tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16214364197398087232024-03-13T22:00:03.207-07:00I Miss My SanityShelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.comBlogger362125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-20435241545919883122015-12-09T12:33:00.000-07:002015-12-09T12:36:45.068-07:00It All Goes By So FastRemember when I was all hysterical about becoming a grandmother? That was over three years ago. I know this, because my little Sophie nugget turned three in August: <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6rsOPcGy4mc/VmiBQ4OcGhI/AAAAAAAAG4k/ydc9UIL4-CA/s1600/12115866_10207159858176836_990420950188951639_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6rsOPcGy4mc/VmiBQ4OcGhI/AAAAAAAAG4k/ydc9UIL4-CA/s640/12115866_10207159858176836_990420950188951639_n.jpg" width="488" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And then, my oldest daughter also had a baby. In fact, she had a little boy almost two and a half years ago. His name is Jace: </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-10BR0Q3D0PE/VmiBjhgtV5I/AAAAAAAAG4s/77B81r5IF_k/s1600/1610958_10207207120680556_7196061243600742448_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-10BR0Q3D0PE/VmiBjhgtV5I/AAAAAAAAG4s/77B81r5IF_k/s400/1610958_10207207120680556_7196061243600742448_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
So I am a grandmother (Nonnie, please) to two little boogers. I am so blessed that we are currently all living within 10 miles of each other. <br />
<br />
Happy Holidays.... (yep, I'm one of THOSE)<br />
<br />
<br />Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-11654714908590953862013-03-27T12:22:00.001-07:002013-03-27T12:25:51.909-07:00Seven months old!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This is my little Sophia Nicole. Otherwise known as Sophie, Soph, Doph Doph, or Booboos. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7tBeTbk0KOM/UVNDlk-3gcI/AAAAAAAACgs/EjFAHK5tQfE/s1600/.facebook_-694812694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7tBeTbk0KOM/UVNDlk-3gcI/AAAAAAAACgs/EjFAHK5tQfE/s320/.facebook_-694812694.jpg" usa="true" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
She is seven months old already! I don't know where that seven months went, but I'm glad it did. <br />
She is so much fun now...she sits and babbles and rolls and is almost crawling. We have to get the house baby-proofed, toot-sweet! I love this little monkey-butt. <br />
<br />
So, guess what? Now my oldest daughter and her husband (both still in the army) are expecting at the end of June! And...(drumroll)...it's a BOY! That's new...I have three daughters and one granddaughter, and this is the first boy. Even for my mom...she has four granddaughters and one great-granddaughter, still going to be the first boy. Ok, she has one son, but are we counting my brother? I'm not. Just kidding, I love my brother. So around the end of June, we will have Jace ______ . Middle name not decided yet. Love the name Jace though. I just wish they didn't live in Georgia. I really want to go see him when he's born, and I don't know if I'll be able to. (Crossing fingers)<br />
<br /><br />Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-69111746808360057882013-01-05T15:03:00.001-07:002013-01-05T15:03:39.480-07:00Sun Devil Baby!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nt1FVPg0YBA/UOiiwfJUWgI/AAAAAAAACgc/coxkulhMn0g/s1600/sun+devil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nt1FVPg0YBA/UOiiwfJUWgI/AAAAAAAACgc/coxkulhMn0g/s320/sun+devil.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"I'm a Sun Devil, man! I went to Arizona State!" - Rod Tidwell in Jerry Maguire</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sophie at 4 months. :)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-66427512785807105742012-11-30T07:14:00.003-07:002012-11-30T07:21:12.671-07:00Call Me Nonni<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">Well, look what happens when you don't post for 7 months...you forget how to sign in, and the whole design/posting format is totally different. Well, here goes...</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">Sophia Nicole was born on August 24, weighing in at 6 lbs, 6 oz, and 19 inches long.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vzSTGleh9yE/ULi82WE_03I/AAAAAAAACfQ/T0vYuOVwo_Q/s1600/IMG_4065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vzSTGleh9yE/ULi82WE_03I/AAAAAAAACfQ/T0vYuOVwo_Q/s320/IMG_4065.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
First few moments with Mommy</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3m8U1dUbQ_0/ULi9KQXYxyI/AAAAAAAACfY/QrDgx42zafU/s1600/IMG_4054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3m8U1dUbQ_0/ULi9KQXYxyI/AAAAAAAACfY/QrDgx42zafU/s320/IMG_4054.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Getting a bottle from Aunt Kylie. Kylie doesn't like to be called "Aunt" though...she's just Kylie.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/---LTVedoo1k/ULi9LUB8kFI/AAAAAAAACfg/ygwSNgbBrk0/s1600/IMG_4126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/---LTVedoo1k/ULi9LUB8kFI/AAAAAAAACfg/ygwSNgbBrk0/s320/IMG_4126.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sophie at one month</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a1dDC3LWqfA/ULi9MG9K6GI/AAAAAAAACfo/eZLXnoHv1So/s1600/IMG_4131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a1dDC3LWqfA/ULi9MG9K6GI/AAAAAAAACfo/eZLXnoHv1So/s320/IMG_4131.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mb2bUM1c24k/ULi9NMJuPLI/AAAAAAAACfw/aGlTOwb0rEM/s1600/soph+2+mo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mb2bUM1c24k/ULi9NMJuPLI/AAAAAAAACfw/aGlTOwb0rEM/s320/soph+2+mo.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Two months old</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tBzfOg9Ta7U/ULi9UA8B3OI/AAAAAAAACf4/9bCXEKG009Y/s1600/IMG_4227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tBzfOg9Ta7U/ULi9UA8B3OI/AAAAAAAACf4/9bCXEKG009Y/s320/IMG_4227.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Our little pumpkin on Halloween</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JvYWe1g-rlc/ULi9ZXqBtQI/AAAAAAAACgA/xMA5wWLpaOo/s1600/IMG_4351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JvYWe1g-rlc/ULi9ZXqBtQI/AAAAAAAACgA/xMA5wWLpaOo/s320/IMG_4351.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And on Nov. 24, three months old already!</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-faxO0tWct1k/ULi9Z5Gh75I/AAAAAAAACgI/tGpqVOhwtt8/s1600/IMG_4384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-faxO0tWct1k/ULi9Z5Gh75I/AAAAAAAACgI/tGpqVOhwtt8/s320/IMG_4384.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
So big!!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Everyone is doing great here. Sophie is beautiful and happy and healthy and has brought such joy to our house. She has also definitely changed Shannon's life...for the better. Whereas before she did not care about school or grades or ... much of anything, today she is back in high school, motivated to graduate, and making plans for the future. This little baby has been a blessing in so many ways. Thank you to all who have asked about her, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get pictures up. Bad Nonni. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-62527511759770138522012-03-02T10:24:00.004-07:002012-03-02T11:25:58.114-07:00Don't Call Me Grandma!In May, I will be 45 years old. And in September, I will become a (gulp) grandmother. I seem entirely too young for this, no?<br /><br />And it's not even my almost 20 year-old army medic that is making me a grandmother.<br /><br />Oh no...it's my 17 year-old high school junior.<br /><br />Yep.<br /><br />I am a big believer in information. She and her boyfriend had been together quite a long time, in teenage time. At some point, you know they're having sex, and all you can do is make sure that they have as much information as possible. You know, like beating your daughter over the head with a box of condoms.<br /><br />Even so, teenagers don't always think, and don't always make the best decisions.<br /><br />We talked extensively about her options.<br /><br />For her, abortion was out of the question. I respect that choice.<br /><br />I talked to her at length about adoption.<br />She said she didn't think she could do it.<br /><br />So, it appears that in early September, we will be having a baby.<br />She is 14 weeks along today.<br /><br />My baby is having a baby.<br /><br />Stunned, is what I am.<br /><br />So, here's my main, pressing problem. I don't want to be called grandma.<br />It sounds old.<br />I have a nine year-old, for Pete's sake.<br />Mimi is taken...that's what my kids call my mom.<br />Mimi was a variation of Grammy, so that's out too.<br />Not liking Nana.<br />My daughter suggested "Gram Cracker". She's such a comedian.<br /><br />So what do you have your daughter's child call you when you are adamently opposed to Grandma?Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-91410796123851206992011-11-12T09:37:00.007-07:002011-11-12T09:56:21.744-07:00Veteran's DayOn my first Veteran's Day as a military mom, I was very lucky. My daughter was home.<br /><br />She flew home late Thursday from Georgia to Colorado to spend the long weekend with us.<br /><br />On Friday morning, we had a date with Kylie's third grade class. Danni had agreed to visit and talk to the kids.<br /><br />When we arrived, there was a group of Cub Scouts out front, learning how to do a flag-raising ceremony.<br /><br />We were just standing there, and one of Cub Scout leaders came up to Danni and shook her hand, and said, "Are you here to help with the flag-raising ceremony?"<br /><br />Danni said, "Well, umm...I'm just..."<br /><br />And the man literally pulled her by the hand and said, "Great! Come on!" And he dragged her away.<br /><br />Cue me, laughing hysterically. I followed them, because I had my camera.<br /><br />When I caught up with them, they were over by the side of the school. The guy in the brown jacket who had so thoughtfully dragged her over there, was talking to the boys. One of the boys had noticed that the flag on Danni's uniform was backwards, whereas the flags on the Cub Scout uniforms were not. The leader was explaining that the flag was backwards because it represented the soldier running into battle, with the flag flying behind her.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JUKioc2x98A/Tr6iSCVR2DI/AAAAAAAACek/oA4YxqXlmVg/s1600/IMG_3566.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674151011280869426" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JUKioc2x98A/Tr6iSCVR2DI/AAAAAAAACek/oA4YxqXlmVg/s400/IMG_3566.JPG" /></a>The looks on the faces of these little boys were priceless. A real live soldier was talking to them! <br /><br />After she answered a few of their questions, they marched over to the flagpole and had their ceremony.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0VF7qHGZkwU/Tr6iJJCxTRI/AAAAAAAACeY/bTuaJi5fB7c/s1600/IMG_3569.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674150858463464722" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0VF7qHGZkwU/Tr6iJJCxTRI/AAAAAAAACeY/bTuaJi5fB7c/s400/IMG_3569.JPG" /></a> They had Danni raise the flag. That was pretty darn cool, with everyone looking on and the little boys doing their Cub Scout salute.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When school started, we went into Kylie's class.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tmsfn2ad3_4/Tr6iD3l533I/AAAAAAAACeM/pDx-v0VC4B8/s1600/IMG_3572.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674150767879642994" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tmsfn2ad3_4/Tr6iD3l533I/AAAAAAAACeM/pDx-v0VC4B8/s400/IMG_3572.JPG" /></a> We spent about 20 minutes with them. The teacher explained a bit about what Veteran's Day was and then let Kylie introduce her sister. Danni talked a bit about her job as a medic and what she is learning, and then she answered the kids' questions. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>She did really well. I would have thought she had been a public speaker all her life. When I mentioned that later, she said that it's a lot easier to talk to kids. I would agree with that.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tvq6-zFvlC0/Tr6h-UCjT0I/AAAAAAAACeA/056Kl1HXOVM/s1600/IMG_3576.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674150672436776770" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tvq6-zFvlC0/Tr6h-UCjT0I/AAAAAAAACeA/056Kl1HXOVM/s400/IMG_3576.JPG" /></a>Can you spot the proud, beaming sister next to the soldier? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Happy Veteran's day to all who have served, and are currently serving. We are grateful for you.</div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div></div></div></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-20003935814598247562011-10-26T14:30:00.003-07:002011-10-26T14:37:35.796-07:00Twenty Years Ago TodayToday is our 20th wedding anniversary. My husband and me. 20 years. 20 years, three kids, ups, downs, good times, bad times.<br /><br />I'm not sure how I feel about this. Everyone congratulates you. It's making me feel old.<br /><br />On the bright side, Steve ordered up a beautiful snowstorm for me today. At least, that's what he said, that he ordered it for me for our anniversary. I love it. Best. Present. Ever.Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-55449217619447817702011-06-04T08:43:00.013-07:002011-06-04T10:10:32.754-07:00Basic GraduationLast month, on May 4th precisely, so I'm only a month late writing this...we traveled from Denver to Lawton, OK (by car, not recommended) to see my baby graduate from basic training.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Well, we left on May 4th, very early in the morning. We got there in the evening. This was a Wednesday, right?<br /><br /><br /></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OPII1duDrcw/TepT0wgGRkI/AAAAAAAACcs/ug-QVlfguNM/s1600/IMG_0599.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614392051308578370" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OPII1duDrcw/TepT0wgGRkI/AAAAAAAACcs/ug-QVlfguNM/s400/IMG_0599.jpg" /></a> The hotel we stayed at had an indoor pool. Being a native of Arizona (which meant swimming from April to October) and now being a Colorado kid and having not seen a pool since August...this had to be the first thing Kylie did. Someone diagram that sentence, please. I think it's a little off.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ga2If335p80/TepT0lZpdXI/AAAAAAAACck/JpQb-9gpMuY/s1600/family%2Bday.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614392048328734066" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ga2If335p80/TepT0lZpdXI/AAAAAAAACck/JpQb-9gpMuY/s400/family%2Bday.jpg" /></a> Thursday was Family Day. We went to the base at about 9am, and they had a demonstration of marching, hand to hand combat, introduced the honor grads, and had a citizenship ceremony for three members of the platoon who were becoming American citizens. That was neat. In case you can't tell which one of those identically dressed people is my daughter (it took me a while to find her), I drew a heart on her.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div>After the ceremony, the soldiers were released to get into their dress uniforms and spend the rest of the day with their families. Up until this point, we still hadn't been able to talk to her or be within 100 yards of her.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sKBBr-ljs9Q/TepTkgv88rI/AAAAAAAACcc/LsFs0xlZh80/s1600/IMG_0616.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391772202201778" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sKBBr-ljs9Q/TepTkgv88rI/AAAAAAAACcc/LsFs0xlZh80/s400/IMG_0616.jpg" /></a> She was awfully excited to see her sisters. And they were pretty excited to see her.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ltEPi-TgOpQ/TepTkKB7ieI/AAAAAAAACcU/JWElx9PN4WQ/s1600/IMG_0617.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391766103591394" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ltEPi-TgOpQ/TepTkKB7ieI/AAAAAAAACcU/JWElx9PN4WQ/s400/IMG_0617.jpg" /></a> This one just about killed me.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-068ruCgTk2A/TepTj9MMIOI/AAAAAAAACcM/M_s7izBNJY8/s1600/IMG_0623.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391762656960738" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-068ruCgTk2A/TepTj9MMIOI/AAAAAAAACcM/M_s7izBNJY8/s400/IMG_0623.jpg" /></a> This is Danni with one of her "battles." They have designated battle buddies, because they don't go anywhere (even the bathroom) alone. They just call each other battles. I think these two will be friends for life.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><br />So we spent the afternoon with Danni in Lawton. There's not much to do in Lawton. We went out to lunch, and then to the one mall they have. Surprisingly, it seemed as if most of her platoon was at the mall too. Like I said, there's not much in Lawton.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>Danni's friend above was with us, because her mom hadn't arrived yet. I think they spent about $100 each in Victoria's Secret. One of the girls who worked in the store said they always love family day, because they get an influx of girls who haven't seen makeup or frilly underwear (or a mall) in 10 weeks, and they all have 10 weeks of pay that they've had no use for up until now. </div><br /><br /><br /><div>Also, Danni decided to treat herself to her first really nice phone. All we've ever given the poor kid is whatever you could get for free or maybe $20 with your upgrade. And never a smart phone. Because have you seen the prices of those data/internet/whatever plans?</div><br /><br /><br /><div>She bought herself a Droid Incredible 2, which is a nicer phone than I will ever have. She got a plan with unlimited data/internet/whatever, to which I said, "That's nice, honey!", because I DON'T HAVE TO PAY THE BILL. How nice is THAT? </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>After the mall, we went back to our hotel room and just hung out for a while. She enjoyed lying on the bed just relaxing and watching TV. I guess she hasn't been able to do that for a while.</div></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div>An hour or so before we had to take her back to the base, we headed to a park to take some pictures. I told her I wanted a nice picture of her in her uniform, because guess what? You know those basic traning pictures that everyone has next to the flag? She doesn't have one. I still don't know why, but she doesn't. Which is fine, because she looks amazing now. She lost about 20 lbs in basic training and she is so...in shape. Maybe I should go to basic training.<br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mk38tGYue48/TepTjky7lJI/AAAAAAAACcE/6vmQVgmfS0k/s1600/bc%2Bpic.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391756108567698" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mk38tGYue48/TepTjky7lJI/AAAAAAAACcE/6vmQVgmfS0k/s400/bc%2Bpic.jpg" /></a> So, this is my own official basic training portrait of her. I like it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K3T0yxV6HjY/TepTjXYfBjI/AAAAAAAACb8/1dXCTztGeH8/s1600/IMG_0631.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391752507983410" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K3T0yxV6HjY/TepTjXYfBjI/AAAAAAAACb8/1dXCTztGeH8/s400/IMG_0631.jpg" /></a> I have to say, this is my favorite picture of these two, EVER. In one picture, I've summed up both of their personalities perfectly. Oh, and did I mention that Danni and her battle also got their nails done at the mall? I guess a lot of the girls do that too.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614399432326743282" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yFBBffpb_qk/TepaiY79hPI/AAAAAAAACc0/kImIM87zqkk/s400/IMG_0634.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><div>As much as these two have fought over the years, this is sort of... rewarding? Heartwarming? Amazing?<br /></div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RgaqEbc7tfQ/TepaigvWyPI/AAAAAAAACc8/ocCh5B3WRQY/s1600/sisters.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614399434421356786" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RgaqEbc7tfQ/TepaigvWyPI/AAAAAAAACc8/ocCh5B3WRQY/s400/sisters.jpg" /></a> My three babies. Where one is in the army, a second one is driving and now officially a high school junior, and the other one...well, she's still a baby. Make her stop growing right now, please.</div><br /><br /><br /><div>We dropped her off at the base around 8pm and headed back to the hotel. The next day, Friday, was graduation. I don't really have any good pictures of the actual graduation, mainly because it was very dark in the auditorium and most pictures came out blurry.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_IxeVC5ppiU/TepTMREx2VI/AAAAAAAACbk/UPWJs0t_-94/s1600/IMG_0658.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391355677727058" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_IxeVC5ppiU/TepTMREx2VI/AAAAAAAACbk/UPWJs0t_-94/s400/IMG_0658.jpg" /></a> Outside the auditorium afterwards, my officially graduated soldier and her youngest sister.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XMVZuDAuSqY/TepTMJBE27I/AAAAAAAACbc/iWG30QCq5-w/s1600/IMG_0656.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391353514711986" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XMVZuDAuSqY/TepTMJBE27I/AAAAAAAACbc/iWG30QCq5-w/s400/IMG_0656.jpg" /></a> Here's Danni with her very proud grandparents, who arrived Thursday afternoon from AZ. My dad was like, beyond proud of her. Like more proud than he's ever been of me. These are the grandparents that Danni lived with her senior year of high school when we moved to Colorado. I know there were a lot of times that Danni felt like an intruder as the year went on, and you could tell my dad in his 70s was tiring of living with a teenager. I don't blame him.</div><br /><br /><br /><div>However, he is over the moon about this army thing with her. I told him that if he's as proud of her as he seems, he should take her aside and tell her. Which is not the sort of thing that my dad does. But he did. Which was awesome. </div><br /><br /><br /><div>You know what I just noticed right now, this very second? My parents. Are both. Wearing. Fanny packs. Fanny packs! How did I not notice that when we were all there? I think I might have to have a talk with them.<br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n5jjD6UpT0A/TepTL6u3sCI/AAAAAAAACbU/9ZAd6V-DFbU/s1600/fam.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614391349680255010" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n5jjD6UpT0A/TepTL6u3sCI/AAAAAAAACbU/9ZAd6V-DFbU/s400/fam.jpg" /></a> The whole family, all very proud of our soldier. </div><br /><br /><br /><div>She got to spend the rest of Friday with us as well. We went out to lunch again, where she calls everyone "ma'am" and "sir". Not us, because that would be weird, but like the waitress: "What would you like to drink?" "I'd like an iced tea please, ma'am". And the people all over Lawton who would randomly congratulate her, because they're used to this. Fort Still graduates a platoon every weekend. Random man: "Congratulations!" "Thank you, Sir". It still sounds very strange coming out of my daughter's mouth. But it made me proud. Yes, I know it's required when they're in uniform. But still. Was this MY daughter?</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>But out of public, in the hotel room, oh yes, it most definitely is my daughter. With more of a potty-mouth than she had 10 weeks ago. I think it's an army thing. I'm glad she hasn't changed too much. Only for the better. I talked to her on the phone last night, and she's still the same kid. She told me that the girls in her bay were having races up and down the hall in chairs on wheels. Sounds like a college dorm. Must be the weekend!</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Anyway, we had to leave her at the base again Friday night, because she was shipping out early Saturday morning. I cried. Danni said, "Mom, don't cry." How can I not? We have to leave you. Again. And you're in the freaking ARMY. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>We left Saturday morning for that hell of a drive back to Denver. It's not quite a long as Denver to Phoenix, but almost. Which is why I already have PLANE tickets for the girls and me for our trip to AZ this summer (Yay! Planes!) 14 hours in a car, vs. 1 hr 45 min. on a plane. I (and my Xanax) will take the plane, thanks. Even if it is a bit of a hit to the wallet. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Danni is now spending 16 weeks at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, beginning her training as a medic. She will be able to get her LPN while in the army, and then eventually college and an RN. That's the plan, anyway. We don't know yet where she's going to be stationed when she graduates from AIT. Can it please be somewhere safe?</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-54399896653843534852011-04-10T20:37:00.003-07:002011-04-10T20:53:03.021-07:00Happy Basic Training Birthday<div>I have three daughters. The oldest one, we've always called Danni. She turned 19 on Friday.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDY7Vi-5M2Y/TaJ4jcbXhsI/AAAAAAAACaY/rgtNOQdwTrs/s1600/Danni1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDY7Vi-5M2Y/TaJ4jcbXhsI/AAAAAAAACaY/rgtNOQdwTrs/s400/Danni1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594166237469312706" /></a>She turned 19 in basic training. This was hard for me. Not only could I not hug her or tell her happy birthday, I couldn't even call her. Hopefully, the large envelope of cards, letters and pictures I sent her will suffice. <div><br /></div><div>Her platoon having a Facebook page is interesting. Because I get to see what they are doing. And when they post pictures, I'm scouring each one, looking for her. I'm saving them all. My mom said she is saving them all too, and will make a scrapbook for Danni. I like that idea, because I would just save the pictures. My mom is the best grandma ever.<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aUD33CyRiRs/TaJ34gpuhGI/AAAAAAAACaQ/kWcinVkKXW4/s1600/189465_10150434897205641_10150093035685641_17407935_7320580_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aUD33CyRiRs/TaJ34gpuhGI/AAAAAAAACaQ/kWcinVkKXW4/s400/189465_10150434897205641_10150093035685641_17407935_7320580_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165499868906594" /></a>So, pictures from the Facebook page. This one is from one of the first few days she was there. They just finished week 5 of 9, in case you're wondering. Graduation is May 6th.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yUMbawTs7X4/TaJ34T2SXDI/AAAAAAAACaI/lBqZw13IPdo/s1600/Pre%2Bgas%2Bchamber.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yUMbawTs7X4/TaJ34T2SXDI/AAAAAAAACaI/lBqZw13IPdo/s400/Pre%2Bgas%2Bchamber.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165496431926322" /></a>During week two, they got to do the gas chamber. I know this is the only thing she was really dreading, so I'm glad they got it out of the way in week two. I know this is her, because her name <strike>is</strike> was her uniform in all the pictures. I've strategically blurred it out, so I don't cause a national security incident.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jmgNmSQNPeo/TaJ34UZnX_I/AAAAAAAACaA/GGYB6QRm_ug/s1600/gas%2Bchamber%2BAfter.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jmgNmSQNPeo/TaJ34UZnX_I/AAAAAAAACaA/GGYB6QRm_ug/s400/gas%2Bchamber%2BAfter.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165496580104178" /></a>She wrote me a letter and said that the gas chamber really sucked. I can kind of tell by this picture of her after she came out. Judging by the look of the guy behind her, he didn't care for it much either.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7nLZkvobTdQ/TaJ34PRryEI/AAAAAAAACZ4/1DUWJ0T3vBI/s1600/guns1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7nLZkvobTdQ/TaJ34PRryEI/AAAAAAAACZ4/1DUWJ0T3vBI/s400/guns1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165495204661314" /></a>Then, there are the guns. Excuse me, rifles. I've already been corrected on that one. By my father. She's the first one in line there, getting her rifle...cleaned?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t-p16fCD-pU/TaJ3ufhAC3I/AAAAAAAACZw/UFlYHmCy2s0/s1600/guns2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t-p16fCD-pU/TaJ3ufhAC3I/AAAAAAAACZw/UFlYHmCy2s0/s400/guns2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165327765179250" /></a>She wrote me that she likes shooting. It's fun. And she's even pretty good at it. I'm sure that during her medical/nursing duties, shooting a rifle will come in handy. Yes, I know they all have to learn it. It doesn't mean I have to like it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kslmppt1Lqk/TaJ3tw7CCTI/AAAAAAAACZo/CC0HCc3v-58/s1600/guns8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kslmppt1Lqk/TaJ3tw7CCTI/AAAAAAAACZo/CC0HCc3v-58/s400/guns8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165315257895218" /></a>Kapow! Blam! Boom! Wait. I might be thinking of comic books.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wj1CqGcgxW8/TaJ3t3xYIfI/AAAAAAAACZg/Y0qFBtllyJE/s1600/guns4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wj1CqGcgxW8/TaJ3t3xYIfI/AAAAAAAACZg/Y0qFBtllyJE/s400/guns4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165317096448498" /></a>Hello, Private Danni. Nice shooting, there.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4luzvveIk0k/TaJ3trbth3I/AAAAAAAACZY/C_0mh0F3Ibk/s1600/smiling.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4luzvveIk0k/TaJ3trbth3I/AAAAAAAACZY/C_0mh0F3Ibk/s400/smiling.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165313784350578" /></a>Wait, what is this? Smiling? In basic training? Is this allowed?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HeATa5nTTTU/TaJ3tgAtFGI/AAAAAAAACZQ/sJDOgsndA_A/s1600/208778_10150516967640641_10150093035685641_17822660_1307087_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HeATa5nTTTU/TaJ3tgAtFGI/AAAAAAAACZQ/sJDOgsndA_A/s400/208778_10150516967640641_10150093035685641_17822660_1307087_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594165310718284898" /></a>Awww, look...she's making friends. It's just like college, except with, you know, rifles and hand grenades. And protective eyewear.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Happy birthday kiddo. Four more weeks until graduation. Oklahoma here we come!</div><div><br /></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-45312468836981230322011-03-13T08:29:00.002-07:002011-03-13T09:00:29.894-07:00The Army Goes FacebookSo, how's this for weird? My daughter's platoon has a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> page! It was created and is being run by the wife of one of the drill sergeants. On Sundays we get a schedule of what they'll be doing the coming up week. Also, family members of the soldiers can leave messages and she will (she says) pass them along.<br /><br />The family members are starting to talk to each other, which I think is cool. By the time we go to graduation at the beginning of May, I'll already know all these people.<br /><br />In case you're interested, the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span> page is here: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/pages/Bravo-Battery-1st-bn-40th-Field-Artillery-Bushmasters/10150093035685641">Bravo Battery Bushmasters</a><br /><br />They also post pictures. Lots of pictures. Hundreds of pictures. As usual, my daughter is quite adept at hiding from the camera. I have been able to find a few of her though. I snagged two of them where I could actually see her face:<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qbvjXHkscRs/TXzjebpmrdI/AAAAAAAACZI/agXU4H1lmOY/s1600/185781_10150439238630641_10150093035685641_17459415_7954148_n.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583587749990411730" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qbvjXHkscRs/TXzjebpmrdI/AAAAAAAACZI/agXU4H1lmOY/s400/185781_10150439238630641_10150093035685641_17459415_7954148_n.jpg" /></a> That's my baby in the middle there, standing in formation on day 1 of basic training.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbiSwO4RhlA/TXzjeRoR5UI/AAAAAAAACZA/dGC2Xmtn_BM/s1600/200798_10150445099060641_10150093035685641_17517300_4934160_n.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583587747300500802" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbiSwO4RhlA/TXzjeRoR5UI/AAAAAAAACZA/dGC2Xmtn_BM/s400/200798_10150445099060641_10150093035685641_17517300_4934160_n.jpg" /></a> This was on Friday. They called this the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Treadwell</span> Tower, and it's a mass of ladders, rope bridges, and a 40 foot <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">rappelling</span> wall. Out of the 300 pictures or so that they posted on Friday, this is the only one I could find of her. Looked to me like she had climbed up the ladder behind her, and was kneeling on a platform ready to take on a rope bridge. Kylie said it looked like a big playground. :)</div><div><br /></div><div>I also got to talk to her briefly yesterday. She said that they were allowed to use their phones for five minutes. Because of the earthquake in Japan, there were lots of soldiers worried about friends/family members stationed or living in Japan, so they let them have some phone time. </div><div><br /></div><div>She told me that things were going well, and that it's really not bad. The thing that is the hardest for her (she says) is "immature people who can't keep their mouths' shut, so the whole platoon winds up paying for it." I guess she doesn't like it much when one person gets out of line, and everyone has to run or do pushups or whatever. I wouldn't like that much either.</div><div><br /></div><div>She said (after week 1) that the training itself isn't bad at all. Some of it is even kind of fun (See: rope bridge, playground). This coming Tuesday is not going to be fun, but at least they are getting it out of the way at the beginning. The gas chamber. Where they get to go in to a chamber with gas masks on, then they get to take them off and see what it feels like to be gassed. I've seen other pictures and video on YouTube...they all come out crying and gasping and puking. I hope on that day, I don't see any pictures of her. This is the only thing she has been dreading. But like I said, at least they're getting it out of the way early. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think the hardest part of this whole thing for me is trying to separate the pride I have for my daughter with my feelings about the military. I am not a big fan of the military, war, guns, killing, bombs, or anything war-related. I don't care for movies about war. I don't like violence at all. And my daughter has joined the army. Don't get me wrong, I am so, so proud of her. How many 18 year-old girls are completely and totally on their own? Getting training, and earning money while doing it. With no husband or children, and hardly anything she needs to spend money on, she's going to have a nice fat balance in her checking account by the time she's done with AIT (Advanced Individual Training). </div><div><br /></div><div>Her AIT will be at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, which is directly after basic. If you're in the medical field, that's where you go for AIT. Her job is 68W, or a medic. She wants to eventually become a nurse. Anyway, back to the part where I am so very proud of her. She didn't want to take money from us, nor go into debt to pay for college. You know what she wants to buy when she gets out of AIT? A laptop. Not a car, not a big screen TV, not a mall full of clothes. She wants a nice laptop. I told her, "Baby, you'll have plenty of money and you'll definitely have earned it, so you go buy yourself the nicest, shiniest laptop you can find." :)</div><div><br /></div><div>I love that kid. The military, not so much. But I sure do love her. Have I mentioned that I'm really, really proud of her?</div><div><br /><br /><br /></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-21366075876057657552011-02-26T09:40:00.004-07:002011-02-26T10:00:52.345-07:00The Purple Hand<div>So, this Army thing. My fears are realized and my daughter has already been injured. But perhaps a little backstory.</div><div><br /></div><div>When you go to basic training, you don't actually start basic training right when you get there. The first week is called reception, where you are not in the actual barracks, but in some sort of holding place. In Danni's case, a hall with about 50 girls and bunk beds and lockers.</div><div><br /></div><div>So you spend reception week getting your uniforms, seeing the doctor and dentist, getting immunizations (you know, whether you had them as a kid or not, I guess you get to have them all again) and getting paperwork in order. I'm not sure how this takes a week, but whatever.</div><div><br /></div><div>When you're in basic training, every night, 7 or so people (or however long they sleep) have to do an hour of "guard duty." What they are protecting, I don't know. But what I'm saying is on certain nights, you have to wake up in the middle of the night and stand guard for an hour, then go back to bed.</div><div><br /></div><div>In reception, I suppose they are preparing you for this when they do the same thing, except instead of guard duty, you're just watching the reception desk. In the middle of the night. To make sure it doesn't escape, or something.</div><div><br /></div><div>Danni arrived at Fort Sill on Wednesday the 16th. On Thursday night, sometime in the middle of the night, she had her turn at holding down the fort. Oh, I slay me. Get it, fort? Sill? </div><div><br /></div><div>She also managed to get herself a top bunk, not by choice. Apparently, there are no ladders or anything, you just jump down and climb up. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now, the week before she left, she didn't get much sleep. She was nervous and scared and jittery. So I'm blaming exhaustion on the fact that my daughter, getting up to watch the reception desk in the middle of the night, fell out of her top bunk. Onto a concrete floor. She landed on her butt, and her left hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, her butt is fine, but her left hand ended up like this:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z-SPxfXwuis/TWktMwAOsTI/AAAAAAAACYo/A-BcfRNEfQM/s1600/Photo02191028%2B%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z-SPxfXwuis/TWktMwAOsTI/AAAAAAAACYo/A-BcfRNEfQM/s400/Photo02191028%2B%25281%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578039310542614834" /></a><br /><div>In case you're wondering how I got the picture, they're allowed to keep their cell phones while they're in reception week.</div><div><br /></div><div>They took xrays, and fortunately, nothing is broken. She just has some deep bone bruises on her hand and wrist. However, this injury did prevent her from leaving for actual basic with her unit on Wed. the 23rd. Because you can't do pushups with your arm in a thing. </div><div><br /></div><div>So on Wednesday, all the girls except Danni and one other girl who has some sort of infection, left. And a new crop of girls came in. When the first group left? My girl grabbed a bottom bunk. </div><div><br /></div><div>She is pissed, because reception is boring, and she has to stay another week. As far as I know, she will actually start basic this Wednesday, March 2nd. You know what they do in reception? They sleep, eat, clean and work out. Woooo.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the bright side, she said the food is surprisingly good. On the night I talked to her, she said she had some amazing spinach lasagna. So there's that.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-27341997902343939842011-02-23T07:06:00.004-07:002011-02-23T07:25:43.798-07:00My Daughter Wears Combat Boots<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wPY_MalNvRw/TWUUyS9MzMI/AAAAAAAACYg/zXvqe8DGIhc/s1600/IMG_0236.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wPY_MalNvRw/TWUUyS9MzMI/AAAAAAAACYg/zXvqe8DGIhc/s400/IMG_0236.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576886567882771650" /></a>These are my kids on February 14th at the Downtown Sheraton in Denver. See the one in the middle? On February 14th, she was still a civilian.<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3nTSJe_zj4/TWUUx-Qx1PI/AAAAAAAACYY/NAwwv2kt-5I/s1600/IMG_0238.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3nTSJe_zj4/TWUUx-Qx1PI/AAAAAAAACYY/NAwwv2kt-5I/s400/IMG_0238.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576886562327745778" /></a>That night, we had to leave her at the Sheraton. Kylie wasn't going with us to the swearing in the next day, so she had to say her goodbye here. You know what's hard? Saying goodbye to your eight year-old sister. You know what's even harder? Crying in the car all the way home because your eight year-old daughter is crying that she's going to miss her big sister so much.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vN0hNIaRGwA/TWUUxqPAITI/AAAAAAAACYQ/P_KKpB8yGKE/s1600/IMG_0241.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vN0hNIaRGwA/TWUUxqPAITI/AAAAAAAACYQ/P_KKpB8yGKE/s400/IMG_0241.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576886556951585074" /></a>This is my daughter on February 15th, when she ceased to be a civilian and became a soldier. More crying, because my baby is vowing to protect and defend our country, against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Well, not because of that, but because she's leaving. And because I am so dang proud of her.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cieUzg-pMlY/TWUUxXLWrkI/AAAAAAAACYI/JHCi96HG85A/s1600/IMG_0242.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cieUzg-pMlY/TWUUxXLWrkI/AAAAAAAACYI/JHCi96HG85A/s400/IMG_0242.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576886551836012098" /></a>My 18 year-old and 16 year-old babies. I don't care, they're still babies. And look, they even look like they love each other in this picture. Ok, I know they love each other, but they do have a hard time living together. Something about taking each other's clothes and makeup.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Proud and sad. Sad and proud. You know what the worst time of the day is? When I'm driving to work. 25 minutes by myself, to do nothing but think about how much I miss her, what I'm going to say in my next letter, and hoping to God she doesn't get hurt, or worse. One day, I will stop crying in the car on the way to work every day. She's only been gone a week. It will stop, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>Her job is 68W, Healthcare Specialist. She's going to be a nurse, eventually. I'm really, really glad she's going to be helping people, not killing them. Yes, I'll say it....I'm terrified she's going to have to go to the Middle East. Even though I've been told that in her job, not a lot of women go there because of the issues of Middle Eastern countries and their disdain for women. I've been told she would have a choice, and I know she would choose not to go there. It still scares me.<br /><br /></div><div>Honestly? I've been told this and that, but I have a hard time trusting the Army. I'm afraid they're going to suck out her soul. What if I go to her graduation from basic training at the end of April, and they've replaced my daughter with a Danni-looking robot? I just don't want her to change. More responsible would be good. But I don't want her to change. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, Doctor? Can I get a four-year supply of Xanax, please? </div><div><br /></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-31458600602702177812011-01-15T10:02:00.002-07:002011-01-15T10:39:21.586-07:00Having a Job Is Time Consuming<div>The fact that having a job is time-consuming might be obvious to most people, but I forgot just exactly how little free time you have when working 40 hours a week, plus another 10 hours (30 min. each way, 5 days) commuting. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm still here, and I read everyone's posts when I get a chance, and have done zero commenting. I have so much to catch up on.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think I wrote the last post about my job before I actually started. I was under the impression that I would be working at a help desk in a hospital. That's not exactly the case. I work for...well, I'd rather not have anyone search the name of the company and have my blog come up, but it's three words. First word is a major religion with the pope as its leader. Second word is the opposite of sickness, or a type of insurance we'd all like to have. Third word, initiatives. Well, I don't actually work for them yet, since it's a contract to hire position. I work for the contractor right now, but I really like the job and I think they like me pretty well, so I'm hoping that sooner rather than later, I will be hired on and then my family will have...you know, that type of insurance we'd all like to have.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I work not in a hospital, but in a very, very nice office with a room full of (mostly) very cool people, and we support about 70 hospitals from that room. Calls range from nurses who lock themselves out of every medical computer application known to man (those are the easy ones), to help with an Excel spreadsheet, to "I can't find my personal files in Outlook", to "I need a shared drive mapped to my computer." There are also calls about phones and printers and scanners and such where we just send a ticket to their local IT people. Then there are the calls about which I am completely clueless, and have to ask for help. But that's ok, everyone in the room is always asking questions of co-workers. And I find that as time goes by, I'm having to ask fewer questions, which is good.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a nutshell, I really like the job, like the office, like the people. Being away from the house 50 hours a week is the only hard part. I work from 11am to 7:30pm right now. The nice part is that I am able to get up with the kids in the morning and get them off to school, then still have a little time to get a few things done around the house. The bad part is not getting home until 8pm. Luckily, I have Shannon to watch Kylie, and she's doing a pretty good job.</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of Shannon...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TTHTGtXPUbI/AAAAAAAACXw/1WrHK83qEkw/s1600/shannon_kylie%2Bbaby.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TTHTGtXPUbI/AAAAAAAACXw/1WrHK83qEkw/s400/shannon_kylie%2Bbaby.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562459126989017522" /></a>How is it that this little rugrat turned 16 this past week? My middle child is 16. Sad that she's growing up? Yes. But with the passing of time also comes the passing of the adolescent angst, thank God. She and her boyfriend Jacob just passed the 10 month mark, and they seem pretty happy. He's a nice kid, if not so much in the ambition department, and he's sweet to her, so it's all good at this point. <div><br /></div><div>Speaking of kids, Danni is home! She leaves for basic training a month from today. It's so nice to have her back. Three months of living on her own has really changed her for the better, I think. The "I'm 18 and you can't tell me what to do" attitude is gone, and I feel like I have my daughter back. She is excited to start basic, because she wants to get her life going. She is going to be going in as an E3, and is on an RN track, with her army job title being Health Care Specialist. For now, she is enjoying sleeping in and spending time with her sisters. </div><div><br /></div><div>I promise, very soon, to visit all of you and see what you are up to. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and a very happy new year!</div><div><br /></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-58004089657207426332010-11-12T16:39:00.004-07:002010-11-12T17:46:11.970-07:00What? Me, Worry?<div align="center">HAPPY DANCE!!!</div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TN3QSuuSY8I/AAAAAAAACXk/1oZS7sNwaUI/s1600/snoopy_happy_dance_2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 381px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538812136933974978" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TN3QSuuSY8I/AAAAAAAACXk/1oZS7sNwaUI/s400/snoopy_happy_dance_2.jpg" /></a><br />So, remember about eight days ago when I was moaning about how I couldn't find a job?<br /><br />Well, guess what?<br /><br />Today, I GOT A JOB!!!!<br /><br />It happened so fast, it was unbelievable.<br /><br />Last Thursday, I sent my resume to a recruiter for a job that my husband found online. It was considered an IT job, so I never would have been looking for that. But it was for a help desk position, at a hospital. My previous job? Medical software support.<br /><br />I emailed my resume, and the recruiter called me not 20 minutes later. She suggested a few minor changes to my resume to fit the position. I made the changes and emailed it back to her.<br /><br />Friday, I heard nothing. Because nothing gets done on Fridays.<br /><br />Monday, I called her. She hadn't heard anything from the client yet.<br /><br />Wednesday, was poking around online, and found that the same job had been reposted. I panicked, and called the recruiter again. I asked if this means they don't want to interview me. She said it probably meant nothing, because it could be an auto-poster, and she still hadn't heard from them.<br /><br />Thursday afternoon, she called and said that they loved my medical background, and that she had to forward me a few questions that they wanted me to answer. And oh by the way, they needed someone to start Monday.<br /><br />I answered the techie-type questions as best I could and sent them back to the recruiter, thinking, "I am not qualified for this job at all." I told my husband, I probably was not going to get the job, because I didn't know half the stuff they asked. I Googled some of it, and made the rest of it up.<br /><br />This morning, the recruiter calls me and says that they want me and are offering me the position! Yay! I accepted, then went down to the recruiter's office to fill out the crap ton of paperwork.<br /><br />This is a contract-to-hire position, so I'll be an employee of the recruiter for 3-6 months, then after that, the hospital WILL (I'm so not saying if) hire me on. And let me just say, this is the highest-paying job I have ever had. I am so happy and grateful right now. I will never, ever again take having a job for granted. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me.<br /><br />Now we just need to find hubby a job, and we're good to go. :)Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-53352919317771876842010-11-04T10:24:00.002-07:002010-11-04T10:37:39.095-07:00Beyond FrustratedI can't find a job, people.<br /><br />I've applied. Oh, I've applied.<br /><br />I worked for a medical software company for five years, before they decided to close the office. I have extensive computer experience. I have excellent written and verbal communication skills. I have customer service experience. I have a bachelor's degree in psychology. I am one hell of an employee. I am smart, responsible, punctual, and work well with others.<br /><br />What the hell, Internet?<br /><br />I had one interview with an accounting firm who does city management for small cities that are too small to have their own city management. It was for a job in the utilities billing department.<br /><br />I got an interview on that one. It went well. Then I got a second interview. I thought that also went well.<br /><br />When the staffing agency that sent me on that interview informed me that I did not get the job, she said all the client would say is that, "It just wasn't the right fit." Not that I wasn't qualified, or they didn't think I could do that job, just 'it wasn't the right fit."<br /><br />What the &*^% does that mean? I'm too fat? They didn't like the amount of gray in my hair? (Which honestly, isn't that much) Didn't like my shirt? ( I love my interview outfit shirt.) I was wearing black pants, black flats and a lovely red/silver/black top. What? What is it? Do these people know how much they'd love me if they'd give me a chance? I am amazing to work with. Former co-workers LOVE me.<br /><br />I had another interview with the county administrator's office for an admin position. I was interviewed by a panel of three people. Then I was given computer testing. I thought the interview part went great. I did outstanding on the computer testing. The lady who gave me the computer testing (who was part of the panel of three) said she loved my personality and she hoped I got the job.<br /><br />But I didn't.<br /><br />My ego is bruised, Internet. This is the first time in my life I have ever had face-to-face interviews, and not gotten the job. Seriously, this has never happened to me before.<br /><br />I need a job. My UI benefits aren't going to last forever. In fact, not a whole lot longer.<br /><br />I've hit a wall. I want to go back to bed. I'm sick of this. Wait...maybe I won the Powerball last night...let me just check real quick....<br /><br />Nope, didn't win. Neither did anyone else, but that doesn't really help me.<br /><br />Seriously, it's getting hard to do anything. Like, doing a load of laundry is a monumental effort. Speaking of which... I need to go move clothes. Have I also mentioned I need a job?<br /><br />Any advice, anyone? Anyone in the Denver area need a great employee? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?<br /><br />Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-29398972532258307212010-11-03T14:52:00.002-07:002010-11-03T14:53:35.852-07:00Wordless Wednesday<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TNHZw4cU57I/AAAAAAAACXc/pMNHGB5A9lU/s1600/IMG_1859.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535444850823194546" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TNHZw4cU57I/AAAAAAAACXc/pMNHGB5A9lU/s400/IMG_1859.JPG" /></a> <br /><br /><br /><div></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-75932344786303787172010-10-27T09:10:00.006-07:002010-10-27T19:43:05.690-07:00InnocenceThis is my baby. She is eight years old.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532759523032641922" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TMhPeO4FMYI/AAAAAAAACXU/WK8z-AhCowg/s400/IMG_1216.JPG" /><br /><br />She doesn't look eight years old. She is not quite four feet tall, and still hasn't hit 40 lbs.<br /><br />She can be a pill at times, but she is a snuggler, a kisser, and most of all, she still loves me. She tells me every day.<br /><br />It kills me to think of what's going to happen in about four years.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TMhPd-XWC6I/AAAAAAAACXM/553_4QP6ckQ/s1600/Second+Grade+Pic+w+Date.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532759518600367010" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TMhPd-XWC6I/AAAAAAAACXM/553_4QP6ckQ/s400/Second+Grade+Pic+w+Date.jpg" /></a><br />Yesterday, her neighborhood buddy Zach (age 9) came over to see if she could play. He'd gotten a new Wii game that he wanted to show her, something about rabbits. I'm guessing now (after perusing Amazon) that it's probably "Rayman Raving Rabbids", or some such thing.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>He said, "Kylie, guess what? My character is wearing a thong!"</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Kylie looked at me and said, "What's a thong?"</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>At that moment, I just wanted to hold her and never let go. Because despite having two teenage sisters and going to public school and having two nine year-old boys as neighborhood friends, this child honestly had no idea what a thong was. I just told her it was a kind of underwear.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Can't I freeze her this way? Before she knows that the world is horrible and nasty and there is no Santa Claus? </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Is letting go of the last one always this hard? </div><div><br /></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-85220237629330390572010-10-19T12:33:00.008-07:002010-10-19T13:21:45.808-07:00So Many ThingsI felt like I should write an update, but I honestly have no idea where to start. Shannon had her wisdom teeth surgically removed, so that was a fun week. We found out from an xray that her wisdom teeth were actually sideways underneath the gums. All four of them. So she was going to have to have them out eventually, and since she hadn't yet grown much root to speak of, the oral surgeon said now rather than later would be better. It was still a rough week, but she is fully recovered now.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z_8LfXBI/AAAAAAAACXE/kOXUFMs5oXg/s1600/IMG_1016.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529844197292465170" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z_8LfXBI/AAAAAAAACXE/kOXUFMs5oXg/s400/IMG_1016.JPG" /></a> On Sept. 3rd, Kylie turned 8 years old. We had a party for her at <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca">Jumpstreet</a>, where Danni happened to have a part-time job. Actually, it was the other way around...Danni had a part-time job there, so we got a really sweet deal on the party, as a family member of an employee. </p><p></p><p><br /></p><p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z_MCPGFI/AAAAAAAACW8/wa-rvfb3t1M/s1600/IMG_1015.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529844184368748626" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z_MCPGFI/AAAAAAAACW8/wa-rvfb3t1M/s400/IMG_1015.JPG" /></a> In case you haven't heard of Jumpstreet (and no, not the Johnny Depp version), it's like an indoor trampoline park. Where I could never afford a party for the 18 kids or so we had, without the incredible family discount. So thank you Danni, and thank you Jumpstreet. The kids had a great time.<br /></p><p><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z-UDu_2I/AAAAAAAACW0/Qiay5XJFkIk/s1600/Shannon1.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529844169342648162" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z-UDu_2I/AAAAAAAACW0/Qiay5XJFkIk/s400/Shannon1.JPG" /></a> Shannon played softball for her high school again this fall. With her Canon Rebel, I got some pretty great pictures this year. This is Shannon in an actual game, sliding into home and being safe. You can see the ball under the catcher's arm over in the left of the picture.<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z-A8yz_I/AAAAAAAACWs/r1hwJmw2yRA/s1600/Second+Grade+Pic+w+Date.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529844164213264370" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z-A8yz_I/AAAAAAAACWs/r1hwJmw2yRA/s400/Second+Grade+Pic+w+Date.jpg" /></a> I decided that school pictures are a rip-off, and that I can take my own pictures just as well. Plus, that way you can print only what you need, instead of having a huge envelope full of pictures you won't use. You know what I mean. You all have them. Besides, it's pretty easy to find a nice background in our neighborhood.<br /><br /><br /><br />In other news, Danni has joined the Army. Her job will be 68W, Healthcare Specialist. She leaves for Fort Sill, OK for basic training on Feb. 15th. If you are a male, 68W is pretty much a combat medic. If you're female, non-combat. In a hospital on a safe base, hopefully. I do have to be honest with myself about the fact that she could be stationed in the Middle East.<br /><br /><br />I was having a hard time with this at first, because I still questioned her motives. I was still convinced that her boyfriend had talked her into it, and he was pulling her strings. Now I know that she wants to be a nurse, she can get her LPN in the service, and have money for college when she gets out. Or, she could decide to make it a career, get an RN and then she's an officer. I don't know anything for sure except this: She wanted to go back to AZ for a while. So she's gone again. She says she will be back for Christmas, then back to AZ for New Year's, and then back here in January until she leaves for Fort Sill on February 15th.<br /><br /><br />I am proud of her. I'm proud of her for wanting to be independent and not wanting to rely on us. It's hard though...but I'm getting used to the idea.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z9i5hr9I/AAAAAAAACWk/YFaXgvVRhr0/s1600/Kiss.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 303px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529844156146495442" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3z9i5hr9I/AAAAAAAACWk/YFaXgvVRhr0/s400/Kiss.jpg" /></a> Before she left to go back to AZ, we wanted to take some pictures. She and Kylie have a special bond. Kylie was a little worried when she heard "army", but we told her that there are lots of different jobs in the army. Some people are fighters, then there are office workers and police and doctors and nurses and cooks, etc. Danni's going to learn to be a nurse. I think that made her feel better.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zIxKDWVI/AAAAAAAACWc/jAPjHMoZPVI/s1600/Danni%26Ky2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529843249440840018" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zIxKDWVI/AAAAAAAACWc/jAPjHMoZPVI/s400/Danni%26Ky2.jpg" /></a> This one was my favorite. This print is now in a really nice "Sisters" frame in Kylie's room.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zIgjoBZI/AAAAAAAACWU/ALz0ean1cWw/s1600/DSC07895.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529843244984698258" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zIgjoBZI/AAAAAAAACWU/ALz0ean1cWw/s400/DSC07895.JPG" /></a> Why, hello there cutie. What are you doing today? These guys/girls are everywhere in our valley.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zILd7CCI/AAAAAAAACWM/h_asOC9gXnw/s1600/DSC07890.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529843239323633698" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zILd7CCI/AAAAAAAACWM/h_asOC9gXnw/s400/DSC07890.JPG" /></a> I let Shannon drive around some residential streets the other day so I could get pictures of the amazing fall foliage we have here. She's going to be getting her learner's permit this Saturday, so yes, I cheated a bit.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zHWrWeKI/AAAAAAAACWE/uHnAJ805Ddk/s1600/DSC07884.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529843225152878754" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zHWrWeKI/AAAAAAAACWE/uHnAJ805Ddk/s400/DSC07884.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zG21ZZ4I/AAAAAAAACV8/8yIrMeu32xE/s1600/DSC07891.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529843216605079426" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TL3zG21ZZ4I/AAAAAAAACV8/8yIrMeu32xE/s400/DSC07891.JPG" /></a> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Last weekend, Kylie's friend Courtney had a birthday. What did Courtney want to do for her birthday? She wanted to go <a href="http://skyventurecolorado.com/">indoor skydiving</a>. Because of the cost, her parents said only one friend could accompany her. Kylie was that lucky friend. I'm posting two videos of her skydiving experience. It was just the coolest thing ever to watch.<br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyYhQmTYAgLmNFVxDI1lYVBk1ZdT-9w3y0biF0tRsKHxMe3zoRegss34lGTCFmVR0ngi79ah3QTmo6q6EfbJw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I did not know the instructor was going to take her up with him, so if I sound surprised during this video, that's why.</p><p align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwduA-g_rbF-WqFf8Y-nLQAjLL2yo3INSlxVmF9sIXrCiEhoOBMMb4_8g6bohCtDBg2Il05UfCEcnKftbaydQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p align="left"></p><p align="left"></p><p align="left">In case you, like we, were wondering why she plugged her nose there at the end, I asked her. She said it was only because "the air was going up my nose!" </p><p align="left"> </p><p align="left">So, that's the good stuff. The bad stuff is that Hubby and I are both still unemployed, and those UI benefits are dwindling. We're going to have to file bankruptcy, which I have been avoiding until we couldn't avoid it any more. And I'm scared. But things always work out, right? They have, so far, for us. So I'm keeping the faith. Trying to, anyway. But if you're prone to praying or sending good thoughts, or anything of that nature, it certainly couldn't hurt, and I'd appreciate it. We need some good job karma, or mojo, or something. :) </p><p align="left"><br /><br /><br /></p>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-78726418402463696162010-09-25T09:43:00.002-07:002010-09-25T09:49:35.561-07:00Autumn?See that countdown ticker over there? ---------------> I put that up last year when it started to get warm. I hate warm. So I put up a countdown for how many days were left until it was fall again.<br /><br />As you can see, my counter has hit zero. The problem? We're setting record highs here in Denver. No, it's not the 107 that Phoenix is expecting today (God, just kill me if I were still there), but we are 10 degrees above normal right now...expecting mid 80s all week instead of mid 70s, which would be the norm.<br /><br />One of the main reasons I was looking forward to moving here was four seasons. I know we will get four seasons, but it's not happening fast enough. Last year, our first snow was on Oct. 10th. I remember it well, because I was watching it rain out my bedroom window, and then I started thinking, "Wow, that rain looks really...thick." Not like any rain I had ever seen before. Then all of a sudden, it was no longer rain, but little white flakes drifting down. I actually stood there and watched as rain turned to sleet, and then snow, and I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen.<br /><br />Ok fall...I'm waiting!<br /><br />Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-82008838084748976112010-08-23T14:00:00.004-07:002010-08-23T14:05:57.743-07:00A Little Song To Convey My Feelings Today<br><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fwcYbo7pjto?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fwcYbo7pjto?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br><br>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-2956823137398595222010-08-03T09:26:00.005-07:002010-08-03T09:44:26.282-07:00You're Such A Dipthong!This is the new favorite saying of the kids on my block. Yes, they've been out of school too long. Unfortunately (for me), school doesn't start here until August 23rd.<br /><div></div><br /><div>I first heard this a few weeks ago from the mouth of my seven year-old daughter. </div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 294px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501221394834167874" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TFhDtj3emEI/AAAAAAAACVM/wtcMj5ICSuo/s400/Kylie+flower.jpg" /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>This one.*</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>She called one of her friends a dipthong.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>I said, "Do you know what a dipthong is?"</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Well, of course she doesn't. She's seven. It just sounds funny.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>I told her, "It's a term used in English. It's a word used to describe a gliding vowel sound made up of two vowels together. Like the word 'eye'."</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Apparently, this is way over the head of a soon-to-be second-grader. They continue to call each other dipthongs. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>I must admit, it does <em>sound</em> like an insult.</div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>*Photo courtesy of my soon-t0-be sophomore, who has taken beginning and intermediate photography with a dinosaur of a film/SLR camera, and is taking digital photography this year. This was taken with her brand new Canon Rebel, which I was able to afford thanks to her older sister, who has decided NOT to go to college this year. She is instead wanting to join the National Guard or the Reserves, thanks to her dumb-ass boyfriend (still in AZ) who got such a low score on the ASVAB that he just was assigned the job of "infantry scout", or some such thing, and leaves for basic training in January. This is a very long story, probably needing a different post. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against the military, but if it weren't for him and this stupid hold he has on her, she'd be starting college in three weeks, instead of sitting on my couch all day.</div><div><br /></div><div>She's such a dipthong.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-32111708541081025322010-07-22T14:24:00.004-07:002010-07-22T14:40:39.247-07:00It's The End Of The World As We Know It (Maybe)So I'm watching TV the other day, and I'm flipping through channels, bored out of my mind. I came upon a show on the History Channel called The Nostradamus Effect. There are many different episodes of this show, all chronicling the many ways the world might end. This one happened to be about the 2012 theory.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TEi3z53vxRI/AAAAAAAACVE/RUPaAzNMR3E/s1600/mushroom-cloud-hb.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496845447541540114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TEi3z53vxRI/AAAAAAAACVE/RUPaAzNMR3E/s400/mushroom-cloud-hb.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So, there's something about the Mayan calendar, and it abruptly ends on December 21st, 2012. Some say this means the end of the world. Other, more sane people, say this is just the end of one age/era, and the beginning of another.<br /><br />There are other theories, some ancient and some more recent, that seem to point to this date as the end of...something.<br /><br />I started thinking: Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. If the world really does end on Dec. 21st, 2012, there are a lot of things that I won't have to worry about. Like our current financial situation. I mean, who cares about things like retirement and kids going to college and jobs, if we're only going to be here another 2 1/2 years?<br /><br />My biggest concern right now though is this: Dec. 21st is really bad timing for the end of the world. That's <em>four days</em> before Christmas, people! What on earth do I do about Christmas shopping that year?<br /><br />I mean, if the world is going to end on Dec. 21st, I don't really see the point of going out and spending $1000 on Christmas presents. That seems like sort of a waste of money.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TEi3zkgo3TI/AAAAAAAACU8/50Zud0Uu3mg/s1600/christmas_snoopy-11420.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496845441807473970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 279px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TEi3zkgo3TI/AAAAAAAACU8/50Zud0Uu3mg/s400/christmas_snoopy-11420.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Then again, if the Mayans were wrong and the world doesn't end, and I haven't done any Christmas shopping, I am so totally screwed. I'd have three days to go and buy everything. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>I have a feeling everyone will be getting gift cards that year.</div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-77107483911595207342010-06-22T07:40:00.008-07:002010-06-22T08:31:06.007-07:00Home With A Reluctant Kid And A MenagerieI'm home from nearly three weeks in Arizona. I won't even get into the drama rollercoaster that was my trip, but Danni is here, with us. Reluctantly here, but here and ready to register for college.<br /><br />When you're used to having two kids living with you, having the third one back is an adjustment. Especially after a two-day car ride, that drama rollercoaster I referred to, and readjusting to the altitude. Between all that, I'm tired and I have a headache.<br /><br />But, that's not enough. You see, whenever anyone moves here, it seems we acquire another animal.<br /><br />A long long time ago, when Danni was seven and Shannon was four, we got our first family dog.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNdgnBpvI/AAAAAAAACU0/-h0ujqYB7GI/s1600/DSC05080.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485610252990785266" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNdgnBpvI/AAAAAAAACU0/-h0ujqYB7GI/s400/DSC05080.JPG" /></a> That would be Bo, on the right. We got him at a shelter for $10. He'd been there for two days, and they wanted $5 a day for the boarding. They told us they thought he was about a year old. His previous owners had dropped him off because...well, I guess they just didn't want him.<br /><br />There were no adoption papers, no background check, no fees except the $10. Just take him. He's a chihuahua/pug mix. When we got him over 11 years ago, he was called a mutt. Now he's called a "chug." I think I feel a little smug that I got a designer dog for $10. I've seen chugs in pet stores for over $1000. We think he's about 12 years old. We were a normal little family with two kids and a dog.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNc0lvjAI/AAAAAAAACUs/iGtgUTuYYf0/s1600/Luke+in+snow.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485610241174244354" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNc0lvjAI/AAAAAAAACUs/iGtgUTuYYf0/s400/Luke+in+snow.jpg" /></a> </div><div> </div><div>When Steve moved to Colorado in December of 2008, he had a small one-bedroom apartment, while he waited for us to finish the school year in Arizona and join him. He was lonely. He decided he needed a dog. Enter dog #2, Luke...a beagle mix. He's about a year and a half old. And he howls. A lot. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Then in June of 2009, the two younger girls and I arrived in Colorado. Shannon was not happy about being here. One of the things we had promised her to soften the blow is that she could have a rabbit. </div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNceeJraI/AAAAAAAACUk/UJ9YzyJERYU/s1600/Splatter1.JPEG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485610235236822434" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNceeJraI/AAAAAAAACUk/UJ9YzyJERYU/s400/Splatter1.JPEG" /></a> </div><div>This is Splatter, Shannon's rabbit. She lives in a hutch in the basement that Shannon is supposed to keep clean. She already had the name when we got her from the Humane Society. I suggested renaming her Rorschach (Rory for short), but no one else got my little psychology joke. So she remained Splatter.</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><div> </div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNKOLwy1I/AAAAAAAACUc/nL2CvDJ-Igg/s1600/Splatter.JPEG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485609921627081554" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNKOLwy1I/AAAAAAAACUc/nL2CvDJ-Igg/s400/Splatter.JPEG" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Yes, that's a rabbit, on a leash. Shannon's a middle child, and she's a bit...different. She bought a cat leash and harness, and takes the rabbit for walks.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>So, now I have a third child that I've forced to move to Colorado against her will. And we all know what that means, right? Of course, she wants her own dog. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>At first, like several months ago, she wanted one of those little pocket dogs. But after living with my parents and their Doberman/Shepherd mix for a year, she decided she liked bigger dogs. Besides, she wanted a dog that she could exercise with...take on runs with her. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>We went back to the shelter this past Friday and found a nice dog that everyone in the family liked. However, since we were honest on our application and said that we rented our house (we should have just said we owned it), and we said we already had two dogs, part of the adoption process was the shelter calling the landlord to find out if we were allowed to have three dogs. This was at 1:30pm on Friday afternoon. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Steve called the realty office and spoke with our contact there, and they proceeded to try and reach the owner, to ask if it was ok. Unsurprisingly, the owner wasn't able to be reached. The realty office closed at 2:30pm, and was closed all weekend. The shelter would only hold the dog for 24 hours. So we left, dogless.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>On Saturday, just for fun, I decided to look at dogs on Craigslist. I happened across a 3 year-old female golden retriever/lab mix. I had a golden retriever when I was in college and I've always wanted another one. But instead I got a stupid beagle. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>A lot of people "giving away" dogs on Craigslist ask for a "small" re-homing fee, ranging anywhere from $50 to $200. You see, you can't actually <em>sell </em>animals on Craigslist, but you can ask for a re-homing fee. The dog at the shelter was going to be a $100 adoption fee.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>However, this particular family didn't want any money. They were losing their house and having to move to an apartment, and the apartment wouldn't take their dogs. They just wanted her to have a good home. Steve and Danni went to look at the dog, and they brought her home.<br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNJ1yL-_I/AAAAAAAACUU/B5CC-ujontY/s1600/DSC07628.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485609915077360626" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNJ1yL-_I/AAAAAAAACUU/B5CC-ujontY/s400/DSC07628.JPG" /></a> </div><div>Enter dog #3, Nikki. I wanted a female, because I figured our two male dogs would be more accepting of a female dog, not having to fight for dominance and all that dumb boy bullshit.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>She is a sweetheart of a dog. She is also HUGE. She probably weighs about 110 lbs. The vet at PetSmart said she should weigh about 80 lbs. So we've limited her to two cups of food a day (vet's recommendation) and exercise at every opportunity. She seems to be doing better already. For example, she's walking around behind me, and she's not panting and heaving like she was the first couple of days.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNJAqCyKI/AAAAAAAACUM/cROa8MO22wQ/s1600/DSC07614.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485609900816124066" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNJAqCyKI/AAAAAAAACUM/cROa8MO22wQ/s400/DSC07614.JPG" /></a> </div><div>Isn't she pretty? Unfortunately, we agreed that this is Danni's dog. Which means that I will take care of her and fall in love with her, and then when Danni leaves us at some point in the future, she'll take her dog with her. Right now though? Apparently I'm about the same size and shape as her former "mom." So the dog doesn't really let me out of her sight.<br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNIriT9hI/AAAAAAAACUE/QSEqaMRJ8Cc/s1600/DSC07616.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485609895146550802" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNIriT9hI/AAAAAAAACUE/QSEqaMRJ8Cc/s400/DSC07616.JPG" /></a><br />She really is a big sweetie. She gets along great with the other dogs, and with all the neighborhood kids that are always running in and out of here. However, she brought along enough extra dog hair for five dogs. I think I need to get a Swiffer or something.<br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNHkOu7FI/AAAAAAAACT8/NBhrz8u6aoE/s1600/DSC07618.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485609876005514322" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TCDNHkOu7FI/AAAAAAAACT8/NBhrz8u6aoE/s400/DSC07618.JPG" /></a><br />Yeah, I think she's adjusting.<br /><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-40570963176537342722010-06-07T08:00:00.005-07:002010-06-07T08:15:17.757-07:00The GraduateHi! No, I haven't dropped off the face of the earth...I'm in the "show me your papers" state! Woohoo! But this isn't about politics or Arizona or their racist, ridiculous law...it's about my daughter's graduation.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0LPCoXQvI/AAAAAAAACTM/va0hlXeW7ig/s1600/New+Dress+w+Cap.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048674611872498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0LPCoXQvI/AAAAAAAACTM/va0hlXeW7ig/s400/New+Dress+w+Cap.JPG" border="0" /></a> We had to get her a new dress, because the girls were required to wear white underneath their white, kind of see-through gowns.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0LOvRAJHI/AAAAAAAACTE/vunBUSwWrZo/s1600/2010+sign.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048669413614706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 270px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0LOvRAJHI/AAAAAAAACTE/vunBUSwWrZo/s400/2010+sign.JPG" border="0" /></a> SEN10RS, Class of 2010!</div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0LOKonJ7I/AAAAAAAACS8/VWhH96kfhH0/s1600/Caps+flying.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480048659580528562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0LOKonJ7I/AAAAAAAACS8/VWhH96kfhH0/s400/Caps+flying.JPG" border="0" /></a> Throwing their hats after the ceremony. Danni's class graduated 677 kids. It took an hour and a half to read all the names. Our last name starts with W. I think I still have "bleacher butt."</div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KHXoHt6I/AAAAAAAACS0/6CgKRYXO_2A/s1600/Sisters.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047443297417122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KHXoHt6I/AAAAAAAACS0/6CgKRYXO_2A/s400/Sisters.JPG" border="0" /></a> Proud sisters.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KGzN25PI/AAAAAAAACSs/_Oc-SeZFrDU/s1600/Mom+and+Dad.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047433523586290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KGzN25PI/AAAAAAAACSs/_Oc-SeZFrDU/s400/Mom+and+Dad.JPG" border="0" /></a> I don't normally post pictures of myself because yuck, but I have to point out that I am both smiling AND my eyes are open in this picture. Since this never, ever happens (like really, never), here's my grad with her dad and me.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KGrkZ2eI/AAAAAAAACSk/On_hQtenwCQ/s1600/Grandma+and+Grandpa.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047431470668258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KGrkZ2eI/AAAAAAAACSk/On_hQtenwCQ/s400/Grandma+and+Grandpa.JPG" border="0" /></a> Danni with her grandma and grandpa, Steve's parents.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KF9T4-9I/AAAAAAAACSc/d8RExVT_0Z0/s1600/Dan+holding+Ky.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047419053374418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KF9T4-9I/AAAAAAAACSc/d8RExVT_0Z0/s400/Dan+holding+Ky.JPG" border="0" /></a> Class of 2010 with the class of 2021. Or just a really cute little sister.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KE3ZNC_I/AAAAAAAACSU/kwVhN2EyATQ/s1600/Graduate.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480047400285178866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g07KUPcffWo/TA0KE3ZNC_I/AAAAAAAACSU/kwVhN2EyATQ/s400/Graduate.JPG" border="0" /></a> A whole new world awaits. </div><div><br /><br /><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621436419739808723.post-76664925257188233452010-05-20T07:37:00.002-07:002010-05-20T08:14:02.140-07:00Teenage BrainsWhat is it in teenage brains that enables them to completely ignore the fact that they are being ri-freaking-diculous?<br /><br />Example #1 - Daughter, age 15, wears jeans and a tank top to school today. At the moment, it is 55 degrees and cloudy. The school is all inside, so she would be perfectly comfortable.<br /><br />She <i>calls</i> me on my cell phone at 8:15am, and wants to know if I'm going to be "down there" today. "Down there" refers to down by her school, which is 3-4 miles from our house. I told her that I was planning on going to the store at some point, but I didn't know when. I assumed she was going to ask me to bring her money for lunch, which she used to do on a frequent basis. The last time, I told her that I was sick of coming down to the school to bring her money, and that if she needed money she needed to tell me the night before.<br /><br />Did she want money? No. She wanted me to bring her a pair of <i>shorts</i>. Because when she leaves school to walk somewhere for lunch (about 11am), she will roast, because isn't it going to be like 70 degrees today?<br /><br />Yes, it is going to reach maybe 72 degrees, at about 3pm. When you go to lunch at 11am? Possibly low 60s. I explain this to her. She gets mad at me because I won't drop everything and bring her a pair of shorts. This is a child who lived her entire life up until this year in a state where we lived a majority of the year in 100+ degree weather. And she's going to be hot in jeans if it's 65 degrees. What is wrong with this child's brain?<br /><br />Example #2 - Same child asks me yesterday if she and her friend N can ride the lightrail downtown to the <a href="http://www.denver.com/16th-street-mall/">16th Street Mall</a>, which is a really cool stretch of outdoor mall with a free shuttle that runs up and down the middle of it. From the light rail station nearest us, it is a straight shot to 16th street. No stops, no changing trains. It's about a 30 minute ride on the light rail, and they were going to go after school today and not stay very late, maybe 7ish. They don't have school tomorrow because their high school is holding graduation at Red Rocks tomorrow, even though the rest of the kids still go until June 2nd.<br /><br />I was considering it. It's not much different than me dropping them at a mall, except they'd be taking a non-stop light rail. I asked her if N texted her back about going. She said, "Yeah, but you might have to tell N's mom that you are going with us."<br /><br />Ok, N was her very first friend here, from the softball team. We sat with N's parents at most games. I love N's parents. They are lovely people. Daughter spends the night at N's house often. You're telling me that N wants me, as a mother, to <i>lie</i> to her mother and tell her I'm going with you when I'm really not? Um, no. So it's not just my child's head in which these crazy thoughts go on.<br /><br />Example #3 - Oldest daughter, 18, about to graduate from high school and come to CO to live with us and attend college. That's the plan, anyway. She doesn't want to leave AZ, and I know that, but my parents only signed on for one year of boarding her. I wouldn't even ask them to consider keeping while she starts college, and frankly, I don't think Daughter wants to continue living there either. They're nice people, but she's 18 and they're in their early 70s. 'Nuff said.<br /><br />Two weeks before graduation, and I think Daughter is still trying to think of a way she can stay in AZ. I laid it out for her like this:<br /><br />If you come to CO and live with us, you only have to do two things: Go to school full-time, and work part-time to pay for your gas, clothes, entertainment, etc.<br /><br />If you stay in AZ, you would have to go to school full-time, work full-time, and take out a student loan to help with your living expenses. It's not that we won't help her financially, it's that at this point in time, we <i>can't</i>. You'd have to get an apartment with a roommate, pay half of the rent, food, utilities, cable/internet. Not to mention furnishing the place. Then you'd always have to worry about bills. If you lose your job (like they decide they don't need so many employees, it happens), you're screwed. If in the middle of the semester, you decide that working full-time and going to school full-time is just too much, you're screwed, because you're locked into a lease. On top of that, you're incurring unnecessary debt for that loan you need.<br /><br />This seems like a no-brainer to me. This isn't so much ridiculous, but it's that she's thinking with her heart, and not her head. I get that. But at some point, I think she's going to have to realize that CO is going to have to be her home, at least for a little while. The ridiculous part is that she's convinced she's not going to make any friends. Between a job and school, she won't make any friends because she'll be living with us, and not in a dorm. I don't know why she thinks that, but she does.<br /><br />Do you ever wish you could take what you know, and somehow inject it into their brains, to give them some perspective? I'll bet my mom wishes she could have done that to me. I guess we all just have to live and learn. Some of the lessons aren't so pleasant, but you do what you have to do.<br /><br />Shelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16042222907090463909noreply@blogger.com5