tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1316685319598380232024-02-19T04:17:28.836-05:00Freshour Feats & FolliesA few of one. A LOT of the other.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-81852734725877986912012-04-04T09:23:00.002-04:002012-04-04T22:43:40.318-04:00Thoughts on MatthewI'm reading through the Gospels as an intentional way to prepare my heart and mind for Easter. One book per night, noting what stands out to me. Here are my thoughts on Matthew. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1:6</span> <span style="font-weight:bold;">Immanuel - God with us</span>. How must Mary have felt as she watched "God with us" die? How do you go on living having lost not only your child, but (seemingly) left to live the rest of your life void of the tangible presence of God? <br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2:16-18 </span> How does a community ever thrive again after experiencing something as horrific and devastating as infanticide? "weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted because they are no more". Oh the agony. How bleak life must have been for all of Bethlehem. And if Jesus had made it back, he would have grown up in a community without any other little boys in his age range. Better to have become a Nazarene (vs. 23), but Bethlehem, oh Bethlehem...my heart aches for you.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4:16 </span>I need to dig out a map to see if "the light has dawned for those living in the shadow of death" at all refers to the occupants of Bethlehem. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">8:17</span> I know this is a fulfillment of prophecy, but I'm wondering if this is at all literal. Did His life experience here on earth actually become physically and emotionally heavier as he healed the sick. We talk about Him taking on the sins of the world in His death on the cross. What if He was internally picking them up and carrying not just our sins but the infirmities and diseases of everyone He healed and had significant moments with? How much did encountering someone with true faith and belief encourage Him?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">10:8 Freely you have received, freely give. </span> This should be the tag line of every church's "connections/service" department. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">10:1-42</span> Quite the pep talk. I wouldn't have even known where to start processing it had I been the recipient (much less the SPOUSE of a recipient). It would be interesting to know who the "little ones" were Christ referred to in vs. 42.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">11:12</span> Phenomenal verse I've never noticed IN MY LIFE before now. <span style="font-weight:bold;">From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been forcefully advancing, and forceful men lay hold of it. </span> That is some good preaching right there. Worthy of a deeper study at some point. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">11:30 </span> How could He possibly have described His burden as "light" knowing what was to come? Comparatively speaking it was light?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">13:58 </span> Christ doesn't do many miracles in a faith vacuum. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">14:13</span> Christ seems broken by the beheading of His cousin. A moment of psychological humanity on display.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">16:5-12 </span> I have no recollection of ever hearing/focusing on Christ's comments about the "yeast" either. Interesting. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">16:21</span> Jesus begins to predict His death. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">20:17</span> Christ lays out in DETAIL what He will have to experience. He knows He'll be raised to life. Knowing the end of the story must aid in some way (personally) when He supplies these details.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">23 </span>Christ seems to be overflowing with frustration. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">26:36 My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow... <br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">27:51</span> One of my "favorite" parts of the crucifixion narrative. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">28:16-20</span> The Great Commission seems completely out of place as an ending to this book. Perhaps experiencing the death (and resurrection) of Christ somehow impaired Matthew from being able to tell His story. After painstakingly recording parable upon parable, great amounts of conversation seem to be missing between Christ's resurrection and The Great Commission. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Personal Point of Recognition:</span> My identity as a mother, and my extremely high stress load at the moment has a major impact on what I'm picking out in Matthew.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-13634497624213316982010-11-24T08:02:00.016-05:002010-11-24T20:32:22.592-05:00Out of the Mouths of BabesLast Wednesday night, Jeff had to go to band practice which meant I was responsible for putting all four kids to bed (shudder). I was brushing Griffin's teeth when I came across this.<br /><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 561px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/mfreshour/DSC0004/1103759479_EzGwz-M.jpg" border="0" />Anyone see something strange growing in there? Yeah, me too. So as not to embarrass him or draw attention to THE EXTRA ROW OF TOOTH in his mouth, I immediately sat him down and took nine rapid fire pictures of the oddity. And then I made a mental note to ask Jeff how long Griffin has had the spare and why it hasn't come up in conversation before now. <div><br /><div>I was driving the kids to school the next morning when I realized I had forgotten to ask Jeff about it. So I called him on the cell and tried not to use words like <em>weird, freaky, </em>or<em> Ripley's candidate</em> to describe it. Ever notice when you are trying to have a conversation about one of your children, that this will be the one moment of the day they will stop whatever they are doing and really listen to you? Suffice it to say, despite my effort to be discreet, Griffin quickly figured out that I was talking about him, and started telling Carter about his <strong>twin</strong> tooth in the back of the car. Apparently, he has known about it all along and has conversations with the other Kindergarteners at school about it on a daily basis. Evidently, one of his friends, whom we'll call, K_ _ t_n, to protect his privacy, told Griffin that his brother, N_th_n, who is in 2nd grade, had a <em>twin</em> <em>tooth</em> too!<br /><br /></div><div></div><div>As you can imagine, I felt much better after overhearing the news that there was another child in the world with a <em>twin</em> <em>tooth</em>, and resolved to hunt down said child's m_m at pick-up on Friday to inquire about it. Well, K_ _ t_n's m_m knew right away what I was talking about when I mentioned the words, <em>twin tooth</em>, but in reality N_th_n had never had one. Their Better- Dentist-Than-Ours had noticed when looking at N_th_n's x-rays, that N_th_n had the <strong>potential </strong>to have a <em>twin tooth</em>, and had pulled some teeth to avoid the dreaded <em>twin tooth</em> scenario. Meanwhile, back at Chez Freshour, our <em>twin tooth</em> is reaching for the stars!<br /><br />In other oral news, please observe the normal. Considering her predecessors, we have little faith it will last.<br /><br /></div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 562px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/mfreshour/DSC0027/1103759453_erhx6-M.jpg" border="0" /><div><div><div align="center">I hope you can appreciate what it took for me to get this shot. </div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 562px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/mfreshour/DSC0030/1103173849_QXSTf-M.jpg" border="0" /></span>It was basically a lot of this.<br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-16362636119248602532010-11-19T21:47:00.018-05:002010-11-20T09:54:22.107-05:00My First Sale, Vol. 1<span style="font-size:130%;">This is a story about a Cameraman named Andy, and the awesome morning he had at our house. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541476953494471778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGh_M9Oyv3ylFsUFd6kNd-1361boPOjpMOveTWb-dVPquLF1OuG8I5vp8aETRcQ4K514qPd7lWoEbfQx8btdX2SCW65H2rv1exqVJFVrQ6txr04a5ds7PQNy5HAI46H0dmnojc-e1eEY/s400/DSC_0013.JPG" border="0" />Back in September, I came across </span><a href="http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2010/09/11/1679250/home-notes.html"><span style="font-size:130%;">an article</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> in the Charlotte Observer announcing HGTV's show </span><a href="http://www.hgtv.com/my-first-sale/show/index.html"><span style="font-size:130%;">My First Sale</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> would be taping in our area, and they were looking for "fun, high-energy people" to be on the show. Well. I am nothing if not high-energy. Also, our house had been on the market for 10 months at that point, and interest (if one can possibly refer to 11 showings in 10 months as <em>interest</em>) was waning. Obviously, I had nothing to lose except my privacy. And since I clearly do not value my privacy by virture of the fact that I occasionally blog, that seemed worth it to me. So I applied online and promptly forgot about it. Thus, when our phone rang a few weeks ago, I was stunned to discover that</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> a) it was not a political call, and b) our application had made its way into the hands of a casting agent named Sami. <p></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Sami listened very politely as I bored her with our current home sale story, which basically amounts to this: Depressed economy, <em>blah, blah, blah</em>, growing out of our house, <em>blah, blah, blah</em>, cannot compete with all of the foreclosures, <em>blah, blah, blah</em>, currently commuting 2.5 hours a day, <em>blah, blah, blah,</em> etc.. I knew our story was mundane and I didn't expect to hear from her again. By this time, our house had been on the market for almost a year, and Jeff and I were slowly realizing if we were ever going to dump the albatross that we needed to embrace a more agressive, forward-thinking sales approach. That's right. We needed to bring in someone with a decent </span><a href="http://klout.com/kscore"><span style="font-size:130%;">Klout</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> score.</span></p></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541481389682941618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8_Zady_idgc78BJmftmMPQaIWHlRQZoxEFFxP1emxnMJ3mQvsCz32wLZLcCO0iS9nm9PgFgIrR3NgjbPfDLFf4vIn5mOw0YtvittdEwobXkmAXoPvpxhzzwflDPOuKMfZZzrvWi4Ur0/s400/DSC_0011.JPG" border="0" /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Meet <a href="http://www.mycarolinahome.net/">Lisa</a>. She's our new realtor. Klout score = 58. My First Sale thought she would make for some great TV...or at least have the potential to drive some traffic to our house. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541476942744618754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZXf8EyPfOXwnt_5mm9lzJA8CeRufJo7Pe96Z1cRXquzu-Byc0xnU_bDyxuQbTlmIC5EiI4hrOsyoEG1GSCtty2TuI1jG-qOCQlGV3FGeSwMKajHGYeV1kCKNpz0SK8NPWADIcpOpIP4/s400/DSC_0008.JPG" border="0" /> </span><div></div><span style="font-size:130%;">Lisa had prepped more than I had, which is why she was able to answer her set of questions in an intelligent and articulate manner. </span><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541476954223015522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIFeTx_vymCYLbGjGkq5tWaZ6rSRdT1qOoUVwH9yc00c8adry0hBDaAFrCfu6jOtLr1nWIlN_1oBWEgZTRkTTs0MpQxBFwk7Lk-FTLVGAPPMm0lch6zfP0s08a_wyGIyDzoO8pTXWz5I0/s400/DSC_0033.JPG" border="0" />So was Jeff. Although he was slightly more dramatic. If Wells Fargo doesn't work out, maybe he can get a job as a weatherman. This is his "cloudy day" face.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541476965023345138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_EtUhtzxa0Jth0JGq6VuxOQ6RHGKAhDCJ1z_dfL_-YEDFWKSjobB3Y9ZbVKXg_2KdwBIXv-JY89QbSf01YNOb-ffnLC9pPnwIpmpRsf6eTxZINllR10z73JwwMpA28z0o2NZsxfg7Kc/s400/DSC_0034.JPG" border="0" /></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I, on the other hand, cried. Literally. The question I was responding to was simple: <em>When I hand over the keys of My First Sale, I'll... </em>But suddenly I was overcome with the realization that our current home still feels like sacred ground to me. We have experienced life changing events in this house, and my worst fear is not that we'll never receive an offer, but that we'll get one from some college guys that want to turn my Graceland into a frat house and trash the place. So my answer was <em>weep</em>. And then I did. Which is really quite pathetic considering all Sami asked us to do was, "Have fun with it! Smile a lot! Be happy!" <p></span></p></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">You would think my blubbering would have been the worst thing that could have happened, but no. When Andy filmed me and Jeff together, a rogue fly started flying around us and actually at one point landed on Jeff's nose. We flailed like idiots. Then Peyton crept in behind us and started playing with a really loud singing baby toy. After that, our dignity was pretty much circling the drain. Suffice it to say, if we eventually make an appearance on a bloopers reel somewhere, I think we can all be assured that the honor is well deserved. </span></div><div></div></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-90193094566682349642010-07-02T21:26:00.006-04:002010-07-02T21:50:16.182-04:00Bath Night<a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0038/921313372_nJTBy-M.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 428px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0038/921313372_nJTBy-M.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;">It's a universal truth that soap and sunblock are interchangable in the summer.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0055/921314657_4U23T-M.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 402px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0055/921314657_4U23T-M.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;">Does anything make you look goofier than a pair of googles?</span></div><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0083/921315304_5ZZTV-M-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 450px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0083/921315304_5ZZTV-M-1.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">Here, we are taking a break from Griffin. </span><br /></div><div><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0094/921316152_wz6pT-M.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 401px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0094/921316152_wz6pT-M.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Casper going into the pool.</span><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0096/921317233_joEGe-M-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 401px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/Family/Summer-2010/DSC0096/921317233_joEGe-M-2.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;">Our golden child.</span><br /><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-25159643317829571802010-06-02T12:41:00.001-04:002010-06-02T12:43:27.806-04:00Let the Countdown Begin<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQh5J-ilSReTb_EPJArkgRmYjKJNxY1vDrSc3Fhv-9NE5Szra1mFF7ByR76le4euTDXES213nnU5cCs6KLRQ6fM8-a5iRpZL8guF1Bi8tpCfDMPQBroHHFAwwK4iWI7RTcMeAVSgYgRpE/s1600/New_Kid.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 245px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 390px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478217565525384706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQh5J-ilSReTb_EPJArkgRmYjKJNxY1vDrSc3Fhv-9NE5Szra1mFF7ByR76le4euTDXES213nnU5cCs6KLRQ6fM8-a5iRpZL8guF1Bi8tpCfDMPQBroHHFAwwK4iWI7RTcMeAVSgYgRpE/s400/New_Kid.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;">School is officially out for the summer in about 5-days. Coincidence? I think not.</span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-85739277766006873752009-10-28T20:02:00.003-04:002009-10-28T20:13:56.374-04:00Bodily Fluids Unleashed<span style="font-size:130%;">Today Carter got sick at school. And when I say <em>got sick</em>, I mean he got up from his desk to get a book and hurled on his way to the bookshelf. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">What's good about this is that it happened when he was in <strong>1st</strong> grade and probably no one will ever remember it. Because goodness knows I sure don't vividly remember the day Timmy Dixon had an accident in our combined 1st and 2nd grade class. And for sure that unfortunate incident has never come up in conversation in the 31 years since. </span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-6374538415535144862009-09-17T14:27:00.007-04:002009-09-17T20:59:37.665-04:00Worse Than Walking Around With Toilet Paper Stuck to the Bottom of Your Shoe<span style="font-size:130%;">A few days ago, I decided to attempt to refinish the hideous 80's brass chandelier our home came with. I drug it out of the attic where I had banished it just 6 short years ago and carried it down to the garage, thinking I could hang it from the overhead garage door opener in the middle of the ceiling. That worked. The chandelier was both off the ground and able to spin freely. Then I laid an old sheet on the floor, moved our fleet of bikes out of the way, and proceeded to spray primer on the chandelier until it was a delightful shabby chic. Ten minutes later, after the primer had dried, I sprayed it with Krylon's Oil Rubbed Bronze. It was lovely. Not the design of the chandelier so much as the new color, but you've got to be able to give a little when you set out to repurpose rather than to buy new. </span><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">What I was ultimately hoping to do was to replace this brass monstrosity currently hanging in our entryway... </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </div><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/652494034_7d733-L.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">with a fixture that was a little more compatible with these pieces also found in our entryway. </span></div><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 536px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/652494187_pzkt3-L.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">My little DIY project was looking quite promising. Confidently, I went inside to get a glass of water and wait for the color to dry. A few minutes later, the professional painters power washing the outside of our house asked me to close the garage door so they could work in that area. Ever accommodating, and apparently very high on paint fumes, I enthusiastically hit the button which both closed the garage and sent my "new" chandelier crashing to the ground below. And that, my friends, is why I am not crafty. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">The story continues. I left the drop cloth on the floor for a couple of days - mainly because after trashing the chandelier, I was out of time and had to race out to go pick up Carter from school. When I got back home with three tired and hungry kids, the drop cloth was kind of the last thing on my mind. Needless to say, I drove the van back into the garage <em>over</em> the sheet and parked on top of it. Since then we've been going in and out of the garage always on top of the sheet. Today, after dropping Carter off at school (far, far away), and Griffin and Peyton off at preschool (close, close to home), I had to drive back up to Mooresville which is even further away than Carter's school for a meeting. I got there, had my meeting, and walked back out to the van only to find that somehow the sheet had attached itself to the right back wheel. I had been dragging it like a flag all over town. </span></p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/652476418_xU8tM-L.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">This is what it looked like when I finally got home - which was about half the length of what it was when I discovered it in Mooresville 20 miles earlier.<br /></span><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 536px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/652476569_o5ztz-L.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">You can see that it is completely wound up in the wheel well.</span> </div><div><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/652476754_wKzoE-L.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Jeff unwinding miles of fabric from our car.<br /></span><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 800px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 536px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/652476850_xzGgh-L.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Rest assured, I am not going to try to repurpose it.</span></div></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-67656713819972465142009-09-02T12:41:00.005-04:002009-09-02T12:46:05.000-04:00Christianese<span style="font-size:130%;">Dear Faithful Few...readers that is,</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">If you read nothing else today, read </span><a href="http://boomama.net/2009/09/02/needing-some-closure/comment-page-2/#comment-113277"><span style="font-size:130%;">this post</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">. You will not be disappointed. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">He holds the keys, </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Mel</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-87610622396336850432009-08-31T21:27:00.001-04:002009-08-31T21:27:22.897-04:00AFRICA: This For My Friends Not on FaceBook<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/yjbpwlqp5Qw' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/yjbpwlqp5Qw'/></object></p><p>Turn up the volume and prepare to be musically astounded. </p></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-77143189580078357322009-07-30T19:52:00.004-04:002009-07-30T20:36:57.511-04:00Griffin Begins His Career As An Aerial Acrobat<a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604737123_Zm3ne-L.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604737123_Zm3ne-L.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 402px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604736689_BN3Eo-M.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 428px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604736931_aHUEA-M.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div><div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 402px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604736125_Tuq7p-M.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 402px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604736381_VAKD6-M.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><div><a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604734440_L6DA2-M.jpg"></a><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 427px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604734471_Cjxgo-L.jpg" border="0" /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 430px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604737460_3NQRd-L.jpg" border="0" /> <img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604734554_HsBoF-L.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Overall, the <em><strong>coach</strong></em> was quite pleased with Griffin's progress. So much so that he wondered if the Freshours might have TWO flying sons.<br /></span><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/604735057_SYqNo-L.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 429px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/606495330_Bq2Vb-L.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Unfortunately, they do not.<br /></span><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-32110981415139858262009-07-17T22:00:00.001-04:002009-07-17T22:00:46.044-04:00VBS 2009: My Week In Review.<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/dFk6w_dX7zk' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/dFk6w_dX7zk'/></object></p></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-72196985337207088032009-07-04T20:45:00.007-04:002009-07-04T21:21:27.899-04:00July 4th Images<div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354771409197111698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHvFNhloTcjcZ4lpMW2IRecg5EXD1As9kaIUMP-qpQwmtnKxaIbGP2JiXjyJhLtqgSQfkyYPm6kfq0hQElgYdPNWSp3EV4irQTaXLqENqf_TK83vQa56LCaO4OD6_0JuvQkHFQ9cjeRU/s400/DSC_0012.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;"> Beef was grilled, sparkers lit.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispRX4lsTCGjBCwpPjpfO__Ms17WsxGM_cMIkuDLC0-eC813OGu6gVaZPzS4ZfaotDQdJSHV0k5U0XAKK-6E57NkkJETM5zs-WED5DtZ1BSvOwCx0Zg5zMK7pEIXq8xOr7olXsPbp1W4E/s1600-h/DSC_0008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354774121097364770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispRX4lsTCGjBCwpPjpfO__Ms17WsxGM_cMIkuDLC0-eC813OGu6gVaZPzS4ZfaotDQdJSHV0k5U0XAKK-6E57NkkJETM5zs-WED5DtZ1BSvOwCx0Zg5zMK7pEIXq8xOr7olXsPbp1W4E/s400/DSC_0008.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;">Griffin in patriotic attire...patriotic attire with distinctly Asian overtones. (To the right of Griffin, you'll notice the hand of a child stealithly trying to filch the lighter. I'll let you all take a guess as to which child that is.)<br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqDK99eB4lQevc9kdB-sdXG1kxn3yTvAXb67XTofKu1z7c95jnuIR3TrZs1kEg6FwfFnxg9GGb7_9YplIn9NrP0bBi6PP5lJJ6JkOKIz-gpP2_hnrXUYNUfYZpjy1DUicrtbGJ_zc1Co/s1600-h/DSC_0004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354774118855915954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqDK99eB4lQevc9kdB-sdXG1kxn3yTvAXb67XTofKu1z7c95jnuIR3TrZs1kEg6FwfFnxg9GGb7_9YplIn9NrP0bBi6PP5lJJ6JkOKIz-gpP2_hnrXUYNUfYZpjy1DUicrtbGJ_zc1Co/s400/DSC_0004.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">An overexposed picture of the successful thief. I had to crop it kind of tight because while Griffin was paying homage to the Japanese, Carter was rocking the Union Jack. (Just kidding, </span><a href="http://smplydori.blogspot.com/2009/07/233-years-ago.html"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dori</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">.)</span><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354776405689640498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbwQJ3jnv546twWsBXejZMFyYnocAI4HPfGckRuARpz5OKVY7YfIvEYPVmiYBaPEdxYZKXaLhjcTaR-dMRE4GAg4ZVHsrC-CQTIhx_yGW7WCxjARoMSnLMrzxss7k7OZDxjjZi1cGn7E/s400/DSC_0020.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Pyromania 101.</span><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354774129331653250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6viy8kmMNd4Bs81akyqt1RjnEvqztaI7C_rneheYisZTqlDfJXv2Kv5JBj-uqsxq4C24FWHjk2-z7iSeUwpihZBobtrZSWsmsMn0VRs6XX0YLyc6skGf7L8bcQ4g91m3kQc1tSXEYi8/s400/DSC_0006.JPG" border="0" /> <span style="font-size:130%;">Great balls of fire!</span><br /></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-55023004160975576182009-07-01T12:39:00.007-04:002009-07-03T22:18:16.008-04:00This Is Not A Post About Michael JacksonAs all three of my remaining readers are aware, Jeff and I attended <a href="http://www.rva.org/">Rift Valley Academy</a> which is a Christian boarding school for the children of missionaries. Because their target audience hailed from a variety of denominations, RVA tended to err on the side of the conservative when it came to particular codes of conduct. <strong>Dancing</strong>, for example, <strong>was strictly prohibited</strong>.<br /><br />Needless to say, it was quite a ground-breaking moment when it was announced in my 8th grade class that the <strong>girls</strong> would begin doing aerobics in PE. To say I was excited about this <em>radical</em> new addition to the usual mundane PE curriculum would be an understatement.<br /><br />Not surprisingly, it was aerobics set to Christian music.<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353532867532844578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm37gl_bKS12EIZXULDD82e9trLgZ9-6VsR2sCDFQDyHhuYTW5dFd2WFmClNWuA0xqkfcx_xVuz60eNui1xeAsPiMOMTPXAO4jYduKx7GLZ1Ty4DD5o2Td0DjD9QXDHUuXeLGRKo4dvPc/s400/2921609751_47d1d435f6.jpg" border="0" /><em>Exercise for Life</em> by <a href="http://www.stormieomartian.com/">Stormie Omartian</a>, if I remember correctly, and taught by a none other than a member of our own supporting church in CA. (Have you any idea how rare that is on the mission field? I mean sometimes in a blue moon you’ll find someone in the same country that went to your home church in the US, but never upon never do you find someone from your home church working right alongside you.)<br /><br />But as conservative as RVA was, the <a href="http://www.bju.edu/">BJU</a> alumni* responsible for raising me were nothing short of rigid when it came to the perceived evils of dancing. Though my Dad had never actually witnessed aerobics in action, the mere concept of physical movement set to music seemed entirely too much like dancing to him. How could it be anything BUT sexually suggestive? To my horror, I was promptly banned from doing aerobics with my class. Instead, I retired to the library for 50 minutes alone while the rest of my girl friends jogged to an early 80’s techno mix of “Crown Him With Many Crowns”, and did risqué donkey kicks to “This is the Day That the Lord Had Made”.<br /><br />My exclusion from this exercise only served to cause me to seek out the opportunity to do it. I desperately wanted to be a cheerleader, not for the cheering so much, but for the awesome routine they got to choreograph and perform at homecoming. Alas, I was never cute enough, or thin enough, or talented enough, or coordinated enough…or perhaps the coach didn’t want to tangle with my Notorious D.A.D.<br /><br />After graduating from RVA, I attended <a href="http://www.taylor.edu/">Taylor University</a>, yet another environment that was wholeheartedly anti-dance, and that pretty much sealed my fate. While dancing often called my name, it was never going to be something I did regularly…or when I did do it, felt confident about my ability to do it. (Insert some violins playing some awfully sorrowful music here. This is a sad story, isn’t it?)<br /><br /><strong>Jumping ahead 20 years</strong>. This summer <a href="http://www.gracecovenant.org/">our church</a> is running a sports-themed VBS, which involves bringing in professional athletes like <a href="http://collegebasketball.rivals.com/content.asp?CID=550867">Rodney Monroe</a> to run sports clinics interspersed with large group and small group sessions. We’re expecting 600 kids and oh, hey, I’m on the committee, can you tell?<br /><br />I knew that we were having a bit of trouble confirming someone to lead the dance sessions, but because our church has an entire praise-dance division, I was kind of tuning those conversations out. Also, I was a little concerned with how I was going to manage my own area of responsibility, that being overseeing the multitude of small group coaches/assistants we need, and was busy mentally trying to figure out if I could sell the idea well enough to entice the Sr. Saints to <em>come get run over for a week!</em> So you can imagine my surprise, and ensuing delirium, when the children’s pastor I teach under emailed me last week to ask if I would teach the dance sessions at VBS this year – and not just any old dance…but <strong>hip hop</strong>. </p><p>It’s a genre I am well-versed in, not because I have ever done it per se, but because I watch a lot of <a href="http://www.fox.com/dance/">So You Think You Can Dance</a>, and <a href="http://www.mtv.com/ontv/dyn/dance_crew/series.jhtml">America’s Best Dance Crew</a>. In my mind, I consider myself an <em>expert</em>…if <em>expert</em> is defined as <em>9 times out of 10 you can guess who is going to win the competition</em>.<br /><br />As you can imagine, my impressive street cred, coupled with years of repression in both high school and college, prompted me to jump at the chance to trade responsibilities, and thus FINALLY be able to live out my dream of being a fabulous hip-hop artist. Except that I am seriously way past my prime so there is really no way this is going to be anything but a HUGE PUBLIC SPECTACLE culminating in a nightmare. But one I’ll be awake for and after which we’ll probably have to move out of the state because I’ll never be able to live down the humiliation. My dear husband actually took a look at me trying to decipher some moves last night and said, “I can see a lot of humor coming out of this.” And then he cringed and left the room. It bodes well, doesn’t it?<br /><br />I would like to end this post by listing for you here a few observations related to my most recent practice session in hopes that this experience will benefit someone else on the downhill slide to 40 that may be tempted to allow their fantasy life to guide them a step too far:<br /><br /><strong>1.</strong> The trendy shag carpet that works so well in the play room has not proven to be the optimal dance surface. Also, I have never been so tempted to rip out a ceiling fan with my bare hands. Apparently, when I jump, I am 7 feet tall.<br /><br /><strong>2.</strong> Speaking of jumping, while <a href="http://www.target.com/C9-Champion-Seamless-Sports-Ebony/dp/B000Y1RSSW/sr=1-1/qid=1246468070/ref=sr_1_1/177-6958849-7400434?ie=UTF8&search-alias=tgt-index&frombrowse=0&index=target&rh=k%3Asports%20bra&page=1">this</a> is both inexpensive and readily accessible, I can say with great authority that it is not intended for high impact “sports”.<br /><br /><strong>3.</strong> I have asthma. How this debilitating medical condition has gone undiagnosed for 38 years, I’ll never know, but unless our insurance company approves my request for an oxygen tank immediately, I do not expect to live through our first clinic on July 13th.<br /><br /><strong>4.</strong> It is my opinion that the hip hop genre is best suited for waifs rocking a size 2 wardrobe, which means I have approximately 12 more days to lose 45 pounds. Make that 46 pounds since I just ate a huge brownie. I’m carbo-loading in hopes that it will help me to build up some stamina…or at least some energy reserves.<br /><br /><strong>5.</strong> Like kegels, core muscles are something I’ve never really given much thought to. Until I needed them in order to teach something that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NE7f5CJEuMM">looks like this</a>….and subsequently discovered they weren’t there.<br /><br />And now if you'll excuse me, I really must go get a massage.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:78%;">* I would be remiss if I did not add somewhere here that my parents have loosened up ever so slightly over the years. My youngest brother tore up the dance floor at his wedding, and my sister served adult beverages at hers. At neither event was anyone struck by lighting. Both were nights to remember in the history of Bustrumdom if for that reason alone.</span> </em></p>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-407147109476753802009-06-07T16:11:00.004-04:002009-06-07T16:20:38.029-04:00My Advice? Make a Double Batch.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbT8_BKVMMMk3Aq9i67XMDtXCsYkydHXDpEKwEfUJQwQOGO5RcoZD3Dc3mlPbi8d5gDmE62dyX1qL-drvByBExLK-2TYHPk9xgOYG9VKaZ23H-13zI4WnLJE9HRhX4rCG4zdyMvgghvY/s1600-h/DSC_0055.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344682825721276770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbT8_BKVMMMk3Aq9i67XMDtXCsYkydHXDpEKwEfUJQwQOGO5RcoZD3Dc3mlPbi8d5gDmE62dyX1qL-drvByBExLK-2TYHPk9xgOYG9VKaZ23H-13zI4WnLJE9HRhX4rCG4zdyMvgghvY/s400/DSC_0055.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Brown Sugar Cookies</span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The most efficient way to bake these cookies is to portion and bake half of the dough. While the first batch is in the oven, the remaining dough can be prepared for baking. Avoid using a nonstick skillet to brown the butter. The dark color of the nonstick coating makes it difficult to gauge when the butter is sufficiently browned. Use fresh brown sugar, as older (read: harder and drier) brown sugar will make the cookies too dry.<br /><br /><strong>Ingredients:</strong></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><div>14 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 3/4 sticks)<br />1/4 cup granulated sugar (about 1 3/4 ounces)<br />2 cups packed dark brown sugar (14 ounces)<br />2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour plus 2 tablespoons (about 10 1/2 ounces)<br />1/2 teaspoon baking soda<br />1/4 teaspoon baking powder<br />1/2 teaspoon table salt<br />1 large egg<br />1 large egg yolk<br />1 tablespoon vanilla extract<br /><br /><strong>Instructions:</strong></div><div>1. Heat 10 tablespoons butter in 10-inch skillet over medium-high heat until melted, about 2 minutes. Continue to cook, swirling pan constantly until butter is dark golden brown and has nutty aroma, 1 to 3 minutes. Remove skillet from heat and transfer browned butter to large heatproof bowl. Stir remaining 4 tablespoons butter into hot butter to melt; set aside for 15 minutes.<br /><br />2. Meanwhile, adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Line 2 large (18 by 12-inch) baking sheets with parchment paper. In shallow baking dish or pie plate, mix granulated sugar and 1/4 cup packed brown sugar, rubbing between fingers, until well combined; set aside. Whisk flour, baking soda, and baking powder together in medium bowl; set aside.<br /><br />3. Add remaining 1 3/4 cups brown sugar and salt to bowl with cooled butter; mix until no sugar lumps remain, about 30 seconds. Scrape down sides of bowl with rubber spatula; add egg, yolk, and vanilla and mix until fully incorporated, about 30 seconds. Scrape down bowl. Add flour mixture and mix until just combined, about 1 minute. Give dough final stir with rubber spatula to ensure that no flour pockets remain and ingredients are evenly distributed.<br /><br />4. Divide dough into 24 portions, each about 2 tablespoons, rolling between hands into balls about 1 1/2 inches in diameter. Working in batches, toss balls in reserved sugar mixture to coat and set on prepared baking sheet, spacing them about 2 inches apart, 12 dough balls per sheet. (Smaller baking sheets can be used, but it will take 3 batches.)<br /><br />5. Bake one sheet at a time until cookies are browned and still puffy and edges have begun to set but centers are still soft (cookies will look raw between cracks and seem underdone; see photo below), 12 to 14 minutes, rotating baking sheet halfway through baking. Do not overbake.<br /><br />6. Cool cookies on baking sheet 5 minutes; using wide metal spatula, transfer cookies to wire rack and cool to room temperature. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Makes 2 Dozen Cookies. Published in </em><a href="http://www.cooksillustrated.com/"><em>Cooks Illustrated</em></a><em>, March of 2007.</em></span></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-90995947391500355562009-05-15T21:20:00.015-04:002009-05-16T00:10:44.033-04:00Taming the Wild Animals...Or Euthanizing Them in Your Driveway<span style="font-size:130%;">I had a difficult day today. There was really no reason for it other than the fact that it was Friday and Griffin and Peyton weren't in preschool this morning. Instead they were home all day with me. Per usual, as the day progressed I found I really enjoyed it. Both were cooperative and did very well with one another. Griffin was his charming, happy self, and Peyton stayed dry all day! There were successes to celebrate and moments to share. It was at the end of my day, when I realized I had accomplished nothing on my to-do list and our house looked worse than it did when we started out, that I found myself reevaluating my last 10 hours and deciding that they left much to be desired. It's a sad thing when efficiency and progress are hallmarks of your personality because when your day is being orchestrated by a 4-year old and a 2-year old, efficiency and progress are nowhere to be found. This is one of the things that makes me terrified of the career change that I am slowly crawling toward. You can modify how you spend the hours in your day. The question is whether or not you can adapt your personality to appreciate the new ways in which you are spending your hours. Can value be found in a day in which nothing was accomplished? </span><br /><br /><div><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Also affecting my current life experience is that Carter is struggling at school. Today, for example, he told a bunch of kids at recess that he had taken a leak on the playground - a scenario for which he was sent to the principal's office a few weeks ago so it's not exactly an unlikely story. Then later this afternoon he angrily gave his teacher the bird. Admittedly, he has no idea what the gesture means, but he does know it has a negative connotation and the spirit of the movement was still readily interpreted by a bunch of kids who <em>did</em> know what it means. Today marked the 12th day <strong>in a row</strong> of his reign of naughtiness. On a high note, he seems to have moved past his kleptomaniac stage. Now he just lies constantly. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">When Jeff and I lived in the DC area we attended <a href="http://www.mcleanbible.org/pages/page.asp?page_id=4029">McLean Bible Church</a>. The Pastor, Lon Solomon, used to say about parenting, <em>"You've got to get in the cage and tame the wild animals."</em> At the time we had not yet begun to procreate and thought that statement was hilarious. Now we think it's profound. All this to say, we've got problems over here and I can say with great certainty that they aren't going to be solved efficiently. Worse, it appears that none of the disciplinary measures we have taken thus far have had any sort of impact whatsoever. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I took my crummy mood with me to dinner tonight. Dinner I was simultaneously thankful not to have had to cook, and frustrated by the need to constantly correct my dinner companions: stop turning around, use your napkin, get your feet off of me, stop pulling on my shirt, sit down on your bottom, be careful with your water, hold my hand. It would appear I am a relentless nag. Jeff, on the other hand, was patience incarnate. I'm sure there is no correlation to the fact that he, <em>"had a quiet day at work and was able to accomplish some items on his to-do list.</em>" And here I thought I was the only one programmed to achieve. </span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">On our way home tonight, we happened up this slithering across our driveway. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/537443227_HtGoy-M.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">I'm positive the kids were not at all alarmed when Jeff and I both leapt out of the car to get our respective tools of the serpent-killing trade.</span></div><div><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 402px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/537443269_sDjdz-M.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Mick Dundee at work. Incidentally, Mick claimed afterwards that the snake was around 5-feet long. But I'll let you all be the judge of that.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">I'm just here to report the events of the evening in my unbiased and objective way.<br /></span><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 402px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/537443455_rvY5n-M.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Time of death: 9:00pm. Which explains why I spent so much of the evening nagging our children. They should have been in bed. </span><br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 321px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/537443494_nwnBA-M.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-size:130%;">Alas, if only parenting were this easy.</span> </div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-67439144321451323292009-04-25T12:54:00.003-04:002009-04-25T13:09:57.767-04:00Where Hand Models Get Their Start<img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/520507244_z94Zj-M.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/520507308_5vHGH-M.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/520507308_5vHGH-M.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/520507176_NF9wU-M.jpg" border="0" /></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-33183705637060512972009-04-24T09:52:00.001-04:002009-04-24T09:52:45.654-04:00The Freshour Children's Choir<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/NWTovdMMIdo' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/NWTovdMMIdo'/></object></p><p>The Freshour Children's Choir singing Peyton's favorite song. Carter on (teeny tiny) lead guitar. </p></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-16666650969664930782009-04-23T14:03:00.008-04:002009-04-23T16:50:36.539-04:00Veggie Tales: Popeye Donuts<span style="font-size:130%;">Here at Chez Freshour, I'm on a quest to expand my children's vegetable awareness because, quite frankly, I'm a little tired of the seemingly endless rotation of carrots, peas, green beans, broccoli, carrots, peas, green beans...you get the idea. So when I came across this recipe while at the hospital yesterday with Carter, I shamelessly tore it out of the magazine and took it home. What is exciting about sitting in a waiting room for an hour and a half, is all the time you have to scan free magazines and ponder what to have for dinner. And wonder if you are going to be there for so long that a trip to the grocery store afterwards will be out of the question. </span><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">You could probably call these <strong>Spinach Balls</strong>, but around these parts, conspicuous vegetable typecasting earns us swift and blatant rejection. There's nothing like a clever marketing ploy to help move them from the plate into the mouth. Without further ado, I bring you:</span> </div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:0;"></div></span><div></div><div></div><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 402px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/519278538_5o3Cw-M.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Popeye Donuts</span></strong> </div><div align="center"></div><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Ingredients:</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">2 (10-oz.) packages frozen chopped spinach, thawed</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">4 eggs</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">1/2 c. grated parmesan cheese</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">1 lg. white onion, finely chopped (<em>I grated mine thereby rendering it <strong>invisible</strong></em>.)</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">2 c. Pepperidge Farm Herb Seasoned Stuffing mix</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">1/2 tsp. garlic powder</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">1/2 tsp. dried thyme</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">1/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">10 Tbsp. melted butter (T<em>ry to keep your mind centered on all the <strong>folic acid</strong> while drizzling this in.</em>)</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Directions:</span></strong></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Heat oven to 350. <em>(Mine was already on because I was baking cookies. This because we are not above bribery when it comes to pushing new vegetables and we weren't exactly sure if the green donut idea was going to fly.)</em> Squeeze the water out of the spinach through a colander in the sink until the spinach is just about dry. Beat the eggs in a large bowl, then dump spinach and the rest of the ingredients in and mix well. Cover the bowl and refrigerate until the mixture holds together, about an hour. Shape roughly into 1-inch balls and bake on a lightly greased cookie sheet <em>(I'm nothing if not lazy and avoided that whole greasing bit by lining my baking sheet with parchment paper.)</em> until just browned and crispy, 30-35 minutes. Sprinkle with kosher salt while still hot prior to serving.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>It's spinach for spinach haters</strong>. Not only did the kids give them two thumbs up, but they would be a slammin' summer appetizer or side. They were that good. </span></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-45233928328236912712009-04-20T20:32:00.017-04:002009-04-21T21:04:10.430-04:00CMS: C is for Convenience<span style="font-size:130%;">Around this time last year, Jeff and I began to ponder education options for our rising Kindergartener. At the risk of causing all of my homeschooling readers to hyperventilate, I will admit that our final decision was based solely upon something entirely unrelated to our educational philosophy. It wasn't based upon curriculum, academic emphasis, use of enrichment programs, student-teacher ratios, or test scores. No, instead it was based upon <strong>convenience</strong>, which is a hot little commodity for this working mom.</span><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The school we chose for our firstborn was none other than our local public school and, after touring and researching several other options, we picked it because it didn't start until 9:15am in the morning, (around the same time I needed to be in the car running the other two to preschool), and it didn't get out until 3:30pm allowing our youngest to take her afternoon nap uninterrupted. Also, we thought, <em>"It's Kindergarten, right? How much damage can they do?"</em></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">So now we are coming to the end of Carter's first year in CMS, and I can honestly say they have not just met our lofty expectation<strike>s</strike>, they have by far surpassed it, earning them a well-deserved <strong>A++</strong>. Not only has his academic day been completely compatible with Griffin and Peyton's preschool and nap schedule, but Carter has delighted in being able to ride the bus to and from school each day, thereby making my job even easier! </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Other pleasant surprises for the year included Carter's teacher - a seasoned veteran who manages him exceptionally well, and the fact that under her, he learned to read, and tell time, and count to 100. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Unfortunately, the disappointments are beginning to outweigh how cool we think it is that the bus stops right at the bottom of our cul-de-sac, and that Ms. Juanita makes all the Kindergarteners sit up at the front of the bus with her. One of those is that we live in a fairly diverse community both racially and socio-economically. While our family possibly owns more children's literature than the local library, some of the students who entered Kindergarten with Carter had never held a crayon or a pencil. How as a teacher do you reconcile your responsibility to bring all 26 of these children with such varying abilities up to a common level? And is your bigger problem the non-English speaker who is legitimately struggling, or the kid who races through everything and spends the rest of his day cutting up? Because that would be our kid. The brilliant bored one. Or maybe he's not smart at all. Maybe he's entirely mediocre, he just looks smart because the competition is working at such a tremendous disadvantage. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Another concern is the lack of focus on enrichment activities such as art. Consider <em>Exhibit A</em> below: </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326954900308299538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEDXWkkW_28nnEtrKj_0bfNNNyJJA-EK6V0-pXlS2esmwAhy2iAUVYSzPq545ekNI9kA49jOT2qMwLq-LT8SrScxFUViu5ozFzEafLxH8eLXYsgMIHjraek8BnApWd8xd2e1SmhSh8So/s400/DSC_0011.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">It's an Easter hat, sent home as a <em>Fun! Family! Activity!</em> like so many other art projects have been this year. Problem being that neither Jeff (who is entirely responsible for the above millinery masterpiece) or I are at all crafty, hence the finished result is altogether worse than if Carter had just done it himself. AT SCHOOL. With an accredited art teacher presiding over the mess. </span><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">All things considered, Carter's teachers have done a wonderful job this year despite a work environment that would have sucked the joy right out of me. They are tasked with directing far too many kids at once, are very under-resourced, and endure constant pressure not to teach creatively, but to raise to raise test scores. Speaking of the AYP (which we didn't pass), in our particular elementary school, only 60% of the kids in Carter's school were found to be performing at or above grade level. I find that deeply disturbing...which is not to say that I don't understand why. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Suffice it to say, despite a seemingly successful year in public school, we are once again elementary school shopping. Yesterday we toured a private school option we are quite familiar with. For the past year we have compared the awesome projects that line their walls with the enormous stacks of worksheets Carter brings home. He, lately, has begun to notice what is hanging on the walls as well. On our last visit, he commented on <em>"all of the different materials they used</em>". It really is a much more vibrant, creative learning environment than he is in presently. The class sizes are significantly smaller, integration of faith and learning is a priority, and the other students are closer to his performance and achievement potential so the pacing would be more stimulating for him. Challenges are numerous, the school is a 20+ minute drive from our house, and they require something Jeff and I are only too familiar with: school uniforms.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/517693794_jESQu-M.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;">Fortunately, Carter is a big fan of red. </span></div></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-55203381253308197832009-04-16T11:31:00.004-04:002009-04-17T16:03:23.098-04:00S.O.S.<span style="font-size:130%;">My blog and I are experiencing a slight identity crisis...where "slight" equals <em>all-consuming</em>, <strong>very disturbing</strong>, <span style="color:#ffff00;">I need to find a therapist immediately</span>. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Please be patient while I try on different themes...where "try on" equals <em>my husband hated the springy green stripes</em>, <strong>try to embrace the whimsical giraffe, </strong><span style="color:#ff0000;"><span style="color:#ffff33;">I'm not replacing my widgets (gadgets? plug-ins?) until I actually decide on something</span></span><span style="color:#000000;">. Which might take a while since, again, the identity crisis is not solely restricted to this blog.</span></span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-77884532584478559072009-04-09T20:58:00.009-04:002009-04-15T21:00:04.073-04:00Bloom Where You're Planted<span style="font-size:130%;">When we moved into our current home, there was a large, overgrown planting area between our house and our neighbors that really had to go. I tore it apart at the height of my second pregnancy whereupon I promptly went into pre-term labor. Suffice it to say, it was a busy fall.<br /></span><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">One of the first new shrubs I planted was a lilac bush...because lilac bushes are rumored not to grow that well in the south and, being the gardening rebel that I am, I like to tempt the naysayers. I purchased it from </span><a href="http://www.waysidegardens.com/gardening/PD/47600/"><span style="font-size:130%;">Wayside Gardens</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> in 2004, put it in the ground and waited to behold the glory of a bush I had never seen in full bloom. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Four years later it had grown but had yet to flower and, in my opinion, a lilac bush without the flowers is a deciduous waste of space. For three seasons of the year it is lanky and ridiculous looking sticking out of the top of my planting bed, and in the winter it's just a bunch of sticks. So this year I decided it either needed to produce something bouquet worthy or I was ripping it out. </span></div><div><br /></div></span><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/509146699_qne2S-L.jpg" border="0" />It apparently sensed the end was near.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/509146804_xz7PQ-L.jpg" border="0" />Because right at this moment there are exactly three blooms on the darn thing...<br /><br /></span><div></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/509147109_iHpyQ-L.jpg" border="0" />And as you can see below, they make quite an impact. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/509146954_v7pKF-L.jpg" border="0" /> Or not.<br /><br />Fortunately, I think I have figured out the problem. Lilacs like loamy soil. Four years ago, I had no idea what loam was. Now I do. I don't have loam. I have clay. And while I am fairly certain I can turn clay into loam, I'm not so sure the other plants around the lilac would appreciate the effort. So I am admitting defeat and giving this round to the naysayers.<br /><br />But I'm keeping the lilac. Because if a lilac can adapt to clay soil, I can probably adapt to the south. Maybe we both just needed that 5th year.</span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-56782398350919264042009-03-19T22:11:00.004-04:002009-03-19T22:35:44.210-04:00How to Make the Barter System Work to Your Advantage<span style="font-size:130%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Jeff:</em> You can have the mommy makeover you've been talking about if I can have </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dreoYlnlVQw"><span style="font-size:130%;">one of these</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Mel:</em> Fine...as long as yours comes <em>with the</em> <strong>accent</strong>.</span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-88453173937307921082009-03-08T20:09:00.008-04:002009-03-08T21:13:38.222-04:00Dear Daylight Saving Time,<span style="font-size:130%;">At first I didn't like you very much. This morning, for example. I felt rather certain we could never be friends.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310983924635925714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfkKMyucDkf7XeQybM-58BCNf8mUNwh7R9ZXHV8qFKtCdmtwi6QxbuRqfi9a5F2fFBAgSQVnyb2fDnD47L-opEEDdnRA1ic-D6-nckhOAbgEyBd9A5Jme_XqmuuCiHHgWLz4xHfOS4Qlg/s400/DSC_0005.JPG" border="0" /><br /></span><div><div><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310983930682731042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUyI6TmoDKOaiD7ZR06EcYaeAr4KaK2ovkJ8udhjHvk1GRHfa4sLF1PrL1myiJ_R8IIFIUbv56pdp77_7WyGX2CrHi_aAvtTyyzUi8x-sv55LfRvMPJsX2VXssy3thYdjE8cYRZz9W5K0/s400/DSC_0008.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310983936747280274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJOCHaqrh0YWjMtxe3-sK1DqjkvvGgw8yUbiq4tAhkTc5jv482ptCQo7qL3dPTSXoAIhmiNacICZSl_EEW-axSyrsirAULcvLVpTzuE5yuuYpoQGGmP_WdVUgGpB7orVh4vmLztZHYnWU/s400/DSC_0010.JPG" border="0" /> But this afternoon, you redeemed yourself and I have since reconsidered my earlier position.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310985950003187810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 321px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguz7k_NibLGSpcvTy94BNQQKZTCz0bQwqFxcNBm_o4BWNZFn5s5Fb-3YoWijdSw_T1HCih2LO0R4AO3PqEOLCGBMP-V4T5gL2BQxf27YWAG0aCVmoWSUzrGbRVgJhzMa7v8LWsSJHvOAg/s400/DSC_0014.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310984980073484674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3mkQzCeMA8rLk8xwJ7yUlx5BPb1zU0ollzqZaALXiH4H2s9KbuFdrKFlyCTAWg4B0F6KReRgpiQpQpWFnOoSZS_puswqn5XmBVW_D8K8nVpfMGAEa9Ex4_YzhoOtUzsHiUOLYpwaP74/s400/DSC_0025.JPG" border="0" />A position that was confirmed when at 7:00pm it was still light enough to take this picture of my husband tooling around our neighborhood on a Bratz bike. As you can see, he was thoroughly enjoying his purple velvet banana seat ride. I know it goes without saying that it is precious moments like these that remind me why I married him in the first place.<br /><br /></span><div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">So, DST, we can be friends until your twin, Humidity, comes over to play. Then I must go back to despising the both of you. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Until then, Melanie</span></div></div></div></div></div>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-45861749743976556132009-03-04T14:12:00.002-05:002009-03-04T14:18:48.489-05:00#1 and #32<span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">Yesterday, these were removed from my head. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><em>(insert picture of wisdom teeth laying on the metal tray)</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>(insert second picture of huge swollen jaw)</em><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">You're welcome.</span> </span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131668531959838023.post-13549077496558150922009-02-21T08:00:00.003-05:002009-02-21T10:34:03.131-05:00Is There a Reentry Seminar For This Sort of Thing?<a href="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/477510586_kUw3v-S.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://mfreshour.smugmug.com/photos/477510586_kUw3v-S.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Guess who, after 16-days of adult conversation and fine dining, is flying back home from Hong Kong today? Good-bye expense account, hello really needy <strike>wife</strike> <strike>kids</strike> <strong>family</strong>. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We'll try not to maul you at the airport tonight with our excess love, but I'm not making any promises. </span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02993421627493837614noreply@blogger.com3