tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14515750018073185292023-11-20T16:27:34.924-08:00It's Her WorldWe just live in it.MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-46935052748189898982014-03-14T09:56:00.000-07:002014-03-14T09:56:22.172-07:00An Unkept Woman<br />
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I had one of "those" conversations a while back. You know, the one you kinda wish you had never had because it gave you a glimpse of how others view you that you wish you had never seen. A friend and I were talking about work and our struggles to balance a family and a career. I thought we were completely on the same page. I figured another mother of two would understand as I expressed my wish to be able to stay at home full time with my family. Instead I got side eyes and the comment "<i>I guess, if you're comfortable with being a kept woman. I couldn't do it.</i>" She realized later how it sounded and apologized, which was sweet. You can't unring a bell though. <br />
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A kept woman. That phrase has been ringing in my ears ever since, it's hung over my head like an ominous storm cloud. A kept woman. You never notice how many red Toyota Corollas there are in the world until you buy a red Corolla and suddenly everybody and their fucking dog drives a red Corolla. Well I didn't realize being a stay at home mom was such a big deal until I became one and then suddenly these anti housewife sentiments were everywhere.<br />
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In the express lane at the supermarket, two women overheard gossiping about their coworker<i> "I should have a baby too so I can have an excuse not to work anymore." </i><br />
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In a bitchy dressed up as funny comment from an acquaintance<i> "You're still not back to work? Who's paying for all those yoga pants and Soap Opera Digests, har har"</i><br />
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In an actually funny comment from a friend <i>"You have a job...making tasty sammiches...so go make me a tasty sammich"</i><br /><br />A kept woman. What does that even mean? I picture a chick from a cheesy romance novel. Someone who doesn't work so they can devote all their attention to their husband or lover or both. A woman who gives up her autonomy and markets her anatomy. Someone who is beholden to another for their lifestyle and has a "keeper". Naw, that can't be right. That's just my taste in beach reading coming out. No one else thinks this way. Surely Google will have a definition...OH GOD, LOOK AWAY.<br /><br /><br /> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Huh, you would think that would pay better.</i></td></tr>
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I've always been very open about the fact that becoming a mother completely tilted my world on its axis. I had a well thought out five year plan with straightforward goals: education, money, career, material comfort. I was content to be the breadwinner, proud of my ability to be the provider so that hubby could work a light schedule that wouldn't completely hobble him. I never thought I would be a mother, to be perfectly honest. Four contraception free years produced nothing but a couple of minor scares and a few wasted pregnancy tests. Years of harsh disease and harsher medications had taken its toll on my husbands body and we figured <i>"Hey, maybe it's just not meant to happen for us"</i>. We were quite reconciled to the idea that it was just going to be us and the dog and that was fine. He was going to start college in the fall. I had switched jobs with an eye to advancing my career. It got to the point where I had convinced myself that I didn't even want kids.<br />
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Until two pink lines on a pregnancy test changed our lives forever.<br />
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Suddenly all those things that had dominated my priority list were replaced by a baser instinct. That day, that very minute, I put my plans on hold. The future could wait. We were bringing a baby into this world and we were going to do it our way dammit. <br />
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So we made plans.<br />
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I'm very fortunate to work in a flexible profession that gives me the freedom to somewhat set my own hours. I would take my full year of maternity leave and then go back to work part time, spending as much time as possible at home with our baby. He would finish college and embark on his new career, one that utilized his mind and not his body. His chosen profession paid well so we would be able to swing part time daycare and I could keep plugging away at my career. We could do it. We could have it all. I'd even have time to blog. Living the dream, baby!<br />
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Until two more pink lines on another pregnancy test changed our lives forever.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIH3LiBltpx4piwvfhBh1SwDNkDl2onGdDUxSA2rMmqqH25Upkvn4FK76nfPC1TJWiuWTXtt5zNu3yXc1GWzC3SstWTg84_iDvu_1sBf-Q-uHbKYaG6N5WFPklSRjc9BnyiaokU-RIYG8/s1600/47192414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIH3LiBltpx4piwvfhBh1SwDNkDl2onGdDUxSA2rMmqqH25Upkvn4FK76nfPC1TJWiuWTXtt5zNu3yXc1GWzC3SstWTg84_iDvu_1sBf-Q-uHbKYaG6N5WFPklSRjc9BnyiaokU-RIYG8/s1600/47192414.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>True story. Karma is a real bitch.</i></td></tr>
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Really? After we just went through all that work reorganizing our game plan? Ok, back to the drawing board. Two kids in daycare changes everything. I don't know how it is where you live but where I live it costs anywhere from $60 to $70 a day to have two kids in daycare. A day. I only make about $100 a day after taxes and all that jazz...wait a sec...you mean I have to pay someone else to watch my kids while I work and at the end of the day, after I pay them, I am taking home less money than they are? Less than half actually. No wonder so many mothers elect to stay at home and watch other peoples kids for them...they're making a killing.<br />
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So we made different plans.<br />
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I would be a stay at home mom. No hesitation. As much as I loved my career it would still be there when my kids were gone off to school. Hubby gets weekends off and could watch the kids on Saturdays and I could take that day to work. It would give me a break from the kids and an excuse to put on makeup and do my hair once a week. I could keep some loyal clients happy and make a few extra bucks a month...actually it would be close to the same when you factor in what we would be saving in daycare...wait a sec...you mean I can make the almost same amount of money working one day a week and NOT using daycare as I would if I put both kids in daycare and worked five days a week? We could do that. We could have it all. I wouldn't have time to blog but that could wait, right alongside my career. Living the dream, baby!<br />
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Except the dream is a lot different than the reality.<br />
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The reality is that I am exhausted. It's bone deep exhaustion that never goes away, even after stealing a couple of extra hours of sleep on a Sunday. It's exhaustion that comes, not only from the late nights and early mornings that every mother deals with, but from the constant flurry of activity that is the life of a stay at home mom. It comes from barely ever seeing my amazing man because my one day of work is one of his few days off. It comes from feeling guilty about asking for time off to plan a family weekend because "<i>You only work one day a week, how much time off do you actually need?!?</i>" I finally gave up working altogether.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfQwqb9JqHnvX3pC7l0x4Y2dadXgqf_qAc_zcQh4yQFAIGVhsUszJNhDNGE_PUS-JSD6DQpflZbXbGmt3C_KT67B0VzChWSK-MoWl8KGA8ze4VeVI1xs4RoyU8sCTunu-M3nORdtc7bFp/s1600/stayathome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfQwqb9JqHnvX3pC7l0x4Y2dadXgqf_qAc_zcQh4yQFAIGVhsUszJNhDNGE_PUS-JSD6DQpflZbXbGmt3C_KT67B0VzChWSK-MoWl8KGA8ze4VeVI1xs4RoyU8sCTunu-M3nORdtc7bFp/s1600/stayathome.jpg" height="280" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I double dog dare you.</i></td></tr>
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Staying at home means making sacrifices. It means working harder so we can live better and cheaper. It means making bread every week because its better for my kids and cheaper than the bakery. Its using cloth instead of disposables and saving hundreds of dollars on diapers and wipes. It's growing my own vegetables so I can supplement my grocery budget with food I can trust so I can cook meals from scratch because it's healthier and cheaper than convenience food. I do everything but knit my own goddamn yogurt and although I wouldn't have it any other way it is Work with a capital W. Just having two toddlers clinging to me for fourteen hours a day is hard, emotionally draining work. You wouldn't dare tell your daycare provider that they don't actually work for the eight or nine hours a day that they have your children, why is it OK to imply that the work I do inside my home is somehow less valid than theirs? Because they earn a paycheque? Do I need to earn money to validate my existence? Is my worth measured not by the sweat and effort I put into my family but by something as common as money? Fuck that. <br />
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I'm not kept, I keep.<br />
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I keep my kids around all day: healthy, happy and engaged. I keep the two of them from beating each other senseless on a daily basis. I keep their butts, clothes and noses clean all throughout the day. I keep the house as clean as one can with a couple of three foot tall terrorists underfoot all day. I keep the yard and gardens neat and tend to our humble crops. I keep my family fed with wholesome meals, made from scratch. I keep things organized around here and I am the glue that keeps this family together. Through it all I try to keep my wits about me and keep my sense of humor despite the fact that I keep having to listen to people insult my lifestyle to my face. Through it all I just keep on keeping on. There are always going to be people who don't understand what I do everyday, that think I'm some lazy bum eating bon-bons and watching soap operas all day. That's fine. Everybody is entitled to their own opinion.<br /><br />Some days though, I really wish they would keep it to themselves...<br />
<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-57069237151292845762014-01-20T23:35:00.004-08:002014-01-20T23:50:18.983-08:00Clearing Out The Cobwebs<br />
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<br />
Yeah.<br />
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That pretty much sums up the activity level around here lately. There are cobwebs in the corners of my blog. <br />
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It's not that I don't WANT to write more. It's just that my girls have reached a delicate age, and by delicate I mean shoot me in the face. Quickly please, I haven't got all day. The laundry isn't going to fold itself.<br />
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It's not even that I haven't been writing...I've got fourteen stories in draft status at the moment and a composition book full of ideas and dialogue for a novel that I will, in all honesty, probably never finish.<br />
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So what is behind my sudden and uncharacteristic quietness? I've been (somewhat) avoiding the Internet and guess what? It feels kind of good. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>No such thing as 2 much Internet @MamaZinga. Dislike. #icanstopanytime</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It is an awful thing to admit but I was getting a little too involved with my online persona. I had become "that mom". I mean, I actually heard myself telling my three year old "Hang on, mommy has to post this update"<br />
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Really.<br />
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Those words came out of my mouth. A couple of times<br />
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I told a three year old that Facebook was more important than her. Not in so many words of course, I'm not a COMPLETE monster. Just a little. Around the edges.<br />
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But seriously, I decided to pull WAY back and dropped out of roughly 256374 Facebook groups, including the ones I started. I stopped checking Twitter. Surprisingly Pinterest is managing to stay afloat despite my defection. In short, I unplugged a little. I started spending some REAL facetime with my kids and stopped getting so wrapped up in the petty squabbles of the people who live in my computer. I don't want my kids to grow up resenting how much time I spend online. I want them to be able to read this blog one day, when they're
older, and catch a glimpse of me. I want them to know about my ideals and
ideas, even just my sentimental ramblings. I don't want them to look
back and think "So this what mom was doing all those times she shoo'd us
away from the computer? What a bitch." because they were too young to tell the difference between Mom busy working on blog and Mom busy arguing with strangers in the comments on <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/?country=US" target="_blank">Huff Po</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ksbJEcivX-jiip5asSh3HseWDaeRpR16HE5G807jfsufAxLRG4G7hOo_agWnl489i_YatKtS6WBu-gICyB_6SPxHEam7LBUuZtFPhJZuHWBICJxRQIpKIjPKKVt7VBujrvm6h6h9HyZE/s1600/ID-100167332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ksbJEcivX-jiip5asSh3HseWDaeRpR16HE5G807jfsufAxLRG4G7hOo_agWnl489i_YatKtS6WBu-gICyB_6SPxHEam7LBUuZtFPhJZuHWBICJxRQIpKIjPKKVt7VBujrvm6h6h9HyZE/s1600/ID-100167332.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Stop hitting your sister! I swear, once I'm done catching up on all these Ryan Gosling vines you're in trouble.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>"But wait! Aren't you the same lady who defended a mothers right to downtime in <a href="http://ceeceescrazyworld.blogspot.ca/2013/03/dear-mom-passing-judgment-on-my.html" target="_blank">this blog post</a>?</i>"</span></div>
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Why yes, yes I am. I still defend that right and I stand by every word I wrote then. Mom's need an outlet and kids need some independent play. I'm not a giant hypocrite, biting the hand that feeds me by slamming the
medium that allows my to share these scrambled thoughts with the world. I'm just a mom looking for balance. I feel like my priorities needed a subtle alignment. I still went on Facebook, I just didn't linger. I'm slowly dipping my toes back into my groups, although I have scaled it back to three. Most importantly I stopped reading the comments on anything even slightly controversial. Did you see the comments on that blog about that thing? I sure didn't. They may be completely innocuous but I'm not chancing it. Odds are I'll get sucked into an argument with a stranger and that would be a pointless waste of time. <br />
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Besides, I don't need a reason to bang my head against a brick wall, I've got toddlers.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Abandoned House stock photo</b> - </span><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image courtesy of</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> artur84/FreeDigitalPhotos.net</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Shocked Lady With Laptop</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> - Image courtesy of</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Michal Marcol/FreeDigitalPhotos.net</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Woman With Laptop In Park - Image courtesy of Marin/FreeDigitalPhotos.net</span></b></div>
MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-2646322406527828062013-03-19T22:05:00.000-07:002013-03-19T22:48:24.725-07:00Dear Mom Passing Judgment on my Smartphone<br />
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I see you over there, condemning me with your eyes. It feels good to sit there in the sun doesn't it? Especially when you are steeped in self righteous indignation. I can feel your eyes burning into the back of my head as I brazenly ignore my children. How dare I squander these precious moments in their childhood. You are a way better mother than me, the way you devote yourself to your children twenty four hours a day. Clearly you are qualified to pass judgement.
You were able to see enough in ten minutes of observation to inspire your blog post "<a href="http://4littlefergusons.wordpress.com/2012/11/14/dear-mom-on-the-iphone/" target="_blank">Dear Mom on the iPhone</a>"
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzBq4z1n0P9vMXGs3U73mlV7L1jG0mqxjXoUNtZ4hoSL_FwkcHVoEzD719R3iSGE4ZlnU0ep_pfYhWQviKnZ6u1L6EdmVSNIaP9G7kNhF2xgRTBo_t5l-IAAjdUu8OcC_w9HUesdoI89c/s1600/someone-wrong-on-internet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzBq4z1n0P9vMXGs3U73mlV7L1jG0mqxjXoUNtZ4hoSL_FwkcHVoEzD719R3iSGE4ZlnU0ep_pfYhWQviKnZ6u1L6EdmVSNIaP9G7kNhF2xgRTBo_t5l-IAAjdUu8OcC_w9HUesdoI89c/s200/someone-wrong-on-internet.png" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>I guess it's ok if you only blog while your kids are sleeping...</em></td></tr>
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But momma...let me tell you what you didn't see.
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You didn't see me at 3:30 am rocking my baby back to sleep when teething pain woke her up crying. You didn't hear her gentle murmurs of contentment, or see her downy head nestled against my cheek as I lulled her back to sleep with a song.
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You didn't see me at 8:30 pm, as I lay in a narrow bed with my toddler, easing her fears about boogeymen with kind words and much wiping of tears. I held her in my arms while we talked about her day. By the time she fell asleep she was laughing. She knows that I will always keep her safe from the monsters in the closet.<br />
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You didn't see me at 6:00 pm, bathing my daughter and gently working the tangles from that beauty queen hair that you were kind enough to admire. Did you think she had braided her own hair this morning? Nope, that was me. It's our special time. She loves to sit on the floor, on my feet, while I brush and braid her hair. Another precious memory.<br />
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There's a lot about me that you don't see.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLeJ6WlgAtwsOZr3wxp2LAvQprhRb8r5osEnuMKTZcmk3BlGYF9Kk7jcdAoCsiMyFy2am0V8_e6Hv-Y0eCEyWRA0jl4RzFQaR98JBtMFL_EI4yNP63jQ5drSw60nk0oOImlMAxMbNuWAsd/s1600/20120715_132719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLeJ6WlgAtwsOZr3wxp2LAvQprhRb8r5osEnuMKTZcmk3BlGYF9Kk7jcdAoCsiMyFy2am0V8_e6Hv-Y0eCEyWRA0jl4RzFQaR98JBtMFL_EI4yNP63jQ5drSw60nk0oOImlMAxMbNuWAsd/s320/20120715_132719.jpg" width="222" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Let me get this straight Mommy, this lady went on the internet to complain about you being on the internet? IRONY.</em></td></tr>
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Believe me, my eyes are on my prizes. All day long. We play. We laugh. We create a thousand happy memories every day. It is an insult to mothers everywhere that you feel qualified to judge our parenting skills based on ten minutes of creepy park stalking. You don't see the work I put into my relationship with my kids. I signed up for motherhood, not martyrdom. What I choose to do with my downtime is my business. Why shouldn't I catch up on my reading while my kids are occupied with independant play (which, by the way, is an integral part of their early education)? Should I just give up now? Put away all my interests and hobbys and spend my every waking minute engaging with my children? I think if anything that would just weaken my bond with them. I can just picture my oldest daughter in a few years thinking "Man, I wish mom would get a life. She's cramping my style" There will come a time when they no longer want me to come to the park with them all the time but it will be because they are confident, independant girls who aren't dependant on me for every facet of their entertainment, not because they feel they come second to my mobile device. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4g7Mkj7GXpmfoLilYQm2-02xhZ1qefSdprTlwHJ3trrQN0Ze4YQIvKj8Iq7nURqAOcMmpKGkUw9BrCHcN8EcVZXIc9ge6cOaiPforF83PQDi9HTW9VpSD8HtOBCFSBIVAPLvgzQdbI-K/s1600/20120519_164514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4g7Mkj7GXpmfoLilYQm2-02xhZ1qefSdprTlwHJ3trrQN0Ze4YQIvKj8Iq7nURqAOcMmpKGkUw9BrCHcN8EcVZXIc9ge6cOaiPforF83PQDi9HTW9VpSD8HtOBCFSBIVAPLvgzQdbI-K/s320/20120519_164514.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Damn, I wish mom would get off her phone. I'm not having any fun digging in the dirt by myself.</em></td></tr>
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Perhaps next time, instead of lambasting us for how we choose to spend our downtime, you could celebrate the fact that our children are outside playing in the fresh air and making new friends. I guess you missed the part where my daughter got bored with twirling and went up to that dark haired girl and asked her if she wanted to play.
For the next half an hour she was completely oblivious to my existence. I'll try not to take it personally. I'm pretty sure my kids are just happy to be at the park after this long, dreary winter. And thanks for the suggestion about discussion topics for swing time with my baby but I think shes a little young for either meteorology or theology. Right now she's still amazed at the fact that swing goes up, swing comes down.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgB7hE4KYyYySWfrWihn_CJUCE_fG6BONs0ZlS10YhqKoCVX1gADj2jqkMCtTkNRihXmBlXxKN4rshCFuPW4xTYMC1b_9wcahH6vKMemlAoV4XWSjQ9vHbch_1L1uVQidLntxh2KTfepR/s1600/20120624_184207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgB7hE4KYyYySWfrWihn_CJUCE_fG6BONs0ZlS10YhqKoCVX1gADj2jqkMCtTkNRihXmBlXxKN4rshCFuPW4xTYMC1b_9wcahH6vKMemlAoV4XWSjQ9vHbch_1L1uVQidLntxh2KTfepR/s320/20120624_184207.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Tell me the part about Cumulus clouds again mommy, that was really interesting...said no toddler, ever.</em></td></tr>
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I'll tell you what my children know...<br />
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They know that they are the best thing Mr. Zinga and I have ever done with our lives. I've shown them every day just how important they are to me, to us. Every kiss, every cuddle, every kind word I've ever said to them has been a memory made. I fix their booboos. I fix their dinner. I fix their toys, (even the loud ones that annoy me) all with the aim of making them happy, healthy and safe. I teach them positive values and how to live with balance, moderation and merit. I'll be damned if my children's memories are going to be of a frantic mother, hovering needlessly trying to stave off the mom guilt brought on by hypocrites who smugly denounce "techie" moms from the comfort of their blogs.
No. I wont have it. Their memories are going to be of a mother who gave them everything they needed and wasn't afraid to take fifteen minutes for herself. I'm very glad you choose to blog only at night or during naptime. Thats not a luxury I have today. I have to do all my chores during naptime. I didn't get anything done today.<br />
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I was too busy taking my kids to the park.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image stolen from Facebook</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">All photos courtesy of my smartphone</span><br />
<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-87931805246484629872013-02-28T14:40:00.001-08:002013-02-28T14:40:03.990-08:00Endless Inspiration, Zero Energy<br />
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Hello Friends, remember me? I'm the lady who USED to write this blog. Now I'm the lady who wishes she had time to write this blog. I've missed this outlet. I've been trying, I really have. I have about a half a dozen posts on the go: little starts, nuggets of ideas, or things that pissed me off that day. Unfortunately, by the time I get time to go back and finish writing, it's usually 1:00 am and I gotta get up early with the kids, or I get a free hour in the day and decide to read/Facebook/watch a movie instead. Downtime is precious when you have two toddlers. I am having a really hard time keeping up with life right now and the blog was the first thing to get shoved on the back burner. <br />
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It's hard. I have my family, who I love and adore and would do anything for. They are my life, my reason for getting up in the morning with a smile on my face (no matter how sleep deprived I might be). My husband is my rock, he's the strongest man I know. CeeCee is precocious and precious and makes me laugh all day long. Parker is sweet and funny and watching her learn new things every day makes me appreciate the little things in life. They are my heart, they are my joy, they are the most important thing I have ever done with my life.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Assholes, the lot of them;<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgolo0ukJ3FAJPE2c900PeAZbsZLZ67xCMEQO9sn1cbNZjacMqY1nSjWdSMJMVEW7OW8Ut4f4V2v4VsaRLw58pEW0rmOF8mKVYoA_fIkEJZq4Es3Ab7gdzXTCMfqjGMUnNqsI3EhVi_vaUD/s1600/Become+a+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgolo0ukJ3FAJPE2c900PeAZbsZLZ67xCMEQO9sn1cbNZjacMqY1nSjWdSMJMVEW7OW8Ut4f4V2v4VsaRLw58pEW0rmOF8mKVYoA_fIkEJZq4Es3Ab7gdzXTCMfqjGMUnNqsI3EhVi_vaUD/s320/Become+a+mom.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Oh good, my kitchen is not as bad as I thought.</em></td></tr>
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I kid, I kid. I don't actually think my family are assholes but I'm also not going to put on airs and act like I have some kind of Stepford family. It's hard work. One is going through the terrible twos on top of being a "spirited child", the other is cutting what feels (and sounds) like six teeth at once and has started <strike>terrorizing</strike> walking. Mr. Zinga is just trying to keep up with it all without his body breaking down from the effects of <a href="http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000451.htm" target="_blank">Polyarticular JRA</a> while working fifty hours a week to support us all. And me? I'm just here in the middle trying to make sense of it all and trying to be a strong core for my family. I like to think I'm the glue that holds this whole, crazy life together. Krazy glue, undoubtedly, but it's part of my charm. Yeah, sometimes they're assholes. I'm an asshole. Happens to the best of us. I'm not trying to martyr myself, or fish for sympathy. I knew going in that we were going to have tough challenges ahead and I'm prepared for it.<br />
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I don't mourn the loss of drunken weekends, perfect hair and a wardrobe that consisted of more than yoga pants and pyjamas. <br />
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I love my job and it brings me joy, but right now my kids are my job and it brings more satisfaction than a nine to five ever could.<br />
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I do miss my breasts, although they're still down there (somewhere). Their ruination was for a good cause and I wouldn't change a thing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UsOIkvnvmsmJK3URCBzjwXeM0gjxkKwjq16LPmtFUW4o3UfeAG5HtFP7BaP-uOtZBHofS5OxNrYoPlKgafmv7L_IRRLqF7f2bcKxfUE3tp7749gj3J_pzPQE3kkWLBeyaDkuweeg1Hmf/s1600/ID-10071051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UsOIkvnvmsmJK3URCBzjwXeM0gjxkKwjq16LPmtFUW4o3UfeAG5HtFP7BaP-uOtZBHofS5OxNrYoPlKgafmv7L_IRRLqF7f2bcKxfUE3tp7749gj3J_pzPQE3kkWLBeyaDkuweeg1Hmf/s320/ID-10071051.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Who cares that she's hot. I created life. TWICE.</em></td></tr>
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Anyway, what I really miss is my blog. I miss my computer. The laptop just doesn't feel right. I miss sitting at my desk with a fishbowl sized cup of coffee. I miss having something burning inside me that I just gotta get down on paper right then and there. I miss searching for a decent free digital photo and writing a funny caption for it. I miss the rush I get from writing, and the rush I get when someone reads an article and goes out of their way to tell me how much they enjoyed it. I miss it all. There's a whole process to it, editing, revising, marketing...It makes me smile. It makes me happy. It is my second love (just a smidge below my family). One day I'll be able to blog regularly again. In the meantime it'll just sit on that back burner, simmering slowly, gathering flavour and waiting for me to take a big bite. <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/193955803981166/#!/photo.php?fbid=490949940963538&set=a.267929279932273.63878.266905256701342&type=1&theater" target="_blank"><em>Image taken from Facebook</em></a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Image provided by </em><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=3849" target="_blank"><em>imagerymajestic/freedigitalphotos.net</em></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-47058656003878021802012-10-19T16:44:00.001-07:002013-01-01T14:37:39.490-08:00A Letter to my Spirited Child<br />
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Today you screamed for two hours because I wouldn't give you juice. <br />
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I try to be patient, I really do. I know deep in my heart that you don't hate me. That you aren't doing this out of spite. I understand that in toddlerland there is no such thing as moderation and the fact that you had already drank your juice quota for the day is irrelevant to you. I get that, in your head, the rules of possession state that apple juice in the fridge belongs to you and only you and that when you saw me pour a glass you saw that as stealing. Unfortunately after the first half an hour of screaming my nerves were shot and I was more short tempered than usual. <br />
<br />
I cried.<br />
<br />
Just a few tears of frustration. My body's natural release whenever I am stressed. I'm still puzzled by the fact that you continued screaming even after I broke down and finally gave you the juice. What's with that? I think at that point you had forgotten what it was you were crying about and were so worked up you were just crying for the sake of crying. Nice touch with the flopping onto the floor and kicking your feet by the way. Very dramatic. I might have been able to see the humor in it if you hadn't told me to f*** off when I picked you up. You remember? Right after you bit me?<br />
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I cried.<br />
<br />
More tears of frustration. Some days it is so damn hard to not lose my temper. It takes every ounce of patience I possess to stop myself from yelling. It's not that it hurt when you bit me, certainly not as much as it hurt your sister when you bit her this morning, it's more that when I see you lashing out it makes me question my abilities as a parent. I should have been able to nip this whole biting thing in the bud a long time ago. I feel like I failed you. You can count to ten and sing "Twinkle Twinkle" in its entirety. How am I not able to get you to understand that biting hurts. As far as the language goes, well, you don't know what it means. You probably overheard me on the phone, dropping f-bombs while I chat to my friends. That my fault. I'm not punishing you for swearing. It's the biting. I couldn't just let it slide. That's why I put you in time out.<br />
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YOU cried.<br />
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I know you hate time outs. I wouldn't like them very much either. They weren't an option when I was growing up. I got a slap across the face when I misbehaved. Or a strap across the back of my legs. Neither was very effective but they sure gave me pause. Mostly I paused thinking about how much I hated my family. It never made me stop and think about what I had done wrong. Apparently I'm supposed to be biting you back. I don't quite get how this is supposed to discourage you from biting, especially since you model so many of your behaviors after me. This is why we do time outs. I gotta say though, the end result seems to be the same. Especially when you told me you hated me.<br />
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I cried again.<br />
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This time it was ugly crying. Body wracking sobs of pain. I don't know why. You don't even know what you were saying. You're two. What do you know about hate? Besides, of course, your hate for vegetables. I don't know where you picked that up from. TV? Do we need to be more careful of what we watch when you're around? When I am moaning about doing housework do I need to start spelling out my distaste for folding laundry? Especially when you grab a pile of your sisters neatly folded clothes and throw them over the railing. <br />
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I stopped crying.<br />
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I sat down with you on the couch. I got down to eye level with you and told you I was sad. You put your chubby arms around my neck and told me "Don't be sad Mummy". You went and grabbed your smelly blanket, the one you wont let me wash when you're awake. You climbed into my lap and put the blanket around us both. "Snuggle?" you asked tentatively, as if you were afraid of my answer. The smile that lights up your face when I say "Of course we can snuggle" is priceless. It is the look of a blind man seeing the sun for the very first time. We lay there on the couch, big spoon and little spoon, watching Dora the Explorer. I can smell the oatmeal and vanilla of your shampoo as I kiss the top of your head and breathe in deep. All is forgotten, all is right with the world. In ten perfect minutes we have erased hours of tension and frustration. In ten perfect minutes we reset the clock to zero. You reach your tiny hand out, grab my arm and pull it around you.<br />
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I cried.<br />
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MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-80704684333949585802012-09-12T20:53:00.000-07:002012-09-12T21:37:40.341-07:00Flying Spaghetti Monsters: Deliciously Irreverent.<br />
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What do you get when Pinterest and Facebook collide?<br />
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Inspiration:)<br />
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I have been Facebook friends (and <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/what-to-expect/landing-page.aspx" target="_blank">WTE</a> message board friends) with a girl named Sara for a few years now. If you ask Sara what her religion is she will tell you proudly, FSM. Oh, you have never heard of the Church of FSM? Let me share with you.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQF4n65BgpJX3dg6vpeoPhNNWgH5ur_EmAD1mjSncTiEYMhR8aIwIlflAul4Bha5FTKiZ1HNNq0PmkVZNUjGfF_n5V4tVAkc58laWJbEJjUUbF6kh0sdVQNiCGo6xmsMVuDZTm_7uLNj0G/s1600/noodledoodle1024_768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQF4n65BgpJX3dg6vpeoPhNNWgH5ur_EmAD1mjSncTiEYMhR8aIwIlflAul4Bha5FTKiZ1HNNq0PmkVZNUjGfF_n5V4tVAkc58laWJbEJjUUbF6kh0sdVQNiCGo6xmsMVuDZTm_7uLNj0G/s320/noodledoodle1024_768.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Swedish designer Niklas Jansson created this interpretation of </em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michelangelo" title="Michelangelo"><em>Michelangelo</em></a><em>'s </em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Creation_of_Adam" title="The Creation of Adam"><em>The Creation of Adam</em></a></td></tr>
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Back in 2005 Bobby Henderson, concerned with the addition of <a href="http://lmgtfy.com/?q=Intelligent+design" target="_blank">Intelligent Design</a> to the curriculum, <a href="http://www.venganza.org/about/open-letter/" target="_blank">wrote an open letter to the Kansas School Board</a> informing them that if ID was going to be taught then he wanted the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster to receive equal representation. The theories are similar in many ways.<br />
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<ul>
<li>They both refute the logic of Science and Evolution.</li>
<li>They are both based on books, written by men.</li>
<li>They both have a (supposedly) fictional character at their helm</li>
</ul>
<br />For the most part Pastafarians are a peace (and noodle) loving bunch. You will find the occasional one who gets upset when the noodles aren't al dente but as a whole they are very laid back. In fact one of the main tenets of FSM is that there be no dogma and, above all else, not to take themselves too seriously. Sign me up:)<br />
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Where am I going with all this?<br /><br />One day I was <strike>putting off doing my housework</strike> looking up recipes on Pinterest when I saw this <a href="http://thehappyhomester.wordpress.com/2011/08/18/spaghetti-hot-dogs/" target="_blank">culinary abomination</a> touting itself to be the best snack for kids ever. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUBfQn7-OitFwF6CmGCG_hzmuIQADEvoANE9Vq1nn8VUmtMNjL2s_kACAr0OUzEcf9Rs9VGO_tfUdHKKNV6Ghku9pQ4sGuFVi5cIAPUTPbJmh05UaSjUEiUU-LK4o__iHhZzxMsAZi9Mb_/s1600/hotdogs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUBfQn7-OitFwF6CmGCG_hzmuIQADEvoANE9Vq1nn8VUmtMNjL2s_kACAr0OUzEcf9Rs9VGO_tfUdHKKNV6Ghku9pQ4sGuFVi5cIAPUTPbJmh05UaSjUEiUU-LK4o__iHhZzxMsAZi9Mb_/s320/hotdogs.jpg" width="142" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Yum! Entrails.</em></td></tr>
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Really? Have we lowered the bar so far that shoving dried spaghetti through tube steak and boiling it passes for a "nutritious" snack? It defies logic, it defies common sense. Calling it nutritious flies in the face of science. It is the Intelligent Design of kids cuisine. <br />
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Enter FSM:)<br />
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I have long been of the opinion that anything found on Pinterest can either be A) effed up beyond all recognition or B) adapted into something even more wonderful. I got to thinking about how I could make this recipe better. Hmmm, what goes with spaghetti that's healthier than hot dogs? Meatballs perhaps? I mean let's face it, if you can stick spaghetti through a hot dog then ostensibly you should be able to stick it through a meatball. I decided to pay homage to my FSM friends and create a dinner fit for Pastover, or Ramendan. I created my very own Flying Spaghetti Monsters.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIreYOWbi31m1t-4WqKLKnlNYsEt1H0AC_nzWnLAvrvAVv20L1xKJebDr-g_G_pOTz2a69WhqQ9B4CApa_Q2bIm3ytPRl9KXoob7hJG5ppF5sjBQUlfK9CwBdt3DgKGMQ6f4yj2vVnmSK/s1600/fsm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIreYOWbi31m1t-4WqKLKnlNYsEt1H0AC_nzWnLAvrvAVv20L1xKJebDr-g_G_pOTz2a69WhqQ9B4CApa_Q2bIm3ytPRl9KXoob7hJG5ppF5sjBQUlfK9CwBdt3DgKGMQ6f4yj2vVnmSK/s320/fsm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>...and FSM said unto them "Let there be dinner" and there was, and it was good.</em></td></tr>
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These deliciously irreverent little meatballs can be made either as a snack or a full blown meal. Since there are roughly 6785439 different meatball recipes out there I won't bore you with my version. I will point out that using regular ground beef works a little better than leaner ground beef and spaghettini cooks a little faster than spaghetti. Other than that you're on your own. Use whatever meatball recipe you want, use whatever marinara sauce recipe you want. There is no dogma here. We don't judge.<br />
<br />Skewer the meatballs with pieces of spaghettini. You can use a little or a lot. It's your meal. Boil a big pot of water, add a dash of salt and a splash of olive oil. Once you have a good rolling boil going, drop your meatball/pasta combos into the pot. Let them boil for 7-10 minutes depending on how you like your pasta. The meatballs cook quickly, so don't worry about them. Once the pasta is done, they'll be done (provided you haven't made them too big). As you can see mine are roughly the size of golf balls.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXf_9DDcv_qEYWd0r9Uoasvnrr-ZAcfUvlvo7BOxIdnwG3KdSBekEYi_pMYzbmbzpGCibvt7SdHcmk_jnzBWEUOpkRbdxgZ5CKDqWrjPX2swm2q4BY5A8c8uLBBnipAcRzcvTtDmj1k1dr/s1600/fsm2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXf_9DDcv_qEYWd0r9Uoasvnrr-ZAcfUvlvo7BOxIdnwG3KdSBekEYi_pMYzbmbzpGCibvt7SdHcmk_jnzBWEUOpkRbdxgZ5CKDqWrjPX2swm2q4BY5A8c8uLBBnipAcRzcvTtDmj1k1dr/s320/fsm2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>I snap my pasta in half so that there is a hearty meat to carb ratio.</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
What I don't understand is how the hell the pasta inside the meatball cooks. Maybe its steam, maybe its meat juice. All I know is that it cooks perfectly. Every time. A scientist might be able to explain it but I am no scientist. Besides, science is irrelevant. Every time a scientific conclusion is reached, FSM just reaches out his noodly appendage and changes the results. We're not sure why he does this, we just know that he can. Being ineffable has it's privileges.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEipMXujt4M1Pg9hKMJnogm0CopM0B7l3yCs7G2_R4QmXC8w6SjclPPRTXTPUow0Hlrhk6EL5vUVU8FUsywv72tiplY_2cz2fGhgP_lIORfzwC5uzTK3FCdGhvWkTKl5z1z92eX9fd9Dt/s1600/fsm3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEipMXujt4M1Pg9hKMJnogm0CopM0B7l3yCs7G2_R4QmXC8w6SjclPPRTXTPUow0Hlrhk6EL5vUVU8FUsywv72tiplY_2cz2fGhgP_lIORfzwC5uzTK3FCdGhvWkTKl5z1z92eX9fd9Dt/s320/fsm3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Toss the cooked meatballs in a skillet with marinara sauce.</em></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
So once you have your pasta strained toss it into a stir fry pan/deep skillet. Add your marinara sauce and toss everything together until the pasta is evenly coated and the sauce is warmed. That's all there is to it. Kids love it, grown ups love it, Pastafarians love it. Whats not to love? It's everything you love about spaghetti and meatballs wrapped up in a satirical little package. I promise you wont go to hell for eating them. Any god that would create the duck billed platypus MUST have a sense of humor. Enjoy.<br /><br />R'amen:)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-73821869757987525182012-08-31T15:37:00.001-07:002012-09-03T21:50:17.863-07:00Facebook Bullying: The New Normal?***Warning! Some links contained in this post contain graphic images that will undoubtedly be considered offensive to anyone with an ounce of common decency. I refuse to show the actual pictures (except for one) because it turns my stomach to have to look at them.***<br />
<br />
<br />
At what point did it become acceptable to plaster the Internet with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meme" target="_blank">memes</a> about disabled children? Did I miss something here? I love a good meme as much as the next girl. They can be hilarious and for the most part harmless. They poke fun at public figures, slacktivist causes and other pop culture icons. I'm especially fond of the Gene Meme. You've all seen it. A picture of Gene Wilder looking on condescendingly while pretending interest in everything from Kony 2012 to Northface Jacket wearing suburbanites. Funny shit, it really is.<br />
<br />
It stops being funny when the memes turn to ridiculing a 5 year old girls disability.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-w-edKt6-7IeisqBGbuISXGUE0HcoSOsTfyctrG_6FLuDDeX0q1C_MI1rsbz4_CDNq_tAJrSvClNOLEgXH8UF_DtfPj-9f3Ujv27Liv92NagwabXoW4d9mHdrn6TAxTckrdSwtNPNlpDR/s1600/25972404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-w-edKt6-7IeisqBGbuISXGUE0HcoSOsTfyctrG_6FLuDDeX0q1C_MI1rsbz4_CDNq_tAJrSvClNOLEgXH8UF_DtfPj-9f3Ujv27Liv92NagwabXoW4d9mHdrn6TAxTckrdSwtNPNlpDR/s1600/25972404.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>IRONY!</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Adalia Rose is a child with a disease called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Progeria" target="_blank">Progeria</a>. It is a genetic disorder that mimics the effects of aging, causing hair loss (alopecia), thickened skin (scleroderma) and often results in a failure to thrive. It causes her to have an almost alien like appearance: Large head, small features and she is also bald, cause you know, she didn't have enough going on. She might have small features but she has a huge heart.<br />
<br />
She told her mother she wanted to be a star. Her mother, like the good woman she is, set about to do whatever she could to make her baby girls dream come true. She hit the Internet running and within a short period of time she was able to drum up a huge following of supporters for this spunky little girl. She has her own <a href="http://www.adaliarose.com/" target="_blank">website</a>, her own <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/TeamAdaliaRose" target="_blank">YouTube channel</a> and over 4 million likes on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AdaliaRose" target="_blank">Facebook</a>. Not bad for someone who hasn't even been alive long enough to remember what life was like before Facebook.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vwl0UzqxCbM1oMikVm1DDGkodgiTpizIsyuDrKnY0bvteg8ynG58p5EVU1epXExDLrGHGeNOzFPpB8n2pGDPYY1XSrmZmBnKsEz88CMT8XYZNAe2EKOMsJAaAIClzDEoA6JJBkpdXMd-/s1600/adalia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vwl0UzqxCbM1oMikVm1DDGkodgiTpizIsyuDrKnY0bvteg8ynG58p5EVU1epXExDLrGHGeNOzFPpB8n2pGDPYY1XSrmZmBnKsEz88CMT8XYZNAe2EKOMsJAaAIClzDEoA6JJBkpdXMd-/s320/adalia.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Adalia Rose</em></td></tr>
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<br />
It's what any one of us would have done right? You have a kid, you do whatever it takes to make them happy. Especially when that kid has the odds stacked so hard against her. Unfortunately, for every story of inspiration on the Internet, there is some bottom feeder looking for their fifteen minutes.<br />
<br />
Enter Bree.<br />
<br />
Bree (I will only use her first name as she is a minor) created a page called <a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/442054819166483/442084529163512/?comment_id=442085229163442&ref=notif&notif_t=group_comment#!/AdaliaRoseMemes" target="_blank">Adalia Rose Memes</a> (link contains seriously offensive...everything. Definitely NSFW). She thought it might be a nice idea to take pictures of Adalia and post them with funny captions. Whats funnier than calling a five year old a whore? Calling her an alien? Really funny, at least I'm assuming she found them funny. Personally I thought they were pretty ignorant and hateful myself but hey, I'm no "comedian" as Bree refers to herself. I'm just a mom.<br />
<br />
A mom with a lot of friends.<br />
<br />
As most of you know I am a social media enthusiast, everyone knows it. I have been involved with the same core group of moms for three years. I haven't met any of them face to face but I have been there, in our groups/message boards/chat rooms, for the births of their children, through divorces and marriages and sadly through the loss of loved ones. We are tight. We fight with each other like sisters but when the chips are down we band together. It's a beautiful thing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8nFdtdB6zmj7Y_FC0wiHWRM6KVNZFq4d5EL1tfKVWK0xe35hanKeqTBqCxGs8UY8000VUt-EtrgQTwhAiy6Z2nvuQ4020Z5GAbP-qGdd409TnwvWv4USB6JNW2XcGs22feS3cPg2arun/s1600/sisters-300x286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8nFdtdB6zmj7Y_FC0wiHWRM6KVNZFq4d5EL1tfKVWK0xe35hanKeqTBqCxGs8UY8000VUt-EtrgQTwhAiy6Z2nvuQ4020Z5GAbP-qGdd409TnwvWv4USB6JNW2XcGs22feS3cPg2arun/s1600/sisters-300x286.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Do you really want to mess with someone who has over 200 sisters?</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
One of the mommas brought it to our attention that this Adalia Rose Memes page existed. Immediately we all went over and a few of us had words with the followers. No big deal. The problem was they weren't even a little bit abashed by the fact that they had been caught out doing this awful thing. They were PROUD of it. They truly believe that Adalia's mother is exploiting her so in protest they have created this page. That's their story and they're sticking to it. It's not OK to create a support page for your sick child but it is apparently perfectly acceptable to steal their pictures, slap vulgar captions on them and poke fun at their disability. The logic is astounding.<br />
<br />
Wanna hear something even more astounding? I know you do.<br />
<br />
Facebook, in it's wisdom, thinks it is perfectly acceptable too! <br />
<br />
Sure, post a picture of your child breastfeeding and they drop the hammer faster than an auctioneer at Barrett Jackson but bullying a five year old? That's just good fun. These photos have been reported by all of our group members, on the basis that it violates Facebooks policies against hate speech. According to Zuckerberg's minions there is no hate speech. None of the photos have been removed and the page is still open for business. Never mind that this is being perpetrated against a disabled child, never mind that some of these memes are racist in nature. It's the Internet. Suck it up. Freedom of speech. Yay first amendment.<br />
<br />
Freedom of speech? How about common decency?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-QGLTfHe5o3uoNAXyq_2AbNttkN3LFmeXOYXrYcieAxFnre6v_7GJTCRXMFliu3JoEWuTkLdQ1FCo0-hbrPcG123f9gY90HzIZfgf8LdfQDco8SRsCCMx3DgmYRU5PUFdYLfG3bWPw5C/s1600/293373_3523847379683_110357483_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-QGLTfHe5o3uoNAXyq_2AbNttkN3LFmeXOYXrYcieAxFnre6v_7GJTCRXMFliu3JoEWuTkLdQ1FCo0-hbrPcG123f9gY90HzIZfgf8LdfQDco8SRsCCMx3DgmYRU5PUFdYLfG3bWPw5C/s320/293373_3523847379683_110357483_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Not offensive or racist at all *eyeroll*</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
A friend of the family broadcast<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ci3kSKmsKnQ&feature=plcp" target="_blank"> an appeal to the haters</a> on YouTube, to no avail. There were hate pages and ugly memes about Bree, which ironically were taken down faster than whores drawers. While we got a kick out of the poetic (karmic?) justice, slacktivism isn't really our style. Why flame someone on a website when you can go national? We are currently in talks with NBC, CBS and other news affiliates. They were repulsed by the fact that Facebook has let this go unchecked for as long as it has. We couldn't get through to the creator of the page or appeal to her nonexistent sense of decency so we are appealing to you faithful reader. One thing about us Internet moms, we don't take this kind of thing lying down. Don't let them get away with this, for Adalias sake. Protest this.<br />
<br />
Sign this <a href="http://www.change.org/petitions/facebook-ceo-facebook-mark-zuckerberg-uphold-their-own-policies-and-standards-concerning-hate-speech" target="_blank">petition</a>.<br />
<br />
Report this <a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/442054819166483/442084529163512/?comment_id=442085229163442&ref=notif&notif_t=group_comment#!/AdaliaRoseMemes" target="_blank">page</a>.<br />
<br />
Contact your local news.<br />
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More importantly, teach your children that this is wrong. Where the hell are this girls parents? Do they think this is acceptable behavior?<br />
<br />
Do you?<br />
<br />
<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-36321876609346849382012-08-15T16:33:00.002-07:002012-08-15T16:41:58.357-07:00No Cure For The Summertime Blues<br />
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I have always believed that summer is a time for relaxation. A time to relax your stringent rules and schedules and go with the flow. Wear floaty bohemian skirts and pile your hair on top of your head in a messy bun. Barbecue things wrapped in tinfoil. Splash carelessly in the surf with your flip flops in your hand. Embrace your inner hippy.<br />
<br />
Then I had children.<br />
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I freaking hate summer.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLi_sBAJTarpKbUoKFgnw2cw4TpExqp8dxa4wTWyRxknSryf7xnXPR-vPDsPicHeDpFuKGgmWVa_dEcc11pbJE-shiIpoOqE9ci4pNGy_VTpgoT3B4ARKjOzhfcQ5fT2e2io0V7uKzo904/s1600/chick+with+surfboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLi_sBAJTarpKbUoKFgnw2cw4TpExqp8dxa4wTWyRxknSryf7xnXPR-vPDsPicHeDpFuKGgmWVa_dEcc11pbJE-shiIpoOqE9ci4pNGy_VTpgoT3B4ARKjOzhfcQ5fT2e2io0V7uKzo904/s320/chick+with+surfboard.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>"Why no, I don't have kids...How can you tell?"</em></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Did you know that this is the first chance I have had to write in my blog since the end of July? I used to have a faithful following, now they have probably all forgotten me. I cant blame them. Who wants to re-read old blog posts. I wish I could return to those halcyon days when I actually had a spare hour once in a while to write. Now I'm lucky if I have time to have a shower.<br />
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Summertime is a never ending flow of visitors and visiting. We have spent a grand total of five minutes at home this month. Every weekend there is another round of relatives to visit, barbeques and trips to the park/beach/fair. A day at the beach requires planning, packing and all the tactical skills of a military manoeuvre. There are no spur of the moment trips when you have two toddlers. By the time you get the kids dressed and sun screened, the diaper bags packed, snacks made and car seats loaded half the day has passed. We are constantly rushing here and there and sometimes, when the stars are aligned just right, we are lucky enough to get the kids home before bedtime. Routines go out the window and are replaced with tantrums thrown by kids who are overtired and overstimulated. Packing the kids into the car after a day at the beach? Be prepared to have people in the parking lot look at you like you're the worst parent ever. It's a reasonable assumption when they see you wrestling your screaming child into a carseat, especially when darling daughter is screaming "No mommy, please, NOOOO" and you are standing there, red in the face with a vein on your forehead about to pop.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5AnR9kdPoSdIAAQXzUhgoKd5bxCepHcPgOpcFns8S876oS7sobVV9d4WcqN8UonDlA9EzcfvAyiLehSwGiSsN_nRJk0ROlOfeD2FbPsm8qL0yN5gGEvxeqiM3o_3AvJmrqRyPTRQlgQlS/s1600/beach+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5AnR9kdPoSdIAAQXzUhgoKd5bxCepHcPgOpcFns8S876oS7sobVV9d4WcqN8UonDlA9EzcfvAyiLehSwGiSsN_nRJk0ROlOfeD2FbPsm8qL0yN5gGEvxeqiM3o_3AvJmrqRyPTRQlgQlS/s320/beach+family.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Quick, grab her before she gets away again.</em></td></tr>
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I sometimes envy my single friends...the ones without kids that is. They are out there, making the most of the great weather. They are being spontaneous. There they are, sitting on the beach and BAM! A friend with a boat motors up near them:<br />
"Hey, wanna go for a cruise up the lake?"<br />
" Sure, why not. I don't have any plans." <br />
<br />
Here's how that conversation goes when you have two toddlers:<br />
"Hey, wanna go for a cruise up the lake?"<br />
"Sure, let me find Mr. Zinga. I'm sure he'll watch the kids for a little bit. Crap, he's all the way out on the dock. I guess I could take the kids. Do you have any life jackets? Oh right, you don't have kids, why would you have kids life jackets. Tell you what, why don't you come back in half an hour, I might be able to get Mr. Zinga's attention and then I might be able to get him to watch the kids and..."<br />
<em>Friend with boat moves on to next group of friends.</em><br />
"Hey, wanna go for a cruise up the lake?"<br />
<br />
Number 67543 on the list of things they don't tell you about being a parent: Your single friends will suddenly abandon you faster than you can say "Someone needs a diaper change." <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwqnJNDULlO9sXjKdyDknt8atoUT0PFiCTh2UOnj5DI2x1Osizag6fuK-udmdKg7y_8MWBmSomNergSyd10ib7flZWcNzO6z7xJM4fzrz_Uam2cdMfZcZVDsmI1jFDAhsYIq2j6ZCiZZm/s1600/bikini+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwqnJNDULlO9sXjKdyDknt8atoUT0PFiCTh2UOnj5DI2x1Osizag6fuK-udmdKg7y_8MWBmSomNergSyd10ib7flZWcNzO6z7xJM4fzrz_Uam2cdMfZcZVDsmI1jFDAhsYIq2j6ZCiZZm/s320/bikini+beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Hey, where did everybody go?</em></td></tr>
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<br />
There are a lot of things that I hate about summer. The hustle and bustle, the stress and the heat. The tourists, the traffic and the overcrowded beaches. Long line ups at the market and longer line ups at the ice cream stand. The fact that I can never wear a two piece bathing suit again.<br />
<br />
First world problems I know.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of good things about summer too. I'm not a total hater. I like to garden, I like to barbeque and I am not averse to spending time suntanning in the backyard while my oldest daughter runs through the sprinkler. My family loves the summer and because I love them I put on a brave face and pretend to be enjoying myself. Doesn't stop me from eagerly awaiting the changing leaves of Autumn. I tolerate the heat and humidity, for three very good reasons.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMXeKCTnOI_VKYnZdvFWDNcvb9gl92AWZHhSUmLNIFQDVy5mt9R-d0yDh7J53YKO1bULbjX6ObvqdhLjH8FySGBgOW-e1m_J7MuoylS8CO6LiA5D3Ydasyo6xyN6oq4BlAkFZWPkoB0iS/s1600/jeff+and+the+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMXeKCTnOI_VKYnZdvFWDNcvb9gl92AWZHhSUmLNIFQDVy5mt9R-d0yDh7J53YKO1bULbjX6ObvqdhLjH8FySGBgOW-e1m_J7MuoylS8CO6LiA5D3Ydasyo6xyN6oq4BlAkFZWPkoB0iS/s320/jeff+and+the+girls.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>CeeCee Zinga (Left), Parker Zinga (Bottom Right) and Mr. Zinga (Top)</em> </td></tr>
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My crusty faced, sun loving babies and my wonderful (thankfully NOT crusty faced) husband.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All Stock Photos:</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cp%3EImage:%20%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.freedigitalphotos.net%22%20target=%22_blank%22%3EFreeDigitalPhotos.net%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Free Digital Photos</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Bottom Photo : Mr. Zinga</span>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-55450980993178915022012-07-26T12:07:00.000-07:002012-08-15T16:35:17.985-07:00Magnet Puzzle Tutorial<br />
If you have been reading my blog regularly you probably remember the crafting disaster (of epic proportions) <a href="http://ceeceescrazyworld.blogspot.ca/2012/05/fun-with-magnets-magnet-board-tutorial.html" target="_blank">Fun With Magnets:Magnet Board Tutorial</a>. Not my best work, that. It wasn't a total fail, I got some swanky new fridge magnets out of the deal, so there's that. I got those stickers from a coloring book I had bought my daughter. Now that coloring book has long since been abandoned, it's pages scribbled over and the best of the lot saved to the scrapbook. Left behind was a fairly pristine cover. <br />
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Can I just say, whoever thought of making tear out pages in kids coloring books is brilliant. CeeCee has the attention span of a gnat and if I gave her the whole book to play with it would be destroyed in minutes. <br />
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So anyway, here I am with a Sesame Street coloring book cover and a bunch of magnets left over from the magnet board fiasco when all it occurs to me: That part of the craft turned out OK. I'm good at cutting things out and I am good at sticking magnets to things.<br />
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Why not stick some magnets on a picture of Elmo and make a puzzle out of it?<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQZkRPu2O7VytZNS68RpQcIaoW1v6W59nrh6ke-I9N1gqZ26Od2DnKF-9P4Haqr2lnXT-34hS3r47nEAEEkCuXCgzyfFpv40hGYlWHGFhWyG7xjwnAaqQmNEQDfwrJEb6NUaz4ASGW7A3/s1600/you+will+need.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQZkRPu2O7VytZNS68RpQcIaoW1v6W59nrh6ke-I9N1gqZ26Od2DnKF-9P4Haqr2lnXT-34hS3r47nEAEEkCuXCgzyfFpv40hGYlWHGFhWyG7xjwnAaqQmNEQDfwrJEb6NUaz4ASGW7A3/s1600/you+will+need.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Seriously, that's all you need</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">You Will Need</span>:</h3>
<ul>
<li>A picture you want to make into a puzzle</li>
<li>Enough photo magnets to cover said picture</li>
<li>A pair of scissors</li>
</ul>
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I don't <em>think</em> it is copyright infringement. After all I bought the book. I'm not making money from it. I'm just upcycling it. <br />
<h3>
</h3>
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<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">Step One: Cut out your image</span></h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnELMPoFURyz15L5_dNKwK0Ky4sV4LvSJ5twk_pD6tLnN-LKpdK7kRMW18KVGYaBdFfZ4JgimdgCrwNHmAceLnndEyVHOIfIpi9Lpj6TdT384Wej79MIGuGSNQiZBrEVEwMGsVqAdeebOs/s1600/cut+out+shapes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnELMPoFURyz15L5_dNKwK0Ky4sV4LvSJ5twk_pD6tLnN-LKpdK7kRMW18KVGYaBdFfZ4JgimdgCrwNHmAceLnndEyVHOIfIpi9Lpj6TdT384Wej79MIGuGSNQiZBrEVEwMGsVqAdeebOs/s1600/cut+out+shapes.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Furry little bugger was hard to cut out:(</em><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was pretty lucky here, in that there were two really nice options on this cover. There was a great picture of Elmo on the front and a cute pic of Cookie Monster, Zoe and Elmo flying kites on the back. Since I apparently grow Photo Magnets and I had time to kill I decided to do both. Cutting out Elmo was a pain in the arse, I'm not going to lie. Next time I will keep the shape simple. In retrospect I should have just cut a bubble around Elmo but live and learn. The Cookie Monster picture was way easier.<br />
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<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">Step Two: Add the magnets</span></h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwG-RXRWy8Se2OyENmfZ7ZNYhv0-6qhStjHwt2_DIfNXs5opfoikhfG3kPu_KzjxeFRUJorO7qNZD1uDNOmP_ksSG8pCN6m1z-degO1Bq5THxosa3EQaUs7_x01OPNzbkYb24CypBVV4G/s1600/pic+with+magnet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwG-RXRWy8Se2OyENmfZ7ZNYhv0-6qhStjHwt2_DIfNXs5opfoikhfG3kPu_KzjxeFRUJorO7qNZD1uDNOmP_ksSG8pCN6m1z-degO1Bq5THxosa3EQaUs7_x01OPNzbkYb24CypBVV4G/s1600/pic+with+magnet.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Cut the basic shape first, then go back and refine it.</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Magnet paper is sticky as hell. You want to make sure you get this part right the first time. If you find you have paper hanging over the edge don't sweat it, you can always add more magnet to it. Just cut some to fit and add it in the areas you need a bit more. The goal here is to have magnet sticking out around the edges so you get a nice flat finish. You don't want paper hanging over the edges, it will just get worn and look awful with wear and tear. Carefully cut out your finished shape.<br />
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<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">Step Three: Make it a puzzle</span></h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjnax9vttXutF0SmioXgzvZBATz3jJpa-MGo2sLmqPsbvxJZYOP6j4LBWG7raQgBrxdO9W4lkY3uxRHKhnntZBQ1EoaA6SMdTwt2WqGU30eeclECnGWXsrY7SpcJj6FFB8-_ucwqjI9h6/s1600/puzzle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjnax9vttXutF0SmioXgzvZBATz3jJpa-MGo2sLmqPsbvxJZYOP6j4LBWG7raQgBrxdO9W4lkY3uxRHKhnntZBQ1EoaA6SMdTwt2WqGU30eeclECnGWXsrY7SpcJj6FFB8-_ucwqjI9h6/s200/puzzle.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Finished puzzle pieces</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was the fun part. All I did was cut the pictures up into puzzle shapes. That's it! I used a simple six piece puzzle shape and eyeballed it. Next time I might make it a little more complex, since CeeCee got the hang of this one on the first day. She still loves playing with it though, it has become part of our bedtime routine. She puts it together before bed and I mess it up again for her in the morning.<br />
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This was a really easy, fun and quick project. The cost was $2.50 and for that I got two magnet puzzles, with high quality images, that are providing hours of amusement and important hand eye coordination. Not to mention bragging rights. Maybe one of these days I will get around to making the magnet board too:) I hope you guys give this one a try and please, share your results with me.<br />
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Happy Crafting Everyone:)<br />
MamazingaMamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-77331093771063938082012-07-13T12:47:00.000-07:002012-08-15T16:35:47.216-07:00Avoiding the Grandparent Trap <br />
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You guys ever had this happen to you?<br />
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You're having a great morning with your kids: cartoons are on, everyone got fed without incident, your oldest child is running around in a diaper with rubber boots on the wrong feet waving a magic wand (What? That only happens to me?). Everything is going swimmingly and then...BAM. The doorbell rings. Nana pops in for a visit on her way to work. You love her but you can't help but wince internally. There goes your peace and quiet for the rest of the day. She means well but she manages to wind your kids up like clockwork mice every time she see's them. Your children adore her because with her every day is a holiday, drum sets are perfectly reasonable gifts for toddlers and lollipops are one of the four major food groups. <br />
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It's not her fault. Her grandmother did it to her, her mother did it to you and one day you will get to do it to your grand kids. It's the circle of life. It is a grandparents privilege...no...it is their responsibility to spoil the crap out of your kids. She is under obligation to every generation of grandmothers before her to continue this time honored tradition, effing up your routines and systems. You see, when she was raising you, her mother made a half joking prediction. She said that one day you were going to grow up to be a handful, and that you were going to give your mother all the grey hairs that your mother gave her. Sound familiar? She probably said the same thing to you when your child was born.<br />
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Then she set out to make it a reality.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-jE87rCM2Io-ZNItB0fpOdiQdZptyb2K0NSfCgrQbsaEtsyT0maud5ApG0H5GNbaCiSVuNNZFPD4GBA8LN7MEYtrfmPfjf8uepWVSIsrX7qW14hxRXxBMJVguLRUM-xV-b-k3RPAUhF5/s1600/ID-10032444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-jE87rCM2Io-ZNItB0fpOdiQdZptyb2K0NSfCgrQbsaEtsyT0maud5ApG0H5GNbaCiSVuNNZFPD4GBA8LN7MEYtrfmPfjf8uepWVSIsrX7qW14hxRXxBMJVguLRUM-xV-b-k3RPAUhF5/s320/ID-10032444.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"I'm not spoiling them dear, I'm just being a good Grandma."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Being a grandmother means never having to say no. It doesn't make sense. She had no problem telling you no when you were growing up. It's as though she was given a finite number of no's and then wasted them all on you. Now everything is yes. Staying up past bedtime? Yes. Candy for breakfast? Yes. Dirt bikes for their birthday. Hell to the yes!!! Grandma is the toddler equivalent of a rock star. She gets to do all the things with them that she wished she could have done with you. The problem was she was too busy raising you and trying to keep you from drawing on the car with a rock and/or licking an electrical outlet. Now she is making up for lost time.<br />
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She doesn't have to do the whole disciplinarian thing. That's YOUR job. She gets to play now. They didn't have any of these cool toys when she had you. When you were a baby you had a rattle, a teddy bear and a favorite blankie. If you were really lucky you got a walker with wheels, guaranteed to send you headfirst down whatever set of stairs was closest. Thanks to the combined efforts of both sets of grandparents your kids have toys worth the GDP of a small country. Why the bounty now? Easy. She doesn't have to buy diapers anymore. She can afford the fun stuff. I suspect she might have stock in Toys "R" Us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTP44D35HTlbG6FjctL8U3vAxJCthaaekt2c1WQVoo-ZDLKUwFqWrZDzkgzgd7965MJ0XaZHFRQF__5IL7FFaBlgqpHwyGWPtM4sp-4vA87xybVh7iUob9AfhYnd3_tWHmKOGvdhRJi1J/s1600/ID-10041101.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTP44D35HTlbG6FjctL8U3vAxJCthaaekt2c1WQVoo-ZDLKUwFqWrZDzkgzgd7965MJ0XaZHFRQF__5IL7FFaBlgqpHwyGWPtM4sp-4vA87xybVh7iUob9AfhYnd3_tWHmKOGvdhRJi1J/s320/ID-10041101.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"An Xbox is a great present...Yes, I know she's only three, whats that got to do with anything?"</i><br />
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So, how do you avoid a rift in your relationship with your mother while ensuring she respects YOUR rights as a mother? The same way you eat an elephant. One bite at a time. You can't change her and you shouldn't want to. She might drive you batshit crazy but her heart is in the right place. Really, can you ever hold a grudge against someone who loves your kids so much that she is willing to let them use her as a jungle gym for hours on end? Not to mention enduring endless hours of "Ring Around The Rosie" and "Itsy Bitsy Spider". You can't change her but you can change the way you look at her. Here are a few useful suggestions to get the most out of her visits and get some precious alone time while you are at it.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Draw your line in the sand.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Let her know what's negotiable and what's not. She gave your kid a second helping of cake for dessert without asking you first? Meh...not the end of the world. She gave your child a big ice cream cone and a milkshake because she doesn't believe he's actually lactose intolerant, you are just overreacting? Ok, that's crossing a line. Remember that this is YOUR house and as long as she is under your roof she needs to abide by your rules. Just pick your battles wisely. Keeping them up past their bedtime probably isn't worth starting a family feud over. Causing them physical pain or discomfort, albeit unintentionally, is grounds for a showdown. In my house I can shrug pretty much anything off with an eyeroll and a glass of wine BUT when it comes to the safety and health of my children I will pitch a fit (out of sight of the kids of course, they don't need to see friction between the authority figures in their lives).</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Make her bring food.</span></b><br />
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This is especially important if you have new babies in the house. This technique was perfected by my own mother, who realized early on that even the most unwelcome visitor will be graciously received...provided she has Indian takeaway and ice cream. Nothing says "Sorry for dropping by unannounced at the worst possible time." better than a big plate of Butter Chicken and a double scoop of Pralines and Cream. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Get her to babysit.</span></b><br />
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So, she want's to come for a visit, eh? That is a fantastic opportunity to go get your hair did, do some errands or even just take a shower for twenty minutes, uninterrupted. Shave something, for Pete's sake. After all, she knows how to take care of kids. She raised you didn't she? Granted it wasn't as stressful back then, before the internet made us all paranoid about our parenting skills. Just make sure she knows how to open the childproof locks on the fridge and garbage cans before you leave (trust me on this one)<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Let her clean.</span></b><br />
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Are you like me? Do you shoo people away when they try to help? STOP THAT. Ok, so it is a little annoying when you open your dishwasher and the plates aren't how you like them and the dryer is stacked with a pile of towels folded the wrong way. Suck it up, put it all away and be grateful you didn't have to do it yourself. It's not as easy to bitch about how much extra work grandma visits are if you actually let her pitch in and help. Just because she wants to tell you the "right" way to sort cutlery doesn't mean you have to listen. Just smile and nod and take the help.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Stash the Toys.</span></b><br />
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She showed up at your house with yet another pile of toys for the kids, despite the fact that you have asked her repeatedly not to spoil them. Who says you have to give them all to the kids at once? Put your foot down. You might not be able to stop her from shopping but you can control how you dole out the gifts. Give the kids a couple and put the rest away in a closet. Wrap them up for Christmas, Birthdays, Groundhog Day. Whatever holiday you want. Did she bring a ridiculously age inappropriate toy? Tell her you will
gladly hang on to that electric guitar until your infant is old enough
to appreciate it. Make sure it's her name on the tag so the kids know who to thank and make sure there are no live animals involved. Decomposing hamsters make lousy presents.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-FNg6pMX_xIHxL7yUrokf6I4AYbf0ol8TxaxL5YqAhrn1P626C1rRg4wvdh8GvhytwPESNX1q6xRqkaV2gOns-c6E4BbSzOkVfy1WFMGI24ziBhU7iNeyNNAyy7Xp95o1NEfn7g4wH7o/s1600/ID-10044405.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-FNg6pMX_xIHxL7yUrokf6I4AYbf0ol8TxaxL5YqAhrn1P626C1rRg4wvdh8GvhytwPESNX1q6xRqkaV2gOns-c6E4BbSzOkVfy1WFMGI24ziBhU7iNeyNNAyy7Xp95o1NEfn7g4wH7o/s320/ID-10044405.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"They're going to love her...Do you think we should have asked first? Nah, didn't think so"</i><br />
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</tbody></table>
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Finally <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Respect Her Wisdom</span></b><br />
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All jokes aside, as irritating as her behavior can be remember this; Whatever you are going through with your kids, chances are she went through it too. She might piss you off from time to time but she is a sympathetic ear. She understands why you have bald spots, she tore out a few clumps of her own hair when you were a kid too. She knows a home remedy for every complaint and, at the very least, will make you a nice hot cup of tea and listen to you vent. She knows how to get rid of colic, earaches and can diagnose chicken pox and slather your kid in Calamine lotion faster than you can Google the symptoms. She will never judge you, even if she doesn't understand you. She might be their grandma but she will always be your mom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FLJ_whl88hpEE_GN5glt9PYDaeoYIjqbAl14aRwWblrCBK5CAqT1nHp_FYVcczQZHtihoLTAIuv7QLIPIMjDsXtCKNfAWPV5o7E14qSnD1xwMtmn7kZH7SkxOgHUzIdRb3kqqfNvV5GR/s1600/ID-10044384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FLJ_whl88hpEE_GN5glt9PYDaeoYIjqbAl14aRwWblrCBK5CAqT1nHp_FYVcczQZHtihoLTAIuv7QLIPIMjDsXtCKNfAWPV5o7E14qSnD1xwMtmn7kZH7SkxOgHUzIdRb3kqqfNvV5GR/s320/ID-10044384.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"You actually WANT my opinion? Really? Are you feeling OK?"</i></td></tr>
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<br />And she did a pretty damn good job with you!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All Images: Ambro at <a href="http://freedigitalphotos.net/">FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></span><br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-89706760790766504342012-06-29T15:16:00.000-07:002012-08-15T16:36:02.843-07:00Stay At Home Mom vs. Working Mom. Who's Right?I recently wrote an <a href="http://ceeceescrazyworld.blogspot.ca/2012/06/stay-at-home-moms-worth-their-weight-in.html" target="_blank">article about being a stay at home mom (<i>SAHM</i>)</a>. I thought it was pretty tame. I tend not to get overly judgmental over how other people parent...I got that out of my system when I was pregnant for the first time. No one is a better parent than someone without kids right? But that's a whole post for another day.<i> </i>Let's save that little chestnut, cause it's worth coming back to.<br />
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This article, which I thought was fair and balanced (<i>and not in that icky FOX news kind of way</i>), sparked some interesting discussion on a couple of forums. Some of the comments actually got pretty heated, mostly due to people making asshat assumptions about what being a SAHM is really about.<br />
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I was told it was intentionally inflammatory.<i> Me? Inflammatory? No way.</i><br />
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<i>Bitchy? Absolutely. Sarcastic and snarky? Sure, but never intentionally inflammatory.</i><br />
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I was told that it was biased, since it only discussed being a SAHM.<br />
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<i>Really? I AM a SAHM. I wouldn't write an article, for example, about being a dolphin, or an astronaut.</i><br />
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All of a sudden, it's on like Donkey Kong. <br />
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Stay at Home Mom Vs. Working Mom.<br />
Round 1675.<br />
Ding, ding, ding. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYzTAHmc3MYSiux5HG1RjbyZB6kuzgmGgPTbKQkQSNfZXwR2rBtslaHpcaTenbE8HUbtH6cejun-sfaARL-IjQyvHe8ct191c6rjC-Zj35YnsIKU5v2aALFsR-n4ipmov7Yz1-FT1HVsY/s1600/ID-10044046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYzTAHmc3MYSiux5HG1RjbyZB6kuzgmGgPTbKQkQSNfZXwR2rBtslaHpcaTenbE8HUbtH6cejun-sfaARL-IjQyvHe8ct191c6rjC-Zj35YnsIKU5v2aALFsR-n4ipmov7Yz1-FT1HVsY/s320/ID-10044046.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh, hell no! Did she just say daycare is raising my kids?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This is a battle that will never be won, yet it still gets rehashed and reenacted more often than the Civil War. The thing you gotta realize about this particular catfight...some people
are really touchy about their choices. When those choices involve how they parent...well, the gloves are coming off. There is also a certain type of woman
who believes so strongly that she is right that anyone who disagrees must be, obviously, wrong. When these two traits meet in one person, head for your zombie apocalypse bunker. (What? You don't have one?) We are talking about a meltdown of nuclear proportions. In a perfect world we
could all just live our lives the way it made sense for us, without all the judgement from other people. <br />
<br />
The internet is FAR from a perfect world.<br />
<br />
Having said that I thought it might be a hoot to actually BE intentionally inflammatory. Why the heck not? I have been branded as such and I would really hate to make a liar out of anyone. Besides, no one wants to hear the boring truth anyway. It is WAY more fun to use hackneyed stereotypes and gross generalizations. Before anyone decides to flame me I have to add this disclaimer:<br />
<ol></ol>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The following examples are composites of shameless stereotypes. It's called parody. If you are offended by satire I would suggest not reading further. It is bitchy, snarky and in poor taste. If you persist in reading and find yourself offended I would suggest rereading the first part of this disclaimer. </i></blockquote>
You haz been warned:)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTRAgskYNv_G71H5d3-9wPiwNL-KQ1iQbfNCFpV2zJ7KFWhrh8sfr5wrDZWxM61xU5ZfEGHHEcunM20WtRETBRnJJUPCFfPLXNkJlDSp5421Hc65KZsKTN38E5Ab1Cvlo3JN_1ajnRHYp/s1600/ID-10072071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTRAgskYNv_G71H5d3-9wPiwNL-KQ1iQbfNCFpV2zJ7KFWhrh8sfr5wrDZWxM61xU5ZfEGHHEcunM20WtRETBRnJJUPCFfPLXNkJlDSp5421Hc65KZsKTN38E5Ab1Cvlo3JN_1ajnRHYp/s320/ID-10072071.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That article was so offensive...where's my brain bleach?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
The Stay At Home Mom</h3>
The SAHM is a better mother than you.<br />
Period.<br />
She is actually raising her kids, thankyouverymuch, and isn't afraid to denounce the working mother for "outsourcing" her children. She can take her kids to the park on a Tuesday afternoon if she wants
to. She probably won't...but she could if she wanted to. She has the
freedom and spontaneity to be as lazy as she wants to be, anytime,
anywhere.<br />
She knows that her kids are going to grow up healthier and happier because mommy was around to watch <strike>daytime television</strike> them grow up. She judges mothers who look well groomed. In her eyes you must sport a ponytail with roots, yoga pants and a sweatshirt with spit up on the shoulder in order to be a proper mother. Her husband sympathizes with her needs, like when she needs a night out. He has no problem watching the kids for a couple of hours so she can unwind after a busy day of doing...nothing much. Beats the hell out of listening to her nag about how she has no one over the age of three to talk to all day.<br />
She is the busiest person you will ever meet. She spends most of her day
on the internet, whining about how hard her life is. She hasn't cleaned
her house yet today, she just hasn't had time. She was too busy posting
a never ending stream of "inspirational quotes" about motherhood to her
Facebook timeline. Her Pinterest boards are jammed full of crafts she
will never make and food she will never cook. Despite her lack of
enthusiasm for all things domestic she is able to maintain an aura of
smug superiority about her homemade laundry soap.<br />
It is SOOO tough being a Stay At Home <strike>Martyr</strike> Mother. Especially when all the major networks cut away from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U90GnD0NraI" target="_blank">Channing Tatum's appearance on Live! with Kelly Ripa</a> (NSFW) to cover the stupid President and his healthcare bill.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgeYqmDJc_xgIS_B5yMaiL28LPpRcgKD62YeTDpKNNXc7fkWpeCC1c_73TuIRSydH9V6Vvql289W-kUl5Y8RWjHqpyP3W7O6J2gQKQIzTfZJphyphenhyphenC1DIUMvH0fH5YnkCZRNIrzEH9Nz87E4/s1600/ID-10052361.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgeYqmDJc_xgIS_B5yMaiL28LPpRcgKD62YeTDpKNNXc7fkWpeCC1c_73TuIRSydH9V6Vvql289W-kUl5Y8RWjHqpyP3W7O6J2gQKQIzTfZJphyphenhyphenC1DIUMvH0fH5YnkCZRNIrzEH9Nz87E4/s400/ID-10052361.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Tell me again how hard you have it. How's that indoor plumbing working out for you?"</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
The Working Mom</h3>
The working mom is a better mother than you.<br />
Period.<br />
She is setting an example for her children thankyouverymuch. She has drive,
ambition and childcare. She went into labour at a board meeting and
STILL managed to stick it out until the coffee and donuts ran out. Her kids are going to grow up knowing about responsibility and hard work. She is teaching them valuable lessons, that is to say, she hired the people who are teaching them valuable lessons.<br />
Same thing.<br />
She pities women who choose to be homemakers, they are so obviously lacking motivation. She manages to juggle 10 hour workdays, soccer games and still finds time to do Zumba three days a week. If she can do it, anyone can. She is climbing that corporate ladder and she doesn't care whose backs
she has to step on, even it they belong to her family. It's for their
own good. She scoffs at those who call her husband henpecked. It's just more efficient for her to make all the decisions. She is the CEO of their home. Someone has to keep the staff in line. It's hard work!<br />
She also spends most of her day on the internet whining about how hard her life is, the only difference is she logs on from her office. She
schedules play dates around her conference calls and get her hair foiled on her lunch break, being a mother is no excuse for shoddy roots. She is a better mother when she doesn't have to spend the whole day with her children. Spending time with your kids is overrated. She needs more stimulation than that. She needs to interact with <strike>that cute guy in Human Resources</strike> grown ups. She plans on sending her kids off to boarding school ASAP. That way she can continue her career uninterrupted. She's going to miss them though. The company newsletter is coming up and they look great in her profile picture.<br />
Maybe she can hire a couple of stand ins?<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0s3TfW6Nxy0cM1UF9xjX8cIInH-uSuwr2A4YobDgektyEjHHKqKFXZG2dc8Oj1fVmyZak3H-I9-cBz2xBU8yvjYHInh86R5H1F37DzwEfiBIwnF9IK0ZOIKNkUcfB5MU2ls7GMm_jan2/s1600/ID-10063655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0s3TfW6Nxy0cM1UF9xjX8cIInH-uSuwr2A4YobDgektyEjHHKqKFXZG2dc8Oj1fVmyZak3H-I9-cBz2xBU8yvjYHInh86R5H1F37DzwEfiBIwnF9IK0ZOIKNkUcfB5MU2ls7GMm_jan2/s400/ID-10063655.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Darling, the new Swedish nanny starts on Monday"</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I have painted a couple of pretty extreme and obviously fictional pictures here. No one really lives like that, right? Right? There are a million ways to be a mom, none of them right or wrong. Even if someone judges you for the way you parent just take comfort in the fact that someone, somewhere, is judging them for the way they parent. There are a lot of people in this world, blinders firmly in place, gathering stones to throw from the comfort of their glass balconies. Doesn't bother me. My house is made of rubber. Shit just bounces off.<br />
<br />
What is YOUR house made of?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo Credit: All photos courtesy of <a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/" target="_blank">FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></span>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-62807170684408194452012-06-18T15:32:00.001-07:002012-06-18T15:32:36.521-07:00Going for...Launch?Happy Monday Y'all, <br />
<br />
Today was the big day. My mini blog on LHC went live. Since I am going to be featuring all original content over there I thought, maybe instead of writing an unrelated post HERE I would just direct you guys THERE, lol.<br />
<br /><a href="http://santoshawellnessgroup.com/essentials-for-baby-warm-wipes/">http://santoshawellnessgroup.com/essentials-for-baby-warm-wipes/</a><br /><br />Check it out and I will see you guys later this week with my long anticipated "fringe" post. This time the subject is one near and dear to my heart: Extreme SAHM vs. Extreme Working Mom. I am going to explore how the extremists in each case do their very best to make us sympathetic...for their husbands.<br />
<br />
Until them, take care and enjoy life...half crunched:)MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-17621353198534309172012-06-15T11:25:00.000-07:002012-06-16T15:17:18.338-07:00The Island of Misfit CraftsSo, do you guys remember me telling you I was going to be featured on Life Half Crunched? They featured one of my posts, <a href="http://ceeceescrazyworld.blogspot.ca/2012/05/fun-with-magnets-magnet-board-tutorial.html" target="_blank">Fun With Magnets - Magnet Board Tutorial</a>, very exciting, especially since that was a crafting disaster of Titanic-esque proportions.<br />
<br />
Even more unexpected, I received the following message from Renee, one of the lovely ladies who founded LHC:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"(<i>the owner of <a href="http://keleighbellecreations.com/" target="_blank">Keleigh Belle</a> Creations</i>)...<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">is going to feature your LHC guest post on the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/craftersunitedfan" target="_blank">Crafters United</a> page. That's a networking trifecta ladies. ♥"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">What? How is that possible? This was a crappy little craft that didn't even turn out. Why would respectable crafters, with actual websites, be interested in my crafting fail?</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">I am guessing that for every beautiful object displayed on a website or Etsy page, there is another, slightly wonky craft displayed on that island of misfit crafts, <a href="http://www.regretsy.com/" target="_blank">Regretsy</a>: Hot glue oozing out of the sides, glitter haphazardly thrown at it and a silkscreened picture of Robert Pattinson/Taylor Lautner framed in LED lights.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.regretsy.com/2012/04/17/team-fugly/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYq69mcvs6Cy75lAb3hBcBIvS5aERVSCE30nh3HSErHishxlJfV3Z-JceyiCI-G_1r9n7UNy_2TlNQhY5yGWHLR_5t9hf-d3UmRxO-YpPkB56-OY2tUxPpfMl3Rs0dZFNOjc71C-90eqP/s1600/fugly.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.regretsy.com/2012/04/17/team-fugly/" target="_blank">I can't take credit for this disaster. This was featured on Regretsy. Sadly, the original Etsy post is no longer available.</a></span></i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">I guess
every crafter enjoys laughing/commiserating at the "craft that got
away". That works for me. My lack of crafting ability, when coupled with
my awful taste and inability to follow instructions, should provide
MOUNTAINS of material:)</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">So are you ready to hear my even MORE exciting news?</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">LHC
is going to be featuring me REGULARLY!!! That's right, I am getting my
own mini blog on the network. It will feature all original material
geared towards the crafty/frugal side of my personality, which is
fantastic and will allow me to get back to using THIS blog for the
purpose for which it was created.</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Making you all jealous of my gorgeous kids and amazing parenting skills.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <i>(Did I just say that with a straight face?)</i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Oh yeah, and shamelessly self promoting my book. Did I mention I'm writing a book?<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (Ok, I'll shut up now.)</span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span style="font-size: small;">Anyway,
the launch date for my mini blog, MamaZinga's Melting Pot, is set for
Monday June 18, 2012. Look for it on Life Half Crunched. Have yourselves
a great weekend:)</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span style="font-size: small;">Thanks for reading,</span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span style="font-size: small;">MamaZinga </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span style="font-size: small;">P.S. If anyone can tell me how to make those annoying white squares go away I am all ears:) </span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-88314049894981662312012-06-07T16:06:00.000-07:002012-08-15T16:36:19.430-07:00Stay At Home Moms: Worth Their Weight In GoldAny stay at home moms (SAHM's) in the room?<br />
<br />
C'mon, raise your hand, don't be shy. It is nothing to be ashamed of. I know how hard you work, I'm right there too. Complete with judgement from other people about how much I don't do every day. Apparently SAHM automatically conjures images of a slovenly woman lazing on the couch, eating bon-bons and watching soap operas. Oh how I wish it was true.<br />
<br />
I would love to be able to do nothing all day. I am lazy...There, I said it, someone had to. Anyone who knows me will tell you the same thing. I don't want to work. I want to win the lottery and spend the rest of my life in comfort in a big house with a staff of domestics to do all the heavy lifting. I want to have a luxury car and a driver to take me and the kids wherever we need to go. I want a cook to make me delicious meals every day, a housekeeper to manage my staff and a chambermaid to fluff up my feather bed. I would love to have an Au pair to keep my children pristine all day and wipe their runny noses...Le Sigh.<br />
<br />
Instead my life is filled with snotty faces, poopy diapers and seemingly endless piles of laundry. My work day starts at seven am and ends at eleven pm when I drag my tired, overworked ass to bed for a well deserved sleep...at least, until two, when Parker wants her nightly feeding. I work six days a week and I get one day off, where I get to dress up, fix my hair and go to my "real" job, as a hairdresser. Thats right people, going to work is my idea of a day off. I get to talk to grown ups, I get to make some money, I seldom get thrown up on and my clients are, for the most part, already potty trained. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
No matter how you slice it, as a SAHM I work my ass off. Oddly enough my house does not reflect this. It is frequently untidy, with a minefield of mega blocks ready to hobble you as soon as you set foot in my living room. This is life with a toddler. To those working mom's who don't get why it is so hard to keep up with housework I have one word. Daycare. That's right. If your kid is in daycare they aren't messing up your house. They are messing up someone elses house. Someone who is getting paid to clean up after them. Enjoy it, because the alternative sucks. I vacuum three times a day. Doesn't matter. I still find cheerios in the toybox. I feel like the guy in the circus who follows the elephants around with a broom cleaning up their crap all day. That's me. Cleaning up crap. All. Damn. Day. It's not always bad, some days are better than others. At least one day a week I just say screw it and leave the toys all over the place and the dishes in the sink. These are usually the days someone will drop by unannounced for a visit and then cut their eyes at the mess in my house. *Face palm*. I suspect this is how the stereotype of the lazy SAHM was born. Everybody and their dog has a cell phone these days. How hard is it to call and say "Hey I'm going to drop by in half an hour". I can make my place look presentable in ten minutes. With a half an hour I can make it sparkle, at least in the rooms that company sees. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJyFKPHsbPcy3T5ZZCnAd8qT0BxBtDcK7AuoKO2G36rutu6bRXkqOwrXKpvzP287N9ghiXKO_5v2pK5q-qiJk-lFwBJ8kgEaCb9Gr5ldyO6inYzY1lPgfBMGcxtkLR7dmLbPRKulL7VpR/s1600/dare+devil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJyFKPHsbPcy3T5ZZCnAd8qT0BxBtDcK7AuoKO2G36rutu6bRXkqOwrXKpvzP287N9ghiXKO_5v2pK5q-qiJk-lFwBJ8kgEaCb9Gr5ldyO6inYzY1lPgfBMGcxtkLR7dmLbPRKulL7VpR/s320/dare+devil.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mommy, watch me throw these blocks all over the place</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Don't even get me started on the laundry. How two little people manage to generate so much laundry is beyond me. I am usually so busy doing their laundry that mine gets neglected. Thankfully Mr. Zinga does his own, it might not get folded and put away for a few days but he does it. Then there's the cooking. We choose to eat a lot of whole foods, some processed but mostly whole. I make our bread, four loaves every week. Three for us and one to give away. I cook from scratch most of the time. I made most of CeeCee's baby food and I intend to make the bulk of Parker's too. If I worked a full time job there is NO WAY I would have the patience for that. When I was working we ate take out all the time or threw some Hamburger Helper together at the last minute. I refuse to feed my kids that way.<br />
<br />
I also have to budget. We aren't poor but we are a one income family, well two if you count my Maternity Leave, which is still only a fraction of what I used to make. Also it runs out in November. A lot of times I hear the argument that "I can't afford to be a SAHM". In my case I can't afford not to be. In a good month at work I clear anywhere from $1400 to $1700. I am worth WAY more than that as a SAHM. Lets do the math.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Full time daycare for two kids. $1400 to $1600 a month</li>
<li>Cleaning lady. $15-$20 bucks an hour. Two six hour days a week would run $180 a week or $720 a month. And they don't all do laundry.</li>
<li>Laundry service $60-$80 a month</li>
<li>Take out three night a week for two adults one child, $240 a month</li>
</ul>
<br />
I'm already over $2600 a month and I haven't even factored in the amount of overtime I should make putting in 16 hour days!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBgk1XRobsljKn9iLmj78uU4nblz5IkWMh1T4rNanB75Timrv0q8HG6z2cx3O7hg_fsBzJl1REm3aSq4WB-uhcuCAFJhJah3twRfTEj2ClfJkJXTVzLj6hmTEJL4mc5Tkp_LaEHjR0SFJ/s1600/CeeCeetrashymag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBgk1XRobsljKn9iLmj78uU4nblz5IkWMh1T4rNanB75Timrv0q8HG6z2cx3O7hg_fsBzJl1REm3aSq4WB-uhcuCAFJhJah3twRfTEj2ClfJkJXTVzLj6hmTEJL4mc5Tkp_LaEHjR0SFJ/s320/CeeCeetrashymag.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mommy, you need to learn to relax, like me:)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
It's OK though. I got to play with my oldest daughter for a solid hour this morning and she was being way too adorable. Then my youngest daughter woke up and I got to watch her and her sister interact with each other. After CeeCees nap we will colour, or read books. Maybe later we'll go play in the puddles in the backyard. I'll make us all a yummy dinner and as much as I whine about laundry I love the smell of baby clothes when they come out of the dryer. In between chores I get to write and do research for my book. Hell, I'm nursing Parker right now! One thing about being a SAHM. The pay sucks and it is back breaking work but the schedule is flexible.<br />
<br />
I am not trying to take
anything away from full time working moms. Or work at home moms (WAHM's)
for that matter. I think being a mom has to be the hardest job in the
world, no matter how you choose to do it. I am only speaking from MY experience.
In my experience I am overworked, underpaid and often judged. People ask me if I plan on working at a "real" job when my maternity leave runs out. I tell them I have a real job. I am an early childhood educator, cleaning lady, chef, chauffeur, nurse and referee. Why would I want a real job when I already have the best job. I am Mom. I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
<br />
At least until those lottery tickets start paying off.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-78969843333465905332012-06-04T14:20:00.000-07:002012-06-06T16:37:23.656-07:00Busy Little BeesHappy Monday faithful readers, I hope everyone enjoyed their weekend. Mine was the usual craziness of my token one day of work on Saturday PLUS the added bonus of a double header of parties on Sunday. Somewhere in the middle we found time to play in the garden.<br />
<br />
Exciting development on the blog front, I have been chosen (along with several other super talented ladies) to be a guest blogger on the group blog "<a href="http://santoshawellnessgroup.com/" target="_blank">Life Half Crunched</a>". It's a little Crunchy, a little Crafty...It's SO me:) Check out the link, there are tons of great articles. Who knows, maybe these gals will be a good influence on me. It would be fantastic to be good at crafts, instead of good at hiding and/or disposing of bad crafts.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://santoshawellnessgroup.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpyMP2-RK94der2j0GNiAfJ3sy_pWnWvFLccdYKAB_PGbzUwvucwelRqh9Sfali7pPw6tarfJfkpJ31eFXNaIi9_hRMcQIAX8zJP3WzIIcDm9kgErGv_5_zT7pyr5dq8AWdKbiAcNagk3/s320/half+crunched+Pic.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://santoshawellnessgroup.com/" target="_blank"><i>My new home away from home:)</i></a></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I only have time for a quick post today but I had to share my good news:) I am currently hard at work on my next post. Due to popular demand I am continuing <a href="http://www.ceeceescrazyworld.blogspot.ca/2012/05/does-fringe-make-you-cringe.html" target="_blank">Does the Fringe Make You Cringe</a> into a serial. It is also a teaser for the book I am currently writing. I have been asked how I find time to do all of this AND raise two kids under two. It's really easy, people. It's called insomnia. Insomnia and copious amounts of coffee.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, enjoy your week and check out <a href="http://santoshawellnessgroup.com/" target="_blank">Life Half Crunched</a>, you'll be glad you did:)MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-12693481251031408312012-05-29T01:06:00.000-07:002012-05-31T17:12:53.624-07:00Facebook! Fighting The Good Fight Against...Mommy Blogs?Facebook could have spared me a monumental breakdown on the weekend.<br />
<br />
You see, faithful readers, the Facebook gods decided that Blogger blogs can be hazardous to your internet health. They took the somewhat heavy handed measure of blocking all links that end in blogspot.ca, just in case you happen across a blog that has been reported as "abuse".<br />
<br />
I don't know why, I don't even particularly care why. All I know is that it ruined my Saturday night.<br />
<br />
I am a creature of habit folks. I may not go to the extreme of flipping light switches seventeen times before leaving a room, but it's close. When I write a post I do it the same way every time. Visit my Facebook fan page, check my comments, log in through the hyperlink and voila! There is my shiny new blog just waiting to be written in. Except it didn't quite work out that way on Saturday.<br />
<br />
Oh no, instead it went a little something like this:<br />
<ul>
<li>Pour cup of coffee, fire up computer. Wait interminably until ancient relic decides to cooperate.</li>
<li> Check notifications and receive tons of great feedback on the new post. Give myself a high five on a job well done.</li>
<li>Cruise on over to my fan page. 3 new likes! Solo high five turns into smug asspats.</li>
<li>Check latest post link to see if there are any comments...Wait a sec...Where is my latest post link? Where are ALL of my post links?</li>
<li>Click on my hyperlink to see what is going on with my blog. Receive error message saying "The link you are trying to visit has been reported as abusive by Facebook users"</li>
<li>Grab chest and let out ungodly shriek.</li>
<li>Wipe away tears as I wonder who would have done this and why. My blog is inoffensive, right? Blunt sometimes and even occasionally off color but not abusive. Right? RIGHT?</li>
<li>Immediately assume that someone in one of my Facebook groups got a case of twisted panties over my latest post. Not unusual. I've seen debates about peeing in the shower turn bloody in minutes.</li>
<li>Muster my courage and go in guns blazing. Tell the coward who reported me to come forward and collect their virtual ass whupping. Realize as I say this that I do, in fact, sound a little abusive. At this point however am too pissed off to care.</li>
<li>Receive a message from a friend that it isn't just me, all Blogger blogs are kiboshed.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Faaaaaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkk!<br />
<br />
<br />
Needless to say I spent the better part of Saturday night apologizing to all the people I offended with my "Come forth you coward" rant. On the plus side I gained a ton of new readers who wanted to read for themselves the mommy blog that got banned. I guess it all worked out in the end but I still have a few questions. Questions that will probably go unanswered since more people have seen Charlie Sheen sober than have seen an email address for Facebook Help desk.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic60XocUkssk3iU5zPrrgzTiuHnTU79dWYtZYNggD3ckXqchzyJji97LmcOqFX_m_vqEQ1ilIub5P_XNzu-fajRug6jjfja-N4VO6XBZRPsGUeyZgjz1kzgdebQSNFTfllfHclg4_l_8hX/s1600/ID-10030002(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic60XocUkssk3iU5zPrrgzTiuHnTU79dWYtZYNggD3ckXqchzyJji97LmcOqFX_m_vqEQ1ilIub5P_XNzu-fajRug6jjfja-N4VO6XBZRPsGUeyZgjz1kzgdebQSNFTfllfHclg4_l_8hX/s320/ID-10030002(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/" target="_blank"><i>Facebook Help Desk: Not actually helpful...at all.</i></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
What the hell happened to make Facebook ban all Blogger Blogs?<br />
Is this because of marketing now that Facebook has gone Public? Are they trying to squeeze a few bucks out of us poor bloggers? <br />
Did this have anything to do with viral blog "Buttered Toast" and it's beautifully written piece on Planned Parenthood and the Koch Brothers? Read it <a href="http://marmalade-meg.blogspot.ca/2012/05/story-of-how-at-38-years-old-i-found.html" target="_blank">here</a>, it is powerful stuff!<br />
<br />
I'll break it down for anyone who has been out of the loop this Memorial day weekend and didn't keep up with their favorite bloggers (shame on you).<br />
<br />
Marmalade Meg over at Buttered Toast wrote a fantastic piece about how she chooses to spend her hard earned money. It has garnered quite a bit of attention, partly because of her phenomenal writing ability and partly because it takes a stand against the Koch Brothers, Tea Party backers and multibillionaires whose prime purpose in life is to squash Obama and take control of the government. The irony of course being that Tea Party ideals call for a smaller government. I guess smaller is ok, as long as you're the guys running the show. These are the guys that bought the Republican party and are financing the War on Women that is underway in the states right now. Even as we speak I am sure some Republican lawmaker is rubbing their hands together with glee while they come up with a new plan to strip away our hard won rights.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFuNi8RYTDAs3Ma_taqXYLYj-HGdKivX__ppB1N5-XoSJ1YPXc15VQXubrOe2gD9t0wBYK5wYv-Tvq-aKV2OHS1Ykqn9YfarTG7L6MxaQf92i_G0CgYW5tLAvp2WAl8CZ5wHHv93LaloaA/s1600/Fuck+a+senator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFuNi8RYTDAs3Ma_taqXYLYj-HGdKivX__ppB1N5-XoSJ1YPXc15VQXubrOe2gD9t0wBYK5wYv-Tvq-aKV2OHS1Ykqn9YfarTG7L6MxaQf92i_G0CgYW5tLAvp2WAl8CZ5wHHv93LaloaA/s320/Fuck+a+senator.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> State Senator Judy McIntyre (D) holding a protesters sign.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That's right, I said OUR rights. It doesn't matter that I'm a Canadian. I am a woman and this is an affront to all women. We are all sisters under the skin. The government has no business telling us how to manage our reproductive health. Thats between us and our doctors ladies. Besides you just know that Stephen "Sweatervest" Harper is in love with these new ideas. He's practically a Republican as it is. Tell you what, I'll trade you guys Obama for Harper and I'll even throw in Michael Ignatieff for free, just to get rid of him.<br />
<br />
Sorry, did I just jump up on a soapbox? I think I did. Back to the matter at hand. <br />
<br />
Whatever happened to make Facebook put the lockdown on Blogspot.ca one thing is for sure. A little heads up would have been nice. Like a million other amateur bloggers I use Facebook to share my blog. Now that avenue is closed down and we are left scratching our heads wondering what we did wrong. Not only is it limiting access to our blogs, it is preventing us from sharing other blogs...like Megs. Wait a sec.<br />
<br />
Maybe the two are related. I wonder how much Facebook stock the Koch Brothers own?<br />
<br />
<i>Update: May 29, 2012 06:10 pm - Only blogspot.ca addresses are blocked, the dotcoms are fine. What did Canada ever do to deserve this, lol.</i>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-86689726667869774812012-05-25T15:46:00.000-07:002012-05-25T19:25:46.813-07:00Does The "Fringe" Make You Cringe?I have been active on several message boards and chat rooms throughout my life, and I am an unabashed fan of social media. Facebook was a genius idea. Our lives will never be the same. The internet was my savior during both of my pregnancies so it was a natural progression to migrate into the world of pregnancy and parenting forums. I think it is a great thing that moms from all walks of life can get together and discuss their babies, pregnancy, parenting and kids in general without having to arrange transportation, pack snacks or even change out of their pajamas for that matter. Talking about our kids is awesome.<br />
<br />
Talking about anything BUT our kids is even better.<br />
<br />
99 percent of the moms I talk to are wonderful. We're all different, different politics, different ideals, different parents. We can agree to disagree and even tear each other a new hole in one thread and be totally on the same page in another. I have made some friends for life and even a few frenemies. Unfortunately, like any public forum, there is always "The Fringe". Fringe moms can be nuts. They'll cut a bitch. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating (a little). They come in all shapes and sizes. Every mom I know has had a run in with one at one point or another. They make for entertaining reading.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJJtG4zQGO74L2KKYnAi-sInpX7OI84bB_SvM-uHv3IYPnA7LzC9MT5fQKpGdp4T3WjWeTh_PqA3Q3W1GP_x75BUsLSwo1gTRg1a9ItfO8Irdgaq0A_yiaGtmxGpYg-w4jqwxO2Ctm0a_/s1600/ID-10058738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJJtG4zQGO74L2KKYnAi-sInpX7OI84bB_SvM-uHv3IYPnA7LzC9MT5fQKpGdp4T3WjWeTh_PqA3Q3W1GP_x75BUsLSwo1gTRg1a9ItfO8Irdgaq0A_yiaGtmxGpYg-w4jqwxO2Ctm0a_/s320/ID-10058738.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"This is called "pwning a bitch" sweetheart. Mommy's no newbie."</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b> <span style="font-size: small;">I often run into disbelief from my friends when I </span><span style="font-size: small;">tell them stories from "The Boards"</span><span style="font-size: small;">.<b> </b></span><span style="font-size: small;">They don't believe that moms really behave like that.<b> </b>I assure you, the following examples are real. Some of them are composites of a few different </span><span style="font-size: small;">people
but they are real. </span>Chances are I'm not talking about you. Even if I was, you probably
wouldn't realize it. Lets face it, crazy people never realize they're
crazy. Sit back, grab some popcorn and enjoy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">There are too many to go into in just one post so I
am going to break this up into several chapters. Hell maybe I'll write a
book about it. </span><span style="font-size: small;">The Unreal Housewives of the Interwebz maybe.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">That has a nice ring to it.<b> </b></span><span style="font-size: small;">In the meantime if I do three at a time I should be done by next May.</span><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Activist</span> </b>- This mom posts articles about everything from the anti-vax movement to circumcision trying to raise "awareness". She is trying to change the world, one cloth diaper at a time, and wants to make disposable diapers illegal. She will unleash the beast on you if you admit to feeding your kid *gasp* non organic milk and didn't understand what all the fuss was about when <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1299711/Gisele-Bundchen-says-breastfeeding-law-6-months.html" target="_blank">Gisele Bundchen wanted to make breastfeeding mandatory</a>. She wears her baby even when she's asleep, rejects medical authority, eats tree bark for breakfast and won't eat anything that casts a shadow. She claims to be "off the grid" but has an internet connection. I suspect her computer is made of bamboo. The activist is not to be confused with the crunchy or "green" mom. Crunchy, Semi crunchy and Eco Conscious moms somehow manage to hold on to their ideals WITHOUT looking like flaming idiots. They usually realize that each person has to make the decisions that best suit their family. They also lack the sanctimonious attitude that The Activist is known for.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ00sisrRARhSDsQMsPd0eUk8Zs9SfzKEk_Rg-RdTbolmDNbuBxBQs1jyQIv0m93Th8soUSdGmvUggIcKzMimfkAyJ4zR-F0_PiIIcEhTWBS1W4OoFrA8wO7qLEp9cbGWiClI_lDEK66xZ/s1600/ID-10081437.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ00sisrRARhSDsQMsPd0eUk8Zs9SfzKEk_Rg-RdTbolmDNbuBxBQs1jyQIv0m93Th8soUSdGmvUggIcKzMimfkAyJ4zR-F0_PiIIcEhTWBS1W4OoFrA8wO7qLEp9cbGWiClI_lDEK66xZ/s320/ID-10081437.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Activist judges you for...well...everything.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Zealot </span></b>- Repent sinners, for the Zealot has cometh. She is usually armed with a bible and claims to be Christian although there is nothing Christ-like about her. She hates "The Gays" and loves Pat Robertson. She burned her teletubbies dolls as soon as she realized, at the tender age of six, that Tinky Winky was a homosexual (because, you know, stuffed toys have sexual preferences). She can quote scripture from memory but always forgets the part about loving thy neighbor. Her kids aren't allowed to watch Harry Potter but she can recap the plot of every episode of All My Children for the last twenty years. Prefers the missionary position and would probably rather have sex through a hole in the sheet. Her answer to everything? "Because the Bible says so." Gets extremely upset when you mention that the Bible also says she can't wear cotton/polyester blends or eat shellfish Lev 19:19. </li>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyatZDe14NfqaLK18XFlSH6KL0USU6yDIxk5jwpQ0yP7IzQSANSUroTC1kaL9ctTC0qqqikozmmUwBqpjqXZsfm5lT9fvqZmlPdKMbs1lf3kbsR33JLy5V9zErFyezrzpg6GoA9amnYto2/s1600/ID-10021767.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyatZDe14NfqaLK18XFlSH6KL0USU6yDIxk5jwpQ0yP7IzQSANSUroTC1kaL9ctTC0qqqikozmmUwBqpjqXZsfm5lT9fvqZmlPdKMbs1lf3kbsR33JLy5V9zErFyezrzpg6GoA9amnYto2/s320/ID-10021767.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Zealot hates you...but she's praying for you.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Pro-Lifer</b></span> - I'm
talking about the crazy ones, the ones who can turn a conversation
about fluoride in drinking water into an anti-abortion missive.
Nothing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9Zkq9id-9A" target="_blank">Andy Dicks</a> a good conversation like the arrival of the extremist Pro-Lifer. She comes equipped with graphic photos and propaganda videos
and she's not afraid to use them people. She thinks Planned
Parenthood should really be named Abortions "R" Us and
that the Pro-Choicers get pregnant on purpose just so they can
terminate the pregnancy. She lives in a world where unwanted children are immediately adopted by the likes of Angelina Jolie, Sandra Bullock etc...and people who don't want to have children should just never have sex...even if they're married. Tends toward republican politics however not all republicans believe as she does. <div align="LEFT">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_vAyAowdvVUaLC9sYgJBpoilyG27XjzIFZHk4THCcSwmSinZVCN12LrPGeUPW6oJmUugcCNZcvEzSuDvpLVK_dY1AtRLP8LNWQbJLqVupnEO14HjDllEGfR1WxHR-Pql8fzXcvk49Tda/s1600/ID-10076928%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_vAyAowdvVUaLC9sYgJBpoilyG27XjzIFZHk4THCcSwmSinZVCN12LrPGeUPW6oJmUugcCNZcvEzSuDvpLVK_dY1AtRLP8LNWQbJLqVupnEO14HjDllEGfR1WxHR-Pql8fzXcvk49Tda/s320/ID-10076928%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>..and then he told me he got condoms from Planned Parenthood. BURN HIM.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</li>
</ul>
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These are just a few examples of the lunatic fringe. For every crazy broad I have met online there are a hundred really nice ladies just looking to discuss something a little more interesting than spit up and cradle cap. I can't blame them, I'm right there with them. The loons keep it interesting and remind us that even though we might not agree on much, at least we all have one thing in common.</div>
<div align="LEFT">
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We're not batshit crazy.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Credits, all: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cp%3E%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.freedigitalphotos.net%22%3EImage%28s%29:%20FreeDigitalPhotos.net%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E" target="_blank">FreeDigitalPhotos. Net </a></span></div>
<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-59182373926268232282012-05-22T15:04:00.000-07:002012-05-25T19:34:21.184-07:00Parkerpalooza 2012<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0RL1gVe6WROv1XNDBd5wtYVuRxIsRkWlFIIRkFMgU7uj8xKXpvEqXqwieDOtUrd0oYMQC12TaObCjqxZSYPnzLaPv2UJzgWl-VAddNsP2FM_o4TuYsn2N1ckYAHboo2dqRRZSD6vWYcT/s1600/waiting+for+the+band.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
This past May long weekend had a special significance for my family. We went on a group camping trip to honor a good buddy who passed away last year, Parker Summers. Parker was a special kind of guy, full of fun and laughter, who loved music and good times. His spirit lives on in all of those whose lives he touched. We honored him, and his parents Lori and Scotty, at Parkerpalooza 2012.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2Ticsd_x017FahpQKn9DWAFAugBgK6HwM_XBoEDixXnwaUiRSm4OwPJcNDu3hk-IB9JOpfY1KXqf_bCpYN0LGGaUrpOOzQaSYCZk1cAIVaHOGZ79aj7wzpRglwIJpHZOM5Q_fS3IZ4ba/s1600/Josh+and+Reina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2L6KzMXOLy8JJqT-ezhXJyltpUjbPa-GuXwkP2yCRCpPpyyHC8THo4jXO9hnvHFLC4iFf4Sc9puzpdfpDYThW2Juk7jzqCrw8CfD7C4RKeMcAtCvPfC3rvmn7oPsuqI1YLdQr9J5rNv22/s1600/Pooh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2L6KzMXOLy8JJqT-ezhXJyltpUjbPa-GuXwkP2yCRCpPpyyHC8THo4jXO9hnvHFLC4iFf4Sc9puzpdfpDYThW2Juk7jzqCrw8CfD7C4RKeMcAtCvPfC3rvmn7oPsuqI1YLdQr9J5rNv22/s320/Pooh.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Parker Summers</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was a great weekend. There were about forty camps set up, not counting those who came for the day and ended up sleeping it off in their cars. Josh and Reina, Parker's brother and sister in law, drove up from the states. Mr. Zinga and myself borrowed his brothers tent trailer and stayed one night. Parker was on everyone's mind but in a good way. We shared stories and laughs and yeah, a few tears too but it was great. The whole point of the weekend was remembrance. Parker left a huge mark on our community and our family. We named our youngest daughter after him and his parents are her godparents. One local artisan presented Lori and Scotty with a carved stone inscribed with the word Parkerpalooza and a sun symbol. We all got a little choked up at that.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtH08F5MHinyKlSE-w9jkERsOD5mZWC3bNXiioTA7ORFAW94Tg9Q6AoD7B_3_h9c3tkjSU6MDsnmrh4WJsR4gJJzZOaFCXllwXXXa4NtIsv0KVfw9iWsPwi_8wbrhwzNaGze72tFc-Oz1/s1600/parkerstone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtH08F5MHinyKlSE-w9jkERsOD5mZWC3bNXiioTA7ORFAW94Tg9Q6AoD7B_3_h9c3tkjSU6MDsnmrh4WJsR4gJJzZOaFCXllwXXXa4NtIsv0KVfw9iWsPwi_8wbrhwzNaGze72tFc-Oz1/s320/parkerstone.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I gotta say I was a little nervous about taking the babies to such a busy event but everyone was great. There were tons of kids for CeeCee to play with, lots of spaces for her to run around and if all else failed, daddy took her for a scooter ride. She loved the music, ate her own body weight in junk food and slept like a log even though the temperature dipped below freezing. Camping with a spirited child takes a LOT of patience. I definitely underestimated just how hyper she was going to be, despite the warnings from friends who said I was "insane for taking two kids under two camping in the wilderness". I also hadn't factored in how much all that trash food was going to affect her, live and learn for next time. By Sunday she was a total gong show. It wasn't all bad though. Mr. Zinga pulled his weight in the parenting department so I didn't have to spend the WHOLE weekend chasing her around and luckily baby Parker is small enough that she wasn't much trouble at all. I was even able to have a cocktail or two.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Qp6TUHTw878QdvDUHIoRFTyDbjK4umZhTR7xZfnTTGWDk9cQy0A8ApKXW_RjYEDnMjHl4zT9DL06-BTXpfSnYV6vWHP18Zll_ziiU-lqnHIYw65ofvKUecIItN9ZcbSBP4dpKXt4Yama/s1600/CeeCee+scooter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Qp6TUHTw878QdvDUHIoRFTyDbjK4umZhTR7xZfnTTGWDk9cQy0A8ApKXW_RjYEDnMjHl4zT9DL06-BTXpfSnYV6vWHP18Zll_ziiU-lqnHIYw65ofvKUecIItN9ZcbSBP4dpKXt4Yama/s320/CeeCee+scooter.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Daddy, scooter ride. NOW!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now I'm off to clean up the camping gear and get it ready for our next wilderness adventure. In the meantime here are some more pics of our trip. Hope you all had a great long weekend.<br />
<br />
Cheers,<br />
MamaZinga<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEMk8fxslLdYvylefq1yFYG-8z-yuWDF4-CH5197XKZ3NimqpGcCANsOvQM4XUzpM4pXeYlyvMZgWyXSBE_IBZb_Rh1EN38LINwXrEoqY_lp9j144Qc0lFuGD2lGpVO0dgTpPKkGDup8p/s1600/Lori+and+Scotty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEMk8fxslLdYvylefq1yFYG-8z-yuWDF4-CH5197XKZ3NimqpGcCANsOvQM4XUzpM4pXeYlyvMZgWyXSBE_IBZb_Rh1EN38LINwXrEoqY_lp9j144Qc0lFuGD2lGpVO0dgTpPKkGDup8p/s320/Lori+and+Scotty.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lori and Scotty</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Rl1Pv10yRPyj6hEFEUOD1bxxGI2XoXMiaAT3yiDyu_PnWBktDwkwX2Wi1KPzmKVBywGW_BkZ5D3eRYZ8uVKCh4ypsVjstlLKVpMKSi8Ou2AGcp1YDZvCaSoYuEN1Mw2OSzkfhyphenhyphenXkMQwj/s1600/Josh+and+Patrice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Rl1Pv10yRPyj6hEFEUOD1bxxGI2XoXMiaAT3yiDyu_PnWBktDwkwX2Wi1KPzmKVBywGW_BkZ5D3eRYZ8uVKCh4ypsVjstlLKVpMKSi8Ou2AGcp1YDZvCaSoYuEN1Mw2OSzkfhyphenhyphenXkMQwj/s320/Josh+and+Patrice.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Josh and Patrice enjoying a cocktail</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0RL1gVe6WROv1XNDBd5wtYVuRxIsRkWlFIIRkFMgU7uj8xKXpvEqXqwieDOtUrd0oYMQC12TaObCjqxZSYPnzLaPv2UJzgWl-VAddNsP2FM_o4TuYsn2N1ckYAHboo2dqRRZSD6vWYcT/s1600/waiting+for+the+band.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0RL1gVe6WROv1XNDBd5wtYVuRxIsRkWlFIIRkFMgU7uj8xKXpvEqXqwieDOtUrd0oYMQC12TaObCjqxZSYPnzLaPv2UJzgWl-VAddNsP2FM_o4TuYsn2N1ckYAHboo2dqRRZSD6vWYcT/s320/waiting+for+the+band.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for SGAAG to perform</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxnrOXwWI9RzYLomrqF_6zBe7zrmyyK1acie9U64dCL9dWEv7zMWtFxrj6ziW3VPsDcUsrnPxiwPSeLGFYQXrlvnPxVf9-Rni59E98D_xu8OS0KkyhyZ05NV1K-dMGSqeYjB9OxqfoIo0/s1600/the+band.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxnrOXwWI9RzYLomrqF_6zBe7zrmyyK1acie9U64dCL9dWEv7zMWtFxrj6ziW3VPsDcUsrnPxiwPSeLGFYQXrlvnPxVf9-Rni59E98D_xu8OS0KkyhyZ05NV1K-dMGSqeYjB9OxqfoIo0/s320/the+band.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The vocal stylings of Alex, front woman for SGAAG</i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2Ticsd_x017FahpQKn9DWAFAugBgK6HwM_XBoEDixXnwaUiRSm4OwPJcNDu3hk-IB9JOpfY1KXqf_bCpYN0LGGaUrpOOzQaSYCZk1cAIVaHOGZ79aj7wzpRglwIJpHZOM5Q_fS3IZ4ba/s1600/Josh+and+Reina.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2Ticsd_x017FahpQKn9DWAFAugBgK6HwM_XBoEDixXnwaUiRSm4OwPJcNDu3hk-IB9JOpfY1KXqf_bCpYN0LGGaUrpOOzQaSYCZk1cAIVaHOGZ79aj7wzpRglwIJpHZOM5Q_fS3IZ4ba/s320/Josh+and+Reina.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Josh and Reina, We'll forgive her for drinking Pabst beer since she was nice enough to let us use her pictures, lol.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-75503788253689548792012-05-18T11:35:00.000-07:002012-06-14T08:25:55.365-07:00Strawberry Fields Forever<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Damn you Pinterest *shakes fist at computer screen*</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Just when I thought I had gotten over you, you had to come sneaking back into my life. Well, I am through with you. You hear me? Through! All you do is set me up so you can knock me down.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean it. I love you, really. Don't be mad. I'll keep crafting." </i></blockquote>
<br />
This was me a week ago. Something has happened since then that has solidified my relationship with Pinterest and made us stronger than ever.<br />
<br />
I made something that actually turned out good!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1K7wT27Sc_brm1qql4AvXe_aQSUPyscymvqm7CV0qUs5MhXzbCrujNL5RgiSZ03VDEV5u_tyAiNyH12Qf1tJrjMMqZavOPkPiMObd5oJNFLfodQ-PXJvTidv0TkTjkN12wclrkOLSPUt/s1600/Devil-Mask-Horn-Eyes1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1K7wT27Sc_brm1qql4AvXe_aQSUPyscymvqm7CV0qUs5MhXzbCrujNL5RgiSZ03VDEV5u_tyAiNyH12Qf1tJrjMMqZavOPkPiMObd5oJNFLfodQ-PXJvTidv0TkTjkN12wclrkOLSPUt/s200/Devil-Mask-Horn-Eyes1.jpg" width="156" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Did it just get cold in here?</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
Seriously people. This is a major accomplishment. I barely even hurt myself in the process.<br />
<br />
I have been wanting to grow my own strawberries for a while now, CeeCee eats her own body weight in them weekly. Really I would love to grow ALL of her food since most of her issues seem to stem from food sensitivities but I have been hampered by a lack of space and lack of skill. <br />
<br />
Enter Pinterest.<br />
<br />
I have been in love with the idea of repurposing pallets for a while now. They are so versatile it's ridiculous. I found <a href="http://lifeonthebalcony.com/how-to-turn-a-pallet-into-a-garden/" target="_blank">this idea for a pallet garden</a> on Pinterest. I liked it but flowers aren't really my thing. Then inspiration smacked me upside my head.<br />
<br />
I could grow strawberries!<br />
<br />
I could grow lots of strawberries!!<br />
<br />
I could become a strawberry farmer!!!<br />
<br />
After a reality check, I reined myself in and went to work gathering supplies. My landlord gave me a pallet, My mom gave me a bunch of ever bearing strawberries and I hit up my local Canadian Tire Garden Center for the rest.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfETp23YL-Vnb42EHAiCg31ze7Y7dc2EUOeRCKJxBHgisO5YcpSh4bhc-KNnIOobFvFG0ZG8eTDSgjc3sV7yF1wSFi3reJUhACq-V3Hmg9lq7qzMO9h8XO9qfL_VCPz7r6vYitENDRAkdg/s1600/Strawberry1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfETp23YL-Vnb42EHAiCg31ze7Y7dc2EUOeRCKJxBHgisO5YcpSh4bhc-KNnIOobFvFG0ZG8eTDSgjc3sV7yF1wSFi3reJUhACq-V3Hmg9lq7qzMO9h8XO9qfL_VCPz7r6vYitENDRAkdg/s320/Strawberry1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Supplies (minus plants, they came later)</i></td></tr>
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<h3>
You will need: </h3>
<ul>
<li> One pallet <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(preferably not too banged up but it doesn't have to be perfect)</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">12 bags of topsoil (<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>or a pile of dirt from your yard, no judgement here</i></span>)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">28 strawberry plants ( <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I like ever bearing, they fruit all summer</i></span>)</span><i><br /></i></span></li>
<li>3 meters of landscape fabric (<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>you WILL have leftovers</i></span>)</li>
<li>Sandpaper (<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>doesn't have to be fancy, coarse grit will do</i></span>)</li>
<li>Roofing nails and a hammer </li>
<li>Scissors</li>
</ul>
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<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">Step One - Prepping your pallet</span></h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU4sZDlJeTe2NZYnp5G5Rn17_m1iElHbU84DQw7rkDI4imxS8qegZkcpUN9bcENfukXVy5P9uMYsLk2vzzEEVnfXXzNdSKlyZei-i5sSIrAWOaVIHvuX7gZKLPcAxXLBevqjvvMxwz19W/s1600/strawberry5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU4sZDlJeTe2NZYnp5G5Rn17_m1iElHbU84DQw7rkDI4imxS8qegZkcpUN9bcENfukXVy5P9uMYsLk2vzzEEVnfXXzNdSKlyZei-i5sSIrAWOaVIHvuX7gZKLPcAxXLBevqjvvMxwz19W/s200/strawberry5.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Do yourself a favor, wear gloves. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The first thing you want to do is hammer in any nails that have worked their way loose or are sticking out at funny angles. Once everything is nice and tight take your sandpaper and give the front slats a light sanding, paying attention to the edges of each slat. Don't knock yourself out trying to make it perfect, it isn't meant to be. All we are going for with this step is preventing the need for either a tetanus shot or a pair of tweezers. Rusty nails and splinters tend to take the fun out of gardening.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Step Two - Attach landscape fabric</span></span></span></h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyNuuFaLaXr1YvDfO5L5S_fYcW42Uje-R0EEGyH10WQ06mNYhonikfiD6spnn4UHTC1eHk06e-qqp7xnsTUZIWrf2X6HOcFWboGUvgHLhQ3zZ6v4xHcFK6giZrwTGrDvUI-WiEWECKMrV/s1600/strawberry2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyNuuFaLaXr1YvDfO5L5S_fYcW42Uje-R0EEGyH10WQ06mNYhonikfiD6spnn4UHTC1eHk06e-qqp7xnsTUZIWrf2X6HOcFWboGUvgHLhQ3zZ6v4xHcFK6giZrwTGrDvUI-WiEWECKMrV/s200/strawberry2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Note the use of a solar light, lol</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fold the fabric in half so that you have a double thickness. Carefully arrange it over the back of your pallet so that the back, two sides and bottom are well covered. Cut to fit, carefully. If in doubt cut bigger than you think you need and trim off the excess. Landscape fabric is cheap like borscht so don't feel too bad about wasting a few inches. </span> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></h3>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEige0qfMFO61exDdJu3Qi3sGg4SH_oRwUleYh1d3DQDCGjTVr6Z6eaK8TbNuvOZWpkXSSmKDotuhDnDiTrtlYRiyj71DOcX_Sm1EQOc76HzbXyLeEJzLaq-pz064AAsqCVipPnEydZCPCIf/s1600/strawberry3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEige0qfMFO61exDdJu3Qi3sGg4SH_oRwUleYh1d3DQDCGjTVr6Z6eaK8TbNuvOZWpkXSSmKDotuhDnDiTrtlYRiyj71DOcX_Sm1EQOc76HzbXyLeEJzLaq-pz064AAsqCVipPnEydZCPCIf/s200/strawberry3.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Like a big ol' wooden envelope</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">I used roofing nails to attach the fabric at the pallets thickest points, then I went around and sealed the edges. Be careful with the edges because there isn't a lot of wood there and you don't want to drive a nail through the front of your pallet. I like roofing nails because they have a wide head on them and I didn't want to worry about the fabric pulling free. You could probably use a staple gun if you wanted. Since I am not allowed to use dangerous power tools (for the greater good) I went the old fashioned route. I only smacked my thumb with a hammer once (ok, twice) . </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Step Three - Fill it up:)</span></span></h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUYbtjNMuZb0Rwjw0GX7-nXCMoC2Vr9b80FQN06bvbkwB9meV0IgLrl6B1rhFuJbS1ZwHotDGVxYSX9j6K8GwRncvA2H-xbEleG5FJnLE2npcugQD5z2i_i2SyfTIoa-nonXUo79vDLzU/s1600/strawberry4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUYbtjNMuZb0Rwjw0GX7-nXCMoC2Vr9b80FQN06bvbkwB9meV0IgLrl6B1rhFuJbS1ZwHotDGVxYSX9j6K8GwRncvA2H-xbEleG5FJnLE2npcugQD5z2i_i2SyfTIoa-nonXUo79vDLzU/s200/strawberry4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The top eight are sad pandas:(</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now that I had my garden box it was time to fill it. Word to the wise, put it exactly where you want it before you fill it because these suckers are HEAVY. Once I had it leaning in its happy place I just cut the tops off the bags and dumped them in from the top. I stuck two strawberry plants in each opening, shoved a couple of solar lights in the top (we really do have ENTIRELY too many solar lights laying around, I think they're breeding) gave it a good watering and that was that. Sadly I don't think some of the top eight are going to make it (transplants from momma's garden) but the rest are doing just fine. </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSWbhN9qoLuk35rlR1IqNU8zLfYhDZDxp28tTwEnOjkXvT-xAzf4VkL6cVBfVcW0R5c3K2cGC0k_FpPK1uuZ-6swDFQRDMgoWtDuG_HlvCzTVS9sQe5HhyphenhyphenfqT0ybg9iPgXMZKGLR4ve3H/s1600/Strawberry+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSWbhN9qoLuk35rlR1IqNU8zLfYhDZDxp28tTwEnOjkXvT-xAzf4VkL6cVBfVcW0R5c3K2cGC0k_FpPK1uuZ-6swDFQRDMgoWtDuG_HlvCzTVS9sQe5HhyphenhyphenfqT0ybg9iPgXMZKGLR4ve3H/s320/Strawberry+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Once you have watered a couple of times the dirt will stay in better.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Well there you have it people, proof that a complete and utter klutz CAN complete a Pinterest project without bloodshed (well, without MUCH bloodshed) and end up with a beautiful and functional garden feature in the process. Soon I will get to reap the rewards:)</span></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1mwJO50T90Yoip1p_vRKKEtYFmfxyXvc1VoSIUm8aFKuT6sdvOhW1bAjePS3W_Hgok-w_AgD8E0Hmairmw8O48LXsSHs5ViytUe-bs6IlmgUA6Yk8AyAeBqKp5ELsdCFVHDZ-OKkX8_t/s1600/Strawberry+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1mwJO50T90Yoip1p_vRKKEtYFmfxyXvc1VoSIUm8aFKuT6sdvOhW1bAjePS3W_Hgok-w_AgD8E0Hmairmw8O48LXsSHs5ViytUe-bs6IlmgUA6Yk8AyAeBqKp5ELsdCFVHDZ-OKkX8_t/s320/Strawberry+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>First fruit</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">A happy baby with a happy tummy.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Credit, from top:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://lucifer-666-divel-66-satan-devil.angelfire.com/" target="_blank">Some creepy website</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">All the rest, me and Instagram</span>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-15229553683260534082012-05-14T16:19:00.000-07:002012-05-25T19:27:02.926-07:00Happy Mothers Day. When's Dinner?Happy belated Mothers Day to all. How was your "big day"?<br />
<br />
I don't want to hear that you got breakfast in bed, or hubby left jewelery on your pillow or that your children wrote you a poem.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjslMHtLja1I8e4KN5UgkM74BweuIkkQpsySaiVmYptSOci-XYDIpS5eFCOs9CO1V_x_lo4_PObgCySw9rVMorxtOwLl7a62q7weIrlbBPhbIkBNCaS-X2BqKk0g_MOyP3FR4Ki3kf3cS7W/s1600/ID-10035990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjslMHtLja1I8e4KN5UgkM74BweuIkkQpsySaiVmYptSOci-XYDIpS5eFCOs9CO1V_x_lo4_PObgCySw9rVMorxtOwLl7a62q7weIrlbBPhbIkBNCaS-X2BqKk0g_MOyP3FR4Ki3kf3cS7W/s320/ID-10035990.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=2125" target="_blank"><i>Hurry, keep frolicking or they are going to make us do some work</i></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Save that shit for your Facebook status.<br />
<br />
I'm sure we all got spoiled, for like five minutes. What happened after that. Did you get pampered all day or did you change Pampers all day? Did you get taken out for dinner or did you have to make a big family dinner. In short, did "your" big day end up turning into just another Sunday?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here's how my Mothers Day went down:</span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Got to sleep in with Parker. Nursed her back to sleep and crawled out of bed without waking her. Win.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hubby tells me he wants to take his mom out for lunch. I say great, who's going to watch the kids. He says "Oh I guess you want to come too eh?" Fail.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Spent next half an hour curled up in a ball on the couch. Hubby apologizes and we get back on track. Decide to order takeaway and eat at his mom's house, negating the need for childcare. Win.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Spent day rushing from his moms house to my moms house, Mom and I cook a massive steak dinner in honor of mothers day. As usual we are the last to eat. Fail.</span></span></li>
<li>Get home later than we expected but with the added bonus of CeeCee having fallen asleep in the car. Put Parker to bed and got her to sleep almost instantly. Win.</li>
<li>Realize Hubby has also fallen asleep almost instantly. Epic Fail. </li>
</ul>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.eatliver.com/i.php?n=3923"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZY9yrwNg7jleyglBFn8jme5WsmOXiTpPAcVVSu6Iz3gUHHYg9avbt7VjuV2FAbDrU5ohMhZG_Ya6wxU6gw2EOWPpv2U_NesN2SOlHSEbpAT9wbid0m9xOScj_c7_lK1lJnBTsg6o4Cxwx/s320/tumblr_liowefgxO71qzwd2go1_500.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Words of wisdom</span></i></div>
<br />
<br />
It's all good. I had a great time despite all the ups and downs. Next year I will make sure I remind Hubby just how important Mothers Day is to me. Not that he's likely to forget.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit from top:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=2125" target="_blank">photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></span><br />
<a href="http://www.eatliver.com/i.php?n=3923" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Meme copied from eatliver.com</span></a>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-63915107212735878142012-05-07T14:52:00.000-07:002012-05-25T19:28:05.260-07:00Birthday Party or Seventh Circle of HellNothing brings out the worst in me like a kid's birthday party. <br />
<br />
I don't get it, I must be abnormal. Kids parties are joyous occasions right? Balloons and cake and games...and crying...and fighting over toys...and someone puking in a corner...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj501Ij3Xjv0jruDn9Igj0Asv_jLhL1P4FEP2T5TtTnIdLkE34ZLTdQ10lWny3gR5PuVSCA2N3ZJ8WZyscFRr1TF6hoETPGZB0_tTiTrgS74dlJl3x8HSSCRdKFpnVfCWG7B-RwAusk9hm8/s1600/ID-10017258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj501Ij3Xjv0jruDn9Igj0Asv_jLhL1P4FEP2T5TtTnIdLkE34ZLTdQ10lWny3gR5PuVSCA2N3ZJ8WZyscFRr1TF6hoETPGZB0_tTiTrgS74dlJl3x8HSSCRdKFpnVfCWG7B-RwAusk9hm8/s320/ID-10017258.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1058" target="_blank"><i>Are we having fun yet?</i></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Stab me in the eye with a plastic fork and get it over with.<br />
<br />
Yesterday we went to an amazing party for a friends son. I love my friend and she really does throw a great party. It was a Batman theme and she had made capes and masks for all the kids, the cake was a fancy fondant Gotham City in miniature, even the lollipops had capes. The birthday boy had a special visit from The Dark Knight himself <i>(his uncle in a rented suit, shh, it's our little secret)</i>. The weather was beautiful, the snacks were plentiful and the kids had a great time and behaved beautifully.<br />
<br />
I'm the only freak that didn't thoroughly enjoy herself.<br />
<br />
The timing might have had something to do with it. For the record, Sunday mornings are for sleeping. It is the one day of the week that I can snuggle in bed with my babies after having a leisurely (and well deserved after a week of night feedings) lie in. It's a day for eating pancakes, sipping coffee while I share the paper with my hubby and puttering around the house.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtC1L1V1aZKE46F1VNgd45DwZG7S-0RTlzvTazRfcgQ-4tEXFldJURInDYmymPgweD1vBCiGj9cONhINIvvQVAoQci1EjmUDHP1YGYInweeNakS1HnbsgF6xT89FMQqzuJ5CvsePDveeU6/s1600/ID-10035330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtC1L1V1aZKE46F1VNgd45DwZG7S-0RTlzvTazRfcgQ-4tEXFldJURInDYmymPgweD1vBCiGj9cONhINIvvQVAoQci1EjmUDHP1YGYInweeNakS1HnbsgF6xT89FMQqzuJ5CvsePDveeU6/s320/ID-10035330.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=2125" target="_blank">After our ironic pillow fight can you iron my chinos so I can grab a soy milk latte?</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Instead my Sunday went a little something like this:<br />
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpd0MAh2s6zRlMe9E91MEjiFY3jyA-dxChyGS1B0W2uctLNmaqi8VAGQhbtCXIu8zx00szRmp_6O_hxtmtK01CAfYtRWR00UM-95YtsC4r-BQswzf7Lfp0zafCpCILQ2jZCOHkVW4Tnl-/s1600/ID-10080854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>
<li>Wake up at 8:30 instead of usual 10:00. <i>(What is this, a weekday?)</i> Pour a cup of much needed coffee.</li>
<li>Hastily wrap present for the birthday boy, despite best intentions of wrapping it the night before. Rejoice in the fact that I am not wrapping it in the car on the way to the party, as I usually do.</li>
<li>Plan getting ready down to the last minute <i>"I'll get CeeCee showered while you change Parker's butt, then I'll bathe Parker while you get CeeCee dressed, then you can dress Parker while I get showered..."</i></li>
<li>Realize that planning has taken too long and I now no longer have time to shower. Take slug of coffee only to realize that it is cold and has a Cheerio floating in it.<i> (Thanks CeeCee)</i></li>
<li>Abandon attempt at styling uncooperative hair and slap on a headband<i>. </i>Toy with the idea of makeup and then decide it isn't worth it.<i><br /></i></li>
<li>Pack kids into car and rush to arrive on time. Arrive late anyway. Realize that despite arriving late we are still one of the first families to show up.</li>
<li>Make awkward small talk with other mothers, who I don't know, about their kids, who I also don't know.</li>
<li>Accidentally knock my friends toddler face first onto the ground <i>(It could happen to anybody people. He zigged, I zagged. It wasn't intentional. STOP STARING AT ME)</i> Luckily kids are apparently made of rubber and the little tyke was none the worse for wear, although he kept his distance for the rest of the day. Can't blame him, I'm the mean lady that beats up little kids for fun</li>
<li>Watch my child consume Cheetos, hot dogs, cape wearing lollipops and a large-ish slice of the Gotham City Police Dept. Mentally prepare for the sugar crash and/or tummy ache later.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpd0MAh2s6zRlMe9E91MEjiFY3jyA-dxChyGS1B0W2uctLNmaqi8VAGQhbtCXIu8zx00szRmp_6O_hxtmtK01CAfYtRWR00UM-95YtsC4r-BQswzf7Lfp0zafCpCILQ2jZCOHkVW4Tnl-/s1600/ID-10080854.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpd0MAh2s6zRlMe9E91MEjiFY3jyA-dxChyGS1B0W2uctLNmaqi8VAGQhbtCXIu8zx00szRmp_6O_hxtmtK01CAfYtRWR00UM-95YtsC4r-BQswzf7Lfp0zafCpCILQ2jZCOHkVW4Tnl-/s320/ID-10080854.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1998" target="_blank"><i>What do you MEAN I can't have cake for supper!</i></a></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CeeCee is a Spirited Child, that means that she can be very intense most of the time. I was surprised to see that she wasn't bouncing off the walls. In fact she was very introverted and looked almost sad. I don't know if it was the change in her routine or the fact that she was surrounded by strangers but it took her forever to warm up. By the time she hit her stride it was, of course, time to pack up and go home. After a power nap in the car she was good as new. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the end it was worth it. The birthday boy got spoiled, his mom got a reputation as the best party planner ever, CeeCee kept down all her food and as for Mr. Zinga and myself we got the best present ever.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioR7PU6GT2PiAc5FBajXoMRews4F-hAw4LAgMjW4jQYnci_TzqanR6lTuDQFjGuT5qImx4cCk_SPFq0GTPSZSqPAjGl2x-VkkSp22aZVyDKbm-5jDvfLCZdyk1906d1HDIiWPHScBY_F0W/s1600/Batgirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioR7PU6GT2PiAc5FBajXoMRews4F-hAw4LAgMjW4jQYnci_TzqanR6lTuDQFjGuT5qImx4cCk_SPFq0GTPSZSqPAjGl2x-VkkSp22aZVyDKbm-5jDvfLCZdyk1906d1HDIiWPHScBY_F0W/s320/Batgirl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>CeeCee as Batgirl</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our very own superhero:)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Credits:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1 - <a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1058" target="_blank">Arvind Balaraman / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">2 - <a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=2125" target="_blank">photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">3 - <a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1998" target="_blank"> arztsamui / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">4 - Me and Instagram:) </span></div>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-69491370594085913152012-05-02T12:05:00.000-07:002012-06-16T15:17:49.189-07:00Fun With Magnets - Magnet Board Tutorial<br />
Pinterest is going to be the death of me.<br />
I'm actually not exaggerating...much. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Ways Pinterest could kill me:</b></span><br />
<ul>
<li>Mr. Zinga could get sick of coming home to an untidy house and strangle me.</li>
<li>My cholesterol level rising from yummy food ideas could result in massive heart failure.</li>
<li>Accidental decapitation with a Skil Saw while repurposing pallets. </li>
</ul>
I'm fine, really. It's not a problem. I can stop pinning anytime I want to...I just don't want to.<br />
<br />
<br />
I fell in love with the idea of making a magnet board for CeeCee the first time I saw one, on Pinterest of course. There are magnet boards for organizing makeup, keeping craft supplies tidy and I even saw one that had what looked like an herb garden growing on it. Considering how many different shapes and sizes they come in I was surprised there weren't more options for kids. Kids love magnets, mine does anyway, but magnets can be kind of <a href="http://www.safekidscanada.ca/Parents/Safety-Information/Product-Safety/Magnets-Prod/Magnets.aspx" target="_blank">sketchy</a>. I don't know whats scarier, the risk of them choking or the risk of them swallowing two and having them stick together in their tummy. I decided the only way I was going to be comfortable with CeeCee playing with magnets was if I made them myself. My problem is I am horrible at crafts. I always start with the best intentions but usually end up swearing, bleeding and/or scrolling endlessly through the pages of <a href="http://www.regretsy.com/" target="_blank">Regretsy</a>, thinking "It could be worse, <a href="http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTM0MzgwNjQ5MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTYwNDk0NTEz._V1._SY301_CR50,0,214,301_.jpg" target="_blank">Helen Killer</a> could be featuring my crap...I mean craft"<br />
<br />
You should also know that April Winchell AKA Helen Killer is my hero. She is living, blogging proof that sarcasm DOES pay off in the end. Take that Mom!<br />
<br />
Now on to the crafting:)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihBjvn-oHdSMmp6y_HOICtjRa1Dbt5UKvey36JQVf7774Kqq-0l9Kc0lZdUzXEXEsqDmcw4ssH3l-LX1zqL1qAOqReXj_ddbIyCrUoZi45OjDbwpXn8O1EfRddmmOIJHC3sS-Ou5OwLX25/s1600/Magnet+board+supplies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihBjvn-oHdSMmp6y_HOICtjRa1Dbt5UKvey36JQVf7774Kqq-0l9Kc0lZdUzXEXEsqDmcw4ssH3l-LX1zqL1qAOqReXj_ddbIyCrUoZi45OjDbwpXn8O1EfRddmmOIJHC3sS-Ou5OwLX25/s320/Magnet+board+supplies.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Crafty Goodness</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>You will need: </b><br />
<ul>
<li>Cookie sheet <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>You can buy new or repurpose an old one one. It's a good excuse to buy yourself new bakeware</i></span></li>
<li>One can of metal adhering spray paint <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't be afraid to get colorful, kids love bright</span></i> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">colors</span></i></li>
<li>Page of stickers <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Use whatever characters your kids are into, we chose Sesame Street</span></i></li>
<li>Sticky Magnet Paper <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>You can find this stuff at most dollar stores.</i></span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Look in photo frame or craft section</i></span></li>
<li>SOS pad <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">For scratching up the surface of the cookie sheet </span></i><br /><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></i></li>
</ul>
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<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;">
<tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bCLwqBecoCNJU1URjsN6G58Y8eurMaLsi66-oFq3JmMxXu9bs6ZGdJBG31TKJgmxpYLB_KwL68vKgYgh9zUFcElD5i8GRIaP1_Ujn7P8gUfpDxTpdTKZIgzBFtgLafrrsc4uW5SuZaMo/s1600/stickers.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bCLwqBecoCNJU1URjsN6G58Y8eurMaLsi66-oFq3JmMxXu9bs6ZGdJBG31TKJgmxpYLB_KwL68vKgYgh9zUFcElD5i8GRIaP1_Ujn7P8gUfpDxTpdTKZIgzBFtgLafrrsc4uW5SuZaMo/s200/stickers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Stickers on magnet sheet</i></td></tr>
</tbody>
</table>
I started with the magnets, mainly because it rained the day I planned
on making this and I wanted to get what I could done. First I took the
backing off of the magnet sheet. Handle it carefully because this stuff
is super tacky. Next I carefully arranged the stickers to maximize
space. Between the glue on the magnet sheet and the glue on the stickers
these puppies aren't budging once they're in place so make sure you
have them lined up how you want them the first time<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;">
<tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CUtufxudANMUw9ROHl8TRDEXAVoHXYYxbdoGUS5eAZyDDW_nbRsZ87b5oKzlferMBPx6H4E-215yRhCldRrpI26DEvLNJZ6Y_ojzuveGObotPHaUK5dkvLCeioclNyBrH0UI5ox_-A0f/s1600/scissors.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CUtufxudANMUw9ROHl8TRDEXAVoHXYYxbdoGUS5eAZyDDW_nbRsZ87b5oKzlferMBPx6H4E-215yRhCldRrpI26DEvLNJZ6Y_ojzuveGObotPHaUK5dkvLCeioclNyBrH0UI5ox_-A0f/s200/scissors.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Choose simple shapes that are easy to cut out</i></td></tr>
</tbody>
</table>
Carefully cut around each sticker making sure there were no sharp edges. On a side note, if you are wondering where I got the stickers from, it was an activity/coloring book. CeeCee loves to color but stickers are wasted on her so I always tear them out before I give her the book.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFncO8MiSmXwwG8JXqsrs8Tl-8XGO4or-AxLp6Uwwd4ly4aLcTd9S_SV8hLgw1UgKzHSLEY1w-R840qrNjG6HZ4MQsaYLHxOrpaq2gqrC-hpi7yMl9ZSJVEmk-dF-yA_0JYOIJufqlXK0X/s1600/finished+stickers.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFncO8MiSmXwwG8JXqsrs8Tl-8XGO4or-AxLp6Uwwd4ly4aLcTd9S_SV8hLgw1UgKzHSLEY1w-R840qrNjG6HZ4MQsaYLHxOrpaq2gqrC-hpi7yMl9ZSJVEmk-dF-yA_0JYOIJufqlXK0X/s200/finished+stickers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Finished Magnets</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I also want to point out that you are the best judge of your kids
interests and abilities so choose stickers that are going to be engaging to them and
also size appropriate for their development level. Obviously if you have THAT kid (you know, the one that has to go to the ER to have the beads removed from their nose on a weekly basis) you may need bigger stickers.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFncO8MiSmXwwG8JXqsrs8Tl-8XGO4or-AxLp6Uwwd4ly4aLcTd9S_SV8hLgw1UgKzHSLEY1w-R840qrNjG6HZ4MQsaYLHxOrpaq2gqrC-hpi7yMl9ZSJVEmk-dF-yA_0JYOIJufqlXK0X/s1600/finished+stickers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
The cookie sheet proved a little more difficult to make. Here is a fairly accurate description of the process:<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>Step 1 </b></h3>
<ul>
<li>Wait for a calm, sunny day</li>
<li>Scrub all the baked on gunk off of cookie sheet with the SOS pad and scratch the heck out of the non stick surface AND nail polish in the process.</li>
<li>Thoroughly dry cookie sheet (I put mine in the oven on broil for a few minutes just to be sure)</li>
<li>Take everything outside and get organized, lay down a garbage bag to prevent Watermelon Pink grass incident</li>
<li>Lightly spray cookie sheet, remembering Dad's words of wisdom that twenty thin coats is better than one gloopy mess</li>
<li>Realize in horror that paint is not adhering to cookie sheet and is beading up in an alarming manner.</li>
<li>Allow it to dry and hope that the next coat sticks better, check back in half an hour </li>
</ul>
<h3>
<b>Step 2 </b></h3>
<ul>
<li>Peel back edges of garbage bag that have blown onto surface of cookie sheet and are now adhering to beaded up paint</li>
<li>Apply second coat of paint, a little thicker this time to cover up the garbage bag smear marks and paint beads. Use handy nearby solar lights to weigh down the garbage bag.</li>
<li>Realize in horror that you have gotten overspray onto husbands solar lights. Death by Pinterest #4 - Husband beats you to death with a Watermelon Pink solar light</li>
<li>Realize that second coat of paint isn't sticking either, open bottle of wine at 10 am.</li>
<li>Apply sheet of lacy white tissue paper to tacky paint in effort to hide garbage bag smears, paint beads and bits of grass blown over from neighbors yard (thank you SO much for choosing right now to mow, CAN'T U SEE IZ CRAFTING)</li>
<li>Decide that rather than making it look vintage, tissue paper has made it look worse. Attempt to remove tissue paper only to find that the paint has instantly dried in places and has formed some type of spray paint/tissue paper paper mache.</li>
</ul>
<h3>
<b>Step 3</b></h3>
<ul>
<li>Use convenient garbage bag to dispose of <b> </b>cookie sheet, tissue paper and solar lights</li>
<li>Consume remaining wine.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Voila! You have now created your very own set of fridge magnets.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="scaledImageFitWidth img" height="320" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/p480x480/480222_10150854712776350_551736349_12219684_374722975_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Handcrafted fridge magnets FTW</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I think Helen Killer would approve.<br />
<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-67522207698571799962012-04-29T21:21:00.003-07:002012-05-25T19:30:12.410-07:00There goes my hero<br />
<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<br />
There aren't many role models out there for young women. I fear that my daughters are going to grow up aspiring to be like...Ke$ha? Suri Cruise will be all grown up by then, maybe she will be a strong role model, you know, except for that whole Scientology thing. Luckily Twilight will have blown over by then so I won't have to worry about them acting as vapid as Bella Swan. The Jane Eyre's and Elizabeth Bennett's of the world have long since been replaced by Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato. Teenage girls don't seem inclined toward self sacrifice and good deeds anymore do they?<br />
<br />
Enter Jolene Hayter.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="" class="spotlight" height="400" src="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/167249_10150173130833976_602983975_8578324_7313513_n.jpg" style="height: 439px; width: 397px;" width="361" /> </div>
<br />
I have had the privilege of knowing Jolene for a long time. I have been doing her hair for at least four years and in that time I have seen her grow from a sweet young girl into an articulate, well mannered young woman. She has been involved in many projects over the years, from weaving sleeping mats out of recycled grocery bags and distributing them to the homeless on East Hastings in Vancouver to performing as Cindy Lou Who in a high school production of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. This year I had the honor of seeing her crowned Queen Valvedette the 64th, the highest honor that can be conveyed to a teenage girl in our fair city. Though it all she has remained humble and gracious, never allowing he successes to go to her head.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1518678358" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="<jolene-hayter-2011-12>" height="400" src="http://www.stuartbish.com/misspent_pastroyalty/2011-12-Jolene-Hayter.jpg" width="319" /></a></td><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1518678358"><br /></a>
</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1518678358" target="_blank"><i>Queen Valvedette the 64th, Jolene Hayter</i></a></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1518678358"><br /></a></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1518678358"><br /></a>
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I was pretty proud of her the day I saw her for the first time in her role as goodwill ambassador, her crown shining atop her sleek blonde updo and her sunny smile shining down on all the children gathered around her parade float. The little girls in the crowd were so excited to see a real princess in their midst and I was just as overcome. As proud as I was that day I have never been as proud of her as I was today, when she allowed me to help her cut off all those beautiful lengths of hair in support of a cause near and dear to her heart.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span id="goog_1518678372"></span><span id="goog_1518678373"></span><a href="http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-prn1/s320x320/554302_10150950807948976_602983975_12857775_1691660128_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
Jolene has a brother named Brandon. When he was only twelve years old he was badly burned by a spray paint can that unfortunately made its way into a bonfire. I heard his touching story today, along with that of burn survivor Lynda Fraser, at Hero Day, an event organized by his Jolene in support of the <a href="http://www.burnfund.org/" target="_blank">BC Firefighters Burn Fund</a>. The Burn Fund helps the families of burn victims with expenses related to recovery, medical supplies and rehabilitation. It also funds a summer camp where children who are burn survivors can play and have fun with other children who have been in their shoes and are able to relate to them. I heard Brandon talk today about the way other children responded to him when he returned to school with his scars and his protective equipment, and how he felt so outside of "normal" school life. Then I heard him talk about how it felt to be among peers at a burn camp who knew what he had been through and could care less about his scars. It made me truly grateful to be able to help out in any way I could.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" height="320" src="http://a4.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/399085_10150843855061350_551736349_12189380_1410002533_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jolene's Family. Her mom Ilona, brother Brandon, and father Don</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The goal of Hero Day was to show that being truly beautiful has nothing to do with the texture of your skin or how pretty your hair is...true beauty comes from within and the courage and spirit that these burn survivors show is a shining example of that beauty. There is a lesson for all of us in there. It is so easy to judge someone based on their appearance but if we take a second to listen to their story we may find ourselves looking at them in a whole new light. Jolene pledged to cut her hair off to a mere inch in order to raise funds and awareness. She thought that maybe by sacrificing her gorgeous hair and taking away some of her external beauty she could inspire others to look past the physical and appreciate the beauty within but her plan may have backfired. She looks even more beautiful now than she did before. I am so glad that there are still girls like her in this world for my daughters to look up to and I am proud to call her my hero.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" height="400" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/545977_10150843856941350_551736349_12189392_2111802682_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My Hero</i></td></tr>
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To donate to the burn fund click <a href="https://id410.van.ca.siteprotect.com/burnfund/forms/donate_online.php" target="_blank">here</a>:) <br />
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<br /></div>MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-84224903181900985802012-04-25T17:31:00.002-07:002012-05-25T19:31:00.326-07:00CeeCee's Montessori-ish Bedroom<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>“Children are human beings to whom respect is due, superior to
us by reason of their innocence and of the greater possibilities of
their future.” - Maria Montessori</b></i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;">Those words were written a long time ago by one of the world's most revolutionary children's educators, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Montessori" target="_blank">Dr. Maria Montessori</a>. They still ring true today.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aNFp_1MZbn19ZFi3uK7RwDU8QTDPVW3hqu3Bjen-33skaFzSIwDnV6k2WARdKzL7T-lzPGhGIpUw3E1PSiibEK_M66piyWApEj2dF8w3Fhegviykv4pc_kfBg_lHUdAJ51V4HqxCp59g/s1600/mm1933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aNFp_1MZbn19ZFi3uK7RwDU8QTDPVW3hqu3Bjen-33skaFzSIwDnV6k2WARdKzL7T-lzPGhGIpUw3E1PSiibEK_M66piyWApEj2dF8w3Fhegviykv4pc_kfBg_lHUdAJ51V4HqxCp59g/s320/mm1933.jpg" width="238" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Maria Montessori - 1933</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A few of her concepts jumped out at me:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">Allow the child to be independent and learn through exploration, play and practical work (purposeful activity). </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">Create a safe, clean, orderly AND stimulating environment for the child</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;">Do not try to "teach" the toddler. Instead allow the child to absorb knowledge from the environment around them</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: small;">This barely scratches the surface of Dr. Montessori's teachings but it's a good place to start. It's not like you have to do EVERY little thing by the book. To be completely honest I plan on avoiding a few of her teaching strategies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">For example, I don't believe that infants and toddlers need to eat from glass bowls and drink from actual glasses (not plastic) in order to teach them <a href="http://montessoritraining.blogspot.ca/2007/11/prepared-montessori-environment-control.html" target="_blank">Control of Error</a>. I prefer to teach that lesson using spillage, not breakage, as a learning tool. Spilled milk isn't going to result in a trip to the ER for stitches. Besides teaching them to eat is supposed to be messy. That's part of the fun.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe5NvwKKmHLlV51KwyW9nqMuBgDLzZ3TgJtSmMyGIaYdoliy1_5Id_P734EnEgW0StnIDWIkoaldtpCwYVLUsBq92JHCdf7GBcHNHveaBT7xKx2ZH5dEqzD4VvhyV1wUw7ngltSxl44Py/s1600/SAM_0417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe5NvwKKmHLlV51KwyW9nqMuBgDLzZ3TgJtSmMyGIaYdoliy1_5Id_P734EnEgW0StnIDWIkoaldtpCwYVLUsBq92JHCdf7GBcHNHveaBT7xKx2ZH5dEqzD4VvhyV1wUw7ngltSxl44Py/s400/SAM_0417.JPG" width="400" /></a></i></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Breakfast IS the most important meal of the day mommy:)</i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Bedtime had always been a challenge. She hated her crib...hated it. I'm pretty sure she looks at it as baby jail. I get it. She spent the first year of her life in bed with Mommy and Daddy. A crib was a regression. We converted it into a toddler bed but still, the stigma was already there. She liked being snuggled to sleep (Who doesn't?) and that just wasn't possible in a toddler bed with a sixty pound weight limit. We had to do something. I had just delivered our youngest daughter and intended to bed-share again and the thought of have four people in one bed was giving me nightmares, counterproductive when you consider bed-sharing is meant to allow you MORE rest. We contemplated putting CeeCee on a mattress directly on the floor but I wanted to research it first.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Enter my old friend, the Internet.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Somewhere along the way I came across the term <a href="http://lmgtfy.com/?q=montessori+toddler+rooms" target="_blank"><i>Montessori Toddler Room</i></a>. Several images popped up in Google, some more pretentious looking than others. Looking at these rooms I couldn't help getting excited. I would have LOVED a room like this when I was a kid. We slowly started the process of redesigning CeeCee's room using Montessori concepts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">We wanted CeeCee to be independent in her movements and choices, at least in her own room. She sleeps on a twin mattress that sits directly on the floor. She is able to climb into bed, out of bed, read in bed and jump on the bed without any interference or help from me. Her toys are neatly organized and rotated frequently.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE02c_ui4AeY-nvhYfZGrTtWIZxVTnuc4cPqcCKvmhlLZgJMXCvrqdFZmSsP-RPr1ScXhRjuHb4LfxftMfPiJmuZQOeEhvh0LIGteZugw8JIz1ig0f0hu9NnSeMvz5CtBDWkeSOaqYTUNC/s1600/Room+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE02c_ui4AeY-nvhYfZGrTtWIZxVTnuc4cPqcCKvmhlLZgJMXCvrqdFZmSsP-RPr1ScXhRjuHb4LfxftMfPiJmuZQOeEhvh0LIGteZugw8JIz1ig0f0hu9NnSeMvz5CtBDWkeSOaqYTUNC/s320/Room+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>CeeCee's Bed</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The lower shelves of her bookshelf are filled with age appropriate reading materials. She even has a little chalkboard attached to the wall so she can doodle and draw without having to ask me for help. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">A few articles of clothing are kept on a lower bar in her closet so she can choose her own outfit. Her garbage can has a pedal on the floor to open it and is short enough for her to put garbage in but tall enough to prevent her taking garbage out. On the floor sits a switch that controls the lamp in her room. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2u5CxJxZlygpt8ofTWEqu4DkDE2qqgt1v0TDWcNKTuHxsM93puYNWvrgNSAWkxG9jU1BbSOqLKrXNi57A5uev5rNWf-WU1jTUvgz_Gx90FdLKYwhUDayWF6rrRsNCHkEibrvgb82USgwO/s1600/Room4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2u5CxJxZlygpt8ofTWEqu4DkDE2qqgt1v0TDWcNKTuHxsM93puYNWvrgNSAWkxG9jU1BbSOqLKrXNi57A5uev5rNWf-WU1jTUvgz_Gx90FdLKYwhUDayWF6rrRsNCHkEibrvgb82USgwO/s320/Room4.JPG" width="201" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The lamp is tall enough to prevent her burning herself on the bulb, the garbage can prevents her from tipping the lamp</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Naturally we spent much time childproofing. By chance all of our electrical outlets are situated above our foundation walls (basement suite) so sticking her finger in a light socket isn't a big concern. Her bed is only 8 inches off the ground, not high enough to hurt herself should she roll out in the night. Furniture is anchored and/or untippable. Her door is never closed, instead a baby gate keeps her in, preventing her from roaming the house in the night but allowing us to hear her easily.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyqZ2eZrLHbXG5sooed3CQbHyTHIBupbfTH5xT7KwAZgRvub_vYz8Ou6yo-x-RriSzVMOY_jrGk1hJl4Cao3b-K_-xIJEfBCA6jYba_5n2OpFZhvtKrW04thGtyfe7zX4-ey124E7iztP/s1600/Room+8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyqZ2eZrLHbXG5sooed3CQbHyTHIBupbfTH5xT7KwAZgRvub_vYz8Ou6yo-x-RriSzVMOY_jrGk1hJl4Cao3b-K_-xIJEfBCA6jYba_5n2OpFZhvtKrW04thGtyfe7zX4-ey124E7iztP/s320/Room+8.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Age appropriate books at the bottom, books for when she's older up out of harms way</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">So far the experiment has proven successful. CeeCee loves playing in her new room and bedtimes are, for the most part, getting easier. The only downsides are that I spent more than I had intended redecorating and that it now look like the Disney Princesses threw up in my daughters room (don't judge, she loves the "pwincesses"). I don't know how Maria Montessori would feel about it, seeing as how we kinda cherry picked the ideas we liked and discarded the ones we didn't. I like to think she would approve, once her eyes adjusted to all the pink. Oh well, CeeCee loves it and that's all that matters.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">After all, it's HER world.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">More pictures of CeeCee's room... </span></b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRTJjjf4WL3ihBIP7VvXAvuDS37Fxq6LQbNpR6ppvehuycZlSEY_EHvaaGjUhAmXvQVxspNg72FdUyYTMLW6jJNyJ1UZmzmhCYoM4tp-xxUirnzVABntHFlDQYpy6hjh-_nGVZhOCaSXq/s1600/Room+9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRTJjjf4WL3ihBIP7VvXAvuDS37Fxq6LQbNpR6ppvehuycZlSEY_EHvaaGjUhAmXvQVxspNg72FdUyYTMLW6jJNyJ1UZmzmhCYoM4tp-xxUirnzVABntHFlDQYpy6hjh-_nGVZhOCaSXq/s320/Room+9.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Toys are neatly organized and rotated often</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span></h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1Dg_11q-N8TINf14Q8ULDwjXNkOSi_rRHMQlWzLqi4hTIoBZczDbQzEj80E4-5dTWcXZcvcawQSkeLh4CxKykcTYAEnEOrzGH5md9iPU3eYb2v3x0lleV6u1fQeOE0ldwazxHVCFrZ8e/s1600/Room+10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1Dg_11q-N8TINf14Q8ULDwjXNkOSi_rRHMQlWzLqi4hTIoBZczDbQzEj80E4-5dTWcXZcvcawQSkeLh4CxKykcTYAEnEOrzGH5md9iPU3eYb2v3x0lleV6u1fQeOE0ldwazxHVCFrZ8e/s320/Room+10.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Books for later and a few knick knacks</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yTDu8t2a7cHyffowPYwlRfNpI_yPzywy69BtbN1wl-TbqRzweMdoTG-X4nsUzgJ0TC1iyGIKtYVT4-MyZl2lIosjVLAit2xGh1Lf2Uee8RPAmIhtdxXKf4ksy93QmIeEzVR4akgq48dc/s1600/Room+11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yTDu8t2a7cHyffowPYwlRfNpI_yPzywy69BtbN1wl-TbqRzweMdoTG-X4nsUzgJ0TC1iyGIKtYVT4-MyZl2lIosjVLAit2xGh1Lf2Uee8RPAmIhtdxXKf4ksy93QmIeEzVR4akgq48dc/s320/Room+11.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Books for now</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZ-Eu6ivGmYcdHNJWyl9MId06C_1HLOx6CFDZhXLmiTA6IbxTMh9zZQFKVdvhnmHARK2QojkBPYsGcopCxND0P8x-RQ5BsIBXHGkSMP1Tew73GA9OEcm2YnnTKk4g3gEHjgcFcaTOCkjU/s1600/Room+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZ-Eu6ivGmYcdHNJWyl9MId06C_1HLOx6CFDZhXLmiTA6IbxTMh9zZQFKVdvhnmHARK2QojkBPYsGcopCxND0P8x-RQ5BsIBXHGkSMP1Tew73GA9OEcm2YnnTKk4g3gEHjgcFcaTOCkjU/s320/Room+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hopscotch anyone?</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9L6toQViHG7E9KFjN6cVaHA9TD9Ruul_NFCMxfteoGxIX_TyRiHdA_tjsN7wjZSeSDpPhmhgRQpkoTgzB69EOOS7PiUwHhDkd0X2SzPYX4C2h44Gvp9332L0XtOtlTNmy4bmIpRCWXpvL/s1600/Room+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9L6toQViHG7E9KFjN6cVaHA9TD9Ruul_NFCMxfteoGxIX_TyRiHdA_tjsN7wjZSeSDpPhmhgRQpkoTgzB69EOOS7PiUwHhDkd0X2SzPYX4C2h44Gvp9332L0XtOtlTNmy4bmIpRCWXpvL/s320/Room+3.JPG" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>CeeCee's chalkboard. Gotta love the carpet, circa 1972:)</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFXXEO7LmEjsa_twQiGeZJxdQoFuEv9YxhHk6PMOtxeKYRhXSefr2ZYlSutsnS39-JCfpT_7rex-OyUsXct04p0nYO9_6ZaIJpNk5s2EVQDPTlAJ3eOQhPQYW-M5jGGDm7ijzjCLXc2Oc/s1600/Room+5+switch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFXXEO7LmEjsa_twQiGeZJxdQoFuEv9YxhHk6PMOtxeKYRhXSefr2ZYlSutsnS39-JCfpT_7rex-OyUsXct04p0nYO9_6ZaIJpNk5s2EVQDPTlAJ3eOQhPQYW-M5jGGDm7ijzjCLXc2Oc/s320/Room+5+switch.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Floor plug for the lamp. It is basically an extension cord and available in any hardware store. Close up on the hideous carpet</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Changing station. Foundation walls make a great holder for my cloth wipe setup.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Double rods in closet make it easy to put clothes at her level while keeping delicate clothes out of harms way</i></td></tr>
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<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1451575001807318529.post-11144061943460813742012-04-23T01:30:00.001-07:002012-05-25T19:31:38.526-07:00Sparks and Flames.<br />
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This is Mr. Zinga and myself a few months before we had CeeCee.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiin3XkKMVTfP9uTvftMgUuJzoNoWyZdEGYhMB2Qm0ZMC5i4Oo6rrHOTtM42050CEXRBRk6HBNertKuJpRJo7fOVMz-n7oBT74nML2eFdKI0HuhT2cbqsy7JO5jtsoLm81zOffAUpJehyphenhyphen2M/s1600/077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiin3XkKMVTfP9uTvftMgUuJzoNoWyZdEGYhMB2Qm0ZMC5i4Oo6rrHOTtM42050CEXRBRk6HBNertKuJpRJo7fOVMz-n7oBT74nML2eFdKI0HuhT2cbqsy7JO5jtsoLm81zOffAUpJehyphenhyphen2M/s320/077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We're pretty cute, eh? It's been almost seven blissful years. This is by far the longest, happiest and healthiest relationship of my life.<br />
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We have the kind of love that <a href="http://www.nicholassparks.com/">Nicholas Sparks</a> writes novels about, that 80's hair metal bands sing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mh8MIp2FOhc&feature=related">power ballads</a> about. He writes me sonnets and leaves them on my pillow. We have lingering bubble baths, with candles and rose petals...*facepalm...I can't do it...I can't keep typing this crap with a straight face.<br />
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We don't do hearts and flowers. We're too busy being parents.<br />
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I'm not complaining. At all. I will take flannel jammies and a cup of tea with him over chocolate covered strawberries and champagne with anyone else, hands down. It's not a lack of passion, we have a different kind of passion. It's healthier. I really have it all. A lover, a partner, a friend and a family. I never had that with any of the so called "great loves" of my life. When I think of a person being madly or head over heels in love I picture them completely losing themselves in someone else. Everything revolves around the object of their affection...Every. Damn. Thing. Their heart skips a beat every time the phone rings just in case it's..gasp...HIM. They can't concentrate on work. Their friends can't stand to talk to them because they are sick of listening to the never ending saga, the ups and downs of the relationship. More often than not it burns white hot, like a holiday sparkler, and like a sparkler it burns out all to quickly.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=2847" target="_blank">Photo Credit</a></span></div>
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Sound like fun? Not to me. <br />
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Don't get me wrong, we had that, for like ten minutes at the beginning. Doesn't everyone? Nobody would ever hook up in the first place if it wasn't exciting. What was REALLY special was realizing, after that first year or so when the novelty had worn off, that I still wanted to be with him. I wasn't trying to change him and he wasn't trying to change me (well, except maybe to get me to quit smoking but I can't blame him, it IS a filthy habit). Our relationship kept growing and evolving. We moved in together, got a dog, had kids, became a family. I eat the mushrooms that he picks off his pizza. He finishes my drinks so they don't pile up around the house (to this day I have yet to finish an entire can, glass or bottle of anything). He makes me laugh...a lot. We make mistakes...a lot. We raise our kids together. Life is good. We have been together long enough to cut through the crap and get down to the serious business of building a life together.<br />
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That's my idea of fun. <br />
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It isn't always easy, I'd be lying if I said it was. We fight. We're good at it. With two kids under two we have elevated bickering to a whole new level. Besides, anyone who says they never fight with their spouse is either lying or heavily medicated. No, we work at it. Some days it's more work than others. It's always worth it though. It isn't as flashy as a sparkler. It's more like a fireplace. Sturdy, useful and it keeps us warm at night. We keep it burning and it lights our home and our lives. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=851" target="_blank">photo credit</a></span></td></tr>
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Show me a sparkler that can do all that. <br />
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<br />MamaZingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14778461162943454888noreply@blogger.com1