tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73513198217493054112024-03-13T10:41:45.089-07:00The Excellent Adventure"Life is either a daring adventure or it is nothing at all."--Helen Keller
The domestic and international adventures of the Swenson family. Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-13523273965773406372013-01-01T07:33:00.000-08:002013-01-01T07:33:47.120-08:00Christmas letter, 2012<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 26pt; line-height: 40px;">Swenson Family Awards show 2012<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21px;">taking the art of Christmas card bragging to a whole new level…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">Best long distance parenting/ most shocking vacation photos:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 27px;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;">Matt</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> (Went to Germany for 2 months and cared for wounded soldiers at Landstuhl Medical Center. Really proud of him. Really, really glad he took those amputation pictures out of the slideshow.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">Best family vacation:</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> A tie between <b>Pescadero, CA </b>(Swensons, redwoods and beaches in Northern California) and <b>Park City, UT</b> (long weekend with Lewis family. Ben fell in pond.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">Most “participant” medals earned:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> 5</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> (Liz: 2 marathons, 2 half marathons and the Las Vegas Ragnar Relay. Honorable mention to Jack and Charlotte for their fancy new soccer trophies!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">Easiest to blame for household mayhem:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> Ben, 2. </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;">(“I think Ben did it!!” has become the chorus of our domestic symphony. Most of the time, he <i>did</i> do it. Too bad he’s too cute to discipline.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">Most improved fitness</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">:</span><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> <b>Matt</b> (caught the fitness bug with a biking twist. He no longer teases Liz about her crazy running antics, and Liz *tries* not to tease him about the bike shorts.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">Best actress</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 27px;">:</span><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> A tie between <b>Charlotte</b> for her role as the Mommy in every single game of house, and <b>Anna</b> for flapping her pretend wings and ‘flying’ to the school each day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">Best self-hummed theme music:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> Jack</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> (Yes, he’s still doing it. It’s still awesome.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 17pt; line-height: 26px;">3 ½ years down, 1 ½ years to go</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"> in surgical residency. We’re enjoying all the moments we can between long shifts and active kids, and we’re trying to not play the “when residency is over…” game too much. Our kids are creative, happy, and all around great people. 2013 is already filling up with assorted races and events for all of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;">We hope 2012 has treated you well. All the best in 2013! We love hearing you from all of you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;">Love from the Swenson Family: Matt, Liz, Jack (7) Charlotte (6), Anna (4), and Ben (2)</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT Condensed', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24px;">3732 Ashling St, Las Vegas, NV 89129 eliswenson.blogspot.com</span></div>
Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-62106409768431675732012-10-07T21:13:00.002-07:002012-10-07T21:37:40.602-07:00A Second Helping of 26.2 milesThere is nothing like a good first. From first kisses to first days at school to first babies, I love experiencing something new. It makes me nervous and excited. It makes me feel wide awake, nerve endings firing. With a first looming, I find it hard to talk or think about anything else. I have whole photo albums filled with the evidence of firsts. And I'm not alone in this love of firsts: gold medals, pop songs, and a good portion of the Guiness Book of world records all celebrate firsts. <br />
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Seconds, on the other hand, can go unnoticed. They can sometimes get brushed over in the journey towards "bests" and "mosts" which go side by side with "firsts" as coveted life experiences. Seconds lack the drama. Remember <a href="http://todayhealth.today.com/_news/2012/08/06/13146504-settling-for-silver-why-second-place-is-worse-than-third?lite" target="_blank">McKayla Maroney's reaction</a> when she accepted that silver medal? Need I say more about our lackluster relationship with seconds? <br />
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But after running my second marathon this weekend, I want to sing the praises of second chances. Let me tell you why:<br />
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<b>1. You learn from the first time. </b><br />
When I ran my first marathon, I was absolutely sure that I could not tolerate more pain, and that my legs were surely going to fold like a wobbly newborn giraffe's if I took one more step. When lo and behold, they carried me miraculously over that finish line, my subconscious took note. When the same pain started to creep in yesterday, my brain drew upon those memories. I remembered what it was like to hurt before, but more importantly, I remembered that the pain stopped and the finish line beckoned. I was able to push myself with more confidence, knowing that I was indeed as strong as I hoped I was.<br />
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<b>2. Seconds are more fun.</b><br />
I think I had the majestic "Chariots of Fire" soundtrack playing a loop in my brain for 3 days surrounding my first marathon. It was a dream, a vision, a goal. I was breaking barriers and changing my whole story. I was making history, baby and taking myself very seriously. But this second time around, with some of the pressure off, I let myself have more fun. I joked with ladies in the port-o-potty line. I goaded on a suffering runner by telling him he was about to get chicked. I elicited applause from a group of tired spectators by shouting that "I just ran 23 miles, and I'm tired, Come on!!" Did I annoy people? Undoubtedly. Did I have more fun? Absolutely.<br />
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<b>3. Seconds make you feel like you belong.</b><br />
This time around, I had the confidence to belong. I was among those giving encouragement and advice to nervous first timers. I had a story of my own to recall. I was no longer an imposter and a wannabe, but among friends, having already earned the right to be there. I greeted the rituals surrounding the race like old friends, and felt more 'in my skin'. <br />
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<b>4. Seconds lead to 50ths. </b><br />
On the bus on the way up to the starting line, I sat next to an energetic 55 year old (who went on to beat me by a solid 5 minutes, btw). She was there, partly, to celebrate with a friend of hers, who was running his 50th marathon that day. As I ran my measly second, I greeted each turn in the race and tried to imagine revisiting the same tough moments again and again, 50 times. To my total surprise, I found that I couldn't wait. I wanted the good, the bad, and the ugly of marathon life to become a natural rhythm. I wanted to feel at home on the race course. I wanted to spend my life exploring the world 26.2 miles at a time. <br />
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There were moments yesterday when things got hard. 4 hours is a long time to be on your feet and it gives you plenty of time for self doubt and self loathing. But knowing I had already conquered once made a huge difference. I was able to dig deeper and do more. I was able to push the final miles and finish with a smile. And I was able to shave over 10 minutes off my time. <br />
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Someone yesterday was holding a sign that said, "The strong get stronger". It reminded me that as I was testing my limits, I was expanding them. I am capable of more now than I ever have been. And that is something I am willing to run 100 marathons to keep on saying. Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-87485838981463813392012-07-30T22:14:00.000-07:002012-09-14T22:19:25.643-07:00Getting weepy over a plantOk, I am not exaggerating when I say that one of the reasons I chose our home here in Las Vegas was this larger than life spiky prehistoric wonder of an agave plant in the front yard. It was novel. Edgy. Tried to gore unsuspecting visitors as they walked up our sidewalk. I loved it. <br />
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So 3 years pass, and the agave plant and I settle into a happy coexistence. It grows. Our family grows. I ignore the dead leaves trapped under its thorny spines, and occasionally trim back its needle sharp ends. But mainly it stands as a cheerful, spunky "welcome home" sign to me in all my coming and going.<br />
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Then one morning this May, a small shoot appeared in the middle. The next day, it had grown a foot and resembled a large stalk of asparagus. Days later, it was taller than me. Then, the garage. Then, it towered over the neighbor's house and sprouted magnificent leafy branches. Like this: <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not my agave. or my house. But this is pretty much what ours looked like. </td></tr>
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In my curiosity over what was happening to my wonder of a plant, I took to the internet. It was there that I learned that my plant, also known as a "century plant", was shooting forth its life force into one grand finale of reproductive fervor. It would sprout, go to seed, and die. Knowing the end was near, we watched the plant wistfully each day as it grew taller, as the branches grew wider and began to flower, and as the bottom "mother" plant began to brown. Then, it started to lean. A lot. </div>
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Finally, on the morning after a windstorm with the plant at nearly a 45 degree angle, leaning directly over my neighbor's roof, he finally caught up with me in the driveway and demanded in a very nice, neighborly way that we remove the thing before it came crashing into his roof/car/children. </div>
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And so that evening, Matt tied a rope around the trunk and heaved the entire thing out of the ground: </div>
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it came down easier and faster than we expected. Despite the size, its root system was very superficial. Because we were neglecting Family Home Evening to deal with the plant, we even came up with an on the spot lesson about building a strong foundation. The neighbors may have stared when they saw us all straddling the spent tree singing, "The wise man built his house upon the rock!"</div>
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Yes, I know it's ridiculous to get sentimental about a spiny succulent. But this wild and unwieldy plant was kind of like a pet to me: loyal, friendly, and full of heart. It gave up its life in a spectacular fashion and gave us one last marvelous show. Not to get sentimental. About a plant. </div>
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It took all evening to saw the remains of the trunk into small chunks, and 3 weeks worth of garbage pick-ups before all the remnants were taken. Matt finally had to cut off all the leaves and roll the naked pineapple shaped core awkwardly into our garbage can before they would haul it away. </div>
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We planted a new, much smaller agave plant in the hole left by our old beauty. It is young and lacks the ancient character of the first. But with any luck, it will grow into a part of someone else's story, somewhere down the line. </div>
Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-69227933977540610522012-06-12T18:38:00.000-07:002012-09-14T21:22:54.836-07:00Lark and Parker's going away party<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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The Fillmores were the kind of awesome friends who live down the street and trade babysitting and carpool your kids and teach their primary classes and feed your fish while you're away and come over for holidays and commiserate about the tough and wonderful life of surgical residency. Our kids would bike cheerfully between the two houses and could be bribed to do just about anything with the promise that "you get to go over to Lark's house afterwards!" Unfortunately, Parker decided to graduate from residency, get a hot-shot fellowship at Johns Hopkins, and pick up and move to Baltimore. We didn't know what we'd do without them. And my philosophy is "when in doubt, throw a party." </div>
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Yeah, so that's what we did. To send the Fillmore family off in style, we invited the whole ward and made tex mex food by the pan-full. Everyone who loved the Fillmores---which is to say, everyone in the entire ward and a good portion of our neighborhood--came out to wish them well. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-11FanukWT0c/UEzzk2mGZAI/AAAAAAAAFCo/tttmKFolcdI/s1600/IMG_3153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-11FanukWT0c/UEzzk2mGZAI/AAAAAAAAFCo/tttmKFolcdI/s320/IMG_3153.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Peltons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q31bLBh7yOQ/UEzzYYThkmI/AAAAAAAAFB4/XnR5TU67PX4/s1600/IMG_3146.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/-Q31bLBh7yOQ/UEzzYYThkmI/AAAAAAAAFB4/XnR5TU67PX4/s320/IMG_3146.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At one count, there were as many as 11 children in the sand box. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We loved the Fillmores and we'll miss having them around. But I'm so glad we got to know them and their great kids, and we hope we'll bump into each other again. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gIjp8ZnNHA0/UEzzqeEjPaI/AAAAAAAAFC8/NkR5UHAYRBw/s1600/IMG_3157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gIjp8ZnNHA0/UEzzqeEjPaI/AAAAAAAAFC8/NkR5UHAYRBw/s320/IMG_3157.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack, Paul, Charlotte, Afton, Mimi, and Anna</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<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://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tdaLeOzRer4/UEzzs0f2lfI/AAAAAAAAFDE/4pXf1UUQ1A0/s1600/IMG_3159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tdaLeOzRer4/UEzzs0f2lfI/AAAAAAAAFDE/4pXf1UUQ1A0/s320/IMG_3159.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte, 5, and Afton, 8</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ns31LsraFek/UEzzvSTQkeI/AAAAAAAAFDM/G3Ar8C6kZb4/s1600/IMG_3160.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/-ns31LsraFek/UEzzvSTQkeI/AAAAAAAAFDM/G3Ar8C6kZb4/s320/IMG_3160.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna, 3, and Mimi, 4</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t4grhtWfYUs/UEzzx175YxI/AAAAAAAAFDU/2PnZXI-fONI/s1600/IMG_3162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t4grhtWfYUs/UEzzx175YxI/AAAAAAAAFDU/2PnZXI-fONI/s320/IMG_3162.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack, 7, and Paul, 5</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-18716883065206803242012-06-12T14:29:00.000-07:002012-06-24T09:30:07.637-07:00the marathon<b><span style="font-size: large;">Things I hope I won't forget about running my first marathon</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tR32apGPbNo/T-c8hN85vNI/AAAAAAAAFAc/Wxh3RrhyQ4A/s1600/IMG_3881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tR32apGPbNo/T-c8hN85vNI/AAAAAAAAFAc/Wxh3RrhyQ4A/s640/IMG_3881.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Night before: Left my children with my in laws and drove down to Provo. Upon noticing that the distance between Riverton and Provo is 26 miles, I hyperventilate the entire drive down. Look for steel cut oats at the grocery store and come home, instead, with a large loaf of frosted apple cinnamon dessert bread. Ok, well, actually only half of the loaf made it home. Nervous eater. Jenny stayed up and played cards with me until 1:00 am.<br />
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3:45 am: Oatmeal (non steel cut) in hand, phone charged, dressed from head to toe in geeky running gear, Jenny drops me off at (what I thought was) the bus stop. Jenny fusses over me like I'm a kindergartner on the first day of school. Then, I realize that I have been dropped off at the "marathon maniacs" reunion bus instead. Flee back to Jenny.<br />
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5:45 am: I don't know if it's runners, or if it's Utah, but everyone at the starting line was really nice. And as far as I can tell, everyone else has run at least a few marathons before. The number of people willing to repeat the experience encourages me.<br />
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6:00 am: Get lined up with the balding, smiling pacer wearing a "100 marathon club" singlet and holding a "4:00 marathon" sign. He is full of encouragement and bouncing from foot to foot, anxious to get started.<br />
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Miles 1-7: Beautiful. Keep the headphones off and talk to the racers nearby. Wave at the few people who have come out of their farm houses and ranches to cheer us on. Everything is green and smells like earth and I'm making plans in my head to move here someday.<br />
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Miles 7-9: What? A hill? I thought this course was all downhill. Untangle my headphones and plug in some hill-killing tunes. This is about the time I start to notice the wind, too.<br />
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Miles 10-13: Lost sight of my pacer when I take a quick porta-potty break. Start rethinking my ambitious pace.<br />
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Mile 13: Catch up with the pacer around the half marathon mark. Ask "Am I supposed to feel like this only halfway though?" He keeps stride, doesn't move his head and say, "Nope. You should feel great." I am really hoping he is being sarcastic.<br />
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Mile 15: I start looking forward with longing to seeing my family cheering up ahead. Start counting miles by how close I am to mile 22 (our rendezvous) and then, by how close I am to mile 19 (when I plan on calling to give them a heads up.)<br />
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Mile 19: Call Mom. I am informed that Matt has driven all night to come cheer me on and is now somewhere between me and my family, walking ahead. I am expecting to see Matt waving on the sidelines any moment. During all this, I lose sight of the pacer for the last time. And in an instant, I don't care how long it takes me to finish anymore. I understand that just finishing at all will be an accomplishment.<br />
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Mile 20-21: Where is Matt?!? Seriously, how slow must he be walking?!? I vow not to let him catch me walking, but my calves are starting to ache.<br />
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Mile 21.5: Finally see Matt, holding a sign up high that says, "I drove all night to see you". I nearly knock him over. He runs beside me until we catch up with my family.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2LF6Bt1CV20/T-c8Vl3DQAI/AAAAAAAAE_w/s2kzLO8lgWo/s1600/IMG_3875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2LF6Bt1CV20/T-c8Vl3DQAI/AAAAAAAAE_w/s2kzLO8lgWo/s400/IMG_3875.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Mile 22: Kids waving cow bells, holding signs. Hugs and smiles. I am so happy to see them all that I just want to quit right there and maybe sit down in their cooler. Matt gets a bike and prods me onward. I burst into tears.<br />
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Miles 22-26.1: This is where I learn the difference between saying something will be tough and knowing how tough it is. This is when I pull up every cheap mind trick and mantra I have to keep my legs moving. This is where I begin to form metaphors in my head between running and childbirth. This is where I see the finish line ahead, but feel like I'm on a treadmill because it doesn't seem to be getting any closer. This is where runners are stopping to rub their legs with ben-gay and slug down painkillers. This is where the crowds thicken and a little girl waves a sign that said, "Don't stop now, people are watching!" This is where Matt stays beside me on a bike, holding my popsicles and offering me water and telling me to get going again every time I start to walk.<br />
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Mile 26.2: This is where I transform from a girl that runs sometimes to marathoner. I am a different person than I was 4 hours and 7 minutes before.<br />
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<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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-myBQxOIDDes/T-c8XMMQuyI/AAAAAAAAFAQ/Y--0OkrFJNQ/s1600/IMG_3887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-myBQxOIDDes/T-c8XMMQuyI/AAAAAAAAFAQ/Y--0OkrFJNQ/s400/IMG_3887.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right after we crossed the finish line! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Even though I started the race with a goal of running under 4 hours and ended up at 4:07:02, I'm surprised by how little my finishing time matters to me. I think with awe and respect of all the runners that surrounded me and finished near me and think, "Yeah. I don't mind being one of these people." I might break 4 hours someday--might even go on and qualify for Boston--but maybe I'll just come back and toe the line for the joy of running and finishing and becoming a different person all over again.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0NeRli6Vejk/T-c8uUFcD7I/AAAAAAAAFBE/IqsFKGWKoqw/s1600/IMG_3878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0NeRli6Vejk/T-c8uUFcD7I/AAAAAAAAFBE/IqsFKGWKoqw/s400/IMG_3878.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd like to thank Mom, Dad, Carolyn, John, Jenn and Chris, James and a whole cadre of small children for coming out to support me. Big kudos to Jenny for volunteering as team mom and dropping me off in the middle of the night. I'd also like to thank Creamies for donating ice cream to all my children after the race. Oh yeah, and Matt, for driving all night, and then walking a mile, running a mile, and biking 6 more. And for shoving me out the door on the mornings my alarm clock was "broken", pretending he enjoyed hearing play by plays of all my long training runs, and everything else. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-60957947728160459862012-01-08T09:54:00.000-08:002012-01-08T10:34:23.153-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Highlights for a New Year</b></div>
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I'm not nearly as good at taking pictures as I should be, considering how absurdly attractive my family is. Here is a smattering of the last few weeks. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1ws7ppjgmlo/TwnXXTFIn_I/AAAAAAAAEew/micv4OAZ4-k/s1600/IMG_3031.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/-1ws7ppjgmlo/TwnXXTFIn_I/AAAAAAAAEew/micv4OAZ4-k/s320/IMG_3031.JPG" width="240" /></a><b>This is</b>: a pictures of Charlotte showing off her finished Christmas cookies. <br />
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<b>The pictures I did not take: </b> anything at all of the 20+ people we had in our house one afternoon during Christmas break when we hosted a cookie decorating party. Together, we managed to decorate well over 200 cookies. I was inspired to host this party by Matt's work friend, Terry, who has hosted a similar party for many years and who has invited us to come and frost her home year after year--despite having no children of her own. <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GhSyuen7DIY/TwnXNa1MezI/AAAAAAAAEeQ/i6Kc85miirM/s1600/IMG_3039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eGw6UPw2yuc/TwnXGos-mCI/AAAAAAAAEeA/nS3WibcsfGs/s1600/IMG_3048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
<b>These are: </b>pictures of the kids in their new Christmas jammies.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XjFQNZu3x-Q/TwnXUms4O2I/AAAAAAAAEeo/mYNVb4Vz72o/s1600/IMG_3046.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/-XjFQNZu3x-Q/TwnXUms4O2I/AAAAAAAAEeo/mYNVb4Vz72o/s200/IMG_3046.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GhSyuen7DIY/TwnXNa1MezI/AAAAAAAAEeQ/i6Kc85miirM/s1600/IMG_3039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GhSyuen7DIY/TwnXNa1MezI/AAAAAAAAEeQ/i6Kc85miirM/s200/IMG_3039.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<b>The pictures I did not take: </b> the kids running around the house searching for "Christmas angel" clues, "mary" (Charlotte) riding on "the donkey" (Grandpa), while the "angel" (Anna) stands on the coffee table and shouts, "Behold, I give you good tidings of great joy!"<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eGw6UPw2yuc/TwnXGos-mCI/AAAAAAAAEeA/nS3WibcsfGs/s1600/IMG_3048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eGw6UPw2yuc/TwnXGos-mCI/AAAAAAAAEeA/nS3WibcsfGs/s320/IMG_3048.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<b>This is:</b> a picture of the kids on Christmas morning, ready to go downstairs.<br />
<b>The pictures I did not take:</b> Charlotte and Anna throwing up on Grandma right before bed on Christmas Eve. Matt sneaking downstairs to turn on my new iPod dock (which started playing manheim steamroller while it was still wrapped under the tree.) A morning full of frenzied, noisy joy, crinkled paper and "oh, mommy, I LOVE it!"<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jon37ZllkOU/TwnXJKFcJhI/AAAAAAAAEeI/rI-MBEwMo9o/s1600/IMG_3056.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/-jon37ZllkOU/TwnXJKFcJhI/AAAAAAAAEeI/rI-MBEwMo9o/s320/IMG_3056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>This is:</b> a picture of the girls painting each other's nails.<br />
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<b>The picture I did not take:</b> Anna opening her nail polish straight out of her stocking and proceeding to paint her lips with it...like lip gloss. Also, token splotches of nail polish that ended up on Jack and Ben's church clothes.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PtKSeFSJyCY/TwnW2HSuTaI/AAAAAAAAEd4/wSH_Nd33inY/s1600/IMG_3057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PtKSeFSJyCY/TwnW2HSuTaI/AAAAAAAAEd4/wSH_Nd33inY/s320/IMG_3057.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<b>This is:</b> a picture of Anna's stitches, the morning after her unfortunate disagreement with our TV stand. (January 7th)<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>The picture I did not take:</b> blood streaming down Anna's head as I yell up the stairs for Matt, who was mercifully home and ready within minutes with lidocaine and sutures. Anna, crying but holding remarkably still as Matt put 7 stitches into her forehead right in our bedroom. The 6 OTHER children (ours, plus Lark's) that sat downstairs while all this was happening, being considerate enough not to break their heads open, too.<br />
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<b>The picture I did not HAVE to take: </b>Liz sitting with 6 other children in a crowded ER into the early hours of the morning, waiting for someone to get her 3 year old's head to stop bleeding. Wow, am I grateful at times like this for the highly specialized talents of my superhero husband!<br />
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<br />Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-18858619433260458812011-12-09T22:22:00.001-08:002011-12-09T22:27:36.545-08:00<br />
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For my tech-savvy friends (especially the ones for whom I have no valid street address), here is our 2011 holiday letter, complete with charming pictures. :) </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sYjjkB1kTZ8/TuL67vy7GeI/AAAAAAAAEYA/We3qy0U_OF8/s1600/2011-11-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sYjjkB1kTZ8/TuL67vy7GeI/AAAAAAAAEYA/We3qy0U_OF8/s640/2011-11-15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Berylium; font-size: 26.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There’s a first
time for everything…</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 4.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Berylium; line-height: 115%;">Swenson Family 2011<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">In </span><span style="font-family: Berylium;">February, I was inexplicably
inspired to start running and started the <i>Coach
to 5K</i> training program.
Subsequently, I ran my first 5K (April 23), my first 12K (Thanksgiving),
my first half marathon (July 4<sup>th</sup>), and my first Ragnar relay
(October). I offer cheerful apologies to
all the runners I have taunted in the past, as well as all the non-runners whom
I now badger to run with me because “it’s just 3 miles, come on!” (Since we’re
on the subject, you know you <i><u>really</u></i>
want to run the Salt Lake Marathon with me next spring…!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">Anna</span><span style="font-family: Berylium;">
has transformed into a dangerously charming young lady this year, earning
nicknames like “bombshell” and “Miss America”, in part because of her cascading
blonde hair. She will stormily protest
if you accidentally call her a “little” anything (“I am NOT a little lady. I’m a BIG lady!”) She has yet to experience her <b>first </b>haircut, as Liz is still
remembers Charlotte’s own haircut from last year all too clearly. </span><span style="font-family: Berylium; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">Charlotte</span><span style="font-family: Berylium; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Berylium;">started Kindergarten and
Jack started first grade, and with those<b>
first</b> days came hectic schedules and a flurry of other firsts. For example, my first carpool, the first time
I made a loaf’s worth peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and froze them, and
the first time I fell asleep on top of my kids’ homework.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="MsoIntenseEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">Jack</span></span><span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Berylium;">signed
up for his <b>first</b> organized sport
--coach-pitch baseball. Although it took
some time to learn the rules (once, he got to second base then kept running
straight into the outfield) he enjoyed it.
He also loved having Matt there to cheer him on, even when that meant
Dad sacrificed sleep to be there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">Do</span><span style="font-family: Berylium;">
you remember the <b>first</b> time you read
<i>James and the Giant Peach</i> or <i>The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe</i>? Matt cuddles up with Jack and Charlotte each
night and reads out loud from our old childhood favorites. It’s been wonderful seeing our kids
experience these classics for the first time! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">Matt</span><span style="font-family: Berylium;">
has always loved fish, but recently took his <b>first</b> steps into the complicated world of salt water reef aquariums. He takes great joy in watching his new coral
thrive and agonizes over unexplained fish deaths (Matt’s mom: “Honestly, Matt,
you should know better than to <i>name</i> a
fish!”). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">Ben’s</span><b><span style="font-family: Berylium;"> first </span></b><span style="font-family: Berylium;">words so far have been “Yeah!” “Uh-oh!” and a
fuzzy version of “Look at THAT!” He hasn’t
yet taken his <b>first </b>steps, but since
he can make it from my lap to the open toilet bowl in 2.3 seconds, there’s no
rush. He is as charming, happy, and
googly-eyed as ever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Berylium; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">While</span><span style="font-family: Berylium;">
we’ve had plenty of new experiences this year, lots of things have stayed the
same. Matt enjoys his work and I thrive
as a stay-at-home mom. Jack continues to
constantly hum his own theme music, Charlotte still gets lost in art projects, and
Anna can still get out of trouble with a charming smile. We still miss our scattered friends, and we still
invite all of you to stop by our house if you ever come our way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Berylium; line-height: 115%;">Love</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: Berylium;">, Liz, Matt,
Jack (6), Charlotte (5), Anna (3) and Ben (1) Swenson </span></i><span style="font-family: Berylium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-29880823443009968202011-11-02T13:43:00.000-07:002011-11-02T13:43:55.098-07:00Halloween fun!<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">
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Halloween is one of my favorite times of year. It's a wonderful combination of mischief, creativity, and neighborliness. Sprinkled with liberal amounts of chocolate. From the left: Anna as Rapunzel, Ben as a dragon, Jack as Captain America, and Charlotte as a witch.<br />
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"Mom! I have to have a green face so that I will be so spooky! My friends will not even know who I am because I will be SO SCARY!" <br />
--Charlotte<br />
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"Mom, I'm not <i>dressing up</i> as Captain America. I <i>AM</i> Captain America." <br />
--Jack<br />
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Anna got this Rapunzel dress for her birthday last week and was thrilled to use it as a Halloween costume. Multi-tasking bonus! :) <br />
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Ben actually looks like he has a healthy body weight in this picture. Poor thing. He got lots of candy from the adoring neighbors though! <br />
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Matt didn't go all out on the pumpkin carving this year--just three--but the kids were great helpers, scooping pumpkin sludge all over the kitchen, while Matt crafted his masterpieces. </div>
</div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-32396372267221972232011-10-23T19:45:00.000-07:002011-10-23T19:45:12.979-07:00you did WHAT in Vegas!?!?<b><i>Reasons Why I am Going to Wear this Gray T-Shirt EVERY DAY for the next 2 weeks...</i></b><br />
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<b>Reason #1:</b> After months of planning, recruiting, shuffling, and plenty of self doubt, Ragnar weekend came: 188 miles, 12 runners, 29 hours. Here we all are at the finish line with our well-deserved medals (I would also wear the medal for the next two weeks, but Matt forbade that. Probably a good thing...)<br />
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<b>Reason #2:</b> No really, I promise, it was REALLY fun. I know all you non-runners are rolling your eyes at the prospect. It was 3 parts racing, one part slumber party, one part camping. All through some of the most beautiful areas around. </div>
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<b> Reason #3:</b> We went pretty mellow in our costume choice--and yes, compared to many other teams, our brilliant neon tee shirts were very mellow. Our favorites: a bunch of dudes running in red dresses and a group wearing togas.<br />
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<b>Reason #4:</b> What better way to hang out with people than to meet them every mile of their race at the side of the road, hollering and cheering? Also, nothing like knowing the van is waiting up ahead to keep you from walking up those nasty hills. It was racing with a whole new level of support and camaraderie. <br />
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<b> Reason #5:</b> I took the car seats out of my van for the first time in months, and vacuumed up layers of accumulated crackers, stickers, and polly pocket shoes. Then, we proceeded to load it with junk food, 6 smelly runners, window chalk, and by the end, a complete coating of dust. I will get around to cleaning it, but I must say it was quite the spectacle in the church parking lot this morning.<br />
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<b>Reason #5:</b> Matt came out to support me on my night run, because I wanted him to be part of the fun and because I had to run through a trail away from the van for a while. He came along on his bike and chatted the whole time. Also note the attractive reflective running gear we lived in from 5:00 pm to 7:00 am. </div>
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<b>Reason #6:</b> I am a killing machine. See the red blur? That's a dude in a dress. See that yellow blur? That's me, leaving him behind to choke on my dust. Not to say that worthy opponents didn't catch up to me plenty, but I did run like greased neon yellow lightening. I made great--even PR beating--times on all three of my legs. </div>
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<b>Reason #7:</b> I even love the less glamorous aspects of the race--like wearing reflective vests, using porta-potties and sleeping clumped together in the back of a rank van. Just added to the whole experience. <br />
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That's seven reasons. It could have been 12 (as in 12 amazing team members), or 36 (number of legs we ran together) or even 188 (for the number of miles. or the number of porta-potties). But if I had to describe the whole thing in one word? Epic. :) <br />
<br />Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-53098839941636655922011-09-22T21:57:00.000-07:002011-09-22T21:57:04.271-07:00Happy Birthday, Ben!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, I've been the mother of four for a year now. A long, hectic, wonderful year. Something about this year changed me. I'm not really a better mom, but I'm definitely a happier one. I love being with these kids; I love watching them grow up and I've even found myself taking pictures of their messes so that I can remember them when my house is empty and clean someday. </div>
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This new attitude may be the result of maturity or desperation but I think it mainly comes from looking at my little family and saying, "hey! Everyone's here. Now let's get this party started!" Add to that the considerable joy I feel at the prospect of never being pregnant again, and it's been a party, for sure. Ben is more delightful than I possibly could have hoped. I mean,<i> look</i> at him. If he were your kids, <i>you'd</i> be writing gushy blog entries about him too. :) </div>
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<br />Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-83322127558203810582011-08-30T15:56:00.000-07:002011-08-30T15:56:46.139-07:00Is it pick-up time yet??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gaJOuuS0z7g/Tl1nk-cKpbI/AAAAAAAAEUQ/86U6nv8yax4/s1600/IMG_2940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gaJOuuS0z7g/Tl1nk-cKpbI/AAAAAAAAEUQ/86U6nv8yax4/s400/IMG_2940.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z0JssTGFV0E/Tl1no5_YFNI/AAAAAAAAEUU/4G82tnW4gdI/s1600/IMG_2941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z0JssTGFV0E/Tl1no5_YFNI/AAAAAAAAEUU/4G82tnW4gdI/s400/IMG_2941.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>My two oldest began school yesterday. A brief timeline of the morning follows:<br />
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6:24 am: Charlotte wakes me with a plaintive knock on my door. She waltzes in, dressed from hair bow to brown buckle shoes. "Is it time to leave for school yet?!?"<br />
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6:45 am: All my kids are up, dressed, and sitting around the table for breakfast. "Hurry, we don't want to be late for school!" Jack wears his backpack while he eats his waffles.<br />
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7:02 am: Jack now insists it really is time to leave for school and carries his Spiderman lunch box everywhere he goes, including the bathroom when he brushes his teeth.<br />
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7:15 am: I sit the kids down at the table to write their names. Saw an adorable picture on pinterest where kids held up designer chalkboards with their names written on them. I do not have designer chalkboards, so I gave the kids printer paper.<br />
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7:30 am: Hustle kids out the door and take pictures in front of the house. See above. In the market for a better camera and/or more cooperative children.<br />
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7:45 am: Charlotte runs off into the Kindergarten yard to play while I drop Jack off at the first grade line. He waves me off. <br />
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8:00 am: I stand dutifully at the back of the Kindergarten classroom while Charlotte sits with docile obedience on the carpet. Mrs. Borgos reads a sentimental good-bye story. I feel a little smug as I watch the helpless parents of weepy children. And then... <br />
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8:05 am: Charlotte's eyes fill with silent tears, her lip quavers. Then she starts emitting top of the audible spectrum shrieks and clutching to me wildly. <br />
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8:06 am: I flee the room as Mrs. Borgos pulls her away from my legs while singing "if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!" Charlotte does not clap.<br />
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8:06-10:15 am: I spend the morning eating york peppermint patties and watching internet videos, trying to drown my panicked feeling that Charlotte just might still be screaming. Straining my ears to listen for her, 3 blocks away. <br />
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10:30 am: After being the very first mom to show up at Kindergarten pick up, I collect a daughter that is not crying nor frowning. She seems fine. I'm the traumatized one. <br />
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**Update: Now it's Tuesday. After a snuggly pep-talk early this morning, I was able to drop Charlotte off with no tears. (She even walked into the gate without me, but I hid behind the wall to watch her go in.) And Jack? Ran off into the first grade yard without a second glance.<br />
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I will probably get to the point eventually where I enjoy the quiet house and extra time with the little ones. For now, I'm just taking it one day at a time and compulsively looking at the clock, waiting to get my houseful back!<br />
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Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-12186541756207445282011-08-28T17:23:00.000-07:002011-08-28T17:23:27.978-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; line-height: 24px;"></span><br />
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</div> Yesterday, I was speaking with some of the wonderful women I know that are one generation ahead of me, with kids grown and gone. I was lamenting the age-old struggle of kids vs. clean house, and one of them quoted this: <br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; line-height: 24px;"><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Babies Don’t Keep (a.k.a "song for a fifth child")<br />
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,<br />
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,<br />
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,<br />
Sew on a button and butter the bread.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?<br />
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,<br />
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.<br />
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due<br />
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew<br />
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo<br />
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo<br />
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?<br />
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow<br />
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.<br />
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!<br />
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep. </div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-geet1sJXgj4/TlraTZLHzDI/AAAAAAAAEUM/YLSidZ6omhM/s1600/liz+and+baby+1+bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-geet1sJXgj4/TlraTZLHzDI/AAAAAAAAEUM/YLSidZ6omhM/s320/liz+and+baby+1+bw.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm sitting here getting all teary about this poem and Charlotte comes up to me and has this conversation:</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"Mommy, why are you sad?"</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"I'm not sad." </div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"Well, then why are you dripping?"</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"Because I'm reading something that reminds me that <sob> babies are more important than cleaning."</sob></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">(with wild, hopeful joy) "Does this mean we don't have to clean up anymore?!?"</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Be grateful for the messes in your life. They mean you have people to make them and better things to do than clean them up. </div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">*note: This poem was originally published in the Ladies Home Journal in 1958. I reposted it from this blog: fatduckfarm.net*</div></span>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-41149525691422859162011-08-23T21:41:00.000-07:002011-08-23T21:41:58.732-07:00Things I will NOT miss about summer1. Going to the grocery store with four children. <br />
2. Having lifeguards jumping into the water to save my son. His style of swimming just happens to mimic a child in deep distress. (this happened twice.) <br />
3. Getting burned thighs on carseats, burned toes on asphalt, and burned hands on door handles.<br />
4. Looking around in Sacrament meeting to discover 60% of the ward is on vacation. And you are still there.Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-39094938210501242932011-08-22T21:22:00.000-07:002011-08-22T21:23:29.537-07:00Things I will miss about summer1. Getting everyone piled into the car and heading for UT without school, ball games, or ballet lessons to miss.<br />
2. Letting the kids stay up late reading stories with Daddy. <br />
3. Waking up with a whole day to fill with adventures. Or to stay in pajamas.<br />
4. The baking, broiling, blistering Vegas sun, drying us off seconds after we get wet.<br />
5. Doing everything together. Everything. <br />
<br />
Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-28083232103595332682011-08-21T21:47:00.000-07:002011-08-21T21:47:35.477-07:00A summer snapshot<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">So, looking at my blog you've probably guessed that as bad as I am at keeping it up to date, I'm even worse at posting pictures. Life just goes too fast, and if I stop to take a picture, I feel like I'm missing it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">However, these are a few pictures that remind me of this summer. Below, Matt with Jack and Charlotte out on the kayak at Big Bear Lake. Anna is in the foreground, pulling the kayak to shore. I am taking the picture, being the fabulous kind of parent that will stand there and watch a 2 year old try to lug 200+ lbs onto the shore. </div><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RejTkSjQ8qo/TlHcNt0qv9I/AAAAAAAAESc/PPpNyjjI8oI/s1600/IMAG0080.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RejTkSjQ8qo/TlHcNt0qv9I/AAAAAAAAESc/PPpNyjjI8oI/s400/IMAG0080.jpg" /></a> </div>Matt and I went with some of his family on a bike ride to go visit the "Largest Lodgepole Pine in the world!!!" Despite sounding a little like a cheesy roadside attraction, it was an awesome sight, and a good introduction into the world of mountain biking. <br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IiC7--nfHbI/TlHcN-B3Z_I/AAAAAAAAESk/8Htnm6GXrEQ/s1600/IMG_2934.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IiC7--nfHbI/TlHcN-B3Z_I/AAAAAAAAESk/8Htnm6GXrEQ/s400/IMG_2934.JPG" /></a> </div>This is Charlotte being cute in her carseat. Most likely, she spent 10 minutes posing and asking us to take her picture. Then, when she was not appeased by my pretend camera "click", I must have pulled out the cell phone. <br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vDKzByTa8_g/TlHcN7mpKhI/AAAAAAAAESs/grkAM1IYTSE/s1600/IMAG0070.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vDKzByTa8_g/TlHcN7mpKhI/AAAAAAAAESs/grkAM1IYTSE/s400/IMAG0070.jpg" /></a> </div>Oh, and this. I took this picture so that I could text it to a friend of mine. She was about to send her son over to our house for a play date, and I wanted to be perfectly clear about what she was sending him into. No children have catapulted out of the pool and into the barrel cactus, stage right. Yet. <br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fPxDsQA94hc/TlHcN49ar4I/AAAAAAAAES0/psx20IzHSoI/s1600/IMG_2932.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fPxDsQA94hc/TlHcN49ar4I/AAAAAAAAES0/psx20IzHSoI/s400/IMG_2932.JPG" /></a> </div>This was a view I couldn't resist while I was trail running, again at Big Bear Lake. I wish I could describe the freedom and peace I felt, running by myself through the woods, stopping to watch wildlife, take a picture, or decide which fork in the trail to follow. Well, the freedom and peace I felt until about mile 7, when Matt started texting me.. Good ole cell phone GPS. Husband built in. :) <br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UkxBFLzb4vQ/TlHcOFTeMKI/AAAAAAAAES8/LCkzEnA4KG0/s1600/IMAG0088.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UkxBFLzb4vQ/TlHcOFTeMKI/AAAAAAAAES8/LCkzEnA4KG0/s400/IMAG0088.jpg" /></a> </div><br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: CENTER;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-43547994277958809552011-08-20T23:09:00.000-07:002011-08-21T21:56:08.117-07:00I'm grateful for Dr. MattI really am coming around to the idea of blogging as a form of personal history. I have a goal to become more active and want to start posting every day about small, meaningful things in my life. <br />
<br />
Today, I'm grateful to be married to the man who kicks into high gear when I am panicked and disoriented. namely, when there's blood involved. Charlotte had an unfortunate run-in with a dog in front of Petsmart today that ended up with her face scratched, blood streaming down her cheeks and into her eyes. I was paralyzed by the horrifying thought that something may have happened to her sight. Matt was sweeping her up in his arms, cleaning her off with stacks of napkins, and convincing the store manager not to call 911. <br />
<br />
I ended up at home with the other three kids, helplessly wringing my hands, eating stress foods and playing dr. mario. Matt was, well, playing Dr. Matt, getting Charlotte admitted to the ER, supervising her care, and cashing in on extra attention from a host of nurses he has treated with respect for the last two years. Charlotte came home in Matt's arms with neatly bandaged stitches (a measly 4 in total, despite the waterfalls of blood), a stuffed puppy, a popsicle stained tongue and grand stories about cupcakes and cartoons. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Xh5cEAtohc/TlHhAhdMi8I/AAAAAAAAETI/e429dMXzWe4/s1600/2011-08-20_18-27-40_405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Xh5cEAtohc/TlHhAhdMi8I/AAAAAAAAETI/e429dMXzWe4/s320/2011-08-20_18-27-40_405.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I don't know how I would have made it through today without him.<br />
<div><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div class="editorHolder" style="float: left; width: 700px;"><div class="hiddenErrors" style="float: left;"><div class="errorbox-good" id="securityTokenErrorBox"><div class="errormsg-group" id="securityTokenErrorMessage"></div></div><div class="errorbox-good" id="statusErrorBox"><div class="errormsg-group" id="statusErrorMessage"></div></div></div><div class="tabs" style="float: right;"></div></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-60164196965640729702010-06-06T15:23:00.000-07:002010-06-06T15:40:48.082-07:00Good alternatives for Chit-Chatty strangersRecently my friend Austin, who just went through a painful and elaborate leg surgery, blogged about how he was really, really sick of everyone asking him how he hurt his leg. He didn't want to get into the unpleasant details with a perfect stranger, especially not for the 100th time that week.<div><br /></div><div>*Blush*, because I'll use just about any excuse to strike up a conversation with a friendly looking stranger. But then I started thinking about how tiresome it gets, as the pregnancy progresses, when people seem to stop seeing me and only see the belly (and possibly, the other 3 children I'm wrangling at the time.) Case in point (actual recent conversation):</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Friendly old lady:</b> "Oh, so you're expecting aNOTher baby? Are ALL these babies yours?</div><div><b>me:</b> "Yes. It's a boy, and he's due in September. We're really excited." </div><div><b>Old lady:</b> "So you'll have two of each. How nice." </div><div><b>me in my head:</b> <i>Yes, I figured that one out on my own, actually. </i></div><div><b>me:</b> "Yes. It will be fun for his big brother not to feel so outnumbered." </div><div><b>not so friendly old lady: </b><i>(firmly)</i>So you are done having children now. You won't be able to afford any more. </div><div><b>me:</b> "Oh, I'm not worried. My husband has a great job."</div><div><b>me in my head</b>: <i>again, maybe I've done this math already? </i></div><div><b>even less friendly old lady:</b> "It might not be so bad now, but wait until they get older! You'll have to buy yourself a new Frigidaire just to keep up! Go grocery shopping, and it'll be all gone 5 minutes later!" </div><div><b>me:</b> (exit stage left. I wander off to find Jello.) </div><div><br /></div><div>So. I vote that we begin a campaign to stop all frivolous ice-breaker questions--they always end up being tedious and/or judgmental. No commenting on somebody's crutches or pregnant belly or that weird rash on their face or why their pants are on backwards. Stumped? Here's a list of new ideas for that friendly person behind you in the checkout line: </div><div><br /></div><div>"Hi! I see you like gum. I do, too. We should be friends."</div><div>"Remember The Truman Show? I wonder if they're watching us now." </div><div>"I'm going to the beach and I need a great book to read. What's the most life changing book you've read lately (that you wouldn't mind getting wet)?"</div><div>"I don't think it should be required by law for adults to wear their seat belts. We have the right to be stupid if we want to. Discuss."</div><div><br /></div><div>See? Friendly people just need to get more creative. </div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-57330860381857932182010-05-09T14:39:00.000-07:002010-05-09T14:40:14.583-07:00Charlotte's new hair cut<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">This is Charlotte, Thursday. <br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-cruGe2EzI/AAAAAAAAB1s/DumCL3-gfbQ/s1600/IMG_2250.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-cruGe2EzI/AAAAAAAAB1s/DumCL3-gfbQ/s400/IMG_2250.JPG" /></a> </div> This is Charlotte, Friday morning, post clandestine scissors in the bathroom episode. <br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-crugiQcOI/AAAAAAAAB10/5hQRATuNqEI/s1600/IMG_2251.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-crugiQcOI/AAAAAAAAB10/5hQRATuNqEI/s400/IMG_2251.JPG" /></a> </div>This is Charlotte, Sunday morning, post mommy bawling for the better part of an hour, a mullet eliminating hair cut, and some creative use of a head band. <br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-cruwRjZoI/AAAAAAAAB18/06GvQSgqMuc/s1600/IMG_2261.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-cruwRjZoI/AAAAAAAAB18/06GvQSgqMuc/s400/IMG_2261.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Yeah, so apparently this happens to everyone. Doesn't mean I can't cry about it a little! Although now, I have to admit, I'm enjoying the punk rocker look. She'll just have to wear a hat or a headband for the next 3 years to cover the big bald patch. </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-13047104699629687202010-05-06T16:17:00.000-07:002010-05-06T16:17:08.166-07:00It's a boy!<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-NN8jWuGaI/AAAAAAAAB1M/vwUywcPj5PU/s1600/Image06.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S-NN8jWuGaI/AAAAAAAAB1M/vwUywcPj5PU/s400/Image06.jpg" /></a> </div>After enduring the necessary, but hardly comfortable 45 minute prodding and poking ultrasound, we were rewarded to hear that our new baby is healthy and growing right on target. And a boy. If you look closely in the picture above, you can see a little face profile with nose and lips (on the right side) and some tangled up legs (on the left). The ultrasound tech even gave us a neatly labeled picture with an arrow drawn to point out the prominent male-ness, but what kind of parents do you think we are?? You'll have to come change some diapers if you really are that curious. :) <br /><br />Jack, Charlotte and Anna all came in to see the baby at the end of the exam. From Charlotte (upon seeing the spine) "Mommy! Baby brother looks like an alligator!" Jack was subdued-- either afraid his new little sibling was an alien, or he was annoyed that he had to stop watching "Teenage mutant ninja turtles" in the waiting room. Anna was just fussy and ready for a nap but she did squeal with delight when she saw the baby wiggling on the screen. Maybe she was just happy that Mom hadn't disappeared for good. <br /><br />We're fielding name suggestions. (In honor of the sometimes wacky names we run into here in Vegas, we're telling everyone that we can't decide between "Solstice" and "Raindrop". )<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-49738007512290726872010-04-15T14:20:00.000-07:002010-04-15T14:20:35.180-07:00More random cute pictures<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><br />I haven't had a chance to load pictures up lately, so I thought I would catch up a little. Here is Anna sharing an oreo milkshake with mom! <br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDHNKyROI/AAAAAAAABzY/pxQiEYrWVwY/s1600/IMG_2234.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDHNKyROI/AAAAAAAABzY/pxQiEYrWVwY/s400/IMG_2234.JPG" /></a> </div>Jack and Charlotte never cease to amaze me with their inventive ways to get into trouble. My mother in law found them like this and came down the stairs, trying not to laugh, "um, are the kids...supposed to be turning that blue blanket into a hammock? They say they're camping?" Fortunately for everyone, the blanket is not an heirloom and the kids were applauded, not punished, for their ingenuity. <br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDHqFTkrI/AAAAAAAABzg/XebSwQ5zFFA/s1600/IMG_2147.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDHqFTkrI/AAAAAAAABzg/XebSwQ5zFFA/s400/IMG_2147.JPG" /></a> </div>This is a picture of us with my sister Sarah's kids, who came to visit the week after Easter for their Spring Break. It was a busy week, and a lot of fun!<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDHzbbxSI/AAAAAAAABzo/7jkw7m75Jv4/s1600/IMG_2188.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDHzbbxSI/AAAAAAAABzo/7jkw7m75Jv4/s400/IMG_2188.JPG" /></a> </div>This is Charlotte and Grandma, "watching conference" together on Easter. It was a hectic weekend visit and everyone was a little short on sleep and taking catnaps when we could! <br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDIRkwhVI/AAAAAAAABzw/BtrxIk5O4v4/s1600/IMG_2154.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eDIRkwhVI/AAAAAAAABzw/BtrxIk5O4v4/s400/IMG_2154.JPG" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-54346762497355222462010-04-15T14:08:00.000-07:002010-04-15T14:09:06.377-07:00Jack's 5th Birthday party<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">For Jack's 5th birthday, we had a pirate themed party and lots of friends there to enjoy it with us! I made these cute cupcakes for the party (my first experience with fondant) and they were quite a sucess! I had to hide them on top of the cupboards to make sure they weren't taken by our crew of overzealous pirates before cake time!<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAa0Vc2oI/AAAAAAAABy4/V6z96hnKPO8/s1600/IMG_2190.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAa0Vc2oI/AAAAAAAABy4/V6z96hnKPO8/s400/IMG_2190.JPG" /></a> </div>This is the cake that I made for Jack's birthday--literally a hour before dinner, I sat there with a completed chocolate cake fresh out of the oven and asked, "I'm supposed to turn this into a pirate ship HOW?" But with help from our action figure box and a generous helping of canned frosting, I whipped up a cake that at least a five year old could accept as a pirate ship. Not going to be auditioning for Ace of Cakes anytime soon, though...<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAbD7hRfI/AAAAAAAABzA/KrZ-FUSNJ14/s1600/IMG_2159.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAbD7hRfI/AAAAAAAABzA/KrZ-FUSNJ14/s400/IMG_2159.JPG" /></a> </div>Everybody got dressed up for the party, and this is Jack's costume. He took it off about 3 minutes later because it was interfering with his climbing and running and hollering, so I had to take a picture while I had the chance!<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAbix2KaI/AAAAAAAABzI/yizBeEf2Noc/s1600/IMG_2207.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAbix2KaI/AAAAAAAABzI/yizBeEf2Noc/s400/IMG_2207.JPG" /></a> </div>One game we played: pirate battle! We turned our lawn furniture backwards to face each other, like two pirate ships, then let the kids pelt each other with balled-up socks. It was unexpectedly fun!<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAcJha8tI/AAAAAAAABzQ/lhL7jZVLrh4/s1600/IMG_2219.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S8eAcJha8tI/AAAAAAAABzQ/lhL7jZVLrh4/s400/IMG_2219.JPG" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-16972418342125182862010-03-16T13:12:00.000-07:002010-03-16T13:19:13.180-07:00Look at a calendar, everyone...Jack was born April 6, 2005. 18 months later, Charlotte came. 25 months later, Anna came. And 23 months after her, due on Sept. 19, we're going to welcome NUMBER 4 into our family! Perhaps it's foolhardy, baby hunger--perhaps (more realistically) it's a psuedo-suicidal attempt to get all the kids taken care of in one fell swoop--one crazy, frenzied group of diapers, a crazy, frenzied set of soccer players, a crazy, frenzied time filled with high school and college applications and missions. <br /><br />Anyone willing to cook and change diapers is hereby offered residence in my guest room forever, especially after the new baby comes and Matt rushes from the delivery room to the OR.Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-25296377867534083352010-02-12T11:22:00.000-08:002010-02-12T11:22:59.025-08:00What We're Up to<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">Jack is building space ships and action figures out of legoes. Constantly.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3Wqilbq4VI/AAAAAAAABxg/EHPmqXYNUcY/s1600-h/IMG_2098.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3Wqilbq4VI/AAAAAAAABxg/EHPmqXYNUcY/s400/IMG_2098.JPG" /></a> </div>Anna is climbing onto the kitchen table. I did not take pictures the times she climbed up and spilled milk, cereal, spaghetti, water bottles, and crayon boxes. <br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3Wqi4To9aI/AAAAAAAABxo/XkTFuUqhPPo/s1600-h/IMG_2105.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3Wqi4To9aI/AAAAAAAABxo/XkTFuUqhPPo/s400/IMG_2105.JPG" /></a> </div>Jack is pretending to be a super hero with giant carrot muscles. I promise I did not put him up this; he is this cool all by himself. <br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3Wqjg1-1TI/AAAAAAAABxw/Fq83tr-ttU4/s1600-h/IMG_2115.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3Wqjg1-1TI/AAAAAAAABxw/Fq83tr-ttU4/s400/IMG_2115.JPG" /></a> </div>Charlotte is pretending to be a princess. Asks me daily if we're going to Disneyland today. I should have told them them in June. <div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">A<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3WqkCJ80gI/AAAAAAAABx4/nP3Rudjj2oI/s1600-h/IMG_2118.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S3WqkCJ80gI/AAAAAAAABx4/nP3Rudjj2oI/s400/IMG_2118.JPG" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-37516633532442686732010-01-11T19:53:00.000-08:002010-01-11T19:53:24.463-08:00More Christmas!<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">More Christmas break pictures---I hosted most of my Lewis family here in Las Vegas and we had a really good time together. When we weren't thowing up. <br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vyMLT3KhI/AAAAAAAABts/0AVTFSIQHzM/s1600-h/IMG_2056.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vyMLT3KhI/AAAAAAAABts/0AVTFSIQHzM/s400/IMG_2056.JPG" /></a> </div>Here is a picture of many of us on Christmas Day. This also includes many of my brother in laws relatives, who live in the area and came to my home for the festivities. Who says you can't serve dinner to 23 people when you only own 9 chairs?<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vyMfIvEeI/AAAAAAAABt0/mIidhuK5oFM/s1600-h/IMG_2066.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vyMfIvEeI/AAAAAAAABt0/mIidhuK5oFM/s400/IMG_2066.JPG" /></a><br />With everyone taking turns being sick (and cleaning up after sick kids!) we didn't get our act together enough to take a complete group picture; this is as close as we get--My brothers James and Mark, and my sisters Mary-Celeste and Sarah, and me. </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vyMv0yT9I/AAAAAAAABt8/LUadvOlggFI/s1600-h/IMG_2069.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vyMv0yT9I/AAAAAAAABt8/LUadvOlggFI/s400/IMG_2069.JPG" /></a> </div>On New Year's Eve, we had friends over again and spent the evening in Band Hero merriment. Matt spent the night in scrubs and went to bed at 8:30, but was still a good sport about the whole occasion. We are saving our real partying for when residency is OVER! :)<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7351319821749305411.post-56398626794329489182010-01-11T19:46:00.000-08:002010-01-11T19:47:01.771-08:00<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">Merry Christmas, everyone! It's been....a while since I've been on the blog, and I wanted to post a few pictures of the wonderful Christmas we had here in Las Vegas:<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vwsNsjJYI/AAAAAAAABtM/zHei9ZUzbmA/s1600-h/IMG_2014.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vwsNsjJYI/AAAAAAAABtM/zHei9ZUzbmA/s320/IMG_2014.JPG" /></a> </div> Here are Jack and Charlotte in front of our fireplace! I finally have a good place to put my cute stockings up (and you can't see it in the picture, but I FINALLY got around to making one for Anna, too!)<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vwsb6fcrI/AAAAAAAABtU/Rv-g2MfjklA/s1600-h/IMG_2019.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vwsb6fcrI/AAAAAAAABtU/Rv-g2MfjklA/s320/IMG_2019.JPG" /></a> </div>Here is one of the few pictures we took on Christmas morning. I think this just about captures the exaultant, frenzied glory. And the fact that Charlotte wore her princess clothes all day long. <br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vws0ts06I/AAAAAAAABtc/RxG6GU8_MPA/s1600-h/IMG_2025.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vws0ts06I/AAAAAAAABtc/RxG6GU8_MPA/s320/IMG_2025.JPG" /></a> </div>Charlotte got a doctor coat (guess her bought her that one?) and a matching coat for her new barbie doll. <br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vwtAxuhEI/AAAAAAAABtk/1fagP4Cgy08/s1600-h/IMG_2029.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fmyjfcw0XfA/S0vwtAxuhEI/AAAAAAAABtk/1fagP4Cgy08/s320/IMG_2029.JPG" /></a> </div><br />Anna and Charlotte. There aren't any more pictures of Anna because I couldn't get her to sit still long enough!<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Teacher Elihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351731602162741521noreply@blogger.com0