messed up their morning. Which was why we were having an Eye to Eye right then in the Head Master's office.<br />
<br />
My son's school encourages dispute resolution in a calm non alarming way. It is called an eye to eye!<br />
<br />
What the Head Mistress didn't know at the time she called this eye to eye for the boys . . . was that my son and one of the boys had already called an eye to eye - he had apologized and his friend had been able to air his issues with my son. Both of the boys had moved on . . . Both had felt heard and put the issue to rest.<br />
<br />
AND . . . here we are again . . . rehashing the incident . . . mom included - totally non-alarming when mom is involved.<br />
<br />
I applaud the school for providing the children a way to talk through issues without things escalating and it becoming physical, for allowing the children to settle their issues in a constructive manner. I know grown men who cannot do this . . . they would rather solve it with a baseball bat.<br />
<br />
The school has taught these children how to voice their opinion, state how they felt and suggest a positive outcome.<br />
<br />
All of the boys behaved well, were well spoken and addressed the issue. And Bonus . . . they were able to resolve their issues with each other . . . AGAIN. One of the other young men was so well spoken, convincing, and well thought out in what he wanted to say and the point he wanted to convey . . . I was impressed and that is not something that is easy to do considering our household is quiet skills in the verbal arena.<br />
<br />
The boys agreed to put this behind them. They agreed to work on their friendship and they agreed to not believe everything said and passed around like gossip. I am guessing . . . this <em>might</em> have been the cause of the dispute and shut-ups.<br />
<br />
I am thankful for a school that teaches from pre-k how to resolve your issues with words. The school didn't sweep it under the rug. They didn;t just say boys will be boys. The school held these children to a higher standard of being able to communicate clearly and feeling heard. The school is teaching and expecting their students to resolve issues calmly, peacefully and respectfully.<br />
<br />
That is more than I can say for some grownups I know!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-10681927807362031262012-05-30T00:57:00.001-05:002012-05-30T00:57:12.017-05:00And so . . . It Begins . . .<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C-Yx-1miTj4/T8Wy4OpaRrI/AAAAAAAABEA/TRgEpjvFSf8/s1600/485612-R1-11A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C-Yx-1miTj4/T8Wy4OpaRrI/AAAAAAAABEA/TRgEpjvFSf8/s320/485612-R1-11A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2003</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I stood there fighting back the tears . . . and this is the first of many
lasts.<br />
<br />
There we stood in a hallway of the lower school. The 4th graders
spanned the staircase. This was their night. There were many stages to the
night - somewhat like a progressive dinner. They had an art exhibit with snacks
and beverages, a choir concert, and Mystery Theatre where the children dressed
up as their chosen biography character, got together in a group of 4, created a
skit involving their characters and we as the audience had to guess who they
were. So many moving parts to this evening . . .<o:p></o:p><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pz8H_iTXxSk/T8Wy5UlvIvI/AAAAAAAABEI/rhTvj_em-mM/s1600/2004+-+1ST+DAY+OF+SCHOOL+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pz8H_iTXxSk/T8Wy5UlvIvI/AAAAAAAABEI/rhTvj_em-mM/s200/2004+-+1ST+DAY+OF+SCHOOL+%25282%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2004</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our oldest son is 10 and in the 4th grade. Lower school, at his school, goes
from Pre-K through 4th Grade. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u9hVWENbSUI/T8WyyE3NbDI/AAAAAAAABDw/BuN0wVZSs7c/s1600/1st+Day+of+School+at+Lamplighter+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u9hVWENbSUI/T8WyyE3NbDI/AAAAAAAABDw/BuN0wVZSs7c/s200/1st+Day+of+School+at+Lamplighter+006.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2005</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The entire day had been a blur - racing from one spot to another. Volunteering
at school to help the kids rehearse their script. Draping the red curtains,
working on bulletin boards, helping in the classroom. This had been going on
for 10 days. I was working toward an end, task by task but not focusing on the
why.<o:p></o:p><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1D0IuSuCz6Y/T8W1av-IUHI/AAAAAAAABFE/-nnWaKKeMXs/s1600/Jose+choir+performance+075+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1D0IuSuCz6Y/T8W1av-IUHI/AAAAAAAABFE/-nnWaKKeMXs/s200/Jose+choir+performance+075+(3).JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choir Concert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Most of these kids have been working on these skills for 7 years. The Art
teacher worked with them, teaching them how to build their 3-D art work. <br />
<br />
The
choir teacher took these small voices and taught them how to sing, train their
voice and play the recorder. <br />
<br />
The Humanities teachers from the earliest of years
have been building reading, comprehension and writing skilled that enabled
these kids to create power point presentations on the smart board as part of
their skit. Back drops, narrator insertions, sounds, music all while they act
their scene out in front of parents and peers.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZhqHb9lkFUQ/T8WyqF9TfII/AAAAAAAABDo/324E56MW3GI/s1600/P3010096.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZhqHb9lkFUQ/T8WyqF9TfII/AAAAAAAABDo/324E56MW3GI/s200/P3010096.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mystery Theatre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j2zF5ucHqT8/T8WzCYoWv7I/AAAAAAAABEQ/9kccAY8Cuic/s1600/2006+First+Day+of+School+-+LL+015+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j2zF5ucHqT8/T8WzCYoWv7I/AAAAAAAABEQ/9kccAY8Cuic/s200/2006+First+Day+of+School+-+LL+015+(2).jpg" width="146" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2006</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was while we were standing in the hallway, listening to them sing I bust out my
hand held video camera. I will spare you the video - I rewatched it only to see me shake . . . so much for a steady hand. I knew there would be some dancing in the first song
and . . . I had seen the rehearsal and knew . . . this would be very funny. So,
with my video camera in hand, I am recording this moment. I zoom in as tight as
I can. My screen is filled with his face and about 10 other boys. He isn't
looking at me. He is doing as instructed, singing his heart out . . . having a
good time . . . hanging with his friends.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gnfBYXXZtCU/T8WzctDAApI/AAAAAAAABEg/8HBUgPGsZ9o/s1600/First+Day+of+First+Grade+-+GH+-+2008+043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gnfBYXXZtCU/T8WzctDAApI/AAAAAAAABEg/8HBUgPGsZ9o/s200/First+Day+of+First+Grade+-+GH+-+2008+043.JPG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">200</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r8qalHP2ec8/T8WzJXnhrTI/AAAAAAAABEY/6RX4Zp-BqOU/s1600/1st+day+of+School+059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r8qalHP2ec8/T8WzJXnhrTI/AAAAAAAABEY/6RX4Zp-BqOU/s200/1st+day+of+School+059.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2007</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And the start of tears.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /><br />
This is the beginning of the end. Truly this is the first true mile marker,
if you will, on his journey to becoming a confident, independent young man.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The realization that he isn't a little boy anymore hit me. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />I see him everyday. I don't notice he is getting taller . . . I don't notice
he is maturing . . . I don't notice he isn't a little boy anymore . . . he
isn't my baby!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D8RMDS7d-fY/T8Wzelhz1PI/AAAAAAAABEo/MGuJLbsAPTs/s1600/Jose's+2nd+Grade+Classroom+Visit+583+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D8RMDS7d-fY/T8Wzelhz1PI/AAAAAAAABEo/MGuJLbsAPTs/s200/Jose's+2nd+Grade+Classroom+Visit+583+(2).JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2009</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In that moment I was filled with so much pride . . . pride that he is a
successful student, that he has tons of friends, that he is respectful,
considerate, brilliant (if I do say so), and has such a beautiful heart. I am
also filled with such sadness . . . that he no longer is that sweet little boys
I would carry on my hip, that we have fewer days to just hang together than
before . . . and that one day, way too soon, he will be off on his own!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gGsiDDAN2ho/T8WzqCaic3I/AAAAAAAABEw/AAlPtZqhWvs/s1600/First+day+of+School+2010+223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gGsiDDAN2ho/T8WzqCaic3I/AAAAAAAABEw/AAlPtZqhWvs/s200/First+day+of+School+2010+223.JPG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2010</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Several years ago, Scoots said to me on Christmas Morning . . . "Mom, when I get married my wife and I are going to sleep in the bed with Dad and You" that is a tradition we have to help control when the kids get up so the entire family can be there to see what Santa brought. Just as soon as he said it . . . I said "Promise? I want that in writing."<br />
<br /><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6JZNCrC-TDY/T8WzrDN3A4I/AAAAAAAABE4/H5GmZAVYfQA/s1600/First+Day+of+School+048+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6JZNCrC-TDY/T8WzrDN3A4I/AAAAAAAABE4/H5GmZAVYfQA/s320/First+Day+of+School+048+(2).JPG" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And so my sweet baby boy . . . would could not imagine a Christmas morning where he didn't wake up in my bed with Dad, Me and his wife . . . wrote it on a notebook piece of paper and signed it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I know there are wonderful . . . awesome . . . fantastic things to come for my young man. I am just the slightest bit sad the innocence of his youth is fading fast . . . and that at 10 years old he doesn't have much time left under my care.<br />
<br />
I love who he is becoming and will make every effort to enjoy every day of the next 8 years . . . it will go all too fast . . .<br />
<br />
and more tears . . . <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-20118020104544942912012-05-23T10:36:00.000-05:002012-05-23T10:36:14.893-05:00Sand in Places . . . Blue Lagoon . . . ishClose your eyes . . . remember back to when you saw the movie The Blue Lagoon. Yes, the one with Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins. Specifically, I want you to think back to when they are both old enough to dive in the lagoon. They swim so freely . . . the are smooth about their swimming . . . the shot in the movie is from below - you see long legs shadowed from the sun . . . they are the picture of perfection swimming in something other than a pool.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oVM7IiyOYUQ/T7z_0AcBSSI/AAAAAAAABCU/OoWaPdOE6nY/s1600/P5030867.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oVM7IiyOYUQ/T7z_0AcBSSI/AAAAAAAABCU/OoWaPdOE6nY/s320/P5030867.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a>Now wake up . . . that so wasn't our snorkeling experience today!<br />
<br />
We have used the same diving company for 5 years, Diving Dog our of Puerto Morelos. The owner Cathy does this on the side. Her real job is the Central American Editor in Chief of the USA Today newspaper. You wouldn't guess that in a million years. Cathy has hooked us up with some of the best guides. <br />
<br />
We always request a private charter . . . we always request they provide snacks and drinks . . . and we always request they keep their eye on our son, pull him through the snorkel and to identify "stuff" for us as we go along.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0SewZRUOFYQ/T70ANhkVbPI/AAAAAAAABC8/dmyTYpoYjf8/s1600/P5030734.JPG2+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0SewZRUOFYQ/T70ANhkVbPI/AAAAAAAABC8/dmyTYpoYjf8/s320/P5030734.JPG2+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a>We arrived just before 9:00am. The water is the most smooth early in the day which gives us the best visibility, it is also not as hot and more sea creatures are around. So . . . we arrived. There was 4 of us . . . me, the husband, the son and the sister.<br />
<br />
They walked down as I tried to find a spot to park and then just made my own. I am sure you are familiar with my parking issues . . . <br />
<br />
As soon as I catch up with them they are trying on life jackets as they are required in order to snorkel. This year Cathy has switched to the belt support. It works best since the other ride up and chafe the neck and under arm. I stick with the traditional one . . . the rest go with the belt.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K1-oQ193GJw/T7z_62AAwhI/AAAAAAAABCc/dDMA43oHPzI/s1600/P5030830.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K1-oQ193GJw/T7z_62AAwhI/AAAAAAAABCc/dDMA43oHPzI/s200/P5030830.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>We load into the small boat, probably a 16' boat. Thankfully it has a canopy, being fair skinned a break from the sun is appreciated. <br />
<br />
We motor out about 15 minutes to the National Park reef. Over the side goes our son, my husband, the sister and reluctantly me . . . the initial shock of the semi chilly water is eased once masks are on and we are face down.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30wKOVvFuG4/T70AAG3WumI/AAAAAAAABCk/kYyNKLJxdFQ/s1600/P5030828.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30wKOVvFuG4/T70AAG3WumI/AAAAAAAABCk/kYyNKLJxdFQ/s200/P5030828.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>Snorkeling these last five years here I would have thought we had done it all . . . well we hadn't. Immediately the guide pulls up a conch shell. You cannot paint or manufacture something this pretty. The conch was still in residence. The colors span from an orange to a bring pink with the curve of the shell. We all touch the conch. Unfortunately we cannot keep it . . . it must go back.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sV-HzlvzgcI/T70ARuqYNLI/AAAAAAAABDM/DfcD8Y32fWE/s1600/P5030751.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sV-HzlvzgcI/T70ARuqYNLI/AAAAAAAABDM/DfcD8Y32fWE/s200/P5030751.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>I look up from him replacing the conch only to be in a school of fish. Truly . . . I am in them . . . they are all around me. They aren't afraid and they don't run. It is times like these that I am grateful for a good underwater camera. This camera has been around the world and seen water all over. <br />
<br />
We spot lobsters, grouper, barracudas, tiburons, needle nose, sting rays, blue fish, yellow fish, black fish with sparkles, some thin and long and not so much of either.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-elTXJx0jhVE/T70ACI0c1vI/AAAAAAAABCs/Pmgxm1n9AOo/s1600/P5030749.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-elTXJx0jhVE/T70ACI0c1vI/AAAAAAAABCs/Pmgxm1n9AOo/s200/P5030749.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
In total we snorkeled for about 2 hours. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTS8uqzfQxQ/T70ALSazKNI/AAAAAAAABC0/ogf8kt1Zeg0/s1600/P5030791.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTS8uqzfQxQ/T70ALSazKNI/AAAAAAAABC0/ogf8kt1Zeg0/s200/P5030791.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>Full disclosure . . . I am not a fan of snorkeling. It is a true loss of control for me. I don't enjoy it like I enjoy swimming in our pool. I feel that I am an unwelcome visitor in someone else's place. Any wrong move can get you some attention you weren't wanting. Like from this barracuda below.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UDTl3QgYK-g/T70CxVBgKEI/AAAAAAAABDc/OnIU1tBappc/s1600/P5030762.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UDTl3QgYK-g/T70CxVBgKEI/AAAAAAAABDc/OnIU1tBappc/s320/P5030762.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6z64SRvyUrk/T70APx6AFAI/AAAAAAAABDE/pNa-T9TasVY/s1600/P5030716.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6z64SRvyUrk/T70APx6AFAI/AAAAAAAABDE/pNa-T9TasVY/s200/P5030716.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
There are a few brief moments when my loss of control fades away . . . and I am amazed at all I cannot see from the shore and now is just inches away.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LhkEDPElYmY/T70Cdl1moEI/AAAAAAAABDU/VKxgIzyMWqw/s1600/P5030770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LhkEDPElYmY/T70Cdl1moEI/AAAAAAAABDU/VKxgIzyMWqw/s200/P5030770.JPG" width="200" /></a>Our snorkeling trip had ended. It was time to get back in the boat and get home as the massage therapist were due to arrive within the hour. My son had a souvenir from the bottom of the ocean . . . a cracked lobster claw, that he was most proud of. (By the way . . . don;t pack it in your luggage . . . everything smelled like sea creature ass.) My husband was already on the boat and as I was approaching the boat . . . I saw something. <br />
<br />
It was a mermaid striking a pose. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pg06ESdAkOU/T7z_ZQ9zSRI/AAAAAAAABB0/CxOICF4jiEE/s1600/P4300196.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pg06ESdAkOU/T7z_ZQ9zSRI/AAAAAAAABB0/CxOICF4jiEE/s200/P4300196.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>I fumble with the camera . . . get back under water . . . . and snap away . . . <br />
<br />
It was mermaid Julie . . . and she would kill me if I posted pictures of her!<br />
<br />
She has mermaided all over over the world! AND . . . should you EVER need to black mail Julie . . . I have the pictures!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trez0U_73GM/T7z_kAuWqiI/AAAAAAAABB8/6MbUuz3_F7M/s1600/P5040948.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trez0U_73GM/T7z_kAuWqiI/AAAAAAAABB8/6MbUuz3_F7M/s200/P5040948.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>The snorkel guides are busting a gut with her mermaid poses!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CeRoGWLGRfY/T7z_oIG2WQI/AAAAAAAABCE/yDvXGsGOLOA/s1600/P5040931.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CeRoGWLGRfY/T7z_oIG2WQI/AAAAAAAABCE/yDvXGsGOLOA/s200/P5040931.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
It was an afternoon of massages . . . final night spaghetti dinner (tradition), birthday cake and a Mexican mafia singing Happy Birthday to the birthday boy!<br />
<br />
<br />
Poobie - I hope you had the best birthday ever! Love ya!A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-22181581455129440082012-05-18T09:48:00.001-05:002012-05-22T00:00:36.198-05:00Sand in Places . . . Nest of Snakes<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mCWcsWJfPEc/T7UnUyGE5RI/AAAAAAAAA-M/N316DmVZ5RE/s1600/IMG_5297.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mCWcsWJfPEc/T7UnUyGE5RI/AAAAAAAAA-M/N316DmVZ5RE/s320/IMG_5297.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>There was only two free days before we had to leave. Before we HAD to get back to school and work . . . before we had to give up paradise! So . . . logically we filled it. <br />
<br />
Approximately 10 miles from our house is a Zoo . . . if you will! Really it is a small collection of birds, spider monkeys, and reptiles . . . amphibians.<br />
<br />
We had seen it about a million times . . .traveling to and from the airport, Cancun, and other sites. We passed it and thought how could THIS be a zoo. It doesn't look anything like the Dallas Zoo, and Lord knows that place isn't top notch. It certainly doesn't look anything like the Ft. Worth Zoo. The Crococun Zoo, there on the highway . . . passed by many everyday . . . is quite unassuming.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
A few years back we were down for a couple of week. Always being the kind of vacationers to pack a vacation full with things to do . . . sights to see . . . and little rest or down time. We finally decided to hit this place up! It was just the 4 of us and so we decided to see what it was about. We piled in the car and drove approximately 10km to the Crococun Zoo.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T2FNheyvXgc/T7ZUXrshSkI/AAAAAAAABAw/KPJhoasN3HA/s1600/IMG_5502.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T2FNheyvXgc/T7ZUXrshSkI/AAAAAAAABAw/KPJhoasN3HA/s320/IMG_5502.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
The lobby was under construction. We decided to stick with it. Just standing in the lobby . . . we were hot, dying of thirst and being bit by mosquitoes. We bought some waters and bug spray and headed off with our personal guide through the complex.<br />
<br />
What set this zoo apart from all the others was that they offered a hands-on experience and so we decided to return again this trip.<br />
<br />
Last time Jake was in a stroller . . . this time he was a full blown walking and not listening little boy . . . how I loved that stroller time!<br />
<br />
We set out to arrive right after it opened . . . thinking 1 - it will be cooler in this not so cool spot located far from a beach and 2 - we will be most likely to have a private tour again.<br />
<br />
Boys are dress, bug spray in hand, water bottles in the bag, snacks for the boys . . . and we are out the door . . . leaving all the lazy bones back at the house to sip on pina coladas . . . how I long to be back there being a lazy bone!<br />
<br />
We arrived. We park. We know the drill . . . we go buy our tickets. Holy Shamoly! The lobby is nice, there is a breeze and there are mosquito bands for sale . . . $20! No cans, just these mosquito bands called Quitos. Side note - I got the name - looked them up when we got back to the house. They are NOT sold in the US . . . wonder why?!?!?! They last 15 days and would be perfect for scoots when he goes away to camp!<br />
<br />
Clearly the bad US economy has hit here . . .prices went up and food for the animals decreased! Jake was free, Scoots was $15 and we were $25 each. The lady taking our money pulls out one bag of food. Last time we each received our own bag . . . each of us . . . AND now the guide has to hold the bags. Who knows . . . but we go with it and negotiate for one more bag of food. Seeing that she would be better off just giving in . . . she caves!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eQDW7o6M91Y/T7UnMu267gI/AAAAAAAAA98/u5ZPB2M-ipY/s1600/IMG_5284.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eQDW7o6M91Y/T7UnMu267gI/AAAAAAAAA98/u5ZPB2M-ipY/s200/IMG_5284.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>We are asked to wait in the courtyard as we see a taxi van pull up. We would rather have a private tour. We attempt to bribe the guide to go ahead and start us, but he was too young to be tempted by cash! What is wrong with kids these days?<br />
<br />
The other families join us . . .it is two couples each has a baby approximately one year old, bags and strollers. The loud guy cracks a not so good joke. My boys just look at him with the "really dude" face. He ended up being very funny and all were really nice.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4oLQ8XuQD6A/T7UnQQPjC_I/AAAAAAAAA-E/QIsQopFbqW8/s1600/IMG_5288.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4oLQ8XuQD6A/T7UnQQPjC_I/AAAAAAAAA-E/QIsQopFbqW8/s200/IMG_5288.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>The guide greets us and starts to tell us about the zoo. He says "Do you know what Cancun means?" I do, I heard this information the last time we were there. I sit quiet but my son remembered. "Cancun means nest of snakes" was his reply. The ladies are not pleased. The guide explains should you hear a rusteling in the trees it is probably a tree snake. He explains how we should be on the look out for them. I really want to put this information out of my brain!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
We are off. First stop is the birds. The guide tells us about the birds, where they come from, what they eat and their special skill. Each child poses with a parrot. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dkumg_vq0Ec/T7UnZZdaXsI/AAAAAAAAA-U/1ihIPiI5lwA/s1600/IMG_5301.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dkumg_vq0Ec/T7UnZZdaXsI/AAAAAAAAA-U/1ihIPiI5lwA/s200/IMG_5301.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>Looking back over the pictures I wish I had moved Scoots out of the sun as it is not a good picture. Jake on the other hand . . . great lighting but seriously scared of the bird! Fine by me . . . no bird pets in our future!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cHE88GAPjPs/T7ZadHFXnAI/AAAAAAAABBc/yMmutcstc3Q/s1600/IMG_5305.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cHE88GAPjPs/T7ZadHFXnAI/AAAAAAAABBc/yMmutcstc3Q/s200/IMG_5305.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JXf3L-QB-_k/T7UndJJOOZI/AAAAAAAAA-c/r_6ZUvOaM-w/s1600/IMG_5303.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JXf3L-QB-_k/T7UndJJOOZI/AAAAAAAAA-c/r_6ZUvOaM-w/s200/IMG_5303.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>We then move on to the small crocodile tank. <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L0P-cTllV3s/T7Unkf3V7kI/AAAAAAAAA-s/TTio8D2Go14/s1600/IMG_5309.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L0P-cTllV3s/T7Unkf3V7kI/AAAAAAAAA-s/TTio8D2Go14/s200/IMG_5309.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>The guide pics one up, he talks about the eyes, ears, their breathing. He opens the mouth to show how to regulate their temperature and it looks as if there is no place for food. Tricked again . . . they have a trapped door where the food goes. <br />
<br />
<br />
Pictures all around - both children had no problem with the crocodiles! One of the grown men from the other group was scared . . . notice the mouth was rubber banded???<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eKeqUiDwkSA/T7UnpU04VKI/AAAAAAAAA-0/nPEQK-T5Vq0/s1600/IMG_5313.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eKeqUiDwkSA/T7UnpU04VKI/AAAAAAAAA-0/nPEQK-T5Vq0/s200/IMG_5313.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>On from there is the snapping alligator turtle, no hands on experience here. The guide says those turtles are mean! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vWth4vpICRU/T7Xeu3xgroI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/QVQH6HCyma0/s1600/IMG_5340.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vWth4vpICRU/T7Xeu3xgroI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/QVQH6HCyma0/s320/IMG_5340.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
We next see iguanas. Big ones . . . small ones . . . green ones . . . and some not so greet. We are not allowed to hold these. But seriously several were larger than our youngest child who is 41" tall!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_OKlHoX_TXA/T7XezcPTMCI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/J84AAnEtnq4/s1600/IMG_5343.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_OKlHoX_TXA/T7XezcPTMCI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/J84AAnEtnq4/s320/IMG_5343.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Once through the iguana exhibit aka looking at them through 3" glass which stand 5 ft tall while they are 2 to 3 feet below our level . . . because they can jump . . . Yup, good thing they are 8 feet below us!<br />
<br />
Last time we were here the "wearing a snake" thing was kinda cool. Then once done I remembered it was a boa . . . so with that in mind I was more mindful of the boys wearing a snake!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jYXa_QcgEG8/T7Xe8JBjluI/AAAAAAAAA_o/x_N30t2UJrg/s1600/IMG_5324.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jYXa_QcgEG8/T7Xe8JBjluI/AAAAAAAAA_o/x_N30t2UJrg/s200/IMG_5324.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8PnSr_D9moo/T7Xe3X-HWnI/AAAAAAAAA_g/DA4n9bJnHs8/s1600/IMG_5331.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8PnSr_D9moo/T7Xe3X-HWnI/AAAAAAAAA_g/DA4n9bJnHs8/s200/IMG_5331.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>Jake was a little scared . . . and I know this only because of the picture. He didn't put up a fuss or freak out with the snake around him. You can see how uneasy he is and I because very uneasy as this snake started closing in on his neck!<br />
<br />
Scoots is a pro but looks just a little uneasy. The father's picture from last time was one of sheer fear. This time he mustered a brave face for his boys!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-98SB0tv4US8/T7Xe_QlJinI/AAAAAAAAA_w/mjgEjCBzobY/s1600/IMG_5355.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-98SB0tv4US8/T7Xe_QlJinI/AAAAAAAAA_w/mjgEjCBzobY/s320/IMG_5355.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a> Snakes to Lizard. Yup - this was the same kid of lizard that bit Sharon Stone's husband between his toes, and probably led to their marriage falling apart . . . lizards can do that! This komoto dragon is one ugly fellow and rather big!<br />
<br />
Back to more snakes. We passed by probably 8 containers holding snakes from those found in Mexico, to the most venomous that they have, to the tree jumpers, garden snakes, green snakes, tiny snakes and then the mother of all snakes . . . an Anaconda! <br />
<br />
Once the Anaconda spotted our youngest sons at 41" and 40 pounds it was hungry.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pz30fWY0zbQ/T7XfEC7GRAI/AAAAAAAAA_4/Tri2yq8EzCI/s1600/IMG_5376.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pz30fWY0zbQ/T7XfEC7GRAI/AAAAAAAAA_4/Tri2yq8EzCI/s320/IMG_5376.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a>He slithered from his spot past my husband . . . our older son . . . me . . . onto our youngest. The entire time we are standing at his enclosure I was thinking of Jennifer Lopez in the movie Anaconda with Ice Cube and that snake was beyond scary!<br />
<br />
The guide informs us they are building a new enclosure for him with cement walls and bullet proof glass - it is needed because his strike is so powerful.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OKcGB4DSSmE/T7XfHDc0ypI/AAAAAAAABAA/4-HBzDM_SR0/s1600/IMG_5371.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OKcGB4DSSmE/T7XfHDc0ypI/AAAAAAAABAA/4-HBzDM_SR0/s200/IMG_5371.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>The guide also filled us in on the anaconda's eating habits . . . as the park is closing . . . one of the staff drops a live chicken in the enclosure. The chicken hops around, clucks until the anaconda is done and he squeezes it to death. He said the snake needs to feed every 15 days and that the blood bath from a chicken being squeezed until it pops is a major mess! Not sure I will be eating chicken any time soon!<br />
<br />
<br />
There was also a Burmese Python there . . . but it was far less interesting. Really after Britney did the whole dance thing with one . . . it has been overplayed!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a5lCLmJzrnE/T7Ximu7CvLI/AAAAAAAABAM/4FGBmnF9ltE/s1600/IMG_5400.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a5lCLmJzrnE/T7Ximu7CvLI/AAAAAAAABAM/4FGBmnF9ltE/s400/IMG_5400.JPG2.JPG" width="400" /></a>Once we were done with the snakes we rounded a corner to the croc pit. Really it is more of a water hole for them to cool off in, trees and brush for shade and a place to lay their eggs. As we approached the gate we noticed a croc laying in the walking path through this exhibit. The guide entered the exhibit, walked up behind the croc . . . lifted his tail . . . and the croc got up and walked off. OH and he happened to walk back by the gate where we were all standing.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v4I7v9qsIBI/T7XiudRiPlI/AAAAAAAABAU/GSx7Vz3WJvo/s1600/IMG_5405.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v4I7v9qsIBI/T7XiudRiPlI/AAAAAAAABAU/GSx7Vz3WJvo/s320/IMG_5405.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a> The guide assured us . . . here in Mexico . . . in the middle of the jungle . . . that entering a crocodile enclosure was a completely safe thing to do . . . sure why not?!<br />
<br />
As we entered we were met with the walking croc laying in the brush to the right of the entrance.<br />
<br />
We precede up the path a few feet only to notice the croc in the water starting to thrash. He doesn't want us in there . . . he wants us to know he is unhappy. <br />
<br />
One of the couples with the baby decides they are out! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HLiW5C9jErs/T7XiyPmYzoI/AAAAAAAABAc/AXAzXgajSkU/s1600/IMG_5411.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HLiW5C9jErs/T7XiyPmYzoI/AAAAAAAABAc/AXAzXgajSkU/s320/IMG_5411.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>We press on! Just 5 steps further along we encounter another croc. As you can see this one was also laying in the middle of the path. Our guide manages to take our cameras and moves around him without provoking the croc. He crouches down and tells the families to get in the frame. Seriously they are less than two feet from the tail of the croc.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile . . . the water croc has gotten out of the water . . . and he is coming for us. Being someone who always had to have a plan . . . I decided if the croc got close enough . . . I would shove my Louis Vuitton demin bag in his mouth. It is probably the size of the couple's baby and who care if I lost the bag or if things became damaged - we would be safe . . . right . . . sure great plan!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wm6rPvrfRI0/T7Xi3cjRanI/AAAAAAAABAk/dhp_2Js4Ki4/s1600/IMG_5417.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wm6rPvrfRI0/T7Xi3cjRanI/AAAAAAAABAk/dhp_2Js4Ki4/s320/IMG_5417.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Thankfully I still have my bag. The croc did come closer. He squatted on the edge of the path. We moved on down it and the croc sat there hissing at us. Loving this hands on encounter stuff!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qOOaaLOAlG8/T7ZUd0fTABI/AAAAAAAABA4/EJdLmHj6Pow/s1600/IMG_5438.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qOOaaLOAlG8/T7ZUd0fTABI/AAAAAAAABA4/EJdLmHj6Pow/s200/IMG_5438.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_jXFNCMDU4/T7ZUvFluubI/AAAAAAAABBQ/lhQbKlffCTw/s1600/IMG_5458.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_jXFNCMDU4/T7ZUvFluubI/AAAAAAAABBQ/lhQbKlffCTw/s200/IMG_5458.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>The day wasn't over until we had fed, touched or had pictures taken with many other inhabitants of the zoo.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZWGk9_OR2oo/T7ZUrQH-lBI/AAAAAAAABBI/agUzBwsqsD0/s1600/IMG_5481.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZWGk9_OR2oo/T7ZUrQH-lBI/AAAAAAAABBI/agUzBwsqsD0/s200/IMG_5481.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a><br />
The color on the Peacock was beautiful. They blue looked like it had a light on it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aeSKLpypaq4/T7ZUnP6U_-I/AAAAAAAABBA/lse-aQCI0J4/s1600/IMG_5448.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aeSKLpypaq4/T7ZUnP6U_-I/AAAAAAAABBA/lse-aQCI0J4/s200/IMG_5448.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a> We all had the opportunity to feed the deer some bananas and eucalyptus leaves. The monkeys got grapes and nuts.<br />
<br />
The temperature was starting to heat up so our encounter ended at the right time. We would absolutely do this again . . . it is close to our house, reasonably priced and who knows what encounters we might have the next time.<br />
<br />
Overall it was a fun, educational and a slightly scary encounter. This stull doesn't happen in Dallas or anywhere in the US. You can only do this kind of encounters in a country where business owners don't fear litigation.<br />
<br />
We have so many fun stories to tell and lots of pictures to remind us. We asked Jake what was his favorite part . . . "Being chased by a crocodile." Not sure that is exactly what happened but that is his story and he is sticking to it!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f6hZ93QdVFU/T7ZgTBcX_yI/AAAAAAAABBo/cCRTMqPj9Bo/s1600/P5030567.JPG2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f6hZ93QdVFU/T7ZgTBcX_yI/AAAAAAAABBo/cCRTMqPj9Bo/s320/P5030567.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Upon our return to the villa . . . the lazy bones were in the pool . . . the pina coladas were all gone . . . and the massage therapist had just arrived. Now THAT is my story and I am sticking to it!<br />
<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-54364856169220413832012-05-14T09:43:00.002-05:002012-05-14T09:43:49.370-05:00Sand in Places . . .It's A Small World<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FqDUBkc2DVA/T7ER2CK2rjI/AAAAAAAAA9U/F34rwgUHpLI/s1600/P1010021.JPG-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FqDUBkc2DVA/T7ER2CK2rjI/AAAAAAAAA9U/F34rwgUHpLI/s320/P1010021.JPG-2.JPG" width="213" /></a>It's A Small World . . . <br />
<br />
That probably conjured up imagine of floating in a small boat with not so comfortable seats through a badly designed ride at Disney World, with the music at a nerve grating sound and hearing the commentary of some know it all in the boat right behind you. BUT . . . we weren't at Disney World.<br />
<br />
When planning for our trip to Mexico we were looking for stuff we haven't done before. We have zip lined, swam with whale sharks, snorkeled every inch of the side of Mexico, ate in a cave, deep sea fished - multiple times, seen Chichen Itza, swam with Dolphins, a Walrus, Manatees and Sting rays. Something new to us popped up. It was a hands on experience with spider monkeys. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-naYTPXPX244/T7ER1GXl6BI/AAAAAAAAA9M/c6zKEecpsH4/s1600/IMG_5142.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-naYTPXPX244/T7ER1GXl6BI/AAAAAAAAA9M/c6zKEecpsH4/s320/IMG_5142.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Attempting to book this thing was tough. There are only 16 spots and only one day it was being hosted while we would be in Mexico. Thankfully we got the last 4 spot and a 12:30pm time frame.<br />
<br />
We loaded the car with our oldest son, my father-in-law, my husband and myself . . . and off we went. I go on these "experiences" not because I want to experience it . . . them . . . whatever it is. It is because I am the photographer. I document everything through the lens of my camera.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c3e2VG-G8Dc/T7ERl7hZwaI/AAAAAAAAA8s/OsJLSzrb80E/s1600/P1010025.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c3e2VG-G8Dc/T7ERl7hZwaI/AAAAAAAAA8s/OsJLSzrb80E/s320/P1010025.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>We leave the others at the house. A little over an hour later we pull onto the property. It is down near Akmal close to the border of Mexico and Belize. We turn West which is the complete opposite way of the beach. So no beautiful blue water, no sand under your feet and no breeze. We are talking jungle. I am hard pressed to see anything but a packed dirt road with many large holes in it and dense jungle. <br />
<br />
After stay right here . . . curve left there . . . spot the green fence . . . count 5 poles . . . look right . . . look left . . . hokey pokey . . . .we spot the drive up. We have arrived!!! We parked and reluctantly got out of the car. I was dreading the monkeys. The smell . . . the dirt . . . them touching you . . . them putting their ass on you . . . I dreaded it all. As we were walking up to the house you can hear another group having their encounter.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hE3tPIy0At4/T7ERxXWPsMI/AAAAAAAAA9E/ta-7h0EUy70/s1600/IMG_5133.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hE3tPIy0At4/T7ERxXWPsMI/AAAAAAAAA9E/ta-7h0EUy70/s320/IMG_5133.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>My husband enters what I assumed was an office and closes the door. He then exits another door immediately to his left and heads up the stairs. I do the same. About the time I entered, by the way . . . not an office . . . but their house . . . their two pit bulls stand up. One starts to make his way towards me. I quickly exit the side door and shut it behind me. There my father-in-law stands with the two pit bulls. He too gets out. We don't go back that way . . .<br />
<br />
We get to the next landing and see an enclosure. Probably 6' X 6'. There are 8 people sitting with their legs straight out. There is a man in the enclosure standing up and a woman on the outside. She asks us if we wouldn't mind going back down until the first group finishes.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4V4IaQ-QjuY/T7ERrI2vAQI/AAAAAAAAA80/tkHwGxHAMDA/s1600/IMG_5125.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4V4IaQ-QjuY/T7ERrI2vAQI/AAAAAAAAA80/tkHwGxHAMDA/s320/IMG_5125.JPG2.JPG" width="212" /></a><br />
We do . . . but not through the house! We all head over to another spider monkey enclosure. There is one male monkey going wild. He is picking up the boards placed on the bottom of his wire cage bridge suspended up off the ground. The boards are there for him to walk on. And he is ripping this stuff up. I immediately think "this is not a good idea." He is none too happy! There are other male monkeys - all seem to be happy. They swing with their tale from one ball to another. They are really skilled at using the tale. It is like another arm. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6WPFMELj2SE/T7EY02RmZ0I/AAAAAAAAA9o/VIn01GEGj_Y/s1600/IMG_5123.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6WPFMELj2SE/T7EY02RmZ0I/AAAAAAAAA9o/VIn01GEGj_Y/s320/IMG_5123.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>The man that was in the upstairs enclosure previously, approached. My husband goes to greet him with a hand shake. They monkeys go crazy. Start chanting. I said to my father-in-law . . . "did you see that? As soon as he arrives they went crazy. That must mean he treats them badly. So glad we can perpetuate this." He agrees, they must not be kind to these animals.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELKDdtMtgig/T7EYr0NkDII/AAAAAAAAA9g/Xyon3yx_kyk/s1600/P1010109.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELKDdtMtgig/T7EYr0NkDII/AAAAAAAAA9g/Xyon3yx_kyk/s320/P1010109.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>We were asked to come back up the stairs to start our encounter. The woman who runs it is called Heidi. She asks me "so you are from Dallas", in a very strong Germany accent.. . . "what part do you live in." I responded with "yes . . . North Dallas." She doesn't say much more, I find it kinda odd. But most of the people who do business like this like to know where their clients are coming from. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ni67nvb5AO4/T7ERYL3ChkI/AAAAAAAAA8k/uYKtYBEtHLg/s1600/P1010046.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ni67nvb5AO4/T7ERYL3ChkI/AAAAAAAAA8k/uYKtYBEtHLg/s320/P1010046.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>Not 5 minutes later she says to my husband, "oh, you are with . . ." and she says my husband's law firm. He said yes, thinking she had gotten it off one of his emails. Most places like this are worried about attorney's especially when it come to liability. She then says, "How is Blake." We aren't sure we heard her correctly. Did she really just ask about his law partner? How could she know him much less call him by his first name?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0T_S7sA8pmc/T7EY3fLuvXI/AAAAAAAAA9w/XI91rjjyf2A/s1600/IMG_5151.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0T_S7sA8pmc/T7EY3fLuvXI/AAAAAAAAA9w/XI91rjjyf2A/s320/IMG_5151.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>OK . . . so now there is this woman . . .here in the middle of the jungle . . . with a very strong Germany accent . . . who is probably 20+ years older than we are . . . who rescues spider monkeys from the hotels and facilities that don't take care of them properly. How could she know so much? She isn't asking anyone else about their city or husband's profession or people the know. Why would this woman who works in the field of rescued spider monkeys know about Dallas and is she seriously asking about the legal partner from Dallas.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nL0TkjiqFq0/T7ERVNQKF8I/AAAAAAAAA8c/73NQ4FIYcwI/s1600/P5020426.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nL0TkjiqFq0/T7ERVNQKF8I/AAAAAAAAA8c/73NQ4FIYcwI/s320/P5020426.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a>It seems approximately 12 years ago she lived in a nice neighborhood within the city of Dallas called Greenway Park. It is filled with homes, large and small, that all have small yards but share a green way. In fact, her kids had grown up in that neighborhood.<br />
<br />
Not only did Heidi, the Spider Monkey Sanctuary owner, know my husband's law partner . . . she knew his first wife's name, the law partner Blake's . . . not my husband's first wife. She knew her as a little girl. She had lived across the street from Reguet and her family for many years. She knew of their children, his in-laws, his brother-in-law. She knew the whole family. Her children had even gone to the same private school our oldest attends. She knew how the founder of Greenhill then created another school her children went to called Lakewood. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sYOwg5slk0o/T7ERRSlo4WI/AAAAAAAAA8U/e29gWRqERa4/s1600/P5020421.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sYOwg5slk0o/T7ERRSlo4WI/AAAAAAAAA8U/e29gWRqERa4/s320/P5020421.JPG2.JPG" width="212" /></a>When Blake and his family decided to build a bigger home they bought Heidi's property and build their dream home on it. This woman knew everything. We were really amazed. It is not often . . . you are in the middle of a jungle . . . in another country . . . at a spider monkey hands on experience . . . and find a friend of a friend.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6oPjj4rFVyA/T7ERMAS6JkI/AAAAAAAAA8M/hUwiJ17vOLs/s1600/P5020429.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6oPjj4rFVyA/T7ERMAS6JkI/AAAAAAAAA8M/hUwiJ17vOLs/s400/P5020429.JPG2.JPG" width="266" /></a>All of the crazy small world stuff aside. We had a great time during our experience. We had access to 6 female spider monkeys. The man, from the enclosure, and Heidi take such good care of these monkeys. The monkeys truly love these two people who went from living pretty high on the hog in Dallas to the middle of no where helping some sweet little monkeys. <br />
<br />
We really had a good time, lots of laughs and lots of monkeying around!A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-68263976591181090222012-05-11T07:07:00.001-05:002012-05-11T07:12:00.779-05:00Sand in Places . . . Only in Mexico<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DSwoWJfL8MI/T6yFi8SrdtI/AAAAAAAAA7M/q0fCb1U2Gy0/s1600/P5010368.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DSwoWJfL8MI/T6yFi8SrdtI/AAAAAAAAA7M/q0fCb1U2Gy0/s320/P5010368.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I am often overhead saying . . . while in Mexico . . . "Only in Mexico."<br />
<br />
My "only in Mexico" always refers to something we are doing, seeing or experiencing that would not happen anywhere in the United States. Clearly, Mexico is either a less litigious society or they don't have as many attorneys around. Some of the things we have done here in Mexico . . . you would never find in the United States . . . without a protest, arrest and a full on brawl!<br />
<br />
Last Tuesday morning, in Mexico, we hung out at the house. Just hung out in the pool, playing in the ocean, reading on a chaise lounge feet from the ocean . . . waves crashing . . . nice wind . . . burning my fair skin. It was a good morning!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0dB9OLGr2AM/T6yF0IXYdfI/AAAAAAAAA7k/Y5NEcEXZjM4/s1600/P5010384.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0dB9OLGr2AM/T6yF0IXYdfI/AAAAAAAAA7k/Y5NEcEXZjM4/s200/P5010384.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M26LUeU5Ru8/T6yFlKv4VYI/AAAAAAAAA7U/PVVyYyIfC0I/s1600/P5010350.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M26LUeU5Ru8/T6yFlKv4VYI/AAAAAAAAA7U/PVVyYyIfC0I/s320/P5010350.JPG2.JPG" width="213" /></a>We decided we would go into Playa del Carmen for some shopping and dinner. We have to stop by the Super Rama to pick up some necessary supplies . . . the right coconut mix for the pinas! Stop one is done on to 5th street.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cg0M56ezUNM/T6yHeGkjVJI/AAAAAAAAA7s/HzKJPSEGHuM/s1600/P1010005.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cg0M56ezUNM/T6yHeGkjVJI/AAAAAAAAA7s/HzKJPSEGHuM/s200/P1010005.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>5th street is classic tourist hot spot . . . cheap Mexican junk, and people attempting to lure you into their place to buy their cheap Mexican junk. We buy! <br />
<br />
5th street has changed in recent years. It seems Capitalism has taken hold. You are now not hounded by the bum smelling of piss and liquor, who just wants you to give him money. It is more like Bourbon Street in New Orleans where every 20 feet or so . . .someone or something is attempting to perform in order to earn your money. <br />
<br />
I like this much better.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Jlz-_FVf8g/T6yFmwDijTI/AAAAAAAAA7c/GOXzinx7y5E/s1600/P5010347.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Jlz-_FVf8g/T6yFmwDijTI/AAAAAAAAA7c/GOXzinx7y5E/s200/P5010347.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>The boys get bobble head animals. They are $1 a piece so who cares if they become wounded in battle, get lost or are forgotten there. My MIL's mother wants a shirt, my MIL wants a swim suit cover up. My good friend Lisa wants me to bring her back some Mexican Vanilla and I would have been content . . . maybe . . . with not buying anything but I am a buyer! I bought the boys a t-shirt and I purchased myself another Mexican skull. It is not as gross as you might think. These are painted. I used them for decorations when I do a Mexican themed party, they are really more dia de los muertos than anything! I am still hunting authentic sombreros - also for decorations for my Mexican parties. My husband buys nothing but pays for it all and my FIL buys a shirt that reads "who needs Google . . . My wife knows everything." It could not be more accurate!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mzu_uwfm6H8/T6yFewKMyvI/AAAAAAAAA7E/9I1mO3okAGc/s1600/P5010370.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mzu_uwfm6H8/T6yFewKMyvI/AAAAAAAAA7E/9I1mO3okAGc/s200/P5010370.JPG2.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
We have walked down probably 10 blocks and now we must walk back to the car. As we are walking back I have an agenda . . . As we walked the 10 blocks the first time we passed a side alley. In that side alley were some young men. They had a baby puma, jaguar, monkey and a not so baby Bengal tiger . . . OK say it with me . . . Only in Mexico. We had stopped on our way down the 10 blocks to check out his set-up.. The guys wanted $30 for 1 picture of 1 child with 1 of the animals.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-346RIhpjLc8/T6yFaGVAHyI/AAAAAAAAA68/Avx5AbH8CwI/s1600/P5010371.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-346RIhpjLc8/T6yFaGVAHyI/AAAAAAAAA68/Avx5AbH8CwI/s200/P5010371.JPG2.JPG" width="150" /></a>On our way back I intended to get a picture but I wasn't going to pay that crazy price of $30. So, I pause . . . and here begins the game. I am standing in the middle of the street, I look over at the ring leader AKA money collector. I say in my dumb blond way . . . "It was 20 for a picture! Right?" This lets them know I am a buyer at $20 and I was. He came back with $30. I say "no, no gracia." Now he counters. "3 for $30" he sees I have two kids - instantly he know I want each kid by themselves and then together. I wave him off and again say "no, no gracia." And start to walk away. HINT . . . You have to be willing to walk away. I want this picture but he cannot know it. He counters again "3 for $20." Deal done! I ask my husband to pay the man and we are in the alley!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2EQ2BhgTvy8/T6yFWMqE1pI/AAAAAAAAA60/BbuLdSLc3bc/s1600/P5010373.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2EQ2BhgTvy8/T6yFWMqE1pI/AAAAAAAAA60/BbuLdSLc3bc/s320/P5010373.JPG2.JPG" width="320" /></a>Again . . . only in Mexico . . . right?! I probably got 5 shots. Our youngest held the jaguar and the oldest held the puma. Both were such beautiful cats! The Bengal tiger just layed on the ground . . . asleep with people walking within inches of him. Children were crouched down . . . . within inches of him . . . had he bother to wake up . . . he could have had a tasty lunch! In typical fashion . . . he was taking a siesta!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xC0MBydu584/T6yFTXu14nI/AAAAAAAAA6s/2tnSlNPANCE/s1600/P5010385.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xC0MBydu584/T6yFTXu14nI/AAAAAAAAA6s/2tnSlNPANCE/s200/P5010385.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tUOyCG6w0Bc/T6yFR_uodMI/AAAAAAAAA6k/Zqqw4HbwHAA/s1600/P5010392.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tUOyCG6w0Bc/T6yFR_uodMI/AAAAAAAAA6k/Zqqw4HbwHAA/s200/P5010392.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>I am marginally please with my pics. Jake struggled with holding the jaguar, Scoots held the puma. BOTH were whining . . . the cats (I cannot reproduce the sound in type . . . sorry). Call me, I can do the audio perfectly! Neither really wanted said children holding them but hey . . . I want my picture and . . . they wanted the money.<br />
<br />
Missions Accomplished . . . .only in Mexico . . . <br />
<br />
The animal pictures were the highlight of my trip in to Playa del Carmen. <br />
<br />
On our way to dinner we countered the high flying guys from xcaret. They climb a pole very high up in the air and then wind their rops around the cnter of the pole. One ready . . . AKA - they have collected donations from the crowd . . . twice, they fall off the top of hte pole backwards and fly upside down until their rope os completely let out. <br />
<br />
Name one spot in the US here crazy guys with no safety harness do this trip . . . Can anyone say ATTORNEY????<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V8VeUyRpjr8/T6yFMuW0kTI/AAAAAAAAA6c/cyQFP_wGelU/s1600/P5010396.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V8VeUyRpjr8/T6yFMuW0kTI/AAAAAAAAA6c/cyQFP_wGelU/s200/P5010396.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>We went to dinner at Los Ranchero. We were promised an ocean view and air conditioning . . . Only in Mexico . . . can the advertising be so misleading . . . <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-1559064581863935562012-05-09T07:02:00.000-05:002012-05-09T07:02:56.947-05:00Sand in Places . . . Not Doing Much . . .<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7hPQyNPDDD0/T6l8y72MyMI/AAAAAAAAA5o/D3kiAMNAeTU/s1600/P4300156.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7hPQyNPDDD0/T6l8y72MyMI/AAAAAAAAA5o/D3kiAMNAeTU/s320/P4300156.JPG2.JPG" width="240" /></a>We said we would take it easy this trip. We said we didn't want to have a full week of sight seeing . . . after all, we are hear just about every year and we have done most of what this place has to offer. <br />
<br />
We want to relax . . . decompress . . . just enjoy the boys . . . and family.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5jbaeSSz7aE/T6l8lDlHI2I/AAAAAAAAA5Q/UWR_5qmjzxs/s1600/P4300186.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5jbaeSSz7aE/T6l8lDlHI2I/AAAAAAAAA5Q/UWR_5qmjzxs/s320/P4300186.JPG2.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
And so we did . . . <br />
<br />
We woke to two boys . . . very excited to be in Mexico. SO . . . excited they woke at 4am . . . there is no picture of this. They went room to room . . . waking everyone . . . climbing in their bed and snuggeling until you had to get up. It was right around 6:30am when I got downstairs. There everyone is hanging out . . . we were commenting on the excitment of two sweet boys and I explained how everyone (the grandparents) should handle said children getting up way too early . . .in the future. SEND THEM BACK TO BED AND TELL THEM THEY CANNOT GET UP UNTIL SOMEONE COMES AND GETS THEM.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6h6uM8Q69XI/T6l8-nIO-PI/AAAAAAAAA6I/seeZ44anxyo/s1600/P4290065.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6h6uM8Q69XI/T6l8-nIO-PI/AAAAAAAAA6I/seeZ44anxyo/s200/P4290065.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg9LhAoyneI/T6l9A6HhzpI/AAAAAAAAA6Q/He7EnkvviUg/s1600/P4290063.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg9LhAoyneI/T6l9A6HhzpI/AAAAAAAAA6Q/He7EnkvviUg/s200/P4290063.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>The boys are in their swim trunks. Breakfast will be set up pool side by 8:00am . . . come on 8:00 am! The rest of us get dressed in swim gear and prepare for a day of doing nothing but hanging out by the pool/ocean . . .just as soon as we are done with bereakfast.<br />
<br />
Time does not fly by . . . and we finally make it to 8:00am. Christopher, the chef, delivered and set it up pool side. The boys both had waffles, my FIL and myself had breakfast tacos, my mother and MIL had eggs with sides and my husband an omelet. BEST BREAKFAST EVER . . . pool side . . . family near . . . hearing the ocean . . . feeling the breeze in your hair . . . and the sun on your back.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HajzcOSQhyA/T6l8rP5YJ_I/AAAAAAAAA5Y/fdJn3KcjUww/s1600/P4300171.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HajzcOSQhyA/T6l8rP5YJ_I/AAAAAAAAA5Y/fdJn3KcjUww/s200/P4300171.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>The boys are done quickly, the adults sit and talk about schedules, the boys, when is the next meal. It is then I realize I am getting hot . . . my back is starting to feel tight. I move around the table . . . unfortunately I am burned, but I have yet to fully notice. Burned in less than 1 hour . . . gee I love fair skin!<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YdDM0Wvgw3Y/T6l8uqBYqdI/AAAAAAAAA5g/cAS1jH9dLVM/s1600/P4300169.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YdDM0Wvgw3Y/T6l8uqBYqdI/AAAAAAAAA5g/cAS1jH9dLVM/s200/P4300169.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WE-lbPIvF44/T6l85J0_tmI/AAAAAAAAA54/uEDp5HrqFac/s1600/P4290109.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WE-lbPIvF44/T6l85J0_tmI/AAAAAAAAA54/uEDp5HrqFac/s200/P4290109.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>We all hung out in the pool . . . around the pool. Had pina coladas pool side and snorkled the reef just off the shoreline in front of our house. <br />
<br />
We swam . . . We snorkeled . . . We boogie boarded . . . We built sand castles . . . We drank pina coladas . . . We drank pina coladas . . . We drank pina coladas . . . they were worth the repeat!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EAeR8FK9V84/T6l83Y_SzwI/AAAAAAAAA5w/cnCs5ZLcRis/s1600/P4300116.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EAeR8FK9V84/T6l83Y_SzwI/AAAAAAAAA5w/cnCs5ZLcRis/s200/P4300116.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zN6I-lLZeS4/T6l8bQXRF8I/AAAAAAAAA5A/XaBXczGIxJQ/s1600/P4300200.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zN6I-lLZeS4/T6l8bQXRF8I/AAAAAAAAA5A/XaBXczGIxJQ/s200/P4300200.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>Mid-afternoon I made lunch for our boys and we ate at the table facing the ocean. Back to the sand to repair a sand castle taken out by a wave.<br />
<br />
The massage therapist arrived around 5:30pm. First the girls go, then the boys with a 15 minute mini massage for Jake. He loved every minute. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cou2yyAIO64/T6l87nENiRI/AAAAAAAAA6A/k_k31SeGolg/s1600/IMG_5088.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cou2yyAIO64/T6l87nENiRI/AAAAAAAAA6A/k_k31SeGolg/s200/IMG_5088.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>We got dressed and went to the Palapa for dinner. Jake got chicken finger and fries everyone else got arrachera steak. We sipped on Sangria, danced with the boys, enjoyed our dinner in an outdoor dining room and it was just us. There was a extremely competetive game of foosball. Jake and I won!<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-je-4-7pPRkU/T6l8hjtqAaI/AAAAAAAAA5I/0YeWnB1yrrs/s1600/P4300191.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-je-4-7pPRkU/T6l8hjtqAaI/AAAAAAAAA5I/0YeWnB1yrrs/s200/P4300191.JPG2.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
It was around 9:45 and everyone went off to bed. <br />
<br />
It was a day full of doing nothing, somehow we are tired from doing nothing and . . . .it just what we needed.A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-10960528678279135262012-05-07T15:30:00.001-05:002012-05-07T15:30:08.973-05:00Sand in Places . . . Just Trying to Get There<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nquu0Dz0HjU/T6gvOAN3q6I/AAAAAAAAA4k/bSiL9pIDeuA/s1600/P1010029.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nquu0Dz0HjU/T6gvOAN3q6I/AAAAAAAAA4k/bSiL9pIDeuA/s200/P1010029.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
It all happened really fast.<br />
<br />
It was my husband's birthday. A big one. He was turning 40. His father took the week off from his job as a General in the Air Force and a commercial pilot. He made the time and we knew we needed to do something special for such a special birthday.<br />
<br />
So, with a week to go to the birthday . . . we booked a trip to Mexico. South of Cancun . . . North of Playa del Carmen - we are at a private home.<br />
<br />
We love this place . . .<br />
<br />
The morning started out rough . . . our driver didn't show up in a Suburban, he showed up in a sedan. No way 2 adults - 2 kids - 6 bags - 4 carry ones . . . can be carried in a sedan.<br />
<br />
My husband asked me to get my car and pull around front. In the time it took me to get the car and get back around front . . . the driver was still sitting in the drive way . . . dazed and confused!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IQZFPFcdPfQ/T6gvK-cqgKI/AAAAAAAAA4c/B50JGLw3u00/s1600/P1010012.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IQZFPFcdPfQ/T6gvK-cqgKI/AAAAAAAAA4c/B50JGLw3u00/s200/P1010012.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>We are off . . . I didn't want to personally drive us to the airport but we were now pressed for time. We arrive, get processed and now we wait to board. All 7 of us, my mother, the four of us and two inlaws . . . flying together. What a production!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iaNR1_sznnY/T6gvHe0ru1I/AAAAAAAAA4U/ocsjJSrkJck/s1600/P1010010.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iaNR1_sznnY/T6gvHe0ru1I/AAAAAAAAA4U/ocsjJSrkJck/s200/P1010010.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>Our flight was uneventful . . . I start taking the usual pictures . . . to build "The Book" of this trip. My in-laws in their seats, my husband and our oldest son in their seats, Jake is my partner, so him in his seat and my mother in her seat. This time no Air Marshall next to her . . . but why the empty seat?<br />
<br />
2 short hours later we are in Cancun! We all process through immigration, we gather our collective 16 bags and head off to be cleared by customs. What totally gets me is this . . . (MEXICO) is the country of swine flu, of ecoli break outs, or a drug war that has been taken to the street. And here I am . . . filling out a form . . . saying I haven't been sick, not bringing in meat, fruits or veggies or any large sums of money . . . Note to self . . . if you must bring in large sums of money to Mexico . . . make it $1. less than $10,000. THAT is the amount they ask you to declare on the form!!!<br />
<br />
As we head through customs . . . and push ALL 16 bags through the machine . . . they flag my trunk. This was the first trunk my son had used to go to camp - until I knew this sleep away camp thing worked I was willing to spend $50 on a plastic trunk from Container Store and not buy one of the $260 trunks from EverythingforCamp.com. PLEASE NOTE . . . my trunk had already been opened . . . twice! 1 - by the American Airlines curbside guy - would needed to inspect it . . . 2 - by some TSA luggage inspector . . . WHY?!?!?! do I know this - they taped the damn thing shut again - it had TSA Transportation Security Administration white tape with blue letters all over it. They had taped it closed since they broke the seal . . . that American Airline placed on it once they had inspected it.<br />
<br />
So, why would Mr. Power Hungry Mexican dude . . . need to open my trunk when it was clear . . . it had passed the TSA regulations . . . again I go back to the fact Mexico's greatest contribution to the U.S. is . . . swine flu, ecoli outbreaks and a drug war. YES . . . the clearly anglo . . . blonde . . . mother of two . . . traveling with 6 other people ranging in age from 63 to 4 . . . plump . . . WOMAN is bringing something into Mexico that could harm people. Great racial profiling dude! He clearly needs a class. <br />
<br />
He opened my trunk . . . AFTER making my husband unload the three bags sitting on top of it on the luggage cart and place it on his table. He asked us . . . in Spanish . . ."do you have any food in there?" We replied with "we have no fruit or meat in there." Did that stop him from opening it? No, so why ask the damn question? He was such an idiot . . . he didn't even know where to open the trunk or to start unwinding the TSA tape. He was trying to open it from the back. I whip it around in my no-nonsense, you are wasting my time, clearly the US didn't have a problem why should you . . . and tell him in Spanish "start here, this is the front." The dumb ass inspection guy FINALLY pops it open only to expose all the surprises I had packed for my husband's birthday . . . I had all sorts of decorations to put up around the house as a surprise for when he wakes up on his birthday. I am surprised it is all sitting on top in the trunk and my husband sees it all. I loudly spoke . . . NOT yelled, at the guy . . . "Look you ruined my surprise" my husband shot me a look like - what the hell Jen, my mother-in-law - said "be careful, you don't want to go to jail." I was furious and the sad example of an inspection agent closed the trunk back up, locked it back down and sent us on our way. I hope someone ruins one of his surprises . . . then he will know!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W0WjqtoRwJw/T6gvEoj3B_I/AAAAAAAAA4M/0aJMULiWnbI/s1600/P1010033.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W0WjqtoRwJw/T6gvEoj3B_I/AAAAAAAAA4M/0aJMULiWnbI/s200/P1010033.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>Our driver is there, he loads all our bags and we are off to the house. We arrive about 40 minutes later . . . greeted with pina coladas and fresh cold wash cloths scented with mint. We stop in the Palapa while the workers unload the luggage from the van and move the bags to the house. This is the first of many drinks . . . the first of everyone sitting back to enjoy the scenery and the first of many toasts to a great guy on his birthday trip.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ILYRhzQ0f2A/T6gvdcB3IYI/AAAAAAAAA4s/kwvrvQM6YMo/s1600/P4290050.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ILYRhzQ0f2A/T6gvdcB3IYI/AAAAAAAAA4s/kwvrvQM6YMo/s200/P4290050.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
Our bags are placed in our rooms. My father-in-law heads off to jog, my mother has our youngest and they are in the pool, my husband, mother-in-law, our oldest and myself head off to the grocery to get the snacks and stuff to make sangria and pina coladas . . .daily!!!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6CDYDftRyE4/T6gvhVsuP6I/AAAAAAAAA40/Ni39BS-aTVU/s1600/P5030867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6CDYDftRyE4/T6gvhVsuP6I/AAAAAAAAA40/Ni39BS-aTVU/s200/P5030867.JPG" width="200" /></a>We get back unload the groceries, load the car and are off again to Pelican's Ocean Grill in Puerto Morelos. Puerto Morelos is a small ocean side city, people walk everywhere. Everyone local knows everyone else, so it is easy to spot an outsider. Pelican's is beautiful. We arrives as the sun was setting. We could see the sun shining across the water, the boats rocking, the waves crashing onto the sand and here we were enjoying fresh fish, pasta de marinas, maricos de tocino and dos hamburguesas for the boys.<br />
<br />
We were all relieved to be able to sit back and just enjoy ourselves for a minute. No where we had to be . . . not getting ready for school . . . not dealing with clients.<br />
<br />
It was a great ending to a great day!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-83789017417074733862012-04-23T10:11:00.000-05:002012-04-23T10:11:07.317-05:00TORTURE . . .<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uxnwd93Y4ew/T5VtLvqW95I/AAAAAAAAA30/7Ac3cvnXezM/s1600/lisa-baron-blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uxnwd93Y4ew/T5VtLvqW95I/AAAAAAAAA30/7Ac3cvnXezM/s320/lisa-baron-blue.jpg" width="320" /></a>Early last week my husband reminded me we had a "legal" dinner. We
were set to go to a BEYOND beautiful home here in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dallas</st1:place></st1:city>, it is listed as the 14th most
expensive home and . . . I believe it. BEYOND BEAUTIFUL!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I start stressing mid week about what to wear . . . I drag my mother with me
to Nordstrom’s to buy a new dress. I don't buy just 1 . . . .4 dresses later I
should . . . SHOULD . . . be covered. We head down to the shoe department. I
tried on 22 pairs of shoes. 22 pairs - what I wanted . . . my mother didn't
like. What she liked . . . I didn't want. Then there was the shoe the dress
dictated . . . and I didn't want that kind either.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
See . . . I am a soccer mom . . . not really but the term fits. Actually I
am a swim team, select football team, pee wee soccer, gas guzzling, car pool,
recently ticketed aggressive crazy mom driver - NOW do you have a better picture?
I am good for a pair of Tory Burch flip flops, Gucci slide ons, Manolo kitten
heel sandals . . . or Uggs! I like a comfortable shoe. In fact . . . I LOVE a
comfortable shoe!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4mWHDJl9wRA/T5VtDRZpzZI/AAAAAAAAA3U/3S8Y3V7TfrQ/s1600/imagesCACBFPCF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4mWHDJl9wRA/T5VtDRZpzZI/AAAAAAAAA3U/3S8Y3V7TfrQ/s200/imagesCACBFPCF.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
You see all these crazy bitches on the Real Housewives, or the models strutting down the cat walk or my Head B room mom - something they all have in common is they look mean, never smiling, nasty people, not happy and they all wear those red bottom shoes. You know the one - 6.5in high . . . horribly upright . . . horribly uncomfortable . . . horribly horribly horribly beautiful shoes which should be considered more art than functional! MAYBE . . . just MAYBE . . . this was why Kim K's marriage failed! Nah . . . it was Chris!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://us.christianlouboutin.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/small_image/496x556/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/1/1/1110903_BL8T_medium.jpg?" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Daffodile 160mm" border="0" height="200" src="http://us.christianlouboutin.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/small_image/496x556/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/1/1/1110903_BL8T_medium.jpg?" title="" width="178" /></a>Just looking at these shoes makes me want them. While their cost is CRAZY expensive and they are CRAZY popular I just can't see myself doing it. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q5yKfuhYE7A/T5VtEqK9XcI/AAAAAAAAA3c/XCYuWV7HQtQ/s1600/imagesCA2WWJV3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q5yKfuhYE7A/T5VtEqK9XcI/AAAAAAAAA3c/XCYuWV7HQtQ/s200/imagesCA2WWJV3.jpg" width="193" /></a>I know myself well AND I know my balance issues. I danced for 14 years - I have great balance for my 5'7" (slightly plump . . . leave it along) frame. Adding 6.5" would put me over 6' foot and at 6' foot - you need oxygen masks for air, you look down on people . . . seriously you do, and it is further to fall. That is right . . . despite my very good balance and strong core muscles . . . I would fall and no amount of beautiful, EXPENSIVE, gaze inducing shoes can cover you ass quick enough from people seeing your SPANXs and panties!<br />
<br />
So . . . I don't do them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2DR4SdJsAbU/T5VtHEn9fmI/AAAAAAAAA3s/Fmbo60i1GPc/s1600/imagesCAYFTYLF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2DR4SdJsAbU/T5VtHEn9fmI/AAAAAAAAA3s/Fmbo60i1GPc/s1600/imagesCAYFTYLF.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
But as I was trying those types of shoes on at Nordstrom’s it got me
thinking about the war in the <st1:place w:st="on">Middle East</st1:place>.
Yes, I know . . . such a logical jump . . . high priced shoes = <st1:place w:st="on">Middle East</st1:place>. Anyway . . . I know . . . and I feel certain
. . . that should anyone in the <st1:country-region w:st="on">US</st1:country-region>,
<st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>
or our allies catch and detain an undesirable . . . should we want information
from them . . . we should put them in these shoes.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
That is right - camo outfits . . . handcuffed . . . walking around a room .
. . for hours . . . with uneven wood or slippery marble floors and watch them
fall hard. Tension in every muscle . . . with every step you take . . . you
know . . . it will happen . . . you will fall. Each step puts you one step
closer to falling . . . one step closer to hitting the ground hard. Will you go
down to one knee as your shoe slips out from under you? Will it be an ankle
giving out and down you go. Will it be a snag in a carpet, Turkish rug, or a transition
strip from one room to the next that has you stumble - almost falling -
catching yourself but not before everyone has turned to look? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sV8aVfVvGYM/T5VtFz0WJpI/AAAAAAAAA3k/qikYLagvf6E/s1600/imagesCAYODIKX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sV8aVfVvGYM/T5VtFz0WJpI/AAAAAAAAA3k/qikYLagvf6E/s1600/imagesCAYODIKX.jpg" /></a></div>
These shoes are the best torture devices - ask any woman! Hell, you don't even need them in every size - we woman know if you find a good shoe you cram your foot in it - that is part of the challenge - that is part of the outfit - that is the sacrifice for looking beautiful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7BEZjrv0t28/T5VtPwyvffI/AAAAAAAAA4E/b2xW0TleGUg/s1600/barron+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7BEZjrv0t28/T5VtPwyvffI/AAAAAAAAA4E/b2xW0TleGUg/s1600/barron+house.jpg" /></a> Back
to the 14th most expensive and BEYOND BEAUTIFUL home in Dallas . . . There we
were with 45 to 50 area judges and probably 100 lawyers . . . at a cocktail
party . . . to be followed by dinner . . . and here I was in . . . a dress I
already had (that my husband's grandmother said I looked like a prostitute in,
because of the big boobs) and in sandals . . . 2.25" high . . . ready to
have fun. <o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HwW8NEIArA0/T5VtMN2JGjI/AAAAAAAAA38/yO5v_kpDZOg/s1600/178015_fr_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HwW8NEIArA0/T5VtMN2JGjI/AAAAAAAAA38/yO5v_kpDZOg/s200/178015_fr_l.jpg" width="133" /></a><br />
We arrived at 6pm at the house and left right about 11. I promise you . . .
while I didn't have on 6.5" heels . . . I would have done ANYTHING . . .
ANYTHING . . . to have been able to kick those shoes off and slip on something
more comfortable. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">ANYTHING . . . I think those shoes have a real future
as torture devices. Just think . . . had we made those held at Gitmo wear heels
in the yard . . . we would have found Osama and Sadaam a hell of a lot sooner!
Just sayin</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="media-toolbar">
<div class="tl-layer" id="size-guide" style="display: none;">
<img alt="close" class="btn-close" src="http://us.christianlouboutin.com/skin/frontend/enterprise/louboutin/images/btn_close.png" /><table border="0" id="table-size-guide"><caption>Women size run</caption><colgroup span="1"><col span="1" style="width: 25%;"></col><col span="1" style="width: 25%;"></col><col span="1" style="width: 25%;"></col><col span="1" style="width: 25%;"></col></colgroup><thead>
<tr><th colspan="2">all shoes</th><th colspan="2">espadrilles only</th></tr>
</thead><tbody>
<tr><th>IT</th><th>US</th><th>IT</th><th>US</th></tr>
<tr><td>34</td><td>4</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>34.5</td><td>4.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>35</td><td>5</td><td>35</td><td>5</td></tr>
<tr><td>35.5</td><td>5.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>36</td><td>6</td><td>36</td><td>6</td></tr>
<tr><td>36.5</td><td>6.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>37</td><td>7</td><td>37</td><td>7</td></tr>
<tr><td>37.5</td><td>7.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>38</td><td>8</td><td>38</td><td>8</td></tr>
<tr><td>38.5</td><td>8.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>39</td><td>9</td><td>39</td><td>9</td></tr>
<tr><td>39.5</td><td>9.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>40</td><td>10</td><td>40</td><td>10</td></tr>
<tr><td>40.5</td><td>10.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>41</td><td>11</td><td>41</td><td>11</td></tr>
<tr><td>41.5</td><td>11.5</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>42</td><td>12</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="tl-layer" id="care" style="display: none;">
<img alt="close" class="btn-close" src="http://us.christianlouboutin.com/skin/frontend/enterprise/louboutin/images/btn_close.png" />Just looking at these s</div>
<strong>Care</strong><br />
<br />
<strong>Our red soles…</strong><br />
<br />
Please be advised that red soles of our shoes will become worn. Do not worry as this is not a defect of the shoe and is expected to happen from use.<br />
<br />
We strongly recommend consulting a leather care professional or cobbler for specific advice and maintenance. Should you need to repair or refurbish an item purchased online we are happy to suggest the following repair specialists.<br />
<br />
<strong>Leather Spa </strong><br />
10 West 55st,<br />
New York, NY 10019<br />
Tel: 212.262.4823<br />
Fax: 212.262.4780<br />
E-mail: <a href="mailto:info@leatherspa.com">info@leatherspa.com</a><br />
<br />
<strong>Santana Creative Ltd</strong><br />
4817 Hargrove Rd Suite 107<br />
Raleigh, NC 27616<br />
Tel: 919.521.8485<br />
Fax: 919.278.7674<br />
E-mail: <a href="mailto:customerservice@santanacreative.com">customerservice@santanacreative.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>General care for all leathers:</strong><br />
• Keep leather surface clean and dry using a dry, soft cloth.<br />
• Always storefootwear/ handbag away from light and heat.<br />
• Protect leather goods from rain and humidity.<br />
• When not in use, store your footwear in the Christian Louboutin dust bag provided<br />
• Avoid contact with abrasive surfaces.</div>A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-5481660071195460832012-04-17T11:33:00.000-05:002012-04-17T11:33:55.402-05:001st Time . . .Today is a first for us and unfortunately it is a sad situation.<br />
<br />
We are taking our oldest to a funeral.<br />
<br />
Our oldest doesn't really know the deceased, he knows his son. <br />
<br />
Scoots and his friend met many years ago. His friend is a bit older than Scoots, but someone how they got along perfectly! His friend is actually a family friend and very close friend of Scoot's Aunt Julie.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
TA and Scoots met back when he was younger. Scoots was about 4 and TA was 30. They hit is off. Both were into cartoons, toys, bikes and giving my sister grief. They always had fun together. Scoots would give TA grief about his hat, his mess and whatever else was suggested by those around. TA played along with this 4 year old . . . giving him grief about what he watched and the way he talked. For TA to be a single guy . . . he always made time for him and he was always kind to Scoot's.<br />
<br />
TA has such a giving heart. And ours is so very sad for him. His dad passed the Thursday before Easter. He was overseas. Today is the first memorial service for him. This family has had to spend every day for the last 12 . . . counting down to today. Planning for today.<br />
<br />
I have heard that TA and his dad spoke hours before he passed. We are all so grateful he had that last chat. He knew his dad loved him and was looking forward to his visit. They were going to open a restaurant overseas.<br />
<br />
I have seen post after post telling stories of TA's Dad and his travels, his love of football and his love for his family. Countless facebook post tell of his love of music and desire to sing at all times. I have seen pictures of he and his dad. Probably the most moving one looks like TA was 11 - he is up in his dad's arms and the love between them both - has been caught on film for a lifetime.<br />
<br />
Our oldest feels it is important for him to be there for his friend. He just told me he is a little nervous. He is nervous about seeing his friend after all this time. He is nervous attending his first funeral. But I suspect he is more nervous to see his friend sad, to see the tears of the missed opportunities and no more tomorrows, and to hear the sadness of saying goodbye.<br />
<br />
I too have a hard time seeing people's grief, hearing their cries. While I didn't know TA's dad my heart breaks for him and his mom. His death was unexpected but I know this family had their affairs in order. They had said the I love yous. They had made a time for them to be together in the near future. They knew there were no others . . . more important that the three of them.<br />
<br />
Tonight . . . both of our boys asked for some extra time with me. I always read books and sing their special songs. And despite my huge sinus headache, dishes to be done, clothes laid out for tomorrow and homework proofed, I spent some extra time with both . . .<br />
<br />
I made sure they knew we loved them . . . <br />
<br />
I made sure they knew we are proud of them . . .<br />
<br />
and I made sure they knew there was nothing more important that me being with them right that minute.<br />
<br />
We are not guaranteed tomorrow . . . or even a half hour from now. My job, just as Joe did for TA . . . was to make sure my boys knew they matter to me.<br />
<br />
RIP Joe<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-50328074660319649492012-04-16T09:08:00.002-05:002012-04-16T09:08:21.223-05:00Weekenders . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3wM8TjJlJB8/T4updv5hL-I/AAAAAAAAA2w/uEX24Wwx5XY/s1600/lakehouse+July+022+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3wM8TjJlJB8/T4updv5hL-I/AAAAAAAAA2w/uEX24Wwx5XY/s320/lakehouse+July+022+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Starting with last Monday my husband wanted to go to the lake house. He suggested it at least once a day. I wasn't up for going. I would check the weather . . . I was looking for a reason not to go . . . but as it goes here in North Texas . . . it can change from minute to minute. <br />
<br />
We determined if it wasn't going to rain we were going . . . :/ <br />
<br />
We checked the weather daily . . . the Texas rain storms kept eluding us . . .me. I just might have to go.<br />
<br />
The lake house is like living back in the early 90s - spotty wifi, bad cell reception, average restaurants, lots of land with not much to do . . . but sleep!<br />
<br />
It isn't that I don't like the lake house . . . it is just I have stuff to do in Dallas and would rather be here than at the lake without access to my . . . stuff.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
We were last at the lake house in July of 2011. Texas had suffered a major drought and the lake was drying up . . . dried up. The water that fills our lake run down stream from Tarrant County. Well . . . the story goes . . . Tarrant County wasn't releasing any water and was selling it instead. At one point I heard the lake was down 14 feet. I am not sure it was really 14 feet but I can assure you . . . it was down!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5F3hIRkQKjc/T4upqH3yV-I/AAAAAAAAA3A/MfmgCyG8Quc/s1600/Lakehouse+April+2011+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5F3hIRkQKjc/T4upqH3yV-I/AAAAAAAAA3A/MfmgCyG8Quc/s320/Lakehouse+April+2011+005.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We had gone to the lake house then to get away from the city and ride the jet skis. With children playing weekend spots we don't often have the opportunity to get out there. Our oldest had just gotten back from camp - so we headed to the lake.<br />
<br />
We were beyond disappointed . . . the water level was the lowest we had ever seen. We had a beach in front of our property at least 20 feet wide, where normally the water is at the edge of our grass. The water in the channel was dried up and we couldn't get our jet skis out.<br />
<br />
So, it was with the news of the water level being back up . . . and the possibility to ride the jet skis . . . that the husband wanted to go. So, we went.<br />
<br />
We decided to keep the boys out of school on Friday and get an early start on the weekend. Up and with car packed by 8am . . . we were off.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cqwsR93UvWc/T4upgUSCACI/AAAAAAAAA24/keZBB0JgWdo/s1600/lakehouse+July+029+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cqwsR93UvWc/T4upgUSCACI/AAAAAAAAA24/keZBB0JgWdo/s320/lakehouse+July+029+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a>1st stop - Walmart - seriously what does this store not have? Not only can you get some lacy thongs (I am not a buyer) - you can get gas cans . . . which is what we were there to get. Our cans at the lake house were old, we needed new ones.<br />
<br />
2nd stop - Central Market - I could spend hours here and with the ENTIRE family in tow . . . we did. Everyone got the items they wanted - fresh fruit, fresh juice, snacks, candies, muffins, cookies and on<br />
<br />
3rd stop - Movie Trading Company - it seems there are no Blockbusters in our neck of the woods - a weekend at the lake house MUST have movies.<br />
<br />
4th stop - Speeding Ticket - 82 in a 60!!!! AND $300 fine . . . when did speeding get so expensive?<br />
<br />
5th stop - Brookshires - FINALLY we were at the lake - we roll in there about 11:30am. The looks start in the parking lot - the looks of . . . HUH? Entering the store, we grab a buggie. We are talking with the boys - checking to see if they need - yogurts and we get crazy looks . . . string cheese . . . more looks. I am beginning to wonder if we look like aliens in the store.<br />
<br />
We are over picking up some soft drinks . . . I ask my husband to check pricing - I refuse to pay more than $3. for a 12 pack. Call me cheap . . . their 12 packs were 3 for $12. No way was I going to pay that . . . and then someone did it. They jumped out of their comfort zone and said "Ya'll are weekenders" . . . as if that means something. <br />
<br />
Being a weekender does mean something to the locals. See on Friday us "weekenders" upset their tranquil lives. We add cars to the road, they peacefully travel at the SPEED LIMIT on, something I have clearly established I have trouble with . . . We make getting from point A to point B more difficult.<br />
<br />
We create havoc at their local hot spots - all the sudden it is harder to dine out at the local hot spots The Ranch House, Vitoni's, Catfish Corner - all of the sudden . . . it takes longer and they have to work around us.<br />
<br />
The lines become longer . . . it might be the line at Dairy Queen for a Blizzard or the lines at Walmart to buy the essentials for the weekend. We create delays, we create a demand, we create choas in a somewhat simple town with a simple way of life.<br />
<br />
At first I was insulted in the way the gentleman on the coke isle said "Ya'll are weekenders." As if . . . we were bad people. We have had a home here since 1999, I have been coming to this lake since I was a child. Maybe he was being funny . . . as in - you have no clue what things cost around here. Finally . . . we just took it as a compliment - after all there were a few other things he could have said and calling us "weekenders" isn';t all that bad!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bWAZ7xFdaWU/T4wmBCft6KI/AAAAAAAAA3I/UPpTzy7yxfc/s1600/fishermen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bWAZ7xFdaWU/T4wmBCft6KI/AAAAAAAAA3I/UPpTzy7yxfc/s320/fishermen.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right outside the kitchen window.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I realized we present a different lifestyle - one they are not familiar with. We present change - we present an obstacle of them having to get along with and endure "weekenders." We are also responsible for growth . . . employment . . . revenue . . . we bring to the community . . . economic stability for an area that is lucky to just hang on during off months. Some business live and die by the summer and the "weekenders."<br />
<br />
With the lake down last summer - many people went out of business - the fishermen stopped fishing - they couldn't get their boats on the water. People stopped coming - so restaurant struggled. Property values plunged - who will buy a place that should be water front but you have to walk a block to get to it?<br />
<br />
I am glad to see the lake is getting back to normal and we "weekenders" can enjoy it. This morning as I walked into the kitchen I was faced with two men and their dog fishing right outside our windows. They wave, we wave back. We go about the business of feeding our children and they go about their business of telling fish tales!<br />
<br />
For the record . . . it was a good weekend - we did get to sleep in A LOT - we got out of the jet skis each day - and got to kick back and enjoy our weekend as "weekenders."A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-21580621744398397132012-04-11T11:15:00.001-05:002012-04-11T11:20:21.893-05:00Didn't Drink the Kool-Aid . . .<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nGheihGWnpc/T4WoDVUIsOI/AAAAAAAAA2I/MbpctsVdUko/s1600/mcgruff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nGheihGWnpc/T4WoDVUIsOI/AAAAAAAAA2I/MbpctsVdUko/s1600/mcgruff.jpg" /></a>I have always thought of myself as a hard ass. Someone who operates in black and white - there is no grey. I am the enforcer . . . the passer out of punishment . . . the 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . kinda of girl!<br />
<br />
Long before I had children matters were just that . . . black and white. Either you are right or you are wrong - nothing in between. So when my husband and I would hear of "other" children misbehaving . . . we had a plan on just how to deal with it!<br />
<br />
Cheating on a paper . . . Make them come clear with the teacher!<br />
<br />
Kid selling drugs . . . Your turn him in . . . and beat him!<br />
<br />
Taking something that doesn't belong to you . . . Force the child to return it in person!<br />
<br />
Committing a crime . . . Call the cops!<br />
<br />
Child being rude . . . He writes an apology letter!<br />
<br />
I am a big believer in them owning the responsibility for their actions!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Well . . . it seems I might have been full of hot air! . . . MIGHT!<br />
<br />
A few years back I was at a Junior League family event. I was the Chairman of the Annual Community Rummage Sale. The sub-committee special events had firetrucks, Carter Blood Care, Police Cars the kids could get in and out of, clowns, face papers, balloon people and McGruff the Dog.<br />
<br />
McGruff had finger print kits. The pitch was "protect your family" . . . "keep your kid's safe". . . "finger print your child and we can find them . . . should they become abducted." What parent wouldn't jump ALL over this. I really do want him back . . . I do . . . should someone decide to take him.<br />
<br />
But not so fast . . . <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-08dsr4C6NW4/T4WoExkVrJI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/aPw_eR48N_g/s1600/imagesCAT9J98Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-08dsr4C6NW4/T4WoExkVrJI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/aPw_eR48N_g/s200/imagesCAT9J98Z.jpg" width="125" /></a>I refused. My friends thought I was CRAZY! Did I not love my children? Would I not want to see their safe return? Why would I not want to help the Police in locating my child?<br />
<br />
I refused to drink the kool-aid!<br />
<br />
It wasn't that I didn't love my children - I do in fact love them - more than anything or anyone in this world. And . . . YES!!!! I would want them returned . . . safely. I do want them back . . . it doesn't matter that I have begged . . . pleaded . . . for them to stop fighting, telling on each other or whining . . . I would want them back. I would move mountains to help the Police locate my child . . . I would do just about anything to help in locating them.<br />
<br />
Anything . . . but . . . fingerprint them . . . <br />
<br />
See . . . I grew up with some crazy boys. These boys were out all hours of the night. They would sleep on my trampoline, they would jump off the roof onto the trampoline, they watched my neighbor's peep show, they played around. They drove my parent's cars LONG before I was able to drive them, LONG before 16. They consumed alcohol LONG before the age of 21 . . . and these are the things I can list. I cannot give away all their secrets - you guys owe me for not telling your children!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-abC7Wc0orGs/T4WoIHPbgII/AAAAAAAAA2Y/yZjzE41eUjI/s1600/imagesCA0EHMFT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-abC7Wc0orGs/T4WoIHPbgII/AAAAAAAAA2Y/yZjzE41eUjI/s1600/imagesCA0EHMFT.jpg" /></a>Kids do stupid stuff . . . especially boys! They prank phone call people, the vandalise . . . under the heading of just having fun, they TP a friend's house, egg someone's car, write in shoe polish on cars, windows and concrete. They sneak alcohol, they try drugs, they steal from mom, they stay out late, they sneak out, they speed in their new cars at 16 without a care in the world or the realization of consequence. They are kids!!!!<br />
<br />
McGruff seems innocent enough until you realize WHO is inputting your child's finger prints into THEIR database. WHO manages the database . . . WHO runs partial prints from crime scenes against THEIR database.<br />
<br />
There are simply . . wrong time . . . wrong place . . . stuff that happens all over the city at any given time. WHY would I want to enable to police to "locate" a criminal AKA a finger printed child . . . MY FINGER PRINTED any faster . . . especially considering the "stupid stuff factor" of kids.<br />
<br />
SERIOUSLY . . . your child . . . my child . . . is FAR more likely to do something stupid than be abducted. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pISuV6kz27c/T4WoI2KjYiI/AAAAAAAAA2g/rUFXl0BcX9k/s1600/imagesCADWVA4S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pISuV6kz27c/T4WoI2KjYiI/AAAAAAAAA2g/rUFXl0BcX9k/s1600/imagesCADWVA4S.jpg" /></a>This isn't some crazy conspiracy theory thing . . . a good friend who is a Family Court/Criminal Court Judge agrees with me . . . and he see the other side of this . . .everyday. While his wife was a good friend and thought I was crazy for not doing it . . . he agreed and . . . they didn't do it either.<br />
<br />
Kids should be able to be kids . . . and that means learning by doing dumb things . . . .stupid things. As parents we should be the enforcer for those stupid things they do . . . and not the police. Trust me . . . I will deal with them in a swift and certainly hard manner. <br />
<br />
As my girlfriend who is a Prosecutor in Collin County told me . . . " you can't un-ring that bell." Once they have your kid's prints . . . yes it might help in returning your child . . . should they be taken . . . but it certainly will expedite the search for a kid . . . your kid just being a kid! <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6Cv0zRqW_0/T4WoJWMIHXI/AAAAAAAAA2o/4PDC-5tHSzg/s1600/imagesCAQ7QRTM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_6Cv0zRqW_0/T4WoJWMIHXI/AAAAAAAAA2o/4PDC-5tHSzg/s1600/imagesCAQ7QRTM.jpg" /></a></div>A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-26500364026014333842012-04-10T08:37:00.002-05:002012-04-10T08:38:26.433-05:00Sunday Supper and Swim . . .For as long as I can remember we have always done dinner with family on Sunday. Back when I was a kid, it would happen immediately after church. On the rare occasion we went out for lunch, it was either Wyatt's Cafeteria in Red Bird Mall or La Mancha for Mexican, but we usually would meet up with the extended family for lunch at my grandparent's home.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GkmPv-TM_9E/T4PANcU9HVI/AAAAAAAAA1w/cpmhUu7y59w/s1600/FILE771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GkmPv-TM_9E/T4PANcU9HVI/AAAAAAAAA1w/cpmhUu7y59w/s320/FILE771.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1974 - Easter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My grandmother was the best cook ever! Her Sunday meal rotation was limited and so very typical southern food:<br />
<br />
1 - Chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, okra, green salad and banana pudding<br />
<br />
2 - Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, green salad, carrots, and banana pudding<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r9HFQcjmaos/T4PAAxdoJeI/AAAAAAAAA1o/vZ1jetBxokA/s1600/4th+of+July+2009+088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r9HFQcjmaos/T4PAAxdoJeI/AAAAAAAAA1o/vZ1jetBxokA/s200/4th+of+July+2009+088.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
3 - Salmon croquettes, Le Sueur green peas, they were my grandfather's favorite, green salad and banana pudding<br />
<br />
I have so many fond memories of us playing with my cousins while dinner is being prepared . . . climbing their trees . . . hopscotch on the patio . . .and helping set the table. The sounds, smells and taste of those foods takes me back to being a kid.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Even as an adult we still did Sunday meals but these were at the lake house. We would meet my grandparents after church, don't get me started on their lack luster preacher; which is why we weren't at church with them, at either McClain's, The Ranch House, Catfish Corner or the new Mexican restaurant on the lake. There was no running around playing with our cousins, there were discussions, there was joking and there was talks/plans for the future.<br />
<br />
I grew up with this, my husband only experienced it once he met me and we began dating back in 1988. This was my norm. This is just what we did. And . . . <br />
<br />
We still are doing it. There are only three of us who remember and participated in those Sunday lunches and dinners . . . the rest are all new to this . . . well kinda new. The setting is the same, but topics and the faces have changed. This is all my kids know . . . this is their norm. I think my grandmother would be pleased.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-95zquSWu_mo/T4O-1BE9gNI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/wzMo3kr3mzk/s1600/2010+4th+of+July+009+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-95zquSWu_mo/T4O-1BE9gNI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/wzMo3kr3mzk/s200/2010+4th+of+July+009+(2).JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
Every Sunday we share a meal with the family. It might be over Dim Sum at our favorite Chinese Spot, or omelets at our breakfast spot. Once nice weather rolls into town there is only one spot you will find this crew. It is poolside at my house.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nCw3Bzz8Q7g/T4O9rTxNmCI/AAAAAAAAA0g/iBcsn3kMtH4/s1600/Mothers+Day+Swim+with+the+family+002+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nCw3Bzz8Q7g/T4O9rTxNmCI/AAAAAAAAA0g/iBcsn3kMtH4/s200/Mothers+Day+Swim+with+the+family+002+(2).jpg" width="133" /></a>Our Sunday Supper and Swim is a staple in our lives. My husband and I host on Sunday our family Sunday night get togethers . . . my mother, mother-in-law and sister are our regular guest, when my father-in-law isn't flying, he is a commercial pilot, he is here with us. We heat the pool, we grill out and we just sit and visit. We talk about the boy's schooling, what is going on with our friends, what is on the calendar for the week and who need to pick up which boy and when. They are "assigned" when each of the boys will spend the night at which grandmother's house.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PkR2OswWYgU/T4O9tJs1dEI/AAAAAAAAA0o/IAnUQzbX2xY/s1600/Memorial+Day+Pool+Party+2009+026+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PkR2OswWYgU/T4O9tJs1dEI/AAAAAAAAA0o/IAnUQzbX2xY/s200/Memorial+Day+Pool+Party+2009+026+%25282%2529.JPG" width="158" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1dSBEX492PY/T4O-syJ-S1I/AAAAAAAAA1I/ldWODCMaEbw/s1600/4th+of+July+2009+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1dSBEX492PY/T4O-syJ-S1I/AAAAAAAAA1I/ldWODCMaEbw/s200/4th+of+July+2009+042.JPG" width="200" /></a>As soon as dinner is over we get in the pool. My mother, mother-in-law and sister help clean up the kitchen. Beverage in hand we sit in the heated hot tub while the boys, my husband and father-in-law swim. The boys jump, if they can beg and coerce my sister, are on the trampoline or play in the fort.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qoJrEOFKVVY/T4O-wSLiwwI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/2Rvj1xlEG48/s1600/2010+4th+of+July+019+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qoJrEOFKVVY/T4O-wSLiwwI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/2Rvj1xlEG48/s200/2010+4th+of+July+019+%25282%2529.JPG" width="133" /></a><br />
In this very busy world we live in . . . my husband and I think it is so important to just have down time. To spend time with our family and for the boys to have strong relationship with these very important people in their world. Outside of my husband and I . . . these people are the second greatest influence on our children.<br />
<br />
They say you can't pick you family . . . but if I could . . . I might just choose this same cast of characters! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dS0pqwJhUrY/T4Q3MOaOokI/AAAAAAAAA2A/zoVz0pUW6Fw/s1600/Mothers+Day+2011+201+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dS0pqwJhUrY/T4Q3MOaOokI/AAAAAAAAA2A/zoVz0pUW6Fw/s200/Mothers+Day+2011+201+%25283%2529.JPG" width="200" /></a>I can promise you . . . I wouldn't have missed one of those Sunday suppers growing up for anything . . . I so loved my grandparents! They hung the moon and the stars and I know . . . our boys feel the same way about their grandparents and aunt!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dVhIalPOblY/T4Q3KscB4wI/AAAAAAAAA14/d4K2py6V2ZI/s1600/Mothers+Day+2011+193+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dVhIalPOblY/T4Q3KscB4wI/AAAAAAAAA14/d4K2py6V2ZI/s200/Mothers+Day+2011+193+%25282%2529.JPG" width="133" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-60111988637402194132012-04-09T09:59:00.000-05:002012-04-09T09:59:13.438-05:00Feeling a Little Judged . . .Last Saturday we were invited to a neighborhood Easter Egg hunt. Never one to turn down a fun party invite . . . we went.<br />
<br />
4:00pm Saturday . . . the invitees were the kids on the street and fellow neighborhood kids who go to the host's daughter's school.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--fNWLz2anoc/T4Lytj_TlaI/AAAAAAAAAzg/j5CtJARoQhY/s1600/IMG_4833.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--fNWLz2anoc/T4Lytj_TlaI/AAAAAAAAAzg/j5CtJARoQhY/s200/IMG_4833.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>We weren't sure what to except . . . what we got was my oldest son and about 20 girls and then my youngest son and another 4 year old boy.<br />
<br />
When invited I asked the mom, "What do you need from me?" She told me 1 dozen filled eggs per child. She mentioned she would have snacks for the kids after the hunt. Off to the grocery store I go . . . ALL of the pre-filled eggs were gone - so I must fill my own! While at the grocery I also pick up a party tray of cookies and 2 dozen chalk eggs as additional eggs for the hunt.<br />
<br />
I drop off all of my goodies before heading home at the party site - filled eggs, cookie party tray and chalk eggs.<br />
<br />
It is now party time . . .<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tJaexl9EpaM/T4Ly0tJa1qI/AAAAAAAAAz4/am6ThNvT5GA/s1600/IMG_4804.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tJaexl9EpaM/T4Ly0tJa1qI/AAAAAAAAAz4/am6ThNvT5GA/s200/IMG_4804.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>I have the boys dressed, as you would for any get together. We walk down about 4 houses. Upon arrival there was name tags, 20 girls and lots of Easter baskets. Approximately 15 minutes passed and they sent the kids around back while the parents hid the eggs over two yards.<br />
<br />
The kids come flying around the corner . . . grab their baskets . . . and off to hunt eggs. We "assisted" our youngest. Once he had his 12 we pointed out eggs to our oldest that still needed to be hunted!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QLj9wuymL2o/T4Lyvb6NrUI/AAAAAAAAAzo/gdYsn0JLxm8/s1600/IMG_4819.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QLj9wuymL2o/T4Lyvb6NrUI/AAAAAAAAAzo/gdYsn0JLxm8/s200/IMG_4819.JPG2.JPG" width="133" /></a>Hours of prep, time to hide the eggs and it is all over in 7 minutes!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gv_1U5bVnzA/T4Lyp55Cv5I/AAAAAAAAAzY/CSwwVWDnwB8/s1600/IMG_4830.JPG2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gv_1U5bVnzA/T4Lyp55Cv5I/AAAAAAAAAzY/CSwwVWDnwB8/s200/IMG_4830.JPG2.JPG" width="200" /></a>The kids had snacks, then on to the games. There was the carry the egg on a spoon relay and the egg toss . . . back and forth with a non-hard boiled egg.<br />
<br />
During this time, the other moms, not from our street were been kind. All had introduced themselves. Asked about out boys, the school they go to, and where we live. <br />
<br />
It was when the host asked "Where do you go to church?" was when I felt we were being judged.<br />
<br />
I responded with, "short answer . . . we don't." I have been asked this probably 4 other times, it never gets any easier to answer. Answering this is a very fine line I have to walk in this conversation . . . I know what we believe and yet not insult or offend when I explain it.<br />
<br />
I explained how I grew up Baptist and my husband was Catholic . . . ish! I said "I don't feel the need to go to church" . . . thankfully she was standing slightly behind me, so I didn't get to see the judgement in her eyes. I explained that growing up we went to church on Sunday mornings, Sunday night, Wednesday night and for special events on Saturday, my mother was the church pianist, my father took the offering, they led a teen youth group that had softball, bowling, roller skating all at the church. We were involved . . . choir, hand bells, Sunday school, youth groups, Wednesday night supper and lock-ins. From Woodcrest Baptist with Billy Weber and Larry Williams, to Prestonwood with Billy Weber, to First Baptist Oak Cliff with Herb Peterson to Colonial Hills Baptist with Brother Cotton and some lakehouse churches on the weekends we were at the lakehouse.<br />
<br />
I even attended a private Christian school . . . I was full up on the church.<br />
<br />
So . . . I explain my long and very involved past with the church and just say "I just don't feel the need to go to church." Truth is . . . when my family was so involved with the church you realize the head of the church is just a man . . . he too has sins . . . he is no better a person to lead you on your spiritual journey . . . he, at best, is a very good orator. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NnFaFC-UO_Q/T4L2D3W-VII/AAAAAAAAA0I/bs_99PkEsYo/s1600/king-james-bible-615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NnFaFC-UO_Q/T4L2D3W-VII/AAAAAAAAA0I/bs_99PkEsYo/s200/king-james-bible-615.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
I believe it is Luke 6:37 that says<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"> Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: large;">be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven:</span></strong> </div>
<br />
This is something I wish the bible beating, hell fire and brimstone, we can pray away your . . . would remember. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Judge not, Condemn not, Forgive!</div>
<br />
So, with my back to my neighbor, I don't see it but I feel her judgement and I feel like I am letting my children down. It is clear to all who know me well I am strong willed. I am firm in my belief system and the balance of good and bad.<br />
<br />
My husband and I have done our best to instill that in our children. We are often told they are very well behaved, but does that come from church? We say prayers with them and reference God and Jesus as the situation calls for it, do you have to go to church to do this? We go to holiday services for them to gain a bigger understanding of Christmas and Easter, but must you go the other 50 weeks to really know Christ?<br />
<br />
I feel Christ is in the way you conduct yourself. If you are a good person . . . then you walk with Christ. I am raising good people . . . I am raising good Christians . . . and I feel I don't have to go to church to do it.<br />
<br />
While having a discussion with my son's 4th grade teacher, Mr. B. we realized we were very similar - we both adore my son, both came from small towns, both grew up in the Baptist church and both don't feel you HAVE to go to Church in order to walk with Christ. As we were finishing up on our talk he said, "I once heard this saying and I feel it really applies" . . .<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Heaven doesn't wait, for only those that congregate!"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Amen Mr. B! Amen!!!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-10045289813988687082012-04-05T07:28:00.002-05:002012-04-05T07:28:24.505-05:00Cancer Sucks!<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1K18Eq2Zh6k/T30aCLE8CpI/AAAAAAAAAzA/B9xQBF8lvC8/s1600/cancer+sucks.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1K18Eq2Zh6k/T30aCLE8CpI/AAAAAAAAAzA/B9xQBF8lvC8/s200/cancer+sucks.png" width="200" /></a>Cancer Sucks!<br />
<br />
Really there is nothing else to say. It sucks. <br />
<br />
Cancer robs families and friends of the future. It robs individuals of their dignity. It robs children of their mothers and fathers. It robs parents of their dreams to one day see their child . . . have children of their own, get married, graduate college, graduate high school . . . hell even graduate kindergarten!<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">EVEN KINDERGARTEN!!!!!!</span></strong> <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I have a friend on Facebook who is posting on behalf of his good family friend. He post updates on a little girl, who happens to be his daughter's best friend, and who has cancer . . . the finding of the tumors . . . the surgery . . . the waiting on test results . . . the twists and turns of this journey and they are only into week two of it. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-resYCogc5M4/T30Z_XHyCEI/AAAAAAAAAy4/TBhD9FcFwQQ/s1600/432057_10150647065385238_587950237_9198701_2099521026_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-resYCogc5M4/T30Z_XHyCEI/AAAAAAAAAy4/TBhD9FcFwQQ/s200/432057_10150647065385238_587950237_9198701_2099521026_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>I read the updates and have such sadness for this family, for this sweet little girl who in every single picture is happy as can be. She looks like she should be out on the playground swinging, NOT laying in a bed with tubes, medicine and machines all around.<br />
<br />
She probably doesn't understand all that is going on, what all this means. It is hard enough as an adult to understand what really is going on . . . what test result mean what . . . what medicine to give . . .how much and why. I hope she doesn't understand . . .I hope she doesn't know what all this means.<br />
<br />
My heart is sad for this family. Their future is uncertain. The prognosis is unclear. Tonight's post indicated she might need 25 weeks of chemo. This sweet beautiful faced little girl is going to spend almost 1/2 of a year having a poison injected into her body. This is her best chance. This is the best course as designed by the Dr.s<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GWTUIsJwRa0/T30aDONQ9cI/AAAAAAAAAzI/3rmrUxHiofE/s1600/untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GWTUIsJwRa0/T30aDONQ9cI/AAAAAAAAAzI/3rmrUxHiofE/s200/untitled.png" width="200" /></a>As a mother I cannot imagine what her parents must be going through . . . feeling . . . the thoughts that must consume their every waking minute. <br />
<br />
I have two healthy boys . . . each night I say my prayers and I thank God for these two beautiful creatures in my life. <br />
<br />
I also say a prayer for this little girl, her family, her friends and all those friends and families suffering from and along side a loved one having to deal with cancer.<br />
<br />
Cancer sucks . . . so I ask you . . . when you say your prayers or give your special thanks - remember to be thankful for your blessings, friends and family . . . and say a short special prayer for all those having to suffer from such a horrible degrading disgusting disease!A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-26585631533537756602012-04-04T08:43:00.002-05:002012-04-04T08:43:11.377-05:00There is Hope . . .<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-SF0q-bU6I/T3p_LJiA6EI/AAAAAAAAAx4/7uzCoQNipGk/s1600/logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-SF0q-bU6I/T3p_LJiA6EI/AAAAAAAAAx4/7uzCoQNipGk/s1600/logo.jpg" /></a>We recently had tickets to the DSO, Dallas Symphony Orchestra, Family Concert day. We had made plans to take both of our boys. What could go wrong? We had a private box, the boys needed to be dressed and behave.<br />
<br />
We made plans to see one of my husband's clients while at the DSO event. Which is why . . . I was a little anxious about them behaving . . . and why we decided to leave the baby (4 year old Jake, home with Goo. We would take Scoots and a friend.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, my good friend's daughter, who goes to school with my son wasn't available. Not wanting the ticket to go to waste and not wanting to worry about Jake 1 - enjoying the Symphony . . . 2 - sitting still in our private box . . . 3 and most important . . . him behaving for 2+ hours at a Symphony, we called one of the neighbor girls!<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />We were so fortunate when we moved down from Plano that we landed on a street with kids. 3 boys and 3 girls - all ranging from 6th grade to 4th grade with my son being the youngest in this crew of friends. None of the kids went to the same school, most are private school kids but all can play . . . and fight as if they are glued together 24/7!<br />
<br />
We called Susanna. She lives about 6 houses away on the opposite side of the street. I talk to her mommy, who said Susanna was available to go. I told her mom we would be by at 12:45pm to pick her up. The concert started at 2pm.<br />
<br />
I seized this opportunity to start training my young man into being a gentleman. As we were putting on the final touches to his outfit, damn belt was lost . . . I started to go over what is expected of a gentleman.<br />
<br />
I told him when we got to Susanna's house, he needed to get out of the car . . . walk to her door . . .wait for her to be ready . . . and open the car door for her. He was then to go around the car and get in the other side. "I know . . . MOM!" <br />
<br />
I covered the basics . . . opening the door for ladies and elderly. He was to allow her to go first. He should walk with her. He should wait for her to be seated, and then he could be seated. AND . . . should she decide to get out of her seat, he should be so courteous as to stand as she gets up and sits down again.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VaR_Nv_iuvU/T3p_MRRpL0I/AAAAAAAAAyA/hPzX-ZZtkAQ/s1600/panamera__39_opt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VaR_Nv_iuvU/T3p_MRRpL0I/AAAAAAAAAyA/hPzX-ZZtkAQ/s200/panamera__39_opt.jpg" width="200" /></a>We get to Susanna's house . . . He is doing it . . .he knows what needs to be done! He gets out of the car . . . goes to the door . . . rings the bells and greets Susanna's father with a hello and hand shake. He walks her back down the walk, opens the car door for her . . . and she crawled across the car. My husband's car has two bucket seats up front and two bucket seats in the back - there is a long console between both sets of seats. In no time at all, she was behind me, he was in behind his dad and we were off.<br />
<br />
There was a strange dynamic in the car. I was having to do all the talking. He was a little nervous . . . it was so cute and so very sweet. I would ask a question . . . Susanna would answer it . . . and my sweet baby boy would simply say "I agree." NEVER has this child been at a loss of words . . . he doesn't fall far from this tree! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PROeOqYvXPE/T3p_RJ-g7TI/AAAAAAAAAyI/8Er4xVNf02k/s1600/i-4KRJvNG-XL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PROeOqYvXPE/T3p_RJ-g7TI/AAAAAAAAAyI/8Er4xVNf02k/s400/i-4KRJvNG-XL.jpg" width="400" /></a>It wasn't until we were at the event when he loosened up. There were some craft things to do, a step and repeat, beverages and snacks. He was still being a perfect gentleman but now holding his own in the conversation department.<br />
<br />
We went up to our box . . . he held the door open . . . gave her a program guide . . . pulled out her chair . . . and they played hangman until concert time. In typical fashion . . . the Symphony was just about to put us all to sleep and it was over.<br />
<br />
We met up with my husband's client. My son spoke to these men . . . he looked them in the eye . . . he shook their hands and said "Nice to meet you." He held his own with these men . . . my baby was growing up right before my eyes!<br />
<br />
The concert was neither here nor there . . . if was fun to get out . . . it was exciting to see him turning into a nice young man. It seems despite all the things we can do wrong as parents . . . we just might be getting something right!<br />
<br /><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_gHu2YYpLmw/T3p_sQJ11NI/AAAAAAAAAyY/F_GffIOBlH8/s1600/955231933_15597711_0218_218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_gHu2YYpLmw/T3p_sQJ11NI/AAAAAAAAAyY/F_GffIOBlH8/s1600/955231933_15597711_0218_218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_gHu2YYpLmw/T3p_sQJ11NI/AAAAAAAAAyY/F_GffIOBlH8/s200/955231933_15597711_0218_218.jpg" width="200" /></a>I absolutely love my sweet baby boy . . . <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
and while I am not a fan of him </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
getting older . . . I absolutely love the </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
nice young man he is turning out to be!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B5sGKMc66RI/T3p_WjzpMnI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/YKLPQ0Fu8VY/s1600/IMG_4572-1.jpg3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B5sGKMc66RI/T3p_WjzpMnI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/YKLPQ0Fu8VY/s320/IMG_4572-1.jpg3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-31554372891862326192012-04-02T16:33:00.000-05:002012-04-02T16:34:23.790-05:00Public Safety Announcement . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have to insist . . . if you are going to insult someone in writing . . . you MUST know how to spell!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tT7Kq5-tjIA/T3fmoA6jb7I/AAAAAAAAAxI/ifinS3x2_M4/s1600/MV5BMTIwMzE2MjM4MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTYwNjA1OTY3__V1__SY317_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tT7Kq5-tjIA/T3fmoA6jb7I/AAAAAAAAAxI/ifinS3x2_M4/s200/MV5BMTIwMzE2MjM4MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTYwNjA1OTY3__V1__SY317_.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BHSL3d8x8_M/T3fmvgxIADI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/Ols18F-S11I/s1600/group.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BHSL3d8x8_M/T3fmvgxIADI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/Ols18F-S11I/s200/group.png" width="200" /></a>Recently the boys and I met up with a bunch of friends and their kids at Jump Street. It is an indoor trampoline park . . . think wall to wall trampolines. Some for the little guys . . . some with slides attached . . . some at an angle . . . some that are perfect for an Average Joe vs. Robogym show down!<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sp0zTzN9Bc8/T3fmyS72CuI/AAAAAAAAAxg/OYD7EcvfYSA/s1600/header.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="80" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sp0zTzN9Bc8/T3fmyS72CuI/AAAAAAAAAxg/OYD7EcvfYSA/s320/header.png" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
The boys and their friends ran, jump, threw balls and checked out the girls for 2 hours. The mom's sat and solved the problem of world hunger.<br />
<br />
We decided to take the kids nearby for lunch. So, as 12:30pm was rolling around we headed out to Mother's Diner near Willowbend.<br />
<br />
Parking was tight and it was tough to get a table. But we found space, after being very . . . very patient, for both.<br />
<br />
Lunch was really uneventful. 5 Big kids in one booth . . . the 3 little guys with the moms in the other booth. I noticed as the restaurant was clearing out, and therefore the parking lot, that I could see my car far out in the lot. I also noticed there was what looked to be a business card on my car window.<br />
<br />
I really thought nothing of it. Probably someone promoting a gym, a dry cleaner, or a maid service. We sat . . . continued to talk . . . this time we figured out how to create world peace, if only we could create in it our own homes!<br />
<br />
We are done with lunch and are finally out the door - attempting to herd our cats . . . children . . . to the car, dodging the questions that come AFTER spending HOURS with friends . . .<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"can . . . come over and play" </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"I want to go home with . . . " </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"can . . . come spend the night." </div>
<br />
I shoot mine a look of . . . seriously? you were just together for 4 hours only to then send the look of - DO NOT ASK ME in front of your friends! <br />
<br />
We, seriously, just want our offspring in the car . . . buckled up . . . and quiet!<br />
<br />
As we approach my car, I am again reminded of the business card on my car. One side reads: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ftJE4T8geW8/T3foCa7d-PI/AAAAAAAAAxw/RJpXlo0KVKM/s1600/Parking+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ftJE4T8geW8/T3foCa7d-PI/AAAAAAAAAxw/RJpXlo0KVKM/s320/Parking+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The other side of the card read:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jS6_lGh1Erw/T3foBKJVmSI/AAAAAAAAAxo/38_pynwbpVs/s1600/Parking.jpg2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jS6_lGh1Erw/T3foBKJVmSI/AAAAAAAAAxo/38_pynwbpVs/s400/Parking.jpg2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
My initial thoughts were . . . did I park badly? I checked around the car . . . I was in the lines . . . and that is NO easy tasks considering my car. I have a Hummer H2 - the big non-military one - sold at dealerships for families. It is smaller that the military Hummer, the one used in the dessert. Truth be told . . . I would totally have one of those if I could!<br />
<br />
Again . . . I will say . . . I was in the lines. So, I just tossed "the public safety announcement" in the car . . . it went right in the center console where the drink holders are. I looked at it again . . . thinking to my self . . . really?!?!?! We are then headed out of Plano back to Dallas.<br />
<br />
My oldest son asked me about the card . . . I just told him someone, who was CLEARLY so very wrong, thought I had done a bad job of parking. I told Scoots, "Everyone is entitled to their opinion, no matter how wrong they are!"<br />
<br />
It was when I got out of the car at Lowe's to buy some hanging basket that he read it. I would have preferred he not, but he did it anyway.<br />
<br />
It was my 10 year old that caught the spelling mistake on the car. Did you catch it, go ahead and re-read it now!<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A S S H H O L E!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You see it now don't you!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So . . . now I have a whole new perspective on the card!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
1 - Not only did this ASSHHOLE spend good hard earned money, especially in this tough economy, to have these cards made</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
2 - This ASSHHOLE . . . spent the time to get upset about a car parked (WITHIN THE LINES) . . . dig this card out of their purse, wallet, glove box, center console . . . get back out of their car . . . go and place it on my car . . . and make sure it was in a spot where I could see it<br />
<br />
3 - Only an ASSHHOLE of this caliber would threatened that IF he saw me again . . . with what he deemed a bad parking job . . . he would key me . . .</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
4 - All this energy . . . all this anger . . . only to make sure I know that I have wronged him . . . ALL THIS TIME . . . ENERGY . . . ANGER . . . and this ASSHHOLE didn't bother to spell check the cards . . . talk about a total ASSHHOLE!!!!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hey ASSHHOLE . . . It should have been ONLY one H!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4713117907835416186.post-46820220335346884612012-03-28T11:28:00.001-05:002012-03-28T11:28:43.040-05:00Life Changing News . . .Today in my SPAM folder I had an email.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GDCyzElU3sE/T3M5eBDfHpI/AAAAAAAAAwg/tZWgcCLdrLI/s1600/imagesCAOBCLO2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GDCyzElU3sE/T3M5eBDfHpI/AAAAAAAAAwg/tZWgcCLdrLI/s200/imagesCAOBCLO2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
It is quite possibly life changing. See . . . I received an email from Joseph Kentwa. Joseph was emailing me to let me know my life will never be the same.<br />
<br />
I am a millionaire!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
It seems a long lost relative has some property overseas and died while out of the country. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LpclYRclX3o/T3M5X8du_7I/AAAAAAAAAvw/bOHLElmEJkM/s1600/lake+como.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LpclYRclX3o/T3M5X8du_7I/AAAAAAAAAvw/bOHLElmEJkM/s200/lake+como.jpg" width="200" /></a>I am almost certain it is a cliff side property in the municipality of Monaco. Or perhaps it is on the French Riviera! It might be an ocean front white adobe house with a blue roof in Mykonos. Maybe George Clooney and I are new neighbors at Lake Como . . . oh the parties and the boating! Just wait till I post the pictures! Or maybe it might be an English castle just a stones throw to Will and Kate! Kate could so by my new BFF!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J6AVDXhekHQ/T3M5Y6-TS1I/AAAAAAAAAv4/uk6XgDQVtj4/s1600/william-and-kate-wedding-portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J6AVDXhekHQ/T3M5Y6-TS1I/AAAAAAAAAv4/uk6XgDQVtj4/s200/william-and-kate-wedding-portrait.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />Why, oh why, didn't he tell me where?<br />
<br />Maybe it is straight up cash . . . and lots of it! Seriously, could not come at a better time . . . tuition is due for 2012/2013. I am going to get the cleaning lady 5 days a week, cute cabana boy - who must wear a speedo, lots of umbrella drinks! I was needing a new wardrobe, maybe I will get a summer fur, and while he just bought a new sports car . . . I am wanting a little Porsche myself! We were just talking about a two week cruise with the boys - penthouse cabins for everyone . . . everyone!!!! We will need our private jet so we can get to Chicago for some good deep dish! Anyone with a jet KNOWS it must hold 8 to 12! Who wants to travel alone????<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uJpLuketEwE/T3M70riPZSI/AAAAAAAAAwo/EEjnj2aDkUo/s1600/plane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uJpLuketEwE/T3M70riPZSI/AAAAAAAAAwo/EEjnj2aDkUo/s200/plane.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Oh . . . Happy Days!<br />
<br />
Here is THE proof of my vast wealth!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BUbf7aXe82Q/T3M5ahhE0uI/AAAAAAAAAwI/Fll7cuNhpl0/s1600/imagesCAWLU3XH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BUbf7aXe82Q/T3M5ahhE0uI/AAAAAAAAAwI/Fll7cuNhpl0/s200/imagesCAWLU3XH.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #38761d;">FOR YOUR KIND ATTENTION:<br /><br />Joseph Kentwa is my name, the Regional/Property and Portfolio
manager finance/security firm. I managed a particular account for a Resident
Foreign client, who died Intestate. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">This contact became necessary as I need
your representation to reclaim the funds before they get confiscated
or declared unserviceable. A Government Mandatory formality notice
has<br />already been issued to provide the Kin or have the deposit confiscated
and<br />this should expire within a month.<br /><br />However, having satisfied the
mandatory legal requirement of Kin<br />notification, I now seek your
representation and with your consent and<br />perfect understanding to present you
as the kin to the client guaranteeing<br />the proceeds of this deposit be signed
off to you upon clearance of the<br />relevant release process.<br /><br />All I
require is your honest cooperation and confidence in me; which I<br />know would
not come easy. I however, guarantee here that this will be<br />executed under a
legitimate background that will protect you and me from<br />any breach of the
Law. I would advice that you give this a positive<br />consideration and get back
to me soon.<br /><br />Upon receipt of your response which I await eagerly; I will
bring you into<br />a clearer picture of this risk free transaction when I have
heard back<br />from you.<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />Joseph Kentwa.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Wait . . . What . . . You don't think this is real? Come on! All I need to do is cooperate and have confidence in Joseph and this legitimate business deal will happen! Stop wasting my time . . . If I don't act fast . . . the government will seize it!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kx7rK48SCCo/T3M5Z9DnazI/AAAAAAAAAwA/YrEUmbNGKOA/s1600/imagesCA6Z6O4M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kx7rK48SCCo/T3M5Z9DnazI/AAAAAAAAAwA/YrEUmbNGKOA/s1600/imagesCA6Z6O4M.jpg" /></a>I tell you what . . . .Joseph . . . you go ahead and let the government seize it! Since we have a Democratic President who is all in favor of providing handouts and expecting the wealthy to cover the cost through higher taxes while loosing tax breaks and some tax benefits provided to only 1% of the population.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5zSz1kzm_qw/T3M5c6e3flI/AAAAAAAAAwY/91ICWBiTteI/s1600/imagesCA03DMNJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5zSz1kzm_qw/T3M5c6e3flI/AAAAAAAAAwY/91ICWBiTteI/s200/imagesCA03DMNJ.jpg" width="200" /></a>That is right . . . I am going to take one for the team! Joseph, you have my permission to hand it all over to the President of the US and let him know I got my block and family covered for life on the higher taxes and loss of tax breaks/benefits for all the middle, upper and wealthy people on my street! I have got them covered with my big windfall!<br />
<br />Hell, I might even have a little more to cover some friends . . . anyone else want me to cover their higher taxes also? <br />
<br />All of you go check your SPAM folder . . . you just might be a millionaire also!A Reflective Realist!http://www.blogger.com/profile/15657959029211220553noreply@blogger.com2