tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85289335414990374762024-02-18T18:24:53.965-08:00What A CrockIt's a story. About a house. That caught on fire. Because of a bad crock. And a family. That survived the fire. This is our journey. The good. The bad. The whole crock.Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.comBlogger172125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-39074517860778954472018-02-03T21:09:00.000-08:002018-02-03T21:09:09.441-08:00Slow Cookers and House Fires and TV Shows and Such<div class="MsoNormal">
Spoiler Alert: #ThisIsUs spoilers ahead if you're not caught up.</div>
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Once upon a time, I started this blog to process my thoughts
and feelings about our house fire and to share the rebuilding process with our
friends and neighbors. It was a healing space and as time went on it became
more about our family life in general and less about the fire. Years went by. I
went to college. I was working. I was busy with kids. I meant to blog. I really
did. Before I knew it, two years had gone by. It seemed like maybe time had
moved on and this space for processing the fire was no longer needed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then along came This is Us. I met the Pearson family on the
NBC show This Is Us and like so many others I developed a love for all of them
as the seasons developed. It’s been obvious from the beginning that somewhere
along the story line, Jack Pearson had died and I knew at some point we’d have
to endure his death on the screen. It’s become more obvious in recent weeks
that Jack’s death involved a fire. Fire touches nerves ‘round here and I didn’t
feel too comfortable with knowing I would have to watch a house fire at some
point if I remained dedicated to this show. But oh, I was already deeply dedicated.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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And then the Pearson’s neighbor packed up an old slow cooker
(what most of us know as a Crock Pot) among other items and walked it all over
to the Pearsons. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My heart may have actually stopped beating for a moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was mortified. I have waited and watched every single episode,
only to relive my nightmare and watch this family lose their home and likely,
their husband and father, to a house fire caused by a bad crock. Unbelievable. They
did not seriously do that to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve ridden the roller coaster of emotions the past few
weeks through renewed grief, fear, panic, and the overwhelming feeling of loss
and devastation. This show has reminded
me how deep and raw the fire remains not just for me, but for the whole herd.
Every family member is affected. It’s not as raw as it was in the <a href="http://what-a-crock.blogspot.com/p/the.html" target="_blank">beginning</a>, the night of that <a href="http://what-a-crock.blogspot.com/2011/12/phone-call.html" target="_blank">phone call</a> that is forever seared in my memory. There has been healing. But the scars are still fairly fresh and they will
always be there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just last night, Rough Stuff told me that sometimes when we
pull up in front of our home and she steps out of the car, she can still smell
the fire. The Big Guy has shared recently that he still feels guilt for not
being able to save our stuff- all of the tangible memories that our family held
dear; Rough Stuff’s porcelain doll, Tuna’s little stuffed bear, the magnets on
the fridge that portrayed the kids’ kindergarten art projects. And our sweet
Little Bean- she isn’t so little now, a middle schooler- is still processing through
trauma therapy. She felt that she had to be strong and keep all of her feelings
in while everyone else was breaking around her. Every one of us has our own
unique scars from the fire. </div>
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This fire changed us all and not all of the changes are bad.
There is grace and strength and resiliency in our story. This week though, the
bad is what is seeping through and that’s ok. Sometimes we have to let it
fester up and work its way out. That’s part of the healing process. I just
never expected a TV show to reopen the wounds. Who knew, huh?<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen a lot of chatter on social media this past week
about whether slow cookers can cause house fires. Some people think it can’t
happen, but I think what they really believe, or want to believe, is that it
can’t happen to them. Yes, it can. Anything that is plugged in can short out
and cause a fire. Newer homes, newer appliances, and newer electrical wiring
all reduce the risk, but it can happen. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If you take anything at all from my story or from the
Pearson’s story on This is Us, let it be this: <o:p></o:p></div>
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Check the batteries in your smoke alarms. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Our smoke alarms were working, until they melted off of their
mounts. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Turn off and unplug your appliances and don’t leave them
operating when you are not at home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Our family was away
less than a half hour when the slow cooker shorted out. Just unplug it. </i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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Treasure each day with your loved ones- even the mundane school/work/practice
loaded ones. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Because things happen. Things that can change your life in
an instant. </i> <o:p></o:p></div>
Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-90887345388604634722016-01-28T17:55:00.000-08:002016-01-28T17:55:58.854-08:00Train, DerailedGosh, I've really missed this space. I didn't plan to leave it alone for this long. I was having a great time, slowly recapping our vacation and putting our itinerary and memories into words here for posterity. I was working and back in college and the blog was a bit neglected, but then all of a sudden...four months slipped by. Now, here we are with four months of dead air and an unfinished vacation recap that should have happened months ago. I was really struggling with keeping up with the kids and the two courses I was taking in October, but I was chugging along like the little train that could. And then my train derailed and we took a wild ride.<br />
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Depression and anxiety reared their ugly heads among my teenagers. One of the kids suffered second and third degree burns in a work accident. Our big dog, Jai took another bout of bronchitis - a recurring health issue after our house fire- and the sweet old boy just didn't have the strength left to fight it again. We lost him the next day. Just a few days later, we learned that the Big Guy's brother was in the emergency room, and then the ICU, and then hospice. Less than two days from being admitted, he passed away. We carried on empty through a funeral and Thanksgiving. Our oldest daughter and her boyfriend were hit by a truck; the driver was texting. The boyfriend required emergency surgery and spent a significant amount of time at the hospital. We were consumed with grief and worry, and completely exhausted. I had dropped one course and was hanging by a thread in the other one. Then, my dad took a turn for the worse. He had been fighting stage 4 pancreatic cancer for almost two years and while he fought like a champ, his fighting days were over. December 14, he passed away at home with my mother. We had traveled to my hometown to see him before he passed and we made a quick trip back to pick up more kids and headed right back for the funeral.<br />
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Seriously. All that happened. In just a few months. <br />
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We traveled back from the celebration of life service just days before Christmas. We put up the tree on Christmas Eve and coasted through Christmas on fumes. Then we just collapsed through the new year. I went back to school in early January and we just plowed right back into life.<br />
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So here we are. Everything from mid-October to late December is just a blur. Soon, I'll come back here and write. I need to relive the vacation through writing. It will be good for my spirits. But right now, I'm just not feeling it. And that's ok. I've got the train back on the track. I just need some time to build up momentum and find my voice again. Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-67954530873553168182015-09-10T09:58:00.000-07:002015-09-24T22:07:09.906-07:00Wally World Adventure, Day 3 After waking up to the carbon monoxide detector alarm in Colorado, we decided to just forgo showers and breakfast and get on the road. To this point, our camping club membership had not worked at any of the designated gas pumps for our gas discount, our bank cards had been locked down because we used them out of state in a high-fraud location, we were still hours behind schedule, we had slept in a Walmart parking lot, and now we were all just in a very bad mood from a rough morning start. We grabbed cereal bars, buckled our seat belts, and got on the road saying "shake it off." It wasn't too difficult- Colorado is a gorgeous state to drive and we had serious mountains ahead of us. <br />
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We entered a tunnel (a big one) and emerged into the most amazing canyons. The views were absolutely breathtaking. </div>
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The mountains made for some very slow driving and navigating an RV through construction in the mountains is a special challenge. I held my breath a lot. Like I said, breathtaking. We soon made our way into Utah which was equally impressive. </div>
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We stopped for a quick break at this gorgeous rest stop in the middle of nowhere. Honest. There was nothing else to be found for miles. There was an older Navajo woman there selling handmade ornaments and jewelry from blankets on the sidewalk and we bought the cutest little ornaments for Christmas so we can remember this vacation every time we decorate the tree. We asked her where we were and she replied "in the middle of nowhere." I absolutely trusted her opinion and all of our smart phone apps concurred. Nowhere sure was pretty. </div>
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So, let me tell you a little story about traveling to high altitude with pump bottles. My liter bottle of DevaCurl conditioner and a large bottle of Dove soap poured themselves all over the shower floor in the RV. Several times. Washing a cupful of good conditioner and liquid moisturizing soap down the drain with limited gray water storage in an RV, with a little hose, while trying to stand up in a slippery shower the size of a small bath mat is a special level of hell and I shared that hell with my children, quite loudly. I didn't yet understand that bringing a bottle with a pump into high altitude would cause it to explode or leak. I was sure my dear children were pumping it out for fun when they visited the potty. We all endured this ritual several times- me slip-sliding and cursing in the shower and them taking the blame- before we found that all of our chip bags had exploded and then the little light bulb went off in my head. I left the lids partially open the remainder of the trip and though I had one ugly little incident with the mustard bottle, most of our mountain driving proceeded with very little mess. </div>
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Utah seemed to change colors with every turn. It was late in the day when we got close to Bryce Canyon, but I don't think we could have timed it any better if we'd tried. We rolled through Red Canyon just as the sun set on the brilliant red rocks. </div>
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Our cameras couldn't do it justice at all. It was as if the rocks were on fire. It lasted only about twenty minutes, but I'll never forget the sight. We were driving along in amazement all "oohs" and "ahhhs" and then we came upon a little sign that read "tunnel ahead-13 feet" and we said not-so-pretty things because we, in our class A motorhome, were 13' 6". Suddenly we were all "what? Tunnel? They didn't mention anything about a stinkin' tunnel!" There were a few minutes of this-is-not-so-fun-anymore tension and then we rounded a curve and there it was. </div>
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We told the kids that this trip was going to bring us all out of our comfort zone a little and by golly we weren't kidding. We waited for the oncoming cars to pass, I held my breath (because that helps), and the Big Guy drove us straight on through, right down the center line. No problem. (Deep deflating exhale.) We soon arrived at Ruby's Inn, a day later than planned, in the dark. It was all good though. A day of mountain driving had been good for the soul and this adventure was really taking shape. We were a long way from home and we were headed for the beach with lots of fun to come. In the morning, we would wake up and venture out to find a giant hole in the earth. </div>
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<br />Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-56477755565102245712015-09-05T19:04:00.000-07:002015-09-05T19:49:42.563-07:00Wally World Adventure, Kick-off, Days 1 & 2 If you missed the beginning of our Wally World Adventure, start <a href="http://what-a-crock.blogspot.com/2015/09/wally-world-adventure.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Then just hit that sweet little "next" button at the bottom of the post to move forward.<br />
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We kicked off our vacation adventure with the One Direction concert in Kansas City. The girls found the tickets at the end of a Christmas day present scavenger hunt and Fish was absolutely speechless. They waited seven months for this moment and they were pumped. On a horridly humid 100° evening, we rolled into Arrowhead stadium with 55,500 other giddy teen girls and their mothers. <br />
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When the boys in the band approached the stage the noise level approached epic volumes. At some point, Niall Horan touched his crotch and the noise level reached a deafening pitch. I was hot, dehydrating, and deaf in my left ear, but I couldn't help but smile. The girls were smiling ear to ear and singing along with every song. It was truly magical. I couldn't think of a better way to kick off a vacation. </div>
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Until morning came. The RV was not completely packed and we were physically exhausted from the late night before. We planned to roll out at 9:00, but by the time the RV was packed and everything was double checked, it was almost 3:00 in the afternoon. We were aiming for Aurora, CO but we cried <i>Uncle </i>in Oakley, Ks. </div>
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Our only stop worth noting on day 1, was the World's Largest Easel in Goodland, Kansas. We cooked dinner at a rest stop and finally rolled into a little RV park, still in Kansas. We were tired and beginning to realize that nothing was going to go according to plan because everything took longer than we had planned for including bathroom breaks, getting gas, and arguing over who got to sit where and who had control over the coveted colored pencils. </div>
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The next morning, we vowed to start anew and make better time. After picking hundreds of stickers out of our carpet, our feet, the dogs' paws, and our flip-flops, we belted in and rolled out. As we moved through Kansas and into Colorado, the pavement seemed to climb right into the clouds. The landscape gave way to beautiful blue skies, fluffy white clouds, and more wind turbines than we could count. Our ears began to pop as we gained elevation and everyone's spirit climbed with the altitude. Now, we were on vacation. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjP3vjQncRvE2fCAoooqubvI54AXTy9qgBF6i3P1vaZguamokrPTIqBG7qhHqHKdt0ezLD45VD_x_rBRCspTKZC0XFCbSKUIxRHnAwmeKwJCt1Vu7p3k_5B1YPfcVjuDU_FD81BTB2QXK/s1600/Kansas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjP3vjQncRvE2fCAoooqubvI54AXTy9qgBF6i3P1vaZguamokrPTIqBG7qhHqHKdt0ezLD45VD_x_rBRCspTKZC0XFCbSKUIxRHnAwmeKwJCt1Vu7p3k_5B1YPfcVjuDU_FD81BTB2QXK/s400/Kansas.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Our second day took us into Colorado, which was absolutely beautiful. Our pit stops were getting faster and more efficient and the girls had developed a seating chart which eliminated some of the bickering, but we just couldn't make up for all the lost time. We were aiming for Bryce Canyon, Utah but we gave up in Aurora, Colorado. </div>
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We had dinner in the cutest little restaurant somewhere in Colorado and then headed for a campground recommended by the waiter. We never found said campground but we did take a very hairy drive through the mountains in the dark and we all saw our lives flash before our eyes as the Big Guy turned our 32' Cebu around on a narrow gravel road perched on the edge of a cliff. We finally made our way back to the interstate and we exhausted every app on our smart phones looking for an RV park with full hook-ups before declaring defeat and pulling into a Walmart parking lot in Avon, Colorado. </div>
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A quick call to the manager for approval, a potty break for the dogs, and we were all in bed with our hearts set on a good night sleep. The next morning, we would drive like mad for Utah and though we would lose our extra day to rest there, we would finally be on track with our itinerary. </div>
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This is the gorgeous view that greeted us over Walmart...when we awoke the next morning ten minutes before our alarms were set...to the blaring beeps of our carbon monoxide detectors. We had turned off the air conditioner while running the generator all night because Colorado is chilly at night. Apparently, that is a big no-no in an RV. So, there we all stood, in our pajamas, in the Walmart parking lot, with the dogs, alarms beeping, windows thrown open wide for ventilation, Rough Stuff feeling nauseous. Yep. We were definitely on vacation now. </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-25652909468546302392015-09-04T11:09:00.000-07:002015-09-04T11:09:36.225-07:00Wally World Adventure This family has had a rough <strike>few</strike> 6 years. We've been through some stuff, you know? Stuff like job loss, going back to school, broken hips, broken toes, broken wrists, broken ankles, gallbladder surgery, adhesion surgery, hip surgery, growth hormones, and oh...that big one...FIRE. We were kind of busy there for a bit. We kept up with holidays and our share of birthday parties and weekend projects, but we never did fit in an actual vacation. There was no time, and no money, and well, it just wasn't happening.<br />
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This past year, we began to dream a little. What if we <i>could </i>take a vacation? What if we <i>could </i>get another little travel trailer? Where could we go? Could we make it happen? Could we actually squeeze it in between college semesters and the kids' school schedules? As we finally wrapped up our fire/insurance settlement, we decided there was only one way to really get the closure we needed. We were just going to do it. We were taking a vacation!<br />
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We sold our travel trailer along with everything else we could for necessary cash when we were rebuilding the house and the truck we used to pull a trailer with is old and tired so we had to go to the drawing board and really wrestle with how to make this happen. Then, one day, all the pieces started to fall together and after much research, we bought this-<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UnifMH9vQNp7LytD70AEdN8W4Xw1gzU-scFrrLRTHY1scUloUJoTmgVvaqNzie0NtKL1pzrpGiRGgjEm-KsZj5FrqW-zNQMqw95jN4e8mrB-bedxIk8TOO7-K7KTc2pqBuFSMp0bPczq/s1600/Cebu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UnifMH9vQNp7LytD70AEdN8W4Xw1gzU-scFrrLRTHY1scUloUJoTmgVvaqNzie0NtKL1pzrpGiRGgjEm-KsZj5FrqW-zNQMqw95jN4e8mrB-bedxIk8TOO7-K7KTc2pqBuFSMp0bPczq/s400/Cebu.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Meet the Cebu. As in 'the mute cebu.' If you don't understand the reference to the 'mute cebu' then you have obviously never been held captive in a minivan for hours with a cassette tape playing Silly Songs with Larry and five kids singing about a water buffalo and Larry's hairbrush. (In that case, I don't know if I envy you or dislike you.) A cebu is a water buffalo and for reasons entirely unknown, the Big Guy decided to christen our new RV The Cebu. Personally, I would have called it the Family Truckster, but then I don't usually name my vehicles so I didn't have a dog in this fight. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP5JJ05HefRm_BLcauAN_fsmnQQm6X5vwOCbnEYdio92CtP9luiWVkDl1FBNN7zoDsIfneUD5Kd9iGjD7VZSfKnFrqTHBj-RRT7y-eZXBvLClfS6OC9EbkjZz-Euajc_Pfo53nQFOGgkyr/s1600/Cebu+has+steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP5JJ05HefRm_BLcauAN_fsmnQQm6X5vwOCbnEYdio92CtP9luiWVkDl1FBNN7zoDsIfneUD5Kd9iGjD7VZSfKnFrqTHBj-RRT7y-eZXBvLClfS6OC9EbkjZz-Euajc_Pfo53nQFOGgkyr/s400/Cebu+has+steps.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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We drove the Cebu home and announced to the kids that we were taking a vacation! They were mostly impressed that the Cebu has stairs that automatically retract when you open and close the door. The Big Guy and I began working out the details of our vacation while the kids opened and closed the door umpteen-eleven times to make sure the steps really would still slide out and turned on and off every button and switch in the RV. </div>
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The only real problems with the Cebu were that it needed new tires and it was ugly. I'm serious. The interior looked like Grandma Gertrude's sewing basket. (I don't have a Grandma Gertrude, but I'm sure if I did this is the fabric her sewing basket would be covered in.) </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5zjUSxKVBBSuTfARuDMzNzmZUoqfq1eWInHKhumKfaDgiOHzPdYvJkFg1fkphRJJ6UEXIIvoKwnMqWTEPLa1EXoy0_HJnBMfNk8r2_5Swec6rBRhI53gyfcAnPqBOpJJduVbhCeGM0GU/s1600/IMG_3549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5zjUSxKVBBSuTfARuDMzNzmZUoqfq1eWInHKhumKfaDgiOHzPdYvJkFg1fkphRJJ6UEXIIvoKwnMqWTEPLa1EXoy0_HJnBMfNk8r2_5Swec6rBRhI53gyfcAnPqBOpJJduVbhCeGM0GU/s400/IMG_3549.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Also, it was super clean. So, we got new tires and bought some blankets and throw pillows to cover up the ugly floral fabric with and tossed some kids, some dogs, and all of their accompanying mess and dirt in there and we called it a vacation home. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdo2RM7XPjth2od_EXWk2B0WhoRIS1HiYt-e6ODuo9n7ojoVV9H5OYjuIgVknOB-cVyT6jK5hDnGn0c8DPIMHXiqZgi-petz3wMXvjqUiXZ0ir5nlJpsBowL-cK1kFmcFLMOQlOa4qdEbN/s1600/IMG_4045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdo2RM7XPjth2od_EXWk2B0WhoRIS1HiYt-e6ODuo9n7ojoVV9H5OYjuIgVknOB-cVyT6jK5hDnGn0c8DPIMHXiqZgi-petz3wMXvjqUiXZ0ir5nlJpsBowL-cK1kFmcFLMOQlOa4qdEbN/s400/IMG_4045.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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We loaded up the Cebu in late July and set out on what we called a Griswold-style family vacation. We were driving from Missouri to California (Wally World anyone?) and stopping at as many sites as possible on the way out and back. It would be a <strike>14</strike> 17 day trip of a lifetime. The Big Guy had never traveled west at all and I had never driven west. The kids had never been out of the immediate Midwest. There would be sights we had never seen before. We were going to see mountains, canyons, deserts, and ocean- just as soon as we actually got on the road. </div>
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Let me just tell you- loading an RV with three kids (the oldest two have flown the nest), two dogs, mom and dad, and enough supplies for 14 days is quite a challenge. Doing it while working full-time and wrapping up a semester in college might be bordering insanity. Trying to do all of that while preparing for the upcoming school year before you leave because you'll be back the day before school starts? Well, I don't recommend it, but we're living proof it can be done. (We might have left at 3:00 pm instead of 9:00 am, and we might have been totally exhausted, but hey- done is done.)</div>
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I will try, in the next several blog posts, to share with you the pure joy and the inevitable insanity of a 14-day-turned-17-day vacation with a family of 5 in a 32' motor-home that covered 10 states. </div>
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It. Was. Amazing. </div>
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And, it was very healing. It was definitely a point of closure. I feel like now we talk about the vacation much more than the fire or the insurance. I hope that this vacation will live on in the young herd's memories for a lifetime. This was definitely the break this family needed. </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-47487403500095111892015-07-04T22:10:00.003-07:002015-07-04T22:10:55.084-07:00Birthday Party #70, I ThinkIs this #70? 71? I don't even know anymore.<br />
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Here is what I do know:<br />
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I know that my sweet little Fish turned 15! She wanted to celebrate with a glow party in the backyard, complete with baked potatoes at the fire pit and s'mores. The thing is, Mother Nature conspired to ruin that whole plan. June rolled around and it rained. And rained. And rained. And then, the cicadas came like a plague from the depths of hell. They crawled up the house, the trees, the car. The sound they made was deafening and the fear they induced was paralyzing. So, we postponed until last Friday.<br />
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Thursday night it stormed. I'm talking, full on storm. Our yard looked like Mother Nature threw tree confetti. There were leaves and branches everywhere and the yard was a swamp. We couldn't postpone again, so we moved the party indoors and opted for pizza.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqQBVfrBQF7QzfK9hhZN1FQVbq1UmhRX30lmfBSlfl6v8WZ5rc_ok7nYSRzUjVIjdl8boYDfjn7w2NYuZ76ea2IjRv8ewhO71p9ReUw6-mzq5IzzS-D7bXi4D7UURXydmWpXEjzFyklwF/s1600/IMG_3753+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqQBVfrBQF7QzfK9hhZN1FQVbq1UmhRX30lmfBSlfl6v8WZ5rc_ok7nYSRzUjVIjdl8boYDfjn7w2NYuZ76ea2IjRv8ewhO71p9ReUw6-mzq5IzzS-D7bXi4D7UURXydmWpXEjzFyklwF/s400/IMG_3753+%25282%2529.JPG" width="307" /></a></div>
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We covered a hula hoop with neon pink and yellow surveyor's tape and laced it with glow sticks to create a chandelier. We had planned to hang it between the trees for a centerpiece, but it worked well dangling from the family room ceiling. </div>
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We bought black light reactive face and body paint and glow-in-the-dark nail polish and turned 9 teenage girls loose in front of the bathroom mirror. I may or may not have said filthy things when I saw the bathroom, but the whole mess cleaned up with a wet cloth. The girls were entertained for a few hours. By the end of the party, they had emptied the paint tubes and painted pretty much every visible inch of skin (and some that should have remained out of sight). It was the best $30 we've ever spent on party entertainment. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVF_0kJa9wyO8weFoFE19qAzVjM66Bft21tuB_bmpPiGouHne6ea87UB24qSWH3-a47dfzdQkGj9WixQpwIaWFraBSv_LJp_DTkozRmQTxbfc2H7rXQ44yUJ5YmZnmQYf69Xb7bY8oCY9O/s1600/IMG_3749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVF_0kJa9wyO8weFoFE19qAzVjM66Bft21tuB_bmpPiGouHne6ea87UB24qSWH3-a47dfzdQkGj9WixQpwIaWFraBSv_LJp_DTkozRmQTxbfc2H7rXQ44yUJ5YmZnmQYf69Xb7bY8oCY9O/s400/IMG_3749.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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The cake was not my best effort and I threatened a stank eye for anyone who considered posting this as a Pinterest fail. That goes for you as well, dear reader. Alas, I topped it with 15 candles and a few glowing stars and called it good. </div>
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That was pretty much it- cake, pizza, a lot of soda, 9 teenage girls, a lot of glow paint, and a whole lot of glow sticks. They painted their faces and threw a glow ball and painted their faces and played giant jenga and painted their faces. We found paint on the walls, the sofa, the tile floor...did I mention they painted, um...everything? </div>
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And that sweet little Fish? She told me she loved it. I love that girl. </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-27856990835846062522015-05-18T18:22:00.002-07:002015-05-18T18:38:15.625-07:00It's Over<div class="MsoNormal">
I read these words in my email last week:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“…<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 115%;">we have settled this claim
in full with _________.” The rest went on to discuss attorney’s fees and public
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So, we've settled our claim against our insurance company. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We were told that the insurance company felt they had given
us quite a gift with the payout of our total claim. Forgive me if I didn't
squeal with delight when I untangled the bow. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If you've recently happened upon this little blog and
haven’t followed the story from the beginning, it goes something like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our home caught fire September 21, 2011. Our home was a
total loss, but since it didn't burn to the ground, the insurance company
didn't deem it a total loss on day one. No, instead we got to bicker about
every window frame, every smoky tuft of insulation, and the smell and condition
of every piece of sheetrock. We quibbled over fireplace structure and
delaminating roof decking and hopelessly debris-clogged plumbing. We argued
extensively over thousands of photos and thousands of line items on
spreadsheets. We drifted into the twilight zone as we debated with insurance
company representatives months and years after the incident whether or not a
pumper truck of water had made its way to our basement damaging items there.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s been a long and exhausting battle; a very tedious
battle. In the end, we settled up for about $120k less than we had hoped. Let
me be clear about what we were hoping for- we were hoping that after paying the attorney’s
fees and public adjuster’s fees to fight for what was rightfully owed to us, and paying off contractors that we still owe,
that we would walk away with enough money to complete the construction on the house. It isn't what we hoped and it took
three years and eight months to accomplish. They feel as if they've given us a
great gift. I feel like we've walked away from a no holds-barred fight, beaten
and exhausted. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One thing is certain though. It is OVER. For three years and
eight months, we've asked ourselves almost daily “where are we with the insurance
company?” Every day we have taken stock of what the next step is. Who do we
need to call, what documentation are they waiting on, what bid is not in yet,
have we heard back from the attorney, etc. We have stored boxes and boxes of receipts.
We've kept a storage shed of items that were too damaged or smoky to bring back
into the house as evidence that the insurance company could peruse at their
leisure. We have extensive files in shared folders in Google Drive. We've lived
in limbo, always waiting for the next request or the next email. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Finally, it is over. We can empty that storage shed and save
ourselves the monthly fee. We can throw out the receipts. We can clear the
files. We eliminate the daily work and worry from our lives of battling this
claim. We have gained some serious closure. We can close this chapter of our
lives and dedicate all of that energy to happier pursuits with our kids. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We’re happily closing this chapter of the fire story. It is what
it is and it is over. (And that <i>is</i> actually a gift.) <o:p></o:p><br />
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-82628549927635838592015-04-21T14:24:00.004-07:002015-04-21T14:24:42.108-07:00OinkOverheard from one of the herd:<br />
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"One of the families over in the duplexes owns a pig!<br />
They brought it to the bus stop.<br />
It was so cool!<br />
Check it out.<br />
I smell like pig!"<br />
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<br />Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-17241751943350058322015-03-27T21:15:00.001-07:002015-03-27T21:15:39.169-07:00Our Rustic Family Office MakeoverSpring has been full of fun projects here! I really just want to share a ton of photos here so I'll make a long story really short. Stop laughing! I can do it. Maybe.<br />
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There is a room off of the family room in our home that for reasons I cannot quite explain has always been referred to as <i>the back porch. </i>I don't know why. It's not a porch. At any rate, what it was <i>supposed</i> to be when we rebuilt after the fire was an office. It was not that either. It was sort of a junk/utility/storage room that just happened to also harbor the printer and some electronic equipment. It was a mess. At one point we hung a curtain across the room to serve as a photo backdrop for a party and then we just left it up to hide the ugly mess. <br />
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Our original plan was for the office to have cabinets and counters that matched the kitchen, but (and here's where the long story has to be shortened) the contractor acted all sorts of ugly and we refused to make the final payment before installation was finished and our cabinets were never delivered. On to plan B. (Plan B took 2 1/2 years.)<br />
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We knew what we wanted the space to be. We had dreams. What we lacked was money and time. We agreed to carve both out of this spring. We planned to build a family-centered workspace that would function as an office, serve as a homework space, be a central charging station, and work as a utility room. It also had to coordinate with our very rustic style because this space is clearly visible from the family room.<br />
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The Big Guy drew up some plans, I gave him a tour of Pinterest, and we set out for the hardware stores for supplies to build our new office shelves. We visited a lot of hardware stores. We bought a <i>lot</i> of pipe.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilo1SIIN8LVBY_q575CV9ZYxxy9RM5UWQ88ENfm2_T-cqNQuacBpVTfcC0-g3urNmSQmbrTaXmONvT1Cj1NrEopGaT-3Ufhylm7WGHJrBDg2nuyIzibKxa7BYsJA0MQodCOS2oQckiuIn3/s1600/IMG_2990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilo1SIIN8LVBY_q575CV9ZYxxy9RM5UWQ88ENfm2_T-cqNQuacBpVTfcC0-g3urNmSQmbrTaXmONvT1Cj1NrEopGaT-3Ufhylm7WGHJrBDg2nuyIzibKxa7BYsJA0MQodCOS2oQckiuIn3/s1600/IMG_2990.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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The pipe was de-stickered, cleaned, and then coated with spray paint to give it a nice clean finish. We chose Krylon Brushed Metallic Oil Rubbed Bronze to paint with. </div>
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Apologies for the wonky photos. We took them over the course of several days and didn't think about coordinating landscape or portrait. (Though it is painfully obvious now that we should have. Hindsight is everything, yo?)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyOjN9nVnAiOizBCrSZGQfqHstL65WQ-J4bLn_sXsfLguX0ESaleWNzw_U7xzL0neE8_nsS8VcolAnnM0KjJDN4dKdbV7s90EjkQD_Ulse8AH-WskDWVCZTDNn8bfrBeUxqFjicdCfCBU/s1600/IMG_2999+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyOjN9nVnAiOizBCrSZGQfqHstL65WQ-J4bLn_sXsfLguX0ESaleWNzw_U7xzL0neE8_nsS8VcolAnnM0KjJDN4dKdbV7s90EjkQD_Ulse8AH-WskDWVCZTDNn8bfrBeUxqFjicdCfCBU/s1600/IMG_2999+(2).JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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The round wooden discs will keep the metal from damaging our floor tiles in case we ever want to remove our new office shelving. (I cannot imagine why we would do that.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8rF3ixdM7p0YUh-TzgdRXReuSgP254qsJphE66AXBNM4fD1W-qkzEG2bFH56NFO-pWdLvwe0gpt-Aoft8omVTB42gN7hW3784vETKDqpkMWcWKcNbQfkxewMg4Qnya7Q7Vs0Q7SAd1vM/s1600/IMG_2994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8rF3ixdM7p0YUh-TzgdRXReuSgP254qsJphE66AXBNM4fD1W-qkzEG2bFH56NFO-pWdLvwe0gpt-Aoft8omVTB42gN7hW3784vETKDqpkMWcWKcNbQfkxewMg4Qnya7Q7Vs0Q7SAd1vM/s1600/IMG_2994.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Big Guy was in charge of all spray painting because I cannot be trusted with a can of spray paint. I was in charge of working oil into all of the wood. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxhgXtZc_1GgCBgGvapcJn-CJcE0KqpNh-cOpR40dDMpZqSj6hwsKg4g7VGzmIjeJrPNEh1ouDlku2ocW73i6gwvwwNGeI3ie5fzTKpsgNyvh6TNWGN5YXpzu7kBVI6OxQmcVpV0EGUVRE/s1600/IMG_2918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxhgXtZc_1GgCBgGvapcJn-CJcE0KqpNh-cOpR40dDMpZqSj6hwsKg4g7VGzmIjeJrPNEh1ouDlku2ocW73i6gwvwwNGeI3ie5fzTKpsgNyvh6TNWGN5YXpzu7kBVI6OxQmcVpV0EGUVRE/s1600/IMG_2918.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was not a good plan. For the wood, we chose to use a Danish oil which is a tung oil that is made from a tree seed. I am apparently allergic to this particular tree seed. I oiled all of the shelf pieces one Saturday afternoon and by Saturday night I was sure an elephant had stepped on my lungs. One of my kiddos had the flu so I brushed it off as viral. By Sunday I was feeling fine. Tuesday I decided to oil the two butcher block counter tops and by Wednesday I was sure I was dying. My lungs felt crushed again and oxygen mocked me. I had an itchy rash up my neck, along my jaw line, and inside both elbows. I sounded like Stevie Nicks for a solid week. Thankfully, now that the oil has dried I am doing fine, but there will be no more inhaling fresh tung oil for me. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAbkBcPiZn_P4c8v-IVf_dS51lbmZAUNJVWc_gi_EGjpk1SgrK7x9xVKFXz9rcx3uBb6OGywhVHVcIu2F1pWcFgNwd3PPRdxYAIYRC5zUcR2rlLJ47ke3etVkE8MQ6DLyqHS4e3QPsvCH/s1600/IMG_2947+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAbkBcPiZn_P4c8v-IVf_dS51lbmZAUNJVWc_gi_EGjpk1SgrK7x9xVKFXz9rcx3uBb6OGywhVHVcIu2F1pWcFgNwd3PPRdxYAIYRC5zUcR2rlLJ47ke3etVkE8MQ6DLyqHS4e3QPsvCH/s1600/IMG_2947+(1).JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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The tung oil did do a beautiful job of bringing out the grain and character of the wood which is exactly what we wanted. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBzUzcBwSBWhZravTEZ_FrvWOJvMZWguodhaLCfBb_5YWac8HUMTamaUP7BmFHMVMgxp0xEjbpHZvOeEVsQNTovngtvoBd7hyTHQnNppBn90JHEEwp7a0zsNE2_xo-lucqpxnGiyLLE6IU/s1600/IMG_2996+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBzUzcBwSBWhZravTEZ_FrvWOJvMZWguodhaLCfBb_5YWac8HUMTamaUP7BmFHMVMgxp0xEjbpHZvOeEVsQNTovngtvoBd7hyTHQnNppBn90JHEEwp7a0zsNE2_xo-lucqpxnGiyLLE6IU/s1600/IMG_2996+(1).JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Day by day, the pieces were assembled and the office began to take shape. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjg6KOtugV2No3cQ3eY1HdPLV2jspQhK6AFq8UV62QlyAu06-z_2RMM57H1hpwrvi0t_Qcpew2dsedNFfkZJiv1YI3itZgU9fhALGSZthkHf9yjHIF-unGlSu1YkZOg3Ce3-tGrJNzlEOY/s1600/IMG_3002+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjg6KOtugV2No3cQ3eY1HdPLV2jspQhK6AFq8UV62QlyAu06-z_2RMM57H1hpwrvi0t_Qcpew2dsedNFfkZJiv1YI3itZgU9fhALGSZthkHf9yjHIF-unGlSu1YkZOg3Ce3-tGrJNzlEOY/s1600/IMG_3002+(1).JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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As is the case with any great home remodeling project, our house became a disaster zone. Everything from the office/utility/junk room ended up in the living room and family room and there were tools, pieces of wood, and pipe fittings everywhere. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ56IBFu6vEgLycXWxcgHk6vUrOoewv4eKCDUO0vNbdisv_Jg9nr9fn0ISyxKJN_BP9prVfD7xxKG4VJOFNF24_6KNAoGR8Y2c0Bu3k7il9F5-CSBka6GmeF3Rs6EplaUlxGV-aAEiWkmS/s1600/IMG_3024+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ56IBFu6vEgLycXWxcgHk6vUrOoewv4eKCDUO0vNbdisv_Jg9nr9fn0ISyxKJN_BP9prVfD7xxKG4VJOFNF24_6KNAoGR8Y2c0Bu3k7il9F5-CSBka6GmeF3Rs6EplaUlxGV-aAEiWkmS/s1600/IMG_3024+(2).JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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As the first pieces began to go together, I fell in love. This is exactly the workspace we needed. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqlWOmWOePf1jpYoemj9d1zyhwZ4b6kPiiMQE5QUnr_ixIInpvk44mqAYnNTeqlH5ETSnwZpv1CowY-yM1PwxO_xgMWpwBczVaMJ8zXFgh6l0-71D-Am0Ss6wP4gInCdwp1mgZacSHKu1/s1600/IMG_3006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqlWOmWOePf1jpYoemj9d1zyhwZ4b6kPiiMQE5QUnr_ixIInpvk44mqAYnNTeqlH5ETSnwZpv1CowY-yM1PwxO_xgMWpwBczVaMJ8zXFgh6l0-71D-Am0Ss6wP4gInCdwp1mgZacSHKu1/s1600/IMG_3006.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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There is a place for everything. There is a place for the kids to charge laptops and do homework. There is a place for the Big Guy to pay bills and work on the never-ending insurance paperwork. Our cookbooks and recipe boxes have a dedicated space. We have shelves for books. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8ZrdxrvlHSMBp_boIBZEycZfsu07WfUApwfetOnYQxPkYwdzb4HuD7F3OCS23sU4ceS7eVPhCQCtKTPp81rIELoikX-4Kb8PdtXkOB1r_iaqvQPVdrmTNTqprtc4DWorYwC-UAQBgM6K/s1600/IMG_3020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8ZrdxrvlHSMBp_boIBZEycZfsu07WfUApwfetOnYQxPkYwdzb4HuD7F3OCS23sU4ceS7eVPhCQCtKTPp81rIELoikX-4Kb8PdtXkOB1r_iaqvQPVdrmTNTqprtc4DWorYwC-UAQBgM6K/s1600/IMG_3020.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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We have shelves to house the printer, the wireless routers, and all of the miscellaneous electronic paraphernalia that powers our world. Since we knew this was our ultimate dream for this space, the Big Guy wired in electrical outlets above the desk top during the rebuild so electronics could be plugged in right at desk level. Well played, Big Guy. Well played. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCmFMSxSRfChjIYt5iz1pcxQmuILOQeLjHyuBhBA-XLAsjCwWLioI3nHwdDak7M8EDdxzqFBZjV22SExO7bI23RmZs00gR-JgP0j1q2NkM9uhMDSoJbhN8CmC2_I25L7uoY7pYT4YS_EM/s1600/IMG_3027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCmFMSxSRfChjIYt5iz1pcxQmuILOQeLjHyuBhBA-XLAsjCwWLioI3nHwdDak7M8EDdxzqFBZjV22SExO7bI23RmZs00gR-JgP0j1q2NkM9uhMDSoJbhN8CmC2_I25L7uoY7pYT4YS_EM/s1600/IMG_3027.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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And, we have dedicated space for the dog food and recycling! I love these bins from IKEA for the dog and puppy food. The black milk crates on the shelf above hold our glass milk bottles until they find their way back to the store. We typically collect them a month at a time hoping they'll grow legs and walk themselves back to the store but it hasn't happened yet. We are now limited to how many will fit on the shelf so we're forced to form better habits. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqjykFf1TQYW_RQuygL84T5PFUw2wKi05TVwBFuU_eTmokR6aJQPjkM1WC_nDSDcq-X6OvnMijYOqpgQRDaJpxYu1qUcnfxTsP6GYzswnBxGG0ujoZB3soTxc7v7WpELNfXUC6h3R5GlQ/s1600/IMG_3011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqjykFf1TQYW_RQuygL84T5PFUw2wKi05TVwBFuU_eTmokR6aJQPjkM1WC_nDSDcq-X6OvnMijYOqpgQRDaJpxYu1qUcnfxTsP6GYzswnBxGG0ujoZB3soTxc7v7WpELNfXUC6h3R5GlQ/s1600/IMG_3011.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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The new office is rustic. It's functional. I'd say it's pretty much perfection. It's most definitely <i>us. </i> </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-30393875347691293532015-03-19T07:31:00.000-07:002015-03-19T07:31:02.116-07:00Gutters!An update on Operation Rebuild is long overdue. Yes, we are still putting the house back together. Sometimes it feels as if we'll always be putting the house back together. We're getting down to smaller projects though! The larger projects we've had left were the deck, the office, gutters, and exterior paint. We're still battling the insurance company and no additional funds have come through since we moved back into the house so we're chipping away at our big project list as money allows. (Money allows for very slow progress.)<br />
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This week, we had gutters installed! Note the word choice in that sentence. We had<i> </i>gutters <b><i>installed</i></b>. That's right. We actually paid someone to do the work. We didn't take this task on ourselves. Whew! That's a good thing, because some of those gutters are three stories high.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, beautiful downspout, how I love thee!</td></tr>
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No worries, though. We're taking on plenty of work ourselves. The family office space is undergoing an extreme renovation. It hasn't actually been an office space since we moved back home. It was a space to hold the Wii, the cable box, the pencil sharpener, and the printer. It was a space full of storage totes containing insurance paperwork and receipts. It was a space where all things office/utility room related were crammed. But, an <i>office</i> it was not. Soon, very soon, it will be a very nice, fully-functional family office and work space. <div>
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This week though, I'm embracing the rain. Because I can finally walk out my front door when it is raining without racing through a waterfall. Honestly...I cannot remember how many times over the past few years that I have stood on one side of the door or the other, watching the water cascade over the porch overhang, trying to work up the nerve to run through. I can sleep peacefully at night as the raindrops clink against those sweet metal gutters knowing that the water is being effectively routed away from my home and not seeping into places it shouldn't be. </div>
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Who knew I would ever be so excited about gutters? Fire changes your perspective in ways you can never imagine. </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-85914885391119502192015-03-13T14:07:00.000-07:002015-03-13T14:07:06.850-07:00About Hanging On and Letting Go<div class="MsoNormal">
I am going to tell you a little story. Once upon a time,
when I was fourteen and <i>thought</i> I was fat and clumsy (youth is totally wasted
on the young), I found myself participating in an experiential leadership
group. We called the group simply, Ropes. In
Ropes, a group of ragtag teenagers, all learning to cope with
depression, eating disorders, self-harm, drug addiction, and the like
(depression- <i>waves hand</i>) were learning to work with others and building our
self-esteem by working through a series of physical obstacles and games. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was bad at all of them.
Seriously. ALL. Of. Them. If we had to climb a rope, I fell before I
reached the top. Walk up a 45-degree phone pole? I slid off. Get the group over
an 8-foot wall? They just gave up and threw me over. I was always the obstacle.
Well…me and one other awkward, very big boy. As the group worked through the
planning phase of each challenge, they made plans for how to handle me and the
big boy. I wasn’t bad on purpose- I just didn’t have the upper arm strength or
dexterity to keep up with my mostly male, athletic group-mates. I always gave
my best effort, but I always felt I was letting the group down and I was sure
they were all angry at me. I could feel their frustration every time I screwed up a challenge and I know the big boy felt it too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One fine afternoon, we faced a seemingly simple (fun, even)
challenge. Five tires hung from rope from an overhead support, dangling just a
few feet above ground. Our challenge was to get the entire group from one
platform, across all five tires, to the other platform, without touching the
ground. We could only go forward, not backward. And, we had to get the baby
across. The baby was a heavy chunk of an old telephone pole. We made a plan.
The big boy and I were not responsible for carrying the baby. Our team mates
just hoped we could get ourselves across unassisted. The big boy went first and
he made it. And then, it was my turn. The whole challenge rested squarely on my limp shoulders. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I stepped off the platform and grabbed for the rope. The
tire swung. I immediately lost my balance. My foot slipped off the top of the
tire. I nearly hit the dirt, but I managed to get my leg through the tire.
Safe! I had one leg in the tire, one leg on top of the tire, and my head was swinging
precariously just inches above ground. I didn’t have the strength to pull
myself up, so I opted to just move horizontally to the next tire. I began to
swing, working up momentum, until I could grab the next tire. I was able to
grab the rope, but I was unable to pull myself up with one hand. I hung on, still swinging,
and got one leg worked into tire number two. So there I was, one leg through
each tire, one hand on each rope, butt swinging low, threatening to touch the
ground and end the game. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, I’m not a quitter. This situation seemed impossible and
it was certainly awkward, but I wasn’t giving up. <i>No-ho-hooo</i>. I was not about
to quit while I was ahead and walk away with my dignity. Uh-uh. That’s what
reasonable people might do. No, Siree. I am a determined soul. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I kept swinging, jerking my weight from side to side until I
worked up enough momentum to pull my leg from the first tire and swing wildly
toward tire number three. Everyone gasped and screeched as I flailed one leg
and one arm inches above the dirt and landed myself in the same position between
tires two and three. Swinging, sweating, and grunting in pain, I managed to
repeat the same steps to get myself hung spread-eagle between tires three and
four. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was losing steam. I was sure my arms were stretching and
my shoulders threatened to dislodge from their joints. I looked up at the
platform ahead and a harsh reality washed over me. I realized that even if I
could swing this one more time and get myself into tire number five, there was no way I was going to be able to get
onto that platform at the end. I hadn’t been able to pull myself up yet and I
just kept swinging side to side, making no upward progress. No matter how much effort I gave, I simply could not achieve the goal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was time to let go. I had given this challenge everything
I had and it was just more than I could handle. As I hung there from those two
tires, butt hung low, head hung back, hair dragging in the dirt, I prepared for
the fall. I knew I would hit the ground with a thud when I let go and I knew it
would hurt. But, I also knew that when I let go, the other members of my group
would lose the challenge and they would be angry with me. I knew that would
hurt much worse, so I prepared myself for the emotional pain as much as I did
for the physical fall. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I let go. I hit the ground with a thud. I waited for the
worst, but it didn’t come. Every member of the group rushed over to me to ask if
I was ok. They cheered and clapped. They said they would have never hung on as
long as I did and they couldn’t believe I had pushed myself so hard. I was
stunned. Who knew that others could see the strength inside of me, that I
couldn’t see myself? I learned in that moment, that I was stronger than I thought
I was. I also learned that I had support in places I least expected it. My pride wasn’t hurt nearly as
bad as I thought it would be. I was fine, empowered even. My group mates didn’t
shun me. They supported me. I lived to get back up and face a new challenge the
next day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was twenty-six years ago that I found myself dangling
from those tires, hanging from a rope and losing my grip, but the memory is
clear and fresh. It has become a metaphor for my life. Most days, I am swinging
from a tire, holding onto a rope. Some days I am on top of the tire, face to
the breeze, enjoying the beautiful sunshine. Some days I am stretched between
two tires, butt dragging, sweat dripping, in great pain and anguish, losing my
grip. Every now and then, I have to just let go and take the fall. But always, I
live to see another day and face a new challenge. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What's the point of this story, you ask? Bear with me. I have a few. First, you need to find your people and build a good support network. You will find yourself swinging from the end
of your rope sometimes and occasionally you will lose your grip. Surround yourself with
people who know your strengths and who will cheer you on when you’re swinging low
and pick you up when you hit the ground with a thud. Yes, you will probably
look like a crazy person in an awkward position and you might even bump your
butt on the ground a few times, but that’s okay. Your
people will love you anyway. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Second, know when to let go. When you’re in a treacherous situation, you may need to just let go. For the love of dignity, when you find yourself barely hanging on, looking like a fool, just let it go. Some things are worth hanging onto and fighting for. Some are not. Learn how to tell the difference. If it's time to let go, suck it up and let go of that rope. Then dust yourself off and move on to the next challenge. Don't worry. Life is full of them. There will be plenty more. </div>
Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-4510551778481214502015-02-15T18:42:00.002-08:002015-02-15T18:42:57.535-08:00Puppy LoveThe Big Guy and I have been talking about puppies for quite some time now. As in, we should get one. It was time. Mister Jai is aging and the smoke he inhaled during our house fire has taken quite a toll on his body. We are of the belief that the old dog should train up a younger one, and we figured it was time to get on it.<br />
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I wanted a Great Pyrenees like Jai. They are noble dogs- independent and confident, That's what I say. If you ask the Big Guy, he'd say they're self-absorbed, stubborn a-holes who are too prissy to get their pretty paws wet. <br />
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The Big Guy wanted some sort of Retriever mix, preferably a mix of yellow and golden. He says they are loving, super-intelligent dogs. If you ask me, I'd say they are obnoxious, chewing, playful bundles of energy who never get enough love and attention to keep them from gnawing your door frame to bits.<br />
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And then one lovely January day, someone posted an ad for a litter of pups that were part Great Pyrenees and part Golden Retriever and in less than 24 hours...<br />
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This little guy came home with us. </div>
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We had no choice. It was fate. And he was irresistible. </div>
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He's already got that Great Pyrenees stance- all noble and independent. </div>
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He has really been wonderful about house training and learning basic commands, but...he came equipped with those blasted sharp little puppy teeth. Destructive forces of evil they are. He annihilated my iPhone charging cord. He chewed the Big Guy's computer cord right in half. And then, he destroyed the cord to the electric blanket. We're thinking of calling him Zap. </div>
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He's got some big paws to fill, but that shouldn't be a problem. His mama was 140 pounds. </div>
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Sadly, that's about as close as he's been able to get to Jai because Jai in all of his independent nobility, cares not what we think about this old-dog-training-the-younger one thing. He is having none of it, and since the puppy's whole face fits into Jai's mouth, Jai wins. The puppy sneaks up on him when he's sleeping and pretends they're friends. </div>
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Some day, puppy. </div>
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But not today. </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-48985383636768123192015-01-01T20:31:00.000-08:002015-01-01T20:31:09.371-08:00A Year of Good ThingsOn New Year's Eve, we once again opened our family's Good Things jar. All year long, the jar sits in our living room with slips of paper and a pen nearby. Every member of the herd is welcome to write a good thing on a piece of paper when a good thing happens, and then drop it into the Good Things jar for safe keeping until the last day of the year. Then, we sit as a family and take turns reading all of the good things that happened during the year.<br />
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Occasionally, a not so good thing slips into the jar and someone uses it as a vehicle to torment a sibling. Sigh. Here and there someone slips something ornery into the jar. But, for the most part, it is a beautiful thing. It is a jar of memories that might otherwise be forgotten; the little day-to-day events that slip by way to fast.<br />
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This year was very challenging for our family. A lot of not so good things happened. One child was hospitalized with a virus. Two children had surgery. Our house fire continued to haunt us as the insurance payment remained in arbitration. We started the year with one child still in residential mental health treatment, and we ended the year with that child running away from home. It would be easy to let the challenges define the year, but it wouldn't be right.<br />
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This year was full of good things too. We cleared away the remaining construction debris in our yard and got siding installed on the house. We worked together as a family to build a fire pit in the back yard and together we spread three tons of river gravel around it. The oldest child moved into his own apartment and completed his second year of college. This fall, I went back to college and earned an A in all four courses proving to the college and more importantly, to myself, that my lapse in grades was a temporary fall resulting from the house fire. It was a year of recovery and healing.<br />
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The Good Things jar reminded us of even more special moments from 2014. There were 8th grade fancy dances, 4th grade school plays, homecoming parades and dances, and first color guard competitions. There were baptisms, tests passed, awards earned, and clay teapots selected for district art competitions. It was a year of smiles and celebrations.<br />
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In the midst of the challenges, there were good things. It was a good year.<br />
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Welcome, 2015! The Good Things jar is waiting to be filled with your joy.<br />
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-90934175228988005262014-12-16T18:46:00.000-08:002014-12-16T18:46:03.081-08:00The Fire PitHey! How ya been? Boy, how time flies, yo?<br />
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I know, I know. I've been a bad blogger. See, here's the thing- I meant to post. I did. I meant to post more back in October. I meant to post more in November. Then I woke up one day and...well...it's almost Christmas.<br />
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And here's another thing- I have this issue with order. I had some things I wanted to share and I just can't let go of them. (Cue the Frozen music.) I need to write in some sort of order. I probably need some type of therapy for this.<br />
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I'm going <i>way </i> back to October. All summer long (I think I hear another song there) we worked on clearing our back yard so we could build a fire pit. The yard was full of post-fire construction debris and an insane amount of firewood and brush. We had our work cut out for us, but we conquered the mess and by October it was building time. <br />
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Before we could build anything, we had to welcome the bobcat in to flatten out our space. When we rebuilt the house after the fire, we moved a lot of dirt to pour concrete piers and footers and we cut deep trenches to bury the electrical lines. We were left with a giant mound of dirt on one side of the yard. That mountain had to be moved. I was completely giddy when the yard was level again. It's the little things, ya know? That little tree was left standing on purpose- the kids are going to make a totem pole out of it. </div>
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Then, the back-breaking brick moving began. We used a lot of bricks and broken cement pavers that had been left laying around the yard to fill in the open space in the fire pit, thus reducing the amount of dirt that had to be shoveled in, wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow. </div>
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Still, we shoveled an obscene amount of dirt. </div>
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The results though- oh, wow. I <i>loved</i> it.</div>
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We filled the top layer with gravel, built a small fire, and stepped back to take a good look at our beautiful accomplishment. </div>
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And then, the Big Guy arrived with a butt load of river rock. A butt load is equivalent to three tons. <i>Three tons</i>. I actually thought I might just drop down in the gravel and die. We shoveled and we spread and we raked river rock for hours around our beautiful new fire pit. </div>
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Finally, we were able to cook dinner over our new fire pit and sit back and rest our aching muscles. That was honestly the best hot dog I've ever roasted. The fire was apparently so bright, Fish had to wear shades. </div>
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In the fall of 2012, I stood on the unfinished deck of my unfinished house and looked out over my destroyed back yard with the big mound of dirt and the deep trenches and the construction debris everywhere and I dreamed a little dream. I dreamed of a time when I would be living in my house again and we would walk out into our back yard and sit around our fire pit. I dreamed of a time that my yard would not be occupied by large construction dumpsters. </div>
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The fire pit is a symbol of closure for me. It doesn't mean the deck is finished, or that the gutters are on, or that the insurance case is settled. But it does mean that we are living life again. </div>
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It also means that we can enjoy a fire again. Outside of the house. In a contained fire pit. A fire pit that is too tall for anyone to fall into. A fire pit that is a very safe distance away from my house. </div>
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What? You thought this meant I was over my fire issues? Not a chance. </div>
Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-34769496875781981202014-11-15T20:11:00.002-08:002014-11-15T20:11:45.458-08:00Birthday Party#70: A Super Girl PartyLittle Bean calls me Super Mom, but my super powers were called into question as I planned her Super Girl-themed 10th birthday party. Truth be told, I know nothing about super heroes. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Thank heavens for Pinterest. I started an inspiration board several weeks ahead of this party.<br />
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In addition to my limited super hero knowledge, I also have extremely limited time. Between work, college, and kids' doctor appointments, I didn't have a lot of time to work on this party. Fortunately, I have a house full of fabulous kids and I totally take advantage of child labor here. I cut out a background from black wrapping paper and Fish and The Boy's most amazing girlfriend...um...we'll call her Red...cut and glued lots and lots of windows for our cityscape background. I think it might be Metropolis, but I have muddied up so many super hero words and phrases this week- I just don't even know. I'll just go with cityscape. <br />
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Super Girl loved it. We found the family room floor to be littered with Kryptonite (crushed green plastic bottles) and that had to be removed before the party could proceed. Of course, Super Girls can't touch Kryptonite so they had to use their super powers and their special removal tools to get the job done. I attached 4 pieces of string to an elastic pony tail holder and the trick was for 4 girls to simultaneously pull open the elastic band by pulling on their string to capture the Kryptonite. Then they had to carry the Kryptonite over to a plastic tub and drop it in. (There was some cheatin' goin' on in this game.) </div>
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I decided to keep our spider web up from Halloween so our Super Girls could shoot at the web. I was harshly informed that Super Girl doesn't shoot webs, Spider Man does. Yikes. Super Mom fail. But, you know, whatevs. The web was still up. Spider Man is a super hero. I was going with it. </div>
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The Big Guy painted red and black point areas on the web and the kids took turns throwing bolas (those golf ball-ended ropes from the ladder toss game) into the web to collect points. </div>
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While they were outside playing the web game, a sneaky villain slipped in and stole the cake and presents! They located the villain somewhere in the back yard and shot her down with pink silly string. Once captured, the villain spilled the beans and told them where the cake and presents were hiding. </div>
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Super Girl was happy, her faith in Super Mom restored. </div>
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Wondering about the #70 in the title? 5 kids, 18 parties each...equals 90 parties. This is #70. Amazingly, this is the first time we've had a Super Hero party. We've had tea parties, chocolate parties, beach parties, under the sea parties, medieval knights parties, Monster's Inc parties, A Bug's Life parties, Sesame Street parties, Teletubbies parties, candy parties, monkey parties, alien parties, One Direction parties, Toy Story parties...but no Super Hero parties. I managed to avoid this theme for 70 parties, people! I guess I couldn't avoid it forever. (But I got dang close.) </div>
Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-21708100271883700162014-10-25T16:31:00.001-07:002014-10-25T16:31:20.084-07:00Assault by Bug Repellent<div class="MsoNormal">
Friday is supposed to be a good day. It’s the fun day of the
week I look forward to. This particular Friday was one I was really looking
forward to. The weather was nice and I anticipated a house full of kids and
teenagers for our annual pumpkin carving. I couldn't wait to get off work and
prepare for the party. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In spite of my excitement, Friday was not cooperating.
Nothing I had touched had gone quite like I expected. The cake pops that were to be dipped ever so elegantly
in candy corn-colored layers had instead become unsightly orbs coated in glops
of melted chocolate. I had decided to
just go with the flow and I had adopted a rather <i>whatevs</i> attitude. Friday just wasn't what I had hoped, but I pressed on. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was boiling sugar into caramel on the stove while also
trying to direct my young herd through a last-minute power cleaning of our
well-lived in home. You know, multi-tasking, which always works out SO well. I picked
up a few scattered hair bands from the sofa and flung them in the bathroom drawer
on my way through the hall. I shot a sideways glance at the bathroom floor and
noticed multiple rolls of toilet paper thrown in the floor (<i>why kids, why??</i>) and
immediately my frustration level grew. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In my extreme frustration, I slammed that bathroom drawer.
Hard. Very hard. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A bottle of bug repellent lined itself up ever so perfectly
in the drawer so as to align its spray nozzle in such a way that my slamming
the drawer depressed the spray nozzle and sent a stream of bug repellent
directly into both eyes and my nose in a split second of pure horror. I was
BLIND. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not sure if I was blinded by the actual chemical or just
from the sheer pain, but I was unleashing a torrent of profanities and indistinguishable
screams that could probably be heard on the next block. I was near a sink, but
I was not thinking clearly and I began to run blindly toward my own bathroom
sink slamming face first into every door frame along the way. Every door frame.
I plunged my face into the sink and began flushing my eyes with water which had
the effect of intensifying the burning sensation three-fold. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could not even fathom what had happened. I had just shot
myself in the face with bug repellent. For the love of all things! How in the
hell could that even have happened? I wandered, still half-blind, back to the
kitchen to check on my caramel and then back to the sink for more eye washing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the meantime, a well-meaning family member reduced the
temperature of my boiling caramel to less than a boil. I decided it looked caramelish enough and we began dipping bite-size pieces of apple. I was so very proud of
myself. I had cooked my own, made-from-scratch, caramel and the Fish and I had coated
the most adorable bite-size apples ever complete with little bat and pumpkin-shaped
food picks. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About twenty minutes later, those
cute little apples shed their caramel coatings in an act of pure defiance. I said very
ugly things. Very, ugly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, Friday marched on as it does. Kids arrived with pumpkins
to carve and I soon forgot my irritated eyes. There were ugly-but-delicious
cake pops to be consumed. There were friends to converse with and hot dogs to
roast. There were leaves falling from the trees and ooey-gooey roasted marshmallows
being eaten around the fire pit in the back yard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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It was perfection, this Friday with all of its challenges
and torments. Absolute perfection. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtslmXPQGKeX1Zv6tMqewdbON8_2ldO99dX5zt5PrLncVX-EmBG-mTVLWaTO5k3pBXelAdkyWpOlEz5W2HFIDZyKJCEF8s-ytPcu-MJFrkaJKjjTfwKdpgSIZreO0451KN3kFHr-veE2q/s1600/IMG_1389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtslmXPQGKeX1Zv6tMqewdbON8_2ldO99dX5zt5PrLncVX-EmBG-mTVLWaTO5k3pBXelAdkyWpOlEz5W2HFIDZyKJCEF8s-ytPcu-MJFrkaJKjjTfwKdpgSIZreO0451KN3kFHr-veE2q/s1600/IMG_1389.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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If I had my stuff together, and had not sprayed myself in the eyeballs with bug repellent, and had not adopted a <i>whatevs</i> attitude, perhaps I would have actually taken photos of the pumpkin carving party. Alas, I didn't have it together. I did poison my own eyeballs. And I did say "whatevs, people. Whatevs." I did not take photos of our annual pumpkin carving party. But, I did take this last-minute pic with mah friend. So there you go. </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-4412122927197151982014-10-20T21:36:00.003-07:002014-10-20T21:36:36.577-07:00Who Knew?This was delivered in my Super Mail today (slipped under my bedroom door) while I was away at class by Super Girl (also known as Little Bean).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffIPOwrppL-vk0rgMu7ul5yDChsjFf_LcRFhyphenhyphenNW9Zp6Gmrlltu4XrOs1SU4BwouArNN_IgV_lfskNqTgb675KlqbcFsdiFaF2ARTFkBdu-JYH6WPh3aforfTaQSUqaspTdM0dVNwYZNvj/s1600/IMG_1365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffIPOwrppL-vk0rgMu7ul5yDChsjFf_LcRFhyphenhyphenNW9Zp6Gmrlltu4XrOs1SU4BwouArNN_IgV_lfskNqTgb675KlqbcFsdiFaF2ARTFkBdu-JYH6WPh3aforfTaQSUqaspTdM0dVNwYZNvj/s1600/IMG_1365.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It says:<br />
<br />
<i>If you are in the age of 13-20 there are 2 jobs open at the super office.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Attention! Super Tuna's mother has passed away. You are invited to her funeral Nov. 5 at [the] family room. </i><br />
<br />
So apparently, I have died.<br />
<br />
Who knew?<br />
<br />
It's a good thing I got the Super News or I would have missed my own funeral.Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-91268085604511739282014-10-06T20:21:00.000-07:002014-10-06T20:37:01.737-07:00September In Numbers<div class="MsoNormal">
I offer you <i>September in Numbers: A Snapshot of a Family Schedule
</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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Color Guard/Marching Band Rehearsal Drop-offs and Pick-ups: 18<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Doctor/Dentist/Therapy/Ophthalmology/Lab Appointments: 20<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back-to-School Orientations and Parent Events: 2<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Work Related Drop-Off/Pick Ups for Kid: 20<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Volunteer Activity Drop-Off/Pick Ups for Kids: 9<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Marching Band Performance/Parade/Football Games: 2<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
In addition, we tackled a yard clean-up day, a garage sale, and sent
two girls to the homecoming dance. I also
went back to school and took six credit hours in college this semester (two
classes each week), leaving the Big Guy to manage even more of this mess on his
own. (Which he did, like the rock he is.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The comment I hear most often is that people don’t know how
we do it. The truth is, we’re crazy. And we cut a lot of corners. We cook enormous
pots of chili on a Thursday and then offer it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner
for three days. We call the kids the
wrong names and then get mad when they don’t respond. We turn in three pages of
homework for our college course when we only needed to turn in one because we
can no longer comprehend simple instructions. We occasionally wear our clothes
inside out. We get so sleep-deprived and exhausted that we actually hit
ourselves in the face with a chair we’re carrying and bust our own lip open. We are
walking comedians. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The how we do it is simple really. We just do it. We make a
lot of lists and schedules. We rely heavily on the iPhone calendar app. We
tag-team, reminding each other who needs to be where when and helping each
other get out the door with every thing (and every kid) that we need. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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What’s more important is the <i>why</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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We do it so we can stand up and salute the flag on the
football field at the Friday night homecoming game as the marching band plays the
Star Spangled Banner and our daughter takes the field in full show makeup
spinning her flag like a boss.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We do it so we can look on with pride as our oldest daughter
walks into work in full uniform, becoming ever more independent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We do it so we can celebrate the joy of our middle school-aged
daughter getting a reduced prescription for her glasses, knowing all those
years of eye patching and an eye surgery were well worth it and turned out okay. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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We do it so we can watch in awe as our two oldest daughters are
transformed from snarky pajama-bottom-wearing, pony-tailed teens into
stunningly beautiful young ladies for the homecoming dance.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWpJCCUS5UFlw6Fzhq3wbxvxsPd01-_Vt1A2I-IBWhU3lLXVW4UNHc0HTgEn26HhiCLEHWzAaG4jmDw23EC8vfV2JFqAuKRHSIxCDY8lboKpvVAtogYGlZN14NX5dPwfAxhBZtppfKVC7/s1600/IMG_1236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWpJCCUS5UFlw6Fzhq3wbxvxsPd01-_Vt1A2I-IBWhU3lLXVW4UNHc0HTgEn26HhiCLEHWzAaG4jmDw23EC8vfV2JFqAuKRHSIxCDY8lboKpvVAtogYGlZN14NX5dPwfAxhBZtppfKVC7/s1600/IMG_1236.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, there might be just a little bit of snark still there. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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We do it so we can watch our son spread his wings and fly as
he moves into his very own apartment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are things that simply cannot be measured in numbers. Now (yawn) if you’ll excuse us, we are going to
collapse and sleep. The schedule has
whooped our butts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-25857253988689739712014-09-18T10:02:00.000-07:002014-09-18T10:02:41.659-07:00Case of the Mid-Term CraziesI was in week six of an eight week semester in college when our house succumbed to fire three years ago. Like the Little Engine That Could, I kept moving on the track determined to succeed. I took extensions on the two courses I was in because I was just sure that when the fog cleared and I'd had some sleep, the memories of what I'd learned in those courses would return. I enrolled in the next semester because I was sure I could handle it. Nothing was stopping me. I thought I could do all things. <br />
<br />
I was wrong. Very, very wrong. By November I was crying all the time. I couldn't remember anything I had learned in those two courses. I refer to them as "those two courses" because to this day, I don't remember what they were. I was several weeks behind on the courses I was currently enrolled in. I was constantly begging for "just a little more time" to complete an assignment. I was also learning a new job and spending every free moment shopping for replacement clothes and household items, meeting with insurance adjusters, fire restoration crews, and trying to make our temporary rental house a home. I was exhausted and I was a mess.<br />
<br />
The tears finally got the best of me. I realized I wasn't having an isolated tantrum, I was having a breakdown. I knew that I needed to stop and take care of myself so I could take care of my family. I dropped out of college, with two Fs. It felt fabulous at the time. I was free of all of that workload. The weight was off my shoulders and I could set about healing and helping my family heal. I was free to run about in the fall air and spend time with the kids. It was awesome.<br />
<br />
...for about a year.<br />
<br />
By the next fall I was getting anxious and moody. I wanted my house put back together. I wanted to move back <i>home</i>. I wanted my life back. I wanted to go back to school. I missed the reading. I missed the lectures. I missed the class discussions. I missed knowing that I was learning and growing, moving forward.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpW6s955SehI6X6niDrOHrQPJOq05FCfpcdNiuOkrsnQmISygfZiz70tJweluxUWGsYz-ANe83tn7nsbw6YPKsffOwrjddQs1XxB86dnBsO2V7CmeopXchAma31BmyHMOMaLA1z7garJyK/s1600/IMG_1149+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpW6s955SehI6X6niDrOHrQPJOq05FCfpcdNiuOkrsnQmISygfZiz70tJweluxUWGsYz-ANe83tn7nsbw6YPKsffOwrjddQs1XxB86dnBsO2V7CmeopXchAma31BmyHMOMaLA1z7garJyK/s1600/IMG_1149+(2).JPG" height="320" width="280" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Fast forward...<br />
<br />
Three years later, I finally got to go back. The house is pretty much complete. The family is as healed as we'll ever be. The insurance case...well, it's still ongoing, but it is what it is. It was time. I signed the student loans in blood and agreed to be bound to Stafford loan payments until death do us part. I dusted off my backpack and bought new books. I. Could. Not. Wait.<br />
<br />
That was five short weeks ago, which brings us to today.<br />
<br />
I spent 17 hours yesterday slumped over my laptop. I'm still wearing the same clothes, and hooboy! They are some purty clothes. I'm wearing my husband's olive green t-shirt, old gray sweatpants, bright green fuzzy socks, and purple reading glasses. I've completed the look with wild, unstyled hair, no makeup, and dark circles under both eyes. I've consumed a steady diet of peanuts, chocolate-covered raisins and iced tea. I cannot recall simple words, but I can recite to you the top expenditures of my 130-page city budget and relate them to the class text.<br />
<br />
I am a certifiable mess. And I <i>wanted</i> this. <br />
<br />
I want to go outside and walk in the September air. I want to watch the leaves turn. I want to have dinner with my family and sit on the living room floor with my kids. I want to sleep. And I will...<br />
<br />
In three weeks when the semester ends.<br />
<br />
And then, I will have six more credits checked off my degree audit and I will feel like I rule the world and I will want to do it all again.<br />
<br />
Because I'm batshit crazy like that. Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-74298174078224375822014-08-25T18:58:00.000-07:002014-08-25T18:58:23.170-07:00Remember That One Time?The Boy: Remember how you told me I was going to Monterey that one time?<br />
<br />
Me: No. How?<br />
<br />
The Boy: With the glass bottle? Remember?<br />
<br />
Me: (blank stare)<br />
<br />
The Boy: We were at the corner restaurant having dinner, and I took my little sister to the bathroom or something, and when I came back to the table the waitress brought me a message in a bottle. It said "pack your bags, you're flying to Monterey for the youth leadership conference!"<br />
<br />
Me: I did that?<br />
<br />
The Boy: Yeah! You don't remember?<br />
<br />
Me: Huh. Dang. You've got a really cool mom!<br />
<br />
<br />
I think I need a new memory stick installed. I've run out of space or something.Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-32609757173513316652014-08-18T20:04:00.000-07:002014-08-18T20:04:32.765-07:00A Sweet 12th BirthdayHere it is, our 69th birthday party. Rough Stuff loves candy. She magically acquires a steady stream of suckers. So it was no surprise when I asked her what her party theme would be this year and she replied "candy!"<br />
<br />
We started by making fake candy. Lots, and lots of fake candy. We used foam pool noodles, paper plates, toilet paper tubes, pretty much anything remotely candy shaped and disposable. We covered our collection in tissue paper and then with cellophane. A roll of cellophane cost us $9.99. This may have been one of the most cash-friendly parties we've ever planned.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2_zg1jMhS57Hb83QkUp_0-TlioXVxs_5uxsIfTGOUmcICz1XAazCs08XJMcrqYLQ09s7Rhv-nboq9kSaA_Mme7TvgTPddSuTiDtd2YQWGlTgIlZs4p2_StJ4i16vy2Yrc66UP7YxPAZ-/s1600/candy+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2_zg1jMhS57Hb83QkUp_0-TlioXVxs_5uxsIfTGOUmcICz1XAazCs08XJMcrqYLQ09s7Rhv-nboq9kSaA_Mme7TvgTPddSuTiDtd2YQWGlTgIlZs4p2_StJ4i16vy2Yrc66UP7YxPAZ-/s1600/candy+12.jpg" height="400" width="350" /></a></div>
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I painstakingly covered bouncy balls with cellophane to put in the party favor bags and then the Big Guy insisted that middle school-aged children would try to eat them so they became additional decor. I might be harboring some resentment. Those suckers, er, um...gumballs, took a long time to wrap.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4CzgLEksPgjSa8lgmpt0dP2wC9ERq3Bizg7gQo_hccokvoRGHAu5rdV9yPljk7f0CnyKZm0ux89P-v2iZEOqViBQLiE12tnREiWNVtb7Sqe5Iti1iugwnbQixwpUjhNqvH0JBUeZe0oo/s1600/candy+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4CzgLEksPgjSa8lgmpt0dP2wC9ERq3Bizg7gQo_hccokvoRGHAu5rdV9yPljk7f0CnyKZm0ux89P-v2iZEOqViBQLiE12tnREiWNVtb7Sqe5Iti1iugwnbQixwpUjhNqvH0JBUeZe0oo/s1600/candy+13.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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I failed to take a single photo of our fake-candy decorated home because I was exhausted and that's how I roll. You'll just have to settle for this bad photo of the table. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOiVv_3VDkrrmYVzeLwVGW0gTo31S6sCJ3Xj-3ITjjIG1UpG85bmQWJdq__8fUnoiYiiJtY7K-hsN1BsRpdoGI8SPXa4YCGmOs5dic3-1hR0dJBlVsrg1JiQWox4Pwo15cEztAHKN7SXn/s1600/candy+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOiVv_3VDkrrmYVzeLwVGW0gTo31S6sCJ3Xj-3ITjjIG1UpG85bmQWJdq__8fUnoiYiiJtY7K-hsN1BsRpdoGI8SPXa4YCGmOs5dic3-1hR0dJBlVsrg1JiQWox4Pwo15cEztAHKN7SXn/s1600/candy+2.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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My lovely daughter, Fish assembled this cute little lollipop tree. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iz9o4UmuK3garvnY6Q6EklQWExRJT5cnuWYTguBpYTBtMnvQZQTj5pQsvJE7R_NC2UJ9NabU6XIyl9jmMQ6vC719b04Fu7gpHATiXsWQ501qmU0Mna-q5RyqAOKvnXxlxoaybxiyT6Ip/s1600/candy+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iz9o4UmuK3garvnY6Q6EklQWExRJT5cnuWYTguBpYTBtMnvQZQTj5pQsvJE7R_NC2UJ9NabU6XIyl9jmMQ6vC719b04Fu7gpHATiXsWQ501qmU0Mna-q5RyqAOKvnXxlxoaybxiyT6Ip/s1600/candy+4.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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My beautiful girl, Tuna created these adorable lollipop cookies.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25LKXc0Q6sWSCXIbGq7F2tZiv0HETDvre9pGGibsj5VYiXwN4m6mGjZmbZFSLSIhysOVSL2OY2hQgRBXl4sZ_8kDNAyje3g_DW8FWsVwLzkpI5qMob2VR8zrnnB9nzviJoLS9iY0_k0Yn/s1600/candy+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25LKXc0Q6sWSCXIbGq7F2tZiv0HETDvre9pGGibsj5VYiXwN4m6mGjZmbZFSLSIhysOVSL2OY2hQgRBXl4sZ_8kDNAyje3g_DW8FWsVwLzkpI5qMob2VR8zrnnB9nzviJoLS9iY0_k0Yn/s1600/candy+3.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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And I, rolled ham and cheese and pimento cheese pinwheels.</div>
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That's teamwork. I'm tellin' ya...if you're hosting a birthday party, you really need to have a couple of teenagers on hand. I have a few I can loan out. Just holler. </div>
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I created this candy-themed bingo game and then my two lovely bingo callers, Tuna and Fish, donned fake mustaches and took this game to a level I had never dreamed possible. They put on a 20-minute comedy show that had everyone laughing. The game was crafted in a simple table in a Word document and laminated for good measure- the bingo markers were Reese's Pieces. The prizes were all candy-themed but non-edible- Laffy Taffy-flavored lip gloss, candy-themed puzzles, etc.</div>
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Before the kids left the table, we gave everyone a miniature Hershey's bar and the kids raced to see who could unwrap and eat their candy bar first- using only their mouths with both hands clasped behind their backs. I'm quite sure I enjoyed watching that game more than any of them enjoyed playing it. </div>
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We also played a relay game in which players took turns sucking a Skittle onto a straw and then running across the room to drop it in a bucket before it fell off the straw. Amazingly, no one hyperventilated or had an asthma attack. There were plenty of laughs and a few defective Skittles that couldn't be sucked to the straws. (That's their story and they're sticking to it.) </div>
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We made party favors with...what else? Candy! (And a toothbrush for good measure.) Rough Stuff learned to make a candy shape on her Rainbow Loom and we tied one to each toothbrush. I absolutely love that all of the kids are old enough to help plan and create things for the birthday parties. With 69 of them under our belt, they've had some experience, yo.</div>
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No birthday party is complete without cake. This was definitely one of my favorite cakes. What kid wouldn't love a cake with giant lollipops plopped on top? A kid whose mother accidentally loaded it with relighting candles. True story. </div>
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It was an accident, I swear. I found these adorable little lollipop-shaped candles and they were $3.99 for 4 candles. I was not spending 12 bucks for candles, so I bought one package and filled in the rest with color coordinated striped candles at 99 cents a package. Yup. Go me. I did not read the package. I swear I did not. I am terrified of fire. I would never intentionally buy a candle you cannot blow out. The actual suckers were melting by the time we had extinguished the cake. </div>
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But that Rough Stuff? Well...she's a forgiving girl. (I might have placated her with candy.) </div>
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-62986110711298101472014-08-12T21:55:00.000-07:002014-08-12T21:55:01.329-07:00It Happens (To Us)<i>Heads up: there is a graphic photo at the end of this post</i><br />
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The past seven days have been absolutely ridiculous. I mean, even for our herd. We're talking high level ridiculousness. It started when Rough Stuff gave us a scare with a very appendicitis-like belly pain that landed us in the ER until 3 am. The friendly, if overzealous, doctors gave her a dose of Fentanyl for pain and some Zofran for nausea and sent us on our way. She tied her head and glasses to the ceiling of the mini-van with a headband via the clothing hook (don't ask me, I was baffled), bit her sister 3 times, and asked for a donut a total of 3,075 times between the hospital and home. It was highly entertaining and incredibly exhausting. I will remember to ask for lower levels of pain medication should she ever need it again.<br />
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I opted for several hours of sleep and decided I would start work around noon, but that was not to be. I woke at noon and found a chilling message on my phone. My dad had been admitted to the hospital and was moving to the ICU. I packed my bags for the five-hour drive to the hospital. I spent one night in the ICU and then went to a friend's house to get some sleep. I woke to a series of cell phone messages.<br />
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It seems that Rough Stuff's pain had returned and she was not eating which surely must signal some level of crisis because she does not turn away food. Reference the donut incident above. The Big Guy had taken her back to the hospital and she was getting a full work up to rule out appendicitis and pancreatitis.<br />
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<i>-Heads up: this is a totally anticlimactic tale- </i><br />
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On the way to the hospital, the truck broke down and just coasted into the parking garage. Grand total on that unexpected repair: $1,200. Ouch. I was afraid Rough Stuff would be admitted because she'd been in the ER for hours and they'd run so many, many tests. I wanted to come home and be in that hospital, with her, instead of the one I was in. But...the storm clouds cut loose and the severe storm warnings rolled and it didn't make sense to drive in that kind of mess so I stayed. She was discharged late that night with absolutely no clue as to what was causing the pain or appetite loss. See? No dramatic ending.<br />
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<i>Heads up: that graphic photo is coming. It may or may not contain bones.</i><br />
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So, I stayed at the hospital another night with my dad. That night was the worst hospital experience I've ever had. There was 1 tech assigned to 20 patients so you can imagine the level of care that entailed. I learned to change bed sheets that night, but I'm not sure I ever mastered hospital corners. One lovely tech gave me instruction on how to change the trash bags and set the trash out as I stood by speechless. When she explained later how to wash a bedpan, I found my voice and what I had to say was not very pleasant. I may refer to myself as Limitless Lisa, but that is an outright lie.Well, it's more of a hope really. Like a battle cry. Anyway, I have my limits.<br />
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The next night I drove home because my little Rough Stuff had turned 12 and we had a birthday party to prepare for. I'll post pics soon. It was lovely. I spent most of it in a fog. Turns out I'm not so good at switching my days and nights around. I'm blaming it on age.<br />
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Anyhoo, crappy week. High level of ridiculousness. Yada, yada.<br />
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And then this happened...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9X1SsZai2jepYSrEMYWKyt9VI2FnAcYWhftRKahdr9ZkbkUKXXIWONxFC8_06xg9b2bsvx2AIdWusg8Kmm6qmh7k-uvouZFGabhi3clag2NPxRmjcFxNJIBOhd0qwNMOTN5Q8OShv6S_/s1600/IMG_0970+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9X1SsZai2jepYSrEMYWKyt9VI2FnAcYWhftRKahdr9ZkbkUKXXIWONxFC8_06xg9b2bsvx2AIdWusg8Kmm6qmh7k-uvouZFGabhi3clag2NPxRmjcFxNJIBOhd0qwNMOTN5Q8OShv6S_/s1600/IMG_0970+(2).JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Owl pellet, up close and way too personal</td></tr>
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An owl yakked on my deck. I mean, why not? It was so symbolic really. This whole week just kind of vomited on us. Every undigested thing just sort of spewed into existence. I am so seriously disgusted by this mess. </div>
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So, it's time to just wash this whole mess away. All of it. It's a new week. It's time for fresh challenges. And a clean deck. </div>
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<i>Grossed out? I warned you. My kids think owl upchuck is beyond awesome. Perspective I tell ya.</i></div>
Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-27258526607274061322014-07-28T13:11:00.000-07:002014-07-28T13:11:53.801-07:00Sneak AttackMy beloved daughter, Tuna is plagued by a bully. This bully, Gravity, has been picking on her since she first started walking. Gravity just can't let her be, always planning a sneak attack and dropping her to the ground without mercy or compassion. I try not to laugh. I mean, no one wants to encourage a bully...but sometimes I'm just overcome with laughter in spite of myself.<br />
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Sunday was one such time. We were shopping in the local party store and we had stopped to drool over all of the candy-themed trinkets we could use at Rough Stuff's upcoming birthday party. Tuna, Fish, and I were just standing at the end of an aisle looking up and down the display, when apropos of nothing, Tuna made a surprised face and just crashed to the ground. One minute she was standing beside us, and the next she was tumbling toward the carpet.<br />
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She collapsed suddenly to her knees and lurched forward sending her face perilously close to the rough carpet. Fortunately, her upper half is er...well developed...and acts as a system of dual airbags to cushion her many Gravity attacks. With mock airbags employed, she rocked back and missed hitting much more than her chin on the floor but the carpet did do a number on the airbag system and her knees.<br />
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I was as shocked as she was that Gravity had stalked her into this store and assaulted her without warning. I wanted with every fiber of my being to get hold of this Gravity and give it a good what-for, but for all my good intentions, I was completely immobilized by my own sudden need to pee. I stood completely still, legs crossed, tears forming in my eyes, overcome by hysterical laughter. Fish just looked on, completely dumbfounded. She had no idea what had happened. <br />
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Tuna got up, put on a smile, and gracefully recovered. I suspect she wanted to run after Gravity and give her a good smackdown as well, but her shoe was untied. Maybe next time.<br />
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<br />Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-17816625162438542692014-07-04T11:59:00.001-07:002014-07-04T11:59:20.823-07:00Remembering PaThe smell of burlap and old wood drifts into my memories every 4th of July. I've been afraid of fireworks for as long as I can remember but still, the 4th of July is a day of fond memories for me. I've wrestled with this irony for some time now and I think I've finally settled on what it is that draws me back to warm chunks of nostalgia every year. I've finally put my finger on it. It was Pa.<br />
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My grandfather, who only went by Pa in our home, was not fond of holidays. He mocked us on Christmas, barely leaving his room and he teased us about Easter and baskets of candy. He did seem to enjoy Halloween, as long as everyone who ventured upon his front porch was shorter than a yardstick. He was known to retrieve his shotgun to run off late-knocking teenagers. I don't remember him being a part of any of our holiday celebrations, with the exception of the 4th of July.<br />
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Early in the afternoon on the 4th, he would venture out to the old shed and carry back the burlap gunny sacks. The scent of that dusty burlap is seared forever in my memory. He would gather the ice cream makers, a sledgehammer, and a few old wash tubs. We were making ice cream! This was an every year tradition and I got to help.<br />
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He would pull milk cartons of frozen water from the big deep freeze, put them in the gunny sacks, and bust them up with the sledgehammer. Sometimes he let me help, but I was usually doing it wrong. Now, to fully appreciate this <i>ice</i>, you have to understand something about my Pa. The man never spent a dime he didn't have to. He had dimes- that wasn't the issue. But he was not about to give them away. We were not about to go down to the corner filling station and <i>buy </i>ice. You don't pay for frozen water! That would be silly. You make it yourself. There were always milk carton-shaped blocks of ice in the freezer and when you needed ice chips, you got out the sledgehammer.<br />
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While we created ice chunks in the backyard, my Grandma Nonnie made up the ice cream mix. We had two flavors every year when I was young- chocolate and vanilla. I would get to walk to the grocery store with Nonnie and pick out the Junket ice cream mixes every year. There wasn't really much picking out to it- we had chocolate, and vanilla- but it was always a fun thing to do. Nonnie would make up the two mixtures and then the fun really began.<br />
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There were two ice cream makers. One was electric. I can still hear the motor churning through the ice. The other was an old hand-crank outfit. Pa would add the ice cream barrels and layer in the ice chips and rock salt and then the chore was delegated to my sister and I. We would sit on top of the ice cream maker, crank between our knees and start churning for what seemed in my young mind, hours and hours. When one got tired, the other took over, but my sister, Kimmie always had to finish the job when the mixture got to solid for me to crank.<br />
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Nonnie always let me have a little bowl as she scooped the soft-set ice cream into old tupperware containers to firm up in the freezer. When I was a teenager, we took to making a strawberry recipe in an electric mixer as we continued the tradition, but the fake vanilla taste of that Junket package ice cream holds a place in my heart. I would lick the lid clean, until I ran onto a chunk of rock salt and ran sputtering to wash my mouth out with a sip of Coke.<br />
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Once the ice cream was made, the grill came out. My next job was to help Pa shuck the corn. We always had fresh corn and if I was lucky, I got to find a worm in one of the ears I shucked! I had to hurry though, because Pa was a lot faster at it and he would find all of the corn worms before I did. This makes me giggle today. I would be somewhat mortified if I found a worm in my corn now. I have also come to realize that something has changed- we no longer find worms in the corn husks and I'm sure that is because the pesticide levels have increased, but that is another story.<br />
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Pa would light the grill while I went inside and watched through the back door. (I've <i>always </i> been afraid of fire!) We would have burgers and hot dogs with corn on the cob, and then I would dance around the house for hours anxiously awaiting fireworks and homemade ice cream.<br />
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Fireworks consisted of several novelty fireworks- tanks, camelias, smoke bombs, glow worms, and such- nothing that went 'pop' and nothing too big. My hometown had some sort of ban on fireworks and the police were fairly serious about issuing tickets and fines, but that didn't stop Pa. He would venture out into the street, far enough behind the house to make it difficult to detect which house the illegal fun belonged to, light the firework, and then hustle back up to the door to watch. After a few we would go inside and wait for a police cruiser to drive by, then he was back at it again.<br />
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At the end of the night, he would retrieve from his stash, a cherry bomb. These were not legal anywhere, I'm sure. They would blow a hole in the dirt and remove a two-foot ring of grass from the earth. He would tell me the same story every year about going fishing and throwing one of these in the lake "to blow the fish right out of the water so you can just <i>scoop</i> 'em up." He would promise to take me fishing some time, but he never got around to it.<br />
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The 4th of July was never a favorite holiday for me, but it was the one holiday that I spent most of the day with my Pa. I think the memories that flood my senses every year- the corn worms, the smell of old burlap, the sight of a glow worm burning on the concrete porch- those memories remind me of time spent with Pa.<br />
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Our 4th of July traditions are different. We haven't made homemade ice cream in years now and we usually don't pull out the grill on this day. Instead, we'll pack a picnic dinner with Mason jar desserts and go watch a professional fireworks display. But all day, I'll smell burlap and think of ice cream and smile. <br />
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Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528933541499037476.post-15061553845086389992014-07-03T18:48:00.002-07:002014-07-03T18:48:31.056-07:00A Letter to the PyrosDear Fireworks Lovers Everywhere,<br />
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We need to have a little talk. A come-to-Jesus meetin' if you will. See, I have a little problem with your choice method of celebration. As Independence Day draws near, and you all begin celebrating our independence as a nation by blowing things up, I am overcome with a familiar feeling; FEAR. Yep, fear. I am all out flippin' terrified of the 4th of July. There. I said it.<br />
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Actually...it is no surprise to anyone who knows me well. I have an irrational fear of fire. Well, duh, you say. No. No, no. I had an irrational fear of fire <i>before</i> the crock pot burned my house down. I've <i>always </i>had it. Let me give you a little background to help you understand.<br />
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When I was a wee one, I liked fireworks as long as they didn't make any noise and they weren't anywhere close to me. That pretty much limited the 4th of July celebration to sparklers (way over there, stuck in the ground please), glow snakes, smoke bombs, and those pretty spinning flower things that would chase my grandpa down the street when he lit them. Anything else made me very uneasy.<br />
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When I was a teenager, I witnessed my first bottle rocket war and that experience was pretty much like watching an actual war battle with tanks and explosives in my mind. I was mortified. I had hives. I cried. It was horrendous. I am possibly scarred for life from that incident.<br />
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Then I got married and met my husband's family and Oh. Dear. Lord. I tolerated their celebrations for a few years, but then we had children and I all but had a nervous breakdown trying to protect the fruit of my loins from the macabre fire-filled chaos they enjoyed. The Big Guy soon consented to making the 4th of July a private, just-us-and-the-kids celebration. It was that, or admit me to a mental health facility on the 5th of July. <br />
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Over the years, I've come to realize that there is no end to the stupidity displayed in amateur patriotic celebrations. No end, people. Couple that realization with the pain of rebuilding our home and lives after a fire and my fear has multiplied a bajillionth.<br />
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I HATE FIREWORKS. The big ones in professional shows are pretty and all, but really...I would be just fine if I never ever saw another firework. If they all disappeared from this blessed earth, it would hurt my feelers not at all. Alas, they don't let me make the laws so you're all safe, you fire-loving maniacs, you.<br />
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With that said, I might be able to survive this holiday with my sanity still intact if y'all could just observe some basic safety precautions.<br />
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I like my home and I want to keep it, so keep your fireworks to yourselves, please. I also value my skin. It is pasty white and somewhat transparent, but it is mine and I'm attached to it. I would greatly appreciate it if you could just keep all sparky searing-hot things away from it. Oh, and my eyes? Yeah...I <i>need</i> those too. So, if you could just refrain from launching flaming missiles my way, that would be fabulous. And please stop setting them off in the street when I'm driving through because my car runs on gasoline, which is flammable, thank you very much. It would also be incredibly respectful of you to limit your 4th of July celebration to some reasonable period of time that is actually <i>near</i> the 4th of July, and for the love of all things sacred, stop setting them off by midnight.<br />
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I'm glad we could have this little talk. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just be in my little happy place, securely tucked away from flying fire, celebrating our nation's independence with food, the way I choose to celebrate everything.<br />
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Happy fire-wielding blowing-things-up-day to you!<br />
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<br />Limitless Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11794636075170920873noreply@blogger.com0