tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102219712024-03-23T14:56:43.986-04:00Run mother runLaneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.comBlogger547125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-35341180552963190422017-09-04T19:55:00.000-04:002017-09-04T19:56:24.140-04:00Elite Rehab Placement<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I grew up in a home where there was
very little mention of alcohol or substance abuse. That's not to say that
we didn't talk about it or discuss the dangers, but our home was free of
alcohol. I remember as a teenager in the early 80's going to a <a href="http://d.a.r.e/">D.A.R.E</a> meeting that our church sponsored.
There were police officers and substance abuse counselors at the meeting.
They warned us of the dangers of substance abuse and helped to educate us about
how our immediate, impulsive choices could affect the rest of our lives.
I remember feeling afraid of ever picking up any type of substance. My
father is a retired police officer and I recall asking him one time what he
would do if I was to ever be arrested. He replied that he would leave me
in jail for the night at least. His reason? If I spent a few days
in jail I would most likely do everything I could to never do it again.
As a first born child and a rule follower, I believed him and for the most part
lived my life on the straight and narrow, never participating in under age
drinking or substance abuse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I met my husband in the summer of
1994 and married the following summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We began dating and were engaged within 8 weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just one of those things where we knew
that we knew that we wanted to be together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was very honest and forthcoming with information about his past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will tell you that he is an alcoholic, he
has an addictive personality and he can’t be the guy who just has one
beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was arrested in Florida in 1984
on a drug possession charge and spent 30 days in county jail because he didn’t
have the money for bail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was released
and went back home to New Jersey, where we currently reside, and he began to
put his life together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In 2003, I was pregnant with our
third child when my husband began drinking socially.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had moved back to his hometown and he
began to spend time with his childhood friends, many of whom were still single
and living the party life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first it
didn’t seem like a problem but as with anyone who is an alcoholic will tell
you, there is no such thing as one drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His drinking quickly escalated to an every night event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was functioning as an alcoholic, trying to
live the life without me knowing, but I knew he was a mess and that things were
going to end badly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In October of 2003,
I discovered that he had been driving around while drinking with our boys in
the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was beyond furious. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He came home and passed out and I sat in the
kitchen and began wracking my brain for a solution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I contemplated leaving him, but I realized
that I had done nothing wrong and that he should be the one to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called his cellphone, knowing that he would
get the message in the morning when he arrived at work, to tell him that he
needed to leave and get his life together and decide if he wanted a family or
not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the hardest thing that I
have ever done. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband is a good and kind man and in the daylight the
consequences of his actions were too much for him to bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reached out to a friend from our church
who runs a faith-based substance abuse recovery support group for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three days later he was on a bus to South
Carolina to spend two<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>months in a
program called <a href="http://www.uturnforchristsc.com/">U-Turn for Christ</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
program was life-changing for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
was humbled and brought back to the simple truth that he is powerless, without
the help of a higher power, over his addiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was restored back to a right body, mind, and spirit during his time
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He came home a changed man and
has been substance free going on 14 years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In January of this past year, our 17-year-old son was
arrested for possession of marijuana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was disheartening to hear the police officer say, “It’s not that big of a deal,
it’s hardly any weed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New Jersey is in
the throes of a massive <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/drugoverdose/data/statedeaths.html">heroin epidemic</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is killing almost 1,000 people a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to the <a href="https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/research-reports/marijuana/marijuana-gateway-drug">National Institute on DrugAbuse</a>, marijuana is a gateway drug and the thought of my son going from
marijuana to heroin terrified me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
part of his sentence from the juvenile court, he must attend six months’ worth
of meetings with a juvenile conference committee in our town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is basically a group of people to whom
he is responsible for completing assigned tasks and remaining accountable to
them through drug tests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the
things that he had to attend is called Project Pride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a program wherein inmates are given a
forum to speak to teens struggling with addiction issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They share the ugly truths of addiction and
where substance abuse can lead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our son
was deeply impacted by the stories that he heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He remarked, “I can’t believe how it can go
from so good to so bad so fast.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The thing about this situation is that I was completely unprepared
for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could this have
happened?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I have been so blind
to what was going on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We attend church
regularly, we homeschool our children, they are in boy scouts and involved in
community activities, they play on sports teams, we eat dinner together 4
nights a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This kind of thing doesn’t
happen to families like ours, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So where to go from here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We started to have open, honest, and sometimes heartbreaking communication
with our son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have always talked to
our kids. We let them know that they could tell us anything, ask us anything,
good, bad, or ugly, and we would still love them and we would always be honest with
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But kids make their own decisions
independent of us and we must decide things in those moments that will affect
us all for the rest of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
never talk to our son from a place of judgement, just from love and acceptance,
but that does not mean that we have not drawn a hard line with him for his own
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have told him that once he
turns 18 he will no longer be protected the good people at the juvenile committee
who want to help him, he will be a legal adult and will have to face adult
consequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have told him that we
will always be here to help him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
meets with a counselor weekly now who feels a rehab facility isn’t needed at
this time, but in the future we will keep <a href="https://www.eliterehabplacement.com/">Elite Rehab Placement</a> in mind. The section on <a href="https://www.eliterehabplacement.com/substance-abuse/teen/">teenage substance abuse</a> on the
Elite website was extremely helpful to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have seen first-hand that addiction can and does ruin
lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am entering nursing school for my second degree and I hope that I can
take the experiences that I have lived through and help someone else in
their darkest time. One of my favorite quotes is from Henry Ward
Beecher, "Compassion will cure more sins than condemnation.” I seek to
always treat people with the compassion that they deserve because
suffering from addiction is nothing to be ashamed of.</div>
Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-3265733627326611632015-10-10T09:39:00.000-04:002015-10-10T09:39:49.103-04:00Have You Seen Reviewsio?With the holidays fast approaching, I recently began making my lists of all of the things that I need to get done and people to shop for for Christmas. Amazon is always my first go to site, and so when a friend posted on Facebook about <a href="https://reviewsio.com/user/3jboymama/">a new company called Reviewsio</a>, I was all over it. Amazon sellers give their products, to people like me and you, in exchange for honest product reviews. Sellers need good reviews to sell their products and the products are offered at deep discounts because of this.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://reviewsio.com/user/3jboymama/">Reviewsio</a> launched on October 1, 2015 and now their online deal catalog is available for you to browse. You search the catalog, choose your deal, get your product, test it out, and then write your review. It's that simple!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://reviewsio.com/user/3jboymama/">All you need to do is become a Reviewio member</a> and have an Amazon account. If your request for the deal is approved, you get a voucher code that
will knock down the price of that item when you checkout on Amazon. You
order it, you test it, you review it, YOU KEEP IT. It’s really that
simple!<br />
<br />
Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-4150104401483959422012-01-27T08:33:00.005-05:002012-01-27T09:04:33.751-05:00Fashion FridayI attended a small, private Christian school during high school. We did not have a dress code per se, but we were required to wear a skirt or dress to school every day. I really did not have a problem with this as I loved coming up with new outfits, and my mother is a wonderful seamstress who was always sewing some funky new thing for my sister and me.<br /><br />I love fashion, and I love looking cute. But in the past few years I have been in a slump. Oh, I still rock the latest fashion when I have a special occasion, or when I go to church, but for an everyday look? Well, I have adopted a uniform, two actually, that I am not proud of. My first outfit consists of a pair of very forgiving stretch boot cut jeans and a red v-neck tee. I wear this one mainly in the warmer months. The second outfit consists of a pair of Old Navy Sweetheart jeans, a white turtle neck and a navy Boy Scout hooded sweatshirt. I sport that lovely ensemble with Kevin's Ugg slippers and wool socks, mainly because our house is only a <a href="http://laneygardner.blogspot.com/2012/01/hot-c-c-cocoa.html">few degrees warmer than the city </a><a href="http://laneygardner.blogspot.com/2012/01/hot-c-c-cocoa.html">morgue.</a><br /><br />The other day I put on my skinny jeans, brown tee shirt, and this cardigan that I recently purchased at Target. I put on some earrings and a sweet little pair of brown ballet flats. The kids were staring at me as if I sprouted another head.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31JILqta8UhlNklrO5bBALXjnqmIOwckrX_dq6vzWn8xP486OMz0A4ltwFo9RAq5ypERzUa4TPuqSeA2yn4eWdLsANVUc24VVzbSOQ_UGgARqjmc4vnRct8OXgWb01MqbfjbkhA/s1600/target.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31JILqta8UhlNklrO5bBALXjnqmIOwckrX_dq6vzWn8xP486OMz0A4ltwFo9RAq5ypERzUa4TPuqSeA2yn4eWdLsANVUc24VVzbSOQ_UGgARqjmc4vnRct8OXgWb01MqbfjbkhA/s400/target.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702309159421657378" border="0" /></a><br />"Mom." my oldest said. "You look so...colorful."<br /><br />You know that you have reached a new level of cool when your 15 year old son notices your clothes.<br /><br />So in honor of that, I have decided to make more of an effort every day to look more colorful. I know that I have <a href="http://www.allstarpics.net/0008159/010334664/annette-funicello-pic.html">Annette Funicello</a> hair in this picture, please try to ignore it.<br /><br />Exhibit A: colorful from Goodwill.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6r1HrpBWuFHMmAAaKfx-bgoYrpcBBYrqMsPUTdriwcjgCDYtepvBS0vLKJFprXZr5gnQVf5ziAdUxdlwABT5kSMtdrYO9dy87gexvZzPMCIFBYVKwdi0WQazc_8YkKc6VpiNsQ/s1600/DSC_0415-1.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6r1HrpBWuFHMmAAaKfx-bgoYrpcBBYrqMsPUTdriwcjgCDYtepvBS0vLKJFprXZr5gnQVf5ziAdUxdlwABT5kSMtdrYO9dy87gexvZzPMCIFBYVKwdi0WQazc_8YkKc6VpiNsQ/s400/DSC_0415-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702304971329084082" border="0" /></a><br />I bought that yellow sweater for $3.oo at Goodwill. Everything else was not $3.oo, but close enough.<br /><br />I plan on doing a Fashion Friday post every week with my own clothes. I have decided to put the whammy on myself. Fellow moms of the world who are stuck in the mom uniform rut, won't you join me?Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-21046706767902744942012-01-25T11:41:00.004-05:002012-01-25T11:53:01.012-05:00ArachnophibiaJoe and I are deep in the trenches of a spider study. He wanted me to buy him a tarantula, but I talked him into an <a href="http://www.dltk-kids.com/crafts/insects/mspidercarton.htm">egg carton spider</a> instead. This seemed less terrifying to me. The last thing that I want to think about is a tarantula getting loose in the house and biting me in my sleep. It would be like the Brady Bunch episode only with more screaming and crying. (Fast forward to 11:19)<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3xy7SqeErgs" allowfullscreen="" width="420" frameborder="0" height="315"></iframe><br /><br />This is the craft that we made. The best part? Googly eyes. We like googly eyes.<br /><br />Creeping out from the darkest recesses of the school room...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurFP0GnP1GzLFFJEW4uPE4QWidURe3lmHqr4wXW3zXrqO_cLNS2N1PqBQf7uMvEDhh3N7oPYOzWp78hc-As8VWMLOtsV4Jr1eZHfPN-Sg8wXEfzQaQXldDe5DkOK-IjCqVPdbbQ/s1600/DSC_0450.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurFP0GnP1GzLFFJEW4uPE4QWidURe3lmHqr4wXW3zXrqO_cLNS2N1PqBQf7uMvEDhh3N7oPYOzWp78hc-As8VWMLOtsV4Jr1eZHfPN-Sg8wXEfzQaQXldDe5DkOK-IjCqVPdbbQ/s400/DSC_0450.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701612439979085266" border="0" /></a><br />...come the spiders!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRV6FZqoRL-N8dKwtrBd1oyTtk1CP1Bk4S4RxFFnW5fTAXQx67Yj1YMhU027al5Ho4L5dvq3_JdlRFwC9apxeGBYdbEgxtsi5J9eRMSbaum-FAvcdwrN3ohu0bkqZQnMhOsC56A/s1600/DSC_0451.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRV6FZqoRL-N8dKwtrBd1oyTtk1CP1Bk4S4RxFFnW5fTAXQx67Yj1YMhU027al5Ho4L5dvq3_JdlRFwC9apxeGBYdbEgxtsi5J9eRMSbaum-FAvcdwrN3ohu0bkqZQnMhOsC56A/s400/DSC_0451.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701612446722438258" border="0" /></a>Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-69627590430350904062012-01-19T07:53:00.006-05:002012-01-25T11:53:32.005-05:00Mercy<div style="padding-bottom: 2px; line-height: 0px;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/188025353162478169/" target="_blank"><img style="width: 403px; height: 328px;" src="http://media-cdn.pinterest.com/upload/272890058640599691_deG5un9w_c.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div style="float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px;"><p style="font-size: 10px; color: rgb(118, 131, 139);"><br /><a style="text-decoration: underline; color: rgb(118, 131, 139);" href="http://pinterest.com/" target="_blank"></a></p></div><br /><br />I found this the other day on Pinterest. I quickly read it, and then pinned it to my board.<br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br />Yesterday was a bad day. A very bad day. I saw the day heading in a downward spiral of anger, resentment, frustration and strife. I saw it going there and I could have stopped it, but I didn't. It was like stepping outside of myself and watching the events unfold like a movie. A movie about a destructive tornado that tears thorough some unsuspecting little town leaving its residents lives completely turned upside down.<br /><br />"Where did that come from?" they quizzically ask each other.<br /><br />"I don't know, but I am so afraid that it is going to happen again. I hope it doesn't."<br /><br />Sometimes the worst part of being an adult is that although you are supposed to know better and do better, you still act like a child. Last night after all was calm and I apologized to my boys for acting the perfect part of the lunatic, I was still feeling unsettled. I woke up in the middle of the night and got up out of my warm bed. I went into their rooms and put my hands on their sleeping heads and asked for mercy for their memories. I prayed that they would not remember the bad days. That the good days would all pile up until the deep places in their minds were so filled with good memories that there was no room for the bad ones. I wish that I could take a magic eraser and wipe all traces of the unhappiness that I have caused completely from the minds. But I can't. The only thing that I can do today is do better than yesterday.<br /><br />Today I will do what matters.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-60255490405405004612012-01-13T13:54:00.004-05:002012-01-25T11:55:18.859-05:00Hot c-c-cocoaIt has been getting progressively colder here in the the northeast. Not Arctic Circle cold, but cold enough. I have not been able to feel my finger tips since October. I really dislike being cold. Add to that the fact that we have oil heat and at $3.03 a gallon we are subscribing to the <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">put more clothes on</span> line of reasoning. It's fine for my boys, because they are part reptile, but I am a delicate flower. I walk around the house in no less than 3 layers of clothing, and will frequently put the hood of my sweatshirt up to conserve more body heat.<br /><br />This afternoon was especially frigid. We had rain and then snow followed by a ferocious breeze out of the north. It was cold. Fer realz cold.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsttwFHLZbBMSqbPIEr3qCTw3rrk4LUUM894Zki9OFKhrwA_7oz0VaR4b93vJkTFEQgfmv5PZHBG2eOiz5vMcgDekqrEsqRiiw2zXVO2fhFdV4SUHd1FJqwUzkbRNtIjfcnnIdsA/s1600/DSC_0411.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsttwFHLZbBMSqbPIEr3qCTw3rrk4LUUM894Zki9OFKhrwA_7oz0VaR4b93vJkTFEQgfmv5PZHBG2eOiz5vMcgDekqrEsqRiiw2zXVO2fhFdV4SUHd1FJqwUzkbRNtIjfcnnIdsA/s400/DSC_0411.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697194687279835778" border="0" /></a><br />We all needed a pick me up, and this did the trick. Hot cocoa in a snowman mug. Who wouldn't be warmed by that?<br /><br />Please don't let the outward condition of that red potholder be a commentary on my culinary abilities or lack thereof. This house has an electric stove, and I inadvertently tossed the potholder on the hot stove top after grabbing the food from the oven. The odor of burning cotton cued me into the fact that something was wrong. Thankfully I grabbed it before a full on fire consumed the kitchen.<br /><br />How are you keeping warm?Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-47797558334664913792012-01-10T09:05:00.001-05:002012-01-25T11:53:49.425-05:00The Secret IngredientThis is why yesterday ran smoothly.<br /><br />Why yesterday was infinitely better than the day before.<br /><br />Why today holds promises of good things.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDOBwvu60tU93XeZ3SIfSZcOPVAE33l0T41xOYLnKJLPwUYtY5l1RTgYIzHuefzF2XixrZrigqMocuvEokrSuCSz5Zww0quYD8dwFgZcBvq2tcjef_FkYAuovZpOV48j_9ABBvLA/s1600/Bible.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 192px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDOBwvu60tU93XeZ3SIfSZcOPVAE33l0T41xOYLnKJLPwUYtY5l1RTgYIzHuefzF2XixrZrigqMocuvEokrSuCSz5Zww0quYD8dwFgZcBvq2tcjef_FkYAuovZpOV48j_9ABBvLA/s400/Bible.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696004777347412082" border="0" /></a><br />May your day be blessed!Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-86117278233760507002011-10-07T07:48:00.003-04:002012-01-25T11:55:01.660-05:00Coming Clean (not literally)What I want you to believe:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSX-hfWcdW2_bv8utZjQhvLxJt77_ITyS5roNK__OGKrKbJE-ocmRlIhNfUPbHgaZOpLdQwj75to_NmTkA3y1MnwhI-QfdUSe3ulIKvrSELGaMZk177fQeUZPzCI9x3ZpYUA5Ow/s1600/DSC_0447.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSX-hfWcdW2_bv8utZjQhvLxJt77_ITyS5roNK__OGKrKbJE-ocmRlIhNfUPbHgaZOpLdQwj75to_NmTkA3y1MnwhI-QfdUSe3ulIKvrSELGaMZk177fQeUZPzCI9x3ZpYUA5Ow/s400/DSC_0447.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660455033954252386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EiY5og7c-H_DyWO_9L8FUzUaU7yWpQ4XHlv__UGgDKRMAJSMgzhvcPNaGfIW-ku050PNXpYOTrvLpuX72kX1Vy0nUYArE3KyfdTXUlh4gl_pp99mBDXq5ohKLhA_h4ys8s1yMw/s1600/DSC_0449.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EiY5og7c-H_DyWO_9L8FUzUaU7yWpQ4XHlv__UGgDKRMAJSMgzhvcPNaGfIW-ku050PNXpYOTrvLpuX72kX1Vy0nUYArE3KyfdTXUlh4gl_pp99mBDXq5ohKLhA_h4ys8s1yMw/s400/DSC_0449.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660455028351821682" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8xAakoog9H0XGsWpOkKXIIJ53eBjBnnOqx25rHS81n5HnSZ9yFiClqkfnKlDQsULgpcCAUTJSc2OLaKkZuBK95ut-sq41Ocbko4EMUpMGows7xMRc0hd6hayn-qKKsiF_UOYvg/s1600/DSC_0450.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8xAakoog9H0XGsWpOkKXIIJ53eBjBnnOqx25rHS81n5HnSZ9yFiClqkfnKlDQsULgpcCAUTJSc2OLaKkZuBK95ut-sq41Ocbko4EMUpMGows7xMRc0hd6hayn-qKKsiF_UOYvg/s400/DSC_0450.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660455025162747906" border="0" /></a><br />The reality:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKF-dKMYIsmczOtmfGV1i_qltsQ2HKjyB0Hsa6rrpqbBRRa9X_5SOE6Du7fxTginGc-SEgrHqzLzSi10v1p_d6SUdeO6lfiTvGbs_s9OdwkmvpoCQRHp36PxPGEl3656N9567Kqw/s1600/DSC_0280.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKF-dKMYIsmczOtmfGV1i_qltsQ2HKjyB0Hsa6rrpqbBRRa9X_5SOE6Du7fxTginGc-SEgrHqzLzSi10v1p_d6SUdeO6lfiTvGbs_s9OdwkmvpoCQRHp36PxPGEl3656N9567Kqw/s400/DSC_0280.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660456238627737378" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81j5CuvpYlIcwo7jw-ZwhkIWQ5U5353ptnoRO6sOeECKnx_79CBaGhddP-pKWybZ-w_QpxSaIif9HYUrxQ5F_kxd2_whISRedtzzu5T2vjmIVMk1oJU91Aj1vg2wKeEQFcglBbg/s1600/DSC_0281.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81j5CuvpYlIcwo7jw-ZwhkIWQ5U5353ptnoRO6sOeECKnx_79CBaGhddP-pKWybZ-w_QpxSaIif9HYUrxQ5F_kxd2_whISRedtzzu5T2vjmIVMk1oJU91Aj1vg2wKeEQFcglBbg/s400/DSC_0281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660456246851907346" border="0" /></a>This is what the room looks like at the end of 4 out of 5 school days, minus the tipped over chair. I know that the tipped over chair gives the room a "the beatings will now begin" feeling, but I can assure you that is not the case. Joe was playing visit the dog in jail, and the chair just never got picked back up. Nor did the legos. Or the blanket. Or the books. You get it. Sometimes you just have to shut the door and say, I will deal with you tomorrow. (Or in a week from now.)<br /><br />So this is a reality check for those who think that my home is always clean. Clearly you have been supplied erroneous information. Don't you feel better?Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-87717452412231088232011-10-05T13:58:00.005-04:002012-01-25T11:54:48.351-05:00Getting it TogetherI really love decorating for fall because the colors bring such a feeling of calm to a space. I kept it simple, as simple as the ginormous mantle would let me. It was a challenge to not overfill it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk5VLBPIv_4_fdWNIkYhOKpFG7TEdL1KnM-O1rpxhnKsaKpXtV5jM7bR8n0GvbNh8KfKgswcAwEwmLWFqRcLWT4yyA9y54qMe1Zg0cmDjoGPhStpDyX0oRsa2YAwk1uVeGrOChhA/s1600/DSC_0267.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk5VLBPIv_4_fdWNIkYhOKpFG7TEdL1KnM-O1rpxhnKsaKpXtV5jM7bR8n0GvbNh8KfKgswcAwEwmLWFqRcLWT4yyA9y54qMe1Zg0cmDjoGPhStpDyX0oRsa2YAwk1uVeGrOChhA/s400/DSC_0267.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660069777172438370" border="0" /></a>Also pictured is my new sofa table, courtesy of Craig's List. It was exactly what I was looking for. Exactly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJg1k36c8y8fuAp7ETRO6dkbHSDX3JOnIQLOPENJO3eCeqJRdp3Zl1TkNo3PG6wTnkAXBa0zcBSTOH32nC1m-VGceN9vCIIlWCaD5RmKPq-eMzYhyeiq8V0bnBlFDsraKNq75jA/s1600/DSC_0268.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJg1k36c8y8fuAp7ETRO6dkbHSDX3JOnIQLOPENJO3eCeqJRdp3Zl1TkNo3PG6wTnkAXBa0zcBSTOH32nC1m-VGceN9vCIIlWCaD5RmKPq-eMzYhyeiq8V0bnBlFDsraKNq75jA/s400/DSC_0268.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660069768719390226" border="0" /></a>These fall pictures also serve as the living/dining room afters. You remember the <a href="http://laneygardner.blogspot.com/2011/09/where-did-august-go.html">befores</a>, right? Gone is the green paint and the super shiny brass fireplace frame. I spray painted the existing one with high heat spray paint. May I suggest that you open the windows if you ever do this? Gah. I was coughing up black particles for over an hour.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaEOqrrzIbpekOCRED7u-d9VmUMjoNyPq037nDoDYjc1SyOpjRtXtlPMh2Xy0N5ij54Ca7e9HXsS4-ToutNklVTziwmk5mSamSicgHI7RnaGzsVlSAZwHYzvq40Tuu4VskNDAMQ/s1600/DSC_0269.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaEOqrrzIbpekOCRED7u-d9VmUMjoNyPq037nDoDYjc1SyOpjRtXtlPMh2Xy0N5ij54Ca7e9HXsS4-ToutNklVTziwmk5mSamSicgHI7RnaGzsVlSAZwHYzvq40Tuu4VskNDAMQ/s400/DSC_0269.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660069758909268082" border="0" /></a>You can't really tell from this photo, but the pining room paint color is darker than the living room. I love the way it turned out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEi_5NklXI2vhyx0ggcy0Gu23xZgFWmg3kzj2NG2DDloo9QdF996b8O2rv8ahyiityeOn97oXxn-y6NQjk3yvVSCna3E6MFd9Ndn6zYkQlRN2D0WSYmdJ578AZdLZa0C4VAGxaeg/s1600/DSC_0270.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEi_5NklXI2vhyx0ggcy0Gu23xZgFWmg3kzj2NG2DDloo9QdF996b8O2rv8ahyiityeOn97oXxn-y6NQjk3yvVSCna3E6MFd9Ndn6zYkQlRN2D0WSYmdJ578AZdLZa0C4VAGxaeg/s400/DSC_0270.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660069756117917618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzC3doqcidGEq0wVKPWsLAq3Kt0UVTw4NTjl2KVn7sXJ2RHKPgbMi1_K1NJU-pyKmc-L53ASoTWu-AsByMc_IsYwV9tvg4g9zX8eF9nmShnH0qCIfbHCLjvc9EGNqxUKppEXozig/s1600/DSC_0272.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzC3doqcidGEq0wVKPWsLAq3Kt0UVTw4NTjl2KVn7sXJ2RHKPgbMi1_K1NJU-pyKmc-L53ASoTWu-AsByMc_IsYwV9tvg4g9zX8eF9nmShnH0qCIfbHCLjvc9EGNqxUKppEXozig/s400/DSC_0272.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660069749955799602" border="0" /></a>I did pretty much the same thing last year. I used sticks and twigs along with the dried flowers. I love the crisp, fall feel to the assortment. (Click to enlarge.) I also used fake pumpkins. Last year I used real ones and they rotten and ate away at the wood. Why did I not know that could happen?<br /><br />I consider this a part of the 31 Days because this is important to me. I love to decorate and it can sometimes get pushed to the back burner.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-62601653263781446492011-09-20T07:22:00.001-04:002011-09-20T09:18:35.597-04:00Is that mop following me?This is a video of my family singing to me on my 40th birthday. I watched it for the first time the other day and I had to keep rewinding it to look at the mop. That mop has had a prominent place in the majority of our photos.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='267' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dylonls_pB0U1BmX9qOUXIGjmfg8pgS75oBtQ05oKdnUSe48x9qcQoYJPcmsMw0bn91gp2wEDPvycQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />Note John's 8th grade graduation. (Please disregard the wardrobe malfunction.) This is our old house. You can see in this photo the full extent of my kitchen cabinets, hence the mop living front and center there in next to the fridge.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo2Vz4Qy4fTqVl5c3voHG1QItJw6guHyltT1ozjVUCWQz9iXncr53NAcud2xDP7uQw9jc5yX9SPlbKHo5SH-PjzgbObAfnym2vRLZlyuZun9lYSScDa0Vp726vPhMdPO2Mzw6BA/s1600/DSC_0367.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo2Vz4Qy4fTqVl5c3voHG1QItJw6guHyltT1ozjVUCWQz9iXncr53NAcud2xDP7uQw9jc5yX9SPlbKHo5SH-PjzgbObAfnym2vRLZlyuZun9lYSScDa0Vp726vPhMdPO2Mzw6BA/s400/DSC_0367.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654219930249469506" border="0" /> </a><br />Christmas. Always a joyous occasion. And. What's that? The mop again. It mocks, silently, from its haughty little bucket.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXbvtLQau6VDSyK6eo7r9CiK0RHHTete0f9iV96R2Ja8HC1sStCHiYPu0cMyQsTD6ew6YdOSkrllci5r28WfVkI2AkMBD9a5-zevU9aOc6oZy11m5tVc6Nc6rVEmy7dUOxf6l8g/s1600/DSC_0284.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXbvtLQau6VDSyK6eo7r9CiK0RHHTete0f9iV96R2Ja8HC1sStCHiYPu0cMyQsTD6ew6YdOSkrllci5r28WfVkI2AkMBD9a5-zevU9aOc6oZy11m5tVc6Nc6rVEmy7dUOxf6l8g/s400/DSC_0284.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654219919954542898" border="0" /></a><br />I truly believed that once we had a larger home, the mop would no longer make its way into our family photos. So much for logic.<br /><br /><br />Have you heard Foster? I bought the whole album from iTunes and downloaded it onto my iPod. The entire album is awesome, not just this one song.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SDTZ7iX4vTQ" allowfullscreen="" width="560" frameborder="0" height="315"></iframe><br /><br />How cute is Mark Foster at 1:08? It feels wrong to sing and dance around the house to a song about running away from bullets, but I like it. I think the message is this: even if you are being shot at, nice shoes are important. (Oh, I kid!)Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-88392546726981261262011-09-15T07:27:00.002-04:002012-01-25T11:54:17.604-05:00Death by LandlineSo Verizon has been trying to kill me, or drive me straight to the booby hatch. We moved a little over a month ago and attempted to move our service but Verizon was on strike. We were told that they could disconnect our service, but could not schedule an install date due to the strike. Oh, by all means, sign me up for no internet for an indefinite amount of time. We told them that we would go with another provider. We kept all of the service on, however, because we wanted to keep our current phone number and the service has to remain open for them to port the line. Big mistake. We should have just changed our phone number.<br /><br />We are still waiting for our line to be ported. Verizon blames Comcast. Comcast blames Verizon. I have called Verizon <span style="font-style: italic;">maybe</span> 20 times. Each time I call I get a different person who gives me a different story. One guy even hung up on me. Granted, I yelled at him, but I was beyond frustrated because of Verizon's <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">put you on hold and the disconnect you trick</span>. (It happened 4 times last night.) I know that they most likely pull that stunt to get you to give up. Not me.<br /><br />Oh, no.<br /><br />I am like a bad penny, I just keep showing up. Verizon will rue the day that they refused to port my line!! As God as my witness, I will never use Verizon again!<br /><br />Last night, out of complete frustration, I was tempted to cancel the service altogether and just get a new number, but purely on principle I won't do it. I have invested too much time in this undertaking to just roll over and die.<br /><br /><br />The thing that has kept me from a full on nervous breakdown of mythical proportions is Mumford and Sons. Watch for yourself. Fine Irish lads, they are.<br /><br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2O-BwV0DDUY" allowfullscreen="" width="560" frameborder="0" height="315"></iframe>Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-3644930685469111052011-09-13T08:40:00.000-04:002012-01-25T11:54:17.604-05:00Runaway JuryMy husband was selected for jury duty. You would think that he won the lottery, the way he is strutting around all proud of himself. He came home and said, "If it doesn't fit you must acquit." OK, Johnny Cochran. I am going to have to break it to him at some point that he is a juror, not an attorney. It is my fear that he is going to get put in jail for being in contempt of court for some crazy thing like standing up in the juror box and yelling, "I OBJECT!" Then I will have to bail him out with my birthday money, and he will lose his job for doing time in the big house. (He just read this post, before I posted it, and he said that in all actuality I would be the one to do something crazy. If I am being honest, my brotha has a point.) Oh! Also, the judge told him that they are allowed to call a sidebar. How awesome is that? I would be all over the Sidebar.<br /><br />Sidebar!<br /> When is lunch?<br /><br />Sidebar!<br /> Can I go to the bathroom?<br /><br />Sidebar!<br /> Will Kato Kaelin be testifying?<br /><br />Have you ever googled funny court questions? People say crazy stuff during trails. How much would you love to have been a juror on this case?<br /><ul><li><span class="itemstart">Lawyer:</span> "Trooper, when you stopped the defendant, were your red and blue lights flashing?"</li><li><span class="itemstart">Witness:</span> "Yes."</li><li><span class="itemstart">Lawyer:</span> "Did the defendant say anything when she got out of her car?"</li><li><span class="itemstart">Witness:</span> "Yes, sir."</li><li><span class="itemstart">Lawyer:</span> "What did she say?"</li><li><span class="itemstart">Witness:</span> "'What disco am I at?'"</li></ul><br />****************<br />Joe is taking piano lessons. We bought a small Yamaha keyboard from Craig's list. It is the perfect starter instrument, and came loaded with a myriad of preloaded sounds including a freight train and a gorilla. So far all anyone has played is the Jaws theme song. That is not irritating at all. Kevin pressed one of the preloaded beats and began hitting random keys, all ending with the gorilla's grunt. Also not irritating. Tomorrow I am going <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html">Tiger mom</a> on all of them. No child of mine will make imitation gorilla sounds at the piano recital.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-19947897044344082522011-09-12T09:58:00.000-04:002011-09-13T08:41:58.983-04:00Schoolroom transformation, part 1This house has an amazing room that the previous occupants called The Den. My sister calls it The Rumpus Room. I call it The Inappropriate Schoolroom. Note the bar, hence the inappropriate. Also? That light fixture above the bar? It is ugly. And the light, when illuminated, casts an orange hue that can only be described as murder scene lighting.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgey9WVVpo0EWLRzP05UrfFh5XuvmorEjC-wO-v_JpMXZJlNcg75JuKLI2X5mwJUBg3MG1eiiLjnNJEa57xh_8qr9Ps2g5trLlj9UrgJ5B9RMdRFXBY6_j4jgxA_xr02a1XjbVnbg/s1600/DSC_0421.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgey9WVVpo0EWLRzP05UrfFh5XuvmorEjC-wO-v_JpMXZJlNcg75JuKLI2X5mwJUBg3MG1eiiLjnNJEa57xh_8qr9Ps2g5trLlj9UrgJ5B9RMdRFXBY6_j4jgxA_xr02a1XjbVnbg/s400/DSC_0421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651289088357609906" border="0" /></a>So, before we had chaos. My sister says that my brand of chaos is not the average persons brand of chaos, but it is chaos nonetheless.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge1M84LgF71av-u3QV2V6NQ_iFfVfrD3pNXeoQWTkjhtr11pKjdtS10DgHDuerxPN1Dt7fskYexAklsJul_bcdZUf4kzmjn6E3257C44XaRJ1QKKqaWJBShqBXoQykTWMNbdJt1g/s1600/DSC_0423.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge1M84LgF71av-u3QV2V6NQ_iFfVfrD3pNXeoQWTkjhtr11pKjdtS10DgHDuerxPN1Dt7fskYexAklsJul_bcdZUf4kzmjn6E3257C44XaRJ1QKKqaWJBShqBXoQykTWMNbdJt1g/s400/DSC_0423.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651289080609119986" border="0" /></a>This red chair is my decorating kryptonite. We bought it in North Carolina, but it only worked well as a functioning piece of furniture in the FROG (family room over garage) in North Carolina. I keep it for purely sentimental reasons. It was, literally, the elephant in the room when it was placed there in the schoolroom as a last resort. You could not get around it and it is afraid of mice. It is crazy. Currently it is taking up 98% of the floor space in the family room. Something need done with it, as my favorite North Carolina pal used to say.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKHoyTvSA6b65SQunYK8Vz1AxyQqyLYZwsSp99nM25_Ol4FAJ_WYEgK0iTFiHSWFJhnQG0UxWbYft1fFSbPwOpVP2SoF5aR-BYJ1ZmFCToU_Ej4Pa1XnIDEut4LTEU7QkJ-XcaA/s1600/DSC_0424.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKHoyTvSA6b65SQunYK8Vz1AxyQqyLYZwsSp99nM25_Ol4FAJ_WYEgK0iTFiHSWFJhnQG0UxWbYft1fFSbPwOpVP2SoF5aR-BYJ1ZmFCToU_Ej4Pa1XnIDEut4LTEU7QkJ-XcaA/s400/DSC_0424.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651289081926917794" border="0" /></a>More of my brand of chaos. And a random child.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEygBbK_KVy0uI6nyLMV_SoarxSYTwUgPZ4Sf_429Edbh-BIYMeVj_rL0FW4kbqoF44OvHnWuJQxWaKIiyi-NbSoeEx0PiOFmrApiBBN-3QiXoasIjym5TMLk2JNQGvVkBGWP6Qw/s1600/DSC_0425.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLN2pvUVDGHw8krXconEeaxDGkLqAk4HpSl69AQ2MhCF1pRN37D9Y5WcOPxJVdgO8mSNzkMwgYeV_0bLz2ry7C4d1fykE4UmuVA6lBJXxZDUY5AbHpasBVmL-9Jb0BG-cOO9vcA/s1600/DSC_0426.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLN2pvUVDGHw8krXconEeaxDGkLqAk4HpSl69AQ2MhCF1pRN37D9Y5WcOPxJVdgO8mSNzkMwgYeV_0bLz2ry7C4d1fykE4UmuVA6lBJXxZDUY5AbHpasBVmL-9Jb0BG-cOO9vcA/s400/DSC_0426.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288824162358066" border="0" /> </a>I should have closed the door to the bathroom. Tres tacky. Readers, meet the toilet. That behemoth of a coat rack was left by the previous occupants. I think they left it to drive me crazy because every place that I put it, I accidentally walk into it. I hate that stupid thing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJD4Ec4mAF_S6Hm0mlXSsxp2d0nfDsYPHqZ5ZwdKinMyJCr7hD2-ZvqPdJvdYV1x4tQTBCHicurgzIAh3MQ157rb2FmolXa0VgfdhS2VP8xXhEcKnYw6Dvv2JH-JnLJigBMdCeQA/s1600/DSC_0427.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJD4Ec4mAF_S6Hm0mlXSsxp2d0nfDsYPHqZ5ZwdKinMyJCr7hD2-ZvqPdJvdYV1x4tQTBCHicurgzIAh3MQ157rb2FmolXa0VgfdhS2VP8xXhEcKnYw6Dvv2JH-JnLJigBMdCeQA/s400/DSC_0427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288819975212866" border="0" /></a>Oh! This was the water that I used to wash the paneling. Um, ew. That was one wall. The paneling is going to be painted. I don't mind painted paneling, in fact, I really like it as it adds some architectural character to a room. The brown paneling and trim in this room though, make me feel like I am sitting in a cave. In 1970. With Marcia Brady. And we are saying things like, "Dancing with Davy Jones is so groovy."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj43ZBOTfbVJ0knc2tEV5fT_V8xb2_-fyK8Yh-NYvrR9L2u4wSwRkv6z8XRpjCWplrVl9TCAX_3lEOjeGE9eZZpvbAM-JFwJsfXjW60J5xrumbo8filh-vuIK9OySSMQB352CkGdg/s1600/DSC_0433.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj43ZBOTfbVJ0knc2tEV5fT_V8xb2_-fyK8Yh-NYvrR9L2u4wSwRkv6z8XRpjCWplrVl9TCAX_3lEOjeGE9eZZpvbAM-JFwJsfXjW60J5xrumbo8filh-vuIK9OySSMQB352CkGdg/s400/DSC_0433.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288816018568066" border="0" /></a>That's better. I call this the art corner. I am original with my titles, admire me. The boys painted those abstract art canvases in North Carolina. I love the bold pops of color. That magazine rack belonged to my grandma. It makes me happy to have a part of her near me. Also? Classical music playing softly in the schoolroom? Must have.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixU3OVDdZUySjn1rqaNN9lCFbiRSo96jYa12F2C73F2uAfA8rq4c6ZVdUEw7pmNyhfrCfQemb7-5Z54wE5Oql8VvkwfYnmEOvp6OHNBHyEBKiHnPMhcytugY19iepspBu93yWveg/s1600/DSC_0436.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixU3OVDdZUySjn1rqaNN9lCFbiRSo96jYa12F2C73F2uAfA8rq4c6ZVdUEw7pmNyhfrCfQemb7-5Z54wE5Oql8VvkwfYnmEOvp6OHNBHyEBKiHnPMhcytugY19iepspBu93yWveg/s400/DSC_0436.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288813616269954" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg-wS7cNjtAsawBLyJS_2GOxoT7kYphliUTFnzhcwbexIGpoBKjAIoE9FehutikNAMumpc_-PJShbji6297-2mr04_gFcoSu9Q4beZPh9aPS4eSJHVdXMNJvT_jGDke3KvJqRjg/s1600/DSC_0437.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg-wS7cNjtAsawBLyJS_2GOxoT7kYphliUTFnzhcwbexIGpoBKjAIoE9FehutikNAMumpc_-PJShbji6297-2mr04_gFcoSu9Q4beZPh9aPS4eSJHVdXMNJvT_jGDke3KvJqRjg/s400/DSC_0437.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288812656235522" border="0" /></a>This was our first day. Notice the red chair is absent. In its place is the <a href="http://laneygardner.blogspot.com/2010/05/slipcovered-chair.html">white chair</a> that <s>I slip covered</s> my mother worked on tirelessly. This chair is a much better fit.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3qlT9TbAhLCaysk0CV_QWN5hqWTYR6voEwIZ28-OtY826jRD8EuPkmn8qsdrOl0QaPp_TFF6oMmQFgC2f3potJBjDTtZovGmfQsVSjTtzYe6Bv-so_xNHGtwzSwBdGKAZ9BcYKg/s1600/DSC_0441.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3qlT9TbAhLCaysk0CV_QWN5hqWTYR6voEwIZ28-OtY826jRD8EuPkmn8qsdrOl0QaPp_TFF6oMmQFgC2f3potJBjDTtZovGmfQsVSjTtzYe6Bv-so_xNHGtwzSwBdGKAZ9BcYKg/s400/DSC_0441.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288109964610066" border="0" /></a>The, finally(!), organized shelves.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiar8aH1F3vDRkjjXFk2Kd9is9Rm7b4tcLRmqeOh3Tzjscx2Pgz-U85YePx9A1p6Kccncc575ogOo9o2xeXUkMqHDw3fnPFz7Utjb7r70oV3-1iDhZYTFJgAhtkZ7yDy5dUzhsM5Q/s1600/DSC_0443.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiar8aH1F3vDRkjjXFk2Kd9is9Rm7b4tcLRmqeOh3Tzjscx2Pgz-U85YePx9A1p6Kccncc575ogOo9o2xeXUkMqHDw3fnPFz7Utjb7r70oV3-1iDhZYTFJgAhtkZ7yDy5dUzhsM5Q/s400/DSC_0443.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288107689435282" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrzBw-sm7Lkdkh7iTQ6hyfSvhYSO1Zv2wBZm3QZvetMKy6yTG30czNTJ8oAjG-ulXMZOtjZnGZKCWkXn8_MQjbX203pcUx8MvhlHusuunjTgaTgY_EuziiBsgl3YFdaZYWVDYRw/s1600/DSC_0444.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrzBw-sm7Lkdkh7iTQ6hyfSvhYSO1Zv2wBZm3QZvetMKy6yTG30czNTJ8oAjG-ulXMZOtjZnGZKCWkXn8_MQjbX203pcUx8MvhlHusuunjTgaTgY_EuziiBsgl3YFdaZYWVDYRw/s400/DSC_0444.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288104370981010" border="0" /></a>How adorable are those jars from Ikea? Love. I am going to go back and purchase a few more.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmOwb4jJIhouAegTqxmfeJdYWxrc7dFikVZ_wcMlf6dsoefgNE0iKRSaPIbcc3afs5pLtQBIniHlGoNHNMgAlQmRpdNqAD8VZvx1D3-lIVJzw28mB01YYsQDPiVzhm4tLLjBOxQ/s1600/DSC_0445.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmOwb4jJIhouAegTqxmfeJdYWxrc7dFikVZ_wcMlf6dsoefgNE0iKRSaPIbcc3afs5pLtQBIniHlGoNHNMgAlQmRpdNqAD8VZvx1D3-lIVJzw28mB01YYsQDPiVzhm4tLLjBOxQ/s400/DSC_0445.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288098090677266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">To be or not to be sign</span> courtesy of <a href="http://www.primitivesbykathy.com/index.asp">Primitives by Kathy</a>. I have <a href="http://www.primitivesbykathy.com/viewItem.asp?ItemID=17387&UnitCde=1&Desc=Box%20Sign%20-%20Toilet%20Paper&Cat=CUSTDISP%7CSubCat2%7CBOX%20SIGNS&Search=N">this one</a> and <a href="http://www.primitivesbykathy.com/viewItem.asp?ItemID=18030&UnitCde=1&Desc=Box%20Sign%20-%20Work%20With%20Me&Cat=CUSTDISP%7CSubCat2%7CBOX%20SIGNS&Search=N">this one </a>on my wish list.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_EfvDMoESGVv9ruC2eueva611gIW1DBYoYuPDsz7ud7ygs53KgkthYh4bVMDZ2qLLIA7VKhFFkOdZQWKzcGXDGHEhQxGRkcG81rEjTnwQBMk9KLg5OgMqyrLOve6mCNIzShAdQ/s1600/DSC_0446.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_EfvDMoESGVv9ruC2eueva611gIW1DBYoYuPDsz7ud7ygs53KgkthYh4bVMDZ2qLLIA7VKhFFkOdZQWKzcGXDGHEhQxGRkcG81rEjTnwQBMk9KLg5OgMqyrLOve6mCNIzShAdQ/s400/DSC_0446.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651288100168170866" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmi2S2CHdE0RtWI412mA61Bl02H19WwLKEK0nNpC1Ms44xckX-7yR8Q4Qg-Iq66F6aNTzjZ5CHTK2ThqigUkxdaASOVzwrk-0_q_W7w41VkQofdWUa4jQ00WofVLw7aHOBXieiCg/s1600/DSC_0448.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmi2S2CHdE0RtWI412mA61Bl02H19WwLKEK0nNpC1Ms44xckX-7yR8Q4Qg-Iq66F6aNTzjZ5CHTK2ThqigUkxdaASOVzwrk-0_q_W7w41VkQofdWUa4jQ00WofVLw7aHOBXieiCg/s400/DSC_0448.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651287186131954146" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr6R9UbiiffWVoxdAmeXNh0NIWwM-Cd-Q78-QhOQc0l-3ekHNXjlpTxiccfw6SHaFo3lzUQ1NE7-bmmIvg8sxQDspyOzpFv1GFzcqdes6WTU9wX4KiFVLMc4-2ziW5hCyJL1uBVA/s1600/DSC_0449.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr6R9UbiiffWVoxdAmeXNh0NIWwM-Cd-Q78-QhOQc0l-3ekHNXjlpTxiccfw6SHaFo3lzUQ1NE7-bmmIvg8sxQDspyOzpFv1GFzcqdes6WTU9wX4KiFVLMc4-2ziW5hCyJL1uBVA/s400/DSC_0449.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651287184354047538" border="0" /></a>Outside is the patio. I cannot wait until the humidity disperses and we can commence with outside reading.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWafz1f94huuFAz5dTuUopaZj0zBBddvENEtS2zdZoZZmIKbpo3-MdW1Ad0wRPHCTC8clgw2oCAylozCdZOhfehNLBR5HSoMdlchzvDaS-lceJTYP1bUtdwS3LOopvwbRlZNqUA/s1600/DSC_0450.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWafz1f94huuFAz5dTuUopaZj0zBBddvENEtS2zdZoZZmIKbpo3-MdW1Ad0wRPHCTC8clgw2oCAylozCdZOhfehNLBR5HSoMdlchzvDaS-lceJTYP1bUtdwS3LOopvwbRlZNqUA/s400/DSC_0450.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651287177514784178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUltppY07NIeoC335FCTUQviFyhwUpj7yUt9lNvN90JBcfJOzI8l-bdzDgUnzyGcYE56Zgz5hMHhQsywrhdcIl836IJoPZpknQ7riWVu1aNf3cqQbd_t3eGls1En_8J5GZZHdDg/s1600/DSC_0453.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUltppY07NIeoC335FCTUQviFyhwUpj7yUt9lNvN90JBcfJOzI8l-bdzDgUnzyGcYE56Zgz5hMHhQsywrhdcIl836IJoPZpknQ7riWVu1aNf3cqQbd_t3eGls1En_8J5GZZHdDg/s400/DSC_0453.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651287172429196418" border="0" /></a>I plan on painting the paneling on our six week break. I can't wait to cheer this room up with some color.<br /><br />More afters to follow!Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-37604761915772765802011-09-01T07:32:00.002-04:002011-09-01T08:10:17.161-04:00Where did August go?So we moved. For those of you that have known me for a while either online or in real life know that we have moved, a lot. The biggest move we made was our move back to New Jersey from North Carolina. It was the hardest, most emotional move. Ever. Can't stress ever enough. I jokingly now say that I was dragged back over the Mason/Dixon line, but there is some truth to it.
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<br />We moved to North Carolina believing that we were never going to leave. Never say never is all that I have to say about that. Living in North Carolina was like living in paradise. We moved in March of 2006 and settled quickly into the Carolina lifestyle. We felt as if we had found our place, and then the other shoe dropped. Things became hard, and we had to move back to New Jersey in September of 2008. Some day I will go into all of the details, but I am still not ready to put it all out there.
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<br />We moved the 15th of this month. It was a great move in that we actually picked the place that we are living in. Many things happened in the past three years that I had little to no control over until this move and that is why it was good. It was our choice.
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<br />Here are the before pictures.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVTEtaVAeyenMUcHlqbJ2kdNscOhF8ZPqtXYsD2E_GCys-dzcUcna-G_QyLPaPLJMzph-blNw9JpV4qs8jfg3FUi3hb_puCBiVfqrYJTIzEpPpKXk3fFnGoCLmXcXrwLVij4W4A/s1600/DSC_0385.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVTEtaVAeyenMUcHlqbJ2kdNscOhF8ZPqtXYsD2E_GCys-dzcUcna-G_QyLPaPLJMzph-blNw9JpV4qs8jfg3FUi3hb_puCBiVfqrYJTIzEpPpKXk3fFnGoCLmXcXrwLVij4W4A/s400/DSC_0385.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212397472023602" border="0" /></a>The entryway. Front door is behind you. Stairs to the right lead to three bedrooms. Kitchen right in front of you. Living room to the left.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zZ0POHjX20bgjIFlr4AmGKgdCg2LyKIEzLZWCzxbow0jUeY8xkPI1Slcku5JaaoIV9A4p8eqStMd84EuNQlsNOZSV9it5YnPpCe7jfd0ExT4cPOw0MnoasaC1PMBqhFgKdB5Bw/s1600/DSC_0386.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zZ0POHjX20bgjIFlr4AmGKgdCg2LyKIEzLZWCzxbow0jUeY8xkPI1Slcku5JaaoIV9A4p8eqStMd84EuNQlsNOZSV9it5YnPpCe7jfd0ExT4cPOw0MnoasaC1PMBqhFgKdB5Bw/s400/DSC_0386.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212400817802066" border="0" /></a>The formal living room. Try not to be too jealous of me, I know that paint color is ah-mazing! Too bad the interwebz can't convey sarcasm.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjRMg3769HTQOcWM4vFGbuGkzAjP8U00RY7gp4W-i9OnzAAZYwB8k7IbpzgTKcmxfzjkY78gEINs9CbV9LP484fm5WtwvEgR_PfgleXHX4y8GYfJLvOhHwwDx2LEC57AJ9eJKbg/s1600/DSC_0387.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjRMg3769HTQOcWM4vFGbuGkzAjP8U00RY7gp4W-i9OnzAAZYwB8k7IbpzgTKcmxfzjkY78gEINs9CbV9LP484fm5WtwvEgR_PfgleXHX4y8GYfJLvOhHwwDx2LEC57AJ9eJKbg/s400/DSC_0387.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212407009817858" border="0" /></a>The living room is connected to the formal dining room. And, P.S. that ginormous mantle intimidates me. That is a lot of brick. Talk about a decorating challenge.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxr31BK5oR3OvU0XMH2cHHL0Vz9QNn2R8hNqQgLPePx48u2f0H1RpORIJ-NaRrpKqMV_yuSDPHLV64yWuK_IEjQNCNyH4fSCCNw_PkF173X5ZozcMv7jV2k1UJwUd_CjMwYu-hg/s1600/DSC_0388.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxr31BK5oR3OvU0XMH2cHHL0Vz9QNn2R8hNqQgLPePx48u2f0H1RpORIJ-NaRrpKqMV_yuSDPHLV64yWuK_IEjQNCNyH4fSCCNw_PkF173X5ZozcMv7jV2k1UJwUd_CjMwYu-hg/s400/DSC_0388.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212409611448866" border="0" /></a>I truly cannot decide which is worse. The paint color, or the fact that they painted ev.ry.thing that awful color. (If you look out the window to the right you will see a brick wall. That is part of the patio that you will see later in the series, just as a reference point.)
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWfyakpusA0z35W1cREW8QrqTrwPT7ty33nFU76lFKwJ2ngjCsZS8TExS_30wsDwTsLNQF6p-bCmyX9iCDm7ReU9jVMkvz2AnTtrnm4N90BsLb3U45fhlY2g3uuVhp0DPyY0P1g/s1600/DSC_0389.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWfyakpusA0z35W1cREW8QrqTrwPT7ty33nFU76lFKwJ2ngjCsZS8TExS_30wsDwTsLNQF6p-bCmyX9iCDm7ReU9jVMkvz2AnTtrnm4N90BsLb3U45fhlY2g3uuVhp0DPyY0P1g/s400/DSC_0389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212420529465042" border="0" /></a>No, no, I changed my mind. The chandelier is the worst thing. Hello? Madonna? From 1986? Yes, we have your chandelier. Come and get it, please. Kitchen entrance there on the right. Can you see that this is a big circle? I hope that I have conveyed that. An engineer, or even a person who writes with a modicum of clarity, I am not.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzRxuNHbZYqSyD4CbyNTgEMx_1abmqyfRBtDuAyQ3k_jMe4-kM3m9KaN5nCulyD_gorJAUHbIk3e-8Mu8UkSuCS3VJvIOcV950TIjBPvzvjWjSXVZ8EB3sW1l1fPhN0D7RzK51Q/s1600/DSC_0390.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzRxuNHbZYqSyD4CbyNTgEMx_1abmqyfRBtDuAyQ3k_jMe4-kM3m9KaN5nCulyD_gorJAUHbIk3e-8Mu8UkSuCS3VJvIOcV950TIjBPvzvjWjSXVZ8EB3sW1l1fPhN0D7RzK51Q/s400/DSC_0390.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212831807235730" border="0" /></a>Here is my favorite part. Try to overlook the paneling and the fact that this room now looks like Mr.Brady's office. In a few months it will look gorgeous. This room is adjacent to the kitchen which is connected to the dining room. This is our school room/office. That entire left wall is lined with built-in bookcases, shelves and cabinets. JOY!! Outside of the sliders is a beautiful patio. (Referenced in earlier picture.) The best part of that whole door situation over there is that the screen is on a spring loaded hinge. Now no one has to learn the life skill of closing the door. They do, however, have to know how to open it.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaRDujasNEALcht3nNYTwhJpfjwMRVSTQPmJGVYP6F1lxmjqFgSanyPLUl2itYvzEOrrUbOSp7piVNqrvk7R1DjqFM_gCn1u_DqgC3RYRvjCuX1MuVC3eol1lnk6mbfF5zkbUgA/s1600/DSC_0391.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaRDujasNEALcht3nNYTwhJpfjwMRVSTQPmJGVYP6F1lxmjqFgSanyPLUl2itYvzEOrrUbOSp7piVNqrvk7R1DjqFM_gCn1u_DqgC3RYRvjCuX1MuVC3eol1lnk6mbfF5zkbUgA/s400/DSC_0391.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212832950306482" border="0" /></a>Yes, I have a bar in my school room. Doesn't every conservative Christian home schooler have one? The kids want to keep it and fill the fridge behind the bar with Monsters. Monster energy + school work= begging for the eye twitch to return.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJJPkoxaqqujWT3QFNjB4Hhp70Xp8l0rBejpq7m4LUiq4BhZKQScsBOYZaDiInbUv72ax-w4TPwTv4mJ3zdt_rejIJD7nMiuAktil2qv9U98aqZ86n81tWqKb8LA9_BC2aZRQnA/s1600/DSC_0394.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJJPkoxaqqujWT3QFNjB4Hhp70Xp8l0rBejpq7m4LUiq4BhZKQScsBOYZaDiInbUv72ax-w4TPwTv4mJ3zdt_rejIJD7nMiuAktil2qv9U98aqZ86n81tWqKb8LA9_BC2aZRQnA/s400/DSC_0394.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212836691449074" border="0" /></a>View from the office into the kitchen. There is a door to the left that leads to the backyard. I took outside pictures but that will be a separate post.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uHoTagEqdJu6UNSFm5QYLJj8em186Pk5IxLTgg3DPoP2s_01EsU-_v2lhtK6ZSWabXYgE-Y-h2wFH0-r9BQvjeQ7yHXKQSiuQRA8NIbkgvK_UUAqKono55uiG43omCoX5k7ilg/s1600/DSC_0395.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uHoTagEqdJu6UNSFm5QYLJj8em186Pk5IxLTgg3DPoP2s_01EsU-_v2lhtK6ZSWabXYgE-Y-h2wFH0-r9BQvjeQ7yHXKQSiuQRA8NIbkgvK_UUAqKono55uiG43omCoX5k7ilg/s400/DSC_0395.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212839302254386" border="0" /></a>I loved, I mean loooved my kitchen in North Carolina. This one rivals it. I can honestly say that this kitchen is not my style, at all. (I am not a pink girl.) But I am not going to complain because I have cabinets! Drawers! Pantry! More cabinets! See that brown door to the left in the background? It leads to the family room and basement.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCvwTepRBbxslKAavWKv4BnlwBp6QxzgUxu2dEeNX7FVufQlYb2AiA6OTpUPs5OTK18EVswkEOr5JJm_9BUCdFxzbX47nUicaBktt-gze_k0Z7bUQjM0HHTEBj6D63WGLXrV5ew/s1600/DSC_0403.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCvwTepRBbxslKAavWKv4BnlwBp6QxzgUxu2dEeNX7FVufQlYb2AiA6OTpUPs5OTK18EVswkEOr5JJm_9BUCdFxzbX47nUicaBktt-gze_k0Z7bUQjM0HHTEBj6D63WGLXrV5ew/s400/DSC_0403.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647213368205112386" border="0" /></a>I know. I had the same reaction. We are just some beaded curtains, lava lamps and bell bottoms away from looking like the set from That 70's show. But again, the room size is awesome and there are great bones to the space. (Full bathroom to the left. There are 3 full baths and one half bath altogether.)
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMICphK7o3NEgD17VuktC2Od9y9FSHi2qb1JW234K4Y6YrNsPjhmolz9vCk2RsiUPFrLK7jplfNFygdhBoibcNsNqZyuqGcbUB_VVXNSmCDCFlP8bP_I-afyj6w1SFWZkd3EQz3g/s1600/DSC_0402.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMICphK7o3NEgD17VuktC2Od9y9FSHi2qb1JW234K4Y6YrNsPjhmolz9vCk2RsiUPFrLK7jplfNFygdhBoibcNsNqZyuqGcbUB_VVXNSmCDCFlP8bP_I-afyj6w1SFWZkd3EQz3g/s400/DSC_0402.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647213366570992482" border="0" /></a>That door leads to the side of the house with will take you to the backyard.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvWqL75W7ZcLB4C2YgNEpYuJSGhaQg1SvMUPGdiijBIagNRewujiy-7QY0okf3hQWLUPOKm_eLDUTGUjfreSISUTlnmJJ0Ycqn2lD7Praf8jyT95xCvoNtXVH35iPKiRahNdIeA/s1600/DSC_0396.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvWqL75W7ZcLB4C2YgNEpYuJSGhaQg1SvMUPGdiijBIagNRewujiy-7QY0okf3hQWLUPOKm_eLDUTGUjfreSISUTlnmJJ0Ycqn2lD7Praf8jyT95xCvoNtXVH35iPKiRahNdIeA/s400/DSC_0396.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647212849414152418" border="0" /></a>View from the foyer again. Two doors to the right are bedrooms. The master is the left of that bathroom there in the center.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6m-UdYkFaogU14WhyphenhyphenX2YuUMOXtp-cMJNwvBqTFE43hdvH_i-klkjcqUkEjZq2JELvwjRoNbK7yoqyima_-r527NVW53eIrcL3RruSJwgvn9xpWmCl2d1E04Q-rxUjiYe2uV4rQ/s1600/DSC_0399.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6m-UdYkFaogU14WhyphenhyphenX2YuUMOXtp-cMJNwvBqTFE43hdvH_i-klkjcqUkEjZq2JELvwjRoNbK7yoqyima_-r527NVW53eIrcL3RruSJwgvn9xpWmCl2d1E04Q-rxUjiYe2uV4rQ/s400/DSC_0399.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647213351757597458" border="0" /></a>This bathroom is so well preserved in it's vintage 60's look that it is almost not hideous. Also, this house was ahead of its time in many ways. Double sinks in the main bath, double closets in the larger of the two bedrooms that was most likely meant to be shared by two children. And! A laundry chute. If you have a laundry chute and you have your trial by fire with shoving too many towels into it, just know that a 28oz can of tomatoes, tossed with some enthusiasm, will clear that sucker right out.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78K1QGrt8R5McncB4pgXJQ2zPm9sP45fUXYvWZ1Sv0CJavG6jUnKfXXu9Au6bspHPCuaHI9cXEvt5UooYFJNdUp_BYRheBGtSei-vAibkBRzJLYtjiTMKV_kINlcPv6O1QFQmfw/s1600/DSC_0400.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78K1QGrt8R5McncB4pgXJQ2zPm9sP45fUXYvWZ1Sv0CJavG6jUnKfXXu9Au6bspHPCuaHI9cXEvt5UooYFJNdUp_BYRheBGtSei-vAibkBRzJLYtjiTMKV_kINlcPv6O1QFQmfw/s400/DSC_0400.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647213361430187394" border="0" /></a>The view from the landing at the top into the living room. This house is huge! It is so much more than I could have ever hoped for.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8v13NepZEmxNMOqKbKOZA8ldbB1mxrrEVweN-uHy9GWQF7svTJf-E9NfzBfsdH0b83ipqDTRgCGqf4l7MnWABbrhwNttqnhDhH8djnw0NEnqc2yBZ9UiguFP8eolahYtDK1NqQ/s1600/DSC_0404.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8v13NepZEmxNMOqKbKOZA8ldbB1mxrrEVweN-uHy9GWQF7svTJf-E9NfzBfsdH0b83ipqDTRgCGqf4l7MnWABbrhwNttqnhDhH8djnw0NEnqc2yBZ9UiguFP8eolahYtDK1NqQ/s400/DSC_0404.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647213374491424034" border="0" /></a>Final view looking into the kitchen.
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<br />We have already done some painting, and I am excited to show you the changes.
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<br />Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-66851473019996338442011-07-29T12:41:00.009-04:002011-07-29T18:34:59.601-04:00In the horrors no moreIt was one year ago this month that I made myself sick as a junk yard dog. We were preparing to leave for Lake George but had planned on visiting some out of town friends, who were back in town, before we went. We agreed to meet them for a little while just to catch up. So we headed down to our town's famed Portuguese restaurant, the <a href="http://www.ria-mar.com/">Ria Mar</a>, where everyone was waiting. On their dinner table was the cutest little pitcher of sangria. I really wanted a glass and since we had eaten dinner beforehand, decided to get a cute little pitcher for myself.<br /><br />**Let me just pause here for a 12 step disclaimer. I am not a big drinker. I will not have drinking contests with you, have never played quarters and yes, you could drink me under the table. I have maybe 2 glasses of wine a year and an occasional sangria at Jose Tejas. That's it.**<br /><br />After ordering sodas for the kids and the sangria for me at the bar, I brought the pitcher to the table, poured a glass and downed it. Gosh and golly, if that sangria was not the sweetest, yummiest nectar of the gods! So fruity! So cold! So delicious! I was miffed that the glasses were so small because I had to keep refilling them. I had one. And then two. And then three. I jokingly said to Kevin, "I should put a straw in the pitcher, it would be easier." I had all of those glasses and I was fine.<br /><br />And then I wasn't.<br /><br />One minute I was sitting upright enjoying a conversation with a friend and the next thing I knew I could not feel my face or recall the names of my offspring.<br /><br />Oh.No.<br /><br />Kevin could see that the sangria was sending me for a loop, and he began to wrap up our visit. I was barely able to walk out of the restaurant. I was determined to get out of there on my own two feet, because really? How embarrassing!<br /><br />We returned home where my parents were waiting for us as they were to depart with us in the morning.<br /><br />What did you do to yourself? They wanted to know. Slurring my speech, I filled them in on what happened thus far.<br /><br />"The Portuguese sangria?" My dad asked. "That is filled with hard liquor. You have never drank hard liquor."<br /><br />It was at that point that I began to feel sick. To say that I was feeling nauseous is an understatement of epic proportions. I will spare you the gory details, but let's just say that having your dad hold your hair back while you sell Buuuicks and drive the porcelain bus is beyond humiliating. Bless his heart, he was so kind and sympathetic. The truth is, if I had been 17 and pulled this stunt he probably would not have been so benevolent, which is why I waited until I was 39 to do it.<br /><br />Some days later, when we were all settled in on our respective campsites, my parents came to ask if I would like some sangria of the non hard liqour kind, something more along the lines of the fruit punch with a kick that I was previously used to. My stomach lurched as memories of my distressing inebriation came flooding back.<br /><br />"No." I replied firmly. "I am on the wagon." And I have been ever since. I laughingly said to my mom one day when we were in Florida, "Hey! I have been sober for six months."<br /><br />Tomorrow we leave for Lake George. Tonight the hardest drink I will have is coffee with cream. I may even live it up and add a small teaspoon of sugar. I am all about hard core living.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-62356705872204970862011-07-20T21:16:00.006-04:002011-07-29T18:10:28.159-04:00What about CPR?Last week Kevin was going over some Boy Scout requirements with Jeremy. One of the items that was slated for review was CPR. Kevin was lying on the floor with Jeremy kneeling next to him. He was explaining the minutiae of the process and how you need to use pressure, but not too much pressure. Feeling the need to interject with a helpful recommendation, I suggested Jeremy use more knee.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ubLse3bv9V4" allowfullscreen="" width="425" frameborder="0" height="349"></iframe><br /><br />How could you not reference What About Bob?Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-11943390413689641042011-07-20T09:42:00.005-04:002011-07-20T21:52:26.947-04:00Cold as IceLast night I was freezing. In the middle of a New Jersey heatwave. Kevin had the ceiling fan in the bedroom turned on and I was scurrying to get under the down comforter.<br /><br />"What is the thermostat set on?" I asked. "Meat locker? Morgue?"<br /><br />"I don't know." He replied. "But it feels fine to me."<br /><br />"Well, I am freezing."<br /><br />At this point Kevin told me that he would help to get me warm. He snuggled in close to me and began singing-<br /><br />You're as cold as ice.<br />You're willing to sacrifice our love<br />You never take advice<br />Someday you'll pay the price, I know<br /><br />I refrained from elbowing him in the nose. Of all the songs that I would like to have sung to me as a bedtime lullaby, Foreigner's Cold as Ice does not remotely place on the list.<br /><br /><br /><br />We caught the middle to end of Forgetting Sarah Marshall. If you have not seen it, take a peek at this clip. Russell Brand is hee-larious in this movie.<br /><br />"It's like this one's fellow."<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OffN9JfYDv0" allowfullscreen="" width="560" frameborder="0" height="349"></iframe>Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-77643251060119957772011-07-18T00:27:00.010-04:002011-07-18T15:04:25.066-04:00New Monday Blog(Talk about writer's block. Could I possibly have a more uninspired title?)<br /><br />I did break the blog, but I fixed it. Sorta. (It turns out HTML code is not that difficult a code to crack.) I fixed the main broken things, but the header is not centered and it is driving me slightly crazy- like sticking your head in a beehive crazy. This kind of snafu sends my linear and symmetrical loving brain into an OCD frenzy. I have to fix it, but as I said to my husband last night, "There are a million other really important things that I should be doing. But here I sit. Trying to match the sidebar title background color with the wallpaper colors." Gah.<br /><br />We did a little bit of yard saling this weekend and we made two major scores. The first is this.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-dsT4L3U90bJFFj8vRRK-Z4XGuHRbSC7Y0HALsHIuctov3ledwHUmumcgFh73775bkm3_stSeOKfrJlUlEyXfnqG2Era4Yu-Zak2dhP1dFtA_2cFXjnE407Q0UwhExw3uqfaAg/s1600/DSC_0293.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-dsT4L3U90bJFFj8vRRK-Z4XGuHRbSC7Y0HALsHIuctov3ledwHUmumcgFh73775bkm3_stSeOKfrJlUlEyXfnqG2Era4Yu-Zak2dhP1dFtA_2cFXjnE407Q0UwhExw3uqfaAg/s400/DSC_0293.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630670601294968402" border="0" /></a>The complete set of Little House on the Prairie books, for five (5!!) dollars. I grabbed it, paid and ran away before the owner realized that I underpaid.<br /><br />The second is this, a Weber grill.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PoeFUtrshIw-IRKm9u3nWeBVBqSF5tatvBfi970MsdtpcRCM4GPhRPxKGGaXRrswwCMHFzN9EyRXPGxsv11zDIYIzMuphMWiUqZcxGKHYvo00r3bpz96UsN8OhX8GQhJmsdNFg/s1600/DSC_0294.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PoeFUtrshIw-IRKm9u3nWeBVBqSF5tatvBfi970MsdtpcRCM4GPhRPxKGGaXRrswwCMHFzN9EyRXPGxsv11zDIYIzMuphMWiUqZcxGKHYvo00r3bpz96UsN8OhX8GQhJmsdNFg/s400/DSC_0294.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630670605227751506" border="0" /></a>We went to an estate sale that was being hosted by an estate sale company (Duh. The department of redundancy department called.), and its very snooty employee. They were selling the grill for twenty-five dollars. When I looked in my wallet I realized that I only had twenty-one dollars. So I asked the supervisor if she would take twenty-one dollars because it is all the cash that we have. She looked at me like I asked her for a kidney. From her only child.<br /><br />I nervously began counting out change and came up with another dollar and fifty cents. I glanced at the woman again and said, "How about $22.50?" She reluctantly said alright. I was trying not to show my irritation. "Throw me a bone, lady." I felt like asserting. "Do you want to unload the grill or do you want to schlep it back into the garage?" On Sunday afternoon, when you are at the end of your garage sale, you should not be so persnickety.<br /><br />It was so unlike me to not haggle, or just confidently ask if she would take twenty for it. I was a little off my game. Clearly the asymmetrical header upset me more than I originally thought.<br /><br />Kevin is so happy with his new toy. He was regaling all of us with its finer points last night over dinner. It's stainless steel pan, its east start mechanism, and its low setting wherein he can defrost his Bubba burgers. He is a happy man.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-67153967914574860332011-07-14T11:45:00.000-04:002011-07-14T11:46:00.159-04:00Oh, dearI dun broke my blog.<br /><br />Oy.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-90097991966939626272011-07-11T07:46:00.001-04:002011-07-11T08:06:29.247-04:00Home again, home again jiggity jigThe boys came home from camp Saturday afternoon. Kevin drove down to Maryland at the butt crack of dawn to get the bikes, and then drove back home. The boys came home on our church bus.<br /><br />Jeremy came to me first. I threw my arms around him and as I kissed his head I smelled him. It wasn't a bad smell, really, just <span style="font-style: italic;">earthy</span>. He appeared to be all in one piece, and relatively free of injury. He was excited to tell me everything about camp, and show me all of the knives that he bought at the trading post. He came home with 5 knives. I sent away him to camp a boy scout and he came home a mercenary.<br /><br />John came off of the bus wearing his Metal Mulisha hat with a Burger King crown over it. I said, "You went away a peasant and came home a king?" The hilarity here never ends.<br /><br />We spent the rest of the afternoon listening to the boys' stories of camp. The spiders, the pranks, the fun and laughs, the work and the learning. John told us that on Wednesday night Jeremy had a terrible headache. Jeremy's bunk mate was off for the night completing his wilderness survival merit badge. This badge entails spending the entire night out in the wild. On your own. You also have to set up your own shelter and sleep in it. I have no desire, ever, to complete this badge. So Jeremy was going to be alone for the night, and because he had such a bad headache John did not want him to be alone. He had Jeremy bunk with another boy whose bunk mate was also completing the wilderness survival requirements. (This tent was right next to John's.) I was very touched as John told me this story. My boys usually get along very well, and they truly enjoy each others company, but they are boys in the truest sense of the word and moms of all boys know what I mean. So when I hear things like this, I am so proud that they consider each others feelings and look out for each other. Even if they do sometimes tell one another that they wish they would take a long walk off a short pier.<br /><br />I asked then what they wanted to do for dinner and John said, "I don't care as long as we are all together." Then my heart melted from his expression of sentiment and I died on the spot. We ended up going to Jose Tejas where we gorged ourselves on chips and burritos. I went to sleep last night content with knowing that my boys were tucked up in their beds under our roof. Good stuff.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-6800202369348485002011-07-07T07:51:00.000-04:002011-07-07T08:27:58.588-04:00Spray ParkWith the boys gone Joe is a little on the bored side. I will go in the pool with him, and play with him but I know it is not the same. For one, I don't want to have a splash contest. And two, I don't think that seeing who can slap the hardest with a pool noodle remotely resembles a good time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRdU-w0b3_UgHZaf-J0Y4Y_8kLRBxfaYf7kKnK32t2AGS6D8qQjN1D_kouaCzhcf5d-xCTZ4enOTzKOj1YxwZYxeJ_rcNzbk1213h9ENvn7Z5zJ0NinOarXfWF7A7wZN0Y_MPlw/s1600/DSC_0406.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRdU-w0b3_UgHZaf-J0Y4Y_8kLRBxfaYf7kKnK32t2AGS6D8qQjN1D_kouaCzhcf5d-xCTZ4enOTzKOj1YxwZYxeJ_rcNzbk1213h9ENvn7Z5zJ0NinOarXfWF7A7wZN0Y_MPlw/s400/DSC_0406.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626422824633058226" border="0" /></a>We headed to the splash park with some friends. Good, clean, wet fun. Just what the doctor ordered.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw5RZyo28KDotod3dbqXJsLKj3YGIC4quGGWXm0F9xRJEWQNRBhlr2x7KIqXrgg0_Ikn9rypVfpjI44YF7NBa4Ucj2LLrhDxRoc1xX4k9SyLAQwZO_X8b3mO1LmCcdHJBuPuU8tQ/s1600/DSC_0408.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw5RZyo28KDotod3dbqXJsLKj3YGIC4quGGWXm0F9xRJEWQNRBhlr2x7KIqXrgg0_Ikn9rypVfpjI44YF7NBa4Ucj2LLrhDxRoc1xX4k9SyLAQwZO_X8b3mO1LmCcdHJBuPuU8tQ/s400/DSC_0408.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626422815491279026" border="0" /></a><br />"Mom," he said. "This is beast." The boys may not be here is physical presence, but their vernacular lives on.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-25609262279991927362011-07-05T08:40:00.002-04:002011-07-05T09:22:41.488-04:00Follow me, boys!This past weekend was bih.zey. We spent the majority of the day Saturday helping to get the boys packed for Boy Scout camp. It was this particular day that one of my boys informed me that he only has one pair of underwear. Well, what do you wear all of the other days when the lone pair is being laundered I asked. I should have known better, really, than to ask that. Nothing, he replied nonchalantly as if I asked him what color the sky is.<br /><br />I had another conversation with this same child concerning his shower bag. All kinds of red flags went up when he asked me what a shower bag was. Oh.My.Gawd.<br /><br />"Please tell me that you showered at camp last year."<br /><br />"Uh. I went swimming every day."<br /><br />Alrighty then.<br /><br />As my oldest son was packing his bag, he found some random items, clothing and such in his pack. I knew what he was going to do before he did it.<br /><br />"Tell me you are not re-packing those clothes. Are they clean?"<br /><br />He did not immediately answer with words, instead he buried his face in the shirt and inhaled deeply.<br /><br />I gawked in amazement when he finally said, "They smell clean."<br /><br />Very well then. Both of my boys are fully prepared to live in a frat house, or a third world country.<br /><br />We drove down to the camp on Sunday along with the scout convoy. I like being part of convoys. They make me feel safe, it is like a gang on wheels. We followed the bus with my truck and Kevin's trailer as I had volunteered him to bring all of the scouts bikes to the camp. He <span style="font-style: italic;">loves</span> when I volunteer him for things like that. But honestly? I did it because I knew he would have volunteered himself had he been a part of the original conversation.<br /><br />We arrived at the camp, and I was so happy to be there. Usually Kevin has the privilege of going to the camp with the boys either to drop them off, bring them home, or camp with them for a few days. My job primarily consists of helping to pack their bags, supplying snacks for the ride and doing the laundry when they arrive back home. Yay me. So this was a real treat. I was able to see the camp that they would call home for the next six days.<br /><br />Soon after arriving the boys began to grumble over all of the unwelcome guests, specifically spiders, in the tents. John came up to me and said, "Mom! I swear there is a spider in there the size of a dinner plate, and its fangs were dripping venom." He gets his love of exaggeration from me.<br /><br />I told him to open the tent flaps and let in some light. I reassured him and his friends that once they moved in, the spiders would move out. Or they would be carried away in the night and have their bodies sucked dry of blood. Either scenario was possible.<br /><br />The boys had a schedule to keep so we decided to head out. I knew that John would not give me the hug that I desired, but Jeremy, as the younger child, most likely would. I thought wrong. Not only did he not want to hug me as I was leaving, his main concern was not even saying good-bye to me but rather, did I have any water. Hydration trumps tearful good-bye.<br /><br />I was wishing that I could have stayed at the camp with the boys. They are getting older and they want less to do with me and more to do with their friends and their own activities. I know that them wanting to separate from me means that I have done my job because really, who wants their grown children living with them? But all of a sudden I was struck with the fact that they will be gone before I know it and I want to savor every moment. I was thinking all of these things and then I glanced at the daily camp schedule.<br /><br />Reveille? At 7am? I no longer waxed poetical about staying with them. I don't like to be up at 7am in silence. So a 15 year old boy blasting out Reveille on a bugle? Not my cuppa. There is a reason I am not a Boy Scout.<br /><br />If you have scouts, and have not seen the Disney movie Follow me, boys! I highly recommend that you borrow it from Netflix, or you can view it on Amazon. It is a terrific movie from back when Disney was still putting out a wholesome, quality product.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pcIg51V-jnk" allowfullscreen="" width="425" frameborder="0" height="349"></iframe><br /><br />And one of my favorite quotes from Lord Baden Powell, British Army officer and founder of Boy Scouts, "The spirit is there in every boy, it has to be discovered and brought to light."Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-88771856519748695782011-06-30T12:28:00.002-04:002011-07-10T20:11:28.908-04:00Summer thrillsYesterday we took the boys to Six Flags Great Adventure. We do this every year. The boys wanted me to ride the big coasters with them, and I went along hesitantly. I am way too old to be riding roller coasters. Granted, I don't suffer from the list of maladies that they post on the warning signs as you enter the ride, but I suffer none the less. Those rides wreak havoc on the central nervous system. I truly believed that I was suffering from a brain bleed after getting off of El Toro. I had to literally force myself to walk.<br /><br />"You can do it."<br /><br />"That's it. One foot in front of the other."<br /><br /> Who knew that putting one foot in front of the other could be so difficult. <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/video/supermodel-lindsey-wixson-falls-on-catwalk-13622820">I felt Lindsey Wixsons pain.</a><br /><br />The boys had a blast and thought that my screaming was hilarious. I tried to explain to them that I was not screaming from an exhilarating adenaline rush, no. I was screaming because it was excruciatingly awful. The ride so set me off of my keister that I was bordering on sick for the rest of the day. The thing that really did me in? The rotating and revolving, while 40 feet up, hot air balloons in the Loony Tunes park. That's me, hard core all the way.<br /><br />Kevin took the boys on the park's newset ride The Green Lantern. I opted out with Joe and we made a cotton candy run. I really wanted another funnel cake, but at almost $10 a pop went for the cheaper air sugar. Yes, we paid almost $20 for two funnel cakes. (If anyone from Six Flags corporate is reading this entry please know that we were extremely displeased with the prices in the park. We paid to enter, and to park. Is it really necessary to charge exhorbinant amounts of money for water and funnel cake? And. AND! Don't even get me started on the bag restrictions and forcing us to purchase locker space for the offending bags. Seriously Six Flags? Family fun? I think not. Family extortion is more apropos.)<br /><br />I sound bitter, but really we had an amazing day of fun and laughter. <span style="font-size:78%;">And it only cost us $300</span>.<br /><br />So today we are recovering and letting our brains settle back into their rightful places.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-33328478568462060842011-06-27T20:40:00.004-04:002011-07-10T20:14:14.639-04:00The Princess BrideMy life right now could be summed up in movie quotes from the movie The Princess Bride. Mainly the conversation between the main in black and Inigo Montoya.<br /><br />"Get used to disappointment."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Uh.Yep. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Getting used to to it. Getting to be a freakin' pro at it.</span><br /><br />*****************<br /><br />"She doesn't get eaten by eels at this time." <span style="font-style: italic;">But she probably will later</span>.<br /><br />*****************<br /><br />Man in black: [<i class="fine">as he is unsuccessfully fighting Fezzik</i>] Look, are you just fiddling around with me or what?<br />Fezzik: I just want you to feel you're doing well.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Set me up for hope and then kick the ladder out from under me. Grrreat. Sign me up.</span><br /><br />*****************<br /><br />"You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles." <span style="font-style: italic;">There are no miracles for me. In fact, I keep waiting for the six fingered man to show up, strap me to his water torture table and suck the rest of my years away. Miracle schmiracle. </span><br /><br />*****************<br /><br />"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." <span style="font-style: italic;">Word.<br /><br /></span><span>*****************<br />Maybe if I had an albino, a wheelbarrow and the gate key my situation would not seem so bleak. But right now, I have been mostly dead all day, </span><span>I have no assets</span> and I seem to have misplaced my good holocaust cloak<span style="font-style: italic;">. </span><span>The perfect storybook ending.<br /></span>Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10221971.post-64945759545504329632011-06-22T20:47:00.010-04:002011-06-24T17:07:03.755-04:00Friday List1. I took my oldest to the doctor for a physical, he needs it to get into Boy Scout camp. In one year he has grown 4 inches and gained 10 lbs, all of which is muscle. He is officially taller than me. Now when I yell at him, I yell up. Luckily I still have two other children that I can yell down to.<br /><br />2. We sold the beast. The beast is Kevin's Suburban, and it was aptly named. Trust me on this one. I never understood people who named their vehicles until I met the Beast.<br /><br />See?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21xGd0sY0ka8G-SZw0nQLNrRtU1RMiqaqnM9jh9dXZoXIRvOlBj7TMX0m9wU9wLXOKv45oox_UjOY6amAHrGzsqHCOzCY0kyRG5nSaxL13HgmslzkZ4UO83ZoRuBFpLVlTtMZqQ/s1600/DSC_0281.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21xGd0sY0ka8G-SZw0nQLNrRtU1RMiqaqnM9jh9dXZoXIRvOlBj7TMX0m9wU9wLXOKv45oox_UjOY6amAHrGzsqHCOzCY0kyRG5nSaxL13HgmslzkZ4UO83ZoRuBFpLVlTtMZqQ/s400/DSC_0281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621859632705346882" border="0" /></a><br />It is missing 60% of its original paint and its back seat, which our dog ate. The dog did not eat the paint, however. The air conditioner works when it feels like it, usually in the middle of the winter, and the heat blows at full blast on occasion rendering its passengers defenseless. People have suffered second degree burns on their ankles and severe dehydration from this glitch.<br /><br />My husband, bless his heart, wanted the blue book value for it based on the fact that it has new tires and a swell stereo. I told him to take the tires off and pull the stereo out and just push what remains into a lake and wave adios. But no, he held firm and he got his price. Apparently there are other people in the world as dumb as we are.<br /><br />3. I can't stop listening to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDTZ7iX4vTQ">this</a>. Or watching <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbwSKN__tV0&feature=fvwrel">this</a>. The girl jumping gets me every time.Laneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11060382495403279198noreply@blogger.com0