tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81124753737280872462024-02-18T23:01:50.069-08:00It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time...Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-63042564433087456702012-03-19T16:38:00.000-07:002012-03-19T16:38:02.832-07:00What did Justin Bieber ever do to you?<div><i><b>It appears that my family has an unreasonable amount of hostility towards a certain teen idol...</b></i></div><div><br />
</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Exhibit A:</span></b></div><div>Nathan: "I don't like Justin Bieber."</div><div>Natalie: "No one likes Justin Bieber."</div><div>Nathan: "I bet Jesus likes Justin Bieber."</div><div>Natalie: "Well, Jesus likes everyone so that doesn't count..."</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Exhibit B:</span></b></div><div>Greg: "Somehow Justin Bieber is going to find a way to ruin my Christmas."</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Exhibit C:</span></b></div><div>Natalie: "Justin Bieber is a punching maniac."</div><div>Me: "What does that mean??"</div><div><div>Natalie: "He punches a lot of his fans."</div><div>Me: "Where'd you hear that?"</div><div>Natalie: "Oh mom, everyone knows that. He should be in jail, really."</div><div>Nathan: "...Wait, I thought Justin Bieber wasn't a real person. Fake people can't go to jail..."</div></div><div><br />
</div><div><div><b><i>Maybe they're on to something. </i></b></div><div><b><i>Come to think of it, his dumb hair DOES make me want to lash out irrationally. </i></b></div><div><b><i>And he kind of looks like a girl. </i></b></div><div><b><i>And his clothes are stupid. (Fingerless mittens, Justin? Really?)</i></b></div><div><b><i>And...</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5Vld3iIGAW8-OBIPOwRqeUoNKoZqvjAi-SF9QcIcKOAdIXUkNc866rdD05oXYU3XzCdD-GsX443bYQsQMUV5VNUL4P_TpqKPsYGzYgQsjdL0BxP3FwZT_G69JoNdiJUVPHHkm7mqD8o/s1600/Justin-Bieber-Calls-for-the-Arrest-of-Minnesota-Senator-Live-on-the-Radio.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5Vld3iIGAW8-OBIPOwRqeUoNKoZqvjAi-SF9QcIcKOAdIXUkNc866rdD05oXYU3XzCdD-GsX443bYQsQMUV5VNUL4P_TpqKPsYGzYgQsjdL0BxP3FwZT_G69JoNdiJUVPHHkm7mqD8o/s320/Justin-Bieber-Calls-for-the-Arrest-of-Minnesota-Senator-Live-on-the-Radio.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><b><i><br />
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</i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Oh yeah, wait... what did Justin Bieber ever do to me?</span></i></b></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-73495136781941059222011-12-09T09:35:00.000-08:002011-12-09T09:35:54.700-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Ruth E. Cole</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>August 5th, 1930 - December 8th 2011</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3bCBal1CvUikK8wYOH72xoFVm3fQIA74xCtAhtxv5QO4oWZ3qh0DWEoTcXRc8ob4yl_gyg9HqBfL_RRSALuGEncsTe_fXW4wA4DCP4Y0A7i4QgjWQyYYm-TJTwy5Druq2MpO3psItdY/s1600/IMG_6258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3bCBal1CvUikK8wYOH72xoFVm3fQIA74xCtAhtxv5QO4oWZ3qh0DWEoTcXRc8ob4yl_gyg9HqBfL_RRSALuGEncsTe_fXW4wA4DCP4Y0A7i4QgjWQyYYm-TJTwy5Druq2MpO3psItdY/s320/IMG_6258.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #8f7f6f; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>"Distance never separates two hearts that really care, for our memories span the miles and in seconds we are there. But whenever I start feeling sad, because I miss you, I remind myself how lucky I am to have someone so special to miss." -Unknown</b></span></span></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-34069516448322170982011-11-01T15:04:00.000-07:002011-11-01T15:05:38.101-07:00You've Got a Friend in Me...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>We gave Nathan this stuffed Spider Man for Christmas 2007, his first Christmas.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_gGOttq49ZAYvju2iSmHyCx5SNMFYjlYQWZH1T22_8Y_l9wpEJ6BR-npgMQlerYsWaaYT3VU5WdUHBMC71ipHUCoHErek5ixJcgyifFw_HUlBZE3iUjkjZrupQrqde7tLMDA6Oz5ino/s1600/IMG_6066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_gGOttq49ZAYvju2iSmHyCx5SNMFYjlYQWZH1T22_8Y_l9wpEJ6BR-npgMQlerYsWaaYT3VU5WdUHBMC71ipHUCoHErek5ixJcgyifFw_HUlBZE3iUjkjZrupQrqde7tLMDA6Oz5ino/s320/IMG_6066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>We bought it because it was cute and it was a superhero...Greg's requirements for all of Nathan's gifts that year. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpmKOmg4-i64B7XDyqyQFSSlTXcOic6VPw65Bamovjlc4iGDo-57SjhNFAcFo7hKfc-TczL9QmLocrJ_esyU-VgY0e58x7adNw0q45JNeNDKLDra9xw36K8AgxUKj7rzkoDKEfgXfle6Q/s1600/5780_1182894256428_1350377927_509921_1453101_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpmKOmg4-i64B7XDyqyQFSSlTXcOic6VPw65Bamovjlc4iGDo-57SjhNFAcFo7hKfc-TczL9QmLocrJ_esyU-VgY0e58x7adNw0q45JNeNDKLDra9xw36K8AgxUKj7rzkoDKEfgXfle6Q/s320/5780_1182894256428_1350377927_509921_1453101_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><b>Little did we know, Spider Man would become Nathan's bff. His trusty companion. The security object that he can't live, breathe, eat or sleep without.</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVW3rdoxKsOV_sxYLFvy4mGWt6KPsc78u0o345nBZAHoZZlKHwO80wHLT04f843NHryCbuY3IodXj4IGIi0I09B1HBL2iqgFiMJaGacWlO0Q9kBJs2O8YahXoUJ_S-5eY7l64ZYmq4os/s1600/26112_1425805849066_1350377927_1148277_1043001_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVW3rdoxKsOV_sxYLFvy4mGWt6KPsc78u0o345nBZAHoZZlKHwO80wHLT04f843NHryCbuY3IodXj4IGIi0I09B1HBL2iqgFiMJaGacWlO0Q9kBJs2O8YahXoUJ_S-5eY7l64ZYmq4os/s320/26112_1425805849066_1350377927_1148277_1043001_n.jpg" width="171" /></a></div><b>I keep as close an eye on Spidey as I do on Natalie and Nathan because losing him would be a tragedy. Like a call-the-police-and-issue-a-missing-Spidey-report kind of tragedy.</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2mDRFujxP1GitJs1QqxIhHdq320blfQePZ6zOEkPbGb_ODXBjtuDeStSpM3Tpzk9MvVhk7a3Bp4uanEtnGkMsp0wCXSVyJvByxXfmsdkNG1De4nvXKs9bnKy5JAl-8rOId3p74zNbPc/s1600/76149_1719425309369_1350377927_1857161_1790957_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2mDRFujxP1GitJs1QqxIhHdq320blfQePZ6zOEkPbGb_ODXBjtuDeStSpM3Tpzk9MvVhk7a3Bp4uanEtnGkMsp0wCXSVyJvByxXfmsdkNG1De4nvXKs9bnKy5JAl-8rOId3p74zNbPc/s320/76149_1719425309369_1350377927_1857161_1790957_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b>Just last week Nathan told Greg "I love Spidey more than you." He tried to take it back, but we all know the truth. If there are ever any life or death choices involving one of us vs. Spidey, we're goners.</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NRVIYQIseiiun9iNlqaVcyWV988ADcKpUQ-dEAITswDgNMrJMJl1IVhScIF3skxwH4c2FcCFV8r7FLc1KcW7j8NkiwyWQhyGc9ioeM_CB6pWlAJPARN02DcCvaKGmuD2_e-Ngwe5Ngg/s1600/277790_2227897300851_1350377927_2622113_6166094_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NRVIYQIseiiun9iNlqaVcyWV988ADcKpUQ-dEAITswDgNMrJMJl1IVhScIF3skxwH4c2FcCFV8r7FLc1KcW7j8NkiwyWQhyGc9ioeM_CB6pWlAJPARN02DcCvaKGmuD2_e-Ngwe5Ngg/s320/277790_2227897300851_1350377927_2622113_6166094_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>I don't even want to know how dirty poor Spidey is. He's been used as a napkin, a blanket and a step stool. He's been on every floor, in every shopping cart and dropped under every table in every McDonalds from here to Nampa to San Diego to Ames to Phoenix to Tucson and back again. Being a raging germaphobe, I've just had to come to terms with the fact that the fifth member of our family is a walking disease. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavTcSTWKylT8hNbj-YOkDWrZdjswfL9iZogRydJcfG9n3FFlOHoOaCPoNlLmd6sPszdbJQdqdB49Q5yT0bEq5LCQhiW3UWFMgCt8r0QW-gFkcR8M3eYPm466KvgkzH2-mnY-nODi9PVY/s1600/271430_2227903661010_1350377927_2622138_3495317_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavTcSTWKylT8hNbj-YOkDWrZdjswfL9iZogRydJcfG9n3FFlOHoOaCPoNlLmd6sPszdbJQdqdB49Q5yT0bEq5LCQhiW3UWFMgCt8r0QW-gFkcR8M3eYPm466KvgkzH2-mnY-nODi9PVY/s320/271430_2227903661010_1350377927_2622138_3495317_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>But come to think of it, that's probably not that different from members three and four...</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAjIlVsRO6953KULbqg0vISkclE8-m-G2RriRGRp4ED2as8tlH_7l4dDbCp6pI5pbmpItjCrZII06mHJgQuJoclVcfti35vz_QDPDmrYMRfFIZYXDlRIlkelhM1YgIu9Ibc1avanvhc8/s1600/n1350377927_290182_6558663.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAjIlVsRO6953KULbqg0vISkclE8-m-G2RriRGRp4ED2as8tlH_7l4dDbCp6pI5pbmpItjCrZII06mHJgQuJoclVcfti35vz_QDPDmrYMRfFIZYXDlRIlkelhM1YgIu9Ibc1avanvhc8/s320/n1350377927_290182_6558663.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-17370185663255276592011-10-20T12:08:00.000-07:002011-10-20T17:30:10.385-07:00Grandpa Joe<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333366; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 17px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8Xw0Ruhc6pXMg3f0YYkqhYeN8ch8sVDsttyoRCM7Lz78pLrPwkVAI8zIrHv8ybmhSa4L7TmYRL4K9Xl_hN44noAzIJC1XIDtdZRU7QRj4HD2v0SVg7pkz5oxOEuKUl6-kHZvwZkWsE0/s1600/IMG_5968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8Xw0Ruhc6pXMg3f0YYkqhYeN8ch8sVDsttyoRCM7Lz78pLrPwkVAI8zIrHv8ybmhSa4L7TmYRL4K9Xl_hN44noAzIJC1XIDtdZRU7QRj4HD2v0SVg7pkz5oxOEuKUl6-kHZvwZkWsE0/s320/IMG_5968.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333366; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 17px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">"A grandpa is someone you never outgrow your need for.."</span><br />
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</div><div><b>I'll miss you, Grandpa.</b></div><div><b>I'll miss your jokes and your pull-a-quarter-from-my-ear tricks.</b></div><div><b>I'll miss the way you added sugar to everything, even juice.</b></div><div><b>I'll miss your bow ties.</b></div><div><b>I'll miss you.</b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">♥</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">♥</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">♥</span></b></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzG9rtCVTOnk2tZ94AnXa7Y3Wm_8BEeWRNkP7zscOY8kujptJ-eVIXn9JJpTb879ez1B1oHPMp4-KYopAUUlEGQXkk7E4nKR831VfprTCqabJuNzi6aKFWsQH9tkZf-RwFwFVwC5eyaGc/s1600/IMG_5967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzG9rtCVTOnk2tZ94AnXa7Y3Wm_8BEeWRNkP7zscOY8kujptJ-eVIXn9JJpTb879ez1B1oHPMp4-KYopAUUlEGQXkk7E4nKR831VfprTCqabJuNzi6aKFWsQH9tkZf-RwFwFVwC5eyaGc/s320/IMG_5967.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-3518779355557693062011-10-17T14:57:00.000-07:002011-10-17T14:57:53.944-07:00Frogs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Nathan just told me, </span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"When I'm going potty and I get pee on my hand, I just wipe it on my leg until it disappears."</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>that's</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> something you'd never hear a girl say...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0McI2wrfwueAkJ9YOoyc3wiJzPpfkJgpp46RqsO3hhutACpoalkkghnfmDpfAcfN9QC1fzo2JLjK3lGjMeXHlDl6IrhCIRlN3I9bjY6KHn-m2qw-wXd1hNMep6sPP19axAea5OLnUvl8/s1600/170937_1815906841347_1350377927_2058302_1188795_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0McI2wrfwueAkJ9YOoyc3wiJzPpfkJgpp46RqsO3hhutACpoalkkghnfmDpfAcfN9QC1fzo2JLjK3lGjMeXHlDl6IrhCIRlN3I9bjY6KHn-m2qw-wXd1hNMep6sPP19axAea5OLnUvl8/s320/170937_1815906841347_1350377927_2058302_1188795_o.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></span></span>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-63546706729279065492011-10-03T21:04:00.000-07:002011-10-03T21:18:41.762-07:00Seven-Going-On-Seventeen...<b>So Natalie already has a crush on a boy. I know, you're thinking it's about 15 years too early, right? Yeah, me too. </b><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnazcTkgeK3O6YOU29lTf12sfRG6vEFFumyA0yZIlZDvynEZzryeumOiP11pJHOwlNvSAVXbt2rPzvdItdJwFx8XkeyZBoF37BEm1tBvO_EKT8sqls5OhSazvr48AVhVsXHVhhV4XPAU/s1600/5300_1215355787946_1350377927_614083_3275488_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnazcTkgeK3O6YOU29lTf12sfRG6vEFFumyA0yZIlZDvynEZzryeumOiP11pJHOwlNvSAVXbt2rPzvdItdJwFx8XkeyZBoF37BEm1tBvO_EKT8sqls5OhSazvr48AVhVsXHVhhV4XPAU/s320/5300_1215355787946_1350377927_614083_3275488_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>When did my tiny baby turn into a boy-liking, fashion-conscious mini-teenager who's too old for princesses and doesn't want me walking her to class anymore??</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoBImTY-YGF87lK3-bOf4vYqYxV5EiiY0fmUf08VdsocxYAfN04IPy2LQErEIq9ieLMaVyE-OoNxLTKv2b8Mt7_HV0lc1Gs4XmEWojaLiZspahHnGIOKxImOxH9gH9Xvmqd13vaeF0a8/s1600/306803_2375498150780_1350377927_2821371_6379662_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoBImTY-YGF87lK3-bOf4vYqYxV5EiiY0fmUf08VdsocxYAfN04IPy2LQErEIq9ieLMaVyE-OoNxLTKv2b8Mt7_HV0lc1Gs4XmEWojaLiZspahHnGIOKxImOxH9gH9Xvmqd13vaeF0a8/s320/306803_2375498150780_1350377927_2821371_6379662_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="237" /></a></div><br />
<b>So this is how it went tonight:</b><br />
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<b>Natalie:</b> "There's a boy I like..."<br />
<b>Me: </b>*immediate panic attack renders me speechless*<br />
<b>Greg:</b> "Does he have his ear pierced?"<br />
<b>Natalie:</b> "No."<br />
<b>Greg:</b> "Is he a vegetarian?"<br />
<b>Natalie:</b> "Well, he eats candy..."<br />
<b>Greg:</b> "Does he like Star Wars? Because if a 7 year old boy doesn't like Star Wars there's something wrong with him."<br />
<b>Natalie:</b> "He likes Star Wars. And comic books."<br />
<b>Me:</b> "Well, let me tell you what it's like to be a comic widow..."<br />
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***********************<br />
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<b>A few minutes later....</b><br />
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<b>Natalie:</b> "My friend told a boy she liked him the other day..."<br />
<b>Me:</b> "Well, do you think you're going to tell this boy you like him?"<br />
<b>Natalie:</b> *giggling* "No way, that's too embarrassing. I'll wait til we're in college."<br />
<b>Me:</b> *immediate relief renders me speechless*<br />
<b>Natalie: </b>"I hope we have lots of classes together in college..."<br />
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<b>Ahhh, so maybe I still have a few years with my baby after all.</b>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-62176183413808300322011-09-21T09:15:00.000-07:002011-09-21T09:15:09.156-07:00Almost a compliment...<b>Well, I thought I was going to escape the yearly birthday insult from Natalie, but no such luck...</b><br />
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Natalie: "Happy Birthday Mom! You're special in 32 ways!"<br />
Me: "No, 33 ways."<br />
(long pause)<br />
Natalie: "Oh. 33? You really are old."<br />
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<b>And if that wasn't enough, Nathan has joined in. Monkey see, monkey do, I suppose...</b><br />
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Nathan: "Happy Birthday, Mom! You're getting reeeeaaaallllly old, right?"<br />
Me: "How old do you think I am?"<br />
Nathan: "I don't know. Old."<br />
Me: "Just guess. How old do you think I am?"<br />
Nathan: "Hmmm... Like 12?"<br />
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<b>So, two almost-compliments, two-half insults and the day is still young. Unlike me.</b>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-29859804243972915322011-09-20T14:03:00.000-07:002011-09-20T14:03:11.438-07:00Who doesn't love a good birthday insult from their firstborn?<b>September 21, 2009:</b> "Happy Birthday, Mom! Are you going to die soon? Are you going to walk with a cane soon? Mom, when are you going to have puffy white hair? Mom, how many years 'til you're 90?"<br />
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<b>September 21, 2010:</b> "Happy Birthday, Mom! You don't look THAT much older this year..."<br />
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I can't wait to see what loving comment she has for me tomorrow...Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-88092780967372896432011-09-15T13:03:00.000-07:002011-09-15T13:03:16.457-07:00If Abraham Lincoln had a stalker...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Natalie was picked out of 25 fame-hungry five-year olds to be Abraham Lincoln in her kindergarten parade. That's where the obsession started...</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsywEs0CmUH-XL0lk_UQnl4lAPSN4QAk8a3-W1-Qqa6VWN0pk-PjFUmqd_JQsiEn1qgeDajm6yXTGlXQGPCcu0uFJ7enX5fWfuXO_SQcetLrKa-KTgMjTofudO9DtY94w1aLk1NXG4zY/s1600/7731_1257248435236_1350377927_734026_7990869_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsywEs0CmUH-XL0lk_UQnl4lAPSN4QAk8a3-W1-Qqa6VWN0pk-PjFUmqd_JQsiEn1qgeDajm6yXTGlXQGPCcu0uFJ7enX5fWfuXO_SQcetLrKa-KTgMjTofudO9DtY94w1aLk1NXG4zY/s320/7731_1257248435236_1350377927_734026_7990869_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>You'd think someone with such an obsession would have a better handle on what he looks like...</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">• She saw a picture of Charlie Sheen online and said, "Hey, look! It's Abraham Lincoln! It's not? Well, it must be his brother then."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">• Then she saw President Obama on TV and said, "Hey, look! It's Abraham Lincoln! It's not? Well, it must be his brother then." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>...and a better idea of how to spell his name...</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKp-jO1xJtwc709VNYu6Y6MsxZ3Qs3Wq8KaNeb7CfYqCGnah_XSgnredaobG46VAHHsBLY1T2olb4wUnCgoHIofmEw77t6vgVtxKUt6tK3LEBC4UW06iNaKACp75nUPW90xkJW5_SJvw/s1600/240902_2054986618192_1350377927_2438545_1065356_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKp-jO1xJtwc709VNYu6Y6MsxZ3Qs3Wq8KaNeb7CfYqCGnah_XSgnredaobG46VAHHsBLY1T2olb4wUnCgoHIofmEw77t6vgVtxKUt6tK3LEBC4UW06iNaKACp75nUPW90xkJW5_SJvw/s320/240902_2054986618192_1350377927_2438545_1065356_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>...and perhaps a better grasp of how long ago he died (or how old I am?)...</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln with her, I told her I had been at Ford's Theater when I was a kid. She said, "So you were there when he was shot?!" Yes. I witnessed the assassination of President Lincoln 146 years ago.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>But last year, after hearing this monologue...</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"We don't have a president, all the presidents are dead. What? We do? Who is he, what's his name? I thought all the presidents were dead. Abraham Lincoln is dead. Will I be president? How much will it cost me?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>...at least we know who we'll be voting for in 2040.</b></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-16094544523255824522011-09-13T18:07:00.000-07:002011-09-13T18:07:40.578-07:00Dinner request or ransom note? You decide...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7OUULZuPfscl0kZYxTq9UPkq1k73BynAkgrwkytwoggQ8j-9mvnKf0pu9bM5Kfi4HrA3TUZsMybGQfPyc8G6ekpwI6HZptxWcgjiivcyUJl7Vrx1zCShjU62Eq5PJ8384AuAB6_TNVE/s1600/Strven+to+deth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7OUULZuPfscl0kZYxTq9UPkq1k73BynAkgrwkytwoggQ8j-9mvnKf0pu9bM5Kfi4HrA3TUZsMybGQfPyc8G6ekpwI6HZptxWcgjiivcyUJl7Vrx1zCShjU62Eq5PJ8384AuAB6_TNVE/s400/Strven+to+deth.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
As soon as Natalie learned to write, she started passing us notes. Over the years I've compiled quite a collection, but this one -- her very first note, written when she was five -- is my favorite by far. She slipped it to me while I was making dinner one night. I was expecting a ransom demand to follow.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-85409665518245251062011-09-12T17:44:00.000-07:002011-09-12T17:44:55.512-07:00Comments from a king on his throne...Last month I walked by the bathroom and from behind the closed door, I heard Nathan saying, "I'm king of the world! I'm king of the world!"<br />
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Last week, he told Greg "Dad, I went potty like you... with a book and for a LONG time."<br />
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And this morning he told me, "Mom, I can control how fast my pee comes out. It's like a button on a remote control!"<br />
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And on that note, I'll just say... "Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years." --James ThurberAshleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-30810335167986010982011-09-11T16:39:00.000-07:002011-09-11T17:13:48.220-07:00Man, I spend an hour writing this thing and now I have to think of a title, too??Well, I've been a blogger for all of 42 hours, and I'm feeling about as lost as my Grandma when she tries to order coffee at Starbucks. Seems like an easy thing, right? Ordering coffee? At Starbucks? No. She spent about four and a half minutes looking at the menu, then asked the barista, "So, do you serve coffee here?" True story.<br />
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But back to my blogging cluelessness. At the risk of sounding like my mother, I've always been about two steps behind on technology. We didn't have cell phones until 2008, we didn't start texting on said cell phones until 2010, we just got our first laptop 2 months ago and we still (maybe you'd better sit down for this) have yet to buy an iPod. In fact, if you'd like to make fun of how 20th century we are, Natalie asked for an iPod last Christmas and we got her a Disk Man. Yeah, I know, we're about a decade (or two?) behind on that one. So being behind on joining (and figuring out) the blogging world is just par for the course, I suppose.<br />
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So. What's my point? I don't know. I guess I'm just trying to come up with an excuse for how someone living in 2011 can have this much trouble figuring out a simple thing like adding the "blogs I follow" list to my page (seriously, took me an hour...). I think it's safe to say, though, that the not-so-tech-savvy apple will stop falling at my branch of the tree. Natalie has been asking for her own facebook page since she was five (so that "I can get credit for all the funny things I say, Mom!") and now that she knows I've started a blog, all I hear from her is, "Mom, I want my own dot com, too!" That girl has a lot to say, and, thanks to social media, a lot of ways to say it.<br />
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Come to think of it, maybe I should just have her do this for me. I'm sure she'd catch on quicker than me.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8112475373728087246.post-13793251616806349472011-09-09T22:02:00.000-07:002011-09-09T22:02:35.310-07:00Well, here it is. I've been fighting every one who says "come on, write a blog or better yet, a book" for a few years now, but when Greg says "This could be our ticket to financial freedom!" ...Well, how can I argue with that? Oh, I remember. I tell him he's crazy. I procrastinate a few more months. I think of every excuse imaginable as to why I can't write a blog. Then I give in.<br />
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Really, I know these blogs will be little more than glorified facebook status's. At worst, read only by Greg and my mom; at best, a good way to record the things my kids say while they're young, funny and still actually speaking to me in complete sentences rather than grunts and eye rolls.<br />
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For my facebook friends, a lot of these stories might be repeats at first, which is one reason I've resisted starting this. Why write a blog when I have a facebook? I'm still not sure myself. But like Greg "Master of the Pipe Dream" Harmon always says, they won't make a sit-com of my blog if I don't write one.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264593954423244836noreply@blogger.com4